Journal articles on the topic '1864-1942'

One of the soldiers asked him what religion he was of. He readily answered, ‘I am a Catholic’ ‘What!’ said the other, ‘a Roman Catholic?’ ‘How do you mean a Roman?’ said Father Bell, ‘I am an Englishman. There is but one Catholic Church, and of that I am a member.’These words of a Franciscan priest, Arthur Bell, executed at Tyburn in 1643, could have been taken as his own by Dom Bede Camm, the Benedictine martyrologist, who was one of the great propagandists of those English and Welsh Catholic martyrs who died in the period from the reign of Elizabeth to the Popish Plot. The lives of the martyrs were familiar to English Catholics through the writings of Richard Challoner (1691–1781), whose Memoirs of Missionary Priests had been available in various forms since its publication, as a kind of Catholic reply to Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, in two volumes in 1741–2, but in the late nineteenth century, as the English Catholics, reinforced by many converts from the Church of England, grew more combative in controversy following the relative calm of the Georgian period, the martyrs came more to the forefront. The church authorities sought recognition of the English martyrs’ heroic virtue. In 1874 Cardinal Manning had put under way an ‘ordinary process’, a preliminary judicial inquiry, to collect evidence to elevate the ‘venerable’ martyrs to the status of ‘beati’. In 1895, and again in 1929, large batches of English martyrs were declared blessed. In 1935 Thomas More and John Fisher were canonized. It was not until 1970 that forty of the later martyrs, a representative group, were officially declared saints.

A current checklist of the Costa Rican cicada fauna is provided. The first Costa Rican records of Zammara calochroma Walker, 1858, Diceroprocta pusilla Davis, 1942, Diceroprocta ruatana (Distant, 1891), Ollanta modesta (Distant, 1881), Pacarina puella Davis, 1923, Pacarina schumanni Distant, 1905, Majeorona truncata Goding, 1925, Procollina medea (Stål, 1864), Carineta verna Distant, 1883, Carineta viridicollis (Germar, 1830), Herrera ancilla (Stål, 1864), Calyria cuna (Walker, 1850), Selymbria pluvialis Ramos & Wolda, 1985, and Conibosa occidentis (Walker, 1858) are provided. Diceroprocta digueti (Distant, 1906) and D. vitripennis (Say, 1830) are removed from the Costa Rican cicada fauna. The new records increase the known cicada diversity 45% bringing the total number of cicada species reported in Costa Rica to 45 species in 17 genera representing nine tribes and two subfamilies of the family Cicadidae.

Francisco Fortuny Masagué (1864-1942) fue un destacado ilustrador español, activo en Buenos Aires durante la primera mitad de siglo XX, cuya interesante carrera ha sido estudiada solo de forma parcial. Este artículo pretende reunir la bibliografía publicada en torno al artista, así como corregir algunas imprecisiones y aportar nuevos datos relacionados con su trayectoria personal y profesional, con el objetivo de facilitar la interpretación global de su aportación a las artes gráficas en Argentina, en un momento de especial desarrollo del medio.

AbstractThis article talks about the emergence of Bataviaasche Planten en Dierentuin (BatavianBotanical and Zoological Garden) in 1864 as the first zoological park in Batavia aswell as in East Dutch Indies. It becomes the first Dutch East Indies ex-situ conservation(conservation of plants and/ or animals which was done outside their natural habitat),that was spearheaded by a handful of elite Batavia. The science development in the 19thcentury and political ideology of the Dutch Colonial were the backgrounds of the changingperspective of Batavian well-educated elites towards nature environment and its sourcesincluding animals. Data sources which are the annual reports of the zoo organisation,photographs, travel notes, will disclose the motive and aim as well to necessarily attestthe power of social construction, namely race and social class, as the main driver of theemerging conservation notions and the importance of knowledge on animals for Bataviancitizens from the 19th to early 20th century. The presence of an artificial habitat of plantsand animals in the capital of colonial land, after all, was a microcosm that representedthe change of people’s attitude, which is from traditional to modern, as comprehended byBatavian elites in managing animals. AbstrakArtikel ini membahas kemunculan Bataviaasche Planten en Dierentuin (Kebun Botanidan Binatang Batavia) pada 1864 sebagai kebun binatang pertama di Batavia maupundi Hindia Belanda. Kebun binatang tersebut menjadi konservasi ex-situ (konservasitumbuhan dan/ atau satwa yang dilakukan di luar habitat alaminya) pertama di HindiaBelanda dan dipelopori oleh segelintir elite Batavia. Perkembangan ilmu pengetahuanpada abad ke-19 serta ideologi politik pemerintah kolonial melatarbelakangi perubahancara pandang elite terpelajar Batavia terhadap lingkungan alam beserta isinya, termasuksatwa. Sumber data artikel ini berupa laporan-laporan tahunan pengelola kebun binatang,foto-foto, catatan-catatan perjalanan, yang akan memperlihatkan motivasi dan tujuan parapenggagasnya serta dengan sendirinya menunjukkan kekuatan konstruksi sosial beruparas dan kelas sosial sebagai penggerak utama atas lahirnya gagasan-gagasan mengenaikonservasi dan pentingnya pengetahuan mengenai satwa bagi masyarakat Batavia sejakabad ke-19 hingga awal abad ke-20. Kehadiran sebuah habitat buatan bagi tumbuhandan satwa bernama kebun binatang di ibu kota koloni, bagaimanapun merupakan sebuahmikrokosmos yang merepresentasikan perubahan sikap, yang oleh elite Batavia dipahamisebagai transisi dari sikap masyarakat tradisional ke masyarakat modern dalam mengatursatwa.

New Philippine Coraebini (Coleoptera: Buprestidae) are described: one new genus, Visayasella, gen. nov., is erected for two new species: the type species Visayasella superba sp. nov. from Leyte and V. gracilis sp. nov. from Negros. The new genus is contrasted to the genera Obenbergerula Strand 1932 (= Böttcheria Hoscheck 1931) and Sibuyanella Obenberger 1942 in a table of character states. Four new species of Toxoscelus Deyrolle 1864 are described from Leyte: Toxoscelus actenodes sp. nov., T. bichromoplagiatus sp. nov., T. circumscriptus, sp. nov. and T. griseovariegatus sp. nov. and contrasted with the two previously described Toxoscelus species from Luzon: T. acutipennis Fisher 1922 and T. rugicollis Saunders 1874 in a key. The six new species and several putatively related genera and species are illustrated in two color plates.

Artikel ini merupakan telaah ulang teori kronologi Al-Qur’an yang ditawarkan oleh dua orientalis yang hidup pada abad ke-19, yakni Sir William Muir (1819-1905 M) dan Hubbert Grimme (1864-1942 M). Periodisasi Al-Qur’an yang dilakukan oleh keduanya bertumpu pada pendekatan historis dan teologis. Penelitian ini menggunakan metode deskriptif dengan sumber data primer berupa dua karya kedua orientalis tersebut, yaitu The Coran; Its Composition and Theacing; and the Testimony it Bears to the Holy Scriptures yang ditulis oleh Muir dan juga buku berjudul Mohammed; Einleitung in den Koran System der koranischen Theologie. Hasil dari penelitian ini menyimpulkan bahwa pertama, Versi Muir surah Makkiyah sebanyak 93 surah, sedangkan Madaniyah sejumlah 21 surah. Kedua, Versi Grimme surah Makkiyah sejumlah 92 surah, sementara Madaniyah sebanyak 22 surah.

The article presents political and domestic situation of the Polish province of the Order of Friars Minor Capuchin between 1914 and 1921. The province witnessed a generational change of guard: friars remembering the secularization of monasteries conducted by Czar authorities in 1864 passed on and were replaced by friars accepted to the order after the tolerance decree of 1905. The number of monasteries increased to four: two old ones in Nowe Miasto nad Pilicą and Łomża, and two newly recovered in Warsaw (in 1918) and Lublin (in 1919). A breakthrough event was the visit by Eligiusz Jensen, the general definitor. Since the definitor ordered the return to old monastery practices, which were neglected after the secularization of 1864, for many friars this was equivalent to regaining independence by Poland. The definitor, in accordance with the requirements of the contemporary law of the order, reduced the Polish province to the rank of a commissariat, since it did not have the required number of friars, and changed its name from “Polish” to “Warsaw”, because another department of the order, the Kraków commissariat, was also within the borders of independent Poland. The only Capuchin who actively participated in the efforts for regaining Polish independence was Wiator Rytel (1883-1942). Other friars, focused on recovering old monasteries, could not take part in these actions.

New taxonomic data for species belonging to Araniella Chamberlin & Ivie, 1942 and Neoscona Simon, 1864 occurring in the Caucasus, Middle East and Central Asia are provided. Three species are described as new to science: A. mithrasp. nov. (♂♀, northwestern, central and southwestern Iran), A. villaniisp. nov. (♂♀, southwestern Iran, eastern Kazakhstan and northern India) and N. isatissp. nov. (♂♀, central Iran). Neoscona spasskyi (Brignoli, 1983) comb. nov., stat. res. is removed from the synonymy of N. tedgenica (Bakhvalov, 1978), redescribed and recorded from Iran and Turkmenistan for the first time. New combinations are established for this species, as well as for Araniella nigromaculata (Schenkel, 1963) comb. nov. (♀, north-central China) (both ex. Araneus). Two new synonymies are proposed: Araniella tbilisiensis Mcheidze, 1997 syn. nov. is synonymized with A. opisthographa (Kulczyński, 1905), and Neoscona sodom Levy, 1998 syn. nov. is synonymized with N. theisi (Walckenaer, 1841); the latter is recorded from Iran, Georgia, and Russia (Northern Caucasus) for the first time.

The fauna of Eristalinae (Diptera: Syrphidae) of Surinam is reviewed. Accounts are given for 81 species of Eristalinae. These include larval rearing records for species of CeriogasterWilliston, 1888, CopestylumMacquart, 1846, Lepidomyia Loew, 1864, Ornidia Lepeletier & Serville, 1828, and Quichuana Knab, 1913. Keys are given for the Surinamese species of Meromacrus Rondani, 1848 and Palpada Macquart, 1834. Two new species are described: Lepidomyia adriaanpeteri sp. n. and Meromacrus doesburgi sp. n. A new synonymy is proposed: Meromacrus fucatusHull, 1930 = Meromacrus ceres Hull, 1942 jun. syn. n. All species are figured with photographs. Compared with the checklist of Van Doesburg (1966), 26 species are added and four are removed. Several possibly new species are left unnamed, pending required taxonomic revisions. In total, 183 species of Syrphidae are now known from Surinam: 60 Syrphinae, 42 Microdontinae, and 81 Eristalinae. Concluding remarks are made on the number of species expected to occur in the country.

Aralia Linnaeus (1753: 273) consists of approximately 65 species distributed in eastern to southeastern Asia and the Americas (Wen, 1993). In the past there has been much disagreement over whether Aralia should be recognized in a broad or narrow sense (Li 1942, Hoo & Tseng 1965, 1978, Shang 1985a, 1985b, Shang & Li 1990, Wen 1993, 2002, 2011, Wen et al. 2002, Xiang & Lowry 2007). The broad sense of Aralia is supported by recent studies on the basis of morphological characters and molecular evidence (Wen 1993, Wen et al. 2001, 2002), and therefore some segregated genera, Coudenbergia Marchal (1879: 514), Pentapanax Seemmann (1864: 290, 294), Hunaniopanax Qi et Cao (1988: 47), Neoacanthophora Bennet (1979: 283), Sciadodendron Grisebach (1858: 7), Parapentapax Hutchinson (1967: 56) and Megalopanax E. Ekman ex Harms (1924:122), are reduced to the synonymies of Aralia (Wen 1993. Wen et al. 2002). Wen (2011) divided the genus into six sections: sect. Aralia, sect. Dimorphanthus (Miquel 1840: 95) Miquel (1863: 6), sect. Humiles Harms (1896: 13), sect. Nanae Harms (1896: 12), sect. Pentapanax (Semm.) Wen (2002: 31) and sect. Sciadodendron (Griseb.) Wen (2011: 29).

A catalogue of the subfamily Lamiinae (Coleoptera: Cerambycidae) of the Neotropical region is presented. The tribes (36), genera (723), species (4231) and subspecies (60) are listed in alphabetical order. Under each family-group name bibliographical references are given and under each species-group name, data on the type-locality, the acronym of the institution where the type is deposited, the geographical distribution and detailed bibliographical references are provided. Two new combinations are proposed: Urographis eucharis (Bates, 1885), new comb. and Urographis vexillaris (Bates, 1872) new comb., both from Graphisurus LeConte, 1852, not Kirby, 1837. The following new names are given: Alcathousiella new name to replace Alcathous Thomson, 1864, preoccupied by Alcathous Stal, 1863, Hemiptera; Camposiellina new name to replace Camposiella Lane, 1972, preoccupied by Camposiella Hebard, 1924, Orthoptera; Edechthistatus new name to replace Parechthistatus Giesbert, 2001, preoccupied by Parechthistatus Breuning, 1942, Coleoptera; Elytracanthina new name to replace Elytracantha Lane, 1955, preoccupied by Elytracantha Kleine, 1915, Coleoptera; Eranina new name to replace Erana Bates, 1866, preoccupied by Erana Gray, 1840, Aves; Heteresmia new name to replace Esmia Pascoe, 1859, preoccupied by Esmia Leach, 1847, Mollusca; Eupalessa new name to replace Eupales Dillon & Dillon, 1945, preoccupied by Eupales Lefevre, 1885, Coleoptera; Melzerus new name to replace Idiomerus Melzer, 1934, preoccupied by Idiomerus Imms, 1912, Collembola; Midamiella new name to replace Midamus Dillon & Dillon, 1945, preoccupied by Midamus Simon, 1881, Arachnida; Neoamphion new name to replace Amphion Reiche, 1840, preoccupied by Amphion Huebner, 1819, Lepidoptera; Neocolobura new name to replace Colobura Blanchard, 1851, preoccupied by Colobura Billberg, 1820, Lepidoptera; Neohoplonotus new name to replace Hoplonotus Blanchard, 1851, preoccupied by Hoplonotus Schmidt-Goebel, 1846, Coleoptera; Neohylus new name to replace Hylus Dillon & Dillon, 1945, preocuppied by Hylus Van Dyke, 1945, Coleoptera; Neolampedusa new name to replace Lampedusa Dillon & Dillon, 1945, preoccupied by Lampedusa Boettger, 1877, Mollusca; Proseriphus new name to replace Seriphus Bates, 1864, preoccupied by Seriphus Ayres, 1857, Pisces. One new synonym is proposed: Proxepectasis Monné & Giesbert, 1992 = Parepectasoides Breuning, 1979.

Summary Historiographers of linguistics have frequently pointed out the presence of the Humboldtian term ‘inner form’ in Franz Boas’ (1858–1942) work on linguistic categorization and have suggested a link to Heymann Steinthal’s (1823–1899) Völkerpsychologie and psycholinguistics. This essay demonstrates, however, that Boas’ discourse on the inner form of language, grammatical categories, and the human mind did not develop in a unilinear fashion from the work of Steinthal. Although Boas adhered to a Steinthalian notion of inner form of language and linguistic relativism and his research on Native American languages was initially guided by Steinthal’s criteria ‘form’ and ‘material,’ Boas’ texts also exhibit some disontinuities with Steinthal’s work, and they carry traces linking his linguistics to the work of Adolf Bastian (1826–1905), Theodor Waitz (1826–1864), Herbert Spencer (1820–1903), Wilhelm Wundt (1832–1920), and Daniel Garrison Brinton (1837–1899). Boas strategically distanced his discourse from the hierarchical thinking underlying the work of Steinthal, Spencer, and Wundt. As part of this distancing strategy, Boas shifted from Herbartian psychology, informing his early phonetic theory, to an associationist framework, and he postulated a universal mental faculty of abstraction as a necessary condition for human language to arise. Boas also introduced the concept of ‘coordinate elements’ in morphology, and he assumed the existence of universal relational functions in the languages of the world.

Divisão do gênero Distenia Lepeletier & Audinet-Serville, notas sobre a venação alar em Disteniini, homonímias, sinonímia e redescrições (Coleoptera, Cerambycidae, Disteniinae). O gênero Distenia é dividido em cinco gêneros: Hovorestenia Santos-Silva gen. nov. [H. humeralis (Waterhouse, 1880) comb. nov.] Oculipetilus gen. nov. [O. brunneorufus (Thomson, 1860) comb. nov.; O. pulcher (Melzer, 1926) comb. nov.] Elytrimitatrix gen. nov., Novantinoe nom. nov., gen. rev. [N. agriloides (Bates, 1885) comb. nov.; N. bicolora (Thomson, 1864); N. cribristernis (Bates, 1885) comb. nov.; N. darlingtoni (Fisher, 1942) comb. nov.; N. denticornis (Bates, 1870) comb. nov.; N. equatoriensis (Villiers, 1959) comb. nov.; N. fulvopicta (Bates, 1885) comb. nov.; N. germaini (Villiers, 1959) comb. nov.; N. guyanensis (Villiers, 1959) comb. nov.; N. mathani (Villiers, 1959) comb. nov.; N. pegnai (Hüdepohl, 1989) comb. nov.; N. peruviensis (Villiers, 1959) comb. nov.; N. puertoricensis (Lingafelter & Micheli, 2004) comb. nov.; N. rufa (Villiers, 1959) comb. nov.; N. spinosa (Bates, 1885) comb. nov.; N. striatiscapis (Villiers, 1885) comb. nov.; N. tumidicollis (Villiers, 1959) comb. nov.; N. unidentata (Villiers, 1959) comb. nov.] Disteniazteca gen. nov. [D. pilati (Chevrolat, 1857) comb. nov.; D. fimbriata (Lacordaire, 1869) comb. nov.] e Distenia sensu stricto. Elytrimitatrix e Distenia são compostos de dois subgêneros: E. (Elytrimitatrix) [E. (E.) undata (Fabricius, 1775) comb. nov.] e E. (Grossifemora) subgen. nov. [E. (G.) batesi (Villiers, 1959) comb. nov.; E. (G.) brevicornis (Bates, 1885) comb. nov.; E. (G.) chrysostigma (Bates, 1872) comb. nov.; E. (G.) fuscula (Bates, 1885) comb. nov.; E. (G.) geniculata (Bates, 1872) comb. nov.; E. (G.) hoegei (Bates, 1885) comb. nov.; E. (G.) irregularis (Linsley, 1935) comb. nov.; E. (G.) lineatopora (Bates, 1880) comb. nov.; E. (G.) nigrella (Bates, 1880) comb. nov.; E. (G.) pictipes (Bates, 1885) comb. nov.; E. (G.) punctiventris (Bates, 1885) comb. nov.; E. (G.) simplex (Bates, 1885) comb. nov.; E. (G.) trifasciata (Bates, 1892) comb. nov.; E. (G.) vittata (Bates, 1880) comb. nov.] e D. (Distenia) [D. (D.) angustata Bates, 1870; D. (D.) annulicornis Villiers, 1959; D. (D.) atrocyanea Villiers, 1959; D. (D.) bahiaensis Villiers, 1959; D. (D.) caerulescens Gounelle, 1911; D. (D.) cinctipennis Gounelle, 1911; D. (D.) columbina Audinet-Serville, 1828; D. (D.) esmeralda Villiers, 1959; D. (D.) fastuosa Pascoe, 1871; D. (D.) forcipata Villiers, 1959; D. (D.) fryi Villiers, 1959; D. (D.) langurioides Bates, 1885; D. (D.) lateralis Fisher, 1946; D. (D.) limbata Bates, 1885; D. (D.) macella Villiers, 1959; D. (D.) pilosa Villiers, 1959; D. (D.) splendens Bates, 1870; D. (D.) suturalis Bates, 1870; D. (D.) viridicyanea (Thomson, 1864)] e D. (Basisvallis) subgen. nov. [D. (B.) agroides Bates, 1870; D. (B.) carinata Villiers, 1959; D. (B.) chaparensis Tippmann, 1953; D. (B.) cyaneipennis Villiers, 1959; D. (B.) fossulata Villiers, 1959; D. (B.) granulipes Villiers, 1959; D. (B.) phaeocera Bates, 1880; D. (B.) pullula Gounelle, 1911; D. (B.) rufipes Bates, 1870; D. (B.) rugiscapis Bates, 1885; D. (B.) sallaei Bates, 1885; D. (B.) spinipennis Fisher, 1946; D. (B.) striaticollis Villiers, 1959]. Dois novos nomes são propostos para eliminar homonímia: Novantinoe nom. nov. para substituir Antinoe Thomson, 1864 (ocupado) e Thomsonistenia nom. nov. para Thelxiope Thomson, 1864 (ocupado). Novantinoe é revalidado e Thomsonistenia é mantido na sinonímia de Distenia Lepeletier & Audinet-Serville, 1828. Discute-se e descreve-se a venação alar em Disteniini. Disteniinae é considerado nomen protectum e "Cométites" Blanchard, 1845 é considerado nomen oblitum. O status de Disteniinae é discutido em função das constantes modificações: família ou subfamília. Hovorestenia humeralis (Waterhouse, 1880) comb. nov. é redescrita e figurada. Novo sinônimo: Distenia mirabilis Villiers, 1959 = Oculipetilus pulcher (Melzer, 1926) comb. nov. Chaves incluídas: gêneros americanos de Disteniinae, subgêneros de Distenia e Elytrimitatrix, espécies de Oculipetilus e Disteniazteca.

As part of a current revision of the Australasian and Pacific orb-weaving spider fauna (family Araneidae Clerck, 1757), a number new combinations are proposed in the generaAcroaspisKarsch, 1878 (3 species),CarepalxisL. Koch, 1872 (1 species),CyclosaMenge, 1866 (5 species), andNeosconaSimon, 1864 (7 species):Acroaspislancearia(Keyserling, 1887),comb. n.,A.mamillana(Keyserling, 1887),comb. n.,A.scutifer(Keyserling, 1886),comb. n.,Carepalxisfurcifera(Keyserling, 1886),comb. n.;Cyclosaanatipes(Keyserling, 1887),comb. n.;Cyclosaapoblepta(Rainbow, 1916),comb. n.;Cyclosaargentaria(Rainbow, 1916),comb. n.;Cyclosalichensis(Rainbow, 1916),comb. n.;Cyclosapoweri(Rainbow, 1916),comb. n.;Neosconadecolor(L. Koch, 1871),comb. n.;Neosconaenucleata(Karsch, 1879),comb. n.;Neosconaflavopunctata(L. Koch, 1871),comb. n.;Neosconafloriata(Hogg, 1914),comb. n.;Neosconagranti(Hogg, 1914),comb. n.;Neosconainusta(L. Koch, 1871),comb. n.; andNeosconanotanda(Rainbow, 1912),comb. n.The following two Australian species, currently placed inAraneus, are not Araneidae but comb-footed spiders (family Theridiidae Sundevall, 1833):Anelosimusdianiphus(Rainbow, 1916),comb. n.andTheridionxanthostichus(Rainbow, 1916),stat. and comb. n.The following six species are considerednumina dubiaas their type material is immature or otherwise unidentifiable (e.g. partly destroyed):AraneusacachmenusRainbow, 1916;AraneusagastusRainbow, 1916;AraneusexsertusRainbow, 1904;AraneussuavisRainbow, 1899;Carepalxiscoronata(Rainbow, 1896); andHeurodesturritusKeyserling, 1886.Heurodesfratellus(Chamberlin, 1924) is considered anomen dubiumandHeurodesporcula(Simon, 1877) is returned toEriovixiaArcher, 1951,Eriovixiaporcula(Simon, 1877).Type material of predominantly Australian species described by E. v. Keyserling (1 species), W. J. Rainbow (10 species), A. T. Urquhart (8 species), and C. A. Walckenaer (2 species) is here considered destroyed or otherwise lost. As it is impossible to identify these species from their original descriptions and considering the known spider fauna from their respective type localities, they are all considerednumina dubia:AnepsiacrinitaRainbow, 1893;Epeiradiabrosis(Walckenaer, 1841);EpeiradiversicolorRainbow, 1893;EpeirafictaRainbow, 1896;EpeirahamiltoniRainbow, 1893;Epeiralacrymosa(Walckenaer, 1841);EpeiraleaiRainbow, 1894;EpeiramortoniUrquhart, 1891;EpeiranotacephalaUrquhart, 1891;EpeiraobscurtaUrquhart, 1893;EpeiraphalerataUrquhart, 1893;EpeirapronubaRainbow, 1894;EpeirararaKeyserling, 1887;EpeirasingularaUrquhart, 1891;Epeirasub-flavidaUrquhart, 1893;EpeirasimilarisRainbow, 1896 (=AraneusurquhartiRoewer, 1942 replacement name);EpeiraventriosaUrquhart, 1891; andEpeiraviridulaUrquhart, 1891.

Lisa Lowe, Immigrant Acts (Durham: Duke University Press, 1996, $16.95). Pp. 252. ISBN 0 8223 1864 4.Paul R. Spickard, Japanese Americans: The Formation and Transformation of an Ethnic Group (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1996, $28.95). Pp. 225. ISBN 0 8057 7841 1.Gordon Chang, Morning Glory, Evening Shadow: Yamato Ichihashi and his Internment Writings, 1942–1945 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1997, £35.00). Pp. 552. ISBN 0 8047 2733 3.Appearances can be deceiving, sometimes they are fatal. In 1982, Vincent Chin, a Chinese-American, entered a Detroit bar with some friends. Ronald Ebens, a foreman at a Chrysler automobile plant, and his stepson Michael Nitz, a laid-off Chrysler assembly-line worker, also came into the same bar. It is uncertain what exactly prompted Ebens to derisively call Chin a “Jap” and scoff: “It's because of you motherfuckers that we're out of work!” What is indisputable, however, is the sequence of events which took place after the insult. In the wake of the abusive remark, a fist-fight erupted between Ebens and Chin. The brawlers were evicted from the bar. Ebens and Nitz went to their car and grabbed a baseball bat. Observing that Ebens was in possession of a bat, Chin and his companions fled from the bar's parking lot. Unwilling to be thwarted by this escape, Ebens and Nitz stalked Chin. After a twenty minute pursuit, Ebens and Nitz cornered Chin. Nitz held Chin while Ebens beat him on the head with the baseball bat. Four days after this attack, Chin died from his head wounds.What makes the murder of Vincent Chin particularly hideous is the perverse element of mistaken identity that led to his death. Ronald Ebens took Chin for a “Jap.” At one level of interpretation, this visual blunder comments on the blind spots of racist thinking, where categorical forms of reasoning isolate us between our prejudices and our self-serving interests. Ebens saw an Asian face and automatically made it the target of his frustration. At another level of interpretation, Eben's racial slur, although inaccurate in ethnically identifying Chin, strangely articulates the conceptual incongruities and cultural displacements that occur in representations of ethnicity and race. Chin's physical appearance made him vulnerable to ethnic mistranslation and an eventual victim of racist misrepresentation. In short, there is (much like pronouncing two people husband and wife) a performative aspect to Ebens's misrecognition of Chin's identity. To put it grimly, Chin's figurative transformation literally concluded in his execution.

AbstractGenera and previously described species of Nearctic Scythrididae are revised for the first time, based on the study of adult structures. About 90 percent of the Nearctic fauna known in collections consists of undescribed species. The supraspecific taxa treated in this work encompass less than half of the Nearctic species diversity. Only six new species are described, all within the largest and structurally most diverse genus. The status of all nominal species is revised. Valid species are redescribed and their features illustrated. General problems in the systematics of the Scythrididae are discussed. A description of adult features of the family Scythrididae is providad. Extra-limital genera are briefly reviewed. A key to the Nearctic genera and informal supraspecific lineages is provided.Six genera, including three new, are treated: Areniscythris Powell, 1976, Arotrura Walsingham, 1888, Asymmetrura gen. nov., Neoscythris gen. nov., Rhamphura gen. nov., and Scythris s. str. Hübner, [1825]. Areniscythris includes a single described species, Areniscythris brachypteris Powell, but is defined more broadly to account for a number of undescribed species. Arotrura is divided into nine informal species groups with the following included species: Arotrura atascosa sp. nov., Arotrura balli sp. nov., Arotrura divaricata (Braun) comb, nov., Arotrura eburnea Walsingham, Arotrura formidabilis sp. nov., Arotrura hymenata sp. nov., Arotrura longissima sp. nov., Arotrura oxyplecta (Meyrick) comb, nov., Arotrura powelli sp. nov., and Arotrura sponsella (Busck) comb. nov. Asymmetrura includes: Asymmetrura albilineata (Walsingham) comb. nov., Asymmetrura graminivorella (Braun) comb. nov., Asymmetrura impositella (Zeller) comb. nov. and type species, Asymmetrura matutella (Clemens) comb, nov., Asymmetrura reducta (Braun) comb, nov., and Asymmetrura scintillifera (Braun) comb. nov. Neoscythris includes: Neoscythris confinis (Braun) comb, nov., Neoscythris euthia (Walsingham) comb. nov., Neoscythris fissirostris (Meyrick) comb. nov. and type species, and Neoscythris planipenella (Chambers) comb. nov. Rhamphura includes: Rhamphura altisierrae (Keifer) comb, nov., Rhamphura ochristriata (Walsingham) comb. nov. and type species, Rhamphura perspicillella (Walsingham) comb. nov., Rhamphura suffusa (Walsingham) comb. nov., and the extra-limital Rhamphura immunis (Meyrick) comb. nov. from Peru. Scythris s. str. includes: Scythris immaculatella (Chambers) rev. stat., Scythris limbella (Fabricius), Scythris mixaula Meyrick, Scythris trivinctella (Zeller), and Scythris ypsilon Braun. A further eight species are phylogenetically distinct from Scythris s. str. but provisionally are only assigned to five informal monophyletic lineages until their cladistic relationships are more firmly established. These are: the Scythris basilaris lineage including Scythris basilaris (Zeller), Scythris eboracensis (Zeller), and Scythris fuscicomella (Clemens); the Scythris interrupta lineage including Scythris interrupta Braun; the Scythris inspersella lineage including Scythris inspersella (Hübner) and Scythris noricella (Zeller); the Scythris anthracina lineage including Scythris anthracina Braun; and the Scythris charon lineage including Scythris charon Meyrick. Three species are incertae sedis: Scythris inornatella (Chambers) comb, nov., Scythrispilosella (Zeller), and Scythris piratica Meyrick.Coleophora albacostella Chambers and Coleophora inornatella Chambers are transferred from the Coleophoridae. Scythris arizoniella (Kearfott) is transferred to the Coleophoridae [Coleophora arizoniella (Kearfott) comb. nov.].The following new synonymy is proposed: Colinita Busck, 1907 = Arotrura Walsingham, 1888; Gelechia aterrimella Walker, 1864 and Scythris epilobiella McDunnough, 1942 = Scythris inspersella [Hübner, (1817)]; Scythris magnatella Busck, 1904 = Scythris noricella (Zeller, 1843); Scythris pacifica McDunnough, 1927 = Scythris immaculatella (Chambers, 1875); Coleophora albacostella Chambers, 1875 and Scythris hemidictyas Meyrick, 1928 = Neoscythris planipenella (Chambers, 1875).A cladistic definition of the family is presented for the first time. The monophyly of the Scythrididae is supported by the following synapomorphies: very narrow ductus bursae, broad ductus seminalis anastomosed with the oviduct and the corpus bursae, lack of signum, unique shape of the apophyses of the metathoracic furca, tarsomeres 1–4 with two subapical spurs, aedeagus ankylosed, and origin of forewing veins R4 and R5 on a common stalk with R4 extended to the costa and R5 to the termen. Relationships of the Scythrididae within the Gelechioidea are discussed. Based on the cladistic analysis of 52 structural characters, phylogenetic relationships of supraspecific taxa are inferred. Two cladograms, one for the genera and one for the species groups of Arotrura, are presented and used in deriving the classification.

A large collection of mesoparasitic copepods from polychaete hosts collected in northern European waters was examined. The term mesoparasitic refers to highly transformed copepods where the adult female attaches by embedding part of its body in the host. Representatives of five known familes were found and a new family is established. A single new species, Bradophila minuta sp. nov., was described in the family Bradophilidae. It occurred exclusively on the flabelligerid Diplocirus glaucus (Malmgren, 1867). Two genera of the family Herpyllobiidae were represented: Herpyllobius Steenstrup & Lütken, 1861 and Eurysilenium M. Sars, 1870. Herpyllobius arcticus Steenstrup & Lütken, 1861 was found on at least five different polynoid hosts, two of which, Harmothoe fragilis Moore, 1910 and Antinoe sp., were new host records. A new species, H. cluthensis sp. nov. was described from Malmgrenia species in Scottish waters. The large species, Herpyllobius cordiformis Lützen, 1964, was collected in Arctic waters from Eunoe cf. oerstedi. It is the first report of this parasite in Europe. The common parasite H. polynoes (Krøyer, 1864) was found on six different polynoid hosts, three of which, Harmothoe bifera, Malmgreniella mcintoshi Tebble & Chambers, 1982 and Eunoe ?barbata are new host records. Eurysilenium truncatum M. Sars, 1870 was collected from Eucranta villosa Malmgren, 1866, Eunone sp., and Gattyana cirrhosa (Pallas, 1766). The material from Eucranta villosa caught at 72.6ºN comprises both a new host record and is the most northerly report of this parasite. Specimens of Eurysilenium which differed from E. truncatum in a number of features were found on Harmothoe fragilis and H. impar (Johnston, 1839). A new family, the Pholoicolidae, is established to accommodate Pholicola chambersae gen. et sp. nov., parasitic on Pholoe pallida Chambers, 1985. The family Phyllodicolidae was represented by all three of its known species: Phyllodicola petiti (Delamare Deboutteville & Laubier, 1960), Cyclorhiza eteonicola Heegaard, 1942 and C. megalova Gotto & Leahy, 1988. The former was found on Eumida ockelmanni Eibye-Jacobsen, 1987, a new host record. A single ovigerous female of C. eteonicola was collected from a new host, Eteone spetsbergensis Malmgren, 1865. Cyclorhiza megalova was common on Eteone longa (Fabricius, 1780) and E. longa/flava complex. A rich diversity of members of the family Saccopsidae was found, including three known species of Melinnacheres M. Sars, 1870 plus nine new species placed in four new genera. Melinnacheres was represented by M. ergasiloides M. Sars, 1870, M. steenstrupi Bresciani & Lützen, 1961 and M. terebellidis Levinsen, 1878. Melinnacheres ergasiloides was found on Melinna elizabethae McIntosh, 1914, M. steenstrupi on members of the Terebellides stroemi-complex and T. atlantis Williams, 1984, while M. terebellidis was found on the T. stroemi-complex and on T. shetlandica Parapar, Moreira & O'Reilly, 2016. A new genus, Trichobranchicola gen. nov., was established to accommodate T. antennatus gen. et sp. nov., a parasite of Trichobranchus sikorskii Leontovich & Jirkov in Jirkov, 2001, T. glacialis Malmgren, 1866 and Trichobranchus sp. The second new genus, Lanassicola gen. nov., was established to accommodate the type species, Lanassicola arcticus gen. et sp. nov. parasitic on Lanassa venusta (Malm, 1874), plus two additional species, L. bilobatus gen. et sp. nov. on Lanassa nordenskjoeldi Malmgren, 1866, and L. dorsilobatus gen. et sp. nov. on Proclea graffii (Langerhans, 1884). A new subfamily, Euchonicolinae, was established within the Saccopsidae to accommodate two new genera, Euchonicola gen. nov. and Euchonicoloides gen. nov. The type species of Euchonicola gen. nov. is E. caudatus gen. et sp. nov., a parasite of Euchone sp., and it includes two other species, E. linearis gen. et sp. nov. on Chone sp., and E. parvus gen. et sp. nov. on Euchone sp. The type species of Euchonicoloides gen. nov. is E. elongatus gen. et sp. nov. found on a host belonging to the genus Euchone, and it also includes Euchonicoloides halli gen. et sp. nov. from Jasmineira caudata Langerhans, 1880. Four species of the family Xenocoelomidae were found: Xenocoeloma alleni (Brumpt, 1897), X. brumpti Caullery & Mesnil, 1915, X. orbicularis sp. nov. and Aphanodomus terebellae (Levinsen, 1878). Xenocoeloma alleni was found on four different species of Polycirrus and on Amaeana trilobata (M. Sars, 1863) and X. brumpti was found on Polycirrus norvegicus Wollebaek, 1912. Xenocoeloma orbicularis sp. nov. occurred only on Paramphitrite birulai (Ssolowiew, 1899). Aphanodomus terebellae was found on three hosts, only one of which, Leaena abranchiata was new.

Nine junior homonyms are given new replacement names: Anthicus dravidiacus nom. nov. (= A. postnotatus Pic, 1943 not A. (Aulacoderus) sefrensis var. postnotatus Pic, 1910); Anthicus monsonicus nom. nov. (= A. caroli Bonadona, 1978 not A. caroli Pic, 1893); Aulacoderus controversus nom. nov. (= Anthicus (Aulacoderus) singularis Hille, 1985 not Anthicus singularis Pic, 1927); Aulacoderus copiosissimus nom. nov. (= Anthicus (Aulacoderus) brevicornis Hille, 1984 not Anthicus brevicornis Pic, 1894a, not A. brevicornis Pic, 1894b); Aulacoderus hamatus nom. nov. (= Anthicus (Aula- coderus) ruficeps Hille, 1984 not Anthicus ruficeps Pic, 1913); Macrotomoderus ater nom. nov. (= M. niger Uhmann, 1993 not M. niger Pic, 1943); Macrotomoderus sandokan nom. nov. (= Derarimus minor Uhmann, 1994a = D. minor Uhmann, 1994b, not M. minor Pic, 1934); Mecynotarsus abductus nom. nov. (= M. bimaculatus Pic, 1942 not M. algiricus var. bimaculatus Desbrochers des Loges, 1898); Tomoderus abditus nom. nov. (= T. flavus Uhmann, 1981 not T. flavus Heberdey, 1936). The lectotypes of the following taxa are designated: Notoxus limbatus Fabricius, 1798, Anthicus gracilior var. auliatanus Pic, 1940, Anthicus (Aulacoderus) sulcithorax var. nigrithorax Pic, 1897, Anthicus (Aulacoderus) sulcithorax var. pallidior Pic, 1941 and Endomia unifasciata var. maculata Pic, 1919. The following synonyms are established or confirmed: Anthelephila anastasei (Pic, 1935b) = Formicomus anastasei Pic, 1935c syn. nov.; Anthelephila pedestris (Rossi, 1790) = Notoxus limbatus Fabricius, 1798 syn. nov.; Anthicus flavicoloratus Pic, 1951 = Anthicus flavicoloratus Pic, 1952 syn. nov.; Aulacoderus sulcithorax ssp. sulcithorax (Desbrochers des Loges, 1875) = Anthicus sulcithorax var. nigrithorax Pic, 1897 = Anthicus sulcithorax var. pallidior Pic, 1941 syn. nov.; Cordicollis gracilior (Abeille de Perrin, 1885) = Anthicus gracilior var. auliatanus Pic, 1940; Cyclodinus casloni (Buck, 1965) = Anthicus basilewskyi Buck, 1965 syn. nov. = Cyclodinus bucki Telnov, 2006 syn. nov.; Endomia occipitalis (Dufour, 1843) = Endomia occipitalis var. quadrinotatus Pic, 1913; Endomia unifasciata ssp. unifasciata (Bonelli, 1812) = Eudomia [sic!] unifasciata var. maculata Pic, 1919; Omonadus brevicornis (Pic, 1894a) = Anthicus brevicornis Pic, 1894b syn. nov.; Macrotomoderus bidens (Uhmann, 1994a) = Derarimus bidens Uhmann, 1999 syn. nov.; Macrotomoderus flavicornis (Uhmann, 1994a) = Derarimus flavicornis Uhmann, 1996 syn. nov.; Macrotomoderus flavipubens (Uhmann, 1994a) = Derarimus flavipubens Uhmann, 1996 syn. nov.; Macrotomoderus foveicollis (Uhmann, 1994a) = Derarimus foveicollis Uhmann, 1996 syn. nov.; Macrotomoderus sandokan nom. nov. = Derarimus minor Uhmann, 1994a syn. nov. = Derarimus minor Uhmann, 1994b syn. nov.; Macrotomoderus schillhammeri (Uhmann, 1994a) = Derarimus schillhammeri Uhmann,1996 syn. nov.; Macrotomoderus schoedli (Uhmann, 1994a) = Derarimus schoedli Uhmann, 1996 syn. nov.; Macrotomoderus schuhi (Uhmann, 1994a) = Derarimus schuhi Uhmann, 1994b syn. nov.; Macrotomoderus sumatrensis (Uhmann, 1994a) = Derarimus sumatrensis Uhmann, 1999 syn. nov.; Notoxus boviei boviei Pic, 1920 = N. boviei pallidoapicalis Pic, 1952. Anthicus basilewskyi Pic, 1955 from Rwanda is transferred to Sapintus (subgenus Sapintus) Casey, 1895 comb. nov., Anthicus drurei Pic, 1901 from Iraq is moved to Cyclodinus Mulsant & Rey, 1866 comb. nov., and Anthicus melanocephalus Bonelli, 1812 (nomen dubium) from Italy to Microhoria Chevrolat, 1877 comb. nov. Notoxus boviei var. semitestaceus Pic, 1952 and N. rothschildi var. inapicalis Pic, 1914 are automatically placed as subspecies. Anthicus Babaulti var. atripes Pic, 1921, A. Babaulti var. elgeyosus Pic, 1939, A. subinstabilis var. Karikalensis Pic, 1933, A. subinstabilis var. Nathani Pic, 1933, A. subinstabilis var. subindicus Pic, 1933, A. subinstabilis var. subsabuleti Pic, 1933, Cucullus Westwood, 1830, Macratria Severini var. diversimembris Pic, 1955, Notoxus boviei var. lateapicalis Pic, 1955, N. Jeanneli var. bisbinotatus Pic, 1921, N. Jeanneli var. innotatus Pic, 1921 (not N. chaldeus var. innotatus Pic, 1919) and N. Jeanneli var. uninotatus Pic, 1921 are unavailable names. Leptaleus barbieri Pic, 1952 from Vietnam is not a nomen nudum as recently presented. New records from European (Albania, Armenia, Azerbaijan, Bosnia Herzegovina, Canary Islands, Czech Republic, Georgia, Greece, Italy, Macedonia, Russia, Ukraine, Yugoslavia), Asian (China, Kyrgyzstan, Oman, Syria, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Yemen) and South American (Argentina) countries are provided for eighteen species of seven genera (Anthicus, Aulacoderus, Cyclodinus, Endomia, Notoxus, Omonadus and Stenidius). Aulacoderus sulcithorax sulcithorax and Notoxus lobicornis Reiche, 1864 are excluded from the fauna of the Afrotropical region and of Italy, respectively. Endomia unifasciata ab. insularis Pic, 1934 from Sicily (Italy) is confirmed to be an unavailable name, and its "type" is a member of E. unifasciata ssp. unifasciata.

The relationship between identity and national consciousness is one of the important issues, not only, of the sociology of identity but of the overall opinion of the social sciences. This scientific question has been insufficiently researched in the sociological thought of Bosnia and Herzegovina, and with this paper we are trying to actualize it. Aware of theoretical-methodological and conceptual-logical difficulties related to the research problem, we considered that in the first part of the paper we make some theoretical-methodological notes on the problems in studying this phenomenon, in order to, above all, eliminate conceptual-logical dilemmas. The use of terms and their meaning in sociology and other social sciences is a very important theoretical and methodological issue. The question justifiably arises whether we can adequately name and explain some of the “character traits” of the contemporary national identity of the Bosniak nation that we want to talk about in this paper with classical, generally accepted terms, identity, consciousness, self-awareness, shame or shame, self-shame. Another important theoretical issue of the relationship between identity and consciousness in our case, the relationship between the national consciousness of Bosniaks and their overall socio-historical identity is the dialectical relationship between individual and collective consciousness, ie. the extent to which the national consciousness of an individual or a particular national group, political, cultural, educational, age, etc., is contrary to generally accepted national values and norms. One of the important factors of national consciousness is the culture of remembrance. What does it look like for Bosniaks? More specifically, in this paper we problematize the influence of “prejudicial historiography” on the development of the culture of memory in the direction of oblivion or memory. What to remember, and why to remember. Memory is part of our identity. The phrase, not to deal with the past but to turn to the future, is impossible. How to project the future and not analyze the past. On the basis of what, what social facts? Why the world remembers the crimes of the Nazis, why the memory of the Holocaust and the suffering of the Jews is being renewed. Which is why Bosniaks would not remember and renew the memory of the genocides committed against them. Due to the Bosniak memory of genocide, it is possible that the perpetrators of genocide are celebrated as national heroes and their atrocities as a national liberation struggle. Why is the history of literature and art, political history and all other histories studied in all nations and nations. Why don't European kingdoms give up their own, queens and kings, princesses and princes. These and other theoretical-methodological questions have served us to use comparative analysis to show specific forms of self-esteem among Bosniaks today. The concrete socio-historical examples we cite fully confirm our hypothesis. Here are a few of these examples. Our eastern neighbors invented their epic hero Marko Kraljevic (Ottoman vassal and soldier, killed as a “Turkish” soldier in the fight against Christian soldiers in Bulgaria) who killed the fictional Musa Kesedzija, invented victory on the field of Kosovo, and Bosniaks forgot the real Bosniak epic heroes , brothers Mujo and Halil Hrnjic, Tala od Orašac, Mustaj-beg Lički and others, who defended Bosniaks from persecution and ethnic cleansing in the Bosnian Krajina. Dozens of schools in Bosnia and Herzegovina have been named after the Serbian language reformer, the Serb Vuk Stefanović Karađić (1787-1864), who was born in the village of Tršić near Loznica, Republic of Serbia. Uskufije (1601 / 1602.-?), Born in Dobrinja near Tuzla. Two important guslars and narrators of epic folk songs, Filip Višnjić (1767-1834) and Avdo Medjedović (1875-1953), are unequally present in the memory and symbolic content of the national groups to which they belong, even if the difference in quality is on the side of the almost forgotten. Avdo Medjedovic, the “Balkan Homer”, is known at Harvard University, but very little is known in Bosnia and Herzegovina. And while we learned everything about the murderer Gavril Princip, enlightened by the “logic of an idea” (Hannah Arendt) symbolizing him as a “national hero”, we knew nothing, nor should we have known, about Muhamed Hadžijamaković, a Bosnian patriot and legal soldier, he did not kill a single pregnant woman , a fighter in the Bosnian Army who fought against the Austro-Hungarian occupation of Bosnia and Herzegovina in 1878. When it comes to World War II and the fight against fascism are full of hero stories. For one example, we will take Srebrenica, the place of genocidal suffering of Bosniaks. Before the war against Bosnian society and the state 1992-1995. in Srebrenica, the elementary school was called Mihajlo Bjelakovic, a partisan, born in Vidrići near Sokolac. Died in Srebrenica in 1944. The high school in Srebrenica was named Midhat Hacam, a partisan born in the vicinity of Vares. It is not a problem that these two educational institutions were named after two anti-fascists, whose individual work is not known except that they died. None of them were from Srebrenica. That's not a problem either. Then what is it. In the collective memory of Bosniaks. Until recently, the name of the two Srebrenica benefactors and heroes who saved 3,500 Srebrenica Serbs from the Ustasha massacre in 1942, who were imprisoned by the Ustashas in the camp, has not been recorded. These are Ali (Jusuf) efendi Klančević (1888-1952) and his son Nazif Klančević (1910-1975). Nothing was said about them as anti-fascists, most likely that Alija eff. Klančević was an imam-hodža, his work is valued according to Andrić's “logic” as a work that cannot “be the subject of our work” In charity, humanitarian work, but also courage, sacrifice, direct participation in the fight for defense, the strongest Bosniaks do not lag behind Bosniaks, but just like Bosniaks, they are not symbolically represented in the public space of Bosnia and Herzegovina. We had the opportunity to learn about the partisan Marija Bursać and many others, but why the name Ifaket-hanuma Tuzlić-Salihagić (1908-1942), the daughter of Bakir-beg Tulić, was forgotten. In order to feed the muhadjers from eastern Bosnia, Ifaket-hanum, despite the warning not to go for food to Bosanska Dubica, she left. She bravely stood in front of the Ustashas who arrested her and took her to Jasenovac. She was tortured in the camp and eventually died in the greatest agony, watered and fried with hot oil. Nothing was known about that victim of Ustasha crimes. Is it because she is the daughter of Bakir-beg Tuzlić. Bey's children were not desirable in public as benefactors because they were “remnants of rotten feudalism”, belonging to the “sphere of another culture”. In this paper, we have mentioned other, concrete, examples of Bosniak monasticism, from the symbolic content of the entire public space to naming children.

El presente artículo se centra en la producción gráfica del artista catalán Francisco Fortuny Masagué, dentro del ámbito de los magazines y semanarios ilustrados de Buenos Aires de finales del siglo XIX y principios del siglo XX. Fortuny emigró a Argentina en 1887 y terminó residiendo en dicho país hasta su muerte A nivel iconográfico constataremos como Fortuny recrea, por una parte, un imaginario urbano y social vinculado a la modernidad de una metrópoli en pleno desarrollo. Y por otra, como participa en la elaboración de imágenes didácticas que conectan con el pasado histórico y aspiran a impulsar el nacionalismo.

Abstract Cryphalini Lindemann, 1877 are a speciose group of mostly miniscule beetles. The tribe Cryphalini is reviewed here which resulted in taxonomic and nomenclatural changes. This revision follows a recent molecular phylogenomic re-analysis focused on the tribe and related scolytine taxa. The analysis demonstrated that the tribe is polyphyletic, as found in other molecular phylogenies. To ensure monophyletic classification, we present a revision of the former tribe with two tribes resurrected, one described, and several genera transferred to other existing tribes. Additionally, extensive generic synonymy, and new combinations are presented. A key, photographs, and illustrations are provided to enable an accurate determination of genera. The revised Cryphalini contains only CryphalusErichson, 1836 (=Hypocryphalus Hopkins, 1915 syn. nov.; Margadillius Hopkins, 1915 syn. nov.). Coriacephilini Johnson trib. nov. contains only Coriacephilus Schedl, 1939. Ernoporini Nüsslin, 1911 stat. res. contains EidophelusEichhoff, 1876 (=Scolytogenes Eichhoff, 1878 syn. nov.; PtilopodiusHopkins, 1915syn. nov.; ErnoporicusBerger, 1917syn. nov.; CryphalogenesWood, 1980syn. nov.); ErnoporusThomson, 1859 (=ErnocladiusWood, 1980syn. nov.; AllothenemusBright and Torres, 2006syn. nov.); Hemicryphalus Schedl, 1963; and ProcryphalusHopkins, 1915. Trypophloeini Nüsslin, 1911 stat. res. includes the genera Afrocosmoderes Johnson and Jordal gen. nov.; AtomothenemusBright, 2019; Cosmoderes Eichhoff, 1878 (=AllernoporusKurentsov, 1941syn. nov.); HypothenemusWestwood, 1834 (=PeriocryphalusWood, 1971syn. nov.); MacrocryphalusNobuchi, 1981stat. res.; Microcosmoderes Johnson and Jordal gen. nov.; MicrosomusBright, 2019; PygmaeoborusBright, 2019; and TrypophloeusFairmaire, 1864. Xyloterini LeConte, 1876 is maintained, containing Indocryphalus Eggers, 1939; TrypodendronStephens, 1830 and XyloterinusSwaine, 1918. AcorthylusBrèthes, 1922, CryptocarenusEggers, 1937, Neocryphus Nunberg, 1956, Stegomerus Wood, 1967, and TrypolepisBright, 2019 are transferred to Corthylini LeConte, 1876. Stephanopodius Schedl, 1963 is transferred to Xyloctonini Eichhoff, 1878. As a consequence of generic synonymy, the following new or resurrected combinations are proposed: Cosmoderes euonymi (Kurentsov, 1941) comb. nov.; Cryphalus aciculatus (Schedl, 1939) comb. nov.; Cryphalus afiamalus (Schedl, 1951) comb. nov.; Cryphalus angustior Eggers, 1927 comb. res.; Cryphalus asper (Broun, 1881) comb. nov.; Cryphalus bakeri (Eggers, 1927) comb. nov.; Cryphalus basihirtusBeeson, 1929comb. nov.; Cryphalus bidentatus (Browne, 1980) comb. nov.; Cryphalus brevior (Schedl, 1943) comb. nov.; Cryphalus carinatus (Browne, 1980) comb. nov.; Cryphalus confusus (Hopkins, 1915) comb. nov.; Cryphalus corpulentus (Schedl, 1942) comb. nov.; Cryphalus cylindripennis (Schedl, 1959) comb. nov.; Cryphalus cylindrus (Browne, 1950) comb. nov.; Cryphalus densepilosus (Schedl, 1942) comb. nov.; Cryphalus dilutus Eichhoff, 1878 comb. res.; Cryphalus discrepans (Schedl, 1965) comb. nov.; Cryphalus discretus Eichhoff, 1878 comb. res.; Cryphalus erythrinae (Hopkins, 1915) comb. nov.; Cryphalus fici (Browne, 1986) comb. nov.; Cryphalus glabratus (Schedl, 1959) comb. nov.; Cryphalus granulatus (Schedl, 1942) comb. nov.; Cryphalus imitans (Schedl, 1951) comb. nov.; Cryphalus interponens (Schedl, 1953) comb. nov.; Cryphalus kalambanganus (Schedl, 1943) comb. nov.; Cryphalus laevis (Browne, 1980) comb. nov.; Cryphalus laticollis (Browne, 1974) comb. nov.; Cryphalus longipennis (Browne, 1970) comb. nov.; Cryphalus longipilis (Browne, 1981) comb. nov.; Cryphalus magnus (Browne, 1984) comb. nov.; Cryphalus malayensis (Schedl, 1942) comb. nov.; Cryphalus mangiferaeStebbing, 1914comb. res.; Cryphalus margadilaonis (Hopkins, 1915) comb. nov.; Cryphalus mindoroensis (Schedl, 1943) comb. nov.; Cryphalus minor (Schedl, 1943) comb. nov.; Cryphalus minutus (Hopkins, 1915) comb. nov.; Cryphalus mollis Schedl, 1955 comb. res.; Cryphalus moorei (Schedl, 1964) comb. nov.; Cryphalus nigrosetosus (Schedl, 1948) comb. nov.; Cryphalus nitidicollis (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Cryphalus obscurus (Hopkins, 1915) comb. nov.; Cryphalus ovalicollis (Schedl, 1942) comb. nov.; Cryphalus papuanus (Schedl, 1973) comb. nov.; Cryphalus piliger (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Cryphalus polynesiae (Schedl, 1979) comb. nov.; Cryphalus quadrituberculatus (Schedl, 1963) comb. nov.; Cryphalus reflexus (Browne, 1980) comb. nov.; Cryphalus robustus Eichhoff, 1872 comb. res.; Cryphalus rotundus (Hopkins, 1915) comb. nov.; Cryphalus sandakanensis Schedl, 1937 comb. res.; Cryphalus spathulatus (Schedl, 1938) comb. nov.; Cryphalus striatulus (Browne, 1978) comb. nov.; Cryphalus striatus (Hopkins, 1915) comb. nov.; Cryphalus sumatranus (Schedl, 1939) comb. nov.; Cryphalus triangularis (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Cryphalus tutuilaensis (Schedl, 1951) comb. nov.; Eidophelus absonus (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus afer (Schedl, 1970) comb. nov.; Eidophelus africanus (Schedl, 1977) comb. nov.; Eidophelus aitutakii (Beaver and Maddison, 1990) comb. nov.; Eidophelus alniphagus (Nobuchi, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus alternans (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus amanicus (Eggers, 1919) comb. nov.; Eidophelus ankius (Schedl, 1979) comb. nov.; Eidophelus apicalis (Schedl, 1971) comb. nov.; Eidophelus approximatus (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus aspericollis (Eichhoff, 1878) comb. nov.; Eidophelus ater (Eggers, 1923) comb. nov.; Eidophelus australis (Schedl, 1942) comb. nov.; Eidophelus badius (Nobuchi, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus bambusae (Browne, 1983) comb. nov.; Eidophelus bangensis (Eggers, 1927) comb. nov.; Eidophelus basilaris (Wood, 1960) comb. nov.; Eidophelus birosimensis (Murayama, 1958) comb. nov.; Eidophelus braderi (Browne, 1965) comb. nov.; Eidophelus brimblecombei (Schedl, 1972) comb. nov.; Eidophelus buruensis (Eggers, 1926) comb. nov.; Eidophelus camelliae (Nobuchi, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus candidus (Nobuchi, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus capucinus (Schedl, 1971) comb. nov.; Eidophelus caucasicus (Lindemann, 1877) comb. nov.; Eidophelus ceylonicus (Schedl, 1959) comb. nov.; Eidophelus cicatricosus (Schedl, 1942) comb. nov.; Eidophelus coccotrypanoides (Schedl, 1939) comb. nov.; Eidophelus communis (Schaufuss, 1891) comb. nov.; Eidophelus confragosus (Sampson, 1914) comb. nov.; Eidophelus corni (Kurentsov, 1941) comb. nov.; Eidophelus corpulentus (Schedl, 1965) comb. nov.; Eidophelus corrugatus (Schedl, 1950) comb. nov.; Eidophelus creber (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus crenatus (Sampson, 1914) comb. nov.; Eidophelus cylindricus (Schedl, 1959) comb. nov.; Eidophelus darwini (Eichhoff, 1878) comb. nov.; Eidophelus devius (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus dubiosus (Wood, 1960) comb. nov.; Eidophelus eggersi (Schedl, 1962) comb. nov.; Eidophelus euphorbiae (Wood, 1980) comb. nov.; Eidophelus excellens (Schedl, 1979) comb. nov.; Eidophelus exiguus (Wood, 1980) comb. nov.; Eidophelus exilis (Yin, 2001) comb. nov.; Eidophelus eximius (Schedl, 1942) comb. nov.; Eidophelus expers (Blandford, 1894) comb. nov.; Eidophelus fagi (Fabricius, 1798) comb. nov.; Eidophelus fijianus (Schedl, 1950) comb. nov.; Eidophelus formosanus (Browne, 1981) comb. nov.; Eidophelus fugax (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus fujisanus (Nobuchi, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus fulgens (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus fulgidus (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus fulvipennis (Nobuchi, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus ghanaensis (Schedl, 1977) comb. nov.; Eidophelus glabratus (Yin, 2001) comb. nov.; Eidophelus gracilis (Schedl, 1950) comb. nov.; Eidophelus granulatus (Wood, 1960) comb. nov.; Eidophelus grobleri (Schedl, 1962) comb. nov.; Eidophelus hirtus (Wood, 1974) comb. nov.; Eidophelus hobohmi (Schedl, 1955) comb. nov.; Eidophelus hylesinopsis (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus incultus (Yin, 2001) comb. nov.; Eidophelus indicus (Wood, 1989) comb. nov.; Eidophelus insularis (Nobuchi, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus insularum (Krivolutskaya, 1968) comb. nov.; Eidophelus jalappae (Letzner, 1849) comb. nov.; Eidophelus javanus (Schedl, 1942) comb. nov.; Eidophelus kanawhae (Hopkins, 1915) comb. nov.; Eidophelus landolphiae (Schedl, 1961) comb. nov.; Eidophelus leprosulus (Browne, 1974) comb. nov.; Eidophelus longipennis (Eggers, 1936) comb. nov.; Eidophelus magnocularis (Yin, 2001) comb. nov.; Eidophelus marquesanus (Beeson, 1935) comb. nov.; Eidophelus mauritianus (Schedl, 1965) comb. nov.; Eidophelus micans (Eggers, 1927) comb. nov.; Eidophelus minor (Eggers, 1927) comb. nov.; Eidophelus minutissimus (Schedl, 1943) comb. nov.; Eidophelus mus (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus nanulus (Wood, 1960) comb. nov.; Eidophelus nigellatus (Schedl, 1950) comb. nov.; Eidophelus nubilus (Wood, 1960) comb. nov.; Eidophelus ocularis (Schedl, 1965) comb. nov.; Eidophelus onyanganus (Schedl, 1941) comb. nov.; Eidophelus opacus (Schedl, 1959) comb. nov.; Eidophelus pacificus (Schedl, 1941) comb. nov.; Eidophelus papuanus (Schedl, 1974) comb. nov.; Eidophelus papuensis (Wood, 1989) comb. nov.; Eidophelus paradoxus (Wood, 1992) comb. nov.; Eidophelus parvus (Hopkins, 1915) comb. nov.; Eidophelus pityophthorinus (Schedl, 1943) comb. nov.; Eidophelus pleiocarpae (Schedl, 1957) comb. nov.; Eidophelus polisquamosus (Yin, 2001) comb. nov.; Eidophelus praeda (Browne, 1978) comb. nov.; Eidophelus puerarae (Choo and Woo, 1989) comb. nov.; Eidophelus pumilionides (Schedl, 1977) comb. nov.; Eidophelus pumilus (Wood, 1960) comb. nov.; Eidophelus punctatulus (Nobuchi, 1976) comb. nov.; Eidophelus punctatus (Schedl, 1951) comb. nov.; Eidophelus puncticollis (Schedl, 1950) comb. nov.; Eidophelus pygmaeolus (Schedl, 1971) comb. nov.; Eidophelus quadridens (Browne, 1983) comb. nov.; Eidophelus ramosus (Beeson, 1935) comb. nov.; Eidophelus robustus (Schedl, 1955) comb. nov.; Eidophelus rugosus (Schedl, 1943) comb. nov.; Eidophelus rusticus (Wood, 1974) comb. nov.; Eidophelus semenovi (Kurentsov, 1941) comb. nov.; Eidophelus separandus (Schedl, 1965) comb. nov.; Eidophelus setifer (Wood, 1974) comb. nov.; Eidophelus sodalis (Schedl, 1965) comb. nov.; Eidophelus spessivtzevi (Berger, 1917) comb. nov.; Eidophelus spirostachius (Schedl, 1958) comb. nov.; Eidophelus splendens (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus squamatilis (Schedl, 1977) comb. nov.; Eidophelus squamosus (Schedl, 1942) comb. nov.; Eidophelus squamulosus (Eggers, 1936) comb. nov.; Eidophelus stephegynis (Hopkins, 1915) comb. nov.; Eidophelus takahashii (Nobuchi, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus tarawai (Beaver, 1990) comb. nov.; Eidophelus tonsus (Schedl, 1969) comb. nov.; Eidophelus tricolor (Lea, 1910) comb. nov.; Eidophelus trucis (Wood, 1974) comb. nov.; Eidophelus uncatus (Schedl, 1971) comb. nov.; Eidophelus usagaricus (Eggers, 1922) comb. nov.; Eidophelus varius (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus venustus (Schedl, 1953) comb. nov.; Eidophelus yunnanensis (Yin, 2001) comb. nov.; Eidophelus zachvatkini (Krivolutskaya, 1958) comb. nov.; Ernoporus corpulentus (Sampson, 1919) comb. nov.; Ernoporus exquisitus (Bright, 2019) comb. nov.; Ernoporus guiboutiae (Schedl, 1957) comb. nov.; Ernoporus minutus (Bright and Torres, 2006) comb. nov.; Hypothenemus attenuatus (Eggers, 1935) comb. nov.; Hypothenemus loranthus (Schedl, 1942) comb. nov.; Hypothenemus novateutonicus (Schedl, 1951) comb. nov.; Hypothenemus pullus (Wood, 1971) comb. nov. Following assessment of diagnostic characters, the following species were transferred to a different genus: Afrocosmoderes madagascariensis Schedl, 1961 comb. nov.; Afrocosmoderes caplandicus (Schedl, 1965) comb. nov.; Afrocosmoderes grobleri (Schedl, 1961) comb. nov.; Afrocosmoderes niger (Schedl, 1961) comb. nov.; Afrocosmoderes pellitus (Schedl, 1953) comb. nov.; Afrocosmoderes pennatus (Schedl, 1953) comb. nov.; Eidophelus concentralis (Schedl, 1975) comb. nov.; Eidophelus inermis (Browne, 1984) comb. nov.; Eidophelus insignis (Browne, 1984) comb. nov.; Eidophelus kinabaluensis (Bright, 1992) comb. nov.; Eidophelus philippinensis (Schedl, 1967) comb. nov.; Eidophelus podocarpi (Bright, 1992) comb. nov.; Ernoporus imitatrix (Schedl, 1977) comb. nov.; Ernoporus minor (Schedl, 1942) comb. nov.; Ernoporus parvulus (Eggers, 1943) comb. nov.; Indocryphalus sericeus (Schedl, 1942) comb. nov.; Macrocryphalus elongatus (Schedl, 1965) comb. nov.; Macrocryphalus punctipennis (Schedl, 1965) comb. nov.; Microcosmoderes shoreae (Schedl, 1953) comb. nov.; Stegomerus parvatis (Wood, 1974) comb. nov.; Stephanopodius dubiosus (Schedl, 1970) comb. nov. Twenty-nine secondary homonyms were created following genus synonymy, and are designated replacement names: Afrocosmoderes schedli Johnson nom. nov. (=Euptilius madagascariensis Schedl, 1963 syn. nov.); Cryphalus amplicollis Johnson nom. nov. (=Cryphalus laticollis Browne, 1984 syn. nov.); Cryphalus eggersi Johnson nom. nov. (=Cryphalus confusus Eggers, 1927 syn. nov.); Cryphalus fuscus Johnson nom. nov. (=Cryphalus cylindrus Browne, 1984 syn. nov.); Cryphalus gracilis Johnson nom. nov. (=Cryphalus laevis Browne, 1984 syn. nov.); Cryphalus luteus Johnson nom. nov. (=Margadillius fulvus Browne, 1984 syn. nov.); Cryphalus minusculus Johnson nom. nov. (=Hypocryphalus minutus Browne, 1980 syn. nov.); Cryphalus ozopemoides Johnson nom. nov. (=Hypocryphalus montanusSchedl, 1974syn. nov.); Cryphalus pellicius Johnson nom. nov. (=Hypocryphalus pilifer Schedl, 1979 syn. nov.); Cryphalus punctistriatulus Johnson nom. nov. (=Cryphalus striatulusBrowne, 1981syn. nov.); Cryphalus schedli Johnson nom. nov. (=Hypocryphalus formosanus Schedl, 1952 syn. nov.); Cryphalus solomonensis Johnson nom. nov. (=Margadillius terminaliae Browne, 1984 syn. nov.); Cryphalus spissepilosus Johnson nom. nov. (=Cryphalus densepilosusSchedl, 1943syn. nov.); Cryphalus storckiellae Johnson nom. nov. (=Cryphalus striatusBrowne, 1974syn. nov.); Cryphalus takahashii Johnson nom. nov. (=Euptilius exiguus Browne, 1984 syn. nov.); Eidophelus alstoniae Johnson nom. nov. (=Chiloxylon sumatranus Schedl, 1970 syn. nov.); Eidophelus brighti Johnson nom. nov. (=Hemicryphalus minutusBright, 1992syn. nov.); Eidophelus brownei Johnson nom. nov. (=Euptilius papuanus Browne, 1983 syn. nov.); Eidophelus furvus Johnson nom. nov. (=Cryphalophilus ater Schedl, 1972 syn. nov.); Eidophelus levis Johnson nom. nov. (=Eidophelus gracilis Browne, 1984 syn. nov.); Eidophelus lucidus Johnson nom. nov. (=Lepicerinus pacificus Schedl, 1959 syn. nov.); Eidophelus minusculus Johnson nom. nov. (=Eidophelus minutissimus Schedl, 1962 syn. nov.); Eidophelus niger Johnson nom. nov. (=Ernoporicus aterNobuchi, 1975syn. nov.); Eidophelus parvulus Johnson nom. nov. (=Cryphalus parvus Browne, 1984 syn. nov.); Eidophelus rhododendri Johnson nom. nov. (=Hemicryphalus squamosusBright, 1992syn. nov.); Eidophelus schedli Johnson nom. nov. (=Cryphalomorphus ceylonicus Schedl, 1959 syn. nov.); Eidophelus yinae Johnson nom. nov. (=Scolytogenes venustusYin, 2001syn. nov.); Hypothenemus marginatus Johnson nom. nov. (=Periocryphalus sobrinus Wood, 1974 syn. nov.); Hypothenemus squamosulus Johnson nom. nov. (=Ptilopodius squamosus Schedl, 1953 syn. nov.). Two replacement names are now unnecessary: Cryphalus striatulus (Browne, 1978) stat. res. (=Hypothenemus browneiBeaver, 1991syn. nov.); Macrocryphalus oblongusNobuchi, 1981stat. res. (=Hypothenemus nobuchiiKnížek, 2011syn. nov.). We also acknowledge the original description of several species by Eichhoff, 1878a which have been widely referenced as a later description (Eichhoff, 1878b). The following taxonomic changes are provided to acknowledge the changes: Cryphalus horridusEichhoff, 1878a (=Cryphalus horridusEichhoff, 1878bsyn. nov); Cryphalus numidicusEichhoff, 1878a (=Cryphalus numidicusEichhoff, 1878bsyn. nov); Cryphalus submuricatusEichhoff, 1878a (=Cryphalus submuricatusEichhoff, 1878bsyn. nov); Eidophelus aspericollis (Eichhoff, 1878a) (=Eidophelus aspericollisEichhoff, 1878bsyn. nov); Hypothenemus arundinis (Eichhoff, 1878a) (=Hypothenemus arundinisEichhoff, 1878bsyn. nov); Hypothenemus birmanus (Eichhoff, 1878a) (=Hypothenemus birmanusEichhoff, 1878bsyn. nov); Hypothenemus fuscicollis (Eichhoff, 1878a) (=Hypothenemus fuscicollisEichhoff, 1878bsyn. nov); Hypothenemus rotundicollis (Eichhoff, 1878a) (=Hypothenemus rotundicollisEichhoff, 1878bsyn. nov). Subjective species-level changes are minimal. The following synonymies are proposed: Cryphalus papuanus (Schedl, 1973) (=Ernoporus antennariusSchedl, 1974syn. nov.); Eidophelus concentralis (Schedl, 1975) (=Margadillius concentralis Schedl, 1975 syn. nov.). A neotype for Periocryphalus sobrinus Wood, 1974 and its replacement name Hypothenemus marginatusnom. nov. is designated at USNM due to the holotype being lost and replaced with a different species.

Commented catalogue of Cassidinae species reported from the state of São Paulo, Brazil is given. Altogether, 343 species are presently registered from the state representing the following tribes: Alurnini (5 spp.), Cassidini (84 spp.), Chalepini (85 spp.), Dorynotini (9 spp.), Goniocheniini (8 spp.), Hemisphaerotini (2 spp.), Imatidiini (25 spp.), Ischyrosonychini (6 spp.), Mesomphaliini (83 spp.), Omocerini (14 spp.), Sceloenoplini (9 spp.), and Spilophorini (13 spp.). Fifty-two species are recorded for the first time and 19 are removed from the fauna of São Paulo. Each species is provided with a summary of published faunistic records for São Paulo and its general distribution. Dubious or insufficient records are critically commented. A list of Cassidinae species collected in São Paulo by Jaro Mráz (altogether 145 identified species) is included and supplemented with general information on this material. In addition, two new synonymies are established: Cephaloleia caeruleata Baly, 1875 = C. dilatata Uhmann, 1948, syn. nov.; Stolas lineaticollis (Boheman, 1850) = S. silaceipennis (Boheman, 1862), syn. nov.; and the publication year of the genus Heptatomispa Uhmann, 1940 is corrected to 1932. The following 54 species are recorded from São Paulo for the first time: Agroiconota tristriata (Fabricius, 1792), Charidotella (Philaspis) polita (Klug, 1829), Charidotis admirabilis Boheman, 1855, C. auroguttata Boheman, 1855, C. circumscripta Boheman, 1855, C. concentrica (Boheman, 1855), C. consentanea (Boheman, 1855), C. gemellata Boheman, 1855, Coptocycla (s. str.) stigma (Germar, 1823), Coptocycla (Coptocyclella) adamantina (Germar, 1823), Eremionycha bahiana (Boheman, 1855), Helocassis flavorugosa (Boheman, 1855), Helocassis flavorugosa (Boheman, 1855), Microctenochira patruelis (Boheman, 1855), Plagiometriona deyrollei (Boheman, 1855), P. punctatissima (Boheman, 1855), P. tenella (Klug, 1829), Baliosus conspersus Weise, 1911, Chalepus aenescens Weise, 1910, Decatelia pallipes (Weise, 1922), Octhispa gemmata (Germar, 1823), Octhispa robinsonii (Baly, 1864), Octotoma brasiliensis Weise, 1921, Octotoma crassicornis Weise, 1910, Oxychalepus centralis Uhmann, 1940, Temnochalepus imitans Uhmann, 1935, Uroplata coarctata Weise, 1921, Uroplata minuscula (Chapuis, 1877), Calliapis umbonata Hincks, 1956, Cephaloleia caeruleata Baly, 1875, C. flavovittata Baly, 1859, C. trilineata Uhmann, 1942, C. zikani Uhmann, 1935, Stenispa vespertina Baly, 1877, S. viridis (Pic, 1931), Xenispa bicolorata (Uhmann, 1948), Anacassis candida (Boheman, 1854), Chelymorpha commutabilis Boheman, 1854, C. constellata (Klug, 1829), Cyrtonota vulnerata (Boheman, 1850), Hilarocassis evanida (Boheman, 1850), Mesomphalia gibbosa (Fabricius, 1781), Nebraspis corticina (Boheman, 1850), Sceloenopla rectelineata (Pic, 1929), Stolas acuta (Boheman, 1850), S. aenea (Olivier, 1790), S. sexsignata (Boheman, 1850), S. sommeri (Boheman, 1850), S. subreticulata (Boheman, 1850), Omocerus (Platytauroma) cornutus (Boheman, 1850), Calyptocephala nigricornis (Germar, 1823), Oediopalpa brunnea (Uhmann, 1943), O. caerulescens (Baly, 1875), and O. fulvipes Baly, 1859.

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

Biology teaches us that organisms adapt—or don’t; sociology claims that people adapt—or don’t. We know that ideas can adapt; sometimes even institutions can adapt. Or not. Various papers in this issue attest in exciting ways to precisely such adaptations and maladaptations. (See, for example, the articles in this issue by Lelia Green, Leesa Bonniface, and Tami McMahon, by Lexey A. Bartlett, and by Debra Ferreday.) Adaptation is a part of nature and culture, but it’s the latter alone that interests me here. (However, see the article by Hutcheon and Bortolotti for a discussion of nature and culture together.) It’s no news to anyone that not only adaptations, but all art is bred of other art, though sometimes artists seem to get carried away. My favourite example of excess of association or attribution can be found in the acknowledgements page to a verse drama called Beatrice Chancy by the self-defined “maximalist” (not minimalist) poet, novelist, librettist, and critic, George Elliot Clarke. His selected list of the incarnations of the story of Beatrice Cenci, a sixteenth-century Italian noblewoman put to death for the murder of her father, includes dramas, romances, chronicles, screenplays, parodies, sculptures, photographs, and operas: dramas by Vincenzo Pieracci (1816), Percy Bysshe Shelley (1819), Juliusz Slowacki (1843), Waldter Landor (1851), Antonin Artaud (1935) and Alberto Moravia (1958); the romances by Francesco Guerrazi (1854), Henri Pierangeli (1933), Philip Lindsay (1940), Frederic Prokosch (1955) and Susanne Kircher (1976); the chronicles by Stendhal (1839), Mary Shelley (1839), Alexandre Dumas, père (1939-40), Robert Browning (1864), Charles Swinburne (1883), Corrado Ricci (1923), Sir Lionel Cust (1929), Kurt Pfister (1946) and Irene Mitchell (1991); the film/screenplay by Bertrand Tavernier and Colo O’Hagan (1988); the parody by Kathy Acker (1993); the sculpture by Harriet Hosmer (1857); the photograph by Julia Ward Cameron (1866); and the operas by Guido Pannain (1942), Berthold Goldschmidt (1951, 1995) and Havergal Brian (1962). (Beatrice Chancy, 152) He concludes the list with: “These creators have dallied with Beatrice Cenci, but I have committed indiscretions” (152). An “intertextual feast”, by Clarke’s own admission, this rewriting of Beatrice’s story—especially Percy Bysshe Shelley’s own verse play, The Cenci—illustrates brilliantly what Northrop Frye offered as the first principle of the production of literature: “literature can only derive its form from itself” (15). But in the last several decades, what has come to be called intertextuality theory has shifted thinking away from looking at this phenomenon from the point of view of authorial influences on the writing of literature (and works like Harold Bloom’s famous study of the Anxiety of Influence) and toward considering our readerly associations with literature, the connections we (not the author) make—as we read. We, the readers, have become “empowered”, as we say, and we’ve become the object of academic study in our own right. Among the many associations we inevitably make, as readers, is with adaptations of the literature we read, be it of Jane Austin novels or Beowulf. Some of us may have seen the 2006 rock opera of Beowulf done by the Irish Repertory Theatre; others await the new Neil Gaiman animated film. Some may have played the Beowulf videogame. I personally plan to miss the upcoming updated version that makes Beowulf into the son of an African explorer. But I did see Sturla Gunnarsson’s Beowulf and Grendel film, and yearned to see the comic opera at the Lincoln Centre Festival in 2006 called Grendel, the Transcendence of the Great Big Bad. I am not really interested in whether these adaptations—all in the last year or so—signify Hollywood’s need for a new “monster of the week” or are just the sign of a desire to cash in on the success of The Lord of the Rings. For all I know they might well act as an ethical reminder of the human in the alien in a time of global strife (see McGee, A4). What interests me is the impact these multiple adaptations can have on the reader of literature as well as on the production of literature. Literature, like painting, is usually thought of as what Nelson Goodman (114) calls a one-stage art form: what we read (like what we see on a canvas) is what is put there by the originating artist. Several major consequences follow from this view. First, the implication is that the work is thus an original and new creation by that artist. However, even the most original of novelists—like Salman Rushdie—are the first to tell you that stories get told and retold over and over. Indeed his controversial novel, The Satanic Verses, takes this as a major theme. Works like the Thousand and One Nights are crucial references in all of his work. As he writes in Haroun and the Sea of Stories: “no story comes from nowhere; new stories are born of old” (86). But illusion of originality is only one of the implications of seeing literature as a one-stage art form. Another is the assumption that what the writer put on paper is what we read. But entire doctoral programs in literary production and book history have been set up to study how this is not the case, in fact. Editors influence, even change, what authors want to write. Designers control how we literally see the work of literature. Beatrice Chancy’s bookend maps of historical Acadia literally frame how we read the historical story of the title’s mixed-race offspring of an African slave and a white slave owner in colonial Nova Scotia in 1801. Media interest or fashion or academic ideological focus may provoke a publisher to foreground in the physical presentation different elements of a text like this—its stress on race, or gender, or sexuality. The fact that its author won Canada’s Governor General’s Award for poetry might mean that the fact that this is a verse play is emphasised. If the book goes into a second edition, will a new preface get added, changing the framework for the reader once again? As Katherine Larson has convincingly shown, the paratextual elements that surround a work of literature like this one become a major site of meaning generation. What if literature were not a one-stage an art form at all? What if it were, rather, what Goodman calls “two-stage” (114)? What if we accept that other artists, other creators, are needed to bring it to life—editors, publishers, and indeed readers? In a very real and literal sense, from our (audience) point of view, there may be no such thing as a one-stage art work. Just as the experience of literature is made possible for readers by the writer, in conjunction with a team of professional and creative people, so, arguably all art needs its audience to be art; the un-interpreted, un-experienced art work is not worth calling art. Goodman resists this move to considering literature a two-stage art, not at all sure that readings are end products the way that performance works are (114). Plays, films, television shows, or operas would be his prime examples of two-stage arts. In each of these, a text (a playtext, a screenplay, a score, a libretto) is moved from page to stage or screen and given life, by an entire team of creative individuals: directors, actors, designers, musicians, and so on. Literary adaptations to the screen or stage are usually considered as yet another form of this kind of transcription or transposition of a written text to a performance medium. But the verbal move from the “book” to the diminutive “libretto” (in Italian, little book or booklet) is indicative of a view that sees adaptation as a step downward, a move away from a primary literary “source”. In fact, an entire negative rhetoric of “infidelity” has developed in both journalistic reviewing and academic discourse about adaptations, and it is a morally loaded rhetoric that I find surprising in its intensity. Here is the wonderfully critical description of that rhetoric by the king of film adaptation critics, Robert Stam: Terms like “infidelity,” “betrayal,” “deformation,” “violation,” “bastardisation,” “vulgarisation,” and “desecration” proliferate in adaptation discourse, each word carrying its specific charge of opprobrium. “Infidelity” carries overtones of Victorian prudishness; “betrayal” evokes ethical perfidy; “bastardisation” connotes illegitimacy; “deformation” implies aesthetic disgust and monstrosity; “violation” calls to mind sexual violence; “vulgarisation” conjures up class degradation; and “desecration” intimates religious sacrilege and blasphemy. (3) I join many others today, like Stam, in challenging the persistence of this fidelity discourse in adaptation studies, thereby providing yet another example of what, in his article here called “The Persistence of Fidelity: Adaptation Theory Today,” John Connor has called the “fidelity reflex”—the call to end an obsession with fidelity as the sole criterion for judging the success of an adaptation. But here I want to come at this same issue of the relation of adaptation to the adapted text from another angle. When considering an adaptation of a literary work, there are other reasons why the literary “source” text might be privileged. Literature has historical priority as an art form, Stam claims, and so in some people’s eyes will always be superior to other forms. But does it actually have priority? What about even earlier performative forms like ritual and song? Or to look forward, instead of back, as Tim Barker urges us to do in his article here, what about the new media’s additions to our repertoire with the advent of electronic technology? How can we retain this hierarchy of artistic forms—with literature inevitably on top—in a world like ours today? How can both the Romantic ideology of original genius and the capitalist notion of individual authorship hold up in the face of the complex reality of the production of literature today (as well as in the past)? (In “Amen to That: Sampling and Adapting the Past”, Steve Collins shows how digital technology has changed the possibilities of musical creativity in adapting/sampling.) Like many other ages before our own, adaptation is rampant today, as director Spike Jonze and screenwriter Charlie Kaufman clearly realised in creating Adaptation, their meta-cinematic illustration-as-send-up film about adaptation. But rarely has a culture denigrated the adapter as a secondary and derivative creator as much as we do the screenwriter today—as Jonze explores with great irony. Michelle McMerrin and Sergio Rizzo helpfully explain in their pieces here that one of the reasons for this is the strength of auteur theory in film criticism. But we live in a world in which works of literature have been turned into more than films. We now have literary adaptations in the forms of interactive new media works and videogames; we have theme parks; and of course, we have the more common television series, radio and stage plays, musicals, dance works, and operas. And, of course, we now have novelisations of films—and they are not given the respect that originary novels are given: it is the adaptation as adaptation that is denigrated, as Deborah Allison shows in “Film/Print: Novelisations and Capricorn One”. Adaptations across media are inevitably fraught, and for complex and multiple reasons. The financing and distribution issues of these widely different media alone inevitably challenge older capitalist models. The need or desire to appeal to a global market has consequences for adaptations of literature, especially with regard to its regional and historical specificities. These particularities are what usually get adapted or “indigenised” for new audiences—be they the particularities of the Spanish gypsy Carmen (see Ioana Furnica, “Subverting the ‘Good, Old Tune’”), those of the Japanese samurai genre (see Kevin P. Eubanks, “Becoming-Samurai: Samurai [Films], Kung-Fu [Flicks] and Hip-Hop [Soundtracks]”), of American hip hop graffiti (see Kara-Jane Lombard, “‘To Us Writers, the Differences Are Obvious’: The Adaptation of Hip Hop Graffiti to an Australian Context”) or of Jane Austen’s fiction (see Suchitra Mathur, “From British ‘Pride’ to Indian ‘Bride’: Mapping the Contours of a Globalised (Post?)Colonialism”). What happens to the literary text that is being adapted, often multiple times? Rather than being displaced by the adaptation (as is often feared), it most frequently gets a new life: new editions of the book appear, with stills from the movie adaptation on its cover. But if I buy and read the book after seeing the movie, I read it differently than I would have before I had seen the film: in effect, the book, not the adaptation, has become the second and even secondary text for me. And as I read, I can only “see” characters as imagined by the director of the film; the cinematic version has taken over, has even colonised, my reader’s imagination. The literary “source” text, in my readerly, experiential terms, becomes the secondary work. It exists on an experiential continuum, in other words, with its adaptations. It may have been created before, but I only came to know it after. What if I have read the literary work first, and then see the movie? In my imagination, I have already cast the characters: I know what Gabriel and Gretta Conroy of James Joyce’s story, “The Dead,” look and sound like—in my imagination, at least. Then along comes John Huston’s lush period piece cinematic adaptation and the director superimposes his vision upon mine; his forcibly replaces mine. But, in this particular case, Huston still arguably needs my imagination, or at least my memory—though he may not have realised it fully in making the film. When, in a central scene in the narrative, Gabriel watches his wife listening, moved, to the singing of the Irish song, “The Lass of Aughrim,” what we see on screen is a concerned, intrigued, but in the end rather blank face: Gabriel doesn’t alter his expression as he listens and watches. His expression may not change—but I know exactly what he is thinking. Huston does not tell us; indeed, without the use of voice-over, he cannot. And since the song itself is important, voice-over is impossible. But I know exactly what he is thinking: I’ve read the book. I fill in the blank, so to speak. Gabriel looks at Gretta and thinks: There was grace and mystery in her attitude as if she were a symbol of something. He asked himself what is a woman standing on the stairs in the shadow, listening to distant music, a symbol of. If he were a painter he would paint her in that attitude. … Distant Music he would call the picture if he were a painter. (210) A few pages later the narrator will tell us: At last she turned towards them and Gabriel saw that there was colour on her cheeks and that her eyes were shining. A sudden tide of joy went leaping out of his heart. (212) This joy, of course, puts him in a very different—disastrously different—state of mind than his wife, who (we later learn) is remembering a young man who sang that song to her when she was a girl—and who died, for love of her. I know this—because I’ve read the book. Watching the movie, I interpret Gabriel’s blank expression in this knowledge. Just as the director’s vision can colonise my visual and aural imagination, so too can I, as reader, supplement the film’s silence with the literary text’s inner knowledge. The question, of course, is: should I have to do so? Because I have read the book, I will. But what if I haven’t read the book? Will I substitute my own ideas, from what I’ve seen in the rest of the film, or from what I’ve experienced in my own life? Filmmakers always have to deal with this problem, of course, since the camera is resolutely externalising, and actors must reveal their inner worlds through bodily gesture or facial expression for the camera to record and for the spectator to witness and comprehend. But film is not only a visual medium: it uses music and sound, and it also uses words—spoken words within the dramatic situation, words overheard on the street, on television, but also voice-over words, spoken by a narrating figure. Stephen Dedalus escapes from Ireland at the end of Joseph Strick’s 1978 adaptation of Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man with the same words as he does in the novel, where they appear as Stephen’s diary entry: Amen. So be it. Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race. … Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead. (253) The words from the novel also belong to the film as film, with its very different story, less about an artist than about a young Irishman finally able to escape his family, his religion and his country. What’s deliberately NOT in the movie is the irony of Joyce’s final, benign-looking textual signal to his reader: Dublin, 1904 Trieste, 1914 The first date is the time of Stephen’s leaving Dublin—and the time of his return, as we know from the novel Ulysses, the sequel, if you like, to this novel. The escape was short-lived! Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man has an ironic structure that has primed its readers to expect not escape and triumph but something else. Each chapter of the novel has ended on this kind of personal triumphant high; the next has ironically opened with Stephen mired in the mundane and in failure. Stephen’s final words in both film and novel remind us that he really is an Icarus figure, following his “Old father, old artificer”, his namesake, Daedalus. And Icarus, we recall, takes a tumble. In the novel version, we are reminded that this is the portrait of the artist “as a young man”—later, in 1914, from the distance of Trieste (to which he has escaped) Joyce, writing this story, could take some ironic distance from his earlier persona. There is no such distance in the film version. However, it stands alone, on its own; Joyce’s irony is not appropriate in Strick’s vision. His is a different work, with its own message and its own, considerably more romantic and less ironic power. Literary adaptations are their own things—inspired by, based on an adapted text but something different, something other. I want to argue that these works adapted from literature are now part of our readerly experience of that literature, and for that reason deserve the same attention we give to the literary, and not only the same attention, but also the same respect. I am a literarily trained person. People like me who love words, already love plays, but shouldn’t we also love films—and operas, and musicals, and even videogames? There is no need to denigrate words that are heard (and visualised) in order to privilege words that are read. Works of literature can have afterlives in their adaptations and translations, just as they have pre-lives, in terms of influences and models, as George Eliot Clarke openly allows in those acknowledgements to Beatrice Chancy. I want to return to that Canadian work, because it raises for me many of the issues about adaptation and language that I see at the core of our literary distrust of the move away from the written, printed text. I ended my recent book on adaptation with a brief examination of this work, but I didn’t deal with this particular issue of language. So I want to return to it, as to unfinished business. Clarke is, by the way, clear in the verse drama as well as in articles and interviews that among the many intertexts to Beatrice Chancy, the most important are slave narratives, especially one called Celia, a Slave, and Shelley’s play, The Cenci. Both are stories of mistreated and subordinated women who fight back. Since Clarke himself has written at length about the slave narratives, I’m going to concentrate here on Shelley’s The Cenci. The distance from Shelley’s verse play to Clarke’s verse play is a temporal one, but it is also geographic and ideological one: from the old to the new world, and from a European to what Clarke calls an “Africadian” (African Canadian/African Acadian) perspective. Yet both poets were writing political protest plays against unjust authority and despotic power. And they have both become plays that are more read than performed—a sad fate, according to Clarke, for two works that are so concerned with voice. We know that Shelley sought to calibrate the stylistic registers of his work with various dramatic characters and effects to create a modern “mixed” style that was both a return to the ancients and offered a new drama of great range and flexibility where the expression fits what is being expressed (see Bruhn). His polemic against eighteenth-century European dramatic conventions has been seen as leading the way for realist drama later in the nineteenth century, with what has been called its “mixed style mimesis” (Bruhn) Clarke’s adaptation does not aim for Shelley’s perfect linguistic decorum. It mixes the elevated and the biblical with the idiomatic and the sensual—even the vulgar—the lushly poetic with the coarsely powerful. But perhaps Shelley’s idea of appropriate language fits, after all: Beatrice Chancy is a woman of mixed blood—the child of a slave woman and her slave owner; she has been educated by her white father in a convent school. Sometimes that educated, elevated discourse is heard; at other times, she uses the variety of discourses operative within slave society—from religious to colloquial. But all the time, words count—as in all printed and oral literature. Clarke’s verse drama was given a staged reading in Toronto in 1997, but the story’s, if not the book’s, real second life came when it was used as the basis for an opera libretto. Actually the libretto commission came first (from Queen of Puddings Theatre in Toronto), and Clarke started writing what was to be his first of many opera texts. Constantly frustrated by the art form’s demands for concision, he found himself writing two texts at once—a short libretto and a longer, five-act tragic verse play to be published separately. Since it takes considerably longer to sing than to speak (or read) a line of text, the composer James Rolfe keep asking for cuts—in the name of economy (too many singers), because of clarity of action for audience comprehension, or because of sheer length. Opera audiences have to sit in a theatre for a fixed length of time, unlike readers who can put a book down and return to it later. However, what was never sacrificed to length or to the demands of the music was the language. In fact, the double impact of the powerful mixed language and the equally potent music, increases the impact of the literary text when performed in its operatic adaptation. Here is the verse play version of the scene after Beatrice’s rape by her own father, Francis Chancey: I was black but comely. Don’t glance Upon me. This flesh is crumbling Like proved lies. I’m perfumed, ruddied Carrion. Assassinated. Screams of mucking juncos scrawled Over the chapel and my nerves, A stickiness, as when he finished Maculating my thighs and dress. My eyes seep pus; I can’t walk: the floors Are tizzy, dented by stout mauling. Suddenly I would like poison. The flesh limps from my spine. My inlets crimp. Vultures flutter, ghastly, without meaning. I can see lice swarming the air. … His scythe went shick shick shick and slashed My flowers; they lay, murdered, in heaps. (90) The biblical and the violent meet in the texture of the language. And none of that power gets lost in the opera adaptation, despite cuts and alterations for easier aural comprehension. I was black but comely. Don’t look Upon me: this flesh is dying. I’m perfumed, bleeding carrion, My eyes weep pus, my womb’s sopping With tears; I can hardly walk: the floors Are tizzy, the sick walls tumbling, Crumbling like proved lies. His scythe went shick shick shick and cut My flowers; they lay in heaps, murdered. (95) Clarke has said that he feels the libretto is less “literary” in his words than the verse play, for it removes the lines of French, Latin, Spanish and Italian that pepper the play as part of the author’s critique of the highly educated planter class in Nova Scotia: their education did not guarantee ethical behaviour (“Adaptation” 14). I have not concentrated on the music of the opera, because I wanted to keep the focus on the language. But I should say that the Rolfe’s score is as historically grounded as Clarke’s libretto: it is rooted in African Canadian music (from ring shouts to spirituals to blues) and in Scottish fiddle music and local reels of the time, not to mention bel canto Italian opera. However, the music consciously links black and white traditions in a way that Clarke’s words and story refuse: they remain stubbornly separate, set in deliberate tension with the music’s resolution. Beatrice will murder her father, and, at the very moment that Nova Scotia slaves are liberated, she and her co-conspirators will be hanged for that murder. Unlike the printed verse drama, the shorter opera libretto functions like a screenplay, if you will. It is not so much an autonomous work unto itself, but it points toward a potential enactment or embodiment in performance. Yet, even there, Clarke cannot resist the lure of words—even though they are words that no audience will ever hear. The stage directions for Act 3, scene 2 of the opera read: “The garden. Slaves, sunflowers, stars, sparks” (98). The printed verse play is full of these poetic associative stage directions, suggesting that despite his protestations to the contrary, Clarke may have thought of that version as one meant to be read by the eye. After Beatrice’s rape, the stage directions read: “A violin mopes. Invisible shovelsful of dirt thud upon the scene—as if those present were being buried alive—like ourselves” (91). Our imaginations—and emotions—go to work, assisted by the poet’s associations. There are many such textual helpers—epigraphs, photographs, notes—that we do not have when we watch and listen to the opera. We do have the music, the staged drama, the colours and sounds as well as the words of the text. As Clarke puts the difference: “as a chamber opera, Beatrice Chancy has ascended to television broadcast. But as a closet drama, it play only within the reader’s head” (“Adaptation” 14). Clarke’s work of literature, his verse drama, is a “situated utterance, produced in one medium and in one historical and social context,” to use Robert Stam’s terms. In the opera version, it was transformed into another “equally situated utterance, produced in a different context and relayed through a different medium” (45-6). I want to argue that both are worthy of study and respect by wordsmiths, by people like me. I realise I’ve loaded the dice: here neither the verse play nor the libretto is primary; neither is really the “source” text, for they were written at the same time and by the same person. But for readers and audiences (my focus and interest here), they exist on a continuum—depending on which we happen to experience first. As Ilana Shiloh explores here, the same is true about the short story and film of Memento. I am not alone in wanting to mount a defence of adaptations. Julie Sanders ends her new book called Adaptation and Appropriation with these words: “Adaptation and appropriation … are, endlessly and wonderfully, about seeing things come back to us in as many forms as possible” (160). The storytelling imagination is an adaptive mechanism—whether manifesting itself in print or on stage or on screen. The study of the production of literature should, I would like to argue, include those other forms taken by that storytelling drive. If I can be forgiven a move to the amusing—but still serious—in concluding, Terry Pratchett puts it beautifully in his fantasy story, Witches Abroad: “Stories, great flapping ribbons of shaped space-time, have been blowing and uncoiling around the universe since the beginning of time. And they have evolved. The weakest have died and the strongest have survived and they have grown fat on the retelling.” In biology as in culture, adaptations reign. References Bloom, Harold. The Anxiety of Influence. New York: Oxford University Press, 1975. Bruhn, Mark J. “’Prodigious Mixtures and Confusions Strange’: The Self-Subverting Mixed Style of The Cenci.” Poetics Today 22.4 (2001). Clarke, George Elliott. “Beatrice Chancy: A Libretto in Four Acts.” Canadian Theatre Review 96 (1998): 62-79. ———. Beatrice Chancy. Victoria, BC: Polestar, 1999. ———. “Adaptation: Love or Cannibalism? Some Personal Observations”, unpublished manuscript of article. Frye, Northrop. The Educated Imagination. Toronto: CBC, 1963. Goodman, Nelson. Languages of Art: An Approach to a Theory of Symbols. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1968. Hutcheon, Linda, and Gary R. Bortolotti. “On the Origin of Adaptations: Rethinking Fidelity Discourse and “Success”—Biologically.” New Literary History. Forthcoming. Joyce, James. Dubliners. 1916. New York: Viking, 1967. ———. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. 1916. Penguin: Harmondsworth, 1960. Larson, Katherine. “Resistance from the Margins in George Elliott Clarke’s Beatrice Chancy.” Canadian Literature 189 (2006): 103-118. McGee, Celia. “Beowulf on Demand.” New York Times, Arts and Leisure. 30 April 2006. A4. Rushdie, Salman. The Satanic Verses. New York: Viking, 1988. ———. Haroun and the Sea of Stories. London: Granta/Penguin, 1990. Sanders, Julie. Adaptation and Appropriation. London and New York: Routledge, 160. Shelley, Percy Bysshe. The Cenci. Ed. George Edward Woodberry. Boston and London: Heath, 1909. Stam, Robert. “Introduction: The Theory and Practice of Adaptation.” Literature and Film: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Film Adaptation. Oxford: Blackwell, 2005. 1-52. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Hutcheon, Linda. "In Defence of Literary Adaptation as Cultural Production." M/C Journal 10.2 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/01-hutcheon.php>. APA Style Hutcheon, L. (May 2007) "In Defence of Literary Adaptation as Cultural Production," M/C Journal, 10(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/01-hutcheon.php>.