Journal articles on the topic 'Epistolary conventions'

Abstract In her study of epistolarity and world literature, Bower (2017) observes that letters “travel easily” and so are an obvious form for writing about migration and transnational dialogue. From another perspective, however, the epistolary may contain an empty promise: letters, after all, are sometimes waylaid or mislaid, unsent or undeliverable. This paper investigates the epistle and epistolary conventions in two short stories by US migrant writers – Edwidge Danticat’s “Children of the Sea” (1993) and Aleksandar Hemon’s “A Coin” (1997) – in which dialogue across national borders is made impossible under extreme political circumstances. I argue that Danticat and Hemon undermine the dialogic writing that is a basic generic epistolary convention to caution against ignoring asymmetries of power in situations of forced migration.

In a recent brief survey in Biblische Notizen Pardee has defended the concept of an ‘epistolary perfect’ in Hebrew letters. In that survey he examined each of the usages of a ‘perfect’ verbal form (i.e. ‘suffix conjugation’ or qātat) in the extant corpus of Hebrew letters most of them extra-Biblical. Those forms which described completed acts prior to the writing of the letter were separated off from those which described aspects of the epistolary acts themselves such as ‘writing’ ‘sending’ and ‘commanding’ and the latter were termed ‘epistolary perfects’. In the present study we wish to examine the epistolary conventions observed in Ugaritic and in Akkadian. As in Pardee's previous study Ugaritic ‘perfect’ (qtt) forms and Akkadian preterite (iprus) and perfect (iptaras) forms will be examined in order to determine the conventions governing their usage in letters.

Abstract This article queries whether Paul wrote Galatians with reference to epistolary conventions for ironic letters. First, the author explores the use of the θαυµάζω + conjunction “epistolary formula” in the non-literary papyri to determine the relationship between this expression, irony, and Gal 1:6. Then, he weighs the evidence for an ironic reading of Gal 1:6 itself before turning to the extant ancient letter writing handbooks to assess the extent to which Gal 1:6 meaningfully parallels the ironic letters in the handbooks. The author argues that while an ironic reading of Gal 1:6 is plausible, there is no evidence that Paul has crafted Galatians with reference to epistolary conventions for ironic letters.

In an influential essay on the place of autobiography in theatre history, Thomas Postlewait puts Fanny Kemble's memoirs at the crux of a historiographical problem. The literary sensibility of Kemble's work appears to Postlewait an instance of both the theatrical memoir's cultural richness and its limitations as biographical evidence: although Kemble's “epistolary mode of self-representation” gives her autobiography Records of a Girlhood “a documentary quality,” for example, even her “earliest letters reveal a calculated literary style” that signals her awareness of the “traits and conventions” of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century novels. In her consciousness of narrative trends, Kemble stands out as a particularly clear example of a general tendency in theatrical autobiographies of the period. As the nineteenth century's booming print market expanded the audience for stories about theatregoing, it also drew readers who were increasingly familiar with novelistic experiments in plotting, characterization, and point of view. This shared audience encouraged an exchange of discursive conventions across fictional and historical narratives, which makes memoirs a compelling but complicated source of historical data about nineteenth-century theatre. Indeed, the two-way influence between genres is so strong that Postlewait argues scholars “need to ask to what extent these autobiographies exist not only as historical records but as epistolary fictions.”

The letter, as the format of twenty-one of the twenty-seven documents in the canonical New Testament, is arguably the literary form which has played the most significant role in the history of Christianity. But scholars have often been troubled by how to treat the conventions framing Christian letters: since little of Christian literature from its earliest time to the medieval period escapes the influence of classical traditions of rhetoric, can constant epistolary formulas be taken as expressions of genuine sentiment? In fact, it is precisely because the lines between classical influence and Christian innovation are so difficult to make out that E. R. Curtius was able to argue that the humility formula of medieval charters, for so long assumed to have originated in Paul, was in fact a pagan Hellenistic prototype like scores of other rhetorical conventions. His study of the formula serves, Curtius writes, to ‘furnish a warning against making the Middle Ages more Christian or more pious than it was’, and to demonstrate that ‘a constant literary formula must not be regarded as the expression of spontaneous sentiment’. So the entrenchment of rhetoric in letter-writing is often set in opposition to genuine Christian feeling, commonplace utterance against living expression, empty verbiage against religious sincerity.

This essay reconsiders More's letter to Brixius. It uncovers early modern understandings of self-fashioning/ethos and epistolary conventions of the period, and with these contexts, it rereads More's self-presentation or ethos-development in the letter. The essay argues that More's ethos in the letter highlights an authentic facet of himself and, thereby, gives us a glimpse of the historical More who, in the Brixius moment, is angry, but not excessively or habitually, as has sometimes been claimed.

AbstractThe relationship between the polite and conventional nature of friendly language and the sincerity of the writer’s feelings is a central topic in linguistic and historical research on friendship in epistolary communication. This relationship can be understood in the context of the emotional values and conventionalised emotional practices that characterise the writer’s emotional community.The language of friendship has a significant role in the history of letter writing in religious communities. However, epistolary and emotional practices among religious groups in the modern era remain a rather unexplored filed of research. In this regard, the nineteenth century is of particular interest, as it saw the consolidation of sincerity as a central notion in European standards of letter writing.Bringing together historical pragmatics and the history of emotions, this paper describes the forms and functions of sincerity in the negotiation of friendships between nineteenth-century Catholic churchmen. The article analyses a corpus of letters in Italian and Spanish from the multilingual correspondence of European Benedictine missionaries in Australia between the 1850s and the 1890s. The results of the analysis show that sincerity and emotional self-disclosure, while dependent on the pragmatic conventions of letter writing, belonged to cross-linguistic cultural scripts typical of religious communities.

The purpose of the present paper is to analyse epistolary and descriptive conventions in Journal and Letters, from France and Great Britain (1833) by Emma Willard. The article argues that Willard attempts to combine the standards of 18th-century travelogue with its emphasis on instruction with a new type of autobiographical travel narrative which puts the persona of a traveller in the foreground. In this respect, Willard’s Journal and Travels, for all its didacticism, testifies to an increasing value attached to subjective experience, which was to become one of the distinguishing features of nineteenth-century travel writing.

AbstractThe extant calligraphy ascribed to Wang Xizhi consists mainly of short letters that have hitherto been discussed mostly in terms of their calligraphic value, authenticity, and as sources of historical information. This article focuses on the textual properties of the approximately seven-hundred transmitted notes of Wang Xizhi, especially on their communicative functions for the perpetuation of personal relationships among family members and friends. Although these texts are characterized by an overwhelming topicality, this does not impair their epistolary efficacy. Even letters that seemingly lack any particular message and consist of nothing but epistolary conventions have the potential to fulfill genuine communicative functions, to a great extent independently of their calligraphic appeal. Les calligraphies attribuées à Wang Xizhi qui ont été conservées consistent essentiellement en courtes lettres auxquelles ont s'est intéressé jusqu'ici pour leur valeur calligraphique, leur authenticité, et en tant que sources historiques. Cet article se concentre sur les propriétés textuelles des quelque sept cents notes de Wang Xizhi qui nous sont parvenues, en particulier sur les fonctions de communication dont l'objet est de perpétuer des liens personnels entre membres d'une famille ou entre amis. Bien que ces textes se caractérisent par la domination des formules toutes faites, cela ne diminue pas leur efficacité épistolaire. Même des lettres apparemment dénuées de tout message particulier et ne consistant qu'en conventions épistolaires sont capables de remplir de véritables fonctions de communication, largement indépendantes de leur intérêt calligraphique.

Abstract In the present study we propose a look at Zsolna Ugron’s works from a generic perspective in order to analyze what conventions of genres such as the romance, the epistolary novel and the historical romance the author has revived and what are the elements that she has added or changed in order to make them appealing to the public and yield to critical analysis. We also attempt an investigation of the formation of female subjectivity as illustrated by these fundamentally feminine novels, given that all four of them operate with female protagonists, women in the process of shaping their destinies, often at crossroads where - despite all the external factors that seem to determine their fate from history to social conventions and men around them - ultimately they make their own personal choices and position themselves as responsible, active and creative subjects.

Few texts in the Pauline corpus have been subjected to such extensive and varied comparative analysis as 2 Cor 10–13. Since Hans Windisch's influential designation of the passage as aNarrenrede(“fool's speech”), wherein Paul apes the boastful fool (ὁ ἀλαζών) of the Greek mime, exegetes have assembled a remarkable array of additional comparanda: theperistasisor hardship catalogues of Cynic and Stoic philosophers; Augustus'sRes gestae; apologies epistolary, forensic, and Socratic; conventions forperiautologia(self-praise) as attested by Quintilian and Plutarch and as demonstrated by Demosthenes; conventions forsynkrisis(comparison) as preserved in theProgymnasmata. Despite the diversity of the evidence adduced, methodologically these studies have much in common. In general, their explanatory mode is formal and genealogical—that is, they elucidate the characteristics of Paul's boasting by identifying and describing the literary or rhetorical forms to which he is indebted.

Epistula 151 shows Augustine trying to exert pressure on a high-ranking imperial official from his position outside of the senatorial elite. The aristocrat Caecilianus had written a letter, now lost, chastising Augustine for his lack of correspondence. Augustine’s reply begins and ends according to typical epistolary conventions. The heart of the letter, however, narrates Augustine’s harrowing experience of the arrest and execution of the brothers Marcellinus and Apringius by the imperial commander Marinus. The profound spiritual contrast between villain and victims has the potential to damage Caecilianus’s reputation, forcing him into a corner. He can only agree with Augustine and act accordingly.

While embedded in contemporary letter-writing conventions, early Christian letters were also instrumental in the creation of a distinctive Christian world-view. Fundamental to letters of all types, ‘real’ and fictional, is that they respond to, and hence negotiate and seek to overcome, actual and imagined spatial and temporal distance between author and recipient(s). In practice and as cultural symbols, letters, sent and transmitted in new contexts, as well as letter collections, produced in the Christian imagination new trans-locational and cross-temporal dynamics of relationality that can be mapped onto the standard epistolary topoi – ‘absent as if present’, half a conversation, a mirror of the soul.

This paper examines the relationship between two 20th-century American poets, Elizabeth Coatsworth and her daughter, Kate Barnes. Both women mined their physical and personal geographies to create their work; both labored in the shadows of domineering literary husbands. Elizabeth’s early poetry is economical in language, following literary conventions shaped by Eastern poets and Imagists of her era. Kate’s work echoes her mother’s painterly eye, yet is informed by the feminist poetry of her generation. Their dynamic relationship as mother and daughter, both struggling with service to the prevailing Western patriarchy, duties of domestication and docility, also inform their writing. This paper draws from Coatsworth’s poems, essays, and memoir, and Barnes’ poems, interviews, and epistolary archives, which shed light on her relationship with her renowned mother.

Abstract This article is a new reading of a Hebrew letter, Oxford MS Heb.d.69(P), written on papyrus and dated tentatively by scholars to the 6th century. The article begins with a new edition of the letter, first published in 1903, its first translation into English, a discussion of its language and epistolary conventions, including layout, script, and formulary. In the letter, written by the scribe Isi, the lender Lazar describes to Jacob the borrower the history of their contract, and the former’s attempts to collect, and demands payment. I discuss the currency mentioned in this description, the terms of the loan, and the rate of interest it reflects. The article ends with a discussion of the broader usefulness of this letter for the economic and social history of Jewish provincials in Byzantine Egypt.

Abstract: Due to the conventions of late-antique epistolary politeness, it is not always easy to identify polemical passages in Augustine’s correspondence. The present contribution attempts to discern and classify some recurrent techniques and strategies that are characteristic of letters the addressee of which is him- or herself the target of Augustine’s polemics, i. e. in which polemical rhetoric is blended with diplomacy. After describing some more formal techniques, such as polemical hermeneutics and Refraintechnik, I turn to the rhetorical, i. e. persuasive, functions of polemics in Augustine’s anti-pagan, anti-Donatist and anti-Pelagian letters, using the basic distinction between direct polemics (polemics against the addressee in person) and indirect polemics (polemics against the addressee’s group or friends) as a starting point. Another relevant distinction, taken into account throughout, is whether a polemical letter is primarily designed to impress the immediate addressee or to have an effect on the wider readership that Augustine had to reckon with as soon as a letter was dispatched.

This paper briefly historicizes English language mail services, postal reform, and the inauguration of global delivery systems for material mails in order to outline the origins of junk mail and discursive excess in network concepts and systems. These historical developments not only made mail services affordable to common people, but also created the conditions necessary for inexpensive, rapid delivery---and dumping---of bulk advertising and circulars (the precursor of spam email) throughout the literate field of personal correspondences. From a contemporary perspective, electronic mail alters conventions that have evolved through epistolary practices. Situated on a background of a formal, dialogical ethos of personal answerability among a distributed public, mass mail makes global populations the object rather than a dialogical subject of literate relations, with consequential changes to social and cultural habits and attitudes toward personal correspondence. To conclude this paper explores global dynamics of digital correspondence that place unanswerability at the core of twenty-first century dialogical relations.

The relevance of the study The publication in 1774 of the epistolary novel by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe became not only an outstanding fact in the biography of a still very young German genius at that time. The echoes of this event can be felt over the next several years, when this work literally turned the worldview of contemporaries, as well as in the following centuries in numerous artistic paraphrases. Obviously, the meaning of The Sorrows of Young Werther goes far beyond the purely literary sphere; therefore, its research should be approached with the appropriate tools. This key can be intermediality, which explores the processes of interspecific interaction of arts as mediums that do not compete with each other, do not strive for mutual intervention, but, on the contrary, reinforce each other’s action. The study of the mechanisms of intermediality makes it possible to go beyond the narrow professional field and determine the general cultural context of the era, which is an urgent task of modern humanitarian science. The purpose of the study is to characterize the mechanisms of interaction between literature and music in Goethe’s epistolary novel The Sorrows of Young Werther and the basic role of these mechanisms in the formation of a sentimentalist worldview. The results and conclusions. Consideration of the Goethe’s epistolary novel The Sorrows of Young Werther in the aspect of intermedial connections prompts several thoughts at the same time. First, in this novel, at the declarative level, literature retains its position as an already fully formed social institution. Literature, like art history and philosophy, is not anonymous here, but personified. In this approach, one senses an attempt at an aesthetic discussion with immediate contemporaries, the penetration of a publicistic component into a work of art, which became a powerful part of Herder’s essay sermons in the late 1760s. At the same time, music and painting appear as forms of realizing the ‘true,’ extremely sensual human nature, not reduced by various secular conventions. Werther draws, Charlotte plays the piano and sings, the ball scene is permeated with music. The newfangled hobby for folklore has determined the anonymity of musical toposes in the novel: these are ancient songs that sound accompanied by a piano, as well as popular dances—in this one can also see the influence of J. G. Herder. The entire fabric of the novel permeates and defines music as a super-idea: the music of the language and the music of novel drama with its discontinuous fragmentation and temporal fluidity. The presence of music within the story legitimizes its emotional exaltation, unpredictable syntax. The mention of singing or playing music influences the development of the storyline, the music becomes that invisible director who constructs the form of a whole literary work. The intermedial interaction of the two by nature temporal arts serves as an intensified catalyst for the ‘feelings biography’ of the protagonist, which also unfolds in time and directs the reader’s attention to the irrational sphere. The interpenetration of literature and music becomes a tool for overcoming outdated artistic conventions and the formation of a new type of European literature, in which attention to the sensual sphere becomes a way of reflecting the life of the New Age as fluid, subject to constant changes. The main conclusion of the study is that The Sorrows of Young Werther marks a turn from the typical for sentimentalist style music ‘literaturezation’ to counter processes, which will be fully revealed already in the era of romanticism.

Abstract This paper begins with a simple problem: given the implicit Ignatian model for conversion and of conversion narratives for those already within the Christian fold, how did Jesuit missionaries in the colonies represent native conversion? To what extent were these colonial conversion narratives responding to the demands of Jesuit representational norms and to what extent did they reflect local realities? To address this question, this paper will examine stories of conversions of natives in public letters sent from Bahía and Goa and their immediate environs during the first thirty years of the missions in Brazil and India—annual letters but also other letters which were published in popular collections such as the Nuovi Avisi delle Indie di Portogallo series printed in Venice. The public cartas particulares, as opposed to the private hijuelas, were meant to be carefully crafted, and were explicitly intended to give a good account of the mission to the public in Europe. Since the public letters considered here were guided by Ignatius’ epistolary conventions and often placed into wide circulation, they provide an index of the rhetorical strategies and conversion narratives deemed successful by the Jesuit order in Europe in a period when Ignatius’ influence was still strongly felt.

Unlike most African-American authors, who constantly mirror the repressive effects of racism, classicism and gender discrimination, Alice Walker (1944–) in her The Color Purple (1982) compulsively deals with sexism that was still pervasive within African American communities during the early twentieth century. She argues that just as black groups are relegated to an underclass due to the colour of their skin in a wider milieu of white society, in the same way the black women are reduced to a more inferior class due to their sex in their own community. For women’s self-emancipation from such an inhibitory patriarchy, the novel gives an overarching emphasis on the formation of language, execution of voice, review of sexual preference and redefinition of identity of her female characters, the protagonist Celie in particular. This paper examines how, by a fusion of the bildungsroman and epistolary conventions, the novelist melds a unique way for her women creating a God for their own and carving out a niche in social and economic concerns. It assesses the strategic reversal of gender stereotype as well as sexual orientation in order to establish the independence and equality of women on a par with men. The paper ends up with the claim that the novel is predicated upon the theoretical prism of womanism, previously premised by Walker herself, which puts extensive emphasis on a deeper, empathetic relationship and camaraderie of women.

The Plautine corpus contains five letter-plays, comedies in which epistles are composed, delivered and/or read onstage and figure as a major element of the plot. These embedded missives, both stolen and forged ex nihilo, are variously employed by the personae to enact deception and engender duplicitous maneuvering of epistolary conventions, as well as sophisticated jokes about literacy and the dynamics of the medium. The Bacchides features the most elaborate manifestation of this motif. A servus called Chrysalus schemes to facilitate the love affair between his erus minor, Mnesilochus, and the young man's beloved Bacchis. Bacchis resides at Athens with her sister, another hetaera likewise called Bacchis, whose name and affair with the Bacchides’ second adulescens, Pistoclerus, precipitate a misapprehension that causes the play to reset. Under the mistaken impression that Pistoclerus is in love with his own Bacchis, Mnesilochus returns the money Chrysalus has successfully filched from his father, Nicobulus, informing on the tricky slave and undoing his progress. Once the mistake is clarified, Mnesilochus prevails upon Chrysalus to invent a new ruse for getting the girl. The schemer uses epistles to do it all over again. His second round of tricks consists of a two-pronged stratagem in which he forges and delivers a pair of letters to Nicobulus allegedly from Mnesilochus. The missives serve to pilfer not one but two sums of gold from the old man, permitting Chrysalus and his younger master to both purchase Bacchis’ freedom from her contract with the miles and have some fun.

Abstract This introduction briefly describes the affectively charged materiality of ancient letters, including Paul’s, then situates the articles in this special issue in relation to current trends in scholarship on affect and emotion in Paul. Mapping this diverse scholarship by surveying its orientation toward history and the body, it asks which conventional assumptions of Pauline scholarship these approaches disrupt, and which they leave intact.

AbstractThe concept of sincerity has links to honesty, openness, and authenticity, including of feelings. As expressions of sincerity become formalized in epistolary practice, however, a tension arises between sincerity and the articulation of it. An examination of a corpus of private family letters in French and Spanish from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries shows that use of the word ‘sincerity’ is much more common as an epistolary formula in French, where it had a broader semantic range, while authors writing in Spanish use other methods to index truth and emotional openness. The most frequent users of this formula are shown to be less skilled writers and bilinguals writing in their second language, suggesting a greater reliance on preconstructed formulae, especially in situations of increased linguistic and social distance. Finally, some bilingual authors transfer the pattern into Spanish, indicating that fixed phrases and formulae are available in a bilingual’s linguistic repertoire for pragmatic redeployment.

This paper reflects on the relationship between the female traveling experience and the epistolary genre through a reading of Rosario Castellanos’s Cartas a Ricardo as travel literature. The aim is to analyse the hybrid nature of the letter as a genre that allows the exploration of ideas and confessing or revealing affects during particular processes of constructing female subjectivities. Different than conventional travel chronicles, it is argued that the travel accounts transmitted through the female epistolary genre can throw light on physical and emotional displacement, but also on the intellectual and creative work of women in (self)censored or repressed environments. It is concluded that for Castellanos both traveling and writing are conscious acts of intellectual and gender freedom.

The Book The Thessalonians Debate (Eerdmans, 2000) defined the Thessalonian problem, but without a real resolution except for showing that the central issue is 1 Thessalonians 2, which seems to contradict all the conventional rules of epistolary analysis. We see here that the solution is to be found in correcting a deficiency in the conventional methods of epistolary analysis. In 1 Thessalonians 2 the thanksgiving is interrupted by a reminder of Paul’s previous actions. This is followed by two more cycles of thanksgiving and reminders of Paul’s past actions. These cycles are seen as essentially defensive, and this interpretation is further supported by repeated appeals to God and also to the addressees themselves as witnesses to Paul’s integrity. The conclusion is that all of the peculiarities of 1 and 2 Thessalonians can be explained by the hypothesis that both epistles are authentic, but 2 Thessalonians is the earlier epistle. This hypothesis has previously been defended by numerous writers and a commentator. A recent analysis of the Thessalonian epistles by Bart Ehrman (2013) proposes an alternative explanation, but it is not tenable.

AbstractA study of the Lachish letters (ostraca) that goes beyond treating conventional formulae as simply epistolary phenomena or scribal preference shows that such language, along with other forms of language expressed in the letters, reflects a culture of high politeness. However, this culture is not restrictive. The senders also feel free to express their opinion and even criticise the recipient at times, with a corresponding reduction in respectful language. Such adjustment of language use to topic and/or emotion explains the variation in both conventional and other forms of polite language. When compared to biblical narrative and prayer, the letters affirm the biblical portrayal of social relationships. That is, the biblical portrayal of generally high politeness to a social superior or deity yet freedom to express opinion and criticism, along with the reduction in politeness that naturally occurs, with it reflects social reality of the time.

Abstract Johann Gottfried Herder’s Briefe zu Beförderung der Humanität are probably the clearest articulation of the utopian intention inherent in his philosophy of history. As a result of the changes in utopian thinking with the beginning of the Enlightenment, this intention aims at humane principles of behavior and life practices instead of an ideal state. At the same time, it urges historical efficacy under the condition of an increasingly skeptical naturalized anthropology. The utopian conditions intended by Herder are therefore no longer presentable in the textual pattern of literary utopia handed down from Thomas More. This possibility, however, is offered by a common convention of philosophical epistolary sequences: the staging of a fictional correspondence allows Herder to present a humane discursive practice that exemplifies the utopian conditions themselves.

Conventional approaches to literary genres conspicuously imply definition and classification. From the very beginning of our incursions into the literary world we learn to identify and differentiate a poem from a play, a short story from a novel. As readers we classify each written work into one of these neatly defined literary genres by following basic guidelines. Either we classify according to the structure of the work (stanza; stage direction/dialogue; narrative) or the length (short story; novelette; novel). What happens though when a reader encounters a work of considerable length made up of individual short pieces or vignettes that include rhythm and rhyme and is framed by an underlying, unifying story line linking the vignettes together? Is it a novel or a collection of short stories? Why does it sound and, at times, look like a poem? To further complicate classifications, what happens when a reader comes across an epistolary format with instructions on which letters to read first: letters made up of one-word lines, poetic stanzas, or italicized stream of consciousness; letters that narrate the history of two women's friendship? Is this a novel or a mere collection of letters?

Abstract In Among Others, Jo Walton’s fairy story about a science-fiction fan, science fiction as a genre and archive serves as an adoptive parent for Morwenna Markova as much as the extended family who provide the more conventional parenting in the absence of the father who deserted her as an infant and the presence of the mother whose unacknowledged psychiatric condition prevented appropriate caregiving. Laden with allusions to science fictional texts of the nineteen-seventies and earlier, this epistolary novel defines and redefines both family and community, challenging the groups in which we live through the fairies who taught Mor about magic and the texts which offer speculations on alternative mores. This article argues that Mor’s approach to the magical world she inhabits is productively informed and futuristically oriented by her reading in science fiction. Among Others demonstrates a restorative power of agency in the formation of all social and familial groupings, engaging in what Donna J. Haraway has described as a transformation into a Chthulucene period which supports the continuation of kin-communities through a transformation of the outcast. In Among Others, the free play between fantasy and science fiction makes kin-formation an ordinary process thereby radically transforming the social possibilities for orphans and others.

Focusing on Correspondence from the Double-Cassia Studio (Shuanggui xuan chidu 雙桂軒尺牘), a collection of letters by a gentlewoman named Ding Shanyi 丁善儀 (1799–after 1861), this paper examines how elite women in mid-nine- teenth-century China applied epistolary conventions in their social life. Com- pared to other literary collections of individual women in late imperial China, Ding’s letter collection is exceptional in recording the life of its author through the epistolary genre and in revealing the sociopolitical dynamics that underlay elite women’s epistolary gentility. Ding’s letters are indicative of the noticeable concerns shared by gentlewomen in mid-nineteenth-century China and provide specific contexts for understanding some of the epistolary techniques used by lit- erary women to facilitate social networking. This paper uncovers Ding’s life and explores three major themes in her epistolary collection: her responses to crises, concerns about health, and cultivation of friendship. Ding’s letters show how elite women evinced sophistication and erudition in their epistolary composition, which was an important way for them to express themselves and demonstrate their mas- tery of language and rhetorical tradition.

Recent scholars focus mainly on Paul’s use of ‘brothers (and sisters)’ or ‘brother (and sister)’ in Greco-Roman epistolary conventions and cultural backdrops. However, Jewish dimensions (particularly ethnic dimensions) of Paul’s sibling language still remain unexplored in current scholarship. Furthermore, scholars have not drawn much attention to how Jewish letter writers use sibling terms in their letters. This article offers a new interpretation on Paul’s sibling language in light of its Jewish usage. We should note that Jewish letter writers did not address their Gentile letter recipients as ‘brother(s)’. However, Paul did call his recipients ‘brothers’. It is unlikely that Paul employed sibling language without being aware of its common Jewish usage. The author proposes that Paul’s sibling language is used in the context of an ethnic insider designation (shared ethnicity), and that ascribing the title of brother to believers including Gentiles signals the re-definition of the family of Abraham.

ABSTRACTElinor and Marianne is a playfully parodic sequel to Sense and Sensibility inwhich Emma Tennant explores the lives of Austen´s characters after the 'happy ending' of Sense and Sensibility. Apart from exposing the artificiality of some realistic conventions underlying Austen's novel, Elinor and Mariannearticulates a change in the narrative mode which replaces the monologicalperspective of the omniscient narrative by the dialogic focalisation of themultiple narrators of an epistolary novel. This change opens the way for theexploration of the characters of Sense and Sensibility, whose behaviour andattitudes in Elinor and Marianne invite the reader to revisit their presentationand appraisal in Austen's novel.RESUMENElinor and Marianne es una continuación de Sense and Sensibility basada en juegos paródicos en la que Emma Tennant explora la vida de los personajes de Austen tras el 'final feliz' de Sense and Sensibility. Además de dejar al descubierto la artificialidad de algunas convenciones realistas que subyacen tras la novela de Austen, Elinor and Marianne articula un cambio en el modo narrativo que reemplaza la perspectiva monológica de la narración omnisciente por la focalización dialógica de los narradores múltiples de una novela epistolar. Este cambio hace posible una exploración de los personajes de Sense and Sensibility, cuyo comportamiento y actitud en Elinor and Marianne invitan al lector a volver a considerar la presentación y valoración que de ellos se hacía en la novela de Austen.

This essay takes issue with the notion of Dickinson as the poet of privacy and argues that her conception of authorship involved a concentrated effort to break traditional conventions and assumptions regarding private communication and literary production. The uniqueness of Dickinson's poetry stems from its cryptic, deceptive, and fierce simplicity, and she achieves the illusion of simplicity through a meticulous attention to diction. Dickinson consciously works with the established notions of public and private during the nineteenth century, and uses the assumed simplicity of the distinction to develop a "new department" of prose and poetry that centers on manuscript construction and circulation. Dickinson's manuscripts reveal a sustained commitment to breaking the generic conventions of lyric poetry and epistolary prose. Readers since the nineteenth century have searched within Dickinson's correspondence for a static, autobiographical "I" in order to make the lyric "I" of her poetry more clear. However, assuming a static "I" proves problematic in both genres. Readers have sought an explanation of the poetry in Dickinson's biography, and they often turn to the letters as evidence, but a static voice in the correspondence proves to be an illusion. In contrast to the spontaneous, natural, and emotional letters that proper nineteenth-century women were supposed to write, Dickinson makes private communication artful. Dickinson's body of work represents a meticulous exploration into the power of un-occasional, non-referential prose and poetry.

Although William Lane only began publishing under the Minerva imprint in 1790, by the end of that decade he had—thanks to his ongoing publication of gothic romances written in imitation of Ann Radcliffe, his recruitment of unknown women authors, and his innovative marketing strategies—eclipsed the competition. Before the Minerva era began, however, one of Lane’s major competitors in the field of circulation-library formula fiction, Thomas Hookham, published several novels that were important to Jane Austen’s juvenilia, including the three this essay focuses on: Ann Radcliffe’s Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne (1789) and two by Eliza Nugent Bromley, Laura and Augustus (1784) and The History of Sir Charles Bentinck and Louisa Cavendish (178/1789?). In addition, because advertisements, catalogues, and other reading lists were important to readers and self-fashioning important to the aspiring young author, besides these primary texts I also consider associated paratexts. These include titles and dedications in Austen’s case and, in Hookham’s case, a list of “Books Printed by T. Hookham,” which appears inside Athlin and Dunbayne immediately following the title page, where any reader must notice it. Although we cannot know for sure, it is possible that this particular list directly influenced Austen’s (and the Austen family’s) choice of reading material in 1789 as well as Austen’s subsequent choice of satiric targets for “Love and Freindship.” In any case, the very possibility that she paid such close attention to Hookham’s list of “Books Printed” prompts a careful consideration of what the juvenilia may reveal about her reading process, her youthful understanding of circulation-library publishers’ marketing strategies and materials, and her response to the model of authorship they promoted. Taken together, these texts and paratexts strongly suggest that the teenaged Austen appreciated the practical use of lists like the one found in “Books Printed” and made good use of them as a reader who was committed to mastering generic conventions, but that she also parodied their rhetoric in her own titles and dedications; they suggest, moreover, that she appreciated the pleasurable recognition of the familiar enjoyed by readers of circulation-library publisher’s formulaic fiction but was skeptical about certain aspects of the reading and writing networks that such publishers’ marketing strategies were designed to produce. After all, one of the targets of her satire in “Love and Freindship” is quixotic young ladies who, like this epistolary novel’s narrator Laura, set out on the road of literary imitation and end up both disappointing and disappointed.

A Description of Joachim Lelewel’s Familial Language Concerning the Family Social Space (on the Basis of Letters to His Loved Ones)This article is a contribution to research on Joachim Lelewel’s familial language. The study is limited to a range of linguistic phenomena concerning the family social space, and considers the two-volume collection of his letters from many different places written in various periods of his life. The epistolary prose under examination reflects the language of nobility and intelligentsia circles of the first half of the nineteenth century, with its distinctly marked hierarchical structure of the family social space. Its exponents include family names (e.g. the names for kinship and family relations, maritonymics and patronymics, names used with reference to married couples), familial forms of address (with the conventional forms Pan/Pani ‘Sir/Madam’, Dobrodziej/Dobrodziejka/Dobrodziejstwo ‘Sir/ Madam/Sir and Madam’, lit. ‘benefactor/benefactress/benefactors’ in relation to the elderly), emotional colloquial vocabulary and unofficial anthroponyms. This use of familial language, characterised by infrequent use of personalised forms, belongs to marked informal register. Charakterystyka języka familijnego Joachima Lelewela dotyczącego społecznej przestrzeni rodziny (na podstawie listów do najbliższych)Niniejszy szkic stanowi przyczynek do poznania właściwości języka familijnego Joachima Lelewela. Charakterystyka ograniczona została do repertuaru zjawisk językowych dotyczących społecznej przestrzeni rodziny. Podstawę materiałową tworzy dwutomowy zbiór korespondencji pisanej z wielu miejsc pobytu w różnych okresach życia historyka. Badana proza epistolarna odzwierciedla język środowiska szlachecko-inteligenckiego pierwszej połowy XIX wieku, w którym wyraźnie zaznacza się zhierarchizowanie struktury przestrzeni społecznej rodziny, czego wykładnikami są nazwy rodzinne (m.in. nazwy pokrewieństwa i powinowactwa, marytonimika i patronimika, określenia par małżeńskich), familiarne adresatywy z konwencjonalnymi formułami Pan // Pani, Dobrodziej // Dobrodziejka // Dobrodziejstwo w stosunku do starszych, emocjonalną leksyką potoczną i nieoficjalnymi antroponimami. Realizacja języka familijnego, w którym ujawniają się nieliczne indywidualizmy, sytuuje się w obrębie rejestru nacechowanego języka potocznego.

The Epistola Widonis, or ‘Letter of Guido’, is a key source for the simony debates of the eleventh century, since it is usually considered the first major text to cast doubt on the validity of simoniacal ordinations. After examining the grounds for the letter's conventional dating to c. 1031 and attribution to Guido of Arezzo, this article makes the case for instead locating the letter's origins in the 1060s, and explores the implications of a re-dating for the dynamics of the eleventh-century ‘moral panic’ about simony.

The release in 2004 of Gurinder Chadha’s Bride and Prejudice marked yet another contribution to celluloid’s Austen mania that began in the 1990s and is still going strong. Released almost simultaneously on three different continents (in the UK, US, and India), and in two different languages (English and Hindi), Bride and Prejudice, however, is definitely not another Anglo-American period costume drama. Described by one reviewer as “East meets West”, Chadha’s film “marries a characteristically English saga [Austen’s Pride and Prejudice] with classic Bollywood format “transforming corsets to saris, … the Bennetts to the Bakshis and … pianos to bhangra beats” (Adarsh). Bride and Prejudice, thus, clearly belongs to the upcoming genre of South Asian cross-over cinema in its diasporic incarnation. Such cross-over cinema self-consciously acts as a bridge between at least two distinct cinematic traditions—Hollywood and Bollywood (Indian Hindi cinema). By taking Austen’s Pride and Prejudice as her source text, Chadha has added another dimension to the intertextuality of such cross-over cinema, creating a complex hybrid that does not fit neatly into binary hyphenated categories such as “Asian-American cinema” that film critics such as Mandal invoke to characterise diaspora productions. An embodiment of contemporary globalised (post?)coloniality in its narrative scope, embracing not just Amritsar and LA, but also Goa and London, Bride and Prejudice refuses to fit into a neat East versus West cross-cultural model. How, then, are we to classify this film? Is this problem of identity indicative of postmodern indeterminacy of meaning or can the film be seen to occupy a “third” space, to act as a postcolonial hybrid that successfully undermines (neo)colonial hegemony (Sangari, 1-2)? To answer this question, I will examine Bride and Prejudice as a mimic text, focusing specifically on its complex relationship with Bollywood conventions. According to Gurinder Chadha, Bride and Prejudice is a “complete Hindi movie” in which she has paid “homage to Hindi cinema” through “deliberate references to the cinema of Manoj Kumar, Raj Kapoor, Yash Chopra and Karan Johar” (Jha). This list of film makers is associated with a specific Bollywood sub-genre: the patriotic family romance. Combining aspects of two popular Bollywood genres, the “social” (Prasad, 83) and the “romance” (Virdi, 178), this sub-genre enacts the story of young lovers caught within complex familial politics against the backdrop of a nationalist celebration of Indian identity. Using a cinematic language that is characterised by the spectacular in both its aural and visual aspects, the patriotic family romance follows a typical “masala” narrative pattern that brings together “a little action and some romance with a touch of comedy, drama, tragedy, music, and dance” (Jaikumar). Bride and Prejudice’s successful mimicry of this language and narrative pattern is evident in film reviews consistently pointing to its being very “Bollywoodish”: “the songs and some sequences look straight out of a Hindi film” says one reviewer (Adarsh), while another wonders “why this talented director has reduced Jane Austen’s creation to a Bollywood masala film” (Bhaskaran). Setting aside, for the moment, these reviewers’ condemnation of such Bollywood associations, it is worthwhile to explore the implications of yoking together a canonical British text with Indian popular culture. According to Chadha, this combination is made possible since “the themes of Jane Austen’s novels are a ‘perfect fit’ for a Bollywood style film” (Wray). Ostensibly, such a comment may be seen to reinforce the authority of the colonial canonical text by affirming its transnational/transhistorical relevance. From this perspective, the Bollywood adaptation not only becomes a “native” tribute to the colonial “master” text, but also, implicitly, marks the necessary belatedness of Bollywood as a “native” cultural formation that can only mimic the “English book”. Again, Chadha herself seems to subscribe to this view: “I chose Pride and Prejudice because I feel 200 years ago, England was no different than Amritsar today” (Jha). The ease with which the basic plot premise of Pride and Prejudice—a mother with grown-up daughters obsessed with their marriage—transfers to a contemporary Indian setting does seem to substantiate this idea of belatedness. The spatio-temporal contours of the narrative require changes to accommodate the transference from eighteenth-century English countryside to twenty-first-century India, but in terms of themes, character types, and even plot elements, Bride and Prejudice is able to “mimic” its master text faithfully. While the Bennets, Bingleys and Darcy negotiate the relationship between marriage, money and social status in an England transformed by the rise of industrial capitalism, the Bakshis, Balraj and, yes, Will Darcy, undertake the same tasks in an India transformed by corporate globalisation. Differences in class are here overlaid with those in culture as a middle-class Indian family interacts with wealthy non-resident British Indians and American owners of multinational enterprises, mingling the problems created by pride in social status with prejudices rooted in cultural insularity. However, the underlying conflicts between social and individual identity, between relationships based on material expediency and romantic love, remain the same, clearly indicating India’s belated transition from tradition to modernity. It is not surprising, then, that Chadha can claim that “the transposition [of Austen to India] did not offend the purists in England at all” (Jha). But if the purity of the “master” text is not contaminated by such native mimicry, then how does one explain the Indian anglophile rejection of Bride and Prejudice? The problem, according to the Indian reviewers, lies not in the idea of an Indian adaptation, but in the choice of genre, in the devaluation of the “master” text’s cultural currency by associating it with the populist “masala” formula of Bollywood. The patriotic family romance, characterised by spectacular melodrama with little heed paid to psychological complexity, is certainly a far cry from the restrained Austenian narrative that achieves its dramatic effect exclusively through verbal sparring and epistolary revelations. When Elizabeth and Darcy’s quiet walk through Pemberley becomes Lalita and Darcy singing and dancing through public fountains, and the private economic transaction that rescues Lydia from infamy is translated into fisticuff between Darcy and Wickham in front of an applauding cinema audience, mimicry does smack too much of mockery to be taken as a tribute. It is no wonder then that “the news that [Chadha] was making Bride and Prejudice was welcomed with broad grins by everyone [in Britain] because it’s such a cheeky thing to do” (Jha). This cheekiness is evident throughout the film, which provides a splendid over-the-top cinematic translation of Pride and Prejudice that deliberately undermines the seriousness accorded to the Austen text, not just by the literary establishment, but also by cinematic counterparts that attempt to preserve its cultural value through carefully constructed period pieces. Chadha’s Bride and Prejudice, on the other hand, marries British high culture to Indian popular culture, creating a mimic text that is, in Homi Bhabha’s terms, “almost the same, but not quite” (86), thus undermining the authority, the primacy, of the so-called “master” text. This postcolonial subversion is enacted in Chadha’s film at the level of both style and content. If the adaptation of fiction into film is seen as an activity of translation, of a semiotic shift from one language to another (Boyum, 21), then Bride and Prejudice can be seen to enact this translation at two levels: the obvious translation of the language of novel into the language of film, and the more complex translation of Western high culture idiom into the idiom of Indian popular culture. The very choice of target language in the latter case clearly indicates that “authenticity” is not the intended goal here. Instead of attempting to render the target language transparent, making it a non-intrusive medium that derives all its meaning from the source text, Bride and Prejudice foregrounds the conventions of Bollywood masala films, forcing its audience to grapple with this “new” language on its own terms. The film thus becomes a classic instance of the colony “talking back” to the metropolis, of Caliban speaking to Prospero, not in the language Prospero has taught him, but in his own native tongue. The burden of responsibility is shifted; it is Prospero/audiences in the West that have the responsibility to understand the language of Bollywood without dismissing it as gibberish or attempting to domesticate it, to reduce it to the familiar. The presence in Bride and Prejudice of song and dance sequences, for example, does not make it a Hollywood musical, just as the focus on couples in love does not make it a Hollywood-style romantic comedy. Neither The Sound of Music (Robert Wise, 1965) nor You’ve Got Mail (Nora Ephron, 1998) corresponds to the Bollywood patriotic family romance that combines various elements from distinct Hollywood genres into one coherent narrative pattern. Instead, it is Bollywood hits like Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge (Aditya Chopra, 1995) and Pardes (Subhash Ghai, 1997) that constitute the cinema tradition to which Bride and Prejudice belongs, and against which backdrop it needs to be seen. This is made clear in the film itself where the climactic fight between Darcy and Wickham is shot against a screening of Manoj Kumar’s Purab Aur Paschim (East and West) (1970), establishing Darcy, unequivocally, as the Bollywood hero, the rescuer of the damsel in distress, who deserves, and gets, the audience’s full support, denoted by enthusiastic applause. Through such intertextuality, Bride and Prejudice enacts a postcolonial reversal whereby the usual hierarchy governing the relationship between the colony and the metropolis is inverted. By privileging through style and explicit reference the Indian Bollywood framework in Bride and Prejudice, Chadha implicitly minimises the importance of Austen’s text, reducing it to just one among several intertextual invocations without any claim to primacy. It is, in fact, perfectly possible to view Bride and Prejudice without any knowledge of Austen; its characters and narrative pattern are fully comprehensible within a well-established Bollywood tradition that is certainly more familiar to a larger number of Indians than is Austen. An Indian audience, thus, enjoys a home court advantage with this film, not the least of which is the presence of Aishwarya Rai, the Bollywood superstar who is undoubtedly the central focus of Chadha’s film. But star power apart, the film consolidates the Indian advantage through careful re-visioning of specific plot elements of Austen’s text in ways that clearly reverse the colonial power dynamics between Britain and India. The re-casting of Bingley as the British Indian Balraj re-presents Britain in terms of its immigrant identity. White British identity, on the other hand, is reduced to a single character—Johnny Wickham—which associates it with a callous duplicity and devious exploitation that provide the only instance in this film of Bollywood-style villainy. This re-visioning of British identity is evident even at the level of the film’s visuals where England is identified first by a panning shot that covers everything from Big Ben to a mosque, and later by a snapshot of Buckingham Palace through a window: a combination of its present multicultural reality juxtaposed against its continued self-representation in terms of an imperial tradition embodied by the monarchy. This reductionist re-visioning of white Britain’s imperial identity is foregrounded in the film by the re-casting of Darcy as an American entrepreneur, which effectively shifts the narratorial focus from Britain to the US. Clearly, with respect to India, it is now the US which is the imperial power, with London being nothing more than a stop-over on the way from Amritsar to LA. This shift, however, does not in itself challenge the more fundamental West-East power hierarchy; it merely indicates a shift of the imperial centre without any perceptible change in the contours of colonial discourse. The continuing operation of the latter is evident in the American Darcy’s stereotypical and dismissive attitude towards Indian culture as he makes snide comments about arranged marriages and describes Bhangra as an “easy dance” that looks like “screwing in a light bulb with one hand and patting a dog with the other.” Within the film, this cultural snobbery of the West is effectively challenged by Lalita, the Indian Elizabeth, whose “liveliness of mind” is exhibited here chiefly through her cutting comebacks to such disparaging remarks, making her the film’s chief spokesperson for India. When Darcy’s mother, for example, dismisses the need to go to India since yoga and Deepak Chopra are now available in the US, Lalita asks her if going to Italy has become redundant because Pizza Hut has opened around the corner? Similarly, she undermines Darcy’s stereotyping of India as the backward Other where arranged marriages are still the norm, by pointing out the eerie similarity between so-called arranged marriages in India and the attempts of Darcy’s own mother to find a wife for him. Lalita’s strategy, thus, is not to invert the hierarchy by proving the superiority of the East over the West; instead, she blurs the distinction between the two, while simultaneously introducing the West (as represented by Darcy and his mother) to the “real India”. The latter is achieved not only through direct conversational confrontations with Darcy, but also indirectly through her own behaviour and deportment. Through her easy camaraderie with local Goan kids, whom she joins in an impromptu game of cricket, and her free-spirited guitar-playing with a group of backpacking tourists, Lalita clearly shows Darcy (and the audience in the West) that so-called “Hicksville, India” is no different from the so-called cosmopolitan sophistication of LA. Lalita is definitely not the stereotypical shy retiring Indian woman; this jean-clad, tractor-riding gal is as comfortable dancing the garbha at an Indian wedding as she is sipping marguerites in an LA restaurant. Interestingly, this East-West union in Aishwarya Rai’s portrayal of Lalita as a modern Indian woman de-stabilises the stereotypes generated not only by colonial discourse but also by Bollywood’s brand of conservative nationalism. As Chadha astutely points out, “Bride and Prejudice is not a Hindi film in the true sense. That rikshawallah in the front row in Patna is going to say, ‘Yeh kya hua? Aishwarya ko kya kiya?’ [What did you do to Aishwarya?]” (Jha). This disgruntlement of the average Indian Hindi-film audience, which resulted in the film being a commercial flop in India, is a result of Chadha’s departures from the conventions of her chosen Bollywood genre at both the cinematic and the thematic levels. The perceived problem with Aishwarya Rai, as articulated by the plaintive question of the imagined Indian viewer, is precisely her presentation as a modern (read Westernised) Indian heroine, which is pretty much an oxymoron within Bollywood conventions. In all her mainstream Hindi films, Aishwarya Rai has conformed to these conventions, playing the demure, sari-clad, conventional Indian heroine who is untouched by any “anti-national” western influence in dress, behaviour or ideas (Gangoli,158). Her transformation in Chadha’s film challenges this conventional notion of a “pure” Indian identity that informs the Bollywood “masala” film. Such re-visioning of Bollywood’s thematic conventions is paralleled, in Bride and Prejudice, with a playfully subversive mimicry of its cinematic conventions. This is most obvious in the song-and-dance sequences in the film. While their inclusion places the film within the Bollywood tradition, their actual picturisation creates an audio-visual pastiche that freely mingles Bollywood conventions with those of Hollywood musicals as well as contemporary music videos from both sides of the globe. A song, for example, that begins conventionally enough (in Bollywood terms) with three friends singing about one of them getting married and moving away, soon transforms into a parody of Hollywood musicals as random individuals from the marketplace join in, not just as chorus, but as developers of the main theme, almost reducing the three friends to a chorus. And while the camera alternates between mid and long shots in conventional Bollywood fashion, the frame violates the conventions of stylised choreography by including a chaotic spill-over that self-consciously creates a postmodern montage very different from the controlled spectacle created by conventional Bollywood song sequences. Bride and Prejudice, thus, has an “almost the same, but not quite” relationship not just with Austen’s text but also with Bollywood. Such dual-edged mimicry, which foregrounds Chadha’s “outsider” status with respect to both traditions, eschews all notions of “authenticity” and thus seems to become a perfect embodiment of postcolonial hybridity. Does this mean that postmodern pastiche can fulfill the political agenda of postcolonial resistance to the forces of globalised (neo)imperialism? As discussed above, Bride and Prejudice does provide a postcolonial critique of (neo)colonial discourse through the character of Lalita, while at the same time escaping the trap of Bollywood’s explicitly articulated brand of nationalism by foregrounding Lalita’s (Westernised) modernity. And yet, ironically, the film unselfconsciously remains faithful to contemporary Bollywood’s implicit ideological framework. As most analyses of Bollywood blockbusters in the post-liberalisation (post-1990) era have pointed out, the contemporary patriotic family romance is distinct from its earlier counterparts in its unquestioning embrace of neo-conservative consumerist ideology (Deshpande, 187; Virdi, 203). This enthusiastic celebration of globalisation in its most recent neo-imperial avatar is, interestingly, not seen to conflict with Bollywood’s explicit nationalist agenda; the two are reconciled through a discourse of cultural nationalism that happily co-exists with a globalisation-sponsored rampant consumerism, while studiously ignoring the latter’s neo-colonial implications. Bride and Prejudice, while self-consciously redefining certain elements of this cultural nationalism and, in the process, providing a token recognition of neo-imperial configurations, does not fundamentally question this implicit neo-conservative consumerism of the Bollywood patriotic family romance. This is most obvious in the film’s gender politics where it blindly mimics Bollywood conventions in embodying the nation as a woman (Lalita) who, however independent she may appear, not only requires male protection (Darcy is needed to physically rescue Lakhi from Wickham) but also remains an object of exchange between competing systems of capitalist patriarchy (Uberoi, 207). At the film’s climax, Lalita walks away from her family towards Darcy. But before Darcy embraces the very willing Lalita, his eyes seek out and receive permission from Mr Bakshi. Patriarchal authority is thus granted due recognition, and Lalita’s seemingly bold “independent” decision remains caught within the politics of patriarchal exchange. This particular configuration of gender politics is very much a part of Bollywood’s neo-conservative consumerist ideology wherein the Indian woman/nation is given enough agency to make choices, to act as a “voluntary” consumer, within a globalised marketplace that is, however, controlled by the interests of capitalist patriarchy. The narrative of Bride and Prejudice perfectly aligns this framework with Lalita’s project of cultural nationalism, which functions purely at the personal/familial level, but which is framed at both ends of the film by a visual conjoining of marriage and the marketplace, both of which are ultimately outside Lalita’s control. Chadha’s attempt to appropriate and transform British “Pride” through subversive postcolonial mimicry, thus, ultimately results only in replacing it with an Indian “Bride,” with a “star” product (Aishwarya Rai / Bride and Prejudice / India as Bollywood) in a splendid package, ready for exchange and consumption within the global marketplace. All glittering surface and little substance, Bride and Prejudice proves, once again, that postmodern pastiche cannot automatically double as politically enabling postcolonial hybridity (Sangari, 23-4). References Adarsh, Taran. “Balle Balle! From Amritsar to L.A.” IndiaFM Movie Review 8 Oct. 2004. 19 Feb. 2007 http://indiafm.com/movies/review/7211/index.html>. Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. 1813. New Delhi: Rupa and Co., 1999. Bhabha, Homi. “Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse.” The Location of Culture. Routledge: New York, 1994. 85-92. 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Jha, Subhash K. “Bride and Prejudice is not a K3G.” The Rediff Interview 30 Aug. 2004. 19 Feb. 2007 http://in.rediff.com/movies/2004/aug/30finter.htm>. Mandal, Somdatta. Film and Fiction: Word into Image. New Delhi: Rawat Publications, 2005. Prasad, M. Madhava. Ideology of the Hindi Film: A Historical Construction. New Delhi: Oxford UP, 1998. Sangari, Kumkum. Politics of the Possible: Essays on Gender, History, Narratives, Colonial English. New Delhi: Tulika, 1999. Uberoi, Patricia. Freedom and Destiny: Gender, Family, and Popular Culture in India. New Delhi: Oxford UP, 2006. Virdi, Jyotika. The Cinematic Imagination: Indian Popular Films as Social History. Delhi: Permanent Black, 2003. Wray, James. “Gurinder Chadha Talks Bride and Prejudice.” Movie News 7 Feb. 2005. 19 Feb. http://movies.monstersandcritics.com/news/article_4163.php/ Gurinder_Chadha_Talks_Bride_and_Prejudice>. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Mathur, Suchitra. "From British “Pride” to Indian “Bride”: Mapping the Contours of a Globalised (Post?)Colonialism." M/C Journal 10.2 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/06-mathur.php>. APA Style Mathur, S. (May 2007) "From British “Pride” to Indian “Bride”: Mapping the Contours of a Globalised (Post?)Colonialism," M/C Journal, 10(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/06-mathur.php>.