Journal articles on the topic 'New Zealand Literature (excl. Maori Literature)'

Purpose The research in the field of Indigenous peoples and the espousal of their cultural values in the work environment is recognised as being important as a means of overcoming workplace inequities. The purpose of this paper is to examine research about Maori, the Indigenous people of Aotearoa New Zealand that may inform future enterprises for the long-term prosperity of marginalised Indigenous peoples. Design/methodology/approach This study reviews the literature on unique cultural dynamics of whanau Maori (New Zealand Maori family/community) study practices and the importance of work/home/life balance. Furthermore, it considers strengths-based community enterprises that can lead to sustainable prosperity for Maori. Findings The review yielded three theoretical principles that explain mana (sociocultural and psychological well-being), which can be generalised across multiple contexts, with the workplace being one of these contexts. These principles of mana create a contextual match with whanau external realities; an experiential match of a mana empowerment framework that transfers to the study context and an interpersonal understanding of being understood and empowered within the study context. Research limitations/implications The literature review has been limited to research from 2005 onwards and to research that investigates Maori, the Indigenous peoples of Aotearoa New Zealand. Although the review of the literature has these limitations, the review may be of interest to other studies of Indigenous peoples worldwide. Practical implications The key factors are interwoven, and their importance is considered in relation to the development of positive and supportive environments, which link to job retention, satisfaction and productivity in the workplace for Maori. This, in turn, can have beneficial knock-on effects for not only the New Zealand economy but also more importantly for enhancing sustainable livelihoods for upcoming generations. Social implications Tied together, these factors are paramount for cultural, social and ecological benefits for nga rangatahi (young Maori adults) and the wider community in the workplace. Originality/value The literature review’s value and originality derive from a dearth of recent research on supporting nga rangatahi (young Maori adults) for sustainable prosperity.

Back in early 1982, a mate in New Zealand wrote to me describing, in a very excited manner, his research into cultural aspects of Maori people, especially with respect to the poetry relating to funeral rites. Concurrently, I was completing the Multicultural Education Diploma, and fostering an infant interest in aspects of Australian literature dealing with the immigrant experience and cultural difference (viz. Judah Waten’s Alien Son, and Nancy Keesing’s Shalom). Whilst I had not at that stage successfully made the link between such literature and its effective use in the educational process of students of non-English speaking background, I remember thinking that perhaps I should soon pursue a course which would lead me to an understanding of Aboriginal Australians, in some way similar to Terry’s pursuit in New Zealand.

Background: World Health Organisation estimated that diabetes and obesity are responsible for 1.6 million and 4 million mortalities, globally. Likewise, New Zealanders also face the serious consequences of diabetes and obesity mainly impacted Maori due to existence of various health disparities. Presently, researches showed that people with pre-existing diabesity conditions are more susceptible to acquire COVID-19 and resulted in 48% mortality, globally. Aim: This literature review was aimed to identify the effects of Non-Pharmacological (lifestyle) interventions implemented for managing diabetes and obesity among adult Maori in New Zealand especially during COVID-19. Method: To conduct a comprehensive literature review, the universally acclaimed peer-reviewed electronic databases such as PubMed, ProQuest, EIT online and cross-references of included articles were used to discover the most relevant, recent studies on the present topic. Reviewer screened the articles based on inclusion criteria. Electronically available peer-reviewed journal articles which include the interventions on diabetes and obesity for adult Maori of New Zealand and should be conducted between 2015 to 2020 were included. Results: Reviewer searched 35 articles in total. Out of which 07 articles were selected according to inclusion criteria. From total 07, 02 articles included lifestyle interventions exclusively on adult Maori men and 05 studies included adult Maori and other ethnic groups. Findings of the review revealed that non-pharmacological interventions without incentives showed more retention rate of Maori adults as compared to intervention with incentives. All the included articles use Maori culturally acceptable approach in implementing lifestyle interventions for diabetes and obesity prevention. Conclusion: More research needs to be conducted for diabetes and obesity prevention among Maori adults in New Zealand as there is limited literature available which becomes insufficient during special circumstances such as COVID-19 Pandemic.

The relationship between emergent narrative skills, gender and ethnicity continues to be an important area of debate, with significant socio-political consequences. This paper explores the ways in which these variables intersect in a cross-cultural, longitudinal study of children’s storytelling, focusing on data taken from a multicultural school in Auckland, NZ. Differences in storytelling style reflected the characteristics of Maori English and Pakeha English conversational narratives, but also varied according to age and gender, where the variation was most marked for the 10-year-old children, and was most polarised between the narratives of the Pakeha girls and Maori boys. A longitudinal comparison indicated that these differences were by no means fixed, and that over time the older Maori boys’ storytelling altered in line with the literacy demands to conform to the dominant westernised pattern being imposed in this pedagogic context. This study thus points to the ongoing importance of analysing the shifting ways in which gender and cultural identity are renegotiated in educational contexts, suggesting that there is more scope for questioning and potentially changing dominant literacy practices in this part of New Zealand.

Te Kotahitanga is a Kaupapa Maori research and development programme that aims at improving Maori student achievement. Through interviews with students, teachers and whanau, the characteristics of teachers who made a difference were identified. These characteristics were drawn together to form the Effective Teaching Profile (ETP). This literature review provides a brief background on the Te Kotahitanga programme with an emphasis on the ETP, and its impact on Maori students’ achievement in secondary schools. The educational disparities that exist and perpetuate for indigenous (Maori) learners in Aotearoa/New Zealand are discussed as a rationale for implementing Te Kotahitanga in schools. This literature review explores the principles of the ETP and how these impact on Maori achievement. The ETP is also considered from a Resource Teacher: Learning and Behaviour (RTLB) viewpoint.

PurposeThis paper aims to contribute to indigenous entrepreneurship theory by identifying what constitutes an indigenous enterprise, focussing on Aotearoa New Zealand as a case.Design/methodology/approachThis paper combines policy (quantitative survey) and academic research (qualitative interviews) to answer the same question, what is an indigenous enterprise in Aotearoa New Zealand?FindingsThe authors found a degree of consistency as to what counts as an indigenous enterprise in the literature (e.g., identity, ownership, values), yet a consensus on a definition of Maori business remains elusive. They also found that an understanding of the indigenous economy and indigenous entrepreneurial policy are impeded because of definitional uncertainties. The authors propose a definition of Maori business which accounts for indigenous ownership, identity, values and well-being.Research limitations/implicationsThe main limitation is that the literature and research use different definitions of indigenous enterprise, constraining comparative analysis. The next step is to evaluate our definition as a basis for quantifying the population of indigenous enterprises in Aotearoa New Zealand.Practical implicationsThe research assists indigenous entrepreneurs to identify, measure and account for their contribution to indigenous self-determination and sustainable development.Social implicationsThis research has the potential to reconceptualise indigenous enterprise as a distinct and legitimate alternative institutional theory of the firm.Originality/valueThe research challenges assumptions and knowledge of entrepreneurship policy and practice generally and the understanding of what is the nature and extent of an indigenous firm.

In 1995 I Taught a Course in New Zealand Literature at Tokyo University. The Students Were Attentive, and Curious About New Zealand, but they found my Kiwi English hard to follow, being accustomed to American or British varieties. I wondered about their seeming tolerance recently while teaching a similar course to undergraduates back home, at Victoria University, in Wellington, when one of the Maori students complimented a Pākehā (New Zealand European) colleague for her Maori pronunciation. Like most Pākehā, I have a rudimentary grasp of Māori, enough to be familiar with the words and phrases that have entered everyday speech and those in the poetry and fiction I teach. But I cannot conduct a conversation in Māori or read a Māori text, and I am as embarrassed by the irritation that my pronunciation of te reo (the Māori language) causes Māori speakers as I was by the difficulty my rising terminals and strange accent posed for competent English speakers in Japan.

Dementia is a debilitating disease with wide-reaching impacts. Up to 40% of dementias are estimated to be preventable through modifiable risk factors, which is essential as no disease-modifying treatments are currently available. A literature review was performed using the OVID database, Google Scholar, and following references. Dementia as a key word was combined with the following key words: education, prevention, risk reduction, risk perception, family members, adult children, health promotion, behaviour change, Maori Health, health literacy, healthy aging, behavioural intervention, attitudes, teachable moment, psychoeducation.

Drawn by their foundation in fundamentally ‘otherwise’ posthuman ethical and moral worlds, archaeologists have in recent years employed a number of indigenous theories to interpret archaeological materials. In this paper I consider the potential of New Zealand Maori whakapapa, loosely and reductively translatable as genealogy or ancestry, to become a strand of general theory in archaeology. The qualities of whakapapa which I feel have particular potential are its moral and ethical embeddedness and its insistence on multiple forms of relating. Importantly, whakapapa has an accessible indigenous voice. There is an extensive published literature, both Maori and non-Maori, academic and general, discussing, interpreting and applying Maori social theory, including whakapapa. In addition, whakapapa remains today fundamental to everyday and ceremonial Maori life. It is lived. Employing whakapapa as archaeological theory does not, then, depend on a having a specific authoritative interpreter. Here I have taken recent work by installation artist Maureen Lander as a forum to outline the key principles of whakapapa and to inform my discussion of whakapapa as archaeological theory.

Several studies that focus on Western settings like Canada, the United States, the United Kingdom, Australia, and New Zealand have found that gendered institutions within academic careers are still preserved through various means. These studies have verified that fewer women are in tenure track positions than men. Additionally, women have been receiving a lower salary and are seldom promoted. Several issues such as mobility, parenting, and gender bias in application and evaluation rate as well as gender citation gap are highly correlated with women’s challenges in pursuing professorships. Nonetheless, there is still a lack of studies pertaining to the impact of the intersection of race and gender on the experiences of people of colour and minority groups in academia. The current study aims to explore the role that gender and race play among female academics, which includes the careers of Maori academics (the indigenous people of New Zealand) and non-white academics in New Zealand. Based on in-depth interviews conducted with 15 academic staff, including Maori and non-white academics in New Zealand, the current research corroborates the existing literature regarding the interplay of race and gender in advancing academic career. Furthermore, this research also finds that the merit-based concept or objective indicators of academic excellence do not necessarily apply in New Zealand. On account of their gender and racial identities, women of minority groups and non-white academics frequently experience multidimensional marginalisation while pursuing their academic careers.

There is long-standing disparity between the schooling success of many Māori (Indigenous peoples of Aotearoa New Zealand) learners and non-Māori learners. While much work internationally and nationally has focussed on culturally responsive pedagogies, the idea of culturally sustaining assessment has received less attention. Given the historical dominance of a West-centric education system, assessment practices within Aotearoa New Zealand schools have not necessarily embedded a Māori worldview. Informed by cultural advice, assessment constructs that embody manaakitanga (care, respect, hospitality), wānanga (a forum, a sharing of knowledge, a place of learning) and culturally sustaining pedagogy were examined alongside a literature review and analysis of interviews with four education practitioners. Results show that assessment can be designed to acknowledge Māori learners’ capabilities and educational successes. Findings, presented using a Hauora Approach to Assessment (Well-being Approach to Assessment) framework, provide much needed ways for teachers to contextualise assessment within mātauranga Māori (Maori knowledge system).

Much of the reaction, both positive and negative, to the publication of Alan Duff's novel Once Were Warriors centred on its language. This article analyses the ways in which characteristic linguistic features of New Zealand English are represented in the novel, in particular by its Maori protagonists. It also draws stylistic comparisons with other writers, such as Scotland's James Kelman, who have attempted to give their characters a particular local voice outside of, or in opposition to, Standard English by having them speak in their own language or variety of English.

In his popular Romance of London (1867), John Timbs refers to Thomas Babington Macaulay's oft-repeated metaphor of a “New Zealander sitting, like a hundredth-century Marius, on the mouldering arches of London Bridge, contemplating the colossal ruins of St Paul's” (290). Originally intended as an illustration of the vigor and durability of the Roman Catholic Church despite the triumph of the Reformation, Macaulay's most famous evocation of this idea dates from 1840, the year of New Zealand's annexation; hence it is reasonable to suppose that this figure is a Maori (Bellich 297–98). For Timbs and subsequent generations, however, the image conveyed the sobering idea of the rise and fall of civilizations and in particular of England being invaded and overrun, if not by a horde of savages, then by a more robust class of Anglo-Saxons from the other side of the world.

PurposeThis paper aims to provide an overview of the New Zealand social enterprise (SE) landscape, identifying key influences, enablers of and barriers to SE. Initial mapping is undertaken to identify types of SE in New Zealand. The paper contributes to the wider International Comparative Social Enterprise Models mapping project. Design/methodology/approachData collection combined reviews of previous scholarship with interviews with staff in SEs. FindingsThe New Zealand SE landscape is still emerging. The redevelopment of Christchurch following the 2010 and 2011 earthquakes has provided many opportunities for SE growth. Government support has been limited but is at least growing in terms of recognition. In 2014, the government provided base funding for developing SE infrastructure and capacity building, which is primarily delivered through the intermediary Akina Foundation. Resourcing is a key barrier to SE growth. Four main models of SE are evident: trading not-for-profits, community economic development, business-oriented social innovation and Maori enterprises. Research limitations/implicationsThe mapping presented is only a snap shot of current status, rather than a static model. Growth and developments in SE will see each category move as their SE activities develop. Practical implicationsIdentifying and better understanding barriers and enablers will help further advance development of SE in New Zealand. Originality/valueScholarship on SE in New Zealand is limited. This paper brings together key literature as well as provides an initial attempt at mapping the SE landscape. Doing so provides a starting point for further discussion and analysis.

Objective: Recent psychiatric literature and contemporary sociopolitical developments suggest a need to reconsider the place of religion and spirituality in psychiatry. This paper was written with the aim of encouraging dialogue between the often antithetical realms of religion and science. Method: Material from psychiatric, sociological and religious studies literature was reviewed, with particular emphasis on New Zealand sources. Results: Despite the secularising effects of science, the presence and influence of ‘religiosity’ remains substantial in Western culture. The literature emphasises the central importance of religion and spirituality for mental health, and the difficulty of integrating these concepts with scientific medicine. Psychiatric tradition and training may exaggerate the ‘religiosity gap’ between doctors and patients. In New Zealand, the politically mandated bicultural approach to mental health demands an understanding of Maori spirituality. Conclusions: Intellectual, moral and pragmatic arguments all suggest that psychiatry should reconsider its attitude to religion and spirituality. There are many opportunities for research in the field. Psychiatry would benefit if the vocabulary and concepts of religion and spirituality were more familiar to trainees and practitioners. Patients would find better understanding from psychiatrists, and fruitful interdisciplinary dialogue about mutual issues of ‘ultimate concern’ might ensue.

The Maori settled in New Zealand in the eighth or ninth centuries A.D.; the Europeans, many centuries later. Maori meeting houses are very ornate: besides carved wood figures, painted black-red-white designs embellish rafters and structural posts. These designs stand out as highly sophisticated examples of the twenty-four known band groups of 2-dimensional 1-translational symmetry G21 and antisymmetry (G21)′ The two independent symmetry elements, periodically repeated by lattice p or antilattice p′, are any two of the following: mirror m and antimirror m′, both either transverse or longitudinal; glide plane a or antiglide plane a′, longitudinal only; and two-fold rotation axis 2 or anti-axis 2′. Pseudosymmetry is common and obviously intentional: desymmetrization is achieved by added motifs, inserted along the edges of the band, at cell boundaries or inside the main design, which possess their own symmetries, always lower than that of the original design. The resulting symmetry of the whole is the symmetry common to the superposed patterns. Desymmetrization is also obtained by topological deformations of the design or deviations from the color scheme imposed by antisymmetry. Such irregularities led to Herbert Williams' hypothesis that the artist worked in two stages: tracing the outline and working in the color [1]. This conjecture finds support in group theory: the geometrical symmetry group involving no change of color (stage 1) is turned into an antisymmetry group (stage 2), as red goes to black and black goes to red under antisymmetry operations. The international symmetry notation of crystallographers is shown to be well suited to describe the Maori designs.

PurposeThis paper aims to set the scene for an emerging conversation on the Rights of Nature as articulated by a philosophy of law called Earth Jurisprudence, which privileges the whole Earth community over the profit-driven structures of the existing legal and economic systems.Design/methodology/approachThe study used a wide range of thought from literature relating to philosophy, humanities, environmental economics, sustainable development, indigenous rights and legal theory to show how Earth Jurisprudence resonates with two recent treaties of Waitangi settlements in Aotearoa New Zealand that recognise the Rights of Nature.FindingsIndigenous philosophies have become highly relevant to sustainable and equitable development. They have provided an increasingly prominent approach in advancing social, economic, environmental and cultural development around the world. In Aotearoa New Zealand, Maori philosophies ground the naming of the Te Urewera National Park and the Whanganui River as legal entities with rights.Practical implicationsRecognition of the Rights of Nature in Aotearoa New Zealand necessitates a radical re-thinking by accounting researchers, practitioners and educators towards a more ecocentric view of the environment, given the transformation of environmental law and our responsibilities towards sustainable development.Originality/valueThis relates to the application of Earth Jurisprudence legal theory as an alternative approach towards thinking about integrated reporting and sustainable development.

Purpose Tribal economic development in post-settlement era Aoteroa/New Zealand has opened up opportunities for Maori to invest in the sustainable commercial utilisation of their traditional economic resources. Mahinga kai (traditional food and food sources) has always been at the heart of the Maori tribe Ngāi Tahu’s spiritual, cultural, social and economic existence. The purpose of this research is to revitalise mahinga kai enterprise through the commercial development of traditional and contemporary food and food resources in a culturally commensurate manner. Design/methodology/approach Participant action research theory and practice were used by researchers from Toitū Te Kāinga (Regional Development Unit of Te Rūnanga o Ngāi Tahu) between 2008 and 2012. This was informed by a Kaupapa Maori philosophy of respect and empowerment of the participants’ needs. Findings The development of the Ahikā Kai Indigenous business system shows that competitive advantage can be created for Indigenous businesses and enterprises through a four-pronged strategy based around: first, human rights that empower tribal members; second, product differentiation based on cultural principles; third, an internal accreditation system to help verify the ethical credibility of the products; and fourth, lowering producer costs through website marketing and direct-to-consumer selling. Originality/value This research adds to a growing (yet still evolving) body of literature on Indigenous entrepreneurship and the role of voluntary certification in Indigenous business development. The Ahikā Kai business system is an original world first for this type of Indigenous development based on creating a competitive advantage for multiple independent enterprises while maintaining the core integrity of its cultural brand and its operations.

PurposeThe purpose of this paper is to discuss the internal historical forces that shaped national identity in New Zealand and how state-sponsored ideographs and cultural narratives, played out in nation branding, government–public relations activity, film and the literature, contributed to the rise of present days’ racism and hostility towards non-Pakeha constructions of New Zealand’s self-imagining.Design/methodology/approachThe paper takes a cultural materialist approach, coupled with postcolonial perspectives, to build an empirical framework to analyse specific historical texts and artefacts that were supported and promoted by the New Zealand Government at the point of decolonisation. Traditional constructions of cultural nationalism, communicated through state-sponsored advertising, public information films and national literature, are challenged and re-evaluated in the context of race, gender and socio-economic status.FindingsA total of three major groupings or themes were identified: crew, core and counterdiscourse cultures that each projected a different construction of New Zealand’s national identity. These interwoven themes produced a wider interpretation of identity than traditional cultural nationalist constructions allowed, still contributing to exclusionary formations of identity that alienated non-Pakeha New Zealanders and encouraged racism and intolerance.Research limitations/implicationsThe research study is empirical in nature and belongs to a larger project looking at a range of Pakeha constructions of identity. The article itself does not therefore fully consider Maori constructions of New Zealand’s identity.Originality/valueThe focus on combining cultural materialism, postcolonial approaches to analysis and counterdiscourse in order to analyse historical national narrative provides a unique perspective on the forces that contribute to racism and intolerance in New Zealand’s society. The framework developed can be used to evaluate the historical government communications activity and to better understand how nation branding leads to the exclusion of minority communities.

e20546 I hope to present the trial protocol as a poster at ASCO with co design work commencing 2017. Background: Lung cancer is the leading cause of cancer death in NZ.1 85% of registrations annually are stage four at diagnosis, presenting a significant burden on resources. Despite novel therapies, survival is poor and quality of life is a key consideration in patient management .2,3 Currently the aim of surveillance is to detect for disease progression and follows a three monthly pattern. There is little literature around benefits of surveillance on survival, and quality of life in these patients. 4-6 Alternative approaches to surveillance should be evaluated to ensure safe, convenient, economical care. Lung cancer outcomes for Maori patients sit significantly lower than those for New Zealand Europeans. Maori patients are twice as likely to present with locally advanced disease and four times less likely to receive curative treatment (multivariate analysis). There are significant barriers for Maori patients to attending health care including time off work, health literacy, costs, child care, language barriers, and transport. 19 Ministry of Health data describes poor outcomes for Maori lung cancer patients with rate of death sitting at 3.4 times that of non-Maori. Co-Primary End Points To determine if there is a reduction in health services utilisation (ED visits, hospital visits, unplanned clinic visits, GP visits, and Nurse Specialist contact) with the end point identified at progression, lost to follow up, or death. To compare the impact of a novel virtual surveillance model (VSM) versus usual follow-up care on patient anxiety measured using the HADS-A tool. Methods: LuCaS is a Randomised Controlled trial in patients with advanced lung cancer randomised to virtual model or standard care. Results: recruitment begins this year. Conclusions: Hypothesis:A virtual follow up model for advanced stage non-small cell lung cancer patients, extensive stage small cell lung cancer patients, and mesothelioma patients will reduce health care utilisation and patient experienced anxiety defined by reduction in Hospital Anxiety and Depression Scale (HADS-A) score, while maintaining effectiveness detecting recurrence and survival.

Prostate cancer is the most common malignancy registered in New Zealand and is the third most common cause of cancer death in men after lung cancer and bowel cancer. Prostate Serum Antigen (PSA) testing has been used to screen for prostate cancer. The following paper provides a clinical audit snapshot of Prostate Serum Antigen (PSA) test results for Pacific men from two Primary Health Care Clinics in the Auckland region, New Zealand. Two Auckland primary health care clinics provided anonymised data on prostate serum test results for their male patients along with ethnicity, age, and birthplace. Descriptive summaries of the data are presented as frequencies and percentages of positive test by age and by ethnic group. Logistic regression analysis was used to test for significant differences by ethnic group, age group and birthplace (NZ born versus overseas born). Two clinics which have predominately Pacific patients provided anonymised results of prostate serum antigen test results from 2009 – 2018. There were 5,787 prostate serum antigen level tests available from clinic 1 and clinic 2 had 493 patients. Most of the clinic patients tested were New Zealand born (5655, 90%) compared to overseas born (625, 10%). Samoans compared to Europeans were significantly more likely to have a positive test compared to Europeans & other ethnicities. Cook Island Maori men were significantly less likely to have a positive test result compared to European and other ethnicities. Older individuals are more likely to have positive PSA results which shows that this is very similar and consistent with the current literature. Those being born overseas compared to being New Zealand born were significantly less likely to have positive serum antigen results.

The purpose of the study was to summarize available data on genetic counseling for people with hereditary diffuse gastric cancer (HDGC) syndrome, treatment strategies for family members with HDGC, prophylactic gastrectomy (PGE), and surveillance of CDH1 and CTNNA1 mutation carriers. Material and methods. A literature search was conducted using Web of Science, Scopus, MedLine, Cochrane Library, and RSCI databases. Results. HDGC syndrome is an inherited genetic syndrome that leads to the increased risk for both diffuse gastric cancer (DGC) and lobular breast cancer (LBC). About 1 to 3% of all gastric cancer cases are HDGCs. A high frequency of CDH1 gene mutation was frst identifed by P. Guilford et al. in 1998 in 3 Maori families from New Zealand. The cumulative risk for HDGC in CDH1 mutation carriers is 42 to 70% for men and 33-56% for women at the age of 80 years. Due to the rarity of the disease, the main publications dealing with this problem are clinical case descriptions. Conclusion. Multicenter clinical trials are required to improve screening and management of HDGC syndrome.

BACKGROUND: Asthma and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) have considerable potential for inequities in diagnosis and treatment, thereby affecting vulnerable groups.OBJECTIVE: To evaluate differences in asthma and COPD prevalence between adult Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal populations.METHODS: MEDLINE, EMBASE, specialized databases and the grey literature up to October 2011 were searched to identify epidemiological studies comparing asthma and COPD prevalence between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal adult populations. Prevalence ORs (PORs) and 95% CIs were calculated in a random-effects meta-analysis.RESULTS: Of 132 studies, eight contained relevant data. Aboriginal populations included Native Americans, Canadian Aboriginals, Australian Aboriginals and New Zealand Maori. Overall, Aboriginals were more likely to report having asthma than non-Aboriginals (POR 1.41 [95% CI 1.23 to 1.60]), particularly among Canadian Aboriginals (POR 1.80 [95% CI 1.68 to 1.93]), Native Americans (POR 1.41 [95% CI 1.13 to 1.76]) and Maori (POR 1.64 [95% CI 1.40 to 1.91]). Australian Aboriginals were less likely to report asthma (POR 0.49 [95% CI 0.28 to 0.86]). Sex differences in asthma prevalence between Aboriginals and their non-Aboriginal counterparts were not identified. One study compared COPD prevalence between Native and non-Native Americans, with similar rates in both groups (POR 1.08 [95% CI 0.81 to 1.44]).CONCLUSIONS: Differences in asthma prevalence between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal populations exist in a variety of countries. Studies comparing COPD prevalence between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal populations are scarce. Further investigation is needed to identify and account for factors associated with respiratory health inequalities among Aboriginal peoples.

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to offer a Bourdieu-oriented study that investigates race discrimination when graduates of diverse ethnicities aspire to enter the accounting profession. This study illustrates the benefits of a careful and fine-grained operationalization of ethnicity for such a research project. Design/methodology/approach The cohort interviewed comprises 45 participants of 20 different ethnicities. Findings From this interview data, it appears that employers mostly favour “Pakeha” New Zealanders (the non-Maori ethnic majority group, mostly of British origin); those who migrated from China and East Asia are the most disfavoured; between them are those of ethnic minorities brought up in New Zealand and those who migrated from the Indian subcontinent and South Asia. Underneath the experience of discrimination is the operationalization of ten subtle factors, and a range of strategies adopted to overcome such factors, as further described in this study. Research limitations/implications The findings may permit stakeholders, including professional bodies, employers, aspirant accountants, vocational counsellors, and those who have interests in promoting equality and meritocracy in the accounting profession, to formulate effective rules and structures to combat discrimination. It may also inform those in other professions seeking to lessen ethnic discrimination, and wider society. Originality/value The study fills a gap in the accounting literature by elaborating on the mechanisms of how ethnic minorities are discriminated against. It confirms that discrimination is suffered not only by the most salient ethnic groups, but by graduates of “Western” universities, of many and diverse ethnicities, all of whom suffer being perceived as “outsiders”.

Abstract Multicentric Castleman Disease (MCD) is an uncommon non-clonal lymphoproliferative disease that traditionally has high morbidity and carries a poor prognosis, with median survival of 26-30 months. There has been growing interest in using interleukin-6 (IL-6) as a therapeutic target due to its role in the pathogenesis of MCD. In our practice, we noted a high number of Polynesian patients with idiopathic MCD (iMCD) and their prognosis appeared good. We therefore carried out a retrospective review. Via email survey, laboratory audit and our local database we identified 13 patients with MCD. Twelve patients were HIV and HHV8 negative hence classified as having iMCD; one patient was positive for HIV and HHV8. Of the twelve patients with iMCD (five females, seven males), the median age at diagnosis was 53 (41 - 70). Eleven patients had plasma cell variant; one patient’s MCD subtype was not available. 83.3% (10 of 12 patients) were of Polynesian decent: New Zealand Maori (4), Samoan (3), and Niuean (3). Polynesian subjects had fewer general symptoms compared to literature: weight loss 40%, fever 20%; Skin lesions were observed in 60%, 60% had splenomegaly and 40% had polyarthrialgia related to MCD. There is a recognized association between autoimmune disease and MCD. In our series, 6 of the 12 patients had some form of autoantibodies, including antinuclear antibodies, extractable nuclear antibodies and anti-cardiolipin antibodies; however only 2 patients had confirmed autoimmune diseases, with Grave’s disease in one and concurrent autoimmune haemolytic anaemia and coeliac disease in another patient. The median baseline gammaglobulin (IgG) was 61g/L (12- 96), C-reactive protein (CRP) was 105mg/L (39 - 219) and hemoglobin (Hb) was 89g/L (50 - 118), excluding one Polynesian patient who was an outlier with a CRP of 1 and Hb of 140. We traced pre-diagnosis electronic records of biochemical markers, such as total protein and total globulin levels, an indirect marker for hypergammaglobulinaemia. We could not find a normal value amongst the Polynesian patient group prior to the diagnosis, abnormalities were noted up to 6 years pre-diagnosis. Despite the biochemical derangement of most patients, performance status was high and 80% of the Polynesian patients remained at work. The mean duration of disease after tissue diagnosis was 5.3 years whereas the mean duration of biochemical evidence of disease presence was 9.2 years. Various therapies including corticosteroid (dexamethasone or prednisone), Rituximab and chemotherapeutic agents were used with mixed but mostly non-durable response until 2009 when those needing treatment were given targeted treatment to block IL-6 with Tocilizumab (6) or Siltuximab (2 in a randomized double-blind placebo controlled study; results will be presented separately). Tocilizumab was administered as an intravenous infusion (at 8mg/kg) in a 3-4 weekly cycle. We used CRP as a measure of the response to treatment. By aiming for a low CRP (i.e. less than 20mg/L) rather than a normal CRP value, at the end of each cycle, we were able to increase the time interval between treatment cycles and therefore rationalize treatment frequency. The median duration of therapy was 19 months during which we saw normalization of Hb in 6/6 of patients, their median hemoglobins increasing from 87g/L (69 - 140) to 133g/L (118 - 157). There were significant improvement of IgG from 65g/L (42 - 96) to 32g/L (17 - 59); CRP from 86mg/L (39 - 160) to 4mg/L (1 - 23). Treatment was stopped in 2/6 patients with subsequent relapse, and response to tocilizumab retreatment. There were three deaths in the entire patient group, only 1/10 Polynesian, and all three patients died before IL-6 specific therapy became available. Because most patients had high levels of IgG, we reviewed all patients tested at North Shore Hospital in the past 3 years with a polyclonal increase of IgG>35g/l and identified 3 further patients, all Polynesian, with blood test consistent with iMCD. Clinical follow-up on these patients was not available. Our review demonstrates a disproportionately large group of Polynesians with iMCD, with distinctively favourable disease outcome. iMCD shows promising response to IL-6 targeted therapy. Based on the chronicity of the IgG elevation and the genetic association, we speculate that the up-regulation of IL-6 could be related to a defect in IL-6 regulation. Similar clinical cases have also been described in Japan. Disclosures: No relevant conflicts of interest to declare.

The concept of authenticity has long been inextricable from identity in Aotearoa New Zealand, ever since Allen Curnow famously urged midtwentieth century artists to focus on the local and the specific in order to create an island nation clearly differentiated from Britain. Recent writers, however, particularly in works that have appeared since the turn of the century, are increasingly questioning just what 'authenticity' means in relation to identity. There is a marked contrast between the part-Maori, part-Pakeha protagonist in Keri Hulmes' 1984 novel the bone people, who explains that 'by blood, flesh, and inheritance, I am but an eighth Maori, by heart, spirit, and inclination, I feel all Maori', and the Fijian New Zealander in Toa Fraser's 1999 play No. 2, who insists that her Nanna is 'about as real Fijian as the Spice Girls'. Writers such as Fraser, Paula Morris and Eleanor Cattan represent identity not as inherent or authentic but as constructed and performed.

Kura Kaupapa Maori are a distinctive and unique feature of the New Zealand education system. This report outlines a literature review that seeks to examine the position of such schools within the reformed New Zealand educational environment since 1988. The project focuses on the Tomorrow’s Schools reforms, before giving a briefer review of the New Zealand Curriculum Framework, Assessment for Better Learning and the Report of the Literacy Taskforce. A number of themes emerge, including the increasing acknowledgement of Kura Kaupapa Maori in policy documents over time, the lack of specific provision for such schools, and the incongruence of Maori beliefs and aspirations and the philosophical foundation of the policy arena.

This article follows the growth of written communication by Aotearoa New Zealand's indigenous Maori. The research focuses on nineteenth century developments, linking four significant areas of Maori writing--tuhi rerehua (calligraphy), tuhi motumotu (printing), tuhi waitohu (lettering), and tatai kupu toi (typography)--into a continuous whakapapa (genealogy) of what might be described as hoahoa whakairoiro Maori. Through a number of fascinating case studies, the research sheds light on the distinctive history of Maori lettering and typography. While some of these subjects have been explored separately within the literature of Maori cultural history, none have connected these practices into a definitive Maori tradition of creating and using letterforms for the purpose of visual communication. Importantly, this work also introduces a number of new kupu Maori relating to Maori visual communication design. For the indigenous Māori of Aotearoa New Zealand, written language remains a relatively new method for communicating and storing information.

Drawing on her own experiences as a novelist and anthologist, Tina Makereti explores the situation of the Māori writer as someone “speaking with two mouths,” addressing and drawing from both Māori and Pākehā literary traditions and ways of expressing creativity. Considering some examples from her own fiction and the work of other notable writers such as Patricia Grace, Makereti argues for a richer, more expansive conception of Māori and New Zealand literary history, one drawing on, and acknowledging, Māori ways of imagining literature.

Witi Ihimaera has been a dominant force in New Zealand literature for four decades. In Striding Both Worlds Melissa Kennedy presents a study of the published works of Ihimaera and considers his place in the New Zealand literary landscape. The image evoked from the title, of Ihimaera with a foothold in both Maori and Pakeha literary traditions, immediately alerts the reader to a potentially broader reading of Ihimaera's work than may previously have been explored. Striding Both Worlds is a reworking of Kennedy's 2007 doctoral dissertation: 'Striding Both Worlds: Cross-Cultural Influence in the Work of Witi Ihimaera', a collaboration between Universite de Bourgogne, Dijion and the University of Canterbury, Christchurch.

Much of the literature on the early period of British colonization of New Zealand has assumed that missionary men participated in the public world of work while their wives participated in the private world of the home. As women have been seen as occupying the domestic sphere of the home, historians have further viewed their work as relatively unimportant. Across this literature it is also usually assumed that—probably because men were engaged in the 'public sphere'—it was the missionary men who were responsible for providing education. This paper concentrates on the activities of two early missionary women, Marianne Williams and her sister-in-law, Jane Williams. There is concrete evidence to suggest that these women were sent to New Zealand as part of the first wave of missionary women to 'civilize' Maori by converting them to Christianity. As women and educators, Marianne and Jane played critical roles in the success of the mission and, as will be argued, their presence in the mission station permitted missionary men to undertake their duties.

In this article, I collate and annotate classical references from the published fiction of Witi Ihimaera. Throughout, I take it as axiomatic that classical references are especially meaningful in post/-colonial contexts, and that an investigation of such references in New Zealand literature is a pressing desideratum. All told, I demonstrate by example that classical references make a significant contribution to the warp and weft of Maori fiction.

So much has happened in education in the past few years that it is extremely difficult to know, even at a basic descriptive level, what constitutes the full range of programmes coming under the rubric of “Maori education”, in formal, institutional contexts as well as in non-formal community based ones, let alone to review or offer critical analysis of them. We need to do urgent work just to establish what constitutes Maori education. Many new developments are a long way ahead of publications about them. Indeed, the published literature on Maori education is behind the cutting edge of change as many of the most exciting innovators in Maori education are so busy there seems little opportunity for them to take time out, to reflect, and to write in depth about their work. At this crucial time in Maori education, we need to identify and analyse the totality of what counts as “Maori education”, the good news and the bad, to provide a balanced view. We need to identify success in Maori education at this time, as much as if not more than we need to identify failure. We have had the “bad news” for years, indeed, there is a whole educational industry which has grown around it. This is not to deny the urgency of the need to keep addressing the areas of Maori education which remain serious concerns. The Education Gazette of March 15, 1991 identified the following key policy issues as critical to Maori education: 1. achievement rates of Maori students are low in comparison with other groups in New Zealand, and the gap is widening; 2. the Maori language is facing extinction; 3. there is debate about whether mainstream education or separate structures offer the most promising solutions for improving achievement rates and retaining the Maori language. But if justification can be made for continually funding the educational enterprise which is centred on Maori educational failure, surely an equally powerful argument, if not more so, can also be made for funding a new enterprise which is concerned with Maori educational success. This paper aims to critically review and analyse, as completely as is possible, given the constraints identified above, Maori education in 1991. Though a difficult aim for a short paper like this, anything less at this time, it seems to me, would do the breadth and depth of development that is Maori education in the nineties a disservice...

Background: Demand for imported sawn timbers in New Zealand has increased over the last decade, reflecting the lack of New Zealand-grown, naturally durable timber in the domestic market. Therefore, a market opportunity exists for sustainably grown, naturally durable timbers in New Zealand for specialty applications. Kowhai (Sophora spp.) are New Zealand native tree species, known for their bright, yellow flowers and reported to produce coloured, naturally durable heartwood.Methods: Information on kowhai was collated from literature, focusing on their potential for commercial forestry. The taxonomic relationships, species descriptions, establishment, and growth rates of kowhai were examined, along with timber properties and historical uses, as well as medicinal applications. The review identified potential market opportunities for kowhai and key areas for further research.Results: Kowhai refers to eight different Sophora species that are endemic to New Zealand. Kowhai is easily established and the different species hybridise readily. While growth and form of kowhai varies with species, site, and management, examples of straight single-stemmed trees and annual diameter increments exceeding 20 mm have been found. Kowhai timber properties might be comparable to those of teak (Tectona grandis L.f.). Kowhai contains alkaloids, a class of compounds used in pharmaceutical applications. The species have been used for timber and traditional medicine by Maori in the past, while European settlers used kowhai for their durable and flexible timber.Conclusions: Kowhai could be established as a sustainable, domestic source of high-quality timber and substitute imported specialty timbers in New Zealand on account of their natural durability, strength, stiffness, colour, and density properties. The residues could support a secondary industry, as a source of alkaloids for pharmaceutical applications or natural dyes. Key areas that require further study include growth rates and silviculture, mechanical timber properties, machining/processing characteristics, natural durability and cytisine levels in kowhai, as well as the cultural, economic, and ecological framework required for a commercial kowhai forestry industry. Lack of literature on, and expertise in the use of native timbers in general are barriers to promoting native species for commercial forestry in New Zealand.

Like any genre or mode, the Gothic is malleable, changing according to time and place. This is particularly apparent when what is considered Gothic in one era is compared with that of another. The giant helmet that falls from the sky in Horace Walpole’s Castle of Otranto (1764) is a very different threat to the ravenous vampires that stalk the novels of Anne Rice, just as Ann Radcliffe’s animated portraits may not inspire anxiety for a contemporary reader of Stephen King. The mutability of Gothic is also apparent across various versions of national Gothic that have emerged, with the specificities of place lending Gothic narratives from countries such as Ireland, Scotland and Australia a distinctive flavour. In New Zealand, the Gothic is most commonly associated with Pakeha artists exploring extreme psychological states, isolation and violence. Instead of the haunted castles, ruined abbeys and supernatural occurrences of classic Gothics of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, such as those produced by writers as diverse as Charles Brockden Brown, Matthew Lewis, Edgar Allen Poe, Radcliffe, Bram Stoker and Walpole, New Zealand Gothic fiction tends to focus on psychological horror, taking its cue, according to Jenny Lawn, from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818), which ushered in a tendency in the Gothic novel to explore the idea of a divided consciousness. Lawn observes that in New Zealand “Our monsters tend to be interior: they are experiences of intense psychological states, often with sexual undertones within isolated nuclear families” (“Kiwi Gothic”). Kirsty Gunn’s novella Rain (1994), which focuses on a dysfunctional family holidaying in an isolated lakeside community, exemplifies the tendency of New Zealand Gothic to omit the supernatural in favour of the psychological, with its spectres being sexual predation, parental neglect and the death of an innocent. Bronwyn Bannister’s Haunt (2000) is set primarily in a psychiatric hospital, detailing various forms of psychiatric disorder, as well as the acts that spring from them, such as one protagonist’s concealment for several years of her baby in a shed, while Noel Virtue’s The Redemption of Elsdon Bird (1987) is another example, with a young character’s decision to shoot his two younger siblings in the head as they sleep in an attempt to protect them from the religious beliefs of his fundamentalist parents amply illustrating the intense psychological states that characterise New Zealand Gothic. Although there is no reason why Gothic literature ought to include the supernatural, its omission in New Zealand Gothic does point to a confusion that Timothy Jones foregrounds in his suggestion that “In the absence of the trappings of established Gothic traditions – castles populated by fiendish aristocrats, swamps draped with Spanish moss and possessed by terrible spirits” New Zealand is “uncertain how and where it ought to perform its own Gothic” (203). The anxiety that Jones notes is perhaps less to do with where the New Zealand Gothic should occur, since there is an established tradition of Gothic events occurring in the bush and on the beach, while David Ballantyne’s Sydney Bridge Upside Down (1968) uses a derelict slaughterhouse as a version of a haunted castle and Maurice Gee successfully uses a decrepit farmhouse as a Gothic edifice in The Fire-Raiser (1986), but more to do with available ghosts. New Zealand Gothic literature produced in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries certainly tends to focus on the psychological rather than the supernatural, but earlier writing that utilises the Gothic mode is far more focused on spooky events and ghostly presences. There is a tradition of supernatural Gothic in New Zealand, but its representations of Maori ghosts complicates the processes through which contemporary writers might build on that tradition. The stories in D. W. O. Fagen’s collection Tapu and Other Tales of Old New Zealand (1952) illustrate the tendency in colonial New Zealand literature to represent Maori in supernatural terms expressive both of anxieties surrounding Maori agency and indigeneity, as well as Western assumptions regarding Maori culture. In much colonial Gothic, Maori ghosts, burial grounds and the notion of tapu express settler anxieties while also working to contain those anxieties by suggesting the superstitious and hence backward nature of indigenous culture. In Fagan’s story “Tapu”, which first appeared in the Bulletin in 1912, the narrator stumbles into a Maori burial ground where he is confronted by the terrible sight of “two fleshless skeletons” that grin and appear “ghastly in the dim light” (37). The narrator’s desecration of land deemed tapu fills him with “a sort of nameless terror at nothing, a horror of some unknown impending fate against which it was useless to struggle and from which there was no escape” (39). This expresses a sense of the authenticity of Maori culture, but the narrator’s thought “Was there any truth in heathen devilry after all?” is quickly superseded by the relegation of Maori culture as “ancient superstitions” (40). When the narrator is approached by a tohunga following his breach of tapu, his reaction is outrage: "Here was I – a fairly decent Englishman, reared in the Anglican faith and living in the nineteenth century – hindered from going about my business, outcast, excommunicated, shunned as a leper, my servant dying, all on account of some fiendish diablerie of heathen fetish. The affair was preposterous, incredible, ludicrous" (40). Fagan’s story establishes a clear opposition between Western rationalism and “decency”, and the “heathen fetishes” associated with Maori culture, which it uses to infuse the story with the thrills appropriate to Gothic fiction and which it ultimately casts as superstitious and uncivilised. F. E. Maning’s Old New Zealand (1863) includes an episode of Maori women grieving that is represented in terms that would not be out of place in horror. A group of women are described as screaming, wailing, and quivering their hands about in a most extraordinary manner, and cutting themselves dreadfully with sharp flints and shells. One old woman, in the centre of the group, was one clot of blood from head to feet, and large clots of coagulated blood lay on the ground where she stood. The sight was absolutely horrible, I thought at the time. She was singing or howling a dirge-like wail. In her right hand she held a piece of tuhua, or volcanic glass, as sharp as a razor: this she placed deliberately to her left wrist, drawing it slowly upwards to her left shoulder, the spouting blood following as it went; then from the left shoulder downwards, across the breast to the short ribs on the right side; then the rude but keen knife was shifted from the right hand to the left, placed to the right wrist, drawn upwards to the right shoulder, and so down across the breast to the left side, thus making a bloody cross on the breast; and so the operation went on all the time I was there, the old creature all the time howling in time and measure, and keeping time also with the knife, which at every cut was shifted from one hand to the other, as I have described. She had scored her forehead and cheeks before I came; her face and body was a mere clot of blood, and a little stream was dropping from every finger – a more hideous object could scarcely be conceived. (Maning 120–21) The gory quality of this episode positions Maori as barbaric, but Patrick Evans notes that there is an incident in Old New Zealand that grants authenticity to indigenous culture. After being discovered handling human remains, the narrator of Maning’s text is made tapu and rendered untouchable. Although Maning represents the narrator’s adherence to his abjection from Maori society as merely a way to placate a local population, when a tohunga appears to perform cleansing rituals, the narrator’s indulgence of perceived superstition is accompanied by “a curious sensation […] like what I fancied a man must feel who has just sold himself, body and bones, to the devil. For a moment I asked myself the question whether I was not actually being then and there handed over to the powers of darkness” (qtd. in Evans 85). Evans points out that Maning may represent the ritual as solely performative, “but the result is portrayed as real” (85). Maning’s narrator may assert his lack of belief in the tohunga’s power, but he nevertheless experiences that power. Such moments of unease occur throughout colonial writing when assertions of European dominance and rational understanding are undercut or threatened. Evans cites the examples of the painter G. F. Angus whose travels through the native forest of Waikato in the 1840s saw him haunted by the “peculiar odour” of rotting vegetation and Edward Shortland whose efforts to remain skeptical during a sacred Maori ceremony were disturbed by the manifestation of atua rustling in the thatch of the hut in which it was occurring (Evans 85). Even though the mysterious power attributed to Maori in colonial Gothic is frequently represented as threatening, there is also an element of desire at play, which Lydia Wevers highlights in her observation that colonial ghost stories involve a desire to assimilate or be assimilated by what is “other.” Wevers singles out for discussion the story “The Disappearance of Letham Crouch”, which appeared in the New Zealand Illustrated Magazine in 1901. The narrative recounts the experiences of an overzealous missionary who is received by Maori as a new tohunga. In order to learn more about Maori religion (so as to successfully replace it with Christianity), Crouch inhabits a hut that is tapu, resulting in madness and fanaticism. He eventually disappears, only to reappear in the guise of a Maori “stripped for dancing” (qtd. in Wevers 206). Crouch is effectively “turned heathen” (qtd. in Wevers 206), a transformation that is clearly threatening for a Christian European, but there is also an element of desirability in such a transformation for a settler seeking an authentic New Zealand identity. Colonial Gothic frequently figures mysterious experiences with indigenous culture as a way for the European settler to essentially become indigenous by experiencing something perceived as authentically New Zealand. Colonial Gothic frequently includes the supernatural in ways that are complicit in the processes of colonisation that problematizes them as models for contemporary writers. For New Zealanders attempting to produce a Gothic narrative, the most immediately available tropes for a haunting past are Maori, but to use those tropes brings texts uncomfortably close to nineteenth-century obsessions with Maori skeletal remains and a Gothicised New Zealand landscape, which Edmund G. C. King notes is a way of expressing “the sense of bodily and mental displacement that often accompanied the colonial experience” (36). R. H. Chapman’s Mihawhenua (1888) provides an example of tropes particularly Gothic that remain a part of colonial discourse not easily transferable into a bicultural context. Chapman’s band of explorers discover a cave strewn with bones which they interpret to be the remains of gory cannibalistic feasts: Here, we might well imagine, the clear waters of the little stream at our feet had sometime run red with the blood of victims of some horrid carnival, and the pale walls of the cavern had grown more pale in sympathy with the shrieks of the doomed ere a period was put to their tortures. Perchance the owners of some of the bones that lay scattered in careless profusion on the floor, had, when strong with life and being, struggled long and bravely in many a bloody battle, and, being at last overcome, their bodies were brought here to whet the appetites and appease the awful hunger of their victors. (qtd. in King) The assumptions regarding the primitive nature of indigenous culture expressed by reference to the “horrid carnival” of cannibalism complicate the processes through which contemporary writers could meaningfully draw on a tradition of New Zealand Gothic utilising the supernatural. One answer to this dilemma is to use supernatural elements not specifically associated with New Zealand. In Stephen Cain’s anthology Antipodean Tales: Stories from the Dark Side (1996) there are several instances of this, such as in the story “Never Go Tramping Alone” by Alyson Cresswell-Moorcock, which features a creature called a Gravett. As Timothy Jones’s discussion of this anthology demonstrates, there are two problems arising from this unprecedented monster: firstly, the story does not seem to be a “New Zealand Gothic”, which a review in The Evening Post highlights by observing that “there is a distinct ‘Kiwi’ feel to only a few of the stories” (Rendle 5); while secondly, the Gravatt’s appearance in the New Zealand landscape is unconvincing. Jones argues that "When we encounter the wendigo, a not dissimilar spirit to the Gravatt, in Ann Tracy’s Winter Hunger or Stephen King’s Pet Sematary, we have a vague sense that such beings ‘exist’ and belong in the American or Canadian landscapes in which they are located. A Gravatt, however, has no such precedent, no such sense of belonging, and thus loses its authority" (251). Something of this problem is registered in Elizabeth Knox’s vampire novel Daylight (2003), which avoids the problem of making a vampire “fit” with a New Zealand landscape devoid of ancient architecture by setting all the action in Europe. One of the more successful stories in Cain’s collection demonstrates a way of engaging with a specifically New Zealand tradition of supernatural Gothic, while also illustrating some of the potential pitfalls in utilising colonial Gothic tropes of menacing bush, Maori burial caves and skeletal remains. Oliver Nicks’s “The House” focuses on a writer who takes up residence in an isolated “little old colonial cottage in the bush” (8). The strange “odd-angled walls”, floors that seem to slope downwards and the “subterranean silence” of the cottage provokes anxiety in the first-person narrator who admits his thoughts “grew increasingly dark and chaotic” (8). The strangeness of the house is only intensified by the isolation of its surroundings, which are fertile but nevertheless completely uninhabited. Alone and unnerved by the oddness of the house, the narrator listens to the same “inexplicable night screeches and rustlings of the bush” (9) that furnish so much New Zealand Gothic. Yet it is not fear inspired by the menacing bush that troubles the narrator as much as the sense that there was more in this darkness, something from which I felt a greater need to be insulated than the mild horror of mingling with a few wetas, spiders, bats, and other assorted creepy-crawlies. Something was subtlely wrong here – it was not just the oddness of the dimensions and angles. Everything seemed slightly off, not to add up somehow. I could not quite put my finger on whatever it was. (10) When the narrator escapes the claustrophobic house for a walk in the bush, the natural environment is rendered in spectral terms. The narrator is engulfed by the “bare bones of long-dead forest giants” (11) and “crowding tree-corpses”, but the path he follows in order to escape the “Tree-ghosts” is no more comforting since it winds through “a strange grey world with its shrouds of hanging moss, and mist” (12). In the midst of this Gothicised environment the narrator is “transfixed by the intersection of two overpowering irrational forces” when something looms up out of the mist and experiences “irresistible curiosity, balanced by an equal and opposite urge to turn and run like hell” (12). The narrator’s experience of being deep in the threatening bush continues a tradition of colonial writing that renders the natural environment in Gothic terms, such as H. B. Marriot Watson’s The Web of the Spider: A Tale of Adventure (1891), which includes an episode that sees the protagonist Palliser become lost in the forest of Te Tauru and suffer a similar demoralization as Nicks’s narrator: “the horror of the place had gnawed into his soul, and lurked there, mordant. He now saw how it had come to be regarded as the home of the Taniwha, the place of death” (77). Philip Steer points out that it is the Maoriness of Palliser’s surroundings that inspire his existential dread, suggesting a certain amount of settler alienation, but “Palliser’s survival and eventual triumph overwrites this uncertainty with the relegation of Maori to the past” (128). Nicks’s story, although utilising similar tropes to colonial fiction, attempts to puts them to different ends. What strikes such fear in Nicks’s narrator is a mysterious object that inspires the particular dread known as the uncanny: I gave myself a stern talking to and advanced on the shadow. It was about my height, angular, bony and black. It stood as it now stands, as it has stood for centuries, on the edge of a swamp deep in the heart of an ancient forest high in this remote range of hills forming a part of the Southern Alps. As I think of it I cannot help but shudder; it fills me even now with inexplicable awe. It snaked up out of the ground like some malign fern-frond, curving back on itself and curling into a circle at about head height. Extending upwards from the circle were three odd-angled and bent protuberances of unequal length. A strange force flowed from it. It looked alien somehow, but it was man-made. Its power lay, not in its strangeness, but in its unaccountable familiarity; why did I know – have I always known? – how to fear this… thing? (12) This terrible “thing” represents a return of the repressed associated with the crimes of colonisation. After almost being devoured by the malevolent tree-like object the narrator discovers a track leading to a cave decorated with ancient rock paintings that contains a hideous wooden creature that is, in fact, a burial chest. Realising that he has discovered a burial cave, the narrator is shocked to find more chests that have been broken open and bones scattered over the floor. With the discovery of the desecrated burial cave, the hidden crimes of colonisation are brought to light. Unlike colonial Gothic that tends to represent Maori culture as threatening, Nicks’s story represents the forces contained in the cave as a catalyst for a beneficial transformative experience: I do remember the cyclone of malign energy from the abyss gibbering and leering; a flame of terror burning in every cell of my body; a deluge of shrieking unreason threatening to wash away the bare shred that was left of my mind. Yet even as each hellish new dimension yawned before me, defying the limits even of imagination, the fragments of my shattered sanity were being drawn together somehow, and reassembled in novel configurations. To each proposition of demonic impossibility there was a surging, answering wave of kaleidoscopic truth. (19) Although the story replicates colonial writing’s tendency to represent indigenous culture in terms of the irrational and demonic, the authenticity and power of the narrator’s experience is stressed. When he comes to consciousness following an enlightenment that sees him acknowledging that the truth of existence is a limitless space “filled with deep coruscations of beauty and joy” (20) he knows what he must do. Returning to the cottage, the narrator takes several days to search the house and finally finds what he is looking for: a steel box that contains “stolen skulls” (20). The narrator concludes that the “Trophies” (20) buried in the collapsed outhouse are the cause for the “Dark, inexplicable moods, nightmares, hallucinations – spirits, ghosts, demons” that “would have plagued anyone who attempted to remain in this strange, cursed region” (20). Once the narrator returns the remains to the burial cave, the inexplicable events cease and the once-strange house becomes an ideal home for a writer seeking peace in which to work. The colonial Gothic mode in New Zealand utilises the Gothic’s concern with a haunting past in order to associate that past with the primitive and barbaric. By rendering Maori culture in Gothic terms, such as in Maning’s blood-splattered scene of grieving or through the spooky discoveries of bone-strewn caves, colonial writing compares an “uncivilised” indigenous culture with the “civilised” culture of European settlement. For a contemporary writer wishing to produce a New Zealand supernatural horror, the colonial Gothic is a problematic tradition to work from, but Nicks’s story succeeds in utilising tropes associated with colonial writing in order to reverse its ideologies. “The House” represents European settlement in terms of barbarity by representing a brutal desecration of sacred ground, while indigenous culture is represented in positive, if frightening, terms of truth and power. Colonial Gothic’s tendency to associate indigenous culture with violence, barbarism and superstition is certainly replicated in Nicks’s story through the frightening object that attempts to devour the narrator and the macabre burial chests shaped like monsters, but ultimately it is colonial violence that is most overtly condemned, with the power inhabiting the burial cave being represented as ultimately benign, at least towards an intruder who means no harm. More significantly, there is no attempt in the story to explain events that seem outside the understanding of Western rationality. The story accepts as true what the narrator experiences. Nevertheless, in spite of the explicit engagement with the return of repressed crimes associated with colonisation, Nicks’s engagement with the mode of colonial Gothic means there is a replication of some of its underlying notions relating to settlement and belonging. The narrator of Nicks’s story is a contemporary New Zealander who is placed in the position of rectifying colonial crimes in order to take up residence in a site effectively cleansed of the sins of the past. Nicks’s narrator cannot happily inhabit the colonial cottage until the stolen remains are returned to their rightful place and it seems not to occur to him that a greater theft might underlie the smaller one. Returning the stolen skulls is represented as a reasonable action in “The House”, and it is a way for the narrator to establish what Linda Hardy refers to as “natural occupancy,” but the notion of returning a house and land that might also be termed stolen is never entertained, although the story’s final sentence does imply the need for the continuing placation of the powerful indigenous forces that inhabit the land: “To make sure that things stay [peaceful] I think I may just keep this story to myself” (20). The fact that the narrator has not kept the story to himself suggests that his untroubled occupation of the colonial cottage is far more tenuous than he might have hoped. References Ballantyne, David. Sydney Bridge Upside Down. Melbourne: Text, 2010. Bannister, Bronwyn. Haunt. Dunedin: University of Otago Press, 2000. Calder, Alex. “F. E. Maning 1811–1883.” Kotare 7. 2 (2008): 5–18. Chapman, R. H. Mihawhenua: The Adventures of a Party of Tourists Amongst a Tribe of Maoris Discovered in Western Otago. Dunedin: J. Wilkie, 1888. Cresswell-Moorcock, Alyson. “Never Go Tramping Along.” Antipodean Tales: Stories from the Dark Side. Ed. Stephen Cain. Wellington: IPL Books, 1996: 63-71. Evans, Patrick. The Long Forgetting: Postcolonial Literary Culture in New Zealand. Christchurch: Canterbury University Press, 2007. Fagan, D. W. O. Tapu and Other Tales of Old New Zealand. Wellington: A. H. & A. W. Reed, 1952. Gee, Maurice. The Fire-Raiser. Auckland: Penguin, 1986. Gunn, Kirsty. Rain. New York: Grove Press, 1994. Hardy, Linda. “Natural Occupancy.” Meridian 14.2 (October 1995): 213-25. Jones, Timothy. The Gothic as a Practice: Gothic Studies, Genre and the Twentieth Century Gothic. PhD thesis. Wellington: Victoria University, 2010. King, Edmund G. C. “Towards a Prehistory of the Gothic Mode in Nineteenth-Century Zealand Writing,” Journal of New Zealand Literature 28.2 (2010): 35-57. “Kiwi Gothic.” Massey (Nov. 2001). 8 Mar. 2014 ‹http://www.massey.ac.nz/~wwpubafs/magazine/2001_Nov/stories/gothic.html›. Maning, F. E. Old New Zealand and Other Writings. Ed. Alex Calder. London: Leicester University Press, 2001. Marriott Watson, H. B. The Web of the Spider: A Tale of Adventure. London: Hutchinson, 1891. Nicks, Oliver. “The House.” Antipodean Tales: Stories from the Dark Side. Ed. Stephen Cain. Wellington: IPL Books, 1996: 8-20. Rendle, Steve. “Entertaining Trip to the Dark Side.” Rev. of Antipodean Tales: Stories from the Dark Side, ed. Stephen Cain. The Evening Post. 17 Jan. 1997: 5. Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Ed. Patrick Nobes. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995. Steer, Philip. “History (Never) Repeats: Pakeha Identity, Novels and the New Zealand Wars.” Journal of New Zealand Literature 25 (2007): 114-37. Virtue, Noel. The Redemption of Elsdon Bird. New York: Grove Press, 1987. Walpole, Horace. The Castle of Otranto. London: Penguin, 2010. Wevers, Lydia. “The Short Story.” The Oxford History of New Zealand Literature in English. Ed. Terry Sturm. Auckland: Oxford University Press, 1991: 203–70.

PurposeThis paper aims to examine the actions of public sector accountants in the New Zealand government departments as they respond to the demands of the Central Treasury.Design/methodology/approachThe analysis is developed through an understanding of the secondary literature and practical experience of the first author who worked in the New Zealand public sector as a public sector accountant from 1972 to 1998. Both authors have remained active in the public sector through research and practice. The first author's last three placements were being Director Financial Management in the Ministry of Energy, Assistant Secretary in the Department of Maori Affairs and finally as CFO at the Ministry of Education. The first author has been a close observer of the Budget and was a participant at the departmental level for over 20 years.FindingsThe public sector reforms have posed challenges for public sector accountants. The arrival of accrual output based budgeting shaped a reconfiguration of accountants' identities. The politicians made public sector accountants the central entity of accrual output based budgeting and thus responsible for increasing public sector efficiency.Research limitations/implicationsThe research is limited to public sector in New Zealand only.Practical implicationsThis study would be of use to practitioners interested in the pressures and opportunities which arise out of a particular constellation of administrative roles.Social implicationsThe administrative history, in particular, by senior officers is often unwritten for the public sector offices.Originality/valueThis is a descriptive piece on the role of public sector accountants and contributes to the understanding of how financial accountability works within the New Zealand Central Government.

Reviewing Melissa Lucashenko’s Mullumbimby (2013), Eve Vincent notes that it shares with Keri Hulme’s The Bone People (1984) one significant feature: “a glossary of Indigenous words.” Working with various forms of the term “abroad”, this article surveys the debate The Bone People ignited around the relative merits of such a glossary in texts written predominantly in English, the colonizing language. At stake here is the development of a post-colonial community that incorporates Indigenous identity and otherness (Maori or Aboriginal) with the historical legacy of the English/Indigenous-language multi-lingualism of multi-cultural Australia and New Zealand. I argue that the terms of this debate have remained static since 1984 and that this creates a problem for post-colonial theory. Specifically, the debate has favoured a binary either/or approach, whereby either the Indigenous language or English has been empowered with authority over the text’s linguistic, historical, cultural and political territory. Given that the significations of “abroad” include a travelling encounter with overseas places and the notion of being widely scattered or dispersed, the term has value for an investigation into how post-colonialism as a historical circumstance is mediated and transformed within literature. Post-colonial literature is a response to the “homeland” encounter with a foreign “abroad” that creates particular wide scatterings or dispersals of writing within literary texts.In 1989, Maryanne Dever wrote that “some critics have viewed [The Bone People’s] glossary as a direct denial of otherness. … It can be argued, however, that the glossary is in fact a further way of asserting that otherness” (24). Dever is responding to Simon During, who wrote in 1985 that “by translating the Maori words into English [the glossary allows] them no otherness within its Europeanising apparatus” (During 374). Dever continues: “[The glossary] is a considered statement of the very separateness of the Maori language. In this way, the text inverts the conventional sense of privileging, the glossary forming the key into a restricted or privileged form of knowledge” (24). Dever’s language is telling: “direct denial of otherness,” “asserting that otherness,” and “the very separateness of the Maori language,” reinforce a binary way of thinking that is reproduced by Vincent in 2013 (24).This binary hinders a considered engagement with post-colonial difference because it produces hierarchal outcomes. For Toril Moi, “binary oppositions are heavily imbricated in the patriarchal value system: each opposition can be analysed as a hierarchy where the ‘feminine’ side is always seen as the negative, powerless instance” (104). Inspired by Elizabeth M. DeLoughrey’s concept of “tidalectics”, my article argues that the neologism “glossary islands” provides a more productive way of thinking about the power relations of the relationship of glossaries of Indigenous words to Hulme’s and Lucashenko’s mainly English-language, post-colonial novels. Resisting a binary either/or approach, “glossary islands” engages with the inevitable intermingling of languages of post-colonial and multi-cultural nations and holds value for a new methodological approach to the glossary as an element of post-colonial (islandic) literature.Both The Bone People and Mullumbimby employ female protagonists (Kerewin Holmes and Jo Breen respectively) to explore how family issues resolve into an assertion of place-based community for people othered by enduring colonial forces. Difficult loves and difficult children provide opportunities for tension and uneasy resolution in each text. In Hulme’s novel, Kerewin resists the romantic advances of Joe Gillayley to the end, without ever entirely rejecting him. Similarly, in Mullumbimby, Jo and Twoboy Jackson conduct a vacillating relationship, though one that ultimately steadies. The Bone People tells of an autistic child, Simon P. Gillayley, while Mullumbimby thematises a difficult mother-daughter relationship in its narration of single-mother Jo’s struggles with Ellen. Furthermore, employing realist and magic realist techniques, both novels present family and love as allegories of post-colonial community, thereby exemplifying Stephen Slemon’s thesis that “the real social relations of post-colonial cultures appear, through the mediation of the text’s language of narration, in the thematic dimension of the post-colonial magic realist work” (12).Each text also shows how post-colonial literature always engages with the “abroad” by virtue of the post-colonial relationship of the indigenous “homeland” to the colonial “imported abroad”. DeLoughrey characterises this post-colonial relationship to the “abroad” by a “homeland” as a “tidalectics”, meaning “a dynamic and shifting relationship between land and sea that allows island literatures to be engaged in their spatial and historical complexity” (2-3). The Bone People and Mullumbimby are examples of island literatures for their geographic setting. But DeLoughrey does not compress “tidalectics” to such a reductionist definition. The term itself is as “dynamic and shifting” as what it signifies, and available for diverse post-colonial redeployments (DeLoughrey 2).The margin of land and sea that DeLoughrey foregrounds as constitutive of “tidalectics” is imaginatively re-expressed in both The Bone People and Mullumbimby. Lucashenko’s novel is set in the Byron Bay hinterland, and the text is replete with teasing references to “tidalectics”. For example, “Jo knew that the water she watched was endlessly cycling upriver and down, travelling constantly between the saltwater and the fresh” (Lucashenko 260-61). The writing, however, frequently exceeds a literal “tidalectics”: “Everything in the world was shapeshifting around her, every moment of every day. Nothing remained as it was” (Lucashenko 261).Significantly, Jo is no passive figure at the centre of such “shapeshifting”. She actively takes advantage of the “dynamic and shifting” interplay between elemental presences of her geographical circumstances (DeLoughrey 2). It is while “resting her back against the granite and bronze directional marker that was the last material evidence of humanity between Ocean Shores and New Zealand,” that Jo achieves her major epiphany as a character (Lucashenko 261). “Her eyelids sagged wearily. … Jo groaned aloud, exhausted by her ignorance and the unending demands being made on her to exceed it. The temptation to fall asleep in the sun, and leave these demands far behind, began to take her over. … No. We need answers” (Lucashenko 263). The “tidalectics” of her epiphany is telling: the “silence then splintered” (262) and “momentarily the wrens became, not birds, but mere dark movement” (263). The effect is dramatic: “The hairs on Jo’s arms goosepimpled. Her breathing grew fast” (263). “With an unspoken curse for her own obtuseness”, Jo becomes freshly decisive (264). Thus, a “tidalectics” is not a mere geographic backdrop. Rather, a “dynamic and shifting” landscape—a metamorphosis—energizes Jo’s identity in Mullumbimby. In the “homeland”/“abroad” flux of “tidalectics”, post-colonial community germinates.The geography of The Bone People is also a “tidalectics”, as demonstrated, for instance, by chapter five’s title: “Spring Tide, Neap Tide, Ebb Tide, Flood” (Hulme 202). Hulme’s novel contains literally hundreds of such passages that dramatise the margin of land and sea as “dynamic and shifting” (DeLoughrey 2). Again: “She’s standing on the orangegold shingle, arms akimbo, drinking the beach in, absorbing sea and spindrift, breathing it into her dusty memory. It’s all here, alive and salt and roaring and real. The vast cold ocean and the surf breaking five yards away and the warm knowledge of home just up the shore” (163). Like the protagonist of Mullumbimby, Kerewin Holmes is an energised subject at the margin of land and sea. Geography as “tidalectics” is activated in the construction of character identity. Kerewin involves her surroundings with her sense of self, as constituted through memory, in a fashion that enfolds the literal with the metaphorical: memory is “dusty” in the midst of “vast” waters (163).Thus, at least three senses of “abroad” filter through these novels. Firstly, the “abroad” exists in the sense of an abroad-colonizing power retaining influence even in post-colonial times, as elaborated in Simon During’s distinction between the “post-colonised” and the “post-colonisers” (Simon 460). Secondly, the “abroad” reveals itself in DeLoughrey’s related conceptualisation of “tidalectics” as a specific expression of the “abroad”/“homeland” relationship. Thirdly, the “abroad” is present by virtue of the more general definition it shares with “tidalectics”; for “abroad”, like “tidalectics”, also signifies being widely scattered, at large, ranging freely. There is both denotation and connotation in “tidalectics”, which Lucashenko expresses here: “the world was nothing but water in the air and water in the streams” (82). That is, beyond any “literal littoral” geography, “abroad” is linked to “tidalectics” in this more general sense of being widely scattered, dispersed, ranging freely.The “tidalectics” of Lucashenko’s and Hulme’s novels is also shared across their form because each novel is a complex interweaving of English and the Indigenous language. Here though, we encounter a clear difference between the two novels, which seems related to the predominant genres of the respective texts. In Lucashenko’s largely realist mode of writing, the use of Indigenous words is more transparent to a monolingual English speaker than is Hulme’s use of Maori in her novel, which tends more towards magic realism. A monolingual English speaker can often translate Lucashenko almost automatically, through context, or through an in-text translation of the words worked into the prose. With Hulme, context usually withholds adequate clues to the meaning of the Maori words, nor are any in-text translations of the Maori commonly offered.Leaving aside for now any consideration of their glossaries, each novel presents a different representation of the post-colonial/“abroad” relationship of an Indigenous language to English. Mullumbimby is the more conservative text in this respect. The note prefacing Mullumbimby’s Glossary reads: “In this novel, Jo speaks a mixture of Bundjalung and Yugambeh languages, interspersed with a variety of Aboriginal English terms” (283). However, the Indigenous words often shade quite seamlessly into their English translation, and the “Aboriginal English” Jo speaks is actually not that different from standard English dialogue as found in many contemporary Australian novels. If anything, there is only a slight, distinguishing American flavour to Jo’s dialogue. In Mullumbimby, the Indigenous tongue tends to disappear into the text’s dominant language: English.By contrast, The Bone People contains many instances where Maori presents in all its bold strangeness to a monolingual English speaker. My reading experience consisted in running my eyes over the words but not really taking them in, except insofar as they represented a portion of Maori of unknown meaning. I could look up the recondite English words (of which there were many) in my dictionary or online, but it was much harder to conveniently source definitions of the Maori words, especially when they formed larger syntactic units.The situation is reversed, however, when one considers the two glossaries. Mullumbimby’s glossary asserts the difference of the Indigenous language(s) by having no page numbers alongside its Indigenous words (contrast The Bone People’s glossary) and because, despite being titled Glossary as a self-sufficient part of the book, it is not mentioned in any Contents page. One comes across Lucashenko’s glossary, at the end of her novel, quite unexpectedly. Conversely, Hulme’s glossary is clearly referenced on its Contents page, where it is directly described as a “Translation of Maori Words and Phrases” commencing on page 446. Hulme’s glossary appears predictably, and contains page references to all its Maori words or phrases. This contrasts with Lucashenko’s glossary, which follows alphabetical order, rather than the novel’s order. Mullumbimby’s glossary is thus a more assertive textual element than The Bone People’s glossary, which from the Contents page on is more homogenised with the prevailing English text.Surely the various complexities of these two glossaries show the need for a better way of critically engaging with them that does not lead to the re-accentuation of the binary terms in which the scholarly discussion about their genre has been couched so far. Such a methodology needs to be sensitive to the different forms of these glossaries and of others like them in other texts. But some terminological minesweeping is required in order to develop this methodology, for a novel and a glossary are different textual forms and should not be compared like for like. A novel is a work of the imagination in fictional form whereas a glossary is a meta-text that, according to The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, comprises “a list with explanations, often accompanying a text, of abstruse, obsolete, dialectal, or technical terms.” The failure to take this difference substantially into account explains why the debate around Hulme’s and Lucashenko’s glossaries as instruments of post-colonial language relationships has defaulted, thus far, to a binary approach insensitive to the complexities of linguistic relations in post-colonial and multi-cultural nations. Ignoring the formal difference between novel and glossary patronises a reading that proceeds by reference to binary opposition, and thus hierarchy.By contrast, my approach is to read these glossaries as texts that can be read and interpreted as one might read and interpret the novels they adjoin, and also with close attention to the architecture of their relationship to the novels they accompany. This close reading methodology enables attention to the differences amongst glossaries, as much as to the differences between them and the texts they gloss. One consequence of this is that, as I have shown above, a text might be conservative so far as its novel segment is concerned, yet radical so far as its glossary is concerned (Mullumbimby), or vice versa (The Bone People).To recap, “tidalectics” provides a way of engaging with the post-colonial/“abroad” (linguistic) complexities of island nations and literatures. It denotes “a dynamic and shifting relationship between land and sea that allows island literatures to be engaged in their spatial and historical complexity” (DeLoughrey 2-3). The methodological challenge for my article is to show how “tidalectics” is useful to a consideration of that sub-genre of post-colonial novels containing glossaries. Elizabeth M. DeLoughrey’s unpacking of “tidalectics” considers not just islands but also the colonial relationships of (archetypally mainland European) colonial forces to islands. Referring to the popularity of “desert-island stories” (12), DeLoughrey notes how “Since the colonial expansion of Europe, its literature has increasingly inscribed the island as a reflection of various political, sociological, and colonial practices” (13). Further, “European inscriptions of island topoi have often upheld imperial logic and must be recognized as ideological tools that helped make colonial expansion possible” (13). DeLoughrey also underscores the characteristics of such “desert-island stories” (12), including how accidental colonization of “a desert isle has been a powerful and repeated trope of empire building and of British literature of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries” (13). Shipwrecks are the most common narrative device of such “accidents”.Drawing on the broad continuum of the several significations of “abroad”, one can draw a parallel between the novel-glossary relationship and the mainland-island relationship DeLoughrey outlines. I recall here Stephen Slemon’s suggestion that “the real social relations of post-colonial cultures appear, through the mediation of the text’s language of narration, in the thematic dimension of the post-colonial magic realist work” (12). Adapting Slemon’s approach, one might read the formal (as opposed to thematic) dimension of the glossary in a post-colonial narrative like The Bone People or Mullumbimby as another literary appearance of “the real social relations of post-colonial cultures” (Slemon 12). What’s appearing is the figure of the island in the form of the glossary: hence, my neologism “glossary islands”. These novels are thus not only examples of island novels to be read via “tidalectics”, but of novels with their own islands appended to them, as glossaries, in the “abroad” of their textuality.Thus, rather than seeing a glossary in a binary either/or way as a sign of the (artificial) supremacy of either English or the Indigenous language, one could use the notion of “glossary islands” to more fully engage with the complexities of post-colonialism as expressed in literature. Seen in this light, a glossary (as to The Bone People or Mullumbimby) can be read as an “abroad” through which the novel circulates its own ideas or inventions of post-colonial community. In this view, islands and glossaries are linked through being intensified sites of knowledge, as described by DeLoughrey. Crucially, the entire, complex, novel-glossary relationship needs to be analysed, and it is possible (though space considerations mediate against pursuing this here) that a post-colonial novel’s glossary expresses the (Freudian) unconscious knowledge of the novel itself.Clearly then, there is a deep irony in how what Simon During calls the “Europeanising apparatus” of the glossary itself becomes, in Mullumbimby, an object of colonisation (During 374). (Recall how one comes across the glossary at the end of Lucashenko’s novel unexpectedly—accidentally—as a European might be cast up upon a desert island.) I hazard the suggestion that a post-colonial novel is more radical in its post-colonial politics the more “island-like” its glossary is, because this implies that the “glossary island” is being used to better work out the nature of post-colonial community as expressed and proposed in the novel itself. Here then, again, the seemingly more radical novel linguistically, The Bone People, seems in fact to be less radical than Mullumbimby, given the latter’s more “island-like” glossary. Certainly their prospects for post-colonial community are being worked out on different levels.Working with the various significations of “abroad” that span the macro level of historical circumstances and the micro levels of post-colonial literature, this article has introduced a new methodological approach to engaging with Indigenous language glossaries at the end of post-colonial texts written largely in English. This methodology responds to the need to go beyond the binary either/or approach that has characterised the debate in this patch of post-colonial studies so far. A binary view of language relations, I suggest, is debilitating to prospects for post-colonial community in post-colonial, multi-cultural and island nations like Australia and New Zealand, where language flows are multifarious and complex. My proposed methodology, as highlighted in the neologism “glossary islands”, seems to show promise for the (re-)interpretation of Mullumbimby and The Bone People as texts that deal, albeit in different ways, with similar issues of language relations and of community. An “abroad” methodology provides a powerful infrastructure for engagement with domains such as post-colonialism that, as Stephen Slemon indicates, involve the intensive intermingling of the largest geo-historical circumstances with the detail, even minutiae, of the textual expression of those circumstances, as in literature.ReferencesDeLoughrey, Elizabeth M. Routes and Roots: Navigating Caribbean and Pacific Island Literatures. Honolulu: U of Hawai’i P, 2007.Dever, Maryanne. “Violence as Lingua Franca: Keri Hulme’s The Bone People.” World Literature Written in English 29.2 (1989): 23-35.During, Simon. “Postmodernism or Postcolonialism?” Landfall 39.3 (1985): 366-80.———. “Postmodernism or Post-Colonialism Today.” Postmodernism: A Reader. Ed. Thomas Docherty. New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1993. 448-62.Hulme, Keri. The Bone People. London: Pan-Picador, 1986.Lucashenko, Melissa. Mullumbimby. St Lucia, Queensland: U of Queensland P, 2013.Moi, Toril. Sexual/Textual Politics: Feminist Literary Theory. London: Routledge, 1985.Slemon, Stephen. “Magic Realism as Post-Colonial Discourse.” Canadian Literature 116 (Spring 1988): 9-24.The New Shorter Oxford English Dictionary. Ed. Lesley Brown. Oxford: Clarendon P, 1993.Vincent, Eve. “Country Matters.” Sydney Review of Books. Sydney: The Writing and Society Research Centre at the University of Western Sydney, 2013. 8 Aug. 2016 <http://sydneyreviewofbooks.com/country-matters/>.

In a field of study as well-established as the Gothic, it is surprising how much contention there is over precisely what that term refers to. Is Gothic a genre, for example, or a mode? Should it be only applicable to literary and film texts that deal with tropes of haunting and trauma set in a gloomy atmosphere, or might it meaningfully be applied to other cultural forms of production, such as music or animation? Can television shows aimed at children be considered Gothic? What about food? When is something “Gothic” and when is it “horror”? Is there even a difference? The Gothic as a phenomenon is commonly identified as beginning with Horace Walpole’s novel The Castle of Otranto (1764), which was followed by Clara Reeve’s The Old English Baron (1778), the romances of Ann Radcliffe and Matthew Lewis’ The Monk (1796). Nineteenth-century Gothic literature was characterised by “penny dreadfuls” and novels such as Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818) and Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897). Frequently dismissed as sensational and escapist, the Gothic has experienced a critical revival in recent decades, beginning with the feminist revisionism of the 1970s by critics such as Ellen Moers, Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar. With the appearance of studies such as David Punter’s The Literature of Terror (1980), Gothic literature became a reputable field of scholarly research, with critics identifying suburban Gothic, imperial Gothic, postcolonial Gothic and numerous national Gothics, including Irish Gothic and the Gothic of the American South. Furthermore, as this special edition on Gothic shows, the Gothic is by no means limited to literature, with film, television, animation and music all partaking of the Gothic inflection. Indeed, it would be unwise to negate the ways in which the Gothic has developed to find fertile ground beyond the bounds of literature. In our media-centred twenty-first century, the Gothic has colonised different forms of expression, where the impact left by literary works, that were historically the centre of the Gothic itself, is all but a legacy. Film, in particular, has a close connection to the Gothic, where the works of, for instance, Tim Burton, have shown the representative potential of the Gothic mode; the visual medium of film, of course, has a certain experiential immediacy that marries successfully with the dark aesthetics of the Gothic, and its connections to representing cultural anxieties and desires (Botting). The analysis of Gothic cinema, in its various and extremely international incarnations, has now established itself as a distinct area of academic research, where prominent Gothic scholars such as Ken Gelder—with the recent publication of his New Vampire Cinema (2012)—continue to lead the way to advance Gothic scholarship outside of the traditional bounds of the literary.As far as cinema is concerned, one cannot negate the interconnections, both aesthetic and conceptual, between traditional Gothic representation and horror. Jerrold Hogle has clearly identified the mutation and transformation of the Gothic from a narrative solely based on “terror”, to one that incorporates elements of “horror” (Hogle 3). While the separation between the two has a long-standing history—and there is no denying that both the aesthetics and the politics of horror and the Gothic can be fundamentally different—one has to be attuned to the fact that, in our contemporary moment, the two often tend to merge and intersect, often forming hybrid visions of the Gothic, with cinematic examples such as Guillermo Del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) playing testament to this. Indeed, the newly formed representations of “Gothic Horror” and “Gothic Terror” alerts us to the mutable and malleable nature of the Gothic itself, an adaptable mode that is always contextually based. Film is not, however, the only non-literary medium that has incorporated elements of the Gothic over the years. Other visual representations of the Gothic abound in the worlds of television, animation, comics and graphic novels. One must only think here of the multiple examples of recent television series that have found fruitful connections with both the psychologically haunting aspects of Gothic terror, and the gory and grisly visual evocations of Gothic horror: the list is long and diverse, and includes Dexter (2006-2013), Hannibal (2013-), and Penny Dreadful (2014-), to mention but a few. The animation front —in its multiple in carnations —has similarly been entangled with Gothic tropes and concerns, a valid interconnection that is visible both in cinematic and television examples, from The Corpse Bride (2005) to Coraline (2009) and Frankenweeinie (2012). Comics and graphics also have a long-standing tradition of exploiting the dark aesthetics of the Gothic mode, and its sensationalist connections to horror; the instances from this list pervade the contemporary media scope, and feature the inclusion of Gothicised ambiences and characters in both singular graphic novels and continuous comics —such as the famous Arkham Asylum (1989) in the ever-popular Batman franchise. The inclusion of these multi-media examples here is only representative, and it is an almost prosaic accent in a list of Gothicised media that extends to great bounds, and also includes the worlds of games and music. The scholarship, for its part, has not failed to pick up on the transformations and metamorphoses that the Gothic mode has undergone in recent years. The place of both Gothic horror and Gothic terror in a multi-media context has been critically evaluated in detail, and continues to attract academic attention, as the development of the multi-genre and multi-medium journey of the Gothic unfolds. Indeed, this emphasis is now so widespread that a certain canonicity has developed for the study of the Gothic in media such as television, extending the reach of Gothic Studies into the wider popular culture scope. Critical texts that have recently focused on identifying the Gothic in media beyond not only literature, but also film, include Helen Wheatley’s Gothic Television (2007), John C. Tibbetts’ The Gothic Imagination: Conversation of Fantasy, Horror, and Science Fiction in the Media (2011), and Julia Round’s Gothic in Comics and Graphic Novels (2014). Critics often suggest that the Gothic returns at moments of particular cultural crisis, and if this is true, it seems as if we are in such a moment ourselves. Popular television shows such as True Blood and The Walking Dead, books such as the Twilight series, and the death-obsessed musical stylings of Lana Del Ray all point to the pertinence of the Gothic in contemporary culture, as does the amount of submissions received for this edition of M/C Journal, which explore a wide range of Gothic texts. Timothy Jones’ featured essay “The Black Mass as Play: Dennis Wheatley’s The Devil Rides Out” suggests that although scholarly approaches to the Gothic tend to adopt the methodologies used to approach literary texts and applied them to Gothic texts, yielding readings that are more-or-less congruous with readings of other sorts of literature, the Gothic can be considered as something that tells us about more than simply ourselves and the world we live in. For Jones, the fact that the Gothic is a production of popular culture as much as “highbrow” literature suggests there is something else happening with the way popular Gothic texts function. What if, Jones asks, the popular Gothic were not a type of work, but a kind of play? Jones uses this approach to suggest that texts such as Wheatley’s The Devil Rides Out might direct readers not primarily towards the real, but away from it, at least for a time. Wheatley’s novel is explored by Jones as a venue for readerly play, apart from the more substantial and “serious” concerns that occupy most literary criticism. Samantha Jane Lindop’s essay foregrounds the debt David Lynch’s film Mulholland Drive owes to J. Sheridan le Fanu’s Carmilla (1872) thus adding to studies of the film that have noted Lynch’s intertextual references to classic cinema such as Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard (1950), Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958) and Ingmar Bergman’s Persona (1966). Lindop explores not just the striking similarity between Carmilla and Mulholland Drive in terms of character and plot, but also the way that each text is profoundly concerned with the uncanny. Lorna Piatti-Farnell’s contribution, “What’s Hidden in Gravity Falls: Strange Creatures and the Gothic Intertext” is similarly interested in the intertextuality of the Gothic mode, noting that since its inception this has taken many and varied incarnations, from simple references and allusions to more complicated uses of style and plot organisation. Piatti-Farnell suggests it is unwise to reduce the Gothic text to a simple master narrative, but that within its re-elaborations and re-interpretations, interconnections do appear, forming “the Gothic intertext”. While the Gothic has traditionally found fertile ground in works of literature, other contemporary media, such as animation, have offered the Gothic an opportunity for growth and adaptation. Alex Hirsch’s Gravity Falls is explored by Piatti-Farnell as a visual text providing an example of intersecting monstrous creatures and interconnected narrative structures that reveal the presence of a dense and intertextual Gothic network. Those interlacings are connected to the wider cultural framework and occupy an important part in unravelling the insidious aspects of human nature, from the difficulties of finding “oneself” to the loneliness of the everyday. Issues relating to identity also feature in Patrick Usmar’s “Born To Die: Lana Del Rey, Beauty Queen or Gothic Princess?”, which further highlights the presence of the Gothic in a wide range of contemporary media forms. Usmar explores the music videos of Del Rey, which he describes as Pop Gothic, and that advance themes of consumer culture, gender identity, sexuality and the male gaze. Jen Craig’s “The Agitated Shell: Thinspiration and the Gothic Experience of Eating Disorders” similarly focuses on contemporary media and gender identity, problematising these issues by exploring the highly charged topic of “thinspiration” web sites. Hannah Irwin’s contribution also focuses on female experience. “Not of this earth: Jack the Ripper and the development of Gothic Whitechapel” focuses on the murder of five women who were the victims of an assailant commonly referred to by the epithet “Jack the Ripper”. Irwin discusses how Whitechapel developed as a Gothic location through the body of literature devoted to the Whitechapel murders of 1888, known as “Ripperature”. The subject of the Gothic space is also taken up by Donna Brien’s “Forging Continuing Bonds from the Dead to the Living: Gothic Commemorative Practices along Australia’s Leichhardt Highway.” This essay explores the memorials along Leichhardt’s highway as Gothic practice, in order to illuminate some of the uncanny paradoxes around public memorials, as well as the loaded emotional terrain such commemorative practices may inhabit. Furthering our understanding of the Australian Gothic is Patrick West’s contribution “Towards a Politics & Art of the Land: Gothic Cinema of the Australian New Wave and its Reception by American Film Critics.” West argues that many films of the Australian New Wave of the 1970s and 1980s can be defined as Gothic and that international reviews of such films tended to overlook the importance of the Australian landscape, which functions less as a backdrop and more as a participating element, even a character, in the drama, saturating the mise-en-scène. Bruno Starrs’ “Writing My Indigenous Vampires: Aboriginal Gothic or Aboriginal Fantastic” is dedicated to illuminating a new genre of creative writing: that of the “Aboriginal Fantastic”. Starrs’ novel That Blackfella Bloodsucka Dance! is part of this emerging genre of writing that is worthy of further academic interrogation. Similarly concerned with the supernatural, Erin Mercer’s contribution “‘A Deluge of Shrieking Unreason’: Supernaturalism and Settlement in New Zealand Gothic Fiction” explores the absence of ghosts and vampires in contemporary Gothic produced in New Zealand, arguing that this is largely a result of a colonial Gothic tradition utilising Maori ghosts that complicates the processes through which contemporary writers might build on that tradition. Although there is no reason why the Gothic must include supernatural elements, it is an enduring feature that is taken up by Jessica Balanzategui in “‘You Have a Secret that You Don’t Want To Tell Me’: The Child as Trauma in Spanish and American Horror Film.” This essay explores the uncanny child character and how such children act as an embodiment of trauma. Sarah Baker’s “The Walking Dead and Gothic Excess: The Decaying Social Structures of Contagion” focuses on the figure of the zombie as it appears in the television show The Walking Dead, which Baker argues is a way of exploring themes of decay, particularly of family and society. The essays contained in this special Gothic edition of M/C Journal highlight the continuing importance of the Gothic mode in contemporary culture and how that mode is constantly evolving into new forms and manifestations. The multi-faceted nature of the Gothic in our contemporary popular culture moment is accurately signalled by the various media on which the essays focus, from television to literature, animation, music, and film. The place occupied by the Gothic beyond representational forms, and into the realms of cultural practice, is also signalled, an important shift within the bounds of Gothic Studies which is bound to initiate fascinating debates. The transformations of the Gothic in media and culture are, therefore, also surveyed, so to continue the ongoing critical conversation on not only the place of the Gothic in contemporary narratives, but also its duplicitous, malleable, and often slippery nature. It is our hope that the essays here stimulate further discussion about the Gothic and we will hope, and look forward, to hearing from you. References Botting, Fred. Gothic: The New Critical Idiom. 2nd edition. Abingdon, UK: Routledge, 2014. Hogle, Jerrold. “Introduction: The Gothic in Western Culture”. The Cambridge Companion of Gothic Fiction, ed. Jerrold Hogle. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. 1-20.