Gotowa bibliografia na temat „Night – Juvenile fiction”

Do what extent are we responsible for improving the world? To what extent are those that do evil in the world responsible for their actions? In this work of philosophical short story fiction, Roz is a retired lawyer who is assigned as a volunteer case work for Deshaun, a trouble teenager who has been in and out of foster homes his whole life and was recently released for juvenile detention for getting into a serious fight. Roz attempts to help Deshaun, but he seems unwilling to trust anyone, and views Roz only as a resource to be exploited. Deshaun runs away from his group home while on detention and is at risk of being in violation of his probation. Roz contacts him and he asks her to pick him up. She feeds him and takes him to her place to sleep for the night. The next morning he is gone, along with her family Menorah. Some time later he contacts her, now in prison for other crimes, they meet and he apologizes for not accepting her offers of help.

Since the release of Gabriel Garciá Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, Magical Realism has been in favour as a narrative style or genre in adult fiction. The representation of the genre in children’s and juvenile literature, on the other hand, is a recent trend; the components of the genre have been tracked and proven to be genuinely important in the interpretation of current children’s fiction, such as David Almond’s Skelling (1998). The aim of this paper is to look at the elements of magical realism in Neil Gaiman’s Coraline and Angela Carter’s Nights at the Circus works in this respect.

Hartt-Sussman, Heather. Noni speaks up. Tundra Books, 2016.Nominated for the Ontario Library Association’s Blue Spruce Award, Noni speaks up is the third book in the Noni series by Toronto-based children’s picture book author, Heather Hartt-Sussman, and acclaimed illustrator Geneviève Côté.When Noni sees Hector being bullied by other kids at school, and is encouraged by her friends to join in, she is unable to speak up; Noni is paralyzed by fear of making enemies if she stands up for her schoolmate. Noni feels bad for not defending Hector, but is uncertain about what to do.During a restless night, she worries about what might happen if she doesn’t take her friends’ side. She considers the things Hector is being bullied about. As Noni reflects on her relationships with her friends, she notices that they sometimes say and do things to her that are hurtful.When Noni goes to school the next day, she sees Hector being bullied again and experiences the same fear and inability to speak. But when her friend laughs at Hector’s misfortune, Noni has had enough and screws up the courage to defend Hector. Speaking out stops her friend laughing, and Noni and a grateful Hector actively ignore the bully’s taunting, demonstrating another strategy for dealing with bullying.Noni speaks up presents a realistic scenario and provides accurate, helpful information for dealing with bullying, in an empathic and reassuring manner. Young readers will relate to the events in the story, and the Noni models positive behaviour that children experiencing a similar issue could put into practice. This book meets the Juvenile Health Fiction Checklist criteria (described in the October 2014 issue of the Deakin Review).Readers who enjoy Noni speaks up can re-connect with Noni in Hartt-Sussman’s other books, Noni is nervous and Noni says no.Recommended: 3 out of 4 starsReviewer: Maria TanMaria is a sessional instructor at the University of Alberta and a former editorial team member of the Deakin Review. She is the co-author, with Sandy Campbell, of the Children’s Health Fiction Checklist, described in the October 2014 Special Issue of the Deakin Review (Vol. 4, No. 2) https://ejournals.library.ualberta.ca/index.php/deakinreview/article/view/23321.

Smith Milway, Katie. Mimi's Village and How Basic Health Care Transformed It. Toronto, ON: Kids Can Press, 2012. Print.Mimi’s Village is part of the CitizenKid series, a collection that seeks to inspire children to be better global citizens. Based on Katie Smith Milway’s experiences working for non-profit organizations, the story is set in Western Kenya – a real-world context that is vividly supported by Eugenie Fernandes’ colourful full-page illustrations of flora, fauna and village life.Told in simple one-page chapters, this story introduces children to the health challenges experienced by Mimi and her family: unsafe drinking water, a child’s life-threatening illness, and travel through the night to a distant health clinic. As the story develops, readers begin to see that small steps can radically improve health in the village: clean water, vaccinations and mosquito nets. Perhaps most importantly, Mimi’s inspirational role – she asks her father, “Could you build a clinic too? Maybe then a nurse would come” – demonstrates that children can make meaningful contributions to their communities. This theme is carried into the book’s final seven pages, which include the story of a “real village health worker,” as well as concrete suggestions that answer the question, “How can you help?”The writing in this book is not the strongest and the title may not inspire child readers. In addition, younger readers will benefit from reading this with an adult. These shortcomings are, however, fully mitigated by Mimi’s engaging story and the book’s two important messages: simple public health measures will dramatically improve the lives of many children living throughout the world; and children everywhere can positively impact their world. This juvenile nonfiction book will make a compelling addition to any library collection.Recommended: 3 out of 4 starsReviewer: Shelagh K. GenuisShelagh K. Genuis is an Alberta Innovates–Health Solutions Postdoctoral Research Fellow at the University of Alberta’s School of Public Health. Although an avid reader of biography, she has never stopped reading children’s fiction.

News and AnnouncementsAs we move into the so-called “summer reading” mode (although reading is obviously not a seasonal thing for many people), here is a “summery” (pardon the pun) of some recent Canadian book awards and shortlists.To see the plethora of Forest of Reading ® tree awards from the Ontario Library Association, go to https://www.accessola.org/WEB/OLAWEB/Forest_of_Reading/About_the_Forest.aspx. IBBY Canada (the Canadian national section of the International Board on Books for Young People) announced that the Claude Aubry Award for distinguished service in the field of children’s literature will be presented to Judith Saltman and Jacques Payette. Both winners will receive their awards in conjunction with a special event for children's literature in the coming year. http://www.ibby-canada.org/ibby-canadas-aubry-award-presented-2015/IBBY Canada also awarded the 2015 Elizabeth Mrazik-Cleaver Picture Book Award to Pierre Pratt, illustrator of Stop, Thief!. http://www.ibby-canada.org/awards/elizabeth-mrazik-cleaver-award/The annual reading programme known as First Nation Communities Read (FNCR) and the Periodical Marketers of Canada (PMC) jointly announced Peace Pipe Dreams: The Truth about Lies about Indians by Darrell Dennis (Douglas & McIntyre) as the FNCR 2015-2016 title as well as winner of PMC’s $5000 Aboriginal Literature Award. A jury of librarians from First Nations public libraries in Ontario, with coordination support from Southern Ontario Library Service, selected Peace Pipe Dreams from more than 19 titles submitted by Canadian publishers. “In arriving at its selection decision, the jury agreed that the book is an important one that dispels myths and untruths about Aboriginal people in Canada today and sets the record straight. The author tackles such complicated issues such as religion, treaties, and residential schools with knowledge, tact and humour, leaving readers with a greater understanding of our complex Canadian history.” http://www.sols.org/index.php/links/fn-communities-readCharis Cotter, author of The Swallow: A Ghost Story, has been awarded The National Chapter of Canada IODE Violet Downey Book Award for 2015. Published by Tundra Books, the novel is suggested for children ages nine to 12. http://www.iode.ca/2015-iode-violet-downey-book-award.htmlThe 2015 winners of the Ruth and Sylvia Schwartz Children’s Book Awards were selected by two juries of young readers from Toronto’s Alexander Muir / Gladstone Avenue Junior and Senior Public School. A jury of grade 3 and 4 students selected the recipient of the Children’s Picture Book Award, and a jury of grade 7 and 8 students selected the recipient of the Young Adult / Middle Reader Award. Each student read the books individually and then worked together with their group to reach consensus and decide on a winner. This process makes it a unique literary award in Canada.The Magician of Auschwitz by Kathy Kacer and illustrated by Gillian Newland (Second Story Press) won the Children’s Picture Book Category.The winner for the Young Adult/Middle Reader Category was The Boundless by Kenneth Oppel (HarperCollins Publishers).http://www.ontarioartsfoundation.on.ca/pages/ruth-sylvia-schwartz-awardsFrom the Canadian Library Association:The Night Gardener by Jonathan Auxier (Penguin Canada) was awarded CLA’s 2015 Book of the Year for Children Award.Any Questions?, written and illustrated by Marie-Louise Gay (Groundwood Books) won the 2015 Amelia Frances Howard-Gibbon Award.This One Summer by Mariko & Jillian Tamaki (Groundwood) was awarded the 2015 Young Adult Book Award.http://www.cla.ca/AM/Template.cfm?Section=Book_Awards&Template=/CM/HTMLDisplay.cfm&ContentID=16132The 2015 Winner of the Crime Writers of Canada’s Arthur Ellis Awards for Best Juvenile/YA Book was Sigmund Brouwer’s Dead Man's Switch (Harvest House). http://crimewriterscanada.com/Regional awards:Alberta’s Ross Annett Award for Children’s Literature 2015:Little You by Richard Van Camp (Orca Book Publishers) http://www.bookcentre.ca/awards/r_ross_annett_award_childrens_literatureRocky Mountain Book Award 2015:Last Train: A Holocaust Story by Rona Arato. (Owl Kids, 2013) http://www.rmba.info/last-train-holocaust-storyAtlantic Book Awards 2015 from the Atlantic Book Awards SocietyAnn Connor Brimer Award for Children’s Literature: The End of the Line by Sharon E. McKay (Annick Press).Lillian Shepherd Award for Excellence in Illustration: Music is for Everyone illustrated by Sydney Smith and written by Jill Barber (Nimbus Publishing) http://atlanticbookawards.ca/awards/Hackmatack Children’s Choice Book Award 2015:English fiction: Scare Scape by Sam Fisher.English non-fiction: WeirdZone: Sports by Maria Birmingham.French fiction: Toxique by Amy Lachapelle.French non-fiction: Au labo, les Débrouillards! by Yannick Bergeron. http://hackmatack.ca/en/index.htmlFrom the 2015 BC Book Prizes for authors and/or illustrators living in British Columbia or the Yukon:The Christie Harris Illustrated Children's Literature Prize was awarded to Dolphin SOS by Roy Miki and Slavia Miki with illustrations by Julie Flett (Tradewind).The Sheila A. Egoff Children's Literature Prize for “novels, including chapter books, and non-fiction books, including biography, aimed at juveniles and young adults, which have not been highly illustrated” went to Maggie de Vries for Rabbit Ears (HarperCollins). http://www.bcbookprizes.ca/winners/2015The 2015 Manitoba Young Readers’ Choice Award (MYRCA) was awarded to Ultra by David Carroll. http://www.myrca.ca/Camp Outlook by Brenda Baker (Second Story Press) was the 2015 winner of the SaskEnergy Young Adult Literature Award. http://www.bookawards.sk.ca/awards/awards-nominees/2015-awards-and-nominees/category/saskenergy-young-adult-literature-awardFor more information on Canadian children’s book awards check out http://www.canadianauthors.net/awards/. Please note that not all regional awards are included in this list; if you are so inclined, perhaps send their webmaster a note regarding an award that you think should be included.Happy reading and exploring.Yours in stories (in all seasons and shapes and sizes)Gail de VosGail de Vos is an adjunct professor who teaches courses on Canadian children's literature, young adult literature, and commic books and graphic novels at the School of Library and Information Studies (SLIS) at the University of Alberta and is the author of nine books on storytelling and folklore. She is a professional storyteller and has taught the storytelling course at SLIS for over two decades.

Marshall, Rita, and Etienne Delessert. I Hate to Read! Mankato, MN: Creative Education, 1992. Print. As you might guess from the title, this book invites reluctant readers to discover the wondrous adventures that can be accessed through turning the pages of a book, as opposed to tuning into TV programs. The cover features the narrator—third-grader Victor Dickens—on a dragon’s back, with flames licking out of the pages of a stack of books. Readers are told that Victor is a “really good kid” “most of the time,” and many children will be able to relate to his academic difficulties: “Victor got As in math and Bs in science, but Fs when it came to the ABCs”. He calls himself a “victim of the hate to read syndrome”. One night, Victor is visited by a series of storybook creatures, including a crocodile in a white coat, a field mouse carrying gold coins, a pirate parrot, and a white rabbit in black barn boots; all of whom attempt to convince him to read. He repeats his usual mantra, “I hate to read,” until gradually he begins turning pages, and his imagination takes over. Fictional characters morph into people from his real life: Sleeping Beauty turns into Natalie Nickerson, on whom Victor appears to have a bit of a crush. The turning point comes when one of the characters whispers: “It’s fun to read even when you’re not supposed to.” This thought appeals to his sense of juvenile rebellion, and he continues in his literary reverie, even missing his favourite TV program. He imagines his teacher as a witch, throwing books into a cauldron, and his classmates, led by Natalie, shouting, “We hate to read!” Instead of joining in, however, Victor thinks of how sad he would be to lose all of his new friends, so he looks for them in his book: “And as he read each page, he just hated…to come to the end.” Writer and designer Rita Marshall and illustrator Etienne Delessert have each been awarded numerous literary prizes for their work. The large-scale drawings of the storybook creatures are whimsical and inviting. They also contain small details that might not be noticed on the first reading. For example, the toes and talons of the dragon on the cover also form crow-like birds with pointy beaks. In another image, letters of the alphabet are hidden in animal tracks. On the other hand, the book includes some literary references that would likely be lost on a typical third-grader. For example, Victor’s parents are said to have bought all 56 volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica to help pique his interest in reading. It is unlikely that many families would have this set in their homes, nor would a child normally encounter one in an elementary school library. However, these details will perhaps prompt questions from curious readers. On the whole, “I hate to read” is highly likely to achieve its principal goal. Much like Victor, most children will probably hate to see it come to an end. Not to fear, they can continue to follow Victor’s adventures in “I Still Hate to Read,” which was published in 2007. Highly recommended: 4 out of 4 starsReviewer: Kim Frail Kim is a Public Services Librarian at the H.T. Coutts Education Library at the University of Alberta. Children’s literature is a big part of her world at work and at home. She also enjoys gardening, renovating and keeping up with her two-year old.

Despite the now-traditional tendency of noir scholarship to call attention to the retrospective and constructed nature of this genre— James Naremore argues that film noir is best regarded as a “mythology”— one feature that has rarely come under question is its association with the city (2). Despite the existence of numerous rural noirs, the depiction of urban space is associated with this genre more consistently than any other element. Even in critical accounts that attempt to deconstruct the solidity of the noir genre, the city is left as an implicit inclusion, and the country, an implict exclusion. Naremore, for example, does not include the urban environment in a list of the central tenets of film noir that he calls into question: “nothing links together all the things described as noir—not the theme of crime, not a cinematographic technique, not even a resistance to Aristotelian narratives or happy endings” (10). Elizabeth Cowie identifies film noir a “fantasy,” whose “tenuous critical status” has been compensated for “by a tenacity of critical use” (121). As part of Cowie’s project, to revise the assumption that noirs are almost exclusively male-centered, she cites character types, visual style, and narrative tendencies, but never urban spaces, as familiar elements of noir that ought to be reconsidered. If the city is rarely tackled as an unnecessary or part-time element of film noir in discursive studies, it is often the first trait identified by critics in the kind of formative, characteristic-compiling studies that Cowie and Naremore work against.Andrew Dickos opens Street with No Name: A History of the Classic American Film Noir with a list of noir’s key attributes. The first item is “an urban setting or at least an urban influence” (6). Nicholas Christopher maintains that “the city is the seedbed of film noir. […] However one tries to define or explain noir, the common denominator must always be the city. The two are inseparable” (37). Though the tendencies of noir scholars— both constructive and deconstructive— might lead readers to believe otherwise, rural locations figure prominently in a number of noir films. I will show that the noir genre is, indeed, flexible enough to encompass many films set predominantly or partly in rural locations. Steve Neale, who encourages scholars to work with genre terms familiar to original audiences, would point out that the rural noir is an academic discovery not an industry term, or one with much popular currency (166). Still, this does not lessen the critical usefulness of this subgenre, or its implications for noir scholarship.While structuralist and post-structuralist modes of criticism dominated film genre criticism in the 1970s and 80s, as Thomas Schatz has pointed out, these approaches often sacrifice close attention to film texts, for more abstract, high-stakes observations: “while there is certainly a degree to which virtually every mass-mediated cultural artifact can be examined from [a mythical or ideological] perspective, there appears to be a point at which we tend to lose sight of the initial object of inquiry” (100). Though my reading of these films sidesteps attention to social and political concerns, this article performs the no-less-important task of clarifying the textual features of this sub-genre. To this end, I will survey the tendencies of the rural noir more generally, mentioning more than ten films that fit this subgenre, before narrowing my analysis to a reading of Moonrise (Frank Borzage, 1948), Thieves’ Highway (Jules Dassin, 1949), They Live By Night (Nicholas Ray, 1949) and On Dangerous Ground (Nicholas Ray, 1952). Robert Mitchum tries to escape his criminal life by settling in a small, mountain-side town in Out of the Past (Jacques Tourneur, 1947). A foggy marsh provides a dramatic setting for the Bonnie and Clyde-like demise of lovers on the run in Gun Crazy (Joseph Lewis, 1950). In The Asphalt Jungle (John Huston, 1950), Sterling Hayden longs to return home after he is forced to abandon his childhood horse farm for a life of organised crime in the city. Rob Ryan plays a cop unable to control his violent impulses in On Dangerous Ground (Nicholas Ray, 1952). He is re-assigned from New York City to a rural community up-state in hopes that a less chaotic environment will have a curative effect. The apple orchards of Thieves’ Highway are no refuge from networks of criminal corruption. In They Live By Night, a pair of young lovers, try to leave their criminal lives behind, hiding out in farmhouses, cabins, and other pastoral locations in the American South. Finally, the location of prisons explains a number of sequences set in spare, road-side locations such as those in The Killer is Loose (Budd Boetticher, 1956), The Hitch-Hiker (Ida Lupino, 1953), and Raw Deal (Anthony Mann, 1948). What are some common tendencies of the rural noir? First, they usually feature both rural and urban settings, which allows the portrayal of one to be measured against the other. What we see of the city structures the definition of the country, and vice versa. Second, the lead character moves between these two locations by driving. For criminals, the car is more essential for survival in the country than in the city, so nearly all rural noirs are also road movies. Third, nature often figures as a redemptive force for urbanites steeped in lives of crime. Fourth, the curative quality of the country is usually tied to a love interest in this location: the “nurturing woman” as defined by Janey Place, who encourages the protagonist to forsake his criminal life (60). Fifth, the country is never fully crime-free. In The Killer is Loose, for example, an escaped convict’s first victim is a farmer, whom he clubs before stealing his truck. The convict (Wendell Corey), then, easily slips through a motorcade with the farmer’s identification. Here, the sprawling countryside provides an effective cover for the killer. This farmland is not an innocent locale, but the criminal’s safety-net. In films where a well-intentioned lead attempts to put his criminal life behind him by moving to a remote location, urban associates have little trouble tracking him down. While the country often appears, to protagonists like Jeff in Out of the Past or Bowie in They Live By Night, as an ideal place to escape from crime, as these films unfold, violence reaches the countryside. If these are similar points, what are some differences among rural noirs? First, there are many differences by degree among the common elements listed above. For instance, some rural noirs present their location with unabashed romanticism, while others critique the idealisation of these locations; some “nurturing women” are complicit with criminal activity, while others are entirely innocent. Second, while noir films are commonly known for treating similar urban locations, Los Angeles in particular, these films feature a wide variety of locations: Out of the Past and Thieves’ Highway take place in California, the most common setting for rural noirs, but On Dangerous Ground is set in northern New England, They Live by Night takes place in the Depression-era South, Moonrise in Southern swampland, and the most dynamic scene of The Asphalt Jungle is in rural Kentucky. Third, these films also vary considerably in the balance of settings. If the three typical locations of the rural noir are the country, the city, and the road, the distribution of these three locations varies widely across these films. The location of The Asphalt Jungle matches the title until its dramatic conclusion. The Hitch-hiker, arguably a rural noir, is set in travelling cars, with just brief stops in the barren landscape outside. Two of the films I analyse, They Live By Night and Moonrise are set entirely in the country; a remarkable exception to the majority of films in this subgenre. There are only two other critical essays on the rural noir. In “Shadows in the Hinterland: Rural Noir,” Jonathan F. Bell contextualises the rural noir in terms of post-war transformations of the American landscape. He argues that these films express a forlorn faith in the agrarian myth while the U.S. was becoming increasingly developed and suburbanised. That is to say, the rural noir simultaneously reflects anxiety over the loss of rural land, but also the stubborn belief that the countryside will always exist, if the urbanite needs it as a refuge. Garry Morris suggests the following equation as the shortest way to state the thematic interest of this genre: “Noir = industrialisation + (thwarted) spirituality.” He attributes much of the malaise of noir protagonists to the inhospitable urban environment, “far from [society’s] pastoral and romantic and spiritual origins.” Where Bell focuses on nine films— Detour (1945), The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946), Out of the Past (1947), Key Largo (1948), Gun Crazy (1949), On Dangerous Ground (1952), The Hitch-Hiker (1953), Split Second (1953), and Killer’s Kiss (1955)— Morris’s much shorter article includes just The Asphalt Jungle (1950) and Gun Crazy. Of the four films I discuss, only On Dangerous Ground has previously been treated as part of this subgenre, though it has never been discussed alongside Nicholas Ray’s other rural noir. To further the development of the project that these authors have started— the formation of a rural noir corpus— I propose the inclusion of three additional films in this subgenre: Moonrise (1948), They Live by Night (1949), and Thieves’ Highway (1949). With both On Dangerous Ground and They Live by Night to his credit, Nicholas Ray has the distinction of being the most prolific director of rural noirs. In They Live by Night, two young lovers, Bowie (Farley Granger) and Keechie (Cathy O’Donnell), attempt to escape from their established criminal lives. Twenty-three year old Bowie has just been released from juvenile prison and finds rural Texas refreshing: “Out here, the air smells different,” he says. He meets Keechie through her father, a small time criminal organiser who would be happy to keep her secluded for life. When one of Bowie’s accomplices, Chicamaw (Howard DaSilva), shoots a policeman after a robbing a bank with Bowie, the young couple is forced to run. Foster Hirsch calls They Live by Night “a genre rarity, a sentimental noir” (34). The naïve blissfulness of their affection is associated with the primitive settings they navigate. Though Bowie and Keechie are the most sympathetic protagonists of any rural noir, this is no safeguard against an inevitable, characteristically noir demise. Janey Place writes, “the young lovers are doomed, but the possibility of their love transcends and redeems them both, and its failure criticises the urbanised world that will not let them live” (63). As indicated here, the country offers the young lovers refuge for some time, and their bond is depicted as wonderfully strong, but it is doomed by the stronger force of the law.Raymond Williams discusses how different characteristics are associated with urban and rural spaces:On the country has gathered the idea of a natural way of life: of peace, innocence, and simple virtue. On the city has gathered the idea of an achieved center: of learning, communication, light. Powerful hostile associations have also developed: on the city as a place of noise, worldliness and ambition; on the country as a place of backwardness, ignorance, limitation. (1) They Live By Night breaks down these dichotomies, showing the persistence of crime rooted in rural areas.Bowie desires to “get squared around” and live a more natural life with Keechie. Williams’ country adjectives— “peace, innocence, and simple virtue”— describe the nature of this relationship perfectly. Yet, criminal activity, usually associated with the city, has an overwhelmingly strong presence in this region and their lives. Bowie, following the doomed logic of many a crime film character, plans to launch a new, more honest life with cash raised in a heist. Keechie recognises the contradictions in this plan: “Fine way to get squared around, teaming with them. Stealing money and robbing banks. You’ll get in so deep trying to get squared, they’ll have enough to keep you in for two life times.” For Bowie, crime and the pursuit of love are inseparably bound, refuting the illusion of the pure and innocent countryside personified by characters like Mary Malden in On Dangerous Ground and Ann Miller in Out of the Past.In Ray’s other rural noir, On Dangerous Ground, a lonely, angry, and otherwise burned out cop, Wilson (Rob Ryan), finds both love and peace in his time away from the city. While on his up-state assignment, Wilson meets Mary Walden (Ida Lupino), a blind woman who lives a secluded life miles away from this already desolate, rural community. Mary has a calming influence on Wilson, and fits well within Janey Place’s notion of the archetypal nurturing woman in film noir: “The redemptive woman often represents or is part of a primal connection with nature and/or with the past, which are safe, static states rather than active, exciting ones, but she can sometimes offer the only transcendence possible in film noir” (63).If, as Colin McArthur observes, Ray’s characters frequently seek redemption in rural locales— “[protagonists] may reject progress and modernity; they may choose to go or are sent into primitive areas. […] The journeys which bring them closer to nature may also offer them hope of salvation” (124) — the conclusions of On Dangerous Ground versus They Live By Night offer two markedly different resolutions to this narrative. Where Bowie and Keechie’s life on the lam cannot be sustained, On Dangerous Ground, against the wishes of its director, portrays a much more romanticised version of pastoral life. According to Andrew Dickos, “Ray wanted to end the film on the ambivalent image of Jim Wilson returning to the bleak city,” after he had restored order up-state (132). The actual ending is more sentimental. Jim rushes back north to be with Mary. They passionately kiss in close-up, cueing an exuberant orchestral score as The End appears over a slow tracking shot of the majestic, snow covered landscape. In this way, On Dangerous Ground overturns the usual temporal associations of rural versus urban spaces. As Raymond Williams identifies, “The common image of the country is now an image of the past, and the common image of the city an image of the future” (297). For Wilson, by contrast, city life was no longer sustainable and rurality offers his best means for a future. Leo Marx noted in a variety of American pop culture, from Mark Twain to TV westerns and magazine advertising, a “yearning for a simpler, more harmonious style of life, and existence ‘closer to nature,’ that is the psychic root of all pastoralism— genuine and spurious” (Marx 6). Where most rural noirs expose the agrarian myth as a fantasy and a sham, On Dangerous Ground, exceptionally, perpetuates it as actual and effectual. Here, a bad cop is made good with a few days spent in a sparsely populated area and with a woman shaped by her rural upbringing.As opposed to On Dangerous Ground, where the protagonist’s movement from city to country matches his split identity as a formerly corrupt man wishing to be pure, Frank Borzage’s B-film Moonrise (1948) is located entirely in rural or small-town locations. Set in the fictional Southern town of Woodville, which spans swamps, lushly wooded streets and aging Antebellum mansions, the lead character finds good and bad within the same rural location and himself. Dan (Dane Clark) struggles to escape his legacy as the son of a murderer. This conflict is irreparably heightened when Dan kills a man (who had repeatedly teased and bullied him) in self-defence. The instability of Dan’s moral compass is expressed in the way he treats innocent elements of the natural world: flies, dogs, and, recalling Out of the Past, a local deaf boy. He is alternately cruel and kind. Dan is finally redeemed after seeking the advice of a black hermit, Mose (Rex Ingram), who lives in a ramshackle cabin by the swamp. He counsels Dan with the advice that men turn evil from “being lonesome,” not for having “bad blood.” When Dan, eventually, decides to confess to his crime, the sheriff finds him tenderly holding a search hound against a bucolic, rural backdrop. His complete comfortability with the landscape and its creatures finally allows Dan to reconcile the film’s opening opposition. He is no longer torturously in between good and evil, but openly recognises his wrongs and commits to do good in the future. If I had to select just a single shot to illustrate that noirs are set in rural locations more often than most scholarship would have us believe, it would be the opening sequence of Moonrise. From the first shot, this film associates rural locations with criminal elements. The credit sequence juxtaposes pooling water with an ominous brass score. In this disorienting opening, the camera travels from an image of water, to a group of men framed from the knees down. The camera dollies out and pans left, showing that these men, trudging solemnly, are another’s legal executioners. The frame tilts upward and we see a man hung in silhouette. This dense shot is followed by an image of a baby in a crib, also shadowed, the water again, and finally the execution scene. If this sequence is a thematic montage, it can also be discussed, more simply, as a series of establishing shots: a series of images that, seemingly, could not be more opposed— a baby, a universal symbol of innocence, set against the ominous execution, cruel experience— are paired together by virtue of their common location. The montage continues, showing that the baby is the son of the condemned man. As Dan struggles with the legacy of his father throughout the film, this opening shot continues to inform our reading of this character, split between the potential for good or evil.What a baby is to Moonrise, or, to cite a more familiar reference, what the insurance business is to many a James M. Cain roman noir, produce distribution is to Jules Dassin’s Thieves’ Highway (1949). The apple, often a part of wholesome American myths, is at the centre of this story about corruption. Here, a distribution network that brings Americans this hearty, simple product is connected with criminal activity and violent abuses of power more commonly portrayed in connection with cinematic staples of organised crime such as bootlegging or robbery. This film portrays bad apples in the apple business, showing that no profit driven enterprise— no matter how traditional or rural— is beyond the reach of corruption.Fitting the nature of this subject, numerous scenes in the Dassin film take place in the daylight (in addition to darkness), and in the countryside (in addition to the city) as we move between wine and apple country to the market districts of San Francisco. But if the subject and setting of Thieves’ Highway are unusual for a noir, the behaviour of its characters is not. Spare, bright country landscapes form the backdrop for prototypical noir behaviour: predatory competition for money and power.As one would expect of a film noir, the subject of apple distribution is portrayed with dynamic violence. In the most exciting scene of the film, a truck careens off the road after a long pursuit from rival sellers. Apples scatter across a hillside as the truck bursts into flames. This scene is held in a long-shot, as unscrupulous thugs gather the produce for sale while the unfortunate driver burns to death. Here, the reputedly innocent American apple is subject to cold-blooded, profit-maximizing calculations as much as the more typical topics of noir such as blackmail, fraud, or murder. Passages on desolate roads and at apple orchards qualify Thieves’ Highway as a rural noir; the dark, cynical manner in which capitalist enterprise is treated is resonant with nearly all film noirs. Thieves’ Highway follows a common narrative pattern amongst rural noirs to gradually reveal rural spaces as connected to criminality in urban locations. Typically, this disillusioning fact is narrated from the perspective of a lead character who first has a greater sense of safety in rural settings but learns, over the course of the story, to be more wary in all locations. In Thieves’, Nick’s hope that apple-delivery might earn an honest dollar (he is the only driver to treat the orchard owners fairly) gradually gives way to an awareness of the inevitable corruption that has taken over this enterprise at all levels of production, from farmer, to trucker, to wholesaler, and thus, at all locations, the country, the road, and the city.Between this essay, and the previous work of Morris and Bell on the subject, we are developing a more complete survey of the rural noir. Where Bell’s and Morris’s essays focus more resolutely on rural noirs that relied on the contrast of the city versus the country— which, significantly, was the first tendency of this subgenre that I observed— Moonrise and They Live By Night demonstrate that this genre can work entirely apart from the city. From start to finish, these films take place in small towns and rural locations. As opposed to Out of the Past, On Dangerous Ground, or The Asphalt Jungle, characters are never pulled back to, nor flee from, an urban life of crime. Instead, vices that are commonly associated with the city have a free-standing life in the rural locations that are often thought of as a refuge from these harsh elements. If both Bell and Morris study the way that rural noirs draw differences between the city and country, two of the three films I add to the subgenre constitute more complete rural noirs, films that work wholly outside urban locations, not just in contrast with it. Bell, like me, notes considerable variety in rural noirs locations, “desert landscapes, farms, mountains, and forests all qualify as settings for consideration,” but he also notes that “Diverse as these landscapes are, this set of films uses them in surprisingly like-minded fashion to achieve a counterpoint to the ubiquitous noir city” (219). In Bell’s analysis, all nine films he studies, feature significant urban segments. He is, in fact, so inclusive as to discuss Stanley Kubrick’s Killer’s Kiss as a rural noir even though it does not contain a single frame shot or set outside of New York City. Rurality is evoked only as a possibility, as alienated urbanite Davy (Jamie Smith) receives letters from his horse-farm-running relatives. Reading these letters offers Davy brief moments of respite from drudgerous city spaces such as the subway and his cramped apartment. In its emphasis on the centrality of rural locations, my project is more similar to David Bell’s work on the rural in horror films than to Jonathan F. Bell’s work on the rural noir. David Bell analyses the way that contemporary horror films work against a “long tradition” of the “idyllic rural” in many Western texts (95). As opposed to works “from Henry David Thoreau and Walt Whitman to contemporary television shows like Northern Exposure and films such as A River Runs Through It or Grand Canyon” in which the rural is positioned as “a restorative to urban anomie,” David Bell analyses films such as Deliverance and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre that depict “a series of anti-idyllic visions of the rural” (95). Moonrise and They Live By Night, like these horror films, portray the crime and the country as coexistent spheres at the same time that the majority of other popular culture, including noirs like Killer’s Kiss or On Dangerous Ground, portray them as mutually exclusive.To use a mode of generic analysis developed by Rick Altman, the rural noir, while preserving the dominant syntax of other noirs, presents a remarkably different semantic element (31). Consider the following description of the genre, from the introduction to Film Noir: An Encyclopedic Reference Guide: “The darkness that fills the mirror of the past, which lurks in a dark corner or obscures a dark passage out of the oppressively dark city, is not merely the key adjective of so many film noir titles but the obvious metaphor for the condition of the protagonist’s mind” (Silver and Ward, 4). In this instance, the narrative elements, or syntax, of film noir outlined by Silver and Ward do not require revision, but the urban location, a semantic element, does. Moonrise and They Live By Night demonstrate the sustainability of the aforementioned syntactic elements— the dark, psychological experience of the leads and their inescapable criminal past— apart from the familiar semantic element of the city.The rural noir must also cause us to reconsider— beyond rural representations or film noir— more generally pitched genre theories. Consider the importance of place to film genre, the majority of which are defined by a typical setting: for melodramas, it is the family home, for Westerns, the American west, and for musicals, the stage. Thomas Schatz separates American genres according to their setting, between genres which deal with “determinate” versus “indeterminate” space:There is a vital distinction between kinds of generic settings and conflicts. Certain genres […] have conflicts that, indigenous to the environment, reflect the physical and ideological struggle for its control. […] Other genres have conflicts that are not indigenous to the locale but are the results of the conflict between the values, attitudes, and actions of its principal characters and the ‘civilised’ setting they inhabit. (26) Schatz discusses noirs, along with detective films, as films which trade in “determinate” settings, limited to the space of the city. The rural noir slips between Schatz’s dichotomy, moving past the space of the city, but not into the civilised, tame settings of the genres of “indeterminate spaces.” It is only fitting that a genre whose very definition lies in its disruption of Hollywood norms— trading high- for low-key lighting, effectual male protagonists for helpless ones, and a confident, coherent worldview for a more paranoid, unstable one would, finally, be able to accommodate a variation— the rural noir— that would seem to upset one of its central tenets, an urban locale. Considering the long list of Hollywood standards that film noirs violated, according to two of its original explicators, Raymond Borde and Etienne Chaumeton— “a logical action, an evident distinction between good and evil, well-defined characters with clear motives, scenes that are more spectacular than brutal, a heroine who is exquisitely feminine and a hero who is honest”— it should, perhaps, not be so surprising that the genre is flexible enough to accommodate the existence of the rural noir after all (14). AcknowledgmentsIn addition to M/C Journal's anonymous readers, the author would like to thank Corey Creekmur, Mike Slowik, Barbara Steinson, and Andrew Gorman-Murray for their helpful suggestions. ReferencesAltman, Rick. “A Semantic/Syntactic Approach to Film Genre.” Film Genre Reader III. Ed. Barry Keith Grant. Austin: U of Texas P, 2003. 27-41.The Asphalt Jungle. Dir. John Huston. MGM/UA, 1950.Bell, David. “Anti-Idyll: Rural Horror.” Contested Countryside Cultures. Eds. Paul Cloke and Jo Little. London, Routledge, 1997. 94-108.Bell, Jonathan F. “Shadows in the Hinterland: Rural Noir.” Architecture and Film. Ed. Mark Lamster. New York: Princeton Architectural P, 2000. 217-230.Borde, Raymond and Etienne Chaumeton. A Panorama of American Film Noir. San Francisco: City Lights Books, 2002.Christopher, Nicholas. Somewhere in the Night: Film Noir and the American City. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1997.Cowie, Elizabeth. “Film Noir and Women.” Shades of Noir. Ed. Joan Copjec. New York: Verso, 1993. 121-166.Dickos, Andrew. Street with No Name: A History of the Classic American Film Noir. Lexington: UP of Kentucky, 2002.Hirsch, Foster. Detours and Lost Highways: A Map of Neo-Noir. New York: Limelight Editions, 1999.Marx, Leo. The Machine in the Garden. New York: Oxford UP, 1964.McArthur, Colin. Underworld U.S.A. London: BFI, 1972.Moonrise. Dir. Frank Borzage. Republic, 1948.Morris, Gary. “Noir Country: Alien Nation.” Bright Lights Film Journal Nov. 2006. 13. Jun. 2008 http://www.brightlightsfilm.com/54/noircountry.htm Muller, Eddie. Dark City: The Lost World of Film Noir. New York: St. Martin’s P, 1998.Naremore, James. More Than Night: Film Noir in its Contexts. Berkeley, C.A.: U of California P, 2008.Neale, Steve. “Questions of Genre.” Film Genre Reader III. Ed. Barry Keith Grant. Austin: U of Texas P, 2003. 160-184.On Dangerous Ground. Dir. Nicholas Ray. RKO, 1951.Out of the Past. Dir. Jacques Tourneur. RKO, 1947.Place, Janey. “Women in Film Noir.” Women in Film Noir. Ed. E. Ann Kaplan. London: BFI, 1999. 47-68.Schatz, Thomas. Hollywood Genres. New York: Random House, 1981.Schatz, Thomas. “The Structural Influence: New Directions in Film Genre Study.” Film Genre Reader III. Ed. Barry Keith Grant. Austin: U of Texas P, 2003. 92-102.Silver, Alain and Elizabeth Ward. Film Noir: An Encyclopedic Reference Guide. London: Bloomsbury, 1980.They Live by Night. Dir. Nicholas Ray. RKO, 1949.Thieves’ Highway. Dir. Jules Dassin. Fox, 1949.Williams, Raymond. The Country and the City. New York: Oxford UP, 1973.