Academic literature on the topic 'Animal experimentation – Fiction'

Learning about research ethics and research integrity is greatly facilitated by case studies, which illuminate, ground and personalise abstract questions. This paper argues that fiction can provide similar learning experiences, incarnating ethical dilemmas through a medium that is highly accessible yet sophisticated in its depictions of how researchers behave. Examples of fictional illustrations are given to illustrate various themes such as animal experimentation, exploitation of the vulnerable, researcher bias and research fraud.

"In the relatively short time since its establishment as an area of research, literary animal studies has become a burgeoning field covering a significant amount of intellectual terrain: traversing, for example, thousands of years of history and an array of human-animal encounters like pet ownership and breeding, hunting, farming, and biotechnology. However, few scholars have focused their attention on “experimental animals”—that is, animals used in experiments within and beyond laboratories—and fewer still have investigated the aesthetic and ethical challenges of representing these animals (and literary animals more generally) as collectives. This article uses the polysemy of “the experimental” to think together innovative literary forms and descriptions of scientific research and experimentation. In particular, it considers some of the tensions that arise in literary experiments that feature representations of animal collectives in science. In place of an in-depth study of a single text, I draw on Natalia Cecire’s vocabulary (2019) of the “flash” to explore how Tania Hershman’s short story “Grounded: God Glows” (2017), Karen Joy Fowler’s “Us” (2013), and an excerpt from Thalia Field’s Bird Lovers, Backyard (2010) constitute an ecology of experimental texts which, when considered alongside one another, highlight patterns of animal multiplicity and movement. Foregrounding literary strategies like fragmentation, we-narrative, and synecdoche and juxtaposition, I argue that snapshots of animal collectives in Hershman, Fowler, and Field accumulate into a shimmering and hybrid multitude of bodies resistant to uncritical forms of literary anthropomorphism and impersonal scientific practices that frequently transform such bodies into readable and interpretable “data.” Keywords: laboratory animals, experimentation, flash, form, fragmentation, we-narrative, synecdoche, juxtaposition "

Abstract This article examines the antivivisectionist writings of British novelist and philosopher John Cowper Powys (1872–1963) during the 1930s and 1940s. Powys's opposition to the widespread practice of animal experimentation, both in his fiction and his contributions to activist newspapers, has been noted by critics to have prefigured the modern animal rights movement. On the surface, his writings on the subject display an unnuanced and impassioned outrage, yet on closer inspection, they form a logical piece of Powys's idiosyncratic worldview and to some extent reflect the arguments of “new age” antivivisection campaigns of his time.

My article addresses issues of bioethics in cross-species hybridism raised in Robert and Beylis’ well-known “Crossing species boundaries” (2003) and the ensuing discussion by examination of two important stories written in the Soviet 1920s, “A Dog’s Heart” and “The Amphibian Man”. I argue that these two fictional narratives show that literature not only responds to changing trends in biological sciences but also heuristically considers and intuits wider social implications of radical experimentation. My approach is both synchronic and diachronic as I demonstrate that while being grounded in the same reformative atmosphere of the 1920s, the two texts present divergent responses to the issue of cross-species hybridism relevant for our contemporary debates. In particular, I deal with the notions of man playing God, species identity in analogy to ‘race’, procreation of human-animal hybrids, and also consider the relevance of culture-specific concepts of charismatic and distant species for cross-species discourse.

Abstract— Brain Machine Interface is also known as ‘A brain-computer inteface’.A brain-computer interface (BCI), sometimes called a direct neural interface or a brain-machine interface, is a direct communication pathway between a human or animal brain and an external device. In one-way BCIs, computers either accept commands from the brain or send signals to it (for example, to restore vision) but not both. Two-way BCIs would allow brains and external devices to exchange information in both directions but have yet to be successfully implanted in animals or humans. In this definition, the word brain means the brain or nervous system of an organic life form rather than the mind. Computer means any processing or computational device, from simple circuits to silicon chips. Research on BCIs began in the 1970s, but it wasn't until the mid1990s that the first working experimental implants in humans appeared. Following years of animal experimentation, early working implants in humans now exist, designed to restore damaged hearing, sight and movement. With recent advances in technology and knowledge, pioneering researchers could now conceivably attempt to produce BCIs that augment human functions rather than simply restoring them, previously only a possibility in science fiction.

Eco-criticism is one of the most recent interdisciplinary fields of study to have risen in the domain of literature which includes ecology, ecosystem and various other environmental issues relating to nature and its myriad aspects. Also, the discussions in the domain have increased significantly. For the last three decades, the environment has been facing a whole range of threats by the human-centric present day society. Also, the environmental consciousness in literature is a matter of vital concern for the scholars and the academic alike, and the subsequent emergence of the green theory, i.e. Ecocriticism is a remarkable addition. It is a field of study wherein nature and literature are mingled. As natural resources are being used injudiciously, the ecological environment is fast losing its poise and equilibrium. The cycle of seasons is fast turning irregular leaving the environment with a whole range of limitations and existential hazards for the entire human race. This crisis is not a recent phenomenon. Rather, it has been continuing since the Victorian age–the age of rapid industrialization, which consequently led to various disastrous phenomena, such as deforestation, water pollution, air pollution, soil pollution etc. Various scientific experimentations and developments have also brought harm to nature. The present paper attempts to show how H.G.Wells in his two novels, namely The Time Machine (1895) and The Island of Dr. Moreau (1896) prophesied the future of the environment in the light of the ideas laid down by the enterprise of science. The paper showcases how the characters of Wells forecast in their course of intersecting and interacting the two different natural worlds and play the role of a mediator between the two civilizations–one natural and the other reigned by science and the future. Through the literary analysis, the paper attempts to analyze not only the interrelationship shared between the human and the non-human worlds, but also, it lays bare the otherwise unwelcome outcomes of the man-nature interactions. In continuation of the analysis, the paper exhibits the demolition of the civilization as well as the environment through the film versions adapted by George Pal and David Duncan in 1960 and 2002 respectively under the same titles. In yet another novel titled The Island of Doctor Moreau(1896), Wells has shown how animals have been exploited for the sake of science and experimentation. The paper concludes how nature is confronting a great threat by the deliberate negligence of the human race, where there is a necessity to improve the correlation between human and nonhumans.

In the wake of mounting warnings from ecologists and other scientists, contemporary fiction writers have been alerting their readers to the environmental crisis as manifested in droughts, floods, wildfires, polar ice cap melting, rising sea levels, air, water, and soil pollution, species extinction, and a host of other ills. Within the realm of contemporary science fiction, Paolo Bacigalupi, a highly acclaimed American author, describes a world in the throes of catastrophic ecological change. Through his meticulously crafted narratives, Bacigalupi delivers a prophetic message, delineating environmental crises within the context of a posthuman world.Employing pertinent concepts derived from object-oriented ecological theory, this paper employs Jane Bennett’s notion of “vibrant matter”, Timothy Morton’s concept of “hyperobjects”, Stacy Alaimo’s theory of “trans-corporeality”, and Rob Nixon’s idea of “slow violence” to see how Bacigalupi engages in current discourses on the environmental crisis and images of desire in The Windup Girl and Pump Six and Other Stories. Bacigalupi presents grotesqueries against a background of multiple, post-apocalyptic disasters. While societal elites indulge in hedonistic experimentation, mega-corporations engage in genetic manipulation on humans, plants, and animals in pursuit of progress, aesthetic trends, profit, or survival. Humanity’s ongoing destruction of the planet in service to a consumer culture, along with the disastrous results of attempting scientific “fixes” without understanding the interconnecting causes or the scale of the phenomenon they are trying to “fix”, beg the question of whether science and technology will be able to prevent or ameliorate future ecological crises, or inadvertently precipitate even graver predicaments. Bacigalupi’s critique, illustrated through grim narratives replete with macabre examples, serves as a poignant exhortation, urging humans to meditate on and then prevent or mitigate the impending disasters of our own making.

Applying ecocritical perspectives, this study examines and analyzes the impacts of genetic engineering under the dominance of corporate organizations in the era of globalization in Margaret Atwood’s fiction The Year of the Flood. The intrusion of genetic engineering in the age of globalization has been problematic because of the anthropocentric values of the corporate houses. In this context, this study argues that genetic engineering technology, if goes uncontrolled, is manipulated for corporate profit only, and raises serious risks to global biodiversity by promoting monoculture flora and fauna. Similarly, the study proves that the intense profit-making desire of the corporate world leads to global pandemic threatening the existence of natural organisms including humans. Members of the ‘God’s Gardeners’ in The Year of the Flood prepare themselves to be safe from the ‘Waterless Flood,’ a global pandemic that has been the result of uncontrolled experimentation of genetic engineering on food, animals and drug for corporate houses. The text, however, offers the possibilities of saving lives if genetic engineering is used from humanitarian perspectives. This research helps in understanding the role of economic activities in disturbing the global biodiversity. For the purpose of textual analysis, the study applies ecocritical perspectives of Vandana Shiva, Jeffery M. Smith, Claire Hope Cummings, and others with especial focus on “bioimperialism” as discussed by Shiva.

The Science Fiction genre has been a means for humans to comprehend reality. A major part of the fantasies in the genre is cross-species beings of human and animal DNA. Recent studies show that in some countries the legislative framework accepts research and experimentation with guinea pigs to create cross-species beings with transhumanistic purposes. According to Bokota the umbrella term to refer to the results of the above phenomenon is Chimeras. The results of this technological process are unquestionably impressive but, who has gotten permission from these animals to use their bodies and take their genetic material for the possibility of humans to survive a bit longer than expected? This study focuses on the definition of the human, the monster, and their bodies, on bio-ethical issues that highlight the fragile equality of beings and answers to the question of whether Chimeras can be an alternative term to refer to Posthumans.

Since its return in 2005 the science fiction series Doctor Who (BBC1) has featured many alien creatures which bear a striking similarity to non-human Earth species: the Judoon in “Smith and Jones” (2007) have heads like rhinoceroses; the nurses in “New Earth” (2006) are cats in wimples; the Tritovores in “Planet of the Dead” (2009) are giant flies in boilersuits. Yet only one non-human animal has appeared twice in the series, in unrelated stories: the pig. Furthermore, alien races such as the Judoon and the Tritovores simply happen to look like human species, and the series offers no narrative explanation as to why such similarities exist. When the pig has appeared, however, it has instead been as the consequence of experimentation and mutation, and in both cases the appearance of such porcine hybrids is signalled as horrific, unsettling and, in the end, to be pitied. The fact that the pig has appeared in this way twice suggests there is something about the human understanding of this animal which means it can fulfil a role in fiction unavailable to other Earth species. The pig’s appearance has been in two stories, both two-parters. In “Aliens of London”/“World War Three” (2005) a spaceship crashes into London’s Thames river, and the pilot inside, thought to be dead, is sent to be scientifically examined. Alone in the laboratory, the pathologist Doctor Sato is startled to find the creature is alive and, during its attempt to escape, it is shot by the military. When the creature is examined The Doctor reveals it is “an ordinary pig, from Earth.” He goes on to explain that, “someone’s taken a pig, opened up its brain, stuck bits on, then they’ve strapped it in that ship and made it dive-bomb. It must have been terrified. They’ve taken this animal and turned it into a joke.” The Doctor’s concern over the treatment of the pig mirrors his earlier reprimand of the military for shooting it; as he cradles the dying creature he shouts at the soldier responsible, “What did you do that for? It was scared! It was scared.” On the commentary track for the DVD release of this episode Julie Gardner (executive producer) and Will Cohen (visual effects producer) note how so many people told them they had a significant emotional reaction to this scene, with Gardner adding, “Bless the pig.” In that sense, what begins as a moment of horror in the series becomes one of empathy with a non-human being, and the pig moves from being a creature of terror to one whose death is seen to be an immoral act. This movement from horror to empathy can be seen in the pig’s other appearance, in “Daleks in Manhattan”/“Evolution of the Daleks” (2007). Here the alien Daleks experiment on humans in order to develop the ability to meld themselves with Earthlings, in order to repopulate their own dwindling numbers. Humans are captured and then tested; as Laszlo, one of the outcomes of the experimentation, explains, “They’re divided into two groups: high intelligence and low intelligence. The low intelligence are taken to becomes Pig Slaves, like me.” These Pig Slaves look and move like humans except for their faces, which have prolonged ears and the pig signifier of a snout. At no point in the story is it made clear why experimentations on low intelligence humans should result in them looking like pigs, and a non-hybrid pig is not seen throughout the story. The appearance of the experiments’ results is therefore not narratively explained, and it does not draw on the fact that “in digestive apparatus and nutrient requirements pigs resemble humans in more ways than any mammal except monkeys and apes, which is why pigs are much in demand for [human] medical research” (Harris 70); indeed, considering the story is set in the 1930s such a justification would be anachronistic. The use of the pig, therefore, draws solely on its cultural, not its scientific, associations. These associations are complex, and the pig has been used to connote many things in Western culture. Children’s books such as The Sheep-Pig (King-Smith) and Charlotte’s Web (White) suggest the close proximity of humans and pigs can result in an affinity capable of communication. The use of pigs to represent Poles in Maus: A Survivor’s Tale (Spiegelman), on the other hand, has been read as offensive, drawing on the animal’s association with dirt and greed (Weschler). These depictions are informed by debates about pigs in the real world, whereby an animal which, as mentioned above, is similar enough to humans to be useful in medical research can also, for the food industry, go through a slaughtering process described by Bob Torres as “horribly cruel” (47). Such cruelty can only be justified if the boundaries between the pig and the human are maintained, and this is why pig-human representations are capable of being shocking and horrific. The hybrid nature of the human-pig creature draws on the horror trope that Noël Carroll refers to as “fusion” which works because it “unites attributes held to be categorically distinct” such as “inside/outside, living/dead, insect/human, flesh/machine” (43). He explains that this is why characters in horror narratives do not find such creatures simply fearful, but also “repellent, loathsome, disgusting, repulsive and impure” (54); their failure to conform to accepted cultural categories destabilises assumed norms and, perhaps most horrifically, undermines ‘the human’ as a stable, natural and superior category. As Donna Haraway notes, “‘The species’ often means the human race, unless one is attuned to science fiction, where species abound” (18). Science fiction therefore commonly plays with ideas of species because it is often interested in “the image of the scientist ‘playing god’” (Jones 51) and the horrific outcomes of “the total severing of scientific concerns from ethical concerns” (53). That the result of human/non-human experimentation should be regarded as horrific is evidence of the need to maintain the distinctions between humans and other creatures; after all, a pig/human can only be thought of as horrific if it as assumed that there is something unnatural about the destabilisation of the human category. And it is precisely the human which matters in this equation; it is not really as if anyone cares about the pig’s categorical stability in all of this. In both these stories, the appearance of the pig-creature is narratively structured to be surprising and shocking, and is withheld from the audience for as long as possible. The first appearance of a Pig Slave in “Daleks in Manhattan” constitutes that episode’s pre-credits cliff-hanger, with the creature appearing out of the shadows and bearing down upon the camera, directly towards the audience viewing at home. At this point, the audience has no idea why such a creature exists; the meaning of the pig-human hybrid is contained purely in its visual appearance, with the horrific fact of its contradictory appearance perhaps drawing on the pig’s historical association with evil and the Devil (Sillar and Meyler 82). Similarly, in “Aliens of London” we see Sato’s shocked reaction to the pig far earlier than we actually see the creature ourselves, and Sato’s scream is clearly intended to construct what we have yet to encounter as horrific. The Doctor’s search for the creature is similarly signalled, as he roams dimly-lit corridors trying to find it, following the trail of the grunts and noises that it makes. That the pig might constitute a horrific—or at least unsettling—site for humans is unsurprising considering the cultural roles it has often played. There is, after all, an “opposition between civilization and piggishness” (Ashley, Hollows, Jones and Taylor 2) in which (incorrect) assumptions about pigs’ filthy behaviour helps mark out humanity’s cleaner and more civilised way of living. While this is true of all human/non-human interactions, it is argued that the pig occupies a particular role within this system as it is a “familiar beast” (4) because for centuries it has been a domesticated animal which has often lived alongside humans, usually in quite close proximity. In that sense, humans and pigs are very similar. Demarcating the human as a stable and natural “conceptual category ... in which we place all members of our own species and from which we exclude all non-members” (Milton 265-66) has therefore required the denigration of non-humans, at least partly to justify the dominion humans have decided they have the right to hold over other creatures such as pigs. The difficulties in maintaining this demarcation can be seen in the documentary The Private Life of Pigs (BBC2 2010) in which the farmer Jimmy Docherty carries out a number of tests on animals in order to better understand the ‘inner life’ of the pig. Docherty acknowledges the pig’s similarity to humans in his introductory piece to camera; “When you look in their piggy little eyes with their piggy little eyelashes you see something that reflects back to you—I don’t know—it makes you feel there’s a person looking back.” However, this is quickly followed by a statement which works to reassert the human/non-human boundary; “I know we have this close relationship [with pigs], but I’m often reminded that just beneath the surface of their skin, they’re a wild animal.” Perhaps the most telling revelation in the programme is that pigs have been found to make certain grunting noises only when humans are around, which suggests they have developed a language for ‘interacting’ with humans. That Docherty is uncomfortably startled by this piece of information shows how the idea of communication troubles ideas of human superiority, and places pigs within a sphere hitherto maintained as strictly human. Of course, humans often willingly share domestic spaces with other species, but these are usually categorised as pets. The pet exists “somewhere between the wild animal and the human” (Fudge 8), and we often invest them with a range of human characteristics and develop relationships with such animals which are similar, but not identical, to those we have with other humans. The pig, however, like other food animals, cannot occupy the role afforded to the pet because it is culturally unacceptable to eat pets. In order to legitimise the treatment of the pig as a “strictly utilitarian object; a thing for producing meat and bacon” (Serpell 7) it must be distinguished from the human realm as clearly as possible. It is worth noting, though, that this is a culturally-specific process; Dwyer and Minnegal, for example, show how in New Guinea “pigs commonly play a crucial role in ceremonial and spiritual life” (37-8), and the pig is therefore simultaneously a wild animal, a source of food, and a species with which humans have an “attachment” (45-54) akin to the idea of a pet. Western societies commonly (though not completely) have difficulty uniting this range of animal categories, and analogous ideas of “civilization” often rest on assumptions about animals which require them to play specific, non-human roles. That homo sapiens define their humanity in terms of civilization is demonstrated by the ways in which ideas of brutality, violence and savagery are displaced onto other species, often quite at odds with the truth of such species’ behaviour. The assumption that non-human species are violent, and constitute a threat, is shown in Doctor Who; the pig is shot in “Aliens of London” for assumed security reasons (despite it having done nothing to suggest it is a threat), while humans run in fear from the Pig Slaves in “Evolution of the Daleks” purely because of their non-human appearance. Mary Midgley refers to this as “the Beast Myth” (38) by which humans not only reduce other species to nothing other than “incarnations of wickedness, … sets of basic needs, … crude mechanical toys, … [and] idiot children” (38), but also lump all non-human species together thereby ignoring the specificity of any particular species. Midgley also argues that “man shows more savagery to his own kind than most other mammal species” (27, emphasis in original), citing the need for “law or morality to restrain violence” (26) as evidence of the social structures required to uphold a myth of human civilization. In that sense, the use of pigs in Doctor Who can be seen as conforming to centuries-old depictions of non-human species, by which the loss of humanity symbolised by other species can be seen as the ultimate punishment. After all, when the Daleks’ human helper, Mr Diagoras, fears that the aliens are going to experiment on him, he fearfully exclaims, “What do you mean? Like those pig-men things? You’re not going to turn me into one of those? Oh, God, please don’t!” In the next episode, when all the Pig Slaves are killed by the actions of the Doctor’s companion Martha, she regrets her actions, only to be told, “No. The Daleks killed them. Long ago”, for their mutation into a ‘pig-man thing’ is seen to be a more significant loss of humanity than death itself. The scene highlights how societies are often “confused about the status of such interspecies beings” (Savulescu 25). Such confusion is likely to recur considering we are moving into a “posthumanist” age defined by the “decentering of the human” (Wolfe xv), whereby critiques of traditional cultural categories, alongside scientific developments that question the biological certainty of the human, result in difficulties in defining precisely what it is that is supposedly so special about homo sapiens. This means that it is far too easy to write off these depictions in Doctor Who as merely drawing on, and upholding, those simplistic and naturalised human/non-human distinctions which have been criticised, in a manner similar to sexism and racism, as “speciesist” (Singer 148-62). There is, after all, consistent sympathy for the pig in these episodes. The shooting of the pig in “Aliens of London” is outrageous not merely because it gives evidence of the propensity of human violence: the death of the pig itself is presented as worth mourning, in a manner similar to the death of any living being. Throughout the series the Doctor is concerned over the loss of life for any species, always aiming to find a non-violent method for solving conflicts and repeatedly berating other characters who resort to bloodshed for solutions. Indeed, the story’s narrative can be read as one in which the audience is invited to reassess its own response to the pig’s initial appearance, shifting from fear at its alien-ness to sympathy for its demise. This complication of the cultural meanings of pigs is taken even further in the two-part Dalek story. One of the key plots of the story is the relationship between Laszlo, who has been transmuted into a Pig Slave, and his former lover Tallulah. Tallulah spends much of the story thinking Laszlo has disappeared, when he has, in fact, gone into hiding, certain that she will reject him because of his post-experimentation porcine features. When they finally reunite, Laszlo apologises for what has happened to him, while Tallulah asks, “Laszlo? My Laszlo? What have they done to you?” At the end of the story they decide to try re-establishing their relationship, despite Laszlo’s now-complicated genetic make-up. In response to this Martha asks the Doctor, “Do you reckon it’s going to work, those two?” The Doctor responds that while such an odd pairing might be problematic pretty much anywhere else, as they were in New York they might just get away with it. He reflects, “That’s what this city’s good at. Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, and maybe the odd Pig Slave Dalek mutant hybrid too.” While there is an obvious playfulness to this scene, with the programme foregrounding the kinds of narrative available to the science fiction genre, it is also clear that we are invited to find this a good narrative conclusion, a suitable resolution to all that has preceded it. In that sense, the pig and the human come together, dissolving the human/non-human divide at a stroke, and this is offered to the audience as something to be pleased about. In both narratives, then, the pig moves from being understood as alien and threatening to something if not quite identical to human, then certainly akin to it. Certainly, the narratives suggest that the lives, loves and concerns of pigs—even if they have been experimented upon—matter, and can constitute significant emotional moments in primetime mainstream family television. This development is a result of the text’s movement from an interest in the appearance of the pig to its status as a living being. As noted above, the initial appearances of the pigs in both stories is intended to be frightening, but such terror is dependent on understanding non-human species by their appearance alone. What both of these stories manage to do is suggest that the pig—like all non-human living things, whether of Earth or not—is more than its physical appearance, and via acknowledgment of its own consciousness, and its own sense of identity, can become something with which humans are capable of having sympathy; perhaps more than that, that the pig is something with which humans should have sympathy, for to deny the interior life of such a species is to engage in an inhuman act in itself. This could be seen as an interesting—if admittedly marginal—corrective to the centuries of cultural and physical abuse the pig, like all animals, has suffered. Such representations can be seen as evoking “the dreaded comparison” (Spiegel) which aligns maltreatment of animals with slavery, a comparison that is dreaded by societies because to acknowledge such parallels makes justifying humans’ abusive treatment of other species very difficult. These two Doctor Who stories repeatedly make such comparisons, and assume that to morally and emotionally distinguish between living beings based on categories of species is nonsensical, immoral, and fails to acknowledge the significance and majesty of all forms of life. That we might, as Gardner suggests, “Bless the pig”—whether it has had its brain stuffed full of wires or been merged with a human—points towards complex notions of human/non-human interaction which might helpfully destabilise simplistic ideas of the superiority of the human race. References Ashley, Bob, Joanne Hollows, Steve Jones and Ben Taylor. Food and Cultural Studies. London and New York: Routledge, 2004. Carroll, Noël. The Philosophy of Horror, or, Paradoxes of the Heart. New York and London: Routledge, 1990. Dwyer, Peter D. and Monica Minnegal. “Person, Place or Pig: Animal Attachments and Human Transactions in New Guinea.” Animals in Person: Cultural Perspectives on Human-Animal Intimacies. Ed. John Knight. Oxford and New York: Berg, 2005. 37-60. Fudge, Erica. Pets. Stocksfield: Acumen, 2008. Haraway, Donna J. When Species Meet. Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press, 2008. Harris, Marvin. “The Abominable Pig.” Food and Culture: A Reader. Ed. Carole Counihan and Penny Van Esterik. New York and London: Routledge, 1997. 67-79. Jones, Darryl. Horror: A Thematic History in Fiction and Film. London: Arnold, 2002. King-Smith, Dick. The Sheep-Pig. London: Puffin, 1983. Midgley, Mary. Beast and Man. London and New York: Routledge, 1979/2002. Milton, Kay. “Anthropomorphism or Egomorphism? The Perception of Non-Human Persons by Human Ones.” Animals in Person: Cultural Perspectives on Human-Animal Intimacies. Ed. John Knight. Oxford and New York: Berg, 2005. 255-71. Savulescu, Julian. “Human-Animal Transgenesis and Chimeras Might be an Expression of our Humanity.” The American Journal of Bioethics 3.3 (2003): 22-5. Serpell, James. In the Company of Animals: A Study of Human-Animal Relationships. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Sillar, Frederick Cameron and Ruth Mary Meyler. The Symbolic Pig: An Anthology of Pigs in Literature and Art. Edinburgh and London: Oliver and Boyd, 1961. Singer, Peter. “All Animals are Equal.” Animal Rights and Human Obligations. Ed. Tom Regan and Peter Singer. New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1989. 148-62. Spiegel, Marjorie. The Dreaded Comparison: Human and Animal Slavery. London and Philadelphia: Heretic Books, 1988. Speigelman, Art. Maus: A Survivor’s Tale. New York: Pantheon Books, 1986/1991. Torres, Bob. Making a Killing: The Political Economy of Animal Rights. Edinburgh, Oakland and West Virginia: AK Press, 2007. Weschler, Lawrence. “Pig Perplex.” Lingua France: The Review of Academic Life 11.5 (2001): 6-8. White, E.B. Charlotte’s Web. London: Harper Collins, 1952. Wolfe, Cary. What is Posthumanism? Minneapolis and London: University of Minnesota Press, 2010.

Extracted from Redgauntlet, ‘Wandering Willie’s Tale’ is often presented in anthologies and formal surveys as the first modern short story in English, loosely defined. It is not even Scott’s first major short story. That would be ‘The Fortunes of Martin Waldeck’, an interpolated tale included in the second volume of his third novel, The Antiquary. Like ‘Wandering Willie’s Tale’, ‘Martin Waldeck’ has been anthologised as a self-contained work, though far less frequently. After that, two pieces appeared in Blackwood’s Magazine (1817–18) that have been securely attributed to Scott: ‘Alarming Increase of Depravity Among Animals’ and ‘Phantasmagoria’. In The Shorter Fiction volume for the Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels, Graham Tulloch and Judy King include an even earlier work, ‘The Inferno of Altisidora’ (Edinburgh Annual Register, 1811), as well as ‘Christopher Corduroy’ (The Sale-Room, 1817). Resembling eighteenth-century periodical sketches, they are not short stories as such. Read as sketch-like tales, though, they can ground our understanding of Scott’s early experimentation in the shorter form.