Journal articles on the topic 'Pierre massive'

Among major European festivals, the Lucerne Festival is outstanding in the attention it pays to contemporary music. The latest manifestation of this is the founding of an annual Lucerne Festival Academy for young professional players, specializing in the music of the 20th and 21st centuries, under the leadership of Ensemble Intercontemporain and the indefatigable Pierre Boulez. Nor is this is on the modest scale of a ‘young Sinfonietta’: its final concert, conducted by Boulez, began with Harrison Birtwistle's massive Earth Dances.

When Bill Hopkins died of a massive heart attack in March 1981, at the age of 37, the loss was immense, not only for his family and friends, but also for the music world at large. Those who have actually listened to his music (they are fewer than one would suppose) have judged that his potential was huge, one commentator being ‘sure he would have become a considerable force, comparable perhaps with Pierre Boulez’. However, rather than a dismissal of his work as promise unfulfilled, more appropriate would be a celebration of the startling achievement his completed works in fact represent – as I hope this article, and further performances, will demonstrate.

ABSTRACT Drilling in the floor of the Bélanger sand pit (Ontario) near Pointe-Fortune, Québec, added 3 stratigraphic units to those already exposed in the pit: a lowermost till, and an intermediate organic-bearing (?) sand-clay unit overlain by a massive lacustrine clay. The subsurface units, comprising about 70% of the stratigraphy, complete the Quaternary sequence exposed in the pit face : an organic-bearing silty sand (>40 000 years BP) unit truncated by an unfos-siliferous sand unit and overlain by the uppermost till. The overall sequence forms a continuous 18 m column of Quaternary sediments. The Pointe-Fortune sequence shows some similarities with the Trois-Rivières Quaternary series which includes the Saint-Pierre sediments >75 000 years old. In addition to stratigraphie information the combination of direct (drilling) and indirect (geophysical) methods of investigation by providing a three-dimensional picture of the subsurface has proved helpful in interpreting the stratigraphy. The geotechnical properties of a massive overconsolidated clay have been determined to facilitate the planning of future subsurface investigation.

This article focuses on second-language learning and “linguicide” in Upper Canada between 1843 and 1877. From the small group of Jesuits that made up the ranks of the Society of Jesus’ new missions to Canada in the post-suppression era, it was Jean Pierre Choné, Joseph Hanipaux, Nicholas Frémiot, and Dominique du Ranquet, August Kohler, Nicolas Point, and Joseph Jennesseaux that first learned Algonquin languages in order to proselytize to the Northern Ojibwa populations at the Upper Canada. The Upper Canada mission, led by superior Pierre Chazelle, re-established some of the Society of Jesus’ older Aboriginal missions, and expanded their evangelical territory north and west along Lake Huron and Lake Superior. Important stations were built among the Ojibwa at Wikwemikong on Manitoulin Island in 1844, in Sault Sainte Marie in 1846, and along the Pigeon and Kamanistikwa Rivers, near Fort William, in 1848. This paper examines why the new Jesuits were motivated to learn the languages spoken at their Aboriginal missions in the nineteenth century and simultaneously investigates how the massive and unexpected psychological challenges of the 1800s, including anti-Catholicism, British rule, mass immigration, and formidable industrial development in Upper Canada, supported or discouraged the Jesuits’ language acquisition.

If nineteenth-century aesthetics distinguish between distinct, colourful French instrumentation and doubled, equalised German orchestration, this distinction softens when the ‘New German’ orchestration of Wagner and Strauss exploits individual instrumental colours before dissolving them into massive orchestral sonorities. Similarly, if early French electroacoustic music counteracts the meta-serialism of early twentieth-century German electronic music, Pierre Schaeffer's Traité des objets musicaux combines his early anecdotal Noise Studies with a noise-reduction process into a new, rather German aesthetic of electroacoustics. In search of musical objects through a reductive, analytical listening (entendre), Schaeffer's neutralisation of anecdotal noises into musical objects is analogous to New German orchestration's neutralisation of individual orchestral colours in order to synthesise new orchestral combinations. Although this orchestral synthesis is different from the analytical probe for new valeurs involved in entendre, the separation of the noise from its residual signification are fundamental processes within both nineteenth-century orchestrational and twentieth-century electroacoustic musical aesthetics. If our current understanding of electronic music aligns Schaeffer and Pierre Henry wholly with modernity and its putatively radical and self-conscious break with Berlioz, Brahms and historical tradition, this article suggests that an essential underlying continuity in the French-instrumentation/German-orchestration binary persists even in the face of the decline of the musical and cultural traditions that created and sustained them.

This article highlights the psychosocial relevance of Erich Fromm’s concepts of ‘social character’ and ‘social change’ to broaden our understanding of the intergenerational traumatic legacy of neoliberalism. As part of this, it also reflects on the psychosocial significance of other related concepts ‐ namely Pierre Bourdieu’s ‘habitus’ and Raymond Williams’ ‘structures of feeling’ ‐ as ways to also acknowledge their significance when related to each other in emerging research on the neoliberal effects of changes in work and identities. This includes secondary analysis of my own earlier research on the psychosocial ramifications of the loss of stable work, changing worker-gendered identities, disrupted affect, community engagement and historical memory within a global context of insecure labour. This is all understood within a theoretical frame that stresses the emerging neoliberal forms of social character in the aftermath of the massive redundancies and unemployment experienced recently in post-industrial working-class communities in the UK.

Islam is by far the largest religion in Indonesia, and given the size of Indonesia’s population and the massive percentage of which follow identify as Muslim, Indonesia becomes the biggest Muslim majority country. In the light of this reality, Islam becomes the society’s dominant role of conduct. As to be predicted in such system, a social hierarchy has developed in which Indonesian Muslims enjoy the most privileges. Such a situation has created a fertile ground for the possible use of what Pierre Bourdieu’s call ‘symbolic violence’. As a consequence, there is a tendency for the minor group of Indonesian people to be marginalized. Sadly, this seems to be exacerbated by the rise of Islamic conservativism and radicalisation in post-1998 Indonesia. That says, their lack of capability in recognizing minority’s rights often leads to religious intolerance. Considerably, as to solve such a situation, widening perspective as well as strengthening inter-group and inter-religion dialogue is required.

AbstractA Mw 7.2 earthquake centred beneath the upper Laurentian Fan of the SW Newfoundland continental slope triggered a damaging turbidity current and tsunami on 18 November 1929. The turbidity current broke telecommunication cables, and the tsunami killed 28 people and caused major infrastructure damage along the south coast of Newfoundland. Both events are believed to have been derived from sediment mass failure as a result of the earthquake. This study aims to identify the volume and kinematics of the 1929 slope failure in order to understand the geohazard potential of this style of sediment failure. Ultra-high-resolution seismic reflection and multibeam swath bathymetry data are used to determine: (1) the dimension of the failure area; (2) the thickness and volume of failed sediment; (3) fault patterns and displacements; and (4) styles of sediment failure. The total failure area at St Pierre Slope is estimated to be 5200 km2, recognized by escarpments, debris fields and eroded zones on the seafloor. Escarpments are typically 20–100 m high, suggesting failed sediment consisted of this uppermost portion of the sediment column. Landslide deposits consist mostly of debris flows with evidence of translational, retrogressive sliding in deeper water (>1700 m) and evidence of instantaneous sediment failure along fault scarps in shallower water (730–1300 m). Two failure mechanisms therefore seem to be involved in the 1929 submarine landslide: faulting and translation. The main surficial sediment failure concentrated along the deep-water escarpments consisted of widely distributed, translational, retrogressive failure that liquefied to become a debris flow and rapidly evolved into a massive channelized turbidity current. Although most of the surficial failures occurred at these deeper head scarps, their deep-water location and retrogressive nature make them an unlikely main contributor to the tsunami generation. The localized fault scarps in shallower water are a more likely candidate for the generation of the tsunami, but further research is needed in order to address the characteristics of these fault scarps.

This article examines the figure of the Returned Yank in Irish popular culture to explain the contradiction between the Irish preoccupation with the figure of the emigrant who returns and the low number of emigrants who actually do return to their native land. The article argues that the Returned Yank is a lieu de mémoire or site of memory – a concept defined by French historian Pierre Nora as “any significant entity, whether material or non-material in nature, which by dint of human will or the work of time has become a symbolic element of the memorial heritage of any community” and used by scholars of African American and other cultures with particular concerns about memory and history. As a site of memory, the Irish Returned Yank allows the Irish to explore the meaning of massive population loss, the relationship with a diasporic population of overseas Irish, and tensions between urban and rural life. The article also suggests a relationship between Irish national identity and the Returned Yank.

Technological advances have made people switch into new media which marked by internet, smartphones, and digital platformsespecially social media. Currently, the massive development of social media has made organizations and government agencies begin to switch to using social media, especially Instagram for publication activities. This is also what the Public Relations Team of Direktorat Jenderal Perhubungan Laut does by utilizing Instagram to reach its target audience; gen z and millennials. This study uses a qualitative research approach with a case study method. There are three theories used, such as government public relations, generation z and millennials, and New Media Theory by Pierre Levy. Based on DJPL's Instagram analysis, it shows that Dirjan Perhubungan Laut prioritizes creative and interactive content production on Instagram, change the appearance of the Instagram account to be more relatable for younger audiences, improves the capabilities of the internal team, and forms an external community consisting of the younger generation so that it can attract their attentions to reach its target audience, specifically Gen Z and Millennials. Kemajuan teknologi yang kian pesat membuat manusia berpindah ke era media baru yang ditandai dengan adanya internet, ponsel pintar, dan kemunculan platform digital yaitu media sosial. Saat ini, perkembangnya media sosial yang masif membuat organisasi maupun instansi pemerintah mulai beralih menggunakan media sosial khususnya Instagram sebagai sarana publikasinya. Hal itu pula yang dilakukan oleh Humas Direktorat Jenderal Perhubungan Laut dengan memanfaatkan Instagram dalam menjangkau sasaran audiensnya, yaitu generasi z dan milenial. Penelitian ini menggunakan pendekatan penelitian kualitatif dengan metode studi kasus. Terdapat tiga teori konsep yang digunakan, yaitu humas pemerintah, generasi Z dan milenial, dan teori New Mediaoleh Pierre Levy. Berdasarkan analisis Instagram @djplkemenhub151, menunjukkan bahwa Instagram Direktorat Jenderal Perhubungan Laut mengutamakan produksi konten yang kreatif dan interaktif, merombak tampilan Instagramnya menjadi lebih kekinian agar terhubung dengan generasi muda, meningkatkan kemampuan tim internal, serta membentuk komunitas eksternal yang beranggotakan generasi muda agar dapat menarik perhatian sehingga dapat memperluas sasaran audiensnya yakni generasi Zdan milenial.

Edward W. Said’s Orientalism has long been celebrated for its ground-breaking analysis of the encounters between Western Orientalists and the Orient as a form of ‘othering’ representation. The success, undeniably, owes much to the use of Foucauldian discourse as a core methodology in Said’s theorisation of Orientalism which allows Said to refer to the massive corpus of Orientalist writings as a form of Orientalist discourse and a representation of the East. However, the roles of Orientalist authors tend to be reduced to mere textual labels in a greater Orientalist discourse, in spite of the fact that Said attempts to give more attention to the Orientalists’ biographical backgrounds. In this article, I argue that there is a need to review the question of agency that comes with Foucauldian discourse. By probing Said’s methodology, I investigate the problems raised by concepts such as “strategic formation,” “strategic location,” and the writers’ imprint. Borrowing Pierre Bourdieu’s sociology, I critique Said’s notion of ‘author’ by applying the question of objectivity/subjectivity raised by Bourdieu’s concepts such as “habitus” and “strategy,” and assess the possibility of shifting the emphasis on “texts” suggested by the use of Foucauldian discourse, to “actions” which are the main unit of study in Bourdieu’s sociology.

The account of bureaucracy under neoliberal capitalism which I present in this article under the innocuous heading it prefers to use to describe itself ('governance') draws together recent critical work by David Graeber, Wendy Brown, William Davies and Pierre Dardot and Christian Laval, which it repositions in relation to Jacques Rancière's conception of the 'police order'. The key claims of the new critique of bureaucracy thus delineated are: (i) that neoliberal capitalism's 'stealth revolution' (Brown) is primarily effected by way of a proliferation of bureaucracies; (ii) that these bureaucracies reconstruct the world as an array of 'overlapping competitions' (Davies); (iii) that competitive hierarchisation ('ranking') is the key bureaucratic form, or process, in each of these administrative fiefdoms. To this new critique I add a Derridean reflection on the longstanding mystical or metaphysical appeal of hierarchy and also argue that bureaucratic organisation is the mundane way in which an anti-democratic commitment to hierarchy becomes naturalised. To understand the continuity between the administrative and coercive dimensions of the police order of governance I draw on work in critical criminology on 'the new punitiveness' and scholarship from critical security studies which views security professionals as experts in the governmental management of '(in)security'. I suggest that the massive production of insecurity by proliferating bureaucracies which structure neoliberalism's project of competitive hierarchisation creates the ideal conditions for a vicious circle of securitarian inflation.

The tumulus „Movila cu pietre” („The Tell with Stones”) in Poiana (Nicorești municipality, Galaţi county, România) has been partially studied between 27-31st August 1928 by Ecaterina Vulpe. The central grave was robbed. Very few materials were discovered: a few fragments of local ceramics and a few fragments of amphorae, as well as a strongly profiled fibula. Ecaterina Vulpe’s detailed drawings allowed the graphical reconstruction of the tumulus. It is highly probable that the mass of stones identified in the southern and in the northern part of the section had formed a massive, circular wall sustained by wooden poles. This structure resembles the „Pfostenschlitzmauer” system (or the murrus gallicus type Kelheim) attested in the Celtic fortifications of the late La Tène period.

The gravitational redshift is one of Einstein’s three original tests of General Relativity and derives from time’s slowing near a massive body. For velocities well below c, this is represented with sufficient accuracy by:As detailed by Will (1981), Schiff’s conjecture argues that the gravitational redshift actually tests the principle of equivalence rather than the gravitational field equations. For low redshifts, solar system tests give highest accuracy. LoPresto & Pierce (1986) have shown that the redshift at the Sun’s limb is good to about ±3%. Rocket experiments produce an accuracy of ±0.02% (Vessot et al. 1980), while for 40 Eri B the best white dwarf, the observed and predicted VRS agree to only about ±_5% (Wegner 1980).

ABSTRACT There is an emerging consensus that large amounts of gas do not shock heat in the circumgalactic medium (CGM) of massive galaxies, but instead pierce deep into haloes from the cosmic web via filaments. To better resolve this process numerically, we have developed a novel ‘shock refinement’ scheme within the moving mesh code arepo that adaptively improves resolution around shocks on-the-fly in galaxy formation simulations. We apply this to a massive ∼1012 M⊙ halo at z = 6 using the successful FABLE model, increasing the mass resolution by a factor of 512. With better refinement there are significantly more dense, metal-poor and fast-moving filaments and clumps flowing into the halo, leading to a more multiphase CGM. We find a ∼50 per cent boost in cool-dense gas mass and a 25 per cent increase in inflowing mass flux. Better resolved accretion shocks cause turbulence to increase dramatically, leading to a doubling in the halo’s non-thermal pressure support. Despite much higher thermalization at shocks with higher resolution, increased cooling rates suppress the thermal energy of the halo. In contrast, the faster and denser filaments cause a significant jump in the bulk kinetic energy of cool-dense gas, while in the hot phase turbulent energy increases by up to ∼150 per cent. Moreover, H i covering fractions within the CGM increase by up to 60 per cent. Consequently, star formation is spread more widely and we predict a population of metal-poor stars forming within primordial filaments that deep JWST observations may be able to probe.

In November 1910, New Theatre artistic director Winthrop Ames asked his former teacher, Harvard English professor George Pierce Baker, to speak at a reception honoring the theatre's financial backers. The occasion was the start of the New Theatre's second season, and Ames was hoping to raise morale after a disappointing first year. Endowed primarily by millionaires in New York City, the New Theatre was supposed to offer a venue for staging plays free of the usual commercial pressures of Broadway productions. The contradiction at the heart of such an enterprise was manifest, particularly in the New Theatre's architecture and opulent interior design, which continually marked the “noncommercial” house as a monument to the economic power of those wealthy enough to provide for its massive and gaudy construction. Audiences complained that the two-thousand-seat auditorium had lousy acoustics; critics deemed the productions undistinguished and condemned the twenty-three Founders Boxes that ringed the orchestra as vulgar and ostentatious. Maybe an English professor, Ames thought, would have something helpful to say on the matter.

Les droits de l’homme sont un patrimoine de l’humanité. L’idéologie qui les sous-tend repose sur un présupposé humaniste qui fait de la dignité humaine une constante imprescriptible. Les droits de l’enfant qui sont une application particulière des droits de l’homme connaissent des violations souvent massives qui heurtent le bon sens. La situation en Afrique subsaharienne est d’autant préoccupante que la précarité, les conflits armés et certaines pesanteurs socioculturelles constituent des pierres d’achoppement à la jouissance effective des droits par les enfants. Les conséquences des violations tous azimuts de ces droits sont si pesantes au point de constituer un drame humain et social dans ce continent. Les stratégies d’éradication de ce phénomène exigent non seulement l’activation des mécanismes juridiques et répressifs opérationnels mais aussi l’intégration des rationalités humaniste, personnaliste et existentialiste dans les systèmes éducatifs africains. La teneur éthique et humaniste de ces pensées pourrait infléchir même les esprits les plus rigides.

AbstractGamma-ray bursts (GRBs) are unique probes of the first generation (Pop III) stars. We show that a relativistic gamma-ray burst (GRB) jet can potentially pierce the envelope of a very massive Pop III star even if the Pop III star has a supergiant hydrogen envelope without mass loss, thanks to the long-lived powerful accretion of the envelope itself. While the Pop III GRB is estimated to be energetic (Eγ,iso ~ 1055 erg), the supergiant envelope hides the initial bright phase in the cocoon component, leading to a GRB with a long duration ~1000 (1 + z) s and an ordinary isotropic luminosity ~ 1052 erg s−1 (~ 10−9 erg cm−2 s−1 at redshift z ~ 20), although these quantities are found to be sensitive to the core and envelope mass. We also show that Pop III.2 GRBs (which are primordial but affected by radiation from other stars) occur >100 times more frequently than Pop III.1 GRBs, and thus should be suitable targets for future X-ray and radio missions. The radio transient surveys are already constraining the Pop III GRB rate and promising in the future.

The proposed paper will present the long and rich life span of a city map of Buenos Aires and its changing settings, by following the many editions of a map first drawn by a French military engineer, Barthelemy de Massiac, that stayed as a prisoner in the city between 1660 and 1662. This example helps to further questions referring to the problem of stability / instability of maps. How do copies and adaptation to different supports or media affect their alleged unicity? How do they travel and what are the effects of their journeys? The problem may be addressed on the basis of the works on sociology of culture and science by Pierre Bourdieu, and on the history of the book and print culture by Roger Chartier. Although they don´t specifically study maps, their views add to the social and cultural approach to maps of the now classical critical studies in history of cartography by John B. Harley and David Woodward, among others. In this respect, Bourdieu stressed that ideas, books especially (as well as, it can be added, images and maps), travel without their context of production, through appropriations, translations and editions that sustain their circulation in space and, I also add, in time. The work of Roger Chartier also offers ground for this claim, as do his more recent work about images and their life in manuscripts, print and digital records and production. On a more epistemological perspective, attention to these changing supports, media and audiences contributes to rethink Bruno Latour’s definition of maps as immutable mobiles that sustained the making of modern science. I intend to address these issues presenting an example of the many copies, versions, printing of a map and its consequent storing, selling, circulating, archiving and studying, that show both the persistence and mutability of maps in shifting scenarios and readership. Briefly, the map drawn in 1669 by de Massiac lived a broad and long life, travelling from drawing desk to shelves, from print to books, from geography to antiquarianism and tourism, from urbanism to history, along at least 15 different versions and supports made until 1981, always surrounded by doubts about its trustworthiness yet at the same time used as a virtual logotype for the earlier stages of the city of which no other plans survive. Much later, pursue in French archives helped restore its original status as part of a military plan. The significance of recovering its original condition is more fully grasped when we put it into the perspective of its changing appropriations and journeys in time, place and varying scholarship.

Ancient Corcyra (modern Kerkyra or Corfu) was an important harbour city and commercial centre since the Archaic period, also due to its geostrategic position on the trade routes between Greece and Italy or Sicily. Corcyra kept its status as one of the prevailing naval powers in the Mediterranean by means of a large naval fleet, needing appropriated harbour basins to be stored and repaired. At least two harbours are documented by historical records and associated archaeological remains, namely the Alkinoos and the Hyllaikos Harbours, both located on either side of a narrow isthmus to the north of the Analipsis Peninsula, where the ancient polis developed. Today, the ancient harbour basins are silted and overbuilt by modern urban infrastructure, concealing their overall extent and topography. The present study aims to reconstruct the complex palaeogeographies of the ancient Alkinoos harbour of Corcyra based on a multi-methodological palaeoenvironmental and geoarchaeological approach. The methods used include sedimentary, geochemical, microfaunal and geophysical investigations that were complemented by archaeological data and results from previous geoarchaeological research. Spatially, the study focusses on the area of the so-called Desylla site west of known Alkinoos Harbour sediments in the midst of the modern city of Corfu. These results were complemented by findings from two geomorphological key sites as well as archaeoseismological traces from the western part of the Analipsis Peninsula. At the Desylla site, we found sedimentary evidence of an Archaic pre-harbour, partly open to the Gulf of Corfu, which was the predecessor of a protected Classical harbour basin. This basin, in use between at least the 4th to 3rd cent. BC and the 1st cent. AD, was delimited to the west by a wall. It represents the central part of the Classical Alkinoos Harbour which was sedimentologically traced, for the first time, from the De- sylla site in the west to the Kokotou site in the east, where monumental shipsheds were unearthed during earlier archaeological excavations. Probably, the harbour zone extended even further to the east, where contemporaneous harbour deposits were found associated with the prominent quay wall at the Pierri and Arion sites. Our results show, that, apart from man-made interventions, Corcyra's palaeogeographical evolution is strongly linked to multiple impacts of extreme wave events in the form of tsunami inundation. At least four events (I–IV) are recorded in the natural geoarchives of the Analipsis Peninsula and its surroundings as well as the northern harbour zone of ancient Corcyra. In particular, these events happened between 5600 and 5200 cal BC (event I), after 3900 cal BC (event II), between the 4 th and 3 rd cent. BC (event III) and between the 3 rd and 6 th cent. AD, most likely at 365 AD (event IV). Ages of all events correlate well with ages of tsunami traces found on Sicily, the Greek mainland and other Ionian Islands. Tsunami events I and II led to massive environmental changes around the Analipsis Peninsula, while event III was associated to strong co-seismic uplift, leading to the abandonment of the harbour site at Pierri. Decreasing water depths by siltation of the Kokotou and Desylla sites, however, were redressed by dredging, giving rise to an extensive Roman re-use of the western part of the Alkinoos Harbour zone. Yet, both harbour sites were hit again by event IV filling the harbour basins by a thick sequence of event deposits.

El hallazgo en la Biblioteca Nacional y el Archivo General de la Administración de dos fuentes documentales de gran valor (los Festivales Gimnásticos de la Galería Salesiana [192?] y las tablas con música del XIV Campeonato Nacional de Gimnasia Educativa [1961-1963]), prácticamente ignoradas hasta el momento, ha impulsado este trabajo cuyo principal objetivo es la reconstrucción historicista de prácticas de gimnasia educativa en el franquismo a través de la transcripción, ensamblaje de partes, análisis y correlación de parámetros músico-corporales, edición y estudio crítico de los ejercicios corporales, sonidos y letras contenidas en ellas, alumbradoras de su contexto. El estudio concluye que Gimnasia, Música y, sobre todo, su correcto acoplamiento, fueron piedra de toque en el ideario del Movimiento por el enorme beneficio que reportaban a la educación moral e intelectual de los jóvenes, empleándose además como eficaz medio de propaganda en grandes fastos y exhibiciones gimnásticas, auténticos escaparates patrióticos en los que, de forma masiva y entusiasta, se moldeaba y elevaba el espíritu nacional de participantes y espectadores.Abstract. The finding in the National Library and Administration’s General Archive of two valuable documentary sources (the Gymnastics Festivals of the Salesian Gallery [192?] and the obligatory set of exercises with music of the 14th National Championship of Educational Gymnastics [1961-1963]), virtually ignored until now, has driven this work. The main aim of this article is the historicist reconstruction of educational gymnastics practices during Franco´s regime through transcription, parts assembly, analysis and correlation between music and movement, edition and critical study of body exercises, sounds and letters contained therein, which shed light into their context. The study concludes that Gymnastics, Music and, especially, its right coupling were the touchstone of the esthetic and educational ideology of the Movement, as they were thought to bring an enormous benefit to the moral and intellectual education of young people. At the same time, the above mentioned disciplines were used as effective propaganda, fundamentally by means of the organization of great pomp, performances and gymnastics exhibitions, which proved an authentic patriotic window to the world, in which, in a massive and enthusiast way, the national spirit of participants and spectators was moulded and lifted.

Resumo. Na última década, o mundo experimentou a consolidação de um novo modelo comunicacional, marcado pelo estabelecimento de um momento que teóricos como Pierre Lévy e André Lemos (2010) têm convencionado chamar de era pós-massiva. A principal característica desse período é a liberação da palavra para os indivíduos, que deixam de ser meros receptores da informação e passam a produzir e interagir de forma mais franca com o conteúdo. Nesse contexto, tornou-se inevitável o choque entre as temáticas conservadoras impostas pelos mass media - tradicional fonte de formação da opinião pública - e as progressistas, presentes sobretudo em pautas consideradas de minoria, como a dos movimentos Feminista e LGBT. Destarte, esta pesquisa aproveita o polêmico videocase “Badass”, produzido pela Agência Fischer, para observar à luz da semiótica sincrética como as intenções dos enunciadores - explicitadas pelas avaliações dos diferentes planos de conteúdo e expressão sobrepostos - entram em colapso com as expectativas dos enunciatários. Assim, busca contribuir para o avanço dos debates sobre os processos não-formais de educação na Web 2.0 à luz da semiótica sincrética.Palavras-chave: publicidade - semiótica sincrética - era pós-massiva - gêneroAbstract. In the last decade, the world has experienced the consolidation of a new communication model, marked by the establishment of a moment in which theorists like Pierre Lévy and André Lemos (2010) have agreed to denominate the post-massive era. The main characteristic of this period is the liberation of the word to individuals, who cease to be mere information receptors and begin to produce and interact more freely with the content. In this context, the clash between the conservative themes imposed by the mass media - traditional source of public opinion´s formation - and the progressives, who are mainly present in minority movements such as the Feminist and LGBT groups is inevitable. Thus, this research takes advantage of the videocase "Badass", a controversial video produced by the advertising agency Fischer, to observe, through syncretic semiotics, how the intentions of the enunciators - made explicit by the evaluation of different plans of content and expression that overlap - collapse with the expectations of the enunciates. Thus, this work seeks to contribute to the advance of debates about non-formal processes of education in Web 2.0 under the light of syncretic semiotics. Keywords: advertising - syncretic semiotics - post-massive era - gender

Purpose The purpose of this paper is to analyze how Indonesian laws regulate the existence of famous brand. In case of brand Pierre Cardin, which had the elements of a famous brand including brand reputation obtained because of the public’s general knowledge, intensive and massive promotion, investment made by the owner in several countries, including Indonesia. Design/methodology/approach This study is a normative legal research conducted statutory approach reviews through court decisions in Indonesia which related to famous brands such as Pierre Cardin. The analytical method analyzes the law, the legal rulings and the famous brand case of Pierre Cardin, which became one of the sources of Law of Marks in Indonesia. The next method is a description that compares the famous brands such as Pierre Cardin in Indonesia and France. Findings The research of this paper shows that brand Pierre Cardin is one of the world’s leading brands and has registered its brands in several countries in the world. The threat to well-known brands in Indonesia is the regulation of which Indonesia has weaknesses. In Indonesia, the Law of Marks enables the state to receive registrations of similar brands, and when a dispute occurs, it allows the judge to make a decision threatening the existence of goodwill. Research limitations/implications This research discusses the legal aspects of famous brands in Indonesia that hold the constitutive system and particularly the legal threat against a famous brand in Indonesia, Pierre Cardin. Practical implications This paper discusses the threats that will occur in famous brands that registered in many countries, such as Indonesia. This became a reference for the famous brand company to be able to adjust the law in Indonesia. Social implications This paper informs the legal threats can be a weakness of law in Indonesia; therefore, the governance should revise the regulation about marks to accommodate the existence of famous brands company in Indonesia. This paper gives recommendations for government to be more flexible to regulate the registration for the famous brand and tighten regulation of brand rights for local brands to avoid infringement in Indonesia. The protection of brand rights for a famous brand company in Indonesia can be realized and will be possible. Originality/value This paper is original and must-read. This research can be a reference for famous brand companies that will register brand rights in Indonesia because it discusses about the case between Pierre Cardin brand in Indonesia and French. This paper gives perspectives based on the Law of Marks in Indonesia. Furthermore, this paper also discusses some Law of Marks in Indonesia that should be strengthened.

Pierre Trudeau and Brian Mulroney failed to reconcile Quebec with the rest of Canada. The Parti Québécois (PQ) government under Jacques Parizeau called a referendum in October 1995 to decide if the province would secede. While the federal government under Jean Chrétien barely intervened, the fiery rhetoric of Lucien Bouchard brought the separatists close to victory. Quebecers voted to stay in Canada by only 1 per cent. A massive late rally of non-Quebec Canadians pleading with Quebecers to remain probably tipped the balance. Bouchard, who succeeded Parizeau, never felt confident of winning another referendum. Later the PQ lost ground as separatism ceased to appeal. In the EU referendum of 2016 the British government failed to learn from Canada’s experience. The Remain side campaigned negatively rather than positively, and did not mobilize its supporters as well as the Leave camp did. Canadian comparisons also remain relevant for Scotland.

Conceived 51 years after the global workers’ and student revolt of May 1968, this Focus will break down the theoretical and literary legacy of May into three intervals of 17 years. In 1985, 17 years after 1968, Luc Ferry and Alain Renaut published a book, La pensée 68, in which they canonized the view that the theoretical underpinning of May ’68 was provided by French structuralist thinkers, notably Michel Foucault, Jacques Derrida, Pierre Bourdieu and Jacques Lacan (see Ferry and Renaut 1985; for the English translation, see Ferry and Renaut 1990). Seventeen years later, in 2002, Kristin Ross’s book May ’68 and its Afterlives effectively replaced this canonical image with the notion that French structuralists were all either completely absent or showed at least great reserve during the events of May and that, moreover, the closest theoretical allies of the protesters and strikers were in fact the main philosophical targets of structuralist anti-humanists, namely Jean-Paul Sartre and Herbert Marcuse with their schools of humanist Marxism (see Ross 2002). Seventeen years after Ross’s seminal book, it may be time to negate both the thesis from 1985 and Ross’s antithesis from 2002, and ask the following simple question: why, despite the massive presence of Sartre and Marcuse, and the equally massive absence of Foucault, Derrida, Bourdieu and Lacan, but also Gilles Deleuze and Louis Althusser, has the memory politics of May ’68 during the past half-century included the canonization of structuralism and post-structuralism at the expense of none other than humanism, be it Marxist or non-Marxist?

Abstract Background Massive parallel sequencing technologies have enabled the elucidation of plant phylogenetic relationships from chloroplast genomes at a high pace. These include members of the family Rhamnaceae. The current Rhamnaceae phylogenetic tree is from 13 out of 24 Rhamnaceae chloroplast genomes, and only one chloroplast genome of the genus Ventilago is available. Hence, the phylogenetic relationships in Rhamnaceae remain incomplete, and more representative species are needed. Results The complete chloroplast genome of Ventilago harmandiana Pierre was outlined using a hybrid assembly of long- and short-read technologies. The accuracy and validity of the final genome were confirmed with PCR amplifications and investigation of coverage depth. Sanger sequencing was used to correct for differences in lengths and nucleotide bases between inverted repeats because of the homopolymers. The phylogenetic trees reconstructed using prevalent methods for phylogenetic inference were topologically similar. The clustering based on codon usage was congruent with the molecular phylogenetic tree. The groups of genera in each tribe were in accordance with tribal classification based on molecular markers. We resolved the phylogenetic relationships among six Hovenia species, three Rhamnus species, and two Ventilago species. Our reconstructed tree provides the most complete and reliable low-level taxonomy to date for the family Rhamnaceae. Similar to other higher plants, the RNA editing mostly resulted in converting serine to leucine. Besides, most genes were subjected to purifying selection. Annotation anomalies, including indel calling errors, unaligned open reading frames of the same gene, inconsistent prediction of intergenic regions, and misannotated genes, were identified in the published chloroplast genomes used in this study. These could be a result of the usual imperfections in computational tools, and/or existing errors in reference genomes. Importantly, these are points of concern with regards to utilizing published chloroplast genomes for comparative genomic analysis. Conclusions In summary, we successfully demonstrated the use of comprehensive genomic data, including DNA and amino acid sequences, to build a reliable and high-resolution phylogenetic tree for the family Rhamnaceae. Additionally, our study indicates that the revision of genome annotation before comparative genomic analyses is necessary to prevent the propagation of errors and complications in downstream analysis and interpretation.

Abstract Prototype of Massive Parallel Electron Beam Write (MPEBW) system has been developed for mask-less (direct write) lithography. A 100╳100 array of nanocrystalline–silicon (nc-Si) electron emitter is controlled by active matrix driving LSI. It is designed that arrayed electron beams are reduced to 1/100 by electron optics and focused on the wafer with 10 nm square spots. The electron beam emitter has a function of aberration correction. Planer type 10 μm square nc-Si emitter array and the driving LSI was fabricated and their operations were confirmed. A 17╳17 nc-Si emitter array was assembled with driver circuits and its active matrix electron beam exposure was performed using 1:1 exposure test system. Pierce type emitter array for active matrix drive is the subject for target commercial system. The operations of the Pierce type emitter array were studied with basic prototyping and simulation.

Jadranka Stojanovski discusses the evolution of library support for open science from a Croatian perspective. From her vantage point as (former) library director of the Ruđer Bošković Institute and associate professor at the department of information science of the University of Zadar, Stojanovski has been a pioneer in establishing services exploiting the possibilities offered by new information technologies since the 1990s. Many of her activities have been connected to broad European collaborative projects such as OpenAIRE, OASPA, and EOSC. The Croatian approach has been a very proactive one. Already in 1997, the CROSBI was launched, a combined national scientific bibliography and repository for Green Open Access documents. Although deposition of articles and other research documents is entirely voluntary, CROSBI now carries metadata on more than 725,000 documents, a large proportion of which are available in fulltext. Alongisde CROSBI, there are also several institutions running their own institutional repositories. There is now extensive collaboration between these services in the form of DABAR (‘beaver’ in English), aiming to enhance the interoperability and findability of documents stored in the various repositories. Stojanovski has also been involved in setting up an inventory on Who’s Who in Science in Croatia as well as a database on scientific equipment, Šestar (‘pair of compasses’). Set up in 2005, the HRČAK (‘hamster’) platform for Croatian scientific and professional journals has been a massive success. Less than twenty years after its inception, it now carries more than 500 scholarly journals and series of conference proceedings, nearly all of which are Diamond Open Access (i.e., free to the reader and with no author-facing publishing charges). Roughly 150 of these journals receive annual subsidies from the government, the rest are fully based on voluntary work from individual editors and the institutions or learned societies they represent. Only around 25 HRČAK journals charge Article Processing Charges. The Social Sciences and Humanities are particularly well represented on the platform, with many journals publishing in Croatian despite the lack of an official language policy in favor of Croatian as a scholarly language. The University Computing Centre in Zagreb (SRCE, ‘heart’) is responsible for the technical development of HRČAK, which is based on seamless interconnection between in-house developed software and open-source software for editorial processes, primarily Open Journal Systems. A national Research Data Policy or, better still, a general Open Science Policy is highly desirable, Stojanovski argues. Infrastructure is in place, but usage will undoubtedly rise significantly as soon as open science practices become mandatory. Alongside Dominic Tate (episode 43) and Pierre Mounier (episode 44), Jadranka was a keynote speaker at the 17th Munin Conference on Scholarly Publishing. This interview was first published online on December 13, 2022.

Em meio a um ambiente em que a rede social deixa de ser apenas mais uma ferramenta de compartilha mento e se torna um mecanismo potente entre os cidadãos, o presente artigo se propõe a analisar o uso da hashtag como forma de agrupamento da opinião massiva. Para isso, serão utilizados conceitos de cultura participativa de Shirky, bem como a indignação em rede abordada na obra de Castells. Pierre Levy e conceitos de inteligência coletiva justificaram a motivação da massa em se mobilizar. Como objeto de estudo, apresento uma análise feita com base na mensuração dos tuites disparados entre 13 e 18 de junho, entre 20h e 21h, com a hashtag #JornalNacional.

Introduction: Impalement injuries are defined as rare, high-energy lesions caused by foreign bodies, usually steel bars or wooden objects, which pierce body cavities or extremities and remain interposed in the perforated body region. They usually occur with road accident or civil construction falls. Case Report:A 24-year-old male patient was admitted at the emergency department after a motorcycle accident, resulting a left leg impalement with a wooden object. A partial deep peroneal nerve palsy and a proximal third fibula fracture were observed. The foreign body removal and wound debridement were performed. The patient evolved favorably without complications, with complete neurological recovery and returning to his normal life activities. Discussion: Impalement injuries represent a challenge in pre-hospital care, emergency room, and operating room hospital care, due to its rarity and specificity: Type of object, anomalous foreign body location, and trajectory. There is a consensus that whenever possible, it should be removed in the operating room, due to the foreign body may be tamponing a major arterial laceration, thus preventing massive hemorrhage. Conclusion: Neurovascular injury exclusion, foreign body removal in the operating room, debridement, and antibiotic prophylaxis represent the treatment basis of these injuries. Keywords: Impalement, Trauma, Leg

LANGUAGE NOTE | Document text in Chinese; abstract also in English. 1987年，盧瑋鑾教授於報刊系統介紹香港文學地景和文學篇章，爲香港文學散步（Literature Tour）奠下了學理的起點。2001年，中文大學香港文學研究中心開始舉辦全港性的大型文學散步，此後不斷續辦，活動内容亦不斷發展，除了文學散步，還包含文學創作分享，以及文學創作教育，逐步演化成一項系統地建構“文學地景”（Literary Landscape）的活動。另一方面，香港其他文藝機構於過去二十年間亦不斷提倡書寫香港社區，發展出許多極具規模的文學地景建構活動，跟研究中心的文學散步，性質相通。2016年，香港文學生活館策劃了“島敘可能：文學×視藝”活動，爲文學地景的建構方式，注入跨媒體元素。過去十年，“文學地景”建構活動在香港蔚爲風氣，數量之多，規模之大，在華文地區，尚屬特殊。然而此現象的發展脈絡，至今尚未獲得系統梳理，而此由文學散步蛻變而來的過程，亦值得從身份意識的角度加以探究。本文將藉文獻史料，分析文學散步轉化成文學地景建構活動的過程；再以法國學者：相伯德羅浮、莫里斯·霍布瓦克和皮埃爾·諾亞有關身份意識和集體回憶的理論，分析文學散步及文學地景建構活動，對建構個人身份意識的意義。 In 1987, Professor Lu Wei-luan introduced the Hong Kong Literary Landscape and literary writings in a series of publications, which laid a theoretical foundation for the Hong Kong Literary Walking Tours. In 2001, the Hong Kong Literature Research Centre of The Chinese University of Hong Kong took the lead in organizing territory-wide Literary Walking Tours, and thereafter developed and enhanced the activities with diversified content. As well as Literary Walking Tours, a platform for the sharing of experience in literary creation and creative writing education, the programme also evolved and became a movement for the “Construction of Literary Landscape.” Over the past twenty years, some literary and art organizations have been promoting community writing and setting out to expand the “Construction of Literary Landscape” activities on a large scale, aiming to share the same objectives of Literary Walking Tours organized by the Hong Kong Literature Research Centre. In 2016, The House of Hong Kong Literature hosted an exhibition titled “Islands’ Narrative: Literature X Visual Art,” which infused the pattern of Literary Landscape Construction with transmedia elements. “Construction of Literary Landscape” activities have become a vogue in Hong Kong over the past decade. This unique phenomenon in Chinese writing has drawn scholars’ attention from overseas because of the massive scale and overwhelming number of participants in the activities. Nonetheless, the lack of systematic analysis of the development of this phenomenon makes it a worthwhile project to examine the evolutionary process of “Literary Walking Tours” from the perspective of the consciousness of identity. This paper is an attempt to deal with the task in two steps. First, with reference to literary and documentary sources, it aims to analyze the process of Literary Walking Tours’ evolution into the “Construction of Literary Landscape.” Second, making use of the theories of identity consciousness and collective memory proposed by French scholars Chombart de Lauwe, Maurice Halbwachs, and Pierre Nora, it analyzes the Literary Walking Tours and “Literary Landscape Construction” movements, which may yield significant findings about the construction of self-consciousness of one’s identity.

Même si la guerre, comme destruction de masse, a été très tôt au centre des intérêts de la discipline, l’anthropologie ne l’a jamais caractérisée comme une « violence extrême ». Ce qui pose d’emblée la question en termes autres que quantitatifs. L’extrême dans la violence n’est pas forcément dans l’importance du nombre de ses victimes. Il faut y ajouter d’autres dimensions comme l’inanité de l’acte, sa gratuité, son degré de cruauté et le non-respect des règles et normes partagées. Celles de la guerre, par exemple, imposent de ne s’attaquer qu’à l’ennemi armé et d’épargner les civils, de soigner le blessé etc. La violence extrême passe outre toutes ces normes et règles ; et s’exerce avec une cruauté démesurée. La première guerre mondiale constitue aux yeux des défenseurs de cette thèse, le moment inaugural dans le franchissement d’un tel seuil. Car, c’est dans cette guerre que fut utilisé pour la première fois le bombardement aérien, lié à l’ère industrielle, exterminant de nombreuses populations civiles non armées. Associée aux affrontements et insurrections débordant les cadres étatiques, l’expression peut désormais inclure également des faits commis dans le cadre des guerres conduites par des États. La violence extrême est une agression physique et une transgression outrancière d’une éthique partagée. Qu’elle s’exerce lors d’une guerre ou dans le cadre d’une institution (violence institutionnelle) elle est une violence extrême dès lors qu’elle use de moyens estimés inappropriés selon les codes communs et les sensibilités partagées. Les manières et les moyens d’agir doivent être proportionnels à l’objectif visé ; et toute outrance délégitime l’acte de violence, quand bien même celui-ci relèverait de « la violence légitime » monopole de l’Etat. Le qualificatif extrême vient donc spécifier un type de violence qui atteint ce point invisible ou imprévisible, en bafouant l’ordre éthique et conventionnel. Aller à l’extrême c’est aller au-delà du connu et de l’imaginable. La violence extrême est celle donc qui dépasse une limite se situant elle même au-delà des limites connues ou considérées comme impossibles à franchir. Elle renvoie à ce qui dépasse l’entendement par son ampleur ou par sa « gratuité » ; car, ce sont ses finalités qui rationalisent la guerre et toute autre forme de violence. Dépourvue de toute fonctionnalité, la violence extrême n’a d’autres buts qu’elle-même (Wolfgang Sofsky (1993). En d’autres termes, la violence extrême est ce qui oblitère le sens en rendant vaines (ou du moins imperceptibles) les logiques d’un acte jusque-là appréhendé en termes d’utilité, de fonctionnalité et d’efficacité. La violence est extrême quand elle parait démesurée par le nombre de ses victimes (génocide, nettoyage ethnique, meurtres et assassinat de masse) ; mais elle l’est d’autant plus, et le plus souvent, quand elle est accompagnée d’un traitement cruel, froid et gratuit : dépeçage, brûlure, énucléation, viols et mutilations sexuelles. Outrepassant l’habituel et l’admissible, par la démesure du nombre de ses victimes et le degré de cruauté dans l’exécution de l’acte, la violence extrême se situe dans un « au-delà », dont le seuil est une ligne mouvante et difficilement repérable. Son « objectivation » dépend à la fois du bourreau, de la victime et du témoin ; tous façonnés par des constructions culturelles informées par les contextes historiques et produisant des sensibilités et des « esthétiques de réception » subjectives et changeantes. La violence extrême est, nécessairement, d’abord une question de sensibilité. Or, celle-ci est non seulement une subjectivation mais aussi une construction historiquement déterminée. Pendant longtemps et jusqu’au siècle des lumières, le châtiment corporel fut, pour la justice, la norme dans toute l’Europe. Les organes fautifs des coupables sont maltraités publiquement. On exhibait les femmes adultères nues et on leur coupait les seins ; on coupait les langues des blasphémateurs et les mains des voleurs. Le bûcher était réservé aux sodomites, aux hérétiques et aux sorcières. On crevait les yeux (avec un tisonnier incandescent) du traître. Les voleurs de grands chemins subissaient le châtiment d’être rompus vifs. On écartelait et on démembrait le régicide. La foule se dépêchait pour assister à ces spectacles et à ceux des supplices de la roue, des pendaisons, de la décollation par le sabre etc. Placidement et consciencieusement, les bourreaux ont appliqué la « terreur du supplice » jusqu’au milieu du XVIIIe siècle (Meyran, 2006). Il a fallu attendre les lumières pour remplacer le corps violenté par le corps incarcéré. Aujourd’hui insupportables, aux yeux du citoyen occidental, certains de ces châtiments corporels administrés avec une violence extrême sont encore en usage dans d’autres sociétés. Après les massacres collectifs qui ont marqué la fin du XXe siècle, les travaux de Véronique Nahoum-Grappe portant sur le conflit de l’ex-Yougoslavie vont contribuer à relancer le débat sur la notion de « violence extrême » comme elle le rappellera plus tard : « Nous avions utilisé la notion de « violence extrême » à propos de la guerre en ex-Yougoslavie pour désigner « toutes les pratiques de cruauté « exagérée » exercées à l’encontre de civils et non de l’armée « ennemie », qui semblaient dépasser le simple but de vouloir s’emparer d’un territoire et d’un pouvoir. » (Nahoum-Grappe. 2002). Elle expliquera plus loin qu’après dix années de ces premières observations, ce qu’elle tentait de désigner, relève, en fait, d’une catégorie de crimes, graves, usant de cruauté dans l’application d’un programme de « purification ethnique ». Pourtant, quel que soit le critère invoqué, le phénomène n’est pas nouveau et loin d’être historiquement inédit. Si l’on reprend l’argument du nombre et de la gratuité de l’acte, le massacre n’est pas une invention du XXe s ; et ne dépend pas de la technologie contemporaine. On peut remonter assez loin et constater que dans ce domaine, l’homme a fait feu de tout bois, comme le montre El Kenz David dans ses travaux sur les guerres de religion (El Kenz 2010 & 2011). Parce que les sensibilités de l’époque admettaient ou toléraient certaines exactions, aux yeux des contemporains celles-ci ne relevaient pas de la violence extrême. Quant aux cruautés et autres exactions perpétrés à l’encontre des populations civiles, bien avant Auschwitz et l’ex-Yougoslavie, l’humanité en a souffert d’autres. Grâce aux travaux des historiens, certaines sont désormais relativement bien connues comme les atrocités commises lors des colonnes infernales dans la guerre de Vendée ou le massacre de May Lai dans la guerre du Vietnam. D’autres demeurent encore méconnues et insuffisamment étudiées. Les exactions menées lors des guerres coloniales et de conquêtes sont loin d’être toutes recensées. La mise à mort, en juin 1845, par « enfumade » de la tribu des Ouled Riah, dans le massif du Dahra en Algérie par le futur général Pélissier sont un exemple qui commence à peine à être porté à la connaissance en France comme en Algérie (Le Cour Grandmaison, 2005.). Qu’elle soit ethnique ou sociale, qu’elle soit qualifiée de purification ethnique ou d’entreprise génocidaire, cette extermination qui passe par des massacres de masse ne peut être qualifiée autrement que par violence extrême. Qu’elle s’exerce sur un individu ou contre un groupe, la violence extrême se caractérise presque toujours par un traitement cruel, le plus souvent pensé et administré avec une égale froideur ; une sorte d’« esthétisation de la cruauté ». Pour le dire avec les mots de Pierre Mannoni, la violence extrême use d’un certain « maniérisme de l'horreur », ou de ce qu’il appelle « une tératologie symbolique » (Mannoni ,2004, p. 82-83), c‘est à dire l’art de mettre en scène les monstruosités. Motivée par un danger ou une menace extrême justifiant, aux yeux du bourreau, une réponse extrême, cette violence extrême a pu s’exécuter par la machette (Rwanda) ou dans des chambres à gaz, comme par d’autres moyens et armes de destruction massive. C'est l'intégrité du corps social et sa pureté que le bourreau « croit » défendre en recourant à une exérèse… salvatrice. La cruauté fait partie de l’arsenal du combattant qui s’ingénie à inventer le scénario le plus cruel en profanant l’intime et le tabou. Françoise Sironi le montre à propos d’une des expressions de la violence extrême. L’efficacité destructrice de la torture est obtenue entre autres par la transgression de tabous culturels ; et par l’inversion qui rend perméable toutes les limites entre les dedans et les dehors. Réinjecter dans le corps ce qui est censé être expulsé (excréments, urine, vomissures) ; féminiser et exposer les parties intimes ou les pénétrer en dehors de la sphère intime, associer des parties démembrées d’un corps humain à celles d’un animal, sont autant de manières de faire violence extrême. Cette inversion transgressive use du corps de la victime pour terroriser le témoin et le survivant. Outrepassant l’habituel et l’attendu par la manière (égorgement, démembrement, énucléation, émasculation etc.,), les moyens (usage d’armes de destruction massive, d’armes nucléaires bactériologiques ou chimiques) et une certaine rationalité, la « violence extrême » est un dépassement d’horizon. L’acte par sa singularité suggère une sortie de l’humanité de son auteur désensibilisé, déshumanisé ; qui, par son forfait et dans le même mouvement, exclue sa victime de l’humanité. Pour Jacques Semelin, la violence extrême « est l’expression prototypique de la négation de toute humanité ; dans la mesure où ses victimes sont le plus souvent d’abord « animalisées » ou « chosifiées » avant d’être anéanties (Sémelin, 2002). Ajoutons qu’elle n’est pas qu’anéantissement, elle est aussi une affirmation démonstrative d’une surpuissance. Que ce soit par le nombre, la manière ou l’arbitraire, la violence extrême a ponctué l’histoire de l’humanité et continue à la hanter Parmi ses formes contemporaines, le terrorisme est une de ses manifestations les plus spectaculaires ; permettant de comprendre qu’elle est d’abord une théâtralisation. L’image de chaos que renvoient les attentats et autres exactions spectaculaires, est le résultat dument recherché à l’aide d’une organisation minutieuse et de stratégies affinées que cette image chaotique occulte souvent. Il s’agit d’une démarche rationnelle tendant à produire un acte apparemment irrationnel. Les massacres collectifs qui font partie de ce que Stéphane Leman-Langlois qualifie de « mégacrimes » (Leman-Langlois, 2006) constituent une autre forme contemporaine de cette violence extrême ; dont la Bosnie-Herzégovine et le Rwanda demeurent les exemples les plus dramatiques depuis la fin de la Seconde Guerre mondiale. En raison de leur ampleur et l’organisation méthodique de leur exécution, ces massacres ont été, à juste titre, souvent qualifié de génocide. C’est le professeur de droit américain d’origine polonaise, Raphael Lemkin qui donnera le nom de génocide à ce que, Winston Churchill, parlant du nazisme, qualifiait de « crime sans nom ». Au terme génocide devenu polémique et idéologique, sera préféré la notion de massacre que Semelin définit comme « forme d’action le plus souvent collective de destruction des non combattants » (Sémelin 2012, p. 21). Dans les faits, il s’agit de la même réalité ; sans être des entreprises génocidaires, ces massacres de masse ont visé l’« extermination » de groupes humains en vue de s’emparer de leur territoire au sens le plus large. La violence extrême agit à la fois sur l'émotionnel et sur l'imaginaire ; en franchissant le seuil du tolérable et de la sensibilité ordinairement admise dans le cadre de représentations sociales. Le caractère extrême de la violence se définit en fonction d’un imaginaire partagé ; qu’elle heurte en allant au-delà de ce qu'il peut concevoir ; et des limites de ce qu'il peut « souffrir ». Il s’agit d’une violence qui franchit le seuil du concevable et ouvre vers un horizon encore difficilement imaginable et donc insupportable parce que non maîtrisable. Qu’est-ce qui motive ce recours à l’extrême ? Nombre d’historiens se sont demandé si les logiques politiques suffisaient à les expliquer. Ne faudrait-il pas les inférer aux dimensions psychologiques ? Plusieurs approches mettent, quelquefois, en rapport violence extrême et ressorts émotionnels (peur, colère et haine et jouissance..). D’autres fois, ce sont les pulsions psychiques qui sont invoquées. Incapables d’expliquer de telles conduites par les logiques sociales ou politiques, ce sont les dimensions psychologiques qui finissent par être mises en avant. L’acte, par son caractère extrême serait à la recherche du plaisir et de la jouissance dans l’excès, devenant ainsi une fin en soi. Il peut également être une manière de tenter de compenser des manques en recherchant du sens dans le non-sens. Cela a pu être expliqué aussi comme une manière de demeurer du côté des hommes en animalisant ou en chosifiant la victime, en la faisant autre. L’auteur de la violence extrême procède à une négation de sa victime pour se (re) construire lui-même. Pure jouissance (Wolfgang Sofsky) délire (Yvon Le Bot, J Semelin) ou conduite fonctionnelle de reconstruction de soi (Primo Levi), sont les trois approches avancées pour expliquer la cruauté comme acte inadmissible et inconcevable (Wierworka, 2004 : p 268). Or, la violence extrême prend la forme d’une cruauté quand ses protagonistes redoublent d’ingéniosité pour inventer le scénario inédit le plus cruel. Car la violence extrême est d’abord un indéchiffrable insupportable qui se trouve par commodité rangé du côté de l’exceptionnalité. Parce qu’inintelligible, elle est inacceptable, elle est extra… ordinaire. Ses auteurs sont des barbares, des bêtes, des monstres ; autrement dit ; des inhumains parce qu’ils accomplissent ce que l’humain est incapable de concevoir. Dans quelle mesure, de telles approches ne sont-elles pas une manière de rassurer la société des humains qui exclue ces « monstres » exceptionnels seuls capables d’actes … inhumains ? Parce qu’inexplicables, ces violences sont quelquefois rangées dans le registre de la folie ; et qualifiées de « barbares » ou de « monstrueuses » ; des qualificatifs qui déshumanisent leurs auteurs et signalent l’impuissance du témoin à comprendre et à agir. En d’autres termes, tant que la violence relève de l’explicable (réciprocité, échange, mimétisme etc.), elle demeure humaine ; et devient extrême quand elle échappe à l‘entendement. Indicible parce qu’injustifiable, la violence extrême est inhumaine. Cependant, aussi inhumaine soit-elle d’un point de vue éthique, la violence extrême demeure du point de vue anthropologique, un acte terriblement humain ; et que l’homme accomplit toujours à partir de déterminants et selon un raisonnement humains. Comme le dit Semelin : « Les deux faces de la violence extrême, sa rationalité et sa démence, ne peuvent se penser l’une sans l’autre. Et rien ne sert de dénoncer la sauvagerie des tueurs en omettant de s’interroger sur leurs buts » (Semelin, 2000). L’auteur de l’acte de violence extrême s’érige en homme-dieu pour dénier toute humanité à la victime qu’il décide d’exclure de la vie, de la déshumaniser en l’expulsant vers l’infra humain.

Introduction Taste is considered a gustatory and physiological sense. It is also something that can be developed over time. In Bourdieu’s work taste is a matter of distinction, and a means of drawing boundaries between groups about what constitutes “good” taste. In this context it is necessary to perform or display tastes over and over again. This then becomes part of a cultural habitus, a code that can be read and understood. In the field of “feeding the family” (DeVault) for respondents in my study, healthy food prepared from scratch became the symbol of appropriate mothering, a means of demonstrating a middle class habitus, distinction, and taste. I use the term “family foodways” to emphasize how feeding the family encapsulates more than buying, preparing, cooking, and serving food, it incorporates the ways in which families practice, perform, and “do” family food. These family foodways are about the family of today, as well as an investment in the family of the future, through the reproduction and reinforcement of cultural values and tastes around food. In the UK, there are divisions between what might be considered appropriate and inappropriate family foodways, and a vilification of alternatives that lack time and effort. Warde identifies four antinomies of taste used by advertisers in the marketing of food: “novelty and tradition,” “health and indulgence,” “economy and extravagance,” and “convenience and care” (174). In relation to family foodways, there are inherent tensions in these antinomies, and for mothers in my study in order to demonstrate “care”, it was necessary to eschew “convenience.” Indeed, the time and effort involved in feeding the family healthy meals prepared from scratch becomes an important symbol of middle class taste and investment in the future. The alternative can be illustrated by reference to the media furore around Jamie Oliver’s comments in a Radio Times interview (that coincided with a TV series and book launch) in which Deans quotes Oliver: "You might remember that scene in [a previous series] of Ministry of Food, with the mum and the kid eating chips and cheese out of Styrofoam containers, and behind them is a massive f****** TV.” Oliver uses cultural markers of taste to highlight how “mum” was breaking the rules and conventions associated with appropriate or aspirational class based family foodways. We assume that the “mum and kid” were using their fingers, and not a knife and fork, and that the meal was not on a plate around a table but instead eaten in front of a “massive f****** TV.” Oliver uses these cultural markers of taste and distinction to commit acts of symbolic violence, defined by Bourdieu and Wacquant, as “the violence which is exercised upon a social agent with his or her complicity” (67), to confer judgement and moral approbation regarding family foodways. In this example, a lack of time and effort is associated with a lack of taste. And although this can be linked with poverty, this is not about a lack of money, as the mother and child are eating in front of a big television. Oliver is therefore drawing attention to how family foodways become cultural markers of taste and distinction. I argue that appropriate family foodways have become significant markers of taste, and draw on qualitative data to emphasise how respondents use these to position themselves as “good” mothers. Indeed, the manner of presenting, serving, and eating food fulfils the social function of legitimising social difference (Bourdieu 6). Indeed, Bourdieu claims that mothers are significant as the convertors of economic capital into cultural capital for their children; they are “sign bearing” carriers of taste (Skeggs 22). In taking time to prepare healthy meals from scratch, sourcing organic and/or local ingredients, accommodating each individual household members food preferences or individual health needs, being able to afford to waste food, to take time over the preparation, and eating of a meal around the table together, are all aspects of an aspirational model of feeding the family. This type of intensive effort around feeding becomes a legitimate means of demonstrating cultural distinction and taste. Research Background This paper draws on data from a qualitative study conducted over nine months in 2011. I carried out a series of asynchronous on-line interviews with seventy-five mostly middle class women and men between the ages of twenty-seven and eighty-five. One third of the respondents were male. Two thirds were parents at different stages in the life course, from those who were new to parenting to grand parents. There was also a range of family types including lone parents, and co-habiting and married couples with children (and step-children). The focus of the inquiry was food over the life course and respondents were invited to write their own autobiographical food narratives. Once respondents agreed to participate, I wrote to them: What I’m really after is your “food story.” Perhaps, this will include your earliest food memories, favourite foods, memorable food occasions, whether your eating habits have changed over time and why this may be. Also, absolutely anything food related that you'd like to share with me. For some, if this proved difficult, we engaged in an on-line interview in which I asked a series of questions centred on how they developed their own eating and cooking habits. I did not set out to question respondents specifically about “healthy” or “unhealthy” foodways and did not mention these terms at all. It was very much an open invitation for them to tell their stories in their words and on their terms. It was the common vocabularies (Mills) across the narratives that I was looking to discover, rather than directing these vocabularies in any particular way. I conducted several levels of analysis on the data and identified four themes on the family, health, the body, and the foodie. This discussion is based on the narratives I identified within the family theme. A Taste for “Healthy” Family Foodways When setting out on this research journey, I anticipated a considerable shift in gender roles within the home and a negotiated family model in which “everything could be negotiated” (Beck and Beck-Gernsheim xxi), especially “feeding the family” (De-Vault). Considering the rise of male celebrity chefs such as Jamie Oliver and the development of a distinct foodie identity (Naccarato and LeBesco, Johnston and Baumann, Cairns et al.), I envisaged that men would be more likely to take on this role. Given women’s roles outside the home, I also envisaged the use of convenience food, ready meals, and take-away food. However, what emerged was that women were highly resistant to any notion of relinquishing the responsibility for “feeding the family” (DeVault). Indeed, the women who were parents were keen to demonstrate how they engaged in preparing healthy, home-cooked meals from scratch for their families, despite having working identities. This commitment to healthy family foodways was used as a means of aligning themselves with an intensive mothering ideology (Hays) and to distance themselves from the alternative. It was a means of drawing distinctions and symbolising taste. When it comes to feeding the family, the “symbolic violence” (Bourdieu and Wacquant 167) afforded to mothers who transgress the boundaries of appropriate mothering by feeding their children unhealthy and/or convenience food, meant that mothers in my study only fed their children healthy food. It would be inconceivable for them to admit to anything else. This I consider a consequence of dualist and absolutist approaches to food and foodways, whereby “convenience” food continues to be demonised in family food discourses because it symbolises “lack” on many levels, specifically a lack of care and a lack of taste. This was not something I had anticipated at the beginning of the study; that mothers would not use convenience food and only prepared “healthy” meals was a surprise. This is indicative of the power of healthy food discourses and inappropriate family foodways, as symbolised by the mum feeding her kid “cheese and chips out of a Styrofoam container,” in informing respondents’ food narratives. I gained full ethical approval from my university and all respondents were given pseudonyms. The quotes I use here are taken from the narratives within the family theme and are representative of this theme. I cannot include all respondents’ narratives. I include quotes from Faye, a forty-six year-old Secretary married with one child; Laura, a thirty-five year-old Teaching Assistant, married with two children; Zoe, a forty-four year-old Recruiter, married with two children; Gaby, a fifty-one year old Architect Designer, married with two children; Ophelia, a fifty-three year-old Author, married with two children; Valerie, a forty-six year-old Website Manager, single with one child; and Chloe, a forty-six year old Occupational Health Sex Advisor, co-habiting with two children at home. Cooking “proper” healthy family meals is a skilled practice (Short) and a significant aspect of meaningful family-integration (Moiso et al.). It has symbolic and cultural capital and is indicative of a particular middle class habitus and this relates to taste in its broadest sense. Hence, Faye writes: My mum was a fabulous, creative cook; she loved reading cookery books and took great pride in her cooking. We didn't have a lot of money when we were young, but my mum was a very creative cook and every meal was completely delicious and homemade. Faye, despite working herself, and in common with many women juggling the second shift (Hochschild and Machung), is solely responsible for feeding her family. Indeed, Faye’s comments are strikingly similar to those in DeVault’s research carried out over twenty years ago; one of DeVault’s participants was quoted as saying that, “as soon as I get up on the morning or before I go to bed I’m thinking of what we’re going to eat tomorrow” (56). It is significant that cultural changes in the twenty years since DeVaults’ study were not reflected in respondents’ narratives. Despite women working outside of the home, men moving into the kitchen, and easy access to a whole range of convenience foods, women in my study adhered to “healthy” family foodways as markers of taste and distinction. Two decades later, Faye comments: Oh my goodness! I wake up each morning and the first thing I think about is what are we going to have for supper! It's such a drag, as I can never think of anything new or inspirational, despite the fact that we have lots of lovely cookery books! In many ways, these comments serve to reinforce further the status of “feeding the family” (DeVault) as central to maternal identity and part of delineating distinction and taste. Faye, in contrast to her own mother, has the additional pressure of having to cook new and inspirational food. Indeed, if preparing and purchasing food for herself or her family, Faye writes: I would make a packed lunch of something I really enjoyed eating, that's healthy, balanced and nutritious, with a little treat tucked in! […] I just buy things that are healthy and nutritious and things that might be interesting to appear in [my daughter’s] daily lunch box! However, by “just buying things that are healthy”, Faye is contributing to the notion that feeding the family healthily is easy, natural, care work and part of a particular middle class habitus. Again, this is part of what distinguishes cultural approaches to family foodways. Health and healthiness are part of a neo-liberal approach that is about a taste for the future. It is not about instant gratification, but about safeguarding health. Faye positions herself as the “guardian of health” (Beagan et al. 662). This demonstrates the extent to which the caringscape and healthscape can be intertwined (McKie et al.), as well as how health discourses seep into family foodways, whereby a “good mother” ensures the health of her children through cooking/providing healthy food or by being engaged in emotion (food) work. Faye reiterates this by writing, “if I have time [my cooking skills] […] are very good, if I don't they are rumbled together! But everything I cook is cooked with love!” Hence, this emotion work is not considered work at all, but an expression of love. Hence, in terms of distinction and taste, even when cooking is rushed it is conceptualised in the context of being prepared with love, in opposition to the cultural symbol of the mother and child “eating cheese and chips out of a Styrofoam container.” Convenience “Lacks” Taste In the context of Warde’s care and convenience antinomy, food associated with convenience is considered inappropriate. Cooking a family meal from scratch demonstrates care, convenience food for mothers symbolises “lack” on many levels. This lack of care is interwoven into a symbolic capital that supposes a lack of time, education, cultural capital, economic capital, and therefore a lack of taste. Hence, Laura writes: We never buy cakes and eat very few convenience foods, apart from the odd fish finger in a wrap, or a tin of beans. Ready meals and oven chips don’t appeal to me and I want my kids to grow up eating real food. It is notable that Laura makes the distinction between convenience and “real” food. Similarly, Zoe claims: We eat good interesting food every day at home and a takeaway once in a blue moon (2–3 times a year). Ready meals are unheard of here and we eat out sometimes (once a month). In Gaby’s account she makes reference to: “junk food, synthetic food and really overly creamy/stodgy cheap calorie foods” and claims that this kind of food makes her feel “revolted.” In James’s research she makes connections between “junk food” and “junk families.” In Gaby’s account she has a corporeal reaction to the thought of the type of food associated with cheapness and convenience. Ophelia notes that: After 15 years of daily cooking for my family I have become much more confident and proficient in food and what it really means. Today I balance the weekly meals between vegetarian, pasta, fish and meat and we have a lot of salad. I have been trying to cook less meat, maybe twice or sometimes including a roast at weekends, three times a week. Teens need carbs so I cook them most evenings but I don’t eat carbs myself in the evening now unless it’s a pasta dish we are all sharing. Here, Ophelia is highlighting the balance between her desires and the nutritional needs of her children. The work of feeding the family is complex and incorporates a balance of different requirements. The need to display appropriate mothering through feeding the family healthy meals cooked from scratch, was especially pertinent for women working and living on their own with children, such as Valerie: I am also responsible for feeding my daughter […] I make a great effort to make sure she is getting a balanced diet. To this end I nearly always cook meals from scratch. I use meal planners to get organised. I also have to budget quite tightly and meal planning helps with this. I aim to ensure we eat fish a couple of times a week, chicken a couple of times of week, red meat maybe once or twice and vegetarian once or twice a week. We always sit down to eat together at the table, even if it is just the two of us. It gives us a chance to talk and focus on each other. It is notable that Valerie insists that they sit down to eat at a table. This is a particular aspect of a middle class habitus and one that distinguishes Valerie’s family foodways from others, despite their low income. Hence, “proper” mothering is about cooking “proper” meals from scratch, even or perhaps especially if on a limited budget or having the sole responsibility for childcare. Chloe claims: I like to cook from scratch and meals can take time so I have to plan that around work [...] I use cookbooks for ideas for quick suppers [...] thinking about it I do spend quite a lot of time thinking about what I’m going to cook. I shop with meals in mind for each night of the week [...] this will depend on what’s available in the shops and what looks good, and then what time I get home. Here, food provision is ultimately tied up with class and status and again the provision of good “healthy” food is about good “healthy” parenting. It is about time and the lack of it. A lack of time due to having to work outside of the home and the lack of time to prepare or care about preparing healthy meals from scratch. Convenience food is clearly associated with low socio-economic status, a particular working class habitus and lack of care. Conclusion In an era of heightened neo-liberal individualism, there was little evidence of a “negotiated family model” (Beck and Beck-Gernsheim) within respondents’ narratives. Mothers in my study went to great lengths to emphasise that they fed their children “healthy” food prepared from scratch. Feeding the family is a central aspect of maternal identity, with intensive mothering practices (Hays) associated with elite cultural capital and a means of drawing distinctions between groups. Hence, despite working full time or part time, the blurring of boundaries between home and work, and the easy availability of convenience foods, ready-meals, and take-away food, women in my study were committed to feeding the family healthy meals cooked from scratch as a means of differentiating their family foodways from others. Dualist and absolutist approaches to food and foodways means that unhealthy and convenience food and foodways are demonised. They are derided and considered indicative of lack on many levels, especially in terms of lacking taste in its broadest sense. Unhealthy or convenient family foodways are associated with “other” (working class) mothering practices, whereby a lack of care indicates a lack of education, time, money, cultural capital, and taste. There are rigid cultural scripts of mothering, especially for middle class mothers concerned with distancing themselves from the symbol of the mum who feeds her children convenience food, or “cheese and chips out of Styrofoam containers in front of a f***ing big television.” References Beagan, Brenda, Gwen Chapman, Andrea D’Sylva, and Raewyn Bassett. “‘It’s Just Easier for Me to Do It’: Rationalizing the Family Division of Foodwork.” Sociology 42.4 (2008): 653–71. Beck, Ulrich, and Elisabeth Beck-Gernsheim. Individualization, Institutionalized Individualism and its Social and Political Consequences. London: Sage, 2002. Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. London: Routledge, 1984. Bourdieu, Pierre, and Loïc Wacquant. An Invitation to Reflexive Sociology. Cambridge: Polity, 2002 [1992]. Cairns, Kate, Josée Johnston, and Shyon Baumann. “Caring about Food: Doing Gender in the Foodie Kitchen.” Gender and Society 24.5 (2010): 591–615. Deans, Jason. “Jamie Oliver Bemoans Chips, Cheese and Giant TVs of Modern-day Poverty.” The Guardian 27 Aug. 2013: 3. DeVault, Marjorie I. Feeding the Family. London: U of Chicago P., 1991. Hays, Sharon. The Cultural Contradictions of Motherhood. New Haven, CT: Yale UP, 1996. Hochschild, Arlie Russell, and Anne Machung, The Second Shift (2nd ed). London: Penguin Books, 2003. James, Allison. “Children’s Food: Reflections on Politics, Policy and Practices.” London: BSA Food Studies Conference, 2010. 3 Dec. 2013. ‹http://www.britsoc.co.uk/media/24962/AllisonJames.ppt‎›. James, Allison, Anne-Trine Kjørholt, and Vebjørg Tingstad. Eds. Children, Food and Identity in Everyday Life, London: Palgrave MacMillan, 2009. Johnston, Josée, and Shyon Baumann. Foodies, Democracy and Distinction in the Gourmet Kitchen. London: Routledge, 2010. McKie, Linda, Susan Gregory, and Sophia Bowlby. “Shadow Times: The Temporal and Spatial Frameworks and Experiences of Caring and Working.” Sociology 36.4 (2002): 897–924. Mills, Charles Wright. The Sociological Imagination. London: Penguin, 1959. Naccarato, Peter, and Kathleen LeBesco. Culinary Capital. London: Berg, 2012. Short, Frances. Kitchen Secrets: The Meaning of Cooking in Everyday Life. Oxford: Berg, 2006. Skeggs, Beverley. Class, Self and Culture. London: Routledge, 2004. Warde, Alan. Consumption, Food and Taste. London: Sage, 1997.

It has been fifteen months since the World Health Organisation declared the COVID-19 outbreak a global pandemic and the first lockdowns went into effect, dramatically changing the social landscape for millions of individuals worldwide. Overnight, it seemed, Zoom became the default platform for video conferencing, rapidly morphing from brand name to eponymous generic—a verb and a place and mode of being all at once. This nearly ubiquitous transition to remote work and remote play was both unprecedented and entirely anticipated. While teleworking, digital commerce, online learning, and social networking were common fare by 2020, in March of that year telepresence shifted from option to mandate, and Zooming became a daily practice for tens of millions of individuals worldwide. In an era of COVID-19, our relationships and experiences are deeply intertwined with our ability to “Zoom”. This shift resulted in new forms of artistic practice, new modes of pedagogy, and new ways of social organising, but it has also created new forms (and exacerbated existing forms) of exploitation, inequity, social isolation, and precarity. For millions, of course, lockdowns and restrictions had a profound impact that could not be mitigated by the mediated presence offered by way of Zoom and other video conferencing platforms. For those of us fortunate enough to maintain a paycheck and engage in work remotely, Zoom in part highlighted the degree to which a network logic already governed our work and our labour within a neoliberal economy long before the first lockdowns began. In the introduction to The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge, Lyotard identifies a “logic of maximum performance” that regulates the contemporary moment: a cybernetic framework for understanding what it means to communicate—one that ultimately frames all political, social, and personal interactions within matrices of power laid out in terms of performativity and optimisation (xxiv.) Performativity serves as a foundation for not only how a system operates, but for how all other elements within that system express themselves. Lyotard writes, “even when its rules are in the process of changing and innovations are occurring, even when its dysfunctions (such as strikes, crises, unemployment, or political revolutions) inspire hope and lead to a belief in an alternative, even then what is actually taking place is only an internal readjustment, and its results can be no more than an increase in the system’s ‘viability’” (11-12). One may well add to this list of dysfunctions global pandemics. Zoom, in effect, offered universities, corporations, mass media outlets, and other organisations a platform to “innovate” within an ongoing network logic of performativity: to maintain business as usual in a moment in which nothing was usual, normal, or functional. Zoom foregrounds performativity in other senses as well, to the extent that it provides a space and context for social performance. In The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, Erving Goffman explores how social actors move through their social environments, managing their identities in response to the space in which they find themselves and the audience (who are also social actors) within those spaces. For Goffman, the social environment provides the primary context for how and why social actors behave the way that they do. Goffman further denotes different spaces where our performances may shift: from public settings to smaller audiences, to private spaces where we can inhabit ourselves without any performance demands. The advent of social media, however, has added new layers to how we understand performance, audience, and public and private social spaces. Indeed, Goffman’s assertion that we are constantly managing our impressions feels particularly accurate when considering the added pressures of managing our identities in multiple social spaces, both face to face and online. Thus, when the world shut down during the COVID-19 pandemic, and all forms of social interactions shifted to digital spaces, the performative demands of working from home became all the more complex in the sharp merging of private and public spaces. Thus, discussions and debates arose regarding proper “Zoom etiquette”, for different settings, and what constituted work-appropriate attire when working from home (a debate that, unsurprisingly, became particularly gendered in nature). Privacy management was a near constant narrative as we began asking, who can be in our spaces? How much of our homes are we required to put on display to other classmates, co-workers, and even our friends? In many ways, the hyper-dependence on Zoom interactions forced an entry into the spaces that we so often kept private, leaving our social performances permanently on display. Prior to COVID-19, the networks of everyday life had already produced rather porous boundaries between public and private life, but for the most part, individuals managed to maintain some sort of partition between domestic, intimate spaces, and their public performances of their professional and civic selves. It was an exception in The Before Times, for example, for a college professor to be interrupted in the midst of his BBC News interview by his children wandering into the room; the suspended possibility of the private erupting in the midst of a public social space (or vice versa) haunts all of our network interactions, yet the exceptionality of these moments speaks to the degree to which we sustained an illusion of two distinct stages for performance in a pre-pandemic era. Now, what was once the exception has become the rule. As millions of individuals found themselves Zooming from home while engaging co-workers, clients, patients, and students in professional interactions, the interpenetration of the public and private became a matter of daily fare. And yes, while early on in the pandemic several newsworthy (or at least meme-worthy) stories circulated widely on mass media and social media alike, serving as teleconferencing cautionary tales—usually involving sex, drugs, or bowel movements—moments of transgressive privacy very much became the norm: we found ourselves, in the midst of the workday, peering into backgrounds of bedrooms and kitchens, examining decorations and personal effects, and sharing in the comings and goings of pets and other family members entering and leaving the frame. Some users opted for background images or made use of blurring effects to “hide the mess” of their daily lives. Others, however, seemed to embrace the blur itself, implicitly or explicitly accepting the everydayness of this new liminality between public and private life. And while we acknowledge the transgressive nature of the incursions of the domestic and the intimate into workplace activities, it is worth noting as well that this incursion likewise takes place in the opposite direction, as spaces once designated as private became de facto workplace settings, and fell under the purview of a whole range of workplace policies that dictated appropriate and inappropriate behaviour. Not least of these intrusions are the literal and ideological apparatuses of surveillance that Zoom and other video conferencing platforms set into motion. In the original conception of the Panopticon, the observer could see the observed, but those being observed could not see their observers. This was meant to instill a sense of constant surveillance, whether the observer was there or not. In Discipline and Punish, Foucault considered those observed through the Panopticon as objects to be observed, with no power to turn the gaze back towards the structures of power that infiltrated their existence with such invasive intent. With Zoom, however, as much as private spaces have been infiltrated by work, school, and even family and friends, those leading classes or meetings may also feel a penetrative gaze by those who observe their professional performances, as many online participants have pushed back against these intrusions with cameras and audio turned off, leaving the performer with an audience of black screens and no indication of real observers behind them or not. In these unstable digital spaces, we vacillate between observed and observer, with the lines between private and public, visible and invisible, utterly blurred. Yet we should not lose sight of the fact that the panoptic power of the platform itself is hardly optic and remains one degree removed from its users, at the level of data extraction, collection, and exchange. In an already data-dependent era, more privacy and personal data has become available than ever before through online monitoring and the constant use of Zoom in work and social interactions. Such incursions of informatic biopower require further consideration within an emerging discussion of digital capital. There has also been the opportunity for these transformative, digital spaces to be used for an invited gaze into artistic and imaginative spaces. The global pandemic hit many industries hard, but in particular, artists and performers, as well as their performance venues, saw a massive loss of space, audiences, and income. Many artists developed performance spaces through online video conferencing in order to maintain their practice and their connection to their audiences, while others developed new curriculums and worked to find accessible ways for community members to participate in online art programming. Thus, though performers may still be faced with black squares as their audience, the invited gaze allows for artistic performances to continue, whether as digital shorts, live streamed music sets, or isolated cast members performing many roles with a reduced cast list. Though the issue of access to the technology and bandwidth needed to partake in these performances and programming is still front of mind, the presentation of artistic performances through Zoom has allowed in many other ways for a larger audience reach, from those who may not live near a performance centre, to others who may not be able to access physical spaces comfortably or safely. The ideology of ongoing productivity and expanded, remote access baked into video conferencing platforms like Zoom is perhaps most apparent in the assumptions of access that accompanied the widespread use of these platforms, particularly in the context of public institutions such as schools. In the United States, free market libertarian think tanks like the Cato Institute have pointed to the end of “Net Neutrality” as a boon for infrastructure investment that led to greater broadband access nationwide (compared to a more heavily regulated industry in Europe). Yet even policy think tanks such as the Information Technology and Innovation Foundation—with its mission to “formulate, evaluate, and promote policy solutions that accelerate innovation and boost productivity to spur growth, opportunity, and progress”—acknowledged that although the U.S. infrastructure supported the massive increase in bandwidth demands as schools and businesses went online, gaps in rural access and affordability barriers for low income users mean that more needs to be done to bring about “a more just and effective broadband network for all Americans”. But calls for greater access are, in effect, supporting this same ideological framework in which greater access presumably equates with greater equity. What the COVID-19 pandemic revealed, we would argue, is the degree to which those most in need of services and support experience the greatest degree of digital precarity, a point that Jenny Kennedy, Indigo Holcombe-James, and Kate Mannell foreground in their piece “Access Denied: How Barriers to Participate on Zoom Impact on Research Opportunity”. As they note, access to data and devices provide a basic threshold for participation, but the ability to deploy these tools and orient oneself toward these sorts of engagements suggests a level of fluency beyond what many high-risk/high-need populations may already possess. Access reveals a disposition toward global networks, and as such signals one’s degree of social capital within a network society—a “state nobility” for the digital age (Bourdieu.) While Zoom became the default platform for a wide range of official and institutional practices, from corporate meetings to college class sessions, we have seen over the past year unanticipated engagements with the platform as well. Zoombombing offers one form of evil media practice that disrupts the dominant performativity logic of Zoom and undermines the assumptions of rational exchange that still drive much of how we understand “effective” communication (Fuller and Goffey). While we may be tempted to dismiss Zoombombing and other forms of “shitposting” as “mere” trollish distractions, doing so does not address the political agency of strategic actions on these platforms that refuse to abide by “an intersubjective recognition that is based on a consensus about values or on mutual understanding” (Habermas 12). Kawsar Ali takes up these tactical uses in “Zoom-ing in on White Supremacy: Zoom-Bombing Anti-Racism Efforts” and explores how alt-right and white supremacist groups have exploited these strategies not only as a means of disruption but as a form of violence against participants. A cluster of articles in this issue take up the question of creative practice and how video conferencing technologies can be adapted to performative uses that were perhaps not intended or foreseen by the platform’s creators. xtine burrough and Sabrina Starnaman offer up one such project in “Epic Hand Washing: Synchronous Participation and Lost Narratives”, which paired live performances of handwashing in domestic spaces with readings from literary texts that commented upon earlier pandemics and plagues. While Zoom presents itself as a tool to keep a neoliberal economy flowing, we see modes of use such as burrough’s and Starnaman’s performative piece that are intentionally playful, at the same time that they attempt to address the lived experiences of lockdown, confinement, and hygienic hypervigilance. Claire Parnell, Andrea Anne Trinidad, and Jodi McAlister explore another form of playful performance through their examination of the #RomanceClass community in the Philippines, and how they adapted their biannual reading and performance events of their community-produced English-language romance fiction. While we may still use comparative terms such as “face-to-face” and “virtual” to distinguish between digitally-mediated and (relatively) unmediated interactions, Parnell et al.’s work highlights the degree to which these technologies of mediation were already a part of this community’s attempt to support and sustain itself. Zoom, then, became the vehicle to produce and share community-oriented kilig, a Filipino term for embodied, romantic affective response. Shaun Wilson’s “Creative Practice through Teleconferencing in the Era of COVID-19” provides another direct reflection on the contemporary moment and the framing aesthetics of Zoom. Through an examination of three works of art produced for screen during the COVID-19 pandemic, including his own project “Fading Light”, Wilson examines how video conferencing platforms create “oscillating” frames that speak to and comment on each other at the same time that they remain discrete and untouched. We have opened and closed this issue with bookends of sorts, bringing to the fore a range of theoretical considerations alongside personal reflections. In our feature article, “Room without Room: Affect and Abjection in the Circuit of Self-Regard”, Ricky Crano examines the degree to which the aesthetics of Zoom, from its glitches to its default self-view, create modes of interaction that drain affect from discourse, leaving its users with an impoverished sense of co-presence. His focus is explicitly on the normative uses of the platform, not the many artistic and experimental misappropriations that the platform likewise offers. He concludes, “it is left to artists and other experimenters to expose and undermine the workings of power in the standard corporate, neoliberal modes of engagement”, which several of the following essays in this issue then take up. And we close with “Embracing Liminality and ‘Staying with the Trouble’ on (and off) Screen”, in which Tania Lewis, Annette Markham, and Indigo Holcombe-James explore two autoethnographic studies, Massive and Microscopic Sensemaking and The Shut-In Worker, to discuss the liminality of our experience of the COVID-19 pandemic, on and off—and in between—Zoom screens. Rather than suggesting a “return to normal” as mask mandates, social distancing, and lockdown restrictions ease, they attempt to “challenge the assumption that stability and certainty is what we now need as a global community … . How can we use the discomfort of liminality to imagine global futures that have radically transformative possibilities?” This final piece in the collection we take to heart, as we consider how we, too, can stay in the trouble, and consider transformative futures. Each of these pieces offers a thoughtful contribution to a burgeoning discussion on what Zooming means to us as academics, teachers, researchers, and community members. Though investigations into the social effects of digital spaces are not new, this moment in time requires careful and critical investigation through the lens of a global pandemic as it intersects with a world that has never been more digital in its presence and social interactions. The articles in this volume bring us to a starting point, but there is much more to cover: issues of disability and accessibility, gender and physical representations, the political economy of digital accessibility, the transformation of learning styles and experiences through a year of online learning, and still more areas of investigation to come. It is our hope that this volume provides a blueprint of sorts for other critical engagements and explorations of how our lives and our digital landscapes have been impacted by COVID-19, regardless of the instability of our connections. We would like to thank all of the contributors and peer reviewers who made this fascinating issue possible, with a special thanks to the Cultural Studies Association New Media and Digital Cultures Working Group, where these conversations started … on Zoom, of course. References Bourdieu, Pierre. The State Nobility. Stanford UP, 1998. Brake, Doug. “Lessons from the Pandemic: Broadband Policy after COVID-19.” Information Technology and Innovation Foundation, 13 July 2020. <http://itif.org/publications/2020/07/13/lessons-pandemic-broadband-policy-after-covid-19>. “Children Interrupt BBC News Interview – BBC News.” BBC News, 10 Mar. 2017. <http://youtu.be/Mh4f9AYRCZY>. Firey, Thomas A. “Telecommuting to Avoid COVID-19? Thank the End of ‘Net Neutrality.’” The Cato Institute, 16 Apr. 2020. <http://www.cato.org/blog/telecommuting-avoid-covid-19-thank-end-net-neutrality>. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Penguin, 2020. Fuller, Matthew, and Andrew Goffey. Evil Media. MIT P, 2012. Goffman, Erving. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. Anchor, 2008. Habermas, Jürgen. On the Pragmatics of Social Interaction. Polity, 2001. Lyotard, Jean-François. The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge. U of Minnesota P, 1984. “WHO Director-General's Opening Remarks at the Media Briefing on COVID-19 – 11 March 2020.” World Health Organization, 11 Mar. 2020. <http://www.who.int/director-general/speeches/detail/who-director-general-s-opening-remarks-at-the-media-briefing-on-covid-19---11-march-2020>. “Zoom Etiquette: Tips for Better Video Conferences.” Emily Post. <http://emilypost.com/advice/zoom-etiquette-tips-for-better-video-conferences>.

i'm going shopping -- but i'm not telling you where! What does one do when one opens the pages of one's favourite style bible -- in this case, the British magazine The Face -- and finds one's aesthetic choices stereotyped remorselessly? This unfortunate scenario confronted a humble graduate student a few months ago when I opened the March 1999 issue to find an article titled, appropriately, "Shopping". Written by one of The Face's staff journalists -- identified only by the initials 'JS' -- and subtitled "The yuppie's not dead. He's just changed his shoes", the article made a comparison between current aesthetic practices I am only too consciously aware of and that dreaded and reviled icon of the eighties, the yuppie. What I did -- once I recovered from the melodrama of being aesthetically outed in an international style magazine, that is -- was to think about the politics of aesthetics. In particular, about the connection between popular aesthetic practices and emergent class formations. of porterage bags and obscure label sneakers "In the Eighties everyone wanted to be a yuppie -- young, successful, status-driven, consumerist" begins the fateful article, "living the high life with a low regard for anything that wasn't flash, fancy or requiring gold credit". It wasn't enough to simply have money, you had to demonstrate it too. But the turn of the decade brought an end to this malignant species -- or so at least The Face says, and who am I to disagree with them? But in the dying days of the current decade, The Face believes it has identified a new breed of consumer -- the "consumer of alternative pricey products" or more succinctly, the cappie. Unlike the yuppie, for whom -- discursively, at least -- no act of consumption could be too conspicuous, the cappie is very particular about their consumer practices. If it's not obscure, if it's not hard to get, it doesn't rate. The cappie is fussy about their choices, about their consumer satisfaction. They don't know compromise: they want it, they can buy it -- and, if it's the right thing, at any price. Examples of consumer goods which attract the eye of the cappie include -- and it was here that I started to get worried -- obscure label trainers, rare Japanese denim (didn't you ever wonder what the story behind G-Star was?), the Massive Attack box collection and porterage bags. As someone who has scanned the streets of Brisbane to make sure not too many people have porterage bags like my own and who won't buy trainers unless they have a very high scarcity value, I felt unwillingly but undeniably interpellated by this article. Particularly when it concluded by saying "make no mistake -- [the cappie] is no less a consumer than the yuppie was". Ouch. However, it seems to me that The Face, as is so often the case, only got it half right. Not that I'm not a consumer (that would be special pleading!): after all, as a citizen of a client state of the United States, the economic function of which is to absorb the overproduction capacity of our host nation, I could hardly be anything else. No, it is the particular origin of the aesthetic of consumption practised/performed by cappies like me that The Face got wrong, and there is both textual and anecdotal evidence to support this claim. Textually, there is a significant difference between the aesthetic of consumption of the yuppie and that of the cappie as they are presented by The Face. The yuppie aesthetic was based, The Face argues, on the public display of a "common currency of success": "the wide-wheeled flash car, the wide-shouldered Italian suit, the celebrity restaurant" -- the conspicuous consumption of a set register of signifiers that denoted the exercise and possession of economic capital. In contrast, the cappie aesthetic as defined by The Face eschews the display of economic capital in favour of a fluctuating and eclectic register of signifiers -- the preferred labels are obscure and niche, their recognition unnecessary: "if you haven't heard of it, so much the better. ... He knows it's right, he doesn't need you to know" [italics and gender-exclusive pronouns in original]. Anecdotally, the consumption patterns practiced by myself and others who share a similar sense of aesthetics have been honed through years spent scouring op-shops for good scores. The trainers I like are not merely rare, they're also extraordinarily cheap. The football jersey I spent months searching for had to satisfy two important criteria on top of looking good: it had to be obscure, and it had to be a bargain. Now, to be sure, I was searching for the football jersey in the UK, which for an Australian is not a cheap holiday destination, and the trainers I prefer are cheap by my standards but not necessarily in an absolute sense, so I'm not trying to argue that the cappie -- assuming I am a suitable example of one -- is without economic capital. However, what I am arguing is that this aesthetic practice does not privilege the mere possession of economic capital, except as it enables the performance of the preferred stylistic register: that the determinant of last instance of the cappie aesthetic is not the ability to buy the appropriate significatory register but the knowledge of what it constitutes and how to read it. If there is the public display of distinction taking place in this aesthetic -- and I would suggest that, like all aesthetics, there clearly is -- it is not economic capital that is being conspicuously consumed, but cultural capital: i.e., knowledge. If the origin of the aesthetic of consumption identified by The Face as 'cappie' is the possession of cultural capital rather than economic capital, then it is both significantly different from the aesthetic of conspicuous consumption metonymically represented in the figure of the yuppie and considerably more interesting. The ubiquity of the yuppie subject in the Eighties can be read, as a number of scholars including Jane Feuer and Fredric Jameson have argued, as a representation of the embourgeoisment -- either practically or spectrally -- of the professional-managerial class as it grew in importance to the functioning of the US economy and its satellite nations. Jane Feuer, the American scholar of television and soap opera argues, for example, that 'yuppiedom' as it was manifest in the USA in the 1980s was ideologically and aesthetically elitist (Feuer 14), and combined "fiscal conservatism and relatively liberal social values" (44). Feuer equates the class identity of the young, urban, highly-remunerated and ambitious professional with the more general and more ambivalent 'professional-managerial class' of educated and managerial workers who nevertheless didn't own the means of production. "In a sense", says Feuer, only somewhat facetiously, "during the 1980s Marxist academics were yuppies who couldn't afford BMWs" (46). Feuer supports this assertion by arguing that during this period, the 'yuppie audience', as she designates the demographic segment who positively responded to their interpellation, and the professional-managerial class shared similar aesthetic and lifestyle values -- that is, they shared the same discriminators of taste and distinction, in the Bourdieuan sense. As a result, the rise of this new consuming subject, the cappie, which eschews the aesthetic codes of conspicuous consumption in favour of an aesthetic based on the possession and performance of accumulated knowledge, of cultural capital, suggests that it represents the aspirations and affectations of a significant class fraction outside existing class structures -- outside, because its aesthetic codes are based not upon economic capital, the determinant of last resort of class location within capitalist economies, but of embodied knowledge: of cultural capital. However, this is not to suggest that the cappie aesthetic is better or more democratic than an aesthetic based upon the conspicuous consumption of economic capital. There is enough scholarship that contributes to "the alliance between cultural studies, liberal multiculturalism and transnational capitalism", as the Marxist literary critic Terry Eagleton caustically puts it, without me contributing to this sorry corpus as well. For although the cappie does not depend upon economic capital for its ultima ratio, it is still, as an aesthetic practice, a regime of discrimination. As such, there are a number of possible future trajectories available to the cappie aesthetic, the selection of which will define retrospectively what it always was. Firstly, it is possible that the cappie is the latest in a long series of subordinate aesthetic practices -- that is, subcultures -- that exist below the dominant aesthetic practice of conspicuous economic consumption and which value forms of capital de-valued by the hegemonic aesthetic. In this way the cappie might take its place next to the beat poet, the mod, the punk and the raver, as an iconic representation of a (predominantly youth) subculture that defines itself against and in relation to the dominant aesthetic practice. It is also possible that the cappie might follow the same trajectory that the yuppie did. As Feuer argues, the yuppie began as an aesthetic practice that valued cultural capital at least as much as economic capital, but which, through its interpellation as the 'yuppie audience' of a significant fraction of the recently economically enfranchised professional-managerial class became, briefly, the hegemonic aesthetic practice in the US in the 1980s. There is also a third possibility, however, that I am most interested in: that the emergent cappie aesthetic, independent of but not unresponsive to existing aesthetic practices, is the subjective manifestation of ongoing changes in the mode of production in advanced capitalist economies from an industrial base to an informational one. There isn't the space here to argue the existence of this transformation, and so I shall instead direct the reader to the magisterial 3 volume work by the Spanish sociologist Manuel Castells, The Informational Age: Economy, Society and Culture. However, given the reality, in whatever form, of this gradual transformation from an industrial mode of production to one that is primarily informational, then it follows that the simultaneous product of and precondition for this transformation has been the ongoing commodification of knowledge, or more precisely, the "integration of knowledge into commodity production" (Frow 91). As a result of this transformation, the expertise and credentials possessed as cultural capital by the emerging knowledge class become more generally and reliably convertable into economic capital: cultural capital becomes a means of production. What the emergence of the cappie aesthetic is doing then is marking the coming to power of this particular class fraction through the conspicuous display of artefacts that signify not money but skill: knowledge. Furthermore, the cappie aesthetic signifies this emerging power of a knowledge class not qua economic enfranchisment, as the yuppie did, but on its own terms, through the reification of the form of capital -- cultural capital -- that is peculiar to itself. The cappie thus brings together the three forms of cultural capital, as the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu has defined them, in the body of the 'cappie subject': institutionalised, in the form of educational qualifications, the certification of which is done by the university system through which this article is being circulated; objectified, in the cultural products of the cappie; and embodied "in the form of long-lasting dispositions of the mind and body" -- that is, as aesthetics (243). In particular, it is this embodiment, through aesthetics, of cultural capital that interests me about The Face's construction of the cappie. For this embodiment of certified knowledge and expertise manifest through its performance of deliberately obscure and shifting aesthetic registers implies a particular awareness of the self, one that is very similar to what Michel Foucault, in a somewhat different context, has called enkrateia. In The History of Sexuality, Volume 2: The Use of Pleasure, Foucault defines enkrateia as a combative relation of the self to the self, "a domination of the self by oneself and ... the effort that this demands" (65). Distinguishing enkrateia (translated into English as 'continent') from 'moderation' (sophrosyne), Foucault argues that the 'continent' self "experiences pleasures that are not in accord with reason, but [is] no longer ... carried away by them" (66). For Foucault, enkrateia is one of the "technologies of the self", those techniques which permit individuals to effect by their own means or with the help of others a certain number of operations on their own bodies and souls, thoughts, conduct, and way of being, so as to transform themselves. (Technologies of the Self, 18) That is, the subjective constitution of knowledge of the self as self-mastery is what gives the subject the ability -- and for Foucault, following classical Greek philosophers, the right -- to govern others. In this sense then -- and without wishing to diminish my own awkward interpellation by this aesthetic mode -- as a description of the popular consumption practice named by The Face as 'the cappie', (although I might wish to expand that acronym simply as 'the consumer of alternative products'), this notion of enkrateia -- power over others gained through knowledge of and power over the self -- pointedly locates the emerging class privilege and power enabled through and by this particular aesthetic practice. In a society in which the dominant form of capital is increasingly becoming information, and in which capital is increasingly regarded as information, the conspicuous display of exclusive forms of knowledge by the cappie aesthetic is not so much a reaction against capitalist consumption aesthetics as a recognition and performance of the rising social power and influence of the class fraction interpellated and addressed by this aesthetic practice. If aesthetic practices are distillations and embodiments of class aspirations and expectations -- and I hope I've argued that they are -- and if the aesthetic practice signified by The Face's 'cappie' is in fact markedly different from the practice of conspicuous consumption that came to be reviled, rightly, as 'yuppie' -- in as much as 'the cappie' disregards ostentatious displays of economic capital in favour of no less arrogant displays of embodied cultural capital -- then the cappie is the marker of the emergence of a new class formation. And although mapping the precise topography of this class fraction will consume the entirety of my doctorate, and even then not exhaustively, I can say that the 'knowledge class', identification of which is based upon possession of a necessary quantity of cultural capital -- that is, of education, aesthetic modes and inscribed competencies --, is both the result and engine of an emergent mode of production that is bringing about a transformation of apparatus of contemporary capitalism. And that this isn't necessarily a good thing. References Bourdieu, Pierre. "The Forms of Capital." Handbook for the Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education. Ed. John G. Richardson. New York: Greenwood, 1986. 241-58. Castells, Manuel. The Informational Age: Economy, Society and Culture. Vol 1-3. Malden, MA.: Blackwell Publishers, 1996-8. Eagleton, Terry. "In the Gaudy Supermarket." London Review of Books Online 21.10 (1999). 10 June 1999 <http://www.lrb.co.uk/v21/n10/eagl2110.htm>. "Shopping." The Face Mar. 1997: 24. Feuer, Jane. Seeing through the Eighties: Television and Reaganism. Durham: Duke UP, 1995. Foucault, Michel. The Care of the Self. The History of Sexuality vol. 3. Trans. Robert Hurley. New York: Pantheon Books, 1986. Frow, John. Cultural Studies and Cultural Value. Oxford: Clarendon P, 1995. Martin, Luther H., Huck Gutman, and Patrick H. Hutton, eds. Technologies of the Self: A Seminar with Michel Foucault. Amherst: U of Massachusetts P, 1988. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Sean Aylward Smith. "Ya Bloody Cappie!." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.4 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/cappie.php>. Chicago style: Sean Aylward Smith, "Ya Bloody Cappie!," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 4 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/cappie.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Sean Aylward Smith. (1999) Ya bloody cappie!. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(4). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/cappie.php> ([your date of access]).

Introduction When a text is said to be re-appropriated, it is at times unclear to what extent this appropriation is secondary, repeated, new; certainly, the difference between a reiteration and an iteration has more to do with emphasis than any (re)duplication. And at a moment in the development of crime fiction in France when the retranslation of now apparently dated French translations of the works of classic American hardboiled novels (especially those of authors like Dashiell Hammett, whose novels were published in Marcel Duhamel’s Série Noire at Gallimard in the decades following the end of the Second World War) is being undertaken with the ostensible aim of taking the French reader back (closer) to the American original, one may well ask where the emphasis now lies. In what ways, for example, is this new form of re-production, of re-imagining the text, more intimately bound to the original, and thus in itself less ‘original’ than its translated predecessors? Or again, is this more reactionary ‘re-’ in fact really that different from those more radical uses that cleaved the translation from its original text in those early, foundational years of twentieth-century French crime fiction? (Re-)Reading: Critical Theory and Originality My juxtaposition of the terms ‘reactionary’ and ‘radical’, and the attempted play on the auto-antonymy of the verb ‘to cleave’, are designed to prompt a re(-)read of the analysis that so famously took the text away from the author in the late-1960s through to the 1990s, which is to say the critical theory of poststructuralism and deconstruction. Roland Barthes’s work (especially 69–77) appropriated the familiar terms of literary analysis and reversed them, making of them perhaps a re-appropriation in the sense of taking them into new territory: the text, formerly a paper-based platform for the written word, was now a virtual interface between the word and its reader, the new locus of the production of meaning; the work, on the other hand, which had previously pertained to the collective creative imaginings of the author, was now synonymous with the physical writing passed on by the author to the reader. And by ‘passed on’ was meant ‘passed over’, achevé (perfected, terminated, put to death)—completed, then, but only insofar as its finite sequence of words was set; for its meaning was henceforth dependent on its end user. The new textual life that surged from the ‘death of the author’ was therefore always already an afterlife, a ‘living on’, to use Jacques Derrida’s term (Bloom et al. 75–176). It is in this context that the re-reading encouraged by Barthes has always appeared to mark a rupture a teasing of ‘reading’ away from the original series of words and the ‘Meaning’ as intended by the author, if any coherence of intention is possible across the finite sequence of words that constitute the written work. The reader must learn to re-read, Barthes implored, or otherwise be condemned to read the same text everywhere. In this sense, the ‘re-’ prefix marks an active engagement with the text, a reflexivity of the act of reading as an act of transformation. The reader whose consumption of the text is passive, merely digestive, will not transform the words (into meaning); and crucially, that reader will not herself be transformed. For this is the power of reflexive reading—when one reads text as text (and not ‘losing oneself’ in the story) one reconstitutes oneself (or, perhaps, loses control of oneself more fully, more productively); not to do so, is to take an unchanged constant (oneself) into every textual encounter and thus to produce sameness in ostensible difference. One who rereads a text and discovers the same story twice will therefore reread even when reading a text for the first time. The hyphen of the re-read, on the other hand, distances the reader from the text; but it also, of course, conjoins. It marks the virtual space where reading occurs, between the physical text and the reading subject; and at the same time, it links all texts in an intertextual arena, such that the reading experience of any one text is informed by the reading of all texts (whether they be works read by an individual reader or works as yet unencountered). Such a theory of reading appears to shift originality so far from the author’s work as almost to render the term obsolete. But the thing about reflexivity is that it depends on the text itself, to which it always returns. As Barbara Johnson has noted, the critical difference marked by Barthes’s understandings of the text, and his calls to re-read it, is not what differentiates it from other texts—the universality of the intertext and the reading space underlines this; instead, it is what differentiates the text from itself (“Critical Difference” 175). And while Barthes’s work packages this differentiation as a rupture, a wrenching of ownership away from the author to a new owner, the work and text appear less violently opposed in the works of the Yale School deconstructionists. In such works as J. Hillis Miller’s “The Critic as Host” (1977), the hyphenation of the re-read is less marked, with re-reading, as a divergence from the text as something self-founding, self-coinciding, emerging as something inherent in the original text. The cleaving of one from and back into the other takes on, in Miller’s essay, the guise of parasitism: the host, a term that etymologically refers to the owner who invites and the guest who is invited, offers a figure for critical reading that reveals the potential for creative readings of ‘meaning’ (what Miller calls the nihilistic text) inside the transparent ‘Meaning’ of the text, by which we recognise one nonetheless autonomous text from another (the metaphysical text). Framed in such terms, reading is a reaction to text, but also an action of text. I should argue then that any engagement with the original is re-actionary—my caveat being that this hyphenation is a marker of auto-antonymy, a link between the text and otherness. Translation and Originality Questions of a translator’s status and the originality of the translated text remain vexed. For scholars of translation studies like Brian Nelson, the product of literary translation can legitimately be said to have been authored by its translator, its status as literary text being equal to that of the original (3; see also Wilson and Gerber). Such questions are no more or less vexed today, however, than they were in the days when criticism was grappling with translation through the lens of deconstruction. To refer again to the remarkable work of Johnson, Derrida’s theorisation of textual ‘living on’—the way in which text, at its inception, primes itself for re-imagining, by dint of the fundamental différance of the chains of signification that are its DNA—bears all the trappings of self-translation. Johnson uses the term ‘self-différance’ (“Taking Fidelity” 146–47) in this respect and notes how Derrida took on board, and discussed with him, the difficulties that he was causing for his translator even as he was writing the ‘original’ text of his essay. If translation, in this framework, is rendered impossible because of the original’s failure to coincide with itself in a transparently meaningful way, then its practice “releases within each text the subversive forces of its own foreignness” (Johnson, “Taking Fidelity” 148), thereby highlighting the debt owed by Derrida’s notion of textual ‘living on’—in (re-)reading—to Walter Benjamin’s understanding of translation as a mode, its translatability, the way in which it primes itself for translation virtually, irrespective of whether or not it is actually translated (70). In this way, translation is a privileged site of textual auto-differentiation, and translated text can, accordingly, be considered every bit as ‘original’ as its source text—simply more reflexive, more aware of its role as a conduit between the words on the page and the re-imagining that they undergo, by which they come to mean, when they are re-activated by the reader. Emily Apter—albeit in a context that has more specifically to do with the possibilities of comparative literature and the real-world challenges of language in war zones—describes the auto-differentiating nature of translation as “a means of repositioning the subject in the world and in history; a means of rendering self-knowledge foreign to itself; a way of denaturalizing citizens, taking them out of the comfort zone of national space, daily ritual, and pre-given domestic arrangements” (6). In this way, translation is “a significant medium of subject re-formation and political change” (Apter 6). Thus, translation lends itself to crime fiction; for both function as highly reflexive sites of transformation: both provide a reader with a heightened sense of the transformation that she is enacting on the text and that she herself embodies as a reading subject, a subject changed by reading. Crime Fiction, Auto-Differention and Translation As has been noted elsewhere (Rolls), Fredric Jameson made an enigmatic reference to crime fiction’s perceived role as the new Realism as part of his plenary lecture at “Telling Truths: Crime Fiction and National Allegory”, a conference held at the University of Wollongong on 6–8 December 2012. He suggested, notably, that one might imagine an author of Scandi-Noir writing in tandem with her translator. While obvious questions of the massive international marketing machine deployed around this contemporary phenomenon come to mind, and I suspect that this is how Jameson’s comment was generally understood, it is tempting to consider this Scandinavian writing scenario in terms of Derrida’s proleptic considerations of his own translator. In this way, crime fiction’s most telling role, as one of the most widely read contemporary literary forms, is its translatability; its haunting descriptions of place (readers, we tend, perhaps precipitously, to assume, love crime fiction for its national, regional or local situatedness) are thus tensely primed for re-location, for Apter’s ‘subject re-formation’. The idea of ‘the new Realism’ of crime, and especially detective, fiction is predicated on the tightly (self-)policed rules according to which crime fiction operates. The reader appears to enter into an investigation alongside the detective, co-authoring the crime text in real (reading) time, only for authorial power to be asserted in the unveiling scene of the denouement. What masquerades as the ultimately writerly text, in Barthes’s terms, turns out to be the ultimate in transparently meaningful literature when the solution is set in stone by the detective. As such, the crime novel is far more dependent on descriptions of the minutiae of everyday life (in a given place in time) than other forms of fiction, as these provide the clues on which its intricate plot hinges. According to this understanding, crime fiction records history and transcribes national allegories. This is not only a convincing way of understanding crime fiction, but it is also an extremely powerful way of harnessing it for the purposes of cultural history. Claire Gorrara, for example, uses the development of French crime fiction plots over the course of the second half of the twentieth century to map France’s coming to terms with the legacy of the Second World War. This is the national allegory written in real time, as the nation heals and moves on, and this is crime fiction as a reaction to national allegory. My contention here, on the other hand, is that crime fiction, like translation, has at its core an inherent, and reflexive, tendency towards otherness. Indeed, this is because crime fiction, whose origins in transnational (and especially Franco-American) literary exchange have been amply mapped but not, I should argue, extrapolated to their fullest extent, is forged in translation. It is widely considered that when Edgar Allan Poe produced his seminal text “The Murders in the Rue Morgue” (1841) he created modern crime fiction. And yet, this was made possible because the text was translated into French by Charles Baudelaire and met with great success in France, far more so indeed than in its original place of authorship. Its original setting, however, was not America but Paris; its translatability as French text preceded, even summoned, its actualisation in the form of Baudelaire’s translation. Furthermore, the birth of the great armchair detective, the exponent of pure, objective deduction, in the form of C. Auguste Dupin, is itself turned on its head, a priori, because Dupin, in this first Parisian short story, always already off-sets objectivity with subjectivity, ratiocination with a tactile apprehension of the scene of the crime. He even goes as far as to accuse the Parisian Prefect of Police of one-dimensional objectivity. (Dupin undoes himself, debunking the myth of his own characterisation, even as he takes to the stage.) In this way, Poe founded his crime fiction on a fundamental tension; and this tension called out to its translator so powerfully that Baudelaire claimed to be translating his own thoughts, as expressed by Poe, even before he had had a chance to think them (see Rolls and Sitbon). Thus, Poe was Parisian avant la lettre, his crime fiction a model for Baudelaire’s own prose poetry, the new voice of critical modernity in the mid-nineteenth century. If Baudelaire went on to write Paris in the form of Paris Spleen (1869), his famous collection of “little prose poems”, both as it is represented (timelessly, poetically) and as it presents itself (in real time, prosaically) at the same time, it was not only because he was spontaneously creating a new national allegory for France based on its cleaving of itself in the wake of Georges-Eugène Haussmann’s massive programme of urbanisation in Paris in the 1800s; it was also because he was translating Poe’s fictionalisation of Paris in his new crime fiction. Crime fiction was born therefore not only simultaneously in France and America but also in the translation zone between the two, in the self-différance of translation. In this way, while a strong claim can be made that modern French crime fiction is predicated on, and reacts to, the auto-differentiation (of critical modernity, of Paris versus Paris) articulated in Baudelaire’s prose poems and therefore tells the national allegory, it is also the case, and it is this aspect that is all too often overlooked, that crime fiction’s birth in Franco-American translation founded the new French national allegory. Re-imagining America in (French) Crime Fiction Pierre Bayard has done more than any other critic in recent years to debunk the authorial power of the detective in crime fiction, beginning with his re-imagining of the solution to Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd and continuing with that of Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles (1998 and 2008, respectively). And yet, even as he has engaged with poststructuralist re-readings of these texts, he has put in place his own solutions, elevating them away from his own initial premise of writerly engagement towards a new metaphysics of “Meaning”, be it ironically or because he has fallen prey himself to the seduction of detectival truth. This reactionary turn, or sting-lessness in the tail, reaches new heights (of irony) in the essay in which he imagines the consequences of liberating novels from their traditional owners and coupling them with new authors (Bayard, Et si les œuvres changeaient d’auteur?). Throughout this essay Bayard systematically prefers the terms “work” and “author” to “text” and “reader”, liberating the text not only from the shackles of traditional notions of authorship but also from the terminological reshuffling of his and others’ critical theory, while at the same time clinging to the necessity for textual meaning to stem from authorship and repackaging what is, in all but terminology, Barthes et al.’s critical theory. Caught up in the bluff and double-bluff of Bayard’s authorial redeployments is a chapter on what is generally considered the greatest work of parody of twentieth-century French crime fiction—Boris Vian’s pseudo-translation of black American author Vernon Sullivan’s novel J’irai cracher sur vos tombes (1946, I Shall Spit on Your Graves). The novel was a best seller in France in 1946, outstripping by far the novels of the Série Noire, whose fame and marketability were predicated on their status as “Translations from the American” and of which it appeared a brazen parody. Bayard’s decision to give credibility to Sullivan as author is at once perverse, because it is clear that he did not exist, and reactionary, because it marks a return to Vian’s original conceit. And yet, it passes for innovative, not (or at least not only) because of Bayard’s brilliance but because of the literary qualities of the original text, which, Bayard argues, must have been written in “American” in order to produce such a powerful description of American society at the time. Bayard’s analysis overlooks (or highlights, if we couch his entire project in a hermeneutics of inversion, based on the deliberate, and ironic, re-reversal of the terms “work” and “text”) two key elements of post-war French crime fiction: the novels of the Série Noire that preceded J’irai cracher sur vos tombes in late 1945 and early 1946 were all written by authors posing as Americans (Peter Cheyney and James Hadley Chase were in fact English) and the translations were deliberately unfaithful both to the original text, which was drastically domesticated, and to any realistic depiction of America. While Anglo-Saxon French Studies has tended to overlook the latter aspect, Frank Lhomeau has highlighted the fact that the America that held sway in the French imaginary (from Liberation through to the 1960s and beyond) was a myth rather than a reality. To take this reasoning one logical, reflexive step further, or in fact less far, the object of Vian’s (highly reflexive) novel, which may better be considered a satire than a parody, can be considered not to be race relations in the United States but the French crime fiction scene in 1946, of which its pseudo-translation (which is to say, a novel not written by an American and not translated) is metonymic (see Vuaille-Barcan, Sitbon and Rolls). (For Isabelle Collombat, “pseudo-translation functions as a mise en abyme of a particular genre” [146, my translation]; this reinforces the idea of a conjunction of translation and crime fiction under the sign of reflexivity.) Re-imagined beneath this wave of colourful translations of would-be American crime novels is a new national allegory for a France emerging from the ruins of German occupation and Allied liberation. The re-imagining of France in the years immediately following the Second World War is therefore not mapped, or imagined again, by crime fiction; rather, the combination of translation and American crime fiction provide the perfect storm for re-creating a national sense of self through the filter of the Other. For what goes for the translator, goes equally for the reader. Conclusion As Johnson notes, “through the foreign language we renew our love-hate intimacy with our mother tongue”; and as such, “in the process of translation from one language to another, the scene of linguistic castration […] is played on center stage, evoking fear and pity and the illusion that all would perhaps have been well if we could simply have stayed at home” (144). This, of course, is just what had happened one hundred years earlier when Baudelaire created a new prose poetics for a new Paris. In order to re-present (both present and represent) Paris, he focused so close on it as to erase it from objective view. And in the same instance of supreme literary creativity, he masked the origins of his own translation praxis: his Paris was also Poe’s, which is to say, an American vision of Paris translated into French by an author who considered his American alter ego to have had his own thoughts in an act of what Bayard would consider anticipatory plagiarism. In this light, his decision to entitle one of the prose poems “Any where out of the world”—in English in the original—can be considered a Derridean reflection on the translation inherent in any original act of literary re-imagination. Paris, crime fiction and translation can thus all be considered privileged sites of re-imagination, which is to say, embodiments of self-différance and “original” acts of re-reading. References Apter, Emily. The Translation Zone: A New Comparative Literature. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2006. Barthes, Roland. Le Bruissement de la langue. Paris: Seuil, 1971. Baudelaire, Charles. Le Spleen de Paris. Trans. Louise Varèse. New York: New Directions, 1970 [1869]. Bayard, Pierre. Qui a tué Roger Ackroyd? Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit, 1998. ———. L’Affaire du chien des Baskerville. Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit, 2008. ———. Et si les œuvres changeaient d’auteur? Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit, 2010. Benjamin, Walter. “The Task of the Translator.” Illuminations. Trans. Harry Zohn. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1968. 69–82. Bloom, Harold, et al. Deconstruction and Criticism. New York: The Seabury Press, 1979. Collombat, Isabelle. “Pseudo-traduction: la mise en scène de l’altérité.” Le Langage et l’Homme 38.1 (2003): 145–56. Gorrara, Claire. French Crime Fiction and the Second World War: Past Crimes, Present Memories. Manchester: Manchester UP, 2012. Johnson, Barbara. “Taking Fidelity Philosophically.” Difference in Translation. Ed. Joseph F. Graham. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1985. 142–48. ———. “The Critical Difference.” Critical Essays on Roland Barthes. Ed. Diana Knight. New York: G.K. Hall, 2000. 174–82. Lhomeau, Frank. “Le roman ‘noir’ à l’américaine.” Temps noir 4 (2000): 5–33. Miller, J. Hillis. “The Critic as Host.” Critical Inquiry 3.3 (1977): 439–47. Nelson, Brian. “Preface: Translation Lost and Found.” Australian Journal of French Studies 47.1 (2010): 3–7. Poe, Edgar Allan. “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.” Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. New York: Vintage Books, [1841]1975. 141–68. Rolls, Alistair. “Editor’s Letter: The Undecidable Lightness of Writing Crime.” The Australasian Journal of Popular Culture 3.1 (2014): 3–8. Rolls, Alistair, and Clara Sitbon. “‘Traduit de l’américain’ from Poe to the Série Noire: Baudelaire’s Greatest Hoax?” Modern and Contemporary France 21.1 (2013): 37–53. Vuaille-Barcan, Marie-Laure, Clara Sitbon, and Alistair Rolls. “Jeux textuels et paratextuels dans J’irai cracher sur vos tombes: au-delà du canular.” Romance Studies 32.1 (2014): 16–26. Wilson, Rita, and Leah Gerber, eds. Creative Constraints: Translation and Authorship. Melbourne: Monash UP, 2012.

IntroductionThe tagline for the 2008 Game On exhibition at the Australian Centre for the Moving Image in Melbourne invites visitors to “play your way through the history of videogames.” The Melbourne hosting follows on from exhibitions that have included the Barbican (London), the Royal Museum (Edinburgh) and the Science Museum (London). The Game On exhibition presents an exemplary instance of how digital games and digital games culture are recovered, organised and presented. The Science Museum exhibition offered visitors a walkthrough from the earliest to the latest consoles and games (Pong to Wii Sports) with opportunities for game play framed by curatorial plaques. This article will explore some of the themes and narratives embodied within the exhibition that see digital games technologies enrolled within a media teleology that emphasises technological advancement and upgrade. Narratives of Technological Upgrade The Game On exhibition employed a “social contextualisation” approach, connecting digital gaming developments with historical events and phenomena such as the 1969 moon landing and the Spice Girls. Whilst including thematic strands such as games and violence and games in education, the exhibition’s chronological ordering highlighted technological advancement. In doing so, the exhibition captured a broader tension around celebrating past technological advancement in gaming, whilst at the same time emphasising the quaint shortfalls and looking to future possibilities. That technological advancements stand out, particularly as a means of organising a narrative of digital gaming, resonates with Stephen Kline, Nick Dyer-Withford and Greig de Peuter’s analysis of digital gaming as a “perpetual innovation economy.” For Kline et al., corporations “devote a growing share of their resources to the continual alteration and upgrading of their products” (66). Technological upgrade and advancement were described by the Game On curator as an engaging aspect of the exhibition: When we had a BBC news presenter come in, she was talking about ‘here we have the PDP 1 and here I have the Nintendo DS’. She was just sort of comparing and contrasting. I know certainly that journalists were very keen on: ‘yeah, but how much processing power does the PDP 1 have?’, ‘what does it compare to today?’ – and it is very hard to compare. How do you compare Space War on the PDP 1 with something that runs on your mobile phone? They are very different systems. (Lee)This account of journalistic interest in technological progression and the curator’s subsequent interpretation raise a significant tension around understanding digital gaming. The concern with situating past gaming technologies and comparing capacities and capabilities, emphasises both the fascination with advancement and technological progress in the field and how the impressiveness of this advancement depends on remembering what has come before. Questions of remembering, recovering and forgetting are clear in the histories that console manufacturers offer when they describe past innovation and pioneering developments. For example, the company history provided by Nintendo on its website is exclusively a history of games technologies with no reference to the proceeding business of playing-card games from the late nineteenth century. Its website-published history only starts with the 1985 release of the NES (Nintendo Entertainment System), “an instant hit [that] over the course of the next two years, it almost single-handedly revitalized the video game industry” (Nintendo, ‘History’), and thereby overlooks the earlier 1983 less successful Famicom system. Past technologies are selectively remembered and recovered as part of the foundations for future success. This is a tension, that can be unpacked in a number of ways, across current industry transformations and strategies that potentially erase the past whilst simultaneously seeking to recover it as part of an evidence-base for future development. The following discussion develops an analysis of how digital gaming history is recovered and constructed.Industry Wind Change and Granny on the WiiThere is “unease, almost embarrassment”, James Newman suggests, “about the videogames industry within certain quarters of the industry itself” (6). Newman goes on to suggest:Various euphemisms have passed into common parlance, all seemingly motivated by a desire to avoid the use of the word ‘game’ and perhaps even ‘computer’, thereby adding a veneer of respectability, distancing the products and experiences from the childish pursuits of game, play and toys, and downplaying the technology connection with its unwanted resonances of nerds in bedrooms hunched over ZX Spectrums and Commodore 64s and the amateurism of hobbyist production. (6-7) The attempted move away from the resonances of “nerds in bedrooms” has been a strategic decision for Nintendo especially. This is illustrated by the naming of consoles: ‘family’ in Famicom, ‘entertainment’ in NES and, more recently, the renaming of the Wii from ‘Revolution’. The seventh generation Nintendo Wii console, released in November and December 2006, may be been seen as industry leading in efforts to broaden gaming demographics. In describing the console for instance, Satoru Iwata, the President of Nintendo, stated, “we want to appeal to mothers who don't want consoles in their living rooms, and to the elderly and to young women. It’s a challenge, like trying to sell cosmetics to men” (Edge Online). This position illustrates a digital games industry strategy to expand marketing to demographic groups previously marginalised.A few examples from the marketing and advertising campaigns for the Nintendo Wii help to illustrate this strategy. The marketing associated with the Wii can be seen as part of a longer lineage of Nintendo marketing with Kline et al. suggesting, “it was under Nintendo’s hegemony that the video game industry began to see the systematic development of a high-intensity marketing apparatus, involving massive media budgets, ingenious event marketing, ground breaking advertising and spin off merchandising” (118). The “First Experiences” show on the Wii website mocks-up domestic settings as the backdrop to the Wii playing experience to present an ideal, potential Wii-play scenario. These advertisements can be seen to position the player within an imagined home and game-play environment and speak for the Wii. As Keith Grint and Steve Woolgar suggest, “technology does not speak for itself but has to be spoken for” (32). As part of their concern with addressing, “the particular regime of truth which surrounds, upholds, impales and represents technology” (32), Grint and Woolgar “analyse the way certain technologies gain specific attributes” (33). Across advertisements for the Wii there are a range of domestic environments and groups playing. Of these, the power to bring the family together and facilitate ease of game-play for the novice is most noticeable. David Morley’s comment that, “‘hi-tech’ discourse is often carefully framed and domesticated by a rather nostalgic vision of ‘family values’” (438) is borne out here.A television advertisement aired on Nickelodeon illustrates the extent to which the Wii was at the forefront in motioning forward a strategy of industry and gaming inclusiveness around the family: “the 60-second spot shows a dad mistaking the Wii Remote for his television remote control. Dad becomes immersed in the game and soon the whole family joins in” (Nintendo World Report). From confused fathers to family bonding, the Wii is presented as the easy-to-use and accessible device that brings the family together. The father confusing the Wii remote with a television remote control is an important gesture to foreground the accessibility of the Wii remotes compared to previous “joypads”, and emphasize the Wii as an accessible device with no bedroom, technical wizardry required. Within the emerging industry inclusivity agenda, the ‘over technological’ past of digital gaming is something to move away from. The forms of ‘geek’ or ‘hardcore’ that epitomise previous dominant representations of gaming have seemingly stood in the way of the industry reaching its full market potential. This industry wind change is captured in the comments of a number of current industry professionals.For Matthew Jeffrey, head of European Recruitment for Electronic Arts (EA), speaking at the London Games Week Career Fair, the shift in the accessibility and inclusivity of digital gaming is closely bound up with Nintendo’s efforts and these have impacted upon EA’s strategy: There is going to be a huge swathe of new things and the great thing in the industry, as you are all easy to identify, is that Nindento DS and the Wii have revolutionised the way we look at the way things are going on.Jeffrey goes on to add, “hopefully some of you have seen that your eighty year old grandparent is quite happy to play a game”, pointing to the figure of the grandparent as a game-player to emphasise the inclusivity shift within gaming.Similarly, at Edinburgh Interactive Festival 2007, the CEO of Ubisoft Yves Guillemot in his “The New Generation of Gaming: Facing the Challenges of a Changing Market” speech outlined the development of a family friendly portfolio to please a new, non-gamer population that would include the recruitment of subject experts for “non-game” titles. This instance of the accessibility and inclusivity strategy being advocated is notable for it being part of a keynote speech at the Edinburgh Interactive Festival, an event associated with the Edinburgh festival that is both an important industry gathering and receives mainstream press coverage. The approaches taken by the other leading console manufacturers Sony and Microsoft, illustrate that whilst this is by no means a total shift, there is nevertheless an industry-wide engagement. The ‘World of Playstation: family and friends’ for example suggests that, “with PlayStation, games have never been more family-friendly” and that “you can even team up as a family to challenge your overseas relatives to a round of online quizzing over the PLAYSTATION Network” (Playstation).What follows from these accounts and transformations is a consideration of where the “geeky” past resides in the future of gaming as inclusive and accessible. Where do these developments leave digital gaming’s “subcultural past” (“subcultural” as it now becomes even within the games industry), as the industry forges on into mainstream culture? Past digital games technologies are clearly important in indicating technological progression and advancement, but what of the bedroom culture of gaming? How does “geek game culture” fit within a maturing future for the industry?Bedroom Programmers and Subcultural Memories There is a tension between business strategy directed towards making gaming accessible and thereby fostering new markets, and the games those in industry would design for people like themselves. This is not to deny the willingness or commitment of games developers to work on a variety of games, but instead to highlight transformation and tension. In their research into games development, Dovey and Kennedy suggest that, the “generation, now nearing middle-age and finding themselves in the driving seat of cultures of new media, have to reconcile a subcultural history and a dominant present” (145). Pierre Bourdieu’s account of symbolic capital is influential in tracing this shift, and Dovey and Kennedy note Bourdieu’s comment around, “the subjective image of the occupational project and the objective function of the occupation” (145). This shift is highly significant for ways of understanding maturation and inclusivity strategies within digital gaming.Bourdieu’s account of the “conservative functions attached” to an occupation for Dovey and Kennedy: Precisely describes the tensions between designers’ sense of themselves as ‘outsiders’ and rebels (‘the subjective image of the occupational project’) on the one hand and their position within a very tight production machine (‘the objective function of the occupation’) on the other. (145) I would suggest the “production machine”, that is to say the broader corporate management structures by which games development companies are increasingly operated, has a growing role in understandings of the industry. This approach was implicit in Iwata’s comments on selling cosmetics to men and broadening demographics, and Jeffrey’s comments pointing to how EA’s outlook would be influenced by the accessibility and inclusivity strategy championed by Nintendo. It may be suggested that as the occupational project of gaming is negotiated and shifts towards an emphasis on accessibility and inclusivity, the subjective image must be similarly reoriented. That previous industry models are being replaced, is highlighted in this excerpt from a Managing Director of a ‘leisure software’ company in the Staying ahead report on the creative industries by the Work Foundation:The first game that came from us was literally two schoolchildren making a game in their bedroom … the game hadn’t been funded, but made for fun … As those days are gone, the biggest challenges nowadays for game developers are finding funding that doesn’t impinge on creativity, and holding onto IP [intellectual property], which is so important if you want a business that is going to have any value. (27)This account suggests a hugely important transition from bedroom production, the days that ‘are gone’, towards Intellectual Property-aware production. The creative industries context for these comments should not be overlooked and is insightful for further recognising the shifts and negotiations taking place in digital gaming, notably, around the maturation of the games industry. The creative industries context is made explicit in creative industries reports such as Staying ahead and in the comments of Shaun Woodward (former Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State at the Department for Culture, Media and Sport) in a keynote speech at the 2006 British Video Games Academy Awards, in which he referred to the games industry as “one of our most important creative industries”. The forms of collaboration between, for instance, The Independent Games Developers Association (TIGA) and the Department of Culture, Media and Sport (see Gamasutra), further indicate the creative industries context to the maturation of the UK games industry.The creative industries context also presents the anchor through which tensions between a subcultural history and professional future and the complex forms of recovery can be more fully engaged with. The Game On curator’s indication that making comparisons between different games technologies systems was a delicate balance insightfully provides cautions to any attempt to mark out a strict departure from the ‘subcultural’ to the ‘professional’. Clearly put, the accessibility and inclusivity strategy that shifts away from geek culture and technical wizardry remains in conversation with geek elements as the foundation for the future. As technologies are recovered within a lineage of technological development and upgrade, the geek bedroom culture of gaming is almost mythologized to offer the industry history creative credentials and future potential. Recovering and Combining: Technologies and Memories for a Professional Future Emphasised thus far has been a shift from the days gone by of bedroom programming towards an inclusive and accessible professional and mature future. This is a teleological shift in the sense that the latest technological developments can be located within a past replete with innovation and pioneering spirit. In relation to the Wii for example, a Nintendo employee states:Nintendo is a company where you are praised for doing something different from everyone else. In this company, when an individual wants to do something different, everyone else lends their support to help them overcome any hurdles. I think this is how we made the challenge of Wii a possibility. (Nintendo)Nintendo’s history, alluded to here and implicit throughout the interviews with Nintendo staff from which this comment is taken, and previous and existing ‘culture’ of experimentation is offered here as the catalyst and enabler of the Wii. A further example may be offered in relation to Nintendo’s competitor Sony.A hugely significant transformation in digital gaming, further to the accessibility and inclusivity agenda, is the ability of players to develop their own games using games engines. For Phil Harrison (Sony), gaming technology is creating a, “‘virtual community’ of collaborative digital production, marking a return to the ‘golden age of video game development, which was at home, on your own with a couple of friends, designing a game yourself’” (Kline et al., 204). Bedroom gaming that in the earlier comments was regarded as days gone by for professionals, takes on a new significance as a form of user-engagement. The previous model of bedroom production, now outmoded compared to industry production, is relocated as available for users and recovered as the ‘golden age of gaming’. It is recovered as a model for users to aspire to. The significance of this for business strategy is made clear by Kline et al. who suggest that, “thousands of bright bulbs have essentially become Sony’s junior development community” (204). An obsolete model of past production is recovered and deployed within a future vision of the games industry that sees users participating and extending forms of games engagement and consumption. Similarly, the potential of ‘bedroom’ production and its recovery in relation to growth areas such as games for mobile phones, is carefully framed by Intellectual Property Rights (Edwards and Coulton). In this respect, forms of bedroom production are carefully situated in terms of industry strategies.The “Scarce Talent Seminars” as part of the London Games Week 2008 “Skills Week” further illustrate this continual recovery of ‘past’, or more accurately alternative, forms of production in line with narratives of professionalisation and industry innovation. The seminars were stated as offering advice on bridging the gap between the “bedroom programmer” and the “professional developer”. The discourse of ‘talent’ framed this seminar, and the bedroom programmer is held up as being (not having) raw talent with creative energies and love and commitment for gaming that can be shaped for the future of the industry. This discourse of bedroom programmers as talent emphasises the industry as an enabler of individual talent through access to professional development and technological resources. This then sits alongside the recovery of historical narratives in which bedroom gaming culture is celebrated for its pioneering spirit, but is ultimately recovered in terms of current achievements and future possibilities. “Skills Week” and guidance for those wanting to work in the industry connects with the recovery of past technologies and ways of making games visible amongst the potential industry workers of the future – students. The professional future of the industry is intertwined with graduates with professional qualifications. Those qualifications need not be, and sometimes preferably should not be, in ‘gaming’ courses. What is important is the love of games and this may be seen through the appreciation of gaming’s history. During research conducted with games design students in higher education courses in the UK, many students professed a love of games dating back to the Spectrum console in the 1980s. There was legitimacy and evidence of professing long-seated interests in consoles. At the same time as acknowledging the significant, embryonic power these consoles had in stimulating their interests, many students engaged in learning games design skills with the latest software packages. Similarly, they engaged in bedroom design activities themselves, as in the days gone by, but mainly as training and to develop skills useful to securing employment within a professional development studio. Broadly, students could be said to be recovering both technologies and ways of working that are then enrolled within their development as professional workers of the future. The professional future of the gaming industry is presented as part of a teleological trajectory that mirrors the technological progression of the industry’s upgrade culture. The days of bedroom programming are cast as periods of incubation and experimentation, and part of the journey that has brought gaming to where it is now. Bedroom programming is incorporated into the evidence-base of creative industries policy reports. Other accounts of bedroom programming, independent production and attempts to explore alternative publishing avenues do not feature as readily.In the 2000 Scratchware Manifesto for example, the authors declare, “the machinery of gaming has run amok”, and say, “Basta! Enough!” (Scratchware). The Scratchware Manifesto puts forward Scratchware as a response: “a computer game, created by a microteam, with pro-quality art, game design, programming and sound to be sold at paperback prices” (Scratchware). The manifesto goes on to say, “we need Scratchware because there is more than one way to develop good computer games” (Scratchware, 2000). Using a term readily associated with the Zapatista Army of National Liberation, the Scratchware Manifesto called for a revolution in gaming and stated, “we will strive for […] originality over the tried and tested” (Scratchware). These are the experiences and accounts of the games industry that seem to fall well outside of the technological and upgrade focused agenda of professional games development.The recovery and framing of past technologies and industry practices, in ways supportive to current models of technological upgrade and advancement, legitimises these models and marginalizes others. A eulogized and potentially mythical past is recovered to point to cultures of innovation and creative vibrancy and to emphasize current and future technological prowess. We must therefore be cautious of the instrumental dangers of recovery in which ‘bright bulbs’ are enrolled and alternative forms of production marginalised.As digital gaming establishes a secure footing with increased markets, the growing pains of the industry can be celebrated and recovered as part of the ongoing narratives of the industry. Recovery is vital to make sense of both the past and future. Within digital gaming, the PDP-1 and the bedroom geek both exist in the past, present and future as part of an industry strategy and trajectory that seeks to move away from them but also relies on them. They are the legitimacy, the evidence and the potential for affirming industry models. The extent to which other narratives can be told and technologies and memories recovered as alternative forms of evidence and potential is a question I, and hopefully others, will leave open.ReferencesDovey, John, and Helen W. Kennedy. Game Cultures. Maidenhead: Open University Press, 2006.Edge-Online. "Iwata: Wii Is 'Like Selling Make-Up to Men.'" Edge-Online 19 Sep. 2006. 29 Sep. 2006 ‹http://www.edge-online.com/news/iwata-wii-like-selling-make-up-men›.Edwards, Reuben, and Paul Coulton. "Providing the Skills Required for Innovative Mobile Game Development Using Industry/Academic Partnerships." 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Introduction Curation-related discourses have become widespread. The growing public profile of curators, the emergence of new curation-related discourses and their proliferation beyond the confines of museums, particularly on social media, have led some to conclude that we now live in an age of curation (Buskirk cited in Synder). Curation is commonly understood in instrumentalist terms as the evaluation, selection and presentation of artefacts around a central theme or motif (see O’Neill; Synder). However, there is a growing academic interest in what underlies the shifting discourses and practices. Many are asking what do these changes mean (Martinon) now that “the curatorial turn” has positioned curation as a legitimate object of academic study (O’Neill). This article locates an exploration of the curatorial turn in journalism studies since 2010 within the shifting meanings of curation from antiquity to the digital age. It argues that the industry is facing a Foucauldian moment where the changing political economy of news and the proliferation of user-generated content on social media have disrupted the monopolies traditional news media held over the circulation of knowledge of current affairs and the power this gave them to shape public debate. The disruptions are profound, prompting a rethinking of journalism (Peters and Broersma; Schudson). However, debates have polarised between those who view news curation as symptomatic of the demise of journalism and others who see it as part of a wider revival of the profession, freed from monopolistic institutions to circulate a wider array of knowledge and viewpoints (see Picard). This article eschews such polarisations and instead draws on Robert Picard’s argument that journalism is in transition and that journalism, as a set of professional practices, is adapting to the age of curation but that those traditional news providers that fail to adapt will most likely decline. However, Picard’s approach does not address the definitional problem as to what distinguishes news curating from other journalistic practices when the commonly used instrumental definition can apply to editing. This article aims to negotiate this problem by addressing some of the conceptual ambiguities that arise from wholly instrumental notions of news curation. From “Cura” to the Curatorial Turn and the Age of Curation Modern instrumentalist definitions are necessary but not sufficient for an exploration of the curatorial turn in journalism. Tracing the meanings of curation over time facilitates an expansion of the instrumental to include metaphoric conceptualisations. The term originated in a Latin allegory about a mythological figure, personified as the “cura”, translated literally as care or concern, and who created human beings from the clay of the earth. Having created the human, the cura was charged by the gods with the lifelong care of the human (Reich) and at the same time became a symbol of curiosity and creativity (see Nowotny). “Curators” first emerged in Imperial Rome to denote a public officer charged with maintaining order and the emperor’s finances (Nowotny) but by the fourteenth century the meaning had shifted to that of religious officer charged with the care of souls (Gaskill). At this point the metaphorical associations of creativity and curiosity subsided. Six hundred years later souls had been replaced by artefacts valorised because of their contribution to human knowledge or as a testament to exceptional human creativity (Nowotny). Objects of curiosity and originality, as well as their creators, were reified and curation became the specialist practice of an expert custodian charged with the care and preservation of artefacts but relegated to the background to collect, evaluate and archive artefacts entrusted to the care of museums and to be preserved for future generations. Instrumentalist meanings thus dominated. From the 1960s discourses shifted again from the privileging of a “producer who actually creates the object in its materiality” to an entire set of actors (Bourdieu 261). These shifts were part of the changing political economy of museums, the growing prevalence of exhibitions and the emergence of mega-exhibitions hosted in global cities and capable of attracting massive audiences (see O’Neill). The curator was no longer seen merely as a custodian but able to add cultural value to artefacts when drawing individual items together into a collection, interpreting their relevance to a theme then re-presenting them through a story or visuals (see O’Neill). The verb “to curate”, which had first entered the English lexicon in the early 1900s but was used sporadically (Synder), proliferated from the 1960s in museum studies (Farquharson cited in O’Neill) as mega-exhibitions attracted publicity and the higher profile of curators attracted the attention of intellectuals prompting a curatorial turn in museum studies. The curatorial turn in museum studies from the 1980s marks the emergence of curation as a legitimate object of academic enquiry. O’Neill identified a “Foucauldian moment” in museum studies where shifting discourses signified challenges to, and disruptions of, traditional forms of knowledge-based power. Curation was no longer seen as a neutral activity of preservation, but one located within a contested political economy and invested with contradictions and complexities. Philosophers such as Martinon and Nowotny have highlighted the impossibility of separating the oversight of valuable artefacts from the processes by which these are selected, valorised and signified and what, at times, has been the controversial appropriation of creative outputs. Thus, a new critical approach emerged. Recently, curating-related discourses have expanded beyond the “rarefied” world of museum studies (Synder). Social media platforms have facilitated the proliferation of user-generated content offering a vast array of new artefacts. Information circulates widely and new discourses can challenge traditional bases of knowledge. Audiences now actively search for new material driven in part by curiosity and a growing distrust of the professions and establishments (see Holmberg). The boundaries between professionals and lay people are blurring and, some argue, knowledge is being democratized (see Ibrahim; Holmberg). However, as new information becomes voluminous, alternative truths, misinformation and false information compete for attention and there is a growing demand for the verification, selection and presentation of artefacts, that is online curation (Picard; Bakker). Thus, the appropriation of social media is disrupting traditional power relations but also offering new opportunities for new information-related practices. Journalism is facing its own Foucauldian moment. A Foucauldian Moment in Journalism Studies Journalism has been traditionally understood as capturing today’s happenings, verifying the facts of an event, then presenting these as a narrative that reporters update as news unfolds. News has been seen as the preserve of professionals trained to interview eyewitnesses or experts, to verify facts and to compile what they found into a compelling narrative (Hallin and Mancini). News-gathering was typically the work of an individual tasked with collecting stand-alone stories then passing them onto editors to evaluate, select, prioritise and collate these into a collection that formed a newspaper or news programme . This understanding of journalism emerged from the 1830s along with a type of news that was accessible, that large numbers of people wanted to read and that, consequently, attracted advertising making news profitable (Park). The idea that presumed trained journalists were best placed to produce news appeared first in the UK and USA then spread worldwide (Hallin and Mancini). At the same time as there was growing demand for news, space constraints restricted how much could be published and the high costs of production served as a barrier to entry first in print then later in broadcast media (Picard; Curran and Seaton). The large news organisations that employed these professionals were thus able to control the circulation of information and knowledge they generated and the editors that selected content were able, in part, to shape public debates (Picard; Habermas). Social media challenge the control traditional media have had over the production and dissemination of news since the mid-1800s. Practically every major global news story in 2010 and 2011 from natural disasters to uprisings was broken by ordinary people on social media (Bruns and Highfield). Twitter facilitates a steady stream of updates at an almost real-time speed that 24-hour news channels cannot match. Facebook, Instagram and blogs add commentary, context, visuals and personal stories to breaking news. Experts and official sources routinely post announcements on social media platforms enabling anyone to access much of the same source material that previously was the preserve of reporters. Investigations by bloggers have exposed abuses of power by companies and governments that journalists on traditional media have failed to (Wischnowski). Audiences and advertisers are migrating away from traditional newspapers to a range of different online platforms. News consumers now actively use search engines to find available information of interest and look for efficient ways of sifting through the proliferation of the useful and the dubious, the revelatory and the misleading or inaccurate (see Picard). That is, news organisations and the professional journalists they employ are increasingly operating in a hyper-competitive (see Picard) and hyper-sceptical environment. This paper posits that cumulatively these are disrupting the control news organisations have and journalism is facing a Foucauldian moment when shifting discourses signify a disturbance of the intellectual rules that shape who and what knowledge of news is produced and hence the power relations they sustain. Social media not only challenge the core news business of reporting, they also present new opportunities. Some traditional organisations have responded by adding new activities to their repertoire of practices. In 2011, the Guardian uploaded its entire database of the expense claims of British MPs onto its Website and invited readers to select, evaluate and comment on entries, a form of crowd-sourced curating. Andy Carvin, while at National Public Radio (NPR) built an international reputation from his curation of breaking news, opinion and commentary on Twitter as Syria became too dangerous for foreign correspondents to enter. New types of press agencies such as Storyful have emerged around a curatorial business model that aggregates information culled from social media and uses journalists to evaluate and repackage them as news stories that are sold onto traditional news media around the world (Guerrini). Research into the growing market for such skills in the Netherlands found more advertisements for “news curators” than for “traditional reporters” (Bakker). At the same time, organic and spontaneous curation can emerge out of Twitter and Facebook communities that is capable of challenging news reporting by traditional media (Lewis and Westlund). Curation has become a common refrain attracting the attention of academics. A Curatorial Turn in Journalism The curatorial turn in journalism studies is manifest in the growing academic attention to curation-related discourses and practices. A review of four academic journals in the field, Journalism, Journalism Studies, Journalism Practice, and Digital Journalism found the first mention of journalism and curation emerged in 2010 with references in nearly 40 articles by July 2015. The meta-analysis that follows draws on this corpus. The consensus is that traditional business models based on mass circulation and advertising are failing partly because of the proliferation of alternative sources of information and the migration of readers in search of it. While some of this alternative content is credible, much is dubious and the sheer volume of information makes it difficult to discern what to believe. It is unsurprising, then, that there is a growing demand for “new types and practices of curation and information vetting” that attest to “the veracity and accuracy of content” particularly of news (Picard 280). However, academics disagree on whether new information practices such as curation are replacing or supplementing traditional newsgathering. Some look for evidence of displacement in the expansion of job advertisements for news curators relative to those for traditional reporters (Bakker). Others look at how new and traditional practices co-exist in organisations like the BBC, Guardian and NPR, sometimes clashing and sometimes collaborating in the co-creation of content (McQuail cited in Fahy and Nisbet; Hermida and Thurman). The debate has polarised between whether these changes signify the “twilight years of journalism or a new dawn” (Picard). Optimists view the proliferation of alternative sources of information as breaking the control traditional organisations held over news production, exposing their ideological biases and disrupting their traditional knowledge-based power and practices (see Hermida; Siapera, Papadopoulou, and Archontakis; Compton and Benedetti). Others have focused on the loss of “traditional” permanent journalistic jobs (see Schwalbe, Silcock, and Candello; Spaulding) with the implication that traditional forms of professional practice are in demise. Picard rejects this polarisation, counter-arguing that much analysis implicitly conflates journalism as a practice with the news organisations that have traditionally hosted it. Journalists may or may not be located within a traditional media organisation and social media is offering numerous opportunities for them to operate independently and for new types of hybrid practices and organisations such as Storyful to emerge outside of traditional operations. Picard argues that making the most of the opportunities social media presents is revitalising the profession offering a new dawn but that those traditional organisations that fail to adapt to the new media landscape and new practices are in their twilight years and likely to decline. These divergences, he argues, highlight a profession and industry in transition from an old order to a new one (Picard). This notion of journalism in transition usefully negotiates confusion over what curation in the social media age means for news providers but it does not address the uncertainty as to where it sits in relation to journalism. Futuristic accounts predict that journalists will become “managers of content rather than simply sourcing one story next to another” and that roles will shift from reporting to curation (Montgomery cited in Bakker; see Fahy and Nisbet). Others insist curators are not journalists but “information workers” or “gatecheckers” (McQuail 2013 cited in Bakker; Schwalbe, Silcock, and Candello) thereby differentiating the professional from the manual worker and reinforcing the historic elitism of the professions by implying curation is a lesser practice. However, such demarcation is problematic in that arguably both journalist and news curator can be seen as information workers and the instrumental definition outlined at the beginning of this article is as relevant to curation as it is to news editing. It is therefore necessary to revisit commonly used definitions (see Bakker; Guerrini; Synder). The literature broadly defines content creation, including news reporting, as the generation of original content that is distinguishable from aggregation and curation, both of which entail working with existing material. News aggregation is the automated use of computer algorithms to find and collect existing content relevant to a specified subject followed by the generation of a list or image gallery (Bakker; Synder). While aggregators may help with the collection component of news curation, the practices differ in their relation to technology. Apart from the upfront human design of the original algorithm, aggregation is wholly machine-driven while modern news curation adds human intervention to the technological processes of aggregation (Bakker). This intervention is conscious rather than automated, active rather than passive. It brings to bear human knowledge, expertise and interpretation to verify and evaluate content, filter and select artefacts based on their perceived quality and relevance for a particular topic or theme then re-present them in an accessible form as a narrative or infographics or both. While it does not involve the generation of original news content in the way news reporting does, curation is more than the collation of information. It can also involve the re-presenting of it in imaginative ways, the re-formulating of existing content in new configurations. In this sense, curation can constitute a form of creativity increasingly common in the social media age, that of re-mixing and re-imagining of existing material to create something novel (Navas and Gallagher). The distinction, therefore, between content creation and content curation lies primarily in the relation to original material and not the assumed presence or otherwise of creativity. In addition, curation outputs need not stand apart from news reports. They can serve to contextualize news in ways that short reports cannot while the latter provides original content to sit alongside curated materials. Thus the two types of news-related practices can complement rather than compete with each other. While this addresses the relation between reporting and curation, it does not clarify the relation between curating and editing. Bakker eludes to this when he argues curating also involves “editing … enriching or combining content from different sources” (599). But teasing out the distinctions is tricky because editing encompasses a wide range of sub-specialisations and divergent duties. Broadly speaking, editors are “newsrooms professionals … with decision-making authority over content and structure” who evaluate, verify and select information so are “quality controllers” in newsrooms (Stepp). This conceptualization overlaps with the instrumentalist definition of curation and while the broad type of skills and tasks involved are similar, the two are not synonymous. Editors tends to be relatively experienced professionals who have worked up the newsroom ranks whereas news curators are often new entrants ultimately answerable to editors. Furthermore, curation in the social media age involves voluminous material that curators sift through as part of first level content collection and it involves ever more complex verification processes as digital technologies make it increasingly easy to alter and falsify information and images. The quality control role of curators may also involve in-house specialists or junior staff working with external experts in a particular region or specialisation (Fahy and Nisbett). Some of job advertisements suggest a growing demand for specialist curatorial skills and position these alongside other newsroom professionals (Bakker). Whether this means they are journalists is still open to question. Conclusion This article has presented a more expansive conceptualisation of news curation than is commonly used in journalism studies, by including both the instrumental and the symbolic dimensions of a proliferating practice. It also sought to avoid confining this wider conceptualisation within unhelpful polarisations as to whether news curation is symbolic of a wider demise or revival of journalism by distinguishing the profession from the organisation in which it operates. The article was then free to negotiate the conceptual ambiguity surrounding the often taken-for-granted instrumental meanings of curation. It argues that what distinguishes news curation from traditional newsgathering is the relationship to original content. While the reporter generates the journalistic equivalent of original content in the form of news, the imaginative curator re-mixes and re-presents existing content in potentially novel ways. This has faint echoes of the mythological cura creating something new from the existing clay. The other conceptual ambiguity negotiated was in the definitional overlaps between curating and editing. On the one hand, this questions the appropriateness of reducing the news curator to the status of an “information worker”, a manual labourer rather than a professional. On the other hand, it positions news curators as one of many types of newsroom professionals. 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L’anthropologie médicale est un sous-champ de l’anthropologie socioculturelle qui s’intéresse à la pluralité des systèmes médicaux ainsi qu’à l’étude des facteurs économiques, politiques et socioculturels ayant un impact sur la santé des individus et des populations. Plus spécifiquement, elle s’intéresse aux relations sociales, aux expériences vécues, aux pratiques impliquées dans la gestion et le traitement des maladies par rapport aux normes culturelles et aux institutions sociales. Plusieurs généalogies de l’anthropologie médicale peuvent être retracées. Toutefois, les monographies de W.H.R. Rivers et d’Edward Evans-Pritchard (1937), dans lesquelles les représentations, les connaissances et les pratiques en lien avec la santé et la maladie étaient considérées comme faisant intégralement partie des systèmes socioculturels, sont généralement considérées comme des travaux fondateurs de l’anthropologie médicale. Les années 1950 ont marqué la professionnalisation de l’anthropologie médicale. Des financements publics ont été alloués à la discipline pour contribuer aux objectifs de santé publique et d’amélioration de la santé dans les communautés économiquement pauvres (Good 1994). Dans les décennies qui suivent, les bases de l’anthropologie médicale sont posées avec l’apparition de nombreuses revues professionnelles (Social Science & Medicine, Medical Anthropology, Medical Anthropology Quarterly), de manuels spécialisés (e.g. MacElroy et Townsend 1979) et la formation du sous-groupe de la Society for Medical Anthropology au sein de l’American Anthropological Association (AAA) en 1971, qui sont encore des points de références centraux pour le champ. À cette époque, sous l’influence des théories des normes et du pouvoir proposées par Michel Foucault et Pierre Bourdieu, la biomédecine est vue comme un système structurel de rapports de pouvoir et devient ainsi un objet d’étude devant être traité symétriquement aux autres systèmes médicaux (Gaines 1992). L’attention portée aux théories du biopouvoir et de la gouvernementalité a permis à l’anthropologie médicale de formuler une critique de l’hégémonie du regard médical qui réduit la santé à ses dimensions biologiques et physiologiques (Saillant et Genest 2007 : xxii). Ces considérations ont permis d’enrichir, de redonner une visibilité et de l’influence aux études des rationalités des systèmes médicaux entrepris par Evans-Pritchard, et ainsi permettre la prise en compte des possibilités qu’ont les individus de naviguer entre différents systèmes médicaux (Leslie 1980; Lock et Nguyen 2010 : 62). L’aspect réducteur du discours biomédical avait déjà été soulevé dans les modèles explicatifs de la maladie développés par Arthur Kleinman, Leon Eisenberg et Byron Good (1978) qui ont introduit une distinction importante entre « disease » (éléments médicalement observables de la maladie), « illness » (expériences vécues de la maladie) et « sickness » (aspects sociaux holistes entourant la maladie). Cette distinction entre disease, illness et sickness a joué un rôle clé dans le développement rapide des perspectives analytiques de l’anthropologie médicale de l’époque, mais certaines critiques ont également été formulées à son égard. En premier lieu, Allan Young (1981) formule une critique des modèles explicatifs de la maladie en réfutant l'idée que la rationalité soit un model auquel les individus adhèrent spontanément. Selon Young, ce modèle suggère qu’il y aurait un équivalant de structures cognitives qui guiderait le développement des modèles de causalité et des systèmes de classification adoptées par les personnes. Au contraire, il propose que les connaissances soient basées sur des actions, des relations sociales, des ressources matérielles, avec plusieurs sources influençant le raisonnement des individus qui peuvent, de plusieurs manières, diverger de ce qui est généralement entendu comme « rationnel ». Ces critiques, ainsi que les études centrées sur l’expérience des patients et des pluralismes médicaux, ont permis de constater que les stratégies adoptées pour obtenir des soins sont multiples, font appel à plusieurs types de pratiques, et que les raisons de ces choix doivent être compris à la lumière des contextes historiques, locaux et matériaux (Lock et Nguyen 2010 : 63). Deuxièmement, les approches de Kleinman, Eisenberger et Good ont été critiquées pour leur séparation artificielle du corps et de l’esprit qui représentait un postulat fondamental dans les études de la rationalité. Les anthropologues Nancy Scheper-Hughes et Margeret Lock (1987) ont proposé que le corps doit plutôt être abordé selon trois niveaux analytiques distincts, soit le corps politique, social et individuel. Le corps politique est présenté comme étant un lieu où s’exerce la régulation, la surveillance et le contrôle de la différence humaine (Scheper-Hughes et Lock 1987 : 78). Cela a permis aux approches féministes d’aborder le corps comme étant un espace de pouvoir, en examinant comment les discours sur le genre rendent possible l’exercice d’un contrôle sur le corps des femmes (Manderson, Cartwright et Hardon 2016). Les premiers travaux dans cette perspective ont proposé des analyses socioculturelles de différents contextes entourant la reproduction pour contrecarrer le modèle dominant de prise en charge médicale de la santé reproductive des femmes (Martin 1987). Pour sa part, le corps social renvoie à l’idée selon laquelle le corps ne peut pas être abordé simplement comme une entité naturelle, mais qu’il doit être compris en le contextualisant historiquement et socialement (Lupton 2000 : 50). Finalement, considérer le corps individuel a permis de privilégier l’étude de l’expérience subjective de la maladie à travers ses variations autant au niveau individuel que culturel. Les études de l’expérience de la santé et la maladie axées sur l’étude des « phénomènes tels qu’ils apparaissent à la conscience des individus et des groupes d’individus » (Desjarlais et Throop 2011 : 88) se sont avérées pertinentes pour mieux saisir la multitude des expériences vécues des états altérés du corps (Hofmann et Svenaeus 2018). En somme, les propositions de ces auteurs s’inscrivent dans une anthropologie médicale critique qui s’efforce d’étudier les inégalités socio-économiques (Scheper-Hughes 1992), l’accès aux institutions et aux savoirs qu’elles produisent, ainsi qu’à la répartition des ressources matérielles à une échelle mondiale (Manderson, Cartwright et Hardon 2016). Depuis ses débuts, l’anthropologie médicale a abordé la santé globale et épidémiologique dans le but de faciliter les interventions sur les populations désignées comme « à risque ». Certains anthropologues ont développé une perspective appliquée en épidémiologie sociale pour contribuer à l’identification de déterminants sociaux de la santé (Kawachi et Subramanian 2018). Plusieurs de ces travaux ont été critiqués pour la culturalisation des pathologies touchant certaines populations désignées comme étant à risque à partir de critères basés sur la stigmatisation et la marginalisation de ces populations (Trostle et Sommerfeld 1996 : 261). Au-delà des débats dans ce champ de recherche, ces études ont contribué à la compréhension des dynamiques de santé et de maladie autant à l’échelle globale, dans la gestion des pandémies par l’Organisation Mondiale de la Santé (OMS), qu’aux échelles locales avec la mise en place de campagnes de santé publique pour faciliter l’implantation de mesures sanitaires, telles que la vaccination (Dubé, Vivion et Macdonald 2015). L’anthropologie a contribué à ces discussions en se penchant sur les contextes locaux des zoonoses qui sont des maladies transmissibles des animaux vertébrés aux humains (Porter 2013), sur la résistance aux antibiotiques (Landecker 2016), comme dans le cas de la rage et de l’influenza (Wolf 2012), sur les dispositifs de prévention mis en place à une échelle mondiale pour éviter l’apparition et la prolifération d’épidémies (Lakoff 2010), mais aussi sur les styles de raisonnement qui sous-tendent la gestion des pandémies (Caduff 2014). Par ailleurs, certains auteur.e.s ont utilisé le concept de violence structurelle pour analyser les inégalités socio-économiques dans le contexte des pandémies de maladies infectieuses comme le sida, la tuberculose ou, plus récemment, l’Ébola (Fassin 2015). Au-delà de cet aspect socio-économique, Aditya Bharadwaj (2013) parle d’une inégalité épistémique pour caractériser des rapports inégaux dans la production et la circulation globale des savoirs et des individus dans le domaine de la santé. Il décrit certaines situations comme des « biologies subalternes », c’est à dire des états de santé qui ne sont pas reconnus par le système biomédical hégémonique et qui sont donc invisibles et vulnérables. Ces « biologies subalternes » sont le revers de citoyennetés biologiques, ces dernières étant des citoyennetés qui donnes accès à une forme de sécurité sociale basée sur des critères médicaux, scientifiques et légaux qui reconnaissent les dommages biologiques et cherche à les indemniser (Petryna 2002 : 6). La citoyenneté biologique étant une forme d’organisation qui gravite autour de conditions de santé et d’enjeux liés à des maladies génétiques rares ou orphelines (Heath, Rapp et Taussig 2008), ces revendications mobilisent des acteurs incluant les institutions médicales, l’État, les experts ou encore les pharmaceutiques. Ces études partagent une attention à la circulation globale des savoirs, des pratiques et des soins dans la translation — ou la résistance à la translation — d’un contexte à un autre, dans lesquels les patients sont souvent positionnés entre des facteurs sociaux, économiques et politiques complexes et parfois conflictuels. L’industrie pharmaceutique et le développement des technologies biomédicales se sont présentés comme terrain important et propice pour l’analyse anthropologique des dynamiques sociales et économiques entourant la production des appareils, des méthodes thérapeutiques et des produits biologiques de la biomédecine depuis les années 1980 (Greenhalgh 1987). La perspective biographique des pharmaceutiques (Whyte, Geest et Hardon 2002) a consolidé les intérêts et les approches dans les premières études sur les produits pharmaceutiques. Ces recherches ont proposé de suivre la trajectoire sociale des médicaments pour étudier les contextes d’échanges et les déplacements dans la nature symbolique qu’ont les médicaments pour les consommateurs : « En tant que choses, les médicaments peuvent être échangés entre les acteurs sociaux, ils objectivent les significations, ils se déplacent d’un cadre de signification à un autre. Ce sont des marchandises dotées d’une importance économique et de ressources recelant une valeur politique » (traduit de Whyte, Geest et Hardon 2002). D’autres ont davantage tourné leur regard vers les rapports institutionnels, les impacts et le fonctionnement de « Big Pharma ». Ils se sont intéressés aux processus de recherche et de distribution employés par les grandes pharmaceutiques à travers les études de marché et les pratiques de vente (Oldani 2014), l’accès aux médicaments (Ecks 2008), la consommation des produits pharmaceutiques (Dumit 2012) et la production de sujets d’essais cliniques globalisés (Petryna, Lakoff et Kleinman 2006), ainsi qu’aux enjeux entourant les réglementations des brevets et du respect des droits politiques et sociaux (Ecks 2008). L’accent est mis ici sur le pouvoir des produits pharmaceutiques de modifier et de changer les subjectivités contemporaines, les relations familiales (Collin 2016), de même que la compréhensions du genre et de la notion de bien-être (Sanabria 2014). Les nouvelles technologies biomédicales — entre autres génétiques — ont permis de repenser la notion de normes du corps en santé, d'en redéfinir les frontières et d’intervenir sur le corps de manière « incorporée » (embodied) (Haraway 1991). Les avancées technologiques en génomique qui se sont développées au cours des trois dernières décennies ont soulevé des enjeux tels que la généticisation, la désignation de populations/personnes « à risque », l’identification de biomarqueurs actionnables et de l’identité génétique (TallBear 2013 ; Lloyd et Raikhel 2018). Au départ, le modèle dominant en génétique cherchait à identifier les gènes spécifiques déterminant chacun des traits biologiques des organismes (Lock et Nguyen 2010 : 332). Cependant, face au constat que la plupart des gènes ne codaient par les protéines responsables de l’expression phénotypique, les modèles génétiques se sont depuis complexifiés. L’attention s’est tournée vers l’analyse de la régulation des gènes et de l’interaction entre gènes et maladies en termes de probabilités (Saukko 2017). Cela a permis l’émergence de la médecine personnalisée, dont les interventions se basent sur l’identification de biomarqueurs personnels (génétiques, sanguins, etc.) avec l’objectif de prévenir l’avènement de pathologies ou ralentir la progression de maladies chroniques (Billaud et Guchet 2015). Les anthropologues de la médecine ont investi ces enjeux en soulevant les conséquences de cette forme de médecine, comme la responsabilisation croissante des individus face à leur santé (Saukko 2017), l’utilisation de ces données dans l’accès aux assurances (Hoyweghen 2006), le déterminisme génétique (Landecker 2011) ou encore l’affaiblissement entre les frontières de la bonne santé et de la maladie (Timmermans et Buchbinder 2010). Ces enjeux ont été étudiés sous un angle féministe avec un intérêt particulier pour les effets du dépistage prénatal sur la responsabilité parentale (Rapp 1999), l’expérience de la grossesse (Rezende 2011) et les gestions de l’infertilité (Inhorn et Van Balen 2002). Les changements dans la compréhension du modèle génomique invitent à prendre en considération plusieurs variables en interaction, impliquant l’environnement proche ou lointain, qui interagissent avec l’expression du génome (Keller 2014). Dans ce contexte, l’anthropologie médicale a développé un intérêt envers de nouveaux champs d’études tels que l’épigénétique (Landecker 2011), la neuroscience (Choudhury et Slaby 2016), le microbiome (Benezra, DeStefano et Gordon 2012) et les données massives (Leonelli 2016). Dans le cas du champ de l’épigénétique, qui consiste à comprendre le rôle de l’environnement social, économique et politique comme un facteur pouvant modifier l’expression des gènes et mener au développement de certaines maladies, les anthropologues se sont intéressés aux manières dont les violences structurelles ancrées historiquement se matérialisent dans les corps et ont des impacts sur les disparités de santé entre les populations (Pickersgill, Niewöhner, Müller, Martin et Cunningham-Burley 2013). Ainsi, la notion du traumatisme historique (Kirmayer, Gone et Moses 2014) a permis d’examiner comment des événements historiques, tels que l’expérience des pensionnats autochtones, ont eu des effets psychosociaux collectifs, cumulatifs et intergénérationnels qui se sont maintenus jusqu’à aujourd’hui. L’étude de ces articulations entre conditions biologiques et sociales dans l’ère « post-génomique » prolonge les travaux sur le concept de biosocialité, qui est défini comme « [...] un réseau en circulation de termes d'identié et de points de restriction autour et à travers desquels un véritable nouveau type d'autoproduction va émerger » (Traduit de Rabinow 1996:186). La catégorie du « biologique » se voit alors problématisée à travers l’historicisation de la « nature », une nature non plus conçue comme une entité immuable, mais comme une entité en état de transformation perpétuelle imbriquée dans des processus humains et/ou non-humains (Ingold et Pálsson 2013). Ce raisonnement a également été appliqué à l’examen des catégories médicales, conçues comme étant abstraites, fixes et standardisées. Néanmoins, ces catégories permettent d'identifier différents états de la santé et de la maladie, qui doivent être compris à la lumière des contextes historiques et individuels (Lock et Nguyen 2010). Ainsi, la prise en compte simultanée du biologique et du social mène à une synthèse qui, selon Peter Guarnaccia, implique une « compréhension du corps comme étant à la fois un système biologique et le produit de processus sociaux et culturels, c’est-à-dire, en acceptant que le corps soit en même temps totalement biologique et totalement culturel » (traduit de Guarnaccia 2001 : 424). Le concept de « biologies locales » a d’abord été proposé par Margaret Lock, dans son analyse des variations de la ménopause au Japon (Lock 1993), pour rendre compte de ces articulations entre le matériel et le social dans des contextes particuliers. Plus récemment, Niewöhner et Lock (2018) ont proposé le concept de biologies situées pour davantage contextualiser les conditions d’interaction entre les biologies locales et la production de savoirs et de discours sur celles-ci. Tout au long de l’histoire de la discipline, les anthropologues s’intéressant à la médecine et aux approches de la santé ont profité des avantages de s’inscrire dans l’interdisciplinarité : « En anthropologie médical, nous trouvons qu'écrire pour des audiences interdisciplinaires sert un objectif important : élaborer une analyse minutieuse de la culture et de la santé (Dressler 2012; Singer, Dressler, George et Panel 2016), s'engager sérieusement avec la diversité globale (Manderson, Catwright et Hardon 2016), et mener les combats nécessaires contre le raccourcies des explications culturelles qui sont souvent déployées dans la littérature sur la santé (Viruell-Fuentes, Miranda et Abdulrahim 2012) » (traduit de Panter-Brick et Eggerman 2018 : 236). L’anthropologie médicale s’est constituée à la fois comme un sous champ de l’anthropologie socioculturelle et comme un champ interdisciplinaire dont les thèmes de recherche sont grandement variés, et excèdent les exemples qui ont été exposés dans cette courte présentation.