Journal articles on the topic 'Knights of St. John (Nigeria)'

During the early modern age the appointment of Maltese bishops involved conflicts in the management of ecclesiastical patronage, jurisdictional issues and international diplomacy. The procedure for appointment, established by Charles v in 1530 when he granted Malta to the Order of St John, was the result of a compromise: safeguarding rights of royal patronage without undermining the independence of an international military order. It is important, however, to underline the reforming activity conducted by bishops appointed in such political ways, especially through the application of some institutions provided by the Council of Trent, such as diocesan synods.

AbstractBetween 1530 and 1798, Malta, the southernmost tip of Catholic Europe, was home to the military-religious Order of St John (of Malta). This organization traced its origins to the years just before the beginning of the crusades in late eleventh-century Palestine. From Malta, the Order sought to keep up its dual mission of hospitality (hence the appellative of hospitallers) and fighting the infidel Muslim at sea. From 1592 to 1768 the Society of Jesus was present in this Catholic outpost from where it supported the mission of the Order and sought to remould hospitaller piety. The relationship between these two organizations had ramifications that spread beyond tiny Malta, both because of the issues that arose between them, as well as because of the international composition of the Order and the Society. The Carnival of 1639 proved to be a defining moment in this relationship; though generally passed over as a ‘temporary disturbance’ this article emphasizes that it was more than this by looking at the dynamics of the links between hospitallers, Jesuits, the Inquisition, and Carnival. This article is based on a wider range of sources than previous studies, which will help to bring out the nuances of the subject under investigation.

On 12 June 1798, Napoleon Bonaparte took control of the islands of Malta. The Knights Hospitaller surrendered with little fight, and the independently recognized polity of the Knights of St. John, the last bastion of the medieval chivalric orders, fell. Founded in the Middle Ages as a military order created both to carry the sword against Islam and provide shelter and medical care for pilgrims to the Holy Land, the Knights had by the end of the eighteenth century become an anachronism. The Ottoman Empire, the last of the great Muslim powers of the Mediterranean, had long been considered little more than a pawn in larger political struggles on the Continent. The practical application of crusading as church policy had long fallen out of favor. As a military force, the Order was no longer of any consequence. The Grand Council that directed the Order consisted for the most part of Maltese or Italian nobles of little formal training in the strategy and tactics of “modern” warfare. Historians of the late eighteenth century had come to the conclusion that the crusades of the Middle Ages were little more than the fanatical hate mongering of an unenlightened time. As Edward Gibbon wrote: “The principle of the crusades was a savage fanaticism; and the most important effects were analogous to the cause…. The belief of the Catholics was corrupted by new legends…. The active spirit of the Latins preyed on the vitals of their reason and religion…. The lives and labours of millions, which were buried in the East, would have been more profitably employed in the improvement of their native country….”

AbstractOriginally a charitable monastic institution devoted to the care of Christian pilgrims in the Holy Land, the Hospitallers of St. John became a military order during the twelfth century. The arrival of the Order of St. John in Malta in 1530 brought this island to the attention of European leaders and their subjects; indeed, the number of visitors who wrote about their sojourns on the island in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is remarkable. At this time private military tours to Malta came to be integrated into what was called the Cavalier's Tour. The famous caravans of the fleet of the Order of St. John played a special role in this development, since participation in the caravans-usually involving naval engagements against the infidel-was considered an integral part of a gentleman's education. The survival of the chivalric Order of St. John seems to testify to the spiritual and cultural continuity of the Crusades up through the period of the Counter Reformation. But closer examination of individual European travelers suggests a rather pragmatic and quite "tolerant" approach to the foreign world. This essay concentratcs on Northern European sources, as it was mainly the Northerners who made the Cavalier's Tour a regular ritual, often entailing the compilation of a detailed travel diary. The accounts of the travelers from Prussia, the Scandinavian countries and central and south Germany show that both Catholics and Protestants alike came to Malta, mainly for reasons of fame, career and the acquisition of military and nautical experience. By the middle of the eighteenth century the Order and its fleet had degenerated to an ornamental show. This decline coincided with the end of the phenomenon dealt with here. In the so-called "Grand Tour" of the second half of the eighteenth century-mostly undertaken by rich Englishmen-there was no space for a trip "adversus infideles." This new type of tour was meant for private pleasure and cultural education. The Ottoman empire was no longer seen as a threat. In contrast to the old emnity, there was a new vogue for things "oriental." The island of Malta and the state of the Knights became an object of curiosity and romantic chivalry.

AbstractRossiya yest' yevropeyskaya derzhava ("Russia is a European power") was Tsarina Catherine II's credo and program, a logical continuation of the policy of Tsar Peter the Great. Malta and the Order of St. John played an important role in Catherine's plan: the island of the knights was to serve as a bridgehead for a permanent Russian presence in the Mediterranean. Already in 1698 Tsar Peter had sent delegations and diplomats to Hospitaller Malta to negotiate a Russo-Maltese alliance against the Ottomans. In the 1760s a Russian chargé d'affaires was installed in Malta and the famous fleet of the Order was used by Russian officers for training, and in 1768 a plan was drawn up for a joint Russo-Maltese naval attack on the Greek mainland. But such moves must have brought about the united opposition of the Mediterranean powers as well as of that of the British. Even in such a "holy war" against their infidel archenemy, which would have been in perfect accord with its statutes, the Order of St. John could no longer act freely. Officially, France remained the main protector of the Order's neutrality, so until the end of the Ancien régime the Order did not risk an open alliance with Russia. In the long run, however, Tsarina Catherine's insistence had paved the way for extremely close Russo-Maltese relations to come when her son Paul became tsar and even was proclaimed as the new grand master of the Order of Malta.

AbstractThe conventional view is that Malta has been on the ‘forgotten frontier’ of Christian maritime resistance to Islamic expansionism since the Islamic invasions of North Africa in the seventh century. The limited archival and archeological evidence suggests that, up to the arrival of the Order of the Knights of St John of Jerusalem in Malta in 1530, this picture is not accurate. The Islamic occupation of the Maltese archipelago in 870 created a cosmopolitan Muslim society which persisted until the mid-thirteenth century, despite the Norman conquest of the region in 1090. Indeed, the formal end of Muslim society in Malta only came in 1224, as a side-result of the Hohenstauffen suppression of a Muslim rebellion in Sicily.Even under the Order of St John contacts with the Muslim world were far closer than is conventionally supposed. The Grand Master of the Order maintained close contacts with the Qaramanlis in Tripoli and the Beys of Tunis during the eighteenth century, despite the continuation of the corso. In reality, contacts had always existed and had been recognised as essential by the Holy See because Malta could not sustain its population once it had exceeded 10,000 persons. Sicily, the obvious source of supply, often exerted undesirable political pressure and the Barbary coast was the only other alternative. The main legacy of the close contacts between Malta and the North African Muslim world, however, is to be found, even today, in the Maltese language, which is really a Medieval variant of North African Arabic.

The historian John Keegan was one of the first to ask the simple yet searching question: what actually happens in combat? It is well known that English footsoldiers received a charge by French knights at the battle of Agincourt in 1415, but what took place when men and horses collided? Keegan gives his answers in The Face of Battle, and it may be time for musicologists to modulate the sonorous questions that he poses there for their own purposes. What actually happened, for example, when a motet by Johannes Ciconia was performed in northern Italy c 1400? When friends and associates gathered together to hear such music, what was the nature of their various musical aptitudes and interests? Did women participate in the performances? What was the role of instrumentalists? Some of these questions, no doubt, will never find an answer; there are no medieval chronicles devoted to musical gatherings as there are chronicles – and many other writings – devoted to battles like Agincourt. None the less, literary and iconographical sources are among those which may still have something to reveal about ‘the face of performance’ (to coin a phrase after Keegan's own), and the purpose of this article is to examine the contents of one that has been unjustly neglected: the Tractatulus de differentiis et gradibus cantorum by Arnulf de St Ghislain. This brief treatise classifies the kinds of musicians who performed or admired polyphonic music and is therefore quite exceptional among the works loosely classified as medieval music theory.

This editorial addresses evidence based medical practice in forensic psychiatry and particularly in the field of paraphilia. John M. Bradford is a Professor in the Department of Psychiatry and Behavioural Neurosciences, McMaster University. He is an Emeritus Professor at the University of Ottawa where he was a founder of the Royal Ottawa Institute of Mental Health Research. He is a Founder of Forensic Psychiatry, granted by the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons of Canada. Abdullah H Alqahtani is an Assistant Professor and Consultant Psychiatrist at King Fahd University Hospital, Imam Abdulrahman Bin Faisal University, Dammam, Saudi Arabia. He is currently completing a clinical fellowship in forensic psychiatry at McMaster University - St. Joseph’s Healthcare Hamilton. Andrew T. Olagunju is an academic psychiatrist with a Senior Lecturer position at the College of Medicine, University of Lagos, Nigeria. He is also completing a clinical fellowship at McMaster University - St. Joseph’s Healthcare Hamilton.

AbstractIn 1625 the Monastery of St. John's in Haarlem, which housed the local Order of the Knights of the Hospital of St. John of Jerusalem (Hospitallers), was dissolved. The property, including a large collection of paintings, passed to the City of Haarlem, which claimed all the monasteries in the district of Haarlen as compensation for damage sustairted during the siege and rebellion against Spain. In the monastery's archives, now in the Haarlem Municipal Archives, memorial panels are menizoned fourteen times. Nine of thern occur in three inventories of 1573, one in a testament of 1574 and the rest in the Commander's accounts of 1572, 1573 and 1574. In the case of six of the thirteen items there is no description of the representation at all; one is simply said to depict a number of persons. Four of the six other items are Passion representations. Like The Last Judgment, such themes are in keeping with the functiort of a memorial panel. The description of one epitaph as 'in laudem artis musiccs' is not sufficiently clear to give an idea of the representation. More information is available as to the patrons or commemorated persons. All of them seem to have been members of the Order of St. John: four panels were memorials to commanders, three to ordinary hospitallers and one painting commemorated the founder of the monastery. All were priests. Nothing in the archives suggests that the church contained memorials to non-members of the order. This must nonetheless have been the case: a 'Liber- memoriarum' compiled in 1570 indicates that numerous memorial services were held for the laity, many of whom apparently chose St. John's as their last resting-place. It is thus highly likely that memorials for these worshippers were placed in the church. A 1572 inventory of St. John's Monastery makes no mention of memorial panels, probably because the contents of the church were not listed. After the monastery had been destroyed during the siege of Haarlem, three inventories were drawn up: one of the ruined monastery, one of the items - mainly paintings which were moved to Utrecht, and one of the property taken to the Sint Adriaansdoelen, the temporary home of the order after the destruction of the monastery. Only in these three inventories are epitaphs mentioned. The inventories of 1580 and 1606 were drawn up by order of the City, the claimant to the mortastery's propery. They make no mention of private possessions, not even those of the members of the Order. The 1625 inventory, drawn up after the death of the last inmate, only mentiorts the painting that was bought by the convent to be placed on the grave of its founder. Epitaphs which were not orderend by the convent were probably regarded as private property, and passed to the heirs prior to 1625. Exact dates cannot be ascertained. The author has identified two epitaphs and a painting coming from St. John's. It is not clear whether the small painting of Mary, her cousin Elizabeth and Commander Jan Willem Jansz. (1484-1514) (Staatliche Kunstsammlungen, Weimar) is (part of) an epitaph or a devotional painting (ill. 2). The 1572 inventory mentions a picture of Jan Willem. It is not described, but the painting in Weimar is a likely candidate because of its small size (72 x 50). The 1573 inventory of the property in the Adriaansdoelen lists a wing of the epitaph of 'Heer Jan', but again, the representation is not described. The 17thcentury genealogist Opt Straeten van der Moelen described the four family coats of arms on the painting, but said nothing about the representation or where he saw it. It was possible to identify the Hospitaller in the Weimar work because of the armorial shield hanging on a tree behind the kneeling figure. The arms correspond with what Opt Straeten van der Moelen described as the arms of the Hospitaller's father, and with a wax impression of Jan Willem Jansz.'s arms (ill. 1) on a document of 1494, now in the Haarlem Municipal Archive. The date and painter of the picture are not known. In the series of portraits of the Commanders of St. John's Monastery in Haarlem (Frans Hals Museum) is a second portrait of Jan Willem. In this, the seventeenth portrait in the series (ill. 3), he is grey-haired, in contrast to the Weimar painting, in which he is depicted with black hair. Jan Willem Jansz. was born in about 1450. In 1484 he was elected Commander of the order, a function which he held until his death in 1514. The Bowes Museum, Durham, owns a triptych of an Entombment (ills. 4 and 5). On the middle panel is a kneeling Knight Hospitaller; on each of the side panels are four persons, arranged in pairs. One of them, on the right wing, is another member of the Order. Coats of arms can be seen on the prie-dieu's behind which three of the four couples kneel, and on the back of the panels (ill. 6). Comparison of these arms with the one on the seal of Philips van Hogesteyn, Commander of the Order frorn 1571 to 1574, suggests that this is his epitaph (ill. 7). The memorial panel is mentioned in the 1573 inventory of property in the Adriaansdoelen. In 1570, before becoming prior of the monastery, Philips had a 'Liber memoriarum' compiled which contained the names of his grandparents and parents. His grandmother came from the Van Arkel family, whose arms bore two opposing embattled bars. This coal of arms facilitated identification of the couples on the left wing. The grandparents are kneeling behind the last prie-dieu - the Van Arkel arms are on the heraldic left of the shield. In front of them are Philips van Hogesteyn's parents. It is harder to establish the identity of the people on the right wing, but the couple kneeling behind the prie-dieu are very likely Philips' brother and sister-in-law. The woman behind them could be his sister. The brother and sister are mentioned in his will, which he made in 1568. However, it is not clear who the Hospitaller on this panel is. It could be an unknown member of the family, but it is also possible that Philips van Hogesteyn was depicted in the triplych twice, first simply as a member of the family on one wing and again, later on in life, on the middle panel as the most important patron. Besides this painted epitaph, an elegy on Philips van Hogesteyn, written bij Cornelys Schonaeus, headmaster of the Latin school in Haarlem, has been preserved. This poem only mentions the effigy of the late Philips in front of the 'worthy reader' - not a word about his family. The 1572 inventory lists two separate portraits of Philips. It is not known where he was buried, nor has it been possible to establish whether his epitaph, with or without the elegy, or a portrait plus an elegy were ever placed on his grave. The painter is not mentioned by name anywhere either. Philips van Hogesteyn took holy orders in 1553. Assuming that he was 17 years old when he joined the Order of St. John, he would have entered the monastery in 1544. If this assumption is correct and he is portrayed twice on the triplych, it could have been painted any time from 1544 on. The reason for the commission must remain unanswered. In the Catharijneconvent Museum in Utrechl is a triptych with a Crucifixion. On the left wing is a kneeling man in a chasuble and stole, and on the right wing a Hospitaller (ill. 8). Today the outsides of the panels are empty. In the catalogue of an exhibition of North-Netherlandish painting and sculpture before 1575, held in 1913, however, the vestiges of the armorial shields -- four on each panel - are mentioned. Apparently this is an epitaph for a member of the Oem van Wijngaarden family, brought to Utrecht in 1573. The Hospitaller is Tieleman Oem van Wijngaarden, who was living in St. John's Monastery in Haarlem at the beginning of the 16th century and died in 1518 person on the right-hand panel appears to be Dirk van Raaphorst -- also known as Dirk van Noordwijk. The Utrecht triptych is identified here as the Van Wijngaarden epitaph from St. John's Monastery despite the fact that the description of shield I on the right-hand panel does not point towards the Oem van Wijngaarden family. Thanks to the fourth shield on the same panel, still in fairly good condition in 1913, it was possible, by dint of invenstigating Tieleman's family, to establish him as the person portrayed on the right-hand panel (see Appendix II). Dirk van Raaphorst of Noordwijk was a canon of St. Pancras' Church in Leiden. He probably owed the name 'van Raaphorst of Noordwijk' to the fact that he was called after his maternal grandfather. For the same reason, the armorial shields on the back of the lefthand panel are not arranged in the usual manner but inverted, i being the mother's arms, II the father's (see also Appendix III). Dirk van Noordwijk was a nephew of Tieleman Oem van Wijngaarden (see Appendix IV). He died in 1502. In 15 18 Tieleman was buried in the same grave in the church of St. John's Monastery. This memorial panel, too, prompts several questions. It is not clear why distant relatives, whose deaths moreover were sixteen years apart, were commemorated on the same panel. Neither the painter nor the dale of the triptych is known. However, perhaps the source of Tieleman's portrait can be established (fig.9). The features in this portrait bear a marked resemblance to those in the portrait of the Hospitaller on the Van Wijngaarden epitaph in Utrecht. Despite publications on individual North-Netherlandish memorial panels, no scholarly examination of the total number of known pieces has yet been initiated. The author is preparing such an examination, which may yield more insight into the customs pertaining to the corramemoration of the dead and the place accupied by memorial panels.

Recent conservation and restoration work on the icon of the Virgin and Child which stood on the altar in the Church of St. Nicholas at Prijeko in Dubrovnik has enabled a new interpretation of this paining. The icon, painted on a panel made of poplar wood, features a centrally-placed Virgin holding the Child in her arms painted on a gold background between the two smaller figures of St. Peter and St. John the Baptist. The figures are painted in the manner of the fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Dubrovnik style, and represent a later intervention which significantly changed the original appearance and composition of the older icon by adding the two saints and touching up the Virgin’s clothes with Renaissance ornaments, all of which was performed by the well-known Dubrovnik painter Nikola Božidarević. It can be assumed that the icon originally featured a standing or seated Virgin and Child. The Virgin is depicted with her head slightly lowered and pointing to the Christ Child whom she is holding on her right side. The chubby boy is not seated on his mother’s lap but is reclining on his right side and leaningforward while his face is turned towards the spectator. He is dressed in a red sleeveless tunic with a simple neck-line which is embroidered with gold thread. The Child is leaning himself on the Virgin’s right hand which is holding him. He is firmly grasping her thumb with one hand and her index finger with the other in a very intimate nursing gesture while she, true to the Hodegitria scheme, is pointing at him with her left hand, which is raised to the level of her breasts. Such an almost-realistic depiction of Christ as a small child with tiny eyes, mouth and nose, drastically departs from the model which portrays him with the mature face of an adult, as was customary in icon painting. The Virgin is wearing a luxurious gold cloak which was repainted with large Renaissance-style flowers. Her head is covered with a traditional maphorion which forms a wide ring around it and is encircled by a nimbus which was bored into thegold background. Her skin tone is pink and lit diffusely, and was painted with almost no green shadows, which is typical of Byzantine painting. The Virgin’s face is striking and markedly oval. It is characterized by a silhouetted, long, thin nose which is connected to the eyebrows. The ridge of the nose is emphasized with a double edge and gently lit whilethe almond-shaped eyes with dark circles are set below the inky arches of the eyebrows. The Virgin’s cheeks are smooth and rosy while her lips are red. The plasticity of her round chin is emphasized by a crease below the lower lip and its shadow. The Virgin’s eyes, nose and mouth are outlined with a thick red line. Her hands are light pink in colour and haveelongated fingers and pronounced, round muscles on the wrists. The fingers are separated and the nails are outlined with precision. The deep, resounding hues of the colour red and the gilding, together with the pale pink skin tone of her face, create an impression of monumentality. The type of the reclining Christ Child has been identified in Byzantine iconography as the Anapeson. Its theological background lies in the emphasis of Christ’s dual nature: although the Christ Child is asleep, the Christ as God is always keeping watch over humans. The image was inspired by a phrase from Genesis 49: 9 about a sleeping lion to whom Christ is compared: the lion sleeps with his eyes open. The Anapeson is drowsy and awake at the same time, and therefore his eyes are not completely shut. Such a paradox is a theological anticipation of his “sleep” in the tomb and represents an allegory of his death and Resurrection. The position, gesture and clothes of the Anapeson in Byzantine art are not always the same. Most frequently, the ChristChild is not depicted lying in his mother’s arms but on an oval bed or pillow, resting his head on his hand, while the Virgin is kneeling by his side. Therefore, the Anapeson from Dubrovnik is unique thanks to the conspicuously humanized relationship between the figures which is particularly evident in Christ’s explicitly intimate gesture of grasping the fingers of his mother’s hand: his right hand is literally “inserting” itself in the space between the Virgin’s thumb and index finger. At the same time, the baring of his arms provided the painter with an opportunity to depict the pale tones of a child’s tender skin. The problem of the iconography of the Anapeson in the medieval painting at Dubrovnik is further complicated by a painting which was greatly venerated in Župa Dubrovačka as Santa Maria del Breno. It has not been preserved but an illustration of it was published in Gumppenberg’sfamous Atlas Marianus which shows the Virgin seated on a high-backed throne and holding the sleeping and reclining Child. The position of this Anapeson Christ does not correspond fully to the icon from the Church of St. Nicholas because the Child is lying on its back and his naked body is covered with the swaddling fabric. The icon of the Virgin and Child from Prijeko claims a special place in the corpus of Romanesque icons on the Adriatic through its monumentality and intimate character. The details of the striking and lively Virgin’s face, dominated by the pronounced and gently curved Cimabuesque nose joined to the shallow arches of her eyebrows, link her with the Benedictine Virgin at Zadar. Furthermore, based on the manner of painting characterized by the use of intense red for the shadows in the nose and eye area, together with the characteristic shape of the elongated, narrow eyes, this Virgin and Child should be brought into connection with the painter who is known as the Master of the Benedictine Virgin. The so-called Benedictine Virgin is an icon, now at the Benedictine Convent at Zadar, which depicts the Virgin seated on a throne with a red, ceremonial, imperial cushion, in a solemn scheme of the Kyriotissa, the heavenly queen holding the Christ Child on her lap. The throne is wooden and has a round back topped with wooden finials which can also be seen in the Byzantine Kahn Virgin and the Mellon Madonna, as well as in later Veneto-Cretan painting. The throne is set under a shallow ciborium arch which is rendered in relief and supportedby twisted colonettes and so the painting itself is sunk into the surface of the panel. A very similar scheme with a triumphal arch can be seen on Byzantine ivory diptychs with shallow ciborium arches and twisted colonettes. In its composition, the icon from Prijeko is a combination ofthe Kyr i ot i ss a and the Hodegitria, because the Virgin as the heavenly queen does not hold the Christ Child frontally before her but on her right-hand side while pointing at him as the road to salvation. He is seated on his mother’s arm and is supporting himself by pressing his crossed legsagainst her thigh which symbolizes his future Passion. He is wearing a formal classical costume with a red cloak over his shoulder. He is depicted in half profile which opens up the frontal view of the red clavus on his navy blue chiton.He is blessing with the two fingers of his right hand and at the same time reaching for the unusual flower rendered in pastiglia which the Virgin is raising in her left hand and offering to him. At the same time, she is holding the lower part of Christ’s body tightly with her right hand.Various scholars have dated the icon of the Benedictine Virgin to the early fourteenth century. While Gothic features are particularly evident in the costumes of the donors, the elements such as the modelling of the throne and the presence of the ceremonial cushion belong to the Byzantine style of the thirteenth century. The back of the icon of the Benedictine Virgin features the figure of St. Peter set within a border consisting of a lively and colourful vegetal scroll which could be understood as either Romanesque or Byzantine. However, St. Peter’s identifying titulus is written in Latin while that of the Virgin is in Greek. The figure of St. Peter was painted according to the Byzantine tradition: his striking and severe face is rendered linearly in a rigid composition, which is complemented by his classical contrapposto against a green-gray parapet wall, while the background is of dark green-blue colour. Equally Byzantine is themanner of depicting the drapery with flat, shallow folds filled with white lines at the bottom of the garment while, at the same time, the curved undulating hem of the cloak which falls down St. Peter’s right side is Gothic. The overall appearance of St. Peter is perhaps even more Byzantine than that of the Virgin. Such elements, together with the typically Byzantine costumes, speak clearly of a skilful artist who uses hybrid visual language consisting of Byzantine painting and elements of the Romanesque and Gothic. Of particular interest are the wide nimbuses surrounding the heads of the Virgin and Child (St. Peter has a flat one) which are rendered in relief and filled with a neat sequence of shallow blind archesexecuted in the pastiglia technique which, according to M. Frinta, originated in Cyprus. The Venetian and Byzantine elements of the Benedictine Virgin have already been pointed out in the scholarship. Apart from importing art works and artists such as painters and mosaic makers directly from Byzantium into Venice, what was the extent and nature of the Byzantineinfluence on Venetian artistic achievements in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries? We know that the art of Venice and the West alike were affected by the Fourth Crusade and the sack of Constantinople in 1204, and by the newly founded Latin Empire which lasted until 1261.The Venetians played a particularly significant political and administrative role in this Empire and the contemporary hybrid artistic style of the eastern Mediterranean, called Crusader Art and marked by the strong involvement of the Knights Templar, must have been disseminated through the established routes. In addition to Cyprus, Apulia and Sicily which served as stops for the artists and art works en route to Venice and Tuscany, another station must have been Dalmatia where eastern and western influences intermingled and complemented each other.However, it is interesting that the icon of the Benedictine Virgin, apart from negligible variations, imitates almost completely the iconographic scheme of the Madonna di Ripalta at Cerignola on the Italian side of the Adriatic, which has been dated to the early thirteenth century and whose provenance has been sought in the area between southern Italy (Campania) and Cyprus. Far more Byzantine is another Apulian icon, that of a fourteenth-century enthroned Virgin from the basilica of St. Nicholas at Bari with which the Benedictine Virgin from Zadar shares certain features such as the composition and posture of the figures, the depictionof donors and Christ’s costume. A similar scheme, which indicates a common source, can be seen on a series of icons of the enthroned Virgin from Tuscany. The icon of the Virgin and Child from Prijeko is very important for local Romanesque painting of the late thirteenth and early fourteenth century because it expands the oeuvre of the Master of the Benedictine Virgin. Anicon which is now at Toronto, in the University of Toronto Art Centre Malcove Collection, has also been attributed to this master. This small two-sided icon which might have been a diptych panel, as can be judged from its typology, depicts the Virgin with the Anapeson in the upper register while below is the scene from the martyrdom of St. Lawrence. The Virgin is flanked by the figures of saints: to the left is the figure of St. Francis while the saint on the right-hand side has been lost due to damage sustained to the icon. The busts of SS Peter and Paul are at the top.The physiognomies of the Virgin and Child correspond to those of the Benedictine Virgin and the Prijeko icon. The Anapeson, unlike the one at Dubrovnik, is wrapped in a rich, red cloak decorated with lumeggiature, which covers his entire body except the left fist and shin. On the basis of the upper register of this icon, it can be concluded that the Master of the Benedictine Virgin is equally adept at applying the repertoire and style of Byzantine and Western painting alike; the lower register of the icon with its descriptive depiction of the martyrdom of St.Lawrence is completely Byzantine in that it portrays the Roman emperor attending the saint’s torture as a crowned Byzantine ruler. Such unquestionable stylistic ambivalence – the presence of the elements from both Byzantine and Italian painting – can also be seen on the icons of theBenedictine and Prijeko Virgin and they point to a painter who works in a “combined style.” Perhaps he should be sought among the artists who are mentioned as pictores greci in Dubrovnik, Kotor and Zadar. The links between Dalmatian icons and Apulia and Tuscany have already been noted, but the analysis of these paintings should also contain the hitherto ignored segment of Sicilian and eastern Mediterranean Byzantinism, including Cyprus as the centre of Crusader Art. The question of the provenance of the Master of the Benedictine Virgin remains open although the icon of the Virgin and Child from Prijeko points to the possibility that he may have been active in Dalmatia.However, stylistic expressions of the two icons from Zadar and Dubrovnik, together with the one which is today at Toronto, clearly demonstrate the coalescing of cults and forms which arrived to the Adriatic shores fromfurther afield, well beyond the Adriatic, and which were influenced by the significant, hitherto unrecognized, role of the eastern Mediterranean.

The cult of St James within the Order of St John was evident throughout its stay in Malta in the architectural fabric it left behind, particularly the fortified land-front of the city of Valletta, as well as in other notable buildings, namely the Auberge of Castile, León and Portugal, and its church of St James. While its architectural aspects have withstood the test of time, other social aspects of the cult of Santiago in Malta are evident through the religious art in the Conventual Church of the Order in Valletta, today St John’s co-cathedral, but also through religious rituals held on the island during the stay of the knights. This reflected a local cult which shows hints of being present also before the arrival of the Hospitaller Order to the Maltese shores.

Abstract A new distribution map is provided for Albugo ipomoeae-panduratae (Schwein.) Swing. Hosts: Ipomoea, Convolvulus and other Convolvulaccae. Information is given on the geographical distribution in AFRICA, Kenya, Morocco, Nigeria, Sierra Leone, South Africa, Sudan, Tanzania, Zambia, ASIA, Brunei, Burma, China, Hong Kong, India, Japan, Malaysia (Malaya, Sabah, Sarawak, Nepal, Pakistan, Philippines, Taiwan, Thailand, USSR (Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan), AUSTRALASIA & OCEANIA, Australia, Fiji, Hawaii, Papua New Guinea, Guam, EUROPE, France, Italy, Malta, NORTH AMERICA, Bermuda, Canada, USA, CENTRAL AMERICA & WEST INDIES, Barbados, Cuba, Dominica, Grenada, Jamaica, Puerto Rico, St. Croix, St. John, The Antilles, Trinidad, SOUTH AMERICA, Brazil, Guyana, Paraguay, Uruguay, Venezuela.

AbstractDuring European states’ development, various past societies utilized natural resources, but their impact was not uniformly spatially and temporally distributed. Considerable changes resulted in landscape fragmentation, especially during the Middle Ages. Changes in state advances that affected the local economy significantly drove trajectories of ecosystems’ development. The legacy of major changes from pristine forest to farming is visible in natural archives as novel ecosystems. Here, we present a high-resolution densely dated multi-proxy study covering the last 1500 years from a peatland located in CE Europe. The economic activity of medieval societies was highly modified by new rulers—the Joannites (the Order of St. John of Jerusalem, Knights Hospitaller). We studied the record of these directorial changes noted in the peat profile. Our research revealed a rapid critical land-use transition in the late Middle Ages and its consequences on the peatland ecosystem. The shift from the virgin forest with regular local fires to agriculture correlates well with the raising of local economy and deforestations. Along with the emerging openness, the wetland switched from alkaline wet fen state to acidic, drier Sphagnum-dominated peatland. Our data show how closely the ecological state of wetlands relates to forest microclimate. We identified a significant impact of the Joannites who used the novel farming organization. Our results revealed the surprisingly fast rate of how feudal economy eliminated pristine nature from the studied area and created novel anthroecosystems.

03—230 Andress, Reinhard (St. Louis U., USA), James, Charles J., Jurasek, Barbara, Lalande II, John F., Lovik, Thomas A., Lund, Deborah, Stoyak, Daniel P., Tatlock, Lynne and Wipf, Joseph A.. Maintaining the momentum from high school to college: Report and recommendations. Die Unterrichtspraxis/Teaching German (Cherry Hill, NJ, USA), 35, 1 (2002), 1—14.03—231 Andrews, David R. (Georgetown U., USA.). Teaching the Russian heritage learner. Slavonic and East European Journal (Tucson, Arizona, USA), 45, 3 (2001), 519—30.03—232 Ashby, Wendy and Ostertag, Veronica (U. of Arizona, USA). How well can a computer program teach German culture? Die Unterrichtspraxis/Teaching German (Cherry Hill, NJ, USA), 35, 1 (2002), 79—85.03—233 Bateman, Blair E. (937 17th Avenue, SE Minneapolis, MN 55414, USA; Email: bate0048@umn.edu). Promoting openness toward culture learning: Ethnographic interviews for students of Spanish. The Modern Language Journal (Malden, MA, USA), 86, 3 (2002), 318—31.03—234 Belz, Julie A. and Müller-Hartmann, Andreas. Deutsche-amerikanische Telekollaboration im Fremdsprachenuterricht – Lernende im Kreuzfeuer der institutionellen Zwänge. [German-American tele-collaboration in foreign language teaching – learners in the crossfire of institutional constraints.] Die Unterrichtspraxis/Teaching German (Cherry Hill, NJ, USA), 36, 1 (2002), 68—78.03—235 Bosher, Susan and Smalkoski, Kari (The Coll. of St. Catherine, St. Paul, USA; Email: sdbosher@stkate.edu). From needs analysis to curriculum development: Designing a course in health-care communication for immigrant students in the USA. English for Specific Purposes (Amsterdam, The Netherlands), 21, 1 (2002), 59—79.03—236 Brandl, Klaus (U. of Washington, USA; Email: brandl@u.washington.edu). Integrating Internet-based reading materials into the foreign language curriculum: From teacher- to student-centred approaches. Language Learning and Technology (http://llt.msu.edu/), 6, 3 (2002), 87—107.03—237 Bruce, Nigel (Hong Kong U.; Email: njbruce@hku.hk). Dovetailing language and content: Teaching balanced argument in legal problem answer writing. English for Specific Purposes (Amsterdam, The Netherlands), 21, 4 (2002), 321—45.03—238 Bruton, Anthony (U. of Seville, Spain; Email: abruton@siff.us.es). From tasking purposes to purposing tasks. ELT Journal (Oxford, UK), 56, 3 (2002), 280—95.03—239 Candlin, C. N. (Email: enopera@cityu.edu.hk), Bhatia, V. K. and Jensen, C. H. (City U. of Hong Kong). Developing legal writing materials for English second language learners: Problems and perspectives. English for Specific Purposes (Amsterdam, The Netherlands), 21, 4 (2002), 299—320.03—240 Chen, Shumei. A contrastive study of complimentary responses in British English and Chinese, with pedagogic implications for ELT in China. Language Issues (Birmingham, UK), 13, 2 (2001), 8—11.03—241 Chudak, Sebastian (Adam-Mickiewicz-Universität, Poznán, Poland). Die Selbstevaluation im Prozess- und Lernerorientierten Fremdsprachenunterricht (Bedeutung, Ziele, Umsetzungsmöglichkeiten). [The self-evaluation of process- and learner-oriented foreign language teaching.] Glottodidactica (Poznań, Poland), 28 (2002), 49—63.03—242 Crosling, Glenda and Ward, Ian (Monash U., Clayton, Australia; Email: glenda.crosling@buseco.monash.edu.au). Oral communication: The workplace needs and uses of business graduate employees. English for Specific Purposes (Amsterdam, The Netherlands), 21, 1 (2002), 41—57.03—243 Davidheiser, James (U. of the South, USA). Classroom approaches to communication: Teaching German with TPRS (Total Physical Response Storytelling). Die Unterrichtspraxis/Teaching German (Cherry Hill, NJ, USA), 35, 1 (2002), 25—35.03—244 Duff, Patricia A. (U. of British Columbia, Canada; Email: patricia.duff@ubc.ca). The discursive co-construction of knowledge, identity, and difference: An ethnography of communication in the high school mainstream. Applied Linguistics (Oxford, UK), 23, 3 (2002), 289—322.03—245 Egbert, Joy (Washington State U., USA; Email: egbert@wsunix.wsu.edu), Paulus, Trena M. and Nakamichi, Yoko. The impact of CALL instruction on classroom computer use: A foundation for rethinking technology in teacher education. Language Learning and Technology (http://llt.msu.edu/), 6, 3 (2002), 108—26.03—246 Einbeck, Kandace (U. of Colorado at Boulder, USA). Using literature to promote cultural fluency in study abroad programs. Die Unterrichtspraxis/Teaching German (Cherry Hill, NJ, USA), 35, 1 (2002), 59—67.03—247 Fallon, Jean M. (Hollins U., Virginia, USA). On foreign ground: One attempt at attracting non-French majors to a French Studies course. Foreign Language Annals (New York, USA), 35, 4 (2002), 405—13.03—248 Furuhata, Hamako (Mount Union Coll., Ohio, USA; Email: furuhah@muc.edu). Learning Japanese in America: A survey of preferred teaching methods. Language, Culture and Curriculum (Clevedon, UK), 15, 2 (2002), 134—42.03—249 Goldstein, Tara (Ontario Inst. for Studies in Ed., U. of Toronto, Canada). No Pain, No Gain: Student playwriting as critical ethnographic language research. The Canadian Modern Language Review/La Revue canadienne des langues vivantes (Toronto, Ont.), 59, 1 (2002), 53—76.03—250 Hu, Guangwei (Nanyang Technological U., Singapore; Email: gwhu@nie.edu.sg). Potential cultural resistance to pedagogical imports: The case of communicative language teaching in China. Language, Culture and Curriculum (Clevedon, UK), 15, 2 (2002), 93—105.03—251 Huang, Jingzi (Monmouth U., New Jersey, USA; Email: jhuang@monmouth.edu). Activities as a vehicle for linguistic and sociocultural knowledge at the elementary level. Language Teaching Research (London, UK), 7, 1 (2003), 3—33.03—252 Hyland, Ken (City U. of Hong Kong; Email: ken.hyland@cityu.edu.hk). Specificity revisited: How far should we go now? English for Specific Purposes (Amsterdam, The Netherlands), 21, 4 (2002), 385—95.03—253 Jahr, Silke. Die Vermittlung des sprachen Ausdrucks von Emotionen in DaF-Unterricht. [The conveying of the oral expression of emotion in teaching German as a foreign language.] Deutsch als Fremdsprache (Berlin, Germany), 39, 2 (2002), 88–95.03—254 Jung, Yunhee (U. of Alberta, Canada; Email: jhee6539@hanmail.net). Historical review of grammar instruction and current implications. English Teaching (Korea), 57, 3 (2002), 193—213.03—255 Kagan, Olga and Dillon, Kathleen (UCLA, USA & UC Consortium for Language Teaching and Learning, USA). A new perspective on teaching Russian: Focus on the heritage learner. Slavonic and East European Journal (Tucson, Arizona, USA), 45, 3 (2001), 507—18.03—256 Kang, Hoo-Dong (Sungsim Coll. of Foreign Languages, Korea; Email: hdkang2k@hanmail.net). Tracking or detracking?: Teachers' views of tracking in Korean secondary schools. English Teaching (Korea), 57, 3 (2002), 41—57.03—257 Kramsch, Claire (U. of California at Berkeley, USA). Language, culture and voice in the teaching of English as a foreign language. Language Issues (Birmingham, UK), 13, 2 (2001), 2—7.03—258 Krishnan, Lakshmy A. and Lee, Hwee Hoon (Nanyang Tech. U., Singapore; Email: clbhaskar@ntu.edu.sg). Diaries: Listening to ‘voices’ from the multicultural classroom. ELT Journal (Oxford, UK), 56, 3 (2002), 227—39.03—259 Lasagabaster, David and Sierra, Juan Manuel (U. of the Basque Country, Vitoria-Gasteiz, Spain; Email: fiblahed@vc.ehu.es). University students' perceptions of native and non-native speaker teachers of English. Language Awareness (Clevedon, UK), 11, 2 (2002), 132—42.03—260 Lennon, Paul. Authentische Texte im Grammatikunterricht. [Authentic texts in grammar teaching.] Praxis des neusprachlichen Unterrichts (Berlin, Germany), 49, 3 (2002), 227–36.03—261 Lepetit, Daniel (Clemson U., USA; Email: dlepetit@mail.clemson.edu) and Cichocki, Wladyslaw. Teaching languages to future health professionals: A needs assessment study. The Modern Language Journal (Malden, MA, USA), 86, 3 (2002), 384—96.03—262 Łȩska-Drajerczak, Iwona (Adam Mickiewicz U., Poznán, Poland). Selected aspects of job motivation as seen by EFL teachers. Glottodidactica (Poznán, Poland), 28 (2002), 103—12.03—263 Liontas, John I. (U. of Notre-Dame, USA). ZOOMANIA: The See-Hear-and-Do approach to FL teaching and learning. Die Unterrichtspraxis/Teaching German (Cherry Hill, NJ, USA), 35, 1 (2002), 36—58.03—264 Littlemore, Jeannette (Birmingham U., UK). Developing metaphor interpretation strategies for students of economics: A case study. Les Cahiers de l'APLIUT (Grenoble, France), 21, 4 (2002) 40—60.03—265 Mantero, Miguel (The U. of Alabama, USA). Bridging the gap: Discourse in text-based foreign language classrooms. Foreign Language Annals (New York, USA), 35, 4 (2002), 437—56.03—266 Martin, William M. (U. of Pennsylvania, USA) and Lomperis, Anne E.. Determining the cost benefit, the return on investment, and the intangible impacts of language programmes for development. TESOL Quarterly (Alexandria, VA, USA), 36, 3 (2002), 399—429.03—267 Master, Peter (San Jose State U., CA, USA: Email: pmaster@sjsu.edu). Information structure and English article pedagogy. System (Oxford, UK), 30, 3 (2002), 331—48.03—268 Mertens, Jürgen. Schrift im Französischunterricht in der Grundschule: Lernehemnis oder Lernhilfe? [Writing in teaching French in primary school: Learning aid or hindrance?] Neusprachliche Mitteilungen aus Wissenschaft und Praxis (Berlin, Germany), 55, 3 (2002), 141–49.03—269 Meskill, Carla (U. at Albany, USA; Email: cmeskill@uamail.albany.edu), Mossop, Jonathan, DiAngelo, Stephen and Pasquale, Rosalie K.. Expert and novice teachers talking technology: Precepts, concepts, and misconcepts. Language Learning and Technology (http://llt.msu.edu/), 6, 3 (2002), 46—57.03—270 Mitchell, Rosamond and Lee, Jenny Hye-Won (U. of Southampton, UK; Email: rfm3@soton.ac.uk). Sameness and difference in classroom learning cultures: Interpretations of communicative pedagogy in the UK and Korea. Language Teaching Research (London, UK), 7, 1 (2003), 35—63.03—271 Mohan, Bernard (U. of British Columbia, Canada; Email: bernard.mohan@ubc.ca) and Huang, Jingzi. Assessing the integration of language and content in a Mandarin as a foreign language classroom. Linguistics and Education (New York, USA), 13, 3 (2002), 405—33.03—272 Mori, Junko (U. of Wisconsin-Madison, USA; Email: jmori@facstaff.wisc.edu). Task design, plan, and development of talk-in-interaction: An analysis of a small group activity in a Japanese language classroom. Applied Linguistics (Oxford, UK), 23, 3 (2002), 323—47.03—273 O'Sullivan, Emer (Johann Wolfgang Goethe-U. Frankfurt, Germany; Email: osullivan@em.uni-frankfurt.de) and Rösler, Dietmar. Fremdsprachenlernen und Kinder-und Jugendliteratur: Eine kritische Bestandaufsnahme. [Foreign language learning and children's literature: A critical appraisal.] Zeitschrift für Fremdsprachenforschung (Germany), 13, 1 (2002), 63—111.03—274 Pfeiffer, Waldemar (Europa Universität Viadrina – Frankfurt an der Oder, Germany). Möglichkeiten und Grenzen der interkulturellen Sprachvermittlung. [The possibilities and limits of intercultural language teaching.] Glottodidactica (Poznán, Poland), 28 (2002), 125—39.03—275 Rebel, Karlheinz (U. Tübingen, Germany) and Wilson, Sybil. Das Portfolio in Schule und Lehrerbildung (I). [The portfolio in school and the image of a teacher (I).] Fremdsprachenunterricht (Berlin, Germany), 4 (2002), 263–71.03—276 Sonaiya, Remi (Obafemi Awolowo U., Ile-ife, Nigeria). Autonomous language learning in Africa: A mismatch of cultural assumptions. Language, Culture and Curriculum (Clevedon, UK), 15, 2 (2002), 106—16.03—277 Stapleton, Paul (Hokkaido U., Japan; Email: paul@ilcs.hokudai.ac.jp). Critical thinking in Japanese L2 writing: Rethinking tired constructs. ELT Journal (Oxford, UK), 56, 3 (2002), 250—57.03—278 Sullivan, Patricia (Office of English Language Progs., Dept. of State, Washington, USA, Email: psullivan@pd.state.gov) and Girginer, Handan. The use of discourse analysis to enhance ESP teacher knowledge: An example using aviation English. English for Specific Purposes (Amsterdam, The Netherlands), 21, 4 (2002), 397—404.03—279 Tang, Eunice (City U. of Hong Kong) and Nesi, Hilary (U. of Warwick, UK; Email: H.J.Nesi@warwick.ac.uk). Teaching vocabulary in two Chinese classrooms: Schoolchildren's exposure to English words in Hong Kong and Guangzhou. Language Teaching Research (London, UK), 7, 1 (2003), 65—97.03—280 Timmis, Ivor (Leeds Metropolitan U., UK; Email: i.timmis@lmu.ac.uk). Native-speaker norms and International English: A classroom view. ELT Journal (Oxford, UK), 56, 3 (2002), 240—49.03—281 Toole, Janine and Heift, Trude (Simon Fraser U., Bumaby, BC, Canada; Email: toole@sfu.ca). The Tutor Assistant: An authoring tool for an Intelligent Language Tutoring System. Computer Assisted Language Learning (Lisse, The Netherlands), 15, 4 (2002), 373—86.03—282 Turner, Karen and Turvey, Anne (Inst. of Ed., U. of London, UK; Email: k.turner@ioe.ac.uk). The space between shared understandings of the teaching of grammar in English and French to Year 7 learners: Student teachers working collaboratively. Language Awareness (Clevedon, UK), 11, 2 (2002), 100—13.03—283 Warschauer, Mark (U. of California, USA). A developmental perspective on technology in language education. TESOL Quarterly (Alexandria, VA, USA), 36, 3 (2002), 453—75.03—284 Weasenforth, Donald (The George Washington U., USA; Email: weasenf@gwu.edu), Biesenbach-Lucas, Sigrun and Meloni, Christine. Realising constructivist objectives through collaborative technologies: Threaded discussions. Language Learning and Technology (http://llt.msu.edu/), 6, 3 (2002), 58—86.

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>.