Zeitschriftenartikel zum Thema „Massachusetts State Division“

This discussion was moderated by Karen A. Fagan, MD, Professor and Director, Division of Pulmonary Medicine, University of South Alabama College of Medicine, Mobile, Alabama. Panel members included Kamal K. Mubarak, MD, Assistant Professor of Medicine, Director, Pulmonary Hypertension Clinic, Wayne State University, Detroit, Michigan; Zeenat Safdar, MD, Assistant Professor of Medicine, Department of Medicine, Section of Pulmonary, Critical Care, and Sleep Medicine, Baylor College of Medicine, Houston, Texas; Aaron Waxman, MD, PhD, Associate Professor of Medicine, Harvard Medical School, Director, Pulmonary Vascular Disease Program and Pulmonary Critical Care Unit, Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston, Massachusetts; and Roham T. Zamanian, MD, Assistant Professor of Medicine, Director, Adult Pulmonary Hypertension Clinical Service, Vera Moulton Wall Center for Pulmonary Vascular Disease, Stanford University School of Medicine, Stanford, California.

Karen L. Fingerman is an assistant professor of Human Development and Family Studies at Pennsylvania State University. Her research examines positive and negative emotions in lifelong relationships, including mother-daughter ties, grandparent-grandchild relationships, and friendships. She recently received the Springer Award for Early Career Achievement in Research on Adult Development and Aging from Division 20 of the American Psychological Association. She teaches courses in life span development, adult development, and social gerontology. Susan Krauss Whitbourne is a professor of Psychology at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst; Coordinator of the Office of National Scholarship Advisement in Commonwealth College; the faculty adviser to the Psi Chi Chapter; and Coordinator of the Honors Program in Psychology. She conducts research on identity in adulthood and old age and its relation to physical functioning. A former president of Division 20 of the American Psychological Association, she is currently serving as Division 20 Council Representative. She has written 10 books and nearly 100 articles and chapters on the topic of aging and adult development and is active in teaching introductory psychology as well as courses on aging.

BackgroundUnited States Renal Data System (USRDS) data from 2014 show that African Americans (AA) are underrepresented in the home dialysis population, with 6.4% versus 9.2% utilization in the general populace. This racial disparity may be inaccurately ascribed to the nation as a whole if regional and inter-state variability exists. This investigation sought to examine home dialysis utilization by minority Medicare beneficiary populations across the US nationally, regionally, and by individual state.MethodsThe 2012 Medicare 100% Outpatient Standard Analytic File was used to identify all Medicare fee-for-service (FFS) patients, with state of residence and race, receiving an outpatient dialysis facility bill type. Peritoneal dialysis (PD) and home hemodialysis (HHD) patients were identified using revenue and condition codes and were defined by having at least one claim during the year that met criteria for the category. Beneficiaries were counted once for each modality used that year. A home dialysis utilization ratio (UR) was calculated as the ratio of the proportion of a minority on PD or HHD within a geographic division to the proportion of Caucasians on PD or HHD within the same geographic division. A UR less than 1.00 indicated under-representation while a UR over 1.00 indicated over-representation. Utilization ratios were compared using a Poisson regression model.ResultsA total of 369,164 Medicare FFS dialysis patients were identified. Within the total cohort, AA were the most underrepresented minority on PD (UR 0.586; 95% confidence interval [CI]: 0.585 – 0.586; p < 0.0001), followed by Hispanics (UR 0.744; 95% CI 0.743 – 0.744; p < 0.0001). The underutilization of PD by AA and Hispanics could not be ascribed to any region of the US, as all regions of the US had UR < 1.00. Only Massachusetts had a UR > 1.00 for AA on PD. Peritoneal dialysis UR values for Asians and those self-identified as Other were 0.954; 95% CI 0.953 – 0.954 and 0.932; 95% CI 0.931 – 0.932, respectively. Nationally, all minorities utilized HHD less than Caucasians. However, more variability existed, with Asians utilizing more HHD than Caucasians in the Midwest.ConclusionsAlthough regional and interstate variability exists, there is near universal under-representation of AA and Hispanics in the home dialysis population, while Asians and Other demonstrate more interregional and interstate variability.

The purpose of this study was to examine the professional contributions of Alice Carey Inskeep (1875-1942), who contributed significantly to music education through her positive and effective teaching, supervising, community service, and leadership in music education. Inskeep was born in Ottumwa, Iowa, and taught for five years in that city's school system after graduating from high school. She served as music supervisor in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, for most of the remainder of her career, where she provided progressive leadership to the schools and community. She was one of three people appointed to plan the initial meeting in Keokuk, Iowa, for what eventually became MENC: The National Association for Music Education, and she was one of sixty-nine founding members of the organization in 1907. The Keokuk meeting served as an impetus for Inskeep to travel to Chicago, where she studied with several notable music educators. Later, she sat on the organization's nominating committee, the first Educational Council (precursor to the Music Education Research Council) board of directors, and provided leadership to two of the organization's affiliates, the North Central Division and the Iowa Music Educators Association. She served as a part-time or summer faculty member at Iowa State Normal School and Coe College in Cedar Falls and Cedar Rapids, Iowa, respectively, and the American Institute of Normal Methods in Evanston, Illinois, and Auburndale, Massachusetts.

Dr. Loran B. Smith passed away in Topeka, Kansas, on July 24, 2009. He was born on July 23, 1946. He was the son of Gordon T and Edith A (Hibbard) Smith of Medford, Massachusetts. Loran received his bachelors degree at Salem State College (Massachusetts) in 1968, a masters from Oklahoma State in 1971, and then taught at Black Hills State (Spearfish, South Dakota) from 1971–1974 and Augustana College in Souix Falls from 1974–1977. He received his Ph.D. from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln in 1980 and taught at Missouri Southern State College in Joplin until 1982. He then came to Washburn University of Topeka, where he taught until his death. While “Doc” Smith (as the students referred to him) published sufficiently enough to be awarded tenure and promotion to professor, that was not his forte. Loran was a gifted teacher. His CV lists 23 teaching awards, including Washburn's Faculty Certificate of Merit, a university-wide teaching honor based on student elections, from 1985–1998. Loran was also extremely active in faculty governance and other service to the university and the Topeka community. He was on the university's faculty governing body from 1996–2006, serving as its vice president in 2002 and president from 2003–2005. He was the chairman of the Social Science Division almost all of the 1990s and he also served as the chairman of the college's curriculum committee during that same time span. As Washburn is an open-admission university, we have retention problems not experienced by most universities. Loran researched, organized, and ran a college experience program for at-risk students. He was very active in ASPA, serving as the Kansas chapter president from 1987–1988, indeed, his auto license plate read “KS ASPA” and was purchased for him by students he had recruited into ASPA. Loran's main area of academic interest was state and local government and he was the election night expert for one of the local TV stations here in the capital of Kansas from 1984–1992. What occupied most of his time and energy outside of his official academic duties was serving as the faculty advisor for a local chapter of the Sigma Phi Epsilon fraternity. Doc Smith took what was a typical college fraternity and turned it into a modern association of men that consistently had the highest average GPA of all the fraternities and sororities on campus. It was not unusual for Loran to pay for a student's tuition and fraternity house bill, buy students books, and lend money to a needy student. Loran had a reputation for frugality (his apartment had a TV but no cable, a rotary phone, and he rented all of his furniture and appliances). Loran's tightness with money turned out to be a big benefit for the fraternity. One chapter official put it this way, “Through his notorious tight-fisted watch over finances, the Chapter was able to wipe out a significant debt to the National Housing Corporation ahead of schedule and helped the chapter build a significant savings by 2000.” People who knew Loran thought that he was not married but Loran was married to his job. Not only was Loran in his office nearly every evening until 10:00 p.m., but he was there all day Saturday and Sunday too, and, more often than not, there was a student in that office talking with him.

Twenty-years ago groups from California to Massachusetts were actively involved in the development of an artificial heart. From biomaterials development to biomedical power sources, the supporting industry and spin-off benefit was broad indeed. Young people were seeking careers in biomedical engineering and science. The National Institutes of Health was supporting artificial heart research at $10 to $12 million dollar levels. Groups at Andros, Inc. (now Baxter Novacor) and Stanford, Thoratec, Penn State and the Hershey Medical Center, Cleveland Clinic and the Division of Artificial Organs, the University of Utah, the Texas Heart Institute and the Baylor College of Medicine, Thermal Electron Corporation, and many more were the source of research and breakthrough development of pumps and systems for artificial hearts. We reported on performance criteria for an artificial heart pump at the First Biomechanics Symposium in 1973 [1]. By the beginning of the decade of the 90’s, thousands of presentations had been made and manuscripts written reporting significant progress in the development of artificial heart pumps and systems. The Heart, Lung and Blood Institute of the National Institutes of Health was supporting an artificial heart contract research and development program at a level of $6 million dollars in 1991 [2]. Broad basic research grant activity also continues. The National Institutes of Health’s artificial heart program received renewed support from the Institute of Medicine’s special review in 1991 [3]. In December of 1992, the 16th Annual Cardiovascular Science and Technology Conference attracted over 500 attendees. This annual conference has provided a continuing forum for an update on progress in artificial heart development.

4059 Background: Regionalization has been proposed for high-level care, including multidisciplinary cancer treatment and complex procedures. Pancreatic resections can serve as a marker for both. Using Massachusetts Division of Health Care Finance and Policy (DHCFP) data, we investigated regionalization of surgery for pancreatic cancer (PCa), its potential effect on perioperative outcomes, and disparities in access to high-volume PCa surgery centers. Methods: Using MA DHCFP Hospital Inpatient Discharge Data, 2005-2009, 10,524 discharges for PCa were identified, of which 746 were associated with pancreatic resection. Discharges with missing or out-of-state residence were excluded (n=704). Using geodetic methods and ZIP codes, center-to-center distances were calculated between patient (pt) and treating hospital. Median ZIP income was estimated from 2009 census data. High volume hospitals (4 of 25 performing pancreatic resections in MA) were defined using Leapfrog Criteria (> 11 per year (87th percentile for MA). Chi-square and logistic regression analyses were performed using SAS software. Results: Median age was 65. Pts were predominantly White (87.2%), with median ZIP income of $54,677. Pts travelled in-state up to 112 miles (median 15.4), with the majority resected at high volume hospitals (76%). Median length of stay (LOS) was 8.0 days, with LOS>1 week associated with low volume hospitals (p=0.0002). Of 14 in-hospital deaths, 7 were at low volume hospitals (4.14% of 169 pts) compared to 7 at high volume hospitals (1.31% of 535 pts) (p=0.0214). Predictors of shorter travel distance were: Black race (OR 4.45 (95% CI 1.66-11.93)), operation at low volume hospital (OR 2.62 (95% CI 1.81-3.77), and increased age (per year) (OR 1.02 (95% CI 1.00-1.03), but not sex or median income. Conclusions: Using MA statewide discharge data, regionalization of pancreatic cancer surgery to high-volume, better-outcome centers is seen to be occurring. However, it is not uniform, and disparities exist between groups of cancer pts that do and do not travel for their care. In the current era of scrutiny on cost, quality, and access to cancer care, further study into predictors of pts receiving optimal care is warranted.

Abstract The polyploid giant cancer cell (PGCC) state is a common response of cancer cells to various stressors including chemotherapy, irradiation, hypoxia and viral infection. Upon stress, PGCCs adopt an endoreplication in which the genome replicates, mitosis is omitted, and cells grow in size, causing drug resistance. How accessible endoreplication is to a cell, therefore, directly translates to its resistance to therapy. In this study, we hypothesized that endoreplication and PGCC state are more accessible to cancer cells that already have a higher ploidy content prior to therapy. To test this hypothesis, we developed a comprehensive three-tier framework consisting of i) computational, ii) in-vitro and iii) in silico components. First, we designed a set of ordinary differential equations (ODEs) to mathematically model how cells enter and exit the PGCC state in response to a given stressor. We engineered how this in silico approach interacts with in vitro experiments into a broadly applicable software solution called CLONEID. The software uses computer vision to monitor phenotypic changes in cell and nuclear size from standard bright-field microscopy and classify cells into PGCC and non-PGCC states. We used CLONEID to test various therapeutic agents for their ability to select for a stable near-tetraploid (4N) population in a set of near-diploid (2N) cell lines. Through spontaneous cell fusions, we also obtained tetraploid breast cancer cells matched with their parental lines. Altogether, this framework enabled us to i) monitor the PGCC state experimentally in ii) two sets of matched isogenic cell lines with 2N and 4N DNA content to iii) model the successful entry and exit rates to and from the endoreplication state, respectively. As the first application of this framework, we tested the ability of our 2N and 4N TNBC lines (SUM159 and MDA-MB-231) to access the PGCC state upon treatment with 18 chemotherapy agents. Among those drugs, we observed that only gemcitabine caused continued cell growth without cell division in both tetraploid SUM159 and MDA-MB-231 cells whereas near-diploid parental lines were hypersensitive to the treatment. Consequently, tetraploid cancer cells continued to safely grow in the presence of gemcitabine. Furthermore, these PGCCs re-entered the proliferative cell cycle and grew in cell number when treatment is terminated. Gemcitabine-based chemotherapy is a standard treatment for patients with TNBC although its efficacy is limited mainly due to drug resistance. We expect our findings and three-component framework strategy to help stratify the TNBC patient population by their response to gemcitabine. In addition, our mathematical modelling approach has the promising potential to inform personalized dose optimization and to effectively decrease administered gemcitabine dose for a subset of patients, which would alleviate severe therapy-associated side effects and co-morbidities. Citation Format: Vural Tagal, Jackson Cole, Daria Miroshnychenko, Andriy Marusyk, Noemi Andor. Ploidy as a predictive biomarker for gemcitabine sensitivity in triple-negative breast cancers [abstract]. In: Proceedings of the AACR Special Conference in Cancer Research: Translating Cancer Evolution and Data Science: The Next Frontier; 2023 Dec 3-6; Boston, Massachusetts. Philadelphia (PA): AACR; Cancer Res 2024;84(3 Suppl_2):Abstract nr A024.

Abstract The purpose of this work is to better understand how the rate of phenotypic adaptation of cells in a tumor affects its ability to survive treatment. Drug resistance is an ongoing problem for maintaining a sustained response in treating advanced cancers. Regardless of their lineage, heritable phenotypic adaptions may be beneficial for the tumor to survive stepwise changes in the environment during tumor growth. There may be further benefit for cells to develop the trait of being adaptable - to respond to large shifts in the microenvironment, survive metastasis to a new organ, and thrive when treatments are applied. Genomic instability and phenotypic redundancy may aid in adaptations, but there may be limits. With too much mutation and deviation from the parental phenotype, cells lose important regulatory and maintenance functions necessary to survive. So is there an optimal rate of evolvability? We use an off-lattice agent-based model to investigate how the rate of change through phenotypic trait space affects tumor growth and response to treatment. We assign cells with different combinations of proliferation rates and migration speeds and test how the variance from the parental cell on division affects the selection of trait combinations over time. During growth, heterogeneity is gained quickly and space matters less if evolvability is forced to continually increase, but there is more selection for proliferative phenotypes and slower evolvability if its rate is allowed to drift freely. We found that tradeoffs generally imposed a greater selection force leading to faster recurrence and the coexistence of proliferation or migration specialists. We compared responses to continuous, intermittent, and adaptive treatment schedules of an anti-proliferative drug. At some point with treatment, there is an optimal evolvability, as larger increases in diversity allows for cells to fall back into a sensitive state and be killed by treatment. We aim to design better treatment strategies that work for tumors with different levels of evolvability by understanding how the rate of tumor evolution affects growth and treatment response. Citation Format: Jill A. Gallaher, Maximilian Strobl, Jeffrey West, Mark Roberston-Tessi, Alexander R. A. Anderson. Evolution of evolvability [abstract]. In: Proceedings of the AACR Special Conference in Cancer Research: Translating Cancer Evolution and Data Science: The Next Frontier; 2023 Dec 3-6; Boston, Massachusetts. Philadelphia (PA): AACR; Cancer Res 2024;84(3 Suppl_2):Abstract nr PR006.

Abstract Cancer is the proliferation of a genetic clone at the expense of its neighbours and normal tissue function. Studies have shown that with ageing, normal tissues become colonised by expanding clones, which acquired fitness-enhancing mutations that allow them to over-proliferate relative to their neighbours. However, whether the clones’ founding cell also carries an epigenome that is inherited by the expanding clone is incompletely understood. In the following study, we performed multi-omic profiling of human hematopoietic stem cells (HSCs) to establish the role of epigenetic heritability through time in health and disease. We sequenced whole genomes and methylomes of single human HSCs from three healthy individuals and several individuals diagnosed with myeloproliferative neoplasm or chronic myeloid leukaemia. Based on the patterns of shared and sample-specific somatic mutations, we built phylogenies of HSCs for each individual. To establish whether loss or gain of methylation, both partial and complete, was heritable, we developed a method which analyses read counts at a CpG site across cells together with their phylogeny. Our model assumes CpG sites are in one of three states (i.e. they are 0%, 50% or 100% methylated, as measured by the number of methylated reads divided by number of total reads at a site), methylation states are inherited during cell division and a cell’s state can spontaneously transition to any of the other two. Our method finds sites, which follow these assumptions, and proposes the most likely zygotic starting state and identifies phylogeny’s branches, which underwent a change, to produce the observed methylation profile of cells at a CpG site. We analysed approximately 25 million CpG sites per individual, and we find that the majority of sites exhibit heritability of methylation states with the aforementioned properties. The method allows us to accurately time when methylation changes occurred as the branches of a phylogeny can be linked to a developmental period, thus disentangling their evolutionary history. Applying the method across millions of CpG sites and thousands of single cells from these individuals, we found the rates of methylation change is several folds higher than the rate of somatic mutations and that methylation changes are stochastic and allele-specific. Moreover, we observe that these changes are remarkably stable as we found that hundreds of such changes are acquired between the time of X-chromosome inactivation and germ layer formation and are stably inherited until old age. In addition, we find that some of these changes precede the neoplasm’s clone, which suggests they might play a role in function. By comparing normal healthy individuals of different ages with cancer patients, we are able to unravel the process of normal ageing from disease development. Citation Format: Lori D. Kregar, Nicholas Williams, Joe Lee, Jyoti Nangalia, Peter Campbell. Properties of somatic methylation changes in human hematopoietic stem cells in health and disease [abstract]. In: Proceedings of the AACR Special Conference in Cancer Research: Translating Cancer Evolution and Data Science: The Next Frontier; 2023 Dec 3-6; Boston, Massachusetts. Philadelphia (PA): AACR; Cancer Res 2024;84(3 Suppl_2):Abstract nr PR017.

AbstractHow do economic and social position structure partisan affiliation? While neo-Durkheimian treatments of class and political behavior suggest the potential for extreme variability in the social bases of partisan affiliation, data limitations have largely restricted quantitative studies of this relationship to the postwar era. This temporal limitation restricts variation in observable social structure, thus limiting the ability of analysts to assess theoretical explanations. To address this gap, I introduce novel data on occupation and ethnicity for more than 20,000 Massachusetts state legislators in the nineteenth century. This allows me to find the “best fit” model for the social bases of party affiliation in four distinct periods in Massachusetts’ political history. I show that the Massachusetts political system transitioned from a system of occupational cleavages to proto-class cleavages between the First Party System (1795–1826) and Second Party System (1835–54). The Civil War and Reconstruction Era (1855–77) was characterized by the emergence of an ethnic cleavage, but near-modern class divisions emerged as the strongest predictors of legislators’ party affiliations for the remainder of the Third Party System (1878–93). Combined with historiographical accounts of the nineteenth century, these analyses suggest that the emergence of class politics requires intermediary organizations such as unions and professional associations, the liberalization of economic laws and regulation, and the increasingly unequal distribution of productive property.

Abstract Throughout melanoma progression and immunotherapy treatment, melanoma cells often develop an ability to evade the immune system. Thus, there is a pressing need to identify and target the melanoma cell-intrinsic mechanisms underlying immune evasion. Our laboratory has pioneered the identification of transcriptional pathways that underlie melanoma progression. We have found that within even clonal melanoma cell populations, subclones of cells demonstrate tremendous heterogeneity in their transcriptional state. We previously demonstrated that these varying transcriptional states correspond to varying sensitivities of melanoma cells to stressors such as targeted therapies, and that these states can be stable across multiple cell divisions. We hypothesize that varying transcriptional states also correspond to cells that have differing abilities to evade CD8+ T cells, which are major effector cells against melanoma. To study the interactions between melanoma cells and CD8+ T cells, we engineered an ovalbumin antigen and OT-I T cell receptor system using mouse melanoma cell lines. We combined this system with DNA barcoding, which enables us to track subclones of cells undergoing immune selection. When cocultured together in vitro, ovalbumin-expressing melanoma cells are effectively killed by OT-I cells. However, we find that subclones of melanoma cells consistently possess different sensitivity to OT-I cells, and these differences are not due to their genetic background nor their ability to express and present ovalbumin. We then leveraged our DNA barcoding system with single cell RNA sequencing (scRNA-seq) to link the lineage and transcriptional state of single melanoma cells that persist through OT-I coculture. By expanding on these preliminary results, we aim to identify novel melanoma cell targets to decrease immune evasion. Citation Format: Raymond W.S. Ng, Sydney M Shaffer. The role of tumor transcriptional variability in evading acute CD8+ T cell exposure in melanoma [abstract]. In: Proceedings of the AACR Special Conference in Cancer Research: Translating Cancer Evolution and Data Science: The Next Frontier; 2023 Dec 3-6; Boston, Massachusetts. Philadelphia (PA): AACR; Cancer Res 2024;84(3 Suppl_2):Abstract nr A019.

This study aims to determine the effectiveness of using mind mapping method in improving early childhood educator’s skill in mastering the child development assessment. This research is quasi-experimental using a pre-test and post-test design. The population was the entire classes of early childhood education training held by LPK Yayasan Indonesia Mendidik Jaka Sampurna at Cileungsi, Bogor. The participants were 45 early childhood educators. This study used three research methods which are implemented from learning methods in child development assessment was as pre-test and post-test. Data were collected by using two instruments to measure early childhood educators for child development assessment. The data were analysed by using t-test to measures the differences data in pre-test and post-test. The results showed that the use of mind mapping methods can help early childhood educators to improve their mastery of the development assessment concept which averages 51.9 percent. It showed significant results with ttest value is 18,266 (N = 10, α = 0,0). This capacity building is reinforced by various qualitative findings which arise from early childhood educators’ awareness to change the old learning style into learning by mind mapping method as a learning method that follows how the brain works. This study also found that early childhood educators as adults who are in the stage of formal thinking have shown an understanding that mind mapping method are appropriate, fast, easy and practical in mastering various development assessment concepts. Early childhood educators believe that they can use the method for mastering other material concepts. Keywords: Assessment, Brain-based teaching, Mind mapping References Anthony, J. N. (2001). Educational Assesment of Student. New Jersey: Merril Prentice Hall. Armstrong, T. (2009). Multiples Intelligences in the Classroom. Virginia: SCD. Bagnato, S. J. (2007). Authentic Assessment for Early Childhood Intervention. 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BackgroundFor cities aiming to create a useful surveillance system for bicycle injuries, a common challenge is that city crash reporting is scattered, faulty or non-existent. We document some of the lessons we learnt in helping the city of Boston, Massachusetts, USA, do the following: (1) Create a prototype for a comprehensive police crash data set (2) Produce the city’s first cyclist safety report, (3) Make crash data available to the public and (4) Generate policy recommendations for both specific roadside improvements and for sustainable changes to the police department’s crash reporting database.MethodsWe provided research and technical assistance to government partners to generate the report and used participant-observation field notes to generate the list of learnt lessons.ResultsAfter the release of the report, the city implemented immediate activities aimed at making an effort to prevent injuries, including: (1) Furnishing over 1800 taxis with stickers to prevent ‘dooring,’ (2) Adding pavement markings at trolley tracks to decrease the likelihood that cyclists would fall from getting their wheels lodged in the tracks, (3) Conducting targeted enforcement of traffic laws and (4) Working directly with state and federal agencies to fund a more comprehensive surveillance system. As of January of 2017, nearly 4 years after its public release, 19 170 users have viewed the crash data set 23 247 times. Some of the lessons include finding and using committed champions, prioritising the use of existing data, creating opportunities to bridge divisions between stakeholders, partnering with local universities for assistance with advanced analytics and using deliverables, such as a cyclist safety report, to advocate for sustainability.ConclusionProviding an initial report on bicycle crashes in Boston served to identify specific problems, showed the value of a data system, and provided a blueprint for an improved data system. Building a useful surveillance system depends in no small part on the wise use of advocacy, group dynamics, and politics. Our hope is that the lessons learnt from our experience in Boston can help others do even better.

Abstract Recent breakthroughs in phylogenetic analysis of bulk tissue have allowed researchers to reconstruct the evolutionary histories of tumours. The hope is that knowledge of the order and timing of genetic mutations will allow us to characterise the properties of early-stage cancer cells, to better identify and target them. This is complicated by the phenomenon of tumour plasticity, the ability of cells to acquire the hallmarks of cancer via mechanisms other than heritable genetic mutation. In a tumour with only genetic heritability, changes in cell phenotype would occur only as a result of genetic mutations. By contrast, non-genetic heritability could lead to a disconnect between genotype and phenotype. Whilst both mechanisms are likely to impact on cancer development, we ask whether one has a significantly stronger influence than the other by simulating tumour growth under each regime and comparing the distribution of mutations obtained in either case to patient data. Here, we address this question in a real patient cohort by adapting a mathematical model of lung tumour evolution, which we use to test the validity of two scenarios. In a ‘low-plasticity’ scenario, changes to reproductive fitness occur when cells acquire mutations in the exome. Mutations may be ‘drivers’ (beneficial) or ‘passengers’ (deleterious or neutral). In a ‘high-plasticity’ scenario, mutations have no effect on cell fitness. Cells experience ‘driver-like’ or ‘passenger-like’ cell fitness changes on division, without leaving a genetic mark. The model describes three-dimensional growth of a tumour from a single cell and incorporates biologically-informed death patterns and local competition for space and resources. When the simulation has reached a realistic size, cells on the surface are sampled and sequenced to predict the relatedness of mutations present at detectable frequencies in each of several regions. The outputs are designed to allow comparison with those of the TRACERx cohort of 421 non-small- cell lung cancer patients (NSCLC), comprising multi-region whole-exome (WXS) and bulk RNA sequencing. In this ongoing work, we show results from a large cohort of simulations under both scenarios and predict corresponding patterns of genetic similarity. This allows us to use approximate Bayesian computation (ABC) to predict the mechanisms at play in the TRACERx cohort of 421 non-small-cell lung cancer patients (NSCLC). We present a novel ‘meta-inference’ approach, where evolutionary parameters are fit to each patient’s data using well-chosen summary statistics. Given the size of the TRACERx cohort, this enables the evaluation of each scenario by examining the plausibility and similarity of output parameters obtained across patients. We hope that this work will shed light on the role of heritability in lung cancer development and guide future research into therapeutic approaches. Citation Format: Helena M. K. Coggan, Carlos Martínez-Ruiz, James R. M. Black, Kristiana Grigoriadis, Nicholas McGranahan, Jasmin Fisher. An agent-based modelling framework to study cell plasticity in non-small cell lung cancer [abstract]. In: Proceedings of the AACR Special Conference in Cancer Research: Translating Cancer Evolution and Data Science: The Next Frontier; 2023 Dec 3-6; Boston, Massachusetts. Philadelphia (PA): AACR; Cancer Res 2024;84(3 Suppl_2):Abstract nr PR013.

AbstractThe abortion access landscape for patients has changed dramatically in the wake of the US Supreme Court Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization decision in June of 2022. In response, the Division of Midwifery at Baystate Medical Center in Springfield, Massachusetts, began a medication abortion service for both established patients and those who may seek care from out of state. This service increases access to abortion care now while also providing the clinical experience needed for student nurse‐midwives to become future abortion providers. This article outlines the steps taken to implement a medication abortion service and ways it can be adopted by other midwifery practices. Strategies to address possible clinical, administrative, and logistical challenges are addressed. Finally, this article is a call to action because midwives are well qualified to provide high quality, safe, and comprehensive medication abortion within the midwifery model of care.

ABSTRACTGreen's functions are powerful mathematical tools with strong pedagogical value providing not only solutions to difficult problems but also visualization for understanding phenomena. The majority of upper division engineering and materials science students receive very little exposure to Green's functions and the boundary element method. The Green's Functions Research and Education Enhancement Network (GREEN) Digital Library which the authors are developing will, therefore, play an important role in undergraduate and graduate education. The National Science Foundation has launched the National Science, Mathematics, Engineering, and Technology Education Digital Library (NSDL) program to stimulate and sustain continual improvements in the quality of science, mathematics, engineering, and technology education. The NSDL Program is a major digital library initiative and the GREEN Digital Library is a collaboration of the Center for Theoretical and Computational Materials Science of the Materials Science and Engineering Laboratory at the National Institute of Standards and Technology, Kent State University, and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. This paper describes the primary components of the GREEN Digital Library, an organized collection of educational materials integrating research, education, and application of Green's functions to serve undergraduate and graduate communities:1. Problem Bank: A bank of available “real-world” problems, introduced by industrial participants.2. Code Bank: Working code for solved Green's functions routines.3. Archive: A list of citations to relevant literature, and published / unpublished works subject to copyright restrictions, with links elsewhere for additional information.4. Teaching Bank: A collection of lecture / course notes from existing university courses, as well as providing a forum for discussion of approaches to teaching this material.

Photo 3701647 © Jeremy Swinborne | Dreamstime.com INTRODUCTION Among the many unclear issues as interpretations of Employment Division v. Smith arise in the context of vaccination mandates is a simple question: Does any exception to a law at all (whether for a group or an individual) render a law not “generally applicable and religion-neutral” in the eyes of the current Supreme Court? I. Background Prior to Employment Division v. Smith,[i] Sherbert v. Verner[ii] set forth the free exercise test which called for strict scrutiny requiring a compelling state interest and the use of the least restrictive means to achieve the state interest when a law poses a substantial burden to the exercise of religion. Sherbert had a broad holding that prior to Smith applied to laws whether neutral on their face or not, and whether the asserted discrimination was intentional or not. One issue with Sherbert was that judges were not especially adept at judging the sincerity of beliefs and the importance of religious rituals to individuals, making it difficult to determine whether a law imposed a “substantial burden” on the practice of a religion. Employment Division v. Smith holds that laws that are generally applicable and religion-neutral need not be justified by a compelling government interest even if they do have the effect of (unintentionally) burdening a religious practice.[iii] Smith, decided in 1990, altered and narrowed judicial discretion in evaluating neutral laws that may impede the free exercise of religion. Justice Scalia aligned free exercise with other First Amendment rights.[iv] He also alleviated the need for judges to determine the burden on and the sincerity of religious beliefs in instances of neutral laws. “Smith therefore diminished judicial power to grant religious citizens exemptions from their civic obligations...”[v] Yet a carveout was maintained for laws that have a “mechanism for individualized discretion”; strict scrutiny still applies to those. Lukumi[vi] (1993) reaffirmed yet distinguished Smith. In Lukumi, the law in question was adopted to ensure that a religious group would be rendered unable to sacrifice animals. The law had numerous exemptions (clearly people may kill animals for many non-essential reasons like hunting and fishing for sport, etc.) and the lawmakers seemed to have the intent of interfering with animal sacrifice. It was not considered generally applicable on various grounds and the Lukumi Court states, “As we noted in Smith, in circumstances in which individualized exemptions from a general requirement are available, the government "may not refuse to extend that system to cases of 'religious hardship' without compelling reason." Ibid., quoting Bowen v. Roy, 476 U. S., at 708 (opinion of Burger, C. J.).”[vii] In Lukumi, arguably there were so many exceptions, the rule was clearly targeting religious sacrifices. The Court applied strict scrutiny and the law was deemed unconstitutional. II. The Current Supreme Court and Laws Outside of Smith The current and recent cases indicate that some justices on the Supreme Court assert that the caselaw supports religious exemptions to a broad array of laws. Two arguments support this result: either a limited interpretation of “generally applicable and neutral” or a slightly different tactic which argues that any laws with individual exceptions call for strict scrutiny. (One argument is that those which allow exceptions are not generally applicable and neutral, and thus fall outside of Smith and they require strict scrutiny;[viii] the other is that a law can be generally applicable and neutral, but if it has a system for exceptions, then it is subject to strict scrutiny.[ix]) In John Does 1-3 v. Mills, the Supreme Court denied an injunction on October 29, 2021. The case concerns Maine’s vaccine mandate and will be heard on the merits. Gorsuch dissented from the denial of injunctive relief. He applied Smith, Lukumi, and Fulton v. Philadelphia[x] saying that because there is a medical exemption, the law is not “generally applicable”[xi] and strict scrutiny will apply. Thomas and Alito joined Gorsuch. The Gorsuch dissent also implies that the Maine medical exemption may be somewhat bogus saying Maine finds the “mere trepidation over vaccination as sufficient” if it is expressed in medical rather than religious terms.[xii] Justice Barrett, joined by Kavanaugh, concurred in the denial of the injunction, but clarified that her reasoning was a wish to avoid giving a “merits preview” by enjoining the law, based on the applicants’ likelihood of success, noting the case is “the first to address the questions presented.”[xiii] III. Do Medical Exemptions Negate the Possibility of a Neutral and Generally Applicable Law? Are they a de facto “mechanism for individual exemption”? To me, it seems that under the current law, a medical exemption could make the absence of a religious exemption more problematic. The big issue now is whether Barrett and Kavanaugh and any (even all) other justices are likely to find the medical exemption is a “mechanism for individual exemptions” or whether it otherwise more simply makes a law not neutral or generally applicable. In previous recent COVID-19 cases, the argument of emergency authority was prominent. Caselaw regarding emergency use of governmental powers trumped some constitutional arguments and led to disparate COVID-19 caselaw.[xiv] For example, some courts applied Jacobson v. Massachusetts,[xv] giving deference to public health authorities while others applied strict scrutiny.[xvi] At the Supreme Court level, Justices Sotomayor, Kagan, and Breyer have been more willing to analyze COVID-19 regulations according to emergency powers.[xvii] a. In Favor of the Gorsuch Reasoning The Gorsuch dissent will require the state to offer proof of some rationale for why a medical exemption would be more acceptable, less dangerous, etc. than a religious one. Because there is a medical exemption, the causal nexus between the state’s goals and the restrictions will matter. For example, in Fraternal Order of Police v. Newark, a requirement that police be clean shaven was invalidated because there was a medical exception.[xviii] The problem with the rule was that the government interest in uniformity was not violated any more or less whether the person was noncompliant due to medical as opposed to religious reasons. Gorsuch correctly applied similar reasoning arguing that those not in compliance with the Maine vaccine mandate due to religious exemptions posed no more danger than those noncompliant due to medical conditions.[xix] An opposing side might argue that by the numbers, and without a need for a doctor’s signature, more people would apply for and receive religious exemptions, thus harming the ability to reach herd immunity more, or posing more risk of community spread. b. But, on the other hand There are many laws with medical exemptions. It would not seem right that they be subject to strict scrutiny for failing to offer religious outs as well. For example, places without motorized vehicles could allow motorized wheelchairs. Indeed, the ADA may even call for special treatment in many circumstances where religious special treatment would not be granted. Disability law often requires variances, changing zoning to allow ramps, or other accommodations.[xx] It does not appear that every disability accommodation equates to a need to allow a corresponding religious accommodation, nor that strict scrutiny would apply. Zoning cases are common where churches seek exceptions from historical landmark regulations and the results of those cases vary.[xxi] One of the biggest vulnerabilities of the Smith ruling is that arguably all laws have an individualized enforcement aspect. While it may not be an official exemption or a “mechanism for individual exemption”, individuals have the ability to use courts to challenge laws, there are laws that rely on wishy washy terms, like “good cause”, and there are groups whose failure to comply with laws may be traditionally ignored. In each of those scenarios, those seeking religious exemptions may have a stronger case, and eventually may chip away at Smith. c. Would a Different Built-In Exemption Preclude Application of Smith? Application of Smith may depend on whether the exemption is discretionary or built in. For example, if an exemption said anyone may apply for an exemption with good cause, religious ones should be fairly and equally considered. If an exemption reads anyone with an autoimmune disease is exempt, the class of people exempt would be delineated (unlike the Maine language) rather than discretionary as with the open-ended medical exemption language of the Maine statute. In the case of a class-like exemption, the argument that the law is neutral and generally applicable would be stronger. Smith was not really meant to declare that laws with any categories would be vulnerable to free exercise challenges. Similarly, objective criteria in providing exemptions differs. When criteria for exemptions are made clear, the religious argument could be weaker. However, the Gorsuch argument that in the end the religious objector poses no more danger to others than the medical (or other maybe conscientious, financial, or physical) objector may be the winning argument. IV. Side Note: Another Consideration for Neutral Laws In Roman Catholic Diocese of New York, Justice Kavanaugh created a peer group limitation in applying Smith. Kavanaugh found that a law that limited gatherings at religious services was not neutral. The law had various categories of entity.[xxii] An interesting twist is that other entities similar to churches in objective concrete ways (like theaters) were closed altogether, so arguably religion was favored over those, but disfavored compared to essential businesses (like food stores). The orange and red zones in the challenged Cuomo Executive Order did have specific rules for places of worship. Gorsuch referred to Lukumi in his concurrence and went directly to strict scrutiny without sincerely entertaining the concept that the Executive Order was a neutral and generally applicable law. That is in keeping with his dissent in Does 1-3 v. Mills. Yet, it remains possible to argue that laws with objective, defined categories may still be neutral and generally applicable. V. Time to Abandon Jacobson at this Juncture of COVID-19 Jacobson applies in public health emergencies and, while in recent Supreme Court cases, many justices rightly pointed to the emergency as a reason to compromise important rights, the emergency aspect of the pandemic is waning. In many areas, the positive rate is quite low, businesses are returning to normal, and the vaccination rate is high. As such, the abandonment of strict scrutiny in favor of Jacobson’s emergency deference to public health entities, something Gorsuch failed to entertain in South Bay Pentecostal Church v. Newsom[xxiii] anyway, is arguably no longer warranted. Deference to the state and to experts must be limited to emergencies. Justices Kagan, Breyer, and Sotomayor who rightly cautioned against “armchair epidemiology”[xxiv] during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic might return to stricter stances on protecting rights as the emergency dies down or becomes localized, and as increasing methods and treatments arise, like the COVID-19 pill by Merck. The calculus of whether we need strict COVID-19 regulations is dynamic. This is not a static emergency with powers to be left in place unconditionally. CONCLUSION The argument that vaccination is a civic and moral obligation that people should engage in regardless of religious beliefs is stronger in an emergency. Whether deemed to include a “mechanism for individual exemptions” or just declared not neutral or generally applicable, laws offering any exceptions are more vulnerable to free exercise claims. Under the current Supreme Court composition, anticipating that laws may face strict scrutiny is wise—Smith is unlikely to shield seemingly neutral laws in the face of free exercise cases. That is not necessarily a bad outcome in a country that purports to allow religious freedom and can do so safely. Strict scrutiny is merely a protection that would ensure the public that laws are meaningful, achieve compelling purposes, and do so without unnecessarily impeding fundamental rights. Yet one bad outcome of a rule that says if there are medical exemptions so must there be religious ones is that lawmakers will write laws that are more absolute, rigid, and unyielding to legitimate claims. [i] 494 U.S. 872 (1990). https://supreme.justia.com/cases/federal/us/494/872/#tab-opinion-1958253 [ii] 374 U.S. 398 (1963). https://supreme.justia.com/cases/federal/us/374/398/#tab-opinion-1944463 [iii] Smith, at 879 (religion does not excuse people from compliance with neutral laws.) [iv] Kaplan, Carol M., “The Devil is in the Details: Neutral, Generally Applicable Laws and Exemptions from Smith,” New York University Law Review, October 2000. https://www.nyulawreview.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/NYULawReview-75-4-Kaplan.pdf [v] Kaplan, at 1053. [vi] Lukumi Babalu Aye, Inc. v. City of Hialeah 508 U.S. 520 (1993). https://supreme.justia.com/cases/federal/us/508/520/#tab-opinion-1959281 [vii] Lukumi, at 537. [viii] Keeler v. Mayor of Cumberland. 940 F. Supp. 879 (D. Md. 1996) https://law.justia.com/cases/federal/district-courts/FSupp/951/83/1381605/; Kaplan, at 1066. [ix] Kaplan, at 1062, citing Swanson v. Guthrie Indep. Sch. Dist., 135 F. Supp. 694 (10th Cir 1998). [x] Fulton v. Philadelphia, 593 U.S. __ (2021) [xi] Does 1-3 v. Mills, 595 U.S. ____(2021). Gorsuch, dissent, p. 2. https://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/21pdf/21a90_6j37.pdf [xii] Does 1-3 v. Mills, Gorsuch dissent, p. 3. [xiii] Does 1-3 v. Mills, Barret, concurring. https://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/21pdf/21a90_6j37.pdf [xiv] Zimmerman, A. “Weeding Out Disingenuous Emergency Orders: A Consistent Ethical Justification to Determine Whether to Apply Jacobson V. Massachusetts’ Deferential Approach or the Tiered Scrutiny That Would Apply Absent an Emergency”. 2021. Voices in Bioethics, vol. 7, May 2021, doi:10.7916/vib.v7i.8037. [xv] 197 US 11 (1905). [xvi] Zimmerman, A. 2021. doi:10.7916/vib.v7i.8037. [xvii] South Bay Pentecostal Church v. Newsom (2021), Kagan, dissenting, joined by Breyer and Sotomayor (Justices are “not scientists”.) [xviii] Kaplan, at 1079, citing Fraternal Order of Police v. City of Newark, 170 F. 3d 359 (3d Cir. 1999). [xix] Does 1-3 v. Mills, Gorsuch dissent, p. 4. [xx] https://www.ada.gov/comprob.htm [xxi] Keeler v. Mayor of Cumberland (provisions deemed individualized exemptions so religious deserve strict scrutiny and consideration); Rector of St. Bartholomew’s Church v. City of New York (2d Cir. 1990)(discretion does not negate Smith if it is not discriminatory so religious does not get strict scrutiny); see Kaplan at 1066. [xxii] Cuomo executive order established zones. https://esd.ny.gov/cluster-action-initiative-faq [xxiii] 592 US __ (2021). https://www.supremecourt.gov/opinions/20pdf/20a136_bq7c.pdf [xxiv] South Bay Pentecostal Church v. Newsom (2021) (dissent).

Cultural Studies has tended to prioritise the domain of leisure and consumption over work as an area for meaning making, in many ways defining everyday life in opposition to work. Greg Noble, a cultural researcher who examined work in the context of the early computerisation of Australian universities made the point that "discussions of everyday life often make the mistake of assuming that everyday life equates with home and family life, or leisure" (87). This article argues for the need within Cultural Studies to focus on work and media as a research area of everyday life. With the growth of flexible and creative labour and the widespread uptake of an array of new media technologies used for work, traditional ways to identify and measure the space and time of work have become increasingly flawed, with implications for how we account for work and negotiate its boundaries. New approaches are needed to address the complex media environments and technological practices that are an increasing part of contemporary working life. Cultural Studies can make a significant impact towards this research agenda by offering new ways to analyse the complex interrelations of space, time and technology in everyday work practice. To further this goal, a new material practices account of work termed Officing is introduced, developed through my doctoral research on professionals' daily use of information and communication technology (ICT). This approach builds on the key cultural concepts of "bricolage" and "appropriation" combined with the idea of "articulation work" proposed by Anselm Strauss, to support the analysis of the office workplace as a contingent and provisional arrangement or process. Officing has a number of benefits as a framework for analysing the nature of work in a highly mediated world. Highlighting the labour that goes into stabilising work platforms makes it possible to assess the claims of productivity and improved work-life balance brought about by new mobile media technologies; to identify previously unidentified sources of time pressure, overwork and intensification and ultimately, to contribute to the design of more sustainable work environments. The Turn Away from Work Work held a central position in social and cultural analysis in the first half of the twentieth century but as Strangleman observed, there was a marked shift away from the study of work from the mid 1970s (3.1). Much of the impulse for this shift came from critiques of the over-emphasis on relations of production and the workplace as the main source of meaning and value (5.1). In line with this position, feminist researchers challenged the traditional division of labour into paid and unpaid work, arguing that this division sustained the false perception of domestic work as non-productive (cf. Delphy; Folbre). Accompanying these critiques were significant changes in work itself, as traditional jobs literally began to disappear with the decline of manufacturing in industrialised countries (6.1). With the turn away from work in academia and the changes in the nature of work, attention shifted to the realm of the market and consumption. One of the important contributions of Cultural Studies has been the focus on the role of the consumer in driving social and technological change and processes of identity formation. Yet, it is a major problem that work is largely marginalised in cultural research of everyday life, especially since, in most industrialised nations, we are working in new ways, in rapidly changing conditions and more than ever before. Research shows that in Australia there has been a steady increase in the average hours of paid work and Australians are working harder (cf. Watson, Buchanan, Campbell and Briggs; Edwards and Wajcman). In the 2008 Australian Work and Life Index (AWALI) Skinner and Pocock found around 55 per cent of employees frequently felt rushed or pressed for time and this was associated with long working hours, work overload and an overall poor work–life interaction (8). These trends have coincided with long-term changes in the type and location of work. In Australia, like many other developed countries, information-based occupations have taken over manufacturing jobs and there has been an increase in part-time and casual work (cf. Watson et al.). Many employees now conduct work outside of the traditional workplace, with the ABS reporting that in 2008, 24 per cent of employees worked at least some hours at home. Many social analysts have explained the rise of casual and flexible labour as related to the transition to global capitalism driven by the expansion of networked information processes (cf. Castells; Van Dijk). This shift is not simply that more workers are producing ideas and information but that the previously separated spheres of production and consumption have blurred (cf. Ritzer and Jurgenson). With this, entirely new industries have sprung up, predicated on the often unpaid for creative labour of individuals, including users of media technologies. A growing chorus of writers are now pointing out that a fragmented, polarised and complex picture is emerging of this so-called "new economy", with significant implications for the quality of work (cf. Edwards and Wajcman; Fudge and Owens; Huws). Indeed, some claim that new conditions of insecure and poor quality employment or "precarious work" are fast becoming the norm. Moreover, this longer-term pattern runs parallel to the production of a multitude of new mobile media technologies, first taken up by professionals and then by the mainstream, challenging the notion that activities are bound to any particular place or time. Reinvigorating Work in Social and Cultural Analysis There are moves to reposition social and cultural analysis to respond to these various trends. Work-life balance is an example of a research and policy area that has emerged since the 1990s. The boundary between the household and the outside world has also been subject to scrutiny by cultural researchers, and these critically examine the intersection between work and consumption, gender and care (cf. Nippert-Eng; Sorenson and Lie; Noble and Lupton, "Consuming" and "Mine"; Lally). These responses are examples of a shift away from what Urry has dubbed "structures and stable organisations" to a concern with flows, movements and the blurring of boundaries between life spheres (5). In a similar vein, researchers recently have proposed alternative ways to describe the changing times and places of employment. In their study of UK professionals, Felstead, Jewson and Walters proposed a model of "plural workscapes" to explain a major shift in the spatial organisation of work (23). Mobility theorists Sheller and Urry have called for the need to "develop a more dynamic conceptualisation of the fluidities and mobilities that have increasingly hybridised the public and private" (113). All of this literature has reinforced a growing concern that in the face of new patterns of production and consumption and with the rise of complex media environments, traditional models and measures of space and time are inadequate to account for contemporary work. Analyses that rely on conventional measures of work based on hourly units clearly point to an increase in the volume of work, the speed of work and to the collision (cf. Pocock) of work and life but fall down in accounting for the complex and often contradictory role of technology. Media technologies are "Janus-faced" as Michael Arnold has suggested, referring to the two-faced Roman god to foreground the contradictory effects at the centre of all technologies (232). Wajcman notes this paradox in her research on mobile media and time, pointing out that mobile phones are just as likely to "save" time as to "consume" it (15). It was precisely this problematic of the complex interactions of the space, time and technology of work that was at stake in my research on the daily use of ICT by professional workers. In the context of changes to the location, activity and meaning of work, and with the multiplying array of old and new media technologies used by workers, how can the boundary and scope of work be determined? What are the implications of these shifting grounds for the experience and quality of work? Officing: A Material Practices Account of Office Work In the remaining article I introduce some of the key ideas and principles of a material practices account developed in my PhD, Officing: Professionals' Daily ICT Use and the Changing Space and Time of Work. This research took place between 2006 and 2007 focusing in-depth on the daily technology practices of twenty professional workers in a municipal council in Sydney and a unit of a global telecommunication company taking part in a trial of a new smart phone. Officing builds on efforts to develop a more accurate account of the space and time of work bringing into play the complex and highly mediated environment in which work takes place. It extends more recent practice-based, actor-network and cultural approaches that have, for some time, been moving towards a more co-constitutive and process-oriented approach to media and technology in society. Turning first to "bricolage" from the French bricole meaning something small and handmade, bricolage refers to the ways that individuals and groups borrow from existing cultural forms and meanings to create new uses, meanings and identities. Initially proposed by Levi-Strauss and then taken up by de Certeau, bricolage has been a useful concept within subculture and lifestyle studies to reveal the creative work performed on signs and meaning systems in forming cultural identities (cf. O'Sullivan et al.). Bricolage is also an important concept for understanding how meanings and uses are inscribed into forms in use rather than being read or activated off their design. This is the process of appropriation, through which both the object and the person are mutually shaped and users gain a sense of control and ownership (cf. Noble and Lupton; Lally; Silverstone and Haddon). The concept of bricolage highlights the improvisational qualities of appropriation and its status as work. A bricoleur is thus a person who constructs new meanings and forms by drawing on and assembling a wide range of resources at hand, sourced from multiple spheres of life. One of the problems with how bricolage and appropriation has been applied to date, notwithstanding the priority given to the domestic sphere, is the tendency to grant individuals and collectives too much control to stabilise the meanings and purposes of technologies. This problem is evident in the research drawing on the framework of "domestication" (cf. Silverstone and Haddon). In practice, the sheer volume of technologically-related issues encountered on a daily basis and the accompanying sense of frustration indicates there is no inevitable drift towards stability, nor are problems merely aberrational or trivial. Instead, daily limits to agency and attempts to overcome these are points at which meanings as well as uses are re-articulated and potentially re-invented. This is where "articulation work" comes in. Initially put forward by Anselm Strauss in 1985, articulation work has become an established analytical tool for informing technology design processes in such fields as Computer-Supported Cooperative Work (CSCW) and Workplace Studies. In these, articulation work is narrowly defined to refer to the real time activities of cooperative work. It includes dealing with contingencies, keeping technologies and systems working and making adjustments to accommodate for problems (Suchman "Supporting", 407). In combination with naturalistic investigations, this concept has facilitated engagement with the increasingly complex technological and media environments of work. It has been a powerful tool for highlighting practices deemed unimportant but which are nevertheless crucial for getting work done. Articulation work, however, has the potential to be applied in a broader sense to explain the significance of the instability of technologies and the efforts to overcome these as transformative in themselves, part of the ongoing process of appropriation that goes well beyond individual tasks or technologies. With clear correspondences to actor-network theory, this expanded definition provides the basis for a new understanding of the office as a temporary and provisional condition of stability achieved through the daily creative and improvisational activities of workers. The office, then, is dependent on and inextricably bound up in its ongoing articulation and crucially, is not bound to a particular place or time. In the context of the large-scale transformations in work already discussed, this expanded definition of articulation work helps to; firstly, address how work is re-organised and re-rationalised through changes to the material conditions of work; secondly, identify the ongoing articulations that this entails and thirdly; understand the role of these articulations in the construction of the space and time of work. This expanded definition is achieved in the newly developed concept of officing. Officing describes a form of labour directed towards the production of a stable office platform. Significantly, one of the main characteristics of this work is that it often goes undetected by organisations as well as by the workers that perform it. As explained later, its "invisibility" is in part a function of its embodiment but also relates to the boundless nature of officing, taking place both inside and outside the workplace, in or out of work time. Officing is made up of a set of interwoven activities of three main types: connecting, synchronising and configuring. Connecting can be understood as aligning technical and social relations for the performance of work at a set time. Synchronising brings together and coordinates different times and temporal demands, for example, the time of "work" with "life" or the time "out in the field" with time "in the workplace". Configuring prepares the space of work, making a single technology or media environment work to some planned action or existing pattern of activity. To give an example of connecting: in the Citizens' Service Centre of the Council, Danielle's morning rituals involved a series of connections even before her work of advising customers begins: My day: get in, sit down, turn on the computer and then slowly open each software program that I will need to use…turn on the phone, key in my password, turn on the headphones and sit there and wait for the calls! (Humphry Officing, 123) These connections not only set up and initiate the performance of work but also mark Danielle's presence in her office. Through these activities, which in practice overlap and blur, the space and time of the office comes to appear as a somewhat separate and mostly invisible structure or infrastructure. The work that goes into making the office stable takes place around the boundary of work with implications for how this boundary is constituted. These efforts do not cluster around boundaries in any simple sense but become part of the process of boundary making, contributing to the construction of categories such as "work" and "life". So, for example, for staff in the smart phone trial, the phone had become their main source of information and communication. Turning their smart phone off, or losing connectivity had ramifications that cascaded throughout their lifeworld. On the one hand, this lead to the breakdown of the distinction between "work" and "life" and a sense of "ever-presence", requiring constant and vigilant "boundary work" (cf. Nippert-Eng). On the other hand, this same state also enabled workers to respond to demands in their own time and across multiple boundaries, giving workers a sense of flexibility, control and of being "in sync". Connecting, configuring and synchronising are activities performed by bodies, producing an embodied transformation. In the tradition of phenomenology, most notably in the works of Heidegger, Merleau-Ponty and more recently Ihde, embodiment is used to explain the relationship between subjects and objects. This concept has since been developed to be understood as not residing in the body but as spread through social, material and discursive arrangements (cf. Haraway, "Situated" and Simians; Henke; Suchman, "Figuring"). Tracing efforts towards making the office stable is thus a way of uncovering how the body, as a constitutive part of a larger arrangement or network, is formed through embodiment, how it gains its competencies, social meanings and ultimately, how workers gain a sense of what it means to be a professional. So, in the smart phone trial, staff managed their connections by replying immediately to their voice, text and data messages. This immediacy not only acted as proof of their presence in the office. It also signalled their commitment to their office: their active participation and value to the organisation and their readiness to perform when called on. Importantly, this embodied transformation also helps to explain how officing becomes an example of "invisible work" (cf. Star and Strauss). Acts of connecting, synchronising and configuring become constituted and forgotten in and through bodies, spaces and times. Through their repeated performance these acts become habits, a transparent means through which the environment of work is navigated in the form of skills and techniques, configurations and routines. In conclusion, researching work in contemporary societies means confronting its marginalisation within cultural research and developing ways to comprehend and measure the interaction of space, time and the ever-multiplying array of media technologies. Officing provides a way to do this by shifting to an understanding of the workplace as a contingent product of work itself. The strength of this approach is that it highlights the creative and ongoing work of individuals on their media infrastructures. It also helps to identify and describe work activities that are not neatly contained in a workplace, thus adding to their invisibility. The invisibility of these practices can have significant impacts on workers: magnifying feelings of time pressure and a need to work faster, longer and harder even as discrete technologies are utilised to save time. In this way, officing exposes some of the additional contributions to the changing experience and quality of work as well as to the construction of everyday domains. Officing supports an evaluation of claims of productivity and work-life balance in relation to new media technologies. In the smart phone trial, contrary to an assumed increase in productivity, mobility of work was achieved at the expense of productivity. Making the mobile office stable—getting it up and running, keeping it working in changing environments and meeting expectations of speed and connectivity—took up time, resulting in an overall productivity loss and demanding more "boundary work". In spite of their adaptability and flexibility, staff tended to overwork to counteract this loss. This represented a major shift in the burden of effort in the production of office forms away from the organisation and towards the individual. Finally, though not addressed here in any detail, officing could conceivably have practical uses for designing more sustainable office environments that better support the work process and the balance of work and life. Thus, by accounting more accurately for the resource requirements of work, organisations can reduce the daily effort, space and time taken up by employees on their work environments. In any case, what is clear, is the ongoing need to continue a cultural research agenda on work—to address the connections between transformations in work and the myriad material practices that individuals perform in going about their daily work. References Arnold, Michael. "On the Phenomenology of Technology: The 'Janus-Faces' of Mobile Phones." Information and Organization 13.4 (2003): 231–56. Australian Bureau of Statistics. "6275.0 - Locations of Work, Nov 2008." Australian Bureau of Statistics, 8 May 2009. 20 May 2009 ‹http://www.abs.gov.au/ausstats/abs@.nsf/mf/6275.0›. Bauman, Zygmunt. Freedom. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1989. Castells, Manuel. The Rise of the Network Society. Malden, Massachusetts: Blackwell, 1996. Chesters, Jennifer, Janeen Baxter, and Mark Western. "Paid and Unpaid Work in Australian Households: Towards an Understanding of the New Gender Division of Labour." Familes through Life - 10th Australian Institute of Families Studies Conference, 9-11th July 2008, Melbourne: AIFS, 2008. Delphy, Christine. Close to Home: A Materialist Analysis of Women's Oppression. Amherst MA: U of Massachusetts, 1984. Edwards, Paul, and Judy Wajcman. The Politics of Working Life. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2005. Felstead, Alan, Nick Jewson, and Sally Walters. Changing Places of Work. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. Folbre, Nancy. "Exploitation Comes Home: A Critique of the Marxian Theory of Family Labor." Cambridge Journal of Economics 6.4 (1982): 317-29. Haraway, Donna. "Situated Knowledges: The Science Question in Feminism and the Privilege of Partial Perspective." Feminist Studies 14.3 (1988): 575-99. –––. Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature. London, Free Association Books, 1991. Henke, Christopher. "The Mechanics of Workplace Order: Toward a Sociology of Repair." Berkeley Journal of Sociology 44 (2000): 55-81. Humphry, Justine. Officing: Professionals' Daily ICT Use and the Changing Space and Time of Work. Dissertation, University of Western Sydney. 2010. Lally, Elaine. At Home with Computers. Oxford, New York: Berg, 2002. Nippert-Eng, Christena E. Home and Work: Negotiating Boundaries through Everyday Life. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1996. Noble, Greg. "Everyday Work." Interpreting Everyday Culture. Ed. Fran Martin. New York: Hodder Arnold, 2004. 87-102. Noble, Greg, and Deborah Lupton. "Consuming Work: Computers, Subjectivity and Appropriation in the University Workplace." The Sociological Review 46.4 (1998): 803-27. –––. "Mine/Not Mine: Appropriating Personal Computers in the Academic Workplace." Journal of Sociology 38.1 (2002): 5-23. O'Sullivan, Tim, John Hartley, Danny Saunders, Martin Montgomery, and John Fiske. Key Concepts in Communication and Cultural Studies. London: Routledge, 1994. Pocock, Barbara. The Work/Life Collision: What Work Is Doing to Australians and What to Do about It. Sydney: The Federation P, 2003. Ritzer, George, and Nathan Jurgenson. "Production, Consumption, Prosumption." Journal of Consumer Culture 10.1 (2010): 13-36. Sheller, Mimi, and John Urry. "Mobile Transformations of 'Public' and 'Private' Life." Theory, Culture & Society 20.3 (2003): 107-25. Silverstone, Roger, and Leslie Haddon. "Design and the Domestication of Information and Communication Technologies: Technical Change and Everyday Life." Communication by Design: The Politics of Information and Communication Technologies. Eds. Roger Silverstone and Robin Mansell. Oxford: U of Oxford P, 1996. 44-74. Skinner, Natalie, and Barbara Pocock. "Work, Life and Workplace Culture: The Australian Work and Life Index (AWALI) 2008." Adelaide: The Centre for Work and Life, Hawke Research Institute, University of South Australia 2008 ‹http://www.unisa.edu.au/hawkeinstitute/cwl/default.asp›.Sorenson, Knut H., and Merete Lie. Making Technology Our Own? Domesticating Technologies into Everyday Life. Oslo: Scandinavian UP, 1996.Star, Susan L. "The Sociology of the Invisible: The Primacy of Work in the Writings of Anselm Strauss." Social Organization and Social Process: Essays in Honor of Anselm Strauss. New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1991. 265-83. Star, Susan L., and Anselm Strauss. "Layers of Silence, Arenas of Voice: The Ecology of Visible and Invisible Work." Computer Supported Cooperative Work 8 (1999): 9-30. Strangleman, Timothy. "Sociological Futures and the Sociology of Work." Sociological Research Online 10.4 (2005). 5 Nov. 2005 ‹http://www.socresonline.org.uk/10/4/strangleman.html›.Strauss, Anselm. "Work and the Division of Labor." The Sociological Quarterly 26 (1985): 1-19. Suchman, Lucy A. "Figuring Personhood in Sciences of the Artificial." Department of Sociology, Lancaster University. 1 Nov. 2004. 18 Jun. 2005 ‹http://www.lancs.ac.uk/fass/sociology/papers/suchman-figuring-personhood.pdf›–––. "Supporting Articulation Work." Computerization and Controversy: Value Conflicts and Social Choices. Ed. Rob Kling. San Diego: Academic P, 1995. 407-423.Urry, John. Sociology beyond Societies: Mobilities for the Twenty-First Century. London: Routledge, 2000. Van Dijk, Jan. The Network Society: Social Aspects of New Media. London: Thousand Oaks, 2006. Wajcman, Judy. "Life in the Fast Lane? Towards a Sociology of Technology and Time." The British Journal of Sociology 59.1 (2008): 59-77.Watson, Ian, John Buchanan, Iain Campbell, and Chris Briggs. Fragmented Futures: New Challenges in Working Life. Sydney: Federation P, 2003.

Sugar pigs are traditional confections shaped like sugar mice with little legs and no tail. One might, therefore, nibble the trotters of a sugar pig or suck delicately upon the nose of a sugar pig, but one must never eat one’s sugary treats like a pig. As an imagined border between the private world inside the body and the public world outside, the mouth is an unstable limit of selfhood. Food can easily cause disgust as it passes through this hazardous terrain, and this disgust is produced less by the thought of incorporation than by socially constructed boundaries such as the division between human and animal. In order to guard against disgust and the moral judgement it incurs about the eater, the mouth is governed by myriad rules and, in the case of the juvenile mouth, subject to adult surveillance. This paper investigates children’s consumption of confectionery in relation to the mouth as a liminal border space. Children are “sugar pigs” in as much as they disregard the conventions of civilised eating that govern the mouth, preferring instead to slubber, gnaw, lick, and chew like animals, to reveal the contents of their mouths and examine the contents of others, to put lollies in and out of their mouths with dirty hands, and to share single lollies. Children’s lolly rituals resist civilised eating norms, but they hold important cultural meanings that parallel and subvert those of the adult world. Children’s mouths are communal spaces and the rituals that take place in them are acts of friendship, intimacy, and power. Eating norms instituted over thousands of years ensure that people do not eat like animals, and the pig, in particular, stands in opposition to civilised eating. In On Good Manners for Boys (1530), Erasmus of Rotterdam advises that a general guide to eating like a human being is to eat inconspicuously and self-consciously—to “lick a plate or dish to which some sugar or sweet substance has adhered is for cats, not people,” he explains, and to “gnaw bones is for a dog”—and he compares ill-mannered eating with that of pigs, observing how some people “slubber up their meat like swine” (qtd. in Kass 145). Unrefined table manners and uncontrolled appetite continue to elicit such expressions of disgust as “dirty pig” and “greedy pig.” Pigs grunt. Pigs snuffle among refuse. Pigs, as Bob Ashley et al. note, represent all that is uncivilised and exist only as a signifier of appetite (2). The pig and civilisation, however, do not exist simply in opposition. Cookery writer Jane Grigson argues that European civilisation has been founded upon the pig (qtd. in Ashley et al. 2). Also, because the pig’s body is pinkish, soft, and flabby like a human body and because pigs were usually housed near or even inside human dwellings, the pig confounds the human/animal binary: it is “a threshold animal” (Stallybrass and White qtd. in Ashley et al. 7). Furthermore, the steady evolution of eating practices suggests that humans would eat like animals if left in their natural state. Food rules are part of the “attempt to exclude piggishness” from human civilisation, which, according to Ashley et al., demonstrates “precisely the proximity of human and pig” (7). As physician Leon Kass observes, eating conventions “show us both how much we have taken instruction and how much we needed it” (139). Humans aspire to purity and perfection, but William Ian Miller explains that “fuelling no small part of those aspirations is disgust with what we are or with what we are likely to slide back into” (Anatomy xiv). Eating norms, therefore, do not emphasise the difference between human and the pig as much as they express the underlying anxiety that the human mouth and the act of eating are utterly animal. ‘Lollies’ is the Australian term for the confectionery that children mostly buy, and while the child with a lolly pouched in its cheek is such a familiar, even iconic, image that it features on the covers of two recent books about confectionery (Richardson, Whittaker), licking, gnawing, and slubbering—Erasmus’ wonderfully evocative and piggish word—aptly describe the consumption of lollies. Many lollies are large and hard, and eating them requires time, effort, concentration, and conspicuous mouth activity: the cheek bulges and speaking is difficult; a great deal of saliva is produced and the area around the mouth becomes smeared with coloured drool; and there is always the possibility of the lolly falling out. The smaller the child’s mouth, or the larger the lolly, the more impossible it is to eat inconspicuously and self-consciously. Endless chewing is similarly animal-like, and “the bovine look” of teenagers featured in public complaints when chewing gum was mass-produced in the twentieth century (Hendrickson 7). Humans must not eat like animals, but overly-stuffed cheeks, sucking and slubbering mouths, licking tongues, gnawing teeth, and mindlessly ruminating jaws are unashamedly animal-like. Other rules guard against disgust arising from the sight of half-chewed food. When food is in the process of becoming part of the body, it quickly acquires the quality of things with which disgust is more readily associated, things that are, according to Miller, moist rather than dry, viscid rather than free-flowing, pliable rather than hard, things that are “oozy, mucky, gooey, slimy, clammy, sticky, tacky, dank, squishy, or filmy” (“Darwin’s Disgust” 338). Soft lollies with their vividly-coloured and glossy or sugar-encrusted surfaces look magical, but once they go into the mouth are “magically transformed into the disgusting” (Anatomy Miller 96). Food in the process of “becoming” must, therefore, never be seen again. The process of transformation takes place in the private interior of the body, but, if the mouth is open, half-transformed food is visible, and chewed food, according to Miller, “has the capacity to be even more disgusting than feces [sic]” (Anatomy 96). Sometimes, the sight of half-consumed lollies inside children’s mouths is deliberate because children poke out their tongues and look into each other’s mouths to monitor the progress of lollies that change colour as they break down. Miller explains that the rules of disgust are suspended in sexual and non-sexual love: “Disgust marks the boundaries of the self; the relaxing of them marks privilege, intimacy, duty, and caring” (Anatomy xi). This principle applies to children’s lolly rituals. If children forget to note the colour of a Clinker as they bite it, or if they want to note the progress of a Cloud or gobstopper, they open their mouths and even poke out their tongues so a friend can inspect the colour of the lolly, or their tongue. Such acts are marks of friendship. It is not something children do with everyone. The mouth is a threshold of self that children relax as a marker of privilege. The clean/unclean binary exerts a powerful influence on food because, in addition to the way in which food is eaten, it determines the kind of food that is eaten. The mouth is a border between the self (the eater) and the other (the eaten), so what is eaten (the other) eventually becomes the eater (the self). Paradoxically, the reverse is also true; the eater becomes what is eaten—hence, “we are what we eat.” Little wonder then that food is a site of anxiety, surveillance, and control. The pig eats anything, but children’s consumption is strictly monitored. The clean food imperative means that food must be uncontaminated by the world outside the body, and lollies violate the clean food category in this regard. Large, hard lollies can fall out of the mouth, or children may be obliged to violently expel them if they are danger of choking. The young protagonists in Saturdee, Norman Lindsay’s bildungsroman set in country Victoria after WWI, arrange a secret tryst with some girls, and when their plan is discovered a horde of spectators assembles to watch the proceedings: [Snowey Critchet] had provided himself with a bull’s-eye; a comestible about the size of a cricket ball, which he stowed away in one cheek, as a monkey pouches an orange, where it distended his face in a most obnoxious manner. He was prepared, it seemed, to spend the entire afternoon inspecting a scandal, while sucking his bull’s-eye down to edible proportions. (147) Amid a subsequent volley of taunts and cow dung, Snowey lands in the gutter, a reprisal that “was like to be Snowey’s end through causing him to bolt his bull’s-eye whole. It was too large to swallow but large enough to block up his gullet and choke him. Frenziedly he fought his way out of the gutter and ran off black in the face to eject his windpipe obstruction” (147-8). Choking episodes are further aspects of children’s consumption that adults would deem dangerous as well as disgusting. If a child picks up a lolly from the ground, an adult is likely to slap it away and spit out the word “Dirty!” The child’s hands are potentially part of the contaminated outside world, hence, wash your hands before you eat, don’t eat with your fingers, don’t lick your fingers, don’t put your fingers into your mouth, don’t handle food if you aren’t going to eat it, don’t eat food that others have touched. Lolly-consumption breaches the clean/unclean divide when children put fingers into mouths to hook tacky lollies like Minties off the back teeth, remove lollies in order to observe their changing shape or colour, pull chewing gum from the mouth, or push bubble gum back in. The mouth is part of the clean world inside the body; adult disgust stems from concern about contamination through contact with the world outside the body, including the face and hands. The hands are also involved in playground rituals. Children often remove lollies from their mouths, play with them, and put them back in. Such invented rituals include sharpening musk sticks by twisting them in the mouth before jabbing friends with them and returning them to the mouth. Teenagers also bite the heads off jelly babies and rearrange the bodies in multicoloured versions before eating them. These rituals expose half-consumed lollies, and allow lollies to be contaminated by the outside world, but they are markers of friendship and ways of belonging to particular groups as well as sources of entertainment. The ultimate cause for disgust, apart from sharing with a pig perhaps, arises when children violate the boundary between one mouth and another by sharing a single lolly. “Can I have a lick o’ your lollipop?” is an expression that belongs to a time when germs were yet to consume the public imagination, and it demonstrates that children have long been disposed to sharing confectionery in this way. Allowing someone to share an all-day sucker indicates friendship because it involves sacrifice as well as intimacy. How many times the friend licks it indicates how important a friend they are. Chewing gum and hard lollies such as bull’s-eyes and all-day suckers are ideal for sharing because they last a long time. Snowey’s choking episode is punishment both for having such a lolly while others did not, and for not sharing it. When friends share a single lolly in Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief it is a sign of their growing intimacy. Rudy and Liesel had only enough money for one lolly: “they unwrapped it and tried biting it in half, but the sugar was like glass. Far too tough, even for Rudy’s animal-like choppers. Instead, they had to trade sucks on it until it was finished. Ten sucks for Rudy. Ten for Liesel. Back and forth” (168). Rudy asks Liesel to kiss him on many occasions, but she never does. She regrets this after he is killed, so here the shared lolly stands in lieu of intimacy rather than friendship. Lollies are still shared in this way in Australian playgrounds, but often it is only hard lollies, and only with close friends. A hard lolly has a clearly defined boundary that can easily be washed, but even unwashed the only portion that is contaminated, and contaminable, is the visible surface of the lolly. This is not the case with a stick of chewing gum. In response to Tom Sawyer’s enquiry as to whether or not she likes rats, Becky Thatcher replies,“What I like, is chewing gum.” “O, I should say so! I wish I had some now.” “Do you? I’ve got some. I’ll let you chew it a while, but you must give it back to me.” That was agreeable, so they chewed it turn about, and dangled their legs against the bench in excess of contentment.” (58) Unlike the clearly defined boundary of a gobstopper, the boundary of chewing gum continually shifts and folds in on itself. The entire confection is contaminated through contact with the mouth of the other. The definition of clean food also includes that which is deemed appropriate for eating, and part of the appeal of lollies is their junk status. Some lollies are sugar versions of “good” foodstuffs: strawberries and cream, wildberries, milk bottles, pineapples, and bananas. Even more ironic, especially in light of the amount of junk food in many adult diets, others are sugar versions of junk food: fries, coke bottles, Pizzas, Hot Dogs, and Hamburgers, all of which are packaged like miniatures of actual products. Lollies, like their British equivalent, kets (which means rubbish), are absolutely distinct from the confectionery adults eat, and British sociologist Allison James shows that this is because they “stand in contrast to conventional adult sweets and adult eating generally” (298). Children use terms like junk and ket intentionally because there is a “power inherent in the conceptual gulf between the worlds of the adult and the child” (James, “Confections” 297). Parents place limits on children’s consumption because lollies are seen to interfere with the consumption of good food, but, as James explains, for children, “it is meals which disrupt the eating of sweets” (“Confections” 296). Some lollies metaphorically violate a different kind of food taboo by taking the form of “unclean” animals like rats, pythons, worms, cats, dinosaurs, blowflies, cane toads, and geckos. This highlights the arbitrary nature of food categories: snakes, lizards, and witchetty grubs do not feature on European menus, but indigenous Australians eat them. Neither do white Australians eat horses, frogs, cats, dogs, and insects, which are considered delicacies in other cultures, some even in other European cultures. Eating human beings is widely-considered taboo, but children enjoy eating lollies shaped like parts of the human body. A fundraiser at a Queensland school fete in 2009 epitomised the contemporary fascination with consuming body parts. Traditionally, the Guess-The-Number fundraiser involves guessing the number of jelly beans in a glass jar, but in this instance the jar held teeth, lips, noses, eyeballs, ears, hearts, and feet. Similarly, when children eat Tongue Pops—tangy tongue-shaped lollies on a stick—the irony of having two tongues, of licking your own tongue, is not lost on children. Other lollies represent tiny people, and even babies. In the ordinary world, children are small and powerless, but the magic of lollies enables them to be the man-eating giant, while Chicos and jelly babies represent the powerless child. Children welcome the opportunity to “bite someone else’s head off” for a change. These lollies are anonymous people, but Freddo Frog and Caramello Koala have names as well as bodies and facial features, while others, like Cadbury’s seven Magical Elves, even have personalities. One of these, Aquamarine, is depicted as a winking character dressed in blue, and described on the wrapper as “a talented musician who plays music to inspire the Elves to enjoy themselves and work harder, but is a bit of a farty pants.” Advertisements also commonly personify lollies by giving them faces, voices, and limbs, so that even something as un-humanlike as a red ball, in the case of the Jaffa, is represented as a cheeky character in the act of running away. And children happily eat them all. Cannibalism rates highly in the world of children’s confectionery (James 298). If lollies are “metaphoric rubbish,” as James explains, they can also be understood as metaphorically breaking food taboos (299). Not only do children’s rituals create a sense of friendship, belonging, even intimacy, but engaging in them is also an act of power because children know that these practices disgust adults. Lollies give children permission to transgress the rules of civilised eating and this carnivalesque subversion is part of the pleasure of eating lollies. James suggests that confectionery is neither raw nor cooked, but belongs to a third food category that helps to define “the disorderly and inverted world of children” (“Confections” 301). In James’ analysis, children and adults inhabit separate worlds, and she views children’s sweets as part of the “alternative system of meanings through which [children] can establish their own integrity” (“Confections” 301, 305). In the sense that they exist outside of officialdom, children have inherited the carnivalesque tradition of the festive life, which Bakhtin theorises as “a second world” organised on the basis of laughter (6, 8). In this topsy-turvy, carnivalesque realm, with its emphasis on the grotesque body, laughter, fun, exuberance, comic rituals, and other non-official values, children escape adult rule. Lollies may be rubbish in the adult world, but, like the carnival fool, they are “king” in the child’s second and festive life, where bodies bulge, feasting is a public and often grotesque event, and children are masters of their own destiny. Eating lollies, then, represents a “metaphoric chewing up of adult order” and a means of the child assuming control over at least one of its orifices (James 305-6). In this sense, the pig is not a symbol of the uncivilised but the un-adult. Children are pigs with sugar—slubbering around hard lollies, licking other children’s lollies, metaphorically cannibalising jelly babies—and if they disgust adults it is because they challenge the eating norms that guard against the ever-present reminder that eating is an animal act. Eating practices “civilize the human animal” (Kass 131), but eating is inherently an untidy experience, and any semblance of order, as anthropologist Mary Douglas explains, is only created by exaggerating difference (qtd. in Ashley et al. 3). The pig is commonly understood to be the antithesis of civilisation and, therefore, the means by which we understand ourselves as civilised beings. The child with a lolly, however, is evidence that the line between human and animal is a tenuous divide. References Ashley, Bob, Joanne Hollows, Steve Jones and Ben Taylor. Food and Cultural Studies. London: Routledge, 2004. Bakhtin, Mikhail. Rabelais and His World. Trans.Helene Iswolsky. Cambridge: M.I.T. P, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 1968. Hendrickson, Robertson. The Great American Chewing Gum Book. Radnor, Pennsylvania: Chilton, 1976. James, Allison. “Confections, Concoctions and Conceptions.” Popular Culture: Past and Present. Eds Bernard Waites, Tony Bennett and Graham Martin. London: Routledge, 1986. 294-307. James, Allison. “The Good, the Bad and the Delicious: The Role of Confectionery in British Society.” Sociological Review 38, 1990: 666-88. Kass, Leon R. The Hungry Soul: Eating and the Perfecting of Our Nature. New York: Free Press, 1994. Lindsay, Norman. Saturdee. London: Angus & Robertson, 1981. Miller, William Ian. “Darwin’s Disgust.” Empire of the Senses: The Sensual Culture Reader. Ed. David Howes. Oxford: Berg, 2005. Miller, William Ian. The Anatomy of Disgust. Cambridge: Harvard U P, 1997. Mason, Laura. Sugar Plums and Sherbet: The Pre-history of Sweets. Devon: Prospect, 1998. Richardson, Tim. Sweets: A History of Temptation. London: Bantam Books, 2003. Twain, Mark. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. New York: Collier, 1962. Whittaker, Nicholas. Sweet Talk: The Secret History of Confectionery. London: Phoenix, 1999. Zusak, Markus. The Book Thief. Sydney: Picador, 2005.

Introduction: Socialism – from Eternal Reality to Passing DreamThe Year of Revolutions in 1989 presaged the end of the Cold War. For many people, it must have felt like the end of the Twentieth Century, and the 1990s a period of waiting for the Millennium. However, the 1990s was, in fact, a period of profound transformation in the post-Socialist world.In early representations of Socialism’s end, a dominant narrative was that of collapse. Dramatic events, such as the dismantling of the Berlin Wall in Germany enabled representation of the end as an unexpected moment. Senses of unexpectedness rested on erstwhile perceptions of Socialism as eternal.In contrast, the 1990s came to be a decade of revision in which thinking switched from considering Socialism’s persistence to asking, “why it went wrong?” I explore this question in relation to former-Yugoslavia. In brief, the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (SFRY) was replaced through the early 1990s by six independent nation states: Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Macedonia, Montenegro, Serbia, and Slovenia. Kosovo came much later. In the states that were significantly ethnically mixed, the break-up was accompanied by violence. Bosnia in the 1990s will be remembered for an important contribution to the lexicon of ideas – ethnic cleansing.Revisionist historicising of the former-Yugoslavia in the 1990s was led by the scholarly community. By and large, it discredited the Ancient Ethnic Hatreds (AEH) thesis commonly held by nationalists, simplistic media commentators and many Western politicians. The AEH thesis held that Socialism’s end was a consequence of the up-swelling of primordial (natural) ethnic tensions. Conversely, the scholarly community tended to view Socialism’s failure as an outcome of systemic economic and political deficiencies in the SFRY, and that these deficiencies were also, in fact the root cause of those ethnic tensions. And, it was argued that had such deficiencies been addressed earlier Socialism may have survived and fulfilled its promise of eternity (Verdery).A third significant perspective which emerged through the 1990s was that the collapse of Socialism was an outcome of the up-swelling of, if not primordial ethnic tensions then, at least repressed historical memories of ethnic tensions, especially of the internecine violence engendered locally by Nazi and Italian Fascist forces in WWII. This perspective was particularly en vogue within the unusually rich arts scene in former-Yugoslavia. Its leading exponent was Slovenian avant-garde rock band Laibach.In this article, I consider Laibach’s career and methods. For background the article draws substantially on Alexei Monroe’s excellent biography of Laibach, Interrogation Machine: Laibach and NSK (2005). However, as I indicate below, my interpretation diverges very significantly from Monroe’s. Laibach’s most significant body of work is the cover versions of Western pop songs it recorded in the middle part of its career. Using a technique that has been labelled retroquotation (Monroe), it subtly transforms the lyrical content, and radically transforms the musical arrangement of pop songs, thereby rendering them what might be described as martial anthems. The clearest illustration of the process is Laibach’s version of Opus’s one hit wonder “Live is Life”, which is retitled as “Life is Life” (Laibach 1987).Conventional scholarly interpretations of Laibach’s method (including Monroe’s) present it as entailing the uncovering of repressed forms of individual and collective totalitarian consciousness. I outline these ideas, but supplement them with an alternative interpretation. I argue that in the cover version stage of its career, Laibach switched its attention from seeking to uncover repressed totalitarianism towards uncovering repressed memories of ethnic tension, especially from WWII. Furthermore, I argue that its creative medium of Western pop music is especially important in this regard. On the bases of ethnographic fieldwork conducted in Bosnia (University of Melbourne Human Ethics project 1544213.1), and of a reading of SFRY’s geopolitical history, I demonstrate that for many people, Western popular cultural forms came to represent the quintessence of what it was to be Yugoslav. In this context, Laibach’s retroquotation of Western pop music is akin to a broader cultural practice in the post-SFRY era in which symbols of the West were iconoclastically transformed. Such transformation served to reveal a public secret (Taussig) of repressed historic ethnic enmity within the very heart of things that were regarded as quintessentially and pan-ethnically Yugoslav. And, in so doing, this delegitimised memory of SFRY ever having been a properly functioning entity. In this way, Laibach contributed significantly to a broader process in which perceptions of Socialist Yugoslavia came to be rendered less as a reality with the potential for eternity than a passing dream.What Is Laibach and What Does It Do?Originally of the industrial rock genre, Laibach has evolved through numerous other genres including orchestral rock, choral rock and techno. It is not, however, a rock group in any conventional sense. Laibach is the musical section of a tripartite unit named Neue Slowenische Kunst (NSK) which also encompasses the fine arts collective Irwin and a variety of theatre groups.Laibach was the name by which the Slovenian capital Ljubljana was known under the Austrian Habsburg Empire and then Nazi occupation in WWII. The choice of name hints at a central purpose of Laibach and NSK in general, to explore the relationship between art and ideology, especially under conditions of totalitarianism. In what follows, I describe how Laibach go about doing this.Laibach’s central method is eclecticism, by which symbols of the various ideological regimes that are its and the NSK’s subject matter are intentionally juxtaposed. Eclecticism of this kind was characteristic of the postmodern aesthetics typical of the 1990s. Furthermore, and counterintuitively perhaps, postmodernism was as much a condition of the Socialist East as it was the Capitalist West. As Mikhail N. Epstein argues, “Totalitarianism itself may be viewed as a specific postmodern model that came to replace the modernist ideological stance elaborated in earlier Marxism” (102). However, Western and Eastern postmodernisms were fundamentally different. In particular, while the former was largely playful, ironicising and depoliticised, the latter, which Laibach and NSK may be regarded as being illustrative of, involved placing in opposition to one another competing and antithetical aesthetic, political and social regimes, “without the contradictions being fully resolved” (Monroe 54).The performance of unresolved contradictions in Laibach’s work fulfils three principal functions. It works to (1) reveal hidden underlying connections between competing ideological systems, and between art and power more generally. This is evident in Life is Life. The video combines symbols of Slovenian romantic nationalism (stags and majestic rural landscapes) with Nazism and militarism (uniforms, bodily postures and a martial musical arrangement). Furthermore, it presents images of the graves of victims of internecine violence in WWII. The video is a reminder to Slovenian viewers of a discomforting public secret within their nation’s history. While Germany is commonly viewed as a principal oppressor of Slovenian nationalism, the rural peasantry, who are represented as embodying Slovenian nationalism most, were also the most willing collaborators in imperialist processes of Germanicisation. The second purpose of the performance of unresolved contradictions in Laibach’s work is to (2) engender senses of the alienation, especially as experienced by the subjects of totalitarian regimes. Laibach’s approach in this regard is quite different to that of punk, whose concern with alienation - symbolised by safety pins and chains - was largely celebratory of the alienated condition. Rather, Laibach took a lead from seminal industrial rock bands such as Einstürzende Neubauten and Throbbing Gristle (see, for example, Walls of Sound (Throbbing Gristle 2004)), whose sound one fan accurately describes as akin to, “the creation of the universe by an angry titan/God and a machine apocalypse all rolled into one” (rateyourmusic.com). Certainly, Laibach’s shows can be uncomfortable experiences too, involving not only clashing symbols and images, but also the dissonant sounds of, for example, martial music, feedback, recordings of the political speeches of totalitarian leaders and barking dogs, all played at eardrum-breaking high volumes. The purpose of this is to provide, as Laibach state: “a ritualized demonstration of political force” (NSK, Neue Slowenische Kunst 44). In short, more than simply celebrating the experience of totalitarian alienation, Laibach’s intention is to reproduce that very alienation.More than performatively representing tyranny, and thereby senses of totalitarian alienation, Laibach and NSK set out to embody it themselves. In particular, and contra the forms of liberal humanism that were hegemonic at the peak of their career in the 1990s, their organisation was developed as a model of totalitarian collectivism in which the individual is always subjugated. This is illustrated in the Onanigram (NSK, Neue Slowenische Kunst), which, mimicking the complexities of the SFRY in its most totalitarian dispensation, maps out in labyrinthine detail the institutional structure of NSK. Behaviour is governed by a Constitution that states explicitly that NSK is a group in which, “each individual is subordinated to the whole” (NSK, Neue Slowenische Kunst 273). Lest this collectivism be misconceived as little more than a show, the case of Tomaž Hostnik is instructive. The original lead singer of Laibach, Hostnik committed ritual suicide by hanging himself from a hayrack, a key symbol of Slovenian nationalism. Initially, rather than mourning his loss, the other members of Laibach posthumously disenfranchised him (“threw him out of the band”), presumably for his act of individual will that was collectively unsanctioned.Laibach and the NSK’s collectivism also have spiritual overtones. The Onanigram presents an Immanent Consistent Spirit, a kind of geist that holds the collective together. NSK claim: “Only God can subdue LAIBACH. People and things never can” (NSK, Neue Slowenische Kunst 289). Furthermore, such rhetorical bombast was matched in aspiration. Most famously, in one of the first instances of a micro-nation, NSK went on to establish itself as a global and virtual non-territorial state, replete with a recruitment drive, passports and anthem, written and performed by Laibach of course. Laibach’s CareerLaibach’s career can be divided into three overlapping parts. The first is its career as a political provocateur, beginning from the inception of the band in 1980 and continuing through to the present. The band’s performances have touched the raw nerves of several political actors. As suggested above, Laibach offended Slovenian nationalists. The band offended the SFRY, especially when in its stage backdrop it juxtaposed images of a penis with Marshal Josip Broz “Tito”, founding President of the SFRY. Above all, it offended libertarians who viewed the band’s exploitation of totalitarian aesthetics as a route to evoking repressed totalitarian energies in its audiences.In a sense the libertarians were correct, for Laibach were quite explicit in representing a third function of their performance of unresolved contradictions as being to (3) evoke repressed totalitarian energies. However, as Žižek demonstrates in his essay “Why Are Laibach and NSK Not Fascists”, Laibach’s intent in this regard is counter-totalitarian. Laibach engage in what amounts to a “psychoanalytic cure” for totalitarianism, which consists of four envisaged stages. The consumers of Laibach’s works and performances go through a process of over-identification with totalitarianism, leading through the experience of alienation to, in turn, disidentification and an eventual overcoming of that totalitarian alienation. The Žižekian interpretation of the four stages has, however been subjected to critique, particularly by Deleuzian scholars, and especially for its psychoanalytic emphasis on the transformation of individual (un)consciousness (i.e. the cerebral rather than bodily). Instead, such scholars prefer a schizoanalytic interpretation which presents the cure as, respectively collective (Monroe 45-50) and somatic (Goddard). Laibach’s works and pronouncements display, often awareness of such abstract theoretical ideas. However, they also display attentiveness to the concrete realities of socio-political context. This was reflected especially in the 1990s, when its focus seemed to shift from the matter of totalitarianism to the overriding issue of the day in Laibach’s homeland – ethnic conflict. For example, echoing the discourse of Truth and Reconciliation emanating from post-Apartheid South Africa in the early 1990s, Laibach argued that its work is “based on the premise that traumas affecting the present and the future can be healed only by returning to the initial conflicts” (NSK Padiglione).In the early 1990s era of post-socialist violent ethnic nationalism, statements such as this rendered Laibach a darling of anti-nationalism, both within civil society and in what came to be known pejoratively as the Yugonostagic, i.e. pro-SFRY left. Its darling status was cemented further by actions such as performing a concert to celebrate the end of the Bosnian war in 1996, and because its ideological mask began to slip. Most famously, when asked by a music journalist the standard question of what the band’s main influences were, rather than citing other musicians Laibach stated: “Tito, Tito and Tito.” Herein lies the third phase of Laibach’s career, dating from the mid-1990s to the present, which has been marked by critical recognition and mainstream acceptance, and in contrasting domains. Notably, in 2012 Laibach was invited to perform at the Tate Modern in London. Then, entering the belly of what is arguably the most totalitarian of totalitarian beasts in 2015, it became the first rock band to perform live in North Korea.The middle part in Laibach’s career was between 1987 and 1996. This was when its work consisted mostly of covers of mainstream Western pop songs by, amongst others Opus, Queen, The Rolling Stones, and, in The Final Countdown (1986), Swedish ‘big hair’ rockers. It also covered entire albums, including a version of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar. No doubt mindful of John Lennon’s claim that his band was more popular than the Messiah himself, Laibach covered the Beatles’ final album Let It Be (1970). Highlighting the perilous hidden connections between apparently benign and fascistic forms of sedentarism, lead singer Milan Fras’ snarling delivery of the refrain “Get Back to where you once belong” renders the hit single from that album less a story of homecoming than a sinister warning to immigrants and ethnic others who are out of place.This career middle stage invoked critique. However, commonplace suggestions that Laibach could be characterised as embodying Retromania, a derivative musical trend typical of the 1990s that has been lambasted for its de-politicisation and a musical conservatism enabled by new sampling technologies that afforded a forensic documentary precision that prohibits creative distortion (Reynolds), are misplaced. Several scholars highlight Laibach’s ceaseless attention to musical creativity in the pursuit of political subversiveness. For example, for Monroe, the cover version was a means for Laibach to continue its exploration of the connections between art and ideology, of illuminating the connections between competing ideological systems and of evoking repressed totalitarian energies, only now within Western forms of entertainment in which ideological power structures are less visible than in overt totalitarian propaganda. However, what often seems to escape intellectualist interpretations presented by scholars such as Žižek, Goddard and (albeit to a lesser extent) Monroe is the importance of the concrete specificities of the context that Laibach worked in in the 1990s – i.e. homeland ethno-nationalist politics – and, especially, their medium – i.e. Western pop music.The Meaning and Meaningfulness of Western Popular Culture in Former YugoslaviaThe Laibach covers were merely one of many celebrations of Western popular culture that emerged in pre- and post-socialist Yugoslavia. The most curious of these was the building of statues of icons of screen and stage. These include statues of Tarzan, Bob Marley, Rocky Balboa and, most famously, martial arts cinema legend Bruce Lee in the Bosnian city of Mostar.The pop monuments were often erected as symbols of peace in contexts of ethnic-national violence. Each was an ethnic hybrid. With the exception of original Tarzan Johnny Weismuller — an ethnic-German American immigrant from Serbia — none was remotely connected to the competing ethnic-national groups. Thus, it was surprising when these pop monuments became targets for iconoclasm. This was especially surprising because, in contrast, both the new ethnic-national monuments that were built and the old Socialist pan-Yugoslav monuments that remained in all their concrete and steel obduracy in and through the 1990s were left largely untouched.The work of Simon Harrison may give us some insight into this curious situation. Harrison questions the commonplace assumption that the strength of enmity between ethnic groups is related to their cultural dissimilarity — in short, the bigger the difference the bigger the biffo. By that logic, the new ethnic-national monuments erected in the post-SFRY era ought to have been vandalised. Conversely, however, Harrison argues that enmity may be more an outcome of similarity, at least when that similarity is torn asunder by other kinds of division. This is so because ownership of previously shared and precious symbols of identity appears to be seen as subjected to appropriation by ones’ erstwhile comrades who are newly othered in such moments.This is, indeed, exactly what happened in post-socialist former-Yugoslavia. Yugoslavs were rendered now as ethnic-nationals: Bosniaks (Muslims), Croats and Serbs in the case of Bosnia. In the process, the erection of obviously non-ethnic-national monuments by, now inevitably ethnic-national subjects was perceived widely as appropriation – “the Croats [the monument in Mostar was sculpted by Croatian artist Ivan Fijolić] are stealing our Bruce Lee,” as one of my Bosnian-Serb informants exclaimed angrily.However, this begs the question: Why would symbols of Western popular culture evoke the kinds of emotions that result in iconoclasm more so than other ethnically non-reducible ones such as those of the Partisans that are celebrated in the old Socialist pan-Yugoslav monuments? The answer lies in the geopolitical history of the SFRY. The Yugoslav-Soviet Union split in 1956 forced the SFRY to develop ever-stronger ties with the West. The effects of this became quotidian, especially as people travelled more or less freely across international borders and consumed the products of Western Capitalism. Many of the things they consumed became deeply meaningful. Notably, barely anybody above a certain age does not reminisce fondly about the moment when participation in martial arts became a nationwide craze following the success of Bruce Lee’s films in the golden (1970s-80s) years of Western-bankrolled Yugoslav prosperity.Likewise, almost everyone above a certain age recalls the balmy summer of 1985, whose happy zeitgeist seemed to be summed up perfectly by Austrian band Opus’s song “Live is Life” (1985). This tune became popular in Yugoslavia due to its apparently feelgood message about the joys of attending live rock performances. In a sense, these moments and the consumption of things “Western” in general came to symbolise everything that was good about Yugoslavia and, indeed to define what it was to be Yugoslavs, especially in comparison to their isolated and materially deprived socialist comrades in the Warsaw Pact countries.However, iconoclastic acts are more than mere emotional responses to offensive instances of cultural appropriation. As Michael Taussig describes, iconoclasm reveals the public secrets that the monuments it targets conceal. SFRY’s great public secret, known especially to those people old enough to have experienced the inter-ethnic violence of WWII, was ethnic division and the state’s deceit of the historic normalcy of pan-Yugoslav identification. The secret was maintained by a formal state policy of forgetting. For example, the wording on monuments in sites of inter-ethnic violence in WWII is commonly of the variety: “here lie the victims in Yugoslavia’s struggle against imperialist forces and their internal quislings.” Said quislings were, of course, actually Serbs, Croats, and Muslims (i.e. fellow Yugoslavs), but those ethnic nomenclatures were almost never used.In contrast, in a context where Western popular cultural forms came to define the very essence of what it was to be Yugoslav, the iconoclasm of Western pop monuments, and the retroquotation of Western pop songs revealed the repressed deceit and the public secret of the reality of inter-ethnic tension at the heart of that which was regarded as quintessentially Yugoslav. In this way, the memory of Yugoslavia ever having been a properly functioning entity was delegitimised. Consequently, Laibach and their kind served to render the apparent reality of the Yugoslav ideal as little more than a dream. ReferencesEpstein, Mikhail N. After the Future: The Paradoxes of Postmodernism and Contemporary Russian Culture. Amherst: U of Massachusettes P, 1995.Goddard, Michael. “We Are Time: Laibach/NSK, Retro-Avant-Gardism and Machinic Repetition,” Angelaki: Journal of the Theoretical Humanities 11 (2006): 45-53.Harrison, Simon. “Identity as a Scarce Resource.” Social Anthropology 7 (1999): 239–251.Monroe, Alexei. Interrogation Machine: Laibach and NSK. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2005.NSK. Neue Slowenische Kunst. Ljubljana: NSK, 1986.NSK. Padiglione NSK. Ljubljana: Moderna Galerija, 1993.rateyourmusic.com. 2018. 3 Sep. 2018 <https://rateyourmusic.com/artist/throbbing-gristle>.Reynolds, Simon. Retromania: Pop Culture’s Addiction to Its Own Past. London: Faber and Faber, 2011.Taussig, Michael. Defacement: Public Secrecy and the Labor of the Negative. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999.Verdery, Katherine. What Was Socialism, and What Comes Next? Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.Žižek, Slavoj. “Why Are Laibach and NSK Not Fascists?” 3 Sep. 2018 <www.nskstate.com/appendix/articles/why_are_laibach.php.>

Literary critics have mainly read Herman Melville’s short story “I and My Chimney” (1856) as allegory. This article elaborates on the tradition of interpreting Melville’s text allegorically by relating it to Fredric Jameson’s post-structural reinterpretation of allegory. In doing so, it argues that the story is not a simple example of allegory but rather an auto-reflexive engagement with allegory that reflects the cultural and historical ambivalences of the time in which Melville was writing. The suggestion is that Melville deliberately used signifiers (or the lack thereof) of directionality and place to reframe the overt context of his allegory (Civil War divisions of North and South) through teasing reference to the contemporaneous emergence of Manifest Destiny as an East-West historical spatialization. To this extent, from a literary-historical perspective, Melville’s text presents as an enquiry into the relationship between the obvious allegorical elements of a text and the literal or material elements that may either support or, as in this case, problematize traditional allegorical modes. In some ways, Melville’s story faintly anticipates Jameson’s post-structural theory of allegory as produced over a century later. “I and My Chimney” may also be linked to later texts, such as Jack Kerouac’s On the Road, which shift the directionality of American Literary History, in a definite way, from a North-South to an East-West axis. Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books may also be mentioned here. While, in recent years, some literary critics have produced readings of Melville’s story that depart from the traditional emphasis on its allegorical nature, this article claims to be the first to engage with “I and My Chimney” from within an allegorical perspective also informed by post-structural thinking. To do this, it focuses on the setting or directionality of the story, and on the orientating details of the titular chimney.Written and published shortly before the outbreak of the American Civil War (1861-1865), which pitted North against South, Melville’s story is told in the first person by a narrator with overweening affection for the chimney he sees as an image of himself: “I and my chimney, two gray-headed old smokers, reside in the country. We are, I may say, old settlers here; particularly my old chimney, which settles more and more every day” (327). Within the merged identity of narrator and chimney, however, the latter takes precedence, almost completely, over the former: “though I always say, I and my chimney, as Cardinal Wolsey used to say, I and my King, yet this egotistic way of speaking, wherein I take precedence of my chimney, is hardly borne out by the facts; in everything, except the above phrase, my chimney taking precedence of me” (327). Immediately, this sentence underscores a disjunction between words (“the above phrase”) and material circumstances (“the facts”) that will become crucial in my later consideration of Melville’s story as post-structural allegory.Detailed architectural and architectonic descriptions manifesting the chimney as “the one great domineering object” of the narrator’s house characterize the opening pages of the story (328). Intermingled with these descriptions, the narrator recounts the various interpersonal and business-related stratagems he has been forced to adopt in order to protect his chimney from the “Northern influences” that would threaten it. Numbered in this company are his mortgagee, the narrator’s own wife and daughters, and Mr. Hiram Scribe—“a rough sort of architect” (341). The key subplot implicated with the narrator’s fears for his chimney concerns its provenance. The narrator’s “late kinsman, Captain Julian Dacres” built the house, along with its stupendous chimney, and upon his death a rumour developed concerning supposed “concealed treasure” in the chimney (346). Once the architect Scribe insinuates, in correspondence to the chimney’s alter ego (the narrator), “that there is architectural cause to conjecture that somewhere concealed in your chimney is a reserved space, hermetically closed, in short, a secret chamber, or rather closet” the narrator’s wife and daughter use Scribe’s suggestion of a possible connection to Dacres’s alleged hidden treasure to reiterate their calls for the chimney’s destruction (345):Although they had never before dreamed of such a revelation as Mr. Scribe’s, yet upon the first suggestion they instinctively saw the extreme likelihood of it. In corroboration, they cited first my kinsman, and second, my chimney; alleging that the profound mystery involving the former, and the equally profound masonry involving the latter, though both acknowledged facts, were alike preposterous on any other supposition than the secret closet. (347)To protect his chimney, the narrator bribes Mr. Scribe, inviting him to produce a “‘little certificate—something, say, like a steam-boat certificate, certifying that you, a competent surveyor, have surveyed my chimney, and found no reason to believe any unsoundness; in short, any—any secret closet in it’” (351). Having enticed Scribe to scribe words against himself, the narrator concludes his tale triumphantly: “I am simply standing guard over my mossy old chimney; for it is resolved between me and my chimney, that I and my chimney will never surrender” (354).Despite its inherent interest, literary critics have largely overlooked “I and My Chimney”. Katja Kanzler observes that “together with much of [Melville’s] other short fiction, and his uncollected magazine pieces in particular, it has never really come out of the shadow of the more epic texts long considered his masterpieces” (583). To the extent that critics have engaged the story, they have mainly read it as traditional allegory (Chatfield; Emery; Sealts; Sowder). Further, the allegorical trend in the reception of Melville’s text clusters within the period from the early 1940s to the early 1980s. More recently, other critics have explored new ways of reading Melville’s story, but none, to my knowledge, have re-investigated its dominant allegorical mode of reception in the light of the post-structural engagements with allegory captured succinctly in Fredric Jameson’s work (Allison; Kanzler; Wilson). This article acknowledges the perspicacity of the mid-twentieth-century tradition of the allegorical interpretation of Melville’s story, while nuancing its insights through greater attention to the spatialized materiality of the text, its “geomorphic” nature, and its broader historical contexts.E. Hale Chatfield argues that “I and My Chimney” evidences one broad allegorical polarity of “Aristocratic Tradition vs. Innovation and Destruction” (164). This umbrella category is parsed by Sealts as an individualized allegory of besieged patriarchal identity and by Sowder as a national-level allegory of anxieties linked to the antebellum North-South relationship. Chatfield’s opposition works equally well for an individual or for communities of individuals. Thus, in this view, even as it structures our reception of Melville’s story, allegory remains unproblematized in itself through its internal interlocking. In turn, “I and My Chimney” provides fertile soil for critics to harvest an allegorical crop. Its very title inveigles the reader towards an allegorical attitude: the upstanding “I” of the title is associated with the architecture of the chimney, itself also upstanding. What is of the chimney is also, allegorically, of the “I”, and the vertical chimney, like the letter “I”, argues, as it were, a north-south axis, being “swung vertical to hit the meridian moon,” as Melville writes on his story’s first page (327). The narrator, or “I”, is as north-south as is his narrated allegory.Herman Melville was a Northern resident with Southern predilections, at least to the extent that he co-opted “Southern-ness” to, in Katja Kanzler’s words, “articulate the anxiety of mid-nineteenth-century cultural elites about what they perceive as a cultural decline” (583). As Chatfield notes, the South stood for “Aristocratic Tradition”; the North, for “Innovation and Destruction” (164). Reflecting the conventional mid-twentieth-century view that “I and My Chimney” is a guileless allegory of North-South relations, William J. Sowder argues that itreveals allegorically an accurate history of Southern slavery from the latter part of the eighteenth century to the middle of the nineteenth—that critical period when the South spent most of its time and energy apologizing for the existence of slavery. It discloses the split which Northern liberals so ably effected between liberal and conservative forces in the South, and it lays bare the intransigence of the traditional South on the Negro question. Above everything, the story reveals that the South had little in common with the rest of the Union: the War between the States was inevitable. (129-30)Sowder goes into painstaking detail prosecuting his North-South allegorical reading of Melville’s text, to the extent of finding multiple correspondences between what is allegorizing and what is being allegorized within a single sentence. One example, with Sowder’s allegorical interpolations in square brackets, comes from a passage where Melville is writing about his narrator’s replaced “gable roof” (Melville 331): “‘it was replaced with a modern roof [the cotton gin], more fit for a railway woodhouse [an industrial society] than an old country gentleman’s abode’” (Sowder 137).Sowder’s argument is historically erudite, and utterly convincing overall, except in one crucial detail. That is, for a text supposedly so much about the South, and written so much from its perspective—Sowder labels the narrator a “bitter Old Southerner”—it is remarkable how the story is only very ambiguously set in the South (145). Sowder distances himself from an earlier generation of commentators who “generally assumed that the old man is Melville and that the country is the foothills of the Massachusetts Berkshires, where Melville lived from 1850 to 1863,” concluding, “in fact, I find it hard to picture the narrator as a Northerner at all: the country which he describes sounds too much like the Land of Cotton” (130).Quite obviously, the narrator of any literary text does not necessarily represent its author, and in the case of “I and My Chimney”, if the narrator is not inevitably coincident with the author, then it follows that the setting of the story is not necessarily coincident with “the foothills of the Massachusetts Berkshires.” That said, the position of critics prior to Sowder that the setting is Massachusetts, and by extension that the narrator is Melville (a Southern sympathizer displaced to the North), hints at an oversight in the traditional allegorical reading of Melville’s text—related to its spatializations—the implications of which Sowder misses.Think about it: “too much like the Land of Cotton” is an exceedingly odd phrase; “too much like” the South, but not conclusively like the South (Sowder 130)! A key characteristic of Melville’s story is the ambiguity of its setting and, by extension, of its directionality. For the text to operate (following Chatfield, Emery, Sealts and Sowder) as a straightforward allegory of the American North-South relationship, the terms “north” and “south” cannot afford to be problematized. Even so, whereas so much in the story reads as related to either the South or the North, as cultural locations, the notions of “south-ness” and “north-ness” themselves are made friable (in this article, the lower case broadly indicates the material domain, the upper case, the cultural). At its most fundamental allegorical level, the story undoes its own allegorical expressions; as I will be arguing, the materiality of its directionality deconstructs what everything else in the text strives (allegorically) to maintain.Remarkably, for a text purporting to allegorize the North as the South’s polar opposite, nowhere does the story definitively indicate where it is set. The absence of place names or other textual features which might place “I and My Chimney” in the South, is over-compensated for by an abundance of geographically distracting signifiers of “place-ness” that negatively emphasize the circumstance that the story is not set definitively where it is set suggestively. The narrator muses at one point that “in fact, I’ve often thought that the proper place for my old chimney is ivied old England” (332). Elsewhere, further destabilizing the geographical coordinates of the text, reference is made to “the garden of Versailles” (329). Again, the architect Hiram Scribe’s house is named New Petra. Rich as it is with cultural resonances, at base, Petra denominates a city in Jordan; New Petra, by contrast, is place-less.It would appear that something strange is going on with allegory in this deceptively straightforward allegory, and that this strangeness is linked to equally strange goings on with the geographical and directional relations of north and south, as sites of the historical and cultural American North and South that the story allegorizes so assiduously. As tensions between North and South would shortly lead to the Civil War, Melville writes an allegorical text clearly about these tensions, while simultaneously deconstructing the allegorical index of geographical north to cultural North and of geographical south to cultural South.Fredric Jameson’s work on allegory scaffolds the historically and materially nuanced reading I am proposing of “I and My Chimney”. Jameson writes:Our traditional conception of allegory—based, for instance, on stereotypes of Bunyan—is that of an elaborate set of figures and personifications to be read against some one-to-one table of equivalences: this is, so to speak, a one-dimensional view of this signifying process, which might only be set in motion and complexified were we willing to entertain the more alarming notion that such equivalences are themselves in constant change and transformation at each perpetual present of the text. (73)As American history undergoes transformation, Melville foreshadows Jameson’s transformation of allegory through his (Melville’s) own transformations of directionality and place. In a story about North and South, are we in the south or the north? Allegorical “equivalences are themselves in constant change and transformation at each perpetual present of the text” (Jameson 73). North-north equivalences falter; South-south equivalences falter.As noted above, the chimney of Melville’s story—“swung vertical to hit the meridian moon”—insists upon a north-south axis, much as, in an allegorical mode, the vertical “I” of the narrator structures a polarity of north and south (327). However, a closer reading shows that the chimney is no less complicit in the confusion of north and south than the environs of the house it occupies:In those houses which are strictly double houses—that is, where the hall is in the middle—the fire-places usually are on opposite sides; so that while one member of the household is warming himself at a fire built into a recess of the north wall, say another member, the former’s own brother, perhaps, may be holding his feet to the blaze before a hearth in the south wall—the two thus fairly sitting back to back. Is this well? (328)Here, Melville is directly allegorizing the “sulky” state of the American nation; the brothers are, as it were, North and South (328). However, just as the text’s signifiers of place problematize the notions of north and south (and thus the associated cultural resonances of capitalized North and South), this passage, in queering the axes of the chimneys, further upsets the primary allegory. The same chimney that structures Melville’s text along a north-south or up-down orientation, now defers to an east-west axis, for the back-to-back and (in cultural and allegorical terms) North-South brothers, sit at a 90-degree angle to their house’s chimneys, which thus logically manifest a cross-wise orientation of east-west (in cultural and allegorical terms, East-West). To this extent, there is something of an exquisite crossover and confusion of cultural North and South, as represented by the two brothers, and geographical/architectural/architectonic north and south (now vacillating between an east-west and a north-south orientation). The North-South cultural relationship of the brothers distorts the allegorical force of the narrator’s spine-like chimney (not to mention of the brother’s respective chimneys), thus enflaming Jameson’s allegorical equivalences. The promiscuous literality of the smokestack—Katja Kanzler notes the “astonishing materiality” of the chimney—subverts its main allegorical function; directionality both supports and disrupts allegory (591). Simply put, there is a disjunction between words and material circumstances; the “way of speaking… is hardly borne out by the facts” (Melville 327).The not unjustified critical focus on “I and My Chimney” as an allegory of North-South cultural (and shortly wartime) tensions, has not kept up with post-structural developments in allegorical theory as represented in Fredric Jameson’s work. In part, I suggest, this is because critics to date have missed the importance to Melville’s allegory of its extra-textual context. According to William J. Sowder, “Melville showed a lively interest in such contemporary social events as the gold rush, the French Revolution of 1848, and the activities of the English Chartists” (129). The pity is that readings of “I and My Chimney” have limited this “lively interest” to the Civil War. Melville’s attentiveness to “contemporary social events” should also encompass, I suggest, the East-West (east-west) dynamic of mid-nineteenth century American history, as much as the North-South (north-south) dynamic.The redialing of Melville’s allegory along another directional axis is thus accounted for. When “I and My Chimney” was published in 1856, there was, of course, at least one other major historical development in play besides the prospect of the Civil War, and the doctrine of Manifest Destiny ran, not to put it too finely, along an East-West (east-west) axis. Indeed, Manifest Destiny is at least as replete with a directional emphasis as the discourse of Civil War North-South opposition. As quoted in Frederick Merk’s Manifest Destiny and Mission in American History, Senator Daniel S. Dickinson states to the Senate, in 1848, “but the tide of emigration and the course of empire have since been westward” (Merk 29). Allied to this tradition, of course, is the well-known contemporaneous saying, “go West, young man, go West” (“Go West, Young Man”).To the extent that Melville’s text appears to anticipate Jameson’s post-structural theory of allegory, it may be linked, I suggest, to Melville’s sense of being at an intersection of American history. The meta-narrative of national history when “I and My Chimney” was produced had a spatial dimension to it: north-south directionality (culturally, North-South) was giving way to east-west directionality (culturally, East-West). Civil War would soon give way to Manifest Destiny; just as Melville’s texts themselves would, much later admittedly, give way to texts of Manifest Destiny in all its forms, including Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House series. Equivalently, as much as the narrator’s wife represents Northern “progress” she might also be taken to signify Western “ambition”.However, it is not only that “I and My Chimney” is a switching-point text of geo-history (mediating relations, most obviously, between the tendencies of Southern Exceptionalism and of Western National Ambition) but that it operates as a potentially generalizable test case of the limits of allegory by setting up an all-too-simple allegory of North-South/north-south relations which is subsequently subtly problematized along the lines of East-West/east-west directionality. As I have argued, Melville’s “experimental allegory” continually diverts words (that is, the symbols allegory relies upon) through the turbulence of material circumstances.North, or north, is simultaneously a cultural and a geographical or directional coordinate of Melville’s text, and the chimney of “I and My Chimney” is both a signifier of the difference between N/north and S/south and also a portal to a 360-degrees all-encompassing engagement of (allegorical) writing with history in all its (spatialized) manifestations.ReferencesAllison, J. “Conservative Architecture: Hawthorne in Melville’s ‘I and My Chimney.’” South Central Review 13.1 (1996): 17-25.Chatfield, E.H. “Levels of Meaning in Melville’s ‘I and My Chimney.’” American Imago 19.2 (1962): 163-69.Emery, A.M. “The Political Significance of Melville’s Chimney.” The New England Quarterly 55.2 (1982): 201-28.“Go West, Young Man.” Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia 29 Sep. 2017. <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Go_West,_young_man>.Jameson, F. “Third-World Literature in the Era of Multinational Capitalism.” Social Text 15 (1986): 65-88.Kanzler, K. “Architecture, Writing, and Vulnerable Signification in Herman Melville’s ‘I and My Chimney.’” American Studies 54.4 (2009): 583-601.Kerouac, J. 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