Academic literature on the topic 'Homicide (Greek law)'

Sharp-force trauma is a popular cause of homicide and suicide in many countries. Characterisation of the injuries between the two is crucial for a differential diagnosis. The current paper reviews 12 self-inflicted sharp-force trauma deaths from the island of Crete in Greece. Forensic reports between 1999 and 2015 were collated, and we studied the number and location of injuries, the demographic characteristics of the deceased, the sharp object and the medical history of the deceased. One third of the cases where the forensic reports were available (3/10) involved multiple injuries, and one case involved a combination of stabbing and hanging. Most injuries involved a kitchen knife. Ninety-two per cent (11/12) of the victims involved male Greek nationals aged >50 years. The type and location of injuries were not found to be specific to suicide alone. Thus, death-scene investigation remains crucial to the differential diagnosis between suicide and homicide. This is the first report on self-inflicted sharp-force fatalities in Greece.

Negligent entrustment is a civil wrong grounding an action in tort law which arises when one party is held liable for negligence because he negligently provided another party with a an object that could cause harm to another and the latter caused injury to a third party with that object. The cause of action most frequently arises where one person allows another to drive his vehicle. Common law countries apply the The Corporate Manslaughter and Corporate Homicide Act of 2007, which provides that an organization is guilty of an offence if the way in which its activities are managed or organized causes a person’s death, and amounts to a gross breach of a relevant duty of care owed by the organization to the deceased. The Act applies inter alia to a corporation. The offence is termed ‘corporate manslaughter’, insofar as it is an offence under the law of England and Wales or Northern Ireland; and ‘corporate homicide’, insofar as it is an offence under the law of Scotland. An organization that is guilty of corporate manslaughter or corporate homicide is liable on conviction to a fine and the offence of corporate homicide is indictable only in the High Court of Justiciary. The Act provides, inter alia, that the extent to which the evidence shows that there were attitudes, policies, systems or accepted practices within the Organization that were likely to have caused failures in the provision of services by the corporation could be taken into account in determining the culpability of that entity. The possible application of this legislation to air transport is a reality, as exemplified in the Helios trial which opened on 26 February 2009 in Cyprus. The trial pertains to the island’s worst air tragedy, when 121 people perished on a charter plane that slammed into a Greek hillside nearly four years ago. According to reports, at the time of writing, Helios Airways and four airline officials faced charges of manslaughter and reckless endangerment in one of the most complex and high-profile cases in the eastern Mediterranean island’s legal history. Plaintiffs, who are relatives of the dead, have called for criminal action against those deemed responsible when the Helios Airways Boeing 737–300 ran out of oxygen and crashed outside Athens in August 2005. It has also been reported that, although the authorities have not named those to be charged, the accused are known to be officials who held top management positions in the airline at the time of the crash. Against this backdrop, this article analyses the offence of negligent entrustment and draws a link between the offence and the leasing of aircraft and crew.

AbstractEuthanasia is a controversial issue that has attracted heated debate over the last two decades. Cultural, traditional and religious considerations contribute in the forming of individual and social attitudes. Active, voluntary euthanasia is not legally accepted except in Netherlands and Australia. However even in these countries several ethical and legal issues have emerged from the application of euthanasia. In fact medical physicians stand in the frontline of the debate as they are those who should decide to act or not to act when euthanasia is requested by a patient. In Greece the vast majority of people are against euthanasia as a result of tradition and religion The influence of the Hippocratic philosophy and the humanistic teaching of the Christian Orthodox Church have made that doctors and people look at the issue of euthanasia with aversion. In addition, the law considers any such action as homicide and therefore as punishable.However, in Greece as in any democratic country, individual variations exist and the issue attracts increasing debate. This article aims to discuss the legal ramifications of euthanasia within the context of the Greek legal order and to present the religious and ethical considerations that influence the social attitude concerning to euthanasia in Greece.

Integrating crime pattern theory with tenets of social network theory, we argue that linking people who frequent the same places reveals intersecting behavioral patterns illustrative of case connectivity. Using the Green River serial murder investigation as a case study, we demonstrate that structural statistics may be useful in focusing investigative efforts. Significant shifts in the centrality of suspects emerge when we track the evolution of this case at 6-month increments, suggesting that the initial working case hypothesis misled investigators. Continued exploration into the utility of social network analysis (SNA) for tactical purposes will help advance applied criminology.

Temporal trends in epidemiological parameters of domestic homicide and femicide in Greece over the last decade have not yet been studied. We conducted this study to fulfill this purpose. Specifically, we conducted a retrospective epidemiological study using 11-year data from the official nationwide Hellenic Police Archives and statistically analyzed data regarding domestic homicide and femicide. Overall, 1370 records of homicides among which 236 domestic homicides were identified. The pattern emerging from the statistical results of the present study highlighted the phenomenon of femicide as the gravest current issue to be interpreted and addressed. Nationally, the average number of homicides was 114.2/year, among which 19.7 domestic homicides. However, in 2021, while a decrease was recorded in homicides in general to 89 incidents per year, domestic homicides skyrocketed to 34 cases, reaching the highest annual number ever nationally recorded. On average, domestic homicides account for 18.2% of all homicides in Greece. In 2021, however, this percentage rose to 38.2%. The number of male victims of domestic homicide has declined over the years, with a further decline in 2021, in stark contrast to the number of women escalating over time and even more sharply in 2021. The proportion of female victims of domestic homicides in Greece was fourfold higher on average. The fact that cases of domestic homicide and femicide have received a lot of media attention, the recent Greek financial crisis, as well as increased alcohol and drug consumption due to the COVID-19 pandemic constitute possible aggravating factors.

Involuntarily celibate men (Incels) form online communities in which they “often bemoan their lack of a loving relationship with a woman while simultaneously dehumanizing women and calling for misogynistic violence” (Glace et al., 2021, p. 288). Several studies investigate this dehumanization and misogyny including (gendered) hate speech in online comments from Incels (e.g., Glace et al., 2021). However, not all online comments from Incels contain misogyny or gendered hate speech. To get a better understanding of the phenomenon of Incels, it would be better to not only focus on these problematic comments. Thus, we propose a new construct called “Online Incel speech”, which is defined as the sum of all online comments from Incels that are related to Inceldom, that is, being or becoming an Incel. In an approach to provide an extensive system of categorization, Grau Chopite (2022) synthesized codebooks from several studies on Incels (see example studies table note) and put it to an empirical test. She found that most Incel comments found online can be categorized into three subdimensions. The first two subdimensions cover framing by Incels, namely how Incels frame the subjective causes of becoming an Incel and how they frame the subjective emotional consequences of being an Incel. Both subdimensions can also be interpreted as part of a subjective theory (sensu Groeben et al., 1988) of Inceldom. In contrast to this, the third subdimension does not consist of framing, but of observable verbal behaviors, which are often linked to gendered hate speech. When trying to categorize online comments from Incels, former studies often applied the construct “Hybrid Masculinities” (e.g., Glace et al, 2021). This construct from Bridge and Pascoe (2014) suggests that “some men develop masculinities which appear to subvert, but actually reaffirm, White hegemonic masculinities” (Glace et al., 2021, p. 289). Glace et al. (2021) structure the construct into three subdimensions, namely (1) discursive distancing (claiming distance from hegemonic masculine roles without actually relinquishing masculine power), (2) strategic borrowing (appropriating the cultures of nondominant groups of men), and (3) fortifying boundaries (continually using hegemonic standards to constrain masculinity and demeaning men who fail to meet them). However, the construct only covers a part of Inceldom, which Glace et al. (2021) indirectly acknowledge by adding two inductive categories, that is, hostile sexism (shaming and degrading women) and suicidality (reporting suicidal thoughts, feelings, and intentions). Field of application/theoretical foundation: The construct “Online Incel speech” was coined by Grau Chopite (2022), and there are currently no other studies making use of it. However, there are studies (e.g., Vu & Lynn, 2020; also see the entry “Frames (Automated Content Analysis”) based on the framing theory by Entman (1991) where the subdimension “subjective causes” would correspond to Entman’s “causal interpretation frame”, while the “subjective emotional consequences” would correspond to Entman’s “problem definition frame”. The “subjective causes” also correspond to the “discursive distancing” and the “emotional consequences” to “suicidality” in the construct of Hybrid Masculinities. The third subdimension “verbal behavior” corresponds to gendered online hate speech (e.g., Döring & Mohseni, 2019), but also to “hostile sexism” and “fortifying boundaries” in the construct of Hybrid Masculinities. References/combination with other methods: The study by Grau Chopite (2022) employs a quantitative manual content analysis using a deductive approach. Studies based on the construct of Hybrid Masculinities also employ manual online content analyses or manual thematic analyses, but those are often qualitative in nature (e.g., Glace et al., 2021). Framing is also often assessed with manual content analyses (e.g., Nitsch & Lichtenstein, 2019), but newer studies try to assess it computationally (e.g., Vu & Lynn, 2020). Hate speech is often assessed with manual content analyses (e.g., Döring & Mohseni, 2019) and surveys (e.g., Oksanen et al., 2014), but some newer studies try to assess it computationally (e.g., Al-Hassan & Al-Dossari, 2019). As Online Incel Speech is related to framing and gendered hate speech, it seems plausible that manual content analyses of Online Incel Speech could be combined with computational analyses, too, to enable the investigation of large samples. However, computational analyses of subtle forms of verbal behavior can be challenging because the number of wrong categorizations increases (e.g., for sexism detection see Samory et al., 2021; for hate speech detection see Ruiter et al., 2022). Example studies: Example study Construct Dimensions Explanation Reliability Online Incel speech Grau Chopite (2022) Subjective Causes of Inceldom Race/Ethnicity having certain racial features and/or belonging to a certain ethnic κ = .55;AC1 = .80 Mental Health suffering from any mental health issue κ = .58;AC1 = .90 Employment difficulties with getting and/or maintaining employment; experiencing dissatisfaction in the workplace κ = .85;AC1 = .98 Family having family issues (e.g., an abusive family member) κ = .66;AC1 = .98 Subjective Emotional Consequences of Inceldom Hopelessness expressing hopelessness κ = .37;AC1 = .89 Sadness expressing sadness κ = .26;AC1 = .91 Suicidality expressing suicidality κ = .24;AC1 = .95 Anger expressing anger κ = .44;AC1 = .87 Hatred expressing hatred κ = .40;AC1 = .83 Verbal Behavior of Incels Using Gendered Hate Speech Against Women hostile sexism against women and misogynistic speech κ = .80;AC1 = .87 Adopting Social Justice Language claiming unfairness/ injustice of being discriminated by society or groups (e.g., other men, other races) κ = .48;AC1 = .82 Claiming Lack of Masculine Traits lacking masculine traits (e.g., muscles, a big penis) κ = .62;AC1 = .86 Shaming Other Men shaming of other men directly by calling them terms related to being “effeminate” or “unmanly” κ = .71;AC1 = .91 Claiming Lack of Female Interest being unable to attract women or being rejected by women κ = .61;AC1 = .87 Hybrid Masculinities Glace et al. (2021) Discursive Distancing Lack of Female Interest claiming a lack of ability to attract female romantic companionship and sexual interest n/a Lack of Masculine Traits claiming a lack of traditionally attractive masculine physical traits n/a Strategic Borrowing Race and Racism appropriating the culture of racial and ethnic minority men n/a Social Justice Language using the language of the marginalized to diminish one’s own position of power n/a Fortifying Boundaries Soyboys deriding non-Incel men as weak and desperate n/a Cucks deriding non-Incel men as being cheated or exploited by women n/a Hostile Sexism Women are Ugly deriding women for being unattractive n/a Slut-Shaming deriding women for having sex n/a False Rape Claims claiming that women make false rape claims (e.g., when approached by an Incel) n/a Women’s Only Value is Sex claiming that women’s only value is their sexuality n/a Women are Subhuman dehumanizing women n/a Suicidality Due to Incel Experience attributing suicidal thoughts, feelings, and intentions to Incel status n/a The “Clown World” claiming that the world is meaningless and nonsensical n/a Note: The codebook from Grau Chopite (2022) is based on the codebook and findings of Glace et al. (2021) and other studies (Baele et al., 2019; Bou-Franch & Garcés-Conejos Blitvich, 2021; Bridges & Pascoe, 2014; Cottee, 2020; Döring & Mohseni, 2019; D’Souza et al., 2018; Marwick & Caplan, 2018; Mattheis & Waltman, 2021; Maxwell et al., 2020; Rogers et al., 2015; Rouda & Siegel, 2020; Scaptura & Boyle, 2019; Williams & Arntfield, 2020; Williams et al., 2021). Gwet’s AC1 was calculated in addition to Cohen’s Kappa because some categories were rarely coded, which biases Cohen’s Kappa. The codebook is available at http://doi.org/10.23668/psycharchives.5626 References Al-Hassan, A., & Al-Dossari, Hmood (2019). Detection of hate speech in social networks: A survey on multilingual corpus. In D. Nagamalai & D. C. Wyld (Eds.), Computer Science & Information Technology. Proceedings of the 6th International Conference on Computer Science and Information Technology (pp. 83–100). AIRCC Publishing. doi:10.5121/csit.2019.90208 Baele, S. J., Brace, L., & Coan, T. G. (2019). From “Incel” to “Saint”: Analyzing the violent worldview behind the 2018 Toronto attack. Terrorism and Political Violence, 1–25. doi:10.1080/09546553.2019.1638256 Bou-Franch, P., & Garcés-Conejos Blitvich, P. (2021). Gender ideology and social identity processes in online language aggression against women. In R. M. DeKeyser (Ed.), Benjamins Current Topics: Vol. 116. Aptitude-Treatment Interaction in Second Language Learning (Vol. 86, pp. 59–81). John Benjamins Publishing Company. doi:10.1075/bct.86.03bou Bridges, T., & Pascoe, C. J. (2014). Hybrid masculinities: New directions in the sociology of men and masculinities. Sociology Compass, 8(3), 246–258. doi:10.1111/soc4.12134 Cottee, S. (2021). Incel (e)motives: Resentment, shame and revenge. Studies in Conflict & Terrorism, 44(2), 93–114. doi:10.1080/1057610X.2020.1822589 Döring, N., & Mohseni, M. R. (2018). Male dominance and sexism on YouTube: Results of three content analyses. Feminist Media Studies, 19(4), 512–524. doi:10.1080/14680777.2018.1467945 D'Souza, T., Griffin, L., Shackelton, N., & Walt, D. (2018). Harming women with words: The failure of Australian law to prohibit gendered hate speech. University of New South Wales Law Journal, 41(3), 939–976. Entman, R. M. 1991. Framing U.S. coverage of international news: contrasts in narratives of the KAL and Iran Air incidents. Journal of Communication, 41(4), 6-7. Glace, A. M., Dover, T. L., & Zatkin, J. G. (2021). Taking the black pill: An empirical analysis of the “Incel”. Psychology of Men & Masculinities, 22(2), 288–297. doi:10.1037/men0000328 Grau Chopite, J. (2022). Framing of Inceldom on incels.is: A content analysis [Master’s thesis, TU Ilmenau]. Psycharchives. doi:10.23668/psycharchives.5626 Groeben, N., Wahl, D., Schlee, J., & Scheele, B. (Eds.). (1988). Das Forschungsprogramm Subjektive Theorien: eine Einführung in die Psychologie des reflexiven Subjekts. Francke. Retrieved from https://nbn-resolving.org/urn:nbn:de:0168-ssoar-27658 Marwick, A. E., & Caplan, R. (2018). Drinking male tears: language, the manosphere, and networked harassment. Feminist Media Studies, 18(4), 543–559. doi:10.1080/14680777.2018.1450568 Mattheis, A. A., & Waltman, M. S. (2021). Gendered hate online. In K. Ross & I. Bachmann (Eds.), The Wiley Blackwell-ICA international encyclopedias of communication. The international encyclopedia of gender, media, and communication (pp. 1–5). John Wiley & Sons Inc. doi:10.1002/9781119429128.iegmc019 Maxwell, D., Robinson, S. R., Williams, J. R., & Keaton, C. (2020). “A short story of a lonely guy”: A qualitative thematic analysis of involuntary celibacy using Reddit. Sexuality & Culture, 24(6), 1852–1874. doi:10.1007/s12119-020-09724-6 Nitsch, C. & Lichtenstein, D. (2019). Satirizing international crises. The depiction of the Ukraine, Greek debt and migration crises in political satire. Studies in Communication Science (SComS), 19(1), 85-103. doi:10.24434/j.scoms.2019.01.007 Oksanen, A., Hawdon, J., Holkeri, E., Näsi, M., & Räsänen, P. (2014). Exposure to online hate among young social media users. In N. Warehime (Ed.), Soul of Society: A focus on the lives of children & youth (p. 253-273). doi:10.1108/S1537-466120140000018021 Rogers, D. L., Cervantes, E., & Espinosa, J. C. (2015). Development and validation of the belief in female sexual deceptiveness scale. Journal of Interpersonal Violence, 30(5), 744–761. doi:10.1177/0886260514536282 Rouda, B., & Siegel, A. (2020). I’d kill for a girl like that”: The black pill and the Incel uprising. International Multidisciplinary Program in the Humanities, Tel Aviv University. Retrieved from https://www.academia.edu/43663741/_Id_kill_for_a_girl_like_that_The_Black_Pill_and_the_Incel_Uprising Ruiter, D., Reiners, L., Geet D’Sa, A., Kleinbauer, Th., Fohr, D., Illina, I., Klakow. D., Schemer, Ch., & Monnier, A. (2022). Placing m-phasis on the plurality of hate. A feature-based corpus of hate online. Preprint. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.48550/arXiv.2204.13400 Samory, M., Sen, I., Kohne, J., Flöck, F., & Wagner, C. (2021). “Call me sexist, but...”: Revisiting sexism detection using psychological scales and adversarial samples. Proceedings of the International AAAI Conference on Web and Social Media, 15(1), 573-584. Retrieved from https://ojs.aaai.org/index.php/ICWSM/article/view/18085 Scaptura, M. N., & Boyle, K. M. (2019). Masculinity threat, “Incel” traits, and violent fantasies among heterosexual men in the United States. Feminist Criminology, 15(3), 278–298. doi:10.1177/1557085119896415 Vu, H. T., & Lynn, N. (2020). When the news takes sides: Automated framing analysis of news coverage of the Rohingya crisis by the elite press from three countries. Journalism Studies. Online first publication. doi:10.1080/1461670X.2020.1745665 Williams, D. J., & Arntfield, M. (2020). Extreme sex-negativity: An examination of helplessness, hopelessness, and misattribution of blame among “Incel” multiple homicide offenders. Journal of Positive Sexuality, 6(1), 33–42. doi:10.51681/1.613 Williams, D. J., Arntfield, M., Schaal, K., & Vincent, J. (2021). Wanting sex and willing to kill: Examining demographic and cognitive characteristics of violent "involuntary celibates". Behavioral Sciences & the Law, 39(4), 386–401. doi:10.1002/bsl.2512

I wake up early, questions buzzing through my mind. While I sip my morning cup of tea and read The Guardian online, the writer, restless because I’m ignoring her, walks around firing questions.“Expecting the patriarchy to want to share its enormous wealth and power with women is extremely naïve.”I nod. Outside the window pieces of sky are framed by trees, fluffy white clouds alternate with bright patches of blue. The sweet, heady first wafts of lavender and citrus drift in through the open window. Spring has come to Hvar. Time to get to work.The more I understand about narcissism, the more I understand the world. I didn’t understand before. In the 1990s.“No—you knew, but you didn’t know at the same time.”I kept telling everybody The River Ophelia wasn’t about sex, (or the sex wasn’t about sex), it was about power. Not many people listened or heard, though. Only some readers.I’ve come here to get away. To disappear. To write.I can’t find the essay I want for my article about the 1990s. I consider the novel I’m reading, I Love Dick by Chris Kraus and wonder whether I should write about it instead? It’s just been reprinted, twenty years after its initial release. The back cover boasts, “widely considered to be the most important feminist novel of the past two decades.” It was first published in the 1990s. So far it’s about a woman named Chris who’s addictively obsessed with an unavailable man, though I’m yet to unravel Kraus’s particular brand of feminism—abjection? Maybe, maybe … while I think, I click through my storage folder. Half way through, I find a piece I wrote about Kathy Acker in 1997, a tribute of sorts that was never published. The last I’d heard from Kathy before this had been that she was heading down to Mexico to try shark cartilage for her breast cancer. That was just before she died.When I was first introduced to the work of Foucault and Deleuze, it was very political; it was about what was happening to the economy and about changing the political system. By the time it was taken up by the American academy, the politics had gone to hell. (Acker qtd. in Friedman 20)Looking back, I’d have to say my friendship with Kathy Acker was intense and short-lived.In the original I’d written “was a little off and on.” But I prefer the new version. I first met Kathy in person in Sydney, in 1995. We were at a World Art launch at Ariel bookshop and I remember feeling distinctly nervous. As it turned out, I needn’t have been. Nervous, that is.Reading this now brings it all back: how Kathy and I lost touch in the intervening two years and the sudden fact of her death. I turn to the end and read, “She died tragically, not only because she was much too young, but because American literature seems rather frumpy without her, of cancer on the 30th November 1997, aged 53.”The same age as I am now. (While some believe Kathy was 50 when she died, Kathy told me she lied about her age even to the point of changing her passport. Women who lie about their age tend to want to be younger than they are, so I’m sticking with 53.) This coincidence spooks me a little.I make a cup of tea and eat some chocolate.“This could work …” the writer says. My reasons for feeling nervous were historical. I’d spoken to Kathy once previously (before the publication of The River Ophelia on the phone from Seattle to San Francisco in 1993) and the conversation had ended abruptly. I’d wanted to interview Kathy for my PhD on American fiction but Kathy wouldn’t commit. Now I was meeting her face to face and trying to push the past to the back of my mind.The evening turned out to be a memorable one. A whole bunch of us—a mixture of writers, publishers, academics and literati—went out to dinner and then carried on drinking well into the night. I made plans to see Kathy again. She struck me as a warm, generous, sincere and intensely engaging person. It seemed we might become friends. I hesitated: should I include the rest? Or was that too much?The first thing Kathy had said when we were introduced was, “I loved your book, The River Ophelia. I found it as soon as I arrived. I bought it from the bookshop at the airport. I saw your amazing cover and then I read on the back that it was influenced by the work of Kathy Acker. I was like, wow, no one in America has ever put that on the back cover of a novel. So I read it immediately and I couldn’t put it down. I love the way you’ve deconstructed the canon but still managed to put a compelling narrative to it. I never did that.”Why didn’t I include that? It had given me more satisfaction than anything anyone else had said.I remember how quickly I abandoned my bestselling life in Sydney, sexual harassment had all but ruined my career, and exchanged it for an uncertain future in London. My notoriety as an author was damaging my books and my relationship with my publisher had become toxic. The first thing I did in London was hire a lawyer, break my contract with Picador and take both novels out of print.Reality intrudes in the form of a phone call from my mother. Terminally ill with cancer, she informs me that she’s off her food. For a retired chef, the loss of appetite is not inconsiderable. Her dying is a dull ache, a constant tiredness and sadness in me. She’s just arrived in London. I will go there next week to meet her.(1)I first came across Kathy’s work in 1991. I’d just finished my MA thesis on postmodernism and parody and was rewarding myself with some real reading (i.e. not related to my thesis) when I came across the novel Don Quixote. This novel had a tremendous impact on me. Those familiar with DQ may recall that it begins with an abortion that transforms its female narrator into a knight.When she was finally crazy because she was about to have an abortion, she conceived of the most insane idea that any woman can think of. Which is to love. How can a woman love? By loving someone other than herself. (Acker Quixote 9)Kathy’s opening sentences produced a powerful emotional response in me and her bold confronting account of an abortion both put me in touch with feelings I was trying to avoid and connected these disturbing feelings with a broader political context. Kathy’s technique of linking the personal and emotional with the political changed the way I worked as a writer.I’d submitted the piece as an obituary for publication to an Australian journal; the editor had written suggestions in the margin in red. All about making the piece a more conventional academic essay. I hadn’t been sure that was what I wanted to do. Ambitious, creative, I was trying to put poststructuralist theory into practice, to write theoretical fiction. It’s true, I hadn’t been to the Sorbonne, but so what? What was the point of studying theory if one didn’t put it into practice? I was trying to write like French theorists, not to write about them. The editor’s remarks would have made a better academic essay, it’s just I’m not sure that’s where I wanted to go. I never rewrote it and it was never published.I first encountered I Love Dick (2017) during a film course at the AFTVRS when the lecturer presented a short clip of the adaptation for the class to analyse. When I later saw the novel in a bookshop I bought a copy. Given my discovery of the unpublished obituary it is also a bit spooky that I’m reading this book as both Chris Kraus and Kathy Acker had relationships with academic and Semiotext(e) publisher Sylvère Lotringer. Chris as his wife, Kathy as his lover. Kraus wrote a biography of Acker called After Kathy Acker: A Biography, which seems fairly unsympathetic according to the review I read in The Guardian. (Cooke 2017) Intrigued, I add Kraus’s biography to my growing pile of Acker related reading, the Acker/Wark letters I’m Very Into You and Olivia Laing’s novel, Crudo. While I’ve not read the letters yet, Crudo’s breathless yet rhythmic layering of images and it’s fragmented reflections upon war, women and politics reminded me less of Acker and more of Woolf; Mrs Dalloway, in fact.(2)What most inspired me, and what makes Kathy such a great writer, is her manner of writing politically. For the purposes of this piece, when I say Kathy writes politically, I’m referring to what happens when you read her books. That is, your mind—fuelled by powerful feelings—makes creative leaps that link everyday things and ideas with political discourses and debates (for Kathy, these were usually critiques of bourgeois society, of oedipal culture and of the patriarchy).In the first pages of Don Quixote, for example, an abortion becomes synonymous with the process of becoming a knight. The links Kathy makes between these two seemingly unrelated events yields a political message for the creative reader. There is more at stake than just gender-bending or metamorphoses here: a reversal of power seems to have taken place. A relatively powerless woman (a female victim except for the fact that in having an abortion she’s exerting some measure of control over her life), far from being destroyed by the experience of aborting her foetus, actually gains power—power to become a knight and go about the world fulfilling a quest. In writing about an abortion in this way, Kathy challenges our assumptions about this controversial topic: beyond the moral debate, there are other issues at stake, like identity and power. An abortion becomes a birth, rather than a banal tragedy.When I think about the 1990s, I automatically think of shoulder pads, cocktails and expense accounts (the consumption of the former, in my case, dependent on the latter). But on reflection, I think about the corporatisation of the publishing industry, the Backlash and films like Thelma and Louise, (1991) Basic Instinct (1992) and Single White Female (1992). It occurs to me that the Hollywood movie star glamorous #MeToo has its origin in the turbulent 1990s Backlash. When I first saw each of these films I thought they were exciting, controversial. I loved the provocative stance they took about women. But looking back I can’t help wondering: whose stories were they really, why were we hearing them and what was the political point?It was a confusing time in terms of debates about gender equality.Excluding the premise for Thelma and Louise, all three films present as narrative truth scenarios that ran in stark contrast to reality. When it came to violence and women, most domestic homicide and violence was perpetrated by men. And violence towards women, in the 1990s, was statistically on the rise and there’s little improvement in these statistics today.Utter chaos, having a British passport never feels quite so wonderful as it does in the arrivals hall at Heathrow.“Perhaps these films allow women to fantasise about killing the men who are violent towards them?”Nyah, BI is chick killing chick … and think about the moral to the story. Fantasy OK, concrete action painful, even deadly.“Different story today …”How so?“Violent female protagonists are all the rage and definitely profitable. Killing Eve (2018) and A Simple Favour (2018).”I don’t have an immediate answer here. Killing Eve is a TV series, I think aloud, A Simple Favour structurally similar to Single White Female … “Why don’t you try self-publishing? It’ll be 20 years since you took The River Ophelia out of print, bit of an anniversary, maybe it’s time?”Not a bad idea. I’m now on the tube to meet mum at her bed and breakfast but the writer is impatient to get back to work. Maybe I should just write the screenplay instead?“Try both. If you don’t believe in your writing, who else will?”She has a point. I’m not getting anywhere with my new novel.A message pips through on Facebook. Want to catch up?What? Talk about out of the blue. I haven’t heard from Sade in twenty years … and how on earth did he get through my privacy settings?After meeting mum, the next thing I do is go to the doctor. My old doctor from West Kensington, she asks me how I’m going and I say I’m fine except that mum’s dying and this awful narcissistic ex-partner of mine has contacted me on Facebook. She recommends I read the following article, “The Highly Sensitive Person and the Narcissist” (Psychology Today).“Sometimes being a kind caring person makes you vulnerable to abusers.”After the appointment I can’t get her words out of my head.I dash into a Starbucks, I’m in Notting Hill just near the tube station, and read the article on my laptop on wifi. I highlight various sections. Narcissists “have a complete lack of empathy for others including their own family and friends, so that they will take advantage of people to get their own needs and desires met, even if it hurts someone.” That sounds about right, Sade could always find some way of masking his real motives in charm, or twisting reality around to make it look like things weren’t his fault, they were mine. How cleverly he’d lied! Narcissists, I read, are attracted to kind, compassionate people who they then use and lie to without remorse.But the bit that really makes me sit up is towards the end of the article. “For someone on the outside looking at a relationship between a highly sensitive person and a narcissist, it’s all too easy to blame the HSP. How and why would anyone want to stay in such a relationship?” Narcissists are incredibly good at making you doubt yourself, especially the part of you that says: this has happened before, it’ll happen again. You need to leave.The opening paragraph of the psychology textbook I read next uses Donald Trump as an example. Trump is also Patrick Bateman’s hero, the misogynistic serial killer protagonist of Bret Easton Ellis’s notorious American Psycho. Despite an earlier version that broadly focused on New York fiction of the 1990s, Ellis’s novel and the feminist outcry it provoked became the central topic of my PhD.“Are you alright mum?”I’ve just picked Mum up and I’m driving her to Paris for a night and then on to Switzerland where she’s going to have voluntary euthanasia. Despite the London drizzle and the horrific traffic the whole thing has a Thelma and Louise feel about it. I tell mum and she laughs.“We should watch it again. Have you seen it since it first came out?”“Sounds like a good idea.”Mum, tiny, pointy-kneed and wearing an out-of-character fluoro green beanie given to her at the oncology clinic in Sydney, is being very stoic but I can tell from the way she constantly wrings her hands that she’s actually quite terrified.“OK Louise,” she says as I unfold her Zimmer frame later that evening.“OK Thelma,” I reply as she walks off towards the hotel.Paris is a treat. My brother is waiting inside and we’re hoping to enjoy one last meal together.Mum didn’t want to continue with chemo at 83, but she’s frightened of dying a horrific death. As we approach hotel reception Mum can’t help taking a detour to inspect the dinner menu at the hotel restaurant.“Oysters naturel. That sounds nice.”I smile, wait, and take her by the elbow.I’ve completely forgotten. The interview/review I wrote of Acker’s Pussy, King of the Pirates, in 1995 for Rolling Stone. Where is it? I open my laptop and quickly click through the endless publicity and reviews of The River Ophelia, the interview/review came out around the same time the novel was published, but I can’t find it. I know I had it out just a few months ago, when I was chasing up some freelance book reviews.I make a fresh pot of tea from the mini bar, green, and return to my Acker tribute. Should I try to get it published? Here, or back in Australia? Ever the émigré’s dilemma. I decide I like the Parisian sense of style in this room, especially the cotton-linen sheets.Finally, I find it, it’s in the wrong folder. Printing it out, I remember how Kathy had called her agent and publisher in New York, and her disbelief when I’d told her the book hadn’t been picked up overseas. Kathy’s call resulted in my first New York agent. I scrutinise its pages.Kathy smiles benign childlike creativity in the larger photo, and gestures in passionate exasperation in the smaller group, her baby face framed by countless metal ear piercings. The interview takes place—at Kathy’s insistence—on her futon in her hotel room. My memories clarify. It wasn’t that we drifted apart, or rather we did, but only after men had come between us first. Neither of us had much luck in that department.(4)Kathy’s writing is also political because her characters don’t act or speak the way you’d expect them to. They don’t seem to follow the rules or behave in the way your average fictional character tends to do. From sentence to sentence, Kathy’s characters either change into different people, or live revolutionary lives, or even more radical still, live impossible lives.When the narrator of DQ transforms herself into a knight (and lives an impossible life); she turns a situation in which she is passive and relatively powerless—she is about to be operated on and drugged—into an empowering experience (and lives a creative revolutionary life). Ironically, getting power means she turns herself into a male knight. But Kathy gets around the problem that power is male by not letting things rest there. The female, aborting Kathy isn’t actually replaced by a male knight, bits of him are just grafted onto her. Sure, she sets out on a quest, but the other aspects of her empowerment are pretty superficial: she does adopt a new name (which is more like a disguise), and identity (appearance); and picks up a bad habit or two—a tendency to talk in the language used by knights.“But who’s the father?” the writer wants to know. “I mean isn’t that the real question here?”No, that is exactly not the real question here and not the point. It is not about who the father is—it’s about what happens to a woman who has an unwanted unplanned pregnancy.The phone rings. It’s my brother. Mum’s waiting for me downstairs and the oysters are beckoning.(5)The idea that writing could be political was very appealing. The transformation between my first novel, Marilyn’s Almost Terminal New York Adventure and my second, The River Ophelia (Picador insisted on publishing them in reverse chronology) was partly a result of my discovery of Kathy’s work and the ideas it set off in me. Kathy wasn’t the first novelist to write politically, but she was the first female novelist to do so in a way that had an immediate impact on me at an emotional level. And it was this powerful emotional response that inspired me as a writer—I wanted to affect my readers in a similar way (because reading Kathy’s work, I felt less alone and that my darkest experiences, so long silenced by shame and skirted around in the interests of maintaining appearances, could be given a voice).We’re driving through Switzerland and I’m thinking about narcissism and the way the narcissists in my personal and professional life overshadowed everything else. But now it’s time to give the rest of the world some attention. It’s also one way of pulling back the power from the psychopaths who rule the world.As we approach Zurich, my mother asks to pull over so she can use the ladies. When she comes out I can see she’s been crying. Inside the car, she reaches for my hand and clasps it. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to say goodbye.”“It’s alright Mum,” I say and hold her while we both cry.A police car drives by and my mother’s eyes snag. Harassed by the police in Australia and unable to obtain Nembutal in the UK, Mum has run out of options.To be a woman in this society is to find oneself living outside the law. Maybe this is what Acker meant when she wrote about becoming a pirate, or a knight?Textual deconstruction can be a risky business and writers like Acker walk a fine line when it comes to the law. Empire of the Senseless ran into a plagiarism suit in the UK and her publishers forced Acker to sign an apology to Harold Robbins (Acker Hannibal Lecter 13). My third novel Dependency similarly fell foul of the law when I discovered that in deconstructing gossip and myths about celebrities, drawing on their lives and then making stuff up, the result proved prophetic. When my publisher, Harper Collins, refused to indemnify me against potential unintended defamation I pulled the book from its contract on the advice of a lawyer. I was worth seven million pounds on paper at that point, the internet travel site my then husband and I had founded with Bob Geldof had taken off, and the novel was a radical hybrid text comprised of Rupert Murdoch’s biography, Shakespeare’s King Lear and Hello Magazine and I was worried that Murdoch might come after me personally. I’d fictionalised him as a King Lear type, writing his Cordelia out of his will and leaving everything to his Goneril and Reagan.Recent theoretical studies argue that Acker’s appropriation and deconstruction constitute a feminist politics as “fragmentation” (June 2) and as “agency” (Pitchford 22). As Acker puts it. “And then it’s like a kid: suddenly a toy shop opens up and the toy shop was called culture.” (Acker Hannibal Lecter 11).We don’t easily fit in a system that wasn’t ever designed to meet our needs.(6)By writing about the most private parts of women’s lives, I’ve tried to show how far there is to go before women and men are equal on a personal level. The River Ophelia is about a young woman whose public life might seem a success from the outside (she is a student doing an honours year at university in receipt of a scholarship), but whose private life is insufferable (she knows nothing about dealing with misogyny on an intimate level and she has no real relationship-survival skills, partly as a result of her family history, partly because the only survival skills she has have been inscribed by patriarchy and leave her vulnerable to more abuse). When Justine-the-character learns how to get around sexism of the personal variety (by re-inventing her life through parodies of classic texts about oedipal society) she not only changes her life, but she passes on her new-found survival skills to the reader.A disturbing tale about a young university student who loses herself in a destructive relationship, The River Ophelia is a postmodern novel about domestic violence and sexual harassment in the academy, contrary to its marketing campaign at the time. It’s protagonist, Justine, loves Sade but Sade is only interested in sex; indeed, he’s a brutish sex addict. Despite this, Justine can’t seem to leave: for all her education, she’s looking for love and commitment in all the wrong places. While the feminist lore of previous generations seems to work well in theory, Justine can’t seem to make it work in practise. Owning her power and experimenting with her own sexuality only leaves her feeling more despairing than before. Unconventional, compelling and controversial, The River Ophelia became an instant best-seller and is credited with beginning the Australian literary movement known as grunge/dirty realism.But there is always the possibility, given the rich intertextuality and self referentiality, that The River Ophelia is Justine’s honours thesis in creative writing. In this case, Sade, Juliette, Ophelia, Hamlet, Bataille, Simone, Marcelle and Leopold become hybrids made up from appropriated canonical characters, fragments of Justine’s turbulent student’s world and invented sections. But The River Ophelia is also a feminist novel that partly began as a dialogue with Ellis whose scandalous American Psycho it parodies even as it reinvents. This creative activity, which also involves the reader by inviting her to participate in the textual play, eventually empowers Justine over the canon and over her perpetrator, Sade.Another hotel room. This one, just out of Zürich, is tiny. I place my suitcase on the rack beneath the window overlooking the narrow street and start to unpack.“Hasn’t this all been said before, about The River Ophelia?” The writer says, trying out the bed. I’m in the middle of an email about self-publishing a new edition of TRO.Some of it. While the grunge label has been refuted, Acker’s influence has been underplayed.Acker often named her protagonists after herself, so losing the Acker part of my textual filiation plays into the whole grunge/dirty realism marketing campaign. I’ve talked about how I always name protagonists after famous women but not linked this to Acker. Bohemia Beach has a protagonist named after Cathy as in Wuthering Heights. Justine of The River Ophelia was doubly an Acker trait: firstly, she was named Justine after De Sade’s character and is a deconstruction of that character, and secondly she was named Justine self-reflexively after me, as a tribute to Kathy as in Kathy Goes to Haiti.The other context for The River Ophelia that has been lost is to do with the early work of Mary Gaitskill, and Catherine Texier. The narcissists were so destructive and so powerful they left no time for the relatively more subtle Gaitskill or Texier. Prototypes for Sex in the City, the 1990s was also a time when Downtown New York women writers explored the idea that gender equality meant women could do anything men did sexually, that they deserved the full gamut of libertine sexual freedoms. Twenty years on it should also be said that women who push the envelope by writing women protagonists who are every bit as sexually transgressive as men, every bit as addictively self-destructive as male protagonists deserve not to be shamed for that experimentation. They deserve to be celebrated and read.AfterwordI’d like to remember Kathy as I knew her briefly in Sydney. A bottle-blonde with a number two haircut, a leopard-skin bikini and a totally tattooed body, she swam a surprisingly genteel breast-stroke in the next lane in one of the world’s most macho lap-swimming pools.ReferencesA Simple Favour. Dir. Paul Feig. Lionsgate, 2018.Acker, Kathy. Don Quixote. London: Collins, 1986.———. Empire of the Senseless. New York: Grove, 1988.———. Hannibal Lecter, My Father. New York: Semiotext(e), 1991.———. Kathy Goes to Haiti. New York: Grove Press/Atlantic Monthly, 1994.——— and McKenzie Wark. I’m Very into You: Correspondence 1995-1996. New York: Semiotext(e), 2015.Basic Instinct. Dir. Paul Verhoeven. TriStar Pictures, 1992.Brontë, Emily. Wuthering Heights. New York: Norton and Co, 2003.Bushnell, Candace. Sex in the City. United States: Grand Central Publishing, 1996.Cooke, Rachel. “Review of After Kathy Acker: A Biography by Chris Kraus—Baffling Life Study.” The Guardian 4 Sep. 2017. 4 Dec. 2018 <https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/sep/04/after-kathy-acker-a-biography-chris-kraus-review>.Deleuze, Gilles, and Felix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987.Ellis, Bret Easton. American Psycho. New York: Vintage, 1991.Ettler, Justine. Bohemia Beach. Melbourne: Transit Lounge. 2018.———. “Kathy Acker: King of the Pussies.” Review of Pussy, King of the Pirates, by Kathy Acker. Rolling Stone. Nov. 1995: 60-61.———. Marilyn’s Almost Terminal New York Adventure. Sydney: Picador, 1996.———. “La Trobe University Essay: Bret Easton Ellis’s Glamorama, and Catherine Texier’s Break Up.” Australian Book Review, 1995.———. The Best Ellis for Business: A Re-Examination of the Mass Media Feminist Critique of “American Psycho.” PhD. Sydney: University of Sydney, 2013.———. The River Ophelia. Sydney: Picador, 1995.Faludi, Susan. Backlash: The Undeclared War against American Women. New York: Crown, 1991.Friedman, Ellen G. “A Conversation with Kathy Acker.” The Review of Contemporary Fiction 9.3 (Fall 1989): 20-21.Gaitskill, Mary. Bad Behaviour. New York: Random House, 1988.I Love Dick. Dir. Jill Soloway. Amazon Video, 2017.June, Pamela B. The Fragmented Female Body and Identity: The Postmodern Feminist and Multiethnic Writings of Toni Morrison, Therese Huk, Kyung Cha, Phyllis Alesia Perry, Gayl Jones, Emma Perez, Paula Gunn Allen, and Kathy Acker. New York: Peter Lang Publishing, 2010.Killing Eve. Dir. Phoebe Waller-Bridge. BBC America, 2018.Kraus, Chris. After Kathy Acker: A Biography. London: Penguin, 2017.———. I Love Dick. London: Serpent’s Tail, 2016.Laing, Olivia. Crudo. London: Picador, 2018.Lee, Bandy. The Case of Donald Trump: 27 Psychiatrists and Mental Health Experts Assess a President. New York: St Martin’s Press. 2017.Lombard, Nancy, and Lesley McMillan. “Introduction.” Violence against Women. Eds. Nancy Lombard and Lesley McMillan. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 2013.Pitchford, Nicola. Tactical Readings: Feminist Postmodernism in the Novels of Kathy Acker and Angela Carter. London: Associated Uni Press, 2002.Schiffrin, André. The Business of Books: How International Conglomerates Took Over Publishing and Changed the Way We Read. London and New York: Verso, 2000.Shakespeare, William. King Lear. London: Penguin Classics, 2015.Siegle, Robert. Suburban Ambush: Downtown Writing and the Fiction of Insurgency. United States: John Hopkins Press, 1989.Single White Female. Dir. Barbet Schroeder. Columbia Pictures, 1992.Texier, Catherine. Panic Blood. London: Collins, 1991.Thelma and Louise. Dir. Ridley Scott. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 1991.Ward, Deborah. “Sense and Sensitivity: The Highly Sensitive Person and the Narcissist.” Psychology Today (16 Jan. 2012). 4 Dec. 2018 <https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/sense-and-sensitivity/201201/the-highly-sensitive-person-and-the-narcissist>.

The Resident Evil video game series is especially notable for engaging with uncanny nature and monstrous reproduction, often facilitated through viral contamination. These third-person games usually feature an outbreak of some kind, instigated by a shadowy organisation, and star a member of law enforcement or the military as the protagonist. However, the seventh and eighth games of the franchise were different. While they explored many of the same themes and conventions as their predecessors, the technologies by which they evoked fear and suspense had become further immersed in the survival horror genre and ecoGothic affect. Survival horror video games, which often exploit anxieties surrounding uncanny motherhood to produce feelings of dread, use the processes and spectacle of reproduction, gestation, and childbirth as the locus of player fear. The ecoGothic, that is the non-human ecology rendered uncanny, monstrous, and sublime, permeates survival horror spaces and has the potential to empower these malevolent matriarchs. In Resident Evil 7: Biohazard (Nakanishi) and Resident Evil VIII: Village (Sato), player-protagonist Ethan Winters is under constant attack from female antagonists. From unexpected onslaughts from his rapidly transforming wife Mia at the beginning of Resident Evil 7: Biohazard, to his heart being wrenched from his body by the overarching villain Mother Miranda in Resident Evil VIII: Village, Ethan’s life is under constant threat from women and girls infected by a parasitic fungus. These monstrous females, through their corporeal forms and means of control, blur the boundaries between the human and the non-human. Furthermore, they represent the perceived degradation of the human form and delegitimisation of man's dominion over nature. These women—who have merged with the non-human ecosystem—have become creatures that challenge our conception of what it is to be human. It is this intersection of ecophobia and the perceived transgression of gender roles that make up the anatomy of the female and non-cis-masculine presenting videoludic monster. Using Resident Evil 7: Biohazard and Resident Evil VIII: Village as my primary examples, in this article I unpack the implications of these fungus-infested women, and explore how family and trauma play a role in their narratives. EcoGothic Origins In defining the ecoGothic it is important to acknowledge its origins as a response to the idealised ecologies of the nature writing of the Romantic period (Smith and Hughes 2). Rather than sweeping through the green pastoral valleys of the Romantic novel, the ecoGothic lurks in the shadows of labyrinthine forests and stands awestruck before sublime wonders. The ecoGothic shatters the illusion of human control, confronting the audience with their fears and anxieties. The ecoGothic monsters of Resident Evil 7: Biohazard (referred to here as Resident Evil 7) and Resident Evil VIII: Village (referred to here as Village) represent deep-seated anxieties about the boundaries between the human and the non-human. Whilst Gothic narratives have traditionally expressed fears about the loss of control to nature, Estok notes that this loss of control is a real and present threat in the environmental crisis of the Anthropocene (Estok 29), lending these modern ecoGothic monsters additional relevance and potency. The ecoGothic challenges human corporeality through transformation, hybridity, and invasion, destabilising our ideas of the human as separate from, and superior to, the greater ecology. It is vital to interrogate assumptions associated with the false dichotomy between humans and nature to demonstrate the anxieties at play within these manifestations of female eco-monstrosity. As Tidwell notes, ecohorror narratives are “fundamentally predicated upon a relationship between humanity and nature that does not allow for their interconnectedness” (539). These games, through the compromised, infected form of the protagonist, problematise the dichotomy between the good of humanity and the evil of the non-human. However, they still weaponise anxieties about human specificity and depict hybridity as monstrous and unstable. The patriarchal fear of transgressive female power is similarly weaponised through the female antagonists. These monstrous female antagonists are used to police boundaries of acceptable womanhood and their fates demonstrate the dangers of transgressing those boundaries. Through an ecofeminist lens we can examine the interplay between anxieties surrounding gender and anxieties surrounding the wildness and unpredictability of the ecology. As the intersection between ecocriticism, which is interested in the interconnectedness of ecologies, and feminism, which is interested in the “social analysis” of power structures and systems of domination (Carr 160), ecofeminism allows us to analyse the subjugation, exploitation, and demonisation of the feminine and the broader ecology. Part of what makes a female monster so threatening is that she transgresses two societal modes of categorisation. She is a predator rather than prey, no longer fitting the submissive female archetype, and she has become a hybrid form closely associated with the animal. Krzywinska highlights the role of this altered power relationship as being a potent manifestation of the Gothic in video games (33). This common expression of transgressive and monstrous female power draws on the traditional role of the Gothic in facilitating the male experience of fear and vulnerability with impunity (Krzywinska 33). Resident Evil as a video game series has an inconsistent history of depicting women and female-presenting entities, both antagonists and protagonists alike. MacCallum-Stewart asserts that the series’ shift towards more problematic and monstrous female representation coincides with a move from action-adventure to survival horror (170). The series has long been preoccupied with monstrous inheritance and legacy, but Resident Evil 7 and Village represent a new move towards female villains, abandoning patriarchal dynasties like the Weskers. The female ecoGothic monsters of Resident Evil 7 and Village transgress gender and species norms, signifying a move further into the ecoGothic realm of the uncanny. The Technology of Ecohorror The Resident Evil series uses science fiction conventions to explain the mystery that lies at the centre of its horrific spectacles. Despite the distinctly ecoGothic affect of Resident Evil 7 and Village, the ’scientific’ explanation provided in-game for these supernatural occurrences is a mutated fungus with psychotropic and self-replicating properties. The Cadou (Romanian for “gift”) is a fictional fungus developed from a fungal root under the village, and altered to create bioweapons by a shadowy organisation, The Connections. Known as the megamycete in the English script (not used in the Japanese script), the fungus has various effects including controlling its host, retaining and replicating genetic information, and rapid growths capable of focussed movement. A second fungal root was established in Louisiana, under the Baker House of Resident Evil 7. As a locus of human anxiety, fungal bodies are inherently unstable and defy characterisation, thus queering ideas of the corporeal body (Bishop et al. 220). Bishop posits that in the human consciousness fungus is closely linked to the animal as they live on “dead or decomposing matter”. Some fungal species reproduce asexually “through the release of spores that produces new organisms that are genetically identical to the parent organism” (Bishop et al. 204). This asexual reproduction means that fictional fungal bodies are representative of a reproductive process that runs contrary to the human-sanctioned sexual reproduction and established gendered power dynamics. Reproduction through tiny spores allows the site of reproduction to go undetected, opening the possibility within the human imagination for the invasion and violation of the human form. Bishop also notes that fungal bodies “are hardly contained organisms; they form complex systems of mycorrhizae, symbiotic underground relationships with other fungal and vegetal life” (Bishop et al. 204). It is this resistance to categorisation is an emergent theme as we define the parameters of these female eco-monsters. Whilst the fungal properties of the Cadou are behind the malevolent forces at work within Resident Evil 7 and Village, the mould and associated slime are a looming presence in the bulk of the gameplay. It clings to the walls in the Baker house and lurks in the shadows of the Village. It exists within the interior and exterior of the human body, threatening to control, corrupt, and engulf. The invasive presence of the mould in the Old House places the phenomenon firmly in the domestic sphere, in the space to which the matriarch of the family, Marguerite, is bound (McGreevy et al. 254). Hurley notes that slime “constitutes a threat to the integrity of the human subject” (35), due to its lack of fixed identity and form. Slime represents a challenge to the human understanding of the body as a closed system that is impenetrable and self-contained. Estok posits that slime’s resistance to categorisation and refusal to fit within male delineated boundaries creates an association with the feminine (33). Slime is unstable and resists control, making it a culturally pervasive expression of fears about the loss of established systems of power that reinforce sexism and misogyny (Estok 31). This theory of the gendered significance of slime brings new meaning to use of the mould and slime forms of the Cadou for the purposes of unnatural reproduction and the exercising of psychological control. The abhuman, or not-quite-human (Hurley 3), spectacles of Resident Evil’s Cadou infected antagonists are able to be at once tragic and disposable. While the player is required to kill vast hordes of amorphous “molded”, emaciated “thralls” and degenerated “lycans”, the humanoid bosses or key antagonists complicate human claims to exceptionalism and specificity. Tidwell notes that “this breakdown of the animacy hierarchy and of separations between human and nonhuman emphasizes materiality itself and de-emphasizes consciousness or sentience” (546). It is implied that we are to think of the zombie-like hordes of non-player combatants as non-sentient, as under the complete control of the non-human, therefore entirely expendable. This othering of non-player combatant is a staple of the survival horror genre as it offers monstrosity as both motive and mitigation. As Perron notes, the monsters of videoludic horror are constructed from “mundane” player anxieties, allowing the player to kill that which they fear (11). The Scientist and the ‘Broodmother’ The dangerous potential of the grieving mother is demonstrated in the actions of Mother Miranda, whose loss of her daughter Eva serves as the catalyst for the Cadou narrative arc of Resident Evil 7 and Village. Miranda, through her experimentation with the mould and her pathological determination to resurrect her child, becomes a monstrous maternal spectacle. Miranda forces both children and adults to become infantilised, deferential hosts to the Cadou, attempting to create a “vessel” to carry her daughter’s DNA and consciousness. As Paxton notes, such monstrous and destructive maternal behaviour is “pathologized as unnatural and identified as the seamy underside of woman’s nature” (170). This depiction of unnatural maternal behaviour is compounded by her means of reproduction and the multitudes of “children” she has produced. Stang notes that “the monster polices the borders of what is permissible” and Miranda’s status as the “Broodmother”, through her complex combination of asexual reproduction and infection, represents transgressions of those borders that circumvent patriarchal processes (235). Killing Miranda is the culmination of a two-game arc that requires the player-character to kill her “false children”. The similarities between the unnatural birth of Frankenstein’s creature and the unnatural birth of Miranda’s children are significant. Facilitated by science and societal transgression, they are constructed from death and ultimately result in parental rejection. Miranda cements her status as the monstrous mother by revealing that the player has been doing her bidding in killing her children: "you've fulfilled your purpose, Mr. Winters. You disposed of my false children and awakened the glorious Megamycete” (Sato). In creating these “children” and then casting them aside, Mother Miranda fashions a hierarchy of hybrid entities, desperate for her approval and under her thrall due to the controlling properties of the Cadou. The player-character’s mission to kill Miranda as the monstrous maternal figure expresses a “revulsion and fear towards female fecundity” and a “potent fear” of “female reproduction without male input” (Stang 238). The damage perpetuated by Miranda’s unnatural motherhood is far reaching, with one of her “failed vessels”, Eveline, becoming the source of the Louisiana Cadou infestation from Resident Evil 7. Eveline was originally created as a bioweapon (or B.O.W.) using the DNA of Miranda’s dead daughter and a sample of the Cadou mould. Manifesting as a ten-year old girl, Eveline has an insatiable drive to create a family which motivates her manipulation and infection of the Bakers, Mia, and the play-character Ethan. "I don't want to live at the lab anymore. I want a house. And I want you to be my mommy" says Eveline to Mia (Nakanishi). Eveline’s ability to reproduce and infect is even more monstrous and abject than that of her “Broodmother” as she is ostensibly a young girl. Her status as an uncanny, abhuman “mother” is not a means of empowerment and comes at a tremendous cost. As Stang writes the ecoGothic mother’s reproductive power “is often the result of infection, contamination, or mutation and causes abject transformations, madness, and, eventually, death at the hands of the protagonist” (238). Therefore, with each one of these abject mothers Ethan kills he is completing the patriarchal narrative of the dangers of unnatural reproduction and matriarchal power structures. The Abhuman Mother Resident Evil 7 antagonist Marguerite Baker is already a mother when the Cadou, brought into her home by Eveline, establishes fungal growths on her brain. She and Jack take in Eveline and Mia out of a genuine human concern and compassion which has completely disappeared by the time Ethan arrives in the home. Soon Eveline’s drive for a family kicks in and she begins to insidiously control the Bakers, worming her way into their psyche and infecting them with the mould. From this point on Marguerite begins to mutate into a maternal monster, referring to spiders and insects as her babies. Not only does her nurturing begin to transgress species, but she begins to feed her human family human flesh, creating grotesque parodies of the nurturing and nourishing mother: "I'll feed you to my babies and fertilize the garden with what was left" Marguerite to Ethan (Nakanishi). As Marguerite begins her homicidal pursuit of Ethan, the ecohorror of her monstrous body is revealed. She transforms becoming progressively less human. Her “monster” form, with its elongated limbs and mutated vulva, becomes more closely aligned with a female arthropod or arachnid. McGreevy et al notes that “Marguerite’s transformation mirrors the impact of mycoestrogens, such as zearalenone, which the body treats as a high dose of estrogen … . The infection thus amplifies feminine traits to a dangerous level, as the female body is abject: horrific and alluring” (261). The insects that are birthed from her genitals have an intrinsic association with death and decomposition, playing a key role in the process of disarticulating the human form (Shelomi 31). From this association we might infer that the fear and disgust the player feels at Marguerite’s association with insects and her mutated arachnid form goes beyond anxieties of ambiguity between the human and the non-human. The Eastern European castle and snow-capped peaks of Village offer a different type of female monstrosity to that found on the bayou in Louisiana. Whilst not a vampire through the traditional transmission mode of Dracula and his ilk, Alcina Dimitrescu’s vampirism is necessitated by an inherited blood condition and invites discussion of matriarchal lines of reproduction. The inhabitants of the Castle Dimitrescu play into the same ecoGothic conventions as that have been employed in female vampire narratives. These narratives play into anxieties about unnatural reproduction, in this case reproduction without the men or masculine forces. Paxton in their exploration of Le Fanu’s Carmilla draws connections between female vampirism and parasitic ichneumon wasps, resonating with the depiction of Cadou infestation in Resident Evil (170). Like fungus vampirism is depicted as parasitic and a disruption to the patriarchal lineage through its potential for asexual reproduction. Not unlike the structure of infection, psychic control, and reproduction that we see in vampire fiction, Mother Miranda operates as matriarchal head of an expansive hivemind that mimics a family like structure. Alcina Dimitrescu is a sexualised spectacle whose rejection and suspicion of men reinforces her role as a transgressive woman. Alcina and her daughters determine the fates of their victims by gender, with men being consumed and women being enslaved and drained of blood for the production of wine. She further transgresses normative expectations of the mother through the animalism associated with vampirism (Paxton 178) and her stature. She is an imposing nine feet tall with rapidly growing claws due to the effects of the Cadou, making her difficult to dominate through brute strength. Further compounding her threat to patriarchal power structures, she explicitly expresses hatred for men during her attacks. Her voice lines demonstrate a powerful drive to protect her daughters from patriarchal power and masculine violence: “You ungrateful, selfish wretch! You come into MY house—You lay your filthy man-hands on MY daughters”—Alcina Dimetrescu to Ethan (Sato). Depicted as a beautiful, elegant lady, the vampiric body of Alcina Dimitrescu, transforms into a grotesque dragon-like creature, providing visual confirmation of her underlying status as non-human. The abhuman as the covert and deceptive non-human monstrosity plays into her late-stage transformation reinforces her disconnect from the human, legitimising her death. Mother Miranda’s daughter Donna Beneviento poses a deeper psychological threat to the player, stepping further away from the action-adventure genre with which Resident Evil has previously been associated. Like Marguerite, her house manifests her psychological state, reflecting her trauma and implied mental illness. This trauma manifests externally, turning the Beneviento mansion into an extension of her psychic agency. She achieves this through the use of secreted fungal hallucinogens activated by pollen allowing her to manifest and prey on the anxieties of her victims. Donna Beneviento’s relationship to her Cadou infested and their uncanny animation echoes the unnatural reproduction of Mother Miranda. Throughout the Beneviento mansion motifs of parenthood and childbirth play out in increasingly grotesque forms, culminating in a giant foetus monster emerging from the shadows, wailing and giggling. Donna Beneviento is playing with Ethan expressing her status as child, despite the reality of her adulthood. Donna is infantilised, crafting dolls in an expression her loneliness and desire for family in a manner similar to Eveline’s misguided attempts to construct a family. The Sanctioned Mother and the Good Daughter The counterpoint to these spectacles of female monstrosity are female characters who manage to maintain the appearance of human specificity and adherence to societal norms. Marguerite’s daughter Zoe remains relatively unaffected by the Cadou and retains her humanity, aligning herself with the player-character. She is the good daughter, the sanctioned and acceptable human daughter. Ethan’s wife Mia is intermittently affected by the same fungal infestation as Marguerite, yet her initial monstrous manifestation and frenzied chainsaw attack on Ethan at the beginning of the game is all but forgotten through her subsequent ability to maintain the appearance of human specificity. By the beginning of Village Mia is depicted as an ideal picture of rehabilitated motherhood and femininity. Positioning herself as the “good” in the good/bad mother dichotomy, she is cooking, wearing soft fabrics and colours, and is nurturing her baby (Digioia 15-16). But this figure of the socially sanctioned mother has been replaced by the “bad” Mother Miranda. This raises further questions about the illusory and performative qualities of maternal affection in the Resident Evil series. After being kidnapped, Ethan’s baby Rose is dissected into four parts and given to four main antagonists of Village. It is only through her integration with the Cadou and the resurrection procedure of Mother Miranda that she is revived. Rose’s resurrection is an obscured and noncorporeal affair, unlike the resurrection of Alcina Dimatrescu’s daughters Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra, which is documented in scientific detail. As a discarded “Insect observation journal” notes, their corpses became covered in carnivorous insects that “vigorously consume meat”, morphing and mutating to recreate their resurrected human forms (Sato). The visceral descriptions of this process and their subsequent ability to control hordes of insects are reminiscent Marguerite’s monster form. Like Mia and Zoe, Rose’s acceptability and status as the good daughter is predicated on her ability to adhere to societal norms and patriarchal categorisations. Conclusion In depicting female antagonists as ecoGothic monstrosities, Resident Evil 7: Biohazard and Resident Evil VIII: Village position the player character in vain defence of human specificity and supremacy. It is telling that, as a figure who has been unknowingly infected with the Cadou, Ethan Winters has already lost the battle against the parasitic invasion of his own corporeal form. By tapping into ecophobic anxieties about fungus and slime that defy categorisation, Resident Evil is able to challenge the player’s human specificity and agency. This lack of specificity and agency is only accentuated by the monstrous and transgressive presence of the unnatural mother and the dangerous female. It is this loss of control and vulnerability that is common to both the ecoGothic and the survival horror genre. By contrasting examples of the monstrous feminine with sanctioned feminine figures like Mia, Rose, and Zoe, Resident Evil 7: BioHazard and Resident Evil VIII: Village establish policeable boundaries for female behaviour and a means of justifying the killing of abhuman bodies. While the powerful monstrous female antagonists of the games are able to exert a phenomenal amount of agency when compared to their monstrous peers, their construction still plays into destructive misogynist and ecophobic ideas of the female and the non-human world. References Bishop, Katherine E., David Higgins, and Jerry Määttä. Plants in Science Fiction: Speculative Vegetation. Cardiff: U of Wales P, 2020. Carr, Emily. “The Riddle Was the Angel in the House: Towards an American Ecofeminist Gothic.” Ecogothic. Eds. Andrew Smith and William Hughes. United Kingdom: Manchester UP, 2016. 160-176. DiGioia, Amanda. Childbirth and Parenting in Horror Texts : The Marginalized and the Monstrous. Bingley: Emerald, 2017. Estok, Simon C. “Corporeality, Hyper-Consciousness, and the Anthropocene ecoGothic: Slime and Ecophobia”. Neohelicon 1 (2020). 27 Aug. 2021 <https://link.springer.com/article/10.1007/s11059-020-00519-0>. Hurley, Kelly. The Gothic Body: Sexuality, Materialism, and Degeneration at the Fin de Siècle. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2004. Krzywinska, Tanya. “The Gamification of Gothic Coordinates”. Revenant: Critical and Creative Studies of the Supernatural 1 (2015). 26 Aug. 2021 <http://www.revenantjournal.com/contents/the-gamification-of-gothic-coordinates-in-videogames/>. McGreevy, Alan, Christina Fawcett, and Marc A. Ouellette. “The House and the Infected Body: The Metonomy of Resident Evil 7.” 2020. 28 Aug. 2021 <https://digitalcommons.odu.edu/english_fac_pubs/155/>. Paxton, Amanda. “Mothering by Other Means: Parasitism and J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla”. ISLE: Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 1 (2021). 2 Aug. 2021 <https://doi-org.ezproxy-f.deakin.edu.au/10.1093/isle/isz119>. Perron, Bernard. The World of Scary Video Games: A Study in Videoludic Horror. Bloomsbury Publishing, 2018. Resident Evil 7: Biohazard. Dev. Koshi Nakanishi. Capcom 2017. Resident Evil Village. Dev. Morimasa Sato. Capcom, 2021. Shelomi, Matan. “Entomoludology: Arthropods in Video Games”. American Entomologist 2 (2019). 28 Aug. 2021 <https://doi.org/10.1093/ae/tmz028>. Smith, Andrew, and William Hughes. Introduction. In EcoGothic. Manchester University Press, 2015. Stang, Sarah. “The Broodmother as Monstrous – Feminine – Abject Maternity in Video Games.” 42 (2019). 28 Aug. 2021 <https://doi.org/10.7557/13.5014>. Tidwell, Christy. “Monstrous Natures Within: Posthuman and New Materialist Ecohorror in Mira Grant’s ‘Parasite’.” ISLE: Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment 3 (2014). 27 Aug. 2021 <https://www.jstor.org/stable/26430361>.

Abstract Chapter 5 traces what we can know of Athenian political organization and institutions from the seventh century to 500, discussing the early history of archons, what we can deduce from Drako’s homicide law about late seventh-century Athenian political society, Solon’s reforms and the picture given by Solon’s poetry about the nature of the crisis he was seeking to resolve, the tyranny of Peisistratos and his sons and its overthrow, and the political revolution of Kleisthenes. The chapter describes the various ways that the citizen body was divided up into tribes, trittyes, phratries, and demes, and the nature of Archaic citizenship.

This chapter looks at fugitives. In Athenian law, and in the laws of other city-states, exile was used to punish those guilty of voluntary and involuntary homicide, politicians who had committed treason, and generals who had suffered a military defeat. Depending on the circumstances of the crime, it might be imposed either for life or for a fixed term of years. It frequently involved loss of civic rights and/or confiscation of property. However, when one reads the word phugê in a literary text or inscription, it is often unclear whether it signifies a sentence that has been passed in a court of law, or the voluntary flight of an accused individual engendered by fear of prosecution or violence at the hands of the murder victim's enraged countrymen.