Journal articles on the topic 'Jonathan Safran Foer'

O romance Tudo se ilumina, de Jonathan Safran Foer, foi publicado originalmente em inglês em 2002 com o título Everything is Illuminated e no Brasil, em português, em 2005. A narrativa evidencia uma forma contemporânea de ficção sobre a Shoah em que ficção e realidade se misturam a partir da recriação de uma viagem em busca da história dos antepassados do escritor para um pequeno shtetl na Ucrânia. Marcada pela fragmentação, pela multiplicidade de estilos de expressão e de pensar, a narrativa apresenta-se de forma lacunar e polissêmica, o que no romance, atinge seu ápice quando da configuração de parte do texto em listas e verbetes.

A Shoah em um romance de ficção põe em questão algumas fronteiras entre o literário e o fictício. Este artigo analisa o romance Tudo se ilumina, 2005, de Jonathan Safran Foer, verificando a utilização de recursos narrativos, como a lista e a enumeração como uma estratégia de expansão do fragmento da memória.

Tendo em vista a importância da preservação da memória familiar e cultural para a comunidade judaica, este artigo pretende analisar a obra Everything is Illuminated, de Jonathan Safran Foer, a partir da busca pela memória familiar empreendida pelo protagonista. A obra, que traz o autor também como personagem, relata a viagem de Foer até a Ucrânia para resgatar a história de seu avô antes de ele fugir para os EUA durante a Segunda Guerra Mundial. Visto que a obra utiliza a biografia e diversos discursos (relatos) em sua construção, visa-se desconstruir o binarismo discurso ficcional x não ficcional. Além disso, tendo em vista esses elementos e as fronteiras movediças da identidade que aparecem no livro, pretende-se analisar, por meio do conceito de nomadismo, o resgate da memória como um dos fatores determinantes na construção identitária.

O artigo aborda os poemas com auxílio do Google, de Angélica Freitas; as obras Traffic, Sports e Weather, de Kenneth Goldsmith; Sessão, de Roy David Frankel, e Tree of Codes, de Jonathan Safran Foer, a partir da ótica da chamada “escrita recriativa”. Discutiremos como, por meio dessas, manifesta-se ou não uma possível voz de autor e sua expressão individual, além de como tal voz e tal expressão atuam nas mesmas. Partindo do pensamento de autores como Antoine Compagnon e Roland Barthes, veremos algumas diferenças daquilo que eles postularam sobre a figura do autor e sua voz e a composição de um texto sob as novas condições da era digital.

O advento e a popularização dos livros eletrônicos não levou à extinção do livro impresso. Ao contrário, o fenômeno dos e-books impeliu este formato a melhor explorar suas particularidades. Hoje, graças ao avanço das tecnologias gráficas, abriram-se novas possibilidades para se tirar proveito do suporte impresso na criação de obras literárias. Uma delas é Tree of Codes, de Jonathan Safran Foer. O autor apropriou-se do livro The Street of Crocodiles, de Bruno Schulz, removendo alguns de seus trechos por meio de incisões no papel. O resultado é uma obra produzida pelo apagamento de partes do original. Este artigo analisa o processo de criação de Tree of Codes, traçando paralelos com exemplos de apropriação e apagamento do universo da arte.

A década de 1990 proporcionou uma visão multiangular da Segunda Guerra Mundial. O cinema trouxe cenas fortes e denunciou para as platéias a maior amostra de barbárie já cometida pelo furor do homem. O massacre sofrido pelos judeus tornou-­se fato conhecido quase universalmente,embora muitas pessoas não entendam direito as motivações de tal crime, nem saibam realmente quem são os judeus. O presente artigo tem por intuito esclarecer as peculiaridades do povo judeu, refletindo acerca da influência do período pós Segunda Guerra para a construção da identidade cultural judaica atual. Após analisar os elementos nos quais se fundamenta a identidade judaica, será feita uma leitura da importância da memória cultural judaica para a construção do personagem central do romance Tudo se ilumina, de Jonathan Safran Foer.

O filme Uma vida iluminada (2005), com roteiro e direção de Liev Schreiber, baseado no romance Tudo se ilumina, de Jonathan Safran Foer, narra a história de um jovem judeu norte-americano que viaja para a Ucrânia em busca de seu passado. A coleção para o protagonista do filme e para a mulher que ele encontra em Trachimbrod, sobrevivente de um massacre que destruiu toda a sua família, é de fundamental importância. Ambos os personagens reúnem objetos como forma de lutar contra a dispersão e o esquecimento, assim como argumentou Walter Benjamin sobre o colecionador. Em Uma vida iluminada, essa luta está intrinsecamente ligada à memória judaica, constantemente ameaçada por regimes totalitários.

Stylistic devices and tropes are the elements of style that give an extra, figurative meaning to a written or oral text. They include metaphors, simile, allegory, paradox, word game and so on. Each author uses them in different ways to make their works more expressive and emotionally dense. Sometimes stylistic devices and tropes can manifest themselves as the characteristics of an author’s individual style. Metaphoric language and bizarre manner of representation are particularly common for the authors of the postmodern era. When it comes to translation of these works from one language to another the process is fraught with pitfalls and challenges for the translator. In the translation studies it’s believed that literary translation requires not only precise rendition of the contents but also conveyance of the stylistic features of a work. This article is dedicated to the analysis of the stylistic devices and tropes used in the novel “Everything Is Illuminated” by Jonathan Safran Foer and their translation from English into Russian. The aim of this work is to identify what kind of translation techniques are used by the translator V. A. Arkanov to render the linguistic and stylistic properties of the original text.

This article builds on an analysis of Sea and Spar Between by Nick Montfort and Stephanie Strickland and Tree of Codes by Jonathan Safran Foer to examine print and digital forms of writing through resonance, replication, and repetition. It explores the plastic and textual space of the page and screen and focuses more specifically on the composition of fragments and the way they can be apprehended by readers. Conversely, digital borrowing is not a mechanical process of self-identical recurrence, and like its print counterpart, it is a gesture of differenciation and a play of singularities (Deleuze). In investigating the entanglement of a work with a source text, this article also explores how creative gestures initiate a “floating” space as theorized by Jean-François Lyotard, that is, a space at once rigid and flexible where the reader is both bound and floating.

This is an exciting time for North American Jewish literature. In the past ten years, there has been an explosion of writing by new and established authors. In the field of fiction alone, the shelves have filled with titles by such fine talent as Pearl Abraham, Melvin Jules Bukiet, Michael Chabon, Nathan Englander, Myla Goldberg, Ehud Havatzelet, Dara Horn, Jonathan Safran Foer, Joan Leegant, Tova Mirvis, Jon Papernick, Jonathan Rosen, Aryeh Lev Stollman, and many others, as well as new works by veteran writers such as Allegra Goodman, Thane Rosenbaum, and Steve Stern. Add to these names the preeminent Cynthia Ozick, and don’t forget Philip Roth, whose productivity continues unabated and whose latest novels include some of his strongest work ever. A variety of striking themes has come to the fore in this new wave of literary creativity. Notable trends include an unprecedented attention to religion (especially Orthodox Jewish life); a fascination with women’s lives and with questions of gender and sexual orientation; a concern with the experiences of the second and succeeding generations of the Holocaust; a nostalgia for and rediscovery of the old country; a consideration of new Americans in the 1980s and 1990s; and a rethinking of what it means to be a Jew in Israel and in the Diaspora.

O objetivo deste trabalho é discutir a noção de poética da extração como um operar que decanta efeitos de criação do trabalho de subtração/perda. Para tanto, parte da articulação entre os estudos de Rosalind Krauss (1979), em que a autora deriva a proposição de campo expandido do delineamento de uma noção de escultura que se ergue a partir da composição de negativos, e o trabalho do escritor norte-americano Jonathan Safran Foer, que escreve o livro Tree of codes operando uma verdadeira exumação da obra de Bruno Schulz, A Rua dos Crocodilos. A articulação desses trabalhos permite delinear condições de localização de um impossível que resta indicado, sem ser apreendido, e que acaba por fazer incidir efeitos de expansão sobre campos, como os da literatura, da arte e os estudos da memória, bem como por ver surgir o que nos permitimos chamar de um livro-objeto-escultura-obra-de-arte.PALAVRAS-CHAVE: campo expandido; poética da extração; escultura; literatura.

Jonathan Safran Foer’s representation of the Holocaust in his first novel, Everything is Illuminated, has been the subject of much controversy and critical debate. Several critics and Holocaust survivors have objected to the work for the lack of historical accuracy in its mythological narrative and the irreverence of its humour. However, such responses fail to take into account its specific form of generational representation: The Holocaust of Everything is Illuminated is always perceived through a third-generation lens, and its provocative elements instead highlight aspects of the experiences of the grandchildren of survivors. With this in mind, this paper examines Foer’s approach to the Holocaust in Everything is Illuminated and Liev Schreiber’s film adaptation (2005), making specific reference to the challenges faced by the third generation. Drawing upon theories of the transgenerational transmission of trauma and postmemory, it will explore the roles of creativity and humour in resilience, in addition to the reconstruction of a historical narrative under threat of erasure. Ultimately, by offsetting the tendencies to reduce the complexity of the Holocaust into unequivocal moralities (as exhibited in the film adaptation) with the idiosyncrasies of the third-generation experience, an alternative contextual perspective on the Holocaust is propounded, containing its own discrete set of ethical questions and concerns.

AbstractNarrative experimentation has seen many forms, but among the most radical strategies might be the complete absence of text. Printed text is largely determined through its physical presence on the page, it defines itself by where it is, and the performance of the present text determines the flow of narrative time. Silences and absences are usually created semantically, with a present text telling about an absence. Only rarely do texts stage emptiness through the actual absence of text. But when they do, they considerably expand the narrative range of expression of the printed page. In this paper I will look at the narratology of the empty page by analyzing and comparing a number of texts that stage or emphasize the actual absence of text from the page. There are some narrative texts that use their medial form as text printed on a page and bound in a codex not only to narrate absences, but also to stage them outside of the text proper, or rather, through the actual absence of text leading the recipient’s awareness to the page as a frame of reference that potentially carries semantic value. I will contrast different techniques of “framing absence” in texts by David Mitchell (number9dream), Jonathan Safran Foer (Tree of codes), B. S. Johnson (House mother normal) and Mark Z. Danielewski (House of leaves). These examples will show how literary texts can use their own mediality and materiality to reflect on the general relation between all three.

The main goal of the article is to provide an analysis of the idea of defamiliarization and its manifestation in Bruno Schulz’s The Street of Crocodiles and Jonathan Safran Foer’s Tree of Codes. The author makes an attempt to define defamiliarization, investigate Viktor Shklovsky’s interpretation of defamiliarization and Bertolt Brecht’s Verfremdung, study the creation history of Tree of Codes, and analyze the examples of defamiliarization in both texts.

Mutually illuminating planes: the silent and the distant in J.S. Foer’s 'Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close'The paper offers an analysis of sub-renting relations in J. S. Foer’s Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, which are put in the context of the author’s debut novel Everything Is Illuminated. I suggest that the two novels shed light on, or “illuminate”, each other. The writer, a descendant of Polish Jews, precisely stratifies the novels and intertwines two planes: the explicit and the implicit (encoding signs of the Jewish plight), which are also the two planes of the protagonists’ identities. Oświetlające się plany. Ciche i dalekie w „Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” Jonathana Safrana FoeraArtykuł koncentruje się wokół zagadnienia sublokatorstwa w powieści Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (polski przekład: Strasznie głośno, niesamowicie blisko) Jonathana Safrana Foera. W refleksji o żydowskiej kondycji sublokatora (w oryginale: the renter) autorka nie pomija debiutanckiej powieści Amerykanina, Wszystko jest iluminacją. Stawia tezę, że oba dzieła wzajemnie się oświetlają. Pisarz, będący potomkiem polskich Żydów, precyzyjnie stratyfikuje powieść i nakłada na siebie dwa plany, będące także planami tożsamości głównych bohaterów: wyrażony i domyślany (szyfrujący znaki żydowskiego losu).

Any analysis of reading today must consider contemporary writing practices. The epochal shift from print to digital texts has been under way for some time. Indeed, print books are now so interpenetrated with digital media at every stage of their production that they may more appropriately be considered an output form of digital texts than a separate medium. Much has been written about the end of books, but, as Alan Liu observes, they have been deconstructed almost from the beginning, from the remixing of Bible excerpts according to the liturgical calendar to the experimental fiction of Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy to Raymond Queneau's Cent mille milliards de poèmes (“End” 509-11). This tradition notwithstanding, Jessica Pressman correctly detects in some contemporary novels anxiety about the continued life of books and a desire to reassert the book's authority in the face of the exponential expansion of the Web and the ongoing conversion of books into digitized texts, including the several million now available at Google Books and other online venues.

During the last decades, theories of interconnection and linking have been in the centre of many academic discourses: what goes back to the ancient hermetic worldview that regards everything as connected has been taken up in studies on our globalised world, for example as relationality in the form of cosmodernism. Thus, society has been regarded as linked in areas as different as social networks or globalised markets. In this paper, it is shown how such interconnections are created by storytelling. For this purpose, three metafictional novels with a multiplot structure are analysed. In Jonathan Safran Foer's novel Everything is Illuminated (2002), storytelling helps two very different characters to search for their identity and a traumatic family past influenced by the Holocaust. In the novel, three textual levels and several narrators make it visible that the search for identity and the past is only possible by interlinked stories and a process of co-authorship. The intricate structure of Catherynne M. Valente's fantastic novel Palimpsest (2009) thematises the connection between human beings and their stories which even spans different worlds. Metafictional structures – especially the structure of the palimpsest – illustrate how the whole world consists of stories written on other stories. David Mitchell's novel Cloud Atlas (2004) consists of six narratives set in different times and places which are connected by symbols, intertextual links, or intermedial adaptations. Hence, in the novel it is shown that despite wars, violence, and the struggle for power throughout history, human beings are connected across time and space – by their stories. By analysing these literary devices, a postmodern poetics of interconnection becomes visible that shows how human history is created by transglobal storytelling.

Sara Tanderup: "Hybride tilbageblik - Montage, fotografi og mediebevidsthed i den moderne eksperimenterende erindringsroman"AbstractSara Tanderup: “Hybrid Memories: Montage, Media and Photography in Modern, Visual Memory-Novels”The article focuses on intermediality as a strategy of representing memory, trauma and loss in contemporary literature. Analysing works by Alexander Kluge, W.G. Sebald, Aleksandar Hemon and Jonathan Safran Foer, the article examines the visual novels in a media perspective. Taking as a point of departure W.J.T. Mitchell’s theory of the relation between words and images, the article points to a tension within the genre: the visual novels, or ‘photo-novels’, seem torn between, on the one hand, a modernist tradition which is critical towards the modern culture of media and images and turns towards literature as a ‘last bastion’ of continuity and stability in relation to the past – and another tendency, which seems to embrace the other media and the new possibilities they bring for thinking, telling and remembering in words and images.

Reynolds’s research examines the ways in which third-generation Holocaust writers, the grandchildren of Holocaust survivors, approach the subject of their own traumatic history and the intergenerational transmission of trauma and memory. Despite the two generational divide that separates the third generation from the preceding two generations of Holocaust writers, the trans-generational transmission of trauma continues to preoccupy contemporary narratives. This research examines the ways the grandchildren of survivors, represented in this paper by Margot Singer and Jonathan Safran Foer, confront and include lost worlds in their narratives as well as their attempts to resurrect these fractured pasts through innovative uses of imaginative leaps. The third generation continues to suffer from the intergenerational transmission of trauma and memory yet discovers innovative ways to share that trauma, evidence of evolving modes of bearing witness. KEYWORDS: Holocaust Narratives; Third-Generation; Intergenerational Transmission of Trauma; Literature; Trauma; Memory Studies; Jewish Identity; Grandchildren of Survivors

A small collection of Bruno Schulz’s stories has inspired many artistic facts, from fiction through non-fiction, animated films, and photo projects. All of them refer to the past which is still important and significant for the audience. On the contrary, Foer has made a ruin in which the past shows the present as an index, a footnote. The artist’s intention is exemplified by every hole in the book. As the recipient keeps reading, the removed fragments makes him or her remember the past, while the process of forgetting is incessantly going on before his/her eyes. The abandoned, empty holes point at a loss and simultaneously make one remember that the Wailing Wall still brings to mind the Jerusalem Temple and its significance for Jews. What is the significance of Schulz for this experimental prose?

I’ve been thinking about why I read the New York Times Book Review from cover to cover. If I have no intention of reading most of the books that any given issue reviews, why do I enjoy reading the reviews themselves? Part of the appeal might lie in the review’s ability to survey and condense: forearmed by the Book Review, I won’t have to stare blankly if someone mentions they’re reading Malcolm Gladwell’s Blink, even if I never get around to reading the book myself. Yet by this logic, I should enjoy CliffsNotes more than novels and abstracts more than articles – which I do not. Another explanation for the appeal of book reviews is that they steer one towards good books and away from bad ones. This, too, is inadequate, for I tend to be as interested in reviews of books I have already read as I am in those of books I plan to read. So again, the real puzzle is why one enjoys reading a review of a book that one would not actually enjoy reading. It is these cases that argue for the independent, self-contained nature of the review. A good review possesses a character distinct from that of the work that it discusses. At its core, the review is not a hermeneutical or scholarly appendage to a larger work, but an autonomous form of entertainment: a closet drama, staged only on the page, in which two protagonists seek fundamentally different ends. The dramatic essence of the review is most readily discernable in a “pan:” the withering, skewering, choose-your-favourite-metaphor-ing dismissal of a work’s very right to exist. Take Clive James’s recent review of Elias Canetti’s posthumous Party in the Blitz: The English Years. James terms Canetti’s memoir “a book fit to serve every writer in the world as a hideous, hilarious example of the tone to avoid when the ego, faced with the certain proof of its peripheral importance, loses the last of its inhibitions” (9). It is the virulence with which Canetti recalls his contemporaries (calling T. S. Eliot, for example, “a libertine of the void, a foothill of Hegel, a desecrator of Dante” or saying of Iris Murdoch, “Everything I despise about English life is in her”) that motivates James’s own uninhibitedly virulent review. Whereas the title of James’s review is “Insistence on Myself,” the Book Review’s editors put the case more baldly in a subhead on the front cover: “Clive James: the Insufferable Canetti.” James’s review is as much an epitaph as it is an analysis, and its very forcefulness prompted me to pick up a copy of the book that had so incensed him. When panning a book that we have already suffered through, the reviewer becomes the avenging hero of an Elizabethan tragedy, righting a wrong and cutting the rot out of Denmark. While there is no book I could nominate as being categorically bad without some partisan coming to its defence, I suspect that I was not the only reader gratified by Walter Kirn’s review of Jonathan Safran Foer’s Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. How reaffirming to find that Kirn, like me, was annoyed by Foer’s cloying narrator: “Kids, we’re told, will say the darnedest things, but kids like Oskar – authorial surrogates with their darling whimsicalities and cute ‘have you ever noticed?’ observations … drive adults to the bar for a stiff drink” (1). I left the review, as I did not Foer’s novel, with a sense of catharsis. Readers and reviewers alike may feel even more vindicated when the subject of such a pan is not a book, but a film, for while we may feel a twinge of regret for the solitary author who has failed ignominiously, we do not for a committee of writers and studio executives. When the pan is unjustified, however, or seems motivated by a reviewer’s ire rather than by a work’s deficiency, our sympathies shift. The reviewer is no longer a Hamlet, but an Iago, and while some part of us may still delight in his ruthlessness, we also identify with the author as victim. This is particularly true in the case of first-time novelists, for surely most avid readers of book reviews believe, on some level, that they have one good novel in them just waiting to be put down on paper. The first-time author is our surrogate, and we cringe for him. There may be yet a third panning scenario, one in which the reviewer becomes a quixotic mock-hero, tilting at windmills of public opinion, or an all-licensed fool, needling an omnipotent king. T. S. Eliot’s assertion that Hamlet is “most certainly an artistic failure” comes to mind (143), as do any number of reviews that attempt to catalogue the deficiencies of the Harry Potter books. More favourable reviews, too, are fundamentally dramatic in nature. For the review may not simply be a précis or a summary. The author of the book has said something; the reviewer, no matter how much he admires the book, must say something different. If drama arises from two characters desiring conflicting outcomes, then the reviewer who sets out to praise a work may be tasked harder than one who means to castigate it. The unfavourable review questions a work’s right to exist, but the favourable review must establish its own right to exist. The reviewer is cast not in a revenge tragedy, but in a Freudian family drama, and must mark his independence from the book that has given birth to his article. While the reviewer has far less space and time within which to assert his independent identity than did his book-writing subject, he does hold the clear advantage of speaking second. He, therefore, has a number of means by which he can encircle the book or shift the ground from under it. Whether by contextualising a work, by talking about a new work in light of the author’s previous work, by discussing a book’s reception, or by reviewing several works in light of each other, the reviewer seeks to make his own inscription on another’s text. Yet the greater the book, the harder it is for the reviewer to scrawl his “Kilroy was here” across it. What can one say about Ian McEwan’s Saturday, for example, that the book does not already say about itself? Reviewers of the novel have struggled to do more than load it with encomiums. Michiko Kakutani, for example, while praising the novel as “one of the most powerful pieces of post-9/11 fiction yet published,” avers that “Saturday is too indebted to Mrs. Dalloway to resonate with the fierce originality of the author’s last book, Atonement” (37). While Kakutani is right to note McEwan’s debt to Virginia Woolf, she says far less about this relationship than does the author himself in his last novel. Briony, the narrator of Atonement, falls under the thrall of The Waves, which she reads three times and which directs her own writing (265). Yet the editor of a literary journal to which she submits a manuscript identifies Woolf’s influence as a limitation, writing in a rejection letter: …we wondered whether it owed a little too much to the techniques of Mrs. Woolf. The crystalline present moment is of course a worthy subject in itself… However, such writing can become precious when there is no sense of forward movement. Put the other way round, our attention would have been held even more effectively had there been an underlying pull of simple narrative. (194) This “underlying pull of simple narrative” is McEwan’s great strength, one that allows him, consciously, to echo Mrs. Dalloway without being overridden by it. Kakutani’s review is not so lucky, for McEwan’s discussion of Woolf trumps her own, frustrating her bid for critical autonomy. Ultimately, the review is a dramatic form in that it draws its life and vigour from the interplay of competing voices. In an essay or an interview, authors more or less speak for themselves. A review, on the other hand, puts simulacra of an author and his text into dialogue with “the reviewer,” a role that the reviewing author adopts for the occasion. Both authors therefore become characters when they enter the stage of the review. Thus, even the least appealing book can make for an entertaining and engaging review, for the dialogic nature of the review casts its subject as the stuff of drama. References Eliot, T. S. Selected Essays. London: Faber and Faber, 1932. James, Clive. “Insistence on Myself.” Rev. of Party in the Blitz: The English Years, by Elias Canetti. New York Times Book Review 2 Oct. 2005: 8-9. Kakutani, Michiko. “A Hero with 9/11 Peripheral Vision.” Rev. of Saturday, by Ian McEwan. New York Times Book Review 18 March 2005: 37. Kirn, Walter. “Everything Is Included.” Rev. of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, by Jonathan Safran Foer. New York Times Book Review 3 April 2005: 1. McEwan, Ian. Atonement. New York: Doubleday, 2001. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Bolton, Matthew. "The Book Review as Closet Drama." M/C Journal 8.5 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0510/02-bolton.php>. APA Style Bolton, M. (Oct. 2005) "The Book Review as Closet Drama," M/C Journal, 8(5). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0510/02-bolton.php>.

Language and text are inseparable concepts, as language is a device that encodes text. The language function depends not only on the transmission of information and reference to an independent reality, but also on the individual orientation in his own cognitive sphere, that is, language began to be seen more as a system of orienting behavior, where connotation plays a crucial role. As literature develops at the same time as society does, so that determined the relevance of our study, after all, the verbal component in a multimodal fictional prose text remains insufficiently studied and researched. Multimodality gains from a close study of the potential of the narrative as an influential mode of discourse that crosses cultures and media. The perceived monomodality of existing narrative theory, and specifically the dominance of verbal resources, is challenged profoundly by multimodality’s persistent investigation of the multiple semiotic tracks at work in storytelling. The main aim of this work is to study the functions of the verbal component of a multimodal fictional prose text. Achieving the outlined aim involves solving the following tasks: to interpret a multimodal fictional prose text; to analyze the functions of the verbal component of a multimodal fictional prose text. Solving these tasks requires a contextual analysis of multimodal fictional prose text and definition of the functions of its components. In this article we explain the role of the verbal component in the multimodal fictional prose text of Jonathan Safran Foer’s novel Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Verbal component can vary, as both the text and the iconic component can have a semantic meaning. We considered all of its functions: informative, communicative, emotional, aesthetic, attractive, deictic. All the functions of the verbal component play essential role in the multimodal fictional prose text because they are in close interaction between themselves and the text. Aim and tasks defined a complex methodology for analyzing the actual material.

Introduction The trope of food is often used in the humanities to discuss aspects of a culture that are customarily overlooked by a textualist approach, for food embodies a kind of knowledge that comes from the direct engagement with materials and processes, and involves taste as an aesthetics that exceeds the visual concept of the “beautiful.” Moreover, cooking is one of the most ancient cultural practices, and is considered the habit that defines us as humans in comparison to other animals—not only culturally, but also physiologically (Wrangham). Today we have entered a post-human age in which technological augmentations, while promoting the erasure of embodiment in favour of intelligence (Hayles), create new assemblages between the organic and the digital, thus redefining what it means to be human. In this context, a reassessment of the practice of cooking as the manipulation of what constitutes food—both for thought and for the body—may promote a more nuanced approach to contemporary culture, in which the agency of the non-human (from synthetic materials to the digital) affects our modes of being and reflects on our aesthetic sensibility. In the 1980s, Guy Debord observed that the food industry's standardisation and automation of methods of production and consumption have anaesthetised the consumer palate with broader political and cultural implications. Today the Internet has extended the intertwinement of food and technology to the social and aesthetic spheres, thus further impacting on taste. For instance, cultural trends such as “foodism” and “slow food” thrive on blogs and social networks and, while promoting an artisanal style in food preparation and presentation, they paradoxically may also homogenise cooking techniques and the experience of sharing a meal. This leads to questions regarding the extent to which the digitalisation of culture might be hindering our capacity to taste. Or, given the new possibilities for connectivity, can this digitalisation also foster an aesthetic sensibility associated with different attitudes and approaches to food—one that transgresses both the grand narratives and the standardisation promoted by such gastronomic fashions? It also leads to the question of how such activities reflect on the collective sphere, considering the contagious character of networked communication. While foodism thrives online, the Internet has nevertheless prompted a renewed interest in DIY (do-it-yourself) cooking techniques. As a recent issue of M/C Journal testifies, today cookbooks are produced and consulted at an unprecedented rate—either in print or online (Brien and Wessell). Taking the example of the online diffusion of DIY cheese-making recipes, I will below trace the connections between cooking, computer culture, and taste with the support of Gilbert Simondon's metaphysics of technics. Although Simondon never extensively discussed food in relation to technology, the positioning of technicity at the heart of culture allows his work to be used to address the multifaceted nature of taste in the light of recent technological development, in particular of the Network. As a matter of fact, today cooking is not only a technical activity, in the sense that it requires a certain practical and theoretical skilfulness—it is also a technological matter, for the amount of networked machines that are increasingly used for food production and marketing. Specifically, this paper argues that by disentangling the human—albeit partially—from the capitalist cycle of production-marketing-consumption and by triggering an awareness of the increasingly dominant role technology plays in food processing and manufacturing, the online sharing of home-cooking advice may promote a reconfiguration of taste, which would translate into a more nuanced approach to contemporary techno-culture. In the first part of this discussion, I introduce Simondon’s philosophy and foreground the technical dimension of cooking by discussing cheese-making as a process of individuation. In the second, I focus on Simondon’s definition of technical objects and technical ensembles to position Internet culture in relation to cooking, and highlight how technicity folds back on taste as aesthetic impression. Ultimately, I conclude with some reflections on how such a culinary-aesthetic approach may find application in other techno-cultural fields by promoting an aesthetic sensibility that extends beyond the experience of the “social” to encompass an ethical component. Cooking as Individuation: The Networked Dimension of Taste Simondon is known as the thinker, and “tinkerer”, of technics. His project is concerned with ontogenesis—that is, the becoming of objects in relation to the terms that constitute them as individual. Simondon’s philosophy of individuation allows for a better understanding of how the Internet fosters certain attitudes to food, for it is grounded on a notion of “energetic materiality in movement” (Deleuze and Guattari 408) that explains how “immaterial” algorithms can affect individual experience and cultural production. For Simondon, individuation is the process that arises from objects being out-of-phase with themselves. Put differently, individuation allows for “the conservation of being through becoming” (Genesis 301). Likewise, individualisation is “the individuation of an individuated being, resulting from an individuation, [and creating] a new structuration within the individual” (L’Individuation 132). Individuation and individualisation are processes common to all kinds of being. Any individual operates an internal and an external resonance within the system in which it is enmeshed, and produces an “associated milieu” capable of entering into relation with other individuals within the system. Simondon maintains that nature consists of three regimes of individuation, that is, three possible phases of every being: the physical, the biological, and the psycho-social—that develop from a metastable pre-individual field. Technology traverses all three regimes and allows for further individualisation via transductive operations across such phases—that is, via operations of conversion of energy from one form to another. The recent online diffusion of DIY cheese-making recipes lends itself to be analysed with the support of Simondon’s philosophy. Today cheese dominates degustation menus beside the finest wines, and constitutes a common obsession among “foodies.” Although, as an object, cheese defies more traditional canons of beauty and pleasure—its usual pale yellow colour is not especially inviting and, generally speaking, the stinkier and mouldier it is, the more exclusive and expensive it usually is—it has played a sizeable role in the collective imagination since ancient times. Although the genesis of cheese predates archival memory, it is commonly assumed to be the fruit of the chemical reaction naturally occurring in the interaction of milk with the rennet inherently contained in the bladders made of ruminants’ stomachs in which milk was contained during the long transits undertaken by the nomadic cultures of Central Asia. Cheese is an invention that reportedly occurred without human intervention, and only the technical need to preserve milk in high temperature impelled humans to learn to produce it. Since World War II its production is most exclusively factory-based, even in the case of artisanal cheese (McGee), which makes the renewed concern for homemade cheese more significant from a techno-cultural perspective. Following Simondon, the individualisation of cheese—and of people in relation to cheese—depends on the different objects involved in its production, and whose associated milieu affects the outcome of the ontogenetic process via transductive operations. In the specific case of an industrial block of cheese, these may include: the more or less ethical breeding and milking of cows in a factory environment; the types of bacteria involved in the cheese-making process; the energy and costs inherent in the fabrication of the packaging material and the packaging process itself; the CO2 emissions caused by transportations; the physical and intellectual labour implied in marketing, retailing and selling; and, last but not least, the arguable nutritional value of the factory-produced cheese—all of which, in spite of their “invisibility” to the eyes of the consumer, affect physical conditions and moods when they enter into relation with the human body (Bennet). To these, we may add, with specific reference to the packaging: the RFID tags that electronically index food items into databases for a more efficient management of supplies, and the QR codes used for social media marketing purposes. In contrast, the direct engagement with the techno-material conditions at the basis of the home cookery process allows one to grasp how different operations may affect the outcome of the recipe. DIY cheese-making recipes are specifically addressed to laypeople and, because they hardly demand professional equipment, they entail a greater attunement with, and to, the objects and processes required by the recipe. For instance, one needs to “feel” when milk has reached the right temperature (specifically, 82 degrees centigrade, which means that the surface of the milk should be slightly bubbly but not fully boiling) and, with practice, one learns how the slightest movement of the hand can lead to different results, in terms of consistency and aspect. Ultimately, DIY cheese-making allows the cook to be creative with moulding, seasonings, and marinading. Indeed, by directly engaging with the undiscovered properties and potentials of ingredients, by understanding the role that energy (both in the sense of induction and “transduction”) plays on form and matter, and by developing—often via processes of trial and error—technics for stirring, draining, moulding, marinading, canning, and so forth, making cheese at home an exercise in speculative pragmatics. An experimental approach to cooking, as the negotiation between the rigid axioms that make up a recipe and the creative and experimental components inherent in the operations of mixing and blending, allows one to feel the ultimate outcome of the cooking process as an event. The taste of a homemade cheese is linked to a new kind of knowledge—that is, an epistemology based on continuous breakages that allow for the cooking process to carry on until the ultimate result. It is a knowledge that comes from a commitment to objects being out-of-phase, and from the acknowledgement of the network of technical operations that bring cheese to our tables. The following section discusses how another kind of object may affect the outcome of a recipe, with important implications for aesthetics, that is, technical objects. The Internet as Ingredient: Technical Objects, Aesthetics, and Invention The notion of technical objects complements Simondon’s theory of individuation to define the becoming of technology in relation to culture. To Simondon: “the technical object is not this or that thing, given hic et nunc, but that of which there is a genesis” (Du Mode 20). Technical objects, therefore, are not simply technological artifacts but are constituted by a series of events that determine their evolution (De Vries). Analogously to other kinds of individuals, they are constituted by transductive operations across the three aforementioned phases of being. The evolution of technical objects extends from the element to the individual, and ultimately to the technical ensemble. Elements are less than individualised technical objects, while individuals that are in a relation of interconnection are called ensembles. According to Simondon, technical ensembles fully individualise with the realisation of the cybernetic project. Simondon observes that: “there is something eternal in a technical ensemble [...] and it is that which is always present, and can be conserved in a thing” (Les Cahiers 87). The Internet, as a thing-network, could be regarded as an instance of such technical ensembles, however, a clarification needs to be made. Simondon explains that “true technical ensembles are not those that use technical individuals, but those that are a network of technical individuals in a relation of interconnection” (Du mode 126). To Simondon, humankind has ceased to be a technical individual with the industrialisation and automation of methods of production, and has consigned this function to machines (128). Expanding this line of thought, examples such as the viral spreading of memes, and the hypnotic power of online marketing campaigns, demonstrate how digital technology seems to have intensified this process of alienation of people from the functioning of the machine. In short, no one seems to know how or why things happen on the Internet, but we cannot help but use it. In order to constitute “real” technical ensembles, we need to incorporate technics again into culture, in a relation of reciprocity and complementarity with machines, under the aegis of a technical culture. Simondon specifies that such a reconfiguration of the relation between man and machines can only be achieved by means of an invention. An invention entails the individualisation of the technical ensemble as a departure from the mind of the inventor or designer that conceived it, in order to acquire its own autonomous existence (“Technical Mentality”). It refers to the origin of an operative solidarity between individual agents in a network, which provides the support for a human relation based on the “model of transidividuality” (Du Mode 247). A “transindividual relation” is a relation of relations that puts the individual in direct contact with a real collective. The notion of real collective is opposed to that of an interindividual community or social sphere, which is poisoned by the anxieties that stem from a defected relation with the technical ensemble culture is embedded in. In the specific context of the online sharing of DIY cheese-making recipes, rather than a fully individualised technical ensemble per se, the Internet can be regarded as one of the ingredients that make up the final recipe—together with human and the food—for the invention of a true technical ensemble. In such a framework, praxis, as linked to the kind of non-verbal knowledge associated with “making,” defines individuation together with the types of objects that make up the Network. While in the case of foodism, the practice of online marketing and communication homogenises culture by creating “social phenomena,” in the case of DIY cooking advice, it fosters a diversification of tastes, experiences, and flavours linked to individual modes of doing and cooking, that put the cook in a new relation with the culinary process, with food, and with the guests who have the pleasure to taste her meal. This is a qualitative change in the network that constitutes culture, rather than a mere quantitative shift in energy induction. The term “conviviality” (from the Latin con-vivere) specifically means this: a “living together,” rather than a mere dinner party. For Simondon, a real technical ensemble is an assemblage of humans, machines, tools, resources and milieus, which can only be éprouve—i.e., experienced, also in the sense of “experimented with”—rather than represented. A technical ensemble is first and foremost an aesthetic affair—it can only be perceived by experimenting with the different agents involved in the networked operations that constitute it. For Simondon “aesthetics comes after technicity [and] it also returns to us in the heart of technicity” (Michaud in De Boever et al. 122). Therefore, any object bears an aesthetic potential—even something as trivial as a homemade block of cheese. Simondon rejects the idea of an aesthetic object, but affirms the power of technicity to foreground an aesthetic impression, which operates a convergence between the diverging forces that constitute the mediation between man and world, in terms of an ethical treatment of technics. For Simondon, the beautiful is a process: “it is never, properly speaking, the object that is beautiful: it is the encounter operating a propos of the object between a real aspect of the world and a human gesture” (Du Mode 191 emphasis added). If an analysis of cooking as individuation already foregrounds an aesthetics that is both networked and technical, the relational capabilities afforded by networked media have the power to amplify the aesthetic potential of the human gesture implied in a block of homemade cheese—which today extends from searching for (or writing) a recipe online, to pouring the milk and seasoning the cheese, and which entails less environmental waste due to the less intensive processing and the lack of, or certainly a reduction in, packaging materials (Rastogi). The praise of technical creativity resounds throughout Simondon’s thought. By using the Internet in order to create (or indeed cook) something new, the online sharing of DIY cooking techniques like cheese-making, which partially disengages the human (and food itself) from the cycle of production-marketing-consumption that characterises the food industry in capitalist society by fostering an awareness of the networked operations that constitute her as individual, is an invention in its own right. Although the impact of these DIY activities on the global food industry is still very limited, such a hands-on approach, imbued with a dose of technical creativity, partially overcomes the alienation of the individual from the production process, by providing the conditions to “feel” how the individualisation of cheese (and the human) is inscribed in a larger metabolism. This does not stop within the economy of the body but encompasses the techno-cultural ensemble that forms capitalist society as a whole, and in which humans play only a small part. This may be considered a first step towards the reconciliation between humans and technical culture—a true technical ensemble. Indeed, eating involves “experiments in art and technology”—as the name of the infamous 1960s art collective (E.A.T.) evokes. Home-cooking in this sense is a technical-aesthetic experiment in its own right, in which aesthetics acquires an ethical nuance. Simondon’s philosophy highlights how the aesthetics involved in the home cooking process entails a political component, aimed at the disentanglement of the human from the “false” technical ensemble constituted by capitalist society, which is founded on the alienation from the production process and is driven by economic interests. Surely, an ethical approach to food would entail considering the biopolitics of the guts from the perspective of sourcing materials, and perhaps even building one’s own tools. These days, however, keeping a cow or goat in the backyard is unconceivable and/or impossible for most of us. The point is that the Internet can foster inventiveness and creativity among the participants to the Network, in spite of the fixity of the frame in which culture is increasingly inscribed (for instance, the standardised format of a Wordpress blog), and in this way, can trigger an aesthetic impression that comprises an ethical component, which translates into a political stand against the syncopated, schizophrenic rhythms of the market. Conclusion In this discussion, I have demonstrated that cooking can be considered a process of individuation inscribed in a techno-cultural network in which different transductive operations have the power to affect the final taste of a recipe. Simondon’s theory of individuation allows us to account for the impact of ubiquitous networked media on traditionally considered “human” practices, thus suggesting a new kind of humanism—a sort of technological humanism—on the basis of a new model of perception, which acknowledges the non-human actants involved in the process of individuation. I have shown that, in the case of the online sharing of cheese-making recipes, Simondon’s philosophy allows us to uncover a concept of taste that extends beyond the mere gustatory experience provided by foodism, and in this sense it may indeed affirm a reconfiguration of human culture based on an ethical approach towards the technical ensemble that envelops individuals of any kind—be they physical, living, or technical. Analogously, a “culinary” approach to techno-culture in terms of a commitment to the ontogenetic character of objects’ behaviours could be transposed to the digital realm in order to enlighten new perspectives for the speculative design of occasions of interaction among different beings—including humans—in ethico-aesthetic terms, based on a creative, experimental engagement with techniques and technologies. As a result, this can foreground a taste for life and culture that exceeds human-centred egotistic pleasure to encompass both technology and nature. Considering that a worryingly high percentage of digital natives both in Australia and the UK today believe that cheese and yogurt grow on trees (Howden; Wylie), perhaps cooking should indeed be taught in school alongside (rather than separate to, or instead of) programming. References Bennet, Jane. Vibrant Matter: a Political Ecology of Things. 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Howden, Saffron. “Cultural Cringe: Schoolchildren Can’t See the Yoghurt for the Trees.” The Sydney Morning Herald 5 Mar. 2012. 5 Jan. 2014. ‹http://www.smh.com.au/national/education/cultural-cringe-schoolchildren-cant-see-the-yoghurt-for-the-trees-20120304-1ub55.html›. McGee, Harold. On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen. New York: Scribner, 2004. Michaud, Yves. “The Aesthetics of Gilbert Simondon: Anticipation of the Contemporary Aesthetic Experience.” Gilbert Simondon: Being and Technology. Eds. Arne De Boever, Alex Murray, Jon Roffe, and Ashley Woodward. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 2012. 121–32. Rastogi, Nina. “Soft Cheese for a Clean Planet”. Slate 15 Dec. 2009. 25 Jan. 2014. ‹http://www.slate.com/articles/health_and_science/the_green_lantern/2009/12/soft_cheese_for_a_clean_planet.html›. Simondon, Gilbert. Du Mode d’Existence des Objets Techniques. Paris: Aubier, 2001. ---. L’Individuation a La Lumière Des Notions de Forme et d’Information. 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About half way through Yann Arthus-Bertrand’s film Home (2009) the narrator describes the fall of the Rapa Nui, the indigenous people of the Easter Islands. The narrator posits that the Rapa Nui culture collapsed due to extensive environmental degradation brought about by large-scale deforestation. The Rapa Nui cut down their massive native forests to clear spaces for agriculture, to heat their dwellings, to build canoes and, most importantly, to move their enormous rock sculptures—the Moai. The disappearance of their forests led to island-wide soil erosion and the gradual disappearance of arable land. Caught in the vice of overpopulation but with rapidly dwindling basic resources and no trees to build canoes, they were trapped on the island and watched helplessly as their society fell into disarray. The sequence ends with the narrator’s biting remark: “The real mystery of the Easter Islands is not how its strange statues got there, we know now; it's why the Rapa Nui didn't react in time.” In their unrelenting desire for development, the Rapa Nui appear to have overlooked the role the environment plays in maintaining a society. The island’s Moai accompanying the sequence appear as memento mori, a lesson in the mortality of human cultures brought about by their own misguided and short-sighted practices. Arthus-Bertrand’s Home, a film composed almost entirely of aerial photographs, bears witness to present-day environmental degradation and climate change, constructing society as a fragile structure built upon and sustained by the environment. Home is a call to recognise how contemporary practices of post-industrial societies have come to shape the environment and how they may impact the habitability of Earth in the near future. Through reflexivity and a ritualised structure the text invites spectators to look at themselves in a new light and remake their self-image in the wake of global environmental risk by embracing new, alternative core practices based on balance and interconnectedness. Arthus-Bertrand frames climate change not as a burden, but as a moment of profound realisation of the potential for change and humans ability to create a desirable future through hope and our innate capacity for renewal. This article examines how Arthus-Bertrand’s ritualised construction of climate change aims to remake viewers’ perception of present-day environmental degradation and investigates Home’s place in contemporary climate change communication discourse. Climate change, in its capacity to affect us globally, is considered a world risk. The most recent peer-reviewed Synthesis Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change suggests that the concentration of atmospheric greenhouse gases has increased markedly since human industrialisation in the 18th century. Moreover, human activities, such as fossil fuel burning and agricultural practices, are “very likely” responsible for the resulting increase in temperature rise (IPPC 37). The increased global temperatures and the subsequent changing weather patterns have a direct and profound impact on the physical and biological systems of our planet, including shrinking glaciers, melting permafrost, coastal erosion, and changes in species distribution and reproduction patterns (Rosenzweig et al. 353). Studies of global security assert that these physiological changes are expected to increase the likelihood of humanitarian disasters, food and water supply shortages, and competition for resources thus resulting in a destabilisation of global safety (Boston et al. 1–2). Human behaviour and dominant practices of modernity are now on a path to materially impact the future habitability of our home, Earth. In contemporary post-industrial societies, however, climate change remains an elusive, intangible threat. Here, the Arctic-bound species forced to adapt to milder climates or the inhabitants of low-lying Pacific islands seeking refuge in mainland cities are removed from the everyday experience of the controlled and regulated environments of homes, offices, and shopping malls. Diverse research into the mediated and mediatised nature of the environment suggests that rather than from first-hand experiences and observations, the majority of our knowledge concerning the environment now comes from its representation in the mass media (Hamilton 4; Stamm et al. 220; Cox 2). Consequently the threat of climate change is communicated and constructed through the news media, entertainment and lifestyle programming, and various documentaries and fiction films. It is therefore the construction (the representation of the risk in various discourses) that shapes people’s perception and experience of the phenomenon, and ultimately influences behaviour and instigates social response (Beck 213). By drawing on and negotiating society’s dominant discourses, environmental mediation defines spectators’ perceptions of the human-nature relationship and subsequently their roles and responsibilities in the face of environmental risks. Maxwell Boykoff asserts that contemporary modern society’s mediatised representations of environmental degradation and climate change depict the phenomena as external to society’s primary social and economic concerns (449). Julia Corbett argues that this is partly because environmental protection and sustainable behaviour are often at odds with the dominant social paradigms of consumerism, economic growth, and materialism (175). Similarly, Rowan Howard-Williams suggests that most media texts, especially news, do not emphasise the link between social practices, such as consumerist behaviour, and their environmental consequences because they contradict dominant social paradigms (41). The demands contemporary post-industrial societies make on the environment to sustain economic growth, consumer culture, and citizens’ comfortable lives in air-conditioned homes and offices are often left unarticulated. While the media coverage of environmental risks may indeed have contributed to “critical misperceptions, misleading debates, and divergent understandings” (Boykoff 450) climate change possesses innate characteristics that amplify its perception in present-day post-industrial societies as a distant and impersonal threat. Climate change is characterised by temporal and spatial de-localisation. The gradual increase in global temperature and its physical and biological consequences are much less prominent than seasonal changes and hence difficult to observe on human time-scales. Moreover, while research points to the increased probability of extreme climatic events such as droughts, wild fires, and changes in weather patterns (IPCC 48), they take place over a wide range of geographical locations and no single event can be ultimately said to be the result of climate change (Maibach and Roser-Renouf 145). In addition to these observational obstacles, political partisanship, vested interests in the current status quo, and general resistance to profound change all play a part in keeping us one step removed from the phenomenon of climate change. The distant and impersonal nature of climate change coupled with the “uncertainty over consequences, diverse and multiple engaged interests, conflicting knowledge claims, and high stakes” (Lorenzoni et al. 65) often result in repression, rejection, and denial, removing the individual’s responsibility to act. Research suggests that, due to its unique observational obstacles in contemporary post-industrial societies, climate change is considered a psychologically distant event (Pawlik 559), one that is not personally salient due to the “perceived distance and remoteness [...] from one’s everyday experience” (O’Neill and Nicholson-Cole 370). In an examination of the barriers to behaviour change in the face of psychologically distant events, Robert Gifford argues that changing individuals’ perceptions of the issue-domain is one of the challenges of countering environmental inertia—the lack of initiative for environmentally sustainable social action (5). To challenge the status quo a radically different construction of the environment and the human-nature relationship is required to transform our perception of global environmental risks and ultimately result in environmentally consequential social action. Yann Arthus-Bertrand’s Home is a ritualised construction of contemporary environmental degradation and climate change which takes spectators on a rite of passage to a newfound understanding of the human-nature relationship. Transformation through re-imagining individuals’ roles, responsibilities, and practices is an intrinsic quality of rituals. A ritual charts a subjects path from one state of consciousness to the next, resulting in a meaningful change of attitudes (Deflem 8). Through a lifelong study of African rituals British cultural ethnographer Victor Turner refined his concept of rituals in a modern social context. Turner observed that rituals conform to a three-phased processural form (The Ritual Process 13–14). First, in the separation stage, the subjects are selected and removed from their fixed position in the social structure. Second, they enter an in-between and ambiguous liminal stage, characterised by a “partial or complete separation of the subject from everyday existence” (Deflem 8). Finally, imbued with a new perspective of the outside world borne out of the experience of reflexivity, liminality, and a cathartic cleansing, subjects are reintegrated into the social reality in a new, stable state. The three distinct stages make the ritual an emotionally charged, highly personal experience that “demarcates the passage from one phase to another in the individual’s life-cycle” (Turner, “Symbols” 488) and actively shapes human attitudes and behaviour. Adhering to the three-staged processural form of the ritual, Arthus-Bertrand guides spectators towards a newfound understanding of their roles and responsibilities in creating a desirable future. In the first stage—the separation—aerial photography of Home alienates viewers from their anthropocentric perspectives of the outside world. This establishes Earth as a body, and unearths spectators’ guilt and shame in relation to contemporary world risks. Aerial photography strips landscapes of their conventional qualities of horizon, scale, and human reference. As fine art photographer Emmet Gowin observes, “when one really sees an awesome, vast place, our sense of wholeness is reorganised [...] and the body seems always to diminish” (qtd. in Reynolds 4). Confronted with a seemingly infinite sublime landscape from above, the spectator’s “body diminishes” as they witness Earth’s body gradually taking shape. Home’s rushing rivers of Indonesia are akin to blood flowing through the veins and the Siberian permafrost seems like the texture of skin in extreme close-up. Arthus-Bertrand establishes a geocentric embodiment to force spectators to perceive and experience the environmental degradation brought about by the dominant social practices of contemporary post-industrial modernity. The film-maker visualises the maltreatment of the environment through suggested abuse of the Earth’s body. Images of industrial agricultural practices in the United States appear to leave scratches and scars on the landscape, and as a ship crosses the Arctic ice sheets of the Northwest Passage the boat glides like the surgeon’s knife cutting through the uppermost layer of the skin. But the deep blue water that’s revealed in the wake of the craft suggests a flesh and body now devoid of life, a suffering Earth in the wake of global climatic change. Arthus-Bertrand’s images become the sublime evidence of human intervention in the environment and the reflection of present-day industrialisation materially altering the face of Earth. The film-maker exploits spectators’ geocentric perspective and sensibility to prompt reflexivity, provide revelations about the self, and unearth the forgotten shame and guilt in having inadvertently caused excessive environmental degradation. Following the sequences establishing Earth as the body of the text Arthus-Bertrand returns spectators to their everyday “natural” environment—the city. Having witnessed and endured the pain and suffering of Earth, spectators now gaze at the skyscrapers standing bold and tall in the cityscape with disillusionment. The pinnacles of modern urban development become symbols of arrogance and exploitation: structures forced upon the landscape. Moreover, the images of contemporary cityscapes in Home serve as triggers for ritual reflexivity, allowing the spectator to “perceive the self [...] as a distanced ‘other’ and hence achieve a partial ‘self-transcendence’” (Beck, Comments 491). Arthus-Bertrand’s aerial photographs of Los Angeles, New York, and Tokyo fold these distinct urban environments into one uniform fusion of glass, metal, and concrete devoid of life. The uniformity of these cultural landscapes prompts spectators to add the missing element: the human. Suddenly, the homes and offices of desolate cityscapes are populated by none other than us, looking at ourselves from a unique vantage point. The geocentric sensibility the film-maker invoked with the images of the suffering Earth now prompt a revelation about the self as spectators see their everyday urban environments in a new light. Their homes and offices become blemishes on the face of the Earth: its inhabitants, including the spectators themselves, complicit in the excessive mistreatment of the planet. The second stage of the ritual allows Arthus-Bertrand to challenge dominant social paradigms of present day post-industrial societies and introduce new, alternative moral directives to govern our habits and attitudes. Following the separation, ritual subjects enter an in-between, threshold stage, one unencumbered by the spatial, temporal, and social boundaries of everyday existence. Turner posits that a subjects passage through this liminal stage is necessary to attain psychic maturation and successful transition to a new, stable state at the end of the ritual (The Ritual Process 97). While this “betwixt and between” (Turner, The Ritual Process 95) state may be a fleeting moment of transition, it makes for a “lived experience [that] transforms human beings cognitively, emotionally, and morally.” (Horvath et al. 3) Through a change of perceptions liminality paves the way toward meaningful social action. Home places spectators in a state of liminality to contrast geocentric and anthropocentric views. Arthus-Bertrand contrasts natural and human-made environments in terms of diversity. The narrator’s description of the “miracle of life” is followed by images of trees seemingly defying gravity, snow-covered summits among mountain ranges, and a whale in the ocean. Grandeur and variety appear to be inherent qualities of biodiversity on Earth, qualities contrasted with images of the endless, uniform rectangular greenhouses of Almeria, Spain. This contrast emphasises the loss of variety in human achievements and the monotony mass-production brings to the landscape. With the image of a fire burning atop a factory chimney, Arthus-Bertrand critiques the change of pace and distortion of time inherent in anthropocentric views, and specifically in contemporary modernity. Here, the flames appear to instantly eat away at resources that have taken millions of years to form, bringing anthropocentric and geocentric temporality into sharp contrast. A sequence showing a night time metropolis underscores this distinction. The glittering cityscape is lit by hundreds of lights in skyscrapers in an effort, it appears, to mimic and surpass daylight and thus upturn the natural rhythm of life. As the narrator remarks, in our present-day environments, “days are now the pale reflections of nights.” Arthus-Bertrand also uses ritual liminality to mark the present as a transitory, threshold moment in human civilisation. The film-maker contrasts the spectre of our past with possible visions of the future to mark the moment of now as a time when humanity is on the threshold of two distinct states of mind. The narrator’s descriptions of contemporary post-industrial society’s reliance on non-renewable resources and lack of environmentally sustainable agricultural practices condemn the past and warn viewers of the consequences of continuing such practices into the future. Exploring the liminal present Arthus-Bertrand proposes distinctive futurescapes for humankind. On the one hand, the narrator’s description of California’s “concentration camp style cattle farming” suggests that humankind will live in a future that feeds from the past, falling back on frames of horrors and past mistakes. On the other hand, the example of Costa Rica, a nation that abolished its military and dedicated the budget to environmental conservation, is recognition of our ability to re-imagine our future in the face of global risk. Home introduces myths to imbue liminality with the alternative dominant social paradigm of ecology. By calling upon deep-seated structures myths “touch the heart of society’s emotional, spiritual and intellectual consciousness” (Killingsworth and Palmer 176) and help us understand and come to terms with complex social, economic, and scientific phenomena. With the capacity to “pattern thought, beliefs and practices,” (Maier 166) myths are ideal tools in communicating ritual liminality and challenging contemporary post-industrial society’s dominant social paradigms. The opening sequence of Home, where the crescent Earth is slowly revealed in the darkness of space, is an allusion to creation: the genesis myth. Accompanied only by a gentle hum our home emerges in brilliant blue, white, and green-brown encompassing most of the screen. It is as if darkness and chaos disintegrated and order, life, and the elements were created right before our eyes. Akin to the Earthrise image taken by the astronauts of Apollo 8, Home’s opening sequence underscores the notion that our home is a unique spot in the blackness of space and is defined and circumscribed by the elements. With the opening sequence Arthus-Bertrand wishes to impart the message of interdependence and reliance on elements—core concepts of ecology. Balance, another key theme in ecology, is introduced with an allusion to the Icarus myth in a sequence depicting Dubai. The story of Icarus’s fall from the sky after flying too close to the sun is a symbolic retelling of hubris—a violent pride and arrogance punishable by nemesis—destruction, which ultimately restores balance by forcing the individual back within the limits transgressed (Littleton 712). In Arthus-Bertrand’s portrayal of Dubai, the camera slowly tilts upwards on the Burj Khalifa tower, the tallest human-made structure ever built. The construction works on the tower explicitly frame humans against the bright blue sky in their attempt to reach ever further, transgressing their limitations much like the ill-fated Icarus. Arthus-Bertrand warns that contemporary modernity does not strive for balance or moderation, and with climate change we may have brought our nemesis upon ourselves. By suggesting new dominant paradigms and providing a critique of current maxims, Home’s retelling of myths ultimately sees spectators through to the final stage of the ritual. The last phase in the rite of passage “celebrates and commemorates transcendent powers,” (Deflem 8) marking subjects’ rebirth to a new status and distinctive perception of the outside world. It is at this stage that Arthus-Bertrand resolves the emotional distress uncovered in the separation phase. The film-maker uses humanity’s innate capacity for creation and renewal as a cathartic cleansing aimed at reconciling spectators’ guilt and shame in having inadvertently exacerbated global environmental degradation. Arthus-Bertrand identifies renewable resources as the key to redeeming technology, human intervention in the landscape, and finally humanity itself. Until now, the film-maker pictured modernity and technology, evidenced in his portrayal of Dubai, as synonymous with excess and disrespect for the interconnectedness and balance of elements on Earth. The final sequence shows a very different face of technology. Here, we see a mechanical sea-snake generating electricity by riding the waves off the coast of Scotland and solar panels turning towards the sun in the Sahara desert. Technology’s redemption is evidenced in its ability to imitate nature—a move towards geocentric consciousness (a lesson learned from the ritual’s liminal stage). Moreover, these human-made structures, unlike the skyscrapers earlier in the film, appear a lot less invasive in the landscape and speak of moderation and union with nature. With the above examples Arthus-Bertrand suggests that humanity can shed the greed that drove it to dig deeper and deeper into the Earth to acquire non-renewable resources such as oil and coal, what the narrator describes as “treasures buried deep.” The incorporation of principles of ecology, such as balance and interconnectedness, into humanity’s behaviour ushers in reconciliation and ritual cleansing in Home. Following the description of the move toward renewable resources, the narrator reveals that “worldwide four children out of five attend school, never has learning been given to so many human beings” marking education, innovation, and creativity as the true inexhaustible resources on Earth. Lastly, the description of Antarctica in Home is the essence of Arthus-Bertrand’s argument for our innate capacity to create, not simply exploit and destroy. Here, the narrator describes the continent as possessing “immense natural resources that no country can claim for itself, a natural reserve devoted to peace and science, a treaty signed by 49 nations has made it a treasure shared by all humanity.” Innovation appears to fuel humankind’s transcendence to a state where it is capable of compassion, unification, sharing, and finally creating treasures. With these examples Arthus-Bertrand suggests that humanity has an innate capacity for creative energy that awaits authentic expression and can turn humankind from destroyer to creator. In recent years various risk communication texts have explicitly addressed climate change, endeavouring to instigate environmentally consequential social action. Home breaks discursive ground among them through its ritualistic construction which seeks to transform spectators’ perception, and in turn roles and responsibilities, in the face of global environmental risks. Unlike recent climate change media texts such as An Inconvenient Truth (2006), The 11th Hour (2007), The Age of Stupid (2009), Carbon Nation (2010) and Earth: The Operator’s Manual (2011), Home eludes simple genre classification. On the threshold of photography and film, documentary and fiction, Arthus-Bertrand’s work is best classified as an advocacy film promoting public debate and engagement with a universal concern—the state of the environment. The film’s website, available in multiple languages, contains educational material, resources to organise public screenings, and a link to GoodPlanet.info: a website dedicated to environmentalism, including legal tools and initiatives to take action. The film-maker’s approach to using Home as a basis for education and raising awareness corresponds to Antonio Lopez’s critique of contemporary mass-media communications of global risks. Lopez rebukes traditional forms of mediatised communication that place emphasis on the imparting of knowledge and instead calls for a participatory, discussion-driven, organic media approach, akin to a communion or a ritual (106). Moreover, while texts often place a great emphasis on the messenger, for instance Al Gore in An Inconvenient Truth, Leonardo DiCaprio in The 11th Hour, or geologist Dr. Richard Alley in Earth: The Operator’s Manual, Home’s messenger remains unseen—the narrator is only identified at the very end of the film among the credits. The film-maker’s decision to forego a central human character helps dissociate the message from the personality of the messenger which aids in establishing and maintaining the geocentric sensibility of the text. Finally, the ritual’s invocation and cathartic cleansing of emotional distress enables Home to at once acknowledge our environmentally destructive past habits and point to a hopeful, environmentally sustainable future. While The Age of Stupid mostly focuses on humanity’s present and past failures to respond to an imminent environmental catastrophe, Carbon Nation, with the tagline “A climate change solutions movie that doesn’t even care if you believe in climate change,” only explores the potential future business opportunities in turning towards renewable resources and environmentally sustainable practices. The three-phased processural form of the ritual allows for a balance of backward and forward-looking, establishing the possibility of change and renewal in the face of world risk. The ritual is a transformative experience. As Turner states, rituals “interrupt the flow of social life and force a group to take cognizance of its behaviour in relation to its own values, and even question at times the value of those values” (“Dramatic Ritual” 82). Home, a ritualised media text, is an invitation to look at our world, its dominant social paradigms, and the key element within that world—ourselves—with new eyes. It makes explicit contemporary post-industrial society’s dependence on the environment, highlights our impact on Earth, and reveals our complicity in bringing about a contemporary world risk. The ritual structure and the self-reflexivity allow Arthus-Bertrand to transform climate change into a personally salient issue. This bestows upon the spectator the responsibility to act and to reconcile the spectre of the past with the vision of the future.Acknowledgments The author would like to thank Dr. Angi Buettner whose support, guidance, and supervision has been invaluable in preparing this article. 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