Journal articles on the topic 'Nick Adams'

“Fathers and Sons” is the final tale in Ernest Hemingway’s Winner Take Nothing and last published Nick Adams Story. This article employs ecocriticism to explore the ecological consciousness in the short story. It introduces the definition of ecocriticism and briefly describes the natural world in Hemingway’s biography, then focuses on the exploration of Hemingway’s reminiscence of the lost natural beauty in “Fathers and Sons”. The study holds that Hemingway artistically associated Nick Adams’ reminiscence of his beloved father with the loss of ecological beauty in the Michigan State. Through the portrayal of Nick’s memories, Hemingway exposed human being’s ruin of nature and showed his sympathy for the destroyed ecology. The story actually reflects the Hemingway’s yearning towards the lost beauty of nature.

“Big Two-Hearted River” is one of the Nick Adams Stories from Ernest Hemingway’s short story collection In Our Time. The story is told in a detailed description of Nick’s “trivial” experience in his Michigan resort after the veteran was back from the First World War. Up to now, the Nick Adams stories together with Hemingway’s other works have been interpreted by literary critics from different perspectives, among which the code hero image, death consciousness, nihilism, alienation and the artistic features are usually focused upon. This article intends to investigate “Big Two-Hearted River” from an eco-critical point of view. The study points out that Hemingway expressed his ecological consciousness in this short story about the harmonious relationship between man and nature; through the detailed narration of Nick’s simple experience of camping and fishing, “Big Two-Hearted River” vividly exposes the theme of returning to nature. The study actually reflects Hemingway’s ecological consciousness based on his yearning towards the beauty of nature.

AbstractThis article aims to contribute to the body of scholarly discussion surrounding Ernest Hemingway’s Nick Adams Stories as interconnected works of subtle yet complex depictions of trauma and memory. It primarily focuses on two stories, “Now I Lay Me” and “A Way You’ll Never Be,” and attempts to unearth hidden parallels between the two, ultimately positing that each story informs the other in vital ways. The article does so through an examination of memory types, the narrative nature of episodic personal memory, and incorporation of an analysis on the disruptive nature of traumatic memory. Using that framework, it examines the function of screen memory and trauma in “Now I Lay Me,” a story of nocturnal haunting, and unearths the existence of dual traumas within the text, those suffered in combat and those in childhood. Connections are made to the events and experiences of “A Way You’ll Never Be,” with the episodes Nick suffers interpreted as dreams. Thus, the image of the unplaceable yellow house is viewed as a manifestation of the domestic trauma of Adams’s childhood, with the home itself representative of the terror of obliteration, a second trauma revealed and existing beyond the boundaries of the text.

Among the early critics who commented on the discrepancies between what "is" and what "seems" in "The Killers" was Edward C. Sampson, who pointed out in 1952 that very little in the story is what it appears to be: Henry's, which serves no alcoholic beverages, is a converted tavern run by George; AI and Max order breakfast at a lunch counter whose menu features dinner; the orders are mixed up; the time on the clock is wrong; Mrs. Hirsch runs Mrs. Bell's rooming house; and so on (item 2). Here Sampson let the matter rest, and most subsequent commentators have been content to see these discrepancies as "framing" the portrait of the disillusioned Nick Adams, who by story's end finds that the world of appearances conceals a terrifying reality beyond his imagination. There is, however, more to the narrative poetics of "The Killers" than a handful of discrepancies, which - significant as they are - do not explain the mechanics or, for that matter, the presence of complementarity throughout the story.

Among the early critics who commented on the discrepancies between what "is" and what "seems" in "The Killers" was Edward C. Sampson, who pointed out in 1952 that very little in the story is what it appears to be: Henry's, which serves no alcoholic beverages, is a converted tavern run by George; AI and Max order breakfast at a lunch counter whose menu features dinner; the orders are mixed up; the time on the clock is wrong; Mrs. Hirsch runs Mrs. Bell's rooming house; and so on (item 2). Here Sampson let the matter rest, and most subsequent commentators have been content to see these discrepancies as "framing" the portrait of the disillusioned Nick Adams, who by story's end finds that the world of appearances conceals a terrifying reality beyond his imagination. There is, however, more to the narrative poetics of "The Killers" than a handful of discrepancies, which - significant as they are - do not explain the mechanics or, for that matter, the presence of complementarity throughout the story.

Born in Vermont in 1981, and raised in Rhode Island, then based in New York, the young post-minimalist composer Nico Muhly was, at the age of 20, commissioned by the Juilliard School to write Music in Transition for versatile pianist Bruce Brubaker. Later Brubaker and Muhly created a performance piece ‘involving electronic commentaries and “graffiti” overlaid on live performances of piano sonatas by Haydn’, to quote the Kings Place programme notes for Muhly's new piece Drones and Piano, which received its UK première on 19 May, with Brubaker at the keyboard. Again fragments of Haydn are used, ‘as well as lexia from John Adams’ Phrygian Gates, Janáček, … along with the eighth hymn by Thomas Tallis'.

Przedmiotem artykułu jest krytyczna analiza budżetu obywatelskiego ze szczególnym uwzględnieniem jego poznańskiej odsłony z 2013 r. Autorzy rozważają, jakich informacji o priorytetach inwestycyjnych mieszkańców, a także o preferowanych przez nich typach relacji obywatel–urzędnik, dostarczają wnioski zgłoszone do poznańskiego budżetu obywatelskiego. Rozpatrują i komentują prawdopodobne linie krytyki tej formy partycypacji; zastanawiają się także nad ograniczeniami i potencjalnymi ścieżkami rozwoju socjologicznej refleksji nad tzw. zwrotem społecznym. Artykuł zawiera też ocenę formuły budżetu obywatelskiego stosowanej obecnej w Poznaniu w kategoriach jej zdolności do dostarczenia decydentom wyobraźni, wrażliwości i horyzontów inwestycyjnych nieobecnych, bądź mało obecnych w najpopularniejszych strategiach rozwoju miasta, oraz uwzględniania mieszkańców zwykle wykluczonych z podobnych form partycypacji społecznej. W tekście obecna jest także próba zaproponowania warunków, które w większym stopniu sprzyjałyby realizacji za pomocą budżetu obywatelskiego tak sformułowanych celów.

Na podstawie tekstów prozatorskich i poetyckich zamieszczonych w dwóch czasopismach wydawanych w latach 1932-1939 przez krakowski zakład wychowawczy albertynów poddano analizie przedstawiany w nich językowy obraz Adama Chmielowskiego – br. Alberta. Stwierdzono prymat profili związanych z jego życiem duchowym i działalnością zakonną: święty, zakonnik, założyciel zgromadzenia, mistrz i nauczyciel, opiekun ubogich. Na uboczu pozostają profile artysta i przyjaciel. Tworząca wymienione profile siatka leksykalna i dopełniające ją wartościujące pozytywnie określenia składają się na spójny obraz br. Alberta uznawanego za świętego jeszcze przed oficjalnym wyniesieniem go na ołtarze.

Artykuł omawia główne tezy esejów Charles’a Journeta, poświęconych tema­tyce mesjanizmu oraz polskiej kulturze narodowej. Trzy z nich ujrzały światło dzienne w polskim tłumaczeniu po raz pierwszy w 2017 roku. Stanowią one ciekawy epizod pozytywnej recepcji polskiego romantyzmu, zwłaszcza nurtu myśli religijnej i politycznej, jakim był mesjanizm. Niniejszy szkic odsłania sposób lektury teologa i metody jego postępowania z tekstem prelekcji Adama Mickiewicza. Rekonstruując myśl Journeta, wskazuje się tu na podstawowe błędy romantycznego mesjanizmu. Równocześnie podkreśla się wiele przesła­nek świadczących o oryginalności założeń i postulatów zawartych w wykła­dach o literaturze słowiańskiej, z których najważniejsze dotyczą m.in. wątków obecnych we współczesnej społecznej nauce katolickiej.

Celem artykułu jest skonfrontowanie ze sobą dwóch stanowisk, przynależnych do różnych obszarów szeroko rozumianej refleksji filozoficznej – pluralizmu etycznego, którym od lat zajmuje się autorka niniejszego tekstu, oraz holizmu prawniczego, zaproponowanego przez Adama Zienkiewicza w jego niedawno wydanej książce. Punktem wyjścia do zestawienia obu pozycji jest ich charakterystyka, ze szczególnym uwzględnieniem uwikłanych w nich założeń. Przeprowadzona analiza pozwala wysunąć tezę o zaskakującej przystawalności obu wchodzących w grę stanowisk. Nie tylko bowiem harmonizują one ze sobą, lecz także wzajemnie się dopełniają. W efekcie oba zyskują: pluralizm wartości przełożenie na idee, które mają stricte praktyczne zastosowanie, zaś holizm prawniczy – mocne ugruntowanie w etyce.

Q. Sir, I would like to know something about messengers and interpreters like Adamu Jakada.A. Adamu Jakada was the messenger between Emir Abbas and the Europeans. Some of the messengers and interpreters were employed by the emir, and they were royal slaves. Whenever they did something wrong they were replaced by others. Adamu was a slave of the emir.Q. Where and when was he born?A. He was born in Kano, and he came from the family of slaves.Q. Is there any story about him?A. All we know is that he was chosen by the District Officer (D.O.) He would take messages from the emir to the white men and return with the white man's reply to the emir.Q. Were messengers and interpreters powerful?A. Yes, indeed.Q. Were they nice people?A. It is when they became powerful that issues of misunderstanding occurred. You know when somebody becomes powerful the person would demonstrate good and bad qualities. Some of the messengers and interpreters were like that.Q. Were they wealthy?A. They were slaves of the emir. Everything that they owned, they took them from the servants of the emir. Also, they were paid by government.Q. What did people think of their work?A. People respected and feared them because of their closeness to the emir and the Europeans.Q. Did they speak or write in English?A. Before they learnt English they used to work as servants to the Europeans. So they learned English from them.

Artykuł podejmuje temat ewolucji w postrzeganiu ideału literackiej muzyczności wśród przedstawicieli francuskiego symbolizmu koncentrując uwagę zwłaszcza twórczość Baudelaire’a i Mallarmégo. Pierwszy z nich, uważany za prekursora symbolizmu, stosował prozodię, co można zaobserwować w jego twórczości łączącej różne sztuki i wykorzystującej tematy muzyczne do budowania metaforycznych ujęć malarstwa i poezji. Natomiast poezja Mallarmégo zbliża się do muzyki na poziomie formy. Wykorzystanie akustycznego aspektu tekstu, charakterystyczne dla poezji Verlaine, przechodzi przez sztuczny system instrumentacji słownej René Ghila. Z kolei, utwory Villiers de l’Isle Adama i Jules Laforgue’a pokazują, że tematy muzyczne są stopniowo marginalizowane, co otwiera drogę do milczenia. To zupełna cisza, która w najlepszy sposób przedstawia ideał muzyczności Mallarmégo jako cichy koncert, rozbrzmiewający w umyśle czytelnika.

Artykuł poświęcony jest funkcjonowaniu legend jaćwieskich oraz postaci demonicznych pogranicza polsko-białoruskiego i polsko-litewskiego na Podlasiu w fabułach współczesnych komiksów, powieści graficznych uznanych autorów: Karola Kalinowskiego i Adama Święckiego. Analizowane komiksy mają różną wartość artystyczną, ale łączy je to, iż ich historie ulokowane są na Podlasiu, a występujące w nich motywy z kultury słowiańskiej cechuje synkretyzm. Na przykładzie komiksowej twórczości dwóch autorów zaprezentowano sposoby przywołań starych podań właściwych dla Podlasia we współczesnej kulturze popularnej. Zademonstrowano także znaczenie sztuki komiksu jako istotnego nośnika przekazu różnych tradycji, które w sposób prosty i bezpośredni trafiają do współczesnych odbiorców, a w niektórych przypadkach zachowują wierność wielokulturowej, obfitej w różne wierzenia lokalności, pozwalając czytelnikowi na zaznajomienie się i zrozumienie tej części ważnej dla regionu tradycji.

Alina Kowalczykowa analizuje szczegółowo w swoim artykule biografię Adama Mickiewicza (1798–1855). Interesuje ją tutaj szczególnie wątek jego znajomości z Marylą Wereszczakówną (1799–1863) i właściwy okres zadzierzgnięcia przez nich pierwszej znajomości, która przerodziła się później w romantyczną miłość nabierając zarazem znamion legendy literackiej. Ich relacja wzbudza wciąż, zdaniem Kowalczykowej, żywe zainteresowanie oraz wątpliwości badaczy. Nie ma bowiem, przede wszystkim, zgody w kwestii podstawowej: kiedy się oni poznali, kiedy zakochali? Temat pozostaje zatem delikatny. Był zresztą w czasach wieszcza pomijany milczeniem. Wszelkie ustalenia wyrastają z rekonstrukcji wydarzeń, których (w imię dyskrecji) nikt porządnie nie opisywał. W rezultacie podstawę opowieści o miłości Mickiewicza oraz Wereszczakówny stanowią drobne wzmianki, czerpane z listów filomatów i ze wspomnień. Są przypadkowe i kalekie. Nie zawsze dają się złożyć w spójną całość.

Artykuł traktuje o sposobach opisywania zagadnienia indywidualnej i zorganizowanej pomocy Żydom w polskim dyskursie historycznym w latach 1945-2008. Analizie poddano wypowiedzi prasowe, artykuły naukowe i popularnonaukowe, a wreszcie wydawnictwa książkowe ukazujące się w Polsce (w tym również prace historyków Żydowskiego Instytutu Historycznego w Warszawie), a także literaturę wychodzącą na emigracji. Omówiono także wykorzystywaną w tekstach polskich badaczy bazę źródłową, stosowane przez nich metody analizy, a także polityczne uwarunkowania dyskursu na temat stosunków polsko-żydowskich w okresie niemieckiej okupacji wyodrębniając najistotniejsze cezury.Zwrócono szczególną uwagę na tendencje panujące w literaturze historycznej w okresie tuż powojennym, w drugiej połowie lat sześćdziesiątych (z kampanią antysyjonistyczną na czele), w połowie lat osiemdziesiątych a wreszcie w latach 2000-2006. Omówiono wszystkie najważniejsze publikacje na temat pomocy Żydom autorstwa T. Berenstein i Adama Rutkowskiego, Szymona Datnera, Władysaław Bartoszewskiego, Kazimierza Iranka-Osmeckiego, Teresy Prekerowej, Jana T. Grossa oraz działalność badawczą i edukacyjną Głównej Komisji Badania Zbrodni Hitlerowskich w Polsce, Związku Bojowników o Wolność i Demokrację oraz Instytutu pamięci Narodowej.

Benedict Anderson; Under three flags; Anarchism and the anticolonial imagination (Greg Bankoff) Leakthina Chau-Pech Ollier, Tim Winter (eds); Expressions of Cambodia; The politics of tradition, identity and change (David Chandler) Ying Shing Anthony Chung; A descriptive grammar of Merei (Vanuatu) (Alexandre François) Yasuyuki Matsumoto; Financial fragility and instability in Indonesia (David C. Cole) Mason C. Hoadley; Public administration; Indonesian norms versus Western forms (Jan Kees van Donge) Samuel S. Dhoraisingam; Peranakan Indians of Singapore and Melaka (Joseph M. Fernando) Vatthana Pholsena; Post-war Laos; The politics of culture, history and identity (Volker Grabowksy) Gert Oostindie; De parels en de kroon; Het koningshuis en de koloniën (Hans Hägerdal) Jean-Luc Maurer; Les Javanais du Caillou; Des affres de l’exil aux aléas de l’intégration; Sociologie historique de la communauté indonésienne de Nouvelle-Calédonie (Menno Hecker) Richard Stubbs; Rethinking Asia’s economic miracle; The political economy of war, prosperity and crisis (David Henley) Herman Th. Verstappen; Zwerftocht door een wereld in beweging (Sjoerd R. Jaarsma) Klokke, A.H. (ed. and transl.); Fishing, hunting and headhunting in the former culture of the Ngaju Dayak in Central Kalimantan; Notes from the manuscripts of the Ngaju Dayak authors Numan Kunum and Ison Birim; from the Legacy of Dr. H. Schaerer; With a recent additional chapter on hunting by Katuah Mia (Monica Janowski) Ian Proudfoot; Old Muslim calendars of Southeast Asia (Nico J.G. Kaptein) Garry Rodan; Transparency and authoritarian rule in Southeast Asia (Soe Tjen Marching) Greg Fealy, Virginia Hooker (eds); Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia; A contemporary sourcebook (Dick van der Meij) Eko Endarmoko; Tesaurus Bahasa Indonesia (Don van Minde) Charles J.-H. Macdonald; Uncultural behavior; An anthropological investigation of suicide in the southern Philippines (Raul Pertierra) Odd Arne Westad, Sophie Quinn-Judge (eds); The Third Indochina War; Conflict between China, Vietnam and Cambodia, 1972-79 (Vatthana Pholsena) B. Bouman; Ieder voor zich en de Republiek voor ons allen; De logistiek achter de Indonesische Revolutie 1945-1950 (Harry A. Poeze) Michel Gilquin; The Muslims of Thailand (Nathan Porath) Tom Boellstorff; The gay archipelago; Sexuality and nation in Indonesia (Raquel Reyes) Kathleen M. Adams; Art as politics; Re-crafting identities, tourism, and power in Tana Toraja, Indonesia (Dik Roth) Aris Ananta, Evi Nurvidya Arifin, Leo Suryadinata; Emerging democracy in Indonesia (Henk Schulte Nordholt) Casper Schuring; Abdulgani; 70 jaar nationalist van het eerste uur (Nico G. Schulte Nordholt) Geoff Wade (ed. and transl.); Southeast Asia in the Ming Shi-lu; An open access resource (Heather Sutherland) Alexander Horstmann, Reed L. Wadley (eds); Centering the margin; Agency and narrative in Southeast Asian Borderlands (Nicholas Tapp) Marieke Brand, Henk Schulte Nordholt, Fridus Steijlen (eds); Indië verteld; Herinneringen, 1930-1950 (Jean Gelman Taylor) Tin Maung Maung Than; State dominance in Myanmar; The political economy of industrialization (Sean Turnell) Henk Schulte Nordholt, Ireen Hoogenboom (eds); Indonesian transitions (Robert Wessing) In: Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde no. 163 (20075), no: 4, Leiden

Nowe regulacje prawne dotyczące organizacji, struktury i funkcjonowania nauki i szkolnictwa wyższego nazywane Konstytucją dla Nauki 2.0 (ustawa z 20 lipca 2018 r. – Prawo o szkolnictwie wyższym i nauce) oznaczają rewolucyjny charakter przekształceń polskich placówek nauki i szkolnictwa wyższego. Choć proponowane zmiany wpisują się w powszechne oczekiwania środowisk akademickich oczekujących reformy systemowej, to jednocześnie budzą wiele zastrzeżeń i wątpliwości, ale także i nadziei. Zmiany są jednak stopniowo wprowadzane w życie i trzeba się do nich dostosować (dura lex sed lex). Może więc warto, dostosowując swoje działania do nowych warunków funkcjonowania uniwersytetu, współtworząc nową jego strukturę, wpisując swoją działalność naukową i dydaktyczną w nowe dziedziny i dyscypliny naukowe, a także zajmując określone stanowisko w stosunku do dokonujących się zmian – mieć na uwadze także i to, że jako całość uniwersytet jest wspólnym naszym dobrem, a jego efektywne funkcjonowanie jest wspólnym interesem społeczności akademickiej. Celem niniejszego artykułu jest odniesienie idei wspólnego dobra i wspólnego interesu do pojmowania uniwersytetu i funkcjonowania jego społeczności. Jest to ważne w sytuacji, w jakiej nowe regulacje prawne, będąc nowym wyzwaniem, są prawdopodobnie także szansą na dalszy, pomyślny rozwój jednostki, w której wszyscy pracujemy. Tego rodzaju rozważania poprzedza rekonstrukcja stanu polskiej nauki i szkolnictwa wyższego w latach poprzedzających wprowadzane zmiany wraz z sugerowanymi przed laty kierunkami zmian. Może zawarta w tym tekście refleksja będzie pomocna w naszym myśleniu oraz działaniach. Niniejszy tekst jest oczywiście subiektywnym spojrzeniem autora tekstu i podobnego rodzaju oceną. Niniejszy artykuł jest dedykowany śp. prof. Teresie Rabskiej, wieloletniemu redaktorowi naczelnemu „Ruchu Prawniczego, Ekonomicznego i Socjologicznego”, która jako prorektor Uniwersytetu im. Adama Mickiewicza w Poznaniu w trudnych latach stanu wojennego zachęcała swoich współpracowników do obrony tego wspólnego dobra, jakim jest Uniwersytet oraz troski o jego pomyślność.

W XV - wiecznym kościelnym środowisku płockim obecne były dyskusje dotyczące spraw koncyliaryzmu, reformy Kościoła i husytyzmu, który w tym czasie stał się poważnym zagrożeniem jedności religijnej w Polsce. To, że interesowano się w Płocku sprawami husyckimi świadczą pozostawione na marginesach kart liczne glosy związane z zamieszczonymi w kodeksach traktatami (mowami) i kazaniami. Przechowywane kodeksy zawierały traktaty polemiczne i mowy antyhusyckie skierowane przeciw czterem artykułom praskim, których autorami byli zwolennicy Husa: Jan z Raguzy (Ioannis de Ragusio), z traktatem: De communione sub utraque specie oraz Septem regulae ad habendum verum sensum sacrarum scripturarum, Hieronim z Pragi zwany Mniszek, (Hieronymi Pragensis) z traktatem kazanodziejskim: Sermo, Gilles Charlier (Aegidus Carlerii), z traktatem: De punitione peccatorum publicorum, Henryk Kalteis, (Henrici Kalteisen), z traktatem: Oratio de libera predicatione verbi Dei, Jan de Palomar,(Ioannis de Palomar), z traktatem: De civili domino clericorum, nadto zamieszczono pisma: Excerpta ex Summa Benedicti abbatis Massiliae contra errores haereticorum; Responsiones ad obiectiones et pictura Ioannis Hus, traktat kardynała Juliana Cesarini, Oratio ad convertendos Bohemos oraz traktat Jana de Bachenstein decretorum doctoris, Sermo in concilio Basiliensi. O tym że husytyzm jako prąd myślowy z ukierunkowaniem religijno-społecznym dotarł na Mazowsze, dobitnie świadczą przechowywane księgi i zachowane na nich wpisy marginalne i proweniencyjne, rozczytane przez Adama Vetulaniego jeszcze przed 1939 rokiem. Wprawdzie nie są to traktaty, które zajmują się doktryną Kościoła w ujęciu husyckim, co raczej polemiczne w stosunku do tego ruchu. Zatem książka rękopiśmienna w kręgu kościelnym (katedralnym) płockim w XIV stuleciu, poprzez swoją tematykę służyła również w obronie obowiązującej doktryny katolickiej, niż z nią prowadzonej polemiki. Jednocześnie poprzez wspomniane księgi widoczny jest fakt zainteresowania nowym prądem religijnym w znacznie odległym od ośrodka akademickiego krakowskiego - Płocka i jego duchowieństwa związanego z kapitułą katedralną.

Studium stanowi część pierwszą dwuczęściowego przeglądu metodologii badawczych, z których pomocą w ciągu minionych dwustu lat odczytywano i interpretowano utwory literatów staropolskich, szczególnie Samuela Twardowskiego, Marcina Paszkowskiego, jak również Mikołaja Reja, Jana Kochanowskiego, Piotra Skargi i Wespazjana Kochowskiego oraz innych. Oglądem objąłem dzieje metodologii od pierwszych dziesięcioleci XIX wieku po wybuch II wojny światowej. Punkt wyjścia stanowią rozważania poświęcone pojęciu arcydzielności oraz regułom kształtowania się kanonu literatury staropolskiej. Jego wyłonienie dokonało się w czasach, gdy dominowało wartościowanie dzieła literackiego. Po odsunięciu retoryki jako macierzystej metodologii, z której udziałem powstawały teksty staropolskie, instrumentarium służącym do ich odczytania stały się wiodące w poszczególnych okresach literackich ideologie i prądy filozoficzne. Porzucono więc interpretację historyczną dzieła literackiego na rzecz interpretacji adaptacyjnej. Oglądem objąłem prace od panoram ukazujących przegląd całego piśmiennictwa staropolskiego po szczegółowe rozprawy, studia, szkice i przyczynki. Opracowania te przybierały formę opatrzonych adnotacjami spisów bibliograficznych, syntez historycznoliterackich, monografii gatunków oraz twórczości poszczególnych autorów. Uczeni doby oświecenia posługiwali się przede wszystkim metodą bio-bibliograficzną. Dążyli do tego, by objąć oglądem całość dziejów literatury polskiej. Początki historii literatury polskiej wiążą się z troską o wysoką jakość literackiej polszczyzny. Krytyczny ogląd dzieł literackich przeplata się z postrzeganiem literatury jako narzędzia nauczania historii, ponieważ w dziełach piśmienniczych dał o sobie znać tzw. stan ducha narodu. Bada się strukturę i styl dzieł, ich oddziaływanie na zbiorowe emocje w warstwie etycznej i w sferze wyobraźni. Znaczącą rolę w kształtowaniu metodologii odgrywała historiozofia. Oglądem objęto poglądy i metody czytania dzieł literackich stosowane m.in. przez Feliksa Bentkowskiego, Euzebiusza Słowackiego, Kazimierza Brodzińskiego, Adama Mickiewicza, Wacława Aleksandra Maciejowskiego (który swą wizję literatury dawnej oparł na koncepcji heglowskich trzech zwrotów: ludowego, narodowego i narodowo-ludowego), Piotra Chmielowskiego, Bronisława Chlebowskiego (obaj reprezentują pozytywistyczny genetyzm, drugi z nich sięgnął dodatkowo do antropogeograficznej koncepcji Karla Rittera), Aleksandra Brücknera, Stanisława Turowskiego, Ignacego Chrzanowskiego i wkraczającego w okres powojenny Juliusza Nowaka-Dłużewskiego. Przegląd uświadamia, że dla dawnych badaczy nie liczyła się autonomiczna wartość dzieła staropolskiego, lecz funkcjonalizacja jego przesłania wedle potrzeb obowiązujących w czasach współczesnych czytającym. Pracy dawnych uczonych zawdzięczamy zachowanie dorobku literatów staropolskich dla kolejnych pokoleń.

AimsThe term ‘medication error’ has numerous definitions, impeding comparison between studies and is susceptible to subjectivity.1 The Delphi Process is widely used in health research to achieve consensus and has been previously used to define and specify medication error scenarios in both paediatric and adult settings.2,3 Novel technology-generated errors are emerging with increasing use of health information technology (HIT).4 Application of earlier Delphi studies to novel errors and those common in the prescribing of infusions in paediatric intensive care is limited. This study aims to achieve consensus on medication error scenarios identified in a paediatric intensive care unit (PICU) that have not been previously defined.MethodsStage 1 identified the scenarios requiring consensus. These were grouped into 3 error categories: electronic prescribing, smart-pump and prescribing of PICU infusions. Stage 2 selected a multidisciplinary expert panel using both purposive and convenience sampling. Stage 3 involved iterative rounds of consensus using paper-based and newer e-Delphi techniques. Participants independently scored on a 9-point scale their extent of agreement on the inclusion of each scenario as an error. Median and inter-quartile ranges were used to assess group consensus and to provide controlled feedback after each round.Results19 scenarios requiring consensus were identified. A panel of 37 participants was selected, comprising of 15 doctors, 13 nurses and 9 pharmacists. 35 participants were from the study site, 1 pharmacist from a local PICU and 1 from a local NICU. Round 1 achieved consensus on 11 scenarios, increasing to 14 in Round 2. Round 3 consisted of 2 scenarios, both electronic prescribing related. Individual opinion on these was diverse, with 1 remaining equivocal after round 3. Some differences between healthcare professionals were found, but were only significant (p<0.05) for two and three scenarios in rounds 2 and 3 respectively.ConclusionThe Delphi Process can successfully be employed to reach consensus on HIT-generated novel errors. The complexity of electronic prescribing systems is evident in the included errors and the difficulty in obtaining consensus. In contrast, the broad consensus reached on all smart-pump scenarios reflects the known risks associated with infusion pumps. The included scenarios highlight the limitation of smart-pump technology as a single intervention. Further similar studies are likely to be required as more novel errors emerge with increased HIT implementation across the entire medication use process. This extended tool should add to the quality of future paediatric medication error studies across a broad range of settings.ReferencesLisby M, Nielsen LP, Brock B, et al. How are medication errors defined? A systematic literature review of definitions and characteristics. Int J Qual Health Care2010;22(6):507–18.Dean B, Barber N, Schachter M. What is a prescribing error?Qual Health Care2000;9(4):232–7.Ghaleb MA, Barber N, Dean Franklin B, et al. What constitutes a prescribing error in paediatrics?Qual Saf Health Care2005;14(5):352–7.Walsh KE, Landrigan CP, Adams WG, et al. Effect of computer order entry on prevention of serious medication errors in hospitalised children. Paediatrics2008;121(3):e421–7.

Background:Rheumatoid arthritis (RA) is a disease with significant remaining unmet medical needs for better treatments. Vagus nerve stimulation (VNS) to activate the inflammatory reflex (cholinergic anti-inflammatory pathway) represents a novel experimental therapy for RA.1Previously, we reported that inflammatory reflex activation by VNS reduced pro-inflammatory cytokine production and improved disease activity in a 17-patient rheumatoid arthritis (RA) proof-of-concept study using a reprogrammed epilepsy stimulator2; clinical improvement was sustained for 24 months without untoward safety signals.3Here we report the 48 months results from this long-term observational study.Objectives:Determine the long-term safety and efficacy of VNS for the treatment of RAMethods:In the primary study, a VNS device was implanted into 17 RA patients, mostly with insufficient response to multiple conventional and biologic DMARDs, on stable background of methotrexate (≤25 mg weekly) therapy2. The device electrically stimulated the vagus nerve, 1-4 min/day, over a 12-week open label period. On completion, subjects were offered to enroll into a follow-up study, where the study physicians were given flexibility to alter VNS dosing parameters and/or to add a biologic disease-modifying antirheumatic drug (DMARD) to the treatment regimen to induce disease remission. Clinical disease activity measures and safety were accessed over 4 years.Results:All patients electively continued VNS treatment in the long-term follow-up study, 4 subjects withdrew prior to month 48. Reasons for discontinuation were withdrawal of consent (N=3) and adverse event due to device discomfort (N=1). At the start of the follow-up study, the mean DAS28-CRP, CDAI and HAQ-DI were significantly reduced compared to the pre-implant baseline (mean difference± SD: DAS28-CRP=-1.60± 1.13, p<0.001; CDAI=-21.19± 13.5, p<0.001; HAQ-DI=-0.44± 0.49, p<0.01), and this effect was retained through 48 months. Patients using VNS monotherapy and those using a combination of VNS with biologic DMARDs exhibited stable improvements in DAS28-CRP, CDAI and HAQ-DI at month 48 (Table 1). Improvements were observed for patients who both previously had an insufficient response to targeted biological therapies as well those who had an insufficient response to standard DMARDs. No association was seen between DAS28-CRP and stimulation frequency (Range= 1X-8X/day). There was no difference in the adverse events profile between the two groups.Table 1.Efficacy of VNS treatment.Treatment ReinitiatedN=9VNS MonotherapyN=8TotalN=17Mo. 24Mo. 36Mo.48Mo. 24Mo. 36Mo. 48Mo. 24Mo. 36Mo. 48Mean change from baseline (SD)DAS28-CRP-2.58 (1.0)***-2.40 (1.0)**-2.28 (1.3)**-2.61 (1.3)*-1.77 (1.8)-2.0(1.7)-2.59 (1.1)***-2.19(1.2)**-2.17(1.4)**CDAI-24.06 (8.3)***-18.02 (13.3) *-16.2 (19.6)-33.5 (11.1)***-27.8 (16.0)*-27.9 (12.7)*-28.20 (10.5)***-21.93 (14.5)*-20.83(17.5)*HAQ-DI-.60 (0.64)*-.63(0.45)*-.31(0.60)-.89 (0.69)*-.88 (0.92)-.88(0.61)-0.73(0.66)***-0.73(0.64)**-0.54(0.64)**P<0.05, **P<0.01, ***P<0.001 versus primary study baseline (month -3.5)Conclusion:VNS was safe, well-tolerated, and resulted in significant and clinically important improvements in disease activity measures that were maintained over 48 months. These results support development of VNS devices as a new therapeutic option for RA treatment.References:[1]van Maanen MA, et al.Nat Rev Rheum2009[2]Koopman FA, et al.PNAS2016[3]Koopman FA, et al.Arthritis Rheum2018Disclosure of Interests:Frieda Koopman: None declared, Anne Musters: None declared, Marieke Backer: None declared, Danielle Gerlag Shareholder of: GlaxoSmithKline, Employee of: GlaxoSmithKline, Sanda Miljko: None declared, Simeon Grazio Speakers bureau: Abbvie., Roche, MSD, Eli Lilly, Pfizer, Mylan, Amgen, Fresenius Kabi, Stada, Berlin-Chemie, Sekib Sokolovic: None declared, Yaakov Levine Shareholder of: SetPoint Medical, Employee of: SetPoint Medical, Emmett Glass Employee of: SetPoint Medical, David Chernoff Shareholder of: SetPoint Medical, Adamas Pharmaceuticals, Olly Nutrition, NAIA Pharma, Aquinox Pharma, Consultant of: Adamas Pharmaceuticals, Olly Nutrition, NAIA Pharma, Aquinox Pharma, Crescendo Bioscience, Employee of: SetPoint Medical, Niek de Vries Grant/research support from: AbbVie, Janssen, Ergomed Clinical Research, GlaxoSmithKline, Pfizer, Boehringer Ingelheim, Roche, Consultant of: MSD, Pfizer, Paul P. Tak Shareholder of: GlaxoSmithKline, Employee of: GlaxoSmithKline

Adam and Eve, consubstantial: Model and myth of the first Biblical couple in Bulgarian interwar novelThe article examines the first biblical couple as a tool for comparative analysis of the mod­ernist tendencies of Bulgarian novel in the period between the two World Wars. The research focuses on works by Chavdar Mutafov, Anna Kamenova, and Dimitar Dimov, along with examples taken from French and Romanian literary pieces as representatives of the wider, European history of ideas. In the image of Creation, but also the image of the original sin, Adam and Eve are of interest because of their unity, which eventually becomes the basis of the Christian family after they leave the Garden of Eden. The borders of the model given in the Bible are breached with the introduction of a new reading – the figures of Creation can now also be seen as figures of salvation. The knowledge gained by the existing studies of myth in European literature thus becomes the foundation for a revision of the hitherto selective interpretation of works by the Bulgarian novelists. The point of intersection between the dif­ferent approaches towards the first couple is their arduous integration into the surrounding world, and adaptation to the passage of time. Another prominent feature is the discussion about the possible development of the model; the newly introduced definition of salvation that comes after Creation and the fall of man. Adam i Ewa współistotni – model i mit pierwszej biblijnej pary w bułgarskiej powieści międzywojennejTematem artykułu jest pierwsza biblijna para ludzi, rozumiana jako wiodący motyw analizy porównawczej modernistycznych tendencji w bułgarskiej powieści okresu międzywojennego. Jako przykład posłużyły prace Czawdara Mutafowa, Anny Kamenowej i Dimityra Dimowa, a także francuskie i rumuńskie utwory literackie, służące osadzeniu wywodu w szerszym kontekście europejskiej historii idei. Zarówno w obrazie Stworzenia, jak i w obrazie grze­chu pierworodnego, postacie Adama i Ewy są interesujące ze względu na ich jedność, która ostatecznie staje się podstawą chrześcijańskiej rodziny po opuszczeniu przez nich rajskiego ogrodu. Granice modelu podanego w Biblii zostają naruszone przez wprowadzenie nowego odczytania – figury Stworzenia mogą być również odczytywane jako figury zbawienia. Wiedza zdobyta dzięki dotychczasowym studiom nad mitem w literaturze europejskiej staje się pod­stawą do rewizji selektywnej interpretacji bułgarskich powieściopisarzy. Punktem wspólnym dla różnych podejść w badaniu pierwszej pary ludzi jest ich trudna integracja z otaczającym światem i próba pogodzenia się z upływem czasu. Inną istotną cechą jest dyskusja na temat rozwoju tego modelu: nowo wprowadzona definicja zbawienia, które przychodzi po Stworzeniu i upadku człowieka.

This article discusses the concepts of ritual and code which Hemingway develops in his book In Oar Time, which comprises a series of short-stories, intimately connected to one another, which tell us in chronological order about the childhood and adolescence of Nick Adams, known as the "Hemingway hero". In this book, which can be considered as an initiation ritual, we can observe the process of apprenticeship of Nick Adams, who tries to elaborate a code of ethics, that will permit him to live adequately in a world of violence, disorder and misery.In order to achieve his aims, he tries to acquire certain principles of honour, courage and endurance, which willallow him to conduct himself well despite the adversities he may encounter in life. In the last story of the book, entitled Big Two-Hearted River, we can observe a series of rituals symbolic of code: the ritualistic codified actions provide adequate metaphors for the 'inner code' of the protagonist.

Manchester International Festival Tim MottersheadZagreb: 24th Music Biennale Donata PremeruAmsterdam, Nederlands Opera: John Adams and Jonathan Harvey Malcolm MillerNew York and Boston: Nico Muhly Rodney ListerBirmingham: Tansy Davies Paul ConwayManchester and London: Bainbridge and Meredith John WheatleyAdditional reviews by Malcolm Miller, Paul Conway, Jill Barlow

Manchester International Festival Tim MottersheadZagreb: 24th Music Biennale Donata PremeruAmsterdam, Nederlands Opera: John Adams and Jonathan Harvey Malcolm MillerNew York and Boston: Nico Muhly Rodney ListerBirmingham: Tansy Davies Paul ConwayManchester and London: Bainbridge and Meredith John WheatleyAdditional reviews by Malcolm Miller, Paul Conway, Jill Barlow

Changes in Czech Dictionary Definitions in Dictionaries by Daniel Adam of VeleslavínDaniel Adam of Veleslavín was an outstanding Czech humanist who compiled four multilingual dictionaries published between 1579 and 1598. He employed a broad range of different lexicographic means and techniques to render foreign language sections of his entries in Czech: one-word equivalents, synonyms, phrases, periphrases or their combinations. In his descriptions of word meanings, Veleslavín used both deictic and meronymic explanations as well as definitions with limited value, and – in later vocabularies – explanations which emphasise distinctive semantic features of the words. Zmiany w czeskich definicjach słownikowych w słownikach Daniela Adama z VeleslavínaDaniel Adam z Veleslavína był wybitnym czeskim humanistą, który opracował cztery wielojęzyczne słowniki, wydane w latach 1579–1598. Zastosował w nich szeroką gamę środków i technik leksykograficznych mających na celu oddanie obcojęzycznej treści haseł w języku czeskim: ekwiwalenty jednowyrazowe, synonimy, frazy, peryfrazy lub ich kombinacje. Aby opisać znaczenie słów, Veleslavín stosował zarówno wyjaśnienia deiktyczne, jak i meronimiczne oraz definicje o ograniczonej wartości, a także – w późniejszych słownikach – wyjaśnienia podkreślające charakterystyczne cechy semantyczne.

Abstract Background Adjacent segmental intervertebral disk degeneration (ASDD) is a major complication secondary to lumbar fusion. Although ASSD pathogenesis remains unclear, the primary cause of intervertebral disk degeneration (IVDD) development is apoptosis of nucleus pulposus (NP). Raloxifene (RAL) could delay ASDD by inhibiting NP apoptosis. Methods An ASDD rat model was established by ovariectomy (OVX) and posterolateral spinal fusion (PLF) on levels 4–5 of the lumbar vertebrae. Rats in the treatment groups were administered 1 mg/kg/d RAL by gavage for 12 weeks, following which, all animals were euthanized. Lumbar fusion, apoptosis, ASDD, and vertebrae micro-architecture were evaluated. Results RAL maintained intervertebral disk height (DHI), delayed vertebral osteoporosis, reduced histological score, and inhibited apoptosis. The OVX+PLF+RAL group revealed upregulated expression of aggrecan and B-cell lymphoma-2 (bcl2), as well as significantly downregulated expression of a disintegrin and metalloproteinase with thrombospondin motifs 4 (ADAMTS-4), metalloproteinase-13 (MMP-13), caspase-3, BCL2-associated X (bax), and transferase dUTP nick end labeling (TUNEL) staining. Micro-computed tomography (Micro-CT) analysis revealed higher bone volume fraction (BV/TV), bone mineral density (BMD), and trabecular number (Tb.N), and lower trabecular separation (Tb.Sp) in OVX+PLF+RAL group than in the OVX+PLF group. Conclusions RAL can postpone ASDD development in OVX rats through inhibiting extracellular matrix metabolic imbalance, NP cell apoptosis, and vertebral osteoporosis. These findings showed RAL as a potential therapeutic target for ASDD.

Nosy Crow Limited. Don’t Wake Up Tiger, 2018. Version unlisted. Apple App Store, https://itunes.apple.com/ca/app/dont-wake-up-tiger/id1336103707?mt=8
 Suggested Age Range: Preschool (ages 3-5)Cost: $1.39
 Don’t Wake Up Tiger follows the aesthetically inviting, kinesthetically engaging style and storytelling present in Britta Teckentrup’s 2016 picture book, Don’t Wake Up the Tiger. This iOS app includes an oral retelling (narrated by Charlotte Rose Allen) with kinesthetic prompts, as well as a song clip, and two themed games. A gentle story about animal friends working together for a tiger’s birthday surprise, this multimedia text is a virtually wordless version of the physical book. Embracing the narrative and interactive style common to Teckentrup’s other works, the user can see the effects of their actions animated, such as blowing on a balloon, rubbing Tiger’s nose and rocking him to sleep, rather than relying on illustrations in the book to mimic such movements through page turns. There are instances in which written text might have been more purposefully integrated for this audience, for example, including highlighted lyrics to the familiar Happy Birthday song or inserting key words during the story, such as “pop” when a balloon bursts. Prompts given during the story are only offered once orally by the narrator (accompanied by a vague visual aid), and are thereafter primarily text-based, possibly necessitating a supervising adult to intervene with additional prompting, particularly during the first play. Although these details do not detract from the overall quality of the app, such minutiae may deter first time users if they cannot complete the actions and play/listen/interact with the story intuitively on their own. Both games offered are themed with the characters and colour palette from the story, and are of varying levels of difficulty; Matching Pairs is a traditional flip and pair memory activity, while Spot the Difference is a side-by-side attention to detail task, comparing two images at a time and touching on the item(s) that are different.
 Simple and charming, Don’t Wake Up Tiger is a lovely, low-key reinterpretation of the physical book, and would make a nice addition to any preschooler’s app selection. Recommended for public libraries and early childhood settings, this app is best suited for children aged three to five.
 Recommended: 3 out of 4 stars Reviewed by: Alexandra Adams Alex is a busy mom and elementary school teacher, with a passion for early childhood education and the arts. She is currently working on her MLIS at the University of Alberta.

IntroductionWe are increasingly being told to make ethical food choices, often by high-profile chefs advocating what they view as ethical consumption habits. Some actively promote vegetarian or vegan diets, with a growing number of high-profile restaurants featuring only or mainly plant-based meals. However, what makes food or restaurant menus ethical is not assessed by most of us using one standardised definition. Our food values differ based on our outlooks, past experiences, and perhaps most importantly, how we balance various trade-offs inherent in making food choices under different circumstances and in diverse contexts.Restaurants can face difficulties when trying to balance ethical considerations. For instance, is it inconsistent to promote foraging, seasonality, local products, and plant-based eating, yet also serve meat and other animal-derived protein products on the same menu? For example, Danish chef Rene Redzepi, co-owner of the Michelin-starred restaurant Noma in Copenhagen who recently had an extended stay in Australia (Redzepi), recently offered a purely vegetarian menu featuring foraged native ingredients. However, Redzepi followed this with a meat-based menu including teal, moose leg, reindeer tongue, and wild duck brain. These changes make clear that although Redzepi was still conflicted about serving animal products (Ankeny and Bray), he thinks that options for ethical eating are not limited to plants and that it is important to utilise available, and especially neglected, resources in novel ways.In this article, we argue that celebrity and other high-profile chefs have roles to play in conversations about the emerging range of new meat consumption norms, which might include humanely produced meat, wild meat, or other considerations. However, we contend that restaurants and popular media may be limited spaces in which to engage consumers in these conversations. Ultimately, celebrity and high-profile chefs can help us not only to reflect on our eating habits, but also to engage us in ways that help us to ask the right questions rather than encouraging reliance on set answers from them or other supposed experts.Chefs and New Meat NormsChefs are now key voices in the politics of lifestyle, shaping both the grammars and the practices of ethical consumption, which is further reinforced by the increasing mediatisation of food and food politics (Phillipov, Media). Contemporary trends toward ethical consumption have been much critiqued; nevertheless, ethical consumption has become a dominant means through which individuals within contemporary marketised, neoliberal economies are able to invest lifestyle choices with ethical, social, and civic meanings (Barnett et al.; Lewis and Potter). While vegetarianism was once considered a central pillar of ethical diets, the rise of individualized and diverse approaches to food and food politics has seen meat (at least in its “ethical” form) not only remain firmly on the menu, but also become a powerful symbol of “good” politics, taste, and desirable lifestyles (Pilgrim 112).Chefs’ involvement in promoting ethical meat initially began within restaurants catering for an elite foodie clientele. The details provided about meat producers and production methods on the menu of Alice Waters’ Californian restaurant Chez Panisse and her cookbooks (Waters), or the focus by Fergus Henderson on “nose to tail” eating at his London restaurant St. John (Henderson) has led many to cite them as among the originators of the ethical meat movement. But the increasing mediatisation of food and the emergence of chefs as celebrity brands with their own TV shows, cookbooks, YouTube channels, websites, sponsorship deals, and myriad other media appearances has allowed ethical meat to move out of elite restaurants and into more quotidian domestic spaces. High profile UK and US exposés including “campaigning culinary documentaries” fronted by celebrity chefs (Bell, Hollows, and Jones 179), along with the work of popular food writers such as Michael Pollan, have been instrumental in the mainstreaming of diverse new meat norms.The horrifying depictions of intensive chicken, beef, and pork farming in these exposés have contributed to greater public awareness of, and concern about, industrialised meat production. However, the poor welfare conditions of animals raised in battery cages and concentrated animal feeding operations often are presented not as motivations to eschew meat entirely, but instead as reasons to opt for more ethical alternatives. For instance, Hugh’s Chicken Run, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s 2008 television campaign for chicken welfare, resulted in making more free-range products available in British supermarkets (Johnston). More recently, there have been significant expansions in markets for variously defined categories such as grass-fed, free-range, organic, welfare-certified, humane, and/or environmentally friendly meat products in Australia and elsewhere, thanks in part to increased media attention to animal welfare issues (Arcari 169).As media has emerged as a “fundamental component of contemporary foodscapes, how they ‘perform’ and function, and the socio-material means by which they are produced” (Johnston and Goodman 205), ethical meat has increasingly been employed as a strategic resource in mainstream media and marketing. Ethical meat, for example, has been a key pillar in the contemporary rebranding of both of Australia’s major supermarkets (Lewis and Huber 289). Through partnerships that draw upon the “ethical capital” (290) of celebrity chefs including Jamie Oliver and Curtis Stone, and collaborations with animal welfare organisations such as the RSPCA, ethical meat has become central to supermarket advertising campaigns in recent years. Such campaigns have been especially successful for Coles supermarkets, which controls almost 30% of Australia’s highly concentrated grocery market (Roy Morgan). The retailer’s long-term sponsorship of MasterChef Australia (Network 10, 2009–)—a show that presents meat (or, as they term it, “protein”) as an essential component of most dishes and which regularly rates in the top 10 of Australian television programs (OzTAM)—further helps to emphasise that the solution to ethical problems is not to avoid meat, but to choose (Coles’) “better” meat (see fig. 1). This is promoted on the basis of a combination of ethics, price, and taste, and, remarkably, is able to deliver “better welfare at no extra cost to you” (Parker, Carey, and Scrinis 209). In short, chefs are making major contributions to awareness of ethical norms relating to meat consumption in a variety of settings. Figure 1: An example of a current meat product on the shelf at a major Australian retailer with packaging that makes a range of claims relating to production practices and quality, among other attributes. (Emily Buddle)“The Good Life”Lifestyle media has been a key site through which meat eating is normalised and recuperated into “ethical” frameworks (Arcari 169). Utopian visions of small-scale animal agriculture are a key feature of popular texts from the River Cottage Australia (Foxtel Networks, 2013–) series to Gourmet Farmer (SBS, 2010–) and Paddock to Plate (Foxtel Networks, 2013–). These programs are typically set in bucolic rural surrounds and centre on the host’s “escape” from the city to a more fulfilling, happier existence in the country (Phillipov, “Escaping”). Rural self-sufficiency is frequently framed as the solution to urban consumers’ alienation from the sources of their food, and a means of taking responsibility for the food they eat. The opening credits of Gourmet Farmer, for instance, outline host Matthew Evans’s quest to “know and trust what [he] eat[s]”, either by growing the food himself or being “no more than one degree of separation from the person who does”.This sense of connection to one’s food is central to how these programs make meat consumption ethical. Indeed, the production of animals for food reinforces particular notions of “the good life” in which the happiness of the animal is closely aligned with the happiness of its human producer. While texts sometimes show food animals’ full lifecycle from birth to slaughter, lifestyle media focuses mainly on their happy existence while still alive. Evans gives his pigs names that foreground their destiny as food (e.g., Prosciutto and Cassoulet), but he also pampers them as though they are pets, feeding them cherries and apples, and scratching them behind the ears much like he would his dog. These bucolic televisual images serve to anchor the programs’ many “spin-off” media texts, including blog posts, cookbooks (e.g. Evans), and endorsements, that instruct urban audiences who do not have the luxury of raising their own meat on how to source ethical alternatives. They also emphasise the deliciousness of meat raised and killed in humane, “natural” conditions, as opposed to those subjected to more intensive, industrialised production systems.Some argue that the notion of “ethical meat” merely masks the realities of humans’ domination over animals (Arcari). However the transition from “happy animals” to “happy meat” (Pilgrim 123) has been key to lifestyle media’s recuperation of (certain kinds of) meat production as a “humane, benevolent and wholly ‘natural’ process” (Parry 381), which helps to morally absolve the chefs who promote it, and by extension, their audiences.The Good DeathMeat consumption has been theorised to be based on the invisibility of the lives and deaths of animals—what has been termed the “absent referent” by feminist philosopher Carol J. Adams (14; see also Fiddes). This line of argument holds that slaughter and other practices that may raise moral concerns are actively hidden from view, and that animals are “made absent” within food consumption practices (Evans and Miele 298). Few meat consumers, at least those in Western countries, have seen animal slaughter first hand, and a disconnect between meat and animal is actively maintained through current retail practices (such as pre-packaged meat with few identifying cues), as well as in our language use, at least in English where most of the names of the meat are different to those of the animal (Plous; Croney) and where euphemisms such as “harvesting” abound (Abrams, Zimbres, and Carr). In many locales, including Australia, there is squeamishness about talking about slaughter and the processes by which “animal” becomes “meat” which in turn prevents open discussion about the origins of meat (Bray et al., “Conversation”).Campaigning culinary documentaries by chefs, including Matthew Evans’s recent For the Love of Meat (SBS, 2016), aim to reconnect animal and meat in order to critique modern meat production methods. In addition, Gourmet Farmer and River Cottage Australia both feature depictions of hunting (skinning and butchering of the animals is shown but viewers are rarely exposed to the kill itself) and emphasise the use of highly skilled hunters in order to bring about a quick death. By highlighting not only a good life but also what constitutes a “good death”, celebrity chefs and others are arguably generating discussion about what makes meat ethical by emphasizing that the quality of death is as important as the quality of life. In many of these programs, the emphasis is on more boutique or small-scale production systems which typically produce meat products that are higher priced and more difficult to source.Given that such products are likely out of reach for many potential consumers because of price point, convenience, or both, perhaps unsurprisingly the emphasis in many of these programs is on the consumer rather than the consumed. Hence these programs tend to be more about constructing an “ethical meat consumer”, defined implicitly as someone who acknowledges the meat/animal connection through conscious exposure to the realities of animal slaughter (for example, by watching a documentary), by “meeting your meat” such as in the BBC series Kill It, Cook It, Eat It (BBC, 2007; Evans and Miele), or by actively participating in the slaughter process as Evans did with his own chickens on Gourmet Farmer. As anthropologist Catie Gressier notes in her study of wild meat consumers in Australia, “hunting meat is seen as more noble than purchasing it, while wild meat is seen as preferable to farmed” (Gressier 58). Gressier also describes how one of her participants viewed hunting (and eating locally) as preferable to veganism because of the “animal violence that is the inevitable outcome of mass-crop agriculture” (58). However some scholars have argued that highly graphic depictions of slaughter in the popular media are becoming more commonplace as a masculinised type of “gastro-snuff” (a term referring to food-related visual depictions of brutal killings) (Parry 382). These types of efforts thus may fail to create dialogue about what constitutes ethical meat or even an ethical meat consumer, and may well reinforce more traditional ideas about human/non-human hierarchies.In contrast to coverage in popular media, detailed descriptions of commercial slaughter, in particular pre-slaughter (lairage) conditions, are yet to make it on to restaurant menus, despite the connections between meat quality and pre-slaughter conditions being well recognised even by consumers (Evans and Miele). Commercial slaughter conditions are one of the reasons that hunting is framed as more ethical than “ethically farmed” animals. As an Internet post, quoted in Adams (“Redneck” 50), puts it: “Hunting? A creature is peacefully in its own domain, it is shot. How is that worse than being carried for hours in a truck, being forced into a crush, hearing the bellows of other creatures, being physically restrained at the peak of terror, then culled?” Although determining precise rates of consumption of wild meat is methodologically difficult (Conservation Visions 28), available rates of hunting together with limited consumption data indicate that Australians currently eat less game or wild-caught meat per capita than those in Europe or North America. However, there is a sector of the community in Australia who pursue hunting as part of their ethical food habits (Bray et al., “Ferals”) with the largest proportion of wild-meat consumers being those who hunted it themselves (Gressier).In many cases, descriptions of animal lives (using descriptors such as “free range” or “grass fed”) serve implicitly as proxies for assurances that the animals’ deaths also have been good. One exception is the increasing awareness of the use of halal slaughter methods in part due to more transparent labelling, despite limited public awareness about the nature of these methods, particularly in the Australian context where they in fact comply with standard animal welfare requirements such as pre-slaughter stunning (Bergeauld-Blackler). Detailed descriptions of post-mortem conditions (e.g., aging conditions and time) are more common on restaurant menus, although arguably these no longer draw attention to the connections between the animal and the meat, and instead focus on the meat itself, its flavour and other physical qualities, rather than on ethical attributes.Thus, although it would seem obvious that ethical meat consumption should involve considerations about slaughter conditions or what makes a “good death”, most efforts have focused on encouraging people to make better and more reflexive consumer choices, rather than promoting deeper engagement with slaughter processes, perhaps underscoring that this domain may still represent one of the final food taboos. Although it might seem to be counterintuitive that wild or hunted meat could be viewed as an ethical food choice, particularly if vegetarianism or veganism is taken as the main point of comparison, these trends point toward the complexities inherent in food choice and the inevitable trade-offs in values that occur in these processes.Problems with Promoting Ethical Meat Norms: Ways ForwardIt is undeniable that many people are reflecting on their consumption habits in order to pursue decisions that better reflect their values. Attempting to be an “ethical meat consumer” clearly fits within these broader trends. However there are a number of problems associated with current approaches to ethical meat consumption, and these raise questions as to whether such efforts are likely to result in broader changes. First, it is not clear that restaurants are the most appropriate spaces for people to engage with ethical considerations, including those relating to meat consumption. Many people seek to try something new, or to treat themselves when dining out, but these behaviours do not necessarily translate into changes in everyday eating habits. Reasons are varied but include that people cannot reproduce the same types of dishes or concepts at home as what they get at restaurants (or see on TV shows for that matter), and that many products may be out of an acceptable price range or inconvenient for daily consumption. Others want to escape from ethical decisions when dining out by relying on those preparing the food to do the work for them, and thus sometimes simply consume without necessarily investigating every detail relating to its production, preparation, and so on.Perhaps more importantly, many are sceptical about the promotion of various meat-related values by high-profile or celebrity chefs, raising questions about whether ethical categories are merely packaging or window dressing designed to sell products, or if they are truly tied to deeper values and better products. Such concerns are reinforced by tendencies to emphasize one type of meat product—say free-range, grass-fed, or humanely-raised—as better than all others, or even as the only right choice, and thus can at times seem to be elitist in their approaches, since they emphasize that only certain (often extremely expensive boutique products) count as ethical. As scholars have noted about the classed nature of many of these consumption practices (see, for example, Bell and Hollows; Naccarato and LeBesco), these types of value judgments are likely to be alienating to many people, and most importantly will not foster deeper reflections on our consumption habits.However it is clear that celebrity and other high-profile chefs do get the public’s attention, and thus can play important roles in shaping conversations about fostering more ethical ways of eating, including meat consumption. We contend that it is important not to emphasize only one right way of eating, but to actively consider the various trade-offs that we make when choosing what to buy, prepare, and consume. Promoting answers by nominating certain meat products or production methods as always better in all circumstances, no matter how these might be in conflict with other values, such as preferences for local, organic, alignment with cultural or religious values, sustainable, fair trade, and so on, is not likely to result in meaningful public engagement. Critiques of Pollan and other food activists make similar points about the potential elitism and hence limited value of promoting narrow forms of ethical eating (e.g., Guthman et al.; Zimmerman).In addition, such food categories often serve as proxies for deeper values, but not necessarily for the same values for all of us. Simply relying on categories or types of products thus fails to allow engagement with the underlying rationale for various choices. More generally, promoting individual consumer decision-making and market demand as the keys to ethical consumption overlooks the broader systemic issues that limit our choices, and in turn limits attention to changes that might be made in that system (e.g., Lavin; Guthman et al.; DeLind; Ankeny).Thus instead of promoting one right way of eating meat, or a narrow number of acceptable choices, celebrities, chefs, and restauranteurs should consider how they can help to promote dialogue and the posing of the right types of questions to consumers and diners, including about trade-offs inherent in meat consumption and choices of other products, ethical and otherwise. They also should use their roles as change-makers to consider how they might influence the broader food system, but without promoting a single right way of eating. Parallel to recent calls from scientists for a new planetary health diet which promotes increased vegetable consumption and reduced meat consumption for environmental, health, and other reasons, by providing a range of trade-offs to support a diet that that allows individuals to make personalised choices (Willett et al.), hybrid approaches to ethical eating are more likely to have influence on consumers and in turn on changing eating habits.ReferencesAbrams, Katie M., Thais Zimbres, and Chad Carr. “Communicating Sensitive Scientific Issues: The Interplay between Values, Attitudes, and Euphemisms in Communicating Livestock Slaughter.” Science Communication 37 (2015): 485–505.Adams, Carol. The Sexual Politics of Meat: A Feminist Vegetarian Critical Theory. London: Continuum, 2000.Adams, Michael. “‘Redneck, Barbaric, Cashed Up Bogan? 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In the 2019 documentary Chasing Happiness, recording artist/musician Joe Jonas tells audiences that the band was “living the dream”. Similarly, in the 2012 documentary Artifact, lead singer Jared Leto remarks that at the height of Thirty Seconds to Mars’s success, they “were living the dream”. However, for both the Jonas Brothers and Thirty Seconds to Mars, their experiences of the music industry (much like other commercially successful recording artists) soon transformed into nightmares. Similar to other commercially successful recording artists, the Jonas Brothers and Thirty Seconds to Mars, came up against the constraints of the industry which inevitably led to a forfeiting of authenticity, a loss of creative control, increased exploitation, and unequal remuneration. This work will consider how working in the music industry is not always a dream come true and can instead be viewed as a proverbial nightmare. Living the DreamIn his book Dreams, Carl Gustav Jung discusses how that which is experienced in sleep, speaks of a person’s wishes: that which might be desired in reality but may not actually happen. In his earlier work, The Interpretation of Dreams, Freud argued that the dream is representative of fulfilling a repressed wish. However, the creative industries suggest that a dream need not be a repressed wish; it can become a reality. Jon Bon Jovi believes that his success in the music industry has surpassed his wildest dreams (Atkinson). Jennifer Lopez considers the fact that she held big dreams, had a focussed passion, and strong aspirations the reason why she pursued a creative career that took her out of the Bronx (Thomas). In a Twitter post from 23 April 2018, Bruno Mars declared that he “use [sic] to dream of this shit,” in referring to a picture of him performing for a sold out arena, while in 2019 Shawn Mendes informed his 24.4 million Twitter followers that his “life is a dream”. These are but a few examples of successful music industry artists who are seeing their ‘wishes’ come true and living the American Dream.Endemic to the American culture (and a characteristic of the identity of the country) is the “American Dream”. It centres on “a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for every man, with opportunity for each according to his ability and achievement” (Adams, 404). Although initially used to describe having a nice house, money, stability and a reasonable standard of living, the American Dream has since evolved to what the scholar Florida believes is the new ‘aspiration of people’: doing work that is enjoyable and relies on human creativity. At its core, the original American Dream required striving to meet individual goals, and was promoted as possible for anyone regardless of their cultural, socio-economic and political background (Samuel), because it encourages the celebrating of the self and personal uniqueness (Gamson). Florida’s conceptualisation of the New American dream, however, tends to emphasise obtaining success, fame and fortune in what Neff, Wissinger, and Zukin (310) consider “hot”, “creative” industries where “the jobs are cool”.Whether old or new, the American Dream has perpetuated and reinforced celebrity culture, with many of the young generation reporting that fame and fortune were their priorities, as they sought to emulate the success of their famous role models (Florida). The rag to riches stories of iconic recording artists can inevitably glorify and make appealing the struggle that permits achieving one’s dream, with celebrities offering young, aspiring creative people a means of identification for helping them to aspire to meet their dreams (Florida; Samuel). For example, a young Demi Lovato spoke of how she idolised and looked up to singer Beyonce Knowles, describing Knowles as a role model because of the way she carries herself (Tishgart). Similarly, American Idol winner Kelly Clarkson cited Aretha Franklin as her musical inspiration and the reason that she sings from a place deep within (Nilles). It is unsurprising then, that popular media has tended to portray artists working in the creative industries and being paid to follow their passions as “a much-vaunted career dream” (Duffy and Wissinger, 4656). Movies such as A Star Is Born (2018), The Coal Miner’s Daughter (1980), Dreamgirls (2006), Begin Again (2013) and La La Land (2016) exalt the perception that creativity, talent, sacrifice and determination will mean dreams come true (Nicolaou). In concert with the American dream is the drive among creative people pursuing creative success to achieve their dreams because of the perceived autonomy they will gain, the chance of self-actualisation and social rewards, and the opportunity to fulfil intrinsic motivations (Amabile; Auger and Woodman; Cohen). For these workers, the love of creation and the happiness that accompanies new discoveries (Csikszentmihalyi) can offset the tight budgets and timelines, precarious labour (Blair, Grey, and Randle; Hesmondhalgh and Baker), uncertain demand (Caves; Shultz), sacrifice of personal relationships (Eikhof and Haunschild), the demand for high quality products (Gil & Spiller), and the tense relationships with administrators (Bilton) which are known to plague these industries. In some cases, young, up and coming creative people overlook these pitfalls, instead romanticising creative careers as ideal and worthwhile. They willingly take on roles and cede control to big corporations to “realize their passions [and] uncover their personal talent” (Bill, 50). Of course, as Ursell argues in discussing television employees, such idealisation can mean creatives, especially those who are young and unfamiliar with the constraints of the industry, end up immersed in and victims of the “vampiric” industry that exploits workers (816). They are socialised towards believing, in this case, that the record label is a necessary component to obtain fame and fortune and whether willing or unwilling, creative workers become complicit in their own exploitation (Cohen). Loss of Control and No CompensationThe music industry itself has been considered by some to typify the cultural industries (Chambers). Popular music has potency in that it is perceived as speaking a universal language (Burnett), engaging the emotions and thoughts of listeners, and assisting in their identity construction (Burnett; Gardikiotis and Baltzis). Given the place of music within society, it is not surprising that in 2018, the global music industry was worth US$19.1billion (IFPI). The music industry is necessarily underpinned by a commercial agenda. At present, six major recording companies exist and between them, they own between 70-80 per cent of the recordings produced globally (Konsor). They also act as gatekeepers, setting trends by defining what and who is worth following and listening to (Csikszentmihalyi; Jones, Anand, and Alvarez). In essence, to be successful in the music industry is to be affiliated with a record label. This is because the highly competitive nature and cluttered environment makes it harder to gain traction in the market without worthwhile representation (Moiso and Rockman). In the 2012 documentary about Thirty Seconds to Mars, Artifact, front man Jared Leto even questions whether it is possible to have “success without a label”. The recording company, he determines, “deal with the crappy jobs”. In a financially uncertain industry that makes money from subjective or experience-based goods (Caves), having a label affords an artist access to “economic capital for production and promotion” that enables “wider recognition” of creative work (Scott, 239). With the support of a record label, creative entrepreneurs are given the chance to be promoted and distributed in the creative marketplace (Scott; Shultz). To have a record label, then, is to be perceived as legitimate and credible (Shultz).However, the commercial music industry is just that, commercial. Accordingly, the desire to make money can see the intrinsic desires of musicians forfeited in favour of standardised products and a lack of remuneration for artists (Negus). To see this standardisation in practice, one need not look further than those contestants appearing on shows such as American Idol or The Voice. Nowhere is the standardisation of the music industry more evident than in Holmes’s 2004 article on Pop Idol. Pop Idol first aired in Britain from 2001-2003 and paved the way for a slew of similar shows around the world such as Australia’s Popstars Live in 2004 and the global Idol phenomena. According to Holmes, audiences are divested of the illusion of talent and stardom when they witness the obvious manufacturing of musical talent. The contestants receive training, are dressed according to a prescribed image, and the show emphasises those melodramatic moments that are commercially enticing to audiences. Her sentiments suggest these shows emphasise the artifice of the music industry by undermining artistic authenticity in favour of generating celebrities. The standardisation is typified in the post Idol careers of Kelly Clarkson and Adam Lambert. Kelly Clarkson parted with the recording company RCA when her manager and producer Clive Davis told her that her album My December (2007) was “not commercial enough” and that Clarkson, who had written most of the songs, was a “shitty writer… who should just shut up and sing” (Nied). Adam Lambert left RCA because they wanted him to make a full length 80s album comprised of covers. Lambert commented that, “while there are lots of great songs from that decade, my heart is simply not in doing a covers album” (Lee). In these instances, winning the show and signing contracts led to both Clarkson and Lambert forfeiting a degree of creative control over their work in favour of formulaic songs that ultimately left both artists unsatisfied. The standardisation and lack of remuneration is notable when signing recording artists to 360° contracts. These 360° contracts have become commonplace in the music industry (Gulchardaz, Bach, and Penin) and see both the material and immaterial labour (such as personal identities) of recording artists become controlled by record labels (Stahl and Meier). These labels determine the aesthetics of the musicians as well as where and how frequently they tour. Furthermore, the labels become owners of any intellectual property generated by an artist during the tenure of the contract (Sanders; Stahl and Meier). For example, in their documentary Show Em What You’re Made Of (2015), the Backstreet Boys lament their affiliation with manager Lou Pearlman. Not only did Pearlman manufacture the group in a way that prevented creative exploration by the members (Sanders), but he withheld profits to the point that the Backstreet Boys had to sue Pearlman in order to gain access to money they deserved. In 2002 the members of the Backstreet Boys had stated that “it wasn’t our destinies that we had to worry about in the past, it was our souls” (Sanders, 541). They were not writing their own music, which came across in the documentary Show Em What You’re Made Of when singer Howie Dorough demanded that if they were to collaborate as a group again in 2013, that everything was to be produced, managed and created by the five group members. Such a demand speaks to creative individuals being tied to their work both personally and emotionally (Bain). The angst encountered by music artists also signals the identity dissonance and conflict felt when they are betraying their true or authentic creative selves (Ashforth and Mael; Ashforth and Humphrey). Performing and abiding by the rules and regulations of others led to frustration because the members felt they were “being passed off as something we aren’t” (Sanders 539). The Backstreet Boys were not the only musicians who were intensely controlled and not adequately compensated by Pearlman. In the documentary The Boy Band Con: The Lou Pearlman Story 2019, Lance Bass of N*Sync and recording artist Aaron Carter admitted that the experience of working with Pearlman became a nightmare when they too, were receiving cheques that were so small that Bass describes them as making his heart sink. For these groups, the dream of making music was undone by contracts that stifled creativity and paid a pittance.In a similar vein, Thirty Seconds to Mars sought to cut ties with their record label when they felt that they were not being adequately compensated for their work. In retaliation EMI issued Mars with a US$30 million lawsuit for breach of contract. The tense renegotiations that followed took a toll on the creative drive of the group. At one point in the documentary Artifact (2012), Leto claims “I can’t sing it right now… You couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to sing this song the way it needs to be sung right now. I’m not ready”. The contract subordination (Phillips; Stahl and Meier) that had led to the need to renegotiate financial terms came at not only a financial cost to the band, but also a physical and emotional one. The negativity impacted the development of the songs for the new album. To make music requires evoking necessary and appropriate emotions in the recording studio (Wood, Duffy, and Smith), so Leto being unable to deliver the song proved problematic. Essentially, the stress of the lawsuit and negotiations damaged the motivation of the band (Amabile; Elsbach and Hargadon; Hallowell) and interfered with their creative approach, which could have produced standardised and poor quality work (Farr and Ford). The dream of making music was almost lost because of the EMI lawsuit. Young creatives often lack bargaining power when entering into contracts with corporations, which can prove disadvantaging when it comes to retaining control over their lives (Phillips; Stahl and Meier). Singer Demi Lovato’s big break came in the 2008 Disney film Camp Rock. As her then manager Phil McIntyre states in the documentary Simply Complicated (2017), Camp Rock was “perceived as the vehicle to becoming a superstar … overnight she became a household name”. However, as “authentic and believable” as Lovato’s edginess appeared, the speed with which her success came took a toll on Lovato. The pressure she experienced having to tour, write songs that were approved by others, star in Disney channel shows and movies, and look a certain way, became too much and to compensate, Lovato engaged in regular drug use to feel free. Accordingly, she developed a hybrid identity to ensure that the squeaky clean image required by the moral clauses of her contract, was not tarnished by her out-of-control lifestyle. The nightmare came from becoming famous at a young age and not being able to handle the expectations that accompanied it, coupled with a stringent contract that exploited her creative talent. Lovato’s is not a unique story. Research has found that musicians are more inclined than those in other workforces to use psychotherapy and psychotropic drugs (Vaag, Bjørngaard, and Bjerkeset) and that fame and money can provide musicians more opportunities to take risks, including drug-use that leads to mortality (Bellis, Hughes, Sharples, Hennell, and Hardcastle). For Lovato, living the dream at a young age ultimately became overwhelming with drugs her only means of escape. AuthenticityThe challenges then for music artists is that the dream of pursuing music can come at the cost of a musician’s authentic self. According to Hughes, “to be authentic is to be in some sense real and true to something ... It is not simply an imitation, but it is sincere, real, true, and original expression of its creator, and is believable or credible representations or example of what it appears to be” (190). For Nick Jonas of the Jonas Brothers, being in the spotlight and abiding by the demands of Disney was “non-stop” and prevented his personal and musical growth (Chasing Happiness). As Kevin Jonas put it, Nick “wanted the Jonas Brothers to be no more”. The extensive promotion that accompanies success and fame, which is designed to drive celebrity culture and financial motivations (Currid-Halkett and Scott; King), can lead to cynical performances and dissatisfaction (Hughes) if the identity work of the creative creates a disjoin between their perceived self and aspirational self (Beech, Gilmore, Cochrane, and Greig). Promoting the band (and having to film a television show and movies he was not invested in all because of contractual obligations) impacted on Nick’s authentic self to the point that the Jonas Brothers made him feel deeply upset and anxious. For Nick, being stifled creatively led to feeling inauthentic, thereby resulting in the demise of the band as his only recourse.In her documentary Gaga: Five Foot Two (2017), Lady Gaga discusses the extent she had to go to maintain a sense of authenticity in response to producer control. As she puts it, “when producers wanted me to be sexy, I always put some absurd spin on it, that made me feel like I was still in control”. Her words reaffirm the perception amongst scholars (Currid-Halkett and Scott; King; Meyers) that in playing the information game, industry leaders will construct an artist’s persona in ways that are most beneficial for, in this case, the record label. That will mean, for example, establishing a coherent life story for musicians that endears them to audiences and engaging recording artists in co-branding opportunities to raise their profile and to legitimise them in the marketplace. Such behaviour can potentially influence the preferences and purchases of audiences and fans, can create favourability, originality and clarity around artists (Loroz and Braig), and can establish competitive advantage that leads to producers being able to charge higher prices for the artists’ work (Hernando and Campo). But what impact does that have on the musician? Lady Gaga could not continue living someone else’s dream. She found herself needing to make changes in order to avoid quitting music altogether. As Gaga told a class of university students at the Emotion Revolution Summit hosted by Yale University:I don’t like being used to make people money. It feels sad when I am overworked and that I have just become a money-making machine and that my passion and creativity take a backseat. That makes me unhappy.According to Eikof and Haunschild, economic necessity can threaten creative motivation. Gaga’s reaction to the commercial demands of the music industry signal an identity conflict because her desire to create, clashed with the need to be commercial, with the outcome imposing “inconsistent demands upon” her (Ashforth and Mael, 29). Therefore, to reduce what could be considered feelings of dissonance and inconsistency (Ashforth and Mael; Ashforth and Humphrey) Gaga started saying “no” to prevent further loss of her identity and sense of authentic self. Taking back control could be seen as a means of reorienting her dream and overcoming what had become dissatisfaction with the commercial processes of the music industry. ConclusionsFor many creatives working in the creative industries – and specifically the music industry – is constructed as a dream come true; the working conditions and expectations experienced by recording artists are far from liberating and instead can become nightmares to which they want to escape. The case studies above, although likely ‘constructed’ retellings of the unfortunate circumstances encountered working in the music industry, nevertheless offer an inside account that contradicts the prevailing ideology that pursuing creative passions leads to a dream career (Florida; Samuel). If anything, the case studies explored above involving 30 Seconds to Mars, the Jonas Brothers, Lady Gaga, Kelly Clarkson, Adam Lambert and the Backstreet Boys, acknowledge what many scholars writing in the creative industries have already identified; that exploitation, subordination, identity conflict and loss of control are the unspoken or lesser known consequences of pursuing the creative dream. That said, the conundrum for creatives is that for success in the industry big “creative” businesses, such as recording labels, are still considered necessary in order to break into the market and to have prolonged success. This is simply because their resources far exceed those at the disposal of independent and up-and-coming creative entrepreneurs. Therefore, it can be argued that this friction of need between creative industry business versus artists will be on-going leading to more of these ‘dream to nightmare’ stories. The struggle will continue manifesting in the relationship between business and artist for long as the recording artists fight for greater equality, independence of creativity and respect for their work, image and identities. 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Introduction“Chav” is a social phenomenon that gained significant popular media coverage and attention in the United Kingdom in the early 2000s. Chavs are often characterised, by others, as young people from a background of low socioeconomic status, usually clothed in branded sportswear. All definitions of Chav position them as culturally anomalous, as Other.This article maps out a multidisciplinary definition of the Chav, synthesised from 21 published academic publications: three recurrent themes in scholarly discussion emerge. First, this research presents whiteness as an assumed and essential facet of Chav identity. When marginalising Chavs because of their “incorrect whiteness”, these works assign them a problematic and complex relationship with ethnicity and race. Second, Chav discourse has previously been discussed as a form of intense class-based abhorrence. Chavs, it would seem, are perceived as anomalous by their own class and those who deem themselves of a higher socioeconomic status. Finally, Chavs’ consumption choices are explored as amplifying such negative constructions of class and white ethnic identities, which are deemed as forming an undesirable aesthetic. This piece is not intended to debate whether or not Chav is a subculture, clubculture or neotribe. Although Greg Martin’s discussion around the similarities between historical subcultures and Chavs remains pertinent and convincing, this article discusses how young people labelled as Chavs are excluded on a variety of fronts. It draws a cross-disciplinary mapping of the Chav, providing the beginnings of a definition of a derogatory label, applied to young people marking them anomalous in British society.What Is a Chav?The word Chav became officially included in the English language in the UK in 2003, when it was inducted into the Oxford English Dictionary (OED). The current OED entry offers many points for further discussion, all centred upon a discriminatory positioning of Chav:chav, n. Etymology: Probably either < Romani čhavo unmarried Romani male, male Romani child (see chavvy n.), or shortened < either chavvy n. or its etymon Angloromani chavvy. Brit. slang (derogatory). In the United Kingdom (originally the south of England): a young person of a type characterized by brash and loutish behaviour and the wearing of designer-style clothes (esp. sportswear); usually with connotations of a low social status.Chav was adopted by British national media as a catch-all term encompassing regional variants. Many discussions have likened Chav to groups such as “Bogans” in Australia and “Trailer Trash” in the US. Websites such as UrbanDictionary and Chavscum have often, informally, defined Chav through a series of derogatory “backcronyms” such as Council Housed And Violent or Council House Associated Vermin, positioning it as a derogatory social label synonymous with notions of perceived criminality, poverty, poor taste, danger, fear, class, and whiteness.Chav came to real prominence in the early 2000s in mainstream British media, gaining visibility through television shows such as Shameless (2004-2013), Little Britain (2003-2006), and The Catherine Tate Show (2004-2009). The term exploded across the tabloid press, as noted by Antoinette Renouf in 2005. Extensive tabloid press coverage drove the phenomenon to front-page coverage in TIME magazine in 2008. Chavs were observed as often wearing Burberry check-patterned clothing. For the first time since its founding in 1856, and due to the extent of Chav’s negative media coverage, Burberry decided to largely remove its trademark check pattern between 2001 and 2014 from sale. Chavs in AcademiaThe rubric of the Chav did not emerge in academia with the same vigour as it did in popular media, failing to gain the visibility of previous youth social formations such as Punks, Mods, et al. Rather, there has been a modest but consistent number of academic publications discussing this subject: 1-3 publications per year, published between 2006-2015. Of the 22 academic texts explicitly addressing and discussing Chavs, none were published prior to 2006. Extensive searches on databases such as EBSCO, JSTOR and ProQuest, yielded no further academic publications on this subject since Joanne Heeney’s 2015 discussion of Chav and its relationship to contested conceptualisations of disability.From a review of the available literature, the following key thematic groupings run through the publications: Chavs’ embodiment of a "wrong" type of white identity; their embodiment of a "wrong" type of working-class identity; and finally, their depiction as flawed consumers. I will now discuss these groupings, and their implications for future research, in order to chart a multidisciplinary conceptualisation of the Chav. Ultimately, my discussion will evidence how "out of place" Chavs appear to be in terms of race and ethnicity, class, and consumption choices. Chavs as “Wrong” WhitesThe dividing practices (Foucault) evident in UK popular media and websites such as Urbandictionary in the early 2000s distinctly separated “hypervisible ‘filthy whites’” (Tyler) from the “respectable whiteness” of the British middle-class. As Imogen Tyler puts it, “the cumulative effect of this disgust is the blocking of the disenfranchised white poor from view; they are rendered invisible and incomprehensible”, a perspective revisited in relation to the "celebrity chav" by Tyler and Joe Bennett. In a wider discussion of ethnicity, segregation and discrimination, Colin Webster discusses Chav and “white trash”, within the context of discourses that criminalise certain forms of whiteness. The conspicuous absence of whiteness in debates regarding fair representation of ethnicity and exclusion is highlighted here, as is the difficulty that social sciences often encounter in conceptualising whiteness in terms exceeding privilege, superiority, power, and normality. Bennett discusses Chavspeak, as a language conceived as enacting combinations of well-known sociolinguistic stereotypes. Chavspeak derives from an amalgamation of Black English vernaculars, potentially identifying its speakers as "race traitors". Bennett's exploration of Chavs as turncoats towards their own whiteness places them in an anomalous position of exclusion, as “Other” white working-class people. A Google image search for Chav conducted on 8th July 2020 yielded, in 198 of the first 200 images, the pictures of white youth. In popular culture, Chavs are invariably white, as seen in shows such as Little Britain, The Catherine Tate Show and, arguably, also in Paul Abbott’s Shameless. There is no question, however, that whiteness is an assumed and essential facet of Chav identity. Explorations of class and consumption may help to clarify this muddy conceptualisation of ethnicity and Chavs. Chavs as “Wrong” Working ClassChav discourse has been discussed as addressing intense class-based abhorrence (Hayward and Yar; Tyler). Indeed, while focussing more upon the nexus between chavs, class, and masculinity, Anoop Nayak’s ethnographic approach identifies a clear distinction between “Charver kids” (a slang term for Chav found in the North-East of England) and “Real Geordies” (Geordie is a regional term identifying inhabitants from that same area, most specifically from Newcastle-upon-Tyne). Nayak identified Chavs as rough, violent and impoverished, against the respectable, skilled and upwardly mobile working-class embodied by the “Real Geordies” (825). Similar distinctions between different types of working classes appear in the work of Sumi Hollingworth and Katya Williams. In a study of white, middle-class students from English urban state comprehensive schools in Riverside and Norton, the authors found that “Chav comes to represent everything about whiteness that the middle-classes are not” (479). Here, Chav is discussed as a label that school-age children reserve for “others”, namely working-class peers who stand out because of their clothing, their behaviour, and their educational aspirations. Alterity is a concept reinforced by Bennett’s discussion of Chavspeak, as he remarks that “Chavs are other people, and Chavspeak is how other people talk” (8). The same position is echoed in Sarah Spencer, Judy Clegg, and Joy Stackhouse’s study of the interplay between language, social class, and education in younger generations. Chavspotting is the focus of Bennett’s exploration of lived class experiences. Here, the evocation of the Chav is seen as a way to reinforce and reproduce dominant rhetoric against the poor. Bennett discusses the ways in which websites such as Chavscum.com used towns, cities and shopping centres as ideal locations to practice Chav-spotting. What is evident, however, is that behind Chavspotting lies the need for recontextualisation of normalising social practices which involve identification of determinate social groups in social spaces. This finding is supported by the interviews conducted by Ken McCullock et al (548) who found the Chav label, along with its regional variant of Charva, to be an extension of these social practices of identification, as it was applied to people of lower socioeconomic status as a marker of difference: “Chav/Charva … it’s what more posh people use to try and describe thugs and that” (McCulloch et al., 552).The semi-structured interview data gathered by Spencer, Clegg, and Stackhouse reveals how the label of Chav trickled down from stereotypes in popular culture to the real-life experiences of school-aged children. Here, Chavs are likened by school children to animals, “the boys are like monkeys, and the girls are like squeaky squirrels who like to slap people if they even look at you” (136) and their language is defined as lacking complexity. It bears relevance that, in these interviews, children in middle-class areas are once again “othering” the Chav, applying the label to children from working-class areas. Heeney’s discussion of the Chav pivots around questions of class and race. This is particularly evident as she addresses the media contention surrounding glamour model Katie Price, and her receipt of disability welfare benefits for her son. Ethnicity and class are key in academic discussion of the Chav, and in this context they prove to be interwoven and inexorably slippery. Just as previous academic discussions surrounding ethnicity challenge assumptions around whiteness, privilege and discrimination, an equally labyrinthine picture is drawn on the relationship between class and the Chavs, and on the practices of exclusion and symbolic to which they are subject. Chavs as “Wrong” ConsumersKeith Hayward and Majid Yar’s much-cited work points to a rethinking of the underclass concept (Murray) through debates of social marginality and consumption practices. Unlike previous socio-cultural formations (subcultures), Chavs should not be viewed as the result of society choosing to “reject or invert mainstream aspirations or desires” but simply as “flawed” consumers (Hayward and Yar, 18). The authors remarked that the negative social construction and vilification of Chav can be attributed to “a set of narrow and seemingly irrational and un-aesthetic consumer choices” (18). Chavs are discussed as lacking in taste and/or educational/intelligence (cultural capital), and not in economic capital (Bourdieu): it is the former and not the latter that makes them the object of ridicule and scorn. Chav consumption choices are often regarded, and reported, as the wrong use of economic capital. Matthew Adams and Jayne Rainsborough also discuss the ways in which cultural sites of representation--newspapers, websites, television--achieve a level of uniformity in their portrayal of Chavs as out of place and continually framed as “wrong consumers", just as Nayak did. In their argument, they also note how Chavs have been intertextually represented as sites of bodily indiscretion in relation to behaviours, lifestyles and consumption choices. It is these flawed consumption choices that Paul Johnson discusses in relation to the complex ways in which the Chav stereotype, and their consumption choices, are both eroticised and subjected to a form of symbolic violence. Within this context, “Council chic” has been marketed and packaged towards gay men through themed club events, merchandise, sex lines and escort services. The signifiers of flawed consumption (branded sportswear, jewellery, etc), upon which much of the Chav-based subjugation is centred thus become a hook to promote and sell sexual services. As such, this process subjects Chavs to a form of symbolic violence, as their worth is fetishised, commodified, and further diminished in gay culture. The importance of consumption choices and, more specifically, of choices which are considered to be "wrong" adds one final piece to this map of the Chav (Mason and Wigley). What was already noted as discrimination towards Chavs centred upon notions of class, socioeconomic status, and, ethnicity, is amplified by emphasis on consumption choices deemed to be aesthetically undesirable. This all comes together through the “Othering” of a pattern of consumerist choices that encompasses branded clothes, sportswear and other garments typically labelled as "chavvy". Chav: Not Always a LabelIn spite of its rare occurrence in academic discourse on Chavs, it is worth noting here that not all scholarly discussions focus on the notion of Chav as assigned identity, as the work of Kehily, Nayak and Young clearly demonstrates.Kehily and Nayak’s performative approach to Chav adopts an urban ethnography approach to remark that, although these socio-economic-racial labels are felt as pejorative, they can be negotiated within immediate contexts to become less discriminatory and gain positive connotations of respectability in given situations. Indeed, such labels can be enacted as a transitional identity to be used and adopted intermittently. Chav remains an applied label, but a flexible label which can be negotiated and adapted. Robert Young challenges many established conceptualisations of Chav culture, paying particular attention to notions of class and self-identification. His study found that approximately 15% of his 3,000 fifteen-year old respondents, all based in the Glasgow area, self-identified as Chav or "Ned" (a Scottish variant of Chav). The cultural criminological approach taken by Young does not clearly specify what options were given to participants when selecting "Neds or popular" as self-identification. Young’s work is of real value in the discussion of Chav, since it constitutes the only example of self-identification as Chav (Ned); future work reasserting these findings is required for the debate to be continued in this direction. Conclusion: Marginalised on All Fronts?Have Chavs been ostracised for being the wrong type of white person? Much has been discussed around the problematic role of ethnicity in Chav culture. Indeed, many scholars have discussed how Chav adopted the language, dress and style of ethnic minority groups. This assimilation of non-white identities leaves the Chav stranded on two fronts: (1) they are marked as Other by predominantly white social groups and vilified as race/ethnicity traitors (Bennett, Chavspeak); (2) they stand apart from ethnic minority identities through a series of exaggerated and denigrated consumption choices – adopting a bricolage identity that defines them against other groups surrounding them. Are Chavs the wrong type of white, working-class consumer? We know from the seminal works of Dick Hebdige and Stuart Hall that subcultural styles can often convey a range of semiotic messages to the outside world. If one were to bear in mind the potentially isolated nature of those considered Chavs, one could see in their dress a consumption of "status" (McCulloch et al., 554). The adoption of a style predominantly consisting of expensive-looking branded clothes, highly-visible jewellery associated with an exaggerated sporting lifestyle, stands as a symbol of disposable income and physical prowess, a way of ‘fronting up’ to labels of poverty, criminality and lack of social and cultural capital.As my charting process comes to a conclusion, with the exclusion of the studies conducted by Young, Kehily and Nayak, Chav is solely discussed as an “Othering” label, vastly different from the self-determined identities of other youth subcultures. As a matter of fact, a number of studies portray the angry reactions to such labelling (Hollingworth and Williams; Bennett; Mason and Wigley). So are Chavs vilified because of their whiteness, their class, or their consumption choices? More likely, they are vilified because of a combination of all of the above. Therefore, we would not be mistaken in identifying Chavs as completely lacking in identity capital. What is apparent from the literature discussed is that the Chav exists in an anomalous “no man's land”. ReferencesAdams, Matthew, and Jayne Raisborough. "The Self-Control Ethos and the Chav: Unpacking Cultural Representations of the White Working Class." Culture & Psychology 17.1 (2011): 81-97.Bennett, Joe. "‘And What Comes Out May Be a Kind of Screeching’: The Stylisation of Chavspeak in Contemporary Britain." Journal of Sociolinguistics 16.1 (2012): 5-27.———. "Chav-Spotting in Britain: The Representation of Social Class as Private Choice." Social Semiotics 23.1 (2013): 146-162.Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. Boston: Harvard UP, 1984.Foucault, Michel. “The Subject and Power." Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics. Eds. Hubert L. Dreyfus and Paul Rabinow. Brighton: Harvester, 1982. 777-795.Hayward, Keith, and Majid Yar. "The Chavphenomenon: Consumption, Media and the Construction of a New Underclass." Crime, Media, Culture 2.1 (2006): 9-28.Hebdige, Dick. Subculture: The Meaning of Style. London: Methuen, 1979. Heeney, Joanne. "Disability Welfare Reform and the Chav Threat: A Reflection on Social Class and ‘Contested Disabilities’." Disability & Society 30.4 (2015): 650-653.Hollingworth, Sumi, and Katya Williams. "Constructions of the Working-Class ‘Other’ among Urban, White, Middle-Class Youth: ‘Chavs’, Subculture and the Valuing of Education." Journal of Youth Studies 12.5 (2009): 467-482.Johnson, Paul. "’Rude Boys': The Homosexual Eroticization of Class." Sociology 42.1 (2008): 65-82.Kehily, Mary Jane, and Anoop Nayak. "Charver Kids and Pram-Face Girls: Working-Class Youth, Representation and Embodied Performance." Youth Cultures in the Age of Global Media. Eds. Sara Bragg and Mary Jane Kehily. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014. 150-165.Maffesoli, Michel. The Time of the Tribes: The Decline of Individualism in Mass Society. London: SAGE, 1995.Martin, Greg. 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To listen to them talk, you'd think most Americans hate television. Everyday discourse about television abounds with condemnation of television content. Television is a wasteland, a stream of idiotic material insulting to the intelligence of the viewer. When people deem a particular program worth watching, they often articulate it in contradistinction to the vast majority of awful stuff out there. This almost universal discourse of condemnation does not mean Americans do not watch television, of course. They do, and they watch a great deal of it. Thus we have a conundrum. If it is so awful, why do people watch television? When Americans construct stories about themselves, they construct themselves as choice--making individuals (Polanyi). Sane, mature Americans are expected to be able to make intelligent choices and to live with the consequences of their choices. How, then, can Americans articulate themselves as television viewers, as individuals who choose to view what is clearly awful stuff? In this paper, I want to discuss 'veging out' as an American category of media viewing that resolves this conundrum. In framing their discourse about watching television in terms of 'veging out,' Americans are able to construct themselves as sensible, choice--making persons, and yet explain why they watch large amounts of television. I want to use this example to explore ways that media scholars might supplement explorations of the self as mediated by texts with attention to the ways the viewing self is articulated in everyday discourses about television by viewers. An American Folk Category of Pleasure I said I'm sorry this is late. I just couldn't work on it over the weekend. I just veged out in front of the TV the whole weekend. I realise that's not much of an excuse…but…I had my Arabic test Thursday and I was too burned out afterward to do anything. I had to let my brain recharge. [text one] Let's just veg out tonight. We both had a big lunch, let's just make some popcorn and watch whatever stupid stuff is on TV. Unless you want to get a video. [text two] God, we didn't do anything this weekend. We just sat in front of the TV. (laughs) It was a total veg out weekend, we ordered out every night. John was on the rig for two weeks and then he's had to work late every night since he's been back, and I've had this activity and that activity with the kids, and girl scouts and soccer... We really needed the break. [text three] In the interest of brevity, I offer only three texts here.1 Anyone who has listened to Americans talk about television can probably multiply these examples many times; most Americans of my generation or later have almost certainly been producers of such discourse at one time or another. Each of these examples is drawn from a different context: a student's explanation for handing in a late paper [text one], a wife's suggestion for evening plans [text two], a friend sharing information about her family [text three]. And each is part of the language of experience – the language people use to describe emotions, sensations, and thoughts and, in so doing, articulate a self. 'Veging out' -- the 'veg--' prefix is borrowed from the word 'vegetable' and pronounced with a soft g -- is a nice example of a local taxonomic category of pleasure and the way it is embedded in more complex discursive formations, which it both replicates and refracts. In American society, where sitting in front of the television when there are other things to do is condemned as a waste of time that makes one a 'couch potato,' 'veging out' allows actors to reconstitute 'being a vegetable' as an empowering choice, an intentional and temporary vegetative state one escapes into as a means to relax, reduce stress and 'get away' from one's troubles. Veging out involves escape but specifies that one is escaping to nowhere, that an avoidance of critical mental activity is precisely what is sought. The claim to be veging out thus accepts the general American public discourse of television as a wasteland – the 'waste' in particular involving waste of time -- and simultaneously challenges it by claiming, in essence, that one has a right to do nothing if one has been working 'too hard'. There is nothing fanciful or even insightful in this analysis; discourses in which Americans talk about their television viewing activity tend to be both straightforward and redundant. Americans who say they spent an evening veging out are likely to follow the statement with an explanation of why they are entitled to veg out -- a litany of stresses or labours -- and sometimes also assertions to confirm that the world they escaped to was indeed a place that involved minimal mental activity. For example, the student in Text One quoted above followed it up with the comment, 'There was absolutely nothing on worth watching'. The woman who produced Text Three commented a few lines later, 'It was practically all commercials, nothing could hold my interest because it was always being interrupted. I hardly ever watch TV, I hadn't realised how many commercials there are'. This latter comment also positions the activity as a rare one for this person, emphasising the strategic nature of veging out as a life choice and hence acceptable within American understandings of choice.2 People's own modes of articulation may thus even deny their motivations involve pleasure.3 Choosing to enter the wasteland of television certainly can be, and often is, constructed as a bad choice. As Beeman demonstrates in his analysis of the language of choice in American advertising, making a choice is often constituted as not enough -- one must make the 'right' choice. Discourse about 'veging out' partly forecloses the possibility of the instance described being a bad choice by embedding the choice in the matrix of suffering. Yet as Carbaugh discovers in his sociolinguistic appraisal of TV talk shows, doing something 'wrong' can nonetheless be valorised in America by its formulation as a deliberate exercise of one's right to choose. The moral wrongness of the particular choice is redeemed by the articulation of a self exercising its right to make its own choices, and taking responsibility for those choices. The power of 'veging out' as a representation of social action thus lies in its ability to simultaneously embrace the widespread discourse that 'television is a wasteland' while at the same time subsuming it under the important American discourse of choice. In so doing, it allows Americans to construct themselves as hard--working individuals who choose to waste time as a strategy for resolving the stresses and discomforts of hard work. One articulates a viewing self, that is, which is consonant with the fundamental values of American culture. The Viewing Self The 'viewing self' is that self, or that aspect of the self, constructed through experiences of viewing events and activities in which the person is not a participant. In the contemporary world, such viewing has increased as an activity, accommodated and mediated by film, television, video and other technologies. These technologies offer, among other things, the opportunity for virtual experiences, events and activities that we do not experience with our bodies but which nonetheless offer us comparable fodder for our cognitive processes (Drummond). Studies of the self as viewer have long been dominated in media studies by attention to these virtual experiences as internal. From the early argument that the self is 'interpellated' by the culture industry (Adorno), to the argument that the self is socially and politically positioned in dominated, negotiating or resistant ways (Hall), to the idea of the self as simultaneously occupying multiple (and shifting) spectator positions (Modleski, Williams, Clover, Caton), emphasis has long been on how the viewer experiences structured sets of symbols, appropriates them at various levels of cohesion, cognitively and affectively orders them with regard to pre--existing understandings of and feelings about the world, and uses them in the ongoing construction of the self. I am suggesting here the utility of turning our attention from internal to external articulations of self as viewer. I want to argue that in addition to engaging with the content of the viewing experience, people usually engage with the meaning of the viewing experience as an activity. The viewing experience is never just about engagement with content about what one watches. It is also about the activities of 'watching TV,' 'renting a video,' and 'going to the movies.' Each of these is an experience that must be internally evaluated with regard to one's pre--existing sense of self, and which may have to be verbally articulated in interaction with others. In the latter case, it provides yet more fodder for the construction of the self, as we see versions of ourselves mirrored in the responses of the other to our own self--performance. Given the plethora of media, genres, places and events in which visual media are watched, speaking with others about one's television viewing maps one onto a complex terrain of distinctions about one's taste. One's 'taste' is never innocent, because it ties in to a complex social code that relates it to class, gender, ethnicity, education, and other social categories (Bourdieu). To represent ourselves to others as viewers of any particular kind of media is to position ourselves as particular kinds of persons in relation to others. One can use this code to articulate oneself as a particular kind of person vis--à--vis those with whom one is interacting: an equal who shares common tastes, a superior who enjoys more refined discernment, a populist who revels in his or her common tastes. To speak of our viewing allows us to generate social contact on grounds of shared experience. It allows us to confirm our tastes with regard to the social others who serve as mirrors to our selves. Of course, persons are never omnicompetent in their self--presentations, and efforts to present the self in particular ways can backfire, so that instead of appearing as a woman of discernment one appears pompous; and instead of appearing as a common Joe, one comes across as vulgar. Talking about viewing, in other words, always involves risk. In examining how people manage this risk in their social interactions, as through framing their experience as 'veging out,' we can learn much about how people construct themselves as viewers. Conclusion 'Veging out' is not the only verbal strategy by means of which Americans solve the conundrum of the viewing self. Nor is there anything unique in this American conundrum. Ethnographic accounts clearly demonstrate that many societies offer public condemnatory discourses about television that are at odds with actual viewing practices. The content of television in Belize is 'destroying a whole generation' (Wilk), in Egypt it's a flood of 'moral pollution' (Armbrust), in the Netherlands it's 'an embarrassment' (Alasuutaari). People's ways of speaking about themselves as viewers are clearly often a result of an ambivalence born of their pleasure, on the one hand, and their understanding that one should not be getting pleasure from such stuff, on the other. The result is often discourse that expresses guilt, or embarrassment, as summed up by Alasuutari's informant who said 'I'm ashamed to admit it, but I watch Dallas.' Alasuutari's reliance on interviewing, though, captures the conundrum but not the cultural solutions. An interview with a sociologist is a very different kind of speech act from the quotidian contexts in which people construct themselves as television viewers in interaction with friends, family, the person sitting next to you at the bar, and so forth (Briggs). My objective in this brief exercise is to draw our attention away from interviewing toward ethnography, and away from attention to internal subjectivities to the interactive contexts in which the self is constructed in everyday life. Notes 1 These three examples were all collected among American expatriates while I was teaching at the American University in Cairo. 2 Individual performances of this discourse are always strategic, of course; their articulation shaped by the speakers understanding of the speech event in which they take place. 3 The American discomfort with spending one's leisure pleasurably has been long chronicled. As early as the 1920s the Lynds found the people of Middletown uncomfortable with talking about reading for pleasure rather than instruction and profit. People did not want to articulate themselves as persons who wasted time (Lynd and Lynd 1929: 225) References Adorno, Theodor. 'The Culture Industry Reconsidered.' The Adorno Reader. Ed. Brian O'Connor. Oxford: Blackwell, 2000. 230-38. Alasuutari, Pertti. ''I'm Ashamed to Admit it, but I have Watched Dallas:' The Moral Hierarchy of Television Programmes.' Media, Culture and Society 14 (1992): 561-582. Armbrust, Walter. Mass Culture and Modernisation in Egypt. Cambridge: University Press, 1996. Beeman, William O. 'Freedom to Choose: Symbolic Values in American Advertising.' The Symbolisation of America. Ed. Herve Varenne. Omaha: University of Nebraska Press, 1986 Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste. Trans. Richard Nice. Harvard: Harvard University Press, 1984. Briggs, Charles. Learning How to Ask: A Sociolinguistic Appraisal of the Role of the Interview in Social Science Research. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986. Carbaugh, Donal. Talking American: Cultural Discourses on Donahue. Norwood, NJ: Ablex, 1989. Caton, Steven C. Lawrence of Arabia: a Film's Anthropology. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999. Clover, Carol. Men, Women, and Chain Saws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992. Drummond, Lee. American Dreamtime: A Cultural Analysis of Popular Movies and Their Implications for a Science of Humanity. Lanham, MD: Littlefield Adams, 1995. Hall, Stuart. 'Culture, the Media and the 'Ideological Effect.' ' Mass Communication and Society. Ed. James Curran, Michael Gurevitch and Janet Woolacott. London: Edward Arnold, 1977. - - - . 'The Rediscovery of 'Ideology:' The Return of the Repressed in Media Studies. Culture, Society and the Media. Ed. Michael Gurevitch, T. Bennett, James Curran and Janet Woolacott. London: Methuen, 1982. Modleski, Tania. The Women Who Knew Too Much: Hitchcock and Feminist Analysis. New York: Routledge, 1988 Polanyi, Livia. Telling the American Story. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 1989 Wilk, Richard. ''It's Destroying a Whole Generation:' Television and Moral Discourse in Belize.' Visual Anthropology 5 (1995): 229-44. Williams, Linda. Hard Core: Power, Pleasure and the Frenzy of the Visible. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1989. Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Peterson, Mark Allen. "Choosing the Wasteland" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.5 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/mc/0210/Peterson.html &gt. Chicago Style Peterson, Mark Allen, "Choosing the Wasteland" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 5 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/mc/0210/Peterson.html &gt ([your date of access]). APA Style Peterson, Mark Allen. (2002) Choosing the Wasteland. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(5). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/mc/0210/Peterson.html &gt ([your date of access]).

Boxing is a purely masculine activity and it inhabits a purely masculine world. […] Boxing is for men, and it is about men, and is men. (Joyce Carol Oates) IntroductionWriting about boxing is an intimate, private, and unusual activity. Although a decade has passed since I first “stepped into the ring” (sparring or fighting), I have not engaged with boxing in academic terms. I undertook a doctoral degree from 2012 to 2016, during which I competed and won amateur titles in three different countries. Boxing, in a sense, shadowed my research. My fieldwork, researching heritage foods networks, brought me to various locales, situating my body in reference to participants and academics as well as my textual analysis. My daily interactions and reflections in the boxing gym, though, were marginalised to give priority to my doctorate. In a mirrored journey to Wacquant’s “carnal ethnography of the skilled body” (Habitus 87), I boxed as a hobby. It was a means to escape my life as a doctoral student, my thesis, and the library. Research belonged to the realm of academia; boxing, to the realm of the physical. In this paper, I seek to implode this self-imposed distinction.Practising the “noble art,” as boxing is commonly called, profoundly altered not only my body but also my way of seeing the world, myself, and others. I explore these themes through an autoethnographic account of my experience in the ring. Focusing on sparring, rather than competing, I explore conceptualisations of my face as a material, as well as part of my body, and also as a surface for violence and apprenticeship. Reflecting upon a decade of sparring, the analysis presented in this paper is grounded in the phenomenological tradition whereby knowledge is not an abstract notion that exists over and above felt experience: it is sensed and embodied through practice.I delve into the narratives of my personal “social logic of a bodily craft” of boxing (Wacquant, Habitus 85). More specifically, I reflect upon my experiences of getting hit in the face by men in the ring, and the acclimatisation required, evolving from feelings of intrusion, betrayal, and physical pain to habit, and at times, excitement. As a surface for punching, my face became both material and immaterial. It was a tool that had to be tuned to varying degrees of pain to inform me of my performance as well as my opponent’s. Simultaneously, it was a surface that was abstracted and side-lined in order to put myself purposefully in harm’s way as one does when stepping into the ring. Through reflecting on my face, I consider how the sport offered new embodied experiences through which I became keenly aware of my body as a delineated target for—as well as the source of—violence. In particular, my body boundaries were profoundly reconfigured in the ring: sparring partners demonstrated their respect by hitting me, validating both my body and my skill as a boxer. In this manner, I discuss the spatiality of the ring as eliciting transitions of felt and abstracted pain as well as shaping my self-image as a re-gendered boxer in the ring and out. Throughout my account, I briefly engage with Wacquant’s discussion of “pugilistic habitus” (Body 99) and his claims that boxing is the epitome of masculine valour. In the final section, I conclude with deliberations upon the new bodily awareness(es) I gained through the sport, and the re-materiality I experienced as a strong woman.Methodological and Conceptual FrameworksThe analysis in this paper is based on the hybrid narrative of ethnography and autobiography: autoethnography. In the words of Tami Spry, autoethnography is “a self-narrative that critiques the situatedness of self and others in social context” (710). As such, I take stock in hindsight (Bruner; Denzin) of the evolution of my thoughts on boxing, my stance as a boxer, and the ways the ring has affected my sense of self and my body.Unlike Wacquant's “carnal ethnography” (Habitus 83) whose involvement with boxing was foregrounded in an academic context where he wrote detailed field-notes and conducted participant observation, my involvement was deliberately non-academic until I began to write this paper. Based on hindsight, the data collected through this autoethnography are value-inflected in ways that differ from other modes of data collection. But I have sought to recreate a dialectic between perceptual experience and cultural practices and patterns, in a manner aligned with Csordas’s paradigm of embodiment. My method is to “retrospectively and selectively write about epiphanies that stem from, or are made possible by, being part of a culture” (Ellis et al. 276) of boxing. These epiphanies, as sensed and embodied knowledge, were not solely conceptual moments but also physical realisations that my body performed, such as understanding—and executing—a well-timed slip to the side to avoid a punch.Focusing on my embodied experiences in the ring and out, I have sought to uncover “somatic modes of attention:” the “culturally elaborated ways of attending to and with one’s body in surroundings that include the embodied presence of others” (Csordas 138). The aim of this engagement is to convey my self-representation as a boxer in the ring, which emerged in part through the inter-subjectivity of interacting with other boxers whilst prioritising representations of my face. As such, my personal narrative is enmeshed with insights gleaned during embodied epiphanies I had in the ring, interweaving storytelling with theory.I have chosen to use the conventions of storytelling (Ellis and Ellingson) to explore the defining moments that shaped the image I hold of myself as a boxer. My personal narrative—where I view myself as the phenomenon—seeks “to produce aesthetic and evocative thick descriptions of personal and interpersonal experience” (Ellis et al. 287) whilst striving to remain accessible to a broader audience than within academia (Bochner). Personal narratives offer an understanding of the “self or aspect of a life as it intersects with a cultural context, connect to other participants as co-researchers, and invite readers to enter the author's world and to use what they learn there to reflect on, understand, and cope with their own lives” (Ellis 14; see also Ellis et al. 289).As the focus of my narrative is my face, I used my body, in Longhurst et al.’s words, as the “primary tool through which all interactions and emotions filter in accessing subjects and their geographies” (208). As “the foundation of the entire pugilistic regimen”, the body is the site of an intimate self-awareness, of the “body-sense” (Heiskanen 26). Taking my body as the starting point of my analysis, my conceptual framework is heavily informed by Thrift’s non-representational theory, enabling me to inquire into the “skills and knowledges [people] get from being embodied beings” (127), and specifically, embodied boxers. The analysis presented here is thus based on an “epistemic reflexivity” (Wacquant, Habitus 89) and responds to what Wacquant coins the “pugilistic habitus” (Body 99): a set of acquired dispositions of the boxer. Bourdieu believes that people are social agents who actively construct social reality through “categories of perception, appreciation and action” (30). The boxing habitus needs to be grasped with one’s body: it intermingles “cognitive categories, bodily skills and desires which together define the competence and appetence specific to the boxer” (Wacquant, Habitus 87). Through this habitus, I construct an image of myself not only as a boxer, but also as a re-gendered being, directly critiquing Wacquant’s arguments of the “pugilist” as fundamentally male.Resistance to Female BoxingMischa Merz’s manuscript on her boxing experience is the most accurate narrative I have yet read on female boxing, as a visceral as well as incorporeal experience, which led Merz to question and reconsider her own identity. When Merz published her manuscript in 2000, six years before I put the gloves on, the boxing world was still resisting the presence of women in the ring. In the UK, licenses for boxing were refused to women until 1998, and in New South Wales, Australia, it was illegal for women to compete until December 2008. It was not until 2012 that female boxing became internationally recognised as a sport in its own right. During the London Olympics, after a sulphurous debate on whether women should be made to box in skirts to “differentiate” them from men, women were finally allowed to compete in three weight categories, compared to ten for men.When I first started training in 2006 at the age of 21, I was unaware of the long list of determined and courageous women who had carved their way—and facilitated mine—into the ring, fighting for their right to practise a sport considered men’s exclusive domain. By the time I started learning the “sweet science” (another popular term used for boxing), my presence was accepted, albeit still unusual. My university had decreed boxing a violent sport that could not be allowed on campus. As a result, I only started boxing when I obtained a driving licence, and could attend training sessions off-campus. My desire to box had been sparked five years before, when I viewed Girlfight, a film depicting a young woman’s journey into the ring. Until then, I had never imagined a woman could box, let alone be inspirational in the use of her strength, aggression, and violence; to be strong was, for me, to be manly—which, as a woman, translated as monstrous or a perversion. I suddenly recognised in boxing a possibility to rid myself of the burden of what I saw as my bulk, and transform my body into a graceful pugilist—a fighter.First Sparring SessionTwo months after I had first thrown a punch in my coach’s pad—the gear coaches wear to protect their hands when a boxer is punching them to train—I was allowed into the ring to spar. Building up to this moment, I had anticipated and dreaded my first steps in the ring as the test of my skill and worthiness as a boxer. This moment would show my physical conditioning: whether I had trained and dieted correctly, if I was strong or resilient enough to fight. More crucially, it would lay bare my personality, the strength of my character, the extent of my willpower and belief in myself: it would reveal, in boxing terminology, if I had “heart.” Needless to say I had fantasised often about this moment. It was my initiation into the art of being punched and I hoped I would prove myself a hardened individual, capable of withstanding pain without flinching or retreating.The memory of the first punch to my face—my nose, to be exact—remains clear and vivid. My sparring partner was my coach, a retired boxer who hit me repeatedly in the head during the entirety of my first round. Getting hit in the face for the first time is a profound moment of rupture. Until then, my face had been a bodily surface reserved for affective gestures by individuals of trust: kisses of greeting on the cheeks or caresses from lovers. Only once had I been slapped, in an act of aggression that had left me paralysed with shock and feeling violated. Now in the ring, being punched in the face by a man I trusted, vastly more experienced and stronger than I, provoked a violent reaction of indignation and betrayal. Feelings of deceit, physical intrusion, and confusion overwhelmed me; pain was an entirely secondary concern. I had, without realising, assumed my coach would “go easy” on me, softening his punches and giving me time to react adequately to his attacks as we had practised on the pads. A couple of endless minutes later, I stepped out of the ring, breathless and staring at the floor to hide my tears of humiliation and overwhelming frustration.It is a common experience amongst novices, when first stepping into the ring, to forget everything they have been taught: footwork, defence, combinations, chin down, guard up … etc. They often freeze, as I did, with the first physical contact. Suddenly and concretely, with the immediacy of pain, they become aware of the extent of the danger they have purposely placed themselves in. The disturbance I felt was matched in part by my belief that I was essentially a coward. In an act condemned by the boxing community, I had turned my face away from punches: I tried to escape the ring instead of dominating it. Merz succinctly describes this experience in the boxing realm: “aspects of my character were frequently tossed in my face for assessment. I saw gaping holes in my tenacity, my resilience, my courage, my athleticism” (49). That night, I felt an unfamiliar sting as I took my jumper off, noticing a slight yet painful bruise on the bridge of my nose. It reminded me of my inadequacy and, I believed at the time, a fundamental failure of character: I lacked heart.My Face: A Tool for Sensing and Ignoring PainTo get as accustomed as a punching bag to repeated hits without flinching I had to mould my face into a mask of impassivity, revealing little to my opponent. My face also became a calibrated tool to measure my opponent’s skill, strength, and intent through the levels of pain it would experience. If an opponent repeatedly targeted my nose, I knew the sparring session was not a “friendly encounter.” Most often though, we would nod at each other in acknowledgement of the other’s successful “contact,” such as when their punches hurt my body. The ring is the only space I know and inhabit where the display of physical violence can be interpreted as a “friendly gesture” (Merz 12).Boxers, like most athletes, are carefully attuned to measuring the degrees of pain they undergo during a fight and training, whilst accomplishing the paradoxical feat—when they are hit—of setting aside that pain lest it be a distraction. In other words, boxers’ bodies are both material and immaterial: they are sites for accessing sensory information, notably pain levels, as well as tools that—at times detrimentally—have learned to abstract pain in the effort to ignore physical limitations, impediments or fatigue. Boxers with “heart,” I believe, are those who inhabit this duality of material and immaterial bodies.I have systematically been questioned whether I fear bruising or scarring my face. It would seem illogical to many that a woman would voluntarily engage in an activity that could blemish her appearance. Beyond this concern lies the issue, as Merz puts it, that “physical prowess and femininity seem to be so fundamentally incompatible” (476). My face used to be solely a source of concern as a medium of beautification and the platform from which I believed the world judged my degree of attractiveness. It also served as a marker of distinction: those I trusted intimately could touch my face, others could not. Throughout my training, my face evolved and also became an instrument that I conditioned and used strategically in the ring. The bruises I received attested to my readiness to exchange punches, a mark of valour I came to relish more than looking “nice.”Boxing has taught me how to feel my body in new ways. I no longer inhabit an “absent body” (Leder). I intimately know the border between my skin and the world, aware of exactly how far my body extends into that world and how much “punishment” (getting hit) it can withstand: boxing—which Oates (26) observed as a spectator rather than boxer—“is an act of consummate self-determination—the constant re-establishment of the parameters of one’s being.” A strong initial allure of boxing was the strict discipline it gave to my eating habits, an anchor—and at times, a torture—for someone who suffered from decade-long eating disorders. Although boxing plagued me with the need to “make weight”—to fight in a designated weight category—I no longer sought to be as petite as I could manage. As a female boxer, I was reminded of my gender, and my “unusual” body, as I am uncommonly big, strong, and heavy compared to most female fighters. I still find it difficult to find women to spar with, let alone fight. Unlike in the world outside the gym, though, my size is something I continuously learn to value as an advantage in the ring, a tool for affirmation, and significantly, a means of acceptance by, and equality with, men.The Ring: A Place of Re-GenderingAs sparring became routine, I had an epiphany: what I had taken as an act of betrayal from my coach was actually one of respect. Opponents who threw “honest” (painful) punches esteemed me as a boxer. I have, to this day, very rarely sparred with women. I often get told that I punch “like a guy,” an ability with which I have sought to impress coaches and boxers alike. As such, I am usually partnered with men who believe, as they have told me, that hitting a “girl”—and even worse, hitting a girl in the face—is simply unacceptable. Many have admitted that they fear hurting me, though some have quickly wanted to after a couple of exchanges. I have found that their views of “acceptable” violence seem unchanged after a session, as I believe they have come to view me as a boxer first and as a woman second.It would be disingenuous to omit that boxing attracted me as much for the novelty status I have gained within and outside of it. I have often walked a thin line between revelling in the sense of belonging that boxing provides me—anchored in a feeling that gender no longer matters—and the acute sense of feeling special because I am a woman performing as a man in what is still considered a man’s world. I have wavered between feeling as though I am shrugging off the very notion of gender in the ring, to deeply reconsidering what my gender means to me and the world, embracing a more fluid and performative understanding of gender than I had before (Messner; Young).In a way, my sense of self is shaped conflictingly by the ways in which boxers behave towards me in the ring, and how others see me outside of the boxing gym. As de Bruin and de Haan suggest, my body, in its active dimension, is open to the other and grounds inter-subjectivity. This inter-subjectivity of embodiment—how other bodies constitute my own sensory and perceptual experience of being-in-the-world—remains ambivalent. It has led me to feel at times genderless—or rather, beyond gender—in the ring and, because of this feeling, I simultaneously question and continuously re-explore more vividly what can be understood as “female masculinity” (Halberstam). As training progressed, I increasingly felt that:If women are going to fight, we have to be reminded, at every chance available, time and again, that they are still feminine or capable, at least, of wearing the costume of femininity, being hobbled by high heels and constrained by tight dresses. All female athletes in a way are burdened with having to re-iterate this same public narrative. (Merz)As I learned to box, I also learned to delineate myself alongside the ring: as I questioned notions of gender inside, I consequently sought to reaffirm a specific and static idea of gender through overt femininity outside the ring, as other female athletes have also been seen to do (Duncan). During my first years of training, I was the only woman at the gyms I trained in. I believed I had to erase any physical reminders of femininity: my sport clothes were loose fitting, my hair short, and I never wore jewellery or make-up. I wanted to be seen as a boxer, not a woman: my physical attractiveness was, for once, irrelevant. Ironically, I could not conceive of myself as a woman in the ring, and did not believe I could be seen as a woman in the ring. Outside the gym, I increasingly sought to reassert a stereotypical feminine appearance, taking pleasure in subverting another set of beliefs. People are usually hesitant to visualise a woman in a skirt, without a broken nose, as a competitive fighter with a mouth guard and headgear. As Wacquant succinctly put it, “I led a sort of Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde existence” (Habitus 86), which crystallised when one of my coaches failed to recognise me on three occasions outside the gym, in my “normal” clothes.I have now come to resent profoundly the marginal, sensationalised status that being a boxer denotes for a woman. This is premised on particular social norms surrounding gender, which dictate that if a woman boxes, she is not “your usual” woman. I have striven to re-gender my experience, especially in light of the recent explosion of interest in female boxing, where new norms are being established. As I have trained around the world, including in Cuba, France, and the USA, and competed in the UK, Mexico, and Belgium, I have valued the tacit connection between those who practice the “noble art.” Boxing fashions a particular habitus (Bourdieu), the “pugilistic habitus” (Wacquant, Body 12). Stepping into the ring, and being able to handle getting hit in the face, constitutes a common language that boxers around the world, male and female, understand, value, and share; a language that transcends the tacit everyday embodiments of gender and class. Boxing is habitually said to give access to an upward mobility (Wacquant, Habitus; Heiskanen). In my case, as a white, educated, middle-class woman, boxing has given me access to cross-class associations: I have trained alongside men who had been shot in Coventry, were jobless in Cuba, or dealt with drug gangs in Mexico. The ring is an equalising space, where social, gender—and in my experience, ethnic—divides can be smoothed down to leave the pugilistic valour, the property of boxing excellence, as the main metric of appreciation.The freedom I have found in the ring is one that has allowed my gendered identity to be thought of in new and creative ways that invite continuous revision. I have discovered myself not solely through the prism of a gendered lens, but as an emotive athlete, and as a person desperate to be accepted despite—or because of—her physical strength. I find myself returning to Merz’s eloquence: “boxing cannot help but make you question who you really are. You cannot hide from yourself in a boxing ring. It might seem a crazy path to self-knowledge, but to me it has been the most rich, rewarding, and perhaps, the only true one” (111). Using Wacquant’s own words to disprove his theory that boxing is fundamentally a virile activity that reaffirms specific notions of masculinity, to become a boxer is to “efface the distinction between the physical and the spiritual [...] to defy the border between reason and passion” (Body 20). In my view, it is to implode the oppositional definitions that have kept males inside the ring and females, out. The ring, in ways unrivalled elsewhere, has shown me that I am not reducible, as the world has at times convinced me, to my strength or my gender. I can, and indeed do, coalesce and transcend both.ConclusionAfter having pondered the significance of the ring to my life, I now begin to understand Merz’s journey as “so much more than a mere dalliance on the dark side of masculine culture” (21). When I box, I am always boxing against myself. The ring is the ultimate space of revelation, where one is starkly confronted with one’s own weaknesses and fears. As a naked mirror, the ring is also a place for redemption, where one can overcome flaws, and uncover facets of who one is. Having spent almost as much time at university as I have boxing, it was in the ring that I learned that “thinking otherwise entails being otherwise, relating to oneself, one’s body, and ambient beings in a new way” (Sharp 749). Through the “boxing habitus,” I have simultaneously developed a boxer’s body and habits as well as integrated new notions of gender. As an exercise in re-gendering, sparring has led me to reflect more purposefully on the multiplicity of meanings that gender can espouse, and on the possibilities of negotiating the world as both strong and female. Practising the “noble art” has given me new tools with which to carve out, within the structures of the society I inhabit, liberating possibilities of being a pugilistic woman. 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