Journal articles on the topic 'Hint Key Distribution'

Abstract Diatoms (Bacillariophyta), one of the most abundant and diverse groups of marine phytoplankton, respond rapidly to the supply of new nutrients, often out-competing other phytoplankton. Herein, we integrated analyses of the evolution, distribution, and expression modulation of two gene families involved in diatom nitrogen uptake (DiAMT1 and DiNRT2), in order to infer the main drivers of divergence in a key functional trait of phytoplankton. Our results suggest that major steps in the evolution of the two gene families reflected key events triggering diatom radiation and diversification. Their expression is modulated in the contemporary ocean by seawater temperature, nitrate, and iron concentrations. Moreover, the differences in diversity and expression of these gene families throughout the water column hint at a possible link with bacterial activity. This study represents a proof-of-concept of how a holistic approach may shed light on the functional biology of organisms in their natural environment.

Invertases are key enzymes in carbon partitioning in higher plants. They gain additional importance in the distribution of carbohydrates in the event of wounding or pathogen attack. Although many researchers have found an increase in invertase activity upon infection, only a few studies were able to determine whether the source of this activity was host or parasite. This article analyzes the role of invertases involved in the biotrophic interaction of the rust fungus Uromyces fabae and its host plant, Vicia faba. We have identified a fungal gene, Uf-INV1, with homology to invertases and assessed its contribution to pathogenesis. Expression analysis indicated that transcription began upon penetration of the fungus into the leaf, with high expression levels in haustoria. Heterologous expression of Uf-INV1 in Saccharomyces cerevisiae and Pichia pastoris allowed a biochemical characterization of the enzymatic activity associated with the secreted gene product INV1p. Expression analysis of the known vacuolar and cell-wall-bound invertase isoforms of V. faba indicated a decrease in the expression of a vacuolar invertase, whereas one cell-wall-associated invertase exhibited increased expression. These changes were not confined to the infected tissue, and effects also were observed in remote plant organs, such as roots. These findings hint at systemic effects of pathogen infection. Our results support the hypothesis that pathogen infection establishes new sinks which compete with physiological sink organs.

A new species Sybistroma genriki sp. n. from the Yunnan province of China is described. It belongs to S. incisa group of species, differing from other species in mostly yellow antenna with arista-like stylus much longer than postpedicel; postpedicel elongated, much longer than wide, acute apically; stylus apical, with dark and white apical swelling; lower postocular setae white; legs mostly yellow except mostly black mid and hind coxae and brown-black distal spot on hind femur. A key to 11 species from Sichuan and Yunnan is provided, based mainly on male secondary sexual characters. The known distribution of the dolichopodine genus Sybistroma Meigen, 1824, is briefly discussed.

Contrary to the typical southern distribution of the extant Kempyninae, a subfamily of Osmylidae, its fossil group shows the high diversification in the northern hemisphere during the Mesozoic. Herein a new genus with a new species, Mirokempynus profundobifurcus gen. et sp. nov., and a new species, Jurakempynus loculosus sp. nov., of Kempyninae, are described from the Middle Jurassic Jiulongshan Formation of Daohugou Village, Inner Mongolia, China. The new species share the characteristic synapomorphies of Kempyninae, e.g. subcostal veinlets mostly irregularly forked in the forewing and the distinctly expanded intramedial area with multiple rows of cells in the hind wing. The new genus distinctly shows a particular condition of intramedial area and MP branching in the hind wing. However, the condition of the region between MA and MP significantly broadened in the hind wing appear distinctively different to other known kempynine genera. A key is provided for all the genera of documented kempynines, both fossil and extant.

Purpose: Maximal oxygen uptake () is a key determinant of endurance performance. Therefore, devising high-intensity interval training (HIIT) that maximizes stress of the oxygen-transport and -utilization systems may be important to stimulate further adaptation in athletes. The authors compared physiological and perceptual responses elicited by work intervals matched for duration and mean power output but differing in power-output distribution. Methods: Fourteen cyclists ( 69.2 [6.6] mL·kg−1·min−1) completed 3 laboratory visits for a performance assessment and 2 HIIT sessions using either varied-intensity or constant-intensity work intervals. Results: Cyclists spent more time at during HIIT with varied-intensity work intervals (410 [207] vs 286 [162] s, P = .02), but there were no differences between sessions in heart-rate- or perceptual-based training-load metrics (all P ≥ .1). When considering individual work intervals, minute ventilation () was higher in the varied-intensity mode (F = 8.42, P = .01), but not respiratory frequency, tidal volume, blood lactate concentration [La], ratings of perceived exertion, or cadence (all F ≤ 3.50, ≥ .08). Absolute changes (Δ) between HIIT sessions were calculated per work interval, and Δ total oxygen uptake was moderately associated with (r = .36, P = .002). Conclusions: In comparison with an HIIT session with constant-intensity work intervals, well-trained cyclists sustain higher fractions of when work intervals involved power-output variations. This effect is partially mediated by an increased oxygen cost of hyperpnea and not associated with a higher [La], perceived exertion, or training-load metrics.

X-ray pair distribution function (PDF) analysis of Al0.57Sn0.43O1.71, a promising candidate as anode material for Li ion batteries, has been carried out using synchrotron radiation at 60 keV. The average and short-range ordering of nanocrystalline Al0.57Sn0.43O1.71was investigated both with the traditional Rietveld refinement method and with X-ray PDF analysis. The instrumental parameters of the high-resolution powder diffraction beamline P02.1, Petra III, have been characterized. Reverse Monte Carlo (RMC) refinements based on PDF data indicate that Al substitution induces local distortions around the Al/Sn atoms and that oxygen vacancies, induced by the Al substitution, are mostly located on an anion site around the Al atoms. Additionally, RMC refinements hint at a clustering of Al atoms.

Aulacofoenus Kieffer, which can be readily distinguished from other hyptiogastrine genera by having a short hidden ovipositor, the first flagellomere much longer than the second, a groove on the hind trochanter, and two discal cells in the fore wing, is revised. Fourteen species (10 new) are recognised; twelve of these [A. fallax (Schletterer), A. thoracicus (Guérin Menéville), comb. nov., A. bungeyi, sp. nov., A. fletcheri, sp. nov., A. goonooensis, sp. nov., A. kurmondi, sp. nov., A. loxleyi, sp. nov., A. marionae, sp. nov., A. perenjorii, sp. nov., A. swani, sp. nov., A. whiani, sp. nov., andA. wubinensis, sp. nov.] are recorded from Australia, and two [A. deletangi(Schletterer) and A. infumatus (Schletterer)] from South America. Two synonymies are proposed: A. asymmetricus (Turner) with A. thoracicus, comb. nov. and A. szépligetiiKieffer with A. deletangi. Relationships among genera of Hyptiogastrinae and species of Aulacofoenus are discussed, as is the restricted Gondwanic (amphinotic) distribution of the genus. A key to species is also presented.

Blazars are highly variable and display complex characteristics. A key characteristic is the flux probability distribution function or flux PDF whose shape depends upon the form of the underlying physical process driving variability. The BL Lacertae Mrk 421 is one of the brightest and most variable blazars across the electromagnetic spectrum. It has been reported to show hints of lognormality across the spectrum from radio to gamma-ray histograms of observed fluxes. This would imply that the underlying mechanisms may not conform to the “standard” additive, multi-zone picture, but could potentially have multiplicative processes. This is investigated by testing the observed lightcurves at different wavelengths with time-series simulations. We find that the simulations reveal a more complex scenario, than a single lognormal distribution explaining the multiwavelength lightcurves of Mrk 421.

Forty-one new species of the mostly neotropical genus Coniceromyia Borgmeier are described. The descriptions follow the methodology of recent works on the genus taxonomy and illustrate habitus, foremetatarsus, wing, hind femur, and hypopygium for each species. Unique features of some species are also illustrated, including several male features possibly related to sexual selection such as processes on different tarsomeres of the foreleg. New records for the known species are presented, as well as an identification key for the species of the genus and maps with their updated distribution. Coniceromyia brandaoi Ament & Amorim is synonymized with Coniceromyia plaumanni Borgmeier. Even though this work examined the Coniceromyia of the major collections of neotropical Phoridae, the high number of singletons and doubletons indicates that the real diversity of the genus may still be far from understood.

Abstract Every second more than 2 million new erythrocytes are released from the bone marrow of human adults, highlighting the tremendous turn-over of these cells. In parallel to hematopoietic stem cell niches, the last stages of erythropoiesis take place in specialized bone marrow niches, termed 'erythroid niches'. Concretely, the erythroid niche is composed of a 'central macrophage' which is surrounded by erythroid progenitor cells. Regardless of steady-state or stress erythropoiesis, iron availability is, beside erythropoietin, a key factor determining erythroid output and red blood cell quality, as reflected by hemoglobin content of these cells. It is well established that systemic iron availability for erythropoiesis, in the form of iron saturated transferrin (Tf), is mainly maintained via a recycling process of senescent red blood cells, which takes place in macrophages of the reticuloendothelial system. Yet, it is still a matter of debate if also central macrophages are involved in iron supply for red blood cell development in a more direct way due to their close proximity to developing red blood cells. Using a myeloid-specific knockout mouse strain, lacking the solely known iron exporter ferroportin (Fpn; Fpnfl/flLysMCre+/+ mice) and specific reporter mice (ROSA26tdTomatofl/fl Cx3cr1CreERT2 mice), we examined the connection between iron metabolism, erythropoiesis and central macrophages. Analysis of Fpnfl/flLysMCre+/+ animals at steady state revealed microcytic anemia, higher tissue iron loading, reduced hepatic hepcidin expression and distorted erythroid precursor population distribution in the bone marrow with no significant chances in Tf saturation (Tf-Sat). The latter is giving a first hint, that local bone marrow Fpn expression on macrophages may be important for iron supply for erythropoiesis. Strikingly, further work up via flow cytometry demonstrated that disturbances seen in bone marrow erythropoiesis were accompanied by nearby loss of resident bone marrow macrophages (defined as CD11blo, F4/80pos, MerTKpos). In parallel, a CD11bhi, F4/80pos, MerTKpos population came into existence, suggesting that these cells may compensate for the loss of 'canonical' central macrophages. Attempting to explain these intriguing results, we sought to investigate differentiation pathways and turnover of bone marrow central macrophages. First, we used the ROSA26tdTomatofl/fl Cx3cr1CreERT2 monocyte-specific reporter mice and techniques of transient monocyte labelling in utero and in adult phlebotomized animals to determine the origin of central macrophages. We could show that those cells undergo constant replenishment by circulating monocytes. Notably, the rate of this process got markedly increased upon recovery from blood loss and concomitant expansion of the central macrophage population. Second, by administration of a CCR2/CCR5 inhibitor (cenicriviroc), diminishing monocyte egress from the bone marrow and tissue infiltration, we could demonstrate decreased reticulocyte count during stress erythropoiesis, thus strengthening the direct impact of macrophages to support effective erythroid output. Next, effects of stress-induced erythropoiesis were investigated in Fpnfl/flLysMCre+/+ compared to Fpnfl/flLysMCre-/- mice. Amelioration of anemia after phlebotomy was extended, microcytosis was more pronounced and reticulocyte egress was diminished but prolonged. Of interest, Fpnfl/flLysMCre+/+ mice on a diet containing an 8-times higher iron content during phlebotomy, thus transiently increasing Tf-Sat, recovered from anemia wildtype-like. These results indicate that stress erythropoiesis with a high iron demand depends, under normal iron availability, in part on central macrophages and their nursing function to overcome the increased demand of iron. Ongoing experiments aim to identify how recruited bone marrow macrophages, i.e. central macrophages, contribute to erythropoiesis during stress - if central macrophages directly supply developing erythroid cells with iron in a Tf-free fashion or, if they are suppliers of additional growth factors that work synergistically with the Tf-bound iron to drive hemoglobin production. In summary our data clearly show that macrophages need to be recruited to the bone marrow for effective erythroid output during stress erythropoiesis. Disclosures Weiss: Kymab Ltd.: Consultancy. Theurl:Kymab Ltd.: Consultancy, Research Funding.

The genus Pediella Roberts, described originally from the Venezuelan Páramos is reviewed. Three new species from the Peruvian Puna are described. The genus shows a striking disjunct distribution. It is the only Melanoplinae genus known to occur at the Páramos and Puna highlands above 3000 meters. Pediella exhibits a homogeneous morphology across species. Differences among species are rather small, observed mostly in the shape of the male cerci, phallic complex, and coloration of the hind tibiae. The edition of this paper has been formatted with embedded links to images of type specimens, maps based on geo referenced specimen data and species key available on the Orthoptera Species file online (http://orthoptera.speciesfile.org).

New information is given on the distribution of Cheilosia Meigen species (Diptera, Syrphidae) in Central Asia, together with a description of two new species. The new species, Cheilosia teneripilosa sp. nov. and Cheilosia vadimi sp. nov., belong to the subgenus Montanocheila Barkalov. Cheilosia teneripilosa differs from its close allies by a set of the following characters: eyes with long black hairs, legs of male completely black, abdomen predominantly with light hairs, superior lobe of hypandrium with a very small left process. Cheilosia vadimi is close to C. kirgizorum Peck, but differs by shorter hairs on the eyes and scutum, and a completely different shape of the superior lobe of the hypandrium. A revised key is given to the ‘group C’ species of Cheilosia from Central Asia (those with haired eyes, bare face and absence of strong bristles on scutellar hind margin). The descriptions of the new species are accompanied by drawings of the head and male genitalia.

The species of Centris of the hyptidis group are revised. The group, composed by C. hyptidis Ducke, C. hyptidoides Roig-Alsina, and C. thelyopsis n. sp., exhibits unique morphological characters within the genus, like foreand midtrochanters with a laminar expansion at the base, and elaiospathes strongly modified. An updated catalog, and floral and distributional records are provided for each species, as well as an identification key and a distribution map. The male of C. hyptidoides is described for the first time and a modern diagnosis for C. hyptidis is presented. A new species, C. thelyopsis n. sp., is described from Goiás State, in central Brazil. It can be easily distinguished from the two previously known species by its predominant orange pilosity, including that of the hind legs and metasoma.

Hamadiana chapadensis gen. n. and sp. n. is described based on a single male specimen collected in Central Brazil. The new species belongs to the diving beetle tribe Laccophilini but could not be assigned to any existing genera, therefore a new genus is described to accommodate it. Hamadiana gen. n. is unique among Laccophilini in having the hind margin of the metacoxal process deeply incised and medially slightly protruded backwards. In addition, it differs from other genera of the tribe by having the antennomeres simple, not expanded, the metacoxal lines not straight, and the metatibiae with two simple apical spurs. The habitus, male genitalia, and diagnostic features are illustrated, and a distribution map is provided. A recently published key to Laccophilini is modified to include the new genus.

The tabanid tribe Diachlorini (Diptera) is the most genus-rich tribe in the Tabanidae; the tribe is cosmopolitan, but the greatest species richness and morphological diversity are found in the Australasian and Neotropical Regions. A new arrangement for the species of Acellomyia González is given; Acellomyia lauta (Hine) is transferred to a new genus, Montismyia gen.n., based on its morphological differences from Acellomyia and geographical distribution. The morphological differences between Acellomyia and Montismyia gen. n. are discussed. Two new species, Acellomyia casablanca sp.n. and Acellomyia puyehue sp.n., are described from specimens collected in southern Chile. Comparison of the morphology of Acellomyia paulseni mapuche (Coscarón & Philip) stat.nov. indicate that they should be elevated to species rank. A key to species of Acellomyia is provided and diagnostic characters are illustrated.

A survey was conducted during July 2009 to October 2010 to know the occurrence of okra shoot and fruit borer species that infest okra in Bangladesh. Infested okra fruits were collected from eleven selected locations representing 11 Agro-ecological Zones of Bangladesh and reared in the laboratory. A total of 423 adult individuals consisting of 188 male and 235 female moths emerged from the infested fruits. The male and female ratio was 1.00?1.25. The morphological characteristics of adult moths were recorded. Head and thorax of adults are ochreous white; forewings are pale white with a wedge shaped horizontal green patch in the middle and hind wings are silvery creamy white in color. The males are smaller than the females in size and the females are Vshaped at the end of the anal part but the males have thick hairs at the end of the anal part. Pupae are chocolate brown, bluntly rounded and enclosed in grey colored inverted boat shaped cocoon formed in the fruit or in the sand. Full grown caterpillars measured 1.64 cm in length and their color is brownish with white streaks dorsally and pale yellow ventrally, without finger tipped process. The recorded morphological characteristics ware compared with standard key and the insects were identified as Earias vittella belonging to the family Noctuidae.Bangladesh J. Agril. Res. 41(4): 657-665, December 2016

Non-alcoholic fatty liver disease (NAFLD) remains a major cause of chronic liver disease worldwide. Despite extensive studies, the heterogeneity of the risk factors as well as different disease mechanisms complicate the goals toward effective diagnosis and management. Recently, it has been shown that sex differences play a role in the prevalence and progression of NAFLD. In vitro, in vivo, and clinical studies revealed that the lower prevalence of NAFLD in premenopausal as compared to postmenopausal women and men is mainly due to the protective effects of estrogen and body fat distribution. It has been also described that males and females present differential pathogenic features in terms of biochemical profiles and histological characteristics. However, the exact molecular mechanisms for the gender differences that exist in the pathogenesis of NAFLD are still elusive. Lipogenesis, oxidative stress, and inflammation play a key role in the progression of NAFLD. For NAFLD, only a few studies characterized these mechanisms at the molecular level. Therefore, we aim to review the reported differential molecular mechanisms that trigger such different pathogenesis in both sexes. Differences in lipid metabolism, glucose homeostasis, oxidative stress, inflammation, and fibrosis were discussed based on the evidence reported in recent publications. In conclusion, with this review, we hope to provide a new perspective for the development of future practice guidelines as well as a new avenue for the management of the disease.

Spalangiopelta is a small genus of chalcid wasps that has received little attention despite the widespread distribution of its extant species. The fossil record of the genus is restricted to a single species from Miocene Dominican amber. We describe two new fossil species, Spalangiopelta darlingi sp. n. and Spalangiopelta semialba sp. n. from Baltic amber. The species can be placed within the extant genus Spalangiopelta based on the distinctly raised hind margin of the mesopleuron. 3D models reconstructed from µCT data were utilized to assist in the descriptions. Furthermore, we provide a key for the females of all currently known Spalangiopelta species. The phylogenetic placement of the fossils within the genus is analyzed using parsimony analysis based on morphological characters. Phylogenetic and functional relevance of two wing characters, admarginal setae and the hyaline break, are discussed. The newly described Baltic amber fossils significantly extend the minimum age of Spalangiopelta to the Upper Eocene.

A preliminary key to the genera of Papuan Eupholini is given. The hitherto monotypic subgenus Niphetoscapha Heller 1914 is transferred from Rhinoscapha Montrouzier 1855 to Gymnopholus Heller 1901: Gymnopholus (Niphetoscapha) wichmanni (Heller), comb. n.. It is closely related to G. audax Gressitt 1966 and G. nitidus Gressitt & Sedlacek 1967 which are moved from the subgenus Symbiopholus Gressitt 1966 to Niphetoscapha. The record of the genus Celebia Thomson 1857 for New Guinea is reported as erroneous. The genus Penthoscapha Heller from montane and subalpine habitats of the central mountains of West New Guinea is revised. A lectotype is designated for the type-species, P. lorentzi Heller, 1914. Penthoscapha toxopei (Gressitt & Sedlacek 1967), comb. n. is transferred from Gymnopholus. Four new species of Penthoscapha are proposed: P. doormanensis sp. n., P. gerhardschereri sp. n., P. pulverea sp. n., P. similis sp. n.. All species of Penthoscapha are described, a key is provided, and their distribution is mapped. Reduction of hind wings in Penthoscapha and fusion of elytra in P. gerhardschereri are interpreted as consequences of flightlessness. Extracuticular pigments are described and illustrated for P. doormanensis, P. gerhardschereri, and P. pulverea. The phylogenetic placement of Penthoscapha among Eupholini is briefly discussed.

ABSTRACT How does the environment affect active galactic nucleus (AGN) activity? We investigated this question in an extinction-free way by selecting 1120 infrared (IR) galaxies in the AKARI North Ecliptic Pole Wide field at redshift z ≤ 1.2. A unique feature of the AKARI satellite is its continuous nine-band IR filter coverage, providing us with an unprecedentedly large sample of IR spectral energy distributions (SEDs) of galaxies. By taking advantage of this, for the first time, we explored the AGN activity derived from SED modelling as a function of redshift, luminosity, and environment. We quantified AGN activity in two ways: AGN contribution fraction (ratio of AGN luminosity to the total IR luminosity), and AGN number fraction (ratio of number of AGNs to the total galaxy sample). We found that galaxy environment (normalized local density) does not greatly affect either definitions of AGN activity of our IRG/LIRG samples (log LTIR ≤ 12). However, we found a different behaviour for ULIRGs (log LTIR > 12). At our highest redshift bin (0.7 ≲ z ≲ 1.2), AGN activity increases with denser environments, but at the intermediate redshift bin (0.3 ≲ z ≲ 0.7), the opposite is observed. These results may hint at a different physical mechanism for ULIRGs. The trends are not statistically significant (p ≥ 0.060 at the intermediate redshift bin, and p ≥ 0.139 at the highest redshift bin). Possible different behaviour of ULIRGs is a key direction to explore further with future space missions (e.g. JWST, Euclid, SPHEREx).

Prevention strategies play a key role in the fight against HIV/AIDS. Vaginal and rectal microbicides hold great promise in tackling sexual transmission of HIV-1, but effective and safe products are yet to be approved and made available to those in need. While most efforts have been placed in finding and testing suitable active drug candidates to be used in microbicide development, the last decade also saw considerable advances in the design of adequate carrier systems and formulations that could lead to products presenting enhanced performance in protecting from infection. One strategy demonstrating great potential encompasses the use of nanosystems, either with intrinsic antiviral activity or acting as carriers for promising microbicide drug candidates. Polymeric nanoparticles, in particular, have been shown to be able to enhance mucosal distribution and retention of promising antiretroviral compounds. One important aspect in the development of nanotechnology-based microbicides relates to the design of pharmaceutical vehicles that allow not only convenient vaginal and/or rectal administration, but also preserve or even enhance the performance of nanosystems. In this manuscript, we revise relevant work concerning the selection of vaginal/rectal dosage forms and vehicle formulation development for the administration of microbicide nanosystems. We also pinpoint major gaps in the field and provide pertinent hints for future work.

ABSTRAK Identifikasi keberadaan diapir merupakan hal esensial dalam pertambangan batubara mengingat sifatnya yang seperti intrusi dapat mengurangi cadangan batubara. Seperti yang teramati pada area pertambangan PT Arutmin Indonesia. Kehadiran mud diapir pada PIT HG telah terbukti mengurangi cadangan batubara, dengan luas area terdampak 0,7 Ha. Selain itu, beberapa diapir diperkirakan belum terpetakan karena terletak di bawah permukaan dan belum tersentuh oleh pengeboran eksplorasi PT Arutmin Indonesia, sehingga tanda-tanda permukaan seperti singkapan batuan dan struktur geologi maupun provenance diapir dapat menjadi petunjuk yang penting. Oleh sebab itu, tujuan penelitian ini adalah untuk mengetahui pola distribusi dan korelasi antara keberadaan diapir dengan struktur geologi, stratigrafi, dan provenance teridentifikasi yang kemudian dapat digunakan untuk memperkirakan persebaran diapir lainnya. Analisis dilakukan pada data primer hasil pemetaan geologi lapangan sebagai representasi struktur geologi maupun stratigrafi makro sebagai identifikator provenance. Hasil pemetaan lapangan seluas 60 km2 menunjukkan daerah penelitian terdiri dari tiga satuan batuan, yaitu satuan batupasir-batulempung termasuk lima singkapan diapir di dalamnya, satuan batulempung, dan satuan intrusi andesit. Satuan batupasir-batulempung memiliki kesetaraan dengan Formasi Tanjung yang merupakan formasi batuan sedimen tertua di daerah penelitian. Struktur geologi yang berkembang pada daerah penelitian adalah sesar geser menganan serta sesar geser mengiri yang berperan besar sebagai pengontrol keterdapatan diapir. Analisis stratigrafi menunjukkan provenance mud diapir berasal dari satuan batupasir-batulempung, Formasi Tanjung. Berdasarkan hasil analisis di atas, persebaran mud diapir berkorelasi dengan persebaran struktur geologi terutama sesar geser dan persebaran satuan batupasir-batulempung. Karena hal tersebut, maka pada area Tambang Senakin terdapat potensi keberadaan mud diapir yang tidak tersingkap di permukaan dan dapat menyebabkan hilangnya cadangan batubara termodelkan yang jauh lebih besar dari yang telah terbukti saat ini. Sebagai langkah preventif untuk mengetahui keberadaan diapir yang belum teridentifikasi, maka penulis membuat peta potensi keterdapatan diapir pada area penelitian di PT. Arutmin Indonesia Tambang Senakin. Untuk mendapatkan hasil yang lebih baik, penulis menyarankan pihak pelaksana tambang untuk melakukan analisis geolistrik pada titik yang telah direkomendasikan penulis. Kata kunci: mud diapir, Formasi Tanjung, analisis stratigrafi, pemetaan geologi lapangan, cadangan batubara ABSTRACT Identifying diapir occurrence is essential in coal mining activities knowing it behaves like an intrusion that can lead to a reduction in coal reserve. As we can observe in PT Arutmin Indonesia mining field. The presence of mud diapir on PIT HG has been proved to cut down its coal reserve, with the total area affected is 0,7 Ha. Since not all of the mud diapirs are exposed to the surface, we suspected that some of them are still yet to be found by PT Arutmin Indonesia’s exploration. Hence, diapir provenance and surface hints such as outcrop and geological structure can be a crucial indication. Therefore, this study objectives are to identify distribution and correlation between diapir occurrence and geological structures, stratigraphy, and its identified provenance that can be used to estimate other diapirs. This study began with geological mapping to identify the geological structure and its stratigraphy. Stratigraphic analysis is carried out as provenance identifier. Geological mapping in 60 km2 area concluded that the area have three lithological units, sandstone-claystone unit including five diapir outcrops, claystone unit, and andesite intrusion unit. Sandstone-claystone unit is equivalent to Tanjung Formation which is the oldest sedimentary rocks formation in the area. Dextral strike slip and sinistral strike slip faults which are found in the area considered to have a significant effect on diapirs occurrence. Further stratigraphic analysis shows that the the mud diapir’s provenance is from Tanjung Formation. Based on these analyses, we conclude that mud diapir occurrence has a good correlation to geological structures especially the strike slip faults and sandstone-claystone unit distribution. Consequently, Senakin Mine Field has a chance of losing its potential coal reserve much bigger than previously estimated due to unidentified mud diapirs occurrence below the surface. We will provide a mud diapir occurence potential map as a preventive measure in identifying unknown diapirs. We also suggest doing subsurface resistivity analysis for further detailed and better results. Keywords: mud diapir, Tanjung formation, stratigraphic analysis, geological mapping, coal reserve

Members of the Smiliini, the nominotypical tribe of the large New World subfamily Smiliinae, are predominately Nearctic in distribution. This tribe included 169 mostly tree-feeding species in 23 genera. A parsimony-based phylogenetic analysis of an original dataset comprising 89 traditional and newly discovered morphological characters for 69 species, including representatives of 22 of the 23 described genera of Smiliini and five other previously recognized tribes of the subfamily, resulted in a single most parsimonious tree with three major clades. The broad recent concept of Smiliini (including Telamonini as a junior synonym) was not recovered as monophyletic by the analysis. Instead, the analysis supported narrower definitions of both Telamonini, here reinstated from synonymy, and Smiliini. A key and diagnoses are given to define these tribes, along with discussions of their phylogeny, biogeography, and host plant associations. The genera Antianthe Fowler, Hemicardiacus Plummer, Smilirhexia McKamey, and Tropidarnis Fowler are placed as Smiliinae, incertae sedis. Based on the phylogeny, several genera from both tribes including Atymna Stål, Cyrtolobus Goding, Heliria Stål, and Telamona Fitch are not monophyletic. Diagnostic characters emphasizing the morphological differences between the Smiliini and Telamonini include the dorsal margin of the head, the shape of the pronotum, the size of the pronotal humeral angles, the presence or absence of pronotal longitudinal rugae, the size of forewing cells, variations in the fusion of veins R and M apically in both the foreand hind wing, and the shape of the apex of the female second valvulae. Mapping geographic distribution onto the phylogeny suggests that the common ancestor of the ingroup (all three clades) occurred in Central America and Mexico, with multiple dispersals to temperate North America. Many Smiliini and Telamonini feed on various species of oak (Quercus) and the close evolutionary association between these insects and their hosts is discussed.

Ordinal classification refers to classification problems in which the classes have a natural order imposed on them because of the nature of the concept studied. Some ordinal classification approaches perform a projection from the input space to one-dimensional (latent) space that is partitioned into a sequence of intervals (one for each class). Class identity of a novel input pattern is then decided based on the interval its projection falls into. This projection is trained only indirectly as part of the overall model fitting. As with any other latent model fitting, direct construction hints one may have about the desired form of the latent model can prove very useful for obtaining high-quality models. The key idea of this letter is to construct such a projection model directly, using insights about the class distribution obtained from pairwise distance calculations. The proposed approach is extensively evaluated with 8 nominal and ordinal classifiers methods, 10 real-world ordinal classification data sets, and 4 different performance measures. The new methodology obtained the best results in average ranking when considering three of the performance metrics, although significant differences are found for only some of the methods. Also, after observing other methods of internal behavior in the latent space, we conclude that the internal projections do not fully reflect the intraclass behavior of the patterns. Our method is intrinsically simple, intuitive, and easily understandable, yet highly competitive with state-of-the-art approaches to ordinal classification.

Water voles are important key fossils of the Quaternary. Given their wide distribution, regional differences were expected to exist in different areas. Early hints on possible independent evolutionary trends of water voles in Italy came from palaeontology and specifically from the comparison of enamel differentiation (SDQ value) of the first lower molars between specimens from Italy and Germany. The data available at that time indicated that in the early Middle Pleistocene there were only minor enamel differences between first lower molars of water voles from these two geographical regions, whereas from the late Middle Pleistocene onwards, two lineages were clearly distinguished. Examination of mitochondrial DNA of extant Arvicola populations from across Europe by Wust-Saucy led to a similar conclusion that Arvicola populations from the Italian Peninsula had undergone independent evolution during the last 0.2 million years. The inclusion of new fossil and extant Arvicola samples from Italy and Central Europe, together with the examination of additional morphological parameters of the occlusal surface (so-called van der Meulen indexes), have provided further support for the proposed evolutionary pattern. The combined analysis of length, SDQ and A/L index reveal a certain degree of intercorrelation and indicate an essentially continuous evolutionary trend. However, variations are discernible, related to the age and geographical origins of the samples, and become more clearly seen at least since the beginning of the Late Pleistocene. Italian samples have a characteristic tendency to grow larger, elongate the anteroconid, and have less derived SDQ. This corroborates the suggestion that Italian water voles underwent an evolutionary history distinct from that of their Central European counterparts. The differences in morphology may be related to a combination of etho-/ecological (aquatic or terrestrial habits) and palaeobiogeographical factors.

Hereford and Angus bull calves, progeny of breeding lines selected for nearly six generations for rapid growth on a high-energy (80% concentrate: 20% forage) or a low-energy (100% forage) diet, were themselves given a diet of 70% concentrate: 30% forage from 50 kg liveweight until slaughter at 500 kg liveweight. Effects of breed and ancestral selection diet on the composition of the empty body and the carcass at slaughter were measured. The sole effect of differences in the energy content of the selection diet was that bulls from the high-energy selection lines had higher proportions of muscle and bone in the front quarter and lower proportions in the hind quarter than bulls from the low-energy selection lines. Differences were small and probably not of economic importance. Breed of bull influenced significantly a number of body composition variables. As a proportion of empty liveweight, Herefords had lighter carcasses, less kidney fat, and heavier hides, heads, and feet than Angus. In addition, the carcasses of Hereford bulls had a higher proportion of bone than did those of the Angus and this was associated with differences in live body dimensions that reflected a larger overall skeletal size. As a result of these differences in the distribution of weight among the various parts of the empty body, Angus were superior to the Herefords in terms of total yield of carcass muscle (642 vs. 616 g kg−1 of empty liveweight) and ratio of muscle to bone in the carcass (4.96 vs. 4.64). It was concluded that the various indices of empty body and carcass composition were little influenced by ancestral selection diet but were affected by breed. Key words: Carcass, empty body, composition, cattle, selection, growth rate

ABSTRACT We have performed a very long baseline interferometry (VLBI) survey of local (z < 0.05) ultrahard X-ray (14–195 keV) selected active galactic nuclei (AGNs) from the Swift Burst Alert Telescope (BAT) using KVN, KaVA, and VLBA. We first executed fringe surveys of 142 BAT-detected AGNs at 15 or 22 GHz. Based on the result from the fringe surveys and archival data, we find 10/279 nearby AGN (∼4 per cent) VLBI have 22 GHz flux above 30 mJy. This implies that the X-ray AGNs with a bright nuclear jet are not common. Among these 10 radio-bright AGNs, we obtained 22 GHz VLBI imaging data of our own for four targets and reprocessed archival data for six targets. We find that, although our 10 AGNs observed with VLBI span a wide range of pc-scale morphological types, they lie on a tight linear relation between accretion luminosity and nuclear jet luminosity. Our result suggests that a powerful nuclear radio jet correlates with the accretion disc luminosity. We also probed the Fundamental Plane of black hole activity at VLBI scales (e.g. few milliarcsecond). The jet luminosity and size distribution among our sample roughly fit into the proposed AGN evolutionary scenario, finding powerful jets after the blow-out phase based on the Eddington ratio (λEdd)–hydrogen column density (NH) relation. In addition, we find some hints of gas inflow or galaxy–galaxy merger in the majority of our sample. This implies that gas supply via tidal interactions in galactic scale may help the central AGN to launch a powerful parsec-scale jet.

Se realizó el aislamiento e identificación de levaduras nativas de un viñedo de la especie Vitis vinifera variedad Malvasía blanca, en la Región Zuliana. Se muestrearon aséptica y aleatoriamente bayas y partes de la planta (hojas, raquis, corteza y suelo), de un total de 123 plantas, correspondientes a un viñedo de la variedad de uva Malvasía. A aproximadamente a 500m del viñedo, se encuentra la bodega. La identificación de las levaduras aisladas en el viñedo se realizó por técnicas moleculares mediante PCR-RFLP, sometiendo los productos amplificados a un análisis de restricción con las enzimas Hinf I, Hae III, CfoI y DdeI. La distribución de las levaduras en los diversos sustratos fue en el suelo 60% Hanseniaspora guillermondii y 40% Hanseniaspora uvarum, en la corteza 90% Candida sake y 10% Hanseniaspora uvarum, en hojas 100% por Rhodotorula mucilagenosa, en raquis 100% por Aureobasidium pullulans y en las bayas 96% Rhodotorula mucilagenosa y 4% Aureobasidium pullulans. En el viñedo están ampliamente difundidos los géneros Ascomycetos Hanseniaspora, Candida y Aureobasidium y el género Basdiomycetos Rhodotorula, siendo las levaduras oxidativas Aureobasidium y Rhodotorula las de mayor difusión en el mismo, sin embargo, cabe destacar la presencia de levaduras fermentativas como los géneros Hanseniaspora y Candida, importantes levaduras con reconocido potencial enológico, que podrán ser utilizadas en futuras fermentaciones alcohólicas para obtener vinos con calidad única por ser fermentados con levaduras autóctonas adaptadas a clima tropical. Palabras clave: levaduras autóctonas, variedad Malvasía, PCR-RFLP 5,8S. ABSTRACT The isolation and identification of native yeasts from a vineyard of the Vitis vinifera white variety Malvasia was carried out in Zulia, Venezuela. Aseptically and randomly, berries and parts of the plant (leaves, rachis, bark and soil) were sampled from a total of 123 plants, corresponding to a vineyard of the Malvasia grape variety. A winery is located at approximately 500 m from the vineyard. The identification of the yeasts isolated in the vineyard was carried out by molecular techniques by PCR-RFLP, subjecting the amplified products to a restriction analysis with the enzymes Hinf I, Hae III, CfoI and DdeI. The distribution of the yeasts in the different substrates was in the soil 60% Hanseniaspora guillermondii and 40% Hanseniaspora uvarum, in the bark 90% Candida sake and 10% Hanseniaspora uvarum, in leaves 100% by Rhodotorula mucilagenosa, in rachis 100% by Aureobasidium pullulans and in berries 96% Rhodotorula mucilagenosa and 4% Aureobasidium pullulans. In the vineyard, the Ascomycetos type Hanseniaspora, Candida and Aureobasidium and the genus Basdiomycetos Rhodotorula are widely spread, with the oxidative yeasts Aureobasidium and Rhodotorula being the most widespread, however, the presence of fermentative yeasts such as the Hanseniaspora and Candida genera, important yeasts with recognized oenological potential, which can be used in future alcoholic fermentations to obtain wines with unique quality by being fermented with native yeasts adapted to tropical climate. Key words: native yeasts, Malvasía variety, PCR-RFLP 5.8S.

Context. X-ray emission from quasars (QSOs) has been used to assess supermassive black hole accretion properties up to z ≈ 6. However, at z > 6 only ≈15 QSOs are covered by sensitive X-ray observations, preventing a statistically significant investigation of the X-ray properties of the QSO population in the first Gyr of the Universe. Aims. We present new Chandra observations of a sample of 10 z > 6 QSOs, selected to have virial black-hole mass estimates from Mg II line spectroscopy $ \left(\log\frac{M_{\mathrm{BH}}}{M_\odot}=8.5{-}9.6\right) $. Adding archival X-ray data for an additional 15 z > 6 QSOs, we investigate the X-ray properties of the QSO population in the first Gyr of the Universe. In particular, we focus on the LUV − LX relation, which is traced by the αox parameter, and the shape of their X-ray spectra. Methods. We performed photometric analyses to derive estimates of the X-ray luminosities of our z > 6 QSOs, and thus their αox values and bolometric corrections (Kbol = Lbol/LX). We compared the resulting αox and Kbol distributions with the results found for QSO samples at lower redshift, and ran several statistical tests to check for a possible evolution of the LUV − LX relation. Finally, we performed a basic X-ray spectral analysis of the brightest z > 6 QSOs to derive their individual photon indices, and joint spectral analysis of the whole sample to estimate the average photon index. Results. We detect seven of the new Chandra targets in at least one standard energy band, while two more are detected discarding energies E > 5 keV, where background dominates. We confirm a lack of significant evolution of αox with redshift, which extends the results from previous works up to z > 6 with a statistically significant QSO sample. Furthermore, we confirm the trend of an increasing bolometric correction with increasing luminosity found for QSOs at lower redshifts. The average power-law photon index of our sample (⟨Γ⟩ = 2.20−0.34+0.39 and ⟨Γ⟩ = 2.13−0.13+0.13 for sources with < 30 and > 30 net counts, respectively) is slightly steeper than, but still consistent with, typical QSOs at z = 1 − 6. Conclusions. All of these results indicate a lack of substantial evolution of the inner accretion-disk and hot-corona structure in QSOs from low redshift to z > 6. Our data hint at generally high Eddington ratios at z > 6.

Abstract. Sediments in oxygen-depleted marine environments can be an important sink or source of bio-essential trace metals in the ocean. However, the key mechanisms controlling the release from or burial of trace metals in sediments are not exactly understood. Here, we investigate the benthic biogeochemical cycling of iron (Fe) and cadmium (Cd) in the oxygen minimum zone off Peru. We combine bottom water and pore water concentrations, as well as benthic fluxes determined from pore water profiles and from in situ benthic chamber incubations, along a depth transect at 12∘ S. In agreement with previous studies, both concentration–depth profiles and in situ benthic fluxes indicate a release of Fe from sediments to the bottom water. Diffusive Fe fluxes and Fe fluxes from benthic chamber incubations (−0.3 to −17.5 mmol m−2 yr−1) are broadly consistent at stations within the oxygen minimum zone, where the flux magnitude is highest, indicating that diffusion is the main transport mechanism of dissolved Fe across the sediment–water interface. The occurrence of mats of sulfur-oxidizing bacteria on the seafloor represents an important control on the spatial distribution of Fe fluxes by regulating hydrogen sulfide (H2S) concentrations and, potentially, Fe sulfide precipitation within the surface sediment. Rapid removal of dissolved Fe after its release to anoxic bottom waters hints at oxidative removal by nitrite and interactions with particles in the near-bottom water column. Benthic flux estimates of Cd suggest a flux into the sediment within the oxygen minimum zone. Fluxes from benthic chamber incubations (up to 22.6 µmol m−2 yr−1) exceed diffusive fluxes (<1 µmol m−2 yr−1) by a factor of more than 25, indicating that downward diffusion of Cd across the sediment–water interface is of subordinate importance for Cd removal from benthic chambers. As Cd removal in benthic chambers covaries with H2S concentrations in the pore water of surface sediments, we argue that Cd removal is mediated by precipitation of cadmium sulfide (CdS) within the chamber water or directly at the sediment–water interface. A mass balance approach, taking the contributions of diffusive and chamber fluxes as well as Cd delivery with organic material into account, suggests that CdS precipitation in the near-bottom water could make an important contribution to the overall Cd mass accumulation in the sediment solid phase. According to our results, the solubility of trace metal sulfide minerals (Cd ≪ Fe) is a key factor controlling trace metal removal and, consequently, the magnitude and the temporal and spatial heterogeneity of sedimentary fluxes. We argue that, depending on their sulfide solubility, sedimentary source or sink fluxes of trace metals will change differentially as a result of declining oxygen concentrations and the associated expansion of sulfidic surface sediments. Such a trend could cause a change in the trace metal stoichiometry of upwelling water masses with potential consequences for marine ecosystems in the surface ocean.

The Neotropical Toechorychus Townes is revised, cladistically defined, and diagnosed. A total of 40 species are recognized, 35 of which are described as new: T. amapaeus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. amazonensis Tedesco, sp. nov., T. barticus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. benius Tedesco, sp. nov., T. bombuscarus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. calius Tedesco, sp. nov., T. callangus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. catarinus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. coaracius Tedesco, sp. nov., T. darienus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. fluminensis Tedesco, sp. nov., T. guarapuavus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. heredius Tedesco, sp. nov., T. itapuensis Tedesco, sp. nov., T. jatainus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. kawus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. linaresius Tedesco, sp. nov., T. marcapatus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. marowijnus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. martinus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. melgassus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. morelus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. napus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. nourageus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. ondensis Tedesco, sp. nov., T. paramaribus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. pirrus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. sinopus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. surinamus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. taperinus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. teutonius Tedesco, sp. nov., T. tumazulus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. vilhenus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. vinhaticus Tedesco, sp. nov., T. zulius Tedesco, sp. nov. The other valid species are T. abactus (Cresson), T. albimaculatus (Taschenberg), T. brevicaudis (Szépligeti), T. cassunungae (Brauns), and T. stramineus (Taschenberg). Toechorychus can be recognized by the epicnemial carina usually not reaching more than 0.3 of the distance to subtegular ridge; dorsal valve of ovipositor with a subapical V-shaped sulcus; ovipositor with a subapical constriction; ovipositor sheath about 0.1 as long as hind tibia; and dorsal margin of pronotum swollen. A key and descriptions, including photographic illustrations and distribution maps, are provided to all valid species; a cladistic analysis of the genus is also performed. Seventy three new characters are proposed for the analysis of Cryptinae phylogeny. Toechorychus was recovered as a monophyletic group supported by 7–17 synapomorphies, closely related to Lymeon Förster and Acerastes Cushman. Two new synapomorphies are discovered for Toechorychus, a subapical V-shaped sulcus at the dorsal valve of the ovipositor, and a subapical constriction of the ovipositor present basad of the apical teeth of the ventral valve. Published host records were compiled and three new records are provided as follows: T. albimaculatus is a parasitoid of Mischocyttarus drewseni (Saussure) (Vespidae, Polistinae); T. stramineus is a parasitoid of M. basimacula (Cameron) and T. heredius sp. nov. is a parasitoid of M. collarellus Richards. A neotype is designated for T. cassunungae.

Resumo: O programa de extensão universitária "consCiência na Ciência" do Instituto de Saúde de Nova Friburgo (ISNF) da Universidade Federal Fluminense (UFF) visa aproximar os estudantes do ensino médio à Universidade, assim como divulgar informação acadêmico-científica à população do município de Nova Friburgo e municípios vizinhos situados na região serrana do estado do Rio de Janeiro (RJ). O objetivo deste artigo é relatar esta estratégia de aproximação de estudantes do ensino médio da região serrana do RJ à universidade por meio de cursos de férias na temática Nutrição. Os cursos de férias "Alimentação e Nutrição" e "Nutrição e Boas Práticas de Manipulação de Alimentos” foram oferecidos nos anos de 2014 e 2015, respectivamente, no ISNF/UFF, em dois turnos, com carga horária de 3-4h, e 20-25 vagas/turno. A divulgação do curso foi feita por meio de folder, apresentação nas escolas e website. A inscrição foi realizada em formulário jotform disponibilizado no website do Programa. Todos os estudantes mostraram-se interessados e com vontade de ingressar no ensino superior, vendo no curso de férias uma oportunidade de vivenciar o ambiente da Universidade. Projetos envolvendo estudantes do ensino médio ou fundamental representam um elo primordial entre a universidade e a comunidade. É por meio de ações como o curso de férias, que a comunidade científica pode divulgar o conhecimento produzido na academia, e despertar nos jovens a vontade de ingressar na universidade. Palavras-chave: Ensino Médio, Extensão Universitária, Popularização da Ciência. “ConsCIÊNCIA na CIÊNCIA” Program: Promoting science in high school by a vacation course on nutritional education Abstract: The University Extension Program "Awareness in Science" is part of the Health Institute of Nova Friburgo (HINF) at Universidade Federal Fluminense (Federal Fluminense University - UFF). This initiative aims at narrowing the gap between high school students and the University, as well as to disseminate academic and scientific information to Nova Friburgo and its neighboring population, located in the mountainous region of Rio de Janeiro State. The objective of this paper is to offer an account of the strategy to approach high school students in the aforementioned region through vacation courses in Nutrition. The courses "Eating and Nutrition" and "Nutrition and Good Food Handling Practices" were offered throughout years of 2014 and 2015, respectively, at HINF/UFF, in two turns, with a workload of 3 to 4h, and 20 to 25 vacancies per turn. The initiative was promoted by the distribution of brochures, lectures at schools and on websites. The registration was made with JotForm form available on the Project’s website. All students were interested and willing to apply to higher education courses. These students saw the vacation course as an opportunity to experience the university environment. Projects involving high school and elementary school students represent a major link between the university and the community. By means of these actions, this vacation course can promote the knowledge produced in the university, and thus foster in the students the desire to go to College. Key-words: High School, University Extension, Popularization of Science. Programa “consCIÊNCIA na CIÊNCIA”: divulgación científica en la enseñanza secundaria por un curso de vacaciones en nutrición Resumen: El programa académico de extensión "conCIÊNCIA na CIÊNCIA" del Instituto de Salud de Nova Friburgo (ISNF) de la Universidade Federal Fluminense (UFF) tiene el objetivo de acercar a los estudiantes de la escuela secundaria a la Universidad, así como diseminar la información académica y científica a la población de la ciudad de Nova Friburgo y municipios vecinos de la región montañosa de la provincia de Río de Janeiro (RJ). El objetivo de este trabajo es dar a conocer la estrategia usada para promover ese acercamiento de estudiantes de la escuela secundaria de la región montañosa de RJ a la universidad por medio de cursos de vacaciones en Nutrición. Los cursos de vacaciones en "Alimentación y Nutrición" y "Nutrición y Buenas Prácticas de Manejo de los Alimentos" se ofrecieron en los años 2014 y 2015, respectivamente, en ISNF/UFF, en dos turnos, con una carga horaria de 3-4h, y 20-25 vacantes/turno. La divulgación del curso fue hecha por prospecto, presentación en las escuelas y el sitio web. La inscripción se llevó a cabo en formulario JotForm disponible en el sitio web del programa. Todos los estudiantes mostraron interés y deseo de unirse a la universidad, al ver el curso de vacaciones como una oportunidad de experimentar el ambiente académico. Proyectos que implican en la participación de los estudiantes de la escuela secundaria o primaria representan un importante vínculo entre la universidad y la comunidad. Es por medio de acciones tales como el curso de vacaciones que la comunidad científica puede difundir el conocimiento producido en la academia, y despertar en los jóvenes el deseo de ir a la universidad. Palabras-clave: Escuela secundaria, Extensión Universitaria, Popularización de la Ciencia.

Context. Molecular filaments and hubs have received special attention recently thanks to new studies showing their key role in star formation. While the (column) density and velocity structures of both filaments and hubs have been carefully studied, their magnetic field (B-field) properties have yet to be characterized. Consequently, the role of B-fields in the formation and evolution of hub-filament systems is not well constrained. Aims. We aim to understand the role of the B-field and its interplay with turbulence and gravity in the dynamical evolution of the NGC 6334 filament network that harbours cluster-forming hubs and high-mass star formation. Methods. We present new observations of the dust polarized emission at 850 μm toward the 2 pc × 10 pc map of NGC 6334 at a spatial resolution of 0.09 pc obtained with the James Clerk Maxwell Telescope (JCMT) as part of the B-field In STar-forming Region Observations (BISTRO) survey. We study the distribution and dispersion of the polarized intensity (PI), the polarization fraction (PF), and the plane-of-the-sky B-field angle (χB_POS) toward the whole region, along the 10 pc-long ridge and along the sub-filaments connected to the ridge and the hubs. We derived the power spectra of the intensity and χBPOS along the ridge crest and compared them with the results obtained from simulated filaments. Results. The observations span ~3 orders of magnitude in Stokes I and PI and ~2 orders of magnitude in PF (from ~0.2 to ~ 20%). A large scatter in PI and PF is observed for a given value of I. Our analyses show a complex B-field structure when observed over the whole region (~ 10 pc); however, at smaller scales (~1 pc), χBPOS varies coherently along the crests of the filament network. The observed power spectrum of χBPOS can be well represented with a power law function with a slope of − 1.33 ± 0.23, which is ~20% shallower than that of I. We find that this result is compatible with the properties of simulated filaments and may indicate the physical processes at play in the formation and evolution of star-forming filaments. Along the sub-filaments, χBPOS rotates frombeing mostly perpendicular or randomly oriented with respect to the crests to mostly parallel as the sub-filaments merge with the ridge and hubs. This variation of the B-field structure along the sub-filaments may be tracing local velocity flows of infalling matter in the ridge and hubs. Our analysis also suggests a variation in the energy balance along the crests of these sub-filaments, from magnetically critical or supercritical at their far ends to magnetically subcritical near the ridge and hubs. We also detect an increase in PF toward the high-column density (NH2 ≳ 1023 cm−2) star cluster-forming hubs. These latter large PF values may be explained by the increase in grain alignment efficiency due to stellar radiation from the newborn stars, combined with an ordered B-field structure. Conclusions. These observational results reveal for the first time the characteristics of the small-scale (down to ~ 0.1 pc) B-field structure of a 10 pc-long hub-filament system. Our analyses show variations in the polarization properties along the sub-filaments that may be tracing the evolution of their physical properties during their interaction with the ridge and hubs. We also detect an impact of feedback from young high-mass stars on the local B-field structure and the polarization properties, which could put constraints on possible models for dust grain alignment and provide important hints as to the interplay between the star formation activity and interstellar B-fields.

Abstract Two time-reversal quantum key distribution (QKD) schemes are the quantum entanglement based device-independent (DI)-QKD and measurement-device-independent (MDI)-QKD. The recently proposed twin field (TF)-QKD, also known as phase-matching (PM)-QKD, has improved the key rate bound from O(η) to O$$(\sqrt{{\boldsymbol{\eta }}})$$ ( η ) with η the channel transmittance. In fact, TF-QKD is a kind of MDI-QKD but based on single-photon detection. In this paper, we propose a different PM-QKD based on single-photon entanglement, referred to as single-photon entanglement-based phase-matching (SEPM)-QKD, which can be viewed as a time-reversed version of the TF-QKD. Detection loopholes of the standard Bell test, which often occur in DI-QKD over long transmission distances, are not present in this protocol because the measurement settings and key information are the same quantity which is encoded in the local weak coherent state. We give a security proof of SEPM-QKD and demonstrate in theory that it is secure against all collective attacks and beam-splitting attacks. The simulation results show that the key rate enjoys a bound of O$$(\sqrt{{\boldsymbol{\eta }}})$$ ( η ) with respect to the transmittance. SEPM-QKD not only helps us understand TF-QKD more deeply, but also hints at a feasible approach to eliminate detection loopholes in DI-QKD for long-distance communications.

Noisy Harmonic Grammar (NHG) is a framework for stochastic grammars that uses the GEN-cum-EVAL system originated in Optimality Theory. As a form of Harmonic Grammar, NHG outputs as winner the candidate with the smallest harmonic penalty (weighted sum of constraint violations). It is stochastic because at each "evaluation time," constraint weights are nudged upward or downward by a random amount, resulting in a particular probability distribution over candidates. This “classical” form of NHG can be modified in various ways, creating alternative theories. I explore these variants in a variety of simple simulations intended to reveal key differences in their behavior; maxent grammars are also included in the comparison. In conclusion I offer hints from the empirical world regarding which of these rival theories might be correct.

ABSTRACTIn streptomycetes, autoregulators are important signaling compounds that trigger secondary metabolism, and they are regarded asStreptomyceshormones based on their extremely low effective concentrations (nM) and the involvement of specific receptor proteins. Our previous distribution study revealed that butenolide-typeStreptomyceshormones, including avenolide, are a general class of signaling molecules in streptomycetes and thatStreptomyces albusstrain J1074 may produce butenolide-typeStreptomyceshormones. Here, we describe metabolite profiling of a disruptant of theS. albusacogene, which encodes a key biosynthetic enzyme for butenolide-typeStreptomyceshormones, and identify four butenolide compounds fromS. albusJ1074 that show avenolide activity. The compounds structurally resemble avenolide and show different levels of avenolide activity. A dual-culture assay with imaging mass spectrometry (IMS) analysis forin vivometabolic profiling demonstrated that the butenolide compounds ofS. albusJ1074 stimulate avermectin production in anotherStreptomycesspecies,Streptomyces avermitilis, illustrating the complex chemical interactions through interspecies signals in streptomycetes.IMPORTANCEMicroorganisms produce external and internal signaling molecules to control their complex physiological traits. In actinomycetes,Streptomyceshormones are low-molecular-weight signals that are key to our understanding of the regulatory mechanisms ofStreptomycessecondary metabolism. This study reveals that acyl coenzyme A (acyl-CoA) oxidase is a common and essential biosynthetic enzyme for butenolide-typeStreptomyceshormones. Moreover, the diffusible butenolide compounds from a donorStreptomycesstrain were recognized by the recipientStreptomycesstrain of a different species, resulting in the initiation of secondary metabolism in the recipient. This is an interesting report on the chemical interaction between two different streptomycetes viaStreptomyceshormones. Information on the metabolite network may provide useful hints not only to clarification of the regulatory mechanism of secondary metabolism, but also to understanding of the chemical communication among streptomycetes to control their physiological traits.

A weighted $d$-complex is a simplicial complex of dimension $d$ in which each face is assigned a real-valued weight. We derive three key results here concerning persistence diagrams and minimal spanning acycles (MSAs) of such complexes. First, we establish an equivalence between the MSA face-weights and death times in the persistence diagram. Next, we show a novel stability result for the MSA face-weights which, due to our first result, also holds true for the death and birth times, separately. Our final result concerns a perturbation of a mean-field model of randomly weighted $d$-complexes. The $d$-face weights here are perturbations of some i.i.d. distribution while all the lower-dimensional faces have a weight of $0$. If the perturbations decay sufficiently quickly, we show that suitably scaled extremal nearest face-weights, face-weights of the $d$-MSA, and the associated death times converge to an inhomogeneous Poisson point process. This result completely characterizes the extremal points of persistence diagrams and MSAs. The point process convergence and the asymptotic equivalence of three point processes are new for any weighted random complex model, including even the non-perturbed case. Lastly, as a consequence of our stability result, we show that Frieze's $\zeta(3)$ limit for random minimal spanning trees and the recent extension to random MSAs by Hino and Kanazawa also hold in suitable noisy settings.

AbstractTransition discs are protoplanetary discs that show evidence for large holes or wide gaps (with widths comparable to their radii) in their dust component. These discs could be giving us clues about the disc destruction mechanism or hints about the location and time-scales for the formation of planets. However, at the moment there remain key gaps in our theoretical understanding. The vast majority of transition discs are accreting onto their central stars, indicating that—at least close to the star—dust has been depleted from the gas by a very large amount. In this review, we discuss evidence for two distinct populations of transition discs: mm-faint—those with low mm-fluxes, small holes (≲ 10 AU), and low accretion rates (~ 10−10 − 10−9 M⊙ yr−1) and mm-bright—discs with large mm-fluxes, large holes (≳ 20 AU), and high accretion rates ~ 10−8 M⊙ yr−1. MM-faint transition discs are consistent with what would naively be expected from a disc undergoing dispersal; however, mm-bright discs are not, and are likely to be rare and long-lived objects. We discuss the two commonly proposed mechanisms for creating transition discs: photoevaporation and planet–disc interactions, with a particular emphasis on how they would evolve in these models, comparing these predictions to the observed population. More theoretical work on explaining the lack of optically thick, non-accreting transition discs is required in both the photoevaporation and planetary hypothesis, before we can start to use transition discs to constrain models of planet formation. Finally, we suggest that the few discs with primordial looking spectral energy distribution, but serendipitously imaged showing large cavities in the mm (e.g. MWC758 and WSB 60) may represent a hidden population of associated objects. Characterising and understanding how these objects fit into the overall paradigm may allow us to unravel the mystery of transition discs.

Resistance is a key determinant in interactions between hosts and their parasites. Understanding the amount and distribution of variation in this trait between strains can provide insights into (co)evolutionary processes and their potential to shape patterns of diversity in natural populations. Using controlled inoculation in experimental mass cultures, we investigated the quantitative variation in resistance to the bacterial parasite Holospora undulata across a worldwide collection of strains of its ciliate host Paramecium caudatum. We combined the observed variation with available information on the phylogeny and biogeography of the strains. We found substantial variation in resistance among strains, with upper-bound values of broad-sense heritability &gt;0.5 (intraclass correlation coefficients). Strain estimates of resistance were repeatable between laboratories and ranged from total resistance to near-complete susceptibility. Early (1 week post inoculation) measurements provided higher estimates of resistance heritability than did later measurements (2–3 weeks), possibly due to diverging epidemiological dynamics in replicate cultures of the same strains. Genetic distance (based on a neutral marker) was positively correlated with the difference in resistance phenotype between strains (r = 0.45), essentially reflecting differences between highly divergent clades (haplogroups) within the host species. Haplogroup A strains, mostly European, were less resistant to the parasite (49% infection prevalence) than non-European haplogroup B strains (28%). At a smaller geographical scale (within Europe), strains that are geographically closer to the parasite origin (Southern Germany) were more susceptible to infection than those from further away. These patterns are consistent with a picture of local parasite adaptation. Our study demonstrates ample natural variation in resistance on which selection can act and hints at symbiont adaptation producing signatures in geographic and lineage-specific patterns of resistance in this model system.

Studying deep time biodiversity and environments is largely based on collections of fossils and sedimentary rocks, and the information acquired thereof. The sedimentary bedrocks of Estonia and neighbouring areas constitute a well-preserved archive of Earth history from the late Precambrian to the Devonian period. This interval of geological time hosts several key events in the diversification of life, notably the Cambrian explosion, the Great Ordovician Biodiversification Event and the Hirnantian mass extinction. Documenting and understanding these events has benefited from the geological and paleontological collections from the Baltic region, a large part of which are deposited in Estonia. Since 2004 Estonia has had a 'national geological collection' that virtually joins the archives of three major collection-holding institutions: Tallinn University of Technology, University of Tartu and the Estonian Museum of Natural History (Hints et al. 2008). A key to the functioning of this national consortium is the common database system 'SARV', which started as a simple collection management tool, but has grown into a geoscience data platform linking various types of geoscientific information and supporting also the needs of researchers. Technically the system is based on a relational data model and central database server, a REST API and a number of web-based user interfaces from data management tools to public portals and more specialized applications. Individual components of the system are now built on open source software including MySQL, Apache Solr, Django REST framework, and Angular and Vue JavaScript frameworks. The data model and all recently developed software are available in a Github repository (https://github.com/geocollections). Data on individual fossil specimens, digital images, localities, regional stratigraphic units, rock samples, datasets, published references, field notebooks etc. are publicly accessible in the Estonian geoscience collections portal (https://geocollections.info). A separate gateway provides access to the information on fossil taxa and their distribution in the Baltic region (https://fossiilid.info). Another example of using the same underlying data platform specifically for paleobiodiversity research is the Baltic chitinozoan database CHITDB (http://chitinozoa.net; Hints et al. 2018). Chitinozoans are an enigmatic group of Paleozoic microfossils, very useful in biostratigraphy. Some of the largest collections of these fossils worldwide derive from the Baltica paleocontinent and are deposited in Estonia. The chitinozoan portal was developed for managing and publishing the occurrence-level data on chitinozoans, and for quantitatively analysing their diversification history and biotic crises through the Ordovician and Silurian periods. The main benefit of using such an integrated data system is that a user may easily turn back to individual samples and specimen images (for instance, to verify identifications), and combine the paleontological data with information about past environments and climate that might derive from publications, first-hand geochemical data or even from descriptions in field notebooks. Global tools, such as the Paleobiology database, cannot provide such functionality for the time being. The next steps in enhancing the national geoscience data platform in Estonia are related to the development of new data collection and publication modules, building a complete digital library of geoscience publications related to Estonia and widening the user base of the system. Participation in the national research infrastructure roadmap project NATARC as well as the Pan-European DiSSCo will support achieving this and safeguarding the sustainability of geoscience data and corresponding e-services in Estonia.

Background: Inflammation plays a key role in setting the stage as well as causing the progression of atherosclerosis. High sensitivity c-reactive protein (hsCRP), an acute phase reactant released during inflammatory processes, has been recognized as a predictor of cardiovascular risk. Experiments & Results: Since gemcabene reduced hsCRP in humans, we investigated the mechanism of hsCRP reduction and efficacy of anti-inflammatory activity in animal models of arthritis and pain. In human hepatoma cell line, PLC/PRF/5, gemcabene showed dose-dependent inhibition of IL-6+ IL-1β-induced CRP production by -70% inhibition at 2 mM. In TNF-α-stimulated primary human coronary artery endothelial cells, both CRP and IL-6 productions were inhibited by gemcabene in a dose-dependent manner (-70% at 2mM). Transfection studies with human CRP regulatory sequences in luciferase/ β-gal system showed a 25-fold increase in IL-6- as well as IL-6+ IL-1β -stimulated CRP transcription, which was reduced by gemcabene (-50% at 2 mM), suggesting transcriptional down-regulation of CRP. Site-directed mutation of C/EBP, NF-κB, and STAT sites of the human CRP promoter suggested that the overlapping downstream C/EBP and NF-κB binding sites are important for gemcabene-mediated down-regulation of CRP promoter. STAT3 response element, while needed for IL-6-induced expression of CRP, is not required for gemcabene-mediated inhibition. Identification of the protein, in a gel-shift assay, that interacts with C/EBP binding sites revealed it to be C/EBPδ. Anti-inflammatory efficacy of gemcabene was evaluated in a rat model of monosodium iodoacetate (MIA)-induced osteoarthritis (OA) and carrageenan-induced thermal hyperalgesia (CITH). Gemcabene improved joint comfort (-50% at 30 mg/kg/d for 2 wk) in MIA and attenuated paw withdrawal latency (60% at 30 mg/kg/d and 97% at 100 mg/kg/d, compared to untreated control) in the CITH model. These findings were further confirmed by an IL-6/IL-6sR knee injection model showing 63 and 71% reduction in hind paw weight distribution at 10 and 30 mg/kg/d doses, respectively. Conclusions: Gemcabene decreases CRP by C/EBPδ and NF-κB mediated transcriptional mechanism, and attenuates inflammation-induced OA and hyperalgesia.

Phillip Noyce is one of Australia’s most prominent film makers—a successful feature film director with both iconic Australian narratives and many a Hollywood blockbuster under his belt. Still, his beginnings were quite humble and far from his role today when he grew up in the midst of the counterculture of the late sixties. Millions of young people his age joined the various ‘movements’ of the day after experiences that changed their lives—mostly music but also drugs or fashion. The counterculture was a turbulent time in Sydney artistic circles as elsewhere. Everything looked possible, you simply had to “Do It!”—and Noyce did. He dived head-on into these times and with a voracious appetite for its many aspects—film, theatre, rallies, music, art and politics in general. In fact he often was the driving force behind such activities. Noyce described his personal epiphany occurring in 1968: A few months before I was due to graduate from high school, […] I saw a poster on a telegraph pole advertising American 'underground' movies. There was a mesmerising, beautiful blue-coloured drawing on the poster that I later discovered had been designed by an Australian filmmaker called David Perry. The word 'underground' conjured up all sorts of delights to an eighteen-year-old in the late Sixties: in an era of censorship it promised erotica, perhaps; in an era of drug-taking it promised some clandestine place where marijuana, or even something stronger, might be consumed; in an era of confrontation between conservative parents and their affluent post-war baby-boomer children, it promised a place where one could get together with other like-minded youth and plan to undermine the establishment, which at that time seemed to be the aim of just about everyone aged under 30. (Petzke 8) What the poster referred to was a new, highly different type of film. In the US these films were usually called “underground”. This term originates from film critic Manny Farber who used it in his 1957 essay Underground Films. Farber used the label for films whose directors today would be associated with independent and art house feature films. More directly, film historian Lewis Jacobs referred to experimental films when he used the words “film which for most of its life has led an underground existence” (8). The term is used interchangeably with New American Cinema. It was based on a New York group—the Film-Makers’ Co-operative—that started in 1960 with mostly low-budget filmmakers under the guidance of Jonas Mekas. When in 1962 the group was formally organised as a means for new, improved ways of distributing their works, experimental filmmakers were the dominant faction. They were filmmakers working in a more artistic vein, slightly influenced by the European Avant-garde of the 1920s and by attempts in the late 1940s and early 1950s. In film history, this era is also known as the Third Avant-garde. In their First Statement of the New American Cinema Group, the group drew connections to both the British Free Cinema and the French Nouvelle Vague. They also claimed that contemporary cinema was “morally corrupt, aesthetically obsolete, thematically superficial, temperamentally boring” (80). An all-encompassing definition of Underground Film never was available. Sheldon Renan lists some of the problems: There are underground films in which there is no movement and films in which there is nothing but movement. There are films about people and films about light. There are short, short underground films and long, long underground films. There are some that have been banned, and there is one that was nominated for an Academy Award. There are sexy films and sexless films, political films and poetical films, film epigrams and film epics … underground film is nothing less than an explosion of cinematic styles, forms and directions. (Renan 17) No wonder that propelled by frequent serious articles in the press—notably Jonas Mekas in the Village Voice—and regular screenings at other venues like the Film-makers’ Cinemathèque and the Gallery of Modern Art in New York, these films proved increasingly popular in the United States and almost immediately spread like bush fires around the world. So in early September 1968 Noyce joined a sold-out crowd at the Union Theatre in Sydney, watching 17 shorts assembled by Ubu Films, the premier experimental and underground film collective in 1960s Australia (Milesago). And on that night his whole attitude to art, his whole attitude to movies—in fact, his whole life—changed. He remembered: I left the cinema that night thinking, "I’m gonna make movies like that. I can do it." Here was a style of cinema that seemed to speak to me. It was immediate, it was direct, it was personal, and it wasn’t industrial. It was executed for personal expression, not for profit; it was individual as opposed to corporate, it was stylistically free; it seemed to require very little expenditure, innovation being the key note. It was a completely un-Hollywood-like aesthetic; it was operating on a visceral level that was often non-linear and was akin to the psychedelic images that were in vogue at the time—whether it was in music, in art or just in the patterns on your multi-coloured shirt. These movies spoke to me. (Petzke 9) Generally speaking, therefore, these films were the equivalent of counterculture in the area of film. Theodore Roszak railed against “technocracy” and underground films were just the opposite, often almost do-it-yourself in production and distribution. They were objecting to middle-class culture and values. And like counterculture they aimed at doing away with repression and to depict a utopian lifestyle feeling at ease with each imaginable form of liberality (Doggett 469). Underground films transgressed any Hollywood rule and convention in content, form and technique. Mobile hand-held cameras, narrow-gauge or outright home movies, shaky and wobbly, rapid cutting, out of focus, non-narrative, disparate continuity—you name it. This type of experimental film was used to express the individual consciousness of the “maker”—no longer calling themselves directors—a cinematic equivalent of the first person in literature. Just as in modern visual art, both the material and the process of making became part of these artworks. Music often was a dominant factor, particularly Eastern influences or the new Beat Music that was virtually non-existent in feature films. Drug experiences were reflected in imagery and structure. Some of the first comings-out of gay men can be found as well as films that were shown at the appropriately named “Wet Dreams Festival” in Amsterdam. Noyce commented: I worked out that the leading lights in this Ubu Films seemed to be three guys — Aggy Read, Albie Thoms and David Perry […They] all had beards and […] seemed to come from the basement of a terrace house in Redfern. Watching those movies that night, picking up all this information, I was immediately seized by three great ambitions. First of all, I wanted to grow a beard; secondly, I wanted to live in a terrace house in the inner city; and thirdly, I wanted to be a filmmaker. (Ubu Films) Noyce soon discovered there were a lot of people like him who wanted to make short films for personal expression, but also as a form of nationalism. They wanted to make Australian movies. Noyce remembered: “Aggy, Albie and David encouraged everyone to go and make a film for themselves” (Petzke 11). This was easy enough to do as these films—not only in Australia—were often made for next to nothing and did not require any prior education or training. And the target audience group existed in a subculture of people willing to pay money even for extreme entertainment as long as it was advertised in an appealing way—which meant: in the way of the rampaging Zeitgeist. Noyce—smitten by the virus—would from then on regularly attend the weekly meetings organised by the young filmmakers. And in line with Jerry Rubin’s contemporary adage “Do it!” he would immediately embark on a string of films with enthusiasm and determination—qualities soon to become his trademark. All his films were experimental in nature, shot on 16mm and were so well received that Albie Thoms was convinced that Noyce had a great career ahead of him as an experimental filmmaker. Truly alternative was Noyce’s way to finally finance Better to Reign in Hell, his first film, made at age 18 and with a total budget of $600. Noyce said on reflection: I had approached some friends and told them that if they invested in my film, they could have an acting role. Unfortunately, the guy whose dad had the most money — he was a doctor’s son — was also maybe the worst actor that was ever put in front of a camera. But he had invested four hundred dollars, so I had to give him the lead. (Petzke 13) The title was taken from Milton’s poem Paradise Lost (“better to reign in hell than serve in heaven”). It was a film very much inspired by the images, montage and narrative techniques of the underground movies watched at Ubu. Essentially the film is about a young man’s obsession with a woman he sees repeatedly in advertising and the hallucinogenic dreams he has about her. Despite its later reputation, the film was relatively mundane. Being shot in black and white, it lacks the typical psychedelic ingredients of the time and is more reminiscent of the surrealistic precursors to underground film. Some contempt for the prevailing consumer society is thrown in for good measure. In the film, “A youth is persecuted by the haunting reappearance of a girl’s image in various commercial outlets. He finds escape from this commercial brainwashing only in his own confused sexual hallucinations” (Sydney Filmmakers Co-operative). But despite this advertising, so convincingly capturing the “hint! hint!” mood of the time, Noyce’s first film isn’t really outstanding even in terms of experimental film. Noyce continued to make short experimental films. There was not even the pretence of a story in any of them. He was just experimenting with his gear and finding his own way to use the techniques of the underground cinema. Megan was made at Sydney University Law School to be projected as part of the law students’ revue. It was a three-minute silent film that featured a woman called Megan, who he had a crush on. Intersection was 2 minutes 44 seconds in length and shot in the middle of a five-way or four-way intersection in North Sydney. The camera was walked into the intersection and spun around in a continuous circle from the beginning of the roll of film to the end. It was an experiment with disorientation and possibly a comment about urban development. Memories was a seven-minute short in colour about childhood and the bush, accompanied by a smell-track created in the cinema by burning eucalyptus leaves. Sun lasted 90 seconds in colour and examined the pulsating winter sun by way of 100 single frame shots. And finally, Home was a one-and-a-half-minute single frame camera exploration of the filmmaker’s home, inside and out, including its inhabitants and pets. As a true experimental filmmaker, Noyce had a deep interest in technical aspects. It was recommended that Sun “be projected through a special five image lens”, Memories and Intersection with “an anamorphic lens” (Sydney Filmmakers Co-operative). The double projection for Better to Reign in Hell and the two screens required for Good Afternoon, as well as the addition of the smell of burning leaves in Memories, were inroads into the subgenre of so-called Expanded Cinema. As filmmaking in those days was not an isolated enterprise but an integral part of the all-encompassing Counterculture, Noyce followed suit and became more and more involved and politiced. He started becoming a driving force of the movement. Besides selling Ubu News, he organised film screenings. He also wrote film articles for both Honi Soit and National U, the Sydney University and Canberra University newspapers—articles more opinionated than sophisticated. He was also involved in Ubu’s Underground Festival held in August and in other activities of the time, particularly anti-war protests. When Ubu Films went out of business after the lack of audience interest in Thoms’s long Marinetti film in 1969, Aggy Read suggested that Ubu be reinvented as a co-operative for tax reasons and because they might benefit from their stock of 250 Australian and foreign films. On 28 May 1970 the reinvention began at the first general meeting of the Sydney Filmmakers Cooperative where Noyce volunteered and was elected their part-time manager. He transferred the 250 prints to his parents’ home in Wahroonga where he was still living he said he “used to sit there day after day just screening those movies for myself” (Petzke 18). The Sydney University Film Society screened feature films to students at lunchtime. Noyce soon discovered they had money nobody was spending and equipment no one was using, which seemed to be made especially for him. In the university cinema he would often screen his own and other shorts from the Co-op’s library. The entry fee was 50 cents. He remembered: “If I handed out the leaflets in the morning, particularly concentrating on the fact that these films were uncensored and a little risqué, then usually there would be 600 people in the cinema […] One or two screenings per semester would usually give me all the pocket money I needed to live” (Petzke 19). Libertine and risqué films were obviously popular as they were hard to come by. Noyce said: We suffered the worst censorship of almost any Western country in the world, even worse than South Africa. Books would be seized by customs officers at the airports and when ships docked. Customs would be looking for Lady Chatterley’s Lover. We were very censored in literature and films and plays, and my film [Better to Reign in Hell] was banned from export. I tried to send it to a film festival in Holland and it was denied an export permit, but because it had been shot in Australia, until someone in the audience complained it could still be screened locally. (Castaway's Choice) No wonder clashes with the law happened frequently and were worn like medals of honour in those days of fighting the system, proving that one was fighting in the front line against the conservative values of law and order. Noyce encountered three brushes with the law. The first occurred when selling Ubu Films’ alternative culture newspaper Ubu News, Australia’s first underground newspaper (Milesago). One of the issues contained an advertisement—a small drawing—for Levi’s jeans, showing a guy trying to put his Levis on his head, so that his penis was showing. That was judged by the police to be obscene. Noyce was found guilty and given a suspended sentence for publishing an indecent publication. There had been another incident including Phil’s Pill, his own publication of six or eight issues. After one day reprinting some erotic poems from The Penguin Collection of Erotic Poetry he was found guilty and released on a good behaviour bond without a conviction being recorded. For the sake of historical truth it should be remembered, though, that provocation was a genuine part of the game. How else could one seriously advertise Better to Reign in Hell as “a sex-fantasy film which includes a daring rape scene”—and be surprised when the police came in after screening this “pornographic film” (Stratton 202) at the Newcastle Law Students Ball? The Newcastle incident also throws light on the fact that Noyce organised screenings wherever possible, constantly driving prints and projectors around in his Mini Minor. Likewise, he is remembered as having been extremely helpful in trying to encourage other people with their own ideas—anyone could make films and could make them about anything they liked. He helped Jan Chapman, a fellow student who became his (first) wife in December 1971, to shoot and edit Just a Little Note, a documentary about a moratorium march and a guerrilla theatre group run by their friend George Shevtsov. Noyce also helped on I Happened to Be a Girl, a documentary about four women, friends of Chapman. There is no denying that being a filmmaker was a hobby, a full-time job and an obsessive religion for Noyce. He was on the organising committee of the First Australian Filmmakers’ Festival in August 1971. He performed in the agit-prop acting troupe run by George Shevtsov (later depicted in Renegades) that featured prominently at one of Sydney’s rock festival that year. In the latter part of 1971 and early 1972 he worked on Good Afternoon, a documentary about the Combined Universities’ Aquarius Arts Festival in Canberra, which arguably was the first major manifestation of counterculture in Australia. For this the Aquarius Foundation—the cultural arm of the Australian Union of Students—had contracted him. This became a two-screen movie à la Woodstock. Together with Thoms, Read and Ian Stocks, in 1972 he participated in cataloguing the complete set of films in distribution by the Co-op (see Sydney Filmmakers Cooperative). As can be seen, Noyce was at home in many manifestations of the Sydney counterculture. His own films had slowly become more politicised and bent towards documentary. He even started a newsreel that he used to screen at the Filmmakers’ Cooperative Cinema with a live commentary. One in 1971, Springboks Protest, was about the demonstrations at the Sydney Cricket Ground against the South African rugby tour. There were more but Noyce doesn’t remember them and no prints seem to have survived. Renegades was a diary film; a combination of poetic images and reportage on the street demonstrations. Noyce’s experimental films had been met with interest in the—limited—audience and among publications. His more political films and particularly Good Afternoon, however, reached out to a much wider audience, now including even the undogmatic left and hard-core documentarists of the times. In exchange, and for the first time, there were opposing reactions—but as always a great discussion at the Filmmakers’ Cinema, the main venue for independent productions. This cinema began with those initial screenings at Sydney University in the union room next to the Union Theatre. But once the Experimental Film Fund started operating in 1970, more and more films were submitted for the screenings and consequently a new venue was needed. Albie Thoms started a forum in the Yellow House in Kings Cross in May 1970. Next came—at least briefly—a restaurant in Glebe before the Co-op took over a space on the top floor of the socialist Third World Bookshop in Goulburn Street that was a firetrap. Bob Gould, the owner, was convinced that by first passing through his bookshop the audience would buy his books on the way upstairs. Sundays for him were otherwise dead from a commercial point of view. Noyce recollected that: The audience at this Filmmakers’ Cinema were mightily enthusiastic about seeing themselves up on the screen. And there was always a great discussion. So, generally the screenings were a huge success, with many full houses. The screenings grew from once a week, to three times on Sunday, to all weekend, and then seven days a week at several locations. One program could play in three different illegal cinemas around the city. (Petzke 26) A filmmakers’ cinema also started in Melbourne and the groups of filmmakers would visit each other and screen their respective films. But especially after the election of the Whitlam Labor government in December 1972 there was a shift in interest from risqué underground films to the concept of Australian Cinema. The audience started coming now for a dose of Australian culture. Funding of all kind was soon freely available and with such a fund the film co-op was able to set up a really good licensed cinema in St. Peters Lane in Darlinghurst, running seven days a week. But, Noyce said, “the move to St. Peters Lane was sort of the end of an era, because initially the cinema was self-funded, but once it became government sponsored everything changed” (Petzke 29). With money now readily available, egotism set in and the prevailing “we”-feeling rather quickly dissipated. But by the time of this move and the resulting developments, everything for Noyce had already changed again. He had been accepted into the first intake of the Interim Australian Film & TV School, another one of the nation-awareness-building projects of the Whitlam government. He was on his “long march through the institutions”—as this was frequently called throughout Europe—that would bring him to documentaries, TV and eventually even Hollywood (and return). Noyce didn’t linger once the alternative scene started fading away. Everything those few, wild years in the counterculture had taught him also put him right on track to become one of the major players in Hollywood. He never looked back—but he remembers fondly…References Castaway’s Choice. Radio broadcast by KCRW. 1990. Doggett, Peter. There’s a Riot Going On: Revolutionaries, Rock Stars and the Rise and Fall of ’60s Counter-Culture. Edinburgh: Canongate, 2007. Farber, Manny. “Underground Films.” Negative Space: Manny Farber on the Movies. Ed. Manny Farber. New York: Da Capo, 1998. 12–24. Jacobs, Lewis. “Morning for the Experimental Film”. Film Culture 19 (1959): 6–9. Milesago. “Ubu Films”. n.d. 26 Nov. 2014 ‹http://www.milesago.com/visual/ubu.htm›. New American Cinema Group. “First Statement of the New American Cinema Group.” Film Culture Reader. Ed. P. Adams Sitney. New York: Praeger, 1970. 73–75. Petzke, Ingo. Phillip Noyce: Backroads to Hollywood. Sydney: Pan McMillan, 2004. Renan, Sheldon. The Underground Film: An Introduction to Its Development in America. London: Studio Vista, 1968. Roszak, Theodore. The Making of Counter Culture. New York: Anchor, 1969. Stratton, David. The Last New Wave: The Australian Film Revival. Sydney: Angus and Robertson, 1980. Sydney Filmmakers Co-operative. Film Catalogue. Sydney: Sydney Filmmakers Co-operative, 1972. Ubu Films. Unreleased five-minute video for the promotion of Mudie, Peter. Ubu Films: Sydney Underground Movies 1965-1970. Sydney: UNSW Press, 1997.

Introduction In December 2010, Nespresso, the world’s leading brand of premium-portioned coffee, opened a flagship “boutique” in Sydney’s Pitt Street Mall. This was Nespresso’s fifth boutique opening of 2010, after Brussels, Miami, Soho, and Munich. The Sydney debut coincided with the mall’s upmarket redevelopment, which explains Nespresso’s arrival in the city: strategic geographic expansion is key to the brand’s growth. Rather than panoramic ubiquity, a retail option favoured by brands like McDonalds, KFC and Starbucks, Nespresso opts for iconic, prestigious locations. This strategy has been highly successful: since 2000 Nespresso has recorded year-on-year per annum growth of 30 per cent. This has been achieved, moreover, despite a global financial downturn and an international coffee market replete with brand variety. In turn, Nespresso marks an evolution in the coffee market over the last decade. The Nespresso Story Founded in 1986, Nespresso is the fasting growing brand in the Nestlé Group. Its headquarters are in Lausanne, Switzerland, with over 7,000 employees worldwide. In 2012, Nespresso had 270 boutiques in 50 countries. The brand’s growth strategy involves three main components: premium coffee capsules, “mated” with specially designed machines, and accompanied by exceptional customer service through the Nespresso Club. Each component requires some explanation. Nespresso offers 16 varieties of Grand Crus coffee: 7 espresso blends, 3 pure origin espressos, 3 lungos (for larger cups), and 3 decaffeinated coffees. Each 5.5 grams of portioned coffee is cased in a hermetically sealed aluminium capsule, or pod, designed to preserve the complex, volatile aromas (between 800 and 900 per pod), and prevent oxidation. These capsules are designed to be used exclusively with Nespresso-branded machines, which are equipped with a patented high-pressure extraction system designed for optimum release of the coffee. These machines, of which there are 28 models, are developed with 6 machine partners, and Antoine Cahen, from Ateliers du Nord in Lausanne, designs most of them. For its consumers, members of the Nespresso Club, the capsules and machines guarantee perfect espresso coffee every time, within seconds and with minimum effort—what Nespresso calls the “ultimate coffee experience.” The Nespresso Club promotes this experience as an everyday luxury, whereby café-quality coffee can be enjoyed in the privacy and comfort of Club members’ homes. This domestic focus is a relatively recent turn in its history. Nestlé patented some of its pod technology in 1976; the compatible machines, initially made in Switzerland by Turmix, were developed a decade later. Nespresso S. A. was set up as a subsidiary unit within the Nestlé Group with a view to target the office and fine restaurant sector. It was first test-marketed in Japan in 1986, and rolled out the same year in Switzerland, France and Italy. However, by 1988, low sales prompted Nespresso’s newly appointed CEO, Jean-Paul Gillard, to rethink the brand’s focus. Gillard subsequently repositioned Nespresso’s target market away from the commercial sector towards high-income households and individuals, and introduced a mail-order distribution system; these elements became the hallmarks of the Nespresso Club (Markides 55). The Nespresso Club was designed to give members who had purchased Nespresso machines 24-hour customer service, by mail, phone, fax, and email. By the end of 1997 there were some 250,000 Club members worldwide. The boom in domestic, user-friendly espresso machines from the early 1990s helped Nespresso’s growth in this period. The cumulative efforts by the main manufacturers—Krups, Bosch, Braun, Saeco and DeLonghi—lowered the machines’ average price to around US $100 (Purpura, “Espresso” 88; Purpura, “New” 116). This paralleled consumers’ growing sophistication, as they became increasingly familiar with café-quality espresso, cappuccino and latté—for reasons to be detailed below. Nespresso was primed to exploit this cultural shift in the market and forge a charismatic point of difference: an aspirational, luxury option within an increasingly accessible and familiar field. Between 2006 and 2008, Nespresso sales more than doubled, prompting a second production factory to supplement the original plant in Avenches (Simonian). In 2008, Nespresso grew 20 times faster than the global coffee market (Reguly B1). As Nespresso sales exceeded $1.3 billion AU in 2009, with 4.8 billion capsules shipped out annually and 5 million Club members worldwide, it became Nestlé’s fastest growing division (Canning 28). According to Nespresso’s Oceania market director, Renaud Tinel, the brand now represents 8 per cent of the total coffee market; of Nespresso specifically, he reports that 10,000 cups (using one capsule per cup) were consumed worldwide each minute in 2009, and that increased to 12,300 cups per minute in 2010 (O’Brien 16). Given such growth in such a brief period, the atypical dynamic between the boutique, the Club and the Nespresso brand warrants closer consideration. Nespresso opened its first boutique in Paris in 2000, on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. It was a symbolic choice and signalled the brand’s preference for glamorous precincts in cosmopolitan cities. This has become the design template for all Nespresso boutiques, what the company calls “brand embassies” in its press releases. More like art gallery-style emporiums than retail spaces, these boutiques perform three main functions: they showcase Nespresso coffees, machines and accessories (all elegantly displayed); they enable Club members to stock up on capsules; and they offer excellent customer service, which invariably equates to detailed production information. The brand’s revenue model reflects the boutique’s role in the broader business strategy: 50 per cent of Nespresso’s business is generated online, 30 per cent through the boutiques, and 20 per cent through call centres. Whatever floor space these boutiques dedicate to coffee consumption is—compared to the emphasis on exhibition and ambience—minimal and marginal. In turn, this tightly monitored, self-focused model inverts the conventional function of most commercial coffee sites. For several hundred years, the café has fostered a convivial atmosphere, served consumers’ social inclinations, and overwhelmingly encouraged diverse, eclectic clientele. The Nespresso boutique is the antithesis to this, and instead actively limits interaction: the Club “community” does not meet as a community, and is united only in atomised allegiance to the Nespresso brand. In this regard, Nespresso stands in stark contrast to another coffee brand that has been highly successful in recent years—Starbucks. Starbucks famously recreates the aesthetics, rhetoric and atmosphere of the café as a “third place”—a term popularised by urban sociologist Ray Oldenburg to describe non-work, non-domestic spaces where patrons converge for respite or recreation. These liminal spaces (cafés, parks, hair salons, book stores and such locations) might be private, commercial sites, yet they provide opportunities for chance encounters, even therapeutic interactions. In this way, they aid sociability and civic life (Kleinman 193). Long before the term “third place” was coined, coffee houses were deemed exemplars of egalitarian social space. As Rudolf P. Gaudio notes, the early coffee houses of Western Europe, in Oxford and London in the mid-1600s, “were characterized as places where commoners and aristocrats could meet and socialize without regard to rank” (670). From this sanguine perspective, they both informed and animated the modern public sphere. That is, and following Habermas, as a place where a mixed cohort of individuals could meet and discuss matters of public importance, and where politics intersected society, the eighteenth-century British coffee house both typified and strengthened the public sphere (Karababa and Ger 746). Moreover, and even from their early Ottoman origins (Karababa and Ger), there has been an historical correlation between the coffee house and the cosmopolitan, with the latter at least partly defined in terms of demographic breadth (Luckins). Ironically, and insofar as Nespresso appeals to coffee-literate consumers, the brand owes much to Starbucks. In the two decades preceding Nespresso’s arrival, Starbucks played a significant role in refining coffee literacy around the world, gauging mass-market trends, and stirring consumer consciousness. For Nespresso, this constituted major preparatory phenomena, as its strategy (and success) since the early 2000s presupposed the coffee market that Starbucks had helped to create. According to Nespresso’s chief executive Richard Giradot, central to Nespresso’s expansion is a focus on particular cities and their coffee culture (Canning 28). In turn, it pays to take stock of how such cities developed a coffee culture amenable to Nespresso—and therein lays the brand’s debt to Starbucks. Until the last few years, and before celebrity ambassador George Clooney was enlisted in 2005, Nespresso’s marketing was driven primarily by Club members’ recommendations. At the same time, though, Nespresso insisted that Club members were coffee connoisseurs, whose knowledge and enjoyment of coffee exceeded conventional coffee offerings. In 2000, Henk Kwakman, one of Nestlé’s Coffee Specialists, explained the need for portioned coffee in terms of guaranteed perfection, one that demanding consumers would expect. “In general”, he reasoned, “people who really like espresso coffee are very much more quality driven. When you consider such an intense taste experience, the quality is very important. If the espresso is slightly off quality, the connoisseur notices this immediately” (quoted in Butler 50). What matters here is how this corps of connoisseurs grew to a scale big enough to sustain and strengthen the Nespresso system, in the absence of a robust marketing or educative drive by Nespresso (until very recently). Put simply, the brand’s ascent was aided by Starbucks, specifically by the latter’s success in changing the mainstream coffee market during the 1990s. In establishing such a strong transnational presence, Starbucks challenged smaller, competing brands to define themselves with more clarity and conviction. Indeed, working with data that identified just 200 freestanding coffee houses in the US prior to 1990 compared to 14,000 in 2003, Kjeldgaard and Ostberg go so far as to state that: “Put bluntly, in the US there was no local coffee consumptionscape prior to Starbucks” (Kjeldgaard and Ostberg 176). Starbucks effectively redefined the coffee world for mainstream consumers in ways that were directly beneficial for Nespresso. Starbucks: Coffee as Ambience, Experience, and Cultural Capital While visitors to Nespresso boutiques can sample the coffee, with highly trained baristas and staff on site to explain the Nespresso system, in the main there are few concessions to the conventional café experience. Primarily, these boutiques function as material spaces for existing Club members to stock up on capsules, and therefore they complement the Nespresso system with a suitably streamlined space: efficient, stylish and conspicuously upmarket. Outside at least one Sydney boutique for instance (Bondi Junction, in the fashionable eastern suburbs), visitors enter through a club-style cordon, something usually associated with exclusive bars or hotels. This demarcates the boutique from neighbouring coffee chains, and signals Nespresso’s claim to more privileged patrons. This strategy though, the cultivation of a particular customer through aesthetic design and subtle flattery, is not unique. For decades, Starbucks also contrived a “special” coffee experience. Moreover, while the Starbucks model strikes a very different sensorial chord to that of Nespresso (in terms of décor, target consumer and so on) it effectively groomed and prepped everyday coffee drinkers to a level of relative self-sufficiency and expertise—and therein is the link between Starbucks’s mass-marketed approach and Nespresso’s timely arrival. Starbucks opened its first store in 1971, in Seattle. Three partners founded it: Jerry Baldwin and Zev Siegl, both teachers, and Gordon Bowker, a writer. In 1982, as they opened their sixth Seattle store, they were joined by Howard Schultz. Schultz’s trip to Italy the following year led to an entrepreneurial epiphany to which he now attributes Starbucks’s success. Inspired by how cafés in Italy, particularly the espresso bars in Milan, were vibrant social hubs, Schultz returned to the US with a newfound sensitivity to ambience and attitude. In 1987, Schultz bought Starbucks outright and stated his business philosophy thus: “We aren’t in the coffee business, serving people. We are in the people business, serving coffee” (quoted in Ruzich 432). This was articulated most clearly in how Schultz structured Starbucks as the ultimate “third place”, a welcoming amalgam of aromas, music, furniture, textures, literature and free WiFi. This transformed the café experience twofold. First, sensory overload masked the dull homogeny of a global chain with an air of warm, comforting domesticity—an inviting, everyday “home away from home.” To this end, in 1994, Schultz enlisted interior design “mastermind” Wright Massey; with his team of 45 designers, Massey created the chain’s decor blueprint, an “oasis for contemplation” (quoted in Scerri 60). At the same time though, and second, Starbucks promoted a revisionist, airbrushed version of how the coffee was produced. Patrons could see and smell the freshly roasted beans, and read about their places of origin in the free pamphlets. In this way, Starbucks merged the exotic and the cosmopolitan. The global supply chain underwent an image makeover, helped by a “new” vocabulary that familiarised its coffee drinkers with the diversity and complexity of coffee, and such terms as aroma, acidity, body and flavour. This strategy had a decisive impact on the coffee market, first in the US and then elsewhere: Starbucks oversaw a significant expansion in coffee consumption, both quantitatively and qualitatively. In the decades following the Second World War, coffee consumption in the US reached a plateau. Moreover, as Steven Topik points out, the rise of this type of coffee connoisseurship actually coincided with declining per capita consumption of coffee in the US—so the social status attributed to specialised knowledge of coffee “saved” the market: “Coffee’s rise as a sign of distinction and connoisseurship meant its appeal was no longer just its photoactive role as a stimulant nor the democratic sociability of the coffee shop” (Topik 100). Starbucks’s singular triumph was to not only convert non-coffee drinkers, but also train them to a level of relative sophistication. The average “cup o’ Joe” thus gave way to the latte, cappuccino, macchiato and more, and a world of coffee hitherto beyond (perhaps above) the average American consumer became both regular and routine. By 2003, Starbucks’s revenue was US $4.1 billion, and by 2012 there were almost 20,000 stores in 58 countries. As an idealised “third place,” Starbucks functioned as a welcoming haven that flattened out and muted the realities of global trade. The variety of beans on offer (Arabica, Latin American, speciality single origin and so on) bespoke a generous and bountiful modernity; while brochures schooled patrons in the nuances of terroir, an appreciation for origin and distinctiveness that encoded cultural capital. This positioned Starbucks within a happy narrative of the coffee economy, and drew patrons into this story by flattering their consumer choices. Against the generic sameness of supermarket options, Starbucks promised distinction, in Pierre Bourdieu’s sense of the term, and diversity in its coffee offerings. For Greg Dickinson, the Starbucks experience—the scent of the beans, the sound of the grinders, the taste of the coffees—negated the abstractions of postmodern, global trade: by sensory seduction, patrons connected with something real, authentic and material. At the same time, Starbucks professed commitment to the “triple bottom line” (Savitz), the corporate mantra that has morphed into virtual orthodoxy over the last fifteen years. This was hardly surprising; companies that trade in food staples typically grown in developing regions (coffee, tea, sugar, and coffee) felt the “political-aesthetic problematization of food” (Sassatelli and Davolio). This saw increasingly cognisant consumers trying to reconcile the pleasures of consumption with environmental and human responsibilities. The “triple bottom line” approach, which ostensibly promotes best business practice for people, profits and the planet, was folded into Starbucks’s marketing. The company heavily promoted its range of civic engagement, such as donations to nurses’ associations, literacy programs, clean water programs, and fair dealings with its coffee growers in developing societies (Simon). This bode well for its target market. As Constance M. Ruch has argued, Starbucks sought the burgeoning and lucrative “bobo” class, a term Ruch borrows from David Brooks. A portmanteau of “bourgeois bohemians,” “bobo” describes the educated elite that seeks the ambience and experience of a counter-cultural aesthetic, but without the political commitment. Until the last few years, it seemed Starbucks had successfully grafted this cultural zeitgeist onto its “third place.” Ironically, the scale and scope of the brand’s success has meant that Starbucks’s claim to an ethical agenda draws frequent and often fierce attack. As a global behemoth, Starbucks evolved into an iconic symbol of advanced consumer culture. For those critical of how such brands overwhelm smaller, more local competition, the brand is now synonymous for insidious, unstoppable retail spread. This in turn renders Starbucks vulnerable to protests that, despite its gestures towards sustainability (human and environmental), and by virtue of its size, ubiquity and ultimately conservative philosophy, it has lost whatever cachet or charm it supposedly once had. As Bryant Simon argues, in co-opting the language of ethical practice within an ultimately corporatist context, Starbucks only ever appealed to a modest form of altruism; not just in terms of the funds committed to worthy causes, but also to move thorny issues to “the most non-contentious middle-ground,” lest conservative customers felt alienated (Simon 162). Yet, having flagged itself as an ethical brand, Starbucks became an even bigger target for anti-corporatist sentiment, and the charge that, as a multinational giant, it remained complicit in (and one of the biggest benefactors of) a starkly inequitable and asymmetric global trade. It remains a major presence in the world coffee market, and arguably the most famous of the coffee chains. Over the last decade though, the speed and intensity with which Nespresso has grown, coupled with its atypical approach to consumer engagement, suggests that, in terms of brand equity, it now offers a more compelling point of difference than Starbucks. Brand “Me” Insofar as the Nespresso system depends on a consumer market versed in the intricacies of quality coffee, Starbucks can be at least partly credited for nurturing a more refined palate amongst everyday coffee drinkers. Yet while Starbucks courted the “average” consumer in its quest for market control, saturating the suburban landscape with thousands of virtually indistinguishable stores, Nespresso marks a very different sensibility. Put simply, Nespresso inverts the logic of a coffee house as a “third place,” and patrons are drawn not to socialise and relax but to pursue their own highly individualised interests. The difference with Starbucks could not be starker. One visitor to the Bloomingdale boutique (in New York’s fashionable Soho district) described it as having “the feel of Switzerland rather than Seattle. Instead of velvet sofas and comfy music, it has hard surfaces, bright colours and European hostesses” (Gapper 9). By creating a system that narrows the gap between production and consumption, to the point where Nespresso boutiques advertise the coffee brand but do not promote on-site coffee drinking, the boutiques are blithely indifferent to the historical, romanticised image of the coffee house as a meeting place. The result is a coffee experience that exploits the sophistication and vanity of aspirational consumers, but ignores the socialising scaffold by which coffee houses historically and perhaps naively made some claim to community building. If anything, Nespresso restricts patrons’ contemplative field: they consider only their relationships to the brand. In turn, Nespresso offers the ultimate expression of contemporary consumer capitalism, a hyper-individual experience for a hyper-modern age. By developing a global brand that is both luxurious and niche, Nespresso became “the Louis Vuitton of coffee” (Betts 14). Where Starbucks pursued retail ubiquity, Nespresso targets affluent, upmarket cities. As chief executive Richard Giradot put it, with no hint of embarrassment or apology: “If you take China, for example, we are not speaking about China, we are speaking about Shanghai, Hong Kong, Beijing because you will not sell our concept in the middle of nowhere in China” (quoted in Canning 28). For this reason, while Europe accounts for 90 per cent of Nespresso sales (Betts 15), its forays into the Americas, Asia and Australasia invariably spotlights cities that are already iconic or emerging economic hubs. The first boutique in Latin America, for instance, was opened in Jardins, a wealthy suburb in Sao Paulo, Brazil. In Nespresso, Nestlé has popularised a coffee experience neatly suited to contemporary consumer trends: Club members inhabit a branded world as hermetically sealed as the aluminium pods they purchase and consume. Besides the Club’s phone, fax and online distribution channels, pods can only be bought at the boutiques, which minimise even the potential for serendipitous mingling. The baristas are there primarily for product demonstrations, whilst highly trained staff recite the machines’ strengths (be they in design or utility), or information about the actual coffees. For Club members, the boutique service is merely the human extension of Nespresso’s online presence, whereby product information becomes increasingly tailored to increasingly individualised tastes. In the boutique, this emphasis on the individual is sold in terms of elegance, expedience and privilege. Nespresso boasts that over 70 per cent of its workforce is “customer facing,” sharing their passion and knowledge with Club members. Having already received and processed the product information (through the website, boutique staff, and promotional brochures), Club members need not do anything more than purchase their pods. In some of the more recently opened boutiques, such as in Paris-Madeleine, there is even an Exclusive Room where only Club members may enter—curious tourists (or potential members) are kept out. Club members though can select their preferred Grands Crus and checkout automatically, thanks to RFID (radio frequency identification) technology inserted in the capsule sleeves. So, where Starbucks exudes an inclusive, hearth-like hospitality, the Nespresso Club appears more like a pampered clique, albeit a growing one. As described in the Financial Times, “combine the reception desk of a designer hotel with an expensive fashion display and you get some idea what a Nespresso ‘coffee boutique’ is like” (Wiggins and Simonian 10). Conclusion Instead of sociability, Nespresso puts a premium on exclusivity and the knowledge gained through that exclusive experience. The more Club members know about the coffee, the faster and more individualised (and “therefore” better) the transaction they have with the Nespresso brand. This in turn confirms Zygmunt Bauman’s contention that, in a consumer society, being free to choose requires competence: “Freedom to choose does not mean that all choices are right—there are good and bad choices, better and worse choices. The kind of choice eventually made is the evidence of competence or its lack” (Bauman 43-44). Consumption here becomes an endless process of self-fashioning through commodities; a process Eva Illouz considers “all the more strenuous when the market recruits the consumer through the sysiphian exercise of his/her freedom to choose who he/she is” (Illouz 392). In a status-based setting, the more finely graded the differences between commodities (various places of origin, blends, intensities, and so on), the harder the consumer works to stay ahead—which means to be sufficiently informed. Consumers are locked in a game of constant reassurance, to show upward mobility to both themselves and society. For all that, and like Starbucks, Nespresso shows some signs of corporate social responsibility. In 2009, the company announced its “Ecolaboration” initiative, a series of eco-friendly targets for 2013. By then, Nespresso aims to: source 80 per cent of its coffee through Sustainable Quality Programs and Rainforest Alliance Certified farms; triple its capacity to recycle used capsules to 75 per cent; and reduce the overall carbon footprint required to produce each cup of Nespresso by 20 per cent (Nespresso). This information is conveyed through the brand’s website, press releases and brochures. However, since such endeavours are now de rigueur for many brands, it does not register as particularly innovative, progressive or challenging: it is an unexceptional (even expected) part of contemporary mainstream marketing. Indeed, the use of actor George Clooney as Nespresso’s brand ambassador since 2005 shows shrewd appraisal of consumers’ political and cultural sensibilities. As a celebrity who splits his time between Hollywood and Lake Como in Italy, Clooney embodies the glamorous, cosmopolitan lifestyle that Nespresso signifies. However, as an actor famous for backing political and humanitarian causes (having raised awareness for crises in Darfur and Haiti, and backing calls for the legalisation of same-sex marriage), Clooney’s meanings extend beyond cinema: as a celebrity, he is multi-coded. Through its association with Clooney, and his fusion of star power and worldly sophistication, the brand is imbued with semantic latitude. Still, in the television commercials in which Clooney appears for Nespresso, his role as the Hollywood heartthrob invariably overshadows that of the political campaigner. These commercials actually pivot on Clooney’s romantic appeal, an appeal which is ironically upstaged in the commercials by something even more seductive: Nespresso coffee. References Bauman, Zygmunt. “Collateral Casualties of Consumerism.” Journal of Consumer Culture 7.1 (2007): 25–56. Betts, Paul. “Nestlé Refines its Arsenal in the Luxury Coffee War.” Financial Times 28 Apr. (2010): 14. Bourdieu, Pierre. 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Karababa, EmInegül, and GüIIz Ger. “Early Modern Ottoman Coffehouse Culture and the Formation of the Consumer Subject." Journal of Consumer Research 37.5 (2011): 737–60 Kjeldgaard, Dannie, and Jacob Ostberg. “Coffee Grounds and the Global Cup: Global Consumer Culture in Scandinavia”. Consumption, Markets and Culture 10.2 (2007): 175–87. Kleinman, Sharon S. “Café Culture in France and the United States: A Comparative Ethnographic Study of the Use of Mobile Information and Communication Technologies.” Atlantic Journal of Communication 14.4 (2006): 191–210. Luckins, Tanja. “Flavoursome Scraps of Conversation: Talking and Hearing the Cosmopolitan City, 1900s–1960s.” History Australia 7.2 (2010): 31.1–31.16. Markides, Constantinos C. “A Dynamic View of Strategy.” Sloan Management Review 40.3 (1999): 55. Nespresso. “Ecolaboration Initiative Directs Nespresso to Sustainable Success.” Nespresso Media Centre 2009. 13 Dec. 2011. ‹http://www.nespresso.com›. 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This article is a comparison of two remarkably different takes on a single subject, namely the shifting meaning of the word ‘publishing’ brought about by the changes in literacy habits related to Web 2.0. One the one hand, we have Andrew Keen’s much lambasted 2007 book The Cult of the Amateur, which is essentially an attempt to defend traditional gatekeeper models of cultural production by denigrating online, user-generated content. The second is Spin journalist Andy Greenwald’s Nothing Feels Good, focusing on the Emo subculture of the early 2000s and its reliance on Web 2.0 as an integral medium for communication and the accumulation of subcultural capital. What I want to suggest in this article is that these two books, with their contrasting readings of Web 2.0, both tell us something specific about what the word “publishing” means and how it is currently undergoing a significant change brought about by a radical adaptation of literacy practices. What I think both books also do is give us an insight into how those changes are being interpreted, to be rejected on the one hand and applauded on the other. Both books have their faults. Keen’s work can fairly easily be passed off as a sort of cantankerous reminiscence for the legitimacy of an earlier era of publishing, and Greenwald’s Emos have, like all teen subcultures, changed somewhat. Yet what both books portray is an attempt to digest how Web 2.0 has altered perceptions of what constitutes legitimate speaking positions and how that is reflected in the literacy practices that shape the relationships among authors, readers, and the channels through which they interact. Their primary difference is a disparity in the value they place on Web 2.0’s amplification of the Internet’s use as a social and communicative medium. Greenwald embraces it as the facilitator of an open-access dialogue, whereas Keen sees it as a direct threat to other, more traditional, gatekeeper genres. Accordingly, Keen begins his book with a lament that Web 2.0’s “democratization” of media is “undermining truth, souring civic discourse and belittling expertise, experience, and talent … it is threatening the very future of our cultural institutions” (15). He continues, Today’s editors, technicians, and cultural gatekeepers—the experts across an array of fields—are necessary to help us to sift through what’s important and what’s not, what is credible from what is unreliable, what is worth spending our time on as opposed to the white noise that can be safely ignored. (45) As examples of the “white noise,” he lists some of the core features of Web 2.0—blogs, MySpace, YouTube and Facebook. The notable similarity between all of these is that their content is user generated and, accordingly, comes from the position of the personal, rather than from a gatekeeper. In terms of their readership, this presents a fundamental shift in an understanding of authenticated speaking positions, one which Keen suggests underwrites reliability by removing the presence of certifiable expertise. He looks at Web 2.0 and sees a mass of low grade, personal content overwhelming traditional benchmarks of quality and accountability. His definition of “publishing” is essentially one in which a few, carefully groomed producers express work seen as relevant to the wider community. The relationship between reader and writer is primarily one sided, mediated by a gatekeeper and rests on the assumption by all involved that the producer has the legitimacy to speak to a large, and largely silent, readership. Greenwald, by contrast, looks at the same genres and comes to a remarkably different and far more positive conclusion. He focuses heavily on the lively message boards of the social networking site Makeoutclub, the shift to a long tail marketing style by key Emo record labels such as Vagrant and Drive-Thru Records and, in particular, the widespread use of LiveJournal (www.livejournal.com) by suburban, Emo fixated teenagers. Of this he writes: The language is inflated, coded as ‘adult’ and ‘poetic’, which often translates into affected, stilted and forced. But if one can accept that, there’s a sweet vulnerability to it. The world of LiveJournal is an enclosed circuit where everyone has agreed to check their cynicism at the sign on screen; it’s a pulsing, swoony realm of inflated emotions, expectations and dialogue. (287) He specifically notes that one cannot read mediums like LiveJournal in the same style as their more traditional counterparts. There is a necessity to adopt a reading style conducive to a dialogue devoid of conventional quality controls. It is also, he notes, a heavily interconnected, inherently social medium: LiveJournals represent the truest and easiest realization of the essential teenage (and artistic) tenet of the importance of a ‘room of one’s own’, and yet the framework of the website is enough to make each individual room interconnected into a mosaic of richly felt lives. (288) Where Keen sees Web 2.0 as a shift way from established cultural forums, Greenwald sees it as an interconnected conversation. His definition of publishing is more fluid, founded on a belief not in the authenticity of a single, validated voice but on the legitimacy of interaction and communication entirely devoid of any gatekeepers. Central to understanding the difference between Greenwald and Keen is the issue or whether or not we accept the legitimacy of personal voices and how we evaluate the kind of reading practices involved in interpreting them. In this respect, Greenwald’s reference to “a room of one’s own” is telling. When Virginia Woolf wrote A Room of One’s Own in 1929, Web 2.0 wasn’t even a consideration, but her work dealt with a similar subject matter, detailing the key role the novel genre played in legitimising women’s voices precisely because it was “young enough to be soft in [their] hands” (74). What would eventually emerge from Woolf’s work was the field of feminist literary criticism, which hit its stride in the mid-eighties. In terms of its understanding of the power relations inherent to cultural production, particularly as they relate to gatekeeping, it’s a rich academic tradition notably lacking in the writing on Web 2.0. For example, Celia Lury’s essay “Reading the Self,” written more than ten years before the popularisation of the internet, looks specifically at the way in which authoritative speaking positions gain their legitimacy not just through the words on the page but through the entire relationships among author, genre, channels of distribution, and readership. She argues that, “to write is to enter into a relationship with a community of readers, and various forms of writing are seen to involve and imply, at any particular time, various forms of relationship” (102). She continues, so far as text is clearly written/read within a particular genre, it can be seen to rest upon a more or less specific set of social relations. It also means that ‘textual relations’—that is, formal techniques, reading strategies and so on—are not held separate from ‘non-textual relations’—such as methods of cultural production and modes of distribution—and that the latter can be seen to help construct ‘literary value.’ (102) The implication is that an appropriation of legitimised speaking positions isn’t done purely by overthrowing or contesting an established system of ‘quality’ but by developing a unique relationship between author, genre, and readership. Textual and non-textual practices blur together to create literary environments and cultural space. The term “publishing” is at the heart of these relationships, describing the literacies required to interpret particular voices and forms of communication. Yet, as Lury writes, literacy habits can vary. Participation in dialogue-driven, user-generated mediums is utterly different from conventional, gatekeeper-driven ones, yet the two can easily co-exist. For instance, reading last year’s Man Booker prize-winner doesn’t stop one from reading, or even writing, blogs. One can enact numerous literacy practices, move between discourses and inhabit varied relationships between genre, reader, and writer. However, with the rise of Web 2.0 a whole range of literacies that used to be defined as “private sphere” or “everyday literacies,” everything from personal conversations and correspondence to book clubs and fanzines, have become far, far more public. In the past these dialogue-based channels of communication have never been in a position where they could be defined as “publishing.” Web 2.0 changes that, moving previously private sphere communication into online public space in a very obvious way. Keen dismisses this shift as a wall of white noise, but Greenwald does something equally interesting. To a large extent, his positive treatment of Web 2.0’s “affected, stilted and forced” user-generated content is validated by his focus on a “Youth” subculture, namely Emo. Indeed, he heavily links the impact of youthful subcultural practices with the internet, writing that Teenage life has always been about self-creation, and its inflated emotions and high stakes have always existed in a grossly accelerated bubble of hypertime. The internet is the most teenage of media because it too exists in this hypertime of limitless limited moments and constant reinvention. If emo is the soundtrack to hypertime, then the web is its greatest vehicle, the secret tunnel out of the locked bedroom and dead-eyed judgmental scenes of youth. (277) In this light, we accept the voices of his Emo subjects because, underneath their low-quality writing, they produce a “sweet vulnerability” and a “dialogue,” which provides them with a “secret tunnel” out of the loneliness of their bedrooms or unsupportive geographical communities. It’s a theme that hints at the degree to which discussions of Web 2.0 are often heavily connected to arguments about generationalism, framed by the field of youth studies and accordingly end up being mined for what Tara Brabazon calls “spectacular youth subcultures” (23). We see some core examples of this in some of the quasi-academic writing on the subject of “Youth.” For example, in his 2005 book XYZ: The New Rules of Generational Warfare, Michael Grose declares Generation Y as “post-literate”: Like their baby boomer parents and generation X before them, generation Ys get their information from a range of sources that include the written and spoken word. Magazines and books are in, but visual communication is more important for this cohort than their parents. They live in a globalised, visual world where images rather than words are universal communication media. The Internet has heightened the use of symbols as a direct communicator. (95) Given the Internet is overwhelmingly a textual medium, it’s hard to tell exactly what Grose’s point is other than to express his confusion over new literacy practices. In a similar vein and in a similar style, Rebecca Huntley writes in her book The World According to Y, In the Y world, a mobile phone is not merely a phone. It is, as described by demographer Bernard Salt, “a personal accessory, a personal communications device and a personal entertainment centre.” It’s a device for work and play, flirtation and sex, friendship and family. For Yers, their phone symbolizes freedom and flexibility. More than that, your mobile phone symbolizes you. (16) Like Keen, Grose and Huntley are trying to understand a shift in publishing and media that has produced new literacy practices. Unlike Keen, Grose and Huntley pin the change on young people and, like Greenwald, they turn a series of new literacy practices into something akin to what Dick Hebdige called “conspicuous consumption” (103). It’s a term he linked to his definition of bricolage as the production of “implicitly coherent, though explicitly bewildering, systems of connection between things which perfectly equip their users to ‘think’ their own world” (103). Thus, young people are differentiated from the rest of the population by their supposedly unique consumption of “symbols” and mobile phones, into which they read their own cryptic meanings and develop their own generational language. Greenwald shows this methodology in action, with the Emo use of things like LiveJournal, Makeoutclub and other bastions of Web 2.0 joining their record collections, ubiquitous sweeping fringes and penchant for accessorised outfits as part of the conspicuous consumption inherent to understandings of youth subculture. The same theme is reflected in Michel de Certeau’s term “tactics” or, more common amongst those studying Web 2.0, Henry Jenkins’s notion of “poaching”. The idea is that people, specifically young people, appropriate particular forms of cultural literacy to redefine themselves and add a sense of value to their voices. De Certeau’s definition of tactics, as a method of resistance “which cannot count on a ‘proper’ (a spatial or institutional localization), nor thus on a borderline distinguishing the other as a visible totality” (489), is a prime example of how Web 2.0 is being understood. Young people, Emo or not, engage in a consumption of the Internet, poaching the tools of production to redefine the value of their voices in a style completely acceptable to the neo-Marxist, Birmingham school understanding of youth and subculture as a combination producing a sense of resistance. It’s a narrative highly compatible within the fields of cultural and media studies, which, despite major shifts brought about by people like Ken Gelder, Sarah Thornton, Keith Kahn-Harris and the aforementioned Tara Brabazon, still look heavily for patterns of politicised consumption. The problem, as I think Keen inadvertently suggests, is that the Internet isn’t just about young people and their habits as consumers. It’s about what the word “publishing” actually means and how we think about the interaction among writers, readers, and the avenues through which they interact. The idea that we can pass off the redefinition of literacy practices brought about by Web 2.0 as a subcultural youth phenomena is an easy way of bypassing wider cultural shifts onto a token demographic. It presents Web 2.0 as an issue of “Youth” resisting the hegemony of traditional gatekeepers, which is effectively what Greenwald does. Yet such an approach has a very short shelf life. It’s a little like claiming the telephone or the television set were “youth genres.” The uptake of new technologies will inadvertently impact differently on those who grew up with them as compared to those who grew up without them. Yet ultimately changes in literacy habits are much larger than a generationalist framework can really express, particularly given the first generation of “digital natives” are now in their thirties. There’s a lot of things wrong with Andrew Keen’s book but one thing he does do well is ground the debate about Web 2.0 back to issues of legitimate speaking positions and publishing. That said, he also significantly simplifies those issues when he claims the problem is purely about the decline of traditional gatekeeper models. Responding to Keen’s criticism of him, Creative Commons founder Lawrence Lessig writes, I think it is a great thing when amateurs create, even if the thing they create is not as great as what the professional creates. I want my kids to write. But that doesn’t mean that I’ll stop reading Hemingway and read only what they write. What Keen misses is the value to a culture that comes from developing the capacity to create—independent of the quality created. That doesn’t mean we should not criticize works created badly (such as, for example, Keen’s book…). But it does mean you’re missing the point if you simply compare the average blog to the NY times (Lessig). What Lessig expresses here is the different, but not mutually exclusive, literacy practices involved in the word “publishing.” Publishing a blog is very different to publishing a newspaper and the way readers react to both will change as they move in and out the differing discursive spaces each occupies. In a recent collaborative paper by Sue Thomas, Chris Joseph, Jess Laccetti, Bruce Mason, Simon Mills, Simon Perril, and Kate Pullinger, they describe this capacity to move across different reading and writing styles as “transliteracy.” They define the term as “the ability to read, write and interact across a range of platforms, tools and media from signing and orality through handwriting, print, TV, radio and film, to digital social networks” (Thomas et al.). It’s a term that perfectly describes the capacity to move fluidly across discursive environments. Here we return to Greenwald’s use of a framework of youth and subculture. While I have criticised the Birminghamesque fixation on a homogeneous “Youth” demographic enacting resistance through conspicuous consumption, there is good reason to use existing subculture studies methodology as a means of understanding how transliteracies play out in everyday life. David Chaney remarks, the idea of subculture is redundant because the type of investment that the notion of subculture labelled is becoming more general, and therefore the varieties of modes of symbolization and involvement are more common in everyday life. (37) I think the increasing commonality of subcultural practices in everyday life actually makes the idea more relevant, not less. It does, however, make it much harder to pin things on “spectacular youth subcultures.” Yet the focus on “everyday life” is important here, shifting our understanding of “subculture” to the types of literacies played out within localised, personal networks and experiences. As de Certeau has argued, the practice of everyday life is an issue of “a way of thinking invested in a way of acting, an art of combination which cannot be dissociated from an art of using” (Certeau 486). This is as true for our literacy practices as anything else. Whether we choose to label those practices subcultural or not, our ability to interpret, take part in and react to different communicative forums is clearly fundamental to our understanding of the world around us, regardless of our age. Sarah Thornton suggests a useful alternate definition of subculture when she talks about subcultural capital: Subcultural capital is the linchpin of an alternative hierarchy in which the aces of age, gender, sexuality and race are all employed in order to keep the determinations of class, income and occupation at bay (105). This is an understanding that avoids easy narratives of young people and their consumption of Web 2.0 by recognising the complexity with which people’s literacy habits, in the cultural sense, connect to their active participation in the production of meaning. Subcultural capital implies that the framework through which individuals read, interpret, and shift between discursive environments, personalising and building links across the strata of cultural production, is acted out at the local and personal level, rather than purely through the relationship between a producing gatekeeper and a passive, consuming readership. If we recognise the ability for readers to connect multiple mediums, to shift between reading and writing practices, and to seamlessly interpret and digest markedly different assumptions about legitimate speaking voices across genres, our understanding of what it means to “publish” ceases to be an issue of generationalism or conventional mediums being washed away by the digital era. The issue we see in both Keen and Greenwald is an attempt to digest the way Web 2.0 has forced the concept of “publishing” to take on a multiplicity of meanings, played out by individual readers, and imbued with their own unique and interwoven textual and cultural literacy habits. It’s not only Emos who publish livejournals, and it’s incredibly naive to assume gatekeepers have ever really held a monopoly on all aspects of cultural production. What the rise of Web 2.0 has done is simply to bring everyday, private sphere dialogue driven literacies into the public sphere in a very obvious way. The kind of discourses once passed off as resistant youth subcultures are now being shown as common place. Keen is right to suggest that this will continue to impact, sometimes negatively, on traditional gatekeepers. Yet the change is inevitable. As our reading and writing practices alter around new genres, our understandings of what constitutes legitimate fields of publishing will also change. References Brabazon, Tara. From Revolution to Revelation. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005. de Certeau, Michel. “Practice of Every Day Life.” Cultural Theory and Popular Culture. Ed. John Story. London: Prentice Hall, 1998. 483–94. Chaney, David. “Fragmented Culture and Subcultures.” After Subculture. Ed. Andy Bennett and Keith Kahn-Harris. Houndsmill: Palgrave McMillian, 2004. 36–48. Greenwald, Andy. Nothing Feels Good: Punk Rock, Teenagers and Emo. New York: St Martin’s Griffin, 2003. Grose, Michael. XYZ: The New Rules of Generational Warfare. Sydney: Random House, 2005. Hebdige, Dick. Subculture: The Meaning of Style. London: Methuen and Co Ltd, 1979. Huntley, Rebecca. The World According to Y. Crows Nest: Allen and Unwin, 2006. Keen, Andrew. The Cult of the Amateur. London: Nicholas Brealey Publishing, 2007. Lessig, Lawrence. “Keen’s ‘The Cult of the Amateur’: BRILLIANT!” Lessig May 31, 2007. Aug. 19 2008 ‹http://www.lessig.org/blog/2007/05/keens_the_cult_of_the_amateur.html>. Lury, Celia. “Reading the Self: Autobiography, Gender and the Institution of the Literary.” Off-Centre: Feminism and Cultural Studies. Ed. Sarah. Franklin, Celia Lury, and Jackie Stacey. Hammersmith: HarperCollinsAcademic, 1991. 97–108. Thomas, Sue, Chris Joseph, Jess Laccetti, Bruce Mason, Simon Mills, Simon Perril, and Kate Pullinger. “Transliteracy: Crossing Divides.” First Monday 12.12. (2007). Apr. 1 2008 ‹http://www.uic.edu/htbin/cgiwrap/bin/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/2060/1908>. Thornton, Sarah. Club Cultures: Music, Media and Subcultural Capital. Oxford: Polity Press, 1995. Woolf, Virginia. A Room of One’s Own. Frogmore: Triad/Panther Press, 1977.

It happened 27 years ago, in the autumn of 1990, but I remember it as if it were yesterday. Having set apart some of the cash I’d been given for my seventeenth birthday, I caught a train into the city with only one thing in mind: buying a copy of the newly-released book The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer. Having breathlessly devoured the eight-episode first season of Twin Peaks as it was broadcast on BBC2 from 23 October until 11 December 1990 (BBC), acquiring a copy of the “actual” diary that potentially held vital clues to the series’ central mystery—who killed Laura Palmer?—offered a temptation impossible for any fan to resist.Somewhat predictably, the actual rewards proved rather limited: while the diary’s contents certainly fleshed out Laura Palmer’s background and inner life as a character, thereby laying some of the groundwork for the prequel film Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me (1992), plot spoilers were carefully avoided by skipping over crucial entries with several blank pages marked as “page missing.” Thus, eager fans were simultaneously granted advance insight into future narrative developments while also being denied answers to key questions. Similarly, the publication of franchise novels The Autobiography of F.B.I. Special Agent Dale Cooper: My Life, My Tapes (1991) and Welcome to Twin Peaks: Access Guide to the Town (1991), as well as the audio cassette tape “Diane…” The Twin Peaks Tapes of Agent Cooper (1990), added further background and depth to the TV series’ ongoing storyworld by offering more details about characters, locations, and back story. Most crucially, these transmedia expansions in many ways foreshadowed the larger development of 21st-century transmedia serialisation practices.When American premium cable channel Showtime finally returned fans to the world of Twin Peaks in an 18-episode weekly series airing from 21 May to 3 September 2017, the franchise promised to revive the characters, locations, and mythology so fondly remembered by the show’s original viewers, as well as the later generations who had discovered Twin Peaks via reruns, VHS recordings, DVD and Blu-ray discs, or video streaming services. Identified variously as Twin Peaks: The Return, Twin Peaks: Season Three, and Twin Peaks: A Limited Event Series, the new series (hereafter Twin Peaks 2017) appeared in a media-industrial context where the revival of nostalgic television favourites has become fashionable and lucrative.In a hyper-competitive marketplace where many platforms are frantically vying for audience attention and engagement, reviving existing storyworlds with dedicated fan cultures offers an obvious advantage and competitive edge (Weinstock 14–16). At the same time, Twin Peaks seemed especially appropriate to revisit, having been singled out so often as an early paradigm for the 21st century’s alleged “Golden Age of Television” (Telotte 64). As a spectacularly short-lived pop-culture phenomenon, Twin Peaks quickly became a jealously guarded cult favourite watched over by a dedicated global fandom. Yet, its influence on 21st century television culture is often explained by the series’ combination of long-form storytelling and cinematic style with a complex and ever-expanding mythological deep structure, alongside its then-unusual emphasis on television authorship in the figure of auteurist film director David Lynch.However, more specifically related to the theme of this special issue, Twin Peaks has repeatedly adopted transmedia forms for serialised storytelling and world-building in ways that build upon the franchise’s own cultural legacy while also embracing contemporary media-industrial practices. While relatively limited in terms of the number of media texts, these practices illustrate the rich potential for the transmedia expansion of franchises that exist primarily within a single medium. In order to map out the key transmedia connections within this rich and surprisingly diverse franchise, I will first offer a few terms that help distinguish basic forms of transmedia multitexts (Parody 210–218) from each other, before moving on to a more detailed analysis of the transmedia forms that have come to surround, enhance, and enrich Twin Peaks 2017.Transmedia Models In his essay “Transmediality and the Politics of Adaptation,” Jens Eder develops a basic typology of transmedia multitexts (or “constellations”) that provides a helpful entrance for this discussion. While Henry Jenkins’ oft-cited but rather broadly worded description of transmedia storytelling gave media scholars a provocative starting point (97–98), it also clearly exaggerated the degree of organised and consistent cross-platform development of fictional storyworlds. Eder’s model adds a much-needed emphasis on the hierarchical structures that we inevitably encounter both within the various transmedia multitexts, and in the industries and audiences that engage with them. Eder’s typology distinguishes between four basic models (75–77).The form of transmedia storytelling that Jenkins foregrounded in Convergence Culture, with The Matrix (1999) as his primary example, constitutes what Eder’s essay describes as integration: the various media texts form a single and more or less coherent narrative whole, with each medium making the most of its medium-specific qualities and affordances. While this model is frequently cited as a kind of ideal or even default definition of transmedia storytelling, it is important to note that it is also fairly rare, as it requires a staggering amount of planning and coordination. Far more common is the expansion model, in which one primary media text (often referred to as the “mothership”) is expanded via a range of “satellite texts.” Most commonly, the mothership would be a costly, labour-intensive, and high-profile mass media production, like a feature film, television series, or AAA video game, while the expansions are much less expensive and clearly secondary texts that function simultaneously as world-building expansions and as entrance points to the franchise. A third model is the participation strategy, in which audience activity is integrated into the production cycle, as with game shows where audiences use apps, websites, or other satellite media to vote on or otherwise affect the ongoing narrative. Finally, multiple exploitation indicates a form of multitext in which a theoretically limitless number of transmedia texts exist alongside each other, without depending on any of the others to create meaning—for which a predominantly non-narrative transmedia brand like Hello Kitty may come to mind as an example.Clearly, these four paradigms are neither exhaustive nor mutually exclusive. But they do help to emphasise not only the diverse forms transmedia multitexts can take, but also that each of these is thoroughly embedded within media-industrial practices. Thus, Eder’s typology helpfully foregrounds the inherent connections between transmedia as a narrative form—transmedia storytelling—and the political economy in which it circulates—transmedia franchising (see Johnson). In the case of Twin Peaks 2017, the forms of transmedia expansion that were pioneered alongside the original series effectively combine transmedia storytelling forms with contemporary industrial practices and digital fandom (Booth 25).The production practices of the television industry at the time Twin Peaks 2017 was broadcast are defined in the first place by their transitional character. Since the early 2010s, both television networks and cable channels like Showtime face growing pressure from industrial “disruptors” like Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon, which offer increasingly competitive video-on-demand (VOD) services (Lotz 132–133). Besides the obvious advantages of accessibility, mobility, and individual control, a key innovation that many of these VOD services have embraced is the “full-drop season” (Mittell 41), which does away with the traditional week-long wait between episodes. Taken alongside the long-term decline of traditional television audiences, the rise of cable-cutting and other digital entertainment alternatives, and the ongoing growth of what Chuck Tryon has dubbed “on-demand culture” (5), broadcasters embedded within television’s traditional industrial framework are forced to innovate in order to attract sufficient advertisers and/or subscribers.Within this hyper-competitive media environment, traditional television networks have been using cross-platform strategies to lure viewers back to weekly programming. In her analysis of the transmedia campaign surrounding the niche-marketed breakout TV hit Glee, Valerie Wee showed how the clever combination of licensed Twitter accounts and carefully timed releases of musical tracks via Apple’s iTunes Store helped Fox transform the weekly episodes into minor media events (7–8). While social media and other new digital services are generally seen as obvious competitors with traditional media platforms like network television, Wee’s analysis of Glee’s innovative use of transmedia practices shows that they can also be used to increase viewers’ engagement with weekly broadcasts.Twin Peaks 2017: The NovelsAs a more recent high-profile television production designed to be a media phenomenon for the cultural elite, Twin Peaks 2017 used similar methods to facilitate what Matt Hills has described as “just-in-time fandom”: a carefully regulated form of fan culture in which the most invested viewers are constantly forced to keep up with shifting production and distribution practices in order to stay abreast of the cultural conversation (140–141). For Twin Peaks 2017, this involved not only the meticulous synchronisation of digital music releases, but also the publication of two separate novels that elegantly bookended the new season’s broadcast.The first of these books, The Secret History of Twin Peaks, was published in October 2016, a good six months ahead of the new season’s premiere. Rather than introducing any of the third season’s new characters or filling in the blanks between the original series and the revival, the book instead expanded the storyworld in the opposite direction. Presented as an elaborate collection of annotated historical records, The Secret History of Twin Peaks begins with facsimiles of “historical documents” dating back to the early 19th century, before proceeding to map out a wide-ranging mythological superstructure for the franchise that spans two centuries of American history. Both foreshadowing the third season’s more expansive narrative framework and embellishing the franchise’s mythological superstructure, the book gave readers new information about the organisation of Twin Peaks’ storyworld without even hinting at the new season’s plot. Meanwhile, the simultaneous release of the audiobook featured the voices of several original cast members, thereby both authorising this transmedia expansion as consistent with the existing franchise and playing into the nostalgia that inevitably fuels most viewers’ interest in these television revivals.Almost a year later, and a mere six weeks after the final two episodes had been broadcast, the book’s companion volume Twin Peaks: The Final Dossier (2017) was published. Similar in form but also shorter and less ambitious in narrative scope and graphic design, this second novel consisted of a collection of written FBI files on all major characters. These files, diegetically written and compiled by third-season newcomer Special Agent Tammy Preston, give plentiful background information on events preceding the third season, as well as providing some obvious hints about its enigmatic finale. Taken together, the two books perfectly match Eder’s “expansion” model: they not only expand and enrich the existing storyworld through transmedia storytelling, but they do so in such a way that the contents are carefully synchronised with the release of a serialised television event. The first book broadened the mythological framework while providing a more elaborate history for the storyworld, but did so without “spoiling” narrative developments in the third season, or providing essential information that would disadvantage more casual viewers. In this sense, its obvious similarity to The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer also added further layers of nostalgia for forensic fans eager to re-immerse themselves in the Twin Peaks storyworld (Mittell 43).At the same time, the books also provided a convenient way to resolve a longstanding tension within Twin Peaks authorship (Abbott 175–176). While director David Lynch has most commonly been singled out as the defining “visionary” behind the franchise and its appeal, his co-writer Mark Frost has somewhat uncomfortably shared the credit for the series. Therefore, as Twitter campaigns and online fan activism demonstrated all too clearly that Lynch was indeed the single most vital ingredient for a return to Twin Peaks, the two books gave Frost an avenue to express his own claim to authorship in ways that were emphatically his. The occasional public interviews and other paratexts clearly illustrated this practical division of authorial labour, with Lynch commenting at one point that he hadn’t even read The Secret History of Twin Peaks, noting en passant that the book represents his (i.e. Frost’s) history of Twin Peaks—while the episodes are, by implication, primarily Lynch’s (Hibberd).While it is obviously quite possible to read both books after (or before, or during) one’s first viewing of Twin Peaks 2017, the books’ narrative contents and their publication dates were clearly synchronised with Showtime’s broadcast schedule in ways that enhance its serialised structure. As a franchise that has embellished the (more or less) linear narrative movement of its television “mothership” with transmedia expansions largely dedicated to the series’ pre-history, the novels bookending Twin Peaks 2017 underline the revival’s “event-ness” while also acknowledging and respecting the franchise’s spoiler-averse fan culture. For just as the almost comically oblique series promos reassured fans about the revival’s authenticity while refusing to give even the slightest indication of what would happen, the first novel offered a deep dive into the storyworld’s mythology without hinting at what lay ahead. By the same token, the second book offered forensic fans a post-broadcast coda with great narrative closure, while Frost’s ambiguous status as an author left them free to speculate about alternative meanings. Both novels thereby functioned as expansions that supported Showtime’s broadcast of weekly episodes through cross-platform transmedia serialisation.Twin Peaks 2017: The SoundtracksSimilarly, the release schedule of two soundtrack albums playfully participated in the strategy of encouraging fan speculation in response to Showtime’s weekly broadcast schedule. The two soundtracks did this in different ways, and for slightly different reasons. One album contained the instrumental score, while the other was filled with tracks by a wide variety of popular artists. For both albums, the track list was kept secret until the release date, which closely followed the final episode’s broadcast. However, fans who pre-ordered either of these albums via Apple’s iTunes Music Store would see new tracks become available on a week-by-week basis just after a new episode had aired. For the instrumental soundtrack, keeping the track list secret served a clear purpose with regard to spoiler culture: for instance, while actor Carel Struycken is a familiar face from the original two seasons, his appearance in the opening scene of Twin Peaks 2017 is decidedly ambiguous, and his character’s name is pointedly referred to in the episode’s end credits as a series of seven question marks. The explicit suggestion that this iconic actor’s return represented a new mystery strongly encouraged fan speculation, while teasing a reveal that may or may not be forthcoming as the series progressed.The question in this case was answered by the incremental release of the soundtrack album long before it was confirmed within the text of the series proper: the character’s second appearance, in episode eight, was again followed by end credits that identified him only with question marks. But the day after, a new track “The Fireman” became available to those who had pre-ordered the digital soundtrack. Forensic fans within online communities like welcometotwinpeaks.com and the Twin Peaks wiki were quick to decode the seven question marks as representing the seven letters of the word “Fireman”—and from there on, to theorise that his function within the franchise’s mythology must be to help combat the evil associated with fire (as expressed throughout the franchise with the phrase “Fire Walk With Me”). And indeed, these fan theories were validated after the character’s third appearance, in episode 14, where the end credits identified him definitively as “The Fireman.”For the other soundtrack album, containing vocal performances of tracks featured in the series, a similar release strategy further encouraged online engagement and just-in-time fandom. One of the ways in which Twin Peaks 2017 departed from the original series was the novelty of ending most episodes with a live performance at the Twin Peaks Roadhouse by a contemporary musical act. While several of the names had been surmised from the cast list that was circulated widely amongst fans months before the series premiered, it remained unknown at what point in the series any given artist would appear, and in what capacity. Thus, the appearance of high-profile artists like Nine Inch Nails and Eddie Vedder could be experienced as a legitimate surprise, while fans were also rewarded for their weekly engagement with access to the song the day after its appearance via its addition to the pre-ordered album tracks. Thus, in both cases, the soundtrack release strategy gave forensic fans another level of engagement with the series that benefited both Showtime’s industrial practice of weekly broadcasts and the digital sales of non-narrative franchise expansions as another form or transmedia serialisation.ConclusionWhile Twin Peaks has been understandably celebrated (and criticised) for its divergence from television conventions, the new series also serves as a helpful and vivid case study for industrial practices of transmedia serialisation. Following the innovative ways in which the original series expanded its storyworld between seasons through transmedia expansions, Twin Peaks 2017 adapted these practices for its own media-industrial context. The accompanying books and soundtracks strongly emphasised the new series’ “eventness,” while at the same time contributing to the season’s serialised structure. The first novel, preceding the third season, prepared forensic fans for the new series’ elaboration of the storyworld’s mythology, while the second, appearing right after the finale, tied up narrative loose ends and clarified the plot. Meanwhile, the soundtracks’ incremental digital releases encouraged fan speculation, while also rewarding viewers for watching the episodes as they were being broadcast. Thus, to quote the Fireman’s cryptic instruction from the first episode, Twin Peaks 2017 managed to kill two birds with one stone by using transmedia serialisation to combine digital fandom and on-demand culture with traditional broadcast schedules.ReferencesAbbott, Stacey. “‘Doing Weird Things for the Sake of Being Weird’: Directing Twin Peaks.” Return to Twin Peaks. Eds. Jeffrey Andrew Weinstock and Catherine Spooner. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. 175–191.BBC. “BBC Genome Project.” <http://genome.ch.bbc.co.uk>.Booth, Paul. Digital Fandom 2.0. New York: Peter Lang, 2016.Eder, Jens. “Transmediality and the Politics of Adaptation.” The Politics of Adaptation: Media Convergence and Ideology. Eds. Dan Hassler-Forest and Pascal Nicklas. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. 66–81.Frost, Mark. The Secret History of Twin Peaks. London: Flatiron Books, 2016.———. Twin Peaks: The Final Dossier. London: Flatiron Books, 2017. Frost, Scott. The Autobiography of F.B.I. Special Agent Dale Cooper: My Life, My Tapes. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1990.Hibberd, James. “Twin Peaks: David Lynch Holds a Weird Press Conference.” Entertainment Weekly 9 Jan 2017. 11 Jan 2018 <http://ew.com/tv/2017/01/09/twin-peaks-david-lynch-press-conference/>.Hills, Matt. Fan Cultures. London: Routledge, 2002.Jenkins, Henry. Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. New York: New York UP, 2006.Johnson, Derek. Media Franchising: Creative License and Collaboration in the Culture Industries. New York: New York UP, 2013.Lotz, Amanda D. The Television Will Be Revolutionized. 2nd ed. New York: New York UP, 2014.Lynch, David, Mark Frost, and Richard Saul Wurman. Twin Peaks: An Access Guide to the Town. New York: Pocket Books, 1991.Lynch, Jennifer. The Secret Diary of Laura Palmer. London: Penguin Books, 1990.Mittell, Jason. Complex TV: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling. New York: New York UP, 2015.Parody, Clare. “Franchising/Adaptation.” Adaptation 4:2 (2011): 210–18.Telotte, J.P. “‘Complementary Verses’: The Science Fiction of Twin Peaks.” Return to Twin Peaks. Eds. Jeffrey Andrew Weinstock and Catherine Spooner. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. 161–174.Tryon, Chuck. On-Demand Culture: Digital Delivery and the Future of Movies. New Brunswick: Rutgers UP, 2013.Wee, Valerie. “Spreading the Glee: Targeting a Youth Audience in the Multimedia, Digital Age.” The Information Society 32:5 (2016): 1–12.Weinstock, Jeffrey Andrew. “Introduction: ‘It Is Happening Again’: New Reflections on Twin Peaks.” Return to Twin Peaks. Eds. Jeffrey Andrew Weinstock and Catherine Spooner. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. 1–28.

A politician’s political and personal selves have been in the spotlight of academic scholarship for hundreds of years, but only in recent years has a political ‘persona’ obtained new modes of mediation via networked media. New advancements in politics, technology, and media brought challenges to the traditional politics and personal self-representation of major leaders. Vladimir Putin’s divorce announcement in June 2013, posed a new challenge for his political self-mediation. A rather reserved leader (Loshak), he nonetheless broadcast his personal news to the large audience and made it in a very peculiar way, causing the media professionals and public to draw parallels with Soviet-era mediated politics and thereby evoke collective memories. This paper studies how Vladimir Putin’s divorce announcement was constructed and presented and also what response and opinion threads—satirical and humorous, ignorant and informed feedback—it achieved via media professionals and the general Twitter audience. Finally, this study aims to evaluate how Vladimir Putin’s political ‘persona’ was represented and perceived via these mixed channels of communication.According to classic studies of mediated political persona (Braudy; Meyrowitz; Corner), any public activity of a political persona is considered a part of their political performance. The history of political marketing can be traced back to ancient times, but it developed through the works of Renaissance and Medieval thinkers. Of particular prominence is Machiavelli’s The Prince with its famous “It is unnecessary for the prince to have all the good qualities I have enumerated, but it is very necessary to appear to have them” (cited in Corner 68). All those centuries-built developments and patterns of political self-representation have now taken on new forms as a result of the development of media industry and technology. Russian mediated politics has seen various examples of new ways of self-representation exercised by major politicians in the 2010s. For instance, former president Dmitry Medvedev was known as the “president with an iPad” (Pronina), as he was advocating technology and using social networks in order to seem more approachable and appear to be responsive to collecting feedback from the nation. Traditional media constantly highlighted Medvedev’s keen interest in Facebook and Twitter, which resulted in a growing public assumption that this new modern approach to self-representation may signify a new approach to governance (see Asmolov).Goffman’s classic study of the distinction between public and private life helps in linking political persona to celebrity persona. In his view the political presentation of self differs from the one in popular culture because politicians as opposed to entertainers have to conform to a set of ideals, projections, social stereotypes and cultural/national archetypes for their audience of voters (Goffman; Corner). A politician’s public persona has to be constantly reaffirming and proving the values he or she is promoting through their campaigns. Mediations of a political personhood can be projected in three main modes: visual, vocal, and kinetic (Ong; Mayhew; Corner). Visual representation follows the iconic paintings and photography in displaying the position, attitude, and associative contexts related to that. Vocal representation covers both content and format of a political speech, it is not only the articulated message, but also more important the persona speaking. Ong describes this close relation of the political and personal along with the interrelation of the message and the medium as “secondary orality”—voice, tone and volume make the difference. The third mode is kinetic representation and means the political persona in action and interaction. Overlapping of different strategies and structures of political self-representation fortifies the notion of performativity (Corner and Pels) in politics that becomes a core feature of the multidimensional representation of a mediated political self.The advancement of electronic media and interactive platforms has influenced political communication and set the new standard for the convergence of the political and personal life of a politician. On its own, the President Clinton/Monica Lewinsky affair raised the level of public awareness of the politician’s private life. It also allowed for widely distributed, contested, and mediated judgments of a politician’s personal actions. Lawrence and Bennett in their study of Lewinsky case’s academic and public response state that although the majority of American citizens did not expect the president to be the moral leader, they expressed ambivalence in their rendition of the importance of “moral leadership” by big politicians (438). The President Clinton/Lewinsky case adds a new dimension to Goffman and Corner’s respective discussions on the significance of values in the political persona self-representation. This case proves that values can not only be reinforced by one’s public persona, but those values can be (re)constructed by the press or public opinion. Values are becoming a contested trait in the contemporary mediated political persona. This view can be supported by Dmitry Medvedev’s case: although modern technology was known as his personal passion, it was publicised only with reference to his role as a public politician and specifically when Medvedev appeared with an iPad talking about modernisation at major meetings (Pronina). However, one can argue that one’s charisma can affect the impact of values in public self-representation of the politician. In addition, social networks add a new dimension to personified publicity. From Barack Obama’s ‘Yes We Can’ networked campaign in 2008 and through many more recent examples, we are witnessing the continuing process of the personalisation of politics (Corner and Pels). From one point of view, audiences tend to have more interest and sympathy in political individuals and their lifestyles rather than political parties and their programmes (Lawrence and Bennett; Corner and Pels). It should be noted that the interest towards political individuals does not fall apart from the historical logics of politics; it is only mediated in a new way. Max Weber’s notion of “leadership democracy” proves that political strategy is best distributed through the charismatic leadership imposing his will on the audience. This view can be strengthened by Le Bon’s concept of emotive connection of the leader and his crowd, and Adorno’s writings on the authoritarian personality also highlight the significance of the leader’s own natural and mediated persona in politics. What is new is the channels of mediation—modern audiences’ access to a politician’s private life is facilitated by new forms of media interactivity (Corner and Pels). This recent development calls for the new understanding of “persona” in politics. On one hand, the borderline between private and public becomes blurred and we are more exposed to the private self of a leader, but on the other hand, those politicians aware of new media literacy can create new structures of proximity and distance and construct a separate “persona” online, using digital media for their benefit (Corner and Pels). Russian official politics has developed a cautious attitude towards social networks in the post-Medvedev era - currently, President Vladimir Putin is not known for using social networks personally and transmits his views via his spokesperson. However, his personal charisma makes him overly present in digital media - through the images and texts shared both by his supporters and rivals. As opposed to Medvedev’s widely publicised “modernisation president” representation, Putin’s persona breaks the boundaries of limited traditional publicity and makes him recognised not only for his political activity, but looks, controversial expression, attitude to employees, and even personal life. That brings us back to Goffman, Corner and Lawrence and Bennett’s discussions on the interrelation of political values and personal traits in one’s political self-representation, making it evident that one’s strong personality can dominate over his political image and programme. Moreover, an assumption can be made that a politician’s persona may be more powerful than the narrative suggested by the constructed self-representation and new connotations may arise on the crossroads of this interaction.Russian President Divorce Announcement and Collective MemoryVladimir Putin’s divorce announcement was broadcast via traditional media on 6 June 2013 as a simple news story. The state broadcasting company Vesti-24 sent a journalist Polina Yermolayeva from their news bulletin to cover Vladimir Putin and Lyudmila Putin’s visit to a ballet production, Esmeralda, at the state Kremlin theatre. The news anchor’s introduction to the interview was ordinarily written and had no hints of the upcoming sensation. After the first couple and the journalist had discussed their opinion of the ballet (“beautiful music,” “flawless and light moves”), the reporter Yermolayeva suddenly asked: “You and Lyudmila are rarely seen together in public. Rumour has it that you do not live together. It is true?” Vladimir Putin and his wife exchanged a number of rather pre-scripted speeches stating that the first couple was getting a divorce as the children had grown old enough, and they would still stay friends and wished each other the best of luck. The whole interview lasted 3:25 minutes and became a big surprise for the country (Loshak; Sobchak).When applying the classification of three modes of political personhood (Corner; Ong) to Vladimir Putin’s divorce announcement, it becomes evident that all three modes—visual, vocal, and kinetic—were used. Television audiences watched their president speak freely to the unknown reporter, explain details of his life in his own words so that body language also was visible and conveyed additional information. The visual self-representation harkens back to classic, Soviet-style announcements: Vladimir Putin and Lyudmila Putina are dressed in classic monochrome suit and costume with a skirt respectively. They pose in front of the rather dull yet somewhat golden decorations of the Kremlin Theatre Hall, the walls themselves reflecting the glory and fanfare of the Soviet leadership and architecture. Vladimir Putin and his wife both talk calmly while Lyudmila appears even more relaxed than her husband (Sobchak). Although the speech looks prepared in advance (Loshak), it uses colloquial expressions and is delivered with emotional pauses and voice changes.However, close examination of not only the message but the medium of the divorce announcement reveals a vast number of intriguing symbols and parallels. First, although living in the era of digital media, Vladimir Putin chose to broadcast his personal news through a traditional television channel. Second, it was broadcast in a news programme making the breaking news of the president’s divorce, paradoxically, quite a mundane news event. Third, the semiotic construction of the divorce announcement bore a lot of connotations and synergies to the conservative, Soviet-style information distribution patterns. There are a few key symbols here that evoke collective memories: ballet, conservative political report on the government, and the stereotype of a patriarchal couple with a submissive wife (see Loshak; Rostovskiy). For example, since the perestroika of the 1990s, ballet has been widely perceived as a symbol of big political change and cause of public anxiety (Kachkaeva): this connotation was born in the 1990s when all channels were broadcasting Swan Lake round the clock while the White House was under attack. Holden reminds us that this practice was applied many times during major crises in Soviet history, thus creating a short link in the public subconscious of a ballet broadcast being symbolic of a political crisis or turmoil.Vladimir Putin Divorce: Traditional and Social Media ReceptionIn the first day after the divorce announcement Russian Twitter generated 180,000 tweets about Vladimir Putin’s divorce, and the hashtag #развод (“divorce”) became very popular. For the analysis that follows, Putin divorce tweets were collected by two methods: retrieved from traditional media coverage of Twitter talk on Putin’s divorce and from Twitter directly, using Topsy engine. Tweets were collected for one week, from the divorce announcement on 6 June to 13 June when the discussion declined and became repetitive. Data was collected using Snob.ru, Kommersant.ru, Forbes.ru, other media outlets and Topsy. The results were then combined and evaluated.Some of those tweets provided a satirical commentary to the divorce news and can be classified as “memes.” An “Internet meme” is a contagious message, a symbolic pattern of information spread online (Lankshear and Knobel; Shifman). Memes are viral texts that are shared online after being adjusted/altered or developed on the way. Starting from 1976 when Richard Dawkins coined the term, memes have been under media scholarship scrutiny and the term has been widely contested in various sciences. In Internet research studies, memes are defined as “condensed images that stimulate visual, verbal, musical, or behavioral associations that people can easily imitate and transmit to others” (Pickerel, Jorgensen, and Bennett). The open character of memes makes them valuable tools for political discourse in a modern highly mediated environment.Qualitative analysis of the most popular and widely shared tweets reveals several strong threads and themes round Putin’s divorce discussion. According to Burzhskaya, many users created memes with jokes about the relationship between Vladimir Putin and Prime Minister Dmitry Medvedev. For instance, “He should have tied up his relationship with Dmitry Anatolyevich long ago” or “So actually Medvedev is the case?” were among popular memes generated. Another collection of memework contained a comment that, according to the Russian legislation, Putin’s ex-wife should get half of their wealth, in this case—half of the country. This thread was followed by the discussion whether the separation/border of her share of Russia should use the Ural Mountains as the borderline. Another group of Twitter users applied the Russian president’s divorce announcement to other countries’ politics. Thus one user wrote “Take Yanukovich to the ballet” implying that Ukrainian president Viktor Yanukovich (who was still a legitimate president in June 2013) should also be taken to the ballet to trigger changes in the political life in Ukraine. Twitter celebrity and well-known Russian actress and comedian Tatiana Lazareva wrote “In my opinion, it is a scam”, punning on the slang meaning of the word “razvod” (“divorce”) in Russian that can also mean “fraud” or “con”. Famous Russian journalist Dmitry Olshansky used his Twitter account to draw a historical parallel between Putin and other Russian and Soviet political leaders’ marital life. He noted that such Russian leaders as Tsar Nikolay the Second and Mikhail Gorbachev who loved their wives and were known to be good husbands were not successful managers of the state. In contrast, lone rulers of Russia such as Joseph Stalin proved to be leaders who loved their country first and gained a lot of support from their electorate because of that lonely love. Popular print and online journalist Oleg Kashin picked up on that specific idea: he quoted Vladimir Putin’s press secretary who explained that the president had declared that he would now spend more time working for the prosperity of the country.Twitter users were exchanging not only 140 symbol texts but also satirical images and other visual memes based on the divorce announcement. Those who suggested that Vladimir Putin should have divorced the country instead portrayed Lyudmila Putina and Vladimir holding candles and wearing funereal black with various taglines discussing how the country would now be split. Other users contributed visual memes jamming the television show Bachelor imagery and font with Vladimir Putin’s face and an announcement that the most desirable bachelor in the country is now its president. A similar idea was put into jammed images of the Let’s Get Married television show using Vladimir Putin’s face or name linked with a humorous comment that he could try those shows to find a new wife. One more thread of Twitter memes on Putin’s divorce used the name of Alina Kabaeva, Olympic gymnast who is rumoured by the press to be in relationship with the leader (Daily Mail Reporter). She was mentioned in plenty of visual and textual memes. Probably, the most popular visual meme (Burzhskaya; Topsy) used the one-liner from a famous Soviet comedy Ivan Vasylievich Menyaet Professiyu: it uses a joyful exclamation of an actress who learns that her love interest, a movie director, is leaving his wife so that the lovers can now fly to a resort together. Alina Kabaeva, the purported love interest of Putin, was jammed to be that actress as she announced the “triumphal” resort vacation plan to a girlfriend over the phone.Vladimir Putin’s 2013 divorce announcement presented new challenges for his personal and political self-representation and revealed new traits of the Russian president’s interaction with the nation. As the news of Vladimir and Lyudmila Putin’s divorce was broadcast via traditional media in a non-interactive television format, commentary on the event advanced only through the following week’s media coverage and the massive activity on social networks. It has still to be examined whether Vladimir Putin’s political advisors intentionally included many symbols of collective memory in the original and staid broadcast announcement. However, the response from traditional and social media shows that both Russian journalists and regular Twitter users were inclined to use humour and satire when discussing the personal life of a major political leader. Despite this appearance of an active counter-political sphere via social networks, the majority of tweets retrieved also revealed a certain level of respect towards Vladimir Putin’s privacy as few popular jokes or memes were aggressive, offensive or humiliating. Most popular memes on Vladimir Putin’s divorce linked this announcement to the political life of Russia, the political situation in other countries, and television shows and popular culture. Some of the memes, though, advanced the idea that Vladimir Putin should have divorced the country instead. The analysis also shows how a charismatic leader can affect or reconstruct the “values” he represents. In Vladimir Putin’s divorce event, his personality is the main focus of discussion both by traditional and new media. However, he is not judged for his personal choices as the online social media users provide rather mild commentary and jokes about them. The event and the subsequent online discourse, images and texts not only identify how Putin’s politics have become personified, the research also uncovers how the audience/citizenry online often see the country as a “persona” as well. Some Internet users suggested Putin’s marriage to the country; this mystified, if not mythologised view reinforces Vladimir Putin’s personal and political charisma.Conclusively, Vladimir Putin’s divorce case study shows how political and private persona are being mediated and merged via mixed channels of communication. 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