Academic literature on the topic 'Banned Books Week'

Raising awareness of intellectual freedom and information literacy is important, and not just during Banned Books Week. Just like sneaking healthy food into a kid’s meal, these techniques for incorporating these topics will enrich the work you already do as a librarian without disrupting your programming routine. (Note: see sidebar on the next page for ready-made program ideas).

Iam cognizant of how lucky I am. When I decided to teach Fahrenheit 451 to my Accelerated Juniors during spring semester at St. Johnsbury Academy, the biggest administrative roadblock I faced was finding two minutes in the English department head’s schedule to ask him face to face if I could. He said yes. And that was that. I did not have to fight with school boards, parents, or neighborhood committees. The books I handed out to my students may have been a little musty—ok, maybe a lot musty—but there were no “hells” and “damns” blacked out, no pages removed, and less than five minutes after Steve Jolliffe said “yes” I left the subterranean book room with an entire box of them at my disposal.

AbstractIn 1949, the Dutch publishing house A.J.G. Strengholt’s Uitgeversmaatschappij N.V. published the novel Dorstig paradijs. Through the eyes of Evelien van Eerdhuysen, the young, Dutch, female protagonist, author Adriaan Hulshoff presented an image of postwar Curaçao. In general, Dutch reviews of Hulshoff’s novel were quite positive and mentioned, for instance, the realistic representation of the island. Reviews published on Curaçao were very negative. At the moment the novel was published, Curaçao was fully in the news, because of the deliberations about the political status of the Dutch islands in the Caribbean. The question can be raised whether the image of Curaçao presented by Hulshoff was widespread in the Netherlands and representative of the way the Dutch looked at their Caribbean colonial possessions. One of the reasons why the book got much attention had to do with the name of the author who was hiding behind the pseudonym Adriaan Hulshoff. Most probably it was the well-known female writer Jo van Ammers-Küller, who after the Second World War, was banned from publishing because of collaborating with the Germans.

Abstract. Since its massive expansion under Sultans Selim I (1512–20) and Suleiman the Magnificent (1520–66), the Ottoman Empire extended from the Algerian shores to Georgia in the Caucasus and from Hungary in the heart of Europe to Yemen on the shores of the Indian Ocean. Albeit in a long decline thereafter, the core of this multi-cultural conglomerate survived into the early twentieth century before it finally disintegrated during and right after the First World War. Throughout these five centuries, the Ottomans deeply influenced these heterogeneous countries, creating or enabling a rich and multi-faceted cartographic heritage within its realms and the gradually breaking away regions in Europe, Asia, and Africa.For many Ottoman (era) cartography is synonymous with navigator and geographer Ahmed Muhyiddin Piri (1465–1553), better known as Piri Reis and the interactions between early modern Ottoman mapmakers and their European colleagues. The International Cartographic Association’s Commission on the History of Cartography, however, believes that the Empire’s later periods, especially the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, hitherto for many themes and regions has not received the warranted attention.Therefore, the Commission in 2019 invited abstracts for its 8th International Symposium on “Mapping the Ottoman Realm: Travelers, Cartographers, and Archaeologists”, to be held on April 21–23, 2020 in Istanbul, under its old name Constantinople until 1922 the capital of the Ottoman Empire. As the conference title (see banner above) and the Call for Papers indicated, the symposium encouraged submissions not only on regional topographic mapping by locals and foreigners, but also and – at least to my knowledge – for the first time on the mapping of archaeological sites, landscapes, and excavations. Eventually, a total of 38 presentations passed a rigorous vetting. When presenters and delegates were eagerly looking forward to stimulating exchanges at the conference and technical visits, the sudden spread of Covid-19 forced to call off the symposium just five weeks before the opening reception. At the time of going to press it is planned to catch up on the postponed symposium by a workshop linked to the 30th International Cartographic Conference in Florence (Italy) in December 2021 - the pandemic permitting!As it became evident that the staggered waves of the pandemic would not allow a timely rescheduling of the symposium, the decision was taken to maintain as much as possible the momentum and call upon the authors to develop their presentations into full papers. Eventually, eleven author (teams) submitted fully developed papers which are contained in this book. Although the scope of the papers by time and region stretches from sixteenth century Hungary to twenty-first century archaeology of Ottoman Jaffa, you will notice that in many papers some of the content links to the content in at least one other paper, convincingly making clear the interconnectedness of interdisciplinary cartographic research especially into nineteenth and twentieth centuries of Ottoman (era / regions) cartography.Although the pandemic prevented the 8th International Symposium on the History of Cartography from personally congregating on the Bosporus, I would like to express my sincere gratitude to the German Archaeological Institute, Istanbul Department, and there our local organizing partner Prof. Dr. Andreas Schachner, archaeologist and head of the department’s library, for setting up what would have been a memorable conference.Further, I want to thank the reviewers and the authors for going through the production process of the ICA Commission on the History of Cartography’s first venture into Open Access publication. We hope that you enjoy reading the papers, will find them useful in the pursuit of your own research, and – last but not least – consider joining yourself the Commission’s future workshops or conferences.Please stay updated by either joining us or regularly checking our website: https://history.icaci.org/

The goal of the Stalinist state was to use Soviet cinema as its “mighty weapon of mass propaganda.” Yet during the Stalin years, Soviet cinema saw its output plummet, its filmmakers underemployed, and up to a third of its new films banned. The Introduction outlines this book’s central argument about the failures of Stalinist control over cinema. In contrast to existing explanations, Not According to Plan employs an archival, comparative, and industry-focused approach and shows that it was impossible to build a controlled mass propaganda cinema while working with artisanal production methods, weak control institutions, and an entitled artistic workforce.

The trip didn’t make sense at the time. Most backpacking trips don’t. There are always more pressing things to do. We didn’t have the time or the money, but we went anyway. Sometimes you just gotta drive to the end of a long dirt road in the middle of the desert and keep walking. When Aravaipa Canyon lies at the end of that road, you know you won’t be disappointed. Mike and I had come to southeastern Arizona to hike the twelve-mile length of the Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness Area. “Laughing Waters” is the name the Apaches gave to the site. The Aravaipa band of the Western Apache lived here in the nineteenth century. They did well at first—hunting deer in the side canyons; gathering saguaro fruit, mesquite beans, and pinyon nuts; catching native fish that thrived in the creek. But by the 1870s, drought drove them out. When they sought relief at Camp Grant a few miles away a Tucson mob organized a massacre that left them decimated. The government relocated the remainder of the tribe in the White Mountain Reservation to the north. These canyon walls, reaching a thousand feet high in places, hold memories of children playing under reddish-brown hoodoos and dark stories etched in the desert varnish of the rock. Today the Bureau of Land Management regulates entry into the canyon, limiting permits to thirty hikers a day at the western entrance. For much of the way you slog through ankle- to knee-deep water, stopping at every bend to marvel at what rises before you. Towering red cliffs, stands of green willows and cottonwoods, jimson weed and desert marigolds, cactuses of every sort. This is a place where humans are outnumbered by bighorn sheep, where poisonous centipedes hide in thick grass, and serpentine side canyons darken ominously in the late afternoon sun. I’ve loved it since I first set eyes on it. At the start of this book I mentioned a night I’d spent alone in the desert near here a few years earlier. What I experienced that night would finally make sense on this subsequent trip into the canyon proper.