Journal articles on the topic 'Campbell Committee'

On 21 February 1884, a sub-committee of the Medico-Psychological Association meeting in Glasgow was appointed to prepare a handbook ‘in the hope of helping Attendants on the insane to a due understanding of the work in which they are engaged’. With commendable speed the four gentlemen concerned, Drs A. Campbell Clark, C. McIvor Campbell, A. R. Turnbull and A. R. Urquart, completed their allotted task, and in 1885 The Handbook For The Instruction Of Attendants On The Insane was published.

Insights gained into the activities of the West of Scotland Regional Dredging Committee of the British Association for the Advancement of Science (BAAS): a committee comprising the Reverend Dr Charles Popham Miles (Chairman), Dr Robert Kaye Greville, Professor John Hutton Balfour and Thomas Campbell Eyton, are presented. Based particularly on previously unreported correspondence between Miles and Balfour, and between Greville and Balfour that is housed in the archives of the Royal Botanic Garden Edinburgh, the backgrounds of these persons (like their shared religious leanings) are illuminated and their practical experiences of dredging in the Firth of Clyde, notably in Lamlash Bay (Isle of Arran), brought into focus. Economic aspects relating to the costs of dredging, the finances of participants and the adequacy of the initial BAAS grant are highlighted and other social aspects commented upon. There is no known surviving contemporary account of the interactions between this network of BAAS dredging committee members, so this correspondence seemingly remains, to date, the only information that is available as primary sources.

The Minerva gas field is situated approximately 10 km offshore Port Campbell, Victoria, in the Southern Ocean in water depth of approximately 60 m. The development involves the drilling and completion of two wells, offshore pipelines to the coast, subterranean shore crossing and onshore pipelines to a gas treatment plant where liquids will be removed prior to exporting the gas.From the outset, the project attracted the interest of the local and wider community due to its proximity to the highly regarded Port Campbell National Park. The National Park is known for its unique geomorphological features, its fauna and flora and aboriginal heritage sites.The development has been subject to a dual jurisdiction, State and Federal, Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) process. The process included the formation of a Community Consultative Committee consisting of representatives from government agencies, local community groups, environmental groups, industry associations and the proponent. The Committee provided input to the scope of the EIA and reviewed and endorsed the studies and report prior to public exhibition. An independent panel hearing and ministerial assessments followed public exhibition.A phased process was adopted in the selection of routes, sites and technologies to achieve the lowest practicable environmental impact. Each phase was supported by studies of environmental aspects, fauna, flora, heritage, visual and social impacts. The process commenced on a regional scale and progressively refined the concept and the study area. Detailed studies of key environmental aspects were conducted for the selected development options.The final development concept addressed the key findings of the baseline and subsequent environmental studies and was largely supported by an independent panel. However, there still remained concerns by sectors of the community on the issue of precedent and integrity of the National Park. The Ministerial assessment reflected the issues of community value above technical, environmental, archaeological and heritage considerations.

For the 9th time, the International College for Person-Centered Medicine (ICPCM) held its annual conference on Person-Centered Medicine in Geneva, Switzerland. Like previous years, the conference was formally co-sponsored by the World Health Organization, the World Medical Association, the World Organization of Family Doctors, the International Council of Nurses, the International Alliance of Patients' Organizations and thirty other global health professional and academic institutions. The organizing committee was composed of the ICPCM Board members, Ruth Wilson as program director and Islene Araujo de Carvalho, Jim Campbell and Nuria Toro Polanco from WHO. Material support was provided by the World Medical Association, the World Health Organization, the Geneva University Hospital, and the Paul Tournier Association.

Following the 1966 General Election, the Labour Party's Home Policy Committee observed that the party had, “for the first time, obtained a majority of the female vote” and remarked, “it would be very satisfactory if we could retain it.” Two years later, the Report of the Committee of Enquiry into Party Organisation emphasized the “imperative that the Party concerns itself with how to win much more support among women.” These comments not only betrayed a serious weakness in Labour's electoral support between 1951 and 1966 but also acknowledged an important lacuna in its broader political outlook.Given the party's electoral difficulties in the period after 1951, the first concern was particularly apposite. Beatrix Campbell, Nicky Hart, and Ina Zweiniger-Bargielowska have underlined the importance of this gender gap favoring the Conservatives after 1950 (see fig. 1). In the elections of 1951 and 1955, for example, Labour's vote among women lagged twelve and thirteen percentage points behind that of the Conservatives. Only in two elections between 1945 and 1970 did Labour enjoy leads among female voters, and these were much less substantial than those held by the Conservatives in 1951, 1955, 1959, and 1964. In rough numerical terms, this difference was potentially very significant. In 1951, for instance, women made up approximately 51.9 percent of the population of England, Scotland, and Wales and roughly 53.8 percent of those of voting age. With an electorate of 28.5 million, this meant a possible political advantage for the Conservatives of 1.2 million votes in an electoral contest where there were only .2 million votes between the two parties.

The role of the British cabinet in the Anglo-French military conversations prior to the First World War has been and remains controversial. The acrimonious debate within the government during November 1911 seems linked inextricably to the flood of angry memoirs that followed August 1914 and to the continuing historical debate over the actions and motivations of the various ministers involved. Two generations of researchers now have examined an enormous body of evidence, yet the leading modern scholars continue to publish accounts that differ on the most basic questions. Historians have proved no more able than the ministers themselves were to reconcile the contradictory statements of honorable men. The persistence of these differences in historical literature demonstrates both the continuing confusion over the cabinet's role in the military conversations and the need for a renewed effort to resolve this confusion.The starting point for any discussion of the staff talks must be the recognition that the meaning of the term changed significantly over the nine years before the outbreak of World War I. The contacts began with a series of informal discussions between senior British and French officers during 1905. The first systematic conversations took place early in January 1906 under the authority of Lord Esher, a permanent member of the Committee of Imperial Defence (CID), and Sir George Clarke, the CID secretary. Later in that month a small group of ministers, including Prime Minister Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman, sanctioned formal, ongoing exchanges between the two general staffs.

Abstract Background: Complex karyotypes in patients with myelodysplastic syndromes (MDS) are defined by the presence of 3 or more cytogenetic abnormalities and are considered indicators of a poor prognosis by nearly all models in clinical use. There is evidence that the prognostic significance of complex karyotypes in MDS can be refined by considering the number of cytogenetic abnormalities or the presence of specific lesions, the presence of monosomy, and the mutation status of the TP53 gene. Mutations of TP53 are strongly associated with adverse clinical features including complex karyotypes, yet still have independent prognostic significance. Whether these mutations or other elements associated with complex karyotypes carry the greatest prognostic significance is unknown and has been the subject of recent contradictory findings. Here we examine the relationship between TP53 mutations, the number and type of chromosomal abnormalities, and clinical features including overall survival in a combined analysis of MDS patients with complex karyotypes. Methods: Data on 258 complex karyotype MDS patients from the US and Europe gathered by members of the International Working Group for Prognosis in MDS-Molecular Committee were combined for this analysis. Patients gave informed consent to have their data and clinical samples collected at their respective institutions in accordance with the Declaration of Helsinki. Tumor samples were examined for TP53 mutations primarily with next generation sequencing techniques. Categorical variables were compared using a Fisher exact test or Kruskal-Wallis test as appropriate, while continuous variables were compared using a Wilcoxon rank-sum test. All p-values reported are two-sided, unadjusted for multiple testing, and considered significant at the 0.05 level. Results: Of the 258 complex karyotype MDS samples examined, TP53 mutation status was determined in 223, of which 133 (60%) carried a TP53 mutation. Patients with TP53 mutations were slightly older than unmutated patients (median age 70.8 vs. 65.5 years, p=0.055), were more thrombocytopenic (median platelet count 42 vs. 78 x109/L, p=0.002), and had a greater percentage of bone marrow blasts (7.75% vs 4%, p=0.03). Mutated patients were also more likely to have a monosomal karyotype (85% vs. 59%, p<0.0001), have 5 or more chromosomal abnormalities (85% vs. 51%, p<0.0001), and have abnormalities of chromosome 17 (38% vs. 23%, p=0.03). Patients with TP53 mutation had a significantly shorter median overall survival of 7.7 months compared to 23.4 months for patients with unmutated TP53 (p<0.0001, see figure). Multivariate analysis that considered potential confounders such as monosomal karyotypes, number of abnormalities, blast proportions and platelet count identified TP53 mutation status as the most significant prognostic marker for overall survival (hazard ration [HR] 2.12, p<0.0001). The presence of only 3 or only 4 karyotype abnormalities was protective compared with 5 or more such lesions (HR 0.385, p=0.0005 for 3 lesions and HR 0.505, p=0.0083 for 4 lesions). Discussion: Despite strong associations with adverse clinical and cytogenetic abnormalities incorporated into existing prognostic scoring systems, TP53 mutations carry significant independent prognostic value for patients with MDS. In our multivariable analyses, TP53 mutation appears to dominate over monosomal karyotype as an adverse prognostic marker in MDS patients with complex cytogenetics. Many of the TP53 mutations identified had a small variant allele fraction suggesting that they were present in a disease subclone. The small number of mutant cells in these cases may be insufficient to alter clinical measures, but could still indicate a poor prognosis if they represent a clone capable of treatment resistance and rapid disease progression. This combined analysis is a work in progress that will include data from additional groups and explore mutation status of other MDS-related genes, TP53 variant allele fraction, clinical risk scores, and data from patients without complex karyotypes. Conclusions: Somatic TP53 mutations are highly enriched in MDS patients with complex karyotypes and identify a group with significantly shortened overall survival. Sequencing of TP53 can improve the prediction of prognosis in MDS patients with 3 or more chromosomal abnormalities. Figure 1 Figure 1. Disclosures Bejar: Genoptix Medical Laboratory: Consultancy, Honoraria, Licensed IP, no royalties Patents & Royalties, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Celgene: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Haferlach:MLL Munich Leukemia Laboratory: Other. Garcia-Manero:Celgene: Research Funding. Sekeres:Celgene: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Amgen Corp: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Boehringer-Ingelheim Corp: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Campbell:14M Genomics Limited: Consultancy, Equity Ownership.

Abstract Background Somatic mutations identified in patients with myelodysplastic syndromes (MDS) are associated with disease features and carry prognostic information independent of the International Prognostic Scoring System (IPSS) and the revised IPSS (IPSS-R). Risk models that include mutation information have been proposed, but not widely adopted. In practice, there is no consensus on how to best combine clinical information with tumor sequencing data to predict prognosis. To accomplish this, we must define the relevant genes to consider and accurately measure their prognostic impact. Here we examine the relationship between mutations in MDS-associated genes and clinically relevant measures, including overall survival, in a large, multi-center analysis of MDS patient cohorts collected around the globe. Methods Data on 3392 MDS patients gathered by members of the International Working Group for Prognosis in MDS-Molecular Committee were combined under the aegis of the MDS Foundation. Patients gave informed consent for collection of their data and tumor samples at their respective institutions in accordance with the Declaration of Helsinki. Samples were examined for somatic mutations primarily by next generation sequencing. Categorical variables were compared using a chi-squared test, while continuous variables were compared using a Wilcoxon rank-sum test. Overall survival (OS) was calculated from the date of the sequenced sample to the date of death and was censored at transplant or the last known follow-up time. P-values are two-sided and considered significant at the <0.001 level to adjust for multiple comparisons. Results Survival data were available for 3200 patients with a median follow up of 3.7 years and included 1671 deaths. Median survival of the cohort was 2.88 years. The 27 genes sequenced in at least half of the cohort and mutated in > 1.5% of samples were included for analysis (Figure 1). Mutations in 12 genes were strongly associated with shorter OS in univariate analyses (p<0.001 for each gene): ASXL1, CBL, EZH2, IDH2, NF1, NRAS, PTPN11, RUNX1, SRSF2, STAG2, TP53, and U2AF1. Only mutations of SF3B1 were associated with a longer OS at this significance threshold. The large size of the cohort allowed for more precise estimates of survival in less frequently mutated genes. For example, mutations of IDH2 (present in 3.4% of cases, n=103) were associated with shorter OS (hazard ratio [HR] 1.61, 95% confidence interval [CI] 1.26-2.05; p=0.0001) whereas IDH1 mutations (present in 2.4% of cases, n=77) were only marginal (HR 1.29, CI: 0.97-1.72; p=0.082), demonstrating the distinct impact of mutations in these highly related genes. IPSS-R risk groups could be determined for 2173 patients and were strongly associated with OS. Adjusting the hazard ratio of death for IPSS-R risk groups identified several mutated genes with independent prognostic significance: TP53 (HR 2.37, CI 1.94-2.90), CBL (HR 1.57, CI 1.22-2.03), EZH2 (HR 1.55, CI 1.22-2.03), and RUNX1 (HR 1.50, CI 1.24-1.83). Mutations of U2AF1 (HR 1.29, CI 1.06-1.58) and ASXL1 (HR 1.21, CI 1.04-1.41) retained a more modest association with shorter OS. Adjustment for IPSS-R risk groups also moderated the favorable risk associated with mutations of SF3B1 (HR 0.83, CI 0.70-0.99). Patients without mutations in any of the 6 adverse genes above represented 58% of the fully sequenced cohort and had a longer median survival than patients with adverse mutations (4.8 years vs. 1.6 years respectively, p < 0.0001; Figure 2) even after correction for IPSS-R risk groups (adjusted HR 0.59, CI 0.51-0.67). Multivariable analysis of this dataset will examine the combined contribution of mutated genes to prognosis. A mutation score based on survival risk will be proposed and internally validated. The impact of somatic mutation in patients traditionally considered lower risk will be explored. Conclusions This large study definitively validates the prognostic value of mutations in several MDS-associated genes while clarifying the significance of other, less frequently mutated ones. Mutations in several genes retain their prognostic significance after adjustment for IPSS-R risk groups, indicating that these select abnormalities could refine the prediction of prognosis when incorporated into a clinical scoring system such as the IPSS-RM. The results of this analysis will serve as the template with which to build an integrated molecular risk model for MDS. Disclosures Bejar: Alexion: Other: ad hoc advisory board; Celgene: Consultancy, Honoraria; Genoptix Medical Laboratory: Consultancy, Honoraria, Patents & Royalties: MDS prognostic gene signature. Haferlach:MLL Munich Leukemia Laboratory: Employment, Equity Ownership. Sekeres:Celgene Corporation: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; TetraLogic: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Amgen: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Fenaux:Celgene Corporation: Honoraria, Research Funding; Amgen: Honoraria, Research Funding; Janssen: Honoraria, Research Funding; Novartis: Honoraria, Research Funding. Kern:MLL Munich Leukemia Laboratory: Employment, Equity Ownership. Shih:Novartis: Research Funding. Komrokji:Celgene: Consultancy, Research Funding; Incyte: Consultancy; Novartis: Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Pharmacylics: Speakers Bureau. List:Celgene Corporation: Honoraria, Research Funding. Santini:celgene, Janssen, Novartis, Onconova: Honoraria, Research Funding. Campbell:14M genomics: Other: Co-founder and consultant. Ebert:Celgene: Consultancy; Genoptix: Consultancy, Patents & Royalties; H3 Biomedicine: Consultancy.

BackgroundV-domain Ig suppressor of T cell Activation (VISTA) is a negative checkpoint regulator of T cell response.1 VISTA is expressed within the tumor microenvironment, where its blockade can enhance antitumor immune responses.2 Furthermore, an increase in VISTA expression has been reported after treatment by anti-PD1/L1 and anti-CTLA4.3,4 This confirms that VISTA may play a key role as a mechanism of resistance to the currently used immunotherapies. VISTA/PSGL1 pH-selective biochemical interaction has been recently demonstrated.5 VISTA and PSGL1 expression pattern, their correlation and their relationship to myeloid infiltrates have been evaluated in samples from patients with solid tumors. K01401-020 (W0180) is a novel anti-VISTA antibody that has the potential to activate T cells when given as a monotherapy6, and thus to generate added activity when combined with anti-PD1/L1 antibodies in cancer patients.MethodsThis phase I/Ib for W0180 consists of 2 parts: an initial dose escalation phase I followed by an expansion cohorts phase Ib. In the dose escalation phase, 2 cohorts of patients will be assessed in parallel: the first cohort will be given W0180 as a single agent and the second cohort will receive W0180 in combination with pembrolizumab. The first dose and the schedule of administration of W0180 in combination with pembrolizumab will be determined using safety and pharmacokinetic data generated in monotherapy. The phase I will allow to determine the Maximum Tolerated Dose and Schedule (MTDS), to characterize Dose-Limiting Toxicities (DLTs) and explore pharmacodynamic activity of W0180 in monotherapy and combination with pembrolizumab. The dose-toxicity relationships will support the dose escalation process and will be used to assess the MTDS and recommended doses for expansion. Following completion of the dose escalation phase, the expansion phase will enroll cohorts of patients with homogeneous tumors to validate the dose/schedule, assess preliminary activity and to explore the potential relationship with VISTA and PSGL1 expression.ResultsN/AConclusionsN/ATrial RegistrationN/AEthics ApprovalThe study was approved by National French Ethic committee (CPP Ile de France V) and National Spanish Ethic committee (Comité Ético de Investigación Clínica de Navarra) and was registered in the European database (EudraCT: 2019-002299-15).ConsentN/AReferencesWang L, Rubinstein R, Lines JL, Wasiuk A, Ahonen C, Guo Y, Lu LF, Gondek D, Wang Y, Fava RA, Fiser A, Almo S, Noelle RJ, VISTA, a novel mouse Ig superfamily ligand that negatively regulates T cell responses. J Exp Med 2011;208:577–92.Lines JL, Pantazi E, Mak J, Sempere LF, Wang L, O’Connell S, Ceeraz S, Suriawinata AA, Yan S, Ernstoff MS, Noelle R, VISTA is an immune checkpoint molecule for human T cells. Cancer Res 2014;74:1924–32.Gao J, Ward JF, Pettaway CA, Shi LZ, Subudhi SK, Vence LM, Zhao H, Chen J, Chen H, Efstathiou E, Troncoso P, Allison JP, Logothetis CJ, Wistuba II, Sepulveda MA, Sun J, Wargo J, Blando J, Sharma P, VISTA is an inhibitory immune checkpoint that is increased after ipilimumab therapy in patients with prostate cancer. Nat Med 2017;23:551–555.Kakavand H, Jackett LA, Menzies AM, Gide TN, Carlino MS, Saw RPM, Thompson JF, Wilmott JS, Long GV, Scolyer RA, Negative immune checkpoint regulation by VISTA: a mechanism of acquired resistance to anti-PD-1 therapy in metastatic melanoma patients. Mod Pathol 2017;30:1666–1676.Johnston RJ, Su LJ, Pinckney J, Critton D, Boyer E, Krishnakumar A, Corbett M, Rankin AL, Dibella R, Campbell L, Martin GH, Lemar H, Cayton T, Huang RY, Deng X, Nayeem A, Chen H, Ergel B, Rizzo JM, Yamniuk AP, Dutta S, Ngo J, Shorts AO, Ramakrishnan R, Kozhich A, Holloway J, Fang H, Wang YK, Yang Z, Thiam K, Rakestraw G, Rajpal A, Sheppard P, Quigley M, Bahjat KS, Korman AJ, VISTA is an acidic pH-selective ligand for PSGL-1. Nature 2019;574:565–570Libon C, Vandenberghe I, Marlin R, Gros W, Leonec M, Gomez-Pacheco M, Gallouet M, Fraboul F, Mahfoudi A, Dereuddre-Bosquet N, Ferré P, K0401-020 anti-VISTA antibody monotherapy increases specific CD8 T cell response in non-human primates. AACR Annual meeting 2020.

Abstract Introduction In Polycythaemia Vera (PV), the RBC lineage is involved with increased haemoglobin, RBC count and haematocrit. WHO diagnostic criteria for PV are JAK2 V617F mutation and elevated red cell mass (RCM) > 25% of mean normal value. In addition, tests of marrow hypercellularity, blood erythropoietin and colony formation, are minor criteria. However, the diagnostic role of RCM test is still controversial and requires clarification. In this work, PV patients who had both an RCM study and JAK2 V617F mutation test, and routine laboratory tests, are evaluated to check if RCM was essential in the diagnostic work up for PV. Methods Over 2 years, 75 patients with abnormal haematocrit (men ≥ 0.50, women ≥ 0.45) had RCM and JAK2 V617F mutation tests (except JAK2 exon 12 mutation). All subjects consented to the study approved by the ethics committee. RCM was done by Cr-51 RBC radiolabeling method (no prior venesection at least 1 month). Statistical analysis involved descriptive statistics and chi-square test. Results There were 71 males and 4 females, mean age 46 y (range 17-75 y). Increased RCM was found in 41/75 (55%). Positive JAK2 V617F was found in 13/75 patients (17%), who also had RCM above the mean normal predicted value, however, when the WHO RCM criteria were applied, only 7/13 (54%) could be considered as having “truly” increased RCM. In the patient group with negative JAK2 V617F test, 12/28 (43%) had RCM results as per WHO criteria. There was no statistical association between presence of JAK2 V617F and the RCM values. Conclusion In patients with negative JAK2 V617F but with high clinical suspicion for PV and all other causes of secondary and idiopathic erythrocytosis excluded, an increase in RCM would support the diagnosis of PV (about 10 % PV cases). In patients with JAK2 positive mutation and high haematocrit but RCM below the WHO cut-off level, an increased RCM would still count to confirm the diagnosis as the current standard level seems too stringent. References James C, Ugo V, Le Couedic JP, Staerk J, Delhommeau F, Lacout C et al. A unique clonal JAK2 mutation leading to constitutive signaling causes polycythaemia vera. Nature 2005; 434(7037): 1144-8. Kralovics R, Passamonti F, Buser AS, Soon-Siong T, Tiedt R, Passweg JR, et al. A Gain-of-Function Mutation of JAK2 in Myeloproliferative Disorders. Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy. 16th Edition, 1992 McMullin MF, Bareford D, Campbell P, Green AR, Claire Harrison C, Hunt B, Oscier D, et al. Guidelines for the diagnosis, investigation and management of polycythaemia/erythrocytosis. British Journal of Haematology 2005; 130(2): 174-95. Scott LM, Tong W, Levine RL, et al. JAK2 exon 12 mutations in polycythemia vera and idiopathic erythrocytosis. N Engl J Med. 2007;356:459-468. Pardanani A, Lasho TL, Finke C, et al. Prevalence and clinicopathologic correlates of JAK2 exon 12 mutations in JAK2V617F-negative polycythemia vera. Leukemia. 2007;21:1960-1963. Pancrazzi A, Guglielmelli P, Ponziani V, et al. A sensitive detection method for MPLW515L or MPLW515K mutation in chronic myeloproliferative disorders with locked nucleic acid-modified probes and real-time polymerase chain reaction. J Mol Diagn. 2008;10:435-441. Disclosures: No relevant conflicts of interest to declare.

For over one hundred years, APSA's Annual Meeting and Exhibition has provided scholars a unique opportunity to share research, present papers, and network with colleagues. And although each meeting has provided a distinct and worthwhile experience, the 106th Annual Meeting and Exhibition promises to bring one of the most stirring meeting programs yet. Aptly convening in the nation's capital, Washington, DC, more than 7,000 attendees will discuss the latest political science research and theory as it relates to the theme of “hard times” facing the world economy. Program chairs Lisa Martin, University of Wisconsin–Madison, and Andrea Campbell, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, developed a theme that raises questions across many areas of specialization. With more than eight hundred panels organized by 50 thematic divisions, 60 related groups, APSA committees, and presidential task forces, these questions will be explored over the course of the four day event.

The Perro de Presa Canario is still an unexplored and underrated breed of dogs. The breed had been used in dog fighting and to protect human dwellings for ages. An analysis of biometric traits conducted between the birth and the age of 6 months has shown a harmonious and rapid puppy growth. Zoometric measurements and conformation indices in both dogs and bitches were found to be comparable. At age one week the reported body weight of the bitches was 498 g, and the dogs were heavier by 57 g. At six months of age, the bitches weighed approximately 16.35 kg, whereas the dogs were on average 2.15 kg heavier. Gender has been found to affect weight gains (P ≤ 0.01) and the development of pectoral girdle (P ≤ 0.05). The PAT and the Campbell tests results have clearly shown that the Perro de Presa Canario breed is very dominant. Besides, it appears to be stubborn, intelligent and committed.

Abstract Background: In patients with newly diagnosed multiple myeloma (ndMM) who are ineligible for autologous stem cell transplantation (ASCT), bortezomib, melphalan, and prednisone regimen (VMP) is standard of care as a first-line treatment in most regions of the world. Daratumumab is a new monoclonal antibody aimed to improve outcomes in ndMM. The ongoing ALCYONE study demonstrated significant improvement in progression-free survival (PFS) and overall response rate (ORR) for the combination of daratumumab plus VMP (D-VMP) compared to VMP in transplant-ineligible ndMM patients (Mateos, 2018). While direct head-to-head randomized controlled trials (RCTs) are lacking, it is important to assess how D-VMP compares with other treatment regimens used in clinical practice for ndMM patients who are ineligible for ASCT. Aims: The aim of this study is to investigate the comparative effectiveness (PFS, ORR) of D-VMP with other relevant treatment regimens used in patients with ndMM who are ineligible for ASCT. Methods: We conducted a Bayesian network meta-analysis (NMA) based on RCTs identified through a systematic literature review (SLR). Both fixed effects and random effects models were tested. The results are depicted in a network of evidence, forest plots, ranking histograms and probabilities of D-VMP being better than the comparator treatment regimens. Results: The SLR revealed 25 RCTs conducted in patients with ndMM who are ineligible for ASCT. For PFS, the NMA included 20 RCTs covering 20 treatments and for ORR, the NMA included 20 RCTs covering 21 treatments. Random-effects model is preferred for PFS as well as for ORR as this model showed lower deviance information criterion (DIC), and as the homogeneity assumption was violated for PFS. The results for both PFS and ORR are summarized in Table 1. For PFS and ORR, D-VMP ranked first in the evidence of network. For PFS, D-VMP was statistically significantly more effective compared to 10 out of the 19 treatment regimens. For ORR, D-VMP was significantly more effective as compared to 12 out of the 20 treatment regimens. Conclusion: In the absence of head-to-head RCTs, NMAs allow delineation of the comparative effectiveness of different treatments. This NMA suggests that D-VMP has a higher potential of being effective in improving ORR and PFS in patients with ndMM who are ineligible for transplant compared to other available treatment options. Updated results based on a 1-year update of ALCYONE will be presented at the meeting. References: Mateos MV, Dimopoulos MA, Cavo M, Suzuki K, Jakubowiak A, Knop S, Doyen C, Lucio P, Nagy Z, Kaplan P, Pour L, Cook M, Grosicki S, Crepaldi A, Liberati AM, Campbell P, Shelekhova T, Yoon SS, Iosava G, Fujisaki T, Garg M, Chiu C, Wang J, Carson R, Crist W, Deraedt W, Nguyen H, Qi M, San-Miguel J; ALCYONE Trial Investigators. Daratumumab plus Bortezomib, Melphalan, and Prednisone for Untreated Myeloma. N Engl J Med. 2018 Feb 8;378(6):518-528 Disclosures San-Miguel: Amgen: Honoraria; Sanofi: Honoraria; Janssen: Honoraria; Celgene: Honoraria; Novartis: Honoraria; BMS: Honoraria; Roche: Honoraria. Facon:Karyopharm: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Celgene: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau; Oncopeptides: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Sanofi: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Janssen: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau; Amgen: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Takeda: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau. Dimopoulos:Amgen: Honoraria; Celgene: Honoraria; Janssen: Honoraria; Takeda: Honoraria; Bristol-Myers Squibb: Honoraria. Mateos:Janssen: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Amgen: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Takeda: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Celgene: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Amgen: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; GSK: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; GSK: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Abbvie: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Cavo:Janssen: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Bristol-Myers Squibb: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Adaptive Biotechnologies: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Takeda: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; GlaxoSmithKline: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; AbbVie: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Celgene: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Amgen: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Heeg:Ingress-health Nederland BV: Employment, Equity Ownership, Research Funding. van Beekhuizen:Ingress Health: Consultancy. Pisini:Janssen Research & Development, LLC: Employment. Nair:Janssen Research & Development, LLC: Employment. Lam:Janssen Global Services, LLC: Employment. Slavcev:Janssen Global Services, LLC: Employment.

Abstract Introduction: Daratumumab-bortezomib-melphalan-prednisone (D-VMP) is a novel treatment regimen for newly diagnosed multiple myeloma patients who are ineligible for autologous stem cell transplantation (ASCT). D-VMP is currently being investigated and compared to bortezomib-melphalan-prednisone (VMP) in the ALCYONE trial, and demonstrated a significant benefit for D-VMP over VMP in terms of progression-free survival (PFS) [1]. Recently, a systematic literature review and a network meta-analysis (NMA) were conducted to compare D-VMP against all other available treatments in that indication. However, the reliability of an NMA on overall survival (OS) may be limited due to several factors. First, OS data from the ALCYONE trial is still immature. Second, within the OS network of evidence, four MP trials showed similar PFS, yet large differences were observed in OS for MP. This is an indication of effect modification due to subsequent therapies and thus violation of the similarity assumption. The four MP trials are a bridge to key approved comparators lenalidomide-dexamethasone (Rd) and melphalan-prednisone-thalidomide (MPT), which have been investigated in the FIRST trial. To overcome these challenges faced in the OS NMA, an unanchored matching-adjusted treatment comparison (MAIC) was conducted to assess the relative OS between D-VMP and Rd continuous, Rd 18, and MPT. In addition, the analysis was extended to also include PFS. Methods: Individual patient data from the ALCYONE trial were adjusted to match the aggregated baseline characteristics of the FIRST trial. Patient level OS and PFS data of FIRST trial were generated based on the Guyot algorithm. The considered baseline characteristics were median age, male (%), ECOG status (%), ISS state (%), IgG serum (%), creatinine clearance (%), and high-risk cytogenetic profile. After matching patients, a Cox proportional hazard model was fitted. In both analyses, the null hypothesis of no difference in relative treatment effect in OS and PFS between D-VMP and each of the three treatment arms of the FIRST trial was tested using the log-rank test. To assess the impact of matching patients, a naïve unanchored comparison between D-VMP and FIRST treatments arms was conducted in addition to the MAIC. Results: The results of the MAIC are summarized in Table 1. Significant results are denoted with an asterisk. OS for D-VMP is significantly longer than for both MPT and Rd 18. When comparing OS for D-VMP with Rd continuous, there is a trend in favour of D-VMP. D-VMP performs significantly better than the three comparator treatments in terms of PFS. In all analyses, the HR point estimates are in favour of D-VMP. Conclusion: This MAIC showed a significant OS benefit for D-VMP compared to Rd 18 and MPT, and a trend favouring D-VMP vs Rd continuous in newly diagnosed multiple myeloma patients who are ineligible for ASCT. Additionally, this analysis supports a previously conducted NMA on PFS and suggests that D-VMP provides a consistent and statistically significant PFS benefit relative to Rd continuous, Rd 18, and MPT. Since ALCYONE is a more recent trial than FIRST, a potential limitation is that the OS results might be biased by better subsequent therapies being available in ALCYONE. However, the impact of this is expected to be limited due to the immaturity of survival data and the large proportion of patients in the D-VMP arm of ALCYONE who had not yet progressed at the time of the datacut. This MAIC, which provides a more robust method to compare OS outcomes than an NMA, shows OS benefits and confirms PFS benefits for D-VMP compared to Rd continuous, Rd 18 and MPT. [1] Mateos MV, Dimopoulos MA, Cavo M, Suzuki K, Jakubowiak A, Knop S, Doyen C, Lucio P, Nagy Z, Kaplan P, Pour L, Cook M, Grosicki S, Crepaldi A, Liberati AM, Campbell P, Shelekhova T, Yoon SS, Iosava G, Fujisaki T, Garg M, Chiu C, Wang J, Carson R, Crist W, Deraedt W, Nguyen H, Qi M, San-Miguel J; ALCYONE Trial Investigators. Daratumumab plus Bortezomib, Melphalan, and Prednisone for Untreated Myeloma. N Engl J Med. 2018 Feb 8;378(6):518-528. Disclosures Dimopoulos: Bristol-Myers Squibb: Honoraria; Amgen: Honoraria; Takeda: Honoraria; Janssen: Honoraria; Celgene: Honoraria. Cavo:GlaxoSmithKline: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Amgen: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Celgene: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Janssen: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; AbbVie: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Takeda: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Adaptive Biotechnologies: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Bristol-Myers Squibb: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Mateos:GSK: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; GSK: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Takeda: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Janssen: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Amgen: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Celgene: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Abbvie: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Amgen: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Facon:Janssen: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau; Sanofi: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Amgen: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Karyopharm: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Oncopeptides: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Takeda: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau; Celgene: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau. Heeg:Ingress-health Nederland BV: Employment, Equity Ownership, Research Funding. van Beekhuizen:Ingress Health: Consultancy. Nair:Janssen Research & Development, LLC: Employment. Pisini:Janssen Research & Development, LLC: Employment. Lam:Janssen Global Services, LLC: Employment. Slavcev:Janssen Global Services, LLC: Employment.

Biosynthesis of bacterial polysaccharide-repeat units proceeds by sequential transfer of sugars, from the appropriate sugar donor to an activated lipid carrier, by committed glycosyltransferases (GTs). Few studies on the mechanism of action for this type of GT are available. Sphingomonas paucimobilis A.T.C.C. 31461 produces the industrially important polysaccharide gellan gum. We have cloned the gelK gene from S. paucimobilis A.T.C.C. 31461. GelK belongs to family 1 of the GT classification [Campbell, Davies, Bulone, Henrissat (1997) Biochem. J. 326, 929–939]. Sequence similarity studies suggest that GelK consists of two protein modules corresponding to the -NH2 and -CO2H halves, the latter possibly harbouring the GT activity. The gelK gene and the open reading frames coding for the -NH2 (GelKNH2) and -CO2H (GelKCOOH) halves were overexpressed in Escherichia coli. GelK and GelKNH2 were present in both the soluble and membrane fractions of E. coli, whereas GelKCOOH was only present in the soluble fraction. GelK catalysed the transfer of [14C]glucuronic acid from UDP-[14C]glucuronic acid into a glycolipid extracted from S. paucimobilis or E. coli, even in the presence of EDTA, and the radioactive sugar was released from the glycolipid by β-1,4-glucuronidase. GelK was not able to use synthetic glucosyl derivatives as acceptors, indicating that the PPi-lipid moiety is needed for enzymic activity. Recombinant GelKNH2 and GelKCOOH did not show detectable activity. Based on the biochemical characteristics of GelK and on sequence similarities with N-acetylglucosaminyltransferase, we propose that GT families 1 and 28 form a superfamily.

Introduction: Millions are affected by Sickle Cell Disease (SCD) worldwide with the greatest burden in sub-saharan Africa. Its origin thought to lie within the malaria belt of the world, SCD continues to affect thousands of lives worldwide partly due to the migration patterns of the human race to different continents. We created the Consortium for the Advancement of Sickle Cell Research (CASiRe) to better understand the different phenotypes of SCD and compare the clinical profiles of patients living in different environments through a validated questionnaire and medical chart review, standardized across 4 countries (United States[U.S.] United Kingdom[U.K.], Italy and Ghana). For this report, we recorded the multi-generational ethnic and racial background of 877 SCD patients across the CASIRE cohort for our final analysis. Methods: CASiRe included 6 sites in the U.S. (Univ. of Michigan, Rainbow Babies & Children's Hospital, Promedica Toledo Children's Hospital, Children's Hospital at Montefiore, Connecticut Children's Medical Center, Univ.of Connecticut Health Center), 2 in Ghana(Ghana Institute of Clinical Genetics, Pediatric SCD Clinic at Korle Bu Teaching Hospital), 2 in Italy( Univ. of Campania Luigi Vanvitelli, Univ. of Padua, Italy), and U.K.(Guys & St. Thomas Hospital, Evelina Children's Hosp). Between 2011 and 2017, after obtaining IRB approval at each site and written informed consent, demographic, clinical and laboratory data were collected by interviewing the patient and/or parent/guardian At the 2 sites (Guys and St Thomas Hospital, UK; Univ. of Padua, Italy) with existing IRB approved SCD registries data were abstracted directly from their respective databases. Descriptive statistics were performed on a subset of demographic data that included: age, race, gender, sickle cell genotype, country of birth of patient, parents, and grandparents. The geographic region and country of origin was based on parents' country of birth and separated into 10 regions: W.Africa, C.Africa, N Africa, Caribbean, C. America, N America, Europe, S America, Asia, Middle East. Results: 877 patients were enrolled with a median age 19.3 years. 451 (51.4%) patients were children, 424 (48.3%) male. Ghanaians represented 41.6% (365) of patients, while 254 patients (29%) were from the U.S. Italy enrolled 81 patients (9.2%), and 177 patients (20.2%) were from the U.K. West Africa represented the largest geographic region of origin of(577/65.8%), followed by N. America (184/21%), Caribbean (51/5.8%), Europe (27/3.1%), and Central Africa (24/2.7%). Overall(Fig. 1), 75% of patients (658) had Hgb SS, 168 patients (19.2%) had Sickle C disease, 29 (3.3%) had Sβ+thal and 22 patients (2.5%) of patients had Sβ0 thal. Racially, 820 patients (93.5%) identified themselves as African American or Black, while 30 patients (3.4%) identified themselves as Caucasian and 21 patients (2.4%) identified themselves as Latino or Hispanic. All Ghanaians identified as Black, while in the US and UK, over 90% of patients identified themselves as Black, and about 3% reported themselves as Caucasian. In comparison, in Italy, over 76% of patients reported a Black racial background, while 21% reported Caucasian background. (Table 1 and 2)&gt;98%Ghanaian patients and their parents were born in Ghana. In contrast, 66.7% of patients and &lt;15% of parents in Italian sites were born in Italy with the 64% of parents emanating from West Africa (38% Nigeria).Over 85% of patients in the UK were born in the UK while only 5.1% of parents were born there (54% in Nigeria). In the US, &gt;90% of patients were born within the US; Parents of patients were born in America 70% of the time. Caribbean (12.5%) and West African countries(9.5%) were the next highest parent countries of origin. 32 different countries of origin were reported within our cohort with the US leading with 22 different countries. Conclusion: This study is the first to describe the geographic distribution of these migrations in a very large cohort of nearly 900 patients with SCD.West Africa represented the largest geographic region of origin for SCD patients in Europe while Caribbean was the leading Non-US geographic region of origin in American patients. The diverse ethnic backgrounds observed in our cohort raises the possibility of how genetic and environmental heterogeneity within each SCD population subgroup can have implications on the clinical phenotype and clinical research outcomes. Disclosures Campbell: Novartis: Research Funding; Cyclerion: Consultancy, Research Funding; Global Blood Therapeutics: Consultancy, Research Funding. Colombatti:Novartis: Consultancy; Global Blood Therapeutics: Consultancy; AddMedica: Consultancy. Andemariam:NovoNordisk: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; New Health Sciences: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Global Blood Therapeutics: Other: DSMB Member; Bluebird Bio: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Emmaus: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Cyclerion: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Imara: Research Funding; Sanofi Genzyme: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Community Health Network of Connecticut: Consultancy; Terumo BCT: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Novartis: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Strunk:Novartis: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Global Blood Therapeutics: Speakers Bureau. Piccone:Hemex Health, Inc.: Patents & Royalties. Manwani:GBT: Consultancy, Research Funding; Novartis: Consultancy; Pfizer: Consultancy. Perrotta:Novartis: Honoraria, Research Funding; Acceleron Pharma: Research Funding.

Abstract Transplant-related mortality (TRM) is the largest limiting factor to successful URD-BMT as curative therapy. Identification of non-HLA genetic factors in either recipients or donors could improve BMT outcomes through better matching at these loci. We performed a genome-wide association study (GWAS), named DISCOVeRY-BMT (Determining the Influence of Susceptibility COnveying Variants Related to one-Year mortality after BMT) of 1-year TRM in 3,532 patients treated for AML, ALL or MDS (recipients) reported to CIBMTR from 2000-2011 and their HLA-matched URD (donors); donor DNA was available for 98% of HCT recipients. Cohort 1 includes 2,240 donor-recipient pairs; patients received a 10/10 HLA URD-BMT from 2000-08. Cohort 2 includes 823 donor-recipient pairs; patients received either a 10/10 HLA URD-BMT from 2009-11 or 8/8 (but <10/10) HLA URD-BMT. Genotyping of recipient and donor DNA was performed using the Illumina HumanOmniExpress-24 BeadChip containing 729,293 single nucleotide polymorphisms (SNPs) at University of Southern California. Due to the small number of non-European individuals, we report analyses of European American recipients only. After quality control, Cohort 1 includes 2,052 donor-recipient pairs and Cohort 2 includes 763 donor-recipient pairs typed at 637,655 SNPs. For each SNP, a shared genotype variable was created to capture donor-recipient allele sharing. The shared genotype was assigned a value of 0 if the recipient and donor have the same genotype at a given SNP and a value of 1 if they differ by 1 or 2 alleles. This idea, that a "matched" genotype can impact risk of TRM, is similar to the idea behind HLA matching. For all survival analyses we accommodated the competing risk of death due to disease; covariates including age, body mass index, and graft type (blood or marrow) were included in all analyses. Analyses of the shared genotype variable with TRM were run for all diseases together and excluding ALL (AML+MDS). P-values for each cohort were combined using METAL software with weights proportional to the square root of the number of cases. We report on results for combined P-value (Pmeta) <5 x 10-8. In analyses of AML+MDS donor-recipient pairs four typed SNPs, rs9884653, rs16850885, rs1246576 and rs10014791, spanning 865,040 base pairs in and near MTHFD2L and EPGN on chromosome 4q13.3 were significant at Pmeta <5 x 10-8; several SNPs in this region approach genome wide significance level. The most significant SNP, rs16850885 (P=7.6 x 10-7 in Cohort 1, P=6 x10-3 in Cohort 2, Pmeta =1.8 x 10-8) at 74,304,423 bp, places recipients who differ from their donors by at least one allele (5.2% of patients in Cohort 1 and 3.9% in Cohort 2) at a 2.6 fold increased risk of TRM (Tables 1 and 2). It is in perfect linkage disequilibrium (r2=1) with rs9884653 at 74,280,426 and rs10014791 at 75,145,466; rs1246576 is in strong linkage disequilibrium with rs16850885 (r2 =.91). All four SNPs shows hazard ratios (HRs) of similar magnitude across both cohorts for patients who differ from their donors by at least 1 allele. These SNPs are not associated with death due to disease in either cohort. The difference was not allele specific; of those patients who died of TRM with at least one allele difference approximately 50% of the donors provided the less common A allele (donor A/G or A/A with recipient G/G) and 50% of the recipients had the A allele (recipient A/G with a G/G donor). Analyses of the donors and recipients separately each show some evidence of association with the minor allele A at rs16850885 (Table 2), but it is patients who differ from their donors at this locus who have greatest risk of TRM. A previous GWAS showed that individuals with at least one copy of the A allele at rs16850885 have lower levels of secreted IL-1β following small pox vaccination compared with those who are homozygous GG (P=7.3 x 10-9). IL-1β, a pro-inflammatory cytokine secreted early in the inflammatory response, may be contributing to the risk of TRM through the combination of initiation and maintenance of host tissue inßammation and donor cell inßammatory response. Our study, DISCOVeRY-BMT, is the largest GWAS of TRM HLA-matched URD-BMT. Further confirmation of these findings in a third cohort may aid in donor selection. Disclosures Sucheston-Campbell: NIH/NHLBI: Research Funding. McCarthy:The Binding Site: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Sanofi: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Onyx: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Celgene: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Bristol Myers Squibb: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Karyopharm: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Janssen: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Hahn:NIH/NHLBI: Research Funding; Novartis: Equity Ownership.

Abstract Whole genome and exome sequencing (WGS, WES) have enabled the identification of mutational signatures in Multiple Myeloma (MM) and other cancer types. In studies that assess the impact of coding mutations on protein structure and function, only reads mapping to the exome are pertinent. Thus, WES is typically preferred over WGS, as it provides deeper coverage given the same amount of total reads. However, exome enrichment - a necessary step in WES, limits the ability to call mutations, as coverage is restricted to the capture regions and affected by their GC content. Furthermore, without transcriptional information, it is not possible to determine which coding mutations found by WGS or WES are expressed and, therefore, more likely to be relevant. As an alternative, RNA-seq data directly targets the transcriptome, providing deep coverage, not requiring an enrichment step and intrinsically omitting non-expressed mutations. Moreover, when RNA-seq data is already available for evaluation of gene expression profiles, one can further leverage the data to explore expressed mutational profiles. However, limitations in pipelines to analyze RNA-seq data have restricted their applicability so far. Using paired WES and RNA-seq data from MM patient samples, we have observed that the majority of recurrent mutations in MM occur within genes with very low or no detectable expression (only 27% of mutated genes express). Here, we have further analyzed a large RNA-seq sample set to describe a comprehensive transcriptional mutational landscape in MM and identify potential mutational driver genes. Specifically, we performed RNA-seq on CD138+ MM cells from 292 newly-diagnosed patients and 16 normal bone marrow plasma cell (NBM) samples. The unstranded 50bp paired-end reads were mapped to the human genome using MapSplice followed by a workflow for variant analysis based on GATK. Output was filtered for germline variants and technical artifacts, then evaluated computationally for functional impact, and finally further filtered at the gene level. Using this workflow we were able to identify most reported recurrently mutated genes in MM, including but not limited to TP53 (14%), NRAS (14%), KRAS (11%), ACTG1 (4%), CCND1 (4%), TRAF3 (3%), FAM46C (3%), CYLD (3%) and DIS3 (2%). Importantly, we were also able to identify novel putative mutational driver genes of lower frequency, including several genes involved in the NF-κB pathway (BCR, TAOK2, NFKBIA, PIM1) and genes coding for proteins forming the mTORC2 complex (SIN1, RICTOR, MTOR). We observe that the average mutational frequency, which is a convolution of clonality and relative allelic expression, is slightly below 0.5. Yet, we find diverse mutational frequencies across samples for each given gene. For instance, FAM46C shows a pattern representative of highly subclonal mutations, whereas CCND1 presents mostly bi-allelic and clonal mutations, and others such as TRAF3 show a wide spectrum of mutational frequencies. Further developments will be needed to deconvolve these frequencies. We also applied the workflow to 10 of the samples for which we reported mutations at the DNA level, and observe CCND1, TP53 and KRAS to be recurrently mutated using either WES or RNA-seq. Nevertheless, some mutations are not shared, including 3 WES-exclusive BRAF mutations and one seen in CCND1 through RNA-seq only. In conclusion, we report the first computational analysis to identify mutational driver genes using RNA-seq data, providing additional insight into the mutational landscape of MM. Our findings demonstrate that RNA-seq of unpaired tumor samples can suffice to characterize the most salient characteristics of cancer mutational landscapes. Disclosures Campbell: 14M genomics: Other: Co-founder and consultant. Munshi:celgene: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; onyx: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; millenium: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; novartis: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees.

It was a privilege for me to have served as conference editor for this issue of Pure and Applied Chemistry. The nine papers in this volume constitute selected contributions from four symposia that took place at the 43rd IUPAC Congress, which was held in the Puerto Rico Convention Center, San Juan, Puerto Rico between 30 July and 7 August 2011. The theme of the congress, with more than 1300 scientific presentations, was "Chemistry Bridging Innovation Among the Americas and the World".The papers in this issue arise from four symposia that were part of one of the central themes of the congress, the "Chemistry of Life". Four of the contributions [by Profs. Vanderlan Bolzani (Brazil), Abimael D. Rodriguez (Puerto Rico), Adriano D. Andricopulo (Brazil), and Néstor M. Carballeira (Puerto Rico)] arise from the symposium "Modern Medicinal Chemistry: Natural Products and Synthetic Molecules as Valuable Tools", while one contribution [by Prof. George Kokotos (Greece)] was presented at the symposium "From Protein Structure to Cell Regulation". Three other contributions [by Profs. Ken Kitajima (Japan), Dipak. K. Banerjee (Puerto Rico), and Adriana Pietropaolo (Italy)] are from the symposium "Balancing Life with Bioconjugates", and the last contribution [by Prof. Julian Echave (Argentina)] is from the symposium "Structure Dynamics of Chemical and Biological Systems".We certainly acknowledge the great contribution made to this congress by the congress chair, Prof. Gabriel A. Infante, and the local organizing and scientific committees. We also acknowledge the different organizers and session chairs for the symposia from which these contributions were possible, in particular: V. Bolzani, A. Palermo, S. Campbell, and J. Colón for the medicinal chemistry symposium; D. K. Banerjee for the glycoconjugates symposium; A. Azzi, J. Pande, and M. Walsh for the protein- cell symposium; and M. Chergui and J. López Garriga for the structure dynamics symposium.I would also like to thank the many scientific contributors to this conference, in particular, those who took the time to write a more thorough account of their science and were able to transform it into valuable papers for all of us to share and enjoy. We also thank the editorial staff for their valuable help and guidance.Néstor M. CarballeiraConference Editor

Over the past years it has emerged that acute myeloid leukemia (AML) is a disease often driven by multiple co-occurring genomic lesions. It is a great challenge to understand the logic of these mutational patterns and how the particular constellation of genomic risk factors affects a patient's outcome in conjunction with common clinical variables such as blood counts. Here we present a novel prognostic framework based genomic sequencing data of 111 cancer genes matched with detailed diagnostic, treatment and survival data from 1,540 patients with AML enrolled in three different trials run by the German-Austrian AML Study Group (AML-HD 98A, AML-HD 98B, and AMLSG 07-04). A systematic evaluation of risk modeling strategies reveals that much of the risk determining overall survival is captured in our comprehensive panel of genomic and prognostic clinical variables. Cox proportional hazards models with random effects achieved the highest cross-validated prognostic accuracy (Harrel's concordance C=0.72), better than models with variable selection (C=0.70 for AIC and BIC), and clearly superior to the ELN risk classification (C=0.63). It emerges that patient risk is the aggregate of many small and few large factors, such as previously established mutations in NPM1, CEBPA-/-, FLT3ITD and TP53; fusion genes generated by t(15;17), inv(16), and inv(3) rearrangements; and complex karyotype, del(5q) and trisomy 21. Multiple risk factors act mostly additively, with the exception of gene-gene interaction terms, including NPM1:FLT3ITD:DNMT3A (n=93; HR=1.50; P<0.03; Wald test, Benjamini-Yekutieli adjusted) that indicate the presence of epistatic effects on outcome. We found substantial heterogeneity in the presence of risk factors with almost unique constellations for each patient. We observed that approximately 2/3 of the predicted inter-patient risk variation was related to genomic factors (balanced rearrangements, copy number changes and point mutations), the remainder being mostly attributed to diagnostic blood counts, demographic data and treatment. Hence a large share, but not all, prognostic information seems to be determined by genomic factors. Using multistage models with random effects we have assessed differential effects of prognostic variables at different stages of therapy. These models yield detailed predictions about the probability of being alive in induction, first complete remission and after relapse, as well as the mortality during each of the three stages. Importantly, our model computes how these probabilities change depending on a patient's constellation of risk factors. The resulting personalized predictions provide a quantitative risk assessment and allow evaluating the effect of treatment decisions such as allogeneic stem cell transplant versus standard chemotherapy in first complete remission. Our analysis shows that detailed and accurate predictions can be made based on knowledge banks of genomic and clinical data. As a proof of principle we have implemented our prediction framework into a web portal to explore risk predictions. Our method is able to impute missing variables and quantify the uncertainty due to missingness and finite training data. Power calculations show that cohorts of 10,000 patients will be needed for precise clinical decision support. Disclosures McDermott: 14M Genomics: Other: co-founder, stock-holder and consultant. Stratton:14M Genomics: Other: co-founder, stock-holder and consultant. Schlenk:Janssen: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Daiichi Sankyo: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Arog: Honoraria, Research Funding; Teva: Honoraria, Research Funding; Novartis: Honoraria, Research Funding; Pfizer: Honoraria, Research Funding; Boehringer-Ingelheim: Honoraria. Campbell:14M genomics: Other: Co-founder and consultant.

Abstract Background: Monoclonal antibodies (mAbs) are an emerging therapeutic class for MM patients (pts). Elotuzumab, a mAb in late-phase clinical development, targets the SLAMF7 receptor expressed highly on MM cells. While its primary mechanism of action is through CD16-mediated ADCC, elotuzumab can also directly activate SLAMF7-expressing NK cells. Gaining a greater understanding of phenotypic and functional changes in NK cells over the course of the disease, and how these changes impact capacity for ADCC, may help identify profiles that can better select pts likely to benefit from elotuzumab or other mAb therapies. Methods: We prospectively performed a comprehensive flow cytometry-based analysis of lymphocyte subsets, focusing on expression of NK cell activating and inhibitory receptors, activation and maturation markers, and degranulation in 30 MM pts (12 newly-diagnosed (ND), 18 relapsed/refractory (RR)) and 19 aged-matched healthy donors (HD). Over 140 immune parameters were analyzed, with differences in expression between HD and pt subsets compared by Wilcoxon rank-sum test. We analyzed correlations between expression of certain markers with each other, and with elotuzumab-induced NK cell degranulation against MM cell targets (MM1R) in a 2-hour co-culture assay. We also compared NK cell parameters in blood and bone marrow (BM) from pts with matched samples available. Results: Within the blood, there was no difference in relative NK cell frequency between the groups, and little difference phenotypically between HD and ND pt NK cells, except for decreased DNAM1 expression in ND. In contrast, in comparison to HD, CD56dim NK cells in RR pts were less mature with a higher CD56bright to CD56dim NK cell ratio and reduced expression of the terminal differentiation/maturation markers, CD57 and KLRG1. RR pts also showed increased expression of the activation marker CD69 on all NK cells, and their CD56dim NK cells had increased levels of the natural cytotoxicity receptors, NKp30 and NKp46 and decreased expression of activating receptors DNAM1 and NKG2D. SLAMF7 expression was also increased in RR pts, but only on the CD56bright subset. Consistent changes in NK cell expression of checkpoint/co-stimulatory molecules (eg. PD-1, Tim3, LAG3, CD137) were not seen. Despite these phenotypic changes, no significant differences between groups were noted for elotuzumab-induced ADCC against MM1R targets, as measured by CD107a degranulation by CD56dim NK cells, with significant variability noted within groups. Interestingly, the expression levels of SLAMF7 on CD56dim NK cells directly correlated with CD16 levels, particularly within RR pts (Fig.), suggesting cooperative interactions between these receptors that may be beneficial in MM patients treated with elotuzumab. In addition, degranulation toward elotuzumab-treated MM1R targets was significantly associated with surface expression levels of both SLAMF7 and CD16 on the CD56dim NK cells. The status of NK cells was also compared between matching blood and BM samples from ND (n=7) and RR (n=8) pts. NK cell phenotype and degranulation in blood and BM were similar in ND pts, but in RR pts, expression of CD69 and SLAMF7 were higher on BM-derived NK cells, and CD56dim NK cells from BM demonstrated greater degranulation toward elotuzumab-treated MM1R targets. DNAM1 expression was reduced, but NKG2D, NKp30, and NKp46 were upregulated on various NK cell populations in BM from RR pts compared to peripheral blood. Conclusions: Taken together, our data indicate that NK cells in RR MM pts had increased activation, reduced maturation status, and distinct changes in activating receptor expression levels that are often further enhanced in the BM microenvironment. Furthermore, CD56dim NK cells in many RR pts had parallel increased expression levels of CD16 and SLAMF7, which correlated with enhanced degranulation toward elotuzumab-treated MM target cells. The fact that these changes are seen primarily in RR pts rather than untreated ND pts implies a significant impact of disease evolution and prior therapy on the NK cell compartment, and supports further exploration of these parameters as potential biomarkers of activity of elotuzumab and other therapeutic mAbs in myeloma. Figure 1. Figure 1. Disclosures Campbell: Bristol-Meyers Squibb: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding. Cohen:Bristol-Meyers Squibb: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding; Janssen: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees.

Introduction: During the Coronavirus Disease 2019 (COVID-19) pandemic caused by Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome Corona Virus 2 (SARS-CoV-2), 3 distinct phenotypes have emerged in children. The majority of children have mild or no symptoms. Similar to adults, a minority of children can be severely affected with respiratory distress requiring intensive care. Finally, they may develop a phenomenon presumed unique to children termed Multisystem Inflammatory Syndrome in Children (MIS-C). MIS-C is a hyperinflammatory syndrome characterized by fever and organ dysfunction (particularly cardiac) in the setting of recent COVID-19 infection. Reports from the adult literature have invoked thrombotic microangiopathy (TMA) and complement activation as a potential cause for severe manifestations of COVID-19 (Zhang et al. NEJM. 2020; Campbell et al. Circulation 2020). Soluble C5b9 (sC5b-9), the terminal complement complex, has been implicated as a marker of hematopoietic stem cell transplant associated TMA (HSCT-TMA; Jodele et al. Blood 2014). We sought to elucidate the role of terminal complement activation and TMA in the different pediatric disease phenotypes. Methods: We enrolled children admitted to the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia during the COVID-19 pandemic who had evidence of SARS-CoV-2 infection on reverse transcriptase polymerase chain reaction (RT-PCR) from mucosa, or met clinical criteria for MIS-C. Patients (pts) were classified in to 3 categories: minimal COVID-19 symptoms or incidental finding of SARS-CoV-2 infection, severe COVID-19 requiring ventilatory support, or MIS-C. To investigate the role of TMA in children with COVID-19 we measured sC5b-9 in plasma of pts with the 3 manifestations of SARS-CoV-2, and in healthy controls. sC5b9 was measured in triplicate at two dilutions by ELISA. Proinflammatory cytokines were measured using V-Plex Pro-inflammatory Panel 1 Human Kits and analyzed on a QuickPlex SQ120. P-values were computed using Dunn's multiple comparisons test after Kruskal-Wallis testing. Blood smears were examined by a hematologist and hematopathologist for schistocytes. Results: 50 pts were enrolled on whom complete sC5b9 data were available: minimal COVID-19 (N=18), severe COVID-19 (N=11), and MIS-C (N=21). Plasma was obtained on healthy controls (N=26). The median sC5b9 level in healthy controls (57 ng/mL) differed significantly (p&lt;0.001 in each case; Figure 1A) from that in pts with minimal disease (392 ng/mL), severe disease (646 ng/mL), and MIS-C (630 ng/mL); differences between MIS-C, minimal, and severe were not statistically significant. Elevations in sC5b9 correlated in a statistically significant manner with the maximum creatinine and blood urea nitrogen (BUN) measured during hospitalization (Figure 1B&C), but not age (p=0.512). sC5b9 did not correlate with lactate dehydrogenase (LDH), nor with the lowest levels of fibrinogen, hemoglobin or platelet counts. Of pts with available data, 19/26 (73.1%) had elevated LDH, 2/31 (6.4%) had hypofibrinogenemia, 35/47 (74.5%) were anemic, and 28/47 (59.6%) were thrombocytopenic. Pro-inflammatory cytokines were measured. Of particular interest to TMA is the neutrophil chemotactic factor IL-8, because of its role as a marker of endothelial damage (Dvorak et al. Front Pediatr 2019). Levels of IL-8 differed significantly between pts with MIS-C (p=0.0166) or pts with severe COVID-19 (p=0.0079), when compared to minimal COVID-19 pts; but not between pts with MIS-C and severe disease (p = 0.99). Blood smears were available on 34 patients. Schistocytes were present in 13/15 (87%) patients with MIS-C, 7/8 (87%) patients with severe COVID-19 and 5/11 (45%) patients with minimal COVID-19 (χ2=6.59, p=0.037). Conclusions: We demonstrate derangements of the final common pathway of complement activation in children with the 3 presentations of SARS-CoV-2. Strikingly, sC5b9s were abnormal even in children with minimal disease or incidental infection. Renal dysfunction correlated with elevations in sC5b9, strengthening the evidence that TMA plays a role in the pathophysiology of SARS-CoV-2 infection. Future work is aimed at further characterizing the role of the complement cascade in the pathogenesis of MIS-C and COVID-19 in children. The long-term complications of endothelial damage and complement activation are unknown and extended follow-up is warranted. Figure 1 Disclosures Diorio: Children's Hospital of Philadelphia: Research Funding; University of Pennsylvania: Research Funding. Lambert:22qSociety: Consultancy; RDMD ITP study: Consultancy; Octapharma: Consultancy, Research Funding; Educational Concepts in Medicine: Consultancy; Shionogi: Consultancy; Novartis: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding; Argenix: Consultancy; CdLS Foundation: Consultancy; Sysmex: Research Funding; Dova: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Principia: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; ClinGen: Honoraria; Platelet Disorder Support Association (PDSA): Consultancy; AstraZeneca: Research Funding; Bayer: Consultancy; ITP Australia: Consultancy. Henrickson:Horizon Pharma: Other: ad hoc board meeting. Odom John:Burroughs Wellcome: Research Funding; NIAID: Research Funding. Bassiri:CSL Behring: Other: Spouse receives stocks . Behrens:NIH/NIAID: Research Funding. Teachey:Janssen: Consultancy; Amgen: Consultancy; La Roche: Consultancy; Sobi: Consultancy.

Abstract Introduction Brentuximab vedotin (BV) is an ADC directed against CD30, a receptor expressed by malignant Reed-Sternberg (RS) cells present in the inflammatory/immune cell microenvironment of classical Hodgkin lymphomas (cHL). Through induction of immunogenic cell death, BV may prime an antitumor immune response via microtubule disruption of CD30-expressing RS cells (Gardai 2015). Tumor cells expressing PD-1 ligands use the PD-1 pathway to evade an immune response. Nivolumab (Nivo) blocks the PD-1 receptor, inhibits binding of PD-1 ligands, and restores an effective antitumor immune response. Targeted killing of CD30-expressing RS cells, concurrent with restoration of the immune response, may lead to higher complete response (CR) rates in patients (pts) with relapsed or refractory cHL (R/R HL), as well as improved durability of responses post autologous stem cell transplant (ASCT). Here we present updated results from the phase 1/2 study of BV + Nivo in pts with R/R HL. Methods BV + Nivo was evaluated in cHL that had relapsed or was refractory to frontline (FL) chemotherapy in adult pts (NCT02572167). Pts were excluded if they had received prior salvage therapy, BV or immuno-oncology therapy, or allogeneic SCT or ASCT. Pts were treated in 21-day cycles for up to 4 cycles. In Parts 1 and 2 of the trial, BV (1.8 mg/kg) was given on Cycle 1 Day 1 and Nivo (3 mg/kg) on Cycle 1 Day 8. For Cycles 2-4, BV and Nivo were given on Day 1. After the Cycle 4 response assessment, pts were eligible to undergo ASCT. The investigators assessed response per the Lugano Classification (Cheson 2014). Results 62 pts with R/R HL were enrolled in Parts 1 and 2; 61 pts received BV + Nivo, of whom 58 completed treatment (tx). 4 pts discontinued the study due to pt decision (2), AE (1), and investigator decision (1). Median age was 36 years, 52% were female, and 90% had received FL ABVD. 45% of pts had primary refractory disease and 31% experienced relapse within 1 year of FL therapy. Infusion-related reactions (IRRs) occurred in 41% of pts. Tx emergent AEs occurred in 98% of pts prior to ASCT (33% G3, 5% G4). Excluding IRRs, potential immune-related AEs (IrAEs) occurred in 84% of pts (10% G3, 3% G4) with 5 pts (8%) treated with systemic steroids for G4 pneumonitis, G4 pneumonitis and colitis, G2 pneumonitis, G3 diarrhea and G2 colitis, and G3 AST elevation. Among the 60 efficacy-evaluable pts, the CR rate was 62%, (48% of CR pts had Deauville ≤ 2) with an objective response rate of 85%; 5 pts (8%) had stable disease and 4 pts (7%) progressed on tx. At the time of this analysis, 39 pts had initiated ASCT with a median 5.1x106 CD34+ cells/kg (range; 3-60) collected. Median times to neutrophil and platelet engraftment were 12 and 15 days, respectively. Pts were followed for a median of 3 months from ASCT (N=39, range; 0-12) and 5.7 months from first dose (N=61, range; 1-17). BV and Nivo effects on the immune system were evaluated by peripheral blood immunophenotyping, serum cytokine/chemokine analyses, T-cell receptor sequencing, and intracellular cytokine staining. The first dose of BV resulted in elevation of pro-inflammatory cytokines and chemokines and concurrent reduction in serum TARC levels, with these results maintained post Nivo. We observed a reduction in Tregs and other T cell subsets after the first dose of BV with an elevation of T cell subsets post BV + Nivo. While TCR clonality in the periphery did not change over the course of the trial, T cell clonal expansion was observed post BV + Nivo, concurrent with T cell elevation measured by flow cytometry. Ex vivo peptide stimulation of PBMCs isolated from blood revealed the enhanced ability of T cell subsets to respond to MHC I and MHC II antigens following BV + Nivo compared to baseline: e.g., effector memory CD8+ T cells from some pts displayed increased intracellular IL-2, and TNFa after stimulation with MHCI and MHCII peptide pools compared to baseline, potentially indicating elevated activation status of the immune system following combination tx. Conclusion R/R HL remains an unmet clinical need despite recent medical advances. These data suggest the combination BV + Nivo is a well tolerated and an active salvage therapy with a high rate of CR (62%) that has no adverse impact on stem cell collection. The safety and activity of this novel combination support further exploration in an ongoing pivotal phase 3 trial in pts with R/R HL who have either already received or are considered ineligible for ASCT (NCT03138499). Disclosures Herrera: Seattle Genetics: Research Funding; Merck: Consultancy; Genentech: Consultancy; BMS: Consultancy; Pharmacyclics: Consultancy. Moskowitz: Seattle Genetics: Honoraria, Research Funding; Takeda: Honoraria; Incyte: Research Funding; ADC Therapeutics: Research Funding; Bristol Myers-Squibb: Consultancy, Research Funding. Bartlett: Novartis: Research Funding; ImaginAB: Research Funding; Astra Zeneca: Research Funding; Millenium: Research Funding; Janssen: Research Funding; Pharmacyclics: Research Funding; Affimed: Research Funding; Forty Seven: Research Funding; Immune Design: Research Funding; Bristol-Meyers Squibb: Research Funding; Merck & Co: Research Funding; KITE: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding; Pfizer: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding; Gilead: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Genentech: Research Funding; Seattle Genetics: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding; Celgene: Research Funding. Vose: Merck: Research Funding; Kite: Research Funding; Janssen: Research Funding; Celgene: Research Funding; Allos Therapeutics: Research Funding; Acerta: Research Funding; Incyte: Research Funding; Onyx: Research Funding; Seattle Genetics: Research Funding; US Biotest: Research Funding; Bristol-Myers Squibb: Research Funding. Ramchandren: Seattle Genetics: Consultancy; MERCK: Research Funding; Pharmacyclics: Research Funding; Janssen: Research Funding. Feldman: AbbVie: Speakers Bureau; Janssen: Speakers Bureau; Kite Pharma: Speakers Bureau; Celgene: Speakers Bureau; Pharmacyclics: Speakers Bureau; Seattle Genetics: Honoraria, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Bristol-Myers Squibb: Consultancy. LaCasce: BMS: Consultancy; Forty Seven: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Seattle Genetics: Consultancy, Research Funding. Ansell: Merck: Research Funding; Bristol-Myers Squibb: Research Funding; Celldex: Research Funding; Seattle Genetics: Research Funding; Affimed: Research Funding. Moskowitz: Celgene: Consultancy; Seattle Genetics: Consultancy, Other: Ad Board, Research Funding; Genentech BioOncology: Consultancy; Pharmacyclics: Research Funding; Merck: Consultancy, Research Funding. Fenton: Seattle Genetics: Employment, Equity Ownership. Ogden: Seattle Genetics: Employment, Equity Ownership. Taft: Seattle Genetics: Employment, Research Funding. Zhang: Seattle Genetics: Employment, Research Funding. Kato: Bristol-Myers Squibb: Employment, Equity Ownership; Seattle Genetic: Research Funding. Campbell: Seattle Genetics: Employment, Equity Ownership; CTI BioPharma: Employment, Equity Ownership. Advani: Agensys: Research Funding; Pharmacyclics: Research Funding; Regeneron: Research Funding; FortySeven: Research Funding; Nanostring: Consultancy; Celgene: Research Funding; Pharmacyclics: Consultancy; Merck: Research Funding; Juno Therapeutics: Consultancy; Kura: Research Funding; Janssen: Research Funding; Millennium: Research Funding; Seattle Genetics: Research Funding; Gilead: Consultancy; Bristol-Myers Squibb: Consultancy, Research Funding; Spectrum: Consultancy; Bayer Healthcare Pharmaceuticals: Research Funding; Infinity: Research Funding; Genentech: Research Funding; Cell Medica: Research Funding; Sutro: Consultancy.

Abstract For many years, clinical management of Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML) has relied on patient classification into molecular groups, mostly defined by fusion genes. Recent insights of AML genomes have uncovered extended heterogeneity implicating >100 recurrently mutated genes, many of which are infrequently mutated. In each patient, multiple mutations are present defining unique genetic and clonal constellations. This genetic diversity significantly complicates the translation of molecular findings into routine clinical practice. We present our full analysis on the genomic characterization of 1540 AML patients enrolled in clinical trials of the German-Austrian AML Study Group. Together with cytogenetic profiling we map 5234 pathogenic lesions across 77 genomic loci. Amongst these, we characterise a cluster of hotspot mutations in the MYC oncogene. Overall we find ≥1 driver mutation in 96% patients, and ≥2 in 85%. The earliest mutations in AML evolution implicate genes mutated in age-related clonal hematopoiesis (DNMT3A, ASXL1, TET2) or fusion genes, followed by ordered acquisition of mutations in transcription, chromatin or splicing regulators. RTK/RAS mutations frequently represent late events with evidence of parallel evolution in 14% of AML. We formally model genomic structure and find that AML is subdivided in at least 11 molecular and clinically distinct classes defined by t(15;17), t(8;21), inv(16)/t(16;16), t(6;9), inv(3)/t(3;3), AML defined by MLL- rearrangements, CEBPAbi-allelic, NPM1, TP53/complex karyotype, AML with chromatin/splicing factor mutations, and provisionally AML with <3 aneuploidies. ~87% of patients with acquired mutations are molecularly classified. Each class is defined by a distinct subset of genetic lesions, with evidence of preferred order in mutation acquisition, thus guiding future development of minimal residual disease and combination therapy protocols. 19% (n=291) of patients were classified in the chromatin/spliceosome class. In this group, mutations in splicing factor genes and/or RUNX1 cluster with mutations in chromatin modifiers (ASXL1, EZH2, STAG2, MLLPTD). Patients in this group mostly represented Intermediate risk AML (ELN recommendations), were older, with lower WBC/blasts, inferior response rates to induction chemotherapy, poor long-term clinical outlook, higher rates of secondary AML and MDS-related morphology. Compared to classes defined by fusion genes, classes defined by genes are considerably more complex. We explore whether variability of clinical response (complete remission, relapse, relapse related mortality and overall survival) is at least in part accounted for by the extended genomic landscape. We find that the recurrent secondary and tertiary genotypes (often implicating rare genes/mutation-hotspots) markedly redefine clinical response and long-term curability beyond those predicted by single classifier lesions. To this effect, we apply global statistical models to calculate the contributions of genomic variables to overall risk whilst taking into account demographic, diagnostic and treatment factors. We find that gene-by-gene interactions are associated with additive as well as epistatic effects to patients risk, and contribute ~10% of relapse related mortality risk. We build prognostication models tailored to individual patients molecular, demographic and clinical variables at time of diagnosis and deliver more accurate risk predictions. For example, on the basis of the composite genomic and clinical profiles subsets of patients categorized as Favorable/Intermediate risk AML show risk estimates associated with adverse prognosis. Such patients are evaluated for therapeutic protocol selection tailored to higher risk groups (transplant at first CR instead of relapse), and ascertained for overall survival benefit. We apply same approaches for high-risk patients associated with favorable profiles and collectively deliver a paradigm of personally tailored risk assessment coupled with appropriate selection of therapeutic intervention. Taken together comprehensive genome profiling shows that genetic heterogeneity in AML is not random. Characterization of the extended genetic framework beyond single classifier lesions, informs future strategies for personalized prognostication, minimal residual disease monitoring and combination therapy protocols. Disclosures Schlenk: Janssen: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Pfizer: Honoraria, Research Funding; Boehringer-Ingelheim: Honoraria; Novartis: Honoraria, Research Funding; Daiichi Sankyo: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Arog: Honoraria, Research Funding; Teva: Honoraria, Research Funding. Campbell:14M genomics: Other: Co-founder and consultant.

To improve online learning pedagogy within the field of paralegal education, this study investigated how paralegal students and paralegal instructors perceived the effectiveness of synchronous and asynchronous online paralegal courses. This study intended to inform paralegal instructors and course developers how to better design, deliver, and evaluate effective online course instruction in the field of paralegal studies.Survey results were analyzed using independent samples t-test and correlational analysis, and indicated that overall, paralegal students and paralegal instructors positively perceived synchronous and asynchronous online paralegal courses. Paralegal instructors reported statistically significant higher perceptions than paralegal students: (1) of instructional design and course content in synchronous online paralegal courses; and (2) of technical assistance, communication, and course content in asynchronous online paralegal courses. Instructors also reported higher perceptions of the effectiveness of universal design, online instructional design, and course content in synchronous online paralegal courses than in asynchronous online paralegal courses. Paralegal students reported higher perceptions of asynchronous online paralegal course effectiveness regarding universal design than paralegal instructors. No statistically significant differences existed between paralegal students’ perceptions of the effectiveness of synchronous and asynchronous online paralegal courses. A strong, negative relationship existed between paralegal students’ age and their perceptions of effective synchronous paralegal courses, which were statistically and practically significant. Lastly, this study provided practical applicability and opportunities for future research. Akyol, Z., & Garrison, D. R. (2008). 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New benchmarks in higher education: Student engagement in online learning. The Journal of Education for Business, 84(2), 101-109. Retrieved from http://anitacrawley.net/Resources/Articles/New%20Benchmarks%20in%20Higher%20Education.pdf Salkind, N. J. (2008). Statistics for people who think they hate statistics. Los Angeles, CA: Sage Publications. Santos, J. (1999, April). Cronbach's Alpha: A tool for assessing the reliability of scales. Journal of Extension, 37, 2. Retrieved from https://www.joe.org/joe/1999april/tt3.php Seok, S., DaCosta, B., Kinsell, C., & Tung, C. K. (2010). Comparison of instructors' and students' perceptions of the effectiveness of online courses. Quarterly Review of Distance Education, 11(1), 25. Retrieved from http://online.nuc.edu/ctl_en/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Online-education-effectiviness.pdf Sheridan, K., & Kelly, M. A. (2010). The indicators of instructor presence that are important to students in online courses. Journal of Online Learning and Teaching, 6(4), 767-779. Retrieved from http://jolt.merlot.org/vol6no4/sheridan_1210.pdf Shook, B. L., Greer, M. J., & Campbell, S. (2013). Student perceptions of online instruction. International Journal of Arts & Sciences, 6(4), 337. Retrieved from https://s3.amazonaws.com/academia.edu.documents/34496977/Ophoff.pdf?AWSAccessKeyId=AKIAIWOWYYGZ2Y53UL3A&Expires=1508119686&Signature=J1lJ8VO0xardd%2FwH35pGj14UeBg%3D&response-content-disposition=inline%3B%20filename%3DStudent_Perceptions_of_Online_Learning.pdf Song, L., Singleton, E. S., Hill, J. R., & Koh, M. H. (2004). Improving online learning: Student perceptions of useful and challenging characteristics. The Internet and Higher Education, 7, 59-70. doi:10.1016/j.iheduc.2003.11.003 Steiner, S. D., & Hyman, M. R. (2010). Improving the student experience: Allowing students enrolled in a required course to select online or face-to-face instruction. 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Are the reported barriers to Internet-based instruction warranted? A synthesis of recent research. Education, 121(1), 48-53. http://www.projectinnovation.com/education.html Ward, M. E., Peters, G., & Shelley, K. (2010). Student and faculty perceptions of the quality of online learning experiences. The International Review of Research in Open and Distributed Learning, 11, 57-77. Retrieved from http://www.irrodl.org/index.php/irrodl/article/view/867/1610? Wilkes, R. B., Simon, J. C., & Brooks, L. D. (2006). A comparison of faculty and undergraduate students' perceptions of online courses and degree programs. Journal of Information Systems Education, 17, 131-140. http://jise.org/

Abstract The standard approach to multiple myeloma relies on marrow morphology, serum and urine biochemistry and skeletal imaging for diagnosis. Conventional karyotyping and FISH are performed to assess prognosis but with limited impact on therapeutic decisions. Recently, several recurrent mutated genes have been described, some of which are clinically actionable, but their prognostic value remains to be prospectively investigated. Therefore, strategies to investigate the landscape of chromosomal and gene lesions of a large number of myeloma samples in a robust fashion will soon be needed. In this study, we developed a target-enrichment strategy to streamline simultaneous analysis of gene mutations, copy number changes and IGH translocations in multiple myeloma in a high-throughput fashion. We designed Agilent SureSelect cRNA pull down baits to target 246 genes implicated in myeloma and/or cancer, 2538 single nucleotide polymorphisms to detect copy number and allelic ratio at the single-gene and whole-genome level, and we tiled the whole IGH locus to detect IGH translocations and V(D)J rearrangements. As a pilot, we sequenced 13 myeloma cell lines and 10 control haematopoietic cells lines in HiSeq2000 with 75-bp paired end protocol and used standard algorithms developed at the Sanger Institute for analysis. With a mean coverage of the target region of 130x we identified 530 likely oncogenic substitutions and indels, 98.7% of which were validated as real by independent whole exome sequencing. Mutation spectrum of myeloma cell lines was different from patient samples, with mutations in PCLO being the most frequent (8/13) followed by TP53 (7/13), NEB and LTB (6/13). Other genes canonically mutated in myeloma (KRAS, NRAS, BRAF, DIS3, FAM46C) were found at lower frequencies. As expected in a cell line study, most mutations were fully clonal. Using normalized coverage data we were able to study genes and regions showing recurrent copy number changes. With this approach we identified losses in CDKN2C, FAM46C, BIRC2, BIRC3, RB1, DIS3, TRAF3, CYLD and TP53. Furthermore, we could detect deletions in 1p32.3, 1p12, 12p13.31 16q12 and 17p13, as well as amplifications in 1q21.1 and 1q23.3. Validation by SNP-array confirmed an overall positive predictive value of 98% for sequencing data with regards to gain and losses of genes and small chromosomal regions. Analysis of read pairs where mates are aligned to different chromosomes allowed identification and near-bp mapping of the t(11;14) and t(8;14) translocations in 3 cases each, and t(4;14) in two cases, always consistent with the published karyotype for the cell line. No events were found in control cell lines, but our algorithm missed a t(4;14) and a cryptic t(11;14) in two cell lines. Last, we identified reads spanning the V(D)J rearrangement site in most myeloma cell lines, and we are developing tools to reconstruct the tumor-specific rearrangement sequence that could be employed in minimal residual disease monitoring in the future. This panel is now being applied to a cohort of 500 myeloma patient samples with clinical annotation for prognostication. In conclusion, we describe sequencing techniques and analysis tools that can be easily implemented in diagnostic and research laboratories and can be deployed in the study of myeloma pathogenesis, diagnosis, prognosis and as minimal residual disease detection. Disclosures Ganly: Medipics: Equity Ownership; Bone Marrow Cancer Trust, New Zealand: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Campbell:14M Genomics Limited: Consultancy, Equity Ownership.

Abstract Background: Immunoglobulin (Ig) gene rearrangement is a hallmark of early B-cell development. Chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL) is typically considered a malignancy of mature B-cells and is thought to originate from the oncogenic transformation of a single pre- or post-germinal B-cell. Activation-induced deaminase (AID), an enzyme that induces somatic hypermutation (SHM) at the heavy and light chain Ig loci, has been shown to be active in CLL cells in vitro (Patten et al., Blood 2012). Previous studies suggest that multiple CLL-specific Ig clonotypes related by SHM may be present in patients (pts) with dominant CLL clones possessing somatically mutated or unmutated Ig loci (Logan et al., PNAS 2011; Campbell et al., PNAS 2008). To our knowledge, evolution of the dominant CLL-specific Ig clonotype over the course of treatment has not been demonstrated. Here we utilized the LymphoSIGHT™ method, a next-generation sequencing-based method for lymphocyte characterization and quantification, to quantify clonal evolution at the Ig heavy and kappa chain (IGH and IGK) loci in 63 pts with CLL. Methods: Samples were collected at Stanford University and the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. Peripheral blood mononuclear cells were isolated, and genomic DNA was extracted. Using unbiased universal primer sets, we amplified IGH and IGK variable, diversity, and joining gene segments. Amplified products were sequenced and analyzed using standardized algorithms for clonotype determination (Faham et al., Blood 2012). CLL-specific clonotypes were identified for each patient based on their high frequency (>5%) within the B-cell repertoire of a diagnostic (dx) sample. The highest frequency CLL clonotype identified in a dx sample is termed the “index clonotype”. Dx and post-treatment peripheral blood samples were assessed for evidence of evolved CLL clonotypes using LymphoSIGHT. A clonotype was considered “evolved” based on CDR3 sequence homology to the dx “index clonotype.” Results: CLL clonotypes were identified in dx samples from 63 pts (51 unmutated IGHV; 12 mutated), and we assessed post-treatment samples for the presence of CLL clonotype-associated oligoclonality. Two of 63 pts exhibited clonal evolution in post-treatment samples. One patient with unmutated CLL was MRD negative for over 7 years following allogeneic hematopoietic cell transplant (HCT), and subsequently became MRD positive with the evolved clonotype (differing by 1 nucleotide from the index clonotype) leading to clinical relapse 9 months after MRD positivity, while the original index clone remained undetectable. The patient was treated with ibrutinib upon clinical relapse and continues to have detectable MRD with the same evolved CLL clonotype (Fig 1A). In a second patient with mutated IGHV, we observed several evolved clonotypes in the dx sample. Multiple evolved clonotypes, including 5 that exhibited a significant increase in their frequency relative to the index clonotype, were present in the follow-up sample after treatment with fludarabine and rituximab (Fig 1B). These evolved clonotypes differed from the index clonotype by 1-4 nucleotides, but otherwise shared CDR3 identity, excluding independently arisen B cell clonotypes. Conclusions: We observed evidence of clonal evolution at Ig loci in a small subset (3.2%) of pts with CLL undergoing treatment. The presence of evolution in pts with CLL indicates that either the SHM mechanism, including the AID enzyme, remains active after neoplastic transformation, or the evolved clonotypes arose through a mechanism distinct from SHM. These evolved CLL clonotypes may have a selective advantage, and may be useful as surrogate markers for other oncogenic mutations providing resistance to therapy. Additional cases are under investigation and updated results will be presented. Figure 1. CLL clonal evolution during therapy. MRD levels of two related Ig clonotypes, expressed as leukemia molecules per million leukocytes in peripheral blood, are shown at multiple time points following allogeneic HCT (A). In another patient undergoing conventional treatment, the level of each individual evolved clonotype as a fraction of the total CLL molecules is plotted at dx and post treatment time points. The index clone, evolved clones with increasing levels post-treatment, and evolved clones with decreasing levels post-treatment are shown in red, blue, and white, respectively (B). Figure 1A. Figure 1A. Figure 1B. Figure 1B. Disclosures Moorhead: Sequenta, Inc.: Employment, Equity Ownership. Carlton:Sequenta, Inc.: Employment, Equity Ownership. Faham:Sequenta, Inc.: Employment, Equity Ownership, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees.

This research is aimed to discover the interrelation between marital satisfaction, religiouscommitment and marital commitment globally and based on its types, personal, moral, andstructural. The sampling of the research is 315 persons, with age 20 until 58 years old. The resultof the research shows there is a significant correlation between marital satisfaction and maritalcommitment, religious commitment and marital commitment, marital satisfaction together withreligious commitment and marital commitment. It is also discovers that marital commitmentinfluences personal commitment and moral commitment, while religious commitment influencespersonal commitment, moral commitment, and structural commitment.Keywords: marital satisfaction, religious commitment, marital commitment Abstrak Penelitian ini bertujuan untuk mengetahui hubungan antara kepuasan pernikahan, komitmen beragama, dan komitmen pernikahan secara global dan menurut tipenya, komitmen personal, moral, dan struktural. Partisipan penelitian ini adalah berjumlah 315 orang, berusia 20 hingga 58 tahun. Hasil penelitian ini menunjukan bahwa terdapat hubungan signifikan antara kepuasan pernikahan dan komitmen pernikahan, komitmen beragama dan komitmen pernikahan, kepuasan pernikahan bersama dengan komitmen beragama dan komitmen pernikahan. Juga diketahui bahwa kepuasan pernikahan memiliki pengaruh terhadap komitmen personal dan komitmen moral. Sementara komitmen beragama memiliki pengaruh terhadap komitmen personal, komitmen moral, dan komitmen struktural. Kata kunci: kepuasan pernikahan, komitmen beragama, komitmen pernikahan References Abbott, D., Berry, M. and Meredith, W. (1990). Religious Belief and Practice: A Potential Assetin Helping Families. Family Relations, 39(4), p.443.Adams, J. M. & Jones, W. H. (1999). Interpersonal commitment in historichal perspectives. InHandbook of Interpersonal Commitment and Relationship Stability. New York: SpringerScience+Business Media.Agnew, H. (2009). 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University of Southern CaliforniaClements, R. and Swensen, C. (2000). Commitment to one’s spouse as a predictorof maritalquality among older couples. Curr Psychol, 19(2), pp.110-119.DeGenova, M. and Rice, F. (2005). Intimate relationships, marriages, andfamilies. New York:McGraw-Hill.DeGenova, M. (2008). Intimate relationships, marriages & families. Boston, MA: McGrawHill.Diener, E. (1984). Subjective well-being. Psychological Bulletin, 95(3), pp.542575.Duvall, E. and Miller, B. (1985). Marriage and family development. New York: Harper & Row.Fowers, B. and Olson, D. (1993). ENRICH Marital Satisfaction Scale: A brief research andclinical tool. Journal of Family Psychology, 7(2), pp.176-185.Gravetter, F.J. & Forzano, L.B. (2009). Research methods for the behavioral sciences (Edisike-3). Belmont, CA: Wadsworth.Goltz, J.W. (1987). Correlates in marital commitment. Disertasi Doktoral.Kanada: UniversitasAlberta.Hansen, D., Kelley, H. and Thibaut, J. (1982). 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This section presents the widely heralded work of Brown University's Steering Committee on Slavery and Justice in investigating, acknowledging, and recommending amends for the university's relations to slavery, the slave trade, and the long legacy of racial injustice. The committee's chair, James T. Campbell, offers the historian's perspective on the tasks the committee undertook, on what they learned, on the responses of various publics, and on the achievements and effects of the project. Excerpts of the committee's report Slavery and Justice feature the charge to the group, their approaches to the project, their assessment of how similar retrospective justice initiatives inform their work, their conclusions, and an example of their recommendations.

INTRODUCTION 3D printing for non‐weight‐bearing upper extremity prostheses is becoming increasingly popular as a method of fabrication.1 Some clinics in North America have begun using 3D printing to fabricate lower extremity diagnostic sockets (Figure 1). The strength requirements for upper extremity prostheses are not as rigorous as the strength requirements for lower extremity prostheses. Therefore, strength testing on 3D-printed lower extremity sockets is one of the first steps that needs to be conducted to ensure patient safety. 3D-printed prosthetic sockets are becoming an alternative option to traditional methods because it is possible to customize different parameters to create a strong structure. Infill percentage is an important parameter to research as this can have an influence on the strength of 3D printed sockets.2 As both prosthetists and healthcare professionals, there is a need to become more involved in the process of designing and testing 3D printed sockets. The purpose of this study is to test how changing the infill percentage affects the ultimate strength of a 3D printed transtibial socket during initial contact. Abstract PDF Link: https://jps.library.utoronto.ca/index.php/cpoj/article/view/32038/24453 How to cite: Campbell L, Lau A, Pousett B, Janzen E, Raschke S.U. HOW INFILL PERCENTAGE AFFECTS THE ULTIMATE STRENGTH OF A 3D-PRINTED TRANSTIBIAL SOCKET. CANADIAN PROSTHETICS & ORTHOTICS JOURNAL, VOLUME 1, ISSUE 2, 2018; ABSTRACT, POSTER PRESENTATION AT THE AOPA’S 101ST NATIONAL ASSEMBLY, SEPT. 26-29, VANCOUVER, CANADA, 2018. DOI: https://doi.org/10.33137/cpoj.v1i2.32038 Abstracts were Peer-reviewed by the American Orthotic Prosthetic Association (AOPA) 101st National Assembly Scientific Committee. http://www.aopanet.org/

The Society of Teachers of Family Medicine (STFM; http://www.stfm.org) is a community of professionals devoted to teaching family medicine through undergraduate, graduate, and continuing medical education. This multidisciplinary group of physicians, educators, behavioral scientists, and researchers works to further STFM’s mission of improving the health of all people through education, research, patient care, and advocacy. The STFM held its 41st Conference on Medical Student Education in Atlanta, Georgia from February 5-8, 2015. The conference this year was met with record attendance and student scholarship winners. The STFM Education Committee selected 10 abstracts, of which five are presented below. Editor’s Note: The following five of the 10 selected abstracts have been published in the intervening time, and are not included in this publication: Biagioli FE, Elliot DL, Palmer RT, et al. The electronic health record objective structured clinical examination: assessing student competency in patient interactions while using the electronic health record. Acad Med. 2017;92(1):87-91. https://doi.org/10.1097/ACM.0000000000001276 Mader EM, Rodríguez JE, Campbell KM, et al. Status of underrepresented minority and female faculty at medical schools located within historically black colleges and in Puerto Rico. Med Educ Online. 2016;21(1):29535. https://doi.org/10.3402/meo.v21.29535 Phillips JP, Wendling AL, Fahey CA, Mavis BE. The effect of a community-based medical school on the state and local physician workforce. Acad Med. 2017. White J, Anthony D, WinklerPrins V, Roskos S. WinklerPrins V, Roskos S. Electronic medical records, medical students, and ambulatory family physicians: a multi-institution study. Acad Med. 2017;92(10):1485-1490. https://doi.org/10.1097/ACM.0000000000001673 Morley CP, Rosas SR, Mishori R, et al. Essential public health competencies for medical students: establishing a consensus in family medicine. Teach Learn Med. 2017;29(3):255-267. https://doi.org/10.1080/10401334.2016.1268964

Abstract Objective. Analyze and integrate studies that inquire on the benefits of nursing educational interventions to manage post-surgical pain.Methods. A systematic search was conducted in the databases of Scopus, Medline (Pubmed), Web of Science, The Cochrane Library, and CINAHL of systematic reviews, randomized clinical trials, and quasiexperimental studies published in English and Spanish until 2018 that analyzed the effectiveness of educational interventions in managing post-surgical pain in adult patients.Results. Twelve studies complied inclusion criteria, of which nine reported less pain in the group receiving the educational intervention. These interventions also helped to diminish the level of anxiety and improved functionality to perform activities of daily life. The level of quality of the studies was medium.Conclusion. Although the review showed that nursing educational interventions could influence on the relief of post-surgical pain, more rigorous studies are necessary, with bigger sample sizes and higher methodological quality, which help to establish the real effectiveness in managing post-surgical patients with pain.Descriptors: effectiveness; nursing research; pain, postoperative; pain management; patient education as topic; review.How to cite this article: Reaza-Alarcón A, RodríguezMartín B. Effectiveness of nursing educational interventions in managing post-surgical pain. Systematic review. Invest. Educ. Enferm. 2019; 37(2):e10.ReferencesNational Institute of Health. Pain. Hope through research [Internet]. NIH; 2018 [cited 10 May 2018]. Available fron: https://www.ninds.nih.gov/Disorders/Patient-Caregiver-Education/Hope-Through-Research/Pain-Hope-Through-Research Subramanian P, Ramasamy S, Ng KH, Chinna K, Rosli R. 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Trials. 1999; 20:448-52. Tufanaru C, Munn Z, Aromataris E, Campbell J, Hopp L. Chapter 3: Systematic reviews of effectiveness. In: Aromataris E, Munn Z, editors. Joanna Briggs Institute Reviewer's Manual. Adelaida: The Joanna Briggs Institute; 2017. Hong S-J, Lee E. Effect of evidence-based postoperative pain guidelines via web for patients undergoing abdominal surgery in South Korea. Asian Nurs. Res. 2014; 8:135-42. Lee C-H, Liu J-T, Lin S-C, Hsu T-Y, Lin C-Y, Lin L-Y. Effects of educational intervention on state anxiety and pain in people undergoing spinal surgery: A randomized controlled trial. Pain Manag. Nurs. 2018; 19:163-71. Martorella G, Côté J, Racine M, Choinière M. Web-based nursing intervention for self-management of pain after cardiac surgery: Pilot randomized controlled trial. J. Med. Internet Res. 2012; 14(6):e177. Guo P, East L, Arthur A. A preoperative education intervention to reduce anxiety and improve recovery among Chinese cardiac patients: A randomized controlled trial. Int. J. Nurs. Stud. 2012; 49:129-37. Kesänen J, Leino-Kilpi H, Lund T, Montin L, Puukka P, Valkeapää K. Increased preoperative knowledge reduces surgery-related anxiety: a randomised clinical trial in 100 spinal stenosis patients. Eur. Spine J. 2017; 26:2520-8. Bjørnnes AK, Parry M, Lie I, Fagerland MW, Watt-Watson J, Rustøen T, et al. The impact of an educational pain management booklet intervention on postoperative pain control after cardiac surgery. Eur. J. Cardiovasc. Nurs. 2017; 16:18-27. Ramesh C, Nayak BS, Pai VB, Patil NT, George A, George LS, et al. Effect of preoperative education on postoperative outcomes among patients undergoing cardiac surgery: A systematic review and meta-analysis. J. Perianesth. Nurs. 2017; 32:518-29. Wong Eliza Mi‐Ling, Chan Sally Wai‐Chi, Chair Sek‐Ying. Effectiveness of an educational intervention on levels of pain, anxiety and self‐efficacy for patients with musculoskeletal trauma. J. Adv. Nurs. 2010; 66:1120-31. Font Calafell A, Prat Borras I, Arnau Bartes A, Jesús Torra Feixas M, Baeza Ransanz T. Nursing educational intervention for the management of postoperative pain in ambulatory surgery. Enferm. Clin. 2011; 21:248-55. Reynolds MAH. Postoperative pain management discharge teaching in a rural population. Pain Manag. Nurs. 2009; 10:76-84. van Dijk JFM, van Wijck AJM, Kappen TH, Peelen LM, Kalkman CJ, Schuurmans MJ. The effect of a preoperative educational film on patients’ postoperative pain in relation to their request for opioids. Pain Manag. Nurs. 2015; 16:137-45. Chen S-R, Chen C-S, Lin P-C. The effect of educational intervention on the pain and rehabilitation performance of patients who undergo a total knee replacement. J. Clin. Nurs. 2014; 23:279-87.

During April and May 2006, an archeological team from the Cultural Resources Section of the Planning, Permitting and Licensing Practice of TRC Environmental Corporation’s (TRC) Austin office conducted geoarcheological documentation and data recovery excavations at prehistoric site 41TV2161 (CSJ: 0440-06-006). Investigations were restricted to a 70 centimeter (cm) thick target zone between ca. 220 and 290 cm below surface (bs) on the western side of site 41TV2161 – the Big Hole site in eastern Travis County, Texas. This cultural investigation was necessary under the requirements of Section 106 of the National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA), the implementing regulations of 36CRF Part 800 and the Antiquities Code of Texas (Texas Natural Resource Code, Title 9, Chapter 191 as amended) to recover a sample of the significant cultural materials prior to destruction by planned construction of State Highway 130 (SH 130). The latter by a private construction firm – Lone Star Infrastructure. This necessary data recovery was for Texas Department of Transportation (TxDOT), Environmental (ENV) Affairs Division under a Scientific Services Contract No. 577XXSA003 (Work Authorization No. 57701SA003). Over the years since the original award, multiple work authorizations between TxDOT and TRC were implemented and completed towards specific aspects of the analyses and reporting. The final analyses and report were conducted under contract 57-3XXSA004 (Work Authorization 57-311SA004). All work was under Texas Antiquities Committee Permit No. 4064 issued by the Texas Historical Commission (THC) to J. Michael Quigg. Initially, an archeological crew from Hicks & Company encountered site 41TV2161 during an intensive cultural resource inventory conducted south of Pearce Lane along the planned construction zone of SH 130 in the fall of 2005. Following the initial site discovery, archeologists expanded their investigations to the west across the SH 130 right-of-way, and completed excavation of 10 backhoe trenches, 13 shovel tests, and 11 test units at site 41TV2161. The investigations encountered at least seven buried cultural features and 1,034 artifacts, some in relatively good context. The survey and testing report to TxDOT presented their findings and recommendations (Campbell et al. 2006). The ENV Affairs Division of TxDOT and the THC reviewed the initial findings and recommendations, and determined site 41TV2161 was eligible for listing on the National Register of Historic Places and as State Antiquities Landmark as the proposed roadway development was to directly impact this important site and further excavations were required. Subsequently, TRC archeologists led by Paul Matchen (Project Archeologist) and J. Michael Quigg (Principal Investigator) initiated data recovery excavations through the mechanical-removal of between 220 and 250 cm of sediment from a 30-by-40 meter (m) block area (roughly 3,000 m3). This was conducted to allow hand-excavations to start just above the deeply buried, roughly 70 cm thick targeted zone of cultural material. Mechanical stripping by Lone Star Infrastructure staff created a large hole with an irregular bottom that varied between 220 and 260 cmbs. To locate specific areas to initiate hand-excavations within the mechanically stripped area, a geophysical survey that employed ground penetrating radar (GPR) was conducted by Tiffany Osburn then with Geo-Marine in Plano, Texas. Over a dozen electronic anomalies were detected through the GPR investigation. Following processing, data filtering, and assessment, Osburn identified and ranked the anomalies for investigation. The highest ranked anomalies (1 through 8) were thought to have the greatest potential to represent cultural features. Anomalies 1 through 6 were selected and targeted through hand-excavations of 1-by-1 m units that formed continuous excavation blocks of various sizes. Blocks were designated A, B, C, D, E, and F. The type, nature, quantity, and context of encountered cultural materials in each block led the direction and expansion of each excavation block as needed. In total, TRC archeologists hand-excavated 38.5 m3 (150 m2) from a vertically narrow target zone within this deep, multicomponent and stratified prehistoric site. Hand-excavation in the two largest Blocks, B and D (51 m2 and 62 m2 respectively), revealed two vertically separate cultural components between roughly 220 and 290 cmbs. The younger component was restricted to Block B and yielded a Bell/Andice point and point base, plus a complete Big Sandy point. These points were associated with at least eight small burned rock features, one cluster of ground stone tools, limited quantities of lithic debitage, few formal chipped and ground stone tools, and a rare vertebrate faunal assemblage. Roughly 20 to 25 cm below the Bell/Andice component in Block B and across Block D was a component identified by a single corner-notched Martindale dart point. This point was associated with a scattered burned rocks, three charcoal stained hearth features, scattered animal, bird, and fish bones, mussel shells, and less than a dozen formal chipped and ground stone tools. Both identified components contained cultural materials in good stratigraphic context with high spatial integrity. Significant, both were radiocarbon dated by multiple charcoal samples to a narrow 200-year period between 5250 and 5450 B.P. during the middle Holocene. With exception of the well-preserved faunal assemblages, perishable materials were poorly preserved in the moist silty clay loam. Charcoal lacked structure and was reduced to dark stains. Microfossils (e.g., phytoliths and starch gains) were present, although in very limited numbers and deteriorated conditions. The four much smaller Blocks (A, C, E, and F) yielded various quantities of cultural material and features, but these blocks also lacked sufficient charcoal dates and diagnostic artifacts Those artifacts and samples were left unassigned and analyzed separately from the Bell/Andice and Martindale components. The two well-defined components in Blocks B and D are the focus of this technical report. The components provide very significant data towards understanding rare and poorly understood hunter-gatherer populations during late stages of the Altithermal climate period. This final report builds upon the interim report submitted to TxDOT (Quigg et al. 2007) that briefly described the methods, excavations, preliminary findings, initial results from six feasibility studies, and proposed an initial research design for data analyses. Context and integrity of the cultural materials in the two identified components was excellent. This rare circumstance combined with detailed artifact analyses, solid documentation of their ages through multiple radiocarbon dates, and multidisciplinary approach to analyses, allowed significant insights and contributions concerning the two populations involved. Results provide a greater understanding of human behaviors during a rarely identified time in Texas Prehistory. The cultural materials and various collected samples were temporarily curated at TRC’s Austin laboratory. Following completion of analyses and acceptance of this final report, the artifacts, paper records, photographs, and electronic database were permanently curated at the Center for Archaeological Studies (CAS) at Texas State University in San Marcos.

Introdução: O padrão ouro atual para detectar o RNA de SARS-CoV-2 é por reação em cadeia da polimerase em tempo real de transcrição reversa (RT-rtPCR) em swabs nasofaríngeos (NPS). Por esse motivo, a demanda pelos NPS aumentou e sua escassez se tornou uma realidade em muitos países. Com isso o uso da saliva se mostra uma alternativa promissora na triagem epidemiológica além de ser de fácil coleta e não invasiva. Objetivo: realizar uma revisão sistemática da literatura para avaliar o uso da saliva como um espécime alternativo para a detecção de SARS-CoV-2. Metodologia: A pesquisa sistemática foi realizada em sete bancos de dados (PubMed, Cochrane Library, Lilacs, Scielo, Web of Science, Scopus e Google Scholar) usando a variação dos termos de pesquisa (COVID-19 OR SARS-CoV-2 OR 2019-nCoV) AND "Saliva" no ano de 2020, recuperando 5480 publicações. Resultados: Após a leitura dos títulos e resumos, 411 textos foram conduzidos para leitura integral e 30 publicações foram consideradas para avaliação qualitativa do artigo. Conclusão: A saliva se apresenta um método alternativo eficaz para a detecção de SARS-CoV-2 e diagnóstico de COVID-19.Descritores: Infecções por Coronavírus; Betacoronavirus; Saliva; Diagnóstico.ReferênciasHuang C, Wang Y, Li X, Ren L, Zhao J, Hu Y, et al. Clinical features of patients infected with 2019 novel coronavirus in Wuhan, China. Lancet. 2020;395:497-506.Wang L, Wang Y, Ye D, Liu Q. A review of the 2019 Novel Coronavirus (COVID-19) based on current evidence. J Antimicrob Agents 2020;105948.Zhu N, Zhang D, Wang W, Li X, Yang B, Song J, et al. A Novel Coronavirus from Patients with Pneumonia in China, 2019. N Engl J Med 2020;382:727-733.Coronaviridae Study Group of the International Committee on Taxonomy of V. 2020. 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Int J Mol Sci. 2016;17.Principais itens para relatar Revisões sistemáticas e Meta-análises: A recomendação PRISMA. Epidemiol. E Serviços Saúde 2015;24:335–42.Abdul MSM, Fatima U, Khanna SS, Bhanot R, Sharma A, Srivastava AP. Oral Manifestations of Covid-19-Are they the introductory symptoms?. J Adv Dent Sci Res. 2020;8:5.Azzi L, Carcano G, Dalla Gasperina D, Sessa F, Maurino V, Baj A. Two cases of COVID-19 with positive salivary and negative pharyngeal or respiratory swabs at hospital discharge: A rising concern. Oral Dis. 2020;00:1-3.Azzi L, Carcano G, Gianfagna F, Grossi P, Dalla Gasperina D, Genoni A, et al. Saliva is a reliable tool to detect SARS-CoV-2. J Infect. 2020;81:45-50.Becker D, Sandoval E, Amin A, De Hoff P, Leonetti N, Lim YW, et al. Saliva is less sensitive than nasopharyngeal swabs for COVID-19 detection in the community setting. medRxiv. 2020;20092338.Braz-Silva PH, Pallos D, Giannecchini S, To KKW. SARS-CoV-2: What can saliva tell us?. Oral Dis. 2020;13365.Chan JFW, Yip CCY, To KKW, Tang THC, Wong SCY, Leung KH, et al. Improved molecular diagnosis of COVID-19 by the novel, highly sensitive and specific COVID-19-RdRp/Hel real-time reverse transcription-PCR assay validated in vitro and with clinical specimens. J Clin Microbiol. 2020;58:5.Chen L, Zhao J, Peng J, Li X, Deng X, Geng Z, et al. Detection of 2019-nCoV in saliva and characterization of oral symptoms in COVID-19 patients. Lancet. 2020;3556665.Cheng VC, Wong SC, Chen JH, Yip CC, Chuang VW, Tsang OT, et al. Escalating infection control response to the rapidly evolving epidemiology of the Coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) due to SARS-CoV-2 in Hong Kong. Infect Control Hosp Epidemiol. 2020;41:493-498.Han P, Ivanovski S. Saliva—Friend and Foe in the COVID-19 Outbreak. Diagn. 2020;10:290.Iwasaki S, Fujisawa S, Nakakubo S, Kamada K, Yamashita Y, Fukumoto T, et al. Comparison of SARS-CoV-2 detection in nasopharyngeal swab and saliva. J Infect. 2020;20:30349.Krajewska J, Krajewski W, Zub K, Zatoński T. COVID-19 in otolaryngologist practice: a review of current knowledge. Eur Arch Otorhinolaryngol. 2020;1-13.Lalli MA, Chen X, Langmade SJ, Fronick CC, Sawyer CS, Burcea LC, et al. Rapid and extraction-free detection of SARS-CoV-2 from saliva with colorimetric LAMP. medRxiv. 2020;7273276.Li X, Geng M, Peng Y, Meng L, Lu S. Molecular immune pathogenesis and diagnosis of COVID-19. J Pharm Anal. 2020;10:101-108.Li H, Liu SM, Yu XH, Tang SL, Tang CK. Coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19): current status and future perspective. Int J Antimicrob Agents. 2020;105951.McCormick-Baw C, Morgan K, Gaffney D, Cazares Y, Jaworski K, Byrd A, et al. Saliva as an Alternate Specimen Source for Detection of SARS-CoV-2 in Symptomatic Patients Using Cepheid Xpert Xpress SARS-CoV-2. J Clin Microbiol. 2020;01109-20.Pasomsub E, Watcharananan SP, Boonyawat K, Janchompoo P, Wongtabtim G, Suksuwan W, et al. Saliva sample as a non-invasive specimen for the diagnosis of coronavirus disease-2019 (COVID-19): a cross-sectional study. Clin Microbiol Infect. 2020;20302780.Sabino-Silva R, Jardim ACG, Siqueira WL. Coronavirus COVID-19 impacts to dentistry and potential salivary diagnosis. Clinical oral investigations. 2020;1-3.Sapkota D, Thapa SB, Hasséus B, Jensen JL. Saliva testing for COVID-19?. BDJ. 2020;228:658-659.Sharma S, Kumar V, Chawla A, Logani A. Rapid detection of SARS-CoV-2 in saliva: Can an endodontist take the lead in point-of-care COVID-19 testing?. Int Endod J. 2020;13317.Tang YW, Schmitz JE, Persing DH, Stratton CW. Laboratory Diagnosis of COVID-19: Current Issues and Challenges. J Clin Microbiol. 2020;58(6).Tatikonda SS, Reshu P, Hanish A, Konkati S, Madham S. A Review of Salivary Diagnostics and Its Potential Implication in Detection of Covid-19. Cureus. 2020;12(4).To KKW, Tsang OTY, Leung WS, Tam AR, Wu TC, Lung DC, et al. Temporal profiles of viral load in posterior oropharyngeal saliva samples and serum antibody responses during infection by SARS-CoV-2: an observational cohort study. Lancet Infect Dis. 2020;20:565-574.Vinayachandran D, Saravanakarthikeyan B. Salivary diagnostics in COVID-19: Future research implications. J Dent Sci. 2020;7177105.Williams E, Bond K, Zhang B, Putland M, Williamson DA. Saliva as a non-invasive specimen for detection of SARS-CoV-2. J Clin Microbiol. 2020;00776-20.Wyllie AL, Fournier J, Casanovas-Massana A, Campbell M, Tokuyama M, Vijayakumar P, et al. Saliva is more sensitive for SARS-CoV-2 detection in COVID-19 patients than nasopharyngeal swabs. Medrxiv. 2020;20067835.Yoon JG, Yoon J, Song JY, Yoon SY, Lim CS, Seong H, et al. Clinical Significance of a High SARS-CoV-2 Viral Load in the Saliva. J Korean Med Sci. 2020;35(20).Zheng S, Yu F, Fan J, Zou Q, Xie G, Yang X, et al. Saliva as a Diagnostic Specimen for SARS-CoV-2 by a PCR-Based Assay: A Diagnostic Validity Study. 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Black women are treated as though we are a box of chocolates presented to individual white women for their eating pleasure, so they can decide for themselves and others which pieces are most tasty (hooks 80). Introduction bell hooks equates African-American women with chocolates, which are picked out and selected for someone else’s pleasure. In her writing about white women who have historically dominated the feminist movement, hooks challenges the ways that people conceptualise the “self” and “other”. She uses a feminist lens to question widespread assumptions about the place of Black women in American society. hooks’s work has been applied to the Australian context by Bronwyn Fredericks, to explore the ways that Aboriginal women and men are perceived and “selected” by the broader Australian society. In this paper, we extend previous work about the metaphor of chocolate to discuss the themes underpinning an art exhibition—Hot Chocolate—which was curated by Troy-Anthony Baylis and Frances Wyld. Baylis and Wyld are Aboriginal Australians who are based in Adelaide and whose academic and creative work is centred within South Australia. The exhibition was launched on 14 November 2012 as part of Adelaide’s Visual Arts Program Feast Festival 2012 (CroftWarcon and Fredericks). It was curated in Adelaide’s SASA Gallery (which is associated with the School of Art, Architecture and Design at the University of South Australia). This paper focuses on the development of Hot Chocolate and the work produced by Aboriginal artists contained within it, and it includes a conversation about the work of Pamela CroftWarcon. Moreover, it discusses these works produced by the artists and links them back to the issues of identity and race, and how some Aboriginal people are selected like chocolates over and above others. In this, we are interested in exploring some of the issues around politics, desire, skin, and the fetishisation of race and bodies. The Metaphor of Chocolate This work will focus on how Aboriginal Australians are positioned as “chocolates” and how people of colour are viewed by the wider society, and about whether people have a pliable “soft centre” or a brittle “hard centre.” It uses hooks’s work as a point of reference to the power of the metaphor of chocolate in considering questions about who is “tasty.” In the Australian context, some Aboriginal people are deemed to be more “tasty” than others, in terms of what they say, write, and do (or what they avoid saying, writing, or doing). That is, they are seen as being sweeter chocolates and nicer chocolates than others. We understand that some people find it offensive to align bodies and races of people with chocolate. As Aboriginal women we do not support the use of the term ‘chocolate’ or use it when we are referring to other Aboriginal people. However, we both know of other Aboriginal people who use the metaphor of chocolate to talk about themselves, and it is a metaphor that other people of colour throughout the world similarly might use or find offensive. Historically, chocolate and skin colour have been linked, and some people now see these connections as something that reminds them of a colonial and imperial past (Gill). Some Aboriginal people are chosen ahead of others, perhaps because of their “complementary sweetness,” like an after-dinner mint that will do what the government and decision makers want them to do. They might be the ones who are offered key jobs and positions on government boards, decision-making committees, or advisory groups, or given priority of access to the media outlets (Fredericks). Through these people, the government can say, “Aboriginal people agree with us” or “this Aboriginal person agrees with us.” Aileen Moreton-Robinson is important to draw upon here in terms of her research focused on white possession (2005). Her work explains how, at times, non-Indigenous Anglo-Australians may act in their own interests to further invest in their white possession rather than exercise power and control to make changes. In these situations, they may select Aboriginal people who are more likely to agree with them, ether knowingly or in ignorance. This recycles the colonial power gained through colonisation and maintains the difference between those with privilege and those without. Moreover, Aboriginal people are further objectified and reproduced within this context. The flip side of this is that some Aboriginal people are deemed to be the “hard centres” (who are not pliable about certain issues), the “less tasty” chocolates (who do not quite take the path that others expect), or the “brittle” types that stick in your teeth and make you question whether you made the right choice (who perhaps challenge others and question the status quo). These Aboriginal people may not be offered the same access to power, despite their qualifications and experience, or the depth of their on-the-ground, community support. They may be seen as stirrers, radicals, or trouble makers. These perceptions are relevant to many current issues in Australia, including notions of Aboriginality. Of course, some people do not think about the chocolate they choose. They just take one from the box and see what comes out. Perhaps they get surprised, perhaps they are disappointed, and perhaps their perceptions about chocolates are reinforced by their choice. In 2011, Cadbury was forced to apologise to Naomi Campbell after the supermodel claimed that an advertisement was racist in comparing her to a chocolate bar (Sweney). Cadbury was established in 1824 by John Cadbury in Birmingham, England. It is now a large international corporation, which sells chocolate throughout the world. The advertisement for Cadbury’s Bliss range of Dairy Milk chocolate bars used the strapline, “Move over Naomi, there's a new diva in town” (Moss). Campbell (quoted in Moss) said she was “shocked” by the ad, which was intended as a tongue-in-cheek play on Campbell's reputation for diva-style tantrums and behaviour. “It's upsetting to be described as chocolate, not just for me but for all black women and black people,” she said. “I do not find any humour in this. It is insulting and hurtful” (quoted in Moss). This is in opposition to the Aboriginal artists in the exhibition who, although as individuals might find it insulting and hurtful, are using the chocolate reference to push the boundaries and challenge the audience’s perceptions. We agree that the metaphor of chocolate can take us to the edge of acceptable discussion. But we also believe that being at the edge of acceptability allows us to explore issues that are uncomfortable. We are interested in using the metaphor of chocolate to explore the ways that non-Indigenous people view Aboriginal Australians, and especially, discussions around the politics of identity, desire, skin, and the fetishisation of race and bodies. Developing the Exhibition The Hot Chocolate exhibition connected chocolate (the food) and Hot Chocolate (the band) with chocolate-coloured people. It was developed by Troy-Anthony Baylis and Frances Wyld, who invited nine artists to participate in the exhibition. The invited artists were: Troy-Anthony Baylis, Bianca Beetson, Pamela CroftWarcon, Cary Leibowitz, Yves Netzhammer + Ralph Schraivogel, Nat Paton, Andrew Putter and Dieter Roth (CroftWarcon and Fredericks). The exhibition was built around questions of what hot chocolate is and what it means to individuals. For some people, hot chocolate is a desirable, tasty drink. For others, hot chocolate brings back memories of music from the British pop band popular during the 1970s and early 1980s. For people with “chocolate-coloured skin”, chocolate can be linked to a range of questions about desirability, place, and power. Hot Chocolate, the band, was based in Britain, and was an inter-racial group of British-born musicians and immigrants from Jamaica, the Bahamas, Trinidad and Grenada. The title and ethnic diversity of the group and some of their song lyrics connected with themes for curatorial exploration in the Hot Chocolate exhibition. For example: I believe in miracles. Where you from, you sexy thing? … Where did you come from baby? ... Touch me. Kiss me darling… — You Sexy Thing (1975). It started with a kiss. I didn’t know it would come to this… — It Started With A Kiss (1983). When you can't take anymore, when you feel your life is over, put down your tablets and pick up your pen and I'll put you together again… — I’ll Put You Together Again (1978). All nine artists agreed to use lyrics by Hot Chocolate to chart their journeys in creating artworks for the exhibition. They all started with the lyrics from It Started With A Kiss (1983) to explore ways to be tellers of their own love stories, juxtaposed with the possibility of not being chosen or not being memorable. Their early work explored themes of identity and desirability. As the artists collaborated they made many references to both Hot Chocolate song lyrics and to hooks’s discussion about different “types” of chocolate. For example, Troy-Anthony Baylis’s Emotional Landscape (1997-2010) series of paintings is constructed with multiple “x” marks that represent “a kiss” and function as markers for creating imaginings of Country. The works blow “air kisses” in the face of modernity toward histories of the colonial Australian landscape and art that wielded power and control over Aboriginal subjects. Each of the nine artists linked chocolate with categorisations and constructions of Aboriginality in Australia, and explored the ways in which they, as both Aboriginal peoples and artists, seemed to be “boxed” (packaged) for others to select. For some, the idea that they could be positioned as “hot chocolate”—as highly desirable—was novel and something that they never expected at the beginning of their art careers. Others felt that they would need a miracle to move from their early “box” into something more desirable, or that their art might be “boxed” into a category that would be difficult to escape. These metaphors helped the artists to explore the categories that are applied to them as artists and as Aboriginal people and, particularly, the categories that are applied by non-Indigenous people. The song lyrics provided unifying themes. I’ll Put You Together Again (1978) is used to name the solidarity between creative people who are often described as “other”; the lyrics point the way to find the joy in life and “do some tastin'.” You Sexy Thing (1975) is an anthem for those who have found the tastiness of life and the believing in miracles. In You Sexy Thing, Hot Chocolate ask “Where you from?”, which is a question that many Aboriginal people use to identify each others’ mobs and whom they belong to; this question allows for a place of belonging and identity, and it is addressed right throughout the exhibition’s works. The final section of the exhibition uses the positive Everyone’s A Winner (1978) to describe a place that satisfies. This exhibition is a winner, and “that’s no lie.” Pamela CroftWarcon’s Works In a conversation between this paper’s authors on 25 November 2013, Dr Pamela CroftWarcon reflected on her contributions to the Hot Chocolate exhibition. In this summary of the conversation, CroftWarcon tells the story of her artwork, her concepts and ideas, and her contribution to the exhibition. Dr Pamela CroftWarcon (PC): I am of the Kooma clan, of the Uralarai people, from south-west Queensland. I now live at Keppel Sands, Central Queensland. I have practised as a visual artist since the mid-1980s and have worked as an artist and academic regionally, nationally, and internationally. Bronwyn Fredericks (BF): How did you get involved in the development of Hot Chocolate? PC: I was attending a writing workshop in Brisbane, and I reconnected with you, Bronwyn, and with Francis Wyld. We began to yarn about how our lives had been, both personally and professionally, since the last time we linked up. Francis began to talk about an idea for an exhibition that she and Troy wanted to bring together, which was all about Hot Chocolate. As we talked about the idea for a Hot Chocolate exhibition, I recalled a past discussion about the writing of bell hooks. For me, hooks’s work was like an awakening of the sense and spirit, and I have shared hooks’s work with many others. I love her comment about Black women being “like a box of chocolates”. I can understand what she is saying. Her work speaks to me; I can make sense of it and use it in my arts practice. I thus jumped at the chance to be involved. BF: How do you understand the concepts that frame the exhibition? PC: Many of the conversations I have had with other Aboriginal people over the years have included issues about the politics of living in mixed-race skin. My art, academic papers, and doctoral studies (Croft) have all focused on these issues and their associated politics. I call myself a “fair-skinned Murri”. Many non-Indigenous Australians still associate the colour of skin with authentic Aboriginal identity: you have to be dark skinned to be authentic. I think that humour is often used by Aboriginal people to hide or brush away the trauma that this kind of classification can cause and I wanted to address these issues in the exhibition. Many of the exhibition’s artworks also emphasise the politics of desire and difference, as this is something that we as Indigenous people continually face. BF: How does your work connect with the theme and concepts of the exhibition? PC: My art explores the conceptual themes of identity, place and Country. I have previously created a large body of work that used found boxes, so it was quite natural for me to think about “a box of chocolates”! My idea was to depict bell hooks’s ideas about people of colour and explore ways that we, as Aboriginal people in Australia, might be similar to a box of chocolates with soft centres and hard centres. BF: What mediums do you use in your works for the exhibition? PC: I love working with found boxes. For this work, I chose an antique “Winning Post” chocolate box from Nestlé. I was giving new life to the box of chocolates, just with a different kind of chocolate. The “Winning Post” name also fitted with the Hot Chocolate song, Everyone’s A Winner (1978). I kept the “Winning Post” branding and added “Dark Delicacies” as the text along the side (see Figure 1). Figure 1.Nestle’s “Winning Post” Chocolate Box. Photograph by Pamela CroftWarcon 2012. PC: I bought some chocolate jelly babies, chocolates and a plastic chocolate tray – the kind that are normally inserted into a chocolate box to hold the chocolates, or that you use to mould chocolates. I put chocolates in the bottom of the tray, and put chocolate jelly babies on the top. Then I placed them into casting resin. I had a whole tray of little chocolate people standing up in the tray that fitted into the “Winning Post” box (see Figures 2 and 3). Figure 2. Dark Delicacies by Pamela CroftWarcon, 2012. Photograph by Bronwyn Fredericks 2012. Figure 3. Dark Delicacies by Pamela CroftWarcon, 2012. Photograph by Pamela CroftWarcon 2012. PC: The chocolate jelly babies in the artwork depict Aboriginal people, who are symbolised as “dark delicacies”. The “centres” of the people are unknown and waiting to be picked: maybe they are sweet; maybe they are soft centres; maybe they are hard centres. The people are presented so that others can decide who is “tasty”─maybe politicians or government officers, or maybe “individual white women for their eating pleasure” (hooks) (see Figures 4 and 5). Figure 4. Dark Delicacies by Pamela CroftWarcon, 2012. Photograph by Pamela CroftWarcon 2012. Figure 5. Dark Delicacies by Pamela CroftWarcon, 2012. Photograph by Pamela CroftWarcon 2012. BF: What do you hope the viewers gained from your works in the exhibition? PC: I want viewers to think about the power relationship between Indigenous and non-Indigenous Australians. I want people to listen with their ears, heart, mind, and body, and accept the challenges and changes that Indigenous people identify as being necessary. Icould have put names on the chocolates to symbolise which Aboriginal people tend to be selected ahead of others, but that would have made it too easy, and maybe too provocative. I didn’t want to place the issue with Aboriginal people, because it is mostly non-Indigenous people who do the “picking”, and who hope they get a “soft centre” rather than a “peanut brittle.” I acknowledge that some Aboriginal people also doing the picking, but it is not within the same context. BF: How do you respond to claims that some people might find the work offensive? PC: I believe that we can all tag something as offensive and it seems to be an easy way out. What really matters is to reflect on the concepts behind an artist’s work and consider whether we should make changes to our own ways of thinking and doing. I know some people will think that I have gone too far, but I’m interested in whether it has made them think about the issues. I think that I am often perceived as a “hard-centred chocolate”. Some people see me as “trouble,” “problematic,” and “too hard,” because I question, challenge, and don’t let the dominant white culture just simply ride over me or others. I am actually quite proud of being thought of as a hard-centred chocolate, because I want to make people stop and think. And, where necessary, I want to encourage people to change the ways they react to and construct “self” and “other.” Conclusion The Hot Chocolate exhibition included representations that were desirable and “tasty”: a celebration of declaring the self as “hot chocolate.” Through the connections with the food chocolate and the band Hot Chocolate, the exhibition sought to raise questions about the human experience of art and the artist as a memorable, tasty, and chosen commodity. For the artists, the exhibition enabled the juxtaposition of being a tasty individual chocolate against the concern of being part of a “box” but not being selected from the collection or not being memorable enough. It also sought to challenge people’s thinking about Aboriginal identity, by encouraging visitors to ask questions about how Aboriginal people are represented, how they are chosen to participate in politics and decision making, and whether some Aboriginal people are seen as being more “soft” or more “acceptable” than others. Through the metaphor of chocolate, the Hot Chocolate exhibition provided both a tasty delight and a conceptual challenge. It delivered an eclectic assortment and delivered the message that we are always tasty, regardless of what anyone thinks of us. It links back to the work of bell hooks, who aligned African American women with chocolates, which are picked out and selected for someone else’s pleasure. We know that Aboriginal Australians are sometimes conceptualised and selected in the same way. We have explored this conceptualisation and seek to challenge the imaginations of others around the issues of politics, desire, skin, and fetishisation of race and bodies. References Croft, Pamela. ART Song: The Soul Beneath My Skin. Doctor of Visual Art (Unpublished thesis). Brisbane: Griffith U, 2003. CroftWarcon, Pamela and Bronwyn Fredericks. It Started With a KISS. Hot Chocolate. Exhibition catalogue. Adelaide: SASA Gallery, 24 Oct.-29 Nov. 2012. Fredericks, Bronwyn. “Getting a Job: Aboriginal Women’s Issues and Experiences in the Health Sector.” International Journal of Critical Indigenous Studies 2.1 (2009): 24-35. Gill, Rosalind. Gender and the Media. Malden, MA: Polity, 2007. hooks, bell. Teaching to Transgress Education as the Practice of Freedom. London: Routledge, 1994. Moreton-Robinson, Aileen. “The House That Jack Built: Britishness and White Possession.” ACRAWSA Journal 1, (2005): 21-29. 1 Feb. 2014. ‹http://www.acrawsa.org.au/ejournal/?id=8› Moss, Hilary. “Naomi Campbell: Cadbury Ad “Insulting & Hurtful”. The Huntington Post 31 May (2011). 16 Dec. 2013. ‹http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/05/31/naomi-campbell-cadbury-ad_n_868909.html#› Sweney, Mark. “Cadbury Apologises to Naomi Campbell Over ‘Racist’ Ad.” The Guardian 3 Jun. (2011). 16 Dec. 2013. ‹http://www.theguardian.com/media/2011/jun/03/cadbury-naomi-campbell-ad›

Refereed publications (also known as peer-reviewed) are the currency of academia, yet many PhD theses in Australia result in only one or two such papers. Typically, a doctoral thesis requires the candidate to present (and pass) a public Confirmation Seminar, around nine to twelve months into candidacy, in which a panel of the candidate’s supervisors and invited experts adjudicate upon whether the work is likely to continue and ultimately succeed in the goal of a coherent and original contribution to knowledge. A Final Seminar, also public and sometimes involving the traditional viva voce or oral defence of the thesis, is presented two or three months before approval is given to send the 80,000 to 100,000 word tome off for external examination. And that soul-destroying or elation-releasing examiner’s verdict can be many months in the delivery: a limbo-like period during which the candidate’s status as a student is ended and her or his receipt of any scholarship or funding guerdon is terminated with perfunctory speed. This is the only time most students spend seriously writing up their research for publication although, naturally, many are more involved in job hunting as they pin their hopes on passing the thesis examination.There is, however, a slightly more palatable alternative to this nail-biting process of the traditional PhD, and that is the PhD by Published Papers (also known as PhD by Publications or PhD by Published Works). The form of my own soon-to-be-submitted thesis, it permits the submission for examination of a collection of papers that have been refereed and accepted (or are in the process of being refereed) for publication in academic journals or books. Apart from the obvious benefits in getting published early in one’s (hopefully) burgeoning academic career, it also takes away a lot of the stress come final submission time. After all, I try to assure myself, the thesis examiners can’t really discredit the process of double-blind, peer-review the bulk of the thesis has already undergone: their job is to examine how well I’ve unified the papers into a cohesive thesis … right? But perhaps they should at least be wary, because, unfortunately, the requirements for this kind of PhD vary considerably from institution to institution and there have been some cases where the submitted work is of questionable quality compared to that produced by graduates from more demanding universities. Hence, this paper argues that in my subject area of interest—film and television studies—there is a huge range in the set requirements for doctorates, from universities that award the degree to film artists for prior published work that has undergone little or no academic scrutiny and has involved little or no on-campus participation to at least three Australian universities that require candidates be enrolled for a minimum period of full-time study and only submit scholarly work generated and published (or submitted for publication) during candidature. I would also suggest that uncertainty about where a graduate’s work rests on this continuum risks confusing a hard-won PhD by Published Papers with the sometimes risible honorary doctorate. Let’s begin by dredging the depths of those murky, quasi-academic waters to examine the occasionally less-than-salubrious honorary doctorate. The conferring of this degree is generally a recognition of an individual’s body of (usually published) work but is often conferred for contributions to knowledge or society in general that are not even remotely academic. The honorary doctorate does not usually carry with it the right to use the title “Dr” (although many self-aggrandising recipients in the non-academic world flout this unwritten code of conduct, and, indeed, Monash University’s Monash Magazine had no hesitation in describing its 2008 recipient, musician, screenwriter, and art-school-dropout Nick Cave, as “Dr Cave” (O’Loughlin)). Some shady universities even offer such degrees for sale or ‘donation’ and thus do great damage to that institution’s credibility as well as to the credibility of the degree itself. Such overseas “diploma mills”—including Ashwood University, Belford University, Glendale University and Suffield University—are identified by their advertising of “Life Experience Degrees,” for which a curriculum vitae outlining the prospective graduand’s oeuvre is accepted on face value as long as their credit cards are not rejected. An aspiring screen auteur simply specifies film and television as their major and before you can shout “Cut!” there’s a degree in the mail. Most of these pseudo-universities are not based in Australia but are perfectly happy to confer their ‘titles’ to any well-heeled, vanity-driven Australians capable of completing the online form. Nevertheless, many academics fear a similarly disreputable marketplace might develop here, and Norfolk Island-based Greenwich University presents a particularly illuminating example. Previously empowered by an Act of Parliament consented to by Senator Ian Macdonald, the then Minister for Territories, this “university” had the legal right to confer honorary degrees from 1998. The Act was eventually overridden by legislation passed in 2002, after a concerted effort by the Australian Universities Quality Agency Ltd. and the Australian Vice-Chancellors’ Committee to force the accreditation requirements of the Australian Qualifications Framework upon the institution in question, thus preventing it from making degrees available for purchase over the Internet. Greenwich University did not seek re-approval and soon relocated to its original home of Hawaii (Brown). But even real universities flounder in similarly muddy waters when, unsolicited, they make dubious decisions to grant degrees to individuals they hold in high esteem. Although meaning well by not courting pecuniary gain, they nevertheless invite criticism over their choice of recipient for their honoris causa, despite the decision usually only being reached after a process of debate and discussion by university committees. Often people are rewarded, it seems, as much for their fame as for their achievements or publications. One such example of a celebrity who has had his onscreen renown recognised by an honorary doctorate is film and television actor/comedian Billy Connolly who was awarded an Honorary Doctor of Letters by The University of Glasgow in 2006, prompting Stuart Jeffries to complain that “something has gone terribly wrong in British academia” (Jeffries). Eileen McNamara also bemoans the levels to which some institutions will sink to in search of media attention and exposure, when she writes of St Andrews University in Scotland conferring an honorary doctorate to film actor and producer, Michael Douglas: “What was designed to acknowledge intellectual achievement has devolved into a publicity grab with universities competing for celebrity honorees” (McNamara). Fame as an actor (and the list gets even weirder when the scope of enquiry is widened beyond the field of film and television), seems to be an achievement worth recognising with an honorary doctorate, according to some universities, and this kind of discredit is best avoided by Australian institutions of higher learning if they are to maintain credibility. Certainly, universities down under would do well to follow elsewhere than in the footprints of Long Island University’s Southampton College. Perhaps the height of academic prostitution of parchments for the attention of mass media occurred when in 1996 this US school bestowed an Honorary Doctorate of Amphibious Letters upon that mop-like puppet of film and television fame known as the “muppet,” Kermit the Frog. Indeed, this polystyrene and cloth creation with an anonymous hand operating its mouth had its acceptance speech duly published (see “Kermit’s Acceptance Speech”) and the Long Island University’s Southampton College received much valuable press. After all, any publicity is good publicity. Or perhaps this furry frog’s honorary degree was a cynical stunt meant to highlight the ridiculousness of the practice? In 1986 a similar example, much closer to my own home, occurred when in anticipation and condemnation of the conferral of an honorary doctorate upon Prince Philip by Monash University in Melbourne, the “Members of the Monash Association of Students had earlier given a 21-month-old Chihuahua an honorary science degree” (Jeffries), effectively suggesting that the honorary doctorate is, in fact, a dog of a degree. On a more serious note, there have been honorary doctorates conferred upon far more worthy recipients in the field of film and television by some Australian universities. Indigenous film-maker Tracey Moffatt was awarded an honorary doctorate by Griffith University in November of 2004. Moffatt was a graduate of the Griffith University’s film school and had an excellent body of work including the films Night Cries: A Rural Tragedy (1990) and beDevil (1993). Acclaimed playwright and screenwriter David Williamson was presented with an Honorary Doctorate of Letters by The University of Queensland in December of 2004. His work had previously picked up four Australian Film Institute awards for best screenplay. An Honorary Doctorate of Visual and Performing Arts was given to film director Fred Schepisi AO by The University of Melbourne in May of 2006. His films had also been earlier recognised with Australian Film Institute awards as well as the Golden Globe Best Miniseries or Television Movie award for Empire Falls in 2006. Director George Miller was crowned with an Honorary Doctorate in Film from the Australian Film, Television, and Radio School in April 2007, although he already had a medical doctor’s testamur on his wall. In May of this year, filmmaker George Gittoes, a fine arts dropout from The University of Sydney, received an honorary doctorate by The University of New South Wales. His documentaries, Soundtrack to War (2005) and Rampage (2006), screened at the Sydney and Berlin film festivals, and he has been employed by the Australian Government as an official war artist. Interestingly, the high quality screen work recognised by these Australian universities may have earned the recipients ‘real’ PhDs had they sought the qualification. Many of these film artists could have just as easily submitted their work for the degree of PhD by Published Papers at several universities that accept prior work in lieu of an original exegesis, and where a film is equated with a book or journal article. But such universities still invite comparisons of their PhDs by Published Papers with honorary doctorates due to rather too-easy-to-meet criteria. The privately funded Bond University, for example, recommends a minimum full-time enrolment of just three months and certainly seems more lax in its regulations than other Antipodean institution: a healthy curriculum vitae and payment of the prescribed fee (currently AUD$24,500 per annum) are the only requirements. Restricting my enquiries once again to the field of my own research, film and television, I note that Dr. Ingo Petzke achieved his 2004 PhD by Published Works based upon films produced in Germany well before enrolling at Bond, contextualized within a discussion of the history of avant-garde film-making in that country. Might not a cynic enquire as to how this PhD significantly differs from an honorary doctorate? Although Petzke undoubtedly paid his fees and met all of Bond’s requirements for his thesis entitled Slow Motion: Thirty Years in Film, one cannot criticise that cynic for wondering if Petzke’s films are indeed equivalent to a collection of refereed papers. It should be noted that Bond is not alone when it comes to awarding candidates the PhD by Published Papers for work published or screened in the distant past. Although yet to grant it in the area of film or television, Swinburne University of Technology (SUT) is an institution that distinctly specifies its PhD by Publications is to be awarded for “research which has been carried out prior to admission to candidature” (8). Similarly, the Griffith Law School states: “The PhD (by publications) is awarded to established researchers who have an international reputation based on already published works” (1). It appears that Bond is no solitary voice in the academic wilderness, for SUT and the Griffith Law School also apparently consider the usual milestones of Confirmation and Final Seminars to be unnecessary if the so-called candidate is already well published. Like Bond, Griffith University (GU) is prepared to consider a collection of films to be equivalent to a number of refereed papers. Dr Ian Lang’s 2002 PhD (by Publication) thesis entitled Conditional Truths: Remapping Paths To Documentary ‘Independence’ contains not refereed, scholarly articles but the following videos: Wheels Across the Himalaya (1981); Yallambee, People of Hope (1986); This Is What I Call Living (1988); The Art of Place: Hanoi Brisbane Art Exchange (1995); and Millennium Shift: The Search for New World Art (1997). While this is a most impressive body of work, and is well unified by appropriate discussion within the thesis, the cynic who raised eyebrows at Petzke’s thesis might also be questioning this thesis: Dr Lang’s videos all preceded enrolment at GU and none have been refereed or acknowledged with major prizes. Certainly, the act of releasing a film for distribution has much in common with book publishing, but should these videos be considered to be on a par with academic papers published in, say, the prestigious and demanding journal Screen? While recognition at awards ceremonies might arguably correlate with peer review there is still the question as to how scholarly a film actually is. Of course, documentary films such as those in Lang’s thesis can be shown to be addressing gaps in the literature, as is the expectation of any research paper, but the onus remains on the author/film-maker to demonstrate this via a detailed contextual review and a well-written, erudite argument that unifies the works into a cohesive thesis. This Lang has done, to the extent that suspicious cynic might wonder why he chose not to present his work for a standard PhD award. Another issue unaddressed by most institutions is the possibility that the publications have been self-refereed or refereed by the candidate’s editorial colleagues in a case wherein the papers appear in a book the candidate has edited or co-edited. Dr Gillian Swanson’s 2004 GU thesis Towards a Cultural History of Private Life: Sexual Character, Consuming Practices and Cultural Knowledge, which addresses amongst many other cultural artefacts the film Lawrence of Arabia (David Lean 1962), has nine publications: five of which come from two books she co-edited, Nationalising Femininity: Culture, Sexuality and Cinema in Britain in World War Two, (Gledhill and Swanson 1996) and Deciphering Culture: Ordinary Curiosities and Subjective Narratives (Crisp et al 2000). While few would dispute the quality of Swanson’s work, the persistent cynic might wonder if these five papers really qualify as refereed publications. The tacit understanding of a refereed publication is that it is blind reviewed i.e. the contributor’s name is removed from the document. Such a system is used to prevent bias and favouritism but this level of anonymity might be absent when the contributor to a book is also one of the book’s editors. Of course, Dr Swanson probably took great care to distance herself from the refereeing process undertaken by her co-editors, but without an inbuilt check, allegations of cronyism from unfriendly cynics may well result. A related factor in making comparisons of different university’s PhDs by Published Papers is the requirements different universities have about the standard of the journal the paper is published in. It used to be a simple matter in Australia: the government’s Department of Education, Science and Training (DEST) held a Register of Refereed Journals. If your benefactor in disseminating your work was on the list, your publications were of near-unquestionable quality. Not any more: DEST will no longer accept nominations for listing on the Register and will not undertake to rule on whether a particular journal article meets the HERDC [Higher Education Research Data Collection] requirements for inclusion in publication counts. HEPs [Higher Education Providers] have always had the discretion to determine if a publication produced in a journal meets the requirements for inclusion in the HERDC regardless of whether or not the journal was included on the Register of Refereed Journals. As stated in the HERDC specifications, the Register is not an exhaustive list of all journals which satisfy the peer-review requirements (DEST). The last listing for the DEST Register of Refereed Journals was the 3rd of February 2006, making way for a new tiered list of academic journals, which is currently under review in the Australian tertiary education sector (see discussion of this development in the Redden and Mitchell articles in this issue). In the interim, some university faculties created their own rankings of journals, but not the Faculty of Creative Industries at the Queensland University of Technology (QUT) where I am studying for my PhD by Published Papers. Although QUT does not have a list of ranked journals for a candidate to submit papers to, it is otherwise quite strict in its requirements. The QUT University Regulations state, “Papers submitted as a PhD thesis must be closely related in terms of subject matter and form a cohesive research narrative” (QUT PhD regulation 14.1.2). Thus there is the requirement at QUT that apart from the usual introduction, methodology and literature review, an argument must be made as to how the papers present a sustained research project via “an overarching discussion of the main features linking the publications” (14.2.12). It is also therein stated that it should be an “account of research progress linking the research papers” (4.2.6). In other words, a unifying essay must make an argument for consideration of the sometimes diversely published papers as a cohesive body of work, undertaken in a deliberate journey of research. In my own case, an aural auteur analysis of sound in the films of Rolf de Heer, I argue that my published papers (eight in total) represent a journey from genre analysis (one paper) to standard auteur analysis (three papers) to an argument that sound should be considered in auteur analysis (one paper) to the major innovation of the thesis, aural auteur analysis (three papers). It should also be noted that unlike Bond, GU or SUT, the QUT regulations for the standard PhD still apply: a Confirmation Seminar, Final Seminar and a minimum two years of full-time enrolment (with a minimum of three months residency in Brisbane) are all compulsory. Such milestones and sine qua non ensure the candidate’s academic progress and intellectual development such that she or he is able to confidently engage in meaningful quodlibets regarding the thesis’s topic. Another interesting and significant feature of the QUT guidelines for this type of degree is the edict that papers submitted must be “published, accepted or submitted during the period of candidature” (14.1.1). Similarly, the University of Canberra (UC) states “The articles or other published material must be prepared during the period of candidature” (10). Likewise, Edith Cowan University (ECU) will confer its PhD by Publications to those candidates whose thesis consists of “only papers published in refereed scholarly media during the period of enrolment” (2). In other words, one cannot simply front up to ECU, QUT, or UC with a résumé of articles or films published over a lifetime of writing or film-making and ask for a PhD by Published Papers. Publications of the candidate prepared prior to commencement of candidature are simply not acceptable at these institutions and such PhDs by Published Papers from QUT, UC and ECU are entirely different to those offered by Bond, GU and SUT. Furthermore, without a requirement for a substantial period of enrolment and residency, recipients of PhDs by Published Papers from Bond, GU, or SUT are unlikely to have participated significantly in the research environment of their relevant faculty and peers. Such newly minted doctors may be as unfamiliar with the campus and its research activities as the recipient of an honorary doctorate usually is, as he or she poses for the media’s cameras en route to the glamorous awards ceremony. Much of my argument in this paper is built upon the assumption that the process of refereeing a paper (or for that matter, a film) guarantees a high level of academic rigour, but I confess that this premise is patently naïve, if not actually flawed. Refereeing can result in the rejection of new ideas that conflict with the established opinions of the referees. Interdisciplinary collaboration can be impeded and the lack of referee’s accountability is a potential problem, too. It can also be no less nail-biting a process than the examination of a finished thesis, given that some journals take over a year to complete the refereeing process, and some journal’s editorial committees have recognised this shortcoming. Despite being a mainstay of its editorial approach since 1869, the prestigious science journal, Nature, which only publishes about 7% of its submissions, has led the way with regard to varying the procedure of refereeing, implementing in 2006 a four-month trial period of ‘Open Peer Review’. Their website states, Authors could choose to have their submissions posted on a preprint server for open comments, in parallel with the conventional peer review process. Anyone in the field could then post comments, provided they were prepared to identify themselves. Once the usual confidential peer review process is complete, the public ‘open peer review’ process was closed and the editors made their decision about publication with the help of all reports and comments (Campbell). Unfortunately, the experiment was unpopular with both authors and online peer reviewers. What the Nature experiment does demonstrate, however, is that the traditional process of blind refereeing is not yet perfected and can possibly evolve into something less problematic in the future. Until then, refereeing continues to be the best system there is for applying structured academic scrutiny to submitted papers. With the reforms of the higher education sector, including forced mergers of universities and colleges of advanced education and the re-introduction of university fees (carried out under the aegis of John Dawkins, Minister for Employment, Education and Training from 1987 to 1991), and the subsequent rationing of monies according to research dividends (calculated according to numbers of research degree conferrals and publications), there has been a veritable explosion in the number of institutions offering PhDs in Australia. But the general public may not always be capable of differentiating between legitimately accredited programs and diploma mills, given that the requirements for the first differ substantially. From relatively easily obtainable PhDs by Published Papers at Bond, GU and SUT to more rigorous requirements at ECU, QUT and UC, there is undoubtedly a huge range in the demands of degrees that recognise a candidate’s published body of work. The cynical reader may assume that with this paper I am simply trying to shore up my own forthcoming graduation with a PhD by Published papers from potential criticisms that it is on par with a ‘purchased’ doctorate. Perhaps they are right, for this is a new degree in QUT’s Creative Industries faculty and has only been awarded to one other candidate (Dr Marcus Foth for his 2006 thesis entitled Towards a Design Methodology to Support Social Networks of Residents in Inner-City Apartment Buildings). But I believe QUT is setting a benchmark, along with ECU and UC, to which other universities should aspire. In conclusion, I believe further efforts should be undertaken to heighten the differences in status between PhDs by Published Papers generated during enrolment, PhDs by Published Papers generated before enrolment and honorary doctorates awarded for non-academic published work. Failure to do so courts cynical comparison of all PhD by Published Papers with unearnt doctorates bought from Internet shysters. References Brown, George. “Protecting Australia’s Higher Education System: A Proactive Versus Reactive Approach in Review (1999–2004).” Proceedings of the Australian Universities Quality Forum 2004. Australian Universities Quality Agency, 2004. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.auqa.edu.au/auqf/2004/program/papers/Brown.pdf>. Campbell, Philip. “Nature Peer Review Trial and Debate.” Nature: International Weekly Journal of Science. December 2006. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.nature.com/nature/peerreview/> Crisp, Jane, Kay Ferres, and Gillian Swanson, eds. Deciphering Culture: Ordinary Curiosities and Subjective Narratives. London: Routledge, 2000. Department of Education, Science and Training (DEST). “Closed—Register of Refereed Journals.” Higher Education Research Data Collection, 2008. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.dest.gov.au/sectors/research_sector/online_forms_services/ higher_education_research_data_ collection.htm>. Edith Cowan University. “Policy Content.” Postgraduate Research: Thesis by Publication, 2003. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.ecu.edu.au/GPPS/policies_db/tmp/ac063.pdf>. Gledhill, Christine, and Gillian Swanson, eds. Nationalising Femininity: Culture, Sexuality and Cinema in Britain in World War Two. Manchester: Manchester UP, 1996. Griffith Law School, Griffith University. Handbook for Research Higher Degree Students. 24 March 2004. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.griffith.edu.au/centre/slrc/pdf/rhdhandbook.pdf>. Jeffries, Stuart. “I’m a celebrity, get me an honorary degree!” The Guardian 6 July 2006. 11 June 2008 ‹http://education.guardian.co.uk/higher/comment/story/0,,1813525,00.html>. Kermit the Frog. “Kermit’s Commencement Address at Southampton Graduate Campus.” Long Island University News 19 May 1996. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.southampton.liu.edu/news/commence/1996/kermit.htm>. McNamara, Eileen. “Honorary senselessness.” The Boston Globe 7 May 2006. ‹http://www. boston.com/news/local/articles/2006/05/07/honorary_senselessness/>. O’Loughlin, Shaunnagh. “Doctor Cave.” Monash Magazine 21 (May 2008). 13 Aug. 2008 ‹http://www.monash.edu.au/pubs/monmag/issue21-2008/alumni/cave.html>. Queensland University of Technology. “Presentation of PhD Theses by Published Papers.” Queensland University of Technology Doctor of Philosophy Regulations (IF49). 12 Oct. 2007. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.mopp.qut.edu.au/Appendix/appendix09.jsp#14%20Presentation %20of%20PhD%20Theses>. Swinburne University of Technology. Research Higher Degrees and Policies. 14 Nov. 2007. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.swinburne.edu.au/corporate/registrar/ppd/docs/RHDpolicy& procedure.pdf>. University of Canberra. Higher Degrees by Research: Policy and Procedures (The Gold Book). 7.3.3.27 (a). 15 Nov. 2004. 11 June 2008 ‹http://www.canberra.edu.au/research/attachments/ goldbook/Pt207_AB20approved3220arp07.pdf>.

This article aims to analyse an intercultural telephone invitation given by a Chinese tutor to an Australian student, and highlight general principles of intercultural invitations. This anecdote is based on a true story that took place in a university in Australia, but the persons' names used here are fictitious for the sake of confidentiality. Below is the transcript of the actual conversation between the Chinese tutor Dr Lin Liang (L) and his student Catherine Jones (C): C: Catherine speaking. L: Hi, Catherine, this is Lin. C: Hi, Teacher Lin. L: I would like to invite you to our New Year's party to be held in my house this Saturday evening. C: This Saturday? I am afraid I won't be able to make it because I am going to my best friend's birthday party. L: You know this is the end of our school year. It would be so nice for all of our classmates to gather together. C: But I have already promised my friend. L: En... It is a pity... C: Sorry about that, but -- L: Never mind. Enjoy your party then. C: Thanks. L: That's OK, bye. C: Bye. However, the story does not end here. About two hours later, Dr Lin rang Catherine a second time, asking if it was still possible for her to consider attending the Saturday party. Late in the evening around 9.00 pm, Dr Lin rang her yet again to invite her to the party, saying it would be OK even if she stayed just for a short while. The next day, Catherine lodged a complaint with the Dean, alleging that Dr. Lin's repeated calls constituted sexual harassment. Dr. Lin was highly distressed to learn of the complaint, and explained that he just wanted to indicate sincerity and warmth as required by an invitation, and had no other intentions. This communication breakdown invites a number of questions: What are the factors underlying Catherine's interpretation that Dr. Lin's repeated calls constituted sexual harassment? What are the factors underlying Dr. Lin's contention that his actions were intended to emphasise his sincerity? What factors would need to be recognised in order to facilitate culturally competent performances on both their parts? In order to answer these questions, this article will adopt a holistic approach based on an analytic framework encompassing three theoretical dimensions. This framework is comprised as follows: Differences in intercultural exchange and politeness behaviour; Aristotle's distinction between the three orientations of persuasive/rhetorical appeal; ethos, pathos, and logos; Austin and Searle's theory of speech acts, as applied to politeness behaviour and felicity conditions in communicative interaction as applied to the act of inviting. These approaches are conceptualised as three overlapping spheres, and their relatedness can be further illustrated: Figure 1 First and foremost, the case study in question is related to an intercultural interaction between the Australian and Chinese culture, and some research findings in relevant areas may help highlight the differences in politeness behaviour between high-context and low-context cultures (Hall). According to Hall, high-context cultures such as Chinese tend to stress the use of internalised or implicit message while low-context cultures tend to emphasise the use of explicit messages. In other words, in Chinese culture, the message may have some shared implied meanings that may go beyond the linguistic forms used in the message. Kaplan's model on oriental circularity and western linearity seemed to in accordance with Hall's model. Young's exploration of the directness and indirectness of American and Chinese requests further substantiated this point. In a similar way, differences may arise in determining the criteria for appropriate behaviour relating to the use of other directives across cultures. As Gao and Ting-Toomey suggest, Chinese culture seems to pay attention to qing (reciprocity and feelings of obligation) and guanxi (relationship building), while in low-context cultures such a stress tends to be missing. This difference may also help explain the differences in communicative patterns as discussed by Kaplan and Young. Zhu found that in making a sales offer, Chinese companies often try to establish a long-term relationship with their clients ("Structural Moves"). In contrast, Australian companies seem to mainly focus on promoting products. The stress on qing in Chinese culture may also be a crucial factor that contributes to the different criteria for a polite invitation as compared to the Australian culture. The following discussion will further explore the other two parameters (see Figure 1) the two cultures differ in when making an invitation, which may have finally led to the breakdown in communication between Dr. Lin and Catherine. As shown in Figure 1, the argument underpinning this approach is that a given illocutionary act reflects culture-specific preferences for certain persuasive/rhetorical orientations, thereby affecting the socio-linguistic performance, i.e. parole as opposed to langue (Cullen) related to politeness principles. In short, the persuasive/rhetorical orientation varies between cultures, which means that the nature of ostensibly equivalent illocutionary acts also varies. Consequently, cross-cultural competence will be limited unless one is aware of the rhetorical and politeness codes implicit in the performance of certain communicative actions. Note that rhetorical orientation may also influence the politeness behaviour directly as a specification of that orientation. This in turn requires an awareness of cultural preferences toward certain persuasive/rhetorical orientations. The interconnections between them and the theoretical utility of this approach will be made explicit in the course of this discussion. Austin and Searle conceptualise the speech acts as comprising of locution (langue) and illocution (parole). What is of vital importance is the illocutionary force of an utterance which is the performance of a speech act, such as an invitation. According to Searle, an invitation is a directive used to get the addressee to do something. Invitation can be understood as a particular form of persuasive speech act. It is generally intended to produce a particular response (i.e. acceptance). As an illocutionary action, an invitation seeks to establish a relationship of social expectations between the host and invitee. This requires certain felicity conditions to be met. In other words, for the speech act to be socially significant, it must create a shared sense of meaning in regard to some perceived change or modification to existing social relations. These are often so obvious that they require little explanation. However, felicity conditions in speech-acts are culture-specific and may include rhetorical and politeness devices that are not obvious to other cultures. Politeness behaviour in invitations, related to using appropriate language forms, is an important element in competent illocutionary performance. Leech contends that polite illocutions are likely to be seen as minimising the addressee's cost and maximising his/her benefits, and the opposite is true for the addresser. Politeness behaviour can also be further explained in the light of Brown and Levinson's face-saving theory. Many actions we perform with words are potential face-threatening acts, such as requests and invitations (Brown and Levinson). The addresser is thus often confronted with negative face wants and has to address them by applying Leech's principles, in which maximising the addressee's benefits is the dominant strategy to gain politeness. However, strategies to maximise the addressee's benefits can be culture-specific. This is further connected to the persuasive/rhetorical orientation. Based on Aristotle, the appeal from ethos emphasises the persuader's (host's) character and status or other social conventions which might oblige compliance. The appeal from pathos emphasises emotion/feelings (either positive or negative) in inducing the desired response. The appeal from logos emphasises reason and the logical consistency of the proposal with the ideas and motives of the persuadee (invitee). Moran and Stripp found that western cultures tend to have a logical orientation, while others such as Japanese and Chinese tend to be characterised by emotional or dogmatic orientations. In a similar manner, Chinese scholars seem to address ethos, logos and pathos at the same time, in particular the logos and pathos. These principles remain a well-accepted principle in Chinese writing theories. Li, for example, clearly explicates the persuasive principle in writing as qing li (the combination of the emotional and logical approaches). The explicitly preferred qing (feelings/emotions) can be seen as part of the Confucian values relating to harmony, consensus and relationship building as noted by Hofstede and Bond. The different rhetorical orientations are also further explored by Campbell. This difference may suggest that the preferred rhetorical orientations are also a key aspect underpinning competent illocutionary performance. For example in Chinese invitations, a stress on the emotional approach may validate behaviours such as repeating the invitation even after initial refusal. However, a stress on the logical orientation, such as in western cultures, may negate the validity of these politeness conditions. This clearly points out the necessity of understanding the criteria for competent performance across cultures. The felicity conditions of invitation in Euro-Australian culture require, first, that the potential host be in a legitimate position to offer hospitality, and second, that the potential guest be -- at least theoretically -- able and willing to accept. Thirdly, the locutionary form of politeness requires use of conventionally appropriate terms of address and wording. The illocutionary form requires that the host symbolically offer hospitality to the invitee without the imposition of charges or other demands. Furthermore, the implied benefit to the invitee would ideally be achieved though implied cost to the host (even if the invitee is addressed as if their presence constitutes the bestowal of a favour). Fourthly, depending on the nature of the relationship between the host and invitee, certain persuasive/rhetorical orientations are preferred over others (eg. an appeal to emotion may seem out of place in formal invitation). The initial invitation meets these criteria. Dr. Lin offers and Catherine declines, citing a plausible and legitimate reason for being unavailable. From Catherine's perspective, the felicity conditions for invitation are now redundant. She has already declined in a manner which makes it clear that she is socially obliged to be elsewhere. From a persuasive/rhetorical perspective, the first invitation was primarily based on an appeal from logos/reason. i.e. Dr. Lin did not know that Catherine had already committed herself to other plans and it would be reasonable to suppose that she might appreciate being invited to a social occasion. This was backed up by a secondary appeal from pathos/emotion, whereby Dr. Lin pointed out that it would be nice for the whole class to get together. However, the priority of attending a best friend's birthday-party over-rides both these appeals. In Euro-Australian culture, close personal friends enjoy greater social priority than classmates or more distant associates. For Dr. Lin, however, the politeness criteria for invitation were still applicable. From a Chinese cultural perspective, the illocutionary performance of invitation may require repetition of the offer, even if the initial approach has been declined. According to Zhu (Business Communication), in Chinese culture repeating invitations is an accepted ritual to indicate sincerity and hospitality. Thus in Dr. Lin's view the second approach is required to perform the illocutionary act competently. The persuasive appeal, however, has become oriented toward ethos, reflecting Chinese conventions pertaining to politeness behaviour. For Dr. Lin not to repeat the invitation might suggest that Catherine's presence was of merely casual concern. Therefore the sincerity of the invitation demanded the gesture of repetition, regardless of the logical grounds cited for the initial refusal. Unfortunately, Dr. Lin and Catherine perceive the second invitation in very different ways based on the illocutionary performance criteria of their respective cultures. For Catherine, the logical basis for her initial refusal renders Dr. Lin's performance incompetent, and creates uncertainty about his apparent motives. In Euro-Australian culture, the repeated invitation makes no logical sense, since a perfectly legitimate reason for declining has already been provided. Therefore the communicative action cannot be interpreted as an invitation. If it is, then it is performed in a culturally incompetent fashion which could legitimately be construed as pestering. Repeating an invitation which has already been declined may appear to be an emotional appeal. While an illocutionary invitation based on pathos conceivably may be competent in Euro-Australian culture, the only circumstances that it would occur in is between relatively close friends. The power-relations between Catherine, as student, and Dr. Lin, as tutor, precludes felicity in this case. Thus the same locutionary action is interpreted as two quite different illocutionary actions. This depends on the interpreter's culturally specific understanding of the social significance of the locution. Since Catherine's cultural conventions would implicitly deny the validity of a repeated invitation, the communicative action must be construed as something else. Catherine may have classified the repeated invitation as a minor issue of little consequence. However, when Dr. Lin called her up to invite her a third time, she interpreted the illocutionary act as harassment. From a contemporary Euro-Australian perspective, pestering may be irritating, but harassment is political in nature. Three factors lead Catherine to this conclusion. First, after two previous declinations, the third invitation could not fulfil the illocutionary performance criteria of a legitimate invitation. In particular, the persuasive/rhetorical orientation of the repeated appeals were not oriented toward logos, as befits the formality of the lecturer-student relation. Indeed, it was Dr. Lin's apparent attempt to approach Catherine in a non-formal manner (apparently oriented toward pathos rather than logos) which led her to this interpretation. Second, the fact that Dr. Lin' social status is higher than Catherine's introduced the problem of the implicit power-relations in the discourse. For Catherine, the third invitation was intrusive and pushy, and it seemed that her explanations had been ignored. The evening call demanded that she re-engage in the discourse of day-time student-tutor power-relations. Since she is subordinate to Dr. Lin, other strategies through which she might have asserted her rights may have carried the risk of subsequent disfavour. However, she obviously resented what she perceived as an attempt to inappropriately use status to interfere with her personal affairs and sought out higher authority to rectify the situation, hence the complaint of harassment made to the Dean. Ironically, Dr. Lin's third invitation in the evening may well have been intended to reduce the social distance between himself and Catherine created by workplace space-time power-relations. For Dr. Lin, the first invitation expressed the illocutionary intent. The second call made sure that the invitee was made to feel assured of the sincerity of the invitation, and the third ring expressed the would-be host's appreciation. Establishing a host-guest relationship is a key illocutionary function in Chinese invitation. Note though, that there may also be a 'face' consideration here. Dr. Lin attempts to facilitate Catherine's attendance by pointing out that it would be acceptable to attend for a brief period. This suggests a re-emphasis on the orientation to logos, since it points out a compromise which allows Catherine to attend both parties. It also allowed Dr. Lin to save 'face' by not having his invitation totally disregarded. However, it failed as an illocutionary performance because the felicity conditions for polite invitation had already been violated as far as Catherine was concerned, even though they remained intact throughout for Dr. Lin. In conclusion, it can be seen from the above analysis of the communication breakdown that persuasive orientations and politeness principles are interrelated and culturally sensitive. Euro-Australian culture stresses the logical orientation in illocutionary performance whereas Chinese culture seems to emphasise both the logical and emotional approaches. Without a recognition of this difference, specific politeness behaviours in intercultural invitations can lead to illocutionary incompetence. This has been exemplified by Catherine's misconstrual of Dr. Lin's intended invitation-performance as harassment. Therefore in intercultural communication, one ought not to judge a speech act such as an invitation based on one's own culture's felicity conditions. First and foremost, a basic understanding of persuasive orientations between cultures is essential. With appropriate understanding of these principles one can avoid misinterpreting the intent of the addresser, thus overcoming barriers in intercultural communication. Specifically, further appreciation of the interplay between rhetorical orientation, politeness codes and felicity conditions in illocutionary performances in different cultures is required for a fuller comprehension of potential cross-cultural incompetence. With this in mind, greater tolerance can be achieved, and intercultural competence enhanced. References Aristotle. Aristotle on Rhetoric: A Theory of Civic Discourse. Trans. George A. Kennedy. New York: Oxford UP, 1991. Austin, John. L. How to Do Things with Words. New York: Oxford UP, 1962. Brown, Penelope, and Stephen C. Levinson. Politeness: Some Universals in Language Usage. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge UP, 1987. Campbell, Charles. P. "Rhetorical Ethos: A Bridge between High-Context and Low-Context Cultures? The Cultural Context in Business Communication. Eds. Susanne Niemeier, Charles P. Campbell and René Dirven. Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1998. 31-47. Cullen, Johnathan. Saussure. 2nd ed. London: Fontana, 1985. Ge Gao, and S. Ting-Toomey. Communicating Effectively with the Chinese. Thousand Oaks: Sage, 1998. Hall, E. T. Beyond Culture. Garden City, NY: Anchor, 1977. Hofstede, G., and M. H. Bond. "The Confucius Connection: From Cultural Roots to Economic Growth." Organisational Dynamics 16.4 (1988): 4-21. Kaplan, R. B. "Cultural Thought Patterns in Inter-Cultural Education." Language Learning 16 (1966): 1-20. Leech, Geoffery. Principles of Pragmatics. New York: Longman, 1983. Li Xiaoming. "Good Writing" in Cross-Cultural Context. Albany, NY: State U of New York P, 1996. Moran, R. T., and W. G. Stripp. Successful International Business Negotiations. Houston: Gulf, 1991. Searle, John R. Speech Acts: An Essay in the Philosophy of Language. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge UP, 1969. Young, Linda Wai Ling, ed. Crosstalk and Culture in Sino-American Communication. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge UP, 1994. Zhu Yunxia. Business Communication in China. New York: Nova Science Publishers, 1999. ---. Structural Moves Reflected in English and Chinese Sales Letters. Discourse Studies (In Press). Citation reference for this article MLA style: Zhu Yunxia, Peter Thompson. "Invitation or Sexual Harassment? An Analysis of an Intercultural Communication Breakdown." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.4 (2000). [your date of access] <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0008/invitation.php>. Chicago style: Zhu Yunxia, Peter Thompson, "Invitation or Sexual Harassment? An Analysis of an Intercultural Communication Breakdown," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 4 (2000), <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0008/invitation.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Zhu Yunxia, Peter Thompson. (2000) Invitation or sexual harassment? An analysis of an intercultural communication breakdown. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(4). <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0008/invitation.php> ([your date of access]).

Introduction: Brutal?The word “brutal” has associations with cruelty, inhumanity, and aggression. Within the field of architecture, however, the term “Brutalism” refers to a post-World War II Modernist style, deriving from the French phrase betón brut, which means raw concrete (Clement 18). Core traits of Brutalism include functionalist design, daring geometry, overbearing scale, and the blatant exposure of structural materials, chiefly concrete and steel (Meades 1).The emergence of Brutalism coincided with chronic housing shortages in European countries ravaged by World War II (Power 5) and government-sponsored slum clearance in the UK (Power 190; Baker). Brutalism’s promise to accommodate an astonishing number of civilians within a minimal area through high-rise configurations and elevated walkways was alluring to architects and city planners (High Rise Dreams). Concrete was the material of choice due to its affordability, durability, and versatility; it also allowed buildings to be erected quickly (Allen and Iano 622).The Brutalist style was used for cultural centres, such as the Perth Concert Hall in Western Australia, educational institutions such as the Yale School of Architecture, and government buildings such as the Secretariat Building in Chandigarh, India. However, as pioneering Brutalist architect Alison Smithson explained, the style achieved full expression by “thinking on a much bigger scale somehow than if you only got [sic] one house to do” (Smithson and Smithson, Conversation 40). Brutalism, therefore, lent itself to the design of large residential complexes. It was consequently used worldwide for public housing developments, that is, residences built by a government authority with the aim of providing affordable housing. Notable examples include the Western City Gate in Belgrade, Serbia, and Habitat 67 in Montreal, Canada.Brutalist architecture polarised opinion and continues to do so to this day. On the one hand, protected cultural heritage status has been awarded to some Brutalist buildings (Carter; Glancey) and the style remains extremely influential, for example in the recent award-winning work of architect Zaha Hadid (Niesewand). On the other hand, the public housing projects associated with Brutalism are widely perceived as failures (The Great British Housing Disaster). Many Brutalist objects currently at risk of demolition are social housing estates, such as the Smithsons’ Robin Hood Gardens in London, UK. Whether the blame for the demise of such housing developments lies with architects, inhabitants, or local government has been widely debated. In the UK and USA, local authorities had relocated families of predominantly lower socio-economic status into the newly completed developments, but were unable or unwilling to finance subsequent maintenance and security costs (Hanley 115; R. Carroll; The Pruitt-Igoe Myth). Consequently, the residents became fearful of criminal activity in staircases and corridors that lacked “defensible space” (Newman 9), which undermined a vision of “streets in the sky” (Moran 615).In spite of its later problems, Brutalism’s architects had intended to develop a style that expressed 1950s contemporary living in an authentic manner. To them, this meant exposing building materials in their “raw” state and creating an aesthetic for an age of science, machine mass production, and consumerism (Stadler 264; 267; Smithson and Smithson, But Today 44). Corporeal sensations did not feature in this “machine” aesthetic (Dalrymple). Exceptionally, acclaimed Brutalist architect Ernö Goldfinger discussed how “visual sensation,” “sound and touch with smell,” and “the physical touch of the walls of a narrow passage” contributed to “sensations of space” within architecture (Goldfinger 48). However, the effects of residing within Brutalist objects may not have quite conformed to predictions, since Goldfinger moved out of his Brutalist construction, Balfron Tower, after two months, to live in a terraced house (Hanley 112).An abstract perspective that favours theorisation over subjective experiences characterises discourse on Brutalist social housing developments to this day (Singh). There are limited data on the everyday lived experience of residents of Brutalist social housing estates, both then and now (for exceptions, see Hanley; The Pruitt-Igoe Myth; Cooper et al.).Yet, our bodily interaction with the objects around us shapes our lived experience. On a broader physical scale, this includes the structures within which we live and work. The importance of the interaction between architecture and embodied being is increasingly recognised. Today, architecture is described in corporeal terms—for example, as a “skin” that surrounds and protects its human inhabitants (Manan and Smith 37; Armstrong 77). Biological processes are also inspiring new architectural approaches, such as synthetic building materials with life-like biochemical properties (Armstrong 79), and structures that exhibit emergent behaviour in response to human presence, like a living system (Biloria 76).In this article, we employ an autoethnographic perspective to explore the corporeal effects of Brutalist buildings, thereby revealing a new dimension to the anthropological significance of these controversial structures. We trace how they shape the physicality of the bodies interacting within them. Our approach is one step towards considering the historically under-appreciated subjective, corporeal experience elicited in interaction with Brutalist objects.Method: An Autoethnographic ApproachAutoethnography is a form of self-narrative research that connects the researcher’s personal experience to wider cultural understandings (Ellis 31; Johnson). It can be analytical (Anderson 374) or emotionally evocative (Denzin 426).We investigated two Brutalist residential estates in London, UK:(i) The Barbican Estate: This was devised to redevelop London’s severely bombed post-WWII Cripplegate area, combining private residences for middle class professionals with an assortment of amenities including a concert hall, library, conservatory, and school. It was designed by architects Chamberlin, Powell, and Bon. Opened in 1982, the Estate polarised opinion on its aesthetic qualities but has enjoyed success with residents and visitors. The development now comprises extremely expensive housing (Brophy). It was Grade II-listed in 2001 (Glancey), indicating a status of architectural preservation that restricts alterations to significant buildings.(ii) Trellick Tower: This was built to replace dilapidated 19th-century housing in the North Kensington area. It was designed by Hungarian-born architect Ernő Goldfinger to be a social housing development and was completed in 1972. During the 1980s and 1990s, it became known as the “Tower of Terror” due to its high level of crime (Hanley 113). Nevertheless, Trellick Tower was granted Grade II listed status in 1998 (Carter), and subsequent improvements have increased its desirability as a residence (R. Carroll).We explored the grounds, communal spaces, and one dwelling within each structure, independently recording our corporeal impressions and sensations in detailed notes, which formed the basis of longhand journals written afterwards. Our analysis was developed through co-constructed autoethnographic reflection (emerald and Carpenter 748).For reasons of space, one full journal entry is presented for each Brutalist structure, with an excerpt from each remaining journal presented in the subsequent analysis. To identify quotations from our journals, we use the codes R- and N- to refer to RB’s and NC’s journals, respectively; we use -B and -T to refer to the Barbican Estate and Trellick Tower, respectively.The Barbican Estate: Autoethnographic JournalAn intricate concrete world emerges almost without warning from the throng of glass office blocks and commercial buildings that make up the City of London's Square Mile. The Barbican Estate comprises a multitude of low-rise buildings, a glass conservatory, and three enormous high-rise towers. Each modular building component is finished in the same coarse concrete with burnished brick underfoot, whilst the entire structure is elevated above ground level by enormous concrete stilts. Plants hang from residential balconies over glimmering pools in a manner evocative of concrete Hanging Gardens of Babylon.Figure 1. Barbican Estate Figure 2. Cromwell Tower from below, Barbican Estate. Figure 3: The stairwell, Cromwell Tower, Barbican Estate. Figure 4. Lift button pods, Cromwell Tower, Barbican Estate.R’s journalMy first footsteps upon the Barbican Estate are elevated two storeys above the street below, and already an eerie calm settles on me. The noise of traffic and the bustle of pedestrians have seemingly been left far behind, and a path of polished brown brick has replaced the paving slabs of the city's pavement. I am made more aware of the sound of my shoes upon the ground as I take each step through the serenity.Running my hands along the walkway's concrete sides as we proceed further into the estate I feel its coarseness, and look up to imagine the same sensation touching the uppermost balcony of the towers. As we travel, the cold nature and relentless employ of concrete takes over and quickly becomes the norm.Our route takes us through the Barbican's central Arts building and into the Conservatory, a space full of plant-life and water features. The noise of rushing water comes as a shock, and I'm reminded just how hauntingly peaceful the atmosphere of the outside estate has been. As we leave the conservatory, the hush returns and we follow another walkway, this time allowing a balcony-like view over the edge of the estate. I'm quickly absorbed by a sensation I can liken only to peering down at the ground from a concrete cloud as we observe the pedestrians and traffic below.Turning back, we follow the walkways and begin our approach to Cromwell Tower, a jagged structure scraping the sky ahead of us and growing menacingly larger with every step. The estate has up till now seemed devoid of wind, but even so a cold begins to prickle my neck and I increase my speed toward the door.A high-ceilinged foyer greets us as we enter and continue to the lifts. As we push the button and wait, I am suddenly aware that carpet has replaced bricks beneath my feet. A homely sensation spreads, my breathing slows, and for a brief moment I begin to relax.We travel at heart-racing speed upwards to the 32nd floor to observe the view from the Tower's fire escape stairwell. A brief glance over the stair's railing as we enter reveals over 30 storeys of stair casing in a hard-edged, triangular configuration. My mind reels, I take a second glance and fail once again to achieve focus on the speck of ground at the bottom far below. After appreciating the eastward view from the adjacent window that encompasses almost the entirety of Central London, we make our way to a 23rd floor apartment.Entering the dwelling, we explore from room to room before reaching the balcony of the apartment's main living space. Looking sheepishly from the ledge, nothing short of a genuine concrete fortress stretches out beneath us in all directions. The spirit and commotion of London as I know it seems yet more distant as we gaze at the now miniaturized buildings. An impression of self-satisfied confidence dawns on me. The fortress where we stand offers security, elevation, sanctuary and I'm furnished with the power to view London's chaos at such a distance that it's almost silent.As we leave the apartment, I am shadowed by the same inherent air of tranquillity, pressing yet another futuristic lift access button, plummeting silently back towards the ground, and padding across the foyer's soft carpet to pursue our exit route through the estate's sky-suspended walkways, back to the bustle of regular London civilization.Trellick Tower: Autoethnographic JournalThe concrete majesty of Trellick Tower is visible from Westbourne Park, the nearest Tube station. The Tower dominates the skyline, soaring above its neighbouring estate, cafes, and shops. As one nears the Tower, the south face becomes visible, revealing the suspended corridors that join the service tower to the main body of flats. Light of all shades and colours pours from its tightly stacked dwellings, which stretch up into the sky. Figure 5. Trellick Tower, South face. Figure 6. Balcony in a 27th-floor flat, Trellick Tower.N’s journalOutside the tower, I sense danger and experience a heightened sense of awareness. A thorny frame of metal poles holds up the tower’s facade, each pole poised as if to slip down and impale me as I enter the building.At first, the tower is too big for comprehension; the scale is unnatural, gigantic. I feel small and quite squashable in comparison. Swathes of unmarked concrete surround the tower, walls that are just too high to see over. Who or what are they hiding? I feel uncertain about what is around me.It takes some time to reach the 27th floor, even though the lift only stops on every 3rd floor. I feel the forces of acceleration exert their pressure on me as we rise. The lift is very quiet.Looking through the windows on the 27th-floor walkway that connects the lift tower to the main building, I realise how high up I am. I can see fog. The city moves and modulates beneath me. It is so far away, and I can’t reach it. I’m suspended, isolated, cut off in the air, as if floating in space.The buildings underneath appear tiny in comparison to me, but I know I’m tiny compared to this building. It’s a dichotomy, an internal tension, and feels quite unreal.The sound of the wind in the corridors is a constant whine.In the flat, the large kitchen window above the sink opens directly onto the narrow, low-ceilinged corridor, on the other side of which, through a second window, I again see London far beneath. People pass by here to reach their front doors, moving so close to the kitchen window that you could touch them while you’re washing up, if it weren’t for the glass. Eye contact is possible with a neighbour, or a stranger. I am close to that which I’m normally separated from, but at the same time I’m far from what I could normally access.On the balcony, I have a strong sensation of vertigo. We are so high up that we cannot be seen by the city and we cannot see others. I feel physically cut off from the world and realise that I’m dependent on the lift or endlessly spiralling stairs to reach it again.Materials: sharp edges, rough concrete, is abrasive to my skin, not warm or welcoming. Sharp little stones are embedded in some places. I mind not to brush close against them.Behind the tower is a mysterious dark maze of sharp turns that I can’t see around, and dark, narrow walkways that confine me to straight movements on sloping ramps.“Relentless Employ of Concrete:” Body versus Stone and HeightThe “relentless employ of concrete” (R-B) in the Barbican Estate and Trellick Tower determined our physical interactions with these Brutalist objects. Our attention was first directed towards texture: rough, abrasive, sharp, frictive. Raw concrete’s potential to damage skin, should one fall or brush too hard against it, made our bodies vulnerable. Simultaneously, the ubiquitous grey colour and the constant cold anaesthetised our senses.As we continued to explore, the constant presence of concrete, metal gratings, wire, and reinforced glass affected our real and imagined corporeal potentialities. Bodies are powerless against these materials, such that, in these buildings, you can only go where you are allowed to go by design, and there are no other options.Conversely, the strength of concrete also has a corporeal manifestation through a sense of increased physical security. To R, standing within the “concrete fortress” of the Barbican Estate, the object offered “security, elevation, sanctuary,” and even “power” (R-B).The heights of the Barbican’s towers (123 metres) and Trellick Tower (93 metres) were physically overwhelming when first encountered. We both felt that these menacing, jagged towers dominated our bodies.Excerpt from R’s journal (Trellick Tower)Gaining access to the apartment, we begin to explore from room to room. As we proceed through to the main living area we spot the balcony and I am suddenly aware that, in a short space of time, I had abandoned the knowledge that some 26 floors lay below me. My balance is again shaken and I dig my heels into the laminate flooring, as if to achieve some imaginary extra purchase.What are the consequences of extreme height on the body? Certainly, there is the possibility of a lethal fall and those with vertigo or who fear heights would feel uncomfortable. We discovered that height also affects physical instantiation in many other ways, both empowering and destabilising.Distance from ground-level bustle contributed to a profound silence and sense of calm. Areas of intermediate height, such as elevated communal walkways, enhanced our sensory abilities by granting the advantage of observation from above.Extreme heights, however, limited our ability to sense the outside world, placing objects beyond our range of visual focus, and setting up a “bizarre segregation” (R-T) between our physical presence and that of the rest of the world. Height also limited potentialities of movement: no longer self-sufficient, we depended on a working lift to regain access to the ground and the rest of the city. In the lift itself, our bodies passively endured a cycle of opposing forces as we plummeted up or down numerous storeys in mere seconds.At both locations, N noticed how extreme height altered her relative body size: for example, “London looks really small. I have become huge compared to the tiny city” (N-B). As such, the building’s lift could be likened to a cake or potion from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. This illustrates how the heuristics that we use to discern visual perspective and object size, which are determined by the environment in which we live (Segall et al.), can be undermined by the unusual scales and distances found in Brutalist structures.Excerpt from N’s journal (Barbican Estate)Warning: These buildings give you AFTER-EFFECTS. On the way home, the size of other buildings seems tiny, perspectives feel strange; all the scales seem to have been re-scaled. I had to become re-used to the sensation of travelling on public trains, after travelling in the tower lifts.We both experienced perceptual after-effects from the disproportional perspectives of Brutalist spaces. Brutalist structures thus have the power to affect physical sensations even when the body is no longer in direct interaction with them!“Challenge to Privacy:” Intersubjective Ideals in Brutalist DesignAs embodied beings, our corporeal manifestations are the primary transducers of our interactions with other people, who in turn contribute to our own body schema construction (Joas). Architects of Brutalist habitats aimed to create residential utopias, but we found that the impact of their designs on intersubjective corporeality were often incoherent and contradictory. Brutalist structures positioned us at two extremes in relation to the bodies of others, forcing either an uncomfortable intersection of personal space or, conversely, excessive separation.The confined spaces of the lifts, and ubiquitous narrow, low-ceilinged corridors produced uncomfortable overlaps in the personal space of the individuals present. We were fascinated by the design of the flat in Trellick Tower, where the large kitchen window opened out directly onto the narrow 27th-floor corridor, as described in N’s journal. This enforced a physical “challenge to privacy” (R-T), although the original aim may have been to promote a sense of community in the “streets in the sky” (Moran 615). The inter-slotting of hundreds of flats in Trellick Tower led to “a multitude of different cooking aromas from neighbouring flats” (R-T) and hence a direct sensing of the closeness of other people’s corporeal activities, such as eating.By contrast, enormous heights and scales constantly placed other people out of sight, out of hearing, and out of reach. Sharp-angled walkways and blind alleys rendered other bodies invisible even when they were near. In the Barbican Estate, huge concrete columns, behind which one could hide, instilled a sense of unease.We also considered the intersubjective interaction between the Brutalist architect-designer and the inhabitant. The elements of futuristic design—such as the “spaceship”-like pods for lift buttons in Cromwell Tower (N-B)—reconstruct the inhabitant’s physicality as alien relative to the Brutalist building, and by extension, to the city that commissioned it.ReflectionsThe strength of the autoethnographic approach is also its limitation (Chang 54); it is an individual’s subjective perspective, and as such we cannot experience or represent the full range of corporeal effects of Brutalist designs. Corporeal experience is informed by myriad factors, including age, body size, and ability or disability. Since we only visited these structures, rather than lived in them, we could have experienced heightened sensations that would become normalised through familiarity over time. Class dynamics, including previous residences and, importantly, the amount of choice that one has over where one lives, would also affect this experience. For a full perspective, further data on the everyday lived experiences of residents from a range of different backgrounds are necessary.R’s reflectionDespite researching Brutalist architecture for years, I was unprepared for the true corporeal experience of exploring these buildings. Reading back through my journals, I'm struck by an evident conflict between stylistic admiration and physical uneasiness. I feel I have gained a sympathetic perspective on the notion of residing in the structures day-to-day.Nevertheless, analysing Brutalist objects through a corporeal perspective helped to further our understanding of the experience of living within them in a way that abstract thought could never have done. Our reflections also emphasise the tension between the physical and the psychological, whereby corporeal struggle intertwines with an abstract, aesthetic admiration of the Brutalist objects.N’s reflectionIt was a wonderful experience to explore these extraordinary buildings with an inward focus on my own physical sensations and an outward focus on my body’s interaction with others. On re-reading my journals, I was surprised by the negativity that pervaded my descriptions. How does physical discomfort and alienation translate into cognitive pleasure, or delight?ConclusionBrutalist objects shape corporeality in fundamental and sometimes contradictory ways. The range of visual and somatosensory experiences is narrowed by the ubiquitous use of raw concrete and metal. Materials that damage skin combine with lethal heights to emphasise corporeal vulnerability. The body’s movements and sensations of the external world are alternately limited or extended by extreme heights and scales, which also dominate the human frame and undermine normal heuristics of perception. Simultaneously, the structures endow a sense of physical stability, security, and even power. By positioning multiple corporealities in extremes of overlap or segregation, Brutalist objects constitute a unique challenge to both physical privacy and intersubjective potentiality.Recognising these effects on embodied being enhances our current understanding of the impact of Brutalist residences on corporeal sensation. This can inform the future design of residential estates. Our autoethnographic findings are also in line with the suggestion that Brutalist structures can be “appreciated as challenging, enlivening environments” exactly because they demand “physical and perceptual exertion” (Sroat). Instead of being demolished, Brutalist objects that are no longer considered appropriate as residences could be repurposed for creative, cultural, or academic use, where their challenging corporeal effects could contribute to a stimulating or even thrilling environment.ReferencesAllen, Edward, and Joseph Iano. Fundamentals of Building Construction: Materials and Methods. 6th ed. Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Sons, 2013.Anderson, Leon. “Analytic Autoethnography.” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 35.4 (2006): 373-95.Armstrong, Rachel. “Biological Architecture.” Forward, The Architecture and Design Journal of the National Associates Committee: Architecture and the Body Spring (2010): 77-79.Baker, Shirley. “The Streets Belong to Us: Shirley Baker’s 1960s Manchester in Pictures.” The Guardian, 22 Jul. 2015. 16 Feb. 2016 <http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2015/jul/22/shirley-baker-1960s-manchester-in-pictures>.Biloria, Nimish. “Inter-Active Bodies.” Forward, The Architecture and Design Journal of the National Associates Committee: Architecture and the Body Spring (2010): 77-79.Brophy, Gwenda. “Fortress Barbican.” The Telegraph, 15 Mar. 2007. 16 Feb. 2016 <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/finance/property/3357100/Fortress-Barbican.html>.Carroll, Lewis. Alice in Wonderland. 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BB4, Bristol. 19 Jun. 2003.Joas, Hans. “The Intersubjective Constitution of the Body-Image.” Human Studies 6.1 (1983): 197-204.Johnson, Sophia A. “‘Getting Personal’: Contemplating Changes in Intersubjectivity, Methodology and Ethnography.” M/C Journal 18.5 (2015).Manan, Mohd. S.A., and Chris L. Smith. “Beyond Building: Architecture through the Human Body.” Alam Cipta: International Journal on Sustainable Tropical Design Research and Practice 5.1 (2012): 35-42.Meades, Jonathan. “The Incredible Hulks: Jonathan Meades’ A-Z of Brutalism.” The Guardian, 13 Feb. 2014. 16 Feb. 2016 <http://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2014/feb/13/jonathan-meades-brutalism-a-z>.Moran, Joe. “Housing, Memory and Everyday Life in Contemporary Britain.” Cultural Studies 18.4 (2004): 607-27.Newman, Oscar. Creating Defensible Space. U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD), 1996.Niesewand, Nonie. “Architecture: What Zaha Hadid Next.” The Independent, 1 Oct. 1998. 16Feb. 2016 <http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/architecture-what-zaha-hadid-next-1175631.html>.Power, Anne. Hovels to Highrise: State Housing in Europe Since 1850. Taylor & Francis, 2005.Segall, Marshall H., Donald T. Campbell, and Melville J. Herskovits. “Cultural Differences in the Perception of Geometric Illusions.” Science 139.3556 (1963): 769-71.Singh, Anita. “Lord Rogers Would Live on This Estate? Let Him Be Our Guest.” The Telegraph, 20 Jun. 2015. 16 Feb. 2016 <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/art/architecture/11687078/Lord-Rogers-would-live-on-this-estate-Let-him-be-our-guest.html>.Smithson, Alison, and Peter Smithson. “But Today We Collect Ads.” Reprinted in L’Architecture Aujourd’hui Jan./Feb (2003): 44.Smithson, Alison, and Peter Smithson. “Conversation with Jane Drew and Maxwell Fry.” Zodiac 4 (1959): 73-81.Sroat, Helen. “Brutalism: An Architecture of Exhilaration.” Presentation at the Paul Rudolph Symposium. University of Massachusetts Dartmouth, MA, 13 Apr. 2005. Stadler, Laurent. “‘New Brutalism’, ‘Topology’ and ‘Image:’ Some Remarks on the Architectural Debates in England around 1950.” The Journal of Architecture 13.3 (2008): 263-81.The Great British Housing Disaster. Dir. Adam Curtis. BBC Documentaries. BBC, London. 4 Sep. 1984.The Pruitt-Igoe Myth. Dir. Chad Friedrichs. First Run Features, 2012.

There have been a number of Australian memoirs written by adoptees over the last twenty years—Robert Dessaix’s A Mother’s Disgrace, Suzanne Chick’s Searching for Charmian, Tom Frame’s Binding Ties:An Experience of Adoption and Reunion in Australia, for example—as well as international adoptee narratives by Betty Jean Lifton, Florence Fisher, and A. M. Homes amongst others. These works form a component of the small but growing field of adoption life writing that includes works by “all members of the adoption triad” (Hipchen and Deans 163): adoptive parents, birthparents, and adoptees. As the broad genre of memoir becomes more theorised and mapped, many sub-genres are emerging (Brien). My own adoptee story (which I am currently composing) could be a further sub-categorisation of the adoptee memoir, that of “late discovery adoptees” (Perl and Markham), those who are either told, or find out, about their adoption in adulthood. When this is part of a life story, secrets and silences are prominent, and digging into these requires using whatever resources can be found. These include cookbooks, recipes written by hand, and the scraps of paper shoved between pages. There are two cookbooks from my adoptive mother’s belongings that I have kept. One of them is titled Miss Tuxford’s Modern Cookery for the Middle Classes: Hints on Modern Gas Stove Cooking, and this was published around 1937 in England. It’s difficult to date this book exactly, as there is no date in my copy, but one of the advertisements (for Bird’s Custard, I think; the page is partly obscured by an Orange Nut Loaf recipe from a Willow baking pan that has been glued onto the page) is headed with a date range of 1837 to 1937. It has that smell of long ago that lingers strongly even now, out of the protective custody of my mother’s storage. Or should I say, out of the range of my adoptive father’s garbage dump zeal. He loved throwing things away, but these were often things that I saw as valuable, or at least of sentimental value, worth keeping for the memories they evoked. Maybe my father didn’t want to remember. My mother was brimming with memories, I discovered after her death, but she did not reveal them during her life. At least, not to me, making objects like these cookbooks precious in my reconstruction of the lives I know so little about, as well as in the grieving process (Gibson).Miss Tuxford (“Diplomée Board of Education, Gold Medallist, etc”) produced numerous editions of her book. My mother’s is now fragile, loose at the spine and browned with age. There are occasional stains showing that the bread and cakes section got the most use, with the pages for main meals of meat and vegetables relatively clean. The author divided her recipes into the main chapters of Soups (lentil, kidney, sheep’s head broth), Sauces (white, espagnol, mushroom), Fish (“It is important that all fish is fresh when cooked” (23)), Meats (roasted, boiled, stuffed; roast rabbit, boiled turkey, scotch collop), Vegetables (creamed beetroot, economical salad dressing, potatoes baked in their skins), Puddings and Sweets (suet pastry, Yorkshire pudding, chocolate tarts, ginger cream), Bread and Cakes (household bread, raspberry sandwich cake, sultana scones, peanut fancies), Icings and Fillings, Invalid Cookery (beef tea, nourishing lemonade, Virol pudding), Jams, Sweetmeats and Pickles (red currant jelly, piccalilli) and Miscellaneous Dishes including Meatless Recipes (cheese omelette, mock white fish, mock duck, mock goose, vegetarian mincemeat). At the back, Miss Tuxford includes sections on gas cooking hints, “specimen household dinners” (206), and household hints. There is then a “Table of Foods in Season” (208–10) taking the reader through the months and the various meats and vegetables available at those times. There is a useful index and finally an advertisement for an oven cleaner on the last page (which is glued to the back cover). There are food and cookery advertisements throughout the book, but my favourite is the one inside the front cover, for Hartley’s jam, featuring two photographs of a little boy. The first shows him looking serious, and slightly anxious, the second wide-eyed and smiling, eager for his jam. The text tells mothers that “there’s nothing like plenty of bread and Hartley’s for a growing boy” (inside front cover). I love the simple appeal to making your little boy happy that is contained within this tiny narrative. Did my mother and father eat this jam when they were small? By 1937, my mother was twenty-one, not yet married, living with her mother in Weston-super-Mare. She was learning secretarial skills—I have her certificate of proficiency in Pitman’s shorthand—and I think she and my father had met by then. Perhaps she thought about when she would be giving her own children Hartley’s jam, or something else prepared from Miss Tuxford’s recipes, like the Christmas puddings, shortbread, or chocolate cake. She would not have imagined that no children would arrive, that twenty-five years of marriage would pass before she held her own baby, and this would be one who was born to another woman. In the one other cookbook I have kept, there are several recipes cut out from newspapers, and a few typed or handwritten recipes hidden within the pages. This is The Main Cookery Book, in its August 1944 reprint, which was written and compiled by Marguerite K. Gompertz and the “Staff of the Main Research Kitchen”. My mother wrote her name and the date she obtained the cookbook (31 January 1945) on the first blank page. She had been married just over five years, and my father may, or may not, have still been in the Royal Air Force. I have only a sketchy knowledge of my adoptive parents. My mother was born in Newent, Gloucestershire, and my father in Bromley, Kent; they were both born during the first world war. My father served as a navigator in the Royal Air Force in the second world war in the 1940s, received head and psychological injuries and was invalided out before the war ended. He spent some time in rehabilitation, there being letters from him to my mother detailing his stay in one hospital in the 1950s. Their life seemed to become less and less secure as the years passed, more chaotic, restless, and unsettled. By the time I came into their lives, they were both nearly fifty, and moving from place to place. Perhaps this is one reason why I have no memory of my mother cooking. I cannot picture her consulting these cookbooks, or anything more modern, or even cutting out the recipes from newspapers and magazines, because I do not remember seeing her do it. She did not talk to me about cooking, we didn’t cook together, and I do not remember her teaching me anything about food or its preparation. This is a gap in my memory that is puzzling. There is evidence—the books and additional paper recipes and stains on the pages—that my mother was involved in the world of the kitchen. This suggests she handled meats, vegetables, and flours, kneaded, chopped, mashed, baked, and boiled all manners of foods. But I cannot remember her doing any of it. I think the cooking must have been a part of her life before me, when she lived in England, her home country, which she loved, and when she still had hope that children would come. It must have then been apparent that her husband was going to need support and care after the war, and I can imagine she came to realise that any dreams she had would need rearranging.What I do remember is that our meals were prepared by my father, and contained no spices, onions, or garlic because he suffered frequently from indigestion and said these ingredients made it worse. He was a big-chested man with small hips who worried he was too heavy and so put himself on diets every other week. For my father, dieting meant not eating anything, which tended to lead to binges on chocolate or cheese or whatever he could grab easily from the fridge.Meals at night followed a pattern. On Sundays we ate roast chicken with vegetables as a treat, then finished it over the next days as a cold accompaniment with salad. Other meals would feature fish fingers, mince, ham, or a cold luncheon meat with either salad or boiled vegetables. Sometimes we would have a tin of peaches in juice or ice cream, or both. No cookbooks were consulted to prepare these meals.What was my mother doing while my father cooked? She must have been in the kitchen too, probably contributing, but I don’t see her there. By the time we came back to Australia permanently in 1974, my father’s working life had come to an end, and he took over the household cookery for something to do, as well as sewing his own clothes, and repairing his own car. He once hoisted the engine out of a Morris Minor with the help of a young mechanic, a rope, and the branch of a poinciana tree. I have three rugs that he wove before I was born, and he made furniture as well. My mother also sewed, and made my school uniforms and other clothes as well as her own skirts and blouses, jackets and pants. Unfortunately, she was fond of crimplene, which came in bright primary colours and smelled of petrol, but didn’t require ironing and dried quickly on the washing line. It didn’t exactly hang on your body, but rather took it over, imposing itself with its shapelessness. The handwritten recipe for salad cream shown on the pink paper is not in my mother’s hand but my father’s. Her correction can be seen to the word “gelatine” at the bottom; she has replaced it with “c’flour” which I assume means cornflour. This recipe actually makes me a liar, because it shows my father writing about using pepper, paprika, and tumeric to make a food item, when I have already said he used no spices. When I knew him, and ate his food, he didn’t. But he had another life for forty-seven years before my birth, and these recipes with their stains and scribbles help me to begin making a picture of both his life, and my mother’s. So much of them is a complete mystery to me, but these scraps of belongings help me inch along in my thinking about them, who they were, and what they meant to me (Turkle).The Main Cookery Book has a similar structure to Miss Tuxford’s, with some variations, like the chapter titled Réchauffés, which deals with dishes using already cooked foodstuffs that only then require reheating, and a chapter on home-made wines. There are also notes at the end of the book on topics such as gas ovens and methods of cooking (boiling, steaming, simmering, and so on). What really interests me about this book are the clippings inserted by my mother, although the printed pages themselves seem relatively clean and uncooked upon. There is a recipe for pickles and chutneys torn from a newspaper, and when I look on the other side I find a context: a note about Charlie Chaplin and the House of Representatives’s Un-American Activities Committee starting its investigations into the influence of Communists on Hollywood. I wonder if my parents talked about these events, or if they went to see Charlie Chaplin’s films. My mother’s diaries from the 1940s include her references to movies—Shirley Temple in Kiss and Tell, Bing Crosby in Road to Utopia—as well as day to day activities and visits to, and from, family and friends, her sinus infections and colds, getting “shock[ed] from paraffin lamp”, food rationing. If my father kept diaries during his earlier years, nothing of them survives. I remember his determined shredding of documents after my mother’s death, and his fear of discovery, that his life’s secrets would be revealed. He did not tell me I had been adopted until I was twenty-three, and rarely spoke of it afterwards. My mother never mentioned it. I look at the recipe for lemon curd. Did my mother ever make this? Did she use margarine instead of butter? We used margarine on sandwiches, as butter was too hard to spread. Once again, I turn over this clipping to read the news, and find no date but an announcement of an exhibition of work by Marc Chagall at the Tate Gallery, the funeral of Sir Geoffrey Fison (who I discover from The Peerage website died in 1948, unmarried, a Baronet and decorated soldier), and a memorial service for Dr. Duncan Campbell Scott, the Canadian poet and prose writer, during which the Poet Laureate of the time, John Masefield, gave the address. And there was also a note about the latest wills, including that of a reverend who left an estate valued at over £50 000. My maternal adoptive grandmother, who lived in Weston-super-Mare across the road from the beach, and with whom we stayed for several months in 1974, left most of her worldly belongings to my mother and nothing to her son. He seems to have been cut out from her life after she separated from her husband, and her children’s father, sometime in the 1920s. Apparently, my uncle followed his father out to Australia, and his mother never forgave him, refusing to have anything more to do with her son for the rest of her life, not even to see her grandchildren. When I knew her in that brief period in 1974, she was already approaching eighty and showing signs of dementia. But I do remember dancing the Charleston with her in the kitchen, and her helping me bathe my ragdoll Pollyanna in a tub in the garden. The only food I remember at her stone house was afternoon tea with lots of different, exotic cakes, particularly one called Neopolitan, with swirls of red and brown through the moist sponge. My grandmother had a long narrow garden filled with flowers and a greenhouse with tomatoes; she loved that garden, and spent a lot of time nurturing it.My father and his mother-in-law were not each other’s favourite person, and this coloured my mother’s relationship with her, too. We were poor for many years, and the only reason we were able to go to England was because of the generosity of my grandmother, who paid for our airfares. I think my father searched for work while we were there, but whether he was successful or not I do not know. We returned to Australia and I went into grade four at the end of 1974, an outsider of sorts, and bemused by the syllabus, because I had moved around so much. I went to eight different primary schools and two high schools, eventually obtaining a scholarship to a private girls’ school for the last four years. My father was intent on me becoming a doctor, and so my life was largely study, which is another reason why I took little notice of what went on in the kitchen and what appeared on the dining table. I would come home from school and my parents would start meal preparation almost straight away, so we sat down to dinner at about four o’clock during the week, and I started the night’s study at five. I usually worked through until about ten, and then read a novel for a little while before sleep. Every parcel of time was accounted for, and nothing was wasted. This schedule continued throughout those four years of high school, with my father berating me if I didn’t do well at an exam, but also being proud when I did. In grades eight, nine, and ten, I studied home economics, and remember being offered a zucchini to taste because I had never seen one before. I also remember making Greek biscuits of some sort for an exam, and the sieve giving out while I was sifting a large quantity of flour. We learned to cook simple meals of meats and vegetables, and to prepare a full breakfast. We also baked cakes but, when my sponges remained flat, I realised that my strengths might lay elsewhere. This probably also contributed to my lack of interest in cooking. Domestic pursuits were not encouraged at home, although my mother did teach me to sew and knit, resulting in skewed attempts at a shirt dress and a white blouse, and a wildly coloured knitted shoulder bag that I actually liked but which embarrassed my father. There were no such lessons in cakemaking or biscuit baking or any of the recipes from Miss Tuxford. By this time, my mother bought such treats from the supermarket.This other life, this previous life of my parents, a life far away in time and place, was completely unknown to me before my mother’s death. I saw little of them after the revelation of my adoption, not because of this knowledge I then had, but because of my father’s controlling behaviour. I discovered that the rest of my adoptive family, who I hardly knew apart from my maternal grandmother, had always known. It would have been difficult, after all, for my parents to keep such a secret from them. Because of this life of constant moving, my estrangement from my family, and our lack of friends and connections with other people, there was a gap in my experience. As a child, I only knew one grandmother, and only for a relatively brief period of time. I have no grandfatherly memories, and none either of aunts and uncles, only a few fleeting images of a cousin here and there. It was difficult to form friendships as a child when we were only in a place for a limited time. We were always moving on, and left everything behind, to start again in a new suburb, state, country. Continuity and stability were not our trademarks, for reasons that are only slowly making themselves known to me: my father’s mental health problems, his difficult personality, our lack of money, the need to keep my adoption secret.What was that need? From where did it spring? My father always seemed to be a secretive person, an intensely private man, one who had things to hide, and seemed to suffer many mistakes and mishaps and misfortune. At the end, after my mother’s death, we spent two years with each other as he became frailer and moved into a nursing home. It was a truce formed out of necessity, as there was no one else to care for him, so thoroughly had he alienated his family; he had no friends, certainly not in Australia, and only the doctor and helping professionals to talk to most days. My father’s brother John had died some years before, and the whereabouts of his other sibling Gordon were unknown. I discovered that he had died three years previously. Nieces had not heard from my father for decades. My mother’s niece revealed that my mother and she had never met. There is a letter from my mother’s father in the 1960s, probably just before he died, remarking that he would like a photograph of her as they hadn’t seen each other for forty years. None of this was talked about when my mother was alive. It was as if I was somehow separate from their stories, from their history, that it was not suitable for my ears, or that once I came into their lives they wanted to make a new life altogether. At that time, all of their past was stored away. Even my very origins, my tiny past life, were unspoken, and made into a secret. The trouble with secrets, however, is that they hang around, peek out of boxes, lurk in the corners of sentences, and threaten to be revealed by the questions of puzzled strangers, or mistakenly released by knowledgeable relatives. Adoptee memoirs like mine seek to go into those hidden storage boxes and the corners and pages of sources like these seemingly innocent old cookbooks, in the quest to bring these secrets to light. Like Miss Tuxford’s cookbook, with its stains and smudges, or the Main Cookery Book with its pages full of clippings, the revelation of such secrets threaten to tell stories that contradict the official version. ReferencesBrien, Donna Lee. “Pathways into an ‘Elaborate Ecosystem’: Ways of Categorising the Food Memoir”. TEXT (October 2011). 12 Jun. 2013 ‹http://www.textjournal.com.au/oct11/brien.htm›.Chick, Suzanne. Searching for Charmian. Sydney: Picador, 1995.Dessaix, Robert. A Mother’s Disgrace. Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1994.Fisher, Florence. The Search for Anna Fisher. New York: Arthur Fields, 1973.Frame, Tom. Binding Ties: An Experience of Adoption and Reunion in Australia. Alexandria: Hale & Iremonger, 1999.Gibson, Margaret. Objects of the Dead: Mourning and Memory in Everyday Life. Carlton, Victoria: Melbourne U P, 2008. Gompertz, Marguerite K., and the Staff of the Main Research Kitchen. The Main Cookery Book. 52nd. ed. London: R. & A. Main, 1944. Hipchen, Emily, and Jill Deans. “Introduction. Adoption Life Writing: Origins and Other Ghosts”. a/b: Auto/Biography Studies 18.2 (2003): 163–70. Special Issue on Adoption.Homes, A. M. The Mistress’s Daughter: A Memoir. London: Granta, 2007.Kiss and Tell. Dir. By Richard Wallace. Columbia Pictures, 1945.Lifton, Betty Jean. Twice Born: Memoirs of An Adopted Daughter. Middlesex, England: Penguin, 1977.Lundy, Darryl, comp. The Peerage: A Genealogical Survey of the Peerage of Britain as well as the Royal Families of Europe. 30 May 2013 ‹http://www.thepeerage.com/p40969.htm#i409684›Perl, Lynne and Shirin Markham. Why Wasn’t I Told? Making Sense of the Late Discovery of Adoption. Bondi: Post Adoption Resource Centre/Benevolent Society of NSW, 1999.Road to Utopia. Dir. By Hal Walker. Paramount, 1946.Turkle, Sherry, ed. Evocative Objects: Things We Think With. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT P, 2011. Tuxford, Miss H. H. Miss Tuxford’s Modern Cookery for the Middle Classes: Hints on Modern Gas Stove Cooking. London: John Heywood, c.1937.

On the night of 31 August, 1888, Mary Ann ‘Polly’ Nichols was found murdered in Buck’s Row, her throat slashed and her body mutilated. She was followed by Annie Chapman on 8 September in the year of 29 Hanbury Street, Elizabeth Stride in Dutfield’s Yard and Catherine Eddowes in Mitre Square on 30 September, and finally Mary Jane Kelly in Miller’s Court, on 9 November. These five women, all prostitutes, were victims of an unknown assailant commonly referred to by the epithet ‘Jack the Ripper’, forming an official canon which excludes at least thirteen other cases around the same time. As the Ripper was never identified or caught, he has attained an almost supernatural status in London’s history and literature, immortalised alongside other iconic figures such as Sherlock Holmes. And his killing ground, the East End suburb of Whitechapel, has become notorious in its own right. In this article, I will discuss how Whitechapel developed as a Gothic location through the body of literature devoted to the Whitechapel murders of 1888, known as 'Ripperature'. I will begin by speaking to the turn of Gothic literature towards the idea of the city as a Gothic space, before arguing that Whitechapel's development into a Gothic location may be attributed to the threat of the Ripper and the literature which emerged during and after his crimes. As a working class slum with high rates of crime and poverty, Whitechapel already enjoyed an evil reputation in the London press. However, it was the presence of Jack that would make the suburb infamous into contemporary times. The Gothic Space of the City In the nineteenth century, there was a shift in the representation of space in Gothic literature. From the depiction of the wilderness and ancient buildings such as castles as essentially Gothic, there was a turn towards the idea of the city as a Gothic space. David Punter attributes this turn to Robert Louis Stevenson’s 1886 novel The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. The wild landscape is no longer considered as dangerous as the savage city of London, and evil no longer confined only to those of working-class status (Punter 191). However, it has been argued by Lawrence Phillips and Anne Witchard that Charles Dickens may have been the first author to present London as a Gothic city, in particular his description of Seven Dials in Bell’s Life in London, 1837, where the anxiety and unease of the narrator is associated with place (11). Furthermore, Thomas de Quincey uses Gothic imagery in his descriptions of London in his 1821 book Confessions of an English Opium-Eater, calling the city a “vast centre of mystery” (217). This was followed in 1840 with Edgar Allen Poe’s story The Man of the Crowd, in which the narrator follows a stranger through the labyrinthine streets of London, experiencing its poorest and most dangerous areas. At the end of the story, Poe calls the stranger “the type and the genius of deep crime (...) He is the man of the crowd” (n. p). This association of crowds with crime is also used by Jack London in his book The People of the Abyss, published in 1905, where the author spent time living in the slums of the East End. Even William Blake could be considered to have used Gothic imagery in his description of the city in his poem London, written in 1794. The Gothic city became a recognisable and popular trope in the fin-de-siècle, or end-of-century Gothic literature, in the last few decades of the nineteenth century. This fin-de-siècle literature reflected the anxieties inherent in increasing urbanisation, wherein individuals lose their identity through their relationship with the city. Examples of fin-de-siècle Gothic literature include The Beetle by Richard Marsh, published in 1897, and Bram Stoker’s Dracula, published in the same year. Evil is no longer restricted to foreign countries in these stories, but infects familiar city streets with terror, in a technique that is described as ‘everyday Gothic’ (Paulden 245). The Gothic city “is constructed by man, and yet its labyrinthine alleys remain unknowable (...) evil is not externalized elsewhere, but rather literally exists within” (Woodford n.p). The London Press and Whitechapel Prior to the Ripper murders of 1888, Whitechapel had already been given an evil reputation in the London press, heavily influenced by W.T. Stead’s reports for The Pall Mall Gazette, entitled The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon, in 1885. In these reports, Stead revealed how women and children were being sold into prostitution in suburbs such as Whitechapel. Stead used extensive Gothic imagery in his writing, one of the most enduring being the image of London as a labyrinth with a monstrous Minotaur at its centre, swallowing up his helpless victims. Counter-narratives about Whitechapel do exist, an example being Henry Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor, who attempted to demystify the East End by walking the streets of Whitechapel and interviewing its inhabitants in the 1860’s. Another is Arthur G. Morrison, who in 1889 dismissed the graphic descriptions of Whitechapel by other reporters as amusing to those who actually knew the area as a commercially respectable place. However, the Ripper murders in the autumn of 1888 ensured that the Gothic image of the East End would become the dominant image in journalism and literature for centuries to come. Whitechapel was a working-class slum, associated with poverty and crime, and had a large Jewish and migrant population. Indeed the claim was made that “had Whitechapel not existed, according to the rationalist, then Jack the Ripper would not have marched against civilization” (Phillips 157). Whitechapel was known as London’s “heart of darkness (…) the ultimate threat and the ultimate mystery” (Ackroyd 679). Therefore, the reporters of the London press who visited Whitechapel during and immediately following the murders understandably imbued the suburb with a Gothic atmosphere in their articles. One such newspaper article, An Autumn Evening in Whitechapel, released in November of 1888, demonstrates these characteristics in its description of Whitechapel. The anonymous reporter, writing during the Ripper murders, describes the suburb as a terrible dark ocean in which there are human monsters, where a man might get a sense of what humanity can sink to in areas of poverty. This view was shared by many, including author Margaret Harkness, whose 1889 book In Darkest London described Whitechapel as a monstrous living entity, and as a place of vice and depravity. Gothic literary tropes were also already widely used in print media to describe murders and other crimes that happened in London, such as in the sensationalist newspaper The Illustrated Police News. An example of this is an illustration published in this newspaper after the murder of Mary Kelly, showing the woman letting the Ripper into her lodgings, with the caption ‘Opening the door to admit death’. Jack is depicted as a manifestation of Death itself, with a grinning skull for a head and clutching a doctor’s bag filled with surgical instruments with which to perform his crimes (Johnston n.p.). In the magazine Punch, Jack was depicted as a phantom, the ‘Nemesis of Neglect’, representing the poverty of the East End, floating down an alleyway with his knife looking for more victims. The Ripper murders were explained by London newspapers as “the product of a diseased environment where ‘neglected human refuse’ bred crime” (Walkowitz 194). Whitechapel became a Gothic space upon which civilisation projected their inadequacies and fears, as if “it had become a microcosm of London’s own dark life” (Ackroyd 678). And in the wake of Jack the Ripper, this writing of Whitechapel as a Gothic space would only continue, with the birth of ‘Ripperature’, the body of fictional and non-fiction literature devoted to the murders. The Birth of Ripperature: The Curse upon Mitre Square and Leather Apron John Francis Brewer wrote the first known text about the Ripper murders in October of 1888, a sensational horror monograph entitled The Curse upon Mitre Square. Brewer made use of well-known Gothic tropes, such as the trans-generational curse, the inclusion of a ghost and the setting of an old church for the murder of an innocent woman. Brewer blended fact and fiction, making the Whitechapel murderer the inheritor, or even perhaps the victim of an ancient curse that hung over Mitre Square, where the second murdered prostitute, Catherine Eddowes, had been found the month before. According to Brewer, the curse originated from the murder of a woman in 1530 by her brother, a ‘mad monk’, on the steps of the high altar of the Holy Trinity Church in Aldgate. The monk, Martin, committed suicide, realising what he had done, and his ghost now appears pointing to the place where the murder occurred, promising that other killings will follow. Whitechapel is written as both a cursed and haunted Gothic space in The Curse upon Mitre Square. Brewer’s description of the area reflected the contemporary public opinion, describing the Whitechapel Road as a “portal to the filth and squalor of the East” (66). However, Mitre Square is the former location of a monastery torn down by a corrupt politician; this place, which should have been holy ground, is cursed. Mitre Square’s atmosphere ensures the continuation of violent acts in the vicinity; indeed, it seems to exude a self-aware and malevolent force that results in the death of Catherine Eddowes centuries later. This idea of Whitechapel as somehow complicit in or even directing the acts of the Ripper will later become a popular trope of Ripperature. Brewer’s work was advertised in London on posters splashed with red, a reminder of the blood spilled by the Ripper’s victims only weeks earlier. It was also widely promoted by the media and reissued in New York in 1889. It is likely that a ‘suggestion effect’ took place during the telegraph-hastened, press-driven coverage of the Jack the Ripper story, including Brewer’s monograph, spreading the image of Gothic Whitechapel as fact to the world (Dimolianis 63). Samuel E. Hudson’s account of the Ripper murders differs in style from Brewer’s because of his attempt to engage critically with issues such as the failure of the police force to find the murderer and the true identity of Jack. His book Leather Apron; or, the Horrors of Whitechapel, London, was published in December of 1888. Hudson described the five murders canonically attributed to Jack, wrote an analysis of the police investigation that followed, and speculated as to the Ripper’s motivations. Despite his intention to examine the case objectively, Hudson writes Jack as a Gothic monster, an atavistic and savage creature prowling Whitechapel to satisfy his bloodlust. Jack is associated with several Gothic tropes in Hudson’s work, and described as different types of monsters. He is called: a “fiend bearing a charmed and supernatural existence,” a “human vampire”, an “incarnate monster” and even, like Brewer, the perpetrator of “ghoulish butchery” (Hudson 40). Hudson describes Whitechapel as “the worst place in London (...) with innumerable foul and pest-ridden alleys” (9). Whitechapel becomes implicated in the Ripper murders because of its previously established reputation as a crime-ridden slum. Poverty forced women into prostitution, meaning they were often out alone late at night, and its many courts and alleyways allowed the Ripper an easy escape from his pursuers after each murder (Warwick 560). The aspect of Whitechapel that Hudson emphasises the most is its darkness; “off the boulevard, away from the streaming gas-jets (...) the knave ran but slight chance of interruption” (40). Whitechapel is a place of shadows, its darkest places negotiated only by ‘fallen women’ and their clients, and Jack himself. Hudson’s casting of Jack as a vampire makes his preference for the night, and his ability to skilfully disembowel prostitutes and disappear without a trace, intelligible to his readers as the attributes of a Gothic monster. Significantly, Hudson’s London is personified as female, the same sex as the Ripper victims, evoking a sense of passive vulnerability against the acts of the masculine and predatory Jack, Hudson writing that “it was not until four Whitechapel women had perished (...) that London awoke to the startling fact that a monster was at work upon her streets” (8). The Complicity of Gothic Whitechapel in the Ripper Murders This seeming complicity of Whitechapel as a Gothic space in the Ripper murders, which Brewer and Hudson suggest in their work, can be seen to have influenced subsequent representations of Whitechapel in Ripperature. Whitechapel is no longer simply the location in which these terrible events take place; they happen because of Whitechapel itself, the space exerting a self-conscious malevolence and kinship with Jack. Historically, the murders forced Queen Victoria to call for redevelopment in Spitalfields, the improvement of living conditions for the working class, and for a better police force to patrol the East End to prevent similar crimes (Sugden 2). The fact that Jack was never captured “seemed only to confirm the impression that the bloodshed was created by the foul streets themselves: that the East End was the true Ripper,” (Ackroyd 678) using the murderer as a way to emerge into the public consciousness. In Ripperature, this idea was further developed by the now popular image of Jack “stalking the black alleyways [in] thick swirling fog” (Jones 15). This otherworldly fog seems to imply a mystical relationship between Jack and Whitechapel, shielding him from view and disorientating his victims. Whitechapel shares the guilt of the murders as a malevolent and essentially pagan space. The notion of Whitechapel as being inscribed with paganism and magic has become an enduring and popular trope of Ripperature. It relates to an obscure theory that drawing lines between the locations of the first four Ripper murders created Satanic and profane religious symbols, suggesting that they were predetermined locations for a black magic ritual (Odell 217). This theory was expanded upon most extensively in Alan Moore’s graphic novel From Hell, published in 1999. In From Hell, Jack connects several important historical and religious sites around London by drawing a pentacle on a map of the city. He explains the murders as a reinforcement of the pentacle’s “lines of power and meaning (...) this pentacle of sun gods, obelisks and rational male fire, within unconsciousness, the moon and womanhood are chained” (Moore 4.37). London becomes a ‘textbook’, a “literature of stone, of place-names and associations,” stretching back to the Romans and their pagan gods (Moore 4.9). Buck’s Row, the real location of the murder of Mary Ann Nichols, is pagan in origin; named for the deer that were sacrificed on the goddess Diana’s altars. However, Moore’s Whitechapel is also Hell itself, the result of Jack slipping further into insanity as the murders continue. From Hell is illustrated in black and white, which emphasises the shadows and darkness of Whitechapel. The buildings are indistinct scrawls of shadow, Jack often nothing more than a silhouette, forcing the reader to occupy the same “murky moral and spiritual darkness” that the Ripper does (Ferguson 58). Artist Eddie Campbell’s use of shade and shadow in his illustrations also contribute to the image of Whitechapel-as-Hell as a subterranean place. Therefore, in tracing the representations of Whitechapel in the London press and in Ripperature from 1888 onwards, the development of Whitechapel as a Gothic location becomes clear. From the geographical setting of the Ripper murders, Whitechapel has become a Gothic space, complicit in Jack’s work if not actively inspiring the murders. Whitechapel, although known to the public before the Ripper as a crime-ridden slum, developed into a Gothic space because of the murders, and continues to be associated with the Gothic in contemporary Ripperature as an uncanny and malevolent space “which seems to compel recognition as not of this earth" (Ackroyd 581). References Anonymous. “An Autumn Evening in Whitechapel.” Littell’s Living Age, 3 Nov. 1888. Anonymous. “The Nemesis of Neglect.” Punch, or the London Charivari, 29 Sep. 1888. Ackroyd, Peter. London: The Biography. Great Britain: Vintage, 2001. Brewer, John Francis. The Curse upon Mitre Square. London: Simpkin, Marshall and Co, 1888. De Quincey, Thomas. Confessions of an English Opium-Eater. Boston: Ticknor, Reed and Fields, 1850. Dimolianis, Spiro. Jack the Ripper and Black Magic: Victorian Conspiracy Theories, Secret Societies and the Supernatural Mystique of the Whitechapel Murders. North Carolina: McFarland and Co, 2011. Ferguson, Christine. “Victoria-Arcana and the Misogynistic Poetics of Resistance in Iain Sinclair’s White Chappell, Scarlet Tracings and Alan Moore’s From Hell.” Lit: Literature Interpretation Theory 20.1-2 (2009): 58. Harkness, Mary, In Darkest London. London: Hodder and Staughton, 1889. Hudson, Samuel E. Leather Apron; or, the Horrors of Whitechapel. London, Philadelphia, 1888. Johnstone, Lisa. “Rippercussions: Public Reactions to the Ripper Murders in the Victorian Press.” Casebook 15 July 2012. 18 Aug. 2014 ‹http://www.casebook.org/dissertations/rippercussions.html›. London, Jack. The People of the Abyss. New York: Lawrence Hill, 1905. Mayhew, Henry. London Labour and the London Poor, Volume 1. London: Griffin, Bohn and Co, 1861. Moore, Alan, Campbell, Eddie. From Hell: Being a Melodrama in Sixteen Parts. London: Knockabout Limited, 1999. Morrison, Arthur G. “Whitechapel.” The Palace Journal. 24 Apr. 1889. Odell, Robin. Ripperology: A Study of the World’s First Serial Killer and a Literary Phenomenon. Michigan: Sheridan Books, 2006. Paulden, Arthur. “Sensationalism and the City: An Explanation of the Ways in Which Locality Is Defined and Represented through Sensationalist Techniques in the Gothic Novels The Beetle and Dracula.” Innervate: Leading Undergraduate Work in English Studies 1 (2008-2009): 245. Phillips, Lawrence, and Anne Witchard. London Gothic: Place, Space and the Gothic Imagination. London: Continuum International, 2010. Poe, Edgar Allen. “The Man of the Crowd.” The Works of Edgar Allen Poe. Vol. 5. Raven ed. 15 July 2012. 18 Aug. 2014 ‹http://www.gutenberg.org/files/2151/2151-h/2151-h.htm›. Punter, David. A New Companion to the Gothic. Sussex: Blackwell Publishing, 2012. Stead, William Thomas. “The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon.” The Pall Mall Gazette, 6 July 1885. Sugden, Peter. The Complete History of Jack the Ripper. London: Robinson Publishing, 2002. Walkowitz, Judith R. City of Dreadful Delight: Narratives of Sexual Danger in Late-Victorian London, London: Virago, 1998. Woodford, Elizabeth. “Gothic City.” 15 July 2012. 18 Aug. 2014 ‹http://courses.nus.edu.au/sg/ellgohbh/gothickeywords.html›.

This article investigates the possibilities for understanding waste as a resource, with a particular focus on understanding food waste as a food resource. It considers the popular yeast spread Vegemite within this frame. The spread’s origins in waste product, and how it has achieved and sustained its status as a popular symbol of Australia despite half a century of Australian gastro-multiculturalism and a marked public resistance to other recycling and reuse of food products, have not yet been a focus of study. The process of producing Vegemite from waste would seem to align with contemporary moves towards recycling food waste, and ensuring environmental sustainability and food security, yet even during times of austerity and environmental concern this has not provided the company with a viable marketing strategy. Instead, advertising copywriting and a recurrent cycle of product memorialisation have created a superbrand through focusing on Vegemite’s nutrient and nostalgic value.John Scanlan notes that producing waste is a core feature of modern life, and what we dispose of as surplus to our requirements—whether this comprises material objects or more abstract products such as knowledge—reveals much about our society. In observing this, Scanlan asks us to consider the quite radical idea that waste is central to everything of significance to us: the “possibility that the surprising core of all we value results from (and creates even more) garbage (both the material and the metaphorical)” (9). Others have noted the ambivalent relationship we have with the waste we produce. C. T. Anderson notes that we are both creator and agent of its disposal. It is our ambivalence towards waste, coupled with its ubiquity, that allows waste materials to be described so variously: negatively as garbage, trash and rubbish, or more positively as by-products, leftovers, offcuts, trimmings, and recycled.This ambivalence is also crucial to understanding the affectionate relationship the Australian public have with Vegemite, a relationship that appears to exist in spite of the product’s unpalatable origins in waste. A study of Vegemite reveals that consumers can be comfortable with waste, even to the point of eating recycled waste, as long as that fact remains hidden and unmentioned. In Vegemite’s case not only has the product’s connection to waste been rendered invisible, it has been largely kept out of sight despite considerable media and other attention focusing on the product. Recycling Food Waste into Food ProductRecent work such as Elizabeth Royte’s Garbage Land and Tristram Stuart’s Waste make waste uncomfortably visible, outlining how much waste, and food waste in particular, the Western world generates and how profligately this is disposed of. Their aim is clear: a call to less extravagant and more sustainable practices. The relatively recent interest in reducing our food waste has, of course, introduced more complexity into a simple linear movement from the creation of a food product, to its acquisition or purchase, and then to its consumption and/or its disposal. Moreover, the recycling, reuse and repurposing of what has previously been discarded as waste is reconfiguring the whole idea of what waste is, as well as what value it has. The initiatives that seem to offer the most promise are those that reconfigure the way waste is understood. However, it is not only the process of transforming waste from an abject nuisance into a valued product that is central here. It is also necessary to reconfigure people’s acculturated perceptions of, and reactions to waste. Food waste is generated during all stages of the food cycle: while the raw materials are being grown; while these are being processed; when the resulting food products are being sold; when they are prepared in the home or other kitchen; and when they are only partly consumed. Until recently, the food industry in the West almost universally produced large volumes of solid and liquid waste that not only posed problems of disposal and pollution for the companies involved, but also represented a reckless squandering of total food resources in terms of both nutrient content and valuable biomass for society at large. While this is currently changing, albeit slowly, the by-products of food processing were, and often are, dumped (Stuart). In best-case scenarios, various gardening, farming and industrial processes gather household and commercial food waste for use as animal feed or as components in fertilisers (Delgado et al; Wang et al). This might, on the surface, appear a responsible application of waste, yet the reality is that such food waste often includes perfectly good fruit and vegetables that are not quite the required size, shape or colour, meat trimmings and products (such as offal) that are completely edible but extraneous to processing need, and other high grade product that does not meet certain specifications—such as the mountains of bread crusts sandwich producers discard (Hickman), or food that is still edible but past its ‘sell by date.’ In the last few years, however, mounting public awareness over the issues of world hunger, resource conservation, and the environmental and economic costs associated with food waste has accelerated efforts to make sustainable use of available food supplies and to more efficiently recycle, recover and utilise such needlessly wasted food product. This has fed into and led to multiple new policies, instances of research into, and resultant methods for waste handling and treatment (Laufenberg et al). Most straightforwardly, this involves the use or sale of offcuts, trimmings and unwanted ingredients that are “often of prime quality and are only rejected from the production line as a result of standardisation requirements or retailer specification” from one process for use in another, in such processed foods as soups, baby food or fast food products (Henningsson et al. 505). At a higher level, such recycling seeks to reclaim any reusable substances of significant food value from what could otherwise be thought of as a non-usable waste product. Enacting this is largely dependent on two elements: an available technology and being able to obtain a price or other value for the resultant product that makes the process worthwhile for the recycler to engage in it (Laufenberg et al). An example of the latter is the use of dehydrated restaurant food waste as a feedstuff for finishing pigs, a reuse process with added value for all involved as this process produces both a nutritious food substance as well as a viable way of disposing of restaurant waste (Myer et al). In Japan, laws regarding food waste recycling, which are separate from those governing other organic waste, are ensuring that at least some of food waste is being converted into animal feed, especially for the pigs who are destined for human tables (Stuart). Other recycling/reuse is more complex and involves more lateral thinking, with the by-products from some food processing able to be utilised, for instance, in the production of dyes, toiletries and cosmetics (Henningsson et al), although many argue for the privileging of food production in the recycling of foodstuffs.Brewing is one such process that has been in the reuse spotlight recently as large companies seek to minimise their waste product so as to be able to market their processes as sustainable. In 2009, for example, the giant Foster’s Group (with over 150 brands of beer, wine, spirits and ciders) proudly claimed that it recycled or reused some 91.23% of 171,000 tonnes of operational waste, with only 8.77% of this going to landfill (Foster’s Group). The treatment and recycling of the massive amounts of water used for brewing, rinsing and cooling purposes (Braeken et al.; Fillaudeaua et al.) is of significant interest, and is leading to research into areas as diverse as the development microbial fuel cells—where added bacteria consume the water-soluble brewing wastes, thereby cleaning the water as well as releasing chemical energy that is then converted into electricity (Lagan)—to using nutrient-rich wastewater as the carbon source for creating bioplastics (Yu et al.).In order for the waste-recycling-reuse loop to be closed in the best way for securing food supplies, any new product salvaged and created from food waste has to be both usable, and used, as food (Stuart)—and preferably as a food source for people to consume. There is, however, considerable consumer resistance to such reuse. Resistance to reusing recycled water in Australia has been documented by the CSIRO, which identified negative consumer perception as one of the two primary impediments to water reuse, the other being the fundamental economics of the process (MacDonald & Dyack). This consumer aversion operates even in times of severe water shortages, and despite proof of the cleanliness and safety of the resulting treated water. There was higher consumer acceptance levels for using stormwater rather than recycled water, despite the treated stormwater being shown to have higher concentrations of contaminants (MacDonald & Dyack). This reveals the extent of public resistance to the potential consumption of recycled waste product when it is labelled as such, even when this consumption appears to benefit that public. Vegemite: From Waste Product to Australian IconIn this context, the savoury yeast spread Vegemite provides an example of how food processing waste can be repurposed into a new food product that can gain a high level of consumer acceptability. It has been able to retain this status despite half a century of Australian gastronomic multiculturalism and the wide embrace of a much broader range of foodstuffs. Indeed, Vegemite is so ubiquitous in Australian foodways that it is recognised as an international superbrand, a standing it has been able to maintain despite most consumers from outside Australasia finding it unpalatable (Rozin & Siegal). However, Vegemite’s long product history is one in which its origin as recycled waste has been omitted, or at the very least, consistently marginalised.Vegemite’s history as a consumer product is narrated in a number of accounts, including one on the Kraft website, where the apocryphal and actual blend. What all these narratives agree on is that in the early 1920s Fred Walker—of Fred Walker and Company, Melbourne, canners of meat for export and Australian manufacturers of Bonox branded beef stock beverage—asked his company chemist to emulate Marmite yeast extract (Farrer). The imitation product was based, as was Marmite, on the residue from spent brewer’s yeast. This waste was initially sourced from Melbourne-based Carlton & United Breweries, and flavoured with vegetables, spices and salt (Creswell & Trenoweth). Today, the yeast left after Foster Group’s Australian commercial beer making processes is collected, put through a sieve to remove hop resins, washed to remove any bitterness, then mixed with warm water. The yeast dies from the lack of nutrients in this environment, and enzymes then break down the yeast proteins with the effect that vitamins and minerals are released into the resulting solution. Using centrifugal force, the yeast cell walls are removed, leaving behind a nutrient-rich brown liquid, which is then concentrated into a dark, thick paste using a vacuum process. This is seasoned with significant amounts of salt—although less today than before—and flavoured with vegetable extracts (Richardson).Given its popularity—Vegemite was found in 2009 to be the third most popular brand in Australia (Brand Asset Consulting)—it is unsurprising to find that the product has a significant history as an object of study in popular culture (Fiske et al; White), as a marker of national identity (Ivory; Renne; Rozin & Siegal; Richardson; Harper & White) and as an iconic Australian food, brand and product (Cozzolino; Luck; Khamis; Symons). Jars, packaging and product advertising are collected by Australian institutions such as Sydney’s Powerhouse Museum and the National Museum of Australia in Canberra, and are regularly included in permanent and travelling exhibitions profiling Australian brands and investigating how a sense of national identity is expressed through identification with these brands. All of this significant study largely focuses on how, when and by whom the product has been taken up, and how it has been consumed, rather than its links to waste, and what this circumstance could add to current thinking about recycling of food waste into other food products.It is worth noting that Vegemite was not an initial success in the Australian marketplace, but this does not seem due to an adverse public perception to waste. Indeed, when it was first produced it was in imitation of an already popular product well-known to be made from brewery by-products, hence this origin was not an issue. It was also introduced during a time when consumer relationships to waste were quite unlike today, and thrifty re-use of was a common feature of household behaviour. Despite a national competition mounted to name the product (Richardson), Marmite continued to attract more purchasers after Vegemite’s launch in 1923, so much so that in 1928, in an attempt to differentiate itself from Marmite, Vegemite was renamed “Parwill—the all Australian product” (punning on the idea that “Ma-might” but “Pa-will”) (White 16). When this campaign was unsuccessful, the original, consumer-suggested name was reinstated, but sales still lagged behind its UK-owned prototype. It was only after remaining in production for more than a decade, and after two successful marketing campaigns in the second half of the 1930s that the Vegemite brand gained some market traction. The first of these was in 1935 and 1936, when a free jar of Vegemite was offered with every sale of an item from the relatively extensive Kraft-Walker product list (after Walker’s company merged with Kraft) (White). The second was an attention-grabbing contest held in 1937, which invited consumers to compose Vegemite-inspired limericks. However, it was not the nature of the product itself or even the task set by the competition which captured mass attention, but the prize of a desirable, exotic and valuable imported Pontiac car (Richardson 61; Superbrands).Since that time, multinational media company, J Walter Thompson (now rebranded as JWT) has continued to manage Vegemite’s marketing. JWT’s marketing has never looked to Vegemite’s status as a thrifty recycler of waste as a viable marketing strategy, even in periods of austerity (such as the Depression years and the Second World War) or in more recent times of environmental concern. Instead, advertising copywriting and a recurrent cycle of cultural/media memorialisation have created a superbrand by focusing on two factors: its nutrient value and, as the brand became more established, its status as national icon. Throughout the regular noting and celebration of anniversaries of its initial invention and launch, with various commemorative events and products marking each of these product ‘birthdays,’ Vegemite’s status as recycled waste product has never been more than mentioned. Even when its 60th anniversary was marked in 1983 with the laying of a permanent plaque in Kerferd Road, South Melbourne, opposite Walker’s original factory, there was only the most passing reference to how, and from what, the product manufactured at the site was made. This remained the case when the site itself was prioritised for heritage listing almost twenty years later in 2001 (City of Port Phillip).Shying away from the reality of this successful example of recycling food waste into food was still the case in 1990, when Kraft Foods held a nationwide public campaign to recover past styles of Vegemite containers and packaging, and then donated their collection to Powerhouse Museum. The Powerhouse then held an exhibition of the receptacles and the historical promotional material in 1991, tracing the development of the product’s presentation (Powerhouse Museum), an occasion that dovetailed with other nostalgic commemorative activities around the product’s 70th birthday. Although the production process was noted in the exhibition, it is noteworthy that the possibilities for recycling a number of the styles of jars, as either containers with reusable lids or as drinking glasses, were given considerably more notice than the product’s origins as a recycled product. By this time, it seems, Vegemite had become so incorporated into Australian popular memory as a product in its own right, and with such a rich nostalgic history, that its origins were no longer of any significant interest or relevance.This disregard continued in the commemorative volume, The Vegemite Cookbook. With some ninety recipes and recipe ideas, the collection contains an almost unimaginably wide range of ways to use Vegemite as an ingredient. There are recipes on how to make the definitive Vegemite toast soldiers and Vegemite crumpets, as well as adaptations of foreign cuisines including pastas and risottos, stroganoffs, tacos, chilli con carne, frijole dip, marinated beef “souvlaki style,” “Indian-style” chicken wings, curries, Asian stir-fries, Indonesian gado-gado and a number of Chinese inspired dishes. Although the cookbook includes a timeline of product history illustrated with images from the major advertising campaigns that runs across 30 pages of the book, this timeline history emphasises the technological achievement of Vegemite’s creation, as opposed to the matter from which it orginated: “In a Spartan room in Albert Park Melbourne, 20 year-old food technologist Cyril P. Callister employed by Fred Walker, conducted initial experiments with yeast. His workplace was neither kitchen nor laboratory. … It was not long before this rather ordinary room yielded an extra-ordinary substance” (2). The Big Vegemite Party Book, described on its cover as “a great book for the Vegemite fan … with lots of old advertisements from magazines and newspapers,” is even more openly nostalgic, but similarly includes very little regarding Vegemite’s obviously potentially unpalatable genesis in waste.Such commemorations have continued into the new century, each one becoming more self-referential and more obviously a marketing strategy. In 2003, Vegemite celebrated its 80th birthday with the launch of the “Spread the Smile” campaign, seeking to record the childhood reminisces of adults who loved Vegemite. After this, the commemorative anniversaries broke free from even the date of its original invention and launch, and began to celebrate other major dates in the product’s life. In this way, Kraft made major news headlines when it announced that it was trying to locate the children who featured in the 1954 “Happy little Vegemites” campaign as part of the company’s celebrations of the 50th anniversary of the television advertisement. In October 2006, these once child actors joined a number of past and current Kraft employees to celebrate the supposed production of the one-billionth jar of Vegemite (Rood, "Vegemite Spreads" & "Vegemite Toasts") but, once again, little about the actual production process was discussed. In 2007, the then iconic marching band image was resituated into a contemporary setting—presumably to mobilise both the original messages (nutritious wholesomeness in an Australian domestic context) as well as its heritage appeal. Despite the real interest at this time in recycling and waste reduction, the silence over Vegemite’s status as recycled, repurposed food waste product continued.Concluding Remarks: Towards Considering Waste as a ResourceIn most parts of the Western world, including Australia, food waste is formally (in policy) and informally (by consumers) classified, disposed of, or otherwise treated alongside garden waste and other organic materials. Disposal by individuals, industry or local governments includes a range of options, from dumping to composting or breaking down in anaerobic digestion systems into materials for fertiliser, with food waste given no special status or priority. Despite current concerns regarding the security of food supplies in the West and decades of recognising that there are sections of all societies where people do not have enough to eat, it seems that recycling food waste into food that people can consume remains one of the last and least palatable solutions to these problems. This brief study of Vegemite has attempted to show how, despite the growing interest in recycling and sustainability, the focus in both the marketing of, and public interest in, this iconic and popular product appears to remain rooted in Vegemite’s nutrient and nostalgic value and its status as a brand, and firmly away from any suggestion of innovative and prudent reuse of waste product. That this is so for an already popular product suggests that any initiatives that wish to move in this direction must first reconfigure not only the way waste itself is seen—as a valuable product to be used, rather than as a troublesome nuisance to be disposed of—but also our own understandings of, and reactions to, waste itself.Acknowledgements Many thanks to the reviewers for their perceptive, useful, and generous comments on this article. All errors are, of course, my own. The research for this work was carried out with funding from the Faculty of Arts, Business, Informatics and Education, CQUniversity, Australia.ReferencesAnderson, C. T. “Sacred Waste: Ecology, Spirit, and the American Garbage Poem.” Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 17 (2010): 35-60.Blake, J. The Vegemite Cookbook: Delicious Recipe Ideas. Melbourne: Ark Publishing, 1992.Braeken, L., B. Van der Bruggen and C. 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The Independent, 9 July 2009. 18 June 2010 ‹http://www.independent.co.uk/life-style/food-and-drink/features/exposed-the-big-waste-scandal-1737712.html›.Ivory, K. “Australia’s Vegemite”. Hemispheres (Jan. 1998): 83-5.Khamis, S. “Buy Australiana: Diggers, Drovers and Vegemite”. Write/Up. Eds. E. Hartrick, R. Hogg and S. Supski. St Lucia: API Network and UQP, 2004. 121-30.Lagan, B. “Australia Finds a New Power Source—Beer”. The Times 5 May 2007. 18 June 2010 ‹http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/science/article1749835.ece›.Laufenberg, G., B. Kunz and M. Nystroem. “Transformation of Vegetable Waste into Value Added Products: (A) The Upgrading Concept; (B) Practical Implementations [review paper].” Bioresource Technology 87 (2003): 167-98.Luck, P. Australian Icons: Things That Make Us What We Are. Melbourne: William Heinemann Australia, 1992.MacDonald, D. H., and B. Dyack. 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I. First Brexit, then Trump: Has the past year or so ushered in a “wave” (Weisberg), a “barrage” (Desmond-Harris) or a “deluge” (Sidahmed) of that notoriously noxious affect, hate? It certainly feels that way to those of us identified with progressive social and political causes—those of us troubled, not just by Trump’s recent electoral victory, but by the far-right forces to which that victory has given voice. And yet the questions still hanging over efforts to quantify emotional or affective states leaves the claim that there has been a clear spike in hate moot (Ngai 26; Massumi 136-7; Ahmed, Promise 3-8). So let’s try asking a different question. Has this same period seen a rise, across liberal media platforms, in the rhetorical work of “hate-attribution”? Here, at least, an answer seems in readier reach. For no one given to scrolling distractedly through liberal Anglophone media outlets, from The New York Times, to The Guardian, to Slate, will be unfamiliar with a species of journalism that, in reporting the appalling activities associated with what has become known as the “alt-right” (Main; Wallace-Wells; Gourarie), articulates those activities in the rubric of a calculable uptick in hate itself.Before the U.S. Presidential election, this fledgling journalistic genre was already testing its wings, its first shudderings felt everywhere from Univision anchor Jorge Ramos’s widely publicized documentary, Hate Rising (2016), which explores the rise of white supremacist movements across the South-West U.S, to an edition of Slate’s Trumpcast entitled “The Alt-Right and a Deluge of Hate,” which broached the torment-by-Twitter of left-wing journalist David French. In the wake of the election, and the appalling acts of harassment and intimidation it seemed to authorize, the genre gained further momentum—leading to the New Yorker’s “Hate Is on the Rise After Trump’s Election,” to The Guardian’s “Trump’s Election led to Barrage of Hate,” and to Vox’s “The Wave of Post-Election Hate Reportedly Sweeping the Nation, Explained.” And it still has traction today, judging not just by James King’s recent year-in-review column, “The Year in Hate: From Donald Trump to the Rise of the Alt-Right,” but by Salon’s “A Short History of Hate” which tracks the alt-right’s meteoric 2016 rise to prominence, and the New York Times’ recently launched hate-speech aggregator, “This Week in Hate.”As should already be clear from these brisk, thumbnail accounts of the texts in question, the phenomena alluded to by the titular term “hate” are not instances of hate per se, but rather instances of “hate-speech.” The word “hate,” in other words, is being deployed here not literally, to refer to an emotional state, but metonymically, as a shorthand for “hate-speech”—a by-now widely conventionalized and legally codified parlance originating with the U.N. Declaration to describe “violent or violence-inciting speech or acts that “aim or intend to inflict injury, or incite prejudice or hatred, against persons of groups” because of their ethnic, religious, sexual or social affiliation. And there is no doubt that, beyond the headlines, these articles do incredibly important work, drawing connections between, and drawing attention to, a host of harmful activities associated with the so-called “alt-right”—from a pair of mangled, pretzel-shaped swastikas graffiti-ed in a children’s playground, to acts of harassment, intimidation and violence against women, African-Americans, Latinos, Muslims, Jews, and LGBTQ people, to Trump’s own racist, xenophobic and misogynistic tweets. Yet the fact that an emotion-term like hate is being mobilized across these texts as a metonym for the “alt-right” is no oratorical curio. Rather, it perpetuates a pervasive way of thinking about the relationship between the alt-right (a political phenomenon) and hate (an emotional phenomenon) that should give pause to those of us committed to mining that vein of cultural symptomatology now consigned, across the social sciences and critical humanities, to affect theory. Specifically, these headlines inscribe, in miniature, a kind of micro-assessment, a micro-geography and micro-theory of hate. First, they suggest that, even prior to its incarnation in specific, and dangerous, forms of speech or action, hate is in and of itself anathema, a phenomenon so unquestioningly dangerous that a putative “rise” or “spike” in its net presence provides ample pretext for a news headline. Second, they propose that hate may be localized to a particular social or political group—a group subsisting, unsurprisingly, on that peculiarly contested frontier between the ideological alt-right and the American Midwest. And third, they imply that hate is so indubitably the single most significant source of the xenophobic, racist and sexist activities they go on to describe that it may be casually used as these activities’ lexical proxy. What is crystallizing here, I suggest, is what scholars of rhetoric dub a rhetorical “constellation” (Campbell and Jamieson 332)—a constellation from which hate emerges as, a) inherently problematic, b) localizable to the “alt-right,” and, c) the primary engine of the various activities and expressions we associate with them. This constellation of conventions for thinking about hate and its relationship to the activities of right-wing extremist movement has coalesced into a “genre” we might dub the genre of “hate-attribution.” Yet while it’s far from clear that the genre is an effective one in a political landscape that’s fast becoming a political battleground, it hasn’t appeared by chance. Treating “hate,” then, less as a descriptive “grid of analysis” (Sedgwick 152), than as a rhetorical projectile, this essay opens by interrogating the “hate-attribution” genre’s logic and querying its efficacy. Having done so, it approaches the concept of “alternatives” by asking: how might calling time on the genre help us think differently about both hate itself and about the forces catalyzing, and catalyzed by, Trump’s presidential campaign? II.The rhetorical power of the genre of hate-attribution, of course, isn’t too difficult to pin down. An emotion so thoroughly discredited that its assignment is now in and of itself a term of abuse (see, for example, the O.E.D’s freshly-expanded definition of the noun “hater”), hate is an emotion the Judeo-Christian tradition deems not just responsible for but practically akin to murder (John 3:1). In part as a result of this tradition, hate has proven thoroughly resistant to efforts to elevate it from the status of an expression of a subject’s pestiferous inner life to the status of a polemical response to an object in the world. Indeed, while a great deal of the critical energy amassing under the rubric of “affect theory” has recently been put into recuperating the strategic or diagnostic value of emotions long scorned as irrelevant to oppositional struggle—from irritation and envy, to depression, anger and shame (Ngai; Cvetkovich; Gould; Love)—hate has notably not been among them. In fact, those rare scholarly accounts of affect that do address “hate,” notably Ahmed’s excellent work on right-wing extremist groups in the United Kingdom, display an understandable reluctance to rehabilitate it for progressive thought (Cultural Politics). It should come as no surprise, then, that the genre of “hate-attribution” has a rare rhetorical power. In identifying “hate” as the source of a particular position, gesture or speech-act, we effectively drain said position, gesture or speech-act of political agency or representational power—reducing it from an at-least-potentially polemical action in or response to the world, to the histrionic expression of a reprehensible personhood. Yet because hate’s near-taboo status holds across the ideological and political spectrum, what is less clear is why the genre of hate-attribution has achieved such cachet in the liberal media in particular. The answer, I would argue, lies in the fact that the work of hate-attribution dovetails all too neatly with liberal political theory’s longstanding tendency to laminate its social and civic ideals to affective ideals like “love,” “sympathy,” “compassion,” and, when in a less demonstrative humor, “tolerance”. As Martha Nussbaum’s Political Emotions has recently shown, this tradition has an impressive philosophical pedigree, running from Aristotle’s philia (16), John Locke’s “toleration” and David Hume’s “sympathy” (69-75), to the twentieth century’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights, with its promotion of “tolerance and friendship among all nations, racial or religious groups.” And while the labour of what Lauren Berlant calls “liberal sentimentality” (“Poor Eliza”, 636) has never quite died away, it does seem to have found new strength with the emergence of the “intimate public sphere” (Berlant, Queen)—from its recent popular apotheosis in the Clinton campaign’s notorious “Love Trumps Hate” (a slogan in which “love,” unfortunately, came to look a lot like resigned technocratic quietism in the face of ongoing economic and environmental crisis [Zizek]), to its revival as a philosophical project among progressive scholars, many of them under the sway of the so-called “affective turn” (Nussbaum; Hardt; Sandoval; hooks). No surprise, then, that liberalism’s struggle to yoke itself to “love” should have as its eerie double a struggle to locate among its ideological and political enemies an increasingly reified “hate”. And while the examples of this project we’ve touched on so far have hailed from popular media, this set of protocols for thinking about hate and its relationship to the activities of right-wing extremist movements is not unique to media circles. It’s there in political discourse, as in ex-DNC chair Debbie Wasserman Schultz’s announcement, on MSNBC, that “Americans will unite against [Trump’s] hatred.” And it’s there, too, in academic media studies, from FLOW journal’s November 2016 call for papers inviting respondents to comment, among other things, on “the violence and hatred epitomized by Trump and his supporters,” to the SCMS conference’s invitation to members to participate in a pop-up panel entitled “Responding to Hate, Disenfranchisement and the Loss of the Commons.” Yet while the labor of hate-attribution to which many progressive forces have become attached carries an indisputable rhetorical force, it also has some profound rhetorical flaws. The very same stigma, after all, that makes “hate” such a powerful explanatory grenade to throw also makes it an incredibly tough one to land. As Ahmed’s analysis of the online rhetoric of white supremacist organizations should remind us (Cultural Politics), most groups structured around inciting and promoting violence against women and minorities identify, perversely, not as hate groups, but as movements propelled by the love of race and nation. And while left-wing pundits pronounce “hate” the signature emotion of a racist, misogynist Trump-voting right, supporters of Trump ascribe it, just as routinely, to the so-called “liberal elite,” a group whose mythical avatars—from the so-called “Social Justice Warrior” or “SJW,” to the supercilious Washington politico—are said to brand “ordinary [white, male] Americans” indiscriminately as racist, misogynistic, homophobic buffoons. Thus, for example, The Washington Post’s uncanny, far-right journalistic alter-ego, The Washington Times, dubs the SPLC a “liberal hate group”; the Wikipedia mirror-site, Conservapedia, recasts liberal objections to gun violence as “liberal hate speech” driven by an “irrational aversion to weapons”; while one blood-curdling sub-genre of reportage on Steve Bannon’s crypto-fascist soapbox, Breitbart News, is devoted to denouncing what it calls “ ‘anti-White Racism.’” It’s easy enough, of course, to defend the hate-attribution genre’s liberal incarnations while dismissing its right-wing variants as cynical, opportunistic shams, as Ahmed does (Cultural Politics)—thereby re-establishing the wellspring of hate where we are most comfortable locating it: among our political others. Yet to do so seems, in some sense, to perpetuate a familiar volley of hate-attribution. And to the extent that, as many media scholars have shown (Philips; Reed; Tett; Turow), our digital, networked political landscape is in danger of being reduced to a silo-ed discursive battleground, the ritual exchange of terminological grenades that everyone seems eager to propel across ideological lines, but that no one, understandably, seems willing to pick up, seems counter-productive to say the least.Even beyond the genre’s ultimate ineffectiveness, what should strike anyone used to reflecting on affect is how little justice it does to the ubiquity and intricacy of “hate” as an affective phenomenon. Hate is not and cannot be the exclusive property or preserve of one side of the political spectrum. One doesn’t have to stretch one’s critical faculties too far to see the extent to which the genre of hate-attribution participates in the emotional ballistics it condemns or seeks to redress. While trafficking in a relatively simple hate-paradigm (as a subjective emotional state that may be isolated to a particular person or group), the genre itself incarnates a more complex, socially dynamic model of hate in which the emotion operates through logics of projection perhaps best outlined by Freud. In the “hate-attribution” genre, that is, hate—like those equally abjected categories “sentimentality,” “worldliness” or “knowingness” broached by Sedgwick in her bravura analyses of “scapegoating attribution” (150-158)—finds its clearest expression in and through the labor of its own adscription. And it should come as no surprise that an emotion so widely devalued, where it is not openly prohibited, might also find expression in less overt form.Yet to say as much is by no means to discredit the genre. As legal scholar Jeremy Waldron has recently pointed out, there’s no particular reason why “the passions and emotions that lie behind a particular speech act” (34)—even up to and including hate—should devalue the speech acts they rouse. On the contrary, to pin the despicable and damaging activities of the so-called “alt right” on “hate” is, if anything, to do an injustice to a rich and complex emotion that can be as generative as it can be destructive. As Freud suggests in “Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego,” for example, hate may be the very seed of love, since the forms of “social feeling” (121) celebrated under the liberal rubric of “tolerance,” “love,” and “compassion,” are grounded in “the reversal of what was first a hostile feeling into a positively-toned tie in the nature of an identification” (121; italics mine). Indeed, Freud projects this same argument across a larger, historical canvas in Civilization and its Discontents, which contends that it is in our very struggle to combat our “aggressive instincts” that human communities have developed “methods intended to incite people into identifications and aim-inhibited relationships of love” (31). For Freud, that is, the practice of love is a function of ongoing efforts to see hate harnessed, commuted and transformed. III.What might it mean, then, to call time on this round of hate-attribution? What sort of “alternatives” might emerge when we abandon the assumption that political engagement entails a “struggle over who has the right to declare themselves as acting out of love” (Ahmed, Cultural Politics 131), and thus, by that same token, a struggle over the exact location and source of hate? One boon, I suggest, is the license it gives those of us on the progressive left to simply own our own hate. There’s little doubt that reframing the dangerous and destructive forms of speech fomented by Trump’s campaign, not as eruptions of hate, or even as “hate-speech,” but as speech we hate would be more consistent with what once seemed affect theory’s first commandment: to take our own affective temperature before launching headlong into critical analysis. After all, when Lauren Berlant (“Trump”) takes a stab at economist Paul Krugman’s cautions against “the Danger of Political Emotions” with the timely reminder that “all the messages are emotional,” the “messages” she’s pointing to aren’t just those of our political others, they’re ours; and the “emotions” she’s pointing to aren’t just the evacuated, insouciant versions of love championed by the Clinton campaign, they’re of the messier, or as Ngai might put it, “uglier” (2) variety—from shame, depression and anger, to, yes, I want to insist, hate.By way of jump-starting this program of hate-avowal, then, let me just say it: this essay was animated, in part, by a certain kind of hate. The social critic in me hates the breathtaking simplification of the complex social, economic and emotional forces animating Trump voters that seem to actuate some liberal commentary; the psychologist in me hates the self-mystification palpable in the left’s insistence on projecting and thus disowning its own (often very well justified) aggressions; and the human being in me, hating the kind of toxic speech to which Trump’s campaign has given rise, wishes to be able to openly declare that hatred. Among its other effects, hate is characterized by hypervigilance for lapses or failings in an object it deems problematic, a hypervigilance that—sometimes—animates analysis (Zeki and Romoya). In this sense, “hate” seems entitled to a comfortable place in the ranks of what Nick Salvato has recently dubbed criticism’s creative “obstructions”—phenomena that, while “routinely identified as detriments” to critical inquiry, may also “form the basis for … critical thinking” (1).Yet while one boon associated with this disclosure might be a welcome intellectual honesty, a more significant boon, I’d argue, is what getting this disclosure out of the way might leave room for. Opting out of the game of hurling “hate” back and forth across a super-charged political arena, that is, we might devote our column inches and Facebook posts to the less sensational but more productive task of systematically challenging the specious claims, and documenting the damaging effects, of a species of utterance (Butler; Matsuda; Waldron) we’ve grown used to simply descrying as pure, distilled “hate”. And we also might do something else. Relieved of the confident conviction that we can track “Trumpism” to a spontaneous outbreak of a single, localizable emotion, we might be able to offer a fuller account of the economic, social, political and affective forces that energize it. Certainly, hate plays a part here—although the process by which, as Isabelle Stengers puts it, affect “make[s] present, vivid and mattering … a worldly world” (371) demands that we scrutinize that hate as a syndrome, rather than simply moralize it as a sin, addressing its mainsprings in a moment marked by the nerve-fraying and life-fraying effects of what has become known across the social sciences and critical humanities as conditions of social and economic “precarity” (Muehlebach; Neil and Rossiter; Stewart).But perhaps hate’s not the only emotion tucked away under the hood. Here’s something affect theory knows today: affect moves not, as more traditional theorists of political emotion have it, “unambiguously and predictably from one’s cognitive processing,” but in ways that are messy, muddled and indirect (Gould 24). That form of speech is speech we hate. But it may not be “hate speech.” That crime is a crime we hate. But it may not be a “hate-crime.” One of the critical tactics we might crib from Berlant’s work in Cruel Optimism is that of decoding and decrypting, in even the most hateful acts, an instance of what Berlant, herself optimistically, calls “optimism.” For Berlant, after all, optimism is very often cruel, attaching itself, as it seems to have done in 2016, to scenes, objects and people that, while ultimately destined to “imped[e] the aim that brought [it to them] initially,” nevertheless came to seem, to a good portion of the electorate, the only available exponent of that classic good-life genre, “the change that’s gonna come” (“Trump” 1-2) at a moment when the Democratic party’s primary campaign promise was more of the free-market same. And in a recent commentary on Trump’s rise in The New Inquiry (“Trump”), Berlant exemplified the kind of critical code-breaking this hypothesis might galvanize, deciphering a twisted, self-mutilating optimism in even the most troublesome acts, claims or positions. Here’s one translation: “Anti-P.C. means: I feel unfree.” And here’s another: “people react negatively, reactively and literally to Black Lives Matter, reeling off the other ‘lives’ that matter.” Berlant’s transcription? “They feel that they don’t matter, and they’re not wrong.”ReferencesAhmed, Sara. The Promise of Happiness. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010.———. The Cultural Politics of Emotion. London: Routledge, 2004.Aristotle. Rhetoric. Trans. W. Rhys Roberts. New York: Cosimo Classics, 2010.———. Politics. Trans. Ernest Barker. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995.Berlant, Lauren. Cruel Optimism. 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The mediocre teacher tells. The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires. — William Arthur WardIntroductionThe first documented use of the term Mentor can be traced back to the 8th century BC poem by Homer entitled Odyssey (Hay, Gerber and Minichiello). Although this original representation of Mentor is contested in the literature (Colley), historically the term mentor has evolved to imply a wise and trusted other who advises, teaches, protects and supports someone younger who is inexperienced and not so knowledgeable with the ways of the world. The mentor within a 21st century construct still aligns to this historical portrayal, however the evolution of society, the influence of technology, the growth of entrepreneurship, and a greater understanding of the impact of our interactions with others has forced us to consider mentoring in contemporary ways. As such, popular culture, through books, film and images, provide many impressions of the mentor and what it means to mentor in both historical and contemporary circumstances. Similarly, popular culture provides us with a variety of impressions of the teacher. Throughout old and new history, teaching is considered to be a honourable profession, one that is complex and involves specific skills and knowledge to be effective (Marsh). Society has high expectations of teachers as they are entrusted with shaping the future generation (Parkay). Although the levels of respect and trust of teachers changes within different cultural circumstances, society allows teachers to be one of the most influential figures in a child’s life. Popular film often picks up on this theme and portrays teachers as inspirational figures, pillars of society and those that can have a major influence over the development of the student’s in their care. Within the brief story that a film provides, teachers are more often than not, positioned as a ‘mentor type’ figure to the students entrusted in their care, who guides and supports them to become who they want to be. This paper explores the constructs of the mentor and mentorship through a popular culture lens. Culture is broadly described as the “bricks and mortar of our most commonplace understandings” (Willis 185) and our understandings are shaped by what we see, hear and do. The paper is framed by and seeks to answer the following question: To what extent is the teacher as mentor portrayed in popular film a realistic image? Accordingly this paper will examine the rise of the teacher as mentor and determine what images are portrayed through the medium of film. In order to answer the question, the paper will briefly examine current literature for the characteristics and roles of mentors and teachers. The paper will then delve into the way that teachers are portrayed in film and will be followed by an examination of a selection of films that portray teachers as mentors. A comparison will be made between the characteristics of mentors and the characteristics that the movie teachers display. Analysis through the use of reader-response theory will provide insight into the extent of the reality of the teacher as mentor that are portrayed. Mentors and Teachers: A Review of Selected Literature Mentoring consists of a series of interactions that can be of a social, intellectual or emotional nature (Lentz and Allen). Mentoring can be described as a helping relationship whereby two or more people work together in order to achieve personal and professional goals (Johnson and Ridley). Effective mentoring is also known to be mutually beneficial to all participants (Ambrosetti, Knight and Dekkers). When scanning the literature there are a number of common descriptors that are used consistently to situate the interactions a mentor undertakes: supporter, guide, advisor, teacher, protector and counselor (Sundli; Hall et al.). Such descriptors indicate that a mentor performs a series of roles that change according to the needs of those being mentored (Ambrosetti and Dekkers). If the mentor has a series of roles to perform, then it is logical that the mentee also will also have a number of roles to play, however these are lnot well documented in the literature. The roles that both mentors and mentees play during a relationship can be identified and underpinned through the three dimensions of mentoring: the relationship itself, the developmental needs of the participants and the integration of the context in which the mentoring is situated (Ambrosetti, Knight and Dekkers). The interactions that a mentor engages in with a mentee span over a number of dimensions and are often reactive in nature. The three dimensions of mentoring can assist in describing a mentor and the roles they play. The relational dimension includes such roles as supporter, protector, friend and counselor. The roles of guide, teacher/trainer, collaborator, facilitator and reflector can be classified as developmental whereas being a role model can be both a developmental role and contextual role (230). There are a number of characteristics that are common to a mentor. Johnson and Ridley summarize them to include the following traits: exuding warmth, listening actively, showing unconditional regard, tolerating idealization, embracing humor, not expecting perfection, being trustworthy, having interpersonal competence, respecting another’s values and not being jealous of the mentee (43-62). The above list of traits are personal and often linked to personality, thus can be connected explicitly to the relational dimension of mentoring. The possession (or non-possession) of such traits can impact on the interactions that occur within mentorship. Accordingly it can be assumed that the characteristics, in conjunction with the roles that mentors play, that not everyone is suited to the role of mentor. Most people have experienced schooling at some stage in their life and is therefore familiar with the role of a teacher. Teaching is one most well known professions and can be described as a “creative act in which teachers continually shape and reshape lessons, events and the experiences of their students”(Parkay 45). The role of a teacher is to teach both knowledge and skills to their learners in order to prepare them as citizens for the future. More specifically, the role of the teacher is to design and deliver learning experiences that cater for and challenge the learners, that develop skills and knowledge both inside and outside of the classroom, and help them become confident, creative and responsible citizens. Despite this important role, the image of teachers is split between two types: one that is bitter, spiteful and egocentric, and the other being caring, accepting and reflective (Connell). We remember teachers according to such categories. The types of characteristics that teachers hold are extensive, however the following encompasses those that are key within the literature. Teachers generally have compassion, empathy and a caring nature. They can be flexible, creative, personable, humorous, positive, knowledgeable, motivational and dependable. Teachers are often well organised people, fair minded and resourceful (Howell). When examining the characteristics of teachers and the traits of mentors, similarities can be seen indicating that a particular type of person may be more suited to being a teacher and/or mentor. Teachers as Mentors in Film Teachers seem to be a popular subject of feature films. Films such as Goodbye Mr Chips (1939), Blackboard Jungle (1955) and To Sir with Love (1967) provide us with insight into the way teachers are portrayed in society and the role they play. Film however, has the specific ability to shape the cultural understanding we develop and allows us to make comparisons to our own experiences and those that are played out in fictional circumstances (Delamarter). While there are some films that provide a negative portrayal of teachers, generally they provide a view that teachers are positive influences on the students in their care.A search of the World Wide Web about the teacher as mentor brings up a treasure trove of film titles that span from the 1930s to the present day. Despite such a choice of titles, the following films have been selected to examine in this paper: Dead Poets Society (1989), Dangerous Minds (1995), Freedom Writers (2007) and the Harry Potter series of films (2001-2011). Selection of these films was based on the following two criteria: 1) they occurred within in a school setting and 2) are embedded within a contemporary theme of struggle where rebellion and/or other teenage angst are highlighted. Reader-response theory will underpin the analysis of the teachers in each of the films selected, so that an answer to the earlier posed question can be illuminated. Broadly speaking, reader-response theory is concerned with how readers, or in this case viewers, “make meaning from their experience with the text” (Beach 1). There are many perspectives on reader-response theory and how one might focus upon when responding to a text. In this instance the author will highlight the transaction that occurs between the reader, the text and the context. The transactions will include the social, cultural, experiential, psychological and textual viewpoints (Beach 8). Firstly, each film will be briefly described. This will be followed by an analysis of the teachers portrayed in the films. Dead Poets Society (1989) is set at a conservative secondary boys academy in the late 1950s and focuses on a group of students completing their senior year. Mr Keating is a new English teacher who uses unconventional teaching methods in the classroom. He inspires his students to ‘seize the day’ and ‘make your lives extraordinary’ and does this through the teaching of poetry. He encourages them to stand on desks during his lessons and to throw out tradition. It is Keating’s messages to his students to question what they believe that permeates the film and inspires his students to pursue what they want to do and become. The film Dangerous Minds (1995) is set in a low socio-economic area, where un-privilege and protecting yourself is a way of life. The teacher in this film is new and young, but is an ex US Marine. The class the film centres on is a difficult one to teach. This teacher uses unorthodox methods to gain the attention and trust of her students. The film makes a point to show us that she makes particular effort to relate the curriculum to the students’ interests in order to engage them in learning. Emphasis is also on the fact that she takes an interest in the students and many become her ‘personal projects’ and helping them to realize who they can become. Freedom Writers (2007) is set in the years directly following the Los Angeles riots of 1992 whereby issues of racism, segregation and inequality along with the changing view of the world is the focus. The students in the classrooms of this film are from diverse backgrounds and un-trusting of the education system. Their teacher is new and young and her first attempts to earn their trust fail until she begins to get to know the students and make links between what is being taught to their own lives. She inspires her class to learn tolerance, apply themselves and pursue further education. In the Harry Potter (2001-2011) series of films, there are several teachers who make an impact upon the young wizards. Although set in a fantasy world, the audience is treated to both inspirational teachers looking to nurture, protect and develop their charges, and teachers who are painted as egocentric and suspicious. Inspirational teachers include Dumbledore and McGonagall who offer subtle life lessons, specific skills and knowledge and protect the young wizards from danger. Egocentric and somewhat suspicious teachers include Snape and Quirrell who look to thwart the wizard’s time at school, however they too offer subtle life lessons to their students. The theme of good versus evil is paramount throughout the film series and the teachers are aligned with this theme.Teachers as Mentors – An AnalysisAlthough only a brief description of each film has been offered, the teachers as mentors to their students is the focus. Mr Keating (Dead Poets Society) and LouAnne Johnson (Dangerous Minds) are both described as unorthodox as they each use teaching methods that are frowned upon by others. However their purposeful and different teaching methods draw their students into their lessons so that life learning can occur. In each film, the unorthodox teaching touches the students in ways unknown to them before and in both cases the students demonstrate intellectual and personal growth. The unorthodox methods provide an avenue for a different relationship that is far from the traditional. In some scenes friendship is hinted at where guiding and supporting the students towards their hopes and dreams is highlighted. Aspects of mentoring can be seen through relational, developmental and contextual domains as the students are supported, guided and provided explicit role modeling. The young teacher in Freedom Writers, Erin Gruwell, uses a teaching approach that includes taking time to get to know her students. This approach, like Keating and Johnson, provides the opportunity to tweak the curriculum to the interests of the students and thus engage them in academic learning. They teach skills and knowledge in ways which relate to the students’ lives and interests. They guide, support the students towards the unfamiliar and facilitate opportunities for success. They help them to set goals and make them realise that they have a future and can be successful in their lives. The transformations that occur due to the teaching approaches used by the teachers cause their students admire and want to be like them. In Harry Potter, teachers Dumbledore and McGonagall are wise in years and life experience. They offer wisdom, protection and guidance to the young wizards throughout the series. These teachers, like Keating, Johnson and Gruwell, are role models in that they represent what life can be like and how best to achieve that life. Snape and Quirell also take an interest in their students, but represent an alternative view of life and learning. The difference between the four Harry Potter teachers can be drilled down to the traits of effective teachers. Two of which emulate the traits and two whom do not readily display any of the traits. Dumbledore and McGonagall can be considered as teacher mentors whereas Snape and Quirell cannot. In each film the student can be seen as central to the teacher as mentor and this in turn influences the way in which they behave. The teachers in these films pass on life lessons through their teaching. Throughout the films the teachers are guiding, supporting, befriending, protecting and training their charges. Interactions that occur between the teachers and the students are followed by a reflective phase by the teachers, whereby solutions to problems are sought or self-realisation occurs. In many instances the films show the teacher learning from the student and thus learning their own life lessons through reflection. From a social and cultural perspective, what is portrayed within the storylines are often close to the reality of what is expected from teachers. In many instances these lead towards a stereotyping of who teachers are and how they behave. However, from an experiential point of view, our expectations of the actions that teachers undertake do not usually take such form. In reality, teachers are busy people with a complex job to do (Connell) and often do not have time to take personal interest in all of their students individually. The teachers within the films chosen seem to have one class to prepare for, whereas in reality, a school teacher will have many classes to consider. Psychologically, some teachers and the style they embrace appeal to a particular a type of student or group of students. In the case of Dead Poets Society, Dangerous Minds and Freedom Writers, the storyline painted the students as those needing a particular type of teacher, someone who would save them from their circumstance and visa versa. The textual perspective was well highlighted by the teachers in the Harry Potter films as the viewer expects to see teachers with rather unusual but interesting teaching styles. However the text (within all films) included insight into mentor characteristics such as warmth, humour, tolerance, respect and unconditional regards. Generally, the films examined highlight two different types of teachers, challenging the categories written about by Connell. The first type of teacher highlighted was one who was seen as being more contemporary. One who is individual, unorthodox, and maybe a little rebellious; this teacher highlights that you need to be ‘different’ to make a difference. The second type was one who aligns to the traditional form of teacher; one who uses their knowledge, wisdom and life experience to break through to their student. Each of the films were underpinned by the relationship, the developmental needs and the context in which the narrative was played out, however the relationship between the students and the teacher was highlighted as being central to the storyline. Thus films of this nature often portray teachers as those who help their students in the emotional sense rather than the intellectual sense (Delamarter). Conclusion Several understandings about the teacher as mentor have been brought to light through the examination of the teacher as mentor in film. Firstly, in revisiting the mentoring definitions offered within this paper, it can be said that the teachers highlighted in the discussed films were mentoring their students in a way unique to the relationship developed between teacher and student. In each instance the teacher worked with their students to identify teaching approaches that would be successful in the context in which they were situated. Each film demonstrated that the teachers were committed to creating a relationship that met the developmental needs of their students. Interestingly, it was observed that the relationships were mutually beneficial in that the teachers grew along with the students with many coming to realisations about themselves through reflection and self thought. Secondly, the teachers within the films were portrayed as playing several important roles within their students’ lives. The teachers were role models inside and outside of the classroom. Each film’s storyline positioned the teacher as an influential other, whether they be portrayed as rebellious and unorthodox, evil and suspicious or inspirational and wise. The teachers in these films can be considered as mentors as they were supporting, guiding, protecting and nurturing the students to become better versions of themselves. However, the question that this article sought to answer was: to what extent is the teacher as mentor portrayed in popular film a realistic image? In looking back at the image the teacher in society and the role that they play in developing citizens of the future, it can be said the image presented has slivers of realism. In the real world, teachers must conform to society’s expectations, educational policies and codes of professionalism. Professional relationships with students do not encompass them in behave a student as a ‘personal project’, although catering to their needs is encouraged within the curriculum. It would be thought that if teachers did not encourage their students to be the best they can be, then they would not be doing their job. Many figures throughout our cultural history have been viewed as a mentor due to the role they play and how these roles align to societal beliefs and values. Thus, the portrayal of mentors and mentorship through a popular culture lens provides insight into our understanding about what mentorship is and how this may develop in the future. Both in the past and present, teachers are seen as inspirational figures and pillars of society, and are often considered a mentor by default. Films portray teachers in a variety of fashions, however there are many films that subtly position the teacher as a mentor to their students and it is this that this article has focused on. ReferencesAmbrosetti, Angelina, and John Dekkers. “The Interconnectedness of the Roles of Mentors and Mentees in Pre-Service Teacher Education Mentoring Relationships.” Australian Journal of Teacher Education 35.6 (2010): 42-55.Ambrosetti, Angelina, Bruce Allen Knight, and John Dekkers. “Maximizing the Potential of Mentoring: A Framework for Pre-Service Teacher Education.” Mentoring and Tutoring: Partnership in Learning 22.3 (2014): 224-39.Beach, Richard. A Teacher’s Response to Reader-Response Theories. Illinois: National Council Teachers of English, 1993.Blackboard Jungle. Directed by Richard Brooks. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1955.Colley, Helen. “Righting Rewritings of the Myth of Mentor: A Critical Perspective on Career Guidance Mentoring.” British Journal of Guidance & Counselling 29.2 (2001): 177-197.Connell, Raewyn. “Teachers.” Education, Change and Society. Eds. Raewyn Connell, Anthony Welch, Margaret Vickers, Dennis Foley, Nigel Bagnall, Debra Hayes, Helen Proctor, Arathi Sriprakash, and Craig Campbell. South Melbourne: Oxford, 2013. 261-275.Dangerous Minds. Directed by John N. Smith. Hollywood Pictures/Don Simpson/Jerry Bruckheimer Films/Via Rosa Productions, 1995.Dead Poets Society. Directed by Peter Weir. Touchstone Pictures/Silver Screen Partners IV, 1989.Delamater, Jeremy. “Avoiding Practice Shock: Using Teacher Movies to Realign Pre-Service Teachers’ Expectations of Teaching.” Australian Journal of Teacher Education 40.2 (2015): 1-14.Freedom Writers. Directed by Richard LaGravenese. Paramount Pictures, 2007.Goodbye Mr Chips. Directed by Sam Wood. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Denham Studios, 1939.Hall, Kendra M., Rani Jo Draper, Leigh K. Smith, and Robert V. Bullough. “More than a Place to Teach: Exploring the Perceptions of the Roles and Responsibilities of Mentor Teachers.” Mentoring and Tutoring: Partnership in Learning 16.3 (2008): 328-45.Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. Directed by Chris Columbus. Heyday Films/1492 Pictures, 2001.Hay, Terence, Rod Gerber, and Victor Minichiello. “Mentorship: A Review of the Concept.” Unicorn 25.2 (1999): 84-95.Howell, Jennifer. Teaching and Learning: Building Effective Pedagogies. South Melbourne, Vic.: Oxford University Press, 2014.Lentz, Elizabeth, and Tammy D. Allen. “Reflections on Naturally Occurring Mentoring Relationships.” The Blackwell Handbook of Mentoring: A Multiple Perspectives Approach. Eds. Tammy D. Allen and Lillian T. Eby. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2007. 159-162.Johnson, W. Brad, and Charles R. Ridley. The Elements of Mentoring. New York, NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. Marsh, Colin. Becoming a Teacher: Knowledge Skills and Issues. 5th ed. Frenchs Forest Pearson, 2010.Parkay, Forrest W. Becoming a Teacher. 9th ed. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson.Sundli, Liv. “Mentoring: A New Mantra for Education?” Teaching and Teacher Education 23 (2007): 201-14.To Sir with Love. Directed by James Clavell. Columbia British Productions, 1967.Willis, Paul. “Shop-Floor Culture, Masculinity and the Wage Form.” Working Class Culture: Studies in History and Theory. Eds. John Clarke, Chas Critcher, and Richard Johnson. Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge, 2007. 185-200.

The brand began, quite literally, as a method for ranchers to identify their cattle. By burning a distinct symbol into the hide of a baby calf, the owner could insure that if it one day wandered off his property or was stolen by a competitor, he’d be able to point to that logo and claim the animal as his rightful property. When the manufacturers of products adopted the brand as a way of guaranteeing the quality of their goods, its function remained pretty much the same. Buying a package of oats with the Quaker label meant the customer could trace back these otherwise generic oats to their source. If there was a problem, he knew where he could turn. More important, if the oats were of satisfactory or superior quality, he knew where he could get them again. Trademarking a brand meant that no one else could call his oats Quaker. Advertising in this innocent age simply meant publicizing the existence of one’s brand. The sole objective was to increase consumers awareness of the product or company that made it. Those who even thought to employ specialists for the exclusive purpose of writing ad copy hired newspaper reporters and travelling salesmen, who knew how to explain the attributes of an item in words that people tended to remember. It wasn’t until 1922 that a preacher and travelling “medicine show” salesman-turned-copywriter named Claude Hopkins decided that advertising should be systematized into a science. His short but groundbreaking book Scientific Advertising proposed that the advertisement is merely a printed extension of the salesman¹s pitch and should follow the same rules. Hopkins believed in using hard descriptions over hype, and text over image: “The more you tell, the more you sell” and “White space is wasted space” were his mantras. Hopkins believed that any illustrations used in an ad should be directly relevant to the product itself, not just a loose or emotional association. He insisted on avoiding “frivolity” at all costs, arguing that “no one ever bought from a clown.” Although some images did appear in advertisements and on packaging as early as the 1800s - the Quaker Oats man showed up in 1877 - these weren¹t consciously crafted to induce psychological states in customers. They were meant just to help people remember one brand over another. How better to recall the brand Quaker than to see a picture of one? It wasn’t until the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s, as Americans turned toward movies and television and away from newspapers and radio, that advertisers’ focus shifted away from describing their brands and to creating images for them. During these decades, Midwestern adman Leo Burnett concocted what is often called the Chicago school of advertising, in which lovable characters are used to represent products. Green Giant, which was originally just the Minnesota Valley Canning Company’s code name for an experimental pea, became the Jolly Green Giant in young Burnett’s world of animated characters. He understood that the figure would make a perfect and enticing brand image for an otherwise boring product and could also serve as a mnemonic device for consumers. As he watched his character grow in popularity, Burnett discovered that the mythical figure of a green giant had resonance in many different cultures around the world. It became a kind of archetype and managed to penetrate the psyche in more ways than one. Burnett was responsible for dozens of character-based brand images, including Tony the Tiger, Charlie the Tuna, Morris the Cat, and the Marlboro Man. In each case, the character creates a sense of drama, which engages the audience in the pitch. This was Burnett’s great insight. He still wanted to sell a product based on its attributes, but he knew he had to draw in his audience using characters. Brand images were also based on places, like Hidden Valley Ranch salad dressing, or on recognizable situations, such as the significant childhood memories labelled “Kodak moments” or a mother nurturing her son on a cold day, a defining image for Campbell’s soup. In all these cases, however, the moment, location, or character went only so far as to draw the audience into the ad, after which they would be subjected to a standard pitch: ‘Soup is good food’, or ‘Sorry, Charlie, only the best tuna get to be Starkist’. Burnett saw himself as a homespun Midwesterner who was contributing to American folklore while speaking in the plain language of the people. He took pride in the fact that his ads used words like “ain’t”; not because they had some calculated psychological effect on the audience, but because they communicated in a natural, plainspoken style. As these methods found their way to Madison Avenue and came to be practiced much more self-consciously, Burnett¹s love for American values and his focus on brand attributes were left behind. Branding became much more ethereal and image-based, and ads only occasionally nodded to a product’s attributes. In the 1960s, advertising gurus like David Ogilvy came up with rules about television advertising that would have made Claude Hopkins shudder. “Food in motion” dictated that food should always be shot by a moving camera. “Open with fire” meant that ads should start in a very exciting and captivating way. Ogilvy told his creatives to use supers - text superimposed on the screen to emphasize important phrases and taglines. All these techniques were devised to promote brand image, not the product. Ogilvy didn’t believe consumers could distinguish between products were it not for their images. In Ogilvy on Advertising, he explains that most people cannot tell the difference between their own “favourite” whiskey and the closest two competitors’: ‘Have they tried all three and compared the taste? Don¹t make me laugh. The reality is that these three brands have different images which appeal to different kinds of people. It isn¹t the whiskey they choose, it’s the image. The brand image is ninety percent of what the distiller has to sell.’ (Ogilvy, 1993). Thus, we learned to “trust our car to the man who wears the star” not because Texaco had better gasoline than Shell, but because the company’s advertisers had created a better brand image. While Burnett and his disciples were building brand myths, another school of advertisers was busy learning about its audience. Back in the 1920s, Raymond Rubicam, who eventually founded the agency Young and Rubicam, thought it might be interesting to hire a pollster named Dr. Gallup from Northwestern University to see what could be gleaned about consumers from a little market research. The advertising industry’s version of cultural anthropology, or demographics, was born. Like the public-relations experts who study their target populations in order to manipulate them later, marketers began conducting polls, market surveys, and focus groups on the segments of the population they hoped to influence. And to draw clear, clean lines between demographic groups, researchers must almost always base distinctions on four factors: race, age, sex, and wages. Demographic research is reductionist by design. I once consulted to an FM radio station whose station manager wanted to know, “Who is our listener?” Asking such a question reduces an entire listenership down to one fictional person. It’s possible that no single individual will ever match the “customer profile” meant to apply to all customers, which is why so much targeted marketing often borders on classist, racist, and sexist pandering. Billboards for most menthol cigarettes, for example, picture African-Americans because, according to demographic research, black people prefer them to regular cigarettes. Microsoft chose Rolling Stones songs to launch Windows 95, a product targeted at wealthy baby boomers. “The Women’s Global Challenge” was an advertising-industry-created Olympics for women, with no purpose other than to market to active females. By the 1970s, the two strands of advertising theory - demographic research and brand image - were combined to develop campaigns that work on both levels. To this day, we know to associate Volvos with safety, Dr. Pepper with individuality, and Harley-Davidson with American heritage. Each of these brand images is crafted to appeal to the target consumer’s underlying psychological needs: Volvo ads are aimed at upper-middle-class white parents who fear for their children’s health and security, Dr. Pepper is directed to young nonconformists, and the Harley-Davidson image supports its riders’ self-perception as renegades. Today’s modern (or perhaps postmodern) brands don’t invent a corporate image on their own; they appropriate one from the media itself, such as MetLife did with Snoopy, Butterfinger did with Bart Simpson, or Kmart did by hiring Penny Marshall and Rosie O’Donnell. These mascots were selected because their perceived characteristics match the values of their target consumers - not the products themselves. In the language of today’s marketers, brand images do not reflect on products but on advertisers’ perceptions of their audiences’ psychology. This focus on audience composition and values has become the standard operating procedure in all of broadcasting. When Fox TV executives learned that their animated series “King of the Hill”, about a Texan propane distributor, was not faring well with certain demographics, for example, they took a targeted approach to their character’s rehabilitation. The Brandweek piece on Fox’s ethnic campaign uncomfortably dances around the issue. Hank Hill is the proverbial everyman, and Fox wants viewers to get comfortable with him; especially viewers in New York, where “King of the Hill”’s homespun humor hasn’t quite caught on with the young urbanites. So far this season, the show has pulled in a 10.1 rating/15 share in households nationally, while garnering a 7.9 rating/12 share in New York (Brandweek, 1997) As far as Fox was concerned, while regular people could identify with the network’s new “everyman” character, New Yorkers weren’t buying his middle-American patter. The television show’s ratings proved what TV executives had known all along: that New York City’s Jewish demographic doesn’t see itself as part of the rest of America. Fox’s strategy for “humanizing” the character to those irascible urbanites was to target the group’s ethnographic self-image. Fox put ads for the show on the panels of sidewalk coffee wagons throughout Manhattan, with the tagline “Have a bagel with Hank”. In an appeal to the target market’s well-developed (and well-researched) cynicism, Hank himself is shown saying, “May I suggest you have that with a schmear”. The disarmingly ethnic humor here is meant to underscore the absurdity of a Texas propane salesman using a Jewish insider’s word like “schmear.” In another Upper West Side billboard, Hank’s son appeals to the passing traffic: “Hey yo! Somebody toss me up a knish!” As far as the New York demographic is concerned, these jokes transform the characters from potentially threatening Southern rednecks into loveable hicks bending over backward to appeal to Jewish sensibilities, and doing so with a comic and, most important, nonthreatening inadequacy. Today, the most intensely targeted demographic is the baby - the future consumer. Before an average American child is twenty months old, he can recognize the McDonald’s logo and many other branded icons. Nearly everything a toddler encounters - from Band-Aids to underpants - features the trademarked characters of Disney or other marketing empires. Although this target market may not be in a position to exercise its preferences for many years, it pays for marketers to imprint their brands early. General Motors bought a two-page ad in Sports Illustrated for Kids for its Chevy Venture minivan. Their brand manager rationalized that the eight-to-fourteen-year-old demographic consists of “back-seat consumers” (Leonhardt, 1997). The real intention of target marketing to children and babies, however, goes deeper. The fresh neurons of young brains are valuable mental real estate to admen. By seeding their products and images early, the marketers can do more than just develop brand recognition; they can literally cultivate a demographic’s sensibilities as they are formed. A nine-year-old child who can recognize the Budweiser frogs and recite their slogan (Bud-weis-er) is more likely to start drinking beer than one who can remember only Tony the Tiger yelling, “They¹re great!” (Currently, more children recognize the frogs than Tony.) This indicates a long-term coercive strategy. The abstraction of brand images from the products they represent, combined with an increasing assault on our demographically targeted psychological profiles, led to some justifiable consumer paranoia by the 1970s. Advertising was working on us in ways we couldn’t fully understand, and people began to look for an explanation. In 1973, Wilson Bryan Key, a communications researcher, wrote the first of four books about “subliminal advertising,” in which he accused advertisers of hiding sexual imagery in ice cubes, and psychoactive words like “sex” onto the airbrushed surfaces of fashion photographs. Having worked on many advertising campaigns from start to finish, in close proximity to everyone from copywriters and art directors to printers, I can comfortably put to rest any rumours that major advertising agencies are engaging in subliminal campaigns. How do images that could be interpreted as “sexual” show up in ice cubes or elbows? The final photographs chosen for ads are selected by committee out of hundreds that are actually shot. After hours or days of consideration, the group eventually feels drawn to one or two photos out of the batch. Not surprising, these photos tend to have more evocative compositions and details, but no penises, breasts, or skulls are ever superimposed onto the images. In fact, the man who claims to have developed subliminal persuasion, James Vicary, admitted to Advertising Age in 1984 that he had fabricated his evidence that the technique worked in order to drum up business for his failing research company. But this confession has not assuaged Key and others who relentlessly, perhaps obsessively, continue to pursue those they feel are planting secret visual messages in advertisements. To be fair to Key, advertisers have left themselves open to suspicion by relegating their work to the abstract world of the image and then targeting consumer psychology so deliberately. According to research by the Roper Organization in 1992, fifty-seven percent of American consumers still believe that subliminal advertising is practiced on a regular basis, and only one in twelve think it “almost never” happens. To protect themselves from the techniques they believe are being used against them, the advertising audience has adopted a stance of cynical suspicion. To combat our increasing awareness and suspicion of demographic targeting, marketers have developed a more camouflaged form of categorization based on psychological profiles instead of race and age. Jim Schroer, the executive director of new marketing strategy at Ford explains his abandonment of broad-demographic targeting: ‘It’s smarter to think about emotions and attitudes, which all go under the term: psychographics - those things that can transcend demographic groups.’ (Schroer, 1997) Instead, he now appeals to what he calls “consumers’ images of themselves.” Unlike broad demographics, the psychographic is developed using more narrowly structured qualitative-analysis techniques, like focus groups, in-depth interviews, and even home surveillance. Marketing analysts observe the behaviors of volunteer subjects, ask questions, and try to draw causal links between feelings, self-image, and purchases. A company called Strategic Directions Group provides just such analysis of the human psyche. In their study of the car-buying habits of the forty-plus baby boomers and their elders, they sought to define the main psychological predilections that human beings in this age group have regarding car purchases. Although they began with a demographic subset of the overall population, their analysis led them to segment the group into psychographic types. For example, members of one psychographic segment, called the ³Reliables,² think of driving as a way to get from point A to point B. The “Everyday People” campaign for Toyota is aimed at this group and features people depending on their reliable and efficient little Toyotas. A convertible Saab, on the other hand, appeals to the ³Stylish Fun² category, who like trendy and fun-to-drive imports. One of the company’s commercials shows a woman at a boring party fantasizing herself into an oil painting, where she drives along the canvas in a sporty yellow Saab. Psychographic targeting is more effective than demographic targeting because it reaches for an individual customer more directly - like a fly fisherman who sets bait and jiggles his rod in a prescribed pattern for a particular kind of fish. It’s as if a marketing campaign has singled you out and recognizes your core values and aspirations, without having lumped you into a racial or economic stereotype. It amounts to a game of cat-and-mouse between advertisers and their target psychographic groups. The more effort we expend to escape categorization, the more ruthlessly the marketers pursue us. In some cases, in fact, our psychographic profiles are based more on the extent to which we try to avoid marketers than on our fundamental goals or values. The so-called “Generation X” adopted the anti-chic aesthetic of thrift-store grunge in an effort to find a style that could not be so easily identified and exploited. Grunge was so self-consciously lowbrow and nonaspirational that it seemed, at first, impervious to the hype and glamour normally applied swiftly to any emerging trend. But sure enough, grunge anthems found their way onto the soundtracks of television commercials, and Dodge Neons were hawked by kids in flannel shirts saying “Whatever.” The members of Generation X are putting up a good fight. Having already developed an awareness of how marketers attempt to target their hearts and wallets, they use their insight into programming to resist these attacks. Unlike the adult marketers pursuing them, young people have grown up immersed in the language of advertising and public relations. They speak it like natives. As a result, they are more than aware when a commercial or billboard is targeting them. In conscious defiance of demographic-based pandering, they adopt a stance of self-protective irony‹distancing themselves from the emotional ploys of the advertisers. Lorraine Ketch, the director of planning in charge of Levi¹s trendy Silvertab line, explained, “This audience hates marketing that’s in your face. It eyeballs it a mile away, chews it up and spits it out” (On Advertising, 1998). Chiat/Day, one of the world’s best-known and experimental advertising agencies, found the answer to the crisis was simply to break up the Gen-X demographic into separate “tribes” or subdemographics - and include subtle visual references to each one of them in the ads they produce for the brand. According to Levi’s director of consumer marketing, the campaign meant to communicate, “We really understand them, but we are not trying too hard” (On Advertising, 1998). Probably unintentionally, Ms. Ketch has revealed the new, even more highly abstract plane on which advertising is now being communicated. Instead of creating and marketing a brand image, advertisers are creating marketing campaigns about the advertising itself. Silvertab’s target market is supposed to feel good about being understood, but even better about understanding the way they are being marketed to. The “drama” invented by Leo Burnett and refined by David Ogilvy and others has become a play within a play. The scene itself has shifted. The dramatic action no longer occurs between the audience and the product, the brand, or the brand image, but between the audience and the brand marketers. As audiences gain even more control over the media in which these interactive stories unfold, advertising evolves ever closer to a theatre of the absurd. excerpted from Coercion: Why We Listen to What "They" Say)? Works Cited Ogilvy, David. Ogilvy on Advertising. New York: Vintage, 1983. Brandweek Staff, "Number Crunching, Hollywood Style," Brandweek. October 6, 1997. Leonhardt, David, and Kathleen Kerwin, "Hey Kid, Buy This!" Business Week. June 30, 1997 Schroer, Jim. Quoted in "Why We Kick Tires," by Carol Morgan and Doron Levy. Brandweek. Sept 29, 1997. "On Advertising," The New York Times. August 14, 1998 Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Rushkoff, Douglas. "Coercion " M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture< http://www.media-culture.org.au/0306/06-coercion.php>. APA Style Rushkoff, D. (2003, Jun 19). Coercion . M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 6,< http://www.media-culture.org.au/0306/06-coercion.php>