Journal articles on the topic '1872-1915 Criticism and interpretation'

Taking the majority of its examples from the Salon of 1872, this article explores the extent to which official intervention was effective in eliminating from the exhibition potentially inopportune representations of the Franco-Prussian War. The withdrawal of a certain number of works deemed to risk offending the Prussians coincided with the very moment the French government was trying to negotiate the departure of occupying enemy troops under the terms of the May 1871 Treaty of Frankfurt. It initiated, or reignited, a debate about censorship during the course of which art criticism was itself politicized. Drawing on information in the Salon catalogue and analysing the reviews of the exhibition which appeared in the Parisian press, the article takes issue with much scholarship to date. In particular, it demonstrates how the interpretation of artistic works on display is inflected by polemical and ideological determinants. What emerges from this is precisely the incipient revanchard discourse which the government had hoped to suppress.

Among the various theoretical insights which seek to explain the emergence (and, for our purposes, the amendment) of ‘social’ legislation, the interpretation advanced by Oliver MacDonagh to explain nineteenth century governmental developments is widely known. This approach, which ascribes legal changes to the ‘pressure of events’, is built upon a five-stage model, progressing from the ‘discovery’ of an ‘evil’, to its administrative solution by means of legislative enactment. MacDonagh's formulation attracted, in turn, the criticism of those students of nineteenth century government growth, who pointed to the influence of Benthamite ideas as the forcing-house of change. Latterly, John Goldthorpe has sought to place emphasis on the role of social movements in galvanising legal reforms, suggesting how different interest groups might vie with one another in a pluralistic struggle for success.

As one of the disciples of Titu Maiorescu (1840–1917) together with Constantin Radulescu–Motru (1868–1957) and Petre Paul Negulescu (1872–1951), they are regarded as the most prolific thinkers in Romanian modern thought and founders of the Romanian modern culture. History changes which they could not foresee have left the marks upon the perception, reception and interpretation of their work and Ion Petrovici is no exception to that. In order to understand and interpret his work reflected in his writings on philosophy, logic, philosophical monographs, travel diaries, speeches and notes, biographical method, along with text analysis, hermeneutical approach and criticism have been adopted. Bridging his prolific philosophical endowment with his epoch realities remains a wish and an ideal to which this paper aims with the respect that it would offer us a much clear image of the past and would increase our wisdom as how to act upon the future. Keywords: Education, philosophy, Romanian culture.

This article analyzes, from the perspective of textual criticism, two stories by the Campeche writer Santiago Sierra (1850-1880): “Flor de fuego” and “Flor del dolor,” which are part of the series that he published under the title “Flores.” This work is intended to contribute to the construction of the genetic history of these texts, through the exposition and interpretation of the significant author variants that exist between the first version, which appeared in the Veracruz newspaper Violetas, in 1869, and the second and last version published in the pages of El Domingo, between 1871 and 1872. The comparison of the two versions of these “Flores” reveals interesting variants that allow us to appreciate the transition in his aesthetic proposal from the assimilation of the doctrine of Allan Kardec. The study shows the process of transformation from the occultist substrate to the spiritualist, as the foundation of the fantastic or the supernatural in the stories.

A disciple of Titu Maiorescu (1840–1917), Petre Paul Negulescu, along with Constantin Radulescu-Motru (1868–1957) and Ion Petrovici (1882–1972), is regarded as being among the most prolific thinkers in Romanian modern thought and one of the founders of the modern Romanian culture. Historical changes he could never envisage have left their mark upon the perception, reception and interpretation of his work. The paper reviews the key characteristics of Petre Paul Negulescu’s work as reflected in his studies on the origin of culture, the philosophy of Renaissance and two magnificent works, The History of Contemporary Philosophy and The Destiny of Humanity. The aim is to contextualise these works within the field of philosophy in terms of their sources, conceptual approach and hermeneutics. As well as furnishing the Romanian culture with a wealth of original thought, his pertinent analysis of social, economic, cultural and political changes, and his involvement in improving the educational system through his position as Minister of Instruction, have made him worthy of criticism and an outstanding reference point in times of revival. Keywords: Education, philosophy, culture.

This study aims to determine the Makassar Football Association, which is headquartered in Makassar, South Sulawesi province. The Makassar Football Association was founded on November 2, 1915 which at that time was still a football association called Makassar Voetbal Bond. Based on the historical background of his achievements, Makassar Voetbal Bond features male players in the elite ranks of Dutch East Indies football such as Sagi and Sangkala as reliable players who at that time were highly respected by Dutch players. The Makassar Football Association is known as the birthplace of young and talented football players. Talented young players include Ramang, Suardi Arlan, Nursalam and Maulwi Saelan. The player emerged and triumphed in the 1950-1970 era. Ramang is a football legend who came from PSM which at that time was still called Makassar Voetbal Bond. Ramang began strengthening the Makassar Football Association in 1947. This study uses a qualitative approach with historical methods through heuristics, criticism, interpretation, and historiography.

The Icelandic Constitution from 1874 constituted a national church and religious freedom in the country, instead of the former evangelical-lutheran state-religion. Only four years later discussions began about whether a national church and religious freedom were compatible or if it was necessary to choose the one or the other. In an article published in the last number of this journal it was shown how two opposite viewpoints regarding this question had already developed by 1880. The first one, “the way of separation”, was driven by human-rights perspectives, aiming to establish real religious freedom for everybody. The other one, “the way of legislation”, was based on religious and ecclesiastic perspectives. Those who followed the second one, wanted to develop an independent national church, with ongoing relations with the state. In this second article, particular themes of the debate on separation between church and state are analyzed, and various views on the topic expressed in religious bulletins and journals examined. The main focus will be on the financial relationship between the state and the church after separation had taken place, and the question of public education, which was the responsibility of the national church until 1907. To conclude with, it will be shown how the criticism of separatists were met by constitutional amendments in 1915. Finally, the interpretation that discussions about separation of state and church during the period 1878–1915 should be seen as a part of the national freedom struggle of the Icelandic people is rejected.

The development of Islamic education in Jambi, the establishment of the White Langgar by Sheikh Khotib Mas'ud in 1868, then continued with the association of alumni scholars of alMadrasty Shalatiyah and the Darul Ulum madrasa in Mecca which began to build a learning place called maktab (kuttab house) and madrasas called with a reed madrasa because it was built with materials from bamboo. The early madrasas that were established and eventually became the parent for the madrasas in Jambi included the Sa'adatuddarein madrasa in Tahtulyaman village which was led by Sheikh Ahmad bin Abdul Syakur; the Nurul Islam madrasa in Tanjung Pasir led by H. Kemas Muhammad Soleh bin H. Kemas Muhammad Yasin; the Nurul Iman madrasa in Ulu Gedong led by H. Ibrahim bin Sheikh A. Majid; and Madrasah Al-Jauharen in Sungai Asam Darat village (Kampung Manggis, Jambi city now) which is led by H. Usman bin H. Ali. Islamic education then experienced developments starting after the organizational scholars realized the Tsamaratul Insan Association in 1915. The existence of Islamic educational institutions has a role in building the nation, especially the Jambi Malay State where the knowledge developed is equivalent and relevant to the civilization that continues to develop from time to time. The writing of this paper uses historical methods consisting of heuristics (collection of sources), source criticism, interpretation (interpretation), and historiography (writing).

The history of economic thought remembers António Horta Osório for Schumpeter's reference to him in the History of Economic Analysis, in the context of a general appraisal of available works using mathematical instruments and language. This, however, does not do him justice, as he should also be praised for his pioneering interpretation of Pareto's general equilibrium. According to Stigler (1965), the definitive substitution of the cardinal utility hypothesis for the ordinal utility perspective was achieved by Johnson (1913) and Slutsky (1915). Weber (2001) discusses how far Pareto used cardinality, elects Slutsky (1915) as a pioneer of demand theory and prefers to reserve to R. G. Allen (1932–34), L. R. Klein and H. Rubin (1947–48), Samuelson (1947–48), R. C. Geary (1950–51), and Richard Stone (1954) the role of establishing ordinal utility in studying the utility function. This paper shows that Osório (1911) considered the subject of ordinalism before Johnson and Slutsky addressed the issue, as he had rejected the possibility of measuring utility and clearly stated that general equilibrium is not affected if cardinality is replaced by the ordinal conception for utility, according to Pareto's last formulation. Upon reading his book it becomes clear that not only was he perfectly aware of Edgeworth's contribution on the utility indifference curves, but also of Pareto's attempts to preserve general equilibrium from Fisher's criticism against cardinalism. Historians of economic thought have forgotten one of the early twentieth-century neoclassical economists. In this way the History of Economics has neglected an interesting proof of the consolidation of the Paretian ideas on ordinality, an issue that was an exciting and uncharted territory at that moment.

The research object of this study is the provisions of the Provisional Constitutions of 1918, 1919 and 1920 concerning the establishment of the Lithuanian legal system. The aim of the study was to determine what was the basis for the reception of foreign law and the particularism of the law, what law was recepted and what was the relationship between it and the newly created national law. The main methods used are systematic, teleological, historical, linguistic, and comparative. This article presents an original vision of recepted law and a critical assessment of the interwar Lithuanian governmental decision to completely eliminate recepted law. In the authors' opinion, law reception and particularism enshrined in the Provisional Constitutions met the expectations of the citizens, and the government’s ambition to completely eliminate recepted law in all areas of people’s activities in the intensive development of the national law was in line with the strategic interests of the state and society. Particularism was a natural expression of pluralism inherent in the Western legal tradition and had a great potential for the development of Lithuanian law, which was not exploited due to the negative appreciation of particularism and the attempt to eliminate it completely. Acts issued by the Russian authorities in 1914-1915 and by the German authorities in 1915-1918 restricted the rights of Lithuanian residents, severely restricted monetary and property relations, made it difficult to rebuild the country’s economy, providing for repressive or restrictive measures against the citizens of hostile states. The restored state of Lithuania endeavoured to establish peaceful relations with all states, including those with whom Russia and Germany were at war. Cancelling the law imposed by the Russian and German authorities during the war was a reasonable and useful decision of the Lithuanian State authorities. The interpretation of the constitutional provision «[laws] which existed before the war» as «which existed before August 1, 1914», common in the historical legal literature of Lithuania, is incorrect. The question what laws were recepted has to be addressed not by the date of the adoption o a certain act, but by its content – insofar it is linked or unrelated to the First World War. All acts by which the Russian Empire intervened or were preparing to intervene in this war shall be considered to be excluded from the legal system of the restored State of Lithuania in the sense of the constitutional norm «[laws] which existed before the war» and the general spirit of this Constitution. The system of constitutional control entrenched in the Provisional Constitutions, where a court or an executive authority verified the compliance of a recepted law with the Constitution before applying it is subject to criticism from the standpoint of contemporary legal science, but under the conditions of Lithuania of 1918-1920, it was flexible, fast, allowing citizens to raise the issue of the constitutionality of the law and present their arguments.

Uffe Hansen 14.12. 1894 - 11.9. 1994By Henning HøirupThe obituary begins with a description of Uffe Hansen’s background as an Independent Congregation clergyman (from 1925) to the Grundtvigian Independent Congregation (Danish valgmenighed, i.e. a congregation within the National Church, claiming the right to employ their own minister) of Ubberup, where the prominent clergymen V.J.Hoff and Carl Koch were his predecessors. Carl Koch’s extensive writings, theologically erudite, but .popular. in their language, and thus accessible to the layman, were to become the model for Uffe Hansen’s studies in Grundtvig’s hymnwriting. Through his membership of the Hymn Book Commission of the free Grundtvigian congregations (HYMNS. Independent Congregations and Free Church Congregations, 1935), Uffe Hansen was motivated to realize his plan of a complete account of the whole of Grundtvig’s hymn writing in the book Grundtvig’s Hymn Writing. Its History and Content I. 1810-1837, published in 1937. In the following years Uffe Hansen was absorbed in organizational work (Grundtvigian Convent, the »No More War« organization) and by his membership of the Grundtvigian Hymn Book Committee (The Danish Hymn Book. A Grundtvigian Proposal, 1944). In the 1940s efforts were made to unite the hymn tradition of the re-united Southern Jutland with the traditions of the Kingdom, i.e. the old Danish treasury of hymns and the Grundtvigian hymns. Uffe Hansen became a member of the Hymn Book Commission which published the proposal The Danish Hymn Book in 1951. More than anybody else, Uffe Hansen is responsible for the large number of Grundtvig hymns in this proposal, often with verses from the original versions of the hymns added to them. In spite of vehement criticism on this point The Danish Hymn Book was authorized in 1953. Grundtvig remained the predominant contributor, even though significant Grundtvig hymns, expressing his church view, were omitted, much to Uffe Hansen’s regret. The Hymn Book includes Uffe Hansen’s own translation of the Latin antiphone Oh, Grant Us Peace, Our Lord. While this debate was going on, the continuation of Uffe Hansen’s work, Grundtvig9s Hymn Writing II. 1837-1850 appeared in 1951, an important contribution to a comprehensive interpretation of Grundtvig’s work to renew the Danish hymnody. However, Uffe Hansen’s main achievement as a hymn researcher was his work as a co-editor of Grundtvig’s Song-Work I-VI, 1944-1964. This new edition was worked out on scientific principles, and the hymns were brought in chronological order, as far as it was possible. The edition included a critical variant apparatus, compiled by Uffe Hansen. Concurrently with this work, Uffe Hansen participated in the compilation of a Register of Grundtvig’s Posthumous Papers 1-IXXX, 1956-1964, and, while engaged on this, found several hitherto unknown hymns, which were included in the new edition of the Song-Work.Here Uffe Hansen’s abilities as a researcher and scholar were amply demonstrated. Then, in 1966, came his finalwork, Grundtvig’s Hymn Writing III. 1851-1872, which, like the other volumes, testify to Uffe Hansen’s talent for combining erudition with easy comprehensibility. In his last years Uffe Hansen lived in Holland; he was laid to rest from the Independent Congregation Church of Ubberup.

In the history of thought, the effort to get rid of the religious and theological teachings of the Middle Ages, together with the Renaissance and reform movements, causes an evolution in the search and perception of reality. As a matter of fact, it is seen that the questioning about the belief in God increased in the period after the Industrial Revolution, starting with the modern period, and especially during the 19th century. One of these ideas, in which man is put in the center for the sake of independence from God and religious authorities, belongs to the German materialist Ludwig Feuerbach (1804-1872). Contrary to the innate approach of modern thought that became systematized with Descartes, Feuerbach argues that the idea of God is formed in the human mind afterwards and through experiences, and the concept of God is a manifestation and result of man's reflection of his own nature outward. Man, who thinks that he submits to God and loves him, creates a sort of external "other" imagination in order to attribute the features he wants to have but cannot have indeed. In other words, the source of man's vision and belief in God is the weakness inherent in his nature, then the search for an external existence that he can complete this weakness. By attributing the feelings or values that inherently exist in the human-human relationship, to a sacred other, man becomes alienated from himself. Thus, attributing the features that exist in him to God as another being, includes the meanings of man's alienation from himself, denial of his own self or essence. This alienation caused by religion and theology exposes the detachment of man from his own essence and nature, the desire to complete the deficient nature of his self with an absolute other who does not have this deficiency in himself. Alienation, which causes human depreciation, is a result of religious theology's assuming that man is a weak being in the face of God, an external other. Representing the transition from classical German idealism to materialism and positivism, Feuerbach continues to use Hegel's idealism and dialectic as a tool. However, by reading/interpreting it in reverse, he adopts the flow of thought towards the search for truth from the Absolute Spirit to the individuality. Hegel, in the problem of the relationship between mental objects and external objects, emphasizes that the thought corresponds to existence, and the guarantee of this is the Absolute Mind. Hegelian monistic idealism claims that the Absolute mind, which provides the unity between the mind and the external world, existed before the world. On the other hand, Feuerbach argues that general knowledge can be reached from particular minds. Because he argues that the truth can be acquired only if a path is followed from the object to the thought, not from the thought to the object. Thus, Feuerbach, who adopted the inductive method in his criticisms of religion and theology, said that atheism should essentially be real humanism and theology should actually be anthropology; therefore, he argues that the being believed to be God is actually human. Despite the claim that the belief in a perfect God is in human nature and innate, he claims that this belief arises from experiences through lifetime. God, when evaluated from an objective point of view, is nothing but a subjective and individual feeling. Theology should be replaced by anthropology and religion should be replaced by philosophy in order to ensure that people have a true understanding of religion instead of their baseless beliefs full of unrealistic speculations. Because, according to him, religion consist of nothing but love, where the human seeks his own truth in the reflection of reality that has become unreal due to theology, but can find it (his own truth) directly in relation between you and me. Thus, any union between two people through love is religion. The aim of our study is to reveal that in Feuerbach's thought, God is a result of human psychological weaknesses and deficiencies in his nature. It is emphasized that Feuerbach's philosophical background, his views on human nature and alienation are decisive in the formation of the aforementioned thought. Indeed he argues that God is a fictional being created by man, and that all the characteristics attributed to God are essentially belong to human nature. Therefore, by believing in God and glorifying him, man becomes alienated from his own nature. This shows that Feuerbach clearly adopted an anthropomorphic idea that sublimates human nature instead of a classical idea of God. However, although this approach generally includes serious criticisms of the belief principles of all holy religions, it is based on a body of humanistic principles that specifically and predominantly targets Christian theology, which claiming authoritarianism in the interpretation of belif in God and other principles of Christianity.

As the distinction between disclosure-fuelled celebrity and lasting fame becomes difficult to discern, the “based on a true story” label has gained a particular traction among readers and viewers. This is despite much public approbation and private angst sometimes resulting from such disclosure as “little in the law or in society protects people from the consequences of others’ revelations about them” (Smith 537). Even fiction writers can stray into difficult ethical and artistic territory when they disclose the private facts of real lives—that is, recognisably biographical information—in their work, with autoethnographic fiction where authors base their fiction on their own lives (Davis and Ellis) not immune as this often discloses others’ stories (Ellis) as well. F. Scott Fitzgerald famously counselled writers to take their subjects from life and, moreover, to look to the singular, specific life, although this then had to be abstracted: “Begin with an individual, and before you know it, you find that you have created a type; begin with a type, and you find that you have created—nothing” (139). One of the problems when assessing fiction through this lens, however, is that, although many writers are inspired in their work by an actual life, event or historical period, the resulting work is usually ultimately guided by literary concerns—what writers often term the quest for aesthetic truth—rather than historical accuracy (Owen et al. 2008). In contrast, a biography is, and continues to be, by definition, an accurate account of a real persons’ life. Despite postmodern assertions regarding the relativity of truth and decades of investigation into the incorporation of fiction into biography, other non-fiction texts and research narratives (see, for instance: Wyatt), many biographers attest to still feeling irrevocably tied to the factual evidence in a way that novelists and the scriptors of biographically-based fictional television drama, movies and theatrical pieces do not (Wolpert; Murphy; Inglis). To cite a recent example, Louis Nowra’s Ice takes the life of nineteenth-century self-made entrepreneur and politician Malcolm McEacharn as its base, but never aspires to be classified as creative nonfiction, history or biography. The history in a historical novel is thus often, and legitimately, skewed or sidelined in order to achieve the most satisfying work of art, although some have argued that fiction may uniquely represent the real, as it is able to “play […] in the gap between the narratives of history and the actualities of the past” (Nelson n.p.). Fiction and non-fictional forms are, moreover, increasingly intermingling and intertwining in content and intent. The ugly word “faction” was an attempt to suggest that the two could simply be elided but, acknowledging wide-ranging debates about whether literature can represent the complexities of life with any accuracy and post-structuralist assertions that the idea of any absolute truth is outmoded, contemporary authors play with, and across, these boundaries, creating hybrid texts that consciously slide between invention and disclosure, but which publishers, critics and readers continue to define firmly as either fiction or biography. This dancing between forms is not particularly new. A striking example was Marion Halligan’s 2001 novel The Fog Garden which opens with a personal essay about the then recent death of her own much-loved husband. This had been previously published as an autobiographical memoir, “Cathedral of Love,” and again in an essay collection as “Lapping.” The protagonist of the novel is a recently widowed writer named Clare, but the inclusion of Halligan’s essay, together with the book’s marketing campaign which made much of the author’s own sadness, encourages readers to read the novel as a disclosure of the author’s own personal experience. This is despite Halligan’s attempt to keep the two separate: “Clare isn’t me. She’s like me. Some of her experience, terrors, have been mine. Some haven’t” (Fog Garden 9). In such acts of disclosure and denial, fiction and non-fiction can interrogate, test and even create each other, however quite vicious criticism can result when readers feel the boundaries demarking the two are breached. This is most common when authors admit to some dishonesty in terms of self-disclosure as can be seen, for instance, in the furore surrounding highly inflated and even wholly fabricated memoirs such as James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces, Margaret B. Jones’s Love and Consequences and Misha Defonseca’s A Mémoire of the Holocaust Years. Related problems and anxieties arise when authors move beyond incorporating and disclosing the facts of their own lives in memoir or (autobiographical) fiction, to using the lives of others in this way. Daphne Patai sums up the difference: “A person telling her life story is, in a sense, offering up her self for her own and her listener’s scrutiny […] Whether we should appropriate another’s life in this way becomes a legitimate question” (24–5). While this is difficult but seemingly manageable for non-fiction writers because of their foundational reliance on evidence, this anxiety escalates for fiction writers. This seems particularly extreme in relation to how audience expectations and prior knowledge of actual events can shape perceptions and interpretations of the resulting work, even when those events are changed and the work is declared to be one of fiction. I have discussed elsewhere, for instance, the difficult terrain of crafting fiction from well-known criminal cases (Brien, “Based on a True Story”). The reception of such work shows how difficult it is to dissociate creative product from its source material once the public and media has made this connection, no matter how distant that finished product may be from the original facts.As the field of biography continues to evolve for writers, critics and theorists, a study of one key text at a moment in that evolution—Jill Shearer’s play Georgia and its reliance on disclosing the life of artist Georgia O’Keeffe for its content and dramatic power—reveals not only some of the challenges and opportunities this close relationship offers to the writers and readers of life stories, but also the pitfalls of attempting to dissemble regarding artistic intention. This award-winning play has been staged a number of times in the past decade but has attracted little critical attention. Yet, when I attended a performance of Georgia at La Boite Theatre in Brisbane in 1999, I was moved by the production and admiring of Shearer’s writing which was, I told anyone who would listen, a powerfully dramatic interpretation of O’Keeffe’s life, one of my favourite artists. A full decade on, aspects of the work and its performance still resonate through my thinking. Author of more than twenty plays performed throughout Australia and New Zealand as well as on Broadway, Shearer was then (and is) one of Australia’s leading playwrights, and I judged Georgia to be a major, mature work: clear, challenging and confident. Reading the Currency Press script a year or so after seeing the play reinforced for me how distinctive and successful a piece of theatre Shearer had created utilising a literary technique which has been described elsewhere as fictionalised biography—biography which utilises fictional forms in its presentation but stays as close to the historical record as conventional biography (Brien, The Case of Mary Dean).The published version of the script indeed acknowledges on its title page that Georgia is “inspired by the later life of the American artist Georgia O’Keeffe” (Shearer). The back cover blurb begins with a quote attributed to O’Keeffe and then describes the content of the play entirely in terms of biographical detail: The great American artist Georgia O’Keeffe is physically, emotionally and artistically debilitated by her failing eyesight. Living amidst the Navajo spiritual landscape in her desert home in New Mexico, she becomes prey to the ghosts of her past. Her solitude is broken by Juan, a young potter, whose curious influence on her life remains until her death at 98 (Georgia back cover). This short text ends by unequivocally reinforcing the relation between the play and the artist’s life: “Georgia is a passionate play that explores with sensitivity and wry humour the contradictions and the paradoxes of the life of Georgia O’Keeffe” (Georgia back cover). These few lines of plot synopsis actually contain a surprisingly large number of facts regarding O’Keeffe’s later life. After the death of her husband (the photographer and modern art impresario Alfred Steiglitz whose ghost is a central character in the play), O’Keeffe did indeed relocate permanently to Abiquiú in New Mexico. In 1971, aged 84, she was suffering from an irreversible degenerative disease, had lost her central vision and stopped painting. One autumn day in 1973, Juan Hamilton, a young potter, appeared at her adobe house looking for work. She hired him and he became her lover, closest confidante and business manager until her death at 98. These facts form not only the background story but also much of the riveting content for Georgia which, as the published script’s introduction states, takes as its central themes: “the dilemma of the artist as a an older woman; her yearning to create against the fear of failing artistic powers; her mental strength and vulnerability; her sexuality in the face of physical deterioration; her need for companionship and the paradoxical love of solitude” (Rider vii). These issues are not only those which art historians identify as animating the O’Keeffe’s later life and painting, but ones which are discussed at length in many of the biographies of the artist published from 1980 to 2007 (see, for instance: Arrowsmith and West; Berry; Calloway and Bry; Castro; Drohojowska-Philp; Eisler; Eldredge; Harris; Hogrefe; Lisle; Peters; Reily; Robinson).Despite this clear focus on disclosing aspects of O’Keeffe’s life, both the director’s and playwright’s notes prefacing the published script declare firmly that Georgia is fiction, not biography. While accepting that these statements may be related to copyright and privacy concerns, the stridency of the denials of the biography label with its implied intention of disclosing the facts of a life, are worthy of analysis. Although noting that Georgia is “about the American artist Georgia O’Keeffe”, director of the La Boite production Sue Rider asserts that not only that the play moves “beyond the biographical” (vii) but, a few pages later, that it is “thankfully not biography” (xii). This is despite Rider’s own underscoring of the connection to O’Keeffe by setting up an exhibition of the artist’s work adjacent to the theatre. Shearer, whose research acknowledgments include a number of works about O’Keeffe, is even more overtly strident in her denial of any biographical links stating that her characters, “this Juan, Anna Marie and Dorothy Norman are a work of dramatic fiction, as is the play, and should be taken as such” (xiii).Yet, set against a reading of the biographies of the artist, including those written in the intervening decade, Georgia clearly and remarkably accurately discloses the tensions and contradictions of O’Keeffe’s life. It also draws on a significant amount of documented biographical data to enhance the dramatic power of what is disclosed by the play for audiences with this knowledge. The play does work as a coherent narrative for a viewer without any prior knowledge of O’Keeffe’s life, but the meaning of the dramatic action is enhanced by any biographical knowledge the audience possesses. In this way, the play’s act of disclosure is reinforced by this externally held knowledge. Although O’Keeffe’s oeuvre is less well known and much anecdotal detail about her life is not as familiar for Australian viewers as for those in the artist’s homeland, Shearer writes for an international as well as an Australian audience, and the program and adjacent exhibition for the Brisbane performance included biographical information. It is also worth noting that large slabs of biographical detail are also omitted from the play. These omissions to disclosure include O’Keeffe’s early life from her birth in 1887 in Wisconsin to her studies in Chicago and New York from 1904 to 1908, as well as her work as a commercial artist and art teacher in Texas and other Southern American states from 1912 to 1916. It is from this moment in 1916, however, that the play (although opening in 1946) constructs O’Keeffe’s life right through to her death in 1986 by utilising such literary devices as flashbacks, dream sequences and verbal and visual references.An indication of the level of accuracy of the play as biographical disclosure can be ascertained by unpacking the few lines of opening stage directions, “The Steiglitz’s suite in the old mid-range Shelton Hotel, New York, 1946 ... Georgia, 59, in black, enters, dragging a coffin” (1). In 1946, when O’Keeffe was indeed aged 59, Steiglitz died. The couple had lived part of every year at the Shelton Towers Hotel at 525 Lexington Avenue (now the New York Marriott East Side), a moderately priced hotel made famous by its depiction in O’Keeffe’s paintings and Steiglitz’s photographs. When Stieglitz suffered a cerebral thrombosis, O’Keeffe was spending the summer in New Mexico, but she returned to New York where her husband died on 13 July. This level of biographical accuracy continues throughout Georgia. Halfway through the first page “Anita, 52” enters. This character represents Anita Pollitzer, artist, critic and O’Keeffe’s lifelong friend. The publication of her biography of O’Keeffe, A Woman on Paper, and Georgia’s disapproval of this, is discussed in the play, as are their letters, which were collected and published in 1990 as Lovingly, Georgia (Gibiore). Anita’s first lines in the play after greeting her friend refer to this substantial correspondence: “You write beautifully. I always tell people: “I have a friend who writes the most beautiful letters” (1). In the play, as in life, it is Anita who introduces O’Keeffe’s work to Stieglitz who is, in turn, accurately described as: “Gallery owner. Two Nine One, Fifth Avenue. Leader of the New York avant-garde, the first to bring in the European moderns” (6). The play also chronicles how (unknown to O’Keeffe) Steiglitz exhibited the drawings Pollitzer gave him under the incorrect name, a scene which continues with Steiglitz persuading Georgia to allow her drawings to remain in his gallery (as he did in life) and ends with a reference to his famous photographs of her hands and nude form. Although the action of a substantial amount of real time is collapsed into a few dramatic minutes and, without doubt, the dialogue is invented, this invention achieves the level of aesthetic truth aimed for by many contemporary biographers (Jones)—as can be assessed when referring back to the accepted biographical account. What actually appears to have happened was that, in the autumn 1915, while teaching art in South Carolina, O’Keeffe was working on a series of abstract charcoal drawings that are now recognised as among the most innovative in American art of that time. She mailed some of these drawings to Pollitzer, who showed them Steiglitz, who exhibited ten of them in April 1916, O’Keeffe only learning of this through an acquaintance. O’Keeffe, who had first visited 291 in 1908 but never spoken to Stieglitz, held his critical opinion in high regard, and although confronting him over not seeking her permission and citing her name incorrectly, eventually agreed to let her drawings hang (Harris). Despite Shearer’s denial, the other characters in Georgia are also largely biographical sketches. Her “Anna Marie”, who never appears in the play but is spoken of, is Juan’s wife (in real life Anna Marie Hamilton), and “Dorothy Norman” is the character who has an affair with Steiglitz—the discovery of which leads to Georgia’s nervous breakdown in the play. In life, while O’Keeffe was in New Mexico, Stieglitz became involved with the much younger Norman who was, he claimed, only his gallery assistant. When O’Keeffe discovered Norman posing nude for her husband (this is vividly imagined in Georgia), O’Keeffe moved out of the Shelton and suffered from the depression that led to her nervous breakdown. “ Juan,” who ages from 26 to 39 in the play, represents the potter Juan Hamilton who encouraged the nearly blind O’Keeffe to paint again. In the biographical record there is much conjecture about Hamilton’s motives, and Shearer sensitively portrays her interpretation of this liaison and the difficult territory of sexual desire between a man and a much older woman, as she also too discloses the complex relationship between O’Keeffe and the much older Steiglitz.This complexity is described through the action of the play, but its disclosure is best appreciated if the biographical data is known. There are also a number of moments of biographical disclosure in the play that can only be fully understood with biographical knowledge in hand. For instance, Juan refers to Georgia’s paintings as “Beautiful, sexy flowers [... especially] the calla lilies” (24). All attending the play are aware (from the exhibition, program and technical aspects of the production) that, in life, O’Keeffe was famous for her flower paintings. However, knowing that these had brought her fame and fortune early in her career with, in 1928, a work titled Calla Lily selling for U.S. $25,000, then an enormous sum for any living American artist, adds to the meaning of this line in the play. Conversely, the significant level of biographical disclosure throughout Georgia does not diminish, in any way, the power or integrity of Shearer’s play as a literary work. Universal literary (and biographical) themes—love, desire and betrayal—animate Georgia; Steiglitz’s spirit haunts Georgia years after his death and much of the play’s dramatic energy is generated by her passion for both her dead husband and her younger lover, with some of her hopeless desire sublimated through her relationship with Juan. Nadia Wheatley reads such a relationship between invention and disclosure in terms of myth—relating how, in the process of writing her biography of Charmain Clift, she came to see Clift and her husband George Johnson take on a larger significance than their individual lives: “They were archetypes; ourselves writ large; experimenters who could test and try things for us; legendary figures through whom we could live vicariously” (5). In this, Wheatley finds that “while myth has no real beginning or end, it also does not bother itself with cause and effect. Nor does it worry about contradictions. Parallel tellings are vital to the fabric” (5). In contrast with both Rider and Shearer’s insistence that Georgia was “not biography”, it could be posited that (at least part of) Georgia’s power arises from the creation of such mythic value, and expressly through its nuanced disclosure of the relevant factual (biographical) elements in parallel to the development of its dramatic (invented) elements. Alongside this, accepting Georgia as such a form of biographical disclosure would mean that as well as a superbly inventive creative work, the highly original insights Shearer offers to the mass of O’Keeffe biography—something of an American industry—could be celebrated, rather than excused or denied. ReferencesArrowsmith, Alexandra, and Thomas West, eds. Georgia O’Keeffe & Alfred Stieglitz: Two Lives—A Conversation in Paintings and Photographs. Washington DC: HarperCollins and Calloway Editions, and The Phillips Collection, 1992.Berry, Michael. Georgia O’Keeffe. New York: Chelsea House, 1988.Brien, Donna Lee. The Case of Mary Dean: Sex, Poisoning and Gender Relations in Australia. Unpublished PhD Thesis. Queensland University of Technology, 2004. –––. “‘Based on a True Story’: The Problem of the Perception of Biographical Truth in Narratives Based on Real Lives”. TEXT: Journal of Writers and Writing Programs 13.2 (Oct. 2009). 19 Oct. 2009 < http://www.textjournal.com.au >.Calloway, Nicholas, and Doris Bry, eds. Georgia O’Keeffe in the West. New York: Knopf, 1989.Castro, Jan G. The Art and Life of Georgia O’Keeffe. New York: Crown Publishing, Random House, 1985.Davis, Christine S., and Carolyn Ellis. “Autoethnographic Introspection in Ethnographic Fiction: A Method of Inquiry.” In Pranee Liamputtong and Jean Rumbold, eds. Knowing Differently: Arts-Based and Collaborative Research. New York: Nova Science, 2008. 99–117.Defonseca, Misha. Misha: A Mémoire of the Holocaust Years. Bluebell, PA: Mt. Ivy Press, 1997.Drohojowska-Philp, Hunter. Full Bloom: The Art and Life of Georgia O’Keeffe. New York: WW Norton, 2004.Ellis, Carolyn. “Telling Secrets, Revealing Lives: Relational Ethics in Research with Intimate Others.” Qualitative Inquiry 13.1 (2007): 3–29. Eisler, Benita. O’Keeffe and Stieglitz: An American Romance. New York: Doubleday, 1991.Eldredge, Charles C. Georgia O’Keeffe: American and Modern. New Haven: Yale UP, 1993.Fitzgerald, F. Scott. The Diamond as Big as the Ritz and Other Stories. Harmondsworth, U.K.: Penguin, 1962.Frey, James. A Million Little Pieces. New York: N.A. Talese/Doubleday, 2003.Gibiore, Clive, ed. Lovingly, Georgia. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1990.Halligan, Marion. “Lapping.” In Peter Craven, ed. Best Australian Essays. Melbourne: Bookman P, 1999. 208–13.Halligan, Marion. The Fog Garden. Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 2001.Halligan, Marion. “The Cathedral of Love.” The Age 27 Nov. 1999: Saturday Extra 1.Harris, J. C. “Georgia O’Keeffe at 291”. Archives of General Psychiatry 64.2 (Feb. 2007): 135–37.Hogrefe, Jeffrey. O’Keeffe: The Life of an American Legend. New York: Bantam, 1994.Inglis, Ian. “Popular Music History on Screen: The Pop/Rock Biopic.” Popular Music History 2.1 (2007): 77–93.Jones, Kip. “A Biographic Researcher in Pursuit of an Aesthetic: The Use of Arts-Based (Re)presentations in “Performative” Dissemination of Life Stories”. Qualitative Sociology Review 2.1 (Apr. 2006): 66–85. Jones, Margaret B. Love and Consequences: A Memoir of Hope and Survival. New York: Riverhead Books, 2008.Lisle, Laurie. Portrait of an Artist: A Biography of Georgia O’Keeffe. New York: Seaview Books, 1980.Murphy, Mary. “Limited Lives: The Problem of the Literary Biopic”. Kinema 17 (Spr. 2002): 67–74. Nelson, Camilla. “Faking It: History and Creative Writing.” TEXT: Journal of Writing and Writing Courses 11.2 (Oct. 2007). 19 Oct. 2009 < http://www.textjournal.com.au/oct07/nelson.htm >.Nowra, Louis. Ice. Crows Nest: Allen and Unwin, 2008.Owen, Jillian A. Tullis, Chris McRae, Tony E. Adams, and Alisha Vitale. “Truth Troubles.” Qualitative Inquiry 15.1 (2008): 178–200.Patai, Daphne. “Ethical Problems of Personal Narratives, or, Who Should Eat the Last Piece of Cake.” International Journal of Oral History 8 (1987): 5–27.Peters, Sarah W. Becoming O’Keeffe. New York: Abbeville Press, 1991.Pollitzer, Anita. A Woman on Paper. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1988.Reily, Nancy Hopkins. Georgia O’Keeffe. A Private Friendship, Part II. Santa Fe, NM: Sunstone Press, 2009.Rider, Sue. “Director’s Note.” Georgia [playscript]. Sydney: Currency Press, 2000. vii–xii.Robinson, Roxana. Georgia O’Keeffe: A Life. London: Bloomsbury Publishing, 1990. Shearer, Jill. Georgia [playscript]. Sydney: Currency Press, 2000.Smith, Thomas R. “How Our Lives Become Stories: Making Selves [review]”. Biography 23.3 (2000): 534–38.Wheatley, Nadia. The Life and Myth of Charmian Clift. Sydney: Flamingo, 2001.Wolpert, Stanley. “Biography as History: A Personal Reflection”. Journal of Interdisciplinary History 40.3 (2010): 399–412. Pub. online (Oct. 2009). 19 Oct. 2009 < http://www.mitpressjournals.org/toc/jinh/40/3 >.Wyatt, Jonathan. “Research, Narrative and Fiction: Conference Story”. The Qualitative Report 12.2 (Jun. 2007): 318–31.

In a field of study as well-established as the Gothic, it is surprising how much contention there is over precisely what that term refers to. Is Gothic a genre, for example, or a mode? Should it be only applicable to literary and film texts that deal with tropes of haunting and trauma set in a gloomy atmosphere, or might it meaningfully be applied to other cultural forms of production, such as music or animation? Can television shows aimed at children be considered Gothic? What about food? When is something “Gothic” and when is it “horror”? Is there even a difference? The Gothic as a phenomenon is commonly identified as beginning with Horace Walpole’s novel The Castle of Otranto (1764), which was followed by Clara Reeve’s The Old English Baron (1778), the romances of Ann Radcliffe and Matthew Lewis’ The Monk (1796). Nineteenth-century Gothic literature was characterised by “penny dreadfuls” and novels such as Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818) and Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897). Frequently dismissed as sensational and escapist, the Gothic has experienced a critical revival in recent decades, beginning with the feminist revisionism of the 1970s by critics such as Ellen Moers, Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar. With the appearance of studies such as David Punter’s The Literature of Terror (1980), Gothic literature became a reputable field of scholarly research, with critics identifying suburban Gothic, imperial Gothic, postcolonial Gothic and numerous national Gothics, including Irish Gothic and the Gothic of the American South. Furthermore, as this special edition on Gothic shows, the Gothic is by no means limited to literature, with film, television, animation and music all partaking of the Gothic inflection. Indeed, it would be unwise to negate the ways in which the Gothic has developed to find fertile ground beyond the bounds of literature. In our media-centred twenty-first century, the Gothic has colonised different forms of expression, where the impact left by literary works, that were historically the centre of the Gothic itself, is all but a legacy. Film, in particular, has a close connection to the Gothic, where the works of, for instance, Tim Burton, have shown the representative potential of the Gothic mode; the visual medium of film, of course, has a certain experiential immediacy that marries successfully with the dark aesthetics of the Gothic, and its connections to representing cultural anxieties and desires (Botting). The analysis of Gothic cinema, in its various and extremely international incarnations, has now established itself as a distinct area of academic research, where prominent Gothic scholars such as Ken Gelder—with the recent publication of his New Vampire Cinema (2012)—continue to lead the way to advance Gothic scholarship outside of the traditional bounds of the literary.As far as cinema is concerned, one cannot negate the interconnections, both aesthetic and conceptual, between traditional Gothic representation and horror. Jerrold Hogle has clearly identified the mutation and transformation of the Gothic from a narrative solely based on “terror”, to one that incorporates elements of “horror” (Hogle 3). While the separation between the two has a long-standing history—and there is no denying that both the aesthetics and the politics of horror and the Gothic can be fundamentally different—one has to be attuned to the fact that, in our contemporary moment, the two often tend to merge and intersect, often forming hybrid visions of the Gothic, with cinematic examples such as Guillermo Del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) playing testament to this. Indeed, the newly formed representations of “Gothic Horror” and “Gothic Terror” alerts us to the mutable and malleable nature of the Gothic itself, an adaptable mode that is always contextually based. Film is not, however, the only non-literary medium that has incorporated elements of the Gothic over the years. Other visual representations of the Gothic abound in the worlds of television, animation, comics and graphic novels. One must only think here of the multiple examples of recent television series that have found fruitful connections with both the psychologically haunting aspects of Gothic terror, and the gory and grisly visual evocations of Gothic horror: the list is long and diverse, and includes Dexter (2006-2013), Hannibal (2013-), and Penny Dreadful (2014-), to mention but a few. The animation front —in its multiple in carnations —has similarly been entangled with Gothic tropes and concerns, a valid interconnection that is visible both in cinematic and television examples, from The Corpse Bride (2005) to Coraline (2009) and Frankenweeinie (2012). Comics and graphics also have a long-standing tradition of exploiting the dark aesthetics of the Gothic mode, and its sensationalist connections to horror; the instances from this list pervade the contemporary media scope, and feature the inclusion of Gothicised ambiences and characters in both singular graphic novels and continuous comics —such as the famous Arkham Asylum (1989) in the ever-popular Batman franchise. The inclusion of these multi-media examples here is only representative, and it is an almost prosaic accent in a list of Gothicised media that extends to great bounds, and also includes the worlds of games and music. The scholarship, for its part, has not failed to pick up on the transformations and metamorphoses that the Gothic mode has undergone in recent years. The place of both Gothic horror and Gothic terror in a multi-media context has been critically evaluated in detail, and continues to attract academic attention, as the development of the multi-genre and multi-medium journey of the Gothic unfolds. Indeed, this emphasis is now so widespread that a certain canonicity has developed for the study of the Gothic in media such as television, extending the reach of Gothic Studies into the wider popular culture scope. Critical texts that have recently focused on identifying the Gothic in media beyond not only literature, but also film, include Helen Wheatley’s Gothic Television (2007), John C. Tibbetts’ The Gothic Imagination: Conversation of Fantasy, Horror, and Science Fiction in the Media (2011), and Julia Round’s Gothic in Comics and Graphic Novels (2014). Critics often suggest that the Gothic returns at moments of particular cultural crisis, and if this is true, it seems as if we are in such a moment ourselves. Popular television shows such as True Blood and The Walking Dead, books such as the Twilight series, and the death-obsessed musical stylings of Lana Del Ray all point to the pertinence of the Gothic in contemporary culture, as does the amount of submissions received for this edition of M/C Journal, which explore a wide range of Gothic texts. Timothy Jones’ featured essay “The Black Mass as Play: Dennis Wheatley’s The Devil Rides Out” suggests that although scholarly approaches to the Gothic tend to adopt the methodologies used to approach literary texts and applied them to Gothic texts, yielding readings that are more-or-less congruous with readings of other sorts of literature, the Gothic can be considered as something that tells us about more than simply ourselves and the world we live in. For Jones, the fact that the Gothic is a production of popular culture as much as “highbrow” literature suggests there is something else happening with the way popular Gothic texts function. What if, Jones asks, the popular Gothic were not a type of work, but a kind of play? Jones uses this approach to suggest that texts such as Wheatley’s The Devil Rides Out might direct readers not primarily towards the real, but away from it, at least for a time. Wheatley’s novel is explored by Jones as a venue for readerly play, apart from the more substantial and “serious” concerns that occupy most literary criticism. Samantha Jane Lindop’s essay foregrounds the debt David Lynch’s film Mulholland Drive owes to J. Sheridan le Fanu’s Carmilla (1872) thus adding to studies of the film that have noted Lynch’s intertextual references to classic cinema such as Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard (1950), Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958) and Ingmar Bergman’s Persona (1966). Lindop explores not just the striking similarity between Carmilla and Mulholland Drive in terms of character and plot, but also the way that each text is profoundly concerned with the uncanny. Lorna Piatti-Farnell’s contribution, “What’s Hidden in Gravity Falls: Strange Creatures and the Gothic Intertext” is similarly interested in the intertextuality of the Gothic mode, noting that since its inception this has taken many and varied incarnations, from simple references and allusions to more complicated uses of style and plot organisation. Piatti-Farnell suggests it is unwise to reduce the Gothic text to a simple master narrative, but that within its re-elaborations and re-interpretations, interconnections do appear, forming “the Gothic intertext”. While the Gothic has traditionally found fertile ground in works of literature, other contemporary media, such as animation, have offered the Gothic an opportunity for growth and adaptation. Alex Hirsch’s Gravity Falls is explored by Piatti-Farnell as a visual text providing an example of intersecting monstrous creatures and interconnected narrative structures that reveal the presence of a dense and intertextual Gothic network. Those interlacings are connected to the wider cultural framework and occupy an important part in unravelling the insidious aspects of human nature, from the difficulties of finding “oneself” to the loneliness of the everyday. Issues relating to identity also feature in Patrick Usmar’s “Born To Die: Lana Del Rey, Beauty Queen or Gothic Princess?”, which further highlights the presence of the Gothic in a wide range of contemporary media forms. Usmar explores the music videos of Del Rey, which he describes as Pop Gothic, and that advance themes of consumer culture, gender identity, sexuality and the male gaze. Jen Craig’s “The Agitated Shell: Thinspiration and the Gothic Experience of Eating Disorders” similarly focuses on contemporary media and gender identity, problematising these issues by exploring the highly charged topic of “thinspiration” web sites. Hannah Irwin’s contribution also focuses on female experience. “Not of this earth: Jack the Ripper and the development of Gothic Whitechapel” focuses on the murder of five women who were the victims of an assailant commonly referred to by the epithet “Jack the Ripper”. Irwin discusses how Whitechapel developed as a Gothic location through the body of literature devoted to the Whitechapel murders of 1888, known as “Ripperature”. The subject of the Gothic space is also taken up by Donna Brien’s “Forging Continuing Bonds from the Dead to the Living: Gothic Commemorative Practices along Australia’s Leichhardt Highway.” This essay explores the memorials along Leichhardt’s highway as Gothic practice, in order to illuminate some of the uncanny paradoxes around public memorials, as well as the loaded emotional terrain such commemorative practices may inhabit. Furthering our understanding of the Australian Gothic is Patrick West’s contribution “Towards a Politics & Art of the Land: Gothic Cinema of the Australian New Wave and its Reception by American Film Critics.” West argues that many films of the Australian New Wave of the 1970s and 1980s can be defined as Gothic and that international reviews of such films tended to overlook the importance of the Australian landscape, which functions less as a backdrop and more as a participating element, even a character, in the drama, saturating the mise-en-scène. Bruno Starrs’ “Writing My Indigenous Vampires: Aboriginal Gothic or Aboriginal Fantastic” is dedicated to illuminating a new genre of creative writing: that of the “Aboriginal Fantastic”. Starrs’ novel That Blackfella Bloodsucka Dance! is part of this emerging genre of writing that is worthy of further academic interrogation. Similarly concerned with the supernatural, Erin Mercer’s contribution “‘A Deluge of Shrieking Unreason’: Supernaturalism and Settlement in New Zealand Gothic Fiction” explores the absence of ghosts and vampires in contemporary Gothic produced in New Zealand, arguing that this is largely a result of a colonial Gothic tradition utilising Maori ghosts that complicates the processes through which contemporary writers might build on that tradition. Although there is no reason why the Gothic must include supernatural elements, it is an enduring feature that is taken up by Jessica Balanzategui in “‘You Have a Secret that You Don’t Want To Tell Me’: The Child as Trauma in Spanish and American Horror Film.” This essay explores the uncanny child character and how such children act as an embodiment of trauma. Sarah Baker’s “The Walking Dead and Gothic Excess: The Decaying Social Structures of Contagion” focuses on the figure of the zombie as it appears in the television show The Walking Dead, which Baker argues is a way of exploring themes of decay, particularly of family and society. The essays contained in this special Gothic edition of M/C Journal highlight the continuing importance of the Gothic mode in contemporary culture and how that mode is constantly evolving into new forms and manifestations. The multi-faceted nature of the Gothic in our contemporary popular culture moment is accurately signalled by the various media on which the essays focus, from television to literature, animation, music, and film. The place occupied by the Gothic beyond representational forms, and into the realms of cultural practice, is also signalled, an important shift within the bounds of Gothic Studies which is bound to initiate fascinating debates. The transformations of the Gothic in media and culture are, therefore, also surveyed, so to continue the ongoing critical conversation on not only the place of the Gothic in contemporary narratives, but also its duplicitous, malleable, and often slippery nature. It is our hope that the essays here stimulate further discussion about the Gothic and we will hope, and look forward, to hearing from you. References Botting, Fred. Gothic: The New Critical Idiom. 2nd edition. Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2014. Hogle, Jerrold. “Introduction: The Gothic in Western Culture”. The Cambridge Companion of Gothic Fiction, ed. Jerrold Hogle. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. 1-20.