Journal articles on the topic 'Luke 10:25-37'

The story of the Good Samaritan reminds us of one of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s most pointed statements on racial reconciliation: “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” Most of us are familiar with the challenge to “love your neighbor” as emphasized by Jesus in the telling of the story, but we seldom think about loving the perpetrator. In this exposition of Luke 10:25–37, Burris moves us from a call to love the challenging neighbor to a love for all humanity that is deep enough and great enough to enable one to participate in night walks on the streets of Richmond, CA—a city riddled with gun violence.

Abstract The story about the “Good Samaritan” in the gospel of Luke appears in the midst of a halakhic discussion between Jesus and a Judaean “lawyer” over who constitutes a “neighbor” (Luke 10:25-37). While scholars have often interpreted this pericope as a call for social inclusivity, the ways that Luke relies on and perpetuates prejudicial Judaean stereotypes about Samaritans have seldom been analyzed. This study draws on social-scientific and critical theory on ethnicity and the plethora of recent scholarship on Samaritan-Judaean interactions in order to explore the ways in which Luke’s text conveys prevalent ethnic stereotypes about Samaritans. It argues that Luke, like earlier and contemporaneous Judaean sources, appropriates an ethnographic representation of Samaritans as “proximate others” as part of a process of identity formation.

Abstract : Hospitality in the new normal era has brought new problems because the actions of hospitality towards other people are at risk of corona virus. Therefore the construction of hospitality needs to be reformulated amid a changing context. This was done through a study of the text of Luke 10: 25-37 with the historical critical method. From the results of the study is found several theological points. First, hospitality must be based on compassion which will enable a person to empathize for strangers although faced with a difficult situation. Second, acts of hospitality need to be done collaboratively across groups, ethnicity and religions facing of an increase in the communities affected by Covid-19. Third, the construction of hospitality need to be done with a digital technology media approach that functions intertwined with human interaction and is beneficial in presenting the hospitality of God to anyone penetrating geographical boundaries.Keywords: hospitality, compassion, collaborative, digital technology. Abstrak: Hospitalitas di era new normal telah membawa persoalan baru karena tindakan hospitalitas terhadap orang lain menjadi beresiko pada penularan virus corona. Karenanya konstruksi hospitalitas perlu dirumuskan kembali di tengah konteks yang sudah berubah. Hal itu dilakukan melalui penelitian teks Lukas 10:25-37 dengan metode historis kritis. Dari hasil penelitian ditemukan beberapa pokok teologis. Pertama, hospitalitas harus berpijak pada belas kasih yang akan memampukan seseorang untuk berempati terhadap orang asing walau diperhadapkan pada situasi yang sulit. Kedua, tindakan hospitalitas perlu dilakukan secara kolaboratif lintas kelompok, etnik, dan agama dalam menghadapi meningkatnya masyarakat yang terdampak Covid-19. Ketiga, konstruksi hospitalitas perlu dilakukan dengan pendekatan media tehnologi digital yang berfungsi terjalinnya interaksi antar manusia dan bermanfaat dalam menghadirkan keramahtamahan Allah pada siapapun menembus batas-batas geografis.Kata kunci: hospitalitas, belas kasih, kolaboratif, tehnologi digital.

AbstractThis article explores the Parable of the Good Samaritan in its immediate context (Luke 10:25-37), a central New Testament passage, both to assess its meaning for Luke's audience and also to suggest its pertinence to contemporary interest in reducing intergroup tension and conflict, especially between ethnic groups. The article first discusses social identity theory, which was developed by Henri Tajfel et al. and which deals with how groups provide their members a valued sense of identity through (often violent) differentiation from other groups. After next describing the violent history of the intergroup relationship between Judeans and Samaritans, as reflected in New Testament passages such as Luke 9:51-55, the article then presents an analysis of Luke 10:15-37 aimed at determining how Jesus uses the parable to subvert the connection between Judean group identity and the Mosaic law and to propose a new approach to moral behaviour. These exegetical results are then analysed in the light of three approaches to reducing intergroup conflict (crossed categorization, recategorization and decategorization) and the latter is found to be most analogous to the approach taken by the Lucan Jesus. The conclusion suggests the relevance of the parable to contemporary efforts to eliminate intergroup conflict.

Recent and influential proposals (Richard Bauckham; James Dunn) have emphasized the role of memory in the composition of the Gospels. Despite the diversity and sophistication of these proposals, they have led to a devaluation of source and redaction analysis among some interpreters. On the contrary, attention to Lukan redaction of Mark, particularly with respect to the sequence of pericopae, reveals both the value of source and redaction analysis and the limitations of memory-oriented accounts of Gospel origins. Lukan transposition manifests itself most clearly in four pericopae: Jesus in Nazareth (Luke 4:16-30), the woman who anoints Jesus (7:36-50), the question of eternal life (10:25-37), and the tradition of the fig tree (13:6-9). Looking at these pericopae one by one, many interpreters debate whether Luke relies on independent traditions; taken as a group, they reveal Luke’s redactional and literary activity. In each instance (a) Luke neatly excises the pericope from its location in Mark’s sequence, (b) Luke changes fundamental dynamics of the pericope, and (c) Luke’s redactional activity favors widely accepted Lukan emphases. Memory-oriented interpretations will undervalue Luke’s emphases in these instances.

The Trump administration’s controversial immigration policy has provoked significant opposition, including against a 35-day partial shutdown of the federal government over Trump’s insistence on a “wall,” but the most outrage was generated by the “zero-tolerance policy” for refugees and asylum seekers that resulted in the forced separation of thousands of children from their parents. This essay evaluates the current U.S. policy in light of the life and teachings of Jesus as portrayed in the New Testament Gospels, beginning with the flight into Egypt (Matthew 2:13–15; cf. Deuteronomy 10:19–20) but focusing primarily on Jesus’s teachings on hospitality—including the love of neighbor and the stranger—for those people with their “backs against the wall,” in the words of Howard Thurman. Key passages include the parables of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:26–37), the Sheep and Goats (Matthew 25:31–46), and the Great Dinner (Luke 14:15–24).

The duty to "love one's neighbour as oneself" has been carried over from the biblical tradition into subsequent moral and legal philosophy, as a helpful way of signalling commitment to the common good. When secular theorists appeal to this principle, they typically strip "love" of its emotional intensity and sacrificial dimensions and reduce the principle of "neighbour-love" to the negative duty of not interfering unduly with the rights and freedoms of others. But if we consider what Jesus understood neighbour-love to involve, as evident particularly in his dialogue with a Jewish lawyer in Luke 10:25-37, an altogether more demanding or thicker conception of the common good emerges.

This study was aimed to analyze the text of Luke 10:25-37 using the methods of diacognitive analysis, thus discovering the principles of Jesus’ multicultural pedagogy that can be used as a tool to solve multicultural issues and complement Sundermeier's intercultural hermeneutics so as not to look brittle in its application. The result of the analysis of the Parable of the Good Samaritan suggests that there are five principles in Jesus’ multicultural pedagogy and at once as a contribution to Sundermeier' intercultural hermeneutic, namely: (1). Multicultural issues can only be resolved through the creation of dialogue by the teacher; (2) The teacher's position is decisive in solving multicultural problems; (3) The teacher must know the actual cognition object; (4) The teacher must have multicultural competence; and (5) the primary goal of multicultural pedagogy is reconciliation. Among these five principles, the third principle has the most essential role in its application because it emphasizes compassion. The presence of compassion in teacher' self will make the teacher has a strong desire to help others without considering the differences of ethnicity and religiosity, eliminating assumptions, paying attention to the welfare of others without being selfish, having feel-in and respect, willing to sacrifice both psychic and material to manifest life together (convivencia).

Salah satu cara pengelolaan hutan oleh masyarakat tradisional suku Dayak di kabupaten Kutai Barat adalah dengan menanam berbagai macam tumbuhan buah-buahan lokal yang biasa mereka sebut lembo. Selama ini lembo dikenal luas sebagai penghasil buah-buahan, namun pada penelitian ini bertujuan untuk mempelajari manfaat lain yang dapat diperoleh dari lembo tersebut, yang dalam hal ini adalah pemanfaatan tumbuh-tumbuhan sebagai bahan obat tradisional. Hasil penelitian menunjukkan bahwa, hasil inventarisasi dua lokasi lembo yaitu di lembo labakng iweeq dan lembo labakng mooq, pada lokasi pertama diperoleh tumbuhan tingkat pancang 43 jenis dari 22 famili dengan jumlah individu 1.255 dan dengan kerapatan 125.946 individu ha-1, tingkat semai dan tumbuhan bawah 54 jenis dari 35 famili kerapatan 6.784 individu ha-1, Pada lokasi kedua diperoleh, tingkat pancang 33 jenis dari 20 famili dengan kerapatan 3.961 individu ha-1, semai dan tumbuhan bawah 35 jenis dari 25 famili dengan kerapatan 3.961 individu ha-1. Hasil wawancara tentang pemanfaatan tumbuhan sebagai bahan obat tradisional oleh masyarakat ditemukan 34 jenis dalam 27 famili tumbuhan yang dimanfaatkan untuk mengobati 37 macam penyakit diantaranya adalah, Poikilospermum suaveolens (Blume) Merr yang digunakan untuk mengobati kencing batu, sakit pinggang, kanker, sariawan, penambah berat badan. Eurycoma longifolia Jack diginakan untuk mengobati rematik, tipes, sakit pinggang, susah buang air kecil, luka luar dan impoten. Fordia splendissima (Blume ex Miq.) Buijsen digunakan untuk penawar racun binatang, keracunan makanan, bedak dan peralatan dalam ritual pengobatan. Proses pengolahan yang paling banyak dilakukan sebelum pemakaian adalah dengan merebus bagian tumbuhan dan meminumnya 11 jenis (20%), pemanfaatan bagian tumbuhan secara langsung 10 jenis (19%), sebagai peralatan dalam ritual pengobatan 8 jenis (15%).

The Good Samaritan: A homiletic outline oi Luke 10:25—37 The article aims to meditate on the Good Samaritan, taking redaction criticism and form criticism into consideration. The outcome is that the Good Samaritan is an example story incorporated into Luke's redactional tendency that in the case of one member of the congregation losing his possessions through confiscation, the other members are held responsible for his financial support.

Scholars often puzzle over why the discussion about Torah obedience in Luke 10:25–29 does not appear to fit coherently with the story of the Good Samaritan that follows it (10:30–37). Was this an oversight on Luke’s part, a lack of editorial finesse, or did he have other aims? In this paper, I will argue that the apparent shift in logic, marked by the transformation of the lawyer’s question from ‘Who is my neighbour?’ (10:29) to ‘Who acts as a neighbour?’ (10:36), invites the lawyer to realign his interpretation of Lev 19:18 with the theology of imitatio Dei already present in Leviticus 19: The one who properly fulfills Lev 19:18 does so by imitating Yahweh. Within the context of Luke’s Gospel, moreover, Luke 10:25–37 illustrates how Luke both affirms and expands the terms of Torah obedience such that proper fulfilment of the Mosaic Law requires a disclosure of and participation in the very nature of God.

The parables of Jesus: Classification and preaching The article's intention is to evaluate with a pragmatic aim in mind, viz preaching, the traditional classification of Jesus' parables under the headings similitude, parable-proper, example-story and cdlegory. The basic thesis is that the emphasis should be on metaphoricity, narrativity and reference rather than the above-mentioned formgeschichtliche categories. The story of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10: 25-37 serves as a case study.

What motivates people to serve others? Why do we help those in need, the poor, the sick, the lonely, orphans and widows? Is compassion for humans a natural instinct or is it a learnt response? In the biblical tradition, it is a clear imperative to show one’s faith in God in one’s behaviour by reaching out to others. Luke 10:25−37 seems to be a key passage in the Bible that teaches and exhorts Christians to be compassionate. Psychology teaches us that compassion is a natural instinct in humans although choice is involved too, and it turns out that religion plays a role in reinforcing compassion. This article is an attempt to understand the motivation and limits of compassion as reinforced by the Christian religion by (1) interpreting Luke 10:25−37 in the New Testament and by (2) using modern psychological insights. It often happens that people reach out to others for self-interested reasons, as serving others psychologically gives them a sense of meaning and fulfilment as well as a positive public image. Compassion, however, is also motivated by a love for God and a love and concern for people in general. As caring for others also affects one emotionally and might cause burnout, it is important to set some limits and boundaries on compassion. As God’s love for us leads us to reach out to others, we need to be sure about how and when we should fulfil people’s needs, help them to cope with their own needs, help them to understand the reason for their needs, guide them to fulfilling their own needs or help them to find a place where help is available.

References to the Bible in European politics rarely are the subject of research by biblical scholars. Claims about Christianity and about themes and stories from the Bible, which have made a remarkable appearance in political discourse recently, especially in discussions of migration, have therefore gone unnoticed in our discipline. This paper wants to put this topic on the map by exploring three cases, from the Netherlands, Norway, and Germany, where politicians make an argument against accepting migrants, by appealing to neighbourly love and the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37). We ask whether the Bible appears here in its ‘liberal’ form, which scholars have shown to be a prevalent form of the Bible in US and UK politics, or whether we are seeing the development of a different political Bible.

04–117Al-Jarf, Reima S. (King Saud U., Saudi Arabia). The effects of web-based learning on struggling EFL college writers. Foreign Language Annals (New York, USA), 37, 1 (2004), 49–57.04–118Basturkmen, Helen (University of Auckland, New Zealand; Email: h.basturkmen@auckland.ac.nz). Specificity and ESP course design. RELC Journal (Singapore), 34, 1 (2003), 48–63.04–119Basturkmen, H., Loewen, S. and Ellis, R. (U. of Auckland, New Zealand Email: h.basturkmen@auckland.ac.nz). Teachers' stated beliefs about incidental focus on form and their classroom practices. Applied Linguistics (Oxford, UK), 25, 2 (2004), 243–72.04–120Benson, Barbara E. (Piedmont College, Georgia, USA). Framing culture within classroom practice: culturally relevant teaching. Action in Teacher Education (Alexandria, Virginia, USA), 25, 2 (2003), 16–22.04–121Blanche, Patrick (U. of California, Davis, USA; Email: blanche@kumagaku.ac.jp). Using dictations to teach pronunciation. Modern English Teacher (London, UK), 13, 1 (2004), 30–36.04–122Budimlic, Melisa (Ludwig-Maximilians Universität München, Germany). Zur Konzeption und Entwicklung interdisziplinärer Lernprogramme am Beispiel eines Lernmodules zur Psycholinguistik. [The concept and development of an interdisciplinary learning programme. An example of a module in psycholinguistics] Zeitschrift für Interkulturellen Fremdsprachenunterricht (Edmonton, Alberta, Canada), Online Journal, 9, 1 (2004), 12 pp.04–123Cajkler, Wasyl (U. of Leicester, UK; Email: wc4@le.ac.uk). How a dead butler was killed: the way English national strategies maim grammatical parts. Language and Education (Clevedon, UK), 18, 1 (2004), 1–16.04–124Calvin, Lisa M. & Rider, N. Ann (Indiana State U., USA). Not your parents' language class: curriculum revision to support university language requirements. Foreign Language Annals (New York, USA), 37, 1 (2004), 11–25.04–125Carrier, Karen A. (Northern Illinois University, USA). Improving high school English language learners' second language listening through strategy instruction. Bilingual Research Journal (Arizona, USA), 27, 3 (2003), 383–408.04–126Christie, Frances (Universities of Melbourne and Sydney, Australia; Email: fhchri@unimelb.edu.au). English in Australia. RELC Journal (Singapore) 34, 1 (2003), 100–19.04–127Drobná, Martina (Ludwig-Maximilians Universität München, Germany). Konzeption von Online-Lerneinheiten für den Unterricht Deutsch als Fremdsprache am Beispiel des Themas ‘Auslandsstudium in Deutschland’. [The concept of an online learning unit ‘Studying in Germany’ for German as a foreign language]. Zeitschrift für Iinterkulturellen Fremdsprachenunterricht (Edmonton, Canada) Online Journal, 9, 1 (2004), 17 pp.04–128Ellis, Rod (University of Auckland, New Zealand; Email: r.ellis@auckland.ac.nz). Designing a task-based syllabus. RELC Journal (Singapore) 34, 1 (2003), 64–81.04–129Giambo, D. & McKinney, J. (University of Miami, USA) The effects of a phonological awareness intervention on the oral English proficiency of Spanish-speaking kindergarten children. TESOL Quarterly (Alexandria, Virginia, USA), 38, 1 (2004), 95–117.04–130Goodwyn, Andrew (Reading University, UK). The professional identity of English teachers. English in Australia (Norwood, Australia), 139 (2004), 122–30.04–131Hu, Guangwei (Nanyang Technological U., Singapore; Email: gwhu@nie.edu.sg). English language teaching in China: regional differences and contributing factors. Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development (Clevedon, UK), 24, 4 (2003), 290–318.04–132Jacobs, George M. (JF New Paradigm Education, Singapore; Email: gmjacobs@pacific.net.sg) and Farrell, Thomas S. C. Understanding and implementing the communicative language teaching paradigm. RELC Journal (Singapore) 34, 1 (2003), 5–30.04–133Janks, Hilary (University of the Witwatersrand, South Africa). The access paradox. English in Australia (Norwood, Australia), 139 (2004), 33–42.04–134Kim, Jeong-ryeol (Korea National U. of Education, South Korea; Email: jrkim@knue.ac.kr). Using mail talk to improve English speaking skills. English Teaching (Anseonggun, South Korea), 58, 4 (2003), 349–69.04–135Kim, Nahk-Bohk (Chungnam National University, South Korea). An investigation into the collocational competence of Korean high school EFL learners. English Teaching (Anseonggun, South Korea), 58, 4 (2003), 225–48.04–136Kormos, Judit & Dénes, Mariann (Eötvös Loránd U., Hungary; Email: kormos.j@chello.hu). Exploring measures and perceptions of fluency in the speech of second language learners. System (Oxford, UK), 32, 2 (2004), 145–64.04–137Lee, Jin Kyong (Seoul National U., South Korea). The acquisition process of yes/no questions by ESL learners and its pedagogical implications. English Teaching (Anseonggun, South Korea), 58, 4 (2003), 205–24.04–138Levine, Glenn S. (U. of California, Irvine, USA). Global simulation: a student-centered, task-based format for intermediate foreign language courses. Foreign Language Annals (New York, USA), 37, 1 (2004), 26–36.04–139Littlemore, Jeannette (U. of Birmingham, UK; Email: j.m.littlemore@bham.ac.uk). Using clipart and concordancing to teach idiomatic expressions. Modern English Teacher (London, UK), 13, 1 (2004), 17–44.04–140Llurda, Enric (Email: ellurda@dal.udl.es) and Huguet, Ángel (Universitat de Lleida, Spain). Self-awareness in NNS EFL Primary and Secondary school teachers. Language Awareness (Clevedon, UK), 12, 3&4 (2003), 220–33.04–141Lochtman, Katja (Vrije U., Belgium; Email: katja.lochtman@vub.ac.be). Oral corrective feedback in the foreign language classroom: how it affects interaction in analytic foreign language teaching. International Journal of Educational Research (Abingdon, UK), 37 (2002), 271–83.04–142Mackey, Alison (Georgetown U., USA; Email: mackeya@georgetown.edu). Beyond production: learners' perceptions about interactional processes. International Journal of Educational Research (Abingdon, UK), 37 (2002), 379–94.04–143Maiwald, Cordula (Passau, Germany). Zeitverstehen und Tempusformen im Deutschen – eine Herausforderung im Fremdsprachenunterricht. [The concept of time and German tenses – a challenge for a foreign language classroom] Jahrbuch Deutsch als Fremdsprache (Munich, Germany), 29 (2003), 287–302.04–144McKay, Sandra Lee (San Francisco State U., USA; Email: 2slmckay@attbi.com). EIL curriculum development. RELC Journal (Singapore), 34, 1 (2003), 31–47.04–145Na, Yoon-Hee and Kim, Sun-Joo (U. of Texas at Austin, USA; Email: yhena@mail.utexas.edu). Critical literacy in the EFL classroom. English Teaching (Anseonggun, Korea), 58, 3 (2003), 143–63.04–146Nettelbeck, David (Whitefriars College, Australia). ICT and the re-shaping of literacy. A secondary classroom perspective. English in Australia (Norwood, Australia), 139 (2004), 68–77.04–147Park, Mae-Ran (Pukyong National U., South Korea; Email: mrpark@pknu.ac.kr) and Suh, Kang-Oak. An analysis of Korean high school English textbooks under the 7th curriculum. English Teaching (Anseonggun, South Korea), 58, 4 (2003), 319–47.04–148Peters, George F. (Michigan State U., USA). Kulturexkurse: a model for teaching deeper German culture in a proficiency-based curriculum. Die Unterrichtspraxis (Cherry Hill, New Jersey, USA) 36, 2 (2003), 121–34.04–149Plewnia, Albrecht (Mannheim, Germany). Vom Nutzen kontrastiven grammatischen Wissens am Beispiel von Deutsch und Französisch. [The benefits of contrastive grammar knowledge; an example of German and French] Jahrbuch Deutsch als Fremdsprache (Munich, Germany), 29 (2003), 251–86.04–150Prodromou, Luke (Email: luke@spark.net.gr). In search of the successful user of English: how a corpus of non-native speaker language could impact on EFL teaching. Modern English Teacher (London, UK), 12, 2 (2003), 5–14.04–151Rieger, Caroline L. (U. of British Columbia, Canada). Some conversational strategies and suggestions for teaching them. Die Unterrichtspraxis (Cherry Hill, New Jersey, USA), 36, 2 (2003), 164–75.04–152Sakui, K. (U. of Auckland, New Zealand). Wearing two pairs of shoes: language teaching in Japan. ELT Journal (Oxford, UK), 58, 2 (2004), 155–63.04–153Schleppegrell, M., Achugar, M., & Oteíza, T. (University of California, USA). The grammar of history: enhancing content-based instruction through a functional focus on language. TESOL Quarterly (Alexandria, Virginia, USA), 38, 1 (2004), 67–93.04–154Sercu, Lies (Katholieke Universiteit Leuven, Belgium; Email: lies.sercu@arts.kuleuven.ac.be). Implementing intercultural foreign language education: Belgian, Danish and British teachers' professional self-concepts and teaching practices compared. Evaluation and Research in Education (Clevedon, UK), 16, 3 (2002), 150–65.04–155Shinwoong, Lee (Hanyang U., South Korea). Korean ESL learners' experiences in computer assisted classroom discussions. English Teaching (Anseonggun, Korea), 58, 4 (2003), 371–95.04–156Sifakis, Nicos C. (Hellenic Open U., Greece; Email: nicossif@hol.gr). TeachingEIL– TeachingInternationalorInterculturalEnglish? What Teachers Should Know. System (Oxford, UK), 32, 2 (2004), 237–50.04–157Simard, Daphnée (Université du Québec à Montréal, Canada; Email: simard.daphnee@uqam.ca). Using diaries to promote metalinguistic reflection among elementary school students. Language Awareness (Clevedon, UK), 13, 1 (2004), 34–48.04–158Song, Jeong-Weon (Hanyang U., South Korea). Effects of task-processing conditions on the oral output of post beginners in a narrative task. English Teaching (Anseonggun, Korea), 58, 4 (2003), 249–71.04–159Storch, Neomy (U. of Melbourne, Australia; Email: neomys@unimelb.edu.au). Relationships formed in dyadic interaction and opportunity for learning. International Journal of Educational Research (Abingdon, UK), 37 (2002), 305–22.04–160Tomlinson, Brian and Masuhara, Hitomi (Leeds Metropolitan U., UK; Email: B.Tomlinson@lmu.ac.uk). Developing cultural awareness. Modern English Teacher (London, UK), 13, 1 (2004), 5–12.04–161Towndrow, P. (Nangyang Technological U., Singapore). Reflections of an on-line tutor. ELT Journal (Oxford, UK), 58, 2 (2004), 174–82.04–162Vilches, Ma. Luz C. (Ateneo do Manila U., Philippines; Email: mvilches@ateneo.edu). Task-based language teaching: the case of EN 10. RELC Journal (Singapore), 34, 1 (2003), 82–99.04–163Willkop, Eva-Maria (Mainz, Germany). Texte im Mitteilungsprozess – Wege durch ein vereinigtes Babylon [Texts in the mediation process – ways through united Babylon] Jahrbuch Deutsch als Fremdsprache (Munich, Germany), 29 (2003), 221–50.

Well, you couldn't control the situation to that extent. The world just comes in on top of you. It creeps under the door. It falls out of the sky. It's all around. (Leunig) Like the world that cartoonist Michael Leunig describes, ambience is all around. Everywhere you go. You cannot get away from it. You cannot hide from it. You cannot be without it. For ambience is that which surrounds us, that which pervades. Always-on. Always by-your-side. Always already. Here, there and everywhere. Super-surround-sound. Immersive. Networked and cloudy. Ubiquitous. Although you cannot avoid ambience, you may ignore it. In fact, ambience is almost as ignored as it is pervasive. For the most part, our attention is given over to what’s in front of us, what we pick up, what we handle, what is in focus. Instead of ambience, our phenomenal existence is governed by what we bring into the foreground of our lives. Our attention is, almost by definition, occupied not by what is ambient, but what is salient (Jaaniste, Approaching Ch. 1). So, when Brian Eno coined the term Ambient Music in the 1970s (see Burns; Radywyl; and Ensminger in this issue), he was doing something strange. He was bringing ambience, as an idea and in its palpable sonic dimension, into salience. The term, and the penchant for attuning and re-thinking our connections to our surroundings, caught on. By the end of the twentieth century, it was deemed by one book author worthy of being called the ambient century (Prendergast). Eno is undoubtedly the great populariser of the term, but there’s a backstory to ambience. If Spitzer’s detailed semantic analysis of ‘ambience’ and its counterpart ‘milieu’ published back in the 1940s is anything to go by, then Newtonian physics had a lot to do with how ambience entered into our Modern vernacular. Isaac Newton’s laws and theories of gravity and the cosmos offered up a quandary for science back then: vast amounts of empty space. Just like we now know that most of an atom is empty space, within which a few miserly electrons, protons, neutrons and other particle fly about (and doesn’t that seem weird given how solid everything feels?) so too it is with planets, stars, galaxies whose orbits traverse through the great vacuum of the universe. And that vacuum Newton called ambience. But maybe outer-space, and ambience, is not actually empty. There could be dark matter everywhere. Or other things not yet known, observed or accounted for. Certainly, the history of our thinking around ambience since its birth in physics has seen a shift from vacuity to great density and polyphony. Over time, several ‘spaces’ became associated with ambience, which we might think of as the great scapes of our contemporary lives: the natural environment, the built environment, the social world, the aesthetic worlds encountered ‘within’ artefacts, and the data-cloud. Now is not the time or place to give a detailed history of these discursive manoeuvres (although some key clues are given in Spizter; and also Jaaniste, Approaching). But a list of how the term has been taken up after Eno–across the arts, design, media and culture–reveals the broad tenets of ambience or, perhaps, the ambience of ambience. Nowadays we find talk of (in alphabetical order): ambient advertising (Quinion), aesthetics (Foster), architecture (CNRS; Sample), art (Desmarias; Heynen et al.), calculus (Cardelli), displays (Ambient Displays Reserch Group; Lund and Mikael; Vogel and Balakrishnan), fears (Papastergiadis), findability (Morville), informatics (Morville), intelligence (Weber et al.), media (Meeks), narratives (Levin), news (Hagreaves and Thomas), poetics (Morton), television (McCarthy), and video (Bizzocchi). There’s probably more. Time, then, to introduce the authors assembled for this special ‘ambient’ issue of M/C Journal. Writing from the globe, in Spain, Ukraine, Canada, United Sates, and New Zealand, and from cities across Australia, in Melbourne, Canberra and Perth, they draw on and update the ambience of ambience. Alison Bartlett, in our feature article, begins with bodies of flesh (and sweat and squinting) and bodies of thought (including Continental theory). She draws us into a personal, present tense and tensely present account of the way writing and thinking intertwine with our physical locality. The heat, light and weathered conditions of her place of writing, now Perth and previously Townsville, are evoked, as is some sort of teased out relation with Europe. If we are always immersed in our ambient conditions, does this effect and affect everything we do, and think? Bruce Arnold and Margalit Levin then shift gear, from the rural and natural to the densely mediated contemporary urban locale. Urban ambience, as they say, is no longer about learning to avoid (or love?) harsh industrial noises, but it’s about interactivity, surveillance and signalling. They ambivalently present the ambient city as a dialectic, where feeling connected and estranged go hand-in-hand. Next we explore one outcome or application of the highly mediated, iPhone and Twitter-populated city. Alfred Hermida has previously advanced the idea of ‘ambient journalism’ (Hermida, Twittering), and in his M/C Journal piece he outlines the shift from ambient news (which relies on multiple distribution points, but which relays news from a few professional sources) to a journalism that is ambiently distributed across citizens and non-professional para-journalists. Alex Burns takes up Hermida’s framework, but seeks to show how professional journalism might engage in complex ways with Twitter and other always-on, socially-networked data sources that make up the ‘awareness system’ of ambient journalism. Burns ends his provocative paper by suggesting that the creative processes of Brian Eno might be a model for flexible approaches to working with the ambient data fields of the Internet and social grid. Enter the data artist, the marginal doodler and the darkened museum. Pau Waelder examines the way artists have worked with data fields, helping us to listen, observe and embody what is normally ignored. David Ensminger gives a folklorist-inspired account of the way doodles occupy the ambient margins of our minds, personalities and book pages. And Natalia Radywyl navigates the experiences of those who encountered the darkened and ambiguously ambient Screen Gallery of the Australian Centre for Moving Image, and ponders on what this mean for the ‘new museum’. If the experience of doodles and darkened galleries is mainly an individual thing, the final two papers delve into the highly social forms of ambience. Pauline Cheong explores how one particular type of community, Christian churches in the United States, has embraced (and sometimes critiqued) the use of Twitter to facilitate the communal ambience, 140 characters at a time. Then Christine Teague with Lelia Green and David Leith report on the working lives of transit officers on duty on trains in Perth. This is a tough ambience, where issues of safety, fear, confusion and control impact on these workers as much as they try to influence the ambience of a public transport network. The final paper gives us something to pause on: ambience might be an interesting topic, but the ambience of some people and some places might be unpalatable or despairing. Ambience is morally ambivalent (it can be good, bad or otherwise), and this is something threading through many of the papers before us. Who gets to control our ambient surrounds? Who gets to influence them? Who gets to enjoy them, take advantage of them, ignore them? For better or worse. The way we live with, connect to and attune to the ambience of our lives might be crucially important. It might change us. And it might do so on many levels. As is now evident, all the great scapes, as I called them, have been taken up in this issue. We begin with the natural environment (Bartlett’s weather) and the urban built environment (Arnold and Levin; and also Radywyl). Then we enter the data-cloud (Herminda; Burns; Waelder, and also Cheong), shifting into the aesthetic artefact (Waelder; Ensminger; Radywyl), and then into the social sphere (Cheong; Teague, Green and Leith). Of course, all these scapes, and the authors’ concerns, overlap. Ambience is a multitude, and presses into us and through us in many ways. References Ambient Displays Research Group. “Ambient Displays Research Group.” 25 July 2006 ‹http://www.eecs.berkeley.edu/Research/Projects/CS/io/ambient/›. Bizzocchi, Jim. “Ambient Video: The Transformation of the Domestic Cinematic Experience.” Media Environments and the Liberal Arts Conference, 10-13 June 2004, Rochester Institute of Technology, New York. 26 July 2006 ‹http://www.dadaprocessing.com› [third version of this essay]. Cardelli, Luca. “Mobility and Security.” Lecture notes for Marktoberdorf Summer School 1999, summarising several Ambient Calculus papers by Luca Cardelli & Andrew Gordon. Foundations of Secure Computation. Eds. Friedrich L. Bauer and Ralf Steinbrüggen. NATO Science Series. Proceedings of the NATO Advanced Study Institute on Foundations of Secure Computation, Marktoberdorf, Germany, 27 July - 8 Aug. 1999. 3-37. ‹http://lucacardelli.name/Papers/Mobility%20and%20Security.A4.pdf›. CNRS. “UMR CNRS 1563: Ambiances architecturales et urbaines”. 2007. 9 Feb. 2007 ‹http://www.archi.fr/RECHERCHE/annuaireg/pdf/UMR1563.pdf›. Desmarias, Charles. “Nothing Compared to This: Ambient, Incidental and New Minimal Tendencies in Contemporary Art.” Catalogue essay for exhibition curated by Charles Desmarais at Cincinnati Contemporary Arts Center, 25 Sep. - 28 Nov. 2004. Foster, Cheryl. “The Narrative and the Ambient in Environmental Aesthetics.” Journal of Aesthetics & Art Criticism 56.2 (Spring 1998): 127-137. Hargreaves, Ian, and James Thomas. “New News, Old News.” ITC/BSC (October 2002). 3 May 2010 ‹http://legacy.caerdydd.ac.uk/jomec/resources/news.pdf›. Herminda, Alfred. “Twittering the News: The Emergence of Ambient Journalism.” Journalism Practice (11 March 2010). 3 May 2010 ‹http://www.informaworld.com/smpp/content~content=a919807525›. Heynen, Julian, Kasper Konig, and Stefani Jansen. Ambiance: Des deux cơtes du Rhin. To accompany an exhibition of the same name at K21 Kuntstsammlung NRW, Düsseldorf, 15 Oct. 2005 – 12 Feb. 2006. Köln: Snoeck. Jaaniste, Luke. Approaching the Ambient: Creative Practice and the Ambient Mode of Being. Doctoral thesis, Queensland University of Technology, 2007. 3 May 2010 ‹http://www.lukejaaniste.com/writings/phd›. Leunig, Michael. “Michael Leunig”. Enough Rope with Andrew Denton. ABC Television, 8 May 2006. 3 May 2010 ‹http://www.abc.net.au/tv/enoughrope/transcripts/s1632918.htm›. Lund, Andreas, and Mikael Wiberg. “Ambient Displays beyond Convention.” HCI 2004, The 18th British HCI Group Annual Conference, Leeds Metropolitan University, UK, 6-10 Sep. 2004. 18 Oct. 2005 ‹http://www.informatik.umu.se/~mwiberg/designingforattention_workshop_lund_wiberg.pdf›. Manovich, Lev. “Soft Cinema: Ambient Narratives.” Catalogue for the Soft Cinema Project presented at Future Cinema: The Cinemtic Imaginary after Film at ZKM Center for Art and Media in Karlsruhe, Germany, 16 Nov. 2002 - 30 March 2003. McCarthy, Anna. Ambient Television: Visual Culture and Public Space. Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2001. Meeks, Cyan. Ambient Media: Meanings and Implications. Masters of Fine Arts thesis, Graduate School of the State University of New York, Department of Media Study, August 2005. Morton, Timothy. “Why Ambient Poetics?: Outline for a Depthless Ecology.” The Wordsworth Circle 33.1 (Winter 2002): 52-56. Morville, Peter. Ambient Findability: What We Find Changes Who We Become. O’Reilly Media, 2005. Papastergiadis, Nikos. “Ambient Fears.” Artlink 32.1 (2003): 28-34. Prendergast, Mark. The Ambient Century: From Mahler to Trance, the Evolution of Sound in the Electronic Age. London: Bloomsbury, 2000. Quinion, Michael. “Ambient Advertising.” World Wide Words 5 Sep. 1998. 3 Aug. 2006 ‹http://www.worldwidewords.org/turnsofphrase/tp-amb1.htm›. Sample, Hilary. “Ambient Architecture: An Environmental Monitoring Station for Pasadena, California.” 306090 07: Landscape with Architecture. 306090 Architecture Journal 7 (Sep. 2004): 200-210. Spitzer, Leo. “Milieu and Ambiance: An Essay in Historical Semantics (Part 2).” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 3.2 (Dec. 1942): 169–218. Vogel, Daniel, and Ravin Balakrishnan. “Interactive Public Ambient Displays: Transitioning from Implicit to Explicit, Public to Personal, Interaction with Multiple Users.” Proceedings of the 18th ACM Symposium on User Interface Software and Technology. Large Public Displays session, Santa Fe. New York: ACM Press. 137-146. Weber, W., J.M. Rabaey, and E. Aarts. Eds. Ambient Intelligence. Berlin: Springer, 2005.

Introduction This paper is based upon an investigation into the life of a street market in the city of Ha Noi in Vietnam, and experience of the street food served on Ha Noi’s pavements. It draws upon interviews with itinerant food vendors conducted by the researchers and upon accounts of their daily lives from a Vietnamese film subtitled in English and French, sourced from the Vietnamese Women’s Museum (Jensen). The research considers the lives of the people making and selling street food against the distilled versions of cultural experience accessible through the pages of two recent English language cookbooks focussing upon this cuisine. The data from the fieldwork is used as a point for critical comparison (Fram) with recipes and descriptions from Hanoi Street Food (Vandenberghe and Thys) and Vietnamese Street Food (Lister and Pohl), two recent relevant English language cookbooks. The research question addressed is “How are the everyday lives of Vietnamese street market cooks (mis)represented in cookery-related books published for an English-language readership?” The research team comprises an Australian Cultural Studies academic (Lelia Green) and a bi-lingual Vietnamese researcher (Nguyen Hong Van), who is Ha Noi born and bred, but who has lived overseas and whose first degree, in Sociology, is from a Canadian university. In each other’s company and over a period of some weeks, Lelia and Van spent more than 40 hours on ethnographic fieldwork in street markets, and interviewing street vendors. The purpose of the research was exploratory, but it was also undertaken as a means of making the labour and lives of marginalised women more visible, since most itinerant food vendors in Vietnam are women (Jensen). As Bhomik notes, male vendors “are engaged in motor cycle repair or sale of higher priced goods such as personal products, souvenirs etc. and their earnings are higher” (2261). Although the teamwork between Lelia and Van went some way to resolve the challenges posed by insider/outsider qualitative research (Corbin, Dwyer, and Buckle), Van has never lived or worked as a street vendor. First Take an Informal Street Market … Eating on the Street An informal Vietnamese street market is a multi-layered space, ordered according to the geography of the area in which the food is prepared and consumed. The informality of a street market indicates its status between legitimacy and repression. Informal street markets spring up in locales where there is significant demand—usually office workers nearby, and schools. The food they sell is cheap and flavourful, catering for the needs of people who have little time or money and want something hot and nourishing to start, punctuate, or end the day. As markets grow, so the vendors in the market constitute a secondary population in need of sustenance. Itinerant street vendors carry with them everything they need for their day’s work. Typically this includes a little oil or coal-based stove, their raw ingredients, dishes or trays for food preparation and serving, often a bowl for washing food or utensils, and a large bag to carry the dirty dishes used by their customers. Often these tools of their trade will be carried in two baskets balanced upon a pole that acts as a yoke across the vendor’s neck. Sometimes well-resourced vendors will also carry, (or push a bicycle or cart with), sets of small plastic stools and tables, so that their clients can sit and enjoy their food. In the semi-tropical climate of Ha Noi, carrying the raw materials to cook for and feed dozens of patrons is a tiring and difficult business. These street vendors’s lives are made more complex by the semi-legitimacy of the informal street market where itinerants are viewed as potential sources of income by a series of officials who extort small but frequent payments in the form of demanding bribes, or levying fines for illegal activity such as obstructing the pavement (Lincoln). Trung, who sells crab noodles, says the police are the most difficult aspect of her job: “they can come anytime and confiscate all my stuff and give me a fine. One time I was so panicked when I saw them approaching on a small truck that I took all my bowls and ran. The bowl slipped out of my hands and cut into my leg. I still have a deep scar from that accident” (Trung). Now add a smattering of street vendors. Bánh Mỳ: Bread Rolls “1 French baguette”, states the Vandenberghe and Thys recipe for bánh mỳ, implicitly acknowledging the hundred years of French colonisation which provides Vietnam with its excellent breads and pastries, “beat the eggs lightly in a mixing bowl, crumble the paté and combine the paté and the lightly beaten eggs. Put the oil in a small frying pan and cook the omelette […] fold the omelette double and put it on the [grilled, heated] bread […] the variations are endless” (71). The young Vietnamese woman, Anh, sells bánh mỳ trứng ngải cứu, bread rolls with egg cooked with mugwort, an aromatic leafy herb. She explains her initial motivation to sell food on the street: “some women in my village already came to the city to sell. I can’t earn much money at home and I need money to send my children to school, so I decided to follow them” (Anh). She shares rented accommodation in the city with other women—sometimes up to ten people in a room (Jensen)—and starts her day at 4.30am, washing vegetables and preparing her baskets. Although a street trader herself, she is networked into a complex set of supply and delivery connections. Her eggs and bread are delivered fresh each morning and she buys the mugwort from a market near her lodgings. “I leave home around 6am and start walking along the streets. […] I mostly sell to shop keepers. They have to stay in their shop so I bring breakfast to them. I walk through a lot of streets, whenever someone calls out I will stop and make bread for them” (Anh). Mid-morning, at around 10am, Anh goes back to her home to have lunch and prepare for the afternoon, with a fresh delivery of eggs around 1.00-1.30pm. Usually, she leaves again around 2.00pm “but if it’s too hot outside, I will stay until 3pm, because it is very tiring to walk in the heat, and people don’t eat that early either. I go home whenever I sell out […], sometimes as early as 4pm, or as late as 7pm” (Anh). Like many street vendors, Anh has sought out points of contact with the local community to punctuate her walking with episodes of rest. Her customers are mainly other Vietnamese people, “shop keepers and residents of the streets I walk along every day. There is an old lady. I sit in front of her shop every afternoon from 3pm to 5pm. She eats one egg every day” (Anh). Anh has been selling Bánh mỳ on the streets for three years, but this is not her only source of income: “At home I grow rice, but I can only harvest it at the end of the season. It only takes a storm or hail to destroy the whole effort I spend for months […] This [food] is very easy to make, and I make a little profit everyday” (Anh). She has never worked from a recipe book: “I think only people in hotels, like a big chef who makes complicated dishes need recipes, this one is very easy, just a common everyday food” (Anh). As for the problems posed by the policing of informal markets, Anh says: “if I am not careful, the ward police will give me a fine for selling on the street.” Such a calamity can write off the profit of many hours’ or days’ work. Xôi: Sticky Rice Xôi is a popular street food dish, and Lister and Pohl provide two recipes, one for xôi lạc (sticky rice with peanuts)(68), and one for xôi xéo (sticky rice with turmeric and mung beans, and fried shallots) (80). Nga, the xôi seller interviewed for this research, sells both types of sticky rice along with xôi gậc (a festive red sticky rice cooked with and coloured by spiny bitter gourd, and typically eaten at Tết, the celebration for the Lunar New Year) and xôi đỗ đen, sticky rice with black bean. She used to specialise in only one kind of sticky rice but, as she says, “business was slow so I added other types of sticky rice. I sit here in the morning everyday anyway, so I sell different types, a small quantity for each” (Nga). The biggest complication for street vendors selling sticky rice is the requirement that it is still being steamed just before being sold, so that it is hot, soft, and sticky, and not dried out. The cooked sticky rice is usually packed in banana leaves under a plastic cover and put in a bamboo basket. The basket helps with ventilation while banana leaves keep the rice moist and the plastic cover keeps in heat. Traditionally, xôi is also sold in banana leaves. Nga uses first a layer of banana leaf, then one of plastic, and finally newspaper. Nga is a grandmother and constructs her street vending as a retirement job, which puts food on the table for her husband and herself. In Vietnam, there is a tradition that the younger generations look after their elders, but her work as a street vendor means that Nga and her husband can retain their autonomy and help their own family, for longer. Nga starts cooking at 4.00am, but her street food is only one element of her income: “In addition to selling here, I also deliver to restaurants. Actually most of my income comes from them. I deliver at around 5 to 5.30am, and start selling here at 6” (Nga). Both of Lister and Pohl’s recipes start with soaking the sticky rice overnight in water, just as Nga does. She says, “I wash the rice and soak them before I go to bed the night before. I get up, start the stove which uses black coal. I sell out all the rice everyday, otherwise it won’t taste good […] usually I sell out at 8 or 8.30am, 9am at the latest. I don’t work in the afternoon. I pick up my grandchildren at 4pm and take care of them until the end of the day.” Nga has strong views about the place of recipes in cooking, especially in cooking as a business: I don’t need to learn from a book. Written recipes or informal teaching from relatives is the same, they are just the starting point. What matters is you learn from your own experience. For example, you soak your rice for 6 hours today, but your customers complain that the rice is not soft, so you soak it for 8 hours next time. Or maybe you sell to a poorer community, you will adjust your ingredients to cheaper type, so you can reduce your price but still make profit; but if you sell in a richer neighbourhood, you make sure you have good quality, even with higher price, or else they will not buy from you (Nga). Lister and Pohl dedicate a two-page spread (70-1) to Ðặng Thị Sáu and her Xôi shopfront stall, noting that she learned her business from her mother-in-law who was “an itinerant sticky rice peddler for most of her life, walking the city streets, selling from bamboo baskets. It was a hard and uncertain life and not one Sáu wanted to follow” (70). Sáu’s compromise, ultimately, was to sell sticky rice from the comparative security and stability of a fixed location. Lister and Pohl’s focus upon Sáu and her food, along with the pictures of everyday life featured in Vietnamese Street Food, mean that this is more than an inspirational cookbook. It is a vivid introduction to the vernacular foodways of Vietnam “a set of social, economic and cultural practices around the production and consumption of food that are normatively distinctive to an ethnocultural group” (Jonas 119). Bún Riêu Cua: Crab Meat Noodle Crab meat noodle is a complicated recipe and a reminder that many people who eat street food do so because these are favourite Vietnamese dishes which may require considerable effort to prepare. The specialisation of street food vendors, making a complicated dish for the relish of dozens of customers, allows busy Vietnamese workers to enjoy their authentic cuisine at an affordable cost without the time constraints of buying multiple ingredients and making the dish themselves. The recipe in Hanoi Street Food involves several steps: preparation of the sauce using sautéing, frying and reducing (Jones); cooking of the crab in boiling water (not including separately bought crabmeat used in the sauce); creation of a chicken stock, to which the sauce is added; along with the washing and chopping a range of vegetables including soya bean sprouts, spring onions, lettuce, fresh herbs, lime etc., some of which is used as garnish (Vandenberghe, and Thys 90). Trung and her husband have been selling their bún riêu cua for five years. For nine years prior to working as a street food vendor, Trung was a recyclables collector. She began working in the city when she “followed a cousin to Ha Noi so I could earn money to support my family of six people. At first I collected materials such as plastic bottles, metal, papers, etc, but because I carried too much on my shoulders, I developed severe back pain and shoulder pain” (Trung). Now she and her husband use a bicycle to help carry the various necessities for her bún riêu cua street stall, using the vehicle to reduce some of the physical burden of the work. Trung learned how to make bún riêu cua from an aunt in Hai Phong, “I just observed her and other people”. The dish remains time consuming, however:I get up at 3am to start preparing the crab and cook the soup. My husband washes vegetables. It often takes us about 2 hours. By 5am, we leave the house, and we are here by 5.30, ready to sell breakfast […] I am most busy during lunchtime, from 10am to 1-2pm. Breakfast time can last from 6am to 9am. When I am not selling to customers I often get tired and easily fall asleep because I always crave sleep. In between, my husband and I wash dishes. He also delivers to people too. We get lots of phone calls from patients of the hospitals nearby. They say my food is more delicious than food in the hospital’s canteen […] Usually I go home around 4pm in the summer and 5 to 6pm in the winter. But I also stop by different shops to buy ingredients for the next day on my way home. Once I get home, I wash the bowls, re-supply and re-arrange my stuffs, and do some preparation. I work until I go to bed at 9pm (Trung). The illustration for this recipe in Hanoi Street Food is not of the dish itself, but of young Vietnamese men enjoying the dish. As is the case with Lister and Pohl, Vandenberghe and Thys’s book is about more than recipes, it is a rich evocation of daily life on the streets of Vietnam. Serve with a Side-dish of Conclusions Authentic street food is cooked, sold and consumed on the street. However, street food cookbooks tend to recommended shopfront eateries, partly because they are easier to find, and are more convenient, in that neither the tourist nor the vendor is at risk of police intervention. Another reason for featuring the more established vendors with their own premises concerns food hygiene: In 1989 the Vietnamese government adopted a law on the protection of people’s health. A survey on food samples in Hanoi showed that 47 per cent were microbiologically unsafe. [This has now changed.] The government has adopted two practices for ensuring safer street food, namely, monitoring street food vendors through a licensing system, and educating and training them on hygiene (Bhowmik 2260). Such licensing, training and the maintenance of hygiene standards are more difficult to police with itinerant food vendors. In the two cookbooks featured, ingredients tend to be measured as to specific amounts, with the idea that the result should be predictable. Street vendors, however, learn to cook their signature dishes from friends, relatives, and experience. They do not measure their ingredients while cooking, and their products vary from one vendor to another, and also to some extent from day to day, even given the same cook. This creates a special characteristic of street food and means that regular customers gravitate to particular vendors whose choice of seasoning and cooking techniques culminates in the most attractive results according to their personal taste. While there are lots of stalls captioned as bánh mỳ, regular customers will find that there are significant differences between stalls. One reason for this is offered in Lister and Pohl: small quantities of special ingredients that are difficult to get in Vietnam and impossible elsewhere. The cook in a featured Bánh cuốn stall (selling rice pancakes) adds a drop of giant water bug juice to season her dipping broth: “ ‘It’s the real thing! One drop off the top of a chopstick is enough’ she explains” (Lister, and Pohl 33). As is clear from the interviews with vendors, itinerant sellers of street food don’t use recipe books, and have generally learned how to cook their dishes through women’s networks of family and friends. The two cookbooks discussed are designed for consumption by people who engage in or aspire to “food and drink tourism” (Boniface vii) in Vietnam, whether the readers have visited in person or become aware of the cuisine through popular culture, such as Luke Nguyen’s SBS cooking shows (Nguyen). They are as much coffee table books as collections of recipes, and are written by westerners for a western readership. The recipes focus on ingredients that can be sourced in everyday western contexts but the beautiful and evocative photographs of daily life in Vietnam, supplemented by written commentary on people and place, clearly locate the recipes in their Vietnamese cultural context. Culinary tourism allows people unfamiliar with a cuisine and culture to use “food to explore new cultures and ways of being” (Long 21). Street food vendors are part of many communities. They require knowledge, skill, and personal networks to acquire the quality ingredients at the best possible price for the daily routine of food preparation and selling. Whereas recipe books deal with domestic-scale food production, a vendor may cook for a hundred or more people in a single day. Many itinerant street food sellers work in the city to support absent husbands and children in rural locations, taking money home on a regular basis ($20 profit a fortnight makes their labour worthwhile), and spending 10 days in 14 on the streets (Jensen). As women help each other to begin a career as a vendor through oral teaching, observation, and first-hand experience, they do away with the invisible, authoritative voice of cookbooks. Itinerant food sellers are also a part of the larger communities in which they work, including customers, their suppliers, and other actors such as the authorities and the media. This larger community sets the tone for their food, and their lives. The vast majority of vendors of street food are women, prepared to work hard and with passion and pride to make enough money to make a difference to their families. Books about street food might help recreate some of the dishes that can be bought on the streets of Vietnam. After participating in street life, however, as an observer or customer, it becomes clear that recipe cookbooks intended for English readers only capture part of the complexity and beauty of street food, and the lives of those who make it. References Anh. Personal communication. Trans. Nguyen Hong Van. 2013. Boniface, Priscilla. Tasting Tourism: Travelling for Food and Drink. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003. Bhowmik, Sharit K. “Street Vendors in Asia: A Review.” Economic and Political Weekly (2005): 2256–64. Burr, Vivien. Social Constructionism. 2nd ed. Oxford: Routledge, 2003. Corbin Dwyer, Sonya, and Jennifer L. Buckle. “The Space Between: On Being an Insider-Outsider in Qualitative Research.” International Journal of Qualitative Methods 8.1 (2009): 54–63. Fram, Sheila M. “The Constant Comparative Analysis Method Outside of Grounded Theory.” The Qualitative Report 18, Article 1 (2013): 1–25. 28 Apr. 2013 ‹http://www.nova.edu/ssss/QR/QR18/fram1.pdf›. Jensen, Rolf. Street Vendors [DVD of three films, Their Voices, Thuy’s Story and Loi’s Story]. Ha Noi: Vietnamese Women’s Museum, 2012. Jonas, Tammi. “Eating the Vernacular, Being Cosmopolitan.” Cultural Studies Review 19.1 (2013): 117–37. 19 May 2013 ‹http://epress.lib.uts.edu.au/journals/index.php/csrj/article/viewFile/3076/3428›. Jones, G. Stephen. “The Difference between Sautéing, Pan Frying and Stir Frying [blog post].” The Reluctant Gourmet. 30 Apr. 2010. 28 Apr. 2013 ‹http://reluctantgourmet.com/cooking-techniques/frying/item/856-saute-pan-fry-and-stir-fry›. Lincoln, Martha. “Report from the Field: Street Vendors and the Informal Sector in Hanoi.” Dialectical Anthropology 32.3 (2008): 261–5. Lister, Tracey, and Andreas Pohl. Vietnamese Street Food. Rev. ed. Melbourne: Hardie Grant, 2013. Long, Lucy. “A Folkloristic Perspective on Eating and Otherness.” Culinary Tourism. Ed. Lucy Long. Lexington: UP of Kentucky, 2004. 20–50. Nga. Personal communication. (trans. Nguyen Hong Van), 2013. Nguyen, Luke. Luke Nyugen’s Vietnam [SBS]. 2009 ‹http://www.sbs.com.au/shows/lukenguyen/watchonline/page/i/1/show/lukenguyen›. Trung. Personal communication. Trans. Nguyen Hong Van. 2013. Vandenberghe, Tom, and Luk Thys. Hanoi Street Food: Cooking and Travelling in Vietnam. Tielt: Uitgeverij Lannoo nv, 2011.

The Big Pineapple, Big Banana, the Big Potato , Australia positively groans under the weight of big things littered along the highway like jokes awaiting their punch-lines. These commercial road-side enterprises are a constant source of bemusement among Australians and this paper seeks to explore the attraction of the gargantuan and why Australians consider big things to be so funny. Discovering that big things not only give form to national icons but also celebrate the nation's tendency to larrikinism and the associated sardonic, ironic and anti-establishment humour, we are left to consider the role big things may play in the Australian national psyche and how their function as low art turns their collectivity into some strange, impulsive attempt at establishing a system of totems that comes to terms with this big land and its contested ownership. Historically big things like the Colossus of Rhodes, the Pyramids or the Great Wall of China have been physical manifestations of empire and dominion. No laughing matter. But in the United States from the 1920s, particularly in Southern California, we begin to see a profusion of "roadside vernacular architecture" including a big coffee percolator, a big pig, a big corn ear, a big teapot, a big Spanish dancer, a big duck, a big fish and many big hot dogs and big chilli bowls (Heimann and Georges). "Imaginana" is another way to conceptualise these strange forms of cultural production that replicate familiar, safe everyday items (Amdur 12). Early big things, particularly in the United States, had a clearly pragmatic function: to lure car-bound consumers off the highways and into local commercial enterprises with simple, one-to-one signification bringing function to form and high art to low purposes (Gebhard 14). The aim of these big things was to shock, startle and amuse the passing motorist and they took on a humourous edge due to the incongruity of scale and the surreal surprise of reality warping out of all proportion. While big things have a commercial purpose they achieve that purpose because they can be read playfully, always reminding us of the paradox they entail: they act dualistically as both the media and the message, both the referent and the real (Barcan 38). Reading big things as jokes in Freudian terms, we see how they may be eruptions of the unconscious into the mundane (Krahn 158). The first big thing in Australia was the Big Banana, built in Coffs Harbour by an American entomologist, John Landi (Negus). From that time on Australia has had a quirky relationship with big things. The banana is innately funny. The bent phallus, the unique shape, the skin as the standard slapstick cue to pratfall; everything about the banana is an invitation to laugh. Soon the banana was emulated by other funny produce such as the pineapple, the prawn and the lobster and within a decade monstrous agricultural products proliferated beside Australian highways regardless of their innate humour. They were joined by a variety of iconic figures, usually with an obvious connection such as the Big Penguin at the town of Penguin. Big things reinforce notions of national and regional identity: on the national level Australia is portrayed as a land of plenty, a fact emphasized by the sheer vastness of these creations; regionally, these totems function as identity markers and place makers (Barcan 31). Many big things were constructed by migrants and thus can be interpreted as optimistic acts of home making in the vast emptiness of the continent (Barcan 36). There is concern that big things obscure, or even obliterate, the history of regions and the whole continent: the incarcerations, land-grabbing, labour conflicts, corruption and failure. Instead it could be argued that big thing function to both signpost white history and subvert it at the same time: the Big Ned Kelly calling for revolution, the big goldminer looking ever expectant and ever disappointed, the Big Captain Cook in Cairns giving what appears to be a Nazi salute, all point to a larrikin refusal to take the brief and minor white history too seriously. The Australian larrikin sense of humour is mischievous, depreciatory and anti-authoritarian. This sense of humour arises from certain characteristics of the Australian "legend" identified by Ward such as scepticism, egalitarianism and derision towards affectation that are evident in larrikins' confrontations with authority, elaborate practical jokes on each other and the community at large and a "propensity for vulgarising the arts" (Reekie 97). This larrikinism is evident in the way dangerous nuisances (the big crocodile, the big red back spider) and mundane objects (the big jam tin, the big stubby holder, the big mower) are given the same treatment as national icons. There is also the variability of effort and attention to detail, where Aussie "ingenuity" and bush carpentry have been used to turn a good idea into reality in the shortest possible time to produce a very impressionist big koala or just the blob of concrete that is the big strawberry. Ignatius Jones explains: "get your local surfboard maker to cast you a giant prawn in fibreglass and you end up with the cicada that ate Yamba" (Negus). The early documentation of Australian big things was also carried out in a larrikin spirit (Amdur) including the claim that big things are part of an alien conspiracy to make us feel small (Stockwell). Every big thing requires a visionary, a postmodern artist with the passion and the obsession to realise their vision. It is a form of low art, a form of trash culture. But to many who do not frequent galleries and museums, low art is their available form of art and thus becomes their actual art. City planners and the upper middle class tend to denigrate these structures so at odds with their images of beautiful cities, so blatantly bastions of commercialism and so big that they run the risk of obscuring and obliterating real art (Gerbhard 25). Big things are criticised as ugly, kitsch, tacky and giving a wrong impression of a town. There are further concerns that big things allow the tourist to learn without knowing by presenting only one side of the story (Cross 51) and that they make observers minuscule in their presence, dominating the landscape and the attention of tourists (Krahn 165). But looking beyond the aesthetics of the individual instance it becomes apparent that big things also function as a network (Barcan 32), inviting the tourist along the highway of "the arrested fairground (in the) oxymoron of movement" (Krahn 157), offering the hyperreal adventure of collecting the experience, and small mementos, of more big things (Eco 1986). Big things are carnival, inverting social rules, promising some weird utopia (Krahn 171). As a collectivity, the larger psycho-political and metaphysical roles of big things become apparent. For Australia, the crucial question big things raise is the nature of our relationship with the land. Most of white Australia, huddled in cities on the seaboard, has a fear of the empty space at the heart of the continent. Big things are an attempt to assert that the settlers can match the dimensions of the land as, community by community, we write ourselves upon the land. The problem that big things highlight rather than obscure, the problem that can never be sublimated, that constantly erupts from the collective unconscious is that the ownership of the land remains contested, sometimes in the courts, sometimes in the streets, but most importantly in the hearts and dreams of the whole Australian people. All this land once had its own indigenous stories and big things may be seen as a pathetic attempt to replace, re-define and retell those stories by the interlopers now living on the land. "...Big things work allegorically, effacing, most notably, Aboriginal definitions of regional, tribal, spiritual, linguistic or other space" (Barcan 37). There is a sense in which big things are white trash barely obscuring black deaths (Nyoongah 12-14). But like a student's job-work over an old master's self portrait, big things invite us to peek through to the real totems of this land, totems enshrined in the creation myths of the indigenous dreaming. This is big things' contribution to the reconciliation process, to remind us of the fragile hold of white Australia on the land and to demand respect for the stories big things seek to displace. And that is the real big thing for white Australia in the reconciliation process, to accept these stories as our own so the land owns us. This is a much bigger leap than just saying sorry but in some strange way it has already commenced in the massive, mega-fauna that even now are rising from the land like the harbingers of a new dreamtime. A number of authors complain that, intentionally or otherwise, big things exclude indigenous flora and fauna and suggest that this points to a denial of history (Amdur 13, Barcan 36). But in recent years there has been a flood of big indigenous icons, many owned by indigenous corporations: big koalas, big kangaroos, big crocodiles, big bunyips and big barramundi. There is still the potential for indigenous artists to turn the joke around by creating big ancestral beings including rainbow serpents and the like. As Krahn (163) says: "I fear there must have been a Big Aboriginal Elder somewhere, gazing wistfully from the edge of town. But why a chicken?" Works Cited Amdur, Mark. It Really Is A Big Country . Sydney: Angus & Robertson, 1981. Barcan, Ruth. "Big Things: Consumer Totemism and Serial Monumentality." Linq 23.2 (1996): 31-39. Cane Toad Collective. "Big Things." Cane Toad Times 1 1983: 18-23. Eco, Umberto. Travels in Hyperreality. San Diego: Harcourt Brace, 1986. Gebhard, David. "Introduction." California Crazy: Roadside Vernacular Architecture . Eds. Jim Heimann and Rip Georges. San Francisco: Chronicle, 1985. 11-25. Heimann, Jim and Rip Georges. California Crazy: Roadside Vernacular Architecture . San Francisco: Chronicle, 1985. Krahn, Uli "The Arrested Fairground, or, Big Things as Oxymoron of Movement." Antithesis 13 (2002): 157-176. Negus, George, "Big Things", New Dimensions (In Time) . 21 July 2003. 26 September 2003 < http://www.abc.net.au/dimensions/dimensions_in_time/Transcripts/2003_default.htm >. Nyoongah, Janine Little. "'Unsinkable' Big Things: Spectacle, Race, and Class through Elvis, Titanic, O.J. and Sumo." Overland 148 (1997): 12-15. Reekie, Gail. "Nineteenth-Century Urbanization." Australian Studies: A Survey. Ed. James Walter. Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1989. Stockwell, Stephen. "Cairns Collossi." Cane Toad Times 2 1984: 21. Ward, Russel. The Australian Legend . Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1989. Links http://members.ozemail.com.au/~arundell/bigthing.htm http://www.alphalink.com.au/~richardb/page4.htm http://www.general.uwa.edu.au/u/rpinna/big/big_things_intro.html http://www.bigthings.com.au/ http://www.alphalink.com.au/~richardb/page4.htm Citation reference for this article MLA Style Stockwell, Stephen & Carlisle, Bethany. "Big Things" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0311/6-stockwell-carlisle-big-things.php>. APA Style Stockwell, S. & Carlisle, B. (2003, Nov 10). Big Things. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 6, <http://www.media-culture.org.au/0311/6-stockwell-carlisle-big-things.php>

In The Threshold of the Visible World, Kaja Silverman advances a subtle, ethical, post-Lacanian account of what constitutes “the active gift of love” and how this might be expressed on the screen. She argues for an orientation of subject to love object which is not merely an alternative to romantic passion, but an account of how identification of the loving subject and love object “might function in a way that results in neither the triumph of self-sameness, nor craven submission to an exteriorised but essentialized ideal”. In a move particularly relevant to our focus in this paper, she goes on to suggest that a gift of love so constituted entails an escape from conformity with culturally dictated ideals and thence a capacity “to put ourselves in a positive identificatory relation to bodies which we have been taught to abhor and repudiate” (79). Two lesbian/gay teen films of the late 1990s – Lukas Moodysson’s Fucking Åmål (1998; also known as Show Me Love) and Simon Shore’s Get Real (1999) – offer an illuminating contrast in the ways they deal with the possibility of the gift of love in the conflictual contexts both of teenage gay and lesbian love and sexuality, and of small-town spaces. Space solicits desire, but the sexual frisson that is evoked through encounters in various spaces in film depicted as offering excitement, risk, and bodily pleasures seems limited in three ways. First, the progression from desire to love is severely circumscribed by cultural presuppositions about the physical and social attributes of appropriate love objects. This is particularly evident in the Hollywood teen film, with its recurrent male and female Cinderella roles. Second, the desire represented is predominantly heterosexual, so the appropriate love object is further specified by the assumption of heteronormativity. Finally, there is a persistent attribution of space to woman and time to man – as early as the late eighteenth century William Blake had written, “Space is a woman” (in Bal 169) – and although this has been questioned by feminist thinkers (see Irigaray 1987) it still pervades filmic imagery. As Sue Best notes, the bounded spaces that people inhabit – “the nation, regions, cities and the home” – often rely on feminine metaphors to describe their attributes, contours, architecture; in the case of the romantic ‘home’, its enclosures suggest a warm, uterine space and maternal care. In a related sense, the open spaces of the countryside, the city streets and solitary travel have connoted a masculine space and prerogative (182-3). Traditionally, man moves through these spaces with a sense of temporal purpose, while woman bides her time in bounded domestic space. In Fucking Åmål, the film’s preoccupation with enclosed spaces, and especially the domestic spaces of home and school, on one hand generates an intense mood of claustrophobia while, on the other, communicates the terrifying aloneness of the young person abjected by the “in”-crowd. A measure of the inanity of the teenage boys of this small Swedish community is the unexamined misogyny of their spatial thinking, as when, for example, Jessica’s boyfriend Markus asserts that boys are interested in and understand technology, like cell phones, and that girls are instead good at things like "make-up and looking good". Get Real expresses the contrast more as that of outside and inside: the male domain of the sports field set against the interior space of the room where girls and boys like Steven (“I don’t smoke or play football and have an IQ over 25”) produce the school magazine. While these binaristic notions of gender and space serve as useful means for considering the restrictive nature of masculine and feminine constructions which still exist in various contemporary societies, they are also limited and limiting when it comes to thinking beyond a heterosexual framework. The imbrication of space and woman could account for the ongoing censure, disruption, and violation of feminised movement in so-called masculinised spaces. The notion of transgressing across spaces is the underlying theme of both Get Real and Fucking Åmål. Both films, with their “coming out” narratives, move away from conventional cinematic representations of teen love. Moreover, they provide a cinematic space in which the female or male body is a source of same-sex pleasure and desire, and offer viewers a space not defined by the other gender or by a narrative progress towards heterosexual romance and fulfilment. Consequently, the characters’ sensual/sexual encounters privilege bodily pleasure, response, and the ability to go beyond “the blind spot” of patriarchal sexuality (Irigaray 1985). Where they differ is that Fucking Åmål depicts Elin (the “love object”) progressing so far in her love for Agnes that her triumphant coming out is simultaneously an affirmation of a body universally abhorred and repudiated within the dominant youth community. There is no suggestion, for example, that Agnes will need to abandon her loose, oversized clothes and her trousers in favour of Elin’s short skirts and low-cut tops (although there is a hint that Elin may find Agnes’s intellectual interests more engrossing than the belated and etiolated versions of popular culture she has up until now inhabited). In contrast to Fucking Åmål, Get Real depicts the ultimate failure of John Dixon (the love object) to acknowledge love for Steven Carter, abhorred and repudiated by male peers for his suspected (and actual) homosexuality. Space is a shifting signifier which points to, but does not anchor, meaning across social, cultural, and territorial dimensions. In a Foucauldian sense, space is often linked to concepts of power. Furthermore, space, particularly queer space, becomes both a visual and metaphorical entity which needs to be interrogated in terms of its relationship to, and representation through, the eye of the beholder. In Get Real and Fucking Åmål “looking” becomes a complex play between characters and viewers. The specular logic that operates within the conventional notions of the gaze, with its underlying structure of a dominant subject and submissive object, is thus both interrogated and undercut (Mulvey). In Get Real a hole in a public toilet wall provides a spatial site for spying on illicit gay sexual encounters as well as a means for checking out a potential sexual partner. Such voyeurism is perverse as it disrupts the visual pleasure which has become intimately tied to patriarchal ideology with its structures of looking (male) and being looked at (female). This is one instance (and there are others in both films) when looking occupies a queer space, demonstrating complicity with voyeurism, desire, and visual pleasure, and disrupting the association of the gaze with rigid gender roles. The act of looking that the characters undertake also helps to make the viewer aware of the particular quality of their own gaze. The films contrive to position the viewer in ways that focus attention on the specific nature of his/her gaze as we become witness/voyeur to the characters’ spatial trajectories across private and public spaces - bedroom, toilet, home, school. Early in Fucking Åmål the gaze is invited and dismantled when Elin goes half undressed to try on clothes in front of the mirror in the apartment block’s lift, only to find that her sister Jessica has forgotten to bring the clothes. By overtly and comically replacing the narcissistic gaze with the gaze of the camera (and hence audience) the film problematizes looking, and begins to establish the situation whereby to look at Elin is to share the looking with Agnes, effectively queering the look. Further deconstructions of the look, or gaze, occur in the contrasting femme/butch representations of Elin and Agnes. The erotic pleasure of looking (at Elin) provides a counterpoint of gazes and highlights the vicissitudes of desire. While Elin’s sexy body and conventional beauty conform to an image of female desirability and make her the object of male fantasy, she is also the love object of Agnes. However, Elin’s feisty, restless character refuses any image of passive femininity. Rather, she embodies an active, desiring female subjectivity. Thus, the space of both female and male spectatorship is open to erotic imaginings. By contrast, the film undoes the tradition of fetishisation associated with the male gaze through the character of Agnes: she wears no makeup, hides her body in oversized clothing, and her hair is unadorned and simply styled. Thus, the camera’s attention to Agnes’s silent watching of Elin undermines the male gaze, creating a female gaze and a space of female desire. A comparable effect is achieved in Get Real when Steven uses his membership of the school magazine committee to suggest that a queer community exists within the school. First, and more subtly, the photographs he takes of John Dixon as school sporting hero queer the act of looking: Steven’s father, a professional photographer, sees them as examples of photographic art; John’s father views them as a celebration of a finely tuned athletic body; girls look at them heterosexually; but from Steven’s perspective they are gay pin-ups. The ground of a love relationship, as Silverman argues, is to posit the other rather than the self as the cause of desire, and hence to perceive perfection in the features of another and to celebrate that perceived perfection. This is the work performed by Steven’s photographs of John, and the irony inherent in the fact that the significance of the photographs depends on the interpretation of the beholder exemplifies how irony operates in these films to change how people interpret the “cultural screen”, the mental picture of society which they have naturalised. In Fucking Åmål, a class photograph of Elin in a school magazine also serves to queer the act of looking as it represents the love object of both Johan and Agnes. Whereas Johan cuts out Elin’s image, effectively excising her from the others in the photograph, and stores it in his wallet, Agnes is content to contemplate the image in the privacy of her bedroom, leaving it intact. Elin’s image has a strong erotic and visual impact on both Johan and Agnes, connoting “a to-be-looked-at-ness”, and the actions by Johan and Agnes to look and to possess can be understood in psychoanalytic terms as their attempt to turn the represented image into a fetish object (Mulvey). In a related way to Steven’s photograph of John Dixon as a gay pin-up, Agnes is able to reinvest erotically in the body of another woman. Steven’s second intervention by means of the magazine is to write the “Get Real” article about youth homosexuality. Once this is banned by the school Principal, it functions as a space of absence which defines and publicises the lack at the heart of the community. Further, in so far as it is lack which makes desire possible, Steven’s manifesto on a more individual level legitimises that lack for homosexual subjects. Get Real quite explicitly seeks to overturn the heterosexist stereotype of gays as lonely and unhappy figures, and to offer a different perspective on gay subjectivity and sexuality. Fucking Åmål performs the same work for the subjectivity and sexuality of young lesbians, as Agnes works through the trauma of her initial rejection by Elin and her “outing” at home, and Elin works through the identity crisis prompted by her emerging desire for Agnes. For each, the journey from abjection to joy ends triumphantly as, with no apparent threat of retribution, they redefine the significance of key spaces, of school and home. Both films use space to articulate the characters’ joys and anguish as they struggle with the conflicting effects of love and desire for another, the taunts they suffer from others because of their sexuality, and the eventual amelioration of the restrictions of their spatial location. While the gaze offers a metaphorical space for looking in Get Real and Fucking Åmål, space is also defined in regional and sexual terms. Elin and Agnes are space-bound characters, living within the claustrophobic confines of small town Åmål (Sweden). The original title of the film (Fucking Åmål), rather than the more bland, international release title (Show Me Love), captures teenage boredom with the stifling confines of their environment. Elin’s howls of exasperation give voice to her feelings of entrapment: “Why do we have to live in fucking Åmål? When something’s ‘in’ in the rest of the world, it’s already ‘out’ by the time it gets here.” When Elin and Agnes attempt an escape by hitching a ride out of town, their make-out session in the backseat of their lift’s car is accompanied by Foreigner’s “I want to know what love is”; the interplay of song lyrics, the young lovers’ sexual play, and their eventual eviction from the car offering an ironic performance that rehearses the double meaning of the film’s title and the story’s vexed themes of subjection and subjectivity. The visual style of Fucking Åmål also adds to the pervading sense of containment that the young protagonists experience. Interior domestic scenes dominate and appear spatially constrained. Often a low-key colour scheme serves as an iconic sign indicating the metaphorical nature of the drabness of Åmål. Agnes, as a relative newcomer to Åmål, occupies the spatial fringe both in terms of her strangeness to the place and her perceived queerness. She is the subject of ridicule, innuendo, and ostracism by her peers. Agnes’s marginalisation and abjection are metaphorically expressed through camera framing and tracking – close-ups capture her feelings of rejection and aloneness, and her movements in public spaces, such as the school canteen and corridors, are often confined to the perimeters or the background. By contrast, Elin appears to be in the spatial centre as she is a popular and sexually desirable young woman. It is when she falls in love with Agnes that she too finds herself dislocated, both within her self and within her home town. The stifling confines of Åmål offer limited recreational spaces for its youth, with the urban shopping centre and park are places for congregation and social contact. Ironically, communal spaces, such as the school and the park, effect a spatial intimacy through proximity; yet, the heterosexual imperative that operates in these public and populated spaces compels Elin and Agnes to effect a spatial distance with its necessary emotional and physical separation. When Elin and Agnes finally ‘come out’, it is part of a broader teen rebellion against continuing ennui and oppressive strictures that limit their lives. Steven (Get Real) lives a privileged middle class life in Basingstoke (Hampshire, UK) although this is unsettled by a pervasive sense of homophobic surveillance, locally and immediately embodied in the school’s masculinist bullies, but networked more widely through fathers, school principals, and the police. As Foucault argued, surveillance has a disciplinary function because individuals are made conscious that they are being watched and judged from a normalising perspective. This being so, even open spaces in Get Real have a claustrophobic effect. The park where Steven goes in quest of sexual contact thus signifies ambiguously: messages are passed from within the smallest space (a cubicle within the toilet) but once outside an individual’s presence can be registered by any neighbour, and the concealed spaces of the woodland are subjected to police raids. The film neatly ties this physical surveillance to mental surveillance when Steven’s father confronts him about being seen in the park when he was supposed to have been working on his essay project about youth in the contemporary world. For Steven, the project is a sham because he is only enabled to write from within the normalised perspective which excludes himself. Communication at the highest level available to him – a prize-winning essay in a public competition – thus denies him any subjective agency. The film’s ironic chain thus entails first the winning of the prize (but only because his father secretly submitted Steven’s discarded essay) and then Steven’s subsequent use of the award ceremony to present his other, suppressed essay and to declare his sexual orientation. In both films, gay and lesbian sexualities are constructed as paradoxical spaces. On the one hand, gay and lesbian desires and identities are distanced from the heterosexual paradigm, yet firmly embedded within it and (therefore subject to) homophobic discourses. Difference is not tolerated. In Fucking Åmål, characters are marginalised because of physical and sexual difference; in Get Real, difference is defined in terms of class, sexuality, and hegemonic masculinity. Both films offer positive outcomes which affirm a resignification of the “cultural screen”. By depicting the dystopic effect of heteronormative society on the principal gay and lesbian characters, each film functions to highlight issues of access to and place within the spatial public sphere. From Fucking Åmål, indeed, we might infer that such strategies as the ironic transformation of the gaze have the potential to produce utopian visions. Despite the strategy of allowing Steven one further transformation of public space, when he seizes a public forum to deliver his coming-out speech, Get Real offers a less utopian vision, but still a firm sense that social space has undergone significant disruption. While Elin comes to accept and realise the value of Agnes’s original “gift of love” to her, John Dixon is unable to move beyond the restrictive confines of heteronormative space and therefore rejects Steven’s public and personal gift of love. Nevertheless, in both films, it is through the agential actions of Elin, Agnes, and Steven in publicly declaring their love for the other that serves as an active signifier, openly challenging the sexualised space of their school and community: a space that passively accepts the kind of orthodoxy that naturalises heterosexualised ways of looking and loving, and abhors and repudiates homosexual/lesbian desire. In this sense, there is an opening up of a queer space of desire which exerts its own form of resistance and defiance to patriarchal discourse. Works Cited Bal, Mieke. Death and Dissymmetry: The Politics of Coherence in the Book of Judges. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988. Best, Sue. “Sexualising space”. Eds. Elizabeth. Grosz & Elspeth Probyn Sexy Bodies: The strange Carnalities of Feminism. London & New York: Routledge, 1995. 181-194. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish : The Birth of the Prison. London: A. Lane (Penguin Books), 1977. Irigaray, Luce. Speculum of the Other Woman, trans. G.C. Gill. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1985. Irigaray, Luce. “Sexual difference”. Ed. Toril Moi, French Feminist Thought: A Reader. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987. 118-130. Mulvey, Laura. “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” (1975) reprinted in Visual and Other Pleasures. London: Macmillan, 1989. 29-37. Silverman, Kaja. The Threshold of the Visible World. New York: Routledge, 1996. Filmography Fucking Åmål (Show Me Love). Dir./writer Lukas Moodysson. WN Danubius/ITA Slovakia, 1998. Get Real. Dir. Simon Shore. Paramount, 1999. Links linenoise.co.uk (Accessed 31/10/02) cinephiles.net (Accessed 31/10/02) brightlightsfilm.com (Accessed 31/10.02) hollywood.com (Accessed 31/10/02) movie-reviews.colossus.net (Accessed 31/10/02) culturevulture.net (Accessed 31/10/02) english.lsu.edu (Accessed 3/11/02) Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Mallan, Kerry and Stephens, John. "Love’s Coming (Out)" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.6 (2002). Dn Month Year < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0211/lovescomingout.php>. APA Style Mallan, K. & Stephens, J., (2002, Nov 20). Love’s Coming (Out). M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 5,(6). Retrieved Month Dn, Year, from http://www.media-culture.org.au/0211/lovescomingout.html