Статті в журналах з теми "Child sailva"

This essay is about the significance of Mary Lamb’s portrayal of a child reading from a gravestone in the short story ‘Elizabeth Villiers; or The Sailor Uncle’ from Mrs. Leicester’s School (1809). Maybe the most famous tomb-reading scene in literature is that of Pip divining the personalities of his immediate family from their gravestone at the opening of Great Expectations (1860–1). However, a similar scene had been used previously by Mary Shelley in Falkner (1837) and earlier still by Lamb in ‘Elizabeth Villiers; or The Sailor Uncle’. My argument is that Lamb’s text continued to have a hidden, posthumous existence as Shelley and Charles Dickens went on to translate that image of a child reading from their parent’s gravestone. Each author also records and transmits a practice used by poor children to gain an education. Furthermore, the grave acts as a childhood home where dead parents continue to educate their children.

Sailan-ur-reham(Leucorrhoea) is a common gynaecological disorder. Almost 20% of the patients attending gynaecological clinics complain of vaginal discharge indicating some form of infection. In 90% of cases the inflammation is usually relatively mild and the remaining 10% are more serious. Married women are at greater risk to suffer from leucorrhoea as these women are exposed to sexual activity and frequent child bearing which may lead to vaginal infections like –cervicitis, cervical erosion and pelvic inflammatory disease causing leucorrhoea. In literature of Unani Medicine discharge from uterus, cervix and vagina other than blood are described under the heading of sailan-ur-reham. Hence sailan-ur-reham may be compared to leucorrhoea in modern system of medicine. In Unani system of medicine, the basic causes of disease are related with the concept of Akhlat (humour) as described by Buqrat, (Hippocrates 360-470 B.C.). According to the theory of akhlat veginal discharge can be Damvi (Sanguine), Balghami (Phlagmatic), Saudawi (Malencholic) and Safrawi(choleric) depending upon the dominance of akhlat.

Angelo Petraglia, born in 1876 in the Salerno Province of Italy, the first child of Nicola and Carmela Petraglia, spent his first five years in Piaggine, a small mountain village, and in 1881 sailed to New York City with his mother, his uncle, and a younger sister. His father had preceded them to America to find work and a place to live. The family name was changed to Patri, perhaps by immigration authorities. The sister died shortly after their arrival in America, but three other sisters were born soon after.

Chile has sailed in troubled waters in recent months. The effects of the social crisis at the end of 2019 were not yet fully evident, when the Covid-19 pandemic forced the government to take drastic measures to try to slow down the advance of the virus. The restrictions imposed on displacement, dynamic quarantines and the suspension of non-essential activities had a strong impact on the employment and economic conditions of the inhabitants of Chile, and more dramatically on the migrant population. This article aims to make visible the vulnerability and precariousness of the migrant population in Chile in this context of a pandemic, as well as the need to generate situated and inclusive social policies.

The first short story in the volume Mondo and Other Stories serves as a model for the other stories in the collection in terms of the themes, the representation of the child’s portrait and the stylistic peculiarities of the text. More exactly, the story describes the world of “children seen as kings” (Brée, 1990: 100) where everything is dominated by goodness, purity, beauty and magic. As the reference to Sinbad the Sailor at the beginning of the book suggests, the story depicts a moving journey in pursuit of a dream. This is the journey of a child who, refusing the adult world from which he feels alienated, is in search of himself and the unknown. As an image of the viator child, can we consider Mondo a new type of vagabond? Why is he emblematic of the author’s fictional universe and of universal literature? By answering these questions, the purpose of the paper is to demonstrate the originality and uniqueness of Le Clézio’s writing.

In the North-Eastern Mediterranen coast of Morocco, the establishment of seaside resorts built as part of the Plan Azur, substantially degraded the coastal matorral of Juniperus phoenicea L. Nonetheless, the species remains an important resource for the ecological balance. The estimation of the changes in land cover is a suitable method to evaluate the degradation rate of the matorral. The aim of the current study is to warn about the degradation of J. phoenicea in Saidia coastline by quantifying the inter-years dynamic of J. phoenicea matorral in 1965 (before the Plan Azur) in 2004 and 2021(after the Plan Azur). Estimation of changes in matorral cover rate was achieved by photo-interpretation. Analysis indicates that J. phoenicea matorral ecosystem of Saidia has been affected by a drop of 63% in land area, over a period of time not exceeding 17 years. Currently the picture of the coastal matorral of J. phoenicea is rather bleak; the vulnerability of this valuable resource has prompted us to raise the alarm in order to preserve remaining up shrubs to the present time.

David Phillips was born on 7 March 1924 in Ellesmere, Shropshire, a small country town with a population then of 2000, on the border between England and Wales. His father, Charles Harry Phillips, was a Master Tailor and a Wesleyan Methodist local preacher. His mother, Edith Harriet Phillips (née Finney), was a London-trained midwife, the organist at Ellesmere Methodist Church and a member of the Ellesmere Urban District Council. She was the daughter of Samuel Finney, who was one-time secretary of the Midland Miners' Federation, a Member of Parliament 1916-22, and also a Primitive Methodist local preacher. David's unusual middle name is the maiden surname of his mother's great-grandmother and it was a reminder that the family was supposed to be related to the Pilgrim Father James Chilton, who sailed on the Mayflower. David was known as Chilton Phillips in Ellesmere. There was one sister who was four years older than David. She left home at fourteen to train as a child nurse, later became a telephonist and married. Tragically, she died in 1942 from diabetes.

Abstract. In the OOMPH (Ocean Organics Modifying Particles in both Hemispheres) project a ship measurement cruise took place in the late austral summer from 1 to 23 March 2007. The French R/V Marion Dufresne sailed from Punta Arenas, Chile (70.85° W, 53.12° S) to La Reunion island (55.36° E, 21.06° S) across the southern Atlantic Ocean. In-situ measurements of hydrogen peroxide, methylhydroperoxide and ozone were performed and are compared to simulations with the atmospheric chemistry global circulation model EMAC. The model generally reproduces the measured trace gas levels, but underestimates hydrogen peroxide mixing ratios at high wind speeds, indicating too strong dry deposition to the ocean surface. An interesting feature during the cruise is a strong increase of hydrogen peroxide, methylhydroperoxide and ozone shortly after midnight off the west coast of Africa due to an increase in the boundary layer height, leading to downward transport from the free troposphere, which is realistically reproduced by the model.

Abstract. In the OOMPH (Ocean Organics Modifying Particles in both Hemispheres) project a ship measurement cruise took place in the late austral summer from 01 to 23 March 2007. The French research vessel Marion Dufresne sailed from Punta Arenas, Chile (70.85° W, 53.12° S), to Réunion island (55.36° E, 21.06° S) across the South Atlantic Ocean. In situ measurements of hydrogen peroxide, methylhydroperoxide and ozone were performed and are compared to simulations with the atmospheric chemistry global circulation model EMAC (ECHAM/MESSy Atmospheric Chemistry). The model generally reproduces the measured trace gas levels, but it underestimates hydrogen peroxide mixing ratios at high wind speeds, indicating too-strong dry deposition to the ocean surface. An interesting feature during the cruise is a strong increase of hydrogen peroxide, methylhydroperoxide and ozone shortly after midnight off the west coast of Africa due to an increase in the boundary layer height, leading to downward transport from the free troposphere, which is qualitatively reproduced by the model.

‘We seafarers … who share the seas’ is the expression of a collective identity and mutual responsibility. This article examines that collective identity among members of the Seamen’s Union of Australia and asks, what did internationalism mean in practice to seafarers themselves? Employing an oral history method, coupled with a reading of the union’s own printed media, it explores the seafarers’ understanding of internationalism that they claimed was ‘the language of seafarers’. It was grounded in the nature and reality of their work, and became their politics. The article takes as a case study the campaigns to restore democracy in Greece and Chile after military coups in 1967 and 1973 respectively, and the longer campaign against apartheid in South Africa, which began earlier, before 1960, and ended later, in 1990. These campaigns were conducted alongside many other trade unions, both in Australia and overseas, but maritime workers brought a unique inflection to activism as their internationalism expressed their connectedness across the oceans on which they sailed.

This article wanted to describe how the sea became a pillar in Bugis people’s life. The purpose of the study was to explain analytically concerning the Bugis people’s livelihoods related to the sea, such as being fishermen, carrying out trading activities, and piracy. The method used was the historical method which included heuristics, criticism, interpretation, and historiography. The results indicated that Bugis people from then until the colonial period mainly depended on the marine environment. They lived in coastal areas that were close to sea life and depended on their life to the sea. Some of Bugis livelihoods during the colonial period were being fishermen, trading activities, and becoming pirates. Some of the fishing products were consumed by themselves, and the rest were sold. Activities in the commercial sector were carried out through trading activities. They sailed and traded on an international and inter-insular scale. Some other Bugis people depended their lives on piracy. They pirated in coastal areas and in the archipelago ocean. This study concluded that Bugis people’s life could not be separated from a marine environment. It was through the sea that during the colonial period, they could exist, survive, and develop. For Bugis people, marine environment was seen as a pillar of the community’s economy.

AbstractIn the autumn of 1852, convinced that a successful search for her husband's missing expedition via Bering Strait could only be guaranteed by using a steam vessel, Jane, Lady Franklin, decided to dispatch such a vessel herself (this was the third such expedition she mounted). Her choice of vessel fell on the screw schooner Isabel, which Captain E.A. Inglefield had just brought back from his search of Smith Sound and Jones Sound. The captain she selected was William Kennedy, who, with Enseigne-de-vaisseau Joseph-René Bellot as second-in-command, had just returned from an expedition to the eastern Arctic in Prince Albert. After a few brief months of hectic preparations, in which Lady Franklin and her niece Sophia Cracroft played an unusually active role, Isabel sailed from the Thames on 1 April 1853, bound for Bering Strait via the Strait of Magellan. Despite warnings not to do so (largely due to the danger of losing his crew to the lure of the Californian and Australian gold rushes), Kennedy put into Valparaiso on 26 August 1853. Almost all his officers and crew jumped ship. After more than two years of frustration, during which he generated some revenue by several coastal voyages off Chile, at Lady Franklin's request Kennedy brought Isabel back to England in early December 1855. Isabel was found to have dry rot and was sold. Kennedy fell out with Lady Franklin and did not participate in any further Arctic searches.

Abstract. Each December during four years from 2006 to 2010, the surface water carbonate system was measured and investigated in the Amundsen Sea and Ross Sea, western Antarctica as part of the Oden Southern Ocean expeditions (OSO). The I/B Oden started in Punta Arenas in Chile and sailed southwest, passing through different regimes such as, the marginal/seasonal ice zone, fronts, coastal shelves, and polynyas. Discrete surface water was sampled underway for analysis of total alkalinity (AT), total dissolved inorganic carbon (CT) and pH. Two of these parameters were used together with sea-surface temperature (SST), and salinity to obtain a full description of the surface water carbonate system, including pH in situ and calcium carbonate saturation state of aragonite (ΩAr) and calcite (ΩCa). Multivariate analysis was used to investigate interannual variability and the major controls (sea-ice concentration, SST, salinity and chlorophyll a) on the variability in the carbonate system and Ω. This analysis showed that SST and chlorophyll a were the major drivers of the Ω variability in both the Amundsen and Ross seas. In 2007, the sea-ice edge was located further south and the area of the open polynya was relatively small compared to 2010. We found the lowest pH in situ (7.932) and Ω = 1 values in the sea-ice zone and in the coastal Amundsen Sea, nearby marine out flowing glaciers. In 2010, the sea-ice coverage was the largest and the areas of the open polynyas were the largest for the whole period. This year we found the lowest salinity and AT, coinciding with highest chl a. This implies that the highest ΩAr in 2010 was likely an effect of biological CO2 drawdown, which out-competed the dilution of carbonate ion concentration due to large melt water volumes. We predict and discuss future Ω values, using our data and reported rates of oceanic uptake of anthropogenic CO2, suggesting that the Amundsen Sea will become undersaturated with regard to aragonite about 20 yr sooner than predicted by models.

ABSTRACTObjective: to know the feelings and expectations of mothers of newborns in a neonatal intensive care unit. Method: a descriptive study with quantitative approach. The sample consisted of 13 mothers who had their infant in NICU, in June and July 2008. The instrument was a form; the first part with questions related to the mothers’ characterization and the second part containing variables of the study, with objective questions and multiple choice answers. The project was approved by the Research Ethics Committee of the University of the Sacred Heart under the protocol nr. 49/08. Results: most of the mothers were married young adults, had social security number, living in Bauru city, São Paulo, Brazil. Regarding the reaction to hospitalization, 77% were anxious and distressed, 61% were concerned at the moment of the interview, 38.5% felt comfortable and calm in the hospital, 84.5% reported that the mother/nursing staff was good, 77% said that there was a change in their daily life. Conclusion: the mothers showed feelings of worry, anxiety, calmness and hope. The majority believed that their child would leave soon from the NICU and that treatment would be effective, thus showing a relationship of trust with the team that assisted their newborn. Descriptors: mother; neonatal icu; nursing; neonatal nursing; newborn; nursing care; hospital care.RESUMOObjetivo: conhecer os sentimentos e expectativas de mães de recém nascidos em uma Unidade de Terapia Intensiva Neonatal. Método: estudo descritivo com abordagem quantitativa. A amostra foi constituída por 13 mães que tinham seu bebê internado na UTIN, nos meses de junho e julho de 2008. O instrumento foi um formulário, sendo a primeira parte com perguntas relacionadas à caracterização das mães e a segunda contendo as variáveis em estudo, com perguntas objetivas e respostas de múltipla escolha. O projeto foi aprovado pelo Comitê de Ética em Pesquisa da Universidade do Sagrado Coração, protocolo n. 49/08. Resultados: observou-se que a maioria das mães eram jovens adultas casadas, tinham registro em carteira de trabalho, residiam em Bauru/SP. Sobre a reação à internação, 77% ficaram preocupadas e angustiadas; 61% estavam preocupadas no momento da entrevista; 38,5% sentiam-se acolhidas e calmas no ambiente hospitalar; 84,5% referiram que o relacionamento mãe/equipe de enfermagem era bom; 77% disseram que houve mudança no seu dia a dia. Conclusão: as mães evidenciaram sentimentos de preocupação, angústia, calma e esperança. A maioria acreditava que seu bebe sairia logo da UTINN e que o tratamento seria eficaz, demonstrando uma relação de confiança com a equipe que prestava assistência ao seu filho. Descritores: mãe; uti neonatal; enfermagem; enfermagem neonatal, recém-nascido; cuidados de enfermagem; assistência hospitalar.RESUMENObjetivo: conocer los sentimientos y expectativas de las madres de los recién nacidos en una unidad de cuidados intensivos neonatal. Método: estudio descriptivo, con enfoque cuantitativo. La muestra estuvo constituida por 13 madres que habían tenido su bebé en el hospital UCIN en los meses de junio y julio de 2008. El instrumento fue un formulario; la primera parte, constituyó de cuestiones relacionadas con la caracterización de las madres y la segunda parte, con las variables en estudio, con preguntas objetivas y respuestas de elección múltiple. El proyecto fue aprobado por el Comité de Ética en Pesquisa de la Universidad del Sagrado Corazón, bajo el Protocolo de 49/08. Resultados: se observó que la mayoría de las madres eran adultos jóvenes casadas, tenían cartera de trabajo y viven en Bauru/SP. En cuanto la reacción a la hospitalización, 77% estaban ansiosas y angustiadas, 61% estaban preocupadas en el momento de la entrevista, y 38,5% sentían se bienvenidas y tranquilas en el hospital, 84,5% informó de el relacionamiento madre/ equipo de enfermería era bueno, 77% dijo que hubo cambio en el día a día. Conclusión: las madres demostraron sentimientos de preocupación, ansiedad, calma y esperanza. La mayoría acreditaba que su bebé volvería pronto de la UTIN y que el tratamiento sería eficaz, lo que muestra una relación de confianza con el equipo que trató a su hijo. Descriptores: madre; uci neonatal; enfermería; enfermería neonatal; recién-nascido; atencíon de enfermería; atención hospitalaria.

Maritime State is a country situated in the territorial sea, has many islands, surrounded by the sea and the waters of the region, and most of the inhabitants work in the territorial waters. Indonesia as a Maritime State has been recognized by the world through UNCLOS 1982, this recognition was later ratified by Act No. 17 of the year 1985. The importance of instilling a culture of the Musée on early education is as the formation of the character and mindset of a child as a person who dares to take risks like a sailor who must always think to take risks when in the sea. So when an adult later Indonesia children grow into the next generation of the nation dared to take risks, are accustomed to critical thinking, understanding nature around, so hopefully can explore nature Indonesia so that useful and beneficial for the existence of the nation and the State of the next article. By applying the leading culture began early expected later the younger generation grow up to be a generation that can explore and exploit nature Indonesia especially Indonesia sea that hold tremendous wealth that can be beneficial for nation in sustainability in the future.

Those of us who were born inland, deep inside the continent, have a fixed memory of the first time we saw the sea, the hugeness that goes beyond anything a child can ever imagine, the roaring that seems to want to share a secret which we shall never learn. One of the constants running through the oeuvre of Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) is an allusion to the beaches of the Ganges, where the poet meditated and on which, as the laureate himself told the world in his speech of acceptance of the Swedish prize, he heard the “muse” that prompted him to compose his verses1. On the other hand, we also know, from his numerous trips to Europe and the United States, that he was acquainted with several oceans, in addition to the Indian one, owing to the many times he sailed their waves on his journeys. Over this course, he started to make out that other boundless, shoreless ocean of which he speaks to us. He does this, for instance, in his Gitanjali (Song Offerings), one of his key works, of which André Gide would say that Tagore was seeking God in a “coloured reflection” 2, thus pointing to the keen and vibrant spirituality of this extremely famous collection of poems, published in the bard’s own translation into English a year before he received the Nobel Prize. Here, he tells us in the poem ‘Ocean of Forms’

Stuart Anderson (‘JS’ to most colleagues, and in this memoir) was born on 9 January 1908 at 134 Englefield Road, Islington, London (U. K.) and died on 25 December 1990 at the Woden Valley Hospital, Canberra (Australia). He was the youngest child and only son of John Anderson (1850-1916), a master cabinet maker who was born and brought up in Aberdeen, and Emma Sarah, née Pitt (born Ipswich, died 1937). Knowledge of his ancestry is limited and contains no suggestion of science, his antecedents being in business or teaching or, in the case of his maternal grandfather, a sailor. His parents, both widowed, married about 1901-2. Being of his father’s previous marriage, two step-sisters were much older than he, by about 20 years; his sister Olive was about four years older. His father was a good violinist and also played the cello; he enjoyed musical evenings with his daughters and friends, playing instrumental quartets and sometimes more ambitious efforts such as, on one occasion as JS recalled, ‘Handel’s Toy Symphony’ [ sic .]. The house was well stocked with books, especially the main classics of the Victorian period; but family circumstances, at first ‘modestly prosperous’, declined in the years just before and during World War I, catastrophically so in 1916, when his father died. Just before that, his mother went to work in a munitions factory, his sister left school early and they suffered upwards of ten years of great difficulty and acute poverty. He believed that these years which, due to his mother’s ‘overdone ideals about gentility’, were solitary and self-contained ones, left on him a permanent mark; a lack of self-confidence, mainly manifest as shyness and an inability to get on with people. He was certainly a private man but, at least after he passed the age of 30, his younger colleagues did not detect this supposed lack of self-confidence.

Playing in childhood we are presented with foundational puzzles. Many of these arise directly from our negotiations with the laws of physics; others arise from the deliberate activities of our elders, teachers and siblings. As we sit on our grandmother’s knee we are presented with a range of playful and deceptive games. Something as simple as a loop of wool can initiate this play: now it is a straight thread; now it is a loop. Something as simple as the opening hand is the potential source of a problem that may stay with us for a lifetime: now it is a hand with open palm; now it is a fist that hides. Something as simple as a dropped toy ball can initiate the motive to engage with the world as a problem: now it is here, at hand; now it is gone, down there and rolling away. While each of these events is real, the space and time of such play can be described as an illusion. The figure of this illusion is itself a loop within which a special kind of logic pertains. This logic is illustrated in D. W. Winnicott’s concept of illusory experience and in John Dewey’s concept of perplexity as the source of human thinking. As illusions, loops are puzzling; as real objects and events, loops pre-figure and offer to mediate the development of our understanding of our being in the world. Donald Woods Winnicott (1896-1971) a British child psychoanalyst, spent much of his time exploring the relationships that children form with objects. His work offers accounts of an extraordinary array of everyday engagements that children have with simple things such as their own toes and bits of string. A key aspect of Winnicott’s theories of the formative years is the sustaining of a loop, or in Winnicott’s terms, "an intermediate state" between the child and reality. I am here staking a claim for an intermediate state between a baby’s inability and his growing ability to recognize and accept reality. I am therefore studying the substance of illusion, that which is allowed to the infant, and which in adult life is inherent in art and religion, and yet becomes the hallmark of madness when an adult puts too powerful a claim on the credulity of others, forcing them to acknowledge a sharing of illusion that is not their own. We can share a respect for illusory experience, and if we wish we may collect together and form a group on the basis of the similarity of our illusory experiences. This is a natural root of grouping among human beings. (Winnicott 3) Social groups establish preferred forms to account for dynamic systems in everyday life. The hand, for example, might be generally agreed to be an open hand, at rest, which means that fingers are curved towards the palm and the palm is down. The number of variations in the way in which a hand might be found, and described, is so large as to be able to symbolise an entire language. From the outside, to a non-signer, it is an illusion that hand-signing is language, just as it is an illusion that spoken and written languages are languages to those who do not share the particular language illusion. Within the range of possible hand gestures, a loop or tension-of-illusion is established: those in the loop can comprehend the signing as language; those outside the loop can only pretend that the illusion works. Recalling that the word "illusion" takes its origin in the Latin for play ("ludere") it comes as no surprise that initiation games frequently use spurious loop activities to trap the outsider in ways that will embarrass the new-comer. The sense of mockery in the word "illusion" is made evident as the new-comer has no way of determining the validity of the pretend inside information. Suggestions that they drink some foul concoction can only be answered by drinking the concoction: there is no way from the outside of the illusion group to resolve the challenge. To enter the inside of the loop, the new-comer has to cross some kind of line in a way that leaves a mark: the affect of embarrassment is often enough. Our ability to suspend disbelief and sustain the illusion as loop is a fundamental requirement of our social being and of our cognitive development. "Once upon a time" is a call to step inside the loop of fiction where things may emerge that cannot otherwise emerge. While this loop may be seen as nothing more than an inner fantasy world, it is impossible to sustain this concept unless we deny the common reality of such a world. The world of the loop is not some kind of denial of an outer reality, nor is it an assertion of an inner freedom that can remain separate to an external reality. We may claim to make words mean whatever we wish them to mean in an inner and private dimension, but in making such a claim we must use a common meaning of "meaning" and we must use the syntax and grammar of a language. Much as we might wish for such an interiority, Winnicott requires us to recognise the further need for an "intermediate area of experience". This intermediate area is the public space of shared illusion: It is an area that is not challenged, because no claim is made on its behalf except that it shall exist as a resting-place for the individual engaged in the perpetual human task of keeping inner and outer reality separate yet interrelated. (Winnicott 2) In this intermediate area, it is possible to sustain illusions only in relation to a presumed other reality. That is, the logics of illusion are logics that apply, if differently, in the outer and inner realms of experience. The reality of a loop may seem soft. Loops are readily formed without substantial alteration of the loop forming material. Loops are also frightening in their potential operation as capturing devices. The forces they can activate are deadly. As dynamic objects, loops offer their own interpretation of Winnicott’s concept of illusion. At some point the game or play of illusions terminates in a disclosure of closure that instructs the play. The closed hand that hides the marble opens to reveal the marble. One moment in the play of logics is elected or given a priority. The relative stability of this pattern is made obvious in certain forms of illusion that take illusions as their "fixed" shape. Knitting, for example, consists of loops interlocked with loops. As anyone who has pulled knitting apart knows, interlocking is fundamentally an illusion in its making and a disillusion in its pulling apart. Knitting can then be seen, in this sense to be "fake". Fakes "Fake" does not mean "false" except that we have come to see the dressing up of things as being insubstantial and therefore not warranting attention. Worse, we see "fake" as being morally repugnant in that a fake thing takes the place of a real thing. But "fake" also means "a coil of rope". In this case, the fake is substantial while ever it exists. Thus, a fake is a kind of benevolent illusion. The shape that the coil of rope makes is no less real, in time, than the ship-deck on which it is formed. When it is uncoiled, the rope takes on its "true" or active shape. Should the uncoiled rope form a loop, this loop is potentially malevolent. It may take the leg of a sailor. In childhood, this game is played out using simple loops and slip knots that hold but let go when pulled. The dynamic forms are sometimes the illusion; sometimes it is the static form that is the illusion. That is, the pragmatic interpretation allows for the display of the fake as a cognitive toy. Any state of the dynamic form may take priority at any one time for the purposes of the use of the system. When we sit down, our height differences are reduced: this fake is a crucial part of our social world. Loops Winnicott lets us see the life-long significance of the looping and faking that we daily use to sustain our dynamic worlds . In our loop worlds we establish a space "between thumb and the teddy bear, between the oral erotism and the true object-relationship" (Winnicott 2). Within the loop, the status of objects and systems is open to transformation, just as, over time, in the material world, objects and systems are transformed. The valency of any object or system, viewed from within the loop, is fundamentally indeterminate and hence open. It is within this loop-logic that we can understand the ironic singing of songs whose content is radically alternative to the situation of the singing: children can be heard singing songs filled with sexual connotations without there being any awareness of the inappropriate content; many people can hear and sing along with Bette Midler’s rendition of "God is watching us" without the irony striking home that God is doing this from a distance of total indifference. The tongue in Bette’s cheek could not get any bigger, but from within the loop, the song can have any value the singer selects. While we may sustain fantasy worlds as intermediate worlds, Winnicott makes obvious that "the mother’s main task (next to providing opportunity for illusion) is disillusionment" (Winnicott 12). At some point the disjunction between illusion and reality becomes perplexing. The ball that the child drops does evade the child’s grasp. It is not simply a matter of sustaining the mood. Either the ball can be recovered or else it cannot. Perplexity and the Dialectic of Loss John Dewey (1859-1952) is a major figure in American pragmatist schools of philosophy and in educational philosophy, especially problem-based theories of learning. His work bridges the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and covers all the major social and cultural issues of his day. As a thorough thinker, Dewey offers to provide explanations for most aspects of what is practically required of us in our living socially responsible lives. Even our "negative" affects, such as perplexity, are presented by Dewey as indicators of our practical connection with reality. For Dewey, perplexity is a key feature of the state of mind that initiates the growth of the individual through engagement with the problematics of the world in which they live. Dewey points out that "thinking begins as soon as the baby who has lost the ball that he is playing with begins to foresee the possibility of something not yet existing—its recovery" (How We Think 89). Losing the ball creates a difficulty, seeing that the ball might be recovered, the child is then able to move to resolve the difficulty, through action, in the real world. In this simple form we can determine the process of thesis (loss), anti-thesis (promise of recovery or remedy), synthesis (resolution of the problem with an enhanced understanding of the process). The theological allusions should not be discounted in this model. Nor should we forget Winnicott’s caution here "that the task of reality-acceptance is never completed". The ball game is still a game that retains the general forgiveness of the loop in that the real loss is mitigated by the surrounding and support "illusion" that the parent will recover the ball for the child. It may be socially frowned on, but adults still drop things just to instigate the "illusion" that others will recover their loss (for an extended account of Dewey’s notion of perplexity, see Russell). Still, the loss of the ball is a problem that holds very real interest for the baby and therefore the problem is perplexing. According to Dewey: "Interest marks the annihilation of the distance between the person and the materials and results of his action; it is the sign of their organic union" (Middle Works 160). Being "entirely taken up with" (p. 160) the loss of the ball, the baby experiences the situation in what McLuhan describes as "depth". In the depth approach attention is able to shift from content to attention itself: "Consciousness itself is an inclusive process not at all dependent on content. Consciousness does not postulate consciousness in particular" (McLuhan 247). Conclusion The capacity of consciousness to take an interest, in Dewey’s terms, is the same capacity that consciousness displays in the sustaining of the loop of illusion. For Dewey, "interest marks the annihilation of the distance between the person and the materials and results of his action". This annihilation, in Winnicott’s gentler terms, is more of respite in the long journey. For Winnicott "no human being is free from the strain of relating inner and outer reality". The intermediary illusions remain illusions even if they are instructive. For Dewey, the focus on perplexity allows that the strain is integrated in an affect-complex that both sustains the illusion ("I can get the ball back") in the manner of a hypothesis ("I had the ball, I lost the ball—losing the ball was a process, regaining the ball could also be a process—I can have the ball again"). Granted, Dewey, as a pragmatist, starts with a real world process. Nonetheless, his approach points to the deeper connections between consciousness itself and the operations of the psychological development of the individual. From the perspective of perplexity, the puzzles of childhood are also the puzzles of the adult. As adults we continue to play with loops of all kinds. We maintain intermediary spaces and we conspire in the social illusions of language References Dewey, John. How We Think: A Restatement of the Relation of Reflective Thinking to the Educative Process. Boston: D.C. Heath, 1933. Dewey, John. The Middle Works, 1899-1924. Ed. Jo Ann Boydston. Vol. 7. Carbondale and Edwardsville: South Illinios U P, 1979. McLuhan, Marshall. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. New York: Signet, 1964. Russell, Keith. "The Problem of the Problem and Perplexity." Themes and Variations in PBL. Proc. of the 5th International Biennial PBL Conference, 7-10 Jul. 1999, U of Quebec. U of Newcastle: PROBLARC, 1999. 180-95. Winnicott, D. W. Playing and Reality. London: Tavistock, 1971. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Russell, Keith. "Loops and Fakes and Illusions" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.4 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/mc/0208/fakes.php>. Chicago Style Russell, Keith, "Loops and Fakes and Illusions" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 4 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/mc/0208/fakes.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Russell, Keith. (2002) Loops and Fakes and Illusions. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(4). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/mc/0208/fakes.php> ([your date of access]).

IntroductionThis paper addresses two separate notions of embodiment – western maternal embodiment and art making as a form of embodied critical resistance. It takes as its subject breeder; my unpublished five minute video installation from 2012, which synthesises these two separate conceptual framings of embodiment as a means to visually and conceptually rupture dominant ideologies surrounding Australian motherhood. Emerging from a paradoxical landscape of fear, loathing and desire, breeder is my dark satirical take on ambivalent myths surrounding suburban Australian motherhood. Portraying my white, heavily pregnant body breeding, cooking and consuming pink, sugar-coated butterflies, breeder renders literal the Australian mother as both idealised nation-builder and vilified, self-indulgent abuser. A feminine reification of Goya’s Saturn Devouring His Children, breeder attempts to make visible my own grapplings with maternal ambivalence, to complicate even further, the already strained position of motherhood within the Australian cultural imaginary. Employing the mediums of video and performance to visually manifest an ambivalent protagonist who displays both nurturing maternal ideals and murderous inclinations, breeder pushes contradictory maternal expectations to their breaking point and challengingly offers the following proposition: “This is what you want; but what you’ll get is so much more than you bargained for” (Grosz 136). Drawing upon critical, feminist theorising that challenges idealised views of motherhood; accounts of motherhood by mothers themselves; as well as my own personal grapplings with maternal expectations, this paper weaves reflexive writing with textual analysis to explore how an art-based methodology of embodied critical resistance can problematise representations of motherhood within Australia. By visualising the disjuncture between dominant representations of motherhood that have saturated Australian mainstream media since the late 1990s and the complex ambivalent reality of some women’s actual experiences of mothering, this paper discusses how breeder’s intimate portrayal of maternal domesticity at the limits of tolerability, critically resists socially acceptable mothering practices by satirising the cultural construct of motherhood as a means “to use it, deform it, and make it groan and protest” (Nietzsche qtd. in Gutting).Contradictory Maternal KnowledgeImages of motherhood are all around us; communicating ideals and stereotypes that tell us how mothers should feel, think and act. But these images and the concepts of motherhood that underpin them are full of contradictions. Cultural representations of the idealised and sometimes “yummy mummy” - middle class, attractive, healthy, sexy and heterosexual – (see Fraser; Johnson), contrast with depictions of “bad” mothers, leading to motherhood being simultaneously idealised and demonised within the popular press (Bullen et al.; McRobbie, Top Girls; McRobbie, In the Aftermath; McRobbie, Reflections on Feminism; Walkerdine et al.). Mothers own accounts of motherhood reflect these unsettling contradictions (Miller; Thomson et al.; Wilkinson). Claiming the maternal experience is both “heaven and hell” due to the daily experience of irreconcilable and contradictory feelings (Coward), mothers (myself included), silently struggle between feelings of extreme love and opposing feelings of failure, despair and hate as we get caught up in trying to achieve a set of ideals that promulgate standards of perfection that are beyond our reach. Surrounded by images of motherhood that do not resonate with the contradictory nature of the lived maternal experience, mothers are “torn in two” as we desperately try to reconcile or find absolution for maternal emotions that dominant cultural representations of motherhood render unacceptable. According to Roszika Parker, this complicated and contradictory experience where a mother has both loving and hating feelings for her child is that of maternal ambivalence; a form of exquisite suffering that oscillates between the overwhelming affect of blissful gratification and the raw edges of bitter resentment (Parker 1). As Parker states, maternal ambivalence refers to:Those fleeting (or not so fleeting) feelings of hatred for a child that can grip a mother, the moment of recoil from a much loved body, the desire to abandon, to smash the untouched plate of food in a toddler’s face, to yank a child’s arm while crossing the road, scrub too hard with a face cloth, change the lock on an adolescent or the fantasy of hurling a howling baby out of the window (5).However, it is not only feelings of hatred that stir up ambivalence in the mother, so too can the overwhelming intensity of love itself render the rush of ambivalence so surprising and so painful. Commenting on the extreme contradictory emotions that fill a mother and how not only excessive hatred, but excessive love can turn dangerously fatal, Parker turns to Simone De Beauvoir’s idea of “carnal plenitude”; that is, where the child elicits from the mother, the emotion of domination; where the child becomes the “other” who is both prey and double (30). For Parker, De Beauvoir’s “carnal plenitude” is imaged by mothers in a myriad of ways, from a desire to gobble up the child, to feelings of wanting to gather the child into a fatal smothering hug. Commenting on her own unsettling love/hate relationship with her child, Adrienne Rich describes her experiences of maternal ambivalences as “the murderous alternation between bitter resentment and raw-edged nerves and blissful gratification and tenderness” (363). Unable to come to terms with this paradox at the core of the unfolding process of motherhood, our culture defends itself against this illogical ambivalence in the mother by separating the good nurturing mother from the bad neglectful mother in an attempt to deny the fact that they are one and the same. Resulting in a culture that either denigrates or idealises mothers, we are constantly presented with images of the good perfect nurturing mother and her murderous alter ego; the bad fatal mother who neglects and smothers. This means that how a mother feels about mothering or the meaning it has for her, is heavily determined by cultural representations of motherhood. Arguing for a creative transformation of the maternal that breaches the mutual exclusivities that separate motherhood, I am called to action by Susan Rubin Suleiman, who writes (quoting psychoanalyst Helene Deutsch): “Mothers don’t write, they are written” (Suleiman 5). As a visual attempt to negotiate, translate and thus “write” my lived experience of Australian motherhood, breeder gives voice to the raw material of contradictory (and often taboo experiences) surrounding maternal embodiment and subjectivity. Hijacking and redeploying contradictory understandings and representations of Australian motherhood to push maternal ideals to their breaking point, breeder seeks to create a kind of “mother trouble” that challenges the disjuncture between dominant social constructions of motherhood designed to keep us assigned to our proper place. Viscerally embracing the reality that much of life with small children revolves around loss of control and disintegration of physical boundaries, breeder visually explores the complex and contradictory performances surrounding lived experiences of mothering within Australia to complicate even further the already strained position of western maternal embodiment.Situated Maternal KnowledgeOver the last decade and a half, women’s bodies and their capacity to reproduce have become centre stage in the unfolding drama of Australian economic policy. In 1999 fears surrounding dwindling birth-rates and less future tax revenue, led then Victorian Premier Jeff Kennett to address a number of exclusive private girls’ schools. Making Australia-wide headlines, Kennett urged these affluent young women to abandon their desire for a university degree and instead invited them to consider motherhood as the ultimate career choice (Dever). In 2004, John Howard’s Liberal government made headlines as they announced the new maternity allowance; a $3000 lump-sum financial incentive for women to leave work and have babies. Ending this announcement by urging the assembled gathering of mostly male reporters to go home and have “one for the Dad, one for the Mum and one for the Country” (Baird and Cutcher 103), Federal Treasurer Peter Costello made a last ditch effort to save Baby Boomers from their imminent pensionless doom. Failing to come to terms with the impending saturation of the retirement market without the appropriate tax payer support, the Liberal Government turned baby-making into the ultimate Patriotic act as they saw in women bodies, the key to prevent Australia’s looming economic crisis. However, not all women’s bodies were considered up to the job of producing the longed for “Good tax-paying Citizen” (Tyler). Kennett only visited exclusive private girls’ schools (Ferrier), headhunting only the highest calibre of affluent breeders. Blue-collar inter-mingling was to be adamantly discouraged. Costello’s 2004 “baby bonus” catch-cry not only caused international ire, but also implicitly relegated the duty of child-bearing patriotism to a normalised heterosexual, nuclear family milieu. Unwed or lesbian mothers need not apply. Finally, as government spokespeople repeatedly proclaimed that the new maternity allowance was not income tested, this suggested that the target nation-builder breeder demographic was the higher than average income earner. Let’s get it straight people – only highly skilled, high IQ’s, heterosexual, wedded, young, white women were required in this exclusive breeding program (see Allen and Osgood; Skeggs; Tyler). And if the point hadn’t already been made perfectly clear, newspaper tabloids, talkback radio and current affairs programs all over the country were recruited to make sure the public knew exactly what type of mother Australia was looking for. Out of control young, jobless single mothers hit the headlines as fears abounded that they were breeding into oblivion. An inherently selfish and narcissistic lot, you could be forgiven for thinking that Australia was running rampant with so-called bogan single mothers, who left their babies trapped in hot airless cars in casino carparks all over the country as they spent their multiple “baby bonus’” on booze, ciggies, LCD’s and gambling (see Milne; O’Connor; Simpson and Dowling). Sucking the economy dry as they leeched good tax-payer dollars from Centrelink, these undesirables were the mothers Australia neither needed nor wanted. Producing offspring relegated to the category of bludgerhood before they could even crawl, these mothers became the punching bag for the Australian cultural imaginary as newspaper headlines screamed “Thou Shalt Not Breed” (Gordon). Seen as the embodiment of horror regarding the ever out-of-control nature of women’s bodies, these undesirable mothers materialised out of a socio-political landscape that although idealised women’s bodies as Australia’s economic saviour, also feared their inability to be managed and contained. Hoarding their capacity to reproduce for their own selfish narcissistic desires, these white trash mothers became the horror par excellence within the Australian cultural imaginary as they were publically regarded as the vilified evil alter-ego of the good, respectable white affluent young mother Australian policy makers were after. Forums all over the country were inundated. “Yes,” the dominant voices seemed to proclaim: “We want to build our population. We need more tax-paying citizens. But we only want white, self-less, nurturing, affluent mothers. We want women who can breed us moral upstanding subjects. We do not want lazy good for nothing moochers.” Emerging from this paradoxical maternal landscape of fear, loathing and desire, breeder is a visual and performative manifestation of my own inability to come to terms with the idealisation and denigration of motherhood within Australia. Involving a profound recognition that the personal is still the political, I not only attempt to visually trace the relationship between popular Australian cultural formations and individual experiences, but also to visually “write” my own embodied grapplings with maternal ambivalence. Following the premise that “critique without resistance is empty and resistance without critique is blind” (Hoy 6), I find art practice to be a critically situated and embodied act that can openly resist the power of dominant ideologies by highlighting maternal corporeal transgressions. A creative destablising action, I utilise the mediums of video and performance within breeder to explore personal, historical and culturally situated expectations of motherhood within Australia as a means to subvert dominant ideologies of motherhood within the Australian cultural imaginary. Performing Maternal KnowledgeReworking Goya’s Romantic Gothic vision of fatherhood in Saturn Devouring His Children, breeder is a five minute two-screen video performance that puts an ironic twist to the “good” and “bad” myths of Australian motherhood. Depicting myself as the young white heavily pregnant protagonist breeding monarch butterflies in my suburban backyard, sugar-coating, cooking and then eating them, breeder uses an exaggerated kitsch aesthetic to render literal the Australian mother as both idealistic nation-builder and self-indulgent abuser. Selfishly hoarding my breeding potential for myself, luxuriating and devouring my “offspring” for my own pleasure and delight rather than for the common good, breeder simultaneously defies and is complicit with motherhood expectations within the suburban Australian imaginary. Filmed in my backyard in the southern suburbs of Perth, Western Australia, breeder manifests my own maternal ambivalence and deliberately complicates the dichotomous and strained position motherhood holds in western society. Breeder is presented as a two screen video installation. The left screen is a fast-paced, brightly coloured, jump-cut narrative with a pregnant protagonist (myself). It has three main scenes or settings: garden, kitchen and terrace. The right screen is a slow-moving flow of images that shows the entire monarch butterfly breeding cycle in detail; close ups of eggs slowly turning into caterpillars, caterpillars creating cocoons and the gradual opening of wings as butterflies emerge from cocoons. All the while, the metamorphic cycle is aided by the pregnant protagonist, who cares for them until she sets them free of their breeding cage. In the left screen, apricot roses, orange trees, yellow hibiscus bushes, lush green lawns, a swimming pool and an Aussie backyard garden shed are glimpsed as the pregnant protagonist runs, jumps and sneaks up on butterflies while brandishing a red-handled butterfly net; dressed in red high heels and a white lace frock. Bunnies with pink bows jump, dogs in pink collars bark and a very young boy dressed in a navy-blue sailor suit all make cameo appearances as large monarch butterflies are collected and placed inside a child’s cherry red insect container. In a jump-cut transition, the female protagonist appears in a stark white kitchen; now dressed in a bright pink and apricot floral apron and baby-pink hair ribbon tied in a bow in her blonde ponytail. Standing behind the kitchen bench, she carefully measures sugar into a bowl. She then adds pink food colouring into the crystal white sugar, turning it into a bright pink concoction. Cracking eggs and separating them, she whisks the egg whites to form soft marshmallow peaks. Dipping a paint brush into the egg whites, she paints the fluffy mixture onto the butterflies (now dead), which are laid out on a well-used metal biscuit tray. Using her fingers to sprinkle the bright pink sugar concoction onto the butterflies, she then places them into the oven to bake and stands back with a smile. In the third and final scene, the female protagonist sits down at a table in a garden terrace in front of French-styled doors. Set for high tea with an antique floral tea pot and cup, lace table cloth and petit fours, she pours herself a cup of tea. Adding a teaspoon of sugar, she stirs and then selects a strawberry tart from a three-tiered high-tea stand that holds brightly iced cupcakes, cherry friands, tiny lemon meringue pies, sweet little strawberry tarts and pink sugar coated butterflies. Munching her way through tarts, pies, friands and cupcakes, she finally licks her lips and fuchsia tipped fingers and then carefully chooses a pink sugar coated butterfly. Close ups of her crimson coated mouth show her licking the pink sugar-crumbs from lips and fingers as she silently devours the butterfly. Leaning back in chair, she smiles, then picks up a pink leather bound book and relaxes as she begins to read herself into the afternoon. Screen fades to black. ConclusionAs a mother I am all fragmented, contradictory; full of ambivalence, love, guilt and shame. After seventeen years and five children, you would think that I would be used to this space. Instead, it is a space that I battle to come to terms with each and every day. So how to strategically negotiate engrained codes of maternity and embrace the complexities of embodied maternal knowledge? Indeed, how to speak of the difficulties and incomparable beauties of the maternal without having those variously inflected and complex experiences turn into clichés of what enduring motherhood is supposed to be? Visually and performatively grappling with my own fallout from mothering ideals and expectations where sometimes all I feel I am left with is “a monster of selfishness and intolerance” (Rich 363), breeder materialises my own experiences with maternal ambivalence and my inability to reconcile or negotiate multiple contradictory identities into a single maternal position. Ashamed of my self, my body, my obsessions, my anger, my hatred, my rage, my laughter, my sorrow and most of all my oscillation between a complete and utter desire to kill each and every one of my children and an overwhelming desire to gobble them all up, I make art work that is embedded in the grime and grittiness of my everyday life as a young mother living in the southern suburbs of Western Australia. A life that is most often mundane, sometimes sad, embarrassing, rude and occasionally heartbreaking. A life filled with such simple joy and such complicated sorrow. A life that in reality, is anything but manageable and contained. Although this is my experience, I know that I am not the only one. As an artist I engage in the embodied and critically resistant practice of sampling from my “mother” identities in order to bring out multiple, conflictive responses that provocatively encourage new ways of thinking and acknowledging embodied maternal knowledge. Although claims abound that this results in a practice that is “too personal” or “too specific” (Liss xv), I do not believe that this in fact risks reifying essentialism. Despite much feminist debate over the years regarding essentialist/social constructivist positions, I would still rather use my body as a site of embodied knowledge then rhetorically give it up. Acting as a disruption and challenge to the concepts of idealised or denigrated maternal embodiment, the images and performances of motherhood in breeder then, are more than simple acknowledgements of the reality of the good and bad mother, or acts reclaiming an identity that they taught me to despise (Cliff) or rebelling against having to be a "woman" at all. Instead, breeder is a lucid and explicit declaration of intent that politely refuses to keep every maternal body in its place.References Allen, Kim, and Jane Osgood. “Young Women Negotiating Maternal Subjectivities: The Significance of Social Class.” Studies in the Maternal. 1.2 (2009). 30 July 2012 ‹www.mamsie.bbk.ac.uk›.Almond, Barbara. The Monster Within. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011.Baird, Marian, and Leanne Cutcher. “’One for the Father, One for the Mother and One for the Country': An Examination of the Construction of Motherhood through the Prism of Paid Maternity Leave.” Hecate 31.2 (2005): 103-113. Bullen, Elizabeth, Jane Kenway, and Valerie Hey. “New Labour, Social Exclusion and Educational Risk Management: The Case of ‘Gymslip Mums’.” British Educational Research Journal. 26.4 (2000): 441-456.Cliff, Michelle. Claiming an Identity They Taught Me to Despise. Michigan: Persephone Press, 1980.Coward, Ross. “The Heaven and Hell of Mothering: Mothering and Ambivalence in the Mass Media.” In Wendy Hollway and Brid Featherston, eds. Mothering and Ambivalence. London: Routledge, 1997.Dever, Maryanne. “Baby Talk: The Howard Government, Families and the Politics of Difference.” Hecate 31.2 (2005): 45-61Ferrier, Carole. “So, What Is to Be Done about the Family?” Australian Humanities Review (2006): 39-40.Fraser, Liz. The Yummy Mummy Survival Guide. New York: Harper Collins, 2007.Gutting, Gary. Foucault: A Very Short Introduction. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005.Gordon, Josh. “Thou Shalt Not Breed.” The Age, 9 May 2010.Grosz, Elizabeth. Volatile Bodies. St Leonards: Allen and Unwin, 1986.Hoy, David C. Critical Resistance. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2005.Johnson, Anna. The Yummy Mummy Manifesto: Baby, Beauty, Body and Bliss. New York: Ballantine, 2009.Liss, Andrea. Feminist Art and the Maternal. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2009.McRobbie, Angela. “Top Girls: Young Women and the Post-Feminist Sexual Contract.” Cultural Studies. 21. 4. (2007): 718-737.---. In the Aftermath of Feminism: Gender, Culture and Social Change. London: Sage. 2008.---. “Reflections on Feminism, Immaterial Labour and the Post-Fordist Regime.” New Formations 70 (Winter 2011): 60-76. 30 July 2012 ‹http://dx.doi.org.dbgw.lis.curtin.edu.au/10.3898/NEWF.70.04.2010›.Miller, Tina. Making Sense of Motherhood: A Narrative Approach. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 2005.Milne, Glenn. “Baby Bonus Rethink.” The Courier Mail 11 Nov. 2006. 30 Sep. 2011 ‹http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/national-old/baby-bonus-rethink/story-e6freooo-1111112507517›.O’Connor, Mike. “Baby Bonus Budget Handouts a Luxury We Can Ill Afford.” The Courier Mai. 5 Dec. 2011. 30 Apr. 2012 ‹http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/opinion/handouts-luxury-we-can-ill-afford/story-e6frerdf-1226213654447›.Parker, Roszika. Mother Love/Mother Hate, London: Virago Press, 1995.Rich, Adrienne. “Anger and Tenderness.” In M. Davey, ed. Mother Reader. New York: Seven Stories Press, 2001.Simpson, Kirsty, and Jason Dowling. “Gambling Soars in Child Bonus Week”. The Sunday Age Aug. 2004. 28 Apr. 2012 ‹http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/opinion/handouts-luxury-we-can-ill-afford/story-e6frerdf-1226213654447›.Skeggs, Beverly. Formations of Class and Gender: Becoming Respectable. London: Sage, 1997.Suleiman, Susan. “Writing and Motherhood,” Mother Reader Ed. Moyra Davey. New York: Seven Stories Press, 2001. 113-138Thomson, Rachel, Mary Jane Kehily, Lucy Hadfield, and Sue Sharpe. Making Modern Mothers. Bristol: Policy Press, 2011. 30 July 2012 ‹http://www.policypress.co.uk/display.asp?K=9781847426055&sf1=keyword&st1=motherhood&m=1&dc=16›.Tyler, Imogen. “’Chav Mum, Chav Scum’: Class Disgust in Contemporary Britain.” Feminist Media Studies 8.2. (2008): 17-34. 31 July 2012 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/14680770701824779›.Walkerdine, Valerie, Helen Lucey, and Melody June. Growing Up Girl: Psychosocial Explorations of Gender and Class. London: Palgrave. 2001. Wilkinson, Tony. Uncertain Surrenders: The Coexistence of Beauty and Menace in the Maternal Bond and Photography. PhD thesis. Perth: Edith Cowan University, 2012. 31 July 2012 ‹http://ro.ecu.edu.au/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1458&context=theses›.

Photograph by Gonzalo Echeverria (2010)Donald Crowhurst wanted to sail around the world. Or he wanted the world to believe he had sailed around it. Whilst the rest of the competitors in the 1968-9 Sunday Times Golden Globe Race sailed their wonky crafts through treacherous seas, Crowhurst dropped anchor in the quiet waters of the South Atlantic and falsified his logs. For artist Tacita Dean, who has made a number of works about Crowhurst (Disappearance at Sea, Teignmouth Electron): Crowhurst's problem was that he had an imagination. You can't have any imagination if you are going to sail around the world, otherwise you have doubt. Crowhurst had doubt, he imagined failure ... . I think it’s crucial to art as well that you somehow imagine failure. Doubt is very important (17). ** In developing this issue of M/C Journal we were interested in two related questions about doubt. On the one hand, we hoped to gather case studies that can give some indication of where and how doubt surfaces in contemporary media, culture and politics. We have collected a diverse sample of case studies considering the role of doubt in the American political response to 9/11 (Burns), the media’s reporting of sexual assault (Waterhouse-Watson), how scientists talk about climate change (Simpson) and the philosophy of religion (Brown). However, we were also interested in attracting articles that could contribute to our thinking about doubt as a method and mode of practice. Our feature article, by Sydney based artist and writer Ryszard Dabek presents both a case study, discussing Jean Luc Godard’s doubts about cinema through selected films from his oeuvre, while also demonstrating how a methodology of doubt can produce insightful cultural criticism. Elisabeth Hanscombe writes from a perspective that seeks to hold in tension the doubts that haunt interdisciplinary research (and the researcher) with the need to produce rigorous research outcomes. David Macarthur has written a useful and accessible introduction to how doubt can be applied to this end, making an argument for the pragmatist approach to doubt as a tool for valuable, critical thinking. Gonzalo Echeverria's series of delicate black and white landscape photographs, one of which we have placed at the opening of each article, are all located within walking distance of his home in Nidé, Turkey. He deliberately avoids the 'true' blacks and whites of black and white photography which were once the holy grail of Ansel Adams and Edward Weston and with which we are now so familiar. Working with analogue equipment and on film, and printing his work in a traditional darkroom (and even mixing his own custom chemicals) Echeverria creates a range of greys which recall the early days of photography. Yet these images are undeniably rooted in the present both culturally and photographically. The recurring presence, and at times almost absence, of the minuets in the photographs asks us to consider doubt as much faith. In our formulation then, doubt has two sides. It can be a subject – like any other – which we can study and consider using the tools of scholarship founded on objectivity and the norms of knowledge production. Yet, doubt also has the potential to challenge those accepted methods. The definition of knowledge at the base of all scholarship, and by association the methods used to acquire it, has its foundations in Descartes’s formulation that what counts as knowledge is a conviction which is beyond doubt (Newman). In the method that leads to knowledge so-defined “doubt is predicated only to be ingeniously harnessed as the means of its own overcoming” (Fleissner 116). In her fascinating analysis of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder as being founded on doubt rather than obsession, Fleissner traces the extent to which the role of doubt in the project of modernity is far more complicated than this definition of knowledge and its production implies. It appears, Fleissner argues, that Descartes’s revolutionary formulation of the cogito (“I am thinking, therefore I exist”) (Baron) “depends on recasting… doubts as themselves proof of the one thing, thought, that cannot be doubted” (Fleissner 115). Indeed, the use of doubt in the methodology inaugurated by Descartes “construes sceptical doubts as the ground clearing tools of epistemic demolition” (Newman, emphasis in original). As Fleissner discusses, the perceived potential for this demolition to produce mania and madness has haunted modernity, and proved a difficult problem for psychology. Despite Descartes’s insistence that this demolition ultimately lead to construction (Newman, see also Macarthur in this issue), there is a persistent fear that once doubting has begun, it cannot be brought to an end (Fleissner 113-20). Over the years that we have discussed the possibility of a methodology of doubt with colleagues and peers, an expression of this fear has been the most consistent response. On closer inspection we can see that doubt is asked to play numerous, conflicting roles in the epistemology inaugurated by Descartes: it is a tool (or, as Newman characterisies it, a “bulldozer”) in the project of knowledge production; its presence is used as criteria for dismissing false knowledge; and its presence in the mind of the philosopher is taken as evidence of his existence. As Fleissner suggests: Indeed, what is perhaps most striking about The Meditations Concerning First Philosophy is the sense that Descartes wishes both to be rid of doubt and to preserve it; it is this combination, not the final overcoming of doubt in favour of the certainty of the mind’s powers, that the cogito might be said most strongly to install. (133) Let us now apologise if the above paragraphs offend our philosopher colleagues, for we have likely clumsily wandered through foundational arguments in the discipline that have a level of nuance and complexity to which we have not given adequate acknowledgment. However, m/c is a journal of media and culture, and for us what is interesting about the argument presented above is its potential to draw our attention to the conundrum presented by doubt and doubting in fields far removed from disciplined and technical arguments about epistemology. We are interested in how the foundational arguments presented by Descartes, and the complex status of doubt within them, have continued ramifications far beyond their original context. We are interested, in a way, in their trace in contemporary media culture and in the scholarship and creative practice that engages with it. At the end of her article, Fleissner concludes with a hope “for a doubt with a voice of its own” (134), and it is the potential for doubt to positively influence our ways of writing about our thinking that has attracted us to it. We should not hold Descartes responsible for the flow-on effects that his epistemology has had on writing in the humanities, but we do believe that the continued trace of the Cartesian method has lead to ossification of the expression of research. This part of the introduction is a perfect example of this: dense, littered with references, cautious yet authoritarian. The doubts I have had whilst writing it are silenced in order for the writing to proceed. The speaking-position required to perform the Cartesian method is, let’s be honest, not one which can often result in writing that can even hope to engage or inspire readers who do not wish to be the audience for a performance of the author’s ability to be disciplined. (And of course, as I write that sentence I consider how many readers will not make it through the proceeding paragraphs to get to this point. They’ll find the whole ‘Descartes bit’ too dry or dense.) We too want to know about how doubt might find a voice of its own, and are particularly interested in how doubt might be kept in focus in the writing of research, rather than be a point of departure that is ultimately erased. ** (The Dutch writer Gerard van't Reve once began an autobiographical piece with the words: “I was born stupid, as my father used to say”. My father never said this — and in fact I rather suffered from the inverse or opposite problem — but it is such a lovely opening that I would like to make use of it.) I was born stupid, but my mother was always telling people how smart I was. And like most people I just assumed that my parents always spoke the truth. Luckily, I was good at creating the impression that I was intelligent. But it took me a long time to work out that my mother was wrong and that parents are capable of saying things that are not true. For example my father was a great practical joker. He loved the idea that a child would believe anything you said. When I was five he told me that chewing gum was made from old bicycle tyres. It was not until I was about thirty years old that I suddenly realised this was not the case. It was not as if I actively continued to believe for a quarter of a century that chewing gum is actually made from old bicycle tyres. It is unlikely that I thought about what chewing gum is made of during those twenty five years at all. But my five year old self had stored this 'fact' in the part of my brain where things are stored about which there is no doubt. And when I accidentally chanced upon it there many years later, he had been dead for more than ten years. It was like the last pocket money cheque he sent which I received the day after I arrived home from his funeral, only funnier. My father loved to laugh and he loved to make other people laugh. This is why my mother fell in love with him. The problem was he also loved a drink or two and my mother didn't drink, neither did my grandmother, or anyone else in her family. This would later turn into a problem for everyone. But his alcoholism was still in its early stages when he married my mother, and it is easy to hide your drinking from people who don't drink: it is just not within their realm of possibilities that you would go to a bar after you kiss them goodbye at the end of the evening instead of going home to go to bed and sleep. I think it was because my mother desperately wanted an intelligent child that she was always telling people how smart I was. I think all of my family on my mother’s side spent their lives wishing they were just a little bit more intelligent, and pretending that they were. So this is where I got my gift. I just did what everyone else did. This stood me in good stead when I moved to an English speaking country where, when I had no idea what was being said, I just tried to look intelligent and pretended to understand. And generally that worked pretty well. Not many people are game to challenge other people's understanding. If it seems like you do (or should) understand, most people assume that you do. In places where you would expect people’s understanding to be challenged, such as universities, this now results in negative student feedback which academics have to explain at their performance management meetings. In today’s universities academics are expected to be dispensers of information who only utter absolute truths. The job of a student is to put the received information into that part of the brain where things are stored about which there is no doubt. And in Zygmunt Bauman’s liquid society, "where the individual must act, plan actions and calculate the likely gains and losses of acting (or failing to act) under conditions of endemic uncertainty" (4), the ability to conceal your doubt is your most crucial weapon. ** In her mythologising of Donald Crowhurst, Tacita Dean unwittingly animates the key terms of any consideration of doubt: fear, imagination and denial. For many, doubt cannot be disconnected from these properties that can be energised by its presence. Doubt always carries with it the potential to turn on those who acknowledge it and seek to apply it, to ricochet off the subject of doubt and create a doubting subject. Doubt is seen as the trigger for uncontrollable fantasies of failure. This issue attempts to untie this association. And we look forward to the companion issue of m/c, on failure, that will hopefully appear in the journal’s future. We would like to thank: the authors, Gonzalo Echeverria, Stephen Hetherington, and our peer reviewers for their willingness to assist us in developing this issue. We also thank Axel Bruns for his support. References Bauman, Zygmunt. Liquid Times: Living in an Age of Uncertainty. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2007. Fleissner, Jennifer L. “Obsessional Modernity: The ‘Institutionalization of Doubt’.” Critical Inquiry 34 (Autumn 2007): 106-134. Newman, Lex. “Descartes' Epistemology”. The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2010 Edition). Ed. Edward N. Zalta. ‹http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/descartes-epistemology/›. Reed, Baron. "Certainty." The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2008 Edition). Ed. Edward N. Zalta. ‹http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/certainty/›. Warner, Marina. “Interview with Tacita Dean.” In Jean-Christophe Royoux, Marina Warner and Germaine Greer. Tacita Dean. New York: Phaidon, 2006. 7-41.

In Victorian times, when female travel narratives were read as excursions rather than expeditions, it was common for women authors to preface their travels with an apology. “What this book wants,” begins Mary Kingsley’s Travels in West Africa, “is not a simple preface but an apology, and a very brilliant and convincing one at that” (4). This tendency of the woman writer to depreciate her travel with an acknowledgment of its presumptuousness crafted her apology essentially as an admission of guilt. “Where I have offered my opinions,” Isabella Bird writes in The Englishwoman in America, “I have done so with extreme diffidence, giving impressions rather than conclusions” (2). While Elizabeth Howells has since argued the apologetic preface was in fact an opposing strategy that allowed women writers to assert their authority by averting it, it is certainly telling of the time and genre that a female writer could only defend her work by first excusing it. The personal apology may have emerged as the natural response to social restrictions but it has not been without consequence for female travel. The female position, often constructed as communal, is still problematised in contemporary travel texts. While there has been a traceable shift from apology to affirmation since the first women travellers abandoned their embroidery, it seems some sense of lingering culpability still remains. In many ways, the modern female traveller, like the early lady traveller, is still a displaced woman. She still sets out cautiously, guide book in hand. Often she writes, like the female confessant, in an attempt to recover what Virginia Woolf calls “the lives of the obscure”: those found locked in old diaries, stuffed away in old drawers or simply unrecorded (44). Often she speaks insistently of the abstract things which Kingsley, ironically, wrote so easily and extensively about. She is, however, even when writing from within the confines of her own home, still writing from abroad. Women’s solitary or “unescorted” travel, even in contemporary times, is considered less common in the Western world, with recurrent travel warnings constantly targeted at female travellers. Travelling women are always made aware of the limits of their body and its vulnerabilities. Mary Morris comments on “the fear of rape, for example, whether crossing the Sahara or just crossing a city street at night” (xvii). While a certain degree of danger always exists in travel for men and women alike and while it is inevitable that some of those risks are gender-specific, travel is frequently viewed as far more hazardous for women. Guide books, travel magazines and online advice columns targeted especially at female readers are cramped with words of concern and caution for women travellers. Often, the implicit message that women are too weak and vulnerable to travel is packaged neatly into “a cache of valuable advice” with shocking anecdotes and officious chapters such as “Dealing with Officials”, “Choosing Companions” or “If You Become a Victim” (Swan and Laufer vii). As these warnings are usually levelled at white, middle to upper class women who have the freedom and financing to travel, the question arises as to what is really at risk when women take to the road. It seems the usual dialogue between issues of mobility and issues of safety can be read more complexly as confusions between questions of mobility and morality. As Kristi Siegel explains, “among the various subtexts embedded in these travel warnings is the long-held fear of ‘women on the loose’” (4). According to Karen Lawrence, travel has always entailed a “risky and rewardingly excessive” terrain for women because of the historical link between wandering and promiscuity (240). Paul Hyland has even suggested that the nature of travel itself is “gloriously” promiscuous: “the shifting destination, arrival again and again, the unknown possessed, the quest for an illusory home” (211). This construction of female travel as a desire to wander connotes straying behaviours that are often cast in sexual terms. The identification of these traits in early criminological research, such as 19th century studies of cacogenic families, is often linked to travel in a broad sense. According to Nicolas Hahn’s study, Too Dumb to Know Better, contributors to the image of the “bad” woman frequently cite three traits as characteristic. “First, they have pictured her as irresolute and all too easily lead. Second, they have usually shown her to be promiscuous and a good deal more lascivious than her virtuous sister. Third, they have often emphasised the bad woman’s responsibility for not only her own sins, but those of her mate and descendents as well” (3). Like Eve, who wanders around the edge of the garden, the promiscuous woman has long been said to have a wandering disposition. Interestingly, however, both male and female travel writers have at different times and for dissimilar reasons assumed hermaphroditic identities while travelling. The female traveller, for example, may assume the figure of “the observer” or “the reporter with historical and political awareness”, while the male traveller may feminise his behaviours to confront inevitabilities of confinement and mortality (Fortunati, Monticelli and Ascari 11). Female travellers such as Alexandra David-Neel and Isabelle Eberhardt who ventured out of the home and cross-dressed for safety or success, deliberately and fully appropriated traditional roles of the male sex. Often, this attempt by female wanderers to fulfil their own intentions in cognito evaded their dismissal as wild and unruly women and asserted their power over those duped by their disguise. Those women who did travel openly into the world were often accused of flaunting the gendered norms of female decorum with their “so-called unnatural and inappropriate behaviour” (Siegel 3). The continued harnessing of this cultural taboo by popular media continues to shape contemporary patterns of female travel. In fact, as a result of perceived connections between wandering and danger, the narrative of the woman traveller often emerges as a self-conscious fiction where “the persona who emerges on the page is as much a character as a woman in a novel” (Bassnett 234). This process of self-fictionalising converts the travel writing into a graph of subliminal fears and desires. In Tracks, for example, which is Robyn Davidson’s account of her solitary journey by camel across the Australian desert, Davidson shares with her readers the single, unvarying warning she received from the locals while preparing for her expedition. That was, if she ventured into the desert alone without a guide or male accompaniment, she would be attacked and raped by an Aboriginal man. In her opening pages, Davidson recounts a conversation in the local pub when one of the “kinder regulars” warns her: “You ought to be more careful, girl, you know you’ve been nominated by some of these blokes as the next town rape case” (19). “I felt really frightened for the first time,” Davidson confesses (20). Perhaps no tale better depicts this gendered troubling than the fairytale of Little Red Riding Hood. In the earliest versions of the story, Little Red outwits the Wolf with her own cunning and escapes without harm. By the time the first printed version emerges, however, the story has dramatically changed. Little Red now falls for the guise of the Wolf, and tricked by her captor, is eaten without rescue or escape. Charles Perrault, who is credited with the original publication, explains the moral at the end of the tale, leaving no doubt to its intended meaning. “From this story one learns that children, especially young lasses, pretty, courteous and well-bred, do very wrong to listen to strangers, and it is not an unheard thing if the Wolf is thereby provided with his dinner” (77). Interestingly, in the Grimm Brothers’ version which emerges two centuries later an explicit warning now appears in the tale, in the shape of the mother’s instruction to “walk nicely and quietly, and not run off the path” (144). This new inclusion sanitises the tale and highlights the slippages between issues of mobility and morality. Where Little Red once set out with no instruction not to wander, she is now told plainly to stay on the path; not for her own safety but for implied matters of virtue. If Little Red strays while travelling alone she risks losing her virginity and, of course, her virtue (Siegel 55). Essentially, this is what is at stake when Little Red wanders; not that she will get lost in the woods and be unable to find her way, but that in straying from the path and purposefully disobeying her mother, she will no longer be “a dear little girl” (Grimm 144). In the Grimms’ version, Red Riding Hood herself critically reflects on her trespassing from the safe space of the village to the dangerous world of the forest and makes a concluding statement that demonstrates she has learnt her lesson. “As long as I live, I will never by myself leave the path, to run into the wood, when my mother has forbidden me to do so” (149). Red’s message to her female readers is representative of the social world’s message to its women travellers. “We are easily distracted and disobedient, we are not safe alone in the woods (travelling off the beaten path); we are fairly stupid; we get ourselves into trouble; and we need to be rescued by a man” (Siegel 56). As Siegel explains, even Angela Carter’s Red Riding Hood, who bursts out laughing when the Wolf says “all the better to eat you with” for “she knew she was nobody’s meat” (219), still shocks readers when she uses her virginity to take power over the voracious Wolf. In Carter’s world “children do not stay young for long,” and Little Red, who has her knife and is “afraid of nothing”, is certainly no exception (215). Yet in the end, when Red seduces the Wolf and falls asleep between his paws, there is still a sense this is a twist ending. As Siegel explains, “even given the background Carter provides in the story’s beginning, the scene startles. We knew the girl was strong, independent, and armed. However, the pattern of woman-alone-travelling-alone-helpless-alone-victim is so embedded in our consciousness we are caught off guard” (57). In Roald Dahl’s revolting rhyme, Little Red is also awarded agency, not through sexual prerogative, but through the enactment of traits often considered synonymous with male bravado: quick thinking, wit and cunning. After the wolf devours Grandmamma, Red pulls a pistol from her underpants and shoots him dead. “The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers. She whips a pistol from her knickers. She aims it at the creature’s head and bang bang bang, she shoots him dead” (lines 48—51). In the weeks that follow Red’s triumph she even takes a trophy, substituting her red cloak for a “furry wolfskin coat” (line 57). While Dahl subverts female stereotypes through Red’s decisive action and immediacy, there is still a sense, perhaps heightened by the rhyming couplets, that we are not to take the shooting seriously. Instead, Red’s girrrl-power is an imagined celebration; it is something comical to be mused over, but its shock value lies in its impossibility; it is not at all believable. While the sexual overtones of the tale have become more explicit in contemporary film adaptations such as David Slade’s Hard Candy and Catherine Hardwicke’s Red Riding Hood, the question that arises is what is really at threat, or more specifically who is threatened, when women travel off the well-ordered path of duty. As this problematic continues to surface in discussions of the genre, other more nuanced readings have also distorted the purpose and practice of women’s travel. Some psychoanalytical theorists, for example, have adopted Freud’s notion of travel as an escape from the family, particularly the father figure. In his essay A Disturbance of Memory on the Acropolis, Freud explains how his own longing to travel was “a wish to escape from that pressure, like the force which drives so many adolescent children to run away from home” (237). “When one first catches sight of the sea,” Freud writes, “one feels oneself like a hero who has performed deeds of improbable greatness” (237). The inherent gender trouble with such a reading is the suggestion women only move in search of a quixotic male figure, “fleeing from their real or imaginary powerful fathers and searching for an idealised and imaginary ‘loving father’ instead” (Berger 55). This kind of thinking reduces the identities of modern women to fragile, unfinished selves, whose investment in travel is always linked to recovering or resisting a male self. Such readings neglect the unique history of women’s travel writing as they dismiss differences in the male and female practice and forget that “travel itself is a thoroughly gendered category” (Holland and Huggan 111). Freud’s experience of travel, for example, his description of feeling like a “hero” who has achieved “improbable greatness” is problematised by the female context, since the possibility arises that women may travel with different e/motions and, indeed, motives to their male counterparts. For example, often when a female character does leave home it is to escape an unhappy marriage, recover from a broken heart or search for new love. Elizabeth Gilbert’s best selling travelogue, Eat, Pray, Love (which spent 57 weeks at the number one spot of the New York Times), found its success on the premise of a once happily married woman who, reeling from a contentious divorce, takes off around the world “in search of everything” (1). Since its debut, the novel has been accused of being self-absorbed and sexist, and even branded by the New York Post as “narcissistic New Age reading, curated by Winfrey” (Callahan par 13). Perhaps most interesting for discussions of travel morality, however, is Bitch magazine’s recent article Eat, Pray, Spend, which suggests that the positioning of the memoir as “an Everywoman’s guide to whole, empowered living” typifies a new literature of privilege that excludes “all but the most fortunate among us from participating” (Sanders and Barnes-Brown par 7). Without seeking to limit the novel with separatist generalisations, the freedoms of Elizabeth Gilbert (a wealthy, white American novelist) to leave home and to write about her travels afterwards have not always been the freedoms of all women. As a result of this problematic, many contemporary women mark out alternative patterns of movement when travelling, often moving deliberately in a variety of directions and at varying paces, in an attempt to resist their placelessness in the travel genre and in the mappable world. As Heidi Slettedahl Macpherson, speaking of Housekeeping’s Ruthie and Sylvie, explains, “they do not travel ever westward in search of some frontier space, nor do they travel across great spaces. Rather, they circle, they drift, they wander” (199). As a result of this double displacement, women have to work twice as hard to be considered credible travellers, particularly since travel is traditionally a male discursive practice. In this tradition, the male is often constructed as the heroic explorer while the female is mapped as a place on his itinerary. She is a point of conquest, a land to be penetrated, a site to be mapped and plotted, but rarely a travelling equal. Annette Kolodny considers this metaphor of “land-as-woman” (67) in her seminal work, The Lay of the Land, in which she discusses “men’s impulse to alter, penetrate and conquer” unfamiliar space (87). Finally, it often emerges that even when female travel focuses specifically on an individual or collective female experience, it is still read in opposition to the long tradition of travelling men. In their introduction to Amazonian, Dea Birkett and Sara Wheeler maintain the primary difference between male and female travel writers is that “the male species” has not become extinct (vii). The pair, who have theorised widely on New Travel Writing, identify some of the myths and misconceptions of the female genre, often citing their own encounters with androcentrism in the industry. “We have found that even when people are confronted by a real, live woman travel writer, they still get us wrong. In the time allowed for questions after a lecture, we are regularly asked, ‘Was that before you sailed around the world or after?’ even though neither of us has ever done any such thing” (xvii). The obvious bias in such a comment is an archaic view of what qualifies as “good” travel and a preservation of the stereotypes surrounding women’s intentions in leaving home. As Birkett and Wheeler explain, “the inference here is that to qualify as travel writers women must achieve astonishing and record-breaking feats. Either that, or we’re trying to get our hands down some man’s trousers. One of us was once asked by the president of a distinguished geographical institution, ‘What made you go to Chile? Was it a guy?’” (xviii). In light of such comments, there remain traceable difficulties for contemporary female travel. As travel itself is inherently gendered, its practice has often been “defined by men according to the dictates of their experience” (Holland and Huggan 11). As a result, its discourse has traditionally reinforced male prerogatives to wander and female obligations to wait. Even the travel trade itself, an industry that often makes its profits out of preying on fear, continues to shape the way women move through the world. While the female traveller then may no longer preface her work with an explicit apology, there are still signs she is carrying some historical baggage. It is from this site of trouble that new patterns of female travel will continue to emerge, distinguishably and defiantly, towards a much more colourful vista of general misrule. References Bassnett, Susan. “Travel Writing and Gender.” The Cambridge Companion to Travel Writing, eds. Peter Hulme and Tim Youngs, Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2002. 225-40. Berger, Arthur Asa. Deconstructing Travel: Cultural Perspectives on Tourism. Walnut Creek: AltaMira Press, 2004. Bird, Isabella. The Englishwoman in America. London: John Murray, 1856. Birkett, Dea, and Sara Wheeler, eds. Amazonian: The Penguin Book of New Women’s Travel Writing. London: Penguin, 1998. Callahan, Maureen. “Eat, Pray, Loathe: Latest Self-Help Bestseller Proves Faith is Blind.” New York Post 23 Dec. 2007. Carter, Angela. “The Company of Wolves.” Burning Your Boats: The Collected Short Stories. London: Vintage, 1995. 212-20. Dahl, Roald. Revolting Rhymes. London: Puffin Books, 1982. Davidson, Robyn. Tracks. London: Jonathan Cape, 1980. Fortunati, Vita, Rita Monticelli, and Maurizio Ascari, eds. Travel Writing and the Female Imaginary. Bologna: Patron Editore, 2001. Freud, Sigmund. “A Disturbance of Memory on the Acropolis.” The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, vol. XXII. New Introductory Lectures on Psycho-Analysis and Other Works, 1936. 237-48. Gilbert, Elizabeth. Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman’s Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia. New Jersey: Penguin, 2007. Grimm, Jacob, and Wilhelm Grimm. “Little Red Riding Hood.” Grimms’ Fairy Tales, London: Jonathan Cape, 1962. 144-9. Hahn, Nicolas. “Too Dumb to Know Better: Cacogenic Family Studies and the Criminology of Women.” Criminology 18.1 (1980): 3-25. Hard Candy. Dir. David Slade. Lionsgate. 2005. Holland, Patrick, and Graham Huggan. Tourists with Typewriters: Critical Reflections on Contemporary Travel Writing. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 2003. Howells, Elizabeth. “Apologizing for Authority: The Rhetoric of the Prefaces of Eliza Cook, Isabelle Bird, and Hannah More.” Professing Rhetoric: Selected Papers from the 2000 Rhetoric Society of America Conference, eds. F.J. Antczak, C. Coggins, and G.D. Klinger. London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 2002. 131-7. Hyland, Paul. The Black Heart: A Voyage into Central Africa. New York: Paragon House, 1988. Kingsley, Mary. Travels in West Africa. Middlesex: The Echo Library, 2008. Kolodny, Annette. The Lay of the Land: Metaphor as Experience and History in American Life and Letters. USA: U of North Carolina P, 1975. Lawrence, Karen. Penelope Voyages: Women and Travel in the British Literary Tradition. Ithaca: Cornell UP, 1994. Morris, Mary. Maiden Voyages: Writings of Women Travellers. New York: Vintage Books, 1993. Perrault, Charles. Perrault’s Complete Fairytales. Trans. A.E. Johnson and others. London: Constable & Company, 1961. Red Riding Hood. Dir. Catherine Hardwicke. Warner Bros. 2011. Sanders, Joshunda, and Diana Barnes-Brown. “Eat, Pray, Spend: Priv-Lit and the New, Enlightened American Dream” Bitch Magazine 47 (2010). 10 May, 2011 < http://bitchmagazine.org/article/eat-pray-spend >. Siegel, Kristi. Ed. Gender, Genre, and Identity in Women’s Travel Writing. New York: Peter Lang, 2004. Slettedahl Macpherson, Heidi. “Women’s Travel Writing and the Politics of Location: Somewhere In-Between.” Gender, Genre, and Identity in Women’s Travel Writing, ed. Kristi Siegel. New York: Peter Lang, 2004. 194-207. Swan, Sheila, and Peter Laufer. Safety and Security for Women who Travel. 2nd ed. San Francisco: Travelers’ Tales, 2004. Woolf, Virginia. Women and Writing. London: The Women’s Press, 1979.