Academic literature on the topic 'Gay historical fiction'

Purpose Social justice themes permeate the social studies, history, civics, and current events curricula. The purpose of this paper is to examine how non-fiction trade books represented lesbian, gay, bisexual, transsexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ) individuals and issues. Design/methodology/approach Trade books published after 2000 and intended for middle grades (5-8) and high school (9-12) students were analyzed. Findings Findings included main characters’ demography, sexuality, and various ancillary elements, such as connection to LGBTQ community, interactions with non-LGBTQ individuals, the challenges and contested terrain that LGBTQ individuals must traverse, and a range of responses to these challenges. Publication date, intended audience, and subgenre of non-fiction – specifically, memoir, expository, and historical text – added nuance to findings. Viewed broadly, the books generally engaged in exceptionalism, a historical misrepresentation, of one singular character who was a gay or lesbian white American. Diverse sexualities, races, ethnicities, and contexts were largely absent. Complex resistance structures were frequent and detailed. Originality/value This research contributes to previous scholarship exploring LGBTQ-themed fiction for secondary students and close readings of secondary level non-fiction trade books.

The interface between history and fiction has been an area of rich potential for the postcolonial novelist in South Asia and this is evident in the practice of many novelists from the region who have used historical material as backdrop but have also used fiction to comment on recent events in their countries. In this paper I examine the work of Amitav Ghosh as offering a fictional method that has evolved out of his immersion in subaltern historical practice and one that successfully bridges the gap between these two genres. I show this through his deployment of historical material in the three novels, The Shadow Lines (1988), The Glass Palace (2000) and The Hungry Tide (2004), where Ghosh is not simply ‘using’ the subaltern method but pointing to the possibilities of reparation. Ghosh adopts a complex inversion of the subaltern method that involves two processes: one, the selection of small, neglected events from the national story in a concession to subaltern practice –the little narrative against the grand; and two, the neglect by the narrative of some aspect of these stories. He does this by choosing his historical area carefully, keeping some part of it silent and invisible and then meditating on silence as it is revealed as a fictional and historical necessity. I suggest that Ghosh, by retrieving and giving place/voice to the historically repressed event in the fiction, achieves a swerve from simply ‘righting the record’ and releases the marginal as a referent in the present. Such fiction enters the realm of intervention in public discourse, or carries the potential, by introducing considerations that create public consciousness about historical injustices, successfully ‘using’ subaltern history.

This article argues that historical fiction functions as a collective memory: it provides a social framework for recollections that speak of a national agenda often through personal experiences. Taking as its examples three Australian and New Zealand fictions for children and young adults, from the late twentieth and early twentieth-first century, the article examines texts that focus on how we remember the past and what aspects of that past should be remembered: Memorial (1999), a picture book by Gary Crew (author) and Shaun Tan (illustrator), The Divine Wind (1998) by Garry Disher, and The Swap (2004) by Wendy Catran. Close analysis of these texts suggests that, like memory itself, historical fiction tends to eulogise the past. In historical fiction, for children especially, whilst power relations of cultural significance can be perpetuated, they can also be re-positioned or re-invented in order to re-imagine the past. Shifts in the present understanding of past power relationships contribute towards the reinvention of race relations, national ideologies and the locus of political dissent. The article concludes that historical fiction, because of its simultaneous claim to fact and imagination, can be a powerful and cunning mode of propaganda.

AbstractThe two categories of »fiction« and »non-fiction« are most often conceived of – and treated as – disjointed and separate, not only in common sense but also in literary studies. This does not adequately reflect, however, the developmental trajectory of the non-fiction genre over the course of the twentieth century. After all, the popularization of expert knowledge has increasingly been effected with the help of narrative strategies which raise one crucial question: Just how much fiction can the factual nature – the dependence on facts – of non-fiction tolerate? However, as the more precise definition of the pertinent term, »fiction«, indicates, a distinction must be made between »fictionality«, on the one hand, and »fictivity«, on the other. »Fictionality«, that is to say, refers to narrative strategiesanalogous tothose of fiction, but which relate to historical facts. »Fictivity«, by contrast, refers to the representation of fictitious content. More precisely, then, the question is this: Just what degree of fictivity can the factuality of non-fiction writing tolerate? Since this question cannot be answered constructively from a quantitative but only from a qualitative point of view, we are faced with the ultimately crucial question: Just what kind of fictivity can the factuality of non-fiction tolerate?In trying to answer that question, it seems advisable to start from the structure of deductive-nomological explanation, in which a given phenomenon – the explanandum – is explained by deducing its description from regularities plus the antecedent conditions contained in them (the explanans). In the case of historical explanation, in particular, historical facts most often form the explanandum, while the antecedent conditions of the potentially explanatory regularity (i. e., of the explanans) are not historically documented. Even more specifically, the genre of biography presents a paradigmatic case of such historical explanations falling within the purview of literary studies as well. Not uncommonly, attempts to arrive at a coherent, psychologically convincing biographical portrayal are met with the problem that historically documented life events can be explained – as to their genesis or »coming about« – only by reference to ultimately fictitious – or, to take up the distinction introduced above, to ultimately fictive – assumptions regarding antecedent conditions. Literary biography may, therefore, be said to realize the desired combination of fictivity and factuality in the best possible way: namely, as fictivity in the service of factuality.To find a paradigmatic example of such a combination, one need look no further than the biography of the German chemist Clara Immerwahr, wife of the professor of chemistry, Dr. Fritz Haber, who during the First World War was in charge of German efforts to develop and deploy chemical combat agents such as poison gases. Clara Immerwahr demonstrably saw her husband’s work as a perversion of science but was completely isolated and powerless in her protest against it. Her suicide after the German gas attacks at Ypres in April and May 1915 may therefore be understood as a final and ultimate protest (attempt). There is no clear evidence for this, however, since Immerwahr’s farewell letters no longer exist. Accordingly, the path leading towards her decision to end her life has to be reconstructed using fictive assumptions (about decisive life events). This implies the following, central hypothesis: »Once a person breaks away from a religiously motivated rejection of suicide as an inadmissible interference in God’s plan, that person will, in a situation of hopeless, existential, despair, commit suicide.« In the example of a literary biography presented here, Immerwahr’s reaction to the papal encyclical of 1910 is posited as a fictive antecedent condition, for which no historical record exists. In particular, this involves the question whether Immerwahr was prompted by that experience to establish, in her own mind, the precedence of a scientific-humanistic ethos over any kind of religious ideology. That she did come to rank a scientist’s morality of a shared humanity more highly than religious dogma – particularly where self-determination over one’s own life (and the end of one’s own life) was concerned –, is, however, a highly probable developmental condition of her life story, considering its actual culmination in a highly demonstrative suicide.On the basis of this exemplary piece of biographical writing, the connection of fictivity and factuality may be considered in terms of its fundamental structures, and may be revealed as really a case of fictivity in the service of factuality. In fact, we are looking at an explanation of the »how it was possible that« type, in which the explanandum is a confirmed (historical) fact, while the antecedent condition of the explanatory regularity can only be postulated as a psychologically plausible, hermeneutically intelligible life event. It is this combination of factual effects (hence explained) and fictive conditions (thus explaining), or, otherwise put, of historical factuality and (psychologically) probable fictivity, which is meant to be captured by the term »real fiction«.Biography as a genre is particularly suitable for the elaboration of this concept of »real fiction«, because it has been seen as »fundamentally caught between facts and fiction« – between factuality and fictivity – for quite some time now. To justify the introduction of a new genre, however, the level of detail chosen must be such that it, on the one hand, allows us to apprehend the differences, in terms of literary theory, between this new model and other, established models of factuality, while at the same time giving a nuanced, structured account – one that meets the requirements of the philosophy of science– of how precisely fictivity might be said to be »in the service of factuality«. With regard to genre concepts already established in literary theory, one will have to consider the historical novel and the writing of the New Objectivity movement as well as documentary literature. In the case of the historical novel, writers’ »fictivity leeway« is much greater, since there is no requirement for a strict coherence with concrete factual explananda. As an antithesis to this, consider the writing of the New Objectivists, which is characterised by a predominance of factuality which is accompanied by a wholesale – if overgeneralised – rejection of aesthetic concerns and the demand for an unreserved critique of society and ideology. This same anti-ideological impulse also characterises documentary literature, in which the preferred narrative strategies are even fewer (being restricted to the modes of reportage, montage, etc.). The genre of »real fiction«, by contrast, is much more open and flexible, both in terms of (theoretical) content and narrative strategies. In return, however, it places significantly higher demands on the structural relation between fiction and factuality, insofar as an explanation of relevant historical facts has to be given. Thus, the concept of »real fiction« is characterised by a combination of openness (regarding its possible topics and content) with a formally concise explanatory structure. This is how »real fiction« particularizes the fictive in the service of the factual.In the end, »real fiction« can be explicated as a form of narrative explanation in the sense proposed by Danto. It is concerned with the historical explanation of developments – and in the case of biography, more specifically, with the explanatory reconstruction of a life story in ontogenetic terms. Thus, the reconstruction of fictive life events in the form of a narrative does indeed provide a causal explanation, but it does so employing narrative strategies. This permits an epistemological differentiation between »real fiction« and both explanatory narration and thought experiments, at the same time effecting a marked pragmatization (through recourse to the criterion of relevance) and a heightened flexibility of narrative strategies available. If one conceives of the combination of fictivity and narration as the source of literariness, we are ultimately confronted with a synthesis of (literary) art and science, of scientificity and literariness. Being, in the memorable phrase of Wilhelm Dilthey, a wissenschaftliches Kunstwerk (i. e., a »scientific« or »scholarly work of art«), »real fiction« is both: literature striving for the highest standards of scholarship – and scholarship given a literary form.

Autobiographical accounts of historical violence and trauma in comics form have gained widespread recognition as valuable pedagogical tools, particularly in the wake of Art Spiegelman’s groundbreaking Maus (1980–91). These comics often draw from the conventions of text-based autobiographies to provide first-person, non-fiction narratives of historical events, contributing to their perceived legitimacy as ‘serious’ texts worthy of inclusion in the classroom. However, this narrow focus on autobiographical comics as authentic windows to history has led educators to largely overlook the unique pedagogical possibilities offered by historical fiction comics, which can use both their fictionality and the comics medium to teach young readers to critically engage with history in different and deeper ways than traditional history textbooks and single-narrator autobiographical comics. This article remedies this gap by analysing how Nathan Hale’s middle-grade historical fiction comic One Dead Spy enacts a critical pedagogy approach to teach children to challenge hegemonic historical discourses and ways of thinking. The comic centres on the Revolutionary spy Nathan Hale (no relation to the comics creator) as he attempts to delay his hanging by narrating the American Revolution to his executioners. Nathan’s purportedly true account hinders children’s critical engagement with history by perpetuating dominant historical discourses, providing readers with a whitewashed, male-centric narrative of the Revolution. By contrast, the backmatter complicates Nathan’s one-sided representation of history by featuring a mini-comic narrated by the former slave Crispus Attucks and by attributing the comic’s non-fiction bibliography to fictional Research Babies. This blending of academic citational practices with absurd metafiction, as well as the introduction of marginalized counter-narrators, teaches middle-grade readers to question the authority of history writers and destabilizes all historical narratives as artificial constructs. However, the paratext also reinforces racist and sexist paradigms by displacing black and female voices to the comic’s supplemental endpapers, underwriting the comic’s well-intentioned attempts to educate readers about important voices excluded from white-centric narratives. Thus, while One Dead Spy demonstrates how historical fiction comics can provoke much-needed discussions about the inherent biases and erasures of dominant historical discourses, it also reveals the dangers of relegating opportunities for children to learn about marginalized perspectives in history to the literal margins.

Autobiographical accounts of historical violence and trauma in comics form have gained widespread recognition as valuable pedagogical tools, particularly in the wake of Art Spiegelman’s groundbreaking Maus (1980‐91). These comics often draw from the conventions of text-based autobiographies to provide first-person, non-fiction narratives of historical events, contributing to their perceived legitimacy as ‘serious’ texts worthy of inclusion in the classroom. However, this narrow focus on autobiographical comics as authentic windows to history has led educators to largely overlook the unique pedagogical possibilities offered by historical fiction comics, which can use both their fictionality and the comics medium to teach young readers to critically engage with history in different and deeper ways than traditional history textbooks and single-narrator autobiographical comics. This article remedies this gap by analysing how Nathan Hale’s middle-grade historical fiction comic One Dead Spy enacts a critical pedagogy approach to teach children to challenge hegemonic historical discourses and ways of thinking. The comic centres on the Revolutionary spy Nathan Hale (no relation to the comics creator) as he attempts to delay his hanging by narrating the American Revolution to his executioners. Nathan’s purportedly true account hinders children’s critical engagement with history by perpetuating dominant historical discourses, providing readers with a whitewashed, male-centric narrative of the Revolution. By contrast, the backmatter complicates Nathan’s one-sided representation of history by featuring a mini-comic narrated by the former slave Crispus Attucks and by attributing the comic’s non-fiction bibliography to fictional Research Babies. This blending of academic citational practices with absurd metafiction, as well as the introduction of marginalized counter-narrators, teaches middle-grade readers to question the authority of history writers and destabilizes all historical narratives as artificial constructs. However, the paratext also reinforces racist and sexist paradigms by displacing black and female voices to the comic’s supplemental endpapers, underwriting the comic’s well-intentioned attempts to educate readers about important voices excluded from white-centric narratives. Thus, while One Dead Spy demonstrates how historical fiction comics can provoke much-needed discussions about the inherent biases and erasures of dominant historical discourses, it also reveals the dangers of relegating opportunities for children to learn about marginalized perspectives in history to the literal margins.

Museums are digitizing their collections of 3D objects. Video games provide the technology to interact with these objects, but the educational goals of a museum are often at odds with the creative forces in a traditional game for entertainment. Efforts to bridge this gap have either settled on serious games with diminished entertainment value or have relied on historical fictions that blur the line between reality and fantasy. The Vessel project is a 3D game designed around puzzle mechanics that remains a game for entertainment while realizing the benefits of incorporating digitized artifacts from a museum. We explore how the critical thinking present in solving puzzles can still encourage engagement of the story the artifacts have to tell without creating an historical fiction. Preliminary results show a preference for our in-game digital interaction over a traditional gallery and a desire to learn more about the artifacts after playing.

Women’s voices have historically been silenced in a vast array of contexts. Ethical incongruities exist between theoretical perspectives regarding right action for protection of women’s dignity and the tangible dilemma presented by systemic silencing. A fictive imagination found in the arts – and literature in particular – often plays a role in bridging that ethical gap between theory and practice. Using my arts-based approach of poet(h)ic inquiry (Duff, 2016a), I portray the symbolic power of women’s voices, fictionality, and textual polyvocality in a research-based play. Poet(h)ic inquiry is a method for ethical reflection incorporating spiritual and poetic-aesthetic values: a pedagogical space of inquiry within a non-fixed site of teaching, life-long learning, creativity, and knowing, located at the confluence of the creative writing process (in the context of fiction as research), ethics, and spirit. In “Story about Story. Toronto 2001,” I inquire poet(h)ically, in a speculative fictional tale about a woman’s journey with her baby, using research journal data and “freefall writing” notes as springboard for a “fictive leap” (Mitchell, 1977). Through the fictive writing process, knowledge is generated with respect to themes of isolation and connection towards re-finding the lost self’s language. Voices heard and unheard, pinpoint an ethic of meaning towards transcending silence, suffering, and colonial injustices. My story evokes ironies and eco-ethical queries within wildlife research, as well as questions evoked by the sensory overload of urban commerce, and an unspoken class system. I include reflections on fictionality, literature, and redemption.

This essay examines the representation of sexuality and identity in the fictions of American novelist Edmund White. Gay sexuality and identity politics are discussed in relation to “coming out,” the discourse of American identity, and whiteness. White's output is shaped and informed by the cultural, historical and political circumstances which have conditioned how gay male sexuality has been discursively shaped over the last forty years. Yet his work has been inflected by theorizations of sexuality which have called into question the very specificity of a homosexual and/or gay identity. Who is White's audience today, and who wants to read a “white” boy's story anyway?

This thesis is an exploration of ancestral narratives in the fiction of Thomas Keneally and Christopher Koch. Initially, ancestry in literature creates an historical relationship which articulates the link between the past and the present. In this sense ancestry functions as a type of cultural memory where various issues of inheritance can be negotiated. However, the real value of ancestral narratives lies in their power to aid in the construction of both personal and communal identities. They have the potential to transform these identities, to transgress “natural” boundaries and to reshape conventional identities in the light of historical experience. For Keneally, ancestral narratives depict national forbears who “narrate the nation” into being. His earlier fictions present ancestors of the nation within a mythic and symbolic framework to outline Australian national identity. This identity is static, oppositional, and characterized by the delineation of boundaries which set nations apart from one another. However, Keneally’s more recent work transforms this conventional construction of national identity. It depicts an Irish-Australian diasporic identity which is hyphenated and transgressive: it transcends the conventional notion of nations as separate entities pitted against one another. In this way Keneally’s ancestral narratives enact the potential for transforming identity through ancestral narrative. On the other hand, Koch’s work is primarily concerned with the intergenerational trauma causes by losing or forgetting one’s ancestral narrative. His novels are concerned with male gender identity and the fragmentation which characterizes a self-destructive idea of maleness. While Keneally’s characters recover their lost ancestries in an effort to reshape their idea of what it is to be Australian, Koch’s main protagonist lives in ignorance of his ancestor’s life. He is thus unable to take the opportunity to transform his masculinity due to the pervasive cultural amnesia surrounding his family history and its role in Tasmania’s past. While Keneally and Koch depict different outcomes in their fictional ancestral narratives they are both deeply concerned with the potential to transform national and gender identities through ancestry.

碩士
國立中興大學
台灣文學與跨國文化研究所
102
In the area of Taiwanese literature, the history of Taiwan remains a popular topic among the authors. “A Primary Survey of Post- Nativisit Literature” published in 2007 by Professor Fan Ming-ju, indicates especially how junior authors construct scenes of early times by quoting various Taiwan-related reference documents. These authors, according to the survey, have constructed the history of people, families, and Taiwan.This thesis aims to discuss how memories are recalled about wars in Taiwan by using two books written respectively by two junior authors: Routes in the Dream, by Wu Ming-yi and Ghost Slayer, by Gan Yao-ming.Routes in the Dream is about how the protagonist manages to retrieve a long repressed memory of his father by dreaming. He travels back in time in the dream to World War II, when his father was still young. His journey begins in the nature of human world and extends beyond to the worlds of animals and the God.Ghost Slayer mainly describes how the young boy, Pa, becomes a Taiwan-Japanese soldier. Set in the Japanese colonial period, this tragic story of Taiwan even concerns the 228 Incident, though presented with magical elements blended into the realistic atmosphere.These two new-generation writers who were born in 1970''s successfully create a new literary aesthetic vision for all the readers by reinvestigating the tragic history of Taiwan. We try to classify these two books into the category of post-folklore fictions proposed by professor Fan Ming-ju and discuss if this classification is proper. On the other hand, we will discuss if new-generation writers concern the same historical events while writing the historical fictions as compared with the elder writers in 2000’s. that In addition, we will analyze whether the new-generation writers provide the readers another perspective to think more by writing out of the box. Finally, we will discuss about new elements of literature and recognition of identity and find out other historical images of post-nativisit fiction which were not been fully discussed by professor Fan Ming-ju.

This chapter examines the construction of Chinese gay identity in a popular queer online fiction titled Beijing Story. Drawing on the Derridian notion of “hauntology”, I propose to read the novel as a social critique of postsocialist China in the context of globalization and neoliberalism. I highlight the intersections between sexuality, masculinity, and class in the narrative, and the potential productivity of paying more attention to the issue of class in queer subject formation in contemporary China. I also emphasize the crucial role of the transnational, as well as historical forms of homoeroticism and recent historical memories of revolution and reconstruction, in constructing contemporary gay identity in China. In doing so, I critically assess the role of “queer Marxism” (Liu 2015) in a transnational Chinese context.

While Mitchell was offhand about his imaginative romances, they are viewed here as more than just potboilers whose brand of utopian idealism was designed to garner widespread popularity. On the contrary, Mitchell employs a lightweight fiction form to promote key themes about society, human nature and historical evolution. Two of his fantasy novels are explored as classic time-travel yarns of Voyage and Return. The first of these, Three Go Back, invokes a natural Golden Age of the prehistoric past untrammelled by civilised values, while his last fantasy Gay Hunter constitutes a darker dystopian narrative informed by the contemporary rise of fascism in Europe. The intermediate romance The Lost Trumpet is appraised as a classic example of the popular genre of the Quest, an early form of magical realism set in Egypt in which pressing socio-political themes are addressed within the framing fantasy of an archaeological search for Joshua’s talismanic trumpet of Old Testament legend. Ultimately the fantasy form is viewed as uncongenial to Mitchell’s literary aspirations, although his formal experimentation in these novels was important to his literary development.

The introduction establishes the theoretical grounds for the analysis of mathematics and modernism and situates the book within the critical contexts of modernism and science studies and literature and science studies. It sets out the unique epistemological status of mathematics, key stages in its historical development, and charts the new territory that the book opens up by examining literary engagements with mathematics and modernism. With reference to texts and theories by Herbert Mehrtens, Jeremy Gray, Leo Corry and Moritz Epple, the introduction establishes the concept of modernist mathematics, the role of the so-called ‘foundational crisis of mathematics’, and competing logicist, formalist and intuitionist positions, particularly as represented by David Hilbert and L.E.J. Brower. The introduction also sets out how the issues at stake in mathematics feed into the modernist revaluation of rationality and Enlightenment values and echo the sense of crisis in other areas. A particular focus is on theories that reflect on mathematics as a human construct and deliberately created fiction, including texts by Friedrich Nietzsche, Ernst Cassirer, Oswald Spengler, Hans Vaihinger, Hartry Field and Alain Badiou.

The Introduction situates the myth of the descent to the underworld (catabasis) in a broad historical context beginning with Ancient Near East traditions, including the Sumerian poem preserved in cuneiform, “The Descent of Inanna,” and extending to medieval treatments such as “The Visions of the Knight Tondal”, and those of the early modern period. It includes a survey of other scholarly treatments of the underworld theme in recent literature. A brief overview of the volume explains how it fills a gap in the scholarship by focusing on the adaptation of the theme of a visit to Hades in postmodern, feminist, and postcolonial fiction.