Literatura científica selecionada sobre o tema "Altered books – england"

This article describes some of the research projects investigating contemporary artists’ books at the Centre for Fine Print Research at the University of the West of England in Bristol. As part of its remit, the Centre explores and promotes many aspects of the book arts including contemporary creative processes and outputs. Some recent projects include the Arcadia id est touring exhibition of 118 artists’ books on the themes ornature and the landscape; Bookmarks: infiltrating the library system; and the Regenerator altered books project. The Centre also works with artists, academics, curators, institutions, galleries and bookshops to promote the book arts to a wider community. In addition it publishes reference information, guides and critical essays on artists’ books through its Impact Press imprint; these include the Artists book yearbook and The blue notebook, a journal for artists’ books.

The massive and unstoppable emergence of electronic books in libraries has altered their organization. This disruptive technology has led to structural changes. Currently, an e-book exists only if its metadata exists. The objective of this article is to analyse the impact that the massive incorporation of electronic books in university library systems is having in the processes of assignment of subject headings and classification codes. We carried out a survey of more than six hundred libraries, which means almost all the university libraries in Portugal, Spain, England, United States, Brazil, Sweden, Norway, Finland and Australia. From the results obtained, it is deduced that: 1) librarians expect e-books to be provided with descriptive metadata related to the subject headings and classification codes; 2) the bibliographic records provided by publishers/providers seem to be improvable; 3) the quality of the metadata provided by the providers does not seem to be taken into account when selecting publishers for the purchase; 4) the discovery tools are also clearly improvable; 5) it seems that there is no “frustration” or “stress” among librarians about the changes produced in relation to technical processes; and, 6) it does not seem that we are facing a paradigm shift motivated by these issues.

This article identifies, details, and contextualizes three stages in the development of the consecration rites for abbesses and abbots in liturgical books produced for bishops in England from 900 to 1200. It shows how these rites, through the prayers recited, insignia bestowed, chants sung, and bodily gestures performed, sought to articulate and impress the normative ideals of monastic leadership on those who were elected to exercise it and how liturgists variously altered these rites in response to changing ecclesiastical pressures. Most significantly, for much of the late Anglo-Saxon period, the consecration rites for abbesses and abbots were the same, but, over the course of the late eleventh and twelfth centuries, the rites were split along gender lines with the dissemination, adoption, and adaptation of the ordines found in episcopal books affiliated with the tradition commonly identified by scholars as the Pontifical Romano-Germanique. In sharp contrast to their predecessors, the new rites envisioned dramatically different spiritual and temporal authorities for abbesses and abbots, clearly subordinating the former's office to the latter's by thoroughly feminizing its exemplary form. Yet, as close study of the material remains from communities of women religious during this period reveals, the consecration rite for abbesses was limited in its effect on how they actually fashioned and displayed their own authorities.

That Algernon Charles Swinburne loved the Brontës is well known, and his interest in them well documented. His admiration for Charlotte and Emily, in particular, prompted two studies, a short book and an article, which were instrumental in establishing their critical reputation as it exists today. “Those great twin sisters in genius,” as he wrote in 1877, held a powerful sway over Swinburne's imagination (A Note 188–200). He considered them his Yorkshire kinswomen, bred in the wild borderlands of the North (although Swinburne was born in London and spent most of his life in southern England, his family was based in Northumberland, and he never lost his allegiance to the county, calling himself a “Borderer” to the very end). He sensed in their work – Emily's especially – the haunting, poetic influence of the moors, a passionate, romantic spirit that saturated his own verse and prose. More, they were his novelistic predecessors, and his essays on them shed considerable light on his own fictional practice. In framing himself as the Brontës’ apologist, Swinburne was “far ahead of his time,” shaping Victorian criticism (Hyder 15–16). His praise of Wuthering Heights is considered “by some literary historians to be epochmaking” and altered the way in which novels were discussed, analysed, and ultimately evaluated (Watson 247). There are also striking features that suggest Swinburne's own novel Lesbia Brandon – in its trans-genre form and unique milieu – was conceived as an exercise in the manner of Wuthering Heights.

In a media saturated world, doodles have recently received the kind of attention usually reserved for coverage of racy extra marital affairs, corrupt governance, and product malfunction. Former British Prime Minister Blair’s private doodling at a World Economic Forum meeting in 2005 raised suspicions that he, according to one keen graphologist, struggled “to maintain control in a confusing world," which infers he was attempting to cohere a scattershot, fragmentary series of events (Spiegel). However, placid-faced Microsoft CEO Bill Gates, who sat nearby, actually scrawled the doodles. In this case, perhaps the scrawls mimicked the ambience in the room: Gates might have been ‘tuning’–registering the ‘white noise’ of the participants, letting his unconscious dictate doodles as a way to cope with the dissonance trekking in with the officialspeak. The doodles may have documented and registered the space between words, acting like deposits from his gestalt.Sometimes the most intriguing doodles co-exist with printed texts. This includes common vernacular graffiti that lines public and private books and magazines. Such graffiti exposes tensions in the role of readers as well as horror vacui: a fear of unused, empty space. Yet, school children fingering fresh pages and stiff book spines for the first few times often consider their book pages as sanctioned, discreet, and inviolable. The book is an object of financial and cultural investment, or imbued both with mystique and ideologies. Yet, in the e-book era, the old-fashioned, physical page is a relic of sorts, a holdover from coarse papyrus culled from wetland sage, linking us to the First Dynasty in Egypt. Some might consider the page as a vessel for typography, a mere framing device for text. The margins may reflect a perimeter of nothingness, an invisible borderland that doodles render visible by inhabiting them. Perhaps the margins are a bare landscape, like unmarred flat sand in a black and white panchromatic photo with unique tonal signature and distinct grain. Perhaps the margins are a mute locality, a space where words have evaporated, or a yet-to-be-explored environment, or an ambient field. Then comes the doodle, an icon of vernacular art.As a modern folklorist, I have studied and explored vernacular art at length, especially forms that may challenge and fissure aesthetic, cultural, and social mores, even within my own field. For instance, I contend that Grandma Prisbrey’s “Bottle Village,” featuring millions of artfully arranged pencils, bottles, and dolls culled from dumps in Southern California, is a syncretic culturescape with underlying feminist symbolism, not merely the product of trauma and hoarding (Ensminger). Recently, I flew to Oregon to deliver a paper on Mexican-American gravesite traditions. In a quest for increased multicultural tolerance, I argued that inexpensive dimestore objects left on Catholic immigrant graves do not represent a messy landscape of trinkets but unique spiritual environments with links to customs 3,000 years old. For me, doodles represent a variation on graffiti-style art with cultural antecedents stretching back throughout history, ranging from ancient scrawls on Greek ruins to contemporary park benches (with chiseled names, dates, and symbols), public bathroom latrinalia, and spray can aerosol art, including ‘bombing’ and ‘tagging’ hailed as “Spectacular Vernaculars” by Russell Potter (1995). Noted folklorist Alan Dundes mused on the meaning of latrinalia in Here I Sit – A Study of American Latrinalia (1966), which has inspired pop culture books and web pages for the preservation and discussion of such art (see for instance, www.itsallinthehead.com/gallery1.html). Older texts such as Classic American Graffiti by Allen Walker Read (1935), originally intended for “students of linguistics, folk-lore, abnormal psychology,” reveal the field’s longstanding interest in marginal, crude, and profane graffiti.Yet, to my knowledge, a monograph on doodles has yet to be published by a folklorist, perhaps because the art form is reconsidered too idiosyncratic, too private, the difference between jots and doodles too blurry for a taxonomy and not the domain of identifiable folk groups. In addition, the doodles in texts often remain hidden until single readers encounter them. No broad public interaction is likely, unless a library text circulates freely, which may not occur after doodles are discovered. In essence, the books become tainted, infected goods. Whereas latrinalia speaks openly and irreverently, doodles feature a different scale and audience.Doodles in texts may represent a kind of speaking from the ‘margin’s margins,’ revealing the reader-cum-writer’s idiosyncratic, self-meaningful, and stylised hieroglyphics from the ambient margins of one’s consciousness set forth in the ambient margins of the page. The original page itself is an ambient territory that allows the meaning of the text to take effect. When those liminal spaces (both between and betwixt, in which the rules of page format, design, style, and typography are abandoned) are altered by the presence of doodles, the formerly blank, surplus, and soft spaces of the page offer messages coterminous with the text, often allowing readers to speak, however haphazardly and unconsciously, with and against the triggering text. The bleached whiteness can become a crowded milieu in the hands of a reader re-scripting the ambient territory. If the book is borrowed, then the margins are also an intimate negotiation with shared or public space. The cryptic residue of the doodler now resides, waiting, for the city of eyes.Throughout history, both admired artists and Presidents regularly doodled. Famed Italian Renaissance painter Filippo Lippi avoided strenuous studying by doodling in his books (Van Cleave 44). Both sides of the American political spectrum have produced plentiful inky depictions as well: roughshod Democratic President Johnson drew flags and pagodas; former Hollywood fantasy fulfiller turned politician Republican President Reagan’s specialty was western themes, recalling tropes both from his actor period and his duration acting as President; meanwhile, former law student turned current President, Barack Obama, has sketched members of Congress and the Senate for charity auctions. These doodles are rich fodder for both psychologists and cross-discipline analysts that propose theories regarding the automatic writing and self-styled miniature pictures of civic leaders. Doodles allow graphologists to navigate and determine the internal, cognitive fabric of the maker. To critics, they exist as mere trifles and offer nothing more than an iota of insight; doodles are not uncanny offerings from the recesses of memory, like bite-sized Rorschach tests, but simply sloppy scrawls of the bored.Ambient music theory may shed some light. Timothy Morton argues that Brian Eno designed to make music that evoked “space whose quality had become minimally significant” and “deconstruct the opposition … between figure and ground.” In fact, doodles may yield the same attributes as well. After a doodle is inserted into texts, the typography loses its primacy. There is a merging of the horizons. The text of the author can conflate with the text of the reader in an uneasy dance of meaning: the page becomes an interface revealing a landscape of signs and symbols with multiple intelligences–one manufactured and condoned, the other vernacular and unsanctioned. A fixed end or beginning between the two no longer exists. The ambient space allows potential energies to hover at the edge, ready to illustrate a tension zone and occupy the page. The blank spaces keep inviting responses. An emergent discourse is always in waiting, always threatening to overspill the text’s intended meaning. In fact, the doodles may carry more weight than the intended text: the hierarchy between authorship and readership may topple.Resistant reading may take shape during these bouts. The doodle is an invasion and signals the geography of disruption, even when innocuous. It is a leveling tool. As doodlers place it alongside official discourse, they move away from positions of passivity, being mere consumers, and claim their own autonomy and agency. The space becomes co-determinant as boundaries are blurred. The destiny of the original text’s meaning is deferred. The habitus of the reader becomes embodied in the scrawl, and the next reader must negotiate and navigate the cultural capital of this new author. As such, the doodle constitutes an alternative authority and economy of meaning within the text.Recent studies indicate doodling, often regarded as behavior that announces a person’s boredom and withdrawal, is actually a very special tool to prevent memory loss. Jackie Andrade, an expert from the School of Psychology at the University of Plymouth, maintains that doodling actually “offsets the effects of selective memory blockade,” which yields a surprising result (quoted in “Doodling Gets”). Doodlers exhibit 29% more memory recall than those who passively listen, frozen in an unequal bond with the speaker/lecturer. Students that doodle actually retain more information and are likely more productive due to their active listening. They adeptly absorb information while students who stare patiently or daydream falter.Furthermore, in a 2006 paper, Andrew Kear argues that “doodling is a way in which students, consciously or not, stake a claim of personal agency and challenge some the values inherent in the education system” (2). As a teacher concerned with the engagement of students, he asked for three classes to submit their doodles. Letting them submit any two-dimensional graphic or text made during a class (even if made from body fluid), he soon discovered examples of “acts of resistance” in “student-initiated effort[s] to carve out a sense of place within the educational institution” (6). Not simply an ennui-prone teenager or a proto-surrealist trying to render some automatic writing from the fringes of cognition, a student doodling may represent contested space both in terms of the page itself and the ambience of the environment. The doodle indicates tension, and according to Kear, reflects students reclaiming “their own self-recognized voice” (6).In a widely referenced 1966 article (known as the “doodle” article) intended to describe the paragraph organisational styles of different cultures, Robert Kaplan used five doodles to investigate a writer’s thought patterns, which are rooted in cultural values. Now considered rather problematic by some critics after being adopted by educators for teacher-training materials, Kaplan’s doodles-as-models suggest, “English speakers develop their ideas in a linear, hierarchal fashion and ‘Orientals’ in a non-liner, spiral fashion…” (Severino 45). In turn, when used as pedagogical tools, these graphics, intentionally or not, may lead an “ethnocentric, assimilationist stance” (45). In this case, doodles likely shape the discourse of English as Second Language instruction. Doodles also represent a unique kind of “finger trace,” not unlike prints from the tips of a person’s fingers and snowflakes. Such symbol systems might be used for “a means of lightweight authentication,” according to Christopher Varenhorst of MIT (1). Doodles, he posits, can be used as “passdoodles"–a means by which a program can “quickly identify users.” They are singular expressions that are quirky and hard to duplicate; thus, doodles could serve as substitute methods of verifying people who desire devices that can safeguard their privacy without users having to rely on an ever-increasing number of passwords. Doodles may represent one such key. For many years, psychologists and psychiatrists have used doodles as therapeutic tools in their treatment of children that have endured hardship, ailments, and assault. They may indicate conditions, explain various symptoms and pathologies, and reveal patterns that otherwise may go unnoticed. For instance, doodles may “reflect a specific physical illness and point to family stress, accidents, difficult sibling relationships, and trauma” (Lowe 307). Lowe reports that children who create a doodle featuring their own caricature on the far side of the page, distant from an image of parent figures on the same page, may be experiencing detachment, while the portrayal of a father figure with “jagged teeth” may indicate a menace. What may be difficult to investigate in a doctor’s office conversation or clinical overview may, in fact, be gleaned from “the evaluation of a child’s spontaneous doodle” (307). So, if children are suffering physically or psychologically and unable to express themselves in a fully conscious and articulate way, doodles may reveal their “self-concept” and how they feel about their bodies; therefore, such creative and descriptive inroads are important diagnostic tools (307). Austrian born researcher Erich Guttman and his cohort Walter MacLay both pioneered art therapy in England during the mid-twentieth century. They posited doodles might offer some insight into the condition of schizophrenics. Guttman was intrigued by both the paintings associated with the Surrealist movement and the pioneering, much-debated work of Sigmund Freud too. Although Guttman mostly studied professionally trained artists who suffered from delusions and other conditions, he also collected a variety of art from patients, including those undergoing mescaline therapy, which alters a person’s consciousness. In a stroke of luck, they were able to convince a newspaper editor at the Evening Standard to provide them over 9,000 doodles that were provided by readers for a contest, each coded with the person’s name, age, and occupation. This invaluable data let the academicians compare the work of those hospitalised with the larger population. Their results, released in 1938, contain several key declarations and remain significant contributions to the field. Subsequently, Francis Reitman recounted them in his own book Psychotic Art: Doodles “release the censor of the conscious mind,” allowing a person to “relax, which to creative people was indispensable to production.”No appropriate descriptive terminology could be agreed upon.“Doodles are not communications,” for the meaning is only apparent when analysed individually.Doodles are “self-meaningful.” (37) Doodles, the authors also established, could be divided into this taxonomy: “stereotypy, ornamental details, movements, figures, faces and animals” or those “depicting scenes, medley, and mixtures” (37). The authors also noted that practitioners from the Jungian school of psychology often used “spontaneously produced drawings” that were quite “doodle-like in nature” in their own discussions (37). As a modern folklorist, I venture that doodles offer rich potential for our discipline as well. At this stage, I am offering a series of dictums, especially in regards to doodles that are commonly found adjacent to text in books and magazines, notebooks and journals, that may be expanded upon and investigated further. Doodles allow the reader to repopulate the text with ideogram-like expressions that are highly personalised, even inscrutable, like ambient sounds.Doodles re-purpose the text. The text no longer is unidirectional. The text becomes a point of convergence between writer and reader. The doodling allows for such a conversation, bilateral flow, or “talking back” to the text.Doodles reveal a secret language–informal codes that hearken back to the “lively, spontaneous, and charged with feeling” works of child art or naïve art that Victor Sanua discusses as being replaced in a child’s later years by art that is “stilted, formal, and conforming” (62).Doodling animates blank margins, the dead space of the text adjacent to the script, making such places ripe for spontaneous, fertile, and exploratory markings.Doodling reveals a democratic, participatory ethos. No text is too sacred, no narrative too inviolable. Anything can be reworked by the intimate graffiti of the reader. The authority of the book is not fixed; readers negotiate and form a second intelligence imprinted over the top of the original text, blurring modes of power.Doodles reveal liminal moments. Since the reader in unmonitored, he or she can express thoughts that may be considered marginal or taboo by the next reader. The original subject of the book itself does not restrict the reader. Thus, within the margins of the page, a brief suspension of boundaries and borders, authority and power, occurs. The reader hides in anonymity, free to reroute the meaning of the book. Doodling may convey a reader’s infantalism. Every book can become a picture book. This art can be the route returning a reader to the ambience of childhood.Doodling may constitute Illuminated/Painted Texts in reverse, commemorating the significance of the object in hitherto unexpected forms and revealing the reader’s codex. William Blake adorned his own poems by illuminating the skin/page that held his living verse; common readers may do so too, in naïve, nomadic, and primitive forms. Doodling demarcates tension zones, yielding social-historical insights into eras while offering psychological glimpses and displaying aesthetic values of readers-cum-writers.Doodling reveals margins as inter-zones, replete with psychogeography. While the typography is sanctioned, legitimate, normalised, and official discourse (“chartered” and “manacled,” to hijack lines from William Blake), the margins are a vernacular depository, a terminus, allowing readers a sense of agency and autonomy. The doodled page becomes a visible reminder and signifier: all pages are potentially “contested” spaces. Whereas graffiti often allows a writer to hide anonymously in the light in a city besieged by multiple conflicting texts, doodles allow a reader-cum-writer’s imprint to live in the cocoon of a formerly fossilised text, waiting for the light. Upon being opened, the book, now a chimera, truly breathes. Further exploration and analysis should likely consider several issues. What truly constitutes and shapes the role of agent and reader? Is the reader an agent all the time, or only when offering resistant readings through doodles? How is a doodler’s agency mediated by the author or the format of texts in forms that I have to map? Lastly, if, as I have argued, the ambient space allows potential energies to hover at the edge, ready to illustrate a tension zone and occupy the page, what occurs in the age of digital or e-books? Will these platforms signal an age of acquiescence to manufactured products or signal era of vernacular responses, somehow hitched to html code and PDF file infiltration? Will bytes totally replace type soon in the future, shaping unforeseen actions by doodlers? Attached Figures Figure One presents the intimate graffiti of my grandfather, found in the 1907 edition of his McGuffey’s Eclectic Spelling Book. The depiction is simple, even crude, revealing a figure found on the adjacent page to Lesson 248, “Of Characters Used in Punctuation,” which lists the perfunctory functions of commas, semicolons, periods, and so forth. This doodle may offset the routine, rote, and rather humdrum memorisation of such grammatical tools. The smiling figure may embody and signify joy on an otherwise machine-made bare page, a space where my grandfather illustrated his desires (to lighten a mood, to ease dissatisfaction?). Historians Joe Austin and Michael Willard examine how youth have been historically left without legitimate spaces in which to live out their autonomy outside of adult surveillance. For instance, graffiti often found on walls and trains may reflect a sad reality: young people are pushed to appropriate “nomadic, temporary, abandoned, illegal, or otherwise unwatched spaces within the landscape” (14). Indeed, book graffiti, like the graffiti found on surfaces throughout cities, may offer youth a sense of appropriation, authorship, agency, and autonomy: they take the page of the book, commit their writing or illustration to the page, discover some freedom, and feel temporarily independent even while they are young and disempowered. Figure Two depicts the doodles of experimental filmmaker Jim Fetterley (Animal Charm productions) during his tenure as a student at the Art Institute of Chicago in the early 1990s. His two doodles flank the text of “Lady Lazarus” by Sylvia Plath, regarded by most readers as an autobiographical poem that addresses her own suicide attempts. The story of Lazarus is grounded in the Biblical story of John Lazarus of Bethany, who was resurrected from the dead. The poem also alludes to the Holocaust (“Nazi Lampshades”), the folklore surrounding cats (“And like the cat I have nine times to die”), and impending omens of death (“eye pits “ … “sour breath”). The lower doodle seems to signify a motorised tank-like machine, replete with a furnace or engine compartment on top that bellows smoke. Such ominous images, saturated with potential cartoon-like violence, may link to the World War II references in the poem. Meanwhile, the upper doodle seems to be curiously insect-like, and Fetterley’s name can be found within the illustration, just like Plath’s poem is self-reflexive and addresses her own plight. Most viewers might find the image a bit more lighthearted than the poem, a caricature of something biomorphic and surreal, but not very lethal. Again, perhaps this is a counter-message to the weight of the poem, a way to balance the mood and tone, or it may well represent the larval-like apparition that haunts the very thoughts of Plath in the poem: the impending disease of her mind, as understood by the wary reader. References Austin, Joe, and Michael Willard. “Introduction: Angels of History, Demons of Culture.” Eds. Joe Austion and Michael Willard. Generations of Youth: Youth Cultures and History in Twentieth-Century America. New York: NYU Press, 1998. “Doodling Gets Its Due: Those Tiny Artworks May Aid Memory.” World Science 2 March 2009. 15 Jan. 2009 ‹http://www.world-science.net/othernews/090302_doodle›. Dundes, Alan. “Here I Sit – A Study of American Latrinalia.” Papers of the Kroeber Anthropological Society 34: 91-105. Ensminger, David. “All Bottle Up: Reinterpreting the Culturescape of Grandma Prisbey.” Adironack Review 9.3 (Fall 2008). ‹http://adirondackreview.homestead.com/ensminger2.html›. Kear, Andrew. “Drawings in the Margins: Doodling in Class an Act of Reclamation.” Graduate Student Conference. University of Toronto, 2006. ‹http://gradstudentconference.oise.utoronto.ca/documents/185/Drawing%20in%20the%20Margins.doc›. Lowe, Sheila R. The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Handwriting Analysis. New York: Alpha Books, 1999. Morton, Timothy. “‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ as an Ambient Poem; a Study of Dialectical Image; with Some Remarks on Coleridge and Wordsworth.” Romantic Circles Praxis Series (2001). 6 Jan. 2009 ‹http://www.rc.umd.edu/praxis/ecology/morton/morton.html›. Potter, Russell A. Spectacular Vernaculars: Hip Hop and the Politics of Postmodernism. Albany: State University of New York, 1995. Read, Allen Walker. Classic American Graffiti: Lexical Evidence from Folk Epigraphy in Western North America. Waukesha, Wisconsin: Maledicta Press, 1997. Reitman, Francis. Psychotic Art. London: Routledge, 1999. Sanua, Victor. “The World of Mystery and Wonder of the Schizophrenic Patient.” International Journal of Social Psychiatry 8 (1961): 62-65. Severino, Carol. “The ‘Doodles’ in Context: Qualifying Claims about Contrastive Rhetoric.” The Writing Center Journal 14.1 (Fall 1993): 44-62. Van Cleave, Claire. Master Drawings of the Italian Rennaissance. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard UP, 2007. Varenhost, Christopher. Passdoodles: A Lightweight Authentication Method. Research Science Institute. Cambridge, Mass.: Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2004.

The Digital TurnMuch of the 19th century disappeared from public view during the 20th century. Historians recovered what they could from archives and libraries, with the easy pickings-the famous and the fortunate-coming first. Latterly, social and political historians of different hues determinedly sought out the more hidden, forgotten, and marginalised. However, there were always limitations to resources-time, money, location, as well as purpose, opportunity, and permission. 'History' was principally a professionalised and privileged activity dominated by academics who had preferential access to, and significant control over, the resources, technologies and skills required, as well as the social, economic and cultural framework within which history was recovered, interpreted, approved and disseminated.Digitisation and the broader development of new communication technologies has, however, transformed historical research processes and practice dramatically, removing many constraints, opening up many opportunities, and allowing many others than the professional historian to trace and track what would have remained hidden, forgotten, or difficult to find, as well as verify (or otherwise), what has already been claimed and concluded. In the 21st century, the SEARCH button has become a dominant tool of research. This, along with other technological and media developments, has altered the practice of historians-professional or 'public'-who can now range deep and wide in the collection, portrayal and dissemination of historical information, in and out of the confines of the traditional institutional walls of retained information, academia, location, and national boundaries.This incorporation of digital technologies into academic historical practice generally, has raised, as Cohen and Rosenzweig, in their book Digital History, identified a decade ago, not just promises, but perils. For the historian, there has been the move, through digitisation, from the relative scarcity and inaccessibility of historical material to its (over) abundance, but also the emerging acceptance that, out of both necessity and preference, a hybridity of sources will be the foreseeable way forward. There has also been a significant shift, as De Groot notes in his book Consuming History, in the often conflicted relationship between popular/public history and academic history, and the professional and the 'amateur' historian. This has brought a potentially beneficial democratization of historical practice but also an associated set of concerns around the loss of control of both practice and product of the professional historian. Additionally, the development of digital tools for the collection and dissemination of 'history' has raised fears around the commercialised development of the subject's brand, products and commodities. This article considers the significance and implications of some of these changes through one protracted act of recovery and reclamation in which the digital made the difference: the life of a notorious 19th century professional agitator on both sides of the Atlantic, John De Morgan. A man thought lost, but now found."Who Is John De Morgan?" The search began in 1981, linked to the study of contemporary "race riots" in South East London. The initial purpose was to determine whether there was a history of rioting in the area. In the Local History Library, a calm and dusty backwater, an early find was a fading, but evocative and puzzling, photograph of "The Plumstead Common Riots" of 1876. It showed a group of men and women, posing for the photographer on a hillside-the technology required stillness, even in the middle of a riot-spades in hand, filling in a Mr. Jacob's sandpits, illegally dug from what was supposed to be common land. The leader of this, and other similar riots around England, was John De Morgan. A local journalist who covered the riots commented: "Of Mr. De Morgan little is known before or since the period in which he flashed meteorlike through our section of the atmosphere, but he was indisputably a remarkable man" (Vincent 588). Thus began a trek, much interrupted, sometimes unmapped and haphazard, to discover more about this 'remarkable man'. "Who is John De Morgan" was a question frequently asked by his many contemporary antagonists, and by subsequent historians, and one to which De Morgan deliberately gave few answers. The obvious place to start the search was the British Museum Reading Room, resplendent in its Victorian grandeur, the huge card catalogue still in the 1980s the dominating technology. Together with the Library's newspaper branch at Colindale, this was likely to be the repository of all that might then easily be known about De Morgan.From 1869, at the age of 21, it appeared that De Morgan had embarked on a life of radical politics that took him through the UK, made him notorious, lead to accusations of treasonable activities, sent him to jail twice, before he departed unexpectedly to the USA in 1880. During that period, he was involved with virtually every imaginable radical cause, at various times a temperance advocate, a spiritualist, a First Internationalist, a Republican, a Tichbornite, a Commoner, an anti-vaccinator, an advanced Liberal, a parliamentary candidate, a Home Ruler. As a radical, he, like many radicals of the period, "zigzagged nomadically through the mayhem of nineteenth century politics fighting various foes in the press, the clubs, the halls, the pulpit and on the street" (Kazin 202). He promoted himself as the "People's Advocate, Champion and Friend" (Allen). Never a joiner or follower, he established a variety of organizations, became a professional agitator and orator, and supported himself and his politics through lecturing and journalism. Able to attract huge crowds to "monster meetings", he achieved fame, or more correctly notoriety. And then, in 1880, broke and in despair, he disappeared from public view by emigrating to the USA.LostThe view of De Morgan as a "flashing meteor" was held by many in the 1870s. Historians of the 20th century took a similar position and, while considering him intriguing and culturally interesting, normally dispatched him to the footnotes. By the latter part of the 20th century, he was described as "one of the most notorious radicals of the 1870s yet remains a shadowy figure" and was generally dismissed as "a swashbuckling demagogue," a "democratic messiah," and" if not a bandit … at least an adventurer" (Allen 684). His politics were deemed to be reactionary, peripheral, and, worst of all, populist. He was certainly not of sufficient interest to pursue across the Atlantic. In this dismissal, he fell foul of the highly politicised professional culture of mid-to-late 20th-century academic historians. In particular, the lack of any significant direct linkage to the story of the rise of a working class, and specifically the British Labour party, left individuals like De Morgan in the margins and footnotes. However, in terms of historical practice, it was also the case that his mysterious entry into public life, his rapid rise to brief notability and notoriety, and his sudden disappearance, made the investigation of his career too technically difficult to be worthwhile.The footprints of the forgotten may occasionally turn up in the archived papers of the important, or in distant public archives and records, but the primary sources are the newspapers of the time. De Morgan was a regular, almost daily, visitor to the pages of the multitude of newspapers, local and national, that were published in Victorian Britain and Gilded Age USA. He also published his own, usually short-lived and sometimes eponymous, newspapers: De Morgan's Monthly and De Morgan's Weekly as well as the splendidly titled People's Advocate and National Vindicator of Right versus Wrong and the deceptively titled, highly radical, House and Home. He was highly mobile: he noted, without too much hyperbole, that in the 404 days between his English prison sentences in the mid-1870s, he had 465 meetings, travelled 32,000 miles, and addressed 500,000 people. Thus the newspapers of the time are littered with often detailed and vibrant accounts of his speeches, demonstrations, and riots.Nonetheless, the 20th-century technologies of access and retrieval continued to limit discovery. The white gloves, cradles, pencils and paper of the library or archive, sometimes supplemented by the century-old 'new' technology of the microfilm, all enveloped in a culture of hallowed (and pleasurable) silence, restricted the researcher looking to move into the lesser known and certainly the unknown. The fact that most of De Morgan's life was spent, it was thought, outside of England, and outside the purview of the British Library, only exacerbated the problem. At a time when a historian had to travel to the sources and then work directly on them, pencil in hand, it needed more than curiosity to keep searching. Even as many historians in the late part of the century shifted their centre of gravity from the known to the unknown and from the great to the ordinary, in any form of intellectual or resource cost-benefit analysis, De Morgan was a non-starter.UnknownOn the subject of his early life, De Morgan was tantalisingly and deliberately vague. In his speeches and newspapers, he often leaked his personal and emotional struggles as well as his political battles. However, when it came to his biographical story, he veered between the untruthful, the denial, and the obscure. To the twentieth century observer, his life began in 1869 at the age of 21 and ended at the age of 32. His various political campaign "biographies" gave some hints, but what little he did give away was often vague, coy and/or unlikely. His name was actually John Francis Morgan, but he never formally acknowledged it. He claimed, and was very proud, to be Irish and to have been educated in London and at Cambridge University (possible but untrue), and also to have been "for the first twenty years of his life directly or indirectly a railway servant," and to have been a "boy orator" from the age of ten (unlikely but true). He promised that "Some day-nay any day-that the public desire it, I am ready to tell the story of my strange life from earliest recollection to the present time" (St. Clair 4). He never did and the 20th century could unearth little evidence in relation to any of his claims.The blend of the vague, the unlikely and the unverifiable-combined with an inclination to self-glorification and hyperbole-surrounded De Morgan with an aura, for historians as well as contemporaries, of the self-seeking, untrustworthy charlatan with something to hide and little to say. Therefore, as the 20th century moved to closure, the search for John De Morgan did so as well. Though interesting, he gave most value in contextualising the lives of Victorian radicals more generally. He headed back to the footnotes.Now FoundMeanwhile, the technologies underpinning academic practice generally, and history specifically, had changed. The photocopier, personal computer, Internet, and mobile device, had arrived. They formed the basis for both resistance and revolution in academic practices. For a while, the analytical skills of the academic community were concentrated on the perils as much as the promises of a "digital history" (Cohen and Rosenzweig Digital).But as the Millennium turned, and the academic community itself spawned, inter alia, Google, the practical advantages of digitisation for history forced themselves on people. Google enabled the confident searching from a neutral place for things known and unknown; information moved to the user more easily in both time and space. The culture and technologies of gathering, retrieval, analysis, presentation and preservation altered dramatically and, as a result, the traditional powers of gatekeepers, institutions and professional historians was redistributed (De Groot). Access and abundance, arguably over-abundance, became the platform for the management of historical information. For the search for De Morgan, the door reopened. The increased global electronic access to extensive databases, catalogues, archives, and public records, as well as people who knew, or wanted to know, something, opened up opportunities that have been rapidly utilised and expanded over the last decade. Both professional and "amateur" historians moved into a space that made the previously difficult to know or unknowable now accessible.Inevitably, the development of digital newspaper archives was particularly crucial to seeking and finding John De Morgan. After some faulty starts in the early 2000s, characterised as a "wild west" and a "gold rush" (Fyfe 566), comprehensive digitised newspaper archives became available. While still not perfect, in terms of coverage and quality, it is a transforming technology. In the UK, the British Newspaper Archive (BNA)-in pursuit of the goal of the digitising of all UK newspapers-now has over 20 million pages. Each month presents some more of De Morgan. Similarly, in the US, Fulton History, a free newspaper archive run by retired computer engineer Tom Tryniski, now has nearly 40 million pages of New York newspapers. The almost daily footprints of De Morgan's radical life can now be seen, and the lives of the social networks within which he worked on both sides of the Atlantic, come easily into view even from a desk in New Zealand.The Internet also allows connections between researchers, both academic and 'public', bringing into reach resources not otherwise knowable: a Scottish genealogist with a mass of data on De Morgan's family; a Californian with the historian's pot of gold, a collection of over 200 letters received by De Morgan over a 50 year period; a Leeds Public Library blogger uncovering spectacular, but rarely seen, Victorian electoral cartoons which explain De Morgan's precipitate departure to the USA. These discoveries would not have happened without the infrastructure of the Internet, web site, blog, and e-mail. Just how different searching is can be seen in the following recent scenario, one of many now occurring. An addition in 2017 to the BNA shows a Master J.F. Morgan, aged 13, giving lectures on temperance in Ledbury in 1861, luckily a census year. A check of the census through Ancestry shows that Master Morgan was born in Lincolnshire in England, and a quick look at the 1851 census shows him living on an isolated blustery hill in Yorkshire in a railway encampment, along with 250 navvies, as his father, James, works on the construction of a tunnel. Suddenly, literally within the hour, the 20-year search for the childhood of John De Morgan, the supposedly Irish-born "gentleman who repudiated his class," has taken a significant turn.At the end of the 20th century, despite many efforts, John De Morgan was therefore a partial character bounded by what he said and didn't say, what others believed, and the intellectual and historiographical priorities, technologies, tools and processes of that century. In effect, he "lived" historically for a less than a quarter of his life. Without digitisation, much would have remained hidden; with it there has been, and will still be, much to find. De Morgan hid himself and the 20th century forgot him. But as the technologies have changed, and with it the structures of historical practice, the question that even De Morgan himself posed – "Who is John De Morgan?" – can now be addressed.SearchingDigitisation brings undoubted benefits, but its impact goes a long way beyond the improved search and detection capabilities, into a range of technological developments of communication and media that impact on practice, practitioners, institutions, and 'history' itself. A dominant issue for the academic community is the control of "history." De Groot, in his book Consuming History, considers how history now works in contemporary popular culture and, in particular, examines the development of the sometimes conflicted relationship between popular/public history and academic history, and the professional and the 'amateur' historian.The traditional legitimacy of professional historians has, many argue, been eroded by shifts in technology and access with the power of traditional cultural gatekeepers being undermined, bypassing the established control of institutions and professional historian. While most academics now embrace the primary tools of so-called "digital history," they remain, De Groot argues, worried that "history" is in danger of becoming part of a discourse of leisure, not a professionalized arena (18). An additional concern is the role of the global capitalist market, which is developing, or even taking over, 'history' as a brand, product and commodity with overt fiscal value. Here the huge impact of newspaper archives and genealogical software (sometimes owned in tandem) is of particular concern.There is also the new challenge of "navigating the chaos of abundance in online resources" (De Groot 68). By 2005, it had become clear that:the digital era seems likely to confront historians-who were more likely in the past to worry about the scarcity of surviving evidence from the past-with a new 'problem' of abundance. A much deeper and denser historical record, especially one in digital form seems like an incredible opportunity and a gift. But its overwhelming size means that we will have to spend a lot of time looking at this particular gift horse in mouth. (Cohen and Rosenzweig, Web).This easily accessible abundance imposes much higher standards of evidence on the historian. The acceptance within the traditional model that much could simply not be done or known with the resources available meant that there was a greater allowance for not knowing. But with a search button and public access, democratizing the process, the consumer as well as the producer can see, and find, for themselves.Taking on some of these challenges, Zaagsma, having reminded us that the history of digital humanities goes back at least 60 years, notes the need to get rid of the "myth that historical practice can be uncoupled from technological, and thus methodological developments, and that going digital is a choice, which, I cannot emphasis strongly enough, it is not" (14). There is no longer a digital history which is separate from history, and with digital technologies that are now ubiquitous and pervasive, historians have accepted or must quickly face a fundamental break with past practices. However, also noting that the great majority of archival material is not digitised and is unlikely to be so, Zaagsma concludes that hybridity will be the "new normal," combining "traditional/analogue and new/digital practices at least in information gathering" (17).ConclusionA decade on from Cohen and Rozenzweig's "Perils and Promises," the digital is a given. Both historical practice and historians have changed, though it is a work in progress. An early pioneer of the use of computers in the humanities, Robert Busa wrote in 1980 that "the principal aim is the enhancement of the quality, depth and extension of research and not merely the lessening of human effort and time" (89). Twenty years later, as Google was launched, Jordanov, taking on those who would dismiss public history as "mere" popularization, entertainment or propaganda, argued for the "need to develop coherent positions on the relationships between academic history, the media, institutions…and popular culture" (149). As the digital turn continues, and the SEARCH button is just one part of that, all historians-professional or "amateur"-will take advantage of opportunities that technologies have opened up. Looking across the whole range of transformations in recent decades, De Groot concludes: "Increasingly users of history are accessing the past through complex and innovative media and this is reconfiguring their sense of themselves, the world they live in and what history itself might be about" (310). ReferencesAllen, Rob. "'The People's Advocate, Champion and Friend': The Transatlantic Career of Citizen John De Morgan (1848-1926)." Historical Research 86.234 (2013): 684-711.Busa, Roberto. "The Annals of Humanities Computing: The Index Thomisticus." Computers and the Humanities 14.2 (1980): 83-90.Cohen, Daniel J., and Roy Rosenzweig. Digital History: A Guide to Gathering, Preserving, and Presenting the Past on the Web. Philadelphia, PA: U Pennsylvania P, 2005.———. "Web of Lies? Historical Knowledge on the Internet." First Monday 10.12 (2005).De Groot, Jerome. Consuming History: Historians and Heritage in Contemporary Popular Culture. 2nd ed. Abingdon: Routledge, 2016.De Morgan, John. Who Is John De Morgan? A Few Words of Explanation, with Portrait. By a Free and Independent Elector of Leicester. London, 1877.Fyfe, Paul. "An Archaeology of Victorian Newspapers." Victorian Periodicals Review 49.4 (2016): 546-77."Interchange: The Promise of Digital History." Journal of American History 95.2 (2008): 452-91.Johnston, Leslie. "Before You Were Born, We Were Digitizing Texts." The Signal 9 Dec. 2012, Library of Congress. <https://blogs.loc.gov/thesignal/292/12/before-you-were-born-we-were-digitizing-texts>.Jordanova, Ludmilla. History in Practice. 2nd ed. London: Arnold, 2000.Kazin, Michael. A Godly Hero: The Life of William Jennings Bryan. New York: Anchor Books, 2006.Saint-Clair, Sylvester. Sketch of the Life and Labours of J. De Morgan, Elocutionist, and Tribune of the People. Leeds: De Morgan & Co., 1880.Vincent, William T. The Records of the Woolwich District, Vol. II. Woolwich: J.P. Jackson, 1890.Zaagsma, Gerban. "On Digital History." BMGN-Low Countries Historical Review 128.4 (2013): 3-29.

‘Artists are replicants who have found the secret of their obsolescence.’ (Brian Massumi) The critical reception to British writer Iain Sinclair’s most recent novel Dining on Stones (or, the Middle Ground) frequently focused on the British writer’s predilection for intertextual quotation and allusion, and more specifically, on his proclivity for integrating material from his own backlist. A survey of Dining on Stones reveals the following textual duplication: an entire short story, “View from My Window”, which was published in 2003; excerpts from a 2002 collection of poetry and prose, White Goods; material from his 1999 collaboration with artist Rachel Lichtenstein, Rodinsky’s Room; a paragraph lifted from Dark Lanthorns: Rodinsky’s A to Z, also from 1999; and scenes from 1971’s The Kodak Mantra Diaries. Moreover, the name of the narrator, Andrew Norton, is copied from an earlier Sinclair work, Slow Chocolate Autopsy. Of the six aforementioned inter-texts, only Rodinsky’s Room has had wide commercial release. The remainder are small press publications, often limited edition, difficult to find and read, which leads to the charge that Sinclair is relying on the inaccessibility of earlier texts to obscure his acts of autoplagiarism in the mass market Dining on Stones. Whatever Sinclair’s motives, his textual methodology locates a point of departure for an interrogation of textual doubling within the context of late era capitalism. At first approximation, Dining on Stones appears to belong to a postmodern literature which treats a text’s confluence, or dissonance of innumerable signifiers and systems of signification as axiomatic and intra-textually draws attention to this circumstance. Thematically, the heteroglot narrative of Dining on Stones frequently returns to the duplication of textual material. The book’s primary narrator is haunted by doubles, not least because Andrew Norton periodically functions as a textual doppelganger for Sinclair. Norton’s biography constitutes a cut-up of episodes copied from Sinclair’s personal history and experience as it is presented in his non-fiction and quasi-autobiographical poetry and prose like Lights Out for the Territory and London Orbital. Like his creator, Norton is ontologically troubled by a fetch, or two, who may or may not be the products of his writer’s imagination. He claims that someone is ‘stealing my material. He impersonated me with a flair I couldn’t hope to equal, this thief. Trickster.’ (218) A ‘disturbing’ encounter with ‘Grays’, an uncannily familiar short story by another writer Marina Fountain, reveals a second textual poacher copying Norton’s work. She hadn’t written it without help, obviously. The tone was masculine, sure of itself, its pretensions; grammatically suspect, lexicologically challenged, topographically slapdash. A slash-and-burn stylist. But haunted: by missing fathers – Bram Stoker, S. Freud and Joseph Conrad. Clunky hints… about writing and stalking, literary bloodsucking, gender, disguise. … But it was the Conrad aspect that pricked me. Fountain had somehow got wind of my researched (incomplete, unpublished) essay on Conrad in Hackney. Her exaggerated prose, its shotgun sarcasm, jump-cuts, psychotic syntax, was an offensive parody of a manner of composition I’d left behind. (167) When ‘Grays’ is later reprinted in full in the novel (141-65), it is a renamed double of a previous Sinclair piece, ‘In Train for the Estuary’ (Sinclair, White Goods, 57-75). This doubling is replicated with another Sinclair story ‘View from My Window’ also being attributed to Fountain (313-341). Neither the style, nor the content of Sinclair’s previous works have been discarded: they have been reproduced and incorporated in Dining on Stones’ retrospective of Sinclair’s earlier work. Thus, Norton’s review of Fountain’s writing as ‘a manner of composition I’d left behind’ doubles as Sinclair’s self-conscious recognition of the text as an artefact produced from diverse inter-texts – including his own. In contrast to Sinclair’s dialogic doubling, Fountain’s double is of a monologic disposition. It is mechanical ‘echopraxis,’ a neologism coined in Dining on Stones which is defined as the ‘mindless repetition of another person’s moves and gestures.’ (192) Its mercenary dimension, enacted without regard for the integrity of the inter-text, is underscored with the epithet ‘slash-and-burn stylist.’ The monologic double possesses the text, drains it of its vitality. It entails necrosis, mortification. Fountain’s appropriation of Norton’s story is close to Fredric Jameson’s characterisation of pastiche which, he says, shuts down communication between texts (202). For Jameson, pastiche is the exemplary postmodern literary ‘style’. It is inert, static, a textual aporia. Jameson’s verdict is harsh: pastiche is cannibalism, text devouring text with an appetite that corresponds to the cupidity of consumer culture. Textual cannibalism vanquishes dialogism. It is the negation of the textual Other because cannibalism is only possible when the Other no longer exists. So how does Sinclair distinguish his doubling of his own text from Fountain’s monologic doubling as it is depicted in the novel’s narrative? A clue can be detected in one of the stories stolen by Fountain. ‘In Train for the Estuary’ is a re-writing of Dracula, and takes its cue from Karl Marx’s famous analogy between capitalism and vampirism: ‘capital is dead labour, which, vampire-like, lives only by sucking living labour, and lives the more, the more labour it sucks.’ (342) Sinclair’s vampire doubles as an academic (or is it the other way round?) who obsessively and compulsively stalks her quarry/object of study, Joseph Conrad. First, she had learnt Polish. Then she tracked down the letters and initiated the slow, painstaking, much-revised process of translation. She travelled. Validated herself. Being alone in an unknown city, visiting libraries, enduring and enjoying bureaucratic obfuscation, sitting in bars, going to the cinema, allowed her to try on a new identity. She initiated correspondence with people she never met. She lied. She stole from Conrad. (Sinclair, White Goods, 58) The woman’s identity is leeched from the work of Conrad. Sinclair describes unethical activity in appropriating text: lying, stealing, sucking the blood from the corpus of Conrad. A compulsive need to maintain the ‘validation’ of this poached identity emerges, manifesting itself as addiction. The addict is an extreme embodiment of the (ir)rationality of consumption: consumed by the need to consume. The woman’s lust for text is commensurate with the twin desires—blood and real estate—of her precursor, Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Sinclair’s narrative of addiction doubles as a meta-critique on the compulsive desire to reproduce text and image that characterizes postmodern textualities as well as the apparatuses that produce them. The textual doubling in Dining on Stones, which is published by the multinational Penguin, seems to enact a reterritorialisation of a deterritorialised minor literature. However, Sinclair’s allegorical rewriting of the vampire legend and its subsequent inclusion in the mainstream novel’s narrative, reveal that capitalism’s doubles are simulacra in the Aristotelian sense because they are copies for which there is no original. The ostensible ‘original’ is the product of different material conditions and thus cannot be duplicated by the machinery of capitalism. The capitalist reproduction of text produced within an alternative cultural economy is an uncanny double (with an infinite capacity to be doubled over and over again) whose existence, like that of Sinclair’s academic in White Goods, is parasitical. The capitalist simulacrum necessitates that the original be destroyed, or at the very least, theorised out of existence so that restrictions based on its own premise of individual property rights can be circumvented. Postmodernism’s attendant theory is an over-determined repetition of poststructuralist tenets such as the instability of texts, the polysemous signifier and the impossibility of self as empirical subject. Images and meaning are no longer anchored, and free to be reproduced. Paradoxically, this proliferation of signification has the effect of constricting the originary text, compressing it under the burden of competing meanings, so that it is almost undetectable. Writes Brian Massumi (doubling Jean Baudrillard), ‘postmodernism stutters. In the absence of any gravitational pull to ground them, images accelerate and tend to run together. They become interchangeable. Any term can be substituted for any other: utter indetermination.’ The postmodern project’s effacement of the centred subject and the self has as its consequence, according to Jameson, a ‘waning of affect’ which is superseded ‘by a peculiar kind of euphoria.’ (200) The euphoria to which Jameson refers is not that of the poststructuralist textasy. Instead, it is postmodernism’s return to the idealism of Hegelian dialects, a euphoria achieved from the fusion of contradictions. Postmodernism’s doubles are a utopian attempt to synthesize antinomy and unity in a simultaneity that assimilates the fragmentation of modernity and the modern subject, with the cohesion of the commodity and its closed system of cultural logic. As such, the postmodern double is a rejection of modernist engagements with technical reproducibility. Modernism’s literary assemblages are, in Victor Shlovsky’s words, the laying bare of the device, an exposition of the seams through techniques such as collage, bricolage and montage. These linguistic (and at times visual) conjunctures of disparate elements do not attempt to elide material and thematic disjuncture. As Walter Benjamin stresses, this type of textual methodology has the potential, through the disruption of spatial and temporal logic and the creation of anachrony, to rupture the linear representations and formations of order favoured by capitalist political economies (Benjamin, ‘On the concept of history’). Postmodernism, which doubles (following Jameson’s formulation) as the cultural logic of late capitalism, reiterates that texts can be undone, and then reassembled, rearticulated anew, rendered useful to a commodity culture over and over again. Consequently, postmodernism’s copies are analogous, at the level of cultural production, to capitalism’s ceaseless appropriation of discourse, practice, and production. This is the alchemical project of capitalism. It strives to transform everything that it has doubled into the gold of the commodity. The inherent dangers of unrestrained reproduction are for Jameson exemplified in the treatment of Van Gogh’s Pair of Shoes (1885): If this copiously reproduced image is not to sink to the level of sheer decoration, it requires us to reconstruct some initial situation out of which the finished work emerges. Unless that situation—which has vanished into the past—is somehow mentally restored, the painting will remain an inert object, a reified end-product, and be unable to be grasped as a symbolic act in its own right, as praxis and as production. (194) Jameson’s reading of Van Gogh’s shoes reminds us of the fate of Alberto Korda’s 1960 photograph of revolutionary Che Guevara. Appropriated by the media, inscribed on T-shirts, mugs, even door mats, Che’s portrait is an emblem of the degradation Jameson describes. Like Van Gogh’s painting, Korda’s photograph was once a ‘symbolic act in its own right, as praxis and as production,’ saturated with the potential and spirit of revolution. Over time, the iconic image has leaked meaning. The signifying chain that anchored it to its original significance is broken each time it is reproduced and decontextualised through the process of commodification, until Che’s image is unrecognisable, a mere ornament. Refuting Benjamin’s concerns in ‘The Work of Art in its Age of Technical Reproducibility’ postmodern theory argues that technologies enabling reproducibility have led to a democratisation of text and textual production, and by extension, have liberated the multitude from a hierarchy of value that privileges the singular. Mass reproduction and the accompanying pressure for texts to be accessible results in altered attitudes regarding the preservation of intellectual property rights and ‘fair use’. In an economy of signs where use-value has become synonymous with exchange-value, then the text which has no exchange value due to it being ‘freely’ available—‘free’ in its double sense, as something exempt from restriction, or cost—can be copied without economic or ethical restraint, without permission. The quotation marks can be scrapped. According to postmodern logic, the double is a transposition with a legitimacy equalling, even rivalling the original. Clearly, Jameson’s lament that postmodernism represents ‘the end of the distinctive individual brushstroke (as symbolized by the emergent primacy of mechanical reproduction)’ cannot escape an association with elitism because technical reproducibility indubitably enables greater access. However, the utility of technologies of reproduction to the capitalist empire of structures and signs cannot be underestimated. It enables the ceaseless reproduction of ideologemes inscribed with the logic of capitalism; in other words, it enables capitalism to reproduce itself relentlessly. Postmodern cultural production is self-aware; it acknowledges its role as commodity and reproduces the ideology of the commodity form in its material form. In this manner, it functions as an ideologeme. Sinclair’s doubles cannot be understood according to the schema of postmodernism because he subverts postmodernism’s political and aesthetic symbiosis with capitalism. Moreover, the double in Sinclair travels beyond rehearsing a self-conscious hyphology (Barthes, 39). He defies postmodernism’s occultation of the author through his reiteration of the author’s authority over their own work. In contrast to the reductive manner postmodern texts duplicate other texts, Sinclair’s texts propose a typology of the double which advocates a dialogic duplication. Sinclair’s doubling refuses postmodernism’s return to the idealism of Hegelian dialects, and its synthesis of contradictions in the service of its unified material and aesthetic program: the commodification of literature. Consequently, Dining on Stones’ textual doubling is a critique of the epistemic shift to the monologic double which Jameson claims typifies a large portion of contemporary textual duplication. References Barthes, Roland. “Theory of the Text.” Untying the Text: A Post-Structuralist Reader. Ed. Robert Young. Boston: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1981. Benjamin, Walter. “On the Concept of History.” Selected Writings: Volume 4, 1938-1940. Trans. by Edmund Jephcott. Eds. Michael W.Jennings & Howard Eiland. Cambridge, Mass. & London, England: Belknap Press, 2003. ––– . “The Work of Art in the Age of Technical Reproducibility.” Selected Writings: Volume 3, 1935-1938. Trans. by Edmund Jephcott. Eds. Michael W.Jennings & Howard Eiland. Cambridge, Mass. & London, England: Belknap Press, 2003. Jameson, Fredric. “Postmodernism, or the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism.” The Jameson Reader. Eds. Michael Hardt and Kathi Weeks. Oxford: Blackwell, 2000. Massumi, Brian. “Realer than Real: The Simulacrum According to Deleuze and Guattari.” 12 May 2005. http://www.anu.edu.au/HRC/first_and_last/works/realer.htm>. Marx, Karl. Capital, Volume 1. Trans. by Ben Fowkes. Vintage Books edition. New York: Random House, 1976. Sinclair, Iain. Dark Lanthorns: Rodinsky’s A-Z. ––– . Dining on Stones. London: Hamish Hamilton, 2004. ––– . Lights Out for the Territory. London: Granta 1997. ––– . London Orbital. London: Granta, 2002. ––– . Rodinsky’s Room. London: Granta, 1998. ––– . View from My Window. Tonbridge: Worple Press, 2003. ––– . White Goods. Uppingham: Goldmark, 2002. Sinclair, Iain, and Dave McKean. Slow Chocolate Autopsy. London: Phoenix, 1997. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Seale, Kirsten. "Doubling: Capitalism and Textual Duplication." M/C Journal 8.3 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0507/08-seale.php>. APA Style Seale, K. (Jul. 2005) "Doubling: Capitalism and Textual Duplication," M/C Journal, 8(3). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0507/08-seale.php>.

Introduction Many examinations of magic and witchcraft in film and television focus on the gender dynamics depicted and what these can reveal about attitudes to women and power in the eras in which they were made. For example, Campbell, in Cheerfully Empowered: The Witch-Wife in Twentieth Century Literature, Television and Film draws from scholarship such as Greene's Bell, Book and Camera, Gibson's Witchcraft Myths in American Culture, and Murphy's The Suburban Gothic in American Popular Culture to suggest connections between witch-wife narratives and societal responses to feminism. Campbell explores both the allure and fear of powerful women, who are often tamed (or partially tamed) by marriage in these stories. These perspectives provide important insights into cultural imaginings of witches, and this paper aims to use anthropological perspectives to further analyse rituals, spells, and cosmologies of screen stories of magic and witchcraft, asking how these narratives have engaged with witchcraft trials, symbols of women as witches, and rituals and myths invoking goddesses. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, a television series that ran for seven seasons (1997-2003), focusses on a young woman, The Slayer, who vanquishes vampires. As Abbott (1) explains, the vampires in seasons one and two are ruled by a particularly old and powerful vampire, The Master, and use prophetic language and ancient rituals. When Buffy kills The Master, the vampiric threat evolves with the character of Spike, a much younger vampire who kills The Master's successor, The Anointed One, calling for “a little less ritual and a little more fun” ('School Hard'). This scene is important to Abbott's thesis that what makes Buffy the Vampire Slayer such an effective television program is that the evil that she battles is not a product of an ancient world but the product of the real world itself. Buffy has used the past four years to painstakingly dismantle and rebuild the conventions of the vampire genre and work toward gradually disembedding the vampire/slayer dichotomy from religious ritual and superstition … what we describe as ‘evil’ is a natural product of the modern world. (Abbott 5) While distinguishing the series from earlier books and films is important, I suggest that, nonetheless, ritual and magic remain central to numerous plots in the series. Moreover, Child argues that Buffy the Vampire Slayer disrupts the male gaze of classical Hollywood films as theorised by Mulvey, not only by making the central action hero a young woman, but by offering rich, complex, and developmental narrative arcs for other characters such as Willow: a quiet fellow student at Buffy's school who initially uses her research skills with books, computers, and science to help the group. Willow’s access to knowledge about magic through Buffy's Watcher, Giles, and his library, together with her growing experience fighting with demons, leads her to teach herself witchcraft, and she and her growing magical powers, including the ability to conjure Greek goddesses such as Hecate and Diana, become central to multiple storylines in the series (Krzywinska). Corcoran, who explores teen witches in American popular culture in some depth, reflects on Willow's changes and developments in the context of problematic 'post-feminist' films of 1990s. Corcoran suggests these films offer viewers tropes of empowerment in the form of the 'makeover' of witch characters, who transform, but often in individualised ways that elude more fundamental questions of societal structures of race, class, and gender. Offering one of the most fluid and hybrid examples, Willow not only embraces magic as a conduit for power and self-expression but, as the seasons progress, she occupies a host of identificatory categories. Moving from shy high school 'geek' to trainee witch, from empowered sorceress to dark avenger, Willow regularly makes herself over in accordance with her fluctuating selfhood (Corcoran). Corcoran also notes how Willow's character brings together skills in both science and witchcraft in ways that echo world views of early modern Europe. This connects her apparently distinct selves and, I suggest, also demonstrates how the show engages with magic as real within its internal cosmology. Fairy Tale Witches This liberating, fluid, and transformative depiction of witches is not, however, the only one. Early in season one, the show reflects tropes of witchcraft found in fairy tale and fantasy films such as Snow White and The Wizard of Oz. Both films are deeply ambivalent in their portraits of fascinating powerful witches, who are, however, also defined by being old, ugly, and/or deeply jealous of and threatening towards younger women (Zipes). The episode “Witch” reproduces these patriarchal rivalries, as the witch of the episode title is the mother of a classmate of Buffy, called Amy, who has used magic to swap bodies with her daughter in an attempt to recapture her lost glory as a famous cheerleader. There are debates around the symbolism of witches and crones, especially those in fairytales, and whether they can be re-purposed. For example, Rountree in 'The New Witch of the West' and Embracing the Witch and the Goddess has conducted interviews and participant observation with feminist witches in New Zealand who use both goddess and witch symbols in their ritual practice and feminist understandings of themselves and society. By embracing both the witch and the goddess, feminist witches disrupt what they regard as false divisions and dichotomies between these symbols and the pressures of the divided self that they argue have been imposed upon women by patriarchy. In these conceptions, the crone is not only a negative symbol, but can be re-evaluated as one of three aspects of the goddess (maiden, mother, and crone), depicting the cycles of all life and also enabling women to embrace the darker aspects of their own natures and emotions (Greenwood; Rountree 'New Witch'; Walker). Witch Trials That said, Germaine, examining witches in folk horror films such as The Witch and The Wicker Man, advises caution about witch images. Drawing from Hutton's The Witch, she explores grotesque images of the witch from the early modern witch trials, arguing that horror cinema can subvert older ideas about witches, but it also reveals their continued power. Indeed, horror cinema has forged the witch into a deeply ambiguous figure that proves problematic for feminism and its project to subvert or otherwise destabilize misogynist symbols. (Germaine 22) Purkiss's examination of early modern witchcraft trials in The Witch in History also questions many assumptions about the period. Contrary to Rountree's 'The New Witch of the West' (222), Purkiss argues that there is no evidence to suggest that healing and midwifery were central concerns of witch hunters, nor were those accused of witchcraft in this period regarded as particularly sexually liberated or lesbian. Moreover, the famous Malleus Maleficarum, a text that is “still the main source for the view that witch-hunting was woman-hunting” was, in fact, disdained by many early modern authorities (Purkiss 7-8). Rather, rivalries and social tensions in communities combined with broader societal politics to generate accusations: a picture that is more in line with Stewart and Strathern's cross-cultural study, Witchcraft, Sorcery, Rumors and Gossip, of the relationship between witchcraft and gossip. In the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode “Gingerbread”, Amy has matured and has begun to engage with magic herself, as has Willow. The witch trial of the episode is not, however, triggered by this, but is rather initiated by Buffy and her mother finding the bodies of two dead children. Buffy's mother Joyce quickly escalates from understandable concern to a full-on assault on magical practice and knowledge as she founds MOO (Mothers Opposed to the Occult), who raid school lockers, confiscate books from the school library, and eventually try to burn them and Buffy, Willow, and Amy. The episode evokes fairy tales because the 'big bad' is a monster who disguises itself as Hansel and Gretel. As Giles explains, fairy tales can sometimes be real, and in this case, the monster feeds a community its worst fears and thrives off the hatred and chaos that ensues. However, his references to European Wicca covens are somewhat misleading. Hutton, in The Triumph of the Moon, explains that Wicca was founded in the 1950s in England by Gerald Gardner, and claims it to be a continuation of older pagan witch traditions that have largely been discredited. The episode therefore tries to combine a comment on the irrationality and dangers of witch hunts while also suggesting that (within the cosmology of the show) magic is real. Buffy's confrontation with her mother illustrates this. Furious about the confiscation of the library's occult collection, Buffy argues that without the knowledge they contain, young people are not more protected, but rather rendered defenceless, arguing that “maybe next time the world gets sucked into hell, I won't be able to stop it because the anti-hell-sucking book isn't on the approved reading list!” Thus, she simultaneously makes a general point about knowledge as a defence against the evils of the world, while also emphasising how magic is not merely symbolic for her and her friends, but a real, practical, problem and a combatant tool. Spells Spells take considerable skill and practice to master as they are linked to strong emotions but also need mental focus and clarity. Willow's learning curve as a witch is an important illustrator of this principle, as her spells do not always do what she had intended, or rather, she is not always wise to her own intentions. These ideas are also found in anthropological examples (Greenwood). Malinowski, an anthropologist of the Trobriand Islands, theorised that spells and magical objects have their origins in gestures and words that express the emotional states and intentions of the spellcaster. Over time, these became refined and codified in a society, becoming traditional spells that can amplify, focus, and direct the magician's will (Malinowski). In the episode “Witch”, Giles demonstrates the relationship between spells and intention as, casting a spell to reverse Amy's mother's switching of their bodies, he shouts in a commanding voice 'Release!' Willow also hones skills of concentration and directing her will through the practice of pencil floating, a seemingly small magical technique that nonetheless saves her life when she is captured by enemies and narrowly escapes being bitten by a vampire by floating a pencil and staking him with it in the episode “Choices”. The pencil is also used in another episode to illustrate the importance of focus and emotional balance. Willow explains to Buffy that she is honing these skills as she gently spins a pencil in the air, but as the conversation turns to Faith (a rogue Slayer who has hurt Willow's friends), she is distracted and the pencil spins wildly out of control before flying into a tree (“Dopplegangland”). In another example, Willow tries to conjure lights that will guide her out of difficulty in a haunted house, but, unable to make up her mind about where the lights should take her, she is plagued by them multiplying and spinning in multiple directions like a swarm of insects, thereby acting as an illustrator of her refracted metal state (“Fear Itself”). The series also explores the often comical consequences when love spells are cast with unclear motives. In the episode “Bewitched Bothered and Bewildered”, Buffy's friend Xander persuades Amy to cast a love spell on Cordelia who has just broken up with him. Amy warns him that for love spells, the intention should be pure, and is worried that Xander only wants revenge on Cordelia. Predictably, the spell goes wrong, as Cordelia is immune to Xander but every other woman that comes into proximity with him is overcome with obsession for him. Fleeing hordes of women, Xander and Cordelia have the space to talk, and impressed with his efforts to try to win her back, Cordelia rekindles the relationship, defying her traditional friendship circle. In this way, the spell both does not and does work, perhaps because, although Xander thinks he wants Cordelia to be enchanted, in fact what he really wants is her genuine affection and respect. Another example of spells going amiss is in the episode “Something Blue”, when Willow responds to a break-up by reverting to magic. Despondent over her boyfriend Oz leaving town, she wants to accelerate her grieving process and heal more quickly, and casts a spell to have her will be done in order to try to make that happen. The spell, however, does not work as expected but manifests her words about other things when she speaks with passion, rendering Giles blind when she says he does not see (meaning he does not understand her plight), and in another instance of the literal interpretation of Willow’s word choices causes Buffy and the vampire Spike to stop fighting, fall in love, and become an engaged couple. The episode therefore suggests the power of words to manifest unconscious intentions. Words may also, in the Buffyverse, have power in themselves. Overbey and Preston-Matto explore the power of words in the series, using the episode “Superstar” in which Xander speaks some Latin words in front of an open book that responds by spontaneously bursting into flames. They argue that the materiality of language in Buffy the Vampire Slayer [means that] words and utterances have palpable power and their rules must be respected if they are to be wielded as weapons in the fight against evil. (Overbey and Preston Matto 73) However, in drawing upon Searle's Speech Acts they emphasise the relationship between speech acts and meaning, but there are also examples that the sounds in themselves are efficacious, even if the speaker does not understand them – for example, when Willow tries to do the ritual to restore Angel’s soul to him and explains to Oz that it does not matter if he understands the related chant as long as he says it (“Becoming part 2”). The idea that words in themselves have power is also present in the work of Stoller, an ethnographer and magical apprentice to Songhay sorcerers living in the Republic of Niger. He documents a complex and very personal engagement with magic that he found fascinating but dangerous, giving him new powers but also subjecting him to magical attacks (Stoller and Olkes). This experience helped to cultivate his interest in the often under-reported sensuous aspects of anthropology, including the power of sound in spells, which he argues has an energy that goes beyond what the word represents. Moreover, skilled magicians can 'hear' things happening to the subtle essence of a person during rituals (Stoller). Seeing Other Realities Sight is also key to numerous magical practices. Greenwood, for example, has done participant observation with UK witches, including training in the arts of visualisation. Linked to general health benefits of meditation and imaginative play, such practices are also thought to connect adepts to 'other worlds' and their associated powers (Greenwood). Later seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer also depict skills in meditation and concentration, such as in the episode “No Place Like Home”, in which Buffy, worried about her sick mother, uses a spell supposedly created by a French sixteenth-century sorcerer called 'pull the curtain back' to try to see if her mother’s illness is caused by a spell. She uses incense and a ritual circle of sand to put herself into a trance and in that altered state of consciousness sees that her sister, Dawn, was not born to her mother, but has been placed into her family by magic. In another example, in the episode “Who are You?”, Willow has begun a relationship with fellow witch Tara and wants to introduce her to Buffy. However, the rogue Slayer, Faith, has escaped and switched bodies with Buffy, and Tara realises that something is wrong. She suggests doing a spell with Willow to investigate by seeing beyond the physical world and travelling to the nether realm using astral projection. This rather beautiful scene has been interpreted as a symbolic depiction of their sexual relationship (Gibson), but it is also suggesting that, within the context of the series, alternate dimensions, and spells to transport practitioners there, are not purely symbolic. Conclusion The idea that magic, monsters, and demons in the series Buffy the Vampire Slayer act to some extent as metaphors for the challenges that young people face growing up in America is well known (Little). While this is certainly true, at least some of the multiple examples of magic in the series have clear resemblances to witchcraft in numerous social worlds. This depth is potentially exciting for viewers, but it also makes the show's more negative and ambiguous tropes more troubling. Willow and Tara's relationship can be interpreted as showing their independence and rejection of patriarchy, but Willow identifying as lesbian later in the series obscures her earlier relationships with men and her potential identification as bi-sexual, suggesting a need on the part of the show's writers to “contain her metamorphic selfhood” (Corcoran 158-159). Moreover, the identity of lesbians as witches in a vampire narrative is fraught with potentially homophobic associations and stereotypes (Wilts), and one of the few positive depictions of a lesbian relationship on television was ruined by the brutal murder of the Tara character and Willow's subsequent out-of-control magical rampage, bringing the storyline back in line with murderous clichés (Wilts; Gibson). Furthermore, storylines where Willow cannot control her powers, or they are seen as an addiction to evil, make an uncomfortable comment on women and power more generally: a point which Corcoran highlights in relation to Nancy's story in The Craft. Ultimately, representations of magic and witchcraft are representations of power, and this makes them highly significant for societal understandings of power relations, particularly given the complex relationships between witch-hunting and misogyny. The symbols of woman-as-witch have been re-appropriated by fans of witch narratives and feminists, and perhaps most intriguingly, by people who regard magical power as not only symbolic power but as a way to tap into subtle forces and other worlds. Buffy the Vampire Slayer offers something to all of these groups, but all too often reverts to patriarchal tropes. Audiences (some of whom may be magicians) await what film and television witches come next. References Abbott, Stacey. “A Little Less Ritual and a Little More Fun: The Modern Vampire in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” Slayage: The Online International Journal of Buffy Studies 1.3, (2001): 1-11. “Becoming Part 2.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Created by Joss Whedon. Season 2, episode 22. Mutant Enemy Productions, 1998. “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Created by Joss Whedon. Season 2, episode 16. Mutant Enemy Productions, 1998. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Created by Joss Whedon. Mutant Enemy Productions and Twentieth Century Fox Television (Seasons 1-5), Warner Bros. (Seasons 6 and 7), United Paramount Network. 1997-2003. Campbell, Chloe. “Cheerfully Empowered: The Witch Wife in Twentieth Century Literature, Television and Film.” Romancing the Gothic. Run by Sam Hirst. YouTube, 21 July 2022. Child, Louise. Dreams, Vampires and Ghosts: Anthropological Perspectives on the Sacred and Psychology in Popular Film and Television. London: Bloomsbury, 2023. “Choices.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Created by Joss Whedon. Season 3, episode 19. Mutant Enemy Productions, 1999. Corcoran, Miranda. Teen Witches: Witchcraft and Adolescence in American Popular Culture. Cardiff: U of Wales P, 2022. The Craft. Dir. by Andrew Fleming. Columbia Pictures, 1996. “Dopplegangland.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Created by Joss Whedon. Season 3, episode 16. Mutant Enemy Productions, 1999. “Fear Itself.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Created by Joss Whedon. Season 4, episode 4. Mutant Enemy Productions, 1999. Germaine, Choé. “’Witches, ‘Bitches’ or Feminist Trailblazers? The Witch in Folk Horror Cinema.” Revenant (4 Mar. 2019): 22-42. Gibson, Marion. Witchcraft Myths in American Culture. Oxon: Routledge, 2007. “Gingerbread.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Created by Joss Whedon. Season 3, episode 11. Mutant Enemy Productions, 1999. Greene, Heather. Bell, Book, and Camera: A Critical History of Witches in American Film and TV. Jefferson: McFarland and Company, 2018. Greenwood, Susan. Magic, Witchcraft, and the Otherworld: An Anthropology. Oxford: Berg, 2000. Hutton, Ronald. The Triumph of the Moon: A History of Modern Pagan Witchcraft. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1999. ———. The Witch: A History of Fear from Ancient Times to the Present. New Haven: Yale UP, 2017. Krzywinska, Tanya. “Hubble-Bubble, Herbs and Grimoires: Magic, Manicheanism, and Witchcraft in Buffy.” Fighting the Forces: What’s at Stake in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Eds. Rhonda V. Wilcox and David Lavery. Lanham, NY: Rowman & Littlefield, 2002. Little, Tracy. “High School Is Hell: Metaphor Made Literal in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Philosophy: Fear and Trembling in Sunnydale. Ed. James B. South. Chicago: Open Court, 2003. Malinowski, Bronislaw. “Magic, Science and Religion.” Magic, Science and Religion and Other Essays. London: Souvenir Press, 1982 [1925]. 17-92. Mulvey, Laura. “Visual Pleasures and Narrative Cinema.” Feminist Film Theory: A Reader. Ed Sue Thornham. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 2003 [1975]. Murphy, Bernice M. The Suburban Gothic in American Popular Culture. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009. “No Place Like Home.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Created by Joss Whedon. Season 5, episode 5. Mutant Enemy Productions, 2000. Overbey, Karen E., and Lahney Preston-Matto. CStaking in Tongues: Speech Act as Weapon in Buffy.” Fighting the Forces: What’s at Stake in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Eds. Rhonda Wilcox and David Lavery. Lanham, NY: Rowman & Littlefield, 2002. Purkiss, Diane. The Witch in History: Early Modern and Twentieth-Century Representations. London: Routledge, 2005 [1996]. Roundtree, Kathryn. ”The New Witch of the West: Feminists Reclaim the Crone.” The Journal of Popular Culture 30 (1997): 211-229. Roundtree, Kathryn. Embracing the Witch and the Goddess: Feminist Ritual Makers in New Zealand. London: Routledge, 2004. Searle, John R. Speech Acts: An Essay in the Philosophy of Language. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1970. “Something Blue.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Created by Joss Whedon. Season 4, episode 9. Mutant Enemy Productions, 1999. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Dir. by David Hand, Perce Pearce, William Cottrell, Larry Morey, Wilfred Jackson, and Ben Sharpsteen. Walt Disney, 1937. Stoller, Paul. The Taste of Ethnographic Things: The Senses in Anthropology. Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P. Stoller, Paul, and Cheryl Olkes. In Sorcery’s Shadow: A Memoir of Apprenticeship among the Songhay of Niger. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1987. Stewart, Pamela J., and Andrew Strathern. Witchcraft, Sorcery, Rumors and Gossip. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2004. “Superstar.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Created by Joss Whedon. Season 4, episode 17. Mutant Enemy Productions, 2000. The Wicker Man. Dir. by Robin Hardy. British Lion Film Corporation, 1973. The Witch. Dir. by Robert Eggers. A24, 2015 The Wizard of Oz. Dir. Victor Fleming. Metro Goldwyn-Mayer, 1939. Walker, Barbara. The Crone: Women of Age, Wisdom and Power. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1985. Wilts, Alissa. “Evil, Skanky, and Kinda Gay: Lesbian Images and Issues.” Buffy Goes Dark: Essays on the Final Two Seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Television. Eds Lynne E. Edwards, Elizabeth L. Rambo, and James B. South. Jefferson: McFarland, 2009. “Who Are You.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Created by Joss Whedon. Season 4, episode 16. Mutant Enemy Productions, 2000. “Witch.” Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Created by Joss Whedon. Season 1, episode 3. Mutant Enemy Productions, 1997. Zipes, Jack. The Irresistible Fairy Tale: The Cultural and Social History of a Genre. New Jersey: Princeton UP, 2013.

At the start of the twentieth century, many young Australian artists travelled abroad to expand their art education and to gain exposure to the modern art movements of Europe. Most of these artists were active members of artist associations such as the Victorian Artists Society or the New South Wales Society of Artists. Male artists from Victoria were generally also members of the Melbourne Savage Club, a club with a strong association with the arts.This paper investigates the dual function of the club, as a space where the artists felt “at home” in the familiar environment that the club offered whilst they were abroad and, at the same time, a meeting space where they could engage in a stimulating artistic environment and gain introductions to leading figures in the art world. For those artists who chose England, London’s arts clubs played a large role, for it was in these establishments that they discussed, exhibited, shared, and met with their English counterparts. The club environment in London would have a significant impact on male Australian artists, as it offered a space where they were integrated into the English art world, which enhanced their experience whilst abroad.Artists were seldom members of Australia’s early gentlemen’s clubs, however, in the late nineteenth century Melbourne, artists formed less formal social groupings with exotic names such as the Prehistoric Order of Cannibals, the Buonarotti Club, and the Ishmael Club (Mead). Melbourne artists congregated in these clubs until the Melbourne Savage Club, modelled on the London Savage Club (1857)—a club whose membership was restricted to practitioners in the performing and visual arts—opened its doors in 1894.The Melbourne Savage Club had its origins in the Metropolitan Music Club, established in the late 1880s by a group of professional and amateur musicians and music lovers. The club initially admitted musicians and people from the dramatic professions free-of-charge, however, author Randolph Bedford (1868–1941) and artist Alf Vincent (1874–1915) were not content to be treated on a different basis to the musicians and actors, and two months after Vincent joined the club, at a Special General Meeting, the club resolved to vary Rule 6, “to admit landscape or portrait painters and sculptors without entrance fee” (Melbourne Savage Club). At another Special General Meeting, a year later, the rule was altered to admit “recognised members of the musical, dramatic and artistic professions and sculptors without payment of entrance fee” (Melbourne Savage Club).This resulted in an immediate influx of prominent Victorian male artists (Williams) and the Melbourne Savage Club became their place of choice to gather and enjoy the fellowship the club offered and to share ideas in a convivial atmosphere. When the opportunity arose for them to travel to London in the early twentieth century, they met in London’s famous art clubs. Membership of the Melbourne Savage Club not only conferred rights to visit reciprocal clubs whilst in London, but also facilitated introductions to potential patrons. The London clubs were the venue of choice for visiting artists to meet their fellow artist expatriates and to share experiences and, importantly, to meet with their British counterparts, exhibit their works, and establish valuable contacts.The London Savage Club attracted many Australian expatriates. Not only is it the grandfather of London’s bohemian clubs but also it was the model for arts clubs the world over. Founded in 1857, the qualification for admission was (and still is) to be, “a working man in literature or art, and a good fellow” (Halliday vii). If a candidate met these requirements, he would be cordially received “come whence he may.” This was embodied in the club’s first rules which required applicants for membership to be from a restricted range of pursuits relating to the arts thought to be commensurate with its bohemian ideals, namely art, literature, drama, or music.The second London arts club that attracted expatriate Australian artists was the New English Arts Club, founded in 1886 by young English artists returning from studying art in Paris. Members of The New English Arts Club were influenced by the Impressionist style as opposed to the academic art shown at the Royal Academy. As a meeting place for Australia’s expatriate artists, the New English Arts Club had a particular influence, as it exposed them to significant early Modern artist members such as John Singer Sargent (1856–1925), Walter Sickert (1860–1942), William Orpen (1878–1931) and Augustus John (1878–1961) (Corbett and Perry; Thornton; Melbourne Savage Club).The third, and arguably the most popular with the expatriate Australian artists’ club, was the Chelsea Arts Club, a bohemian club formed in 1891 by local working artists looking for a place to go to “meet, talk, eat and drink” (Cross).Apart from the American-born founding member, James McNeill Whistler (1834–1903), amongst the biggest Chelsea names at the time of the influx of travelling young Australian artists were modernists Sir William Orpen, Augustus John, and John Sargent. The opportunity to mix with these leading British contemporary artists was irresistible to these antipodean artists (55).When Melbourne artist, Miles Evergood (1871–1939) arrived in London from America in 1910, he had been an active exhibiting member of the Salmagundi Club, a New York artists’ club. Almost immediately he joined the New English Arts Club and the Chelsea Arts Club. Hammer tells of him associating with “writer Israel Zangwill, sculptor Jacob Epstein, and anti-academic artists including Walter Sickert, Augustus John, John Lavery, John Singer Sargent and C.R.W. Nevison, who challenged art values in Britain at the beginning of the century” (Hammer 41).Arthur Streeton (1867–1943) used the Chelsea Arts Club as his postal address, as did many expatriate artists. The Melbourne Savage Club archives contain letters and greetings, with news from abroad, written from artist members back to their “Brother Savages” (Various).In late 1902, Streeton wrote to fellow artist and Savage Club member Tom Roberts (1856–1931) from London:I belong to the Chelsea Arts Club now, & meet the artists – MacKennel says it’s about the most artistic club (speaking in the real sense) in England. … They all seem to be here – McKennal, Longstaff, Mahony, Fullwood, Norman, Minns, Fox, Plataganet Tudor St. George Tucker, Quinn, Coates, Bunny, Alston, K, Sonny Pole, other minor lights and your old friend and admirer Smike – within 100 yards of here – there must be 30 different studios. (Streeton 94)Whilst some of the artists whom Streeton mentioned were studying at either the Royal Academy or the Slade School, it was the clubs like the Chelsea Arts Club where they were most likely to encounter fellow Australian artists. Tom Roberts was obviously attentive to Streeton’s enthusiastic account and, when he returned to London the following year to work on his commission for The Big Picture of the 1901 opening of the first Commonwealth Parliament, he soon joined. Roberts, through his expansive personality, became particularly active in London’s Australian expatriate artistic community and later became Vice-President of the Chelsea Arts Club. Along with Streeton and Roberts, other visiting Melbourne Savage Club artists joined the Chelsea Arts Club. They included, John Longstaff (1861–1941), James Quinn (1869–1951), George Coates (1869–1930), and Will Dyson (1880–1938), along with Sydney artists Henry Fullwood (1863–1930), George Lambert (1873–1930), and Will Ashton (1881–1963) (Croll 95). Smith describes the exodus to London and Paris: “It was the Chelsea Arts Club that the Heidelberg School established its last and least distinguished camp” (Smith, Smith and Heathcote 152).Streeton, who retained his Chelsea Arts Club membership when he returned for a while to Australia, wrote to Roberts in 1907, “I miss Chelsea & the Club-boys” (Streeton 107). In relation to Frederick McCubbin’s pending visit he wrote: “Prof McCubbin left here a week ago by German ‘Prinz Heinrich.’ … You’ll introduce him at the Chelsea Club and I hope they make him an Hon. Member, etc” (Streeton et al. 85). McCubbin wrote, after an evening at the Chelsea Arts Club, following a visit to the Royal Academy: “Tonight, I am dining with Australian artists in Soho, and shall be there to greet my old friends. How glad I am! Longstaff will be there, and Frank Stuart, Roberts, Fullwood, Pontin, Coates, Quinn, and Tucker’s brother, and many others from all around” (MacDonald, McCubbin and McCubbin 75). Impressed by the work of Turner he wrote to his wife Annie, following avisit to the Tate Gallery:I went yesterday with Fullwood and G. Coates and Tom Roberts for a ramble … to the Tate Gallery – a beautiful freestone building facing the river through a portico into the gallery where the lately found turners are exhibited – these are not like the greater number of pictures in the National Gallery – they represent his different periods, but are mostly in his latest style, when he had realised the quality of light (McCubbin).Clearly Turner’s paintings had a profound impression on him. In the same letter he wrote:they are mostly unfinished but they are divine – such dreams of colour – a dozen of them are like pearls … mist and cloud and sea and land, drenched in light … They glow with tender brilliancy that radiates from these canvases – how he loved the dazzling brilliancy of morning or evening – these gems with their opal colour – you feel how he gloried in these tender visions of light and air. He worked from darkness into light.The Chelsea Arts Club also served as a venue for artists to entertain and host distinguished visitors from home. These guests included; Melbourne Savage Club artist member Alf Vincent (Joske 112), National Gallery of Victoria (NGV) Trustee and popular patron of the arts, Professor Baldwin Spencer (1860–1929), Professor Frederick S. Delmer (1864–1931) and conductor George Marshall-Hall (1862–1915) (Mulvaney and Calaby 329; Streeton 111).Artist Miles Evergood arrived in London in 1910, and visited the Chelsea Arts Club. He mentions expatriate Australian artists gathering at the Club, including Will Dyson, Fred Leist (1873–1945), David Davies (1864–1939), Will Ashton (1881–1963), and Henry Fullwood (Hammer 41).Most of the Melbourne Savage Club artist members were active in the London Savage Club. On one occasion, in November 1908, Roberts, with fellow artist MacKennal in the Chair, attended the Australian Artists’ Dinner held there. This event attracted twenty-five expatriate Australian artists, all residing in London at the time (McQueen 532).These London arts clubs had a significant influence on the expatriate Australian artists for they became the “glue” that held them together whilst abroad. Although some artists travelled abroad specifically to take up places at the Royal Academy School or the Slade School, only a minority of artists arriving in London from Australia and other British colonies were offered positions at these prestigious schools. Many artists travelled to “try their luck.” The arts clubs of London, whilst similarly discerning in their membership criteria, generally offered a visiting “brother-of-the-brush” a warm welcome as a professional courtesy. They featured the familiar rollicking all-male “Smoke Nights” a feature of the Melbourne Savage Club. With a greater “artist” membership than the clubs in Australia, expatriate artists were not only able to catch up with their friends from Australia, but also they could associate with England’s finest and most progressive artists in a familiar congenial environment. The clubs were a “home away from home” and described by Underhill as, “an artistic Earl’s Court” (Underhill 99). Most importantly, the clubs were a centre for discourse, arguably even more so than were the teaching academies. Britain’s leading modernist artists were members of the Chelsea Arts Club and the New English Arts Club and mixed freely with the visiting Australian artists.Many Australian artists, such as Miles Evergood and George Bell (1878–1966), held anti-academic views similar to English club members and embraced the new artistic trends, which they would bring back to Australia. Streeton had no illusions about the relative worth of the famed institutions and the exhibitions held by clubs such as the New English. Writing to Roberts before he joins him in London, he describes the Royal Academy as having, “an inartistic atmosphere” and claims he “hasn’t the least desire to go again” (Streeton 77). His preference lay with a concurrent “International Exhibition”, which featured works by Rodin, Whistler, Condor, Degas, and others who were setting the pace rather than merely continuing the academic traditions.Architect Hardy Wilson (1881–1955) served as secretary of The Chelsea Arts Club. When he returned to Australia he brought back with him a number of British works by Streeton and Lambert for an exhibition at the Guild Hall Melbourne (Underhill 92). Artists and Bohemians, a history of the Chelsea Arts Club, makes special reference of its world-wide contacts and singles out many of its prominent Australian members for specific mention including; Sir John William (Will) Ashton OBE, later Director of the Art Gallery of New South Wales, and Will Dyson, whose illustrious career as an Australian war artist was described in some detail. Dyson’s popularity led to his later appointment as Chairman of the Chelsea Arts Club where he initiated an ambitious rebuilding program, improving staff accommodation, refurbishing the members’ areas, and adding five bedrooms for visiting members (Bross 87-90).Whilst the influence of travel abroad on Australian artists has been noted, the importance of the London Clubs has not been fully explored. These clubs offered artists a space where they felt “at home” and a familiar environment whilst they were abroad. The clubs functioned as a meeting space where they could engage in a stimulating artistic environment and gain introductions to leading figures in the art world. For those artists who chose England, London’s arts clubs played a large role, for it was in these establishments that they discussed, exhibited, shared, and met with their English counterparts. The club environment in London had a significant impact on male Australian artists as it offered a space where they were integrated into the English art world which enhanced their experience whilst abroad and influenced the direction of their art.ReferencesCorbett, David Peters, and Lara Perry, eds. English Art, 1860–1914: Modern Artists and Identity. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2000.Croll, Robert Henderson. Tom Roberts: Father of Australian Landscape Painting. Melbourne: Robertson & Mullens, 1935.Cross, Tom. Artists and Bohemians: 100 Years with the Chelsea Arts Club. 1992. 1st ed. London: Quiller Press, 1992.Gray, Anne, and National Gallery of Australia. McCubbin: Last Impressions 1907–17. 1st ed. Parkes, A.C.T.: National Gallery of Australia, 2009.Halliday, Andrew, ed. The Savage Papers. 1867. 1st ed. London: Tinsley Brothers, 1867.Hammer, Gael. Miles Evergood: No End of Passion. Willoughby, NSW: Phillip Mathews, 2013.Joske, Prue. Debonair Jack: A Biography of Sir John Longstaff. 1st ed. Melbourne: Claremont Publishing, 1994.MacDonald, James S., Frederick McCubbin, and Alexander McCubbin. The Art of F. McCubbin. Melbourne: Lothian Book Publishing, 1916.McCaughy, Patrick. Strange Country: Why Australian Painting Matters. Ed. Paige Amor. The Miegunyah Press, 2014.McCubbin, Frederick. Papers, Ca. 1900–Ca. 1915. Melbourne.McQueen, Humphrey. Tom Roberts. Sydney: Macmillan, 1996.Mead, Stephen. "Bohemia in Melbourne: An Investigation of the Writer Marcus Clarke and Four Artistic Clubs during the Late 1860s – 1901.” PhD thesis. Melbourne: University of Melbourne, 2009.Melbourne Savage Club. Secretary. Minute Book: Melbourne Savage Club. Club Minutes (General Committee). Melbourne: Savage Archives.Mulvaney, Derek John, and J.H. Calaby. So Much That Is New: Baldwin Spencer, 1860–1929, a Biography. Carlton, Vic.: Melbourne University Press, 1985.Smith, Bernard, Terry Smith, and Christopher Heathcote. Australian Painting, 1788–2000. 4th ed. South Melbourne, Vic.: Oxford University Press, 2001.Streeton, Arthur, et al. Smike to Bulldog: Letters from Sir Arthur Streeton to Tom Roberts. Sydney: Ure Smith, 1946.Streeton, Arthur, ed. Letters from Smike: The Letters of Arthur Streeton, 1890–1943. Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1989.Thornton, Alfred, and New English Art Club. Fifty Years of the New English Art Club, 1886–1935. London: New English Art Club, Curwen Press 1935.Underhill, Nancy D.H. Making Australian Art 1916–49: Sydney Ure Smith Patron and Publisher. South Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1991.Various. Melbourne Savage Club Correspondence Book: 1902–1916. Melbourne: Melbourne Savage Club.Williams, Graeme Henry. "A Socio-Cultural Reading: The Melbourne Savage Club through Its Collections." Masters of Arts thesis. Melbourne: Deakin University, 2013.

Photo by Adhy Savala on Unsplash ABSTRACT During a crisis, when healthcare capacity becomes overwhelmed and cannot meet regular standards of patient care, crisis standards of care are invoked to distribute scarce hospital space, staff, and supplies. When transitioning between conventional standards of care and crisis standards, hospitals may have to manage resources under scarcity constraints in an intermediate phase defined as the contingency phase. While much attention has been paid to the ethics of crisis standard of care protocols, contingency measures were more widely implemented, though little exists within the literature on the ethics of contingency measures or a clearly explicated contingency standard of care. This paper addresses three ethical issues with the current contingency response to COVID-19: the lack of formalization, the risks of using short-term solutions for prolonged contingency shortages, and the danger of exacerbating health disparities through hospital-level resource allocation. To mitigate these ethical issues, I offer recommendations for reimagining resource allocation during contingency standards of care. INTRODUCTION When transitioning between conventional standards of care and crisis standards, or in situations where shortages do not immediately threaten care delivery, hospitals may have to manage scarce resources in an intermediate phase, known as the “contingency” phase.[1] While much attention has been paid to the ethics of crisis standards, less literature covers the ethics of contingency measures or a clearly explicated contingency standard of care. Many states and hospital systems do not have contingency standards of care to dictate allocation absent an event triggering crisis standards. Crisis standards of care, used when healthcare capacity becomes overwhelmed and cannot meet regular standards of patient care, reflect ethical priorities relevant in times of shortage or other emergencies. These priorities include saving the most lives, the stewardship of scarce resources, and justice relating to equitable resource distribution.[2] Crisis standards of care delineate specialized allocation protocols and triage decision-making bodies at the institutional or state levels. Crisis standards of care require formal activation at the state level, and in the absence of clear triggers or governmental willingness to use them, hospitals may adopt informal strategies to manage allocation in the form of contingency measures. The contingency phase is defined by two simultaneous goals: prevent or stall crisis-level scarcity by managing limited resources and providing patient care that is functionally equivalent to usual care.[3] In other words, allocate scarce resources with no significant health consequences to patients. However, this is an unrealistic expectation: meeting a patient’s medical needs and allocating resources on the basis of scarcity instead of medical indications can be at odds, creating ethical tension. This paper addresses three ethical issues with the current contingency response stemming from this tension: the lack of formalization, the risk of using short-term solutions for prolonged contingency shortages, and the danger of exacerbating health disparities through hospital-level resource allocation. To mitigate these ethical issues, I offer recommendations for reimagining resource allocation during contingency standards of care. l. Lack of Formalization One shortcoming of current contingency measures is that they fail to meet the same level of procedural detail and clarity as crisis standards. The early COVID-19 surges in Italy and France demonstrated the pitfalls of bedside allocation in the absence of procedural guidance. The acute scarcity of critical care resources forced doctors in these countries to make allocation decisions at the bedside, which often resulted in de facto age-based allocation as well as experiences of moral distress and shame among providers.[4] In France, medical allocation guidelines and statistics were never released to the public, raising concerns over the role of transparency in implementing crisis standards and triage guidelines and causing the public to question the trustworthiness of provider triage.[5] Though many states in the US have crisis standards of care that can be implemented in the case of a large-scale triage event, these measures vary widely. A 2020 review of 31 crisis standards of care in the US found that only 18 contained strong “ethical grounding,” 28 used “evidence-based clinical processes and operations,” 21 included “ongoing community and provider engagement, education, and communication,” and 16 had “clear indicators, triggers, and lines of responsibility.”[6] The need for standardization, public transparency, and guidelines for crisis standards of care to prevent bedside allocation has been widely recognized. However, these issues remain unresolved by public policy or legislative efforts during the contingency period before (or after) crisis standards apply. A recent public health study that observed triage team members in a high-fidelity triage simulation highlighted the challenges of making equitable frontline allocation decisions.[7] In the simulation, participants nudged patient priority status up or down depending on what they subjectively identified as morally relevant factors. Through the simulation, participants reported difficulty separating implicit biases about patient characteristics from their clinical judgment. In the absence of formal institutional or regional guidelines for allocation during contingency-level shortages, there are few to no procedural safeguards against biased, ad hoc, and non-transparent rationing. Without formalized or standardized contingency allocation guidance, providers are left to make bedside allocation decisions that are susceptible to individual biases and patterns of unintended discrimination. An example of this susceptibility is seen when hospitals allow patients who no longer benefit from ICU resources to continue occupying ICU beds. This is based on a first-come-first-served (FCFS) approach to bed allocation. FCFS is often a default for patient intake, which led to disparities in care access during the early COVID-19 pandemic. Media reports of hospitals with “plenty of space” being unwilling to accept patients from overwhelmed, lower-income hospitals illustrate that the FCFS default advantages those who could show up first to a particular hospital: often privileged, well-funded healthcare systems that were inaccessible to low-income communities.[8] FCFS is blind to several morally relevant factors, including the likelihood of survival to discharge, reciprocity (i.e. prioritizing healthcare workers), and varying degrees of access to healthcare. Therefore, it inappropriately privileges those in proximity to healthcare systems or with social connections enabling greater initial access to care.[9] During crisis standards of care, excessive mortality that would result from FCFS is mitigated through formalized system-wide triage protocols based on current patient health status and potential benefit from resources. Crisis and contingency standards may provide liability coverage for providers who reallocate critical care beds away from those who no longer benefit during periods of scarcity. This liability coverage shifts bed allocation away from an FCFS model, but only if the policy is well-defined, clearly established, and known to providers. Without a formal system to guide the process or transition from the usual method of allocation to the contingency period, contingency decisions about who gets a scarce resource may continue to operate on an implicit FCFS basis, even when approaching crisis levels of scarcity. Additionally, these decisions will fall unsustainably on individual providers or transfer center workers, leading to moral distress on the frontlines when hospitals are already strained. Lessons from the crisis and contingency responses during COVID-19 can improve future contingency responses. There are multiple ways of achieving equity during contingency allocation, ranging from hospital-level to state-level policy changes. State-wide policies and interventions to facilitate resource-sharing can relieve some of the scarcity burdens that hospitals may face during the contingency period. For example, moving ICU patients to lower levels of care once they have sufficiently recovered is a challenge for doctors, who often call other hospitals to find open beds. In these situations, providers who do not move patients who no longer benefit from ICU beds unknowingly reinforce the FCFS system in which those who arrive first keep the scarce beds, while those who arrive later or wait for one are disadvantaged by having limited access to them. State-wide patient transfer centers, often facilitated by state public health departments, present an alternative by balancing patient needs and bed distribution more equitably and efficiently than individual physicians do, as demonstrated following COVID-19 surges in hospitalization.[10] These centers aid not only in allocating open tertiary care beds, but also in identifying open beds at lower levels of care and assisting physicians with transferring out patients who can be safely downgraded and no longer benefit from tertiary care resources. However, the simplest solution is to encourage the creation of ethics guidance or protocols for contingency allocation at the hospital level. In hospitals, institutional ethics guidance can help providers navigate difficult decisions and conversations with patients. When providers face time-sensitive allocation decisions, like the allocation of open ICU beds, the guidance would be a useful tool for making transparent, principled, and ethically justified allocation decisions in real-time to mitigate the risk of ad hoc or implicit rationing. ll. Unsuited for Prolonged Resource Shortages Secondly, neither contingency nor crisis standards are currently designed to respond to prolonged strains on the healthcare system. Since the start of the pandemic, a prolonged period of staffing shortages began and is projected to persist.[11] However, both crisis and contingency standards assume that the system will eventually return to conventional standards of care. For example, as a contingency or crisis standard, many hospitals deferred elective surgeries to preserve limited resources for emergency and life-saving procedures. Massachusetts, for instance, issued a public health emergency order that required hospitals to defer 50 percent of all non-essential and non-urgent (elective) surgeries. This order demonstrates the use of this contingency measure in response to prolonged staffing and bed shortages.[12] However, the deferral of elective procedures can result in adverse long-term community health consequences. Medical conditions typically addressed through elective surgery, such as joint replacement surgeries for osteoarthritis patients, may worsen if delayed. This can result in greater numbers of acute emergencies, the need for more complex surgical procedures later, increased reliance on pain medications, and longer recovery times.[13] Without a greater understanding of long-term complications in community health, existing contingency strategies, such as the deferral of elective surgeries, may be unsuitable for prolonged shortages. This becomes a greater threat to patient safety when contingency measures inappropriately take the place of crisis standards, risking the long-term implementation of emergency measures designed for temporary use. Although some state emergency planning documents identify indicators and triggers for activating contingency and crisis operations,[14] this transition is not always clear in action. For example, New York did not implement crisis standards of care during the early COVID-19 pandemic despite being one of the hardest-hit cities in the US.[15] Other states, including California, Texas, and Florida, did not activate crisis standards of care, leaving hospitals to implement informal contingency measures that ultimately required allocation strategies very similar or identical to many crisis standards of care protocols.[16] Due to the hesitance to activate crisis standards, ad hoc contingency measures and bedside decision-making prevailed over formal triage protocols. If contingency measures are not set forth in objective documents and are inappropriately used in the place of crisis standards, these short-term measures may result in an unfair or non-transparent distribution of scarce resources. When shortages in space, staff, or supplies jeopardize the ability to provide necessary care for critically ill patients under a conventional standard of care, failures to activate crisis standards risk the inappropriate use of ad hoc contingency measures in their place. With clear contingency standards of care, the duration of an ad hoc approach could be limited. Crisis standards are defined and activated at the regional or state-wide level, but outside of hospital-specific resource limitations, there are generally no standardized indications or triggers for transitioning into and out of contingency measures. Leaving contingency needs to individual hospitals may seem beneficial but defining the contingency period at the hospital level and the crisis period at the state or regional level blurs the line about when it is appropriate for decision makers to activate crisis standards, risking delayed activation or failure to activate them at all. Therefore, it is important that state policies implement automatic triggers for activation that clearly delineate between contingency and crisis responses.[17] Automatic triggers based on validated metrics like remaining available resources can inform the appropriate decision makers about when they must activate crisis standards. These triggers should be transparent to the public, validated, and updated over time with evolving data. These automatic triggers would prevent confusion, inconsistent guidelines, and inequitable contingency allocation at the hands of distressed providers when crisis standards are needed. Defining when to begin crisis standards could help limit the length of the contingency period. This would protect against the inappropriate application of contingency measures to crisis-level scarcity and prolonged shortages that they could not sustainably ameliorate. lll. Potential to Exacerbate Health Disparities Inconsistencies in contingency allocation open the door to disparities in care and unequal distribution of scarcity burdens among different communities based on their location or health needs. This is a concern because it is unclear whether contingency measures can meet their goal of achieving functionally equivalent patient outcomes when resource allocation must be balanced with patient-centered care.[18] The care under contingency standards is meant to be functionally equivalent to regular care. The definition assumes (or may wrongly suggest) that any contingency strategy in place to avoid critical scarcity has no significant impact on patient outcomes. While functional equivalence is attainable, there is currently little research into which contingency measures achieve functionally equivalent outcomes and which patient groups may be disproportionately affected by harmful resource allocation strategies. Although the transition from contingency standards to crisis standards is defined by the inability to provide functionally equivalent care, the difference in practice may merely be a distinction between visible, immediate sacrifices to patient well-being during crises and less-obvious, long-term decrements in community health due to protracted contingency care alterations. Two common contingency measures are cause for concern over disparate patient outcomes and the attainability of functional equivalence. First, restricting emergency room visits by the patient’s degree of need has worrying consequences. In late 2021 and early 2022, hospitals in Massachusetts faced widespread staffing shortages, leading to an emergency order that restricted emergency visits to emergency needs.[19] While this order is a reasonable method of allocating limited staff in the emergency department during severe shortages, it is doubtful that the outcomes of this restriction were equivalent to usual care. Health issues that are soon-to-be emergencies are filtered out until they worsen, resulting in patients overflowing to urgent care clinics or presenting to ERs with more severe forms of sicknesses later on. Given the empirical evidence demonstrating ER treatment and admission disparities that disadvantage Black and Hispanic patients, such a measure would only exacerbate these disparities by further limiting access to needed care.[20] Second, altered staffing ratios, which stretch a limited number of providers to meet patient needs during a staffing shortage, are another concerning yet common contingency measure. Staffing allocation is often viewed similarly to the allocation of space and medical equipment, such that contingency alterations to staffing operations may not seem like they significantly jeopardize patient care quality and outwardly appear functionally equivalent.[21] However, lower ratios of qualified nurses are associated with poor outcomes such as higher inpatient mortality[22] and lower survival rates of in-hospital cardiac arrest for Black patients.[23] These examples highlight the strong potential for contingency measures to amplify social health disparities, particularly when adopted over a prolonged time frame. Lowered standards of care in crisis allocation disproportionately impact racial and ethnic minorities.[24] For example, crisis standards of care used clinical scoring systems that were not developed or validated for crisis triage to prioritize access to life-saving treatments during the COVID-19 pandemic. This practice actively gives rise to racial health disparities and discrimination against disabled patients.[25] Not only were the standards inequitable in practice, but they varied widely from state to state and sometimes even from hospital to hospital, creating disparities across and within geographic regions.[26] If contingency measures are similarly implemented across hospitals or hospital departments without standardization or advance planning to ensure equitable outcomes, it is likely that the burden of a lower standard of care will fall primarily on disadvantaged patient groups and racial minorities. However, standardization alone may be insufficient. Other factors like varying levels of details on patients’ charts between hospitals could produce unfair outcomes if used to determine patient admission or transfer priority, even if the criteria for admissions and transfers are consistent. Thus, ongoing monitoring for unintended patterns of disparity must accompany standardization to ensure that blind spots in the allocation process are identified and corrected. Bioethics has long been preoccupied with the micro-allocation of limited resources within hospitals instead of confronting the structural inequities that underlie broader scarcity and patient needs. The traditional dilemma of allocating limited hospital resources among a certain number of patients overlooks questions about how other resources have already been allocated, which patients were present at the hospital in the first place, where hospitals have (and have not) been built, and whether previous allocation strategies created bias in the broader distribution of resources. Therefore, to achieve fairness, bioethicists must pay attention to aspects of the broader distribution of resources, such as social determinants of health and the allocation of preventative resources at the public health level. One strategy for measuring and addressing these disparities is the Area Deprivation Index (ADI). The ADI quantifies the effects of race, class, and socioeconomic background by geographic region for use in public health research and the prioritization of resources.[27] It has shown promise in identifying geographic regions in need of targeted community health efforts for diabetes management based on electronic patient health records.[28] The ADI and similar tools would be useful in proactively deciding how to allocate public health resources when hospitals are strained. Moreover, through using population health and resource data, public health organizations may forecast contingency shortages allowing for the adoption of early measures to mitigate health disparities that might otherwise be amplified from hospital-level contingency allocation decisions. CONCLUSION Meeting community health needs during periods of contingency scarcity, both before and after crisis standards of care apply, will require contingency standards of care rather than a bedside ad hoc distribution of scarce resources. While it is not inherently ethically unjustifiable for hospitals to adopt measures that may lower the standard of care during contingency standards, the necessity of these measures requires that bioethicists consider how equity, transparency, and the overall aim of functional equivalence can best be achieved under conditions of scarcity. The long-term health consequences of existing contingency measures, the potential for ad hoc and inconsistent allocation of scarce resources, and the need for consensus about when it becomes appropriate to make the formal transition to crisis standards of care demand further consideration. Because contingency measures will likely amplify existing disparities as crisis standards have, hospital-level management of scarcity is inadequate. Public health measures should be adopted in parallel to anticipate and manage health needs at the community or state level when resources are strained. - [1] Altevogt, B. M., Stroud, C., Hanson, S. L., Hanfling, D., & Gostin, L. O. (2009). Guidance for Establishing Crisis Standards of Care for Use in Disaster Situations: A Letter Report. The National Academies Press. https://doi.org/10.17226/12749 [2] Emanuel, E. J., Persad, G., Upshur, R., Thome, B., Parker, M., Glickman, A., Zhang, C., Boyle, C., Smith, M., & Phillips, J. P. (2020). Fair Allocation of Scarce Medical Resources in the Time of Covid-19. New England Journal of Medicine, 382(21), 2049–2055. https://doi.org/10.1056/NEJMsb2005114 [3] Alfandre, D., Sharpe, V. A., Geppert, C., Foglia, M. B., Berkowitz, K., Chanko, B., & Schonfeld, T. (2021). Between Usual and Crisis Phases of a Public Health Emergency: The Mediating Role of Contingency Measures. The American Journal of Bioethics, 21(8), 4–16. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2021.1925778 [4] Rosenbaum, L. (2020). Facing Covid-19 in Italy—Ethics, Logistics, and Therapeutics on the Epidemic’s Front Line. New England Journal of Medicine, 382(20), 1873–1875. https://doi.org/10.1056/NEJMp2005492 [5] Orfali, K. (2020). What Triage Issues Reveal: Ethics in the COVID-19 Pandemic in Italy and France. Journal of Bioethical Inquiry, 17(4), 675–679. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11673-020-10059-y [6] Romney, D., Fox, H., Carlson, S., Bachmann, D., O’Mathuna, D., & Kman, N. (2020). Allocation of Scarce Resources in a Pandemic: A Systematic Review of US State Crisis Standards of Care Documents. Disaster Medicine and Public Health Preparedness, 14(5), 677–683. https://doi.org/10.1017/dmp.2020.101 [7] Butler, C. R., Webster, L. B., Diekema, D. S., Gray, M. M., Sakata, V. L., Tonelli, M. R., & Vranas, K. C. (2022). Perspectives of Triage Team Members Participating in Statewide Triage Simulations for Scarce Resource Allocation During the COVID-19 Pandemic in Washington State. JAMA Network Open, 5(4), e227639. https://doi.org/10.1001/jamanetworkopen.2022.7639 [8] Dwyer, J. (2020, May 14). One Hospital Was Besieged by the Virus. Nearby Was ‘Plenty of Space.’—The New York Times. The New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/14/nyregion/coronavirus-ny-hospitals.html [9] Persad, G., Wertheimer, A., & Emanuel, E. J. (2009). Principles for allocation of scarce medical interventions. Lancet (London, England), 373(9661), 423–431. https://doi.org/10.1016/S0140-6736(09)60137-9 [10] Mitchell, S. H., Rigler, J., & Baum, K. (2022). Regional Transfer Coordination and Hospital Load Balancing During COVID-19 Surges. JAMA Health Forum, 3(2), e215048. https://doi.org/10.1001/jamahealthforum.2021.5048 [11] ASPE. (2022, May 3). Impact of the COVID-19 Pandemic on the Hospital and Outpatient Clinician Workforce: Challenges and Policy Responses. ASPE. https://aspe.hhs.gov/reports/covid-19-health-care-workforce [12] Executive Office of Health and Human Services. (2021). Baker-Polito Administration Provides COVID-19 Update on Mask Advisory, Hospital Support | Mass.gov. https://www.mass.gov/news/baker-polito-administration-provides-covid-19-update-on-mask-advisory-hospital-support [13] The Lancet Rheumatology. (2021). Too long to wait: The impact of COVID-19 on elective surgery. The Lancet Rheumatology, 3(2), e83. https://doi.org/10.1016/S2665-9913(21)00001-1 [14] For an example of transition planning between crisis and contingency standards, see Minnesota Department of Health. (2021). Ethical Framework for Transitions Between Conventional, Contingency, and Crisis Conditions in Pervasive or Catastrophic Public Health Events with Medical Surge Implications (Minnesota Crisis Standards of Care). https://www.health.state.mn.us/communities/ep/surge/crisis/framework_transitions.pdf [15] Powell, T., & Chuang, E. (2020). COVID in NYC: What We Could Do Better. The American Journal of Bioethics, 20(7), 62–66. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2020.1764146 [16] Persoff, J., & Wynia, M. K. (2021). Ethically Navigating the Murky Waters of “Contingency Standards of Care.” The American Journal of Bioethics, 21(8), 20–21. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2021.1939810 [17] Board on Health Sciences Policy & Institute of Medicine. (2013). Indicators and Triggers. In Crisis Standards of Care: A Toolkit for Indicators and Triggers. National Academies Press (US). http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK202381/ [18] Frith, L., Draper, H., Fovargue, S., Baines, P., Redhead, C., & Chiumento, A. (2021). Neither ‘Crisis Light’ nor ‘Business as Usual’: Considering the Distinctive Ethical Issues Raised by the Contingency and Reset Phases of a Pandemic. The American Journal of Bioethics, 21(8), 34–37. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2021.1940363 [19] Rosseau, M. (2022, January 14). New emergency orders issued to help understaffed Mass. Hospitals. Boston.Com. https://www.boston.com/news/coronavirus/2022/01/14/new-emergency-orders-issued-to-help-understaffed-mass-hospitals/ [20] Zhang, X., Carabello, M., Hill, T., Bell, S. A., Stephenson, R., & Mahajan, P. (2020). Trends of Racial/Ethnic Differences in Emergency Department Care Outcomes Among Adults in the United States From 2005 to 2016. Frontiers in Medicine, 7. https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fmed.2020.00300 [21] Hick, J. L., Hanfling, D., & Wynia, M. (2022). Hospital Planning for Contingency and Crisis Conditions: Crisis Standards of Care Lessons from COVID-19. The Joint Commission Journal on Quality and Patient Safety. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jcjq.2022.02.003 [22] Musy, S. N., Endrich, O., Leichtle, A. B., Griffiths, P., Nakas, C. T., & Simon, M. (2021). The association between nurse staffing and inpatient mortality: A shift-level retrospective longitudinal study. International Journal of Nursing Studies, 120, 103950. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ijnurstu.2021.103950 [23] Brooks Carthon, M., Brom, H., McHugh, M., Sloane, D. M., Berg, R., Merchant, R., Girotra, S., & Aiken, L. H. (2021). Better Nurse Staffing Is Associated With Survival for Black Patients and Diminishes Racial Disparities in Survival After In-Hospital Cardiac Arrests. Medical Care, 59(2), 169–176. https://doi.org/10.1097/MLR.0000000000001464 [24] Annas, G. J., & Crosby, S. S. (2021). Standard Racism: Trying to Use “Crisis Standards of Care” in the COVID-19 Pandemic. The American Journal of Bioethics, 21(8), 1–3. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2021.1941424 [25] Wynia, M. K., & Sottile, P. D. (2020). Ethical Triage Demands a Better Triage Survivability Score. The American Journal of Bioethics, 20(7), 75–77. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2020.1779412 [26] Fink, S. (2020). Ethical Dilemmas in Covid-19 Medical Care: Is a Problematic Triage Protocol Better or Worse than No Protocol at All? The American Journal of Bioethics, 20(7), 1–5. https://doi.org/10.1080/15265161.2020.1788663 [27] Knighton, A. J., Savitz, L., Belnap, T., Stephenson, B., & VanDerslice, J. (2016). Introduction of an Area Deprivation Index Measuring Patient Socioeconomic Status in an Integrated Health System: Implications for Population Health. EGEMS (Washington, DC), 4(3), 1238. https://doi.org/10.13063/2327-9214.1238 [28] Kurani, S. S., Lampman, M. A., Funni, S. A., Giblon, R. E., Inselman, J. W., Shah, N. D., Allen, S., Rushlow, D., & McCoy, R. G. (2021). Association Between Area-Level Socioeconomic Deprivation and Diabetes Care Quality in US Primary Care Practices. JAMA Network Open, 4(12), e2138438. https://doi.org/10.1001/jamanetworkopen.2021.38438

The Eco-Self in Early Modern English Literature tracks an important shift in early modern conceptions of selfhood, arguing that the period hosted the birth of a new subset of the human, the eco-self, which melds a deeply introspective turn with an abiding sense of humans’ embedment in the world. A confluence of cultural factors produced the relevant changes. Of paramount significance was the rapid spread of literacy in England and across Europe: reading transformed the relationship between self and world, retooled moral reasoning, and even altered human anatomy. This book pursues the salutary possibilities, including the ecological benefits, of this redesigned self by advancing fresh readings of texts by William Shakespeare, Christopher Marlowe, John Webster, and Margaret Cavendish. The eco-self offers certain refinements to ecological theory by renewing appreciation for the rational, deliberative functions that distinguish humans from other species.

Abstract This book offers a definitive account of the changing electoral geography of England and Wales over the past half century. Changes in social and economic structure have altered the spatial distribution of voters and combined with changes in the parties’ appeal to those voters (and the behaviour of voters) has led to a gradual, though recently accelerating, realignment in the geographical basis of electoral competition. Constituency-level analysis of voting at general elections between 1979 and 2019 shows a swing from Labour to the Conservatives in demographically left behind areas with largely white, working-class populations and lower levels of educational attainment, while Labour's support has remained stable in places characterized by economic deprivation (economically left behind areas) and insecure employment (precariously left behind areas). Areas with improving socio-economic characteristics—typically cities where Labour have inefficiently stacked up votes—have swung towards Labour, whereas those that have experienced population and economic decline have swung towards the Conservatives. Yet not all areas follow these trends. Spatial analysis reveals clusters of seats where each party has more support than expected based on sociodemographic composition—places where, in short, place matters. In Merseyside, Labour’s vote is much higher than predicted by demographics, while this is likewise the case for the Conservatives in Lincolnshire. Qualitative case studies identify the place-based, contextual factors that help explain the unusual political characteristics in these places. The book argues for the need to recognize the importance of people, places, and parties in shaping the geography of electoral outcomes.

Criminal Justice provides a comprehensive overview of the criminal justice system in England and Wales (excluding punishment), as well as thought-provoking insights into how it might be altered and improved and research that might be needed to help accomplish this. Tracing the procedures surrounding the appre-hension, investigation, trial and appeal against conviction of suspected offenders, this book is the ideal com-panion for law and criminology students alike. As the authors combine the relevant legislation with fresh research findings and policy initiatives, the resulting text is a fascinating blend of socio-legal analysis. Whilst retaining its authoritative treatment of the issues at the heart of criminal justice, the book has been fully updated with recent developments, including terrorism legislation and the initial Covid-related restrictions introduced in early-mid 2020. In this, the book’s 5th edition: two experienced new co-authors, Dr Layla Skinns and Dr Lucy Welsh, join Andrew Sanders (Richard Young having decided, 25+ years after the 1st edition, to do other things); the text features chapter summaries and selected further reading lists to support the student and encourage further research; the content of the book has been fully updated to include coverage of new legislation, case law, research and policy developments; and the text is enriched by the new authors’ specialist research into accountability, police custody, magistrates’ courts and criminal legal aid. The theoretical structure of the earlier editions is retained, but developed further by consideration of ‘core values’ in criminal justice and the impact of neoliberalism.

Beowulf is a foundational work of Western literature that originated in mysterious circumstances. This book addresses philological questions that are fundamental to the study of the poem. Is Beowulf the product of unitary or composite authorship? How substantially did scribes alter the text during its transmission, and how much time elapsed between composition and preservation? The book answers these questions by distinguishing linguistic and metrical regularities, which originate with the Beowulf poet, from patterns of textual corruption, which descend from copyists involved in the poem’s transmission. It argues, on the basis of archaic features that pervade Beowulf and set it apart from other Old English poems, that the text preserved in the sole extant manuscript (ca. 1000) is essentially the work of one poet who composed it ca. 700. Of course, during the poem’s written transmission, several hundred scribal errors crept into its text. These errors are interpreted in the central chapters of the book as valuable evidence for language history, cultural change, and scribal practice. The book reveals that the scribes earnestly attempted to standardize and modernize the text’s orthography, but their unfamiliarity with obsolete words and ancient heroes resulted in frequent errors. The Beowulf manuscript thus emerges from his study as an indispensible witness to processes of linguistic and cultural change that took place in England between the eighth and eleventh centuries.

Abstract The humanist project was inherently contradictory, yoking together two traditions, the classical and Christian, that did not always match easily or smoothly. Doubts about that project, the usefulness of classical texts for Christian readers, emerged in the mid-sixteenth century, after the initial bloom of confidence in humanism began to fade. John Phillip’s play, The Play of Patient Grissell, explores these inevitable contradictions through a medieval exemplum, famously adapted by Geoffrey Chaucer: the story of Patient Griselda. For Philip, the exemplum as a form, a short story with a moral, provides an older model of engaging with classical texts that had been superseded by humanism, with its emphasis on imitation, its embrace of classical texts on their own terms. Reimagining this exemplum allows Phillip to confront the ways in which humanism has altered Christian morality even as it has insisted upon it.

Abstract The accession of James VI of Scotland to the throne of England in 1603 brought with it new prospects for East’s firm. It is well known that one of the greatest achievements of the early reign of James I was the abolition of many of the most abhorred monopolies established by his predecessors. For East, however, what was more significant were the opportunities opened to him not by the abolition of monopolies but by shifts in power in the music patents that controlled his trade. The Stationers’ Company established a publishing corporation called the English Stock that assumed the ownership of the patent for the psalter with music and significantly altered the publishing conditions for that class of books. At nearly the same time, there were new developments in the general music monopoly after the death of Morley in 1602 that turned out to have a lasting effect on the relative strength of this grant.

Abstract Perhaps nothing is more remarkable in Melville’s remarkable career than that an intellectual and imaginative life lived intensely and, as it seemed, leading to a literary and philosophical cul-de-sac should have had its creative sequel, its “afterlife,” to use John Updike’s resonant term. The gate way between Melville’s lives was the trip he took to Europe and the Levant in 1856-57, a journey funded by his father-in-law, Judge Shaw, in response to family concern over physical and psychological ailments that seemed to threaten outright collapse. The Mediterranean had fascinated Melville as early as 1849, when, having barely set foot in England on a journey nominally to arrange for the English publication of White-Jacket,he sketched a plan for traveling across Europe for the Levant. “I am full (just now) of this glorious Easternjaunt. Think of it! -Jerusalem & the Pyramids-Constantinople, the Egean, & old Athens!” (J7). A light purse and “the cursed state of the copyright” (J20) put an end to his daydream, and when he returned to England en route to the Holy Land seven years and five books later, he was an altered man. Meeting him in Liverpool, Hawthorne, now consul there, found him “much overshadowed since I saw him last,” as well he might be, having lost his novelistic audience in Pierreand written himself into a labyrinth of skepticism in The Confidence-Man.“He said that he already felt much better than in America,” Hawthorne reported, “but observed that he did not anticipate much pleasure in his rambles, for that the spirit of adventure is gone out of him.”

The formation of a national market in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century England was both predicated on and entailed a revolution of communications, which altered the patterns of circulation, form, and character of English writing. Many aspects of the literature of early modern England, in turn, developed in response to these changes in the use and dissemination of texts. Taken together, these two simple assertions outline the argument of this book, while investigations of their implications make up its substance....

Abstract This chapter sets the context of the book in the wider issues relating to the relationship between medicine, religion and politics in seventeenth-century England. In particular, it seeks to re-examine the role of puritanism in fostering medical change in the period. The chapter looks at ways in which the historiography of the period has allowed for a new approach to the subject, particularly in relation to altered perceptions of what it means to talk about puritanism in the period and its essential conservatism. This chapter then sets the scene for a major re-investigation of the role of religious and political ideas and affiliations in shaping attitudes to medicine among the practitioners both before, during and after the civil wars of the mid-seventeenth century.

The introduction situates theatrical contact within the period’s burgeoning discourse on manners and interpersonal behavior in conduct literature, arguing that plays do not depict codes and norms of touch. Instead, the drama participates in the construction of new ideas about conduct, civility, rudeness, and decorum. This argument, as the introduction details, necessitates a sociology or social semiotics of touch in action, rather than a phenomenology of contact. Likewise, the scope is different from other studies: erotic contact is treated as a subset of touch practices in a variety of contexts where individual affect and social negotiation intertwine—political, neighborly, business-related, and so on—rather than touch being a subset of the sexual. The introduction lays out the book’s use of Eve Sedgwick’s approach to agency and social negotiation, as well as the book’s adaptation of Bakhtin’s and Volosinov’s concept of utterance to analyze acts of touch. Thomas Kyd’s The Spanish Tragedy serves as a case study in this approach. Finally, the introduction considers the differences between the theater’s depictions of touch and those of other genres. With reference to anti-theatrical writing in particular, it argues that theater had a specific ability to model behavior and, due to early modern ideas about physiology and the humors, to alter audiences’ humors, emotions, and hence practices because of the proximity of actors’ bodies performing acts of touch.

Abstract ALTHOUGH the rules governing the harmonic organization of a piece of music were revolutionized during the seventeenth century, instructions for writing note-against-note counterpoint and progressions showed little development in English theory, and many remained closely related to those of the Renaissance. This principle is aptly demonstrated by Campion’ s New Way of Making Fowre Parts in Counterpoint. As we have seen, this book included the earliest references in English theory to triadic inversion, and it also portrayed harmonic tonality for the first time, as described in Chapter 6 below. When it came to ‘ the taking of all Concords, Perfect and Imperfect’ , however, Campion was quite happy just to translate the relevant parts of Calvisius’ Melopoeia, from 1592, and, though he claimed that ‘ somewhat I wil adde, and somewhat I will alter’ , as Davis has shown, the annotations and changes are in fact very few.

This book is a collection of essays that explore themes relating to liberty, property and popular politics in England and Scotland during the period 1688–1815 in honour of H. T. Dickinson. The first section deals with politics both inside and outside of the British Parliament and offers insights on the central theme of ‘the way in which elite politics and popular politics inform, influence and interact with each other’. The second section examines ‘the ideas, principles and assumptions of those engaged in the struggle to defend, amend or radically alter the political and social order’, including Edmund Burke, William Ogilvie, Thomas Spence and James Harrington. The third and final section focuses on ‘The Long and Wide 1790s’ and covers topics ranging from sedition and sedition trials in Scotland to naval networking, William Winterbotham's imprisonment for seditious libel, and three ‘citizens of the world’: Horatio Nelson, Thomas Paine and Thomas Muir.

Abstract This chapter shift the focus onto German decadence. This portion of the book on Paul Scheerbart’s and German-Jewish author Else Lasker-Schüler’s Decadent Oriental fiction of the 1890s and the 1910s reads their shared Nietzschean ‘Anti-Europäertum’ [Anti-Europeanness] as a form of self-Orientalization. Scheerbart’s art historic journalism and interest in Ancient Babylon and Assyria shaped his dramas and short fiction, presenting the East as stage or mirror to Western modernity’s shortcoming. Scheerbart’s architectural writing dedicated to Glasarchitektur, however, also projects a hopeful, utopian vision which, inspired by Eastern craftsmanship, would facilitate the pacifist, transparent coming-together of a global community. More so than Symons, who sought the affiliation with Romani in England and Fane’s association with the Armenians, both authors of the Berlin Bohème longed to embody the East through their fiction, and in Lasker-Schüler’s case, also in real life. The chapter traces Lasker-Schüler creating her own auto-fictional stylization in her male Arabic alter ego, prince ‘Jussuf’, in her Orientalizing prose, and in her correspondence with British Germanist Jethro Bithell. The chapter places emphasis on the role of decadent satire and queered gender performance as tools which these authors adopted to prompt critical self-reflection on Germany’s social progress and the self-inflicted degeneration of Europe at the cusp of the First World War.

Abstract “Literary criticism, long thought to be peripheral or even irrelevant to biblical studies, has emerged since the mid-1970s as a new major focus of academic biblical scholarship in North America, England, and Israel.” In The Literary Guide to the Bible, Robert Alter and Frank Kermode thus take note of a recent shift in the scholarly study of the Bible, a shift to which they have both made major contributions. This movement can be observed among staunch biblicists as well as theological liberals; it has taken place in the ranks of the most contemporary of literary theorists as well as among traditionalists in literary criticism. It is true that the concept of literature is often different in many of these studies; it may be a matter of recurrent images, of traditional genres, or radical indeterminacy between competing tropes. It is also true that such studies vary in their conception of the Bible itself. Some critics treat the Hebrew Bible of Judaism, others the Christian Bible with Old and New Testaments; among those who deal with the Christian Old Testament some treat the more restricted Protestant canon and some the expanded Catholic list of books. Nevertheless, in spite of these differences, a striking convergence has been taking place between biblical scholarship, traditionally cast in historical and theological frameworks, and literary criticism, traditionally concerned with secular texts.