Journal articles on the topic 'Pape (1978-2005 : Jean-Paul II)'

En février 1994, le pape Jean-Paul II (1920-2005) nomme Jérôme Lejeune (1926-1994) premier président de la nouvelle Académie pontificale pour la vie. Ce médecin et gé- néticien français est, avec Marthe Gautier (1925) et Raymond Turpin (1895-1988), l’un des codécouvreurs du chromosome responsable de la trisomie 21. Pour ce catholique membre de l’Opus Dei, cette nomination symbolique – il meurt deux mois plus tard – vient couronner une vie d’engagement contre l’avortement, la contraception, l’eutha- nasie, soit tout ce que le souverain pontife qualifie de « culture de mort » dans son encyclique Evangelium Vitae. En juin 2007, un procès de béatification est ouvert et, le 21 janvier 2021, « l’héroïcité des vertus » du professeur Lejeune est reconnue par le pape François, l’élevant ainsi au rang de vénérable pour l’Église catholique.

Résumé La paix est un des thèmes centraux de la plupart des grandes religions. Dans le christianisme, y compris dans le catholicisme, la paix, dans ses diverses dimensions, a été un objet important de méditation et de prédication. De l'Église primitive à saint Augustin, de saint Thomas d'Aquin aux papes du XXe siècle, la réflexion sur la paix, ainsi que sur la légitime défense et sur la guerre, s'est développée en tenant compte de la fidélité aux textes de la révélation et de la tradition, et en s'adaptant au contexte de l'actualité historique et sociopolitique. Le présent essai étudie un aspect de l'enseignement de l'Église catholique sur les questions de paix, de guerre et de désarmement, à savoir les discours et écrits des papes Benoît XV (1914-1922), Pie XII (1939-1958) Jean XXIII (1958-1963), Paul VI (1963-1978) et Jean-Paul II (1978- ), ainsi que ceux du concile Vatican II (Gaudium et Spes), qui ont traité de ces questions. Il met en lumière le caractère relativement progressiste de cet enseignement officiel du Vatican, alors que dans d'autres domaines la papauté peut sembler prendre des positions plutôt conservatrices.

This paper aims to show how the then new pope John Paul II represented an important factor in the downfall of the Communist regime in Poland using as tools his charismatic discourse, knowledge of Polish national culture and the powers granted to him by the Roman Catholic Church. In order to do this, it will resort to analysis of Wojtyła’s speeches during the time, connecting them to the aforementioned cultural aspects. The final years of the Cold War introduced a range of new actors that contributed to the American preponderance in the international system after the demise of the USSR. In such context, the Vatican influenced political change in some Communist countries in the end of 1970s. The oldest diplomacy in the world was able to be among the high players in the system once again, mainly in the home country of the then Pope John Paul II. The paper arguments that Karol Wojtyła played an instrumental role during the Polish political transition and that was possible because of what he represented to the Poles and the way he used the cultural aspects of the country on his favor.

The aim of this paper is to examine the changes of the passenger air traffic at the John Paul IIInternational Airport in Kraków in comparison with other regional airports in Poland in the years1996–2005. The analysis also covers the development of aviation network from the KrakówAirport and the changes in size of passenger flows on individual routes. Special attention wasput on low-cost carriers and their impact on growth of passenger flows and the diversification ofthe offered connections.

Resumo: O ensino da disciplina de Filosofia constitui no exercício/atividade filosófica na sala de aula, pois através desta atividade buscar-se-á criar, inventar, reinventar e produzir novos saberes e ações que se configurem como uma experiência filosófica. A experiência do filosofar proporciona uma maior flexibilidade entre o pensar e o agir, tendo como finalidade a constituição do si do alunado. Como praticamente a aula de Filosofia no Ensino Médio consiste numa aula expositiva, a relação entre professor e o aluno, entre aquele que “explica” e aquele que “compreende” sugere a busca de algo em comum: interpretar o texto. Por certo, o primeiro e mais elementar trabalho de interpretação é captar aquilo que o autor se propôs ao escrever determinado texto. Por esta razão buscamos investigar quais são as contribuições de uma hermenêutica no Ensino Médio, tendo como finalidade a busca de uma “ferramenta” (hermenêutica) que o professor possa oferecer para seu alunado, proporcionando-lhes um meio de compreender a eles mesmos e o mundo em que estão inseridos, o papel da hermenêutica e sua contribuição para a vida dos alunos é a de auxiliá-los na compreensão da realidade que eles vivenciam, para que possam desenvolver uma melhor vivência em sociedade. Palavras-chave: Apropriação. Filosofar. Hermenêutica. Mundo do Texto. Abstract: The teaching of the discipline of Philosophy constitutes in the exercise/philosophical activity in the classroom, because through this activity will seek to create, invent, reinvent and produce new knowledge and actions that are configured as a philosophical experience. The experience of philosophizing provides a greater flexibility between thinking and acting, having as purpose the constitution of the student's self. As practically the Philosophy class in High School is an expositive class, the relationship between teacher and student, between the one who "explains" and the one who "understands" suggests the search for something in common: to interpret the text. Of course, the first and most elementary work of interpretation is to capture what the author proposed in writing a particular text. For this reason we seek to investigate the contributions of a hermeneutics in High School, aiming at the search for a "tool" (hermeneutics) that the teacher can offer to his / her student, providing them with a way to understand themselves and the the role of hermeneutics and their contribution to students' lives is to help them understand the reality they experience, so that they can develop a better experience in society. Keywords: Appropriation. To philosophize. Hermeneutics. World of Text. REFERÊNCIAS GENTIL, Hélio Salles. Historicidade e compreensão das narrativas de ficção a partir da hermenêutica de Paul Ricoeur. In. PAULA, Adna Candido de; SPERBER, Frankl(Organizadoras). Teoria literária e hermenêutica Ricoeuriana: um diálogo possível. Dourados, MS: UFGD, 2011, p. 177-193. GRODIN, Jean. Qué es la hermenéutica? Tradução de Antoni Martinez Riu. Barcelona: Editora Herder, 2008. KAMESAR, Adam. Biblical Interpretation in Philo. In. KAMESAR, Adam. (org.). The Cambridge Companion to Philo. Cambridge: Editora University Press, 2009, p. 65-91. ORÍGENES. Tratado sobre os princípios. São Paulo: Paulus, 2012. RICŒUR, Paul. O si-mesmo como outro. São Paulo: Editora WMF Marins Fontes, 2014. RICŒUR, Paul. O conflito das interpretações: ensaios de hermenêutica. Rio de Janeiro: Imago, 1978. RICŒUR, Paul. El discurso de la acción. 2ª ed. Madrid: Cátedra, 1988. RICŒUR, Paul. Teoria da interpretação: o discurso e o excesso de significação. Lisboa: Edições 70, 2000. RICŒUR, Paul. Del texto a la acción: ensayos de hermenêutica II. Editora: Fondo de Cultura Económica. México, 2002. RICŒUR, Paul. Hermeneutica e acción: de la hermenêutica del texto la hermenêutica de la acción. Buenos Aires: Editora Prometeo, 2008. RICŒUR, Paul. Historia y narratividad. Barcelona: Editora Paidós, 1999. RICOEUR, Paul. The Text as Dynamic Identity. In: VALDÉS, Mario J.; MILLER, Owen J. (eds.). Identity of the Literary Text. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1985. 175-186. RICŒUR, Paul. A hermenêutica bíblica. São Paulo: Editora Loyola, 2006. RICŒUR, Paul. Retórica, poética y hermenêutica. Madrid: Universidade autònoma de Madrid, 1997. SCHLEIERMACHER, Friedrich D.E. Hermenêutica: arte e técnica da interpretação. Petrópolis: Editora Vozes, 1999. UNESCO. Aprender a viver juntos: nós falhamos? Brasília: UNESCO, IBE, 2003. Disponivel em: http://unesdoc.unesco.org/images/0013/001313/131359por.pdf Acesso: 22/04/2018 THIOLLENT, Michel. Metodologia da pesquisa-ação. São Paulo: Editora Cortez, 1986.

Abstract This paper focuses on the under-researched genre of PhD supervision meetings (but see Vehviläinen, Sanna. 2009a. Problems in the research problem: Critical feedback and resistance in academic supervision. Scandinavian Journal of Educational Research 53[2]. 185–201; Vehviläinen, Sanna. 2009b. Student-initiated advice in academic supervision. Research on Language and Social Interaction 42[2]. 163–190; Björkman, Beyza. 2015. PhD supervisor–PhD student interactions in an English-medium Higher Education [HE] setting: Expressing disagreement. European Journal of Applied Linguistics 3[2]. 205–229; Björkman, Beyza. 2016. PhD adviser and student interactions as a spoken academic genre. In K. Hyland & P. Shaw [eds.], The Routledge handbook of English for Academic Purposes, 348–361. Oxon: Routledge; Björkman, Beyza. 2017. PhD supervision meetings in an English as a Lingua Franca [ELF] setting: Linguistic competence and content knowledge as neutralizers of institutional and academic power. Journal of English as a Lingua Franca 6[1]. 111–139) and investigates knowledge construction episodes in PhD students’ discussions with their supervisors on their co-authored papers. In these meetings, all supervisors and students use English as their lingua franca (ELF). Such supervision meetings are made up of “social negotiation” and “collaborative sense-making,” providing a good base for learning to take place (Vygotsky, L. S. 1978. Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press), which in the present context is the “enculturation” of the PhD student into the research community (Manathunga, Catherine. 2014. Intercultural postgraduate supervision: Reimagining time, place and knowledge. New York: Routledge). It is precisely these negotiation and collaborative sense-making practices that the present paper focuses on, in order to investigate knowledge construction practices. While there is an abundance of research in disciplinary knowledge construction and academic literacy practices from cognitive and behavioral sciences, knowledge about novice scholars’ knowledge construction practices is scant in applied linguistics (but see Li, Yongyan. 2006. Negotiating knowledge contribution to multiple discourse communities: A doctoral student of computer science writing for publication. Journal of Second Language Writing 15[3]. 159–178). Even less is known about how PhD students may negotiate knowledge construction and engage in meaning-making practices in interaction with their supervisors. The material comprises 11 hours of naturally occurring speech by three supervisors and their students where they discuss the reviewers’ comments they have received from the journal. The predominant method employed here is applied conversation analysis (CA) (Richards, Keith & Paul Seedhouse [eds.]. 2005. Applying conversation analysis. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan), which includes both local patterns of interaction as well as “the tensions between [these] local practices and any ‘larger structures’ in which these are embedded, such as conventional membership categories, institutional rules, instructions, accounting obligations, etc.” (Have, Paul ten. 2007. Doing conversation analysis. London: Sage 199). The analyses here aim to show how the PhD supervisors and students discuss the reviewers’ comments with reference to (i) their own disciplinary community of climate science, and (ii) the domestic discourse community of the target journals (see also Li, Yongyan. 2006. Negotiating knowledge contribution to multiple discourse communities: A doctoral student of computer science writing for publication. Journal of Second Language Writing 15[3]. 159–178). The preliminary findings of the analyses show a tendency by the PhD students to focus more heavily on the domestic discourse community of the target journals, especially when justifying their methodological choices. The PhD supervisors, on the other hand, base their meaning-making on the conventions of the disciplinary community of climate science, pointing out broader disciplinary community practices. These findings, highlighting a need to focus on novice scholars’ meaning-making efforts, can be used to inform PhD supervision in general.

The paper presents a scholarly profile of professor Stefaniia Andrusiv, paying specific attention to her achievements in the fields of research and education during her work at the John Paul II Catholic University of Lublin. In 2001 professor Andrusiv started her work at the Institute of Slavic Philology and in the academic year 2005/2006 became the head of the newly founded Department of Ukrainian literature holding this post until 2013. The scholar took an active part in popularizing Ukrainian studies in Poland and was very concerned about developing Polish-Ukrainian dialogue. In the course of her fruitful work at the university professor Andrusiv met different research and educational challenges and proposed many valuable initiatives. She effectively used contemporary research trends, such as postmodern methodology, the theory of intertextuality, the literary theory of narratology, as well as anthropology and postcolonial criticism. As far as her didactic work is concerned, professor Andrusiv delivered very interesting, thought-provoking lectures on the history of Ukrainian literature. Her professional approach was much appreciated not only by her students but by academic staff as well. The lectures on cultural studies, master’s and doctoral seminars belong to her didactic achievements and constitute a valuable heritage of education. It should be underlined that under the supervision of professor Andrusiv twelve students have successfully defended their Ph.D. dissertations and the majority of them continue their scholarly work. Professor Andrusiv never was afraid of making experiments, finding new solutions and approaches. Her mind was very flexible, creative and free of any obstructive restraints.

Resumo: O presente texto objetiva uma abordagem, no interior do pensamento de Ernst Bloch (1885/1977), acerca da relação entre marxismo e utopia: um vínculo incomum no interior do marxismo, comumente tido numa oposição inconciliável. Daí a apropriação do termo “herético” em referência ao marxismo do autor alemão: a expressão é usada não em sentido pejorativo, mas apenas para situar seu distanciamento do marxismo vulgar, bem como sua intenção de crítica radical dessa tradição. Aqui entendemos que é, em particular, por meio da relação entre marxismo e utopia que o pensamento de Ernst Bloch aparece como um projeto inelutavelmente político com vistas a uma filosofia da práxis concreta na principal obra do autor: O Princípio esperança (Das Prinzip Hoffnung) [1954/1959]. Neste livro encontramos, com efeito, a tentativa de pensar a atualidade do marxismo para o contexto do século XX, a era das catástrofes, conforme definição do historiador Eric Hobsbawm. Palavras-chave: Marxismo. Utopia. Dialética. Crítica social. Cultura. Abstract: This paper presents an approach within the thinking of Ernst Bloch (1885/1977) about the relation between Marxism and Utopia: an unusual link within Marxism, commonly held in an irreconcilable opposition. Hence the appropriation of the term "heretical" in reference to the German author's Marxism: the expression is used not in a pejorative sense, but only to situate its distancing from vulgar Marxism, as well as its intention of a radical critique of this tradition. Here we understand that it is particularly through the relationship between Marxism and Utopia that Ernst Bloch's thought appears as an ineluctably political project with a view to a philosophy of concrete praxis in the principal work of the author: The Principle Hope (Das Prinzip Hoffnung) [1954/1959]. In this book we find, in effect, the attempt to think the actuality of Marxism in the context of the age of catastrophe - as defined by Eric Hobsbawm - that is, the long twentieth century that experienced the extreme barbarism of the concentration camp, of which the thinker in question, Jewish and Communist, managed to escape. Keywords: Marxism. Utopia. Dialectics. Social criticismo. Culture. REFERÊNCIAS ALBORNOZ, Suzana. O enigma da Esperança: Ernst Bloch e as margens da história do espírito. Petrópolis, RJ: Vozes, 1995. ALBORNOZ, Suzana. Ética e utopia: ensaio sobre Ernst Bloch. 2ª edição. Porto Alegre: Movimento; Santa Cruz do Sul: EdUSC, 2006. BICCA, Luiz. Marxismo e liberdade. São Paulo: Loyola, 1987. BLOCH, Ernst. Filosofia del Rinascimento. Trad. it. de Gabriella Bonacchi e Katia Tannenbaum. Bologna: il Mulino, 1981. BLOCH, Ernst. Héritage de ce temps. Trad. Jean Lacoste. Paris: Payot, 1978. BLOCH, Ernst. O Princípio Esperança [1954-1959]. Vol. I. Trad. br. Nélio Schneider. Rio de Janeiro: EdUERJ; Contraponto, 2005. BLOCH, Ernst. O Princípio Esperança [1954-1959]. Vol. II. Trad. br. Werner Fuchs. Rio de Janeiro: EdUERJ; Contraponto, 2006. BLOCH, Ernst. O Princípio Esperança [1954-1959]. Vol. III. Trad. br. Nélio Schneider. Rio de Janeiro: EdUERJ; Contraponto, 2006. BLOCH, Ernst. Du rêve à l’utopie: Entretiens philosophiques. Textos escolhidos e prefaciados por Arno Münster. Paris: Hermann, 2016. BLOCH, Ernst. Thomas Münzer, Teólogo da Revolução [1963]. Trad. br. Vamireh Chacon e Celeste Aída Galeão. Rio de Janeiro: Tempo Brasileiro, 1973. BLOCH, Ernst. L’esprit de l’utopie, [1918-1023]. Trad. fr. de Anne Marie Lang e Catherine Tiron-Audard. Paris: Gallimard, 1977. BLOCH, Ernst. El pensamiento de Hegel. Trad. esp. de Wenceslao Roces. Mexico; Buenos Aires: Fondo de Cultura Economica, 1963. BOURETZ, Pierre. Testemunhas do futuro: filosofia e messianismo. Trad. J. Guinsburg. São Paulo: Perspectiva, 2011, p. 690. FREUD, Sigmund. Los sueños [1900-1901]. Trad. Luis Lopez-Ballesteros et al., Madrid: Biblioteca Nueva, 1981. FREUD, Sigmund. A Interpretação dos sonhos. Vol. I. Trad. Jayme Salomão. Rio de Janeiro: Imago, 2006. HORKHEIMER, Max. Filosofia e teoria crítica. In: Textos escolhidos. Trad. de José Lino Grünnewald. São Paulo: Abril Cultural, 1980, p. 155 (Coleção Os Pensadores.). MÜNSTER, Arno. Ernst Bloch: filosofia da práxis e utopia concreta. São Paulo: UNESP, 1993. MÜNSTER, Arno. Utopia, Messianismo e Apocalipse nas primeiras de Ernst Bloch. Trad. br. de Flávio Beno Siebeneichler. São Paulo: UNESP, 1997. PIRON-AUDARD, Catherine. Anthropologie marxiste et psychanalyse selon Ernst Bloch. In: RAULET, Gérard (org.). Utopie-marxisme selon Ernst Bloch: un système de l'inconstructible. Payot: Paris, 1976. VIEIRA, Antonio Rufino. Princípio esperança e a “herança intacta do marxismo” em Ernst Bloch. In: Anais do 5° Coloquio Internacional Marx-Engels. Campinas: CEMARX/Unicamp. Disponível em: <www.unicamp.br / cemarx_v_coloquio_arquivos_arquivos /comunicacoes/gt1/sessao6/Antonio_Rufi no.pdf>. VIEIRA, Antonio Rufino. Marxismo e libertação: estudos sobre Ernst Bloch e Enrique Dussel. São Leopoldo: Nova Harmonia, 2010. RAULET, Gérard (Organizador). Utopie - marxisme selon Ernst Bloch: un sistème de l’inconstructible. Paris: Payot, 1976. ZECCHI, Stefano. Ernest Bloch: Utopia y Esperanza en el Comunismo [1974]. Trad. esp. de Enric Pérez Nadal, Barcellona: Península, 1978.

Gerbera (Gerbera jamesonii) is one of the top 10 economically important flower crops in Europe as well as the United States. The acreage devoted to this crop continues to increase especially for use in landscape typologies. Abundant flowering from spring until autumn allows the use of this plant to decorate gardens, terraces, and borders. During the summer of 2009, an outbreak of a previously unknown powdery mildew was observed on potted gerbera ‘Mini Yellow’ growing in a private garden in Turin (northern Italy). Adaxial leaf surfaces were covered with white mycelium and conidia, and as the disease progressed, infected leaves turned yellow and died. Conidia were hyaline, ellipsoid, borne in chains (three conidia per chain), and measured 16 to 45 × 10 to 30 μm. Conidiophores measured 109 to 117 × 11 to 13 μm and had a foot cell measuring 72 to 80 × 11 to 12 μm followed by two shorter cells measuring 19 to 29 × 11 to 14 and 20 to 32 × 12 to 14 μm. Fibrosin bodies were absent and chasmothecia were not observed in the collected samples. On the basis of its morphology, the pathogen was identified as Golovinomyces cichoracearum. The internal transcribed spacer (ITS) region of rDNA was amplified with primers ITS1/ITS4 and sequenced. BLASTn analysis of the 548-bp fragment showed an E-value of 0.0 and a percentage homology of 99% with G. cichoracearum isolated from Coreopsis leavenworthii (Accession No. DQ871605) confirming diagnosis inferred by morphological analysis. The nucleotide sequence has been assigned GenBank Accession No. GQ870342. Pathogenicity was confirmed through inoculation by gently pressing diseased leaves onto leaves of three healthy potted plants of Gerbera ‘Mini Yellow’. Three noninoculated plants served as the control. Plants were maintained in a greenhouse at temperatures ranging between 20 and 30°C. Inoculated plants developed signs and symptoms after 8 days, whereas control plants remained healthy. The fungus present on inoculated plants was morphologically identical to that originally observed on diseased plants. To our knowledge, this is the first report of the presence of powdery mildew caused by G. cichoracearum on gerbera in Italy. Specimens are available at the Agroinnova Collection at the University of Torino. Gerbera is also susceptible to different powdery mildews. Powdery mildew of Gerbera jamesonii caused by Sphaerotheca fusca was reported in Italy (4). G. cichoracearum on Gerbera jamesonii was reported in North America (2), Argentina (3), and Switzerland (1). References: (1) A. Bolay. Cryptogam. Helv. 20:1, 2005. (2) M. Daughtrey et al. Page 39 in: Compendium of Flowering Potted Plant Diseases. The American Phytopathological Society, St Paul, MN, 1995. (3) R. Delhey et al. Schlechtendalia 10:79, 2003. (4) F. Zaccaria et al. Ann. Fac. Agrar. Univ. Stud. di Napoli Federico II 34:44, 2000.

The purpose of this article is to analyze the so-called human capital theory and to clarify the concept of public good, as well as the frequency of the expression "public" in the Declarations adopted at the Regional Conferences of Higher Education in Latin America and the Caribbean in 2008 and 2018. For this, in methodological terms, this article analyzes documents from certain International Organizations (UNESCO, World Bank and OECD) and seeks theoretical support in Reinhart Koselleck's History of Concepts and other authors such as Roger Dale, Susan Robertson, Bob Jessop, Stephen Gill, Paul Samuelson , Karl Polanyi and Pierre Bourdieu.ResumoO presente artigo tem o objetivo de analisar a chamada teoria do capital humano e precisar o conceito de bem público, bem como a frequência da expressão “público” nas Declarações aprovadas nas Conferências Regionais de Educação Superior na América Latina e Caribe, em 2008 e 2018. Para isto, em termos metodológicos, o presente artigo analisa documentos de determinadas Organizações Internacionais (UNESCO, Banco Mundial e OCDE) e busca apoio na História dos Conceitos de Reinhart Koselleck e em autores como Roger Dale, Bob Jessop, Stephen Gill, Paul Samuelson, Karl Polanyi, Pierre Bourdieu.Keywords: Public good, Human capital theory, Commodification, Education, CRES 2008 and CRES 2018.Palavras-chave: Bem público, Teoria do capital humano, Mercadorização, Educação, CRES 2008 e CRES 2018.ReferencesALVES, Giovanni. O que é o precariado? Blog da Boitempo. Extraído de <https://blogdaboitempo.com.br/2013/07/22/o-que-e-o-precariado/>, 22 Jul 2013, acesso em 28 fev 2019.ARENDT, Hannah. A crise na educação. In: Entre o passado e o futuro. Tradução: Mauro W. Barbosa de Almeida. 3ª reimpressão da 5ª ed. de 2000. São Paulo: Perspectiva, 2005.AUDITORIA CIDADÃ DA DÍVIDA. Dividômetro: quanto pagamos (juros e amortizações) – dívida pública federal. Auditoria Cidadã da Dívída. Extraído de <https://auditoriacidada.org.br/>. Acesso em 28 fev. 2019.AZEVEDO, M. L. N.. Transnacionalização e mercadorização da Educação Superior: examinando alguns efeitos colaterais do capitalismo acadêmico (sem riscos) no Brasil - A expansão privado-mercantil. Revista Internacional de Educação Superior - RIESup, v. 1, p. 86-102, 2015.AZEVEDO, M. L. N. O Novo Regime Fiscal: a retórica da intransigência, o constrangimento da oferta de bens públicos e o comprometimento do PNE 2014-2024. Tópicos Educacionais, v. 1, p. 234-258, 2016.AZEVEDO, M. L. N. Regionalismo, regionalização e regionalidade: da integração pela paz à Estratégia Europa 2020. In: BARREYRO, Gladys Beatriz; HIZUME, Gabriela de Camargo. (Orgs.). Regionalismos e Inter-Regionalismos na Educação Superior: projetos, propostas e influências entre a América Latina e a Europa. 1ed. Cascavel-PR: EDUNIOESTE, 2018, v. 1, p. 65-88.AZEVEDO, M. L. N. 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In this paper, proposes a reflection about the research (auto)biographical fundamentals and its possible contributions to human formation. As a starting point, is claimed the revision of the dominant paradigm in the name for another understanding about the subject of education. The discussion is directed to the recognition of the complexity, before denied, as an intrinsic element to human life. Then, the (auto)biographical investigation cannot dispense the notion of subject immersed in the complexity that accompanies the temporality and historicity of the human race. In methodological terms, it is a theoretical essay that seeks to reinvigorate the perennial conceptual discussions from the field of educational foundations, offering movements and reflections on the (auto)biographical research immersed in epistemological questions of the field in thesis. With this, it extends the understanding horizon of the existentiality of the subject, a multiple lateralities creature: physical, sensitive, emotions, actions, affectivities, conscious attention, cognition and imagination. And it presents, finally, the (auto)biographical Method as synthesis of a concept of Formation.ResumoNeste artigo, propõe-se a reflexão sobre os fundamentos da pesquisa (auto)biográfica e as suas possíveis contribuições à formação humana. Como ponto de partida, reivindica-se a revisão do paradigma dominante em nome de outra compreensão de sujeito da educação. A discussão encaminha-se ao reconhecimento da complexidade, anteriormente negada, como elemento intrínseco à vida humana. Logo, a pesquisa (auto)biográfica não pode prescindir da noção de sujeito imerso na complexidade que acompanha a temporalidade e a historicidade do gênero humano. Em termos metodológicos, trata-se de um ensaio teórico que busca revigorar as perenes discussões conceituais, desde o campo dos fundamentos da educação, oferecendo movimentos e reflexões sobre a pesquisa (auto)biográfica imersa em questões epistemológicas do campo em tese. Com isto, amplia o horizonte compreensivo sobre a existencialidade do sujeito, ser de múltiplas lateralidades: físico, sensível, de emoções, ações, afetividades, atenção consciente, cognição e imaginação. E apresenta, por fim, o Método (auto)biográfico como síntese de um conceito de Formação.ResumenEn esto artículo, se propone la reflexión sobre los fundamentos de la investigación (auto)biográfica y sus posibles contribuciones a la formación humana. Como punto de partida, se reivindica la revisión del paradigma dominante en nombre de otra comprensión de sujeto de la educación. La discusión se encamina al reconocimiento de la complexidad, anteriormente negada, como elemento intrínseco a la vida humana. Luego, la investigación (auto)biográfica no puede prescindir de la noción de sujeto inmerso en la complexidad que acompaña la temporalidad e historicidad del género humano. En términos metodológicos, se trata de un ensayo teórico que busca robustecer las perennes discusiones conceptuales desde el campo de los fundamentos de la educación, ofreciendo movimientos y reflexiones sobre la investigación (auto)biográfica inmersa en cuestiones epistemológicas del campo en tesis. Con esto, amplia el horizonte comprensivo sobre la existencialidad del sujeto, ser de múltiples lateralidades: físico, sensible, de emociones, acciones, afectividades, atención consciente, cognición e imaginación. Y presenta, por fin, el Método (auto)biográfico como síntesis de un concepto de Formación.Palavras-chave: Método (auto)biográfico, Formação humana, Complexidade.Keywords: (Auto)biographical method, Human formation. 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Computational Thinking (CT) is a set of logical-operational cognitive skills or processes of reasoning, based on Computer Science. Abstraction, pattern recognition, algorithmic reasoning, and decomposition are examples of some of these skills that form the four pillar of CT. Some researchers have considered these skills as useful, and even mandatory to to cognitive development of the schoolchildren. In this paper, we present practical aspects and the possible contributions of CT in the development of competence of reading and interpreting English texts. Didactic interventions were carried out in high school classes of a public school, supported by the Bring Your Own Device (BYOD) approach, in which the students used their own smartphones. During these interventions, the students developed concept maps and podcasts, performed online exercises and the traditional exam, all of that composed the set of evaluation instruments. It was possible to understand that the CT skills are intrinsically present and contributed to the development of the reading and writing skills in English. According to testimonials, we highlight that the BYOD approach provided new conceptions and perspectives on the use of electronic equipment in function of the students’ learning.ResumoO Raciocínio Computacional (RC) é um conjunto de habilidades ou processos cognitivos lógico-operacionais de raciocínio, fundamentadas na Ciência da Computação. Abstração, reconhecimento de padrões, raciocínio algorítmico e decomposição são exemplos de algumas dessas habilidades que formam os quatro pilares do RC. Alguns pesquisadores consideram essas habilidades úteis, e até mesmo fundamentais, para o desenvolvimento cognitivo dos estudantes. Nesse sentido, este relato de experiência tem por objetivo apresentar aspectos práticos e possíveis contribuições do RC no desenvolvimento da competência de leitura e interpretação de textos de diferentes naturezas na disciplina de língua inglesa. Para isso, realizaram-se intervenções didáticas em uma turma do ensino médio de uma escola pública, apoiadas na abordagem Bring Your Own Device ou, simplesmente, BYOD, em que os estudantes usaram seus próprios aparelhos celulares. Durante o desenvolvimento das intervenções, os estudantes construíram mapas conceituais e podcasts, realizarem exercício online e a tradicional prova, os quais compuseram o conjunto de instrumentos avaliativos do bimestre. Por meio dessas intervenções, foi possível identificar como as habilidades do RC estiveram intrinsecamente presentes e contribuíram para o desenvolvimento da competência de leitura e escrita em língua inglesa, elencada pelos Parâmetros Curriculares Nacionais. Conforme relatos, além da articulação didática com o RC, a abordagem BYOD proporcionou à professora e aos estudantes novas concepções e perspectivas sobre o uso de equipamentos eletrônicos em função da aprendizagem deles mesmos.Palavras-chave: Raciocínio computacional, Ensino de inglês, Mobile learning, Educação em computação.Keywords: Computational thinking, English teaching, Mobile learning, Computer science education.ReferencesALBERTA Education. School Technology Branch. Bring your own device: a guide for schools. 2012. Disponível em:http://education.alberta.ca/admin/technology/research.aspx. Acesso em: 01 fev. 2017.ALLAN, Walter; COULTER, Bob; DENNER, Jill; ERICKSON, Jeri; LEE, Irene; MALYN-SMITH, Joyce; MARTIN, Fred. Computational thinking for youth. White Paper for the ITEST Learning Resource Centre na EDC. Small Working Group on Computational Thinking (CT), 2010. Disponível em: http://stelar.edc.org/publications/computational-thinking-youth. Acesso em: dez 2017.ARAÚJO, Ana Liz; ANDRADE, Wilkerson; GERRERO, Dalton Serey. Pensamento Computacional sob a visão dos profissionais da computação: uma discussão sobre conceitos e habilidades. In: Anais dos Workshops do VI Congresso Brasileiro de Informática na Educação. v. 4, n 1, 2015. p. 1454-1563.ARMONI, Michal. Computing in schools: On teaching topics in computer science theory. ACM Inroads, v. 1, n. 1, p. 21-22. 2010. DOI=http://dx.doi.org/10.1145/1721933.1721941BARBOSA, Márcio Lobo; ALVES, Álvaro Santos; JESUS, José Carlos Oliveira; BURNHAM, Teresinha Fróes. Mapas conceituais na avaliação da aprendizagem significativa. In: Anais do XVI Simpósio Nacional de Ensino de Física, v. 14, 2005, p. 1-4.BELL, Tim; WITTEN, Ian; FELLOWS, Mike. Ensinando Ciência da Computação sem o uso do computador. Computer Science Unplugged, 2011.BOCCONI, Stefania; CHIOCCARIELLO, Augusto; DETTORI, Giuliana; FERRARI, Anusca; ENGELHARDT, Katja. Developing computational thinking in compulsory education Implications for policy and practice. European Commission, JRC Science for Policy Report. 2016.BRASIL, Ministério da Educação. Secretaria da Educação Básica. PCN+ ensino médio: Orientações educacionais complementares aos parâmetros curriculares nacionais, Brasília: MEC. 2002. Disponível em: http://portal.mec.gov.br/seb/arquivos/pdf/linguagens02.pdf. Acesso em: set 2017.BRASIL. Ministério da Educação (MEC). Base Nacional Comum Curricular. 2017. Disponível em: http://basenacionalcomum.mec.gov.br/. Acesso em: set 2017.BRITANNICA, Encyclopaedia. Phenol: Encyclopaedia Britannica Online Academic Edition. Encyclopædia Britannica Inc. 2012. Disponível em: https://www.britannica.com/. Acesso em: 01 fev. 2017.BROOKSHEAR, J-Glenn. Ciência da Computação: uma visão abrangente. Porto Alegre, Bookman Editora, 2005.CHARLTON, Patricia; LUCKIN, Rosemary. Computational thinking and computer science in schools. What The Research Says’ Briefing, v. 2. 2012. [s.p.]CHIOFI, Luiz Carlos; OLIVEIRA, Marta Regina Furlan de. O uso das tecnologias educacionais como ferramenta didática no processo de ensino e aprendizagem. In: Anais da III Jornada de Didática - Jornada de Didática: Desafios para a Docência e II Seminário de Pesquisa do CEMAD. Londrina, 2014. [s.p.]COMPUTER AT SCHOOL. Computational Thinking: a guide for teachers. Hodder Education - the educational division of Hachette UK Digital Schoolhouse, 2015. Disponível em: https://community.computingatschool.org.uk/resources/2324/single. Acesso em: 01 set 2017.CORREIA, Paulo Rogério Miranda; SILVA, Amanda Cristina; ROMANO JÚNIOR, Jerson Geraldo. Mapas conceituais como ferramenta de avaliação na sala de aula. Revista Brasileira de Ensino de Física, v. 32, n. 4, p. 4402-4408. 2010.COSTA, Giselda dos Santos. 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Disponível em: <https://computationalthinkingcourse.withgoogle.com/unit?lesson=8&unit=1. Acesso em: set 2017.LEE, Irene; MARTIN, Fred; DENNER, Jill; COULTER, Bob; ALLAN, Walter; ERICKSON, Jeri; MALYN-SMITH, Joyce; WERNER, Linda. Computational thinking for youth in practice. ACM Inroads, v. 2, n. 1, 2011. p. 32-37.LIUKAS, Linda. Hello Ruby: adventures in coding. New York: Feiwel & Friends, 2015.LU, Zhao.; YING, Lu. Application of Podcast in Teaching and Learning Oral English for Non-English Majors. In: International Conference on Computational and Information Sciences, Shiyang, 2013. p. 1935-1938. doi: 10.1109/ICCIS.2013.506MANNILA, Linda; VALENTINA, Dagiene; DEMO, Barbara; GRGURINA, Natasa; MIROLO, Claudio; ROLANDSSON, Lennart; SETTLE, Amber. Computational thinking in K-9 education. In: Proceedings of the working group reports of the 2014 on innovation & technology in computer science education conference. ACM, 2014. p. 1-29.MOREIRA, Antonio Marco. 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In: Anais dos Workshops do Congresso Brasileiro de Informática na Educação, v. 4, 2015. p. 1300-1309.RACHID, Laura. Cenário da educação básica no Brasil é alarmante, aponta Ideb. Revista Educação. São Paulo, 04 set. 2018. Disponível em: http://www.revistaeducacao.com.br/cenario-da-educacao-basica-no-brasil-e-alarmante/. Acesso em: 26 de setembro de 2018.RODRIGUEZ, Carla; ZEM-LOPES, Aparecida Maria; MARQUES, Leonardo; ISOTANI, Seiji. Pensamento Computacional: transformando ideias em jogos digitais usando o Scratch. In: Anais do Workshop de Informática na Escola. p. 62-71. 2015.SILVA, Edson Coutinho. Mapas conceituais: propostas de aprendizagem e avaliação. Administração: Ensino e Pesquisa, [S.l.], v. 16, n. 4, p. 785-815, dez. 2015. ISSN 2358-0917. Disponível em: <https://raep.emnuvens.com.br/raep/article/view/385/196>. Acesso em: 06 nov. 2017. doi: https://doi.org/10.13058/raep.2015.v16n4.385.SILVA, Edson Coutinho. Mapas Conceituais: Modelos de Avaliação. 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Use value refers to the usefulness of social productions in the sense of the increasingly effective fulfillment of human needs, as well as the production of new, ever richer, more human needs. However, in a society oriented by the logic of capital, thus oriented to the production of goods for exchange (commodities), the use value will always be determined, though not unilaterally, by the fact that it is in indissoluble unity with the exchange value, which leads, as a rule, to the secondary consideration of supplying/ production of needs in favor of the increased production of plus-value, the source of capital profit. This paper analyzes, employing literature review, a discussion about the contradiction of use value / exchange value incident on the use of digital media in education. Based on the Marxian dialectical method, a discussion is made about this contradiction, analyzing (abstracting, isolating) on the one hand the rich possibilities opened by the development of these technologies; and on the other hand, the process of commodification incident on the educational phenomenon, which interferes with the realization of that possibilities. As a synthesis, it is argued that the ontologically human moment, oriented to the use value, although determined by the purpose of producing plus-value, constitutes the fundamental social reference for the critique of the commodification process that occurs in education in general, with consequences in the way the means necessary to achieve the ends are conceived and adopted, a fundamental critical attitude for digital technologies to be part of an effective humanization process.ResumoO valor de uso refere-se à utilidade das produções sociais, no sentido do atendimento cada vez mais efetivo das necessidades humanas, bem como de produção de novas necessidades, cada vez mais ricas, mais humanas. Entretanto, em uma sociedade regida pela ordem do capital, orientada, portanto, à produção de bens para a troca (mercadorias), o valor de uso estará sempre determinado, embora não unilateralmente, pelo fato de se encontrar em unidade indissolúvel com o valor de troca, o que leva em regra à secundarização desse papel de atendimento/produção de necessidades em favor da extração ampliada de mais-valor, fonte de lucro do capital. Este artigo, analisa, empregando revisão de literatura, uma discussão sobre a contradição valor de uso/valor de troca incidente sobre o emprego das mídias digitais na educação. Tomando-se como base o método dialético marxiano, faz-se uma discussão, sobre essa contradição, analisando (abstraindo, isolando) por um lado, as ricas possibilidades abertas pelo desenvolvimento dessas tecnologias; e de outro lado, o processo de mercantilização incidente no fenômeno educativo, que interfere na efetivação daquele potencial. Como síntese, sustenta-se que o momento ontologicamente humano, orientado ao valor de uso, embora determinado pela busca da produção de mais-valor, constitui referência social fundamental para a crítica do processo de mercantilização que incide na educação de forma geral, com rebatimentos na maneira como se escolhem e adotam os meios necessários para atingimento dos fins, crítica fundamental para que as tecnologias digitais se insiram em um efetivo processo de humanização.ResumenEl valor de uso se refiere a la utilidad de las producciones sociales en el sentido de la satisfacción cada vez más efectiva de las necesidades humanas, así como a la producción de nuevas necesidades cada vez más ricas y más humanas. Sin embargo, en una sociedad gobernada por el orden del capital, orientada a la producción de bienes para el intercambio (mercancías), el valor de uso siempre estará determinado, aunque no de manera unilateral, por el hecho de que está en una unidad indisoluble con el valor de cambio, lo que lleva, por regla general, a la secundarización del papel de satisfacción / producción de necesidades en favor de una mayor extracción de más valor, fuente de ganancias del capital. Este artículo analiza, utilizando una revisión de la literatura, una discusión sobre la contradicción valor de uso / valor de cambio incidente en el uso de las medias digitales en la educación. Basado en el método dialéctico marxista, se discute sobre esta contradicción, analizando (abstrayendo, aislando) por un lado las ricas posibilidades abiertas por el desarrollo de estas tecnologías; y, por otro lado, el proceso de mercantilización que ocurre en el fenómeno educativo, que interfiere con la realización de ese potencial. En síntesis, se argumenta que el momento ontológicamente humano, orientado al valor de uso, aunque determinado por la búsqueda de la producción de más valor, constituye una referencia social fundamental para la crítica del proceso de mercantilización que ocurre en la educación en general, con efectos en la forma en que se eligen y adoptan los medios necesarios para lograr los fines, una crítica fundamental para que las tecnologías digitales sean parte de un proceso de humanización efectivo.Palavras-chave: Marxismo, Trabalho e educação, Assimilação crítica de tecnologia. 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Our studies have indicated that the relative concentration of Se or Hg to As in urine and blood positively correlates with percentage of inorganic arsenic (% Inorg-As) and percentage of monomethlyarsonic acid [% MMA (V)]. We also found a negative correlation with percentage of dimethylarsinic acid [% DMA (V)] and the ratio of % DMA (V) to % MMA (V). In another study, we found that a group of proteins were significantly over expressed and conversely other groups were under-expressed in tissues in Na-As (III) treated hamsters. Introduction.Inorganic arsenic (Inorg-As) in drinking water.One of the largest public health problems at present is the drinking of water containing levels of Inorg-As that are known to be carcinogenic. At least 200 million people globally are at risk of dying because of arsenic (As) in their drinking water1-3. The chronic ingestion of Inorg-As can results in skin cancer, bladder cancer, lung cancer, and cancer of other organs1-3. The maximum contamination level (MCL) of U.S. drinking water for arsenic is 10 ug/L. The arsenic related public health problem in the U.S. is not at present anywhere near that of India4, Bangladesh4, and other countries5. Metabolism and toxicity of Inorg-As and arsenic species.Inorg-As is metabolized in the body by alternating reduction of pentavalent arsenic to trivalent form by enzymes and addition of a methyl group from S-adenosylmethionine6, 7; it is excreted mainly in urine as DMA (V)8. Inorganic arsenate [Inorg-As (V)]is biotransformed to Inorg-As (III), MMA (V), MMA (III), DMA (V), and DMA (III)6(Fig. 1). Therefore, the study of the toxicology of Inorg-As (V) involves at least these six chemical forms of arsenic. Studies reported the presence of 3+ oxidation state arsenic biotransformants [MMA (III) and DMA (III)] in human urine9and in animal tissues10. The MMA (III) and DMA (III) are more toxic than other arsenicals11, 12. In particular MMA (III) is highly toxic11, 12. In increased % MMA in urine has been recognized in arsenic toxicity13. In addition, people with a small % MMA in urine show less retention of arsenic14. Thus, the higher prevalence of toxic effects with increased % MMA in urine could be attributed to the presence of toxic MMA (III) in the tissue. Previous studies also indicated that males are more susceptible to the As related skin effects than females13, 15. A study in the U.S population reported that females excreted a lower % Inorg-As as well as % MMA, and a higher % DMA than did males16. Abbreviation: SAM, S-adenosyl-L-methionine; SAHC, S-adenosyl-L-homocysteine. Differences in susceptibility to arsenic toxicity might be manifested by differences in arsenic metabolism among people. Several factors (for examples, genetic factors, sex, duration and dosage of exposure, nutritional and dietary factors, etc.) could be influence for biotransformation of Inorg-As,6, 17 and other unknown factors may also be involved. The interaction between As, Se, and Hg.The toxicity of one metal or metalloid can be dramatically modulated by the interaction with other toxic and essential elements18. Arsenic and Hg are toxic elements, and Se is required to maintain good health19. But Se is also toxic at high levels20. Recent reports point out the increased risk of squamous cell carcinoma and non-melanoma skin cancer in those treated with 200 ug/day of selenium (Nutritional Prevention of Cancer Trial in the United States)21. However, it is well known that As and Se as well as Se and Hg act as antagonists22. It was also reported that Inorg-As (III) influenced the interaction between selenite and methyl mercury23. A possible molecular link between As, Se, and Hg has been proposed by Korbas et al. (2008)24. The identifying complexes between the interaction of As and Se, Se and Hg as well as As, Se, and Hg in blood of rabbit are shown in Table 1. Influence of Se and Hg on the metabolism of Inorg-As.The studies have reported that Se supplementation decreased the As-induced toxicity25, 26. The concentrations of urinary Se expressed as ug/L were negatively correlated with urinary % Inorg-As and positively correlated with % DMA27. The study did not address the urinary creatinine adjustment27. Other researchers suggested that Se and Hg decreased As methylation28-31(Table 2). They also suggested that the synthesis of DMA from MMA might be more susceptible to inhibition by Se (IV)29 as well as by Hg (II)30,31 compared to the production of MMA from Inorg-As (III). The inhibitory effects of Se and Hg were concentration dependent28-31. The literature suggests that reduced methylation capacity with increased % MMA (V), decreased % DMA (V), or decreased ratios of % DMA to % MMA in urine is positively associated with various lesions32. Lesions include skin cancer and bladder cancer32. The results were obtained from inorganic arsenic exposed subjects32. Our concern involves the combination of low arsenic (As) and high selenium (Se) ingestion. This can inhibit methylation of arsenic to take it to a toxic level in the tissue. Dietary sources of Se and Hg.Global selenium (Se) source are vegetables in the diet. In the United States, meat and bread are the common source. Selenium deficiency in the US is rare. The US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has found toxic levels of Se in dietary supplements, up to 200 times greater than the amount stated on the label33. The samples contained up to 40,800 ug Se per recommended serving. For the general population, the most important pathway of exposure to mercury (Hg) is ingestion of methyl mercury in foods. Fish (including tuna, a food commonly eaten by children), other seafood, and marine mammals contain the highest concentrations. The FDA has set a maximum permissible level of 1 ppm of methyl mercury in the seafood34. The people also exposed mercury via amalgams35. Proteomic study of Inorg-As (III) injury.Proteomics is a powerful tool developed to enhance the study of complex biological system36. This technique has been extensively employed to investigate the proteome response of cells to drugs and other diseases37, 38. A proteome analysis of the Na-As (III) response in cultured lung cells found in vitro oxidative stress-induced apoptosis39. However, to our knowledge, no in vivo proteomic study of Inorg-As (III) has yet been conducted to improve our understanding of the cellular proteome response to Inorg-As (III) except our preliminary study 40. Preliminary Studies: Results and DiscussionThe existing data (Fig. 1) from our laboratory and others show the complex nature of Inorg-As metabolism. For many years, the major way to study, arsenic (As) metabolism was to measure InorgAs (V), Inorg-As (III), MMA (V), and DMA (V) in urine of people chronically exposed to As in their drinking water. Our investigations demonstrated for the first time that MMA (III) and DMA (III) are found in human urine9. Also we have identified MMA (III) and DMA (III) in the tissues of mice and hamsters exposed to sodium arsenate [Na-As (V)]10, 41. Influence of Se as well as Hg on the As methyltransferase.We have reported that Se (IV) as well as mercuric chloride (HgCl2) inhibited As (III) methyltransferase and MMA (III) methyltransferase in rabbit liver cytosol. Mercuric chloride was found to be a more potent inhibitor of MMA (III) methyltransferase than As (III) methyltransferase30. These results suggested that Se and Hg decreased arsenic methylation. The inhibitory effects of Se and Hg were concentration dependent30. Influence of Se and Hg in urine and blood on the percentage of urinary As metabolites.Our human studies indicated that the ratios of the concentrations of Se or Hg to As in urine and blood were positively correlated with % Inorg-As and % MMA (V). But it negatively correlated with % DMA (V) and the ratios of % DMA (V) to % MMA (V) in urine of both males and females (unpublished data) (Table 3). These results confirmed that the inhibitory effects of Se as well as Hg for the methylation of Inorg-As in humans were concentration dependent. We also found that the concentrations of Se and Hg were negatively correlated with % Inorg-As and % MMA (V). Conversely it correlated positively with % DMA (V) and the ratios of % DMA (V) to % MMA (V) in urine of both sexes (unpublished data). These correlations were not statistically significant when urinary concentrations of Se and Hg were adjusted for urinary creatinine (Table 3). Interactions of As, Se, Hg and its relationship with methylation of arsenic are summarized in Figure 2. Sex difference distribution of arsenic species in urine.Our results indicate that females have more methylation capacity of arsenic as compared to males. In our human studies (n= 191) in Mexico, we found that females (n= 98) had lower % MMA (p<0.001) and higher % DMA (p=0.006) when compared to males (n= 93) (Fig. 3). The means ratio of % MMA (V) to % Inorg-As and % DMA (V) to %MMA (V) were also lower (p<0.05) and higher (p<0.001), respectively in females compared to males. The protein expression profiles in the tissues of hamsters exposed to Na-As (III).In our preliminary studies40, hamsters were exposed to Na-As (III) (173 pg/ml as As) in their drinking water for 6 days and control hamsters were given only the water used to make the solutions for the experimental animals. After DIGE (Two-dimensional differential in gel electrophoresis) and analysis by the DeCyder software, several protein spots were found to be over-expressed (red spot) and several were under expressed (green spot) as compared to control (Figs. 4a-c). Three proteins (one was over-expressed and two were under-expressed) of each tissue (liver and urinary bladder) were identified by LC-MS/MS (liquid chromatography-tandem mass spectrometry).DIGE in combination with LC-MS/MS is a powerful tool that may help cancer investigators to understand the molecular mechanisms of cancer progression due to Inorg-As. Propose a new researchThese results suggested that selenium (Se) as well as mercury (Hg) may influence the methylation of Inorg-As and this influence could be dependent on the concentration of Se, Hg and/or the sex of the animal. Our study also suggested that the identification and functional assignment of the expressed proteins in the tissues of Inorg-As (III) exposed animals will be useful for understanding and helping to formulate a theory dealing with the molecular events of arsenic toxicity and carcinogenicity.Therefore, it would be very useful if we could do a research study with combination of Inorg-arsenic, Se, and Hg. The new research protocol could be the following:For metabolic processing, hamsters provide a good animal model. For carcinogenesis, mouse model is well accepted. The aims of this project are: 1) To map the differential distributions of arsenic (As) metabolites/species in relation to selenium (Se) and mercury (Hg) levels in male and female hamsters and 2) To chart the protein expression profile and identify the defense proteins in mice and hamsters after As injury. Experimental hamsters (male or female) will include four groups. The first group will be treated with Na arseniteNa-As(III), the second group with Na-As (III) and Na-selenite (Na-Se (IV)], the third group with Na As (III) and methyl mercuric chloride (MeHgCl), and the final group with Na-As (III), Na-Se (IV), and MeHgci at different levels. Urine and tissue will be collected at different time periods and measured for As species using high performance liquid chromatography/inductively coupled plasma-mass spectrometry (HPLC/ICP-MS). For proteomics, mice (male and female) and hamsters (male and female) will be exposed to Na-As (III)at different levels in tap water, and control mice and hamsters will be given only the tap water. Tissue will be harvested at different time periods. TWO dimensional differential in gel electrophoresis (2D-DIGE) combined with liquid chromatography-tandem mass spectrometry (LC-MS/MS) will be employed to identify the expressed protein. In summary, we intend to extend our findings to: 1) Differential distribution of As metabolites in kidney, liver, lung, and urinary bladder of male and female hamsters exposed to Na-As (III), and combined with Na-As (III) and Na-Se (IV) and/or MeHgCl at different levels and different time periods, 2) Show the correlation of As species distribution in the tissue and urine for both male and female hamsters treated with and without Na-Se (IV) and/or MeHgCl, and 3) Show protein expression profile and identify the defense proteins in the tissues (liver, lung, and urinary bladder epithelium) in mice after arsenic injury. The significance of this study: The results of which have the following significances: (A) Since Inorg-As is a human carcinogen, understanding how its metabolism is influenced by environmental factors may help understand its toxicity and carcinogenicity, (B) The interactions between arsenic (As), selenium (Se), and mercury (Hg) are of practical significance because populations in various parts of the world are simultaneously exposed to Inorg-As & Se and/or MeHg, (C) These interactions may inhibit the biotransformation of Inorg-As (III) which could increase the amount and toxicity of Inorg-As (III) and MMA (III) in the tissues, (D) Determination of arsenic species profile in the tissues after ingestion of Inorg-As (III), Se (IV), and/or MeHg+ will help understand the tissue specific influence of Se and Hg on Inorg-As (III) metabolism, (E) Correlation of arsenic species between tissue and urine might help to understand the tissue burden of arsenic species when researchers just know the distribution of arsenic species in urine, (F) The identification of the defense proteins (over-expressed and under-expressed) in the tissues of the mouse may lead to understanding the mechanisms of inorganic arsenic injury in human. The Superfund Basic Research Program NIEHS Grant Number ES 04940 from the National Institute of Environmental Health Sciences supported this work. Additional support for the mass spectrometry analyses was provided by grants from NIWHS ES 06694, NCI CA 023074 and the BIO5 Institute of the University of Arizona. Acknowledge:The Authorwantsto dedicate this paper to the memory of Dr. H. VaskenAposhian and Dr. Mary M. Aposhian who collected urine and bloodsamples from Mexican population. The work was done under Prof. H. V. Aposhian sole supervision and with his great contribution. References NRC (National Research Council). Arsenic in Drinking Water. Update to the 1999 Arsenic in Drinking Water Report. National Academy Press, Washington, DC. 2001. Gomez-Caminero, A.; Howe, P.; Hughes, M.; Kenyon, ; Lewis, D. R.; Moore, J.; Mg, J.; Aitio, A.; Becking, G. Environmental Health Criteria 224. Arsenic and Arsenic Compounds (Second Edition). 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Biosurfactants are natural substances produced by several bacterial and fungal organisms that are amphiphilic and are extracellular (a part of the cell membrane). Biosurfactants can reduce the stress between solids and liquids on the surface and at the end. Biosurfactants have several properties, i.e. they are stable, less harmful, as well as readily degradable, and extremely eco-friendly. Biosurfactants also have a wide range of industrial uses because they are a versatile category of chemical substances. The principal justification for conducting such research was the isolation of possible biosurfactants containing bacteria. Sampling was performed for the isolation of bacteria producing biosurfactants from different oil-polluted sites That is to say, experiment for emulsification, test for oil spreading, test for drop collapse, and measure for hemolysis. The capability to produce biosurfactants was seen in 22 different isolates from polluted sites B1, B2, and B3. Through different biochemical tests and Gram staining, it was identified that isolated bacterial strains are Pseudomonas spp and that is Pseudomonas aeruginosa. The procedure used as characterizing biosurfactants was the TLC plate’s procedure, by using TLC plates process yellow dots emerged after spraying on silica gel plates with an throne and ninhydrin reagents. These yellow spots confirmed the presence and production of rhamnolipid in the biosurfactant. Hence, it was concluded that identified strains in the study can be helpful in the heavy metals, pesticides, and hydrocarbons bio-degradation and bioremediation. These may also be used as biological control agents to protect plants from various pathogens, resulting in improved crop yields. Introduction Biosurfactants are natural substances produced by several bacterial and fungal organisms that are amphiphilic and are extracellular (a part of the cell membrane) (Chen et al., 2007; Ghayyomiet al., 2012). Main purpose of the bio-surfactantsgeneration or production is a consequence of financial availability (Van Dyke et al., 1993 It is reported that almost 50 percent of the world's surfactants are used because of the need for cleaning agents as well as the rate of growth grows every day (Deleu and Paquot, 2004). Appropriate use of bio-surfactants will control environmental emissions what these are the most dangerous, constantly rising gradually and disrupting the routine maintenance of life every day. Awareness campaign initiatives have been introduced and also increase for environmental laws, various innovative approaches need to be implemented and even the issue of pollution focused entirely. Developing appropriate advanced technologies to help clear up chemicals and toxins from the ecosystem, like hydrocarbons (both inorganic and organic). Studies on biosurfactants are being launched by scholars and researchers with significant health issues like adverse environmental effects, air contamination, environmental change, and waste management (Makkar and Cameotra, 2002 Biosurfactants contribute to expanded demand for such microbial products as alternatives to chemical surfactants (Benatet al., 2000). Microbes seem to have the capability to degrade contaminants, but their biodegradation is limited leading to hydrophobicity, low solubility in water, and inadequate bioavailability, of such pollutants (Patil, et al., 2012). GhayyomiJazeh, Mishraet. al (2001) those bacteria that produce biosurfactants were isolated from the site of petroleum spills and afterward, 160 strains and as well as 59 strains were able to produce biosurfactants have shown better performance in a test for hemolysis of blood, and 45 strains with positive findings within oil spread experiment were applied in the laboratory to isolate and segregate the media cultured Banat process (Rahman et al., 2002) These were observed and researched that biosurfactants of Pseudomonas aeruginosa spp are most likely to disrupt the bonding of hydrocarbons like nonadecane, octa, Hexa, and hepta, in marine Water contaminated with oil spills up To approximately 47%, 53%, 73% and 60%(Abrar et al., 2020). Current study concluded that the isolated strain having the ability to degrade hydrocarbon as well as the ability to degrade the heavy metal. The strain also can protect the plant from various diseases. The present research found that the isolated strain is capable of degrading hydrocarbon while also being capable of degrading the heavy metal. As well as the strain does have the capability to defend plants from different diseases. Material And Methods Area of Study The investigation was conducted at HazaraUniversity(HU) Microbiology Laboratory, MansehraPakistan. Assemblage of Samples Thehomestay area of the city Mansehra Pakistan which is named as a township, where oil spills arose, oil spills soil samples were obtained as well as sampling from various Mansehra automobile workshops were also done. Sterilized bags of polythene were being used to collect samples of the soil, after thatthe sample was taken towards the Hazara University (HU) Mansehra Microbiology Laboratory to examine and extract bacterial strains that could develop biosurfactants. The soil temperature at the time of sample selection was around 30 ° C. The pH was also verified by Galvano science companies at the time of selection by pH meter, and the pH being reported was 7. Preparation of Media 15 x 100 mm Petri dishes were being used to prepare the media. Agar plates were thoroughly cleaned with water from the tap and then carefully covered in aluminum foil following cleaning then placed within autoclave at 121°C for about 15 min at 15 psi for sterilization. The nutrient agar which contains 0.5% NaCl, 0.3% beef extract, 0.5% peptone, and 1.5% agar, in 500 ml of distilled water, 14 g of the nutrient agar media (Merck) were dissolved. The nutrient level used mainly for the production of non-fastidious species. Nutrient agar is widely known as it's capable of growing a variety of bacteria types and provides nutrients required for the growth of bacteria. Upon sufficient dissolution of such nutrient agar in distilled water, these were then sterilized by autoclaving for 15 min at 15 psi in the autoclave and held at 121 °C Upon autoclaving, pouring of the media was done in laminar flow hood, and then packed and placed for yet more use in a fridge at 4°C. 2.4 Preparation of serial dilution The bacteria are isolated using the serial dilution process. During this process, 10 test tubes were taken and distilled water (9ml) was added in each tube. After that tubes were put for 15 minutes in the autoclave machine at 121°C. After that 1gm of a crude oil sample from the soil was added in a test tube containing distilled water. Further, 1 ml of the solution was taken from the first test tube and poured to the adjoining tubes for the preparation dilution as under . Afterward, 10μl of the solution was pipetted from both the dilution of and shifted for spread culture techniques, then incubated the plates at 37°C for 48hrs. Biosurfactants extraction Firstly, in nutrient broth solution theculture of bacteria was added and inoculated with oil, the bacterial colony was then incubated at the temperature of 25°C in a shaking incubator just for 7 days. Incubation after seven days of trembling. Thebacterial Crop was then taken and centrifuged at 5000rpm at temperature 4°C for 20minutes. Following centrifugation, the supernatant was collected and then mixed in the equivalent amount in Methanol: Chloroform. White sediment was then retained and collected for further use . Bacterial Colonies Isolation 1 g of the soil polluted with oil was diluted serially up to 106 dilutions.10 μl of 104 and 106 dilutions for spread culture were transferred to the MSM agar plates and nutrient agar. The plates were then incubated at 37°C for 48hrs. Twenty-two morphologically separate colonies were separated for further specific examination just after the incubation and processed by using the technique of streak plate. Screening of Isolates’ Biosurfactants Behavior To check the activity of biosurfactants produced by the bacterial species the following methods of screening were done. Hemolytic Activity of Biosurfactants for Erythrocytes Blood agar containing 5% of blood was prepared as after the fresh isolates were added and inoculated on blood agar plates, then the plates were taken and placed in the incubator at temperature 37°C for 48hrs (Rashediet al., 2005). Thereafter the observation of clear zone in the colonies indicated the existence of bacterial species that produce biosurfactants. This experiment was undertaken to control the ability of isolated bacteria to induce blood agar hemolysis. Three forms of hemolysis usually involve; alpha, beta, and hemolysis of the gamma. The agar underneath the species is dark greenish, then it is Alpha, the yellowish color produced in beta hemolysis and gamma hemolysis does not affect the bacterial sppwhichadded on the plates (Anandaraj and Thivakaran, 2010). Bio-surfactant identification with process of CTAB MSM (Mineral salt agar medium) with (2%) of glucose serving both as carbon source, (0.5 mg / ml) acetyl-tri-methyl-ammonium-bromide (CTAB), and methylene blue (MB: 0.2 mg/ml) are used to detect anionic bio-surfactants (Satpute et al., 2008). For this method, thirty microliters (30μl) of cell-free supernatant were added to each of the wells of the methylene blue agar plate that comprises of borer (4 mm in diameter). after that, the incubation of the plates was done for 48-72 hrs at 37°C. Just after incubation in each of the wells, a dark blue halo zone was being used to show the successful anionic bio-surfactant production. Table 1: Composition of MSM Media S. No Ingredients Amount (gm/L) I Potassium dihydrogen phosphate (KH2PO4) II Magnesium Sulfate (MgSO4) III Iron Sulfate (FeSO4) IV Sodium Nitrate (NaNO3) V Calcium Chloride (CaCl2) VI Ammonium Sulfate (NH4)2SO4 Technique for Spreading of Oil A sufficient number of isolated bacteria were inoculated into a solution of 100ml nutrient broth. Over 3 days, the culture was incubated at 37 ° C in a rotating shaker incubator (150 rpm). After that biosurfactants synthesis was checked in culture suspensions (Priya and Usharani, 2009; Anandaraj and Thivakaran, 2010). For this process, thirty milliliters (30ml) of distilled water was added in a Petri dish. In the middle of the distilled water, 1 milliliter (1ml) of diesel oil was added, and then a centrifuged twenty microliter (20μl) culture was introduced to the middle of a plate, which was isolated from oil spilled soil or local oily groundwater. The species producing the bio-surfactant displace the hydrocarbons and disperse it even in the water. Then it was calculated and analyzed within 1 mint (Ali et al., 2013). Technique for Drop collapse In this process, 96-wellsformed in each of the plates of nutrient agar. Afterwards, all the 96-wells of microliter plates was then filled withmineral oil of about 2ml. Then stabilized the plate at 37oC for 1 hour, after which the oil surface was filled with 5μl of supernatant culture. Therefore, the drop shape was taken to be observed on the oil surface after 1min. The drop which was collapsed, generated by the supernatant culture which is used to signify positive(+ive) outcome and the drops which stayed the same and displayed no changeindicates negative(-ive) outcome. And was taking distilled water as a control(Plaza et al., 2006). Emulsification index The emulsification index was calculated, as stated by the process followed by Cooper and Goldenberg (1981) In this process, 2 ml of kerosene oil was taken and inserted in each of the test tubes to the same amount of cell-free supernatant, and then homogenized for 2 min in a vortex at high speed and allowed for 24 hours to stand. The emulsification steadiness was then determined after the 24 hours, and the emulsification value was estimated by measuring the emulsified layer height by the total liquid layer height, then multiplied by 100. Quantification for the Dry weight of Biosurfactants The bacterial colony was inserted and inoculated in the nutrient broth medium, followed by oil and centrifuged at 5000rpm and after that, the supernatant was clutched and treated with chloroform and methanol and mixed. The white colored deposits were taken and used for the furtherprocess of dry weight. Afterwards, took the clean Petri plate and determined the empty plate weight. Next, the sediment was poured onto Petri plates. Now, for the drying process the hot air oven was used and set the 100ºC of temperature for 30minutes and the plates were put in the oven. After the drying process, the plates were weighted again. The dry weight was calculated for the biosurfactants using the formula which described below: Selected strains Identification and their characterization Instead, various basic biochemical methods were used to identify the isolated bacterial strains. Various biochemical tests, such as Gram staining, Oxidase test, Urease test.Catalase test, Methyl red test, Motility test, Indole test, Starch hydrolysis, Citrate test, Spore staining, Gelatin hydrolysis. Then afterwards, for the preliminary characterization of the biosurfactant, the thin layer chromatography process was used. Physical characterization of the strains selected Gram staining First, on the slide, using the wire loop the bacterial pure culture was taken, and smear was prepared on the slide, and then a drop of purified water was applied. Then, the sterile loop or needle was correctly mixed the bacterial colony and purified water, then mixed up until it is somewhat turbid. Then, spirit lamp was used to fixed the bacterial smear on slide and cooled to room temperature. With this glass slide was loaded with solution of crystal violet and stood for 1minute anddistilled water was applied on slide. Meanwhile the slide was submerged for 1 minute with the iodine solution, and then flushed and rinsed with water. Therefore, decolorizer of about 1 to 2 drops(5 percent acetone and 95 percent alcohol) were added to the slide’s smear and stand for 30seconds, and then treated with water. After then slide was rinsed with safranin for 60seconds, and then treated with water anddry in air. Microscopic analysis was done with 100x objective lenses using emersion oil on smear. Cell morphology The isolates of the bacterial cell were gram stained on slides and then the slides were observed under the light microscope, showing the shape and color of the cells. Biochemical characterization of the selected strains Catalase test Aim of this study is to identify, evaluate and examine that, whether or not the microbes are capable of producing catalase enzymes, while catalase is a protective enzyme, i.e. catalase has the potential to protect against the lethal chemicals known as (H2O2). In this study a bacterial culture that was clarified overnight was used. This culture has been smeared on a glass slide, and 3 percent hydrogen peroxide (H2O2) has been applied and observed on smear. Effects have been observed for bubble formation. Citrate test This study was performed to check the amount or ingest the citrate as the carbon and energy supply for growth and metabolism. Medium containing bromothymol blue and sodium citrate as pH indicator, bacterial was introduced. Ammonium chloride is also present in this medium used as a nitrogen source. Results were noted with variations of color from green to blue. Urease test The capability of urease enzyme for degrading urea was calculated in this bacterial capacity test. Bacterial culture was taken and inoculated for 48 hours at 37 ° C in urease broth, and then color was observed. Methyl red test Through using the process known as mixed acid fermentation which is used to evaluate the bacteria's acid production. The bacterial culture was taken and introduced in the broth of MR-VP and then incubated for 3days at a temperature of 37°C. Two (2) to three (3) drops of Methyl red were added in the broth medium after the incubation period. The change in broth color was observed for final results after a few seconds. Indole test Through using the process to assess the bacteria 's capability to crash indole from tryptophane molecules. After the 24 hours of incubated, taken the fresh inoculum of bacteria and then inserted into the tryptone medium, 24 hours of incubation of about 30oC, 2ml of the tryptone broth medium was added into a sterile test tube. Kovac's reagent was taken to be added (few drops) in sterile test tube and stimulated for a few minutes, and variations of color were detected. Gelatin test It is the approach assess to figure out the use of enzymes known as gelatins from bacterial organisms that precipitate the gelatin. Fresh inoculum of bacteria was taken after 24 hours, and inserted into the media of gelatin agar. This was incubated for around 24 hours, so the temperature did not exceed 30 ° C. Media was observed after incubation time. Starch hydrolysis Several of the micro-organisms that use the starch as a carbon energysource. Therefore, this method has been used to assess whether or not bacteria may use starch as a source of carbon. The bacterial fresh inoculum was spread on the petri starch agar plates, and after that the plate was incubated for 24 hours andmaintained the temperature at 30 to 35 ° C, then gradually applying the supplements of iodine to the plates to flow the change, and then examining the plates. Preliminary characterization of the strains selected Experimental characterization of the bio-surfactant was performed by using the process of TLC (Anandaraj et al., 2010). On a silica gel plate, crude portion of the rudimentary bio-surfactant was separated using Methanol: Chloroform: water (CH3OH: CHCl3: H2O) in the ratio of as an eluent with a different color producing reagents. Ninhydrin reagent (0.5 g ninhydrin in 100ml anhydrous acetone) was used to find bio-surfactant lipopeptide as red spots and anthrone reagent (1 g anthrone in 5ml sulfuric acid combined with 95ml ethanol) as yellow spots to identify rhamnolipid bio-surfactant (Yin et al., 2008). Results and Discussion Isolation of bacteria At first, twenty-two (22) strains from a polluted soil sample were isolated from nutrient agar media.Mixed culture provided by these colonies, so they were taken and smeared on the plates of nutrient agar and then fresh inoculum was collected and stored at temperature of 4oC for the further analysis. Bio-surfactants (surface-active compounds)are formed by a variety of amphiphilic bacterial and fungal organisms that are extracellular (a part of the cellular membrane) (Chen et al., 2007). Screening of Isolated strains for biosurfactant producing colonies Different experiments were carried out to identify, isolate and screen bacteria that are capable of generating bio-surfactants and that is Oil spreading technique(OST), blood hemolysis test(BHT), CTAB test, Emulsification operation. There were twenty-two distinct isolates observed in the current research. And the B1, B2 and B3culture were taken and selected from the twenty-two (22) strains isolated from the polluted spot, which were found to produce biosurfactant. And the oil spreading technique showed promising results for these strains. And strain B2 showed a greater displacement of oil and this is 4 mm. Oil spreading method is quick and often easy to handle, and this technique requires no particular equipment, only a very small amount of sample is used. This approach can be applied when the production and quantity of biosurfactant is small (Plaza et al., 2006) and (Youssef et al., 2004) Only bacterial cultures have been allocated and screened for bacterial species that can generate or use biosurfactants. Just three (3) strainsamong them presented the best results.Those 3 strain,s (B1, B2 and B3) were selected as an additional analysis. Blood hemolysis test On the petri plates of blood agar, the . Isolated bacteriaof B1, B2 and B3 were taken andstreak at the temperature about 37°C for 48 hours. Strain B1 demonstrated β (Beta) hemolysis after the incubation cycle and B2 and B3strains demonstrated γ (Gamma) hemolysis. The B1 strain had an emulsification index of about 74 percent and that was very high as compared to 70 percent for B2 and about 53 percent for B3 respectively. Around the same time, B1 strain showed β (Beta) hemolysis and γ (Gamma) hemolysis was shown bystrains B2 and B3 on the platesof bloodagar. The β hemolysisshowed by the strain B1 in the blood agar test, and the strain B2 and B3 showed γ (Gamma) hemolysis. It is determined that 20 percent strains that are the bestproducer of rhamnolipid have not fully lysed the blood, because the ability of the producer strains capacity not be responsible for the hemolytic activity. According to many researchers, who have shown that this is not such an effective tool for biosurfactant detection due to many bioproducts that may also induce red blood cell lysis, that is not so sufficient to be the surface-active molecule (Youssef et al., 2004). (Rashedi and others, 2005). Table2 Blood Hemolysis Test CTAB agar plate test This test confirms the anionic biosurfactants development. After plate incubation at a temperature of 37 ° C for 72 hours, dark blue hollow zone was existedaround each of the B1 strains wells, which clearly indicated the positive (+ive) development of anionic Biofactant. In addition, the B1 and B2 strains showed positive (+ I ve) results and, in the CTAB analysis, the B3 strain was found to be negative (-ive). The growing microorganisms when secreted the anionic biosurfactants on the plates of CTAB (cetyl-tri-methyl-ammonium-bromide) and methylene blue, then as a result the dark blue-purple insoluble ion pairs formed on the plates. The halo zone around each of the colonies was developed that can recognize rhamnolipid production and that was dark blue in colour, and could correlate with production of rhamnolipid (Siegmund et al., 1991). As indicated in (Fig1) Fig1: B1 positive on CTAB agar plate Oil Spreading Technique The oil was displaced by B1, B2and B3 strains in this test strain and showed a zone that was so clear. The bacterial strains capable of developing biosurfactant were tested and separated from the sample of soil which was oil spilled and brought from the District of Mansehra, Pakistan and from automobile workshops of Mansehra. As shown in (Fig.2). Fig.2: Results of Oil Spreading by B1, B2 and B3Table 3;.Test for oil spreads Bacterial culture Formation of zone (mm) Readings B,1 B,2 B,3 Drop-collapse technique During this process the drop shape was observed at the oil surface. As seen in Fig 3, the collapsed drop was provided by the supernatant culture B1 , B2 and B3.. Emulsification index Emulsification stability was measured with the use of kerosene oilin this test, and then observed the results. Since this emulsification index was calculated by dividing the height of the emulsion layer by the total height of the liquid layer and then multiplying by 100, as shown in the formulation below. Emulsification index Emulsification stability was measured with the use of kerosene oilin this test, and then observed the results. Since this emulsification index was calculated by dividing the height of the emulsion layer by the total height of the liquid layer and then multiplying by 100, as shown in the formulation below. Fig 3: Result of Drop-collapse test Table 4: The activity of Biosurfactant emulsification Dry weight of bio-surfactants In this examination, white-colored sediment was collected. Then measured the weight of the sterile Petri plate which was empty in the first step. Then, the sediment was poured into plates. The plates were taken and weighted after 30 minutes of drying on a hot air oven, following the process of drying. The weight of biosurfactants (dry weight) was measured using the following formulations: Fig 4: Dry weight of biosurfactants Table: 5: Dry weight of the biosurfactants Bacterial Culture Weight of the plate (g) biosurfactant in The plate after drying (g) Dry weight of Biosurfactant (g) B,1 B,2 B,3 Identification of selected strains and their characterization Gram staining For structural applications, and stroke analysis gram staining method was used.(Fig.5) shows findings from the process of gram staining. Fig 5: Microscopic view of Gram staining Biochemical identification of bacterial strains and their characterization Specific biochemical studies were performed to identify the species for further recognition and characterization. The bio-surfactant producing microorganism was found to be Pseudomonas aeruginosa after conducting various characterizations and the biochemical tests(Eric Deziel et al., 1996), Which can be used to further analyze and study the industrial development of the biosurfactant. Rhamnolipid is also isolated and produced from the Pseudomonas aeruginosa species on the silica gel plate (Rashedi et al., 2005), a form of biosurfactants highly recommended for processes of bioremediation. All the findings collected from biochemical testing were labeled as Berge 's Manual and it revealed that the protected microorganism was (Pseudomonas aeruginosa). Results of biochemical test were tabulated in (Table.5) Table 6: Bacterial strain identification Tests B1 B2 B3 Gram staining Negative Negative Negative Oxidases Positive e Positive Positive Catalase Positive Positive Positive Indole Positive Negative Negative Citrate Positive Negative Negative Urease Negative Positive Negative Nitrate Positive Positive Positive Motility Positive Positive Positive Gelatin hydrolysis Positive Negative Negative Lactose Negative Positive Positive Methyl red Negative Positive Positive Voges Proskauer Negative Negative Negative Fig 6: Results of biochemical tests(A) Methyl red and Voges Proskauer tests (b) catalase tests (c) oxidase tests (d) indole tests (e) citrate tests (g) lactose tests (h) urease tests Preliminary bacterial strain’s characterization The plates showed yellow dots, when sprayed with anthrone reagent. It indicated the existence of biosurfactants of rhamnolipid in the organism on the plate of TLC as seen in theFig.7 Fig 7: Biosurfactant characterization by TLC Conclusion Biosurfactant development is exciting and perceptible across industries to clean up oil waste and pollutants, particularly in the ecosystem.Compared with chemical surfactants, the biosurfactants are less harmful. It plays an important role in defining the advantages and the importance of industrial applications. Therefore, it is not possible to disregard the growing role and importance of biosurfactants in environmental sustainability.Biosurfactant formulations which can be used for bacterial, fungal, and viral organisms as growth inhibitors. Such biosurfactant inhibition properties can make them components that are applicable to Numerous illnesses that are used as medicinal agents. Therefore it was decided that the described strain could be used as a potential source for heavy metal bioremediation pesticide and hydrocarbon polluted sites. And also used as shielding the plant from different pathogens, contributing to improved crop yields. There is no doubt that the biosurfactants are a multifunctional, advanced, versatile, long-lasting and updated type not only for the twenty-first century but beyond. Conflict of interest The authors declared that they have no conflict of interest and the paper presents their own work which does not been infringe any third-party rights, especially authorship of any part of the article is an original contribution, not published before and not being under consideration for publication elsewhere. References Ali, S.R.; Chowdhury, B.R.; Mondal, P. and Rajak, S. “Screening and characterization of biosurfactants producing microorganism from natural environment (Whey spilled soil)”. Nat. Sci. Res. 2013, 3(13), 34–64. Anandaraj, B. and Thivakaran, P. “Isolation and production of biosurfactants producing organism from oil spilled soil”. Biosci. Tech. 2010, 1(3), 120–126. Banat, I.M.; Makkar, R.S. AND Cameotra, S.S. “Potential commercial Application of Microbial Surfactants”. Applied MicrobialBioethanol. 2000, 53, 495-508. Cooper, D. G, Zajic, J. E. and Denis, C. J. Am. Oil Chem. Soc. 1981, 58, 7780. Deleu, M. and Paquot, M. “From Renewable Vegetables Resources to Microorganisms: New Trends in Surfactants”C.R. 2004, 7, 641-646. Eric, Deziel.; Gilles,Pauette.; Richars, Villemur.; Francois,Lepine.; and Jean-Guy, Bisaillon. “Biosurfactants Production by a Soil Pseudomonas Strain Growing on Polycyclic Aromatic Hydrocarbons”. Applied and Environmental Microbiology. 1996, 62(6), 1908-1912. Ghayyomi, J.M.; Forghani, F.; Deog, Hwan, Oh. “Biosurfactant production by Bacillus sp. Isolated from petroleum contaminated soil of Sirri Island”. Ame. J. Appl. Sci, 2012, 9(1), 1-6. Makkar, R.; & Cameotra, S. 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"Pseudomonas aeruginosa UG2 rhamnolipid biosurfactants structural characterization and their use in removing hydrophobic compounds from soil". J. Microbiol. 1993, 39, 1071-1078. Yin, H.; J, Qiang.; Y, Jia.; J, Ye.; H,Peng.; H, Qin.; N, Zhang. B. “Characteristics of bio-surfactant produced by Pseudomonas aeruginosa S6 isolated from oil containing water”. Process Biochemistry. 2008, 44: 302–308. Youssef, H.; Duncan, El.; Nagle, P.; Savage, N.; Knapp, M.; McInerney, J. “Comparison of methods to detect biosurfactant production by diverse microorganisms”. Microbiol Methods. 2004, 56, 339-347.

This paper is an exploration of the elements for developing a program of liturgical formation according to the principles and themes indicated in Pope John Paul II’s Dilecti Amici. It is in line with the celebration of the 2019 Year of the Youth, as it endeavors to get to know the youth better in view of ministering to them more effectively. Indicated in the paper is a general overview of the current situation of the youth, highlighting such features as those pertinent to their interests and capacity for liturgical participation. By learning the proper exercise of their ministry and being imbued with the true spirit of the liturgy, they will be able to bring themselves and the people whom they serve to a more devout and fruitful participation in liturgical celebrations. The paper offered an exposition of Pope John Paul II’s Apostolic Letter Dilecti Amici to bring to clearer light his vision for young people in and for the Church and cues that are pertinent and relevant for the liturgical formation of the youth today. Moreover, the paper articulates some considerations and indications for forming young people in and for the liturgy to help them grow spiritually in their formative years and thus equip them with the needed skills and values to make a positive impact on the Church and on the society both now and in their future. References Bacani, T., A Spirituality for Ministry, Manila 2006. Bauerschmidt, F.- Buckley, J., Catholic Theology: An Introduction, Oxford 2017. Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines-Episcopal Commission on Youth (CBCP-ECY) and the Catholic Educational of Association of the Philippines (CEAP), "The National Filipino Catholic Youth Study", Manila 2015. Chupungco, A., "Active Participation," in Pastoral Liturgy: Shepherding God's Flock, ed. G. Diwa, Manila 2013, 29-61. Chupungco, A., "A Definition of Liturgy," in Handbook for Liturgical Studies 1: Introduction to the Liturgy, A.J. Chupungco, Collegeville 2000, p. 3-10. Chupungco, A., "Lay Liturgical Ministries," in Liturgy for the Filipino Church, ed. J. Manabat, Manila 2004, 199-208. Clemens, J., "The Church's Commitment to the Young: From John Paul II to Pope Francis," presented at the International Meeting on World Youth Day (Rio 2013-Krakow 2016) on 10-13 April 2014 at Sassone di Ciampino, Rome, p. 1-17. in <http://www.laici.va/content/dam/laici/documenti/clemens/english/Clemens%20%20the%20Church's%20commitment%20to%20the%20young.pdf.> Episcopal Commission on Catechism and Catholic Education of the Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines, Catechism for Filipino Catholics (CFC), Manila 1997. Episcopal Commission on Catechism and Catholic Education of the Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippine, Catechism of the Catholic Church, (CCC), Manila 1994. John Paul II, Address to young people: "After his first Angelus at the end of the solemn liturgy that inaugurated his pontificate, 22 October 1978", International Meeting on WYD, Rio 2013 - Krakow 2016, The Church commitment to the young: from John Paul II to Pope Francis, (12 April 2014.) John Paul II, Catechesi tradendae, on Catechesis in our Time (16 October 1979) in Vatican Council II. More Post Conciliar Documents 2, ed. A. Flannery, Pasay City 1996, 762-814. John Paul II, Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortation Christifideles laici on the Vocation and the Mission of the Lay Faithful in the Church and in the World (30 December 1988), Pasay City 2014. John Paul II, Apostolic Letter Dilecti Amici, (31 March 1984) to the Youth of the World on the Occasion of the International Youth Year. 1984. John Paul II, Encyclical Letter Ecclesia de Eucharistia on the Eucharist in its Relationship to the Church (April 17, 2003). John Paul II, Apostolic Letter Vicesimus Quintus Annus on the 25th Anniversary of the Promulgation of the Conciliar Constitution Sacrosanctum Concilium on the Sacred Liturgy (4 December 1988). L’Osservatore Romano (23-24 October 1978), p. 2. Mazza, E., Mystagogy, A Theology of Liturgy in the Patristic Age, New York 1989. Paul VI, "Apostolic Letter Ministeria Quaedam on the First Tonsure, Minor Orders, and Subdiaconate (15 August 1972)," in Vatican Council II. The Conciliar and Post Conciliar Documents, Vol. 1 ed. A. Flannery, New York 1996, 427-432. Pontifical Committee on International Eucharistic Congress, "Christ in You our Hope of glory", The Eucharist: source and goal of the Church's mission, Theological and pastoral reflections in preparation for the 51st International Congress, Cebu, Philippines 2016. Pontifical Council for the Laity, A Dicastery of the Roman Curia at the Service of the Laity (21 January 2014) Feast of St. Agnes, 2., Pope Francis message for the 29th World Youth Day. Pope Francis to the young people in celebration of Apostolic Journey to Rio de Janeiro on the occasion of the 28th World Youth Day, presented during the prayer vigil with the young people on 27 July 2013 at Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro. in <http://w2.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/speeches/2013/july/documents/papafrancesco_20130727_gmg-veglia-giovani.html> Raas, B., "Ministries," in Liturgy, Ministries and the Bible, Manila 1992, 77-131. Second Vatican Council, Constitution Sacrosanctum Concilium on the Sacred Liturgy (4 December 1963): AAS 56 (1964) 97-138. Eng. tr.: Vatican Council II. The Conciliar and Post-Conciliar Documents, ed. Flannery, 1-36. Second Vatican Council, “Declaration Gravissimum Educationis on Christian Education (28 October 1965),” AAS 58 (1966) 728-739. Eng. tr.: Vatican Council II, ed. Flannery, 725-737. Second Vatican Council, "Dogmatic Constitution Lumen Gentium on the Church (21 November 1964)," in Vatican Council II. The Conciliar and Post Conciliar Documents, Vol. 1, ed. A. Flannery, New York 1996, 350-426. Second Vatican Council, "Pastoral Constitution Gaudium et Spes on the Church in the Modern World: AAS (1965). Eng. tr.: Vatican Council II, ed. Flannery, 903-1014.

In his Apostolic Letter Novo Millenio Ineunte, Pope John Paul II wrote that the Church must become the ‘home and school of communion’ if is to ‘be faithful to God’s plan and respond to the world’s deepest yearnings’. For this to take place, he indicated that even prior to making practical plans that ‘we need to promote a spirituality of communion’, a spirituality which ‘indicates above all the heart’s contemplation of the mystery of the Trinity dwelling in us, and whose light we must also be able to see shining on the face of the brothers and sisters around us’ (43). This paper will examine the spirituality of communion as it is proposed in the teachings of two prominent leaders within the new ecclesial movements within the Catholic Church in the 20th century, Chiara Lubich (1920–2008) and Fr Luigi Giussani (1922–2005).

Inculturation emerged as a result of paradigm shifts in the missionary outlook of the Church necessitated by a heightened sense of culture, especially the plurality of cultures. This outlook saw culture as a tool for the transmission of the Gospel message to different frontiers. In view of this, dialogue with culture has passed from being an exception to the rule to becoming normative. Inculturation is a complex process, which must be undertaken gradually and critically. Overall, it aims to incarnate the Gospel in every culture by maintaining a healthy balance between tradition and progress. In this paper, the method of inculturation that is highlighted is the one developed by Charles Kraft and Anscar Chupungco known as “dynamic equivalence,” which seeks to build a “communicational bridge” between the Gospel message and human experience. This paper, therefore, embarks upon the discussion of faith-culture dialogue, keeping in mind Church’s efforts to proclaim the message of the Gospel: first, by first tracing the historical development of Inculturation, highlighting the Church’s disposition towards faith culture dialogue; second, by discussing the nature and dynamics of inculturation, focusing on its essential characteristics; and lastly, delineating the process of inculturation, which underscores dynamic equivalence as method. References Acevedo, Marcelo S.J., Inculturation and the Challenge of Modernity. Rome: Pontifical Gregorian University, 1982. Alberigo, Giuseppe “The Announcement of the Council: From Security of the Fortress to the Lure of Quest,” in History of Vatican II, 1 Announcing and Preparing Vatican II: Toward a New Era in Catholicism, ed. Giuseppe Alberigo and Joseph A. Komonchak. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. 1-54. Aleaz, K.P. “The Theology of Inculturation Re-Examined,” Asia Journal of Theology 25, 2 (2011):232. Amalorpavadass, D.S. “Indian Culture. Integrating Cultural Elements into Spirituality” in Indian Christian Spirituality ed. By D.S. Amalorpvadass, Bangalore: NBCLC, 1982, 100. Arbuckle, Gerard A. “Christianity, Identity, and Cultures: A Case Study” The Australasian Catholic Report (January, 2013): 41-43. Arbuckle, Gerard Earthing the Gospel: An Inculturation Handbook for the Pastoral Worker. Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books, 1990. Arevalo, Catalino “Inculturation in the Church: The Asian Context,” Landas 25 (2011): 83-134. Arrupe, P. 1978, “Letter to the Whole Society on Inculturation” Aixala (ed.) 3, 172-181. Barnes, Michael SJ, Theology and the Dialogue of Religions. Cambridge: Cambridge Unviersity Press, 2002. Bevans, Stephen SVD. “Revisiting Mission as Vatican II: Theology and Practice for Today’s Mission Church” Theological Studies 74 (2013): 26. Chupungco, Anscar. “Two Methods of Liturgical Inculturation: Creative Assimilation and Dynamic Equivalence” in Liturgy for the Filipino Church: A Collection of Talks of Anscar J. Chupungco, OSB given at the National Meeting of Diocesan Directors of Liturgy (1986-2004), ed. Josefina M. Manabat, SLD. Mendiola. Manila: San Beda College, Graduate School of Liturgy, 2004. 18-33. Chupungco, Anscar Liturgies of the Future: the Process and Methods of Inculturation. Collegeville Minnesota: A Pueblo Book, 1989. Chupungco, Anscar. “Liturgy and Inculturation,” East Asian Pastoral Review 18 (1981): 264. Costa R.O. (ed.) One Faith, Many Cultures: Inculturation, Indigenization, and Contextualization. Maryknoll: NY Orbis, 1988. Chupungco, Anscar in “Liturgy and Inculturation,” East Asian Pastoral Review 18 (1981): 264. De la Rosa, Rolando V. Beginnings of the Filipino Dominicans: History of the Filipinization of the Religious Orders in the Philippines, Revised Edition. Manila: UST Publishing House, 1990. De Mesa, Jose M. Why Theology is Never Far from Home. Manila: De La Salle University Press, Inc., 2003. Eilers, Franz-Josef. Communicating Between Cultures: An Introduction to Intercultural Communication. Fourth Updated Edition. Manila: Logos, Divine Word Publication, 2012. Federation of Asian Bishops’ Conferences, Resource Manual for Catholics in Asia: Dialogue. Thailand: FABC-OEIA, 2001. Follo, Francesco “Inculturation and Interculturality in John Paul II and Benedict XVI.” Retrieved 5 February 2014 from http://www.oasiscenter.eu/articles/interreligious-dialogue/2010/03/29/inculturation-and-interculturality-in-john-paul-ii-and-benedict-xvi quoting Ratzinger’s speech during the 25th anniversary of the John Paul II Institute for Studies on Marriage and Family, 11 May 2006. Genero, Bartolome. ed. Inculturazione della fede: Sagi Interdisciplinarii. Naple: Edizioni ehoniane, 1981. Gorski, John F. M.M., “Christology, Inculturation, and Their Missiological Implications: A Latin American Perspective,” International Bulletin of Missionary Research 28, 2 (2004): 61, Javier, Edgar G. SVD, Dialogue: Our Mission Today. Quezon City: Claretian Publication and ICLA Publications, 2006. Jeremiah, Anderson “Inculturation: A Sub-Altern Critique of K.P. Aleaz’ ‘Indian Christian Vedanta,’ The Asia Journal of Theology 21, 2. (October 2007): 398-411. Kraft, Charles H. Christianity in Culture: A Study in Biblical Theologizing in Cross-Cultural Perspective. New York: Orbis Books, 1980. Kroeger, James, H., “The Faith-Culture Dialogue in Asia: Ten FABC Insights on Inculturation,” oletin Eclesiastico de Filipinas 85, 870 (2009): 7-28. Masson, Joseph ‘L Église ouverte ser le monde’in NRT, 84 (1962) 1038. Mercado, Leonardo N. Inculturation and Filipino Theology, Asia Pacific Missiological Series 2. Manila: Divine Word Publication, 1992. Mercado, Leonardo N. Elements of Filipino Theology. Tacloban City, Philippines: Divine Word University, 1975. Mitchell, Nathan “Culture, Inculturation, and Sacrosanctum Concilium,” Worship 77, 2 (March 2003): 171-181. Pietrzak, Daniel Interculturality and Internationality: A Utopia or a Constructive Tension for a Franciscan Missiology? Retrieved September 9, 2014 from http://www2.ofmconv.pcn.net/docs/en/general/miscon06_india/Interculturality%20and%20Internationality%20%20a%20utopia%20or%20a%20constructive%20tension%20for%20a%20Franciscan%20Missiology.pdf Radcliffe, Timothy. “Inculturation,” Review for Religious (Sept – Oct 1994): 646-657. Schreiter, Robert. “The Legacy of St. Francis Xavier: Inculturation of the Gospel Then and Now” East Asian Pastoral Review 44 (2007): 17-31. Schreiter, Robert J. Constructing Local Theologies. Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books, 1993. Shorter, Aylward Toward a Theology of Inculturation. Eugene, Oregon: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 1999. Stanley, Brian. “Inculturation: Historical Background, Theological Foundations and Contemporary Questions,” Transformation 24, 1 (January 2007): 21-27. Timoner, Gerard F. “Intercultural Theology as a Way of Doing Theology” in Philippiniana Sacra XLI, 121 (January-April, 2006): 75-46. Timoner, Gerard. “Theology of Inculturation: A Critical Appraisal,” Philippiniana Sacra XL no. 119 (2005): 322-325. Ustorf, Werner “The Cultural Origins of Intercultural Theology” Mission Studies 25 (2008): 229-251. Wijsen, Frans “Intercultural Theology” Exchange 30, 3 (2001): 222-230.

Recent studies have shown that philosophy and theology, two disciplines separated and distinguished from each other for more than five hundred years, are closer in reality than how philosophers and theologians of today understand them. This is even more evident in those who reflect on the socalled “death of metaphysics” and the “end of philosophy” that Martin Heidegger proclaims. This, however, cannot escape the question of dealing with St. Thomas Aquinas’ philosophical and theological enterprise, whose intellectual spirit is characterized by delving both into philosophical and theological questions. This work tries to place St. Thomas Aquinas within this framework, ultimately showing that he exemplifies a lively interaction and interpenetration between these two disciplines. To show this, the paper goes through a brief survey of the historical distinction which finds its roots in St. Thomas himself. Afterwards, it provides a new understanding of the relationship between philosophy and theology primarily found in Jean-Luc Marion. Through this, one sees that in fact, St. Thomas does philosophy and theology ruly, that while speaking of a distinction between these two disciplines, his whole intellectual project can be seen as both hilosophical and theological, in which one cannot be spoken of without the other. References Abulad, Romualdo E. “Atheism as a Prophetic Voice in the Era of Paradigm Shift.”Diwa 38, no. 2, 2013: 77–90. Caputo, John D. Philosophy and Theology. Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 2006. de Lubac S.J., Henri. “On Christian Philosophy.” Translated by Sharon Mollerusand Susan Clements. Communio 19, 1992: 478–506. ______________. The Mystery of the Supernatural. Translated by Rosemary Sheed.London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1967. de Torre, Joseph M. “Thomism and Postmodernism.” In Postmodernism and ChristianPhilosophy, edited by Roman T. Ciapalo, 248–57. Washington, D.C.:Catholic University of America Press, 1997. Eco, Umberto. “In Praise of Thomas Aquinas.” The Wilson Quarterly 10, no. 4, 1986: 78–87. Elders, Leo L. “Faith and Reason: Synthesis in St. Thomas Aquinas.” Nova et Vetera8, no. 3, 2010: 527–52. Garrigou-Lagrange O.P., Reginald. The One God: A Commentary on the First Partof St. Thomas’ Theological Summ. Translated by Bede Rose. London: B.Herder Book Co., 1944. Jones, Brian. “‘That There Were True Things To Say:’ The Scandal of Philosophyand Demonstrating God’s Existence in Thomistic Natural Theology.” TheNew Blackfriars 95, no. 1038, 2013: 412–29. Kant, Immanuel. The Conflict of the Faculties. Translated by Mary J. Gregor. NewYork: Abaris Books, Inc., 1979. Kerr O.P, Fergus. “The Varieties of Interpreting Aquinas.” In Contemplating Aquinas,edited by Fergus Kerr O.P., 27–40. London: SCM Press, 2003. Marion, Jean-Luc. “‘Christian Philosophy’: Hermeneutic or Heuristic?” In The Visibleand the Revealed, edited by John D. Caputo, translated by ChristinaGschwandtner, 66–79. New York: Fordham University Press, 2008. ___________________. “Evidence and Bedazzlement.” In Prolegomena to Charity, translatedby Stephen E. Lewis, 53–70. New York: Fordham University Press, 2002. ___________________. On Descartes’ Metaphysical Prism : The Constitution and the Limitsof Onto-Theo-Logy in Cartesian Thought. Translated by Jeffrey L. Kosky.Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999. ___________________. “On the Foundation of the Distinction between Theology andPhilosophy.” Edited by Philippe Capelle-Dumont. Translated by JohnCarlo P. Uy and Eduardo Jose C. Calasanz. Budhi: A Journal of Ideas andCulture XIII, no. 1–3, 2009: 15–46. ___________________. “The ‘End of Metaphysics’ as a Possibility.” In Religion After Metaphysics,edited by Mark A. Wrathall, translated by Daryl Lee, 166–89.Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. ___________________. “The Event, The Phenomenon, and The Revealed.” In Transcendencein Philosophy and Religion, edited by James E. Faulconer, translatedby Beata Starwaska, 87–105. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press,2003. ___________________. “Thomas Aquinas and Onto-Theology.” In The Essential Writings,edited by Kevin Hart, 288–311. New York: Fordham University Press, 2004. Marshall, Bruce D. “Quod Scit Una Uetula: Aquinas on the Nature of Theology.” InThe Theology of Thomas Aquinas, edited by Rik Van Nieuwenhove andJoseph Wawrykow, 1–35. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2005. McCool, Gerald A. Nineteenth-Century Scholasticism: The Search for a UnitaryMethod. New York: Fordham University Press, 1989. Neuner S.J., Josef, and Jacques Dupuis S.J., eds. The Christian Faith in the DoctrinalDocuments of the Catholic Church. 6th ed. Bangalore: Theological Publicationsin India, 1996. Pope John Paul II. “Fides et Ratio.” The Holy See, 1998. http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/john_paul_ii/encyclicals/documents/hf_jp-ii_enc_15101998_fides-et-ratio_en.html. Pope Leo XIII. “Aeterni Patris.” Logos 12, no. 1, 2009: 169–92. St. Thomas Aquinas. Commentary on the Metaphysics of Aristotle. Translated byJohn P. Rowan. Vol. 1. Chicago: Regnery, 1961. _______________________. On Being and Essence. Translated by Armand Maurer. Toronto:The Pontifical Institute for Mediaeval Studies, 1949. _______________________. Summa Theologica. Vol. 1. New York: Benziger Brothers Inc.,1948. Suarez, Francisco. “Metaphysical Disputations.” In Descartes’ Mediations: BackgroundSource Materials, edited by Roger Ariew, John Cottingham, andTom Sorell, 29–50. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. te Velde, Rudi A. “Understanding the Scientia of Faith: Reason and Faith in Aquinas’sSumma Theologiae.” In Contemplating Aquinas, edited by FergusKerr O.P, 55–74. London: SCM Press, 2005. Turner, Denys. Faith, Reason, and the Existence of God. New York: Cambridge UniversityPress, 2004. White, Thomas Joseph. “Engaging the Thomistic Tradition and ContemporaryCulture Simultaneously: A Response to Burrell, Healy, and Schindler.”Nova et Vetera 10, no. 2, 2012: 605–23.

This study rereads the Parable of the Good Samaritan in the context of the coronavirus pandemic. It explores the two ways of looking that the passers-by did when they encountered the man who was robbed and abused by the wayside. I termed these two ways of looking in Filipino as malasakit and matapobre. The priest and the Levite were matapobre (mata: eye/ to look; pobre: poor – literally looking down on the poor) in their reaction in that they saw the man but ignored to aid him. The Good Samaritan showed malasakit (malasin: to look; sakit: pain – looking at pain, being compassionate) because he saw the man and helped him in his misery. In this study, I appropriated the experience of the abused man by the wayside to the experiences of people who suffered the effects of the pandemic. I also enumerated the different displays of the matapobre and the malasakit attitudes of people during this pandemic. The three characters in the Parable all looked down on the poor, yet this looking down should be nuanced. The priest and the Levite looked down with contempt and indifference since they did not do anything for the man they saw. The Samaritan, on the other hand, looked down with his eyes of mercy. I cited Scriptural passages of God and Jesus Christ looking down on humanity, which serves as examples for Christians in their duty to help the poor. Our look of mercy on the poor will obtain for us God’s look of mercy and the privilege of looking at his face forever in heaven. References Papal DocumentsFrancis. Encyclical Letter on Fraternity and Social Friendship, Fratelli Tutti, October 3, 2020, http://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/encyclicals/documents/papa-francesco_20201003_enciclica-fratelli-tutti.html Francis. General Audience entitled “Go and do likewise (cf Lk 10:25-37),” (April 27, 2016), http://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/audiences/2016/documents/papa-francesco_20160427_udienza-generale.html Francis. Angelus Address, July 14, 2019,http://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/angelus/2019/documents/papa-francesco_angelus_20190714.html Benedict XVI. Encyclical Letter on Christian Love, Deus Caritas Est, December 25, 2005, http://www.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_ben-xvi_enc_20051225_deus-caritas-est.html John Paul II. Apostolic Letter on the Christian Meaning of Human Suffering, Salvifici Doloris, February 11, 1984, http://www.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/apost_letters/1984/documents/hf_jp-ii_apl_11021984_salvifici-doloris.html CatechismsCatechism of the Catholic Church. 2nd ed. Washington, DC: United States Catholic Conference, 2000.Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines ECCCE. Catechism for Filipino Catholics.Manila: Word and Life Publications, 1997. BooksBloomberg, Craig L. Interpreting the Parables. 2nd ed. Leicester: InterVarsity Press, 2012Byrne, Brendan. The Hospitality of God: A Reading of Luke’s Gospel. Collegeville, Minnesota: Liturgical Press, 2015.Leoncini, Dante Luis P. “A Conceptual Analysis of Pakikisama [Getting Along Well with People]” in Filipino Cultural Traits: Claro R. Ceniza Lectures, ed. Rolando M. Gripaldo. United States of America: The Council for Research in Values and Philosophy, 2005.Ratzinger, Joseph (Benedict XVI). Jesus of Nazareth: From the Baptism in the Jordan to the Transfiguration, trans. Adrian J. Walker. New York: Doubleday, 2007. Journal ArticlesChamburuka Philemon M. and Ishanesu S. Gusha. “An Exegesis of the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Lk 10:25–35) and Its Relevance to the Challenges Caused by COVID-19.” HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies, 76, no. 1 (2020): 1-7, https://doi.org/10.4102/hts.v76i1.6096 Redona, Marites Rano. “Malasakit: The Filipino Face of God’s Mercy.” The Asian Conference on Cultural Studies 2018, (Kobe, Japan, 1-3 June 2018): 97-106, https://papers.iafor.org/proceedings/conference-proceedings-ACCS2018/ Roukema, Riemer. “The Good Samaritan in Ancient Christianity.” Vigiliae Christianae, 58, no. 1: 56-74, https://doi.org/10.1163/157007204772812331 Sheqi, Nitoli and Chammah J. Kaunda. “Your Neighbour Is Yourself Reflected in the Mirror of Life A Naga Reading of the Good Samaritan Narrative in the Context of COVID-19.” The Ecumenical Review, 72, no. 4, (2020): 609-623, https://doi.org/10.1111/erev.12545 Website ContentsBalancio, Joyce. “Duterte naniniwalang dumami ang COVID-19 cases dahil sa pagpapabaya ng publiko,” ABS-CBN News, March 9, 2021, https://news.abs-cbn.com/news/03/09/21/duterte-naniniwalang-dumami-ang-covid-19-cases-dahil-sa-pagpapabaya-ng-publiko Bible Hub. “Luke 10 Barnes’ Notes on the Bible,” accessed on May 18, 2021, https://biblehub.com/commentaries/barnes/luke/10.htm Brainy Quote. “Stephen Grellet Quotes,” Accessed May 19, 2021, https://www.brainyquote.com/authors/stephen-grellet-quotes Tan, Michael L. “’Matapobre’ Hospitality,” Inquirer.Net, October 4, 2017, https://opinion.inquirer.net/107624/matapobre-hospitality Vatican News, “Hail Holy Queen,” Accessed May 19, 2021, https://www.vaticannews.va/en/prayers/hail-holy-queen.html

Abstract Background and Aims The history of popes is an untapped treasure for historian of medicine for many reasons including i. number, ii. richness of documents available on their lives, iii. gender homogeneity, iiii. Long lasting lives, v. their affluence, vi. number of archiaters and personal physicians and surgeon of high professional level, viii. lived for many years in the same environment (Rome). Taking into consideration the availability of documents from 1100 onward (10 centuries of European history), popes represent good models to study a. the diseases of popes, b. social medicine, c. history of European universities and beyond, d. the history of hospitals, e. the history of archiaters, and f. the diseases of power. We are studying renal stone disease in popes from St Peter to John Paul II (34-2005). Preliminary results on gouty popes have been presented at ERA-EDTA Congress in Budapest and Milan pointing that out 20 gouty pontiffs 12 were stone formers or died because of its complications and 6 popes died because of non-gouty renal stones. The goal of this study is to provide an historical outline on renal stone disease in gouty and not gouty popes reigning in the years 537-1830 (from Vigilius―the 1st stone former pope―to Pius VIII, the last gouty pope). Methods We have studied history of popes on many books including those authored by von Ranke, von Pastor, de Novaes, Henrion, Paravicini Bagliani, Reardon, Rendina, Ceccarelli and Cosmacini. We have also studied the histories of archiaters of Platina and Marini. Results 25 out 193 popes were found gouty. Their mean age at start of pontiff was 64.6 and 70.6 at death, that nearly correspond to the time-course decline of age-related uric acid excretion. Thirteen of these popes had histories, signs, symptoms, and /or postmortem examination compatible with a diagnosis of renal stone disease. Six of them died with uremia, 4 were hydropics, 6 died because of stroke. In addition we have also outlined the narratives of 14 non gouty popes who had renal stone disease. The last pope affected by renal stone disease was Pius VI (1775-1779) , the last gouty popes was Pius VIII (1829-1830). Conclusion We have excluded from gouty popes Alexander VII erroneously defined gouty by Giuseppe De Novaes in 1815 and also excluded John IX since his gout―hypothesized by Wendy J Reardon in 1971―is not supported by documents. There are a few available specific data on the topic. A fundamental contribution was published by Lorenzo Gualino in 1934. He reported on 19 gouty popes, 12 of whom with histories or signs, or symptoms, and/or postmortem examination confirming renal stone diseaase. He also reported on 8 non gouty popes suffering from or died of renal stone disease. The findings should be matched also with those of Giovanni Ceccarelli (2001) who reported on 11 gouty popes 6 presenting with signs of stones and five dying anuric and/or hydropic. This paper includes on all popes with renal stone disease. Stroke and heart failure in gouty popes are a priority. In the last 2 centuries renal stone disease was no more a papal disease.

This paper attempts to provide an account of Gadamer’s conception of truth. Due to this, I attempt to venture in a path that has not been fully explored. I argue that Gadamer’s conception of truth has an anamnetic character for the following reasons: First, Gadamer views truth as an event – a disclosure or uncealment of what is hidden within the being- is part of the structure of understanding without such truth happening will not occur. Second, I will show that Gadamer’s view of truth is inseparable from his view of dialectic and understanding as these are necessary conditions of the possibility of conversation primarily characterized by his account on the hermeneutic experience, language, and tradition. Third, by looking at other salient Gadamerian concepts such as the four guiding concepts of humanism, language, understanding, and conversation, the link between truth and anamnesis is fully completed. These concepts are necessary to substantiate and support my view that indeed truth has an anamnetic character. However, I should be clear that my attempt to elucidate the anamnetic character of truth is not tantamount to trying to provide an account of the nature of truth for it is one thing to give an account of the nature of truth and another to simply provide a characterization of it. The paper will be divided into three sections. The first section will discuss Plato’s view of anamnesis and his influence to Gadamer’s thought. The second section will be on Gadamer’s conception of truth and lastly, the concluding remarks. References Ackrill, John L. Essays on Plato and Aristotle. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997. Cooper, John M. (ed). Collected Works of Plato. Indianapolis, Cambridge: Hackett Publishing, 1997. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. The Gadamer Reader: A Bouquet of the Later Writings. Edited by Richard E. Palmer. Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 2007. ____________________. Truth and Method, 2nd edition. Translated by Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall. New York: Continuum, 1998. ____________________. “On the Scope and Function of Hermeneutical Reflection.” Continuum 8, 1 & 2 (1970). ____________________. “The Universality of the Hermeneutical Problem.” In The Hermeneutic Tradition: From Ast to Ricoeur. Ed. Gayle L. Ormiston. New York:SUNY Press, 1989. ____________________. Gadamer in Conversation: Reflections and Commentary. Edited by Richard Palmer. New Haven, Connecticut: Yale University Press, 2003. Scott, Dominic. Plato’s Meno. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Vlastos, Gregory. Studies in Greek Philosophy, vol. II. Edited by Daniel W. Graham. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1995. Secondary Sources Alcoff, Linda. “The Case for Coherence.” In The Nature of Truth. Massachusetts: The MIT Press, 2001. Ambrosio, Francis J. “Dawn and Dusk: Gadamer and Heidegger on Truth.” Man and World, 19 (1986): 21-53. Barthold, Lauren Swayne. “The Truth of Hermeneutics: The Self and Other in Dialogue in the Thought of Hans-Georg Gadamer.” Ph.D. Diss., Graduate Faculty of Political Science of the New School of Social Research, 2002. Brickhouse, Thomas C. and Nicholas D. Smith. “Socrates’ Elenctic Mission.” In OxfordStudies in Ancient Philosophy vol. IX. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991. Chiurazzi, Gaetano. “Truth is More than Reality: Gadamer’s Transformational Concept of Truth.” Research in Phenomenology 41 (2011): 60-71. Di Cesare, Donatella. Gadamer: A Philosophical Portrait. Translated by Niall Keane Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2007. Frede, Michael. “Plato’s Arguments and the Dialogue Form.” Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy: Methods in Interpreting Plato and his Dialogues. Edited by James C. Klagge and Nicholas D. Smith. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992. Gerson, Lloyd P. Ancient Epistemology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Gettier, Edmund. “Is Justified True Belief Knowledge?” Analysis vol. 23, no. 6 (June 1963): 121-123. Glendinning, Simon. The Idea of Continental Philosophy. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2006. Grondin, Jean. Introduction to Philosophical Hermeneutics. Translated by Joel Weinsheimer New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1994. _____________. The Philosophy of Gadamer. Translated by Kathryn Plant. Chesham: Acumen Publishing, 2003. _____________. “Gadamer’s Basic Understanding of Understanding.” In Cambridge Companion to Gadamer, ed. Robert J. Dostal. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Heidegger, Martin. The Essence of Truth, trans. Ted Sadler. Maiden Lane, New York: Continuum, 2002. Inwood, Michael. “ Truth and Untruth in Plato and Heidegger.” In Heidegger and Plato: Toward Dialogue. Edited by Catalin Partenie and Tom Rockmore. Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 2005. Kahn, Charles. “ Plato on Recollection.” In A Companion to Plato. Edited by Hugh H. Benson. Malden, USA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006. Kraut, Richard. “Introduction to the Study of Plato”. In The Cambridge Companion to Plato. Edited by Richard Kraut. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. ______________. “Plato.” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Fall 2017 Edition. Accessed December 2, 2017, https://plato.stanford.edu/cgi-bin/encyclopedia/archinfo.cgi?entry=plato. Kidder, Paulette. “Gadamer and the Platonic Eidos.” Philosophy Today 39 no. 1 (1995): 83-92. Kirkham, Richard L. Theories of Truth: A Critical Introduction. Massachusetts: MIT Press, 2001. Leibniz, G.W. Discourse on Metaphysics, XXVI. Translated by P.G. Lucas and L. Grint. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1953. Lynch Michael (ed.). The Nature of Truth. Massachusetts: The MIT Press, 2001. Müller, Anja. “The Rediscovery of Truth.” M.A. Thesis. University of Glasgow, 1998. Palmer, Richard E. Hermeneutics. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1969. Rosen, Stanley. “Heidegger’s Interpretation of Plato.” In Essays in Metaphysics. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1970. Rowe, Christopher. “Interpreting Plato.” In A Companion to Plato. Edited by Hugh H. Benson. Malden, USA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006. Schmidt, Lawrence K. Understanding Hermeneutics. Durham: Acumen, 2006. Whitehead, Alfred North. Process and Reality: An Essay in Cosmology. Edited by David Ray Griffin and Donald W. Sherburne. New York: The Free Press, 1978. Young, Charles M. “The Socratic Elenchus.” in A Companion to Plato, Edited by Hugh H. Benson. Malden, USA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006.

It is the concern of this paper to retrace, rather than diachronically expound, some of the events that substantiate the forging of the confessional box within the historicity of confession. It exposes that the birth of the confessional (box) is an issue of how confession evolved from the varying historical instances that project man’s yearning for reconciliation and salvation. It thereby retraces the formulations of mercy within such context. Hence, the paper will delve into confession’s history vis-à-vis its roots, practices, and evolution from its ancient, medieval, and eventual modern institutionalization in the Council of Trent. The paper runs in two parts: 1) it discusses the art of exclusion and control of penance that is distinctive of the ancient and medieval practices of reconciliation respectively, and 2) it proceeds into a discussion of the crisis of mercy and the eventual forging of the confessional box. References Bossy, John. “The Social History of Confession,” in Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 5th series, 25 (1975): 30. __________. Christianity in the West, 1400–1700, Oxford, 1985. Butler, Perry. “Introduction: Confession Today,” in Martin Dudley (ed.), Confession and Absolution. Collegeville, Minnesota: The Liturgical Press, 1990. Cantor, Norman. Civilization of the Middle Ages. New York: HarperCollins Publishing, 1993. Cornwell, John. The Dark Box, A Secret History of Confession, 1st ed. Cambridge: Basic Books, 2014. Dallen, James. “History and Reform of Penance,” in Robert Kennedy (ed.), Reconciling Embrace: Foundations for the Future of Sacramental Confession. Illinois: Liturgy Training Publications, 1998. Daniel-Rops, Henri. History of the Church of Christ, vol. 5, The Catholic Reformation, trans. John Warrington. London, 1962. de Boer, Wietse. The Conquest of the Soul: Confession, Discipline, and Public Order in Counter-Reformation Milan. Leiden, 2001. Dooley, Catherine OP. “The History of Penance in the Early Church: Implications for the Future,” in Robert Kennedy (ed.), Reconciliation: the Continuing Agenda. Collegeville, Minnesota: The Liturgical Press, 1987. Duchesne, Louis. Christian Worship: Its Origin and Evolution. London, 1904. Favazza, Joseph. The Order of Penitents: Historical Roots and Pastoral Future. Collegeville, Minnesota: The Liturgical Press, 1988. Foucault, Michel. “Christianity and Confession’ (lecture),” in Foucault, The Politics of Truth. Los Angeles, 1997. Fox, Robin Lane. Pagans and Christians in the Mediterranean World from the Second Century AD to the Conversion of Constantine. London, 1986. Hamelin, Léonce. Reconciliation in the Church: A Theological and Pastoral Essay on the Sacrament of Penance. Collegeville, Minnesota: Liturgical Press. Jedin, Hubert. A History of the Council of Trent, trans. Dom Ernest Graf, vol. 2. St. Louis, 1961. Mahoney, John. The Making of Moral Theology: A Study of the Roman Catholic Tradition. Oxford, 1989. Martinez, German. Signs of Freedom: Theology of the Christian Sacraments. New Jersey: Paulist Press, 2003. O’Malley, John. Trent: What Happened at the Council. Cambridge, MA, 2013. Orsy, Ladislas. The Evolving Church and the Sacrament of Penance. Denville, New Jersey: Dimension Books, 1978. Pope John Paul II, “Apostolic Exhortation on Reconciliation and Penance,” no. 28, in Origins, 14:25 (1984). Poschmann, Bernhard. Penance and the Anointing of the Sick, trans. Francis Courtney. New York: Herder and Herder, 1964. Haliczer, Stephen. Sexuality in the Confessional: A Sacrament Profaned. Oxford, 1996. Taylor, Chloë. The Culture of Confession from Augustine to Foucault: a Genealogy of the ‘Confessing Animal’. New York: Routledge, 2009. Von Speyer, Adrienne. Confession, the Encounter with Christ in Penance. Frieburg: Herder, 1964. Žižek, Slavoj. The Puppet and the Dwarf: The Perverse Core of Christianity. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2003. __________. Žižek’s Jokes. London: MIT Press, 2014.

IntroductionIn the year 2000, a group of likeminded individuals got together and convened the first annual World Barista Championship in Monte Carlo. With twelve competitors from around the globe, each competitor was judged by seven judges: one head judge who oversaw the process, two technical judges who assessed technical skills, and four sensory judges who evaluated the taste and appearance of the espresso drinks. Competitors had fifteen minutes to serve four espresso coffees, four cappuccino coffees, and four “signature” drinks that they had devised using one shot of espresso and other ingredients of their choice, but no alcohol. The competitors were also assessed on their overall barista skills, their creativity, and their ability to perform under pressure and impress the judges with their knowledge of coffee. This competition has grown to the extent that eleven years later, in 2011, 54 countries held national barista championships with the winner from each country competing for the highly coveted position of World Barista Champion. That year, Alejandro Mendez from El Salvador became the first world champion from a coffee producing nation. Champion baristas are more likely to come from coffee consuming countries than they are from coffee producing countries as countries that produce coffee seldom have a culture of espresso coffee consumption. While Ireland is not a coffee-producing nation, the Irish are the highest per capita consumers of tea in the world (Mac Con Iomaire, “Ireland”). Despite this, in 2008, Stephen Morrissey from Ireland overcame 50 other national champions to become the 2008 World Barista Champion (see, http://vimeo.com/2254130). Another Irish national champion, Colin Harmon, came fourth in this competition in both 2009 and 2010. This paper discusses the history and development of coffee and coffee houses in Dublin from the 17th century, charting how coffee culture in Dublin appeared, evolved, and stagnated before re-emerging at the beginning of the 21st century, with a remarkable win in the World Barista Championships. The historical links between coffeehouses and media—ranging from print media to electronic and social media—are discussed. In this, the coffee house acts as an informal public gathering space, what urban sociologist Ray Oldenburg calls a “third place,” neither work nor home. These “third places” provide anchors for community life and facilitate and foster broader, more creative interaction (Oldenburg). This paper will also show how competition from other “third places” such as clubs, hotels, restaurants, and bars have affected the vibrancy of coffee houses. Early Coffee Houses The first coffee house was established in Constantinople in 1554 (Tannahill 252; Huetz de Lemps 387). The first English coffee houses opened in Oxford in 1650 and in London in 1652. Coffee houses multiplied thereafter but, in 1676, when some London coffee houses became hotbeds for political protest, the city prosecutor decided to close them. The ban was soon lifted and between 1680 and 1730 Londoners discovered the pleasure of drinking coffee (Huetz de Lemps 388), although these coffee houses sold a number of hot drinks including tea and chocolate as well as coffee.The first French coffee houses opened in Marseille in 1671 and in Paris the following year. Coffee houses proliferated during the 18th century: by 1720 there were 380 public cafés in Paris and by the end of the century there were 600 (Huetz de Lemps 387). Café Procope opened in Paris in 1674 and, in the 18th century, became a literary salon with regular patrons: Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot and Condorcet (Huetz de Lemps 387; Pitte 472). In England, coffee houses developed into exclusive clubs such as Crockford’s and the Reform, whilst elsewhere in Europe they evolved into what we identify as cafés, similar to the tea shops that would open in England in the late 19th century (Tannahill 252-53). Tea quickly displaced coffee in popularity in British coffee houses (Taylor 142). Pettigrew suggests two reasons why Great Britain became a tea-drinking nation while most of the rest of Europe took to coffee (48). The first was the power of the East India Company, chartered by Elizabeth I in 1600, which controlled the world’s biggest tea monopoly and promoted the beverage enthusiastically. The second was the difficulty England had in securing coffee from the Levant while at war with France at the end of the seventeenth century and again during the War of the Spanish Succession (1702-13). Tea also became the dominant beverage in Ireland and over a period of time became the staple beverage of the whole country. In 1835, Samuel Bewley and his son Charles dared to break the monopoly of The East India Company by importing over 2,000 chests of tea directly from Canton, China, to Ireland. His family would later become synonymous with the importation of coffee and with opening cafés in Ireland (see, Farmar for full history of the Bewley's and their activities). Ireland remains the highest per-capita consumer of tea in the world. Coffee houses have long been linked with social and political change (Kennedy, Politicks; Pincus). The notion that these new non-alcoholic drinks were responsible for the Enlightenment because people could now gather socially without getting drunk is rejected by Wheaton as frivolous, since there had always been alternatives to strong drink, and European civilisation had achieved much in the previous centuries (91). She comments additionally that cafés, as gathering places for dissenters, took over the role that taverns had long played. Pennell and Vickery support this argument adding that by offering a choice of drinks, and often sweets, at a fixed price and in a more civilized setting than most taverns provided, coffee houses and cafés were part of the rise of the modern restaurant. It is believed that, by 1700, the commercial provision of food and drink constituted the second largest occupational sector in London. Travellers’ accounts are full of descriptions of London taverns, pie shops, coffee, bun and chop houses, breakfast huts, and food hawkers (Pennell; Vickery). Dublin Coffee Houses and Later incarnations The earliest reference to coffee houses in Dublin is to the Cock Coffee House in Cook Street during the reign of Charles II (1660-85). Public dining or drinking establishments listed in the 1738 Dublin Directory include taverns, eating houses, chop houses, coffee houses, and one chocolate house in Fownes Court run by Peter Bardin (Hardiman and Kennedy 157). During the second half of the 17th century, Dublin’s merchant classes transferred allegiance from taverns to the newly fashionable coffee houses as places to conduct business. By 1698, the fashion had spread to country towns with coffee houses found in Cork, Limerick, Kilkenny, Clonmel, Wexford, and Galway, and slightly later in Belfast and Waterford in the 18th century. Maxwell lists some of Dublin’s leading coffee houses and taverns, noting their clientele: There were Lucas’s Coffee House, on Cork Hill (the scene of many duels), frequented by fashionable young men; the Phoenix, in Werburgh Street, where political dinners were held; Dick’s Coffee House, in Skinner’s Row, much patronized by literary men, for it was over a bookseller’s; the Eagle, in Eustace Street, where meetings of the Volunteers were held; the Old Sot’s Hole, near Essex Bridge, famous for its beefsteaks and ale; the Eagle Tavern, on Cork Hill, which was demolished at the same time as Lucas’s to make room for the Royal Exchange; and many others. (76) Many of the early taverns were situated around the Winetavern Street, Cook Street, and Fishamble Street area. (see Fig. 1) Taverns, and later coffee houses, became meeting places for gentlemen and centres for debate and the exchange of ideas. In 1706, Francis Dickson published the Flying Post newspaper at the Four Courts coffee house in Winetavern Street. The Bear Tavern (1725) and the Black Lyon (1735), where a Masonic Lodge assembled every Wednesday, were also located on this street (Gilbert v.1 160). Dick’s Coffee house was established in the late 17th century by bookseller and newspaper proprietor Richard Pue, and remained open until 1780 when the building was demolished. In 1740, Dick’s customers were described thus: Ye citizens, gentlemen, lawyers and squires,who summer and winter surround our great fires,ye quidnuncs! who frequently come into Pue’s,To live upon politicks, coffee, and news. (Gilbert v.1 174) There has long been an association between coffeehouses and publishing books, pamphlets and particularly newspapers. Other Dublin publishers and newspapermen who owned coffee houses included Richard Norris and Thomas Bacon. Until the 1850s, newspapers were burdened with a number of taxes: on the newsprint, a stamp duty, and on each advertisement. By 1865, these taxes had virtually disappeared, resulting in the appearance of 30 new newspapers in Ireland, 24 of them in Dublin. Most people read from copies which were available free of charge in taverns, clubs, and coffee houses (MacGiolla Phadraig). Coffee houses also kept copies of international newspapers. On 4 May 1706, Francis Dickson notes in the Dublin Intelligence that he held the Paris and London Gazettes, Leyden Gazette and Slip, the Paris and Hague Lettres à la Main, Daily Courant, Post-man, Flying Post, Post-script and Manuscripts in his coffeehouse in Winetavern Street (Kennedy, “Dublin”). Henry Berry’s analysis of shop signs in Dublin identifies 24 different coffee houses in Dublin, with the main clusters in Essex Street near the Custom’s House (Cocoa Tree, Bacon’s, Dempster’s, Dublin, Merchant’s, Norris’s, and Walsh’s) Cork Hill (Lucas’s, St Lawrence’s, and Solyman’s) Skinners’ Row (Bow’s’, Darby’s, and Dick’s) Christ Church Yard (Four Courts, and London) College Green (Jack’s, and Parliament) and Crampton Court (Exchange, and Little Dublin). (see Figure 1, below, for these clusters and the locations of other Dublin coffee houses.) The earliest to be referenced is the Cock Coffee House in Cook Street during the reign of Charles II (1660-85), with Solyman’s (1691), Bow’s (1692), and Patt’s on High Street (1699), all mentioned in print before the 18th century. The name of one, the Cocoa Tree, suggests that chocolate was also served in this coffee house. More evidence of the variety of beverages sold in coffee houses comes from Gilbert who notes that in 1730, one Dublin poet wrote of George Carterwright’s wife at The Custom House Coffee House on Essex Street: Her coffee’s fresh and fresh her tea,Sweet her cream, ptizan, and whea,her drams, of ev’ry sort, we findboth good and pleasant, in their kind. (v. 2 161) Figure 1: Map of Dublin indicating Coffee House clusters 1 = Sackville St.; 2 = Winetavern St.; 3 = Essex St.; 4 = Cork Hill; 5 = Skinner's Row; 6 = College Green.; 7 = Christ Church Yard; 8 = Crampton Court.; 9 = Cook St.; 10 = High St.; 11 = Eustace St.; 12 = Werburgh St.; 13 = Fishamble St.; 14 = Westmorland St.; 15 = South Great George's St.; 16 = Grafton St.; 17 = Kildare St.; 18 = Dame St.; 19 = Anglesea Row; 20 = Foster Place; 21 = Poolbeg St.; 22 = Fleet St.; 23 = Burgh Quay.A = Cafe de Paris, Lincoln Place; B = Red Bank Restaurant, D'Olier St.; C = Morrison's Hotel, Nassau St.; D = Shelbourne Hotel, St. Stephen's Green; E = Jury's Hotel, Dame St. Some coffee houses transformed into the gentlemen’s clubs that appeared in London, Paris and Dublin in the 17th century. These clubs originally met in coffee houses, then taverns, until later proprietary clubs became fashionable. Dublin anticipated London in club fashions with members of the Kildare Street Club (1782) and the Sackville Street Club (1794) owning the premises of their clubhouse, thus dispensing with the proprietor. The first London club to be owned by the members seems to be Arthur’s, founded in 1811 (McDowell 4) and this practice became widespread throughout the 19th century in both London and Dublin. The origin of one of Dublin’s most famous clubs, Daly’s Club, was a chocolate house opened by Patrick Daly in c.1762–65 in premises at 2–3 Dame Street (Brooke). It prospered sufficiently to commission its own granite-faced building on College Green between Anglesea Street and Foster Place which opened in 1789 (Liddy 51). Daly’s Club, “where half the land of Ireland has changed hands”, was renowned for the gambling that took place there (Montgomery 39). Daly’s sumptuous palace catered very well (and discreetly) for honourable Members of Parliament and rich “bucks” alike (Craig 222). The changing political and social landscape following the Act of Union led to Daly’s slow demise and its eventual closure in 1823 (Liddy 51). Coincidentally, the first Starbucks in Ireland opened in 2005 in the same location. Once gentlemen’s clubs had designated buildings where members could eat, drink, socialise, and stay overnight, taverns and coffee houses faced competition from the best Dublin hotels which also had coffee rooms “in which gentlemen could read papers, write letters, take coffee and wine in the evening—an exiguous substitute for a club” (McDowell 17). There were at least 15 establishments in Dublin city claiming to be hotels by 1789 (Corr 1) and their numbers grew in the 19th century, an expansion which was particularly influenced by the growth of railways. By 1790, Dublin’s public houses (“pubs”) outnumbered its coffee houses with Dublin boasting 1,300 (Rooney 132). Names like the Goose and Gridiron, Harp and Crown, Horseshoe and Magpie, and Hen and Chickens—fashionable during the 17th and 18th centuries in Ireland—hung on decorative signs for those who could not read. Throughout the 20th century, the public house provided the dominant “third place” in Irish society, and the drink of choice for itd predominantly male customers was a frothy pint of Guinness. Newspapers were available in public houses and many newspapermen had their own favourite hostelries such as Mulligan’s of Poolbeg Street; The Pearl, and The Palace on Fleet Street; and The White Horse Inn on Burgh Quay. Any coffee served in these establishments prior to the arrival of the new coffee culture in the 21st century was, however, of the powdered instant variety. Hotels / Restaurants with Coffee Rooms From the mid-19th century, the public dining landscape of Dublin changed in line with London and other large cities in the United Kingdom. Restaurants did appear gradually in the United Kingdom and research suggests that one possible reason for this growth from the 1860s onwards was the Refreshment Houses and Wine Licences Act (1860). The object of this act was to “reunite the business of eating and drinking”, thereby encouraging public sobriety (Mac Con Iomaire, “Emergence” v.2 95). Advertisements for Dublin restaurants appeared in The Irish Times from the 1860s. Thom’s Directory includes listings for Dining Rooms from the 1870s and Refreshment Rooms are listed from the 1880s. This pattern continued until 1909, when Thom’s Directory first includes a listing for “Restaurants and Tea Rooms”. Some of the establishments that advertised separate coffee rooms include Dublin’s first French restaurant, the Café de Paris, The Red Bank Restaurant, Morrison’s Hotel, Shelbourne Hotel, and Jury’s Hotel (see Fig. 1). The pattern of separate ladies’ coffee rooms emerged in Dublin and London during the latter half of the 19th century and mixed sex dining only became popular around the last decade of the 19th century, partly infuenced by Cesar Ritz and Auguste Escoffier (Mac Con Iomaire, “Public Dining”). Irish Cafés: From Bewley’s to Starbucks A number of cafés appeared at the beginning of the 20th century, most notably Robert Roberts and Bewley’s, both of which were owned by Quaker families. Ernest Bewley took over the running of the Bewley’s importation business in the 1890s and opened a number of Oriental Cafés; South Great Georges Street (1894), Westmoreland Street (1896), and what became the landmark Bewley’s Oriental Café in Grafton Street (1927). Drawing influence from the grand cafés of Paris and Vienna, oriental tearooms, and Egyptian architecture (inspired by the discovery in 1922 of Tutankhamen’s Tomb), the Grafton Street business brought a touch of the exotic into the newly formed Irish Free State. Bewley’s cafés became the haunt of many of Ireland’s leading literary figures, including Samuel Becket, Sean O’Casey, and James Joyce who mentioned the café in his book, Dubliners. A full history of Bewley’s is available (Farmar). It is important to note, however, that pots of tea were sold in equal measure to mugs of coffee in Bewley’s. The cafés changed over time from waitress- to self-service and a failure to adapt to changing fashions led to the business being sold, with only the flagship café in Grafton Street remaining open in a revised capacity. It was not until the beginning of the 21st century that a new wave of coffee house culture swept Ireland. This was based around speciality coffee beverages such as espressos, cappuccinos, lattés, macchiatos, and frappuccinnos. This new phenomenon coincided with the unprecedented growth in the Irish economy, during which Ireland became known as the “Celtic Tiger” (Murphy 3). One aspect of this period was a building boom and a subsequent growth in apartment living in the Dublin city centre. The American sitcom Friends and its fictional coffee house, “Central Perk,” may also have helped popularise the use of coffee houses as “third spaces” (Oldenberg) among young apartment dwellers in Dublin. This was also the era of the “dotcom boom” when many young entrepreneurs, software designers, webmasters, and stock market investors were using coffee houses as meeting places for business and also as ad hoc office spaces. This trend is very similar to the situation in the 17th and early 18th centuries where coffeehouses became known as sites for business dealings. Various theories explaining the growth of the new café culture have circulated, with reasons ranging from a growth in Eastern European migrants, anti-smoking legislation, returning sophisticated Irish emigrants, and increased affluence (Fenton). Dublin pubs, facing competition from the new coffee culture, began installing espresso coffee machines made by companies such as Gaggia to attract customers more interested in a good latté than a lager and it is within this context that Irish baristas gained such success in the World Barista competition. In 2001 the Georges Street branch of Bewley’s was taken over by a chain called Café, Bar, Deli specialising in serving good food at reasonable prices. Many ex-Bewley’s staff members subsequently opened their own businesses, roasting coffee and running cafés. Irish-owned coffee chains such as Java Republic, Insomnia, and O’Brien’s Sandwich Bars continued to thrive despite the competition from coffee chains Starbucks and Costa Café. Indeed, so successful was the handmade Irish sandwich and coffee business that, before the economic downturn affected its business, Irish franchise O’Brien’s operated in over 18 countries. The Café, Bar, Deli group had also begun to franchise its operations in 2008 when it too became a victim of the global economic downturn. With the growth of the Internet, many newspapers have experienced falling sales of their printed format and rising uptake of their electronic versions. Most Dublin coffee houses today provide wireless Internet connections so their customers can read not only the local newspapers online, but also others from all over the globe, similar to Francis Dickenson’s coffee house in Winetavern Street in the early 18th century. Dublin has become Europe’s Silicon Valley, housing the European headquarters for companies such as Google, Yahoo, Ebay, Paypal, and Facebook. There are currently plans to provide free wireless connectivity throughout Dublin’s city centre in order to promote e-commerce, however, some coffee houses shut off the wireless Internet in their establishments at certain times of the week in order to promote more social interaction to ensure that these “third places” remain “great good places” at the heart of the community (Oldenburg). Conclusion Ireland is not a country that is normally associated with a coffee culture but coffee houses have been part of the fabric of that country since they emerged in Dublin in the 17th century. These Dublin coffee houses prospered in the 18th century, and survived strong competition from clubs and hotels in the 19th century, and from restaurant and public houses into the 20th century. In 2008, when Stephen Morrissey won the coveted title of World Barista Champion, Ireland’s place as a coffee consuming country was re-established. The first decade of the 21st century witnessed a birth of a new espresso coffee culture, which shows no signs of weakening despite Ireland’s economic travails. References Berry, Henry F. “House and Shop Signs in Dublin in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.” The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland 40.2 (1910): 81–98. Brooke, Raymond Frederick. Daly’s Club and the Kildare Street Club, Dublin. Dublin, 1930. Corr, Frank. Hotels in Ireland. Dublin: Jemma Publications, 1987. Craig, Maurice. Dublin 1660-1860. Dublin: Allen Figgis, 1980. Farmar, Tony. The Legendary, Lofty, Clattering Café. Dublin: A&A Farmar, 1988. Fenton, Ben. “Cafe Culture taking over in Dublin.” The Telegraph 2 Oct. 2006. 29 Apr. 2012 ‹http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/1530308/cafe-culture-taking-over-in-Dublin.html›. Gilbert, John T. A History of the City of Dublin (3 vols.). Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 1978. Girouard, Mark. Victorian Pubs. New Haven, Conn.: Yale UP, 1984. Hardiman, Nodlaig P., and Máire Kennedy. A Directory of Dublin for the Year 1738 Compiled from the Most Authentic of Sources. Dublin: Dublin Corporation Public Libraries, 2000. Huetz de Lemps, Alain. “Colonial Beverages and Consumption of Sugar.” Food: A Culinary History from Antiquity to the Present. Eds. Jean-Louis Flandrin and Massimo Montanari. New York: Columbia UP, 1999. 383–93. Kennedy, Máire. “Dublin Coffee Houses.” Ask About Ireland, 2011. 4 Apr. 2012 ‹http://www.askaboutireland.ie/reading-room/history-heritage/pages-in-history/dublin-coffee-houses›. ----- “‘Politicks, Coffee and News’: The Dublin Book Trade in the Eighteenth Century.” Dublin Historical Record LVIII.1 (2005): 76–85. Liddy, Pat. Temple Bar—Dublin: An Illustrated History. Dublin: Temple Bar Properties, 1992. Mac Con Iomaire, Máirtín. “The Emergence, Development, and Influence of French Haute Cuisine on Public Dining in Dublin Restaurants 1900-2000: An Oral History.” Ph.D. thesis, Dublin Institute of Technology, Dublin, 2009. 4 Apr. 2012 ‹http://arrow.dit.ie/tourdoc/12›. ----- “Ireland.” Food Cultures of the World Encylopedia. Ed. Ken Albala. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 2010. ----- “Public Dining in Dublin: The History and Evolution of Gastronomy and Commercial Dining 1700-1900.” International Journal of Contemporary Hospitality Management 24. Special Issue: The History of the Commercial Hospitality Industry from Classical Antiquity to the 19th Century (2012): forthcoming. MacGiolla Phadraig, Brian. “Dublin: One Hundred Years Ago.” Dublin Historical Record 23.2/3 (1969): 56–71. Maxwell, Constantia. Dublin under the Georges 1714–1830. Dublin: Gill & Macmillan, 1979. McDowell, R. B. Land & Learning: Two Irish Clubs. Dublin: The Lilliput P, 1993. Montgomery, K. 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Totnes: Prospect Books, 1992. 311–14. World Barista, Championship. “History–World Barista Championship”. 2012. 02 Apr. 2012 ‹http://worldbaristachampionship.com2012›.AcknowledgementA warm thank you to Dr. Kevin Griffin for producing the map of Dublin for this article.

The aim of this article is to identify and analyze the genesis of the resources used by teachers to deal with school situations, especially those related to the religious matter. The constitution of resources for teaching practice does not come only from professional experience, mainly in the Brazilian case, where there are no official rules or prescriptions for this subject. Thus, it is questioned: what are the resources mobilized by teachers in situations involving the religious question? What are the origins of these resources for action in real and often unpredictable situations? It is supposed that the action resources used in teaching practices are consistent with the plurality of references that constitute the teaching identity. Based on ethnographic interviews with eighteen teachers from Elementary School II in the State of São Paulo, 54 situations involving the religious question were collected. All the situations were analyzed in what concerns the resources used by the teachers. For this article four situations will be exposed, they were chosen because they are representative, and they serve to exemplify and to assist the argument developed here. To sum up, this paper reveals that the origin of the repertoires used in the teaching practice, as far as the religious question is concerned, comes from the personal competences, which are closely associated with characteristics of the Brazilian socio-cultural configuration, such as the hybrid dispositions of habitus and the mixture between public sphere and private sphere. All things considered, these aspects of the Brazilian culture culminate in the naturalization of the religious in the teaching practice.ResumoO objetivo deste artigo é identificar e analisar as origens dos recursos utilizados pelos docentes para gerir situações escolares envolvendo a questão religiosa. A constituição de recursos para a prática docente não advém apenas da experiência profissional, principalmente quando se trata de um assunto para o qual não há normas ou prescrições oficiais. Desta forma, questiona-se: quais são os recursos mobilizados pelos docentes em situações envolvendo a questão religiosa? Quais são as origens desses recursos para a ação em situação real, muitas vezes, imprevisível? Tem-se como hipótese que os recursos de ação utilizados nas práticas docentes condizem com a pluralidade de referências que constituem a identidade docente. A partir de entrevistas etnográficas com 18 docentes do Ensino Fundamental II no Estado de São Paulo, foram recolhidas 54 situações envolvendo a questão religiosa. Todas as situações foram analisadas no que concerne aos recursos utilizados pelos docentes. Para este artigo, foram selecionadas quatro situações que serão expostas por serem representativas e por exemplificarem e auxiliarem no argumento aqui desenvolvido. Conclui-se que a origem dos repertórios utilizados na prática docente, no que concerne à questão religiosa, advém das competências pessoais dos profissionais que, por sua vez, estão intimamente associadas com características da configuração sociocultural brasileira, como a mistura entre esfera pública e esfera privada e as disposições híbridas de habitus que culminam com a naturalização do religioso na prática docente.Palavras-chave: Prática docente, Religião e educação, Formação de profissionais da educação, Repertório.Keywords: Teaching practices, Religion and education, Teacher training, Resources.ReferencesALBUQUERQUE, E. M. Avaliação da técnica de amostragem “Respondent-driven Sampling” na estimação de prevalências de Doenças Transmissíveis em populações organizadas em redes complexas. 2009. 99p. Dissertação de Mestrado em Saúde Pública. Escola Nacional de Saúde Pública Sérgio Arouca; Rio de Janeiro: Ministério da Saúde – Fiocruz, 2009.BEAUD, Stéphane; WEBER, Florence. 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IntroductionFirmly located within the discourse of visible culture as the lofty preserve of art exhibitions and museum artefacts, the noun “curate” has gradually transformed into the verb “to curate”. Williams writes that “curate” has become a fashionable code word among the aesthetically minded to describe a creative activity. Designers no longer simply sell clothes; they “curate” merchandise. Chefs no longer only make food; they also “curate” meals. Chosen for their keen eye for a particular style or a precise shade, it is their knowledge of their craft, their reputation, and their sheer ability to choose among countless objects which make the creative process a creative activity in itself. Writing from within the framework of “curate” as a creative process, this article discusses how the state banquet for Queen Elizabeth II, hosted by Irish President Mary McAleese at Dublin Castle in May 2011, was carefully curated to represent Ireland’s diplomatic, cultural, and culinary identity. The paper will focus in particular on how the menu for the banquet was created and how the banquet’s brief, “Ireland on a Plate”, was fulfilled.History and BackgroundFood has been used by nations for centuries to display wealth, cement alliances, and impress foreign visitors. Since the feasts of the Numidian kings (circa 340 BC), culinary staging and presentation has belonged to “a long, multifaceted and multicultural history of diplomatic practices” (IEHCA 5). According to the works of Baughman, Young, and Albala, food has defined the social, cultural, and political position of a nation’s leaders throughout history.In early 2011, Ross Lewis, Chef Patron of Chapter One Restaurant in Dublin, was asked by the Irish Food Board, Bord Bía, if he would be available to create a menu for a high-profile banquet (Mahon 112). The name of the guest of honour was divulged several weeks later after vetting by the protocol and security divisions of the Department of the Taoiseach (Prime Minister) and the Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. Lewis was informed that the menu was for the state banquet to be hosted by President Mary McAleese at Dublin Castle in honour of Queen Elizabeth II’s visit to Ireland the following May.Hosting a formal banquet for a visiting head of state is a key feature in the statecraft of international and diplomatic relations. Food is the societal common denominator that links all human beings, regardless of culture (Pliner and Rozin 19). When world leaders publicly share a meal, that meal is laden with symbolism, illuminating each diner’s position “in social networks and social systems” (Sobal, Bove, and Rauschenbach 378). The public nature of the meal signifies status and symbolic kinship and that “guest and host are on par in terms of their personal or official attributes” (Morgan 149). While the field of academic scholarship on diplomatic dining might be young, there is little doubt of the value ascribed to the semiotics of diplomatic gastronomy in modern power structures (Morgan 150; De Vooght and Scholliers 12; Chapple-Sokol 162), for, as Firth explains, symbols are malleable and perfectly suited to exploitation by all parties (427).Political DiplomacyWhen Ireland gained independence in December 1921, it marked the end of eight centuries of British rule. The outbreak of “The Troubles” in 1969 in Northern Ireland upset the gradually improving environment of British–Irish relations, and it would be some time before a state visit became a possibility. Beginning with the peace process in the 1990s, the IRA ceasefire of 1994, and the Good Friday Agreement in 1998, a state visit was firmly set in motion by the visit of Irish President Mary Robinson to Buckingham Palace in 1993, followed by the unofficial visit of the Prince of Wales to Ireland in 1995, and the visit of Irish President Mary McAleese to Buckingham Palace in 1999. An official invitation to Queen Elizabeth from President Mary McAleese in March 2011 was accepted, and the visit was scheduled for mid-May of the same year.The visit was a highly performative occasion, orchestrated and ordained in great detail, displaying all the necessary protocol associated with the state visit of one head of state to another: inspection of the military, a courtesy visit to the nation’s head of state on arrival, the laying of a wreath at the nation’s war memorial, and a state banquet.These aspects of protocol between Britain and Ireland were particularly symbolic. By inspecting the military on arrival, the existence of which is a key indicator of independence, Queen Elizabeth effectively demonstrated her recognition of Ireland’s national sovereignty. On making the customary courtesy call to the head of state, the Queen was received by President McAleese at her official residence Áras an Uachtaráin (The President’s House), which had formerly been the residence of the British monarch’s representative in Ireland (Robbins 66). The state banquet was held in Dublin Castle, once the headquarters of British rule where the Viceroy, the representative of Britain’s Court of St James, had maintained court (McDowell 1).Cultural DiplomacyThe state banquet provided an exceptional showcase of Irish culture and design and generated a level of preparation previously unseen among Dublin Castle staff, who described it as “the most stage managed state event” they had ever witnessed (Mahon 129).The castle was cleaned from top to bottom, and inventories were taken of the furniture and fittings. The Waterford Crystal chandeliers were painstakingly taken down, cleaned, and reassembled; the Killybegs carpets and rugs of Irish lamb’s wool were cleaned and repaired. A special edition Newbridge Silverware pen was commissioned for Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip to sign the newly ordered Irish leather-bound visitors’ book. A new set of state tableware was ordered for the President’s table. Irish manufacturers of household goods necessary for the guest rooms, such as towels and soaps, hand creams and body lotions, candle holders and scent diffusers, were sought. Members of Her Majesty’s staff conducted a “walk-through” several weeks in advance of the visit to ensure that the Queen’s wardrobe would not clash with the surroundings (Mahon 129–32).The promotion of Irish manufacture is a constant thread throughout history. Irish linen, writes Kane, enjoyed a reputation as far afield as the Netherlands and Italy in the 15th century, and archival documents from the Vaucluse attest to the purchase of Irish cloth in Avignon in 1432 (249–50). Support for Irish-made goods was raised in 1720 by Jonathan Swift, and by the 18th century, writes Foster, Dublin had become an important centre for luxury goods (44–51).It has been Irish government policy since the late 1940s to use Irish-manufactured goods for state entertaining, so the material culture of the banquet was distinctly Irish: Arklow Pottery plates, Newbridge Silverware cutlery, Waterford Crystal glassware, and Irish linen tablecloths. In order to decide upon the table setting for the banquet, four tables were laid in the King’s Bedroom in Dublin Castle. The Executive Chef responsible for the banquet menu, and certain key personnel, helped determine which setting would facilitate serving the food within the time schedule allowed (Mahon 128–29). The style of service would be service à la russe, so widespread in restaurants today as to seem unremarkable. Each plate is prepared in the kitchen by the chef and then served to each individual guest at table. In the mid-19th century, this style of service replaced service à la française, in which guests typically entered the dining room after the first course had been laid on the table and selected food from the choice of dishes displayed around them (Kaufman 126).The guest list was compiled by government and embassy officials on both sides and was a roll call of Irish and British life. At the President’s table, 10 guests would be served by a team of 10 staff in Dorchester livery. The remaining tables would each seat 12 guests, served by 12 liveried staff. The staff practiced for several days prior to the banquet to make sure that service would proceed smoothly within the time frame allowed. The team of waiters, each carrying a plate, would emerge from the kitchen in single file. They would then take up positions around the table, each waiter standing to the left of the guest they would serve. On receipt of a discreet signal, each plate would be laid in front of each guest at precisely the same moment, after which the waiters would then about foot and return to the kitchen in single file (Mahon 130).Post-prandial entertainment featured distinctive styles of performance and instruments associated with Irish traditional music. These included reels, hornpipes, and slipjigs, voice and harp, sean-nόs (old style) singing, and performances by established Irish artists on the fiddle, bouzouki, flute, and uilleann pipes (Office of Public Works).Culinary Diplomacy: Ireland on a PlateLewis was given the following brief: the menu had to be Irish, the main course must be beef, and the meal should represent the very best of Irish ingredients. There were no restrictions on menu design. There were no dietary requirements or specific requests from the Queen’s representatives, although Lewis was informed that shellfish is excluded de facto from Irish state banquets as a precautionary measure. The meal was to be four courses long and had to be served to 170 diners within exactly 1 hour and 10 minutes (Mahon 112). A small army of 16 chefs and 4 kitchen porters would prepare the food in the kitchen of Dublin Castle under tight security. The dishes would be served on state tableware by 40 waiters, 6 restaurant managers, a banqueting manager and a sommélier. Lewis would be at the helm of the operation as Executive Chef (Mahon 112–13).Lewis started by drawing up “a patchwork quilt” of the products he most wanted to use and built the menu around it. The choice of suppliers was based on experience but also on a supplier’s ability to deliver perfectly ripe goods in mid-May, a typically black spot in the Irish fruit and vegetable growing calendar as it sits between the end of one season and the beginning of another. Lewis consulted the Queen’s itinerary and the menus to be served so as to avoid repetitions. He had to discard his initial plan to feature lobster in the starter and rhubarb in the dessert—the former for the precautionary reasons mentioned above, and the latter because it featured on the Queen’s lunch menu on the day of the banquet (Mahon 112–13).Once the ingredients had been selected, the menu design focused on creating tastes, flavours and textures. Several draft menus were drawn up and myriad dishes were tasted and discussed in the kitchen of Lewis’s own restaurant. Various wines were paired and tasted with the different courses, the final choice being a Château Lynch-Bages 1998 red and a Château de Fieuzal 2005 white, both from French Bordeaux estates with an Irish connection (Kellaghan 3). Two months and two menu sittings later, the final menu was confirmed and signed off by state and embassy officials (Mahon 112–16).The StarterThe banquet’s starter featured organic Clare Island salmon cured in a sweet brine, laid on top of a salmon cream combining wild smoked salmon from the Burren and Cork’s Glenilen Farm crème fraîche, set over a lemon balm jelly from the Tannery Cookery School Gardens, Waterford. Garnished with horseradish cream, wild watercress, and chive flowers from Wicklow, the dish was finished with rapeseed oil from Kilkenny and a little sea salt from West Cork (Mahon 114). Main CourseA main course of Irish beef featured as the pièce de résistance of the menu. A rib of beef from Wexford’s Slaney Valley was provided by Kettyle Irish Foods in Fermanagh and served with ox cheek and tongue from Rathcoole, County Dublin. From along the eastern coastline came the ingredients for the traditional Irish dish of smoked champ: cabbage from Wicklow combined with potatoes and spring onions grown in Dublin. The new season’s broad beans and carrots were served with wild garlic leaf, which adorned the dish (Mahon 113). Cheese CourseThe cheese course was made up of Knockdrinna, a Tomme style goat’s milk cheese from Kilkenny; Milleens, a Munster style cow’s milk cheese produced in Cork; Cashel Blue, a cow’s milk blue cheese from Tipperary; and Glebe Brethan, a Comté style cheese from raw cow’s milk from Louth. Ditty’s Oatmeal Biscuits from Belfast accompanied the course.DessertLewis chose to feature Irish strawberries in the dessert. Pat Clarke guaranteed delivery of ripe strawberries on the day of the banquet. They married perfectly with cream and yoghurt from Glenilen Farm in Cork. The cream was set with Irish Carrageen moss, overlaid with strawberry jelly and sauce, and garnished with meringues made with Irish apple balsamic vinegar from Lusk in North Dublin, yoghurt mousse, and Irish soda bread tuiles made with wholemeal flour from the Mosse family mill in Kilkenny (Mahon 113).The following day, President McAleese telephoned Lewis, saying of the banquet “Ní hé go raibh sé go maith, ach go raibh sé míle uair níos fearr ná sin” (“It’s not that it was good but that it was a thousand times better”). The President observed that the menu was not only delicious but that it was “amazingly articulate in terms of the story that it told about Ireland and Irish food.” The Queen had particularly enjoyed the stuffed cabbage leaf of tongue, cheek and smoked colcannon (a traditional Irish dish of mashed potatoes with curly kale or green cabbage) and had noted the diverse selection of Irish ingredients from Irish artisans (Mahon 116). Irish CuisineWhen the topic of food is explored in Irish historiography, the focus tends to be on the consequences of the Great Famine (1845–49) which left the country “socially and emotionally scarred for well over a century” (Mac Con Iomaire and Gallagher 161). Some commentators consider the term “Irish cuisine” oxymoronic, according to Mac Con Iomaire and Maher (3). As Goldstein observes, Ireland has suffered twice—once from its food deprivation and second because these deprivations present an obstacle for the exploration of Irish foodways (xii). Writing about Italian, Irish, and Jewish migration to America, Diner states that the Irish did not have a food culture to speak of and that Irish writers “rarely included the details of food in describing daily life” (85). Mac Con Iomaire and Maher note that Diner’s methodology overlooks a centuries-long tradition of hospitality in Ireland such as that described by Simms (68) and shows an unfamiliarity with the wealth of food related sources in the Irish language, as highlighted by Mac Con Iomaire (“Exploring” 1–23).Recent scholarship on Ireland’s culinary past is unearthing a fascinating story of a much more nuanced culinary heritage than has been previously understood. This is clearly demonstrated in the research of Cullen, Cashman, Deleuze, Kellaghan, Kelly, Kennedy, Legg, Mac Con Iomaire, Mahon, O’Sullivan, Richman Kenneally, Sexton, and Stanley, Danaher, and Eogan.In 1996 Ireland was described by McKenna as having the most dynamic cuisine in any European country, a place where in the last decade “a vibrant almost unlikely style of cooking has emerged” (qtd. in Mac Con Iomaire “Jammet’s” 136). By 2014, there were nine restaurants in Dublin which had been awarded Michelin stars or Red Ms (Mac Con Iomaire “Jammet’s” 137). Ross Lewis, Chef Patron of Chapter One Restaurant, who would be chosen to create the menu for the state banquet for Queen Elizabeth II, has maintained a Michelin star since 2008 (Mac Con Iomaire, “Jammet’s” 138). Most recently the current strength of Irish gastronomy is globally apparent in Mark Moriarty’s award as San Pellegrino Young Chef 2015 (McQuillan). As Deleuze succinctly states: “Ireland has gone mad about food” (143).This article is part of a research project into Irish diplomatic dining, and the author is part of a research cluster into Ireland’s culinary heritage within the Dublin Institute of Technology. The aim of the research is to add to the growing body of scholarship on Irish gastronomic history and, ultimately, to contribute to the discourse on the existence of a national cuisine. If, as Zubaida says, “a nation’s cuisine is its court’s cuisine,” then it is time for Ireland to “research the feasts as well as the famines” (Mac Con Iomaire and Cashman 97).ConclusionThe Irish state banquet for Queen Elizabeth II in May 2011 was a highly orchestrated and formalised process. From the menu, material culture, entertainment, and level of consultation in the creative content, it is evident that the banquet was carefully curated to represent Ireland’s diplomatic, cultural, and culinary identity.The effects of the visit appear to have been felt in the years which have followed. Hennessy wrote in the Irish Times newspaper that Queen Elizabeth is privately said to regard her visit to Ireland as the most significant of the trips she has made during her 60-year reign. British Prime Minister David Cameron is noted to mention the visit before every Irish audience he encounters, and British Foreign Secretary William Hague has spoken in particular of the impact the state banquet in Dublin Castle made upon him. Hennessy points out that one of the most significant indicators of the peaceful relationship which exists between the two countries nowadays was the subsequent state visit by Irish President Michael D. Higgins to Britain in 2013. This was the first state visit to the United Kingdom by a President of Ireland and would have been unimaginable 25 years ago. The fact that the President and his wife stayed at Windsor Castle and that the attendant state banquet was held there instead of Buckingham Palace were both deemed to be marks of special favour and directly attributed to the success of Her Majesty’s 2011 visit to Ireland.As the research demonstrates, eating together unites rather than separates, gathers rather than divides, diffuses political tensions, and confirms alliances. It might be said then that the 2011 state banquet hosted by President Mary McAleese in honour of Queen Elizabeth II, curated by Ross Lewis, gives particular meaning to the axiom “to eat together is to eat in peace” (Taliano des Garets 160).AcknowledgementsSupervisors: Dr Máirtín Mac Con Iomaire (Dublin Institute of Technology) and Dr Michael Kennedy (Royal Irish Academy)Fáilte IrelandPhotos of the banquet dishes supplied and permission to reproduce them for this article kindly granted by Ross Lewis, Chef Patron, Chapter One Restaurant ‹http://www.chapteronerestaurant.com/›.Illustration ‘Ireland on a Plate’ © Jesse Campbell BrownRemerciementsThe author would like to thank the anonymous reviewers for their feedback and suggestions on an earlier draft of this article.ReferencesAlbala, Ken. The Banquet: Dining in the Great Courts of Late Renaissance Europe. 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This essay aims to elucidate issues related to the origin, definition and contributions of number sense to mathematical learning. We discuss the controversies involved in the origin and conceptualization of the construct, as well as the understanding of number sense that characterizes this work. We present studies that highlight the relevant role that number sense plays in the construction of initial mathematics and the relation that this construct has evidenced in children’s later mathematical performance. These findings are then related to educational actions developed by researchers in the field, showing the effectiveness of the investment in developing mathematical interventions. In conclusion, it is evidenced the controversy that characterizes the concept of number sense, which reflects the need for more research in this field. A strong predictive relationship between the construct and later mathematical knowledge is also highlighted, which has led to the realization of intervention studies in this field. Such studies have shown encouraging results for kindergarten and elementary school students who have difficulties in learning mathematics.ResumoEste ensaio tem como objetivo elucidar questões relativas à origem, definição e contribuições do senso numérico para a aprendizagem matemática. Abordam-se as controvérsias envolvidas na origem e conceituação do constructo, assim como a compreensão de senso numérico que caracteriza este trabalho. São apresentados estudos que destacam o papel relevante que o senso numérico desempenha para a construção da matemática inicial e a relação que este constructo tem evidenciado com o desempenho matemático posterior das crianças. Após, relaciona-se o que foi exposto às ações educacionais desenvolvidas por pesquisadores da área, mostrando a efetividade do investimento no desenvolvimento de intervenções matemáticas. Em conclusão, fica evidenciada a controvérsia que caracteriza a conceituação de senso numérico, o que reflete a necessidade e relevância de mais pesquisa nesta área. É destacada também a forte relação preditiva entre o constructo e o conhecimento matemático posterior, o que tem impulsionado a realização de estudos de intervenção neste campo, com resultados animadores, para alunos da Educação Infantil e dos anos iniciais do Ensino Fundamental que apresentam dificuldades de aprendizagem na matemática.ResumenEste ensayo tiene como objetivo dilucidar cuestiones relacionadas con el origen, la definición y las contribuciones del sentido numérico al aprendizaje matemático. Discutimos las controversias involucradas en el origen y la conceptualización del constructo, así como la comprensión del sentido numérico que caracteriza este trabajo. Presentamos estudios que destacan el papel relevante que juega el sentido numérico en la construcción de las matemáticas iniciales y la relación que este constructo ha evidenciado en el rendimiento matemático posterior de los niños. Estos hallazgos se relacionan luego con acciones educativas desarrolladas por investigadores en este campo, evidenciando la efectividad de los esfuerzos en el desarrollo de intervenciones matemáticas. En conclusión, queda evidenciada la controversia que caracteriza el concepto de sentido numérico, lo que refleja la necesidad de más investigación en este campo. También se destaca una fuerte relación predictiva entre este constructo y el conocimiento matemático posterior, lo que ha llevado a la realización de estudios de intervención en esta área. Dichos estudios han mostrado resultados alentadores para los alumnos de la Educación Infantil y años iniciales de la Enseñanza Fundamental que tienen dificultades para aprender matemáticas.Palavras-chave: Senso numérico, Aprendizagem da matemática, Estudos preditivos, Intervenção.Keywords: Number sense, Mathematical learning, Predictive studies, Intervention.Palabras clave: Sentido numérico, Aprendizaje matemático, Estudios Predictivos, Intervención.ReferencesANDERSSON, Ulf; LYXELL, Björn. Working memory deficit in children with mathematical difficulties: A general or specific deficit? Journal of experimental child psychology, v. 96, n. 3, p. 197-228, 2007.ANDREWS, Paul; SAYERS, Judy. Identifying opportunities for grade one children to acquire foundational number sense: Developing a framework for cross cultural classroom analyses. Early Childhood Education Journal, v. 43, n. 4, p. 257-267, 2015.ANTELL, Sue Ellen; KEATING, Daniel P. Perception of numerical invariance in neonates. 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Revista Psicologia: Teoria e Prática, v. 20, n. 1, p. 141-154, 2018.CORSO, L.; DORNELES, B. V. Senso numérico e dificuldades de aprendizagem na matemática. Revista Psicopedagogia, São Paulo, 83, 289–309, 2010.DEHAENE, Stanislas. Babies who count. In: DEHAENE, Stanislas. The Number Sense: how the mind creates mathematics. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997.DE SMEDT, Bert; GILMORE, Camilla K. Defective number module or impaired access? Numerical magnitude processing in first graders with mathematical difficulties. Journal of experimental child psychology, v. 108, n. 2, p. 278-292, 2011.DOWKER, Ann; SIGLEY, Graham. Targeted interventions for children with arithmetical difficulties. In: BJEP Monograph Series II, Number 7-Understanding number development and difficulties. British Psychological Society, p. 65-81, 2010.DYSON, Nancy I.; JORDAN, Nancy C.; GLUTTING, Joseph. A number sense intervention for low-income kindergartners at risk for mathematics difficulties. Journal of learning disabilities, v. 46, n. 2, p. 166-181, 2013.FUCHS, Lynn S.; FUCHS, Douglas; STUEBING, Karla; FLETCHER, Jack M.;HAMLETT, Carol L.; LAMBERT, Warren. Problem solving and computational skill: Are they shared or distinct aspects of mathematical cognition? Journal of educational psychology, v. 100, n. 1, p. 30-47, 2008.FUCHS, Lynn. S.; POWELL, Sara. R.; SEETHALER, Pamela M.; CIRINO, Paul T.; FLETCHER, Jack M.; FUCHS, Douglas; HAMLETT, Carol L. The effects of strategic counting instruction, with and without deliberate practice, on number combination skill among students with mathematics difficulties. Learning and individual differences, v. 20, n. 2, p. 89-100, 2010.FUSON, Karen C.; SECADA, Walter G.; HALL, James W. Matching, Counting, and Conservation of Numerical Equivalence. Child Development, v. 54, n. 1 p. 91-97, 1983.GERSTEN, Russell; CHARD, David. Number sense: Rethinking arithmetic instruction for students with mathematical disabilities. The Journal of special education, v. 33, n. 1, p. 18-28, 1999.GINSBURG, Herbert P.; LEE, Joon Sun; BOYD, Judi Stevenson. Mathematics Education for Young Children: What It Is and How to Promote It. Social Policy Report, v. 22, n. 1. p. 3-23, 2008.HASSINGER-DAS, Brenna; JORDAN, Nancy C.; GLUTTING, Joseph; IRWIN, Casey; DYSON, Nancy. Domain-general mediators of the relation between kindergarten number sense and first-grade mathematics achievement. Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, v. 118, p. 78-92, 2014.JORDAN, Nancy C.; GLUTTING, Joseph; RAMINENI, Chaitanya. The importance of number sense to mathematics achievement in first and third grades. Learning and individual differences, v. 20, n. 2, p. 82-88, 2010.JORDAN, Nancy C.; GLUTTING, Joseph; RAMINENI, Chaitanya, WATKINS, Marley W. Validating a number sense screening tool for use in kindergarten and first grade: Prediction of mathematics proficiency in third grade. School Psychology Review, v. 39, n. 2, p. 181, 2010.MARTIN, Rebecca B.; CIRINO, Paul T.; SHARP, Carla; BARNES, Carla. Number and counting skills in kindergarten as predictors of grade 1 mathematical skills. Learning and individual differences, v. 34, p. 12-23, 2014.MEYER, Meghan L.; SALIMPOOR, Valorie; WU, Sarah S.; GEARY, David C.; MENON, Vinod. Differential contribution of specific working memory components to mathematics achievement in 2nd and 3rd graders. Learning and Individual Differences, v. 20, n. 2, p. 101-109, 2010.NUNES, Terezinha; BRYANT, Peter. Explicando numeralização. In: NUNES, T; BRYANT, P. Crianças fazendo matemática. Porto Alegre: Artes Médicas, 1997. 246 p.NUNES,Terezinha; BRYANT, Peter. Children’s understanding of mathematics. In: GOSWAMI, Usha C. (Org.) The wiley-blackwell handbook of childhood cognitive development. Blackwell Publishing, 2011.NUNES, Sula. C. T.; ASSIS, Évelin F.; THORNTON, Alessandra F.; CORSO, Luciana Vellinho. 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Infant perception of numerosity. Child development,v. 52, p. 1146-1152, 1981.TOLAR, Tammy D.; FUCHS, Lynn; FLETCHER, Jack M.;FUCHS, Douglas; HAMLETT, Carol L. Cognitive profiles of mathematical problem solving learning disability for different definitions of disability. Journal of learning disabilities, v. 49, n. 3, p. 240-256, 2016.

The general who wins a battle makes many calculations in his temple ere the battle is fought. — Sun TzuWorld War II saw a proliferation of maps. From command posts to the pages of National Geographic to the pages of daily newspapers, they were everywhere (Schulten). The era also saw substantive developments in cartography, especially with respect to the topographical maps that feature in our selected films. This essay offers a preliminary examination of the battle-map as depicted in two films about the Second World War: Franklin J. Shaffner’s biopic Patton (1970) and Jack Smight’s epic Midway (1976). In these films, maps, charts, or tableaux (the three-dimensional models upon which are plotted the movements of battalions, fleets, and so on) emerge as an expression of both martial and cinematic strategy. As a rear-view representation of the relative movements of personnel and materiel in particular battle arenas, the map and its accessories (pins, tape, markers, and so forth) trace the broad military dispositions of Patton’s 2nd Corp (Africa), Seventh Army (Italy) and Third Army (Western Europe) and the relative position of American and Japanese fleets in the Pacific. In both Patton and Midway, the map also emerges as a simple mode of narrative plotting: as the various encounters in the two texts play out, the battle-map more or less contemporaneously traces the progress of forces. It also serves as a foreshadowing device, not just narratively, but cinematically: that which is plotted in advance comes to pass (even if as preliminary movements before catastrophe), but the audience is also cued for the cinematic chaos and disjuncture that almost inevitably ensues in the battle scenes proper.On one hand, then, this essay proposes that at the fundamental level of fabula (seen through either the lens of historical hindsight or through the eyes of the novice who knows nothing of World War II), the annotated map is engaged both strategically and cinematically: as a stage upon which commanders attempt to act out (either in anticipation, or retrospectively) the intricate, but grotesque, ballet of warfare — and as a reflection of the broad, sequential, sweeps of conflict. While, in War and Cinema, Paul Virilio offers the phrase ‘the logistics of perception’ (1), in this this essay we, on the other hand, consider that, for those in command, the battle-map is a representation of the perception of logistics: the big picture of war finds rough indexical representation on a map, but (as Clausewitz tells us) chance, the creative agency of individual commanders, and the fog of battle make it far less probable (than is the case in more specific mappings, such as, say, the wedding rehearsal) that what is planned will play out with any degree of close correspondence (On War 19, 21, 77-81). Such mapping is, of course, further problematised by the processes of abstraction themselves: indexicality is necessarily a reduction; a de-realisation or déterritorialisation. ‘For the military commander,’ writes Virilio, ‘every dimension is unstable and presents itself in isolation from its original context’ (War and Cinema 32). Yet rehearsal (on maps, charts, or tableaux) is a keying activity that seeks to presage particular real world patterns (Goffman 45). As suggested above, far from being a rhizomatic activity, the heavily plotted (as opposed to thematic) business of mapping is always out of joint: either a practice of imperfect anticipation or an equally imperfect (pared back and behind-the-times) rendition of activity in the field. As is argued by Tolstoj in War and Peace, the map then presents to the responder a series of tensions and ironies often lost on the masters of conflict themselves. War, as Tostoj proposes, is a stochastic phenomenon while the map is a relatively static, and naive, attempt to impose order upon it. Tolstoj, then, pillories Phull (in the novel, Pfuhl), the aptly-named Prussian general whose lock-stepped obedience to the science of war (of which the map is part) results in the abject humiliation of 1806:Pfuhl was one of those theoreticians who are so fond of their theory that they lose sight of the object of that theory - its application in practice. (Vol. 2, Part 1, Ch. 10, 53)In both Patton and Midway, then, the map unfolds not only as an epistemological tool (read, ‘battle plan’) or reflection (read, the near contemporaneous plotting of real world affray) of the war narrative, but as a device of foreshadowing and as an allegory of command and its profound limitations. So, in Deleuzian terms, while emerging as an image of both time and perception, for commanders and filmgoers alike, the map is also something of a seduction: a ‘crystal-image’ situated in the interstices between the virtual and the actual (Deleuze 95). To put it another way, in our films the map emerges as an isomorphism: a studied plotting in which inheres a counter-text (Goffman 26). As a simple device of narrative, and in the conventional terms of latitude and longitude, in both Patton and Midway, the map, chart, or tableau facilitate the plotting of the resources of war in relation to relief (including island land masses), roads, railways, settlements, rivers, and seas. On this syntagmatic plane, in Greimasian terms, the map is likewise received as a canonical sign of command: where there are maps, there are, after all, commanders (Culler 13). On the other hand, as suggested above, the battle-map (hereafter, we use the term to signify the conventional paper map, the maritime chart, or tableau) materialises as a sanitised image of the unknown and the grotesque: as apodictic object that reduces complexity and that incidentally banishes horror and affect. Thus, the map evolves, in the viewer’s perception, as an ironic sign of all that may not be commanded. This is because, as an emblem of the rational order, in Patton and Midway the map belies the ubiquity of battle’s friction: that defined by Clausewitz as ‘the only concept which...distinguishes real war from war on paper’ (73). ‘Friction’ writes Clausewitz, ‘makes that which appears easy in War difficult in reality’ (81).Our work here cannot ignore or side-step the work of others in identifying the core cycles, characteristics of the war film genre. Jeanine Basinger, for instance, offers nothing less than an annotated checklist of sixteen key characteristics for the World War II combat film. Beyond this taxonomy, though, Basinger identifies the crucial role this sub-type of film plays in the corpus of war cinema more broadly. The World War II combat film’s ‘position in the evolutionary process is established, as well as its overall relationship to history and reality. It demonstrates how a primary set of concepts solidifies into a story – and how they can be interpreted for a changing ideology’ (78). Stuart Bender builds on Basinger’s taxonomy and discussion of narrative tropes with a substantial quantitative analysis of the very building blocks of battle sequences. This is due to Bender’s contention that ‘when a critic’s focus [is] on the narrative or ideological components of a combat film [this may] lead them to make assumptions about the style which are untenable’ (8). We seek with this research to add to a rich and detailed body of knowledge by redressing a surprising omission therein: a conscious and focussed analysis of the use of battle-maps in war cinema. In Patton and in Midway — as in War and Peace — the map emerges as an emblem of an intergeneric dialogue: as a simple storytelling device and as a paradigmatic engine of understanding. To put it another way, as viewer-responders with a synoptic perspective we perceive what might be considered a ‘double exposure’: in the map we see what is obviously before us (the collision of represented forces), but an Archimedean positioning facilitates the production of far more revelatory textual isotopies along what Roman Jakobson calls the ‘axis of combination’ (Linguistics and Poetics 358). Here, otherwise unconnected signs (in our case various manifestations and configurations of the battle-map) are brought together in relation to particular settings, situations, and figures. Through this palimpsest of perspective, a crucial binary emerges: via the battle-map we see ‘command’ and the sequence of engagement — and, through Greimasian processes of axiological combination (belonging more to syuzhet than fabula), elucidated for us are the wrenching ironies of warfare (Culler 228). Thus, through the profound and bound motif of the map (Tomashevsky 69), are we empowered to pass judgement on the map bearers who, in both films, present as the larger-than-life heroes of old. Figure 1.While we have scope only to deal with the African theatre, Patton opens with a dramatic wide-shot of the American flag: a ‘map’, if you will, of a national history forged in war (Fig. 1). Against this potent sign of American hegemony, as he slowly climbs up to the stage before it, the general appears a diminutive figure -- until, via a series of matched cuts that culminate in extreme close-ups, he manifests as a giant about to play his part in a great American story (Fig. 2).Figure 2.Some nineteen minutes into a film, having surveyed the carnage of Kasserine Pass (in which, in February 1943, the Germans inflicted a humiliating defeat on the Americans) General Omar Bradley is reunited with his old friend and newly-nominated three-star general, George S. Patton Jr.. Against a backdrop of an indistinct topographical map (that nonetheless appears to show the front line) and the American flag that together denote the men’s authority, the two discuss the Kasserine catastrophe. Bradley’s response to Patton’s question ‘What happened at Kasserine?’ clearly illustrates the tension between strategy and real-world engagement. While the battle-plan was solid, the Americans were outgunned, their tanks were outclassed, and (most importantly) their troops were out-disciplined. Patton’s concludes that Rommel can only be beaten if the American soldiers are fearless and fight as a cohesive unit. Now that he is in command of the American 2nd Corp, the tide of American martial fortune is about to turn.The next time Patton appears in relation to the map is around half an hour into the two-and-three-quarter-hour feature. Here, in the American HQ, the map once more appears as a simple, canonical sign of command. Somewhat carelessly, the map of Europe seems to show post-1945 national divisions and so is ostensibly offered as a straightforward prop. In terms of martial specifics, screenplay writer Francis Ford Coppola apparently did not envisage much close scrutiny of the film’s maps. Highlighted, instead, are the tensions between strategy as a general principle and action on the ground. As British General Sir Arthur Coningham waxes lyrical about allied air supremacy, a German bomber drops its payload on the HQ, causing the map of Europe to (emblematically) collapse forward into the room. Following a few passes by the attacking aircraft, the film then cuts to a one second medium shot as a hail of bullets from a Heinkel He 111 strike a North African battle map (Fig. 3). Still prone, Patton remarks: ‘You were discussing air supremacy, Sir Arthur.’ Dramatising a scene that did take place (although Coningham was not present), Schaffner’s intention is to allow Patton to shoot holes in the British strategy (of which he is contemptuous) but a broader objective is the director’s exposé of the more general disjuncture between strategy and action. As the film progresses, and the battle-map’s allegorical significance is increasingly foregrounded, this critique becomes definitively sharper.Figure 3.Immediately following a scene in which an introspective Patton walks through a cemetery in which are interred the remains of those killed at Kasserine, to further the critique of Allied strategy the camera cuts to Berlin’s high command and a high-tech ensemble of tableaux, projected maps, and walls featuring lights, counters, and clocks. Tasked to research the newly appointed Patton, Captain Steiger walks through the bunker HQ with Hitler’s Chief of Staff, General Jodl, to meet with Rommel — who, suffering nasal diphtheria, is away from the African theatre. In a memorable exchange, Steiger reveals that Patton permanently attacks and never retreats. Rommel, who, following his easy victory at Kasserine, is on the verge of total tactical victory, in turn declares that he will ‘attack and annihilate’ Patton — before the poet-warrior does the same to him. As Clausewitz has argued, and as Schaffner is at pains to point out, it seems that, in part, the outcome of warfare has more to do with the individual consciousness of competing warriors than it does with even the most exquisite of battle-plans.Figure 4.So, even this early in the film’s runtime, as viewer-responders we start to reassess various manifestations of the battle-map. To put it as Michelle Langford does in her assessment of Schroeter’s cinema, ‘fragments of the familiar world [in our case, battle-maps] … become radically unfamiliar’ (Allegorical Images 57). Among the revelations is that from the flag (in the context of close battle, all sense of ‘the national’ dissolves), to the wall map, to the most detailed of tableau, the battle-plan is enveloped in the fog of war: thus, the extended deeply-focussed scenes of the Battle of El Guettar take us from strategic overview (Patton’s field glass perspectives over what will soon become a Valley of Death) to what Boris Eichenbaum has called ‘Stendhalian’ scale (The Young Tolstoi 105) in which, (in Patton) through more closely situated perspectives, we almost palpably experience the Germans’ disarray under heavy fire. As the camera pivots between the general and the particular (and between the omniscient and the nescient) the cinematographer highlights the tension between the strategic and the actual. Inasmuch as it works out (and, as Schaffner shows us, it never works out completely as planned) this is the outcome of modern martial strategy: chaos and unimaginable carnage on the ground that no cartographic representation might capture. As Patton observes the destruction unfold in the valley below and before him, he declares: ‘Hell of a waste of fine infantry.’ Figure 5.An important inclusion, then, is that following the protracted El Guettar battle scenes, Schaffner has the (symbolically flag-draped) casket of Patton’s aide, Captain Richard N. “Dick” Jenson, wheeled away on a horse-drawn cart — with the lonely figure of the mourning general marching behind, his ironic interior monologue audible to the audience: ‘I can't see the reason such fine young men get killed. There are so many battles yet to fight.’ Finally, in terms of this brief and partial assessment of the battle-map in Patton, less than an hour in, we may observe that the map is emerging as something far more than a casual prop; as something more than a plotting of battlelines; as something more than an emblem of command. Along a new and unexpected axis of semantic combination, it is now manifesting as a sign of that which cannot be represented nor commanded.Midway presents the lead-up to the eponymous naval battle of 1942. Smight’s work is of interest primarily because the battle itself plays a relatively small role in the film; what is most important is the prolonged strategising that comprises most of the film’s run time. In Midway, battle-tables and fleet markers become key players in the cinematic action, second almost to the commanders themselves. Two key sequences are discussed here: the moment in which Yamamoto outlines his strategy for the attack on Midway (by way of a decoy attack on the Aleutian Islands), and the scene some moments later where Admiral Nimitz and his assembled fleet commanders (Spruance, Blake, and company) survey their own plan to defend the atoll. In Midway, as is represented by the notion of a fleet-in-being, the oceanic battlefield is presented as a speculative plane on which commanders can test ideas. Here, a fleet in a certain position projects a radius of influence that will deter an enemy fleet from attacking: i.e. ‘a fleet which is able and willing to attack an enemy proposing a descent upon territory which that force has it in charge to protect’ (Colomb viii). The fleet-in-being, it is worth noting, is one that never leaves port and, while it is certainly true that the latter half of Midway is concerned with the execution of strategy, the first half is a prolonged cinematic game of chess, with neither player wanting to move lest the other has thought three moves ahead. Virilio opines that the fleet-in-being is ‘a new idea of violence that no longer comes from direct confrontation and bloodshed, but rather from the unequal properties of bodies, evaluation of the number of movements allowed them in a chosen element, permanent verification of their dynamic efficiency’ (Speed and Politics 62). Here, as in Patton, we begin to read the map as a sign of the subjective as well as the objective. This ‘game of chess’ (or, if you prefer, ‘Battleships’) is presented cinematically through the interaction of command teams with their battle-tables and fleet markers. To be sure, this is to show strategy being developed — but it is also to prepare viewers for the defamiliarised representation of the battle itself.The first sequence opens with a close-up of Admiral Yamamoto declaring: ‘This is how I expect the battle to develop.’ The plan to decoy the Americans with an attack on the Aleutians is shown via close-ups of the conveniently-labelled ‘Northern Force’ (Fig. 6). It is then explained that, twenty-four hours later, a second force will break off and strike south, on the Midway atoll. There is a cut from closeups of the pointer on the map to the wider shot of the Japanese commanders around their battle table (Fig. 7). Interestingly, apart from the opening of the film in the Japanese garden, and the later parts of the film in the operations room, the Japanese commanders are only ever shown in this battle-table area. This canonically positions the Japanese as pure strategists, little concerned with the enmeshing of war with political or social considerations. The sequence ends with Commander Yasimasa showing a photograph of Vice Admiral Halsey, who the Japanese mistakenly believe will be leading the carrier fleet. Despite some bickering among the commanders earlier in the film, this sequence shows the absolute confidence of the Japanese strategists in their plan. The shots are suitably languorous — averaging three to four seconds between cuts — and the body language of the commanders shows a calm determination. The battle-map here is presented as an index of perfect command and inevitable victory: each part of the plan is presented with narration suggesting the Japanese expect to encounter little resistance. While Yasimasa and his clique are confident, the other commanders suggest a reconnaissance flight over Pearl Harbor to ascertain the position of the American fleet; the fear of fleet-in-being is shown here firsthand and on the map, where the reconnaissance planes are placed alongside the ship markers. The battle-map is never shown in full: only sections of the naval landscape are presented. We suggest that this is done in order to prepare the audience for the later stages of the film: as in Patton (from time to time) the battle-map here is filmed abstractly, to prime the audience for the abstract montage of the battle itself in the film’s second half.Figure 6.Figure 7.Having established in the intervening running time that Halsey is out of action, his replacement, Rear Admiral Spruance, is introduced to the rest of the command team. As with all the important American command and strategy meetings in the film, this is done in the operations room. A transparent coordinates board is shown in the foreground as Nimitz, Spruance and Rear Admiral Fletcher move through to the battle table. Behind the men, as they lean over the table, is an enormous map of the world (Fig. 8). In this sequence, Nimitz freely admits that while he knows each Japanese battle group’s origin and heading, he is unsure of their target. He asks Spruance for his advice:‘Ray, assuming what you see here isn’t just an elaborate ruse — Washington thinks it is, but assuming they’re wrong — what kind of move do you suggest?’This querying is followed by Spruance glancing to a particular point on the map (Fig. 9), then a cut to a shot of models representing the aircraft carriers Hornet, Enterprise & Yorktown (Fig. 10). This is one of the few model/map shots unaccompanied by dialogue or exposition. In effect, this shot shows Spruance’s thought process before he responds: strategic thought presented via cinematography. Spruance then suggests situating the American carrier group just northeast of Midway, in case the Japanese target is actually the West Coast of the United States. It is, in effect, a hedging of bets. Spruance’s positioning of the carrier group also projects that group’s sphere of influence around Midway atoll and north to essentially cut off Japanese access to the US. The fleet-in-being is presented graphically — on the map — in order to, once again, cue the audience to match the later (edited) images of the battle to these strategic musings.In summary, in Midway, the map is an element of production design that works alongside cinematography, editing, and performance to present the notion of strategic thought to the audience. In addition, and crucially, it functions as an abstraction of strategy that prepares the audience for the cinematic disorientation that will occur through montage as the actual battle rages later in the film. Figure 8.Figure 9.Figure 10.This essay has argued that the battle-map is a simulacrum of the weakest kind: what Baudrillard would call ‘simulacra of simulation, founded on information, the model’ (121). Just as cinema itself offers a distorted view of history (the war film, in particular, tends to hagiography), the battle-map is an over-simplification that fails to capture the physical and psychological realities of conflict. We have also argued that in both Patton and Midway, the map is not a ‘free’ motif (Tomashevsky 69). Rather, it is bound: a central thematic device. In the two films, the battle-map emerges as a crucial isomorphic element. On the one hand, it features as a prop to signify command and to relay otherwise complex strategic plottings. At this syntagmatic level, it functions alongside cinematography, editing, and performance to give audiences a glimpse into how military strategy is formed and tested: a traditional ‘reading’ of the map. But on the flip side of what emerges as a classic structuralist binary, is the map as a device of foreshadowing (especially in Midway) and as a depiction of command’s profound limitations. Here, at a paradigmatic level, along a new axis of combination, a new reading of the map in war cinema is proposed: the battle-map is as much a sign of the subjective as it is the objective.ReferencesBasinger, Jeanine. The World War II Combat Film: Anatomy of a Genre. Middletown, CT: Columbia UP, 1986.Baudrillard, Jean. Simulacra and Simulation. Ann Arbour: U of Michigan Press, 1994.Bender, Stuart. Film Style and the World War II Combat Genre. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2013.Clausewitz, Carl. On War. Vol. 1. London: Kegan Paul, 1908.Colomb, Philip Howard. Naval Warfare: Its Ruling Principles and Practice Historically Treated. 3rd ed. London: W.H. Allen & Co, 1899.Culler, Jonathan. Structuralist Poetics. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1975.Deleuze, Gilles. Cinema 2: The Time-Image. London: Continuum, 2005.Eichenbaum, Boris. The Young Tolstoi. Ann Arbor: Ardis, 1972.Goffman, Erving. Frame Analysis. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1976.Jakobson, Roman. "Linguistics and Poetics." Style in Language. Ed. T. Sebebeok. Cambridge, MA: MIT, 1960. 350—77.Langford, Michelle. Allegorical Images: Tableau, Time and Gesture in the Cinema of Werner Schroeter. Bristol: Intellect, 2006.Midway. Jack Smight. Universal Pictures, 1976. Film.Patton. Franklin J. Schaffner. 20th Century Fox, 1970. Film.Schulten, Susan. World War II Led to a Revolution in Cartography. New Republic 21 May 2014. 16 June 2017 <https://newrepublic.com/article/117835/richard-edes-harrison-reinvented-mapmaking-world-war-2-americans>.Tolstoy, Leo. War and Peace. Vol. 2. London: Folio, 1997.Tomashevsky, Boris. "Thematics." Russian Formalist Criticism: Four Essays. Eds. L. Lemon and M. Reis, Lincoln: U. Nebraska Press, 2012. 61—95.Tzu, Sun. The Art of War. San Diego: Canterbury Classics, 2014.Virilio, Paul. Speed and Politics. Paris: Semiotext(e), 2006.Virilio, Paul. War and Cinema: The Logistics of Perception. London: Verso, 1989.

IntroductionIn March 2015, I visited the Lambing Flat Folk Museum (established 1967) in the “cherry capital of Australia”, the town of Young, New South Wales, in preparation for a student excursion. Like other Australian folk museums, this museum focuses on the ordinary and the everyday of rural life, and is heavily reliant on local history, local historians, volunteers, and donated objects for the collection. It may not sound as though the Lambing Flat Folk Museum (LFFM) holds much potential for a fashion curator, as fashion exhibitions have become high points of innovation in exhibition design. It is quite a jolt to return to old style folk museums, when travelling shows such as Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty (Metropolitan Museum of Art 2011 – V&A Museum 2015) or The Fashion World of Jean Paul Gaultier (V&A Museum 2011­ – NGV 2014) are popping up around the globe. The contrast stimulated this author to think on the role and the power of curators. This paper will show that the potential for fashion as a vehicle for demonstrating ideas other than through rubrics of design or history has been growing. We all wear dress. We express identity, politics, status, age, gender, social values, and mental state through the way we dress each and every day. These key issues are also explored in many museum exhibitions.Small museums often have an abundance of clothing. For them, it is a case of not only managing and caring for growing collections but also curating objects in a way that communicates regional and often national identity, as well as narrating stories in meaningful ways to audiences. This paper argues that the way in which dress is curated can greatly enhance temporary and permanent exhibitions. Fashion curation is on the rise (Riegels Melchior). This paper looks at why this is so, the potential for this specialisation in curation, the research required, and the sensitivity needed in communicating ideas in exhibitions. It also suggests how fashion curation skills may facilitate an increasing demand.Caring for the AudienceThe paper draws on a case study of how Chinese people at the LFFM are portrayed. The Chinese came to the Young district during the 1860s gold rush. While many people often think the Chinese were sojourners (Rolls), that is, they found gold and returned to China, many actually settled in regional Australia (McGowan; Couchman; Frost). At Young there were riots against the Chinese miners, and this narrative is illustrated at the museum.In examining the LFFM, this paper points to the importance of caring for the audience as well as objects, knowing and acknowledging the current and potential audiences. Caring for how the objects are received and perceived is vital to the work of curators. At this museum, the stereotypic portrayal of Chinese people, through a “coolie” hat, a fan, and two dolls dressed in costume, reminds us of the increased professionalisation of the museum sector in the last 20 years. It also reminds us of the need for good communication through both the objects and texts. Audiences have become more sophisticated, and their expectations have increased. Displays and accompanying texts that do not reflect in depth research, knowledge, and sensitivities can result in viewers losing interest quickly. Not long into my visit I began thinking of the potential reaction by the Chinese graduate students. In a tripartite model called the “museum experience”, Falk and Dierking argue that the social context, personal context, and physical context affect the visitor’s experience (5). The social context of who we visit with influences enjoyment. Placing myself in the students’ shoes sharpened reactions to some of the displays. Curators need to be mindful of a wide range of audiences. The excursion was to be not so much a history learning activity, but a way for students to develop a personal interest in museology and to learn the role museums can play in society in general, as well as in small communities. In this case the personal context was also a professional context. What message would they get?Communication in MuseumsStudies by Falk et al. indicate that museum visitors only view an exhibition for 30 minutes before “museum fatigue” sets in (249–257). The physicality of being in a museum can affect the museum experience. Hence, many institutions responded to these studies by placing the key information and objects in the introductory areas of an exhibition, before the visitor gets bored. As Stephen Bitgood argues, this can become self-fulfilling, as the reaction by the exhibition designers can then be to place all the most interesting material early in the path of the audience, leaving the remainder as mundane displays (196). Bitgood argues there is no museum fatigue. He suggests that there are other things at play which curators need to heed, such as giving visitors choice and opportunities for interaction, and avoiding overloading the audience with information and designing poorly laid-out exhibitions that have no breaks or resting points. All these factors contribute to viewers becoming both mentally and physically tired. Rather than placing the onus on the visitor, he contends there are controllable factors the museum can attend to. One of his recommendations is to be provocative in communication. Stimulating exhibitions are more likely to engage the visitor, minimising boredom and tiredness (197). Xerxes Mazda recommends treating an exhibition like a good story, with a beginning, a dark moment, a climax, and an ending. The LFFM certainly has those elements, but they are not translated into curation that gives a compelling narration that holds the visitors’ attention. Object labels give only rudimentary information, such as: “Wooden Horse collar/very rare/donated by Mr Allan Gordon.” Without accompanying context and engaging language, many visitors could find it difficult to relate to, and actively reflect on, the social narrative that the museum’s objects could reflect.Text plays an important role in museums, particularly this museum. Communication skills of the label writers are vital to enhancing the museum visit. Louise Ravelli, in writing on museum texts, states that “communication needs to be more explicit and more reflexive—to bring implicit assumptions to the surface” (3). This is particularly so for the LFFM. Posing questions and using an active voice can provoke the viewer. The power of text can be seen in one particular museum object. In the first gallery is a banner that contains blatant racist text. Bringing racism to the surface through reflexive labelling can be powerful. So for this museum communication needs to be sensitive and informative, as well as pragmatic. It is not just a case of being reminded that Australia has a long history of racism towards non-Anglo Saxon migrants. A sensitive approach in label-writing could ask visitors to reflect on Australia’s long and continued history of racism and relate it to the contemporary migration debate, thereby connecting the present day to dark historical events. A question such as, “How does Australia deal with racism towards migrants today?” brings issues to the surface. Or, more provocatively, “How would I deal with such racism?” takes the issue to a personal level, rather than using language to distance the issue of racism to a national issue. Museums are more than repositories of objects. Even a small underfunded museum can have great impact on the viewer through the language they use to make meaning of their display. The Lambing Flat Roll-up Banner at the LFFMThe “destination” object of the museum in Young is the Lambing Flat Roll-up Banner. Those with a keen interest in Australian history and politics come to view this large sheet of canvas that elicits part of the narrative of the Lambing Flat Riots, which are claimed to be germane to the White Australia Policy (one of the very first pieces of legislation after the Federation of Australia was The Immigration Restriction Act 1901).On 30 June 1861 a violent anti-Chinese riot occurred on the goldfields of Lambing Flat (now known as Young). It was the culmination of eight months of growing conflict between European and Chinese miners. Between 1,500 and 2,000 Europeans lived and worked in these goldfields, with little government authority overseeing the mining regulations. Earlier, in November 1860, a group of disgruntled European miners marched behind a German brass band, chasing off 500 Chinese from the field and destroying their tents. Tensions rose and fell until the following June, when the large banner was painted and paraded to gather up supporters: “…two of their leaders carrying in advance a magnificent flag, on which was written in gold letters – NO CHINESE! ROLL UP! ROLL UP! ...” (qtd. in Coates 40). Terrified, over 1,270 Chinese took refuge 20 kilometres away on James Roberts’s property, “Currawong”. The National Museum of Australia commissioned an animation of the event, The Harvest of Endurance. It may seem obvious, but the animators indicated the difference between the Chinese and the Europeans through dress, regardless that the Chinese wore western dress on the goldfields once the clothing they brought with them wore out (McGregor and McGregor 32). Nonetheless, Chinese expressions of masculinity differed. Their pigtails, their shoes, and their hats were used as shorthand in cartoons of the day to express the anxiety felt by many European settlers. A more active demonstration was reported in The Argus: “ … one man … returned with eight pigtails attached to a flag, glorifying in the work that had been done” (6). We can only imagine this trophy and the de-masculinisation it caused.The 1,200 x 1,200 mm banner now lays flat in a purpose-built display unit. Viewers can see that it was not a hastily constructed work. The careful drafting of original pencil marks can be seen around the circus styled font: red and blue, with the now yellow shadowing. The banner was tied with red and green ribbon of which small remnants remain attached.The McCarthy family had held the banner for 100 years, from the riots until it was loaned to the Royal Australian Historical Society in November 1961. It was given to the LFFM when it opened six years later. The banner is given key positioning in the museum, indicating its importance to the community and its place in the region’s memory. Just whose memory is narrated becomes apparent in the displays. The voice of the Chinese is missing.Memory and Museums Museums are interested in memory. When visitors come to museums, the work they do is to claim, discover, and sometimes rekindle memory (Smith; Crane; Williams)—-and even to reshape memory (Davidson). Fashion constantly plays with memory: styles, themes, textiles, and colours are repeated and recycled. “Cutting and pasting” presents a new context from one season to the next. What better avenue to arouse memory in museums than fashion curation? This paper argues that fashion exhibitions fit within the museum as a “theatre of memory”, where social memory, commemoration, heritage, myth, fantasy, and desire are played out (Samuels). In the past, institutions and fashion curators often had to construct academic frameworks of “history” or “design” in order to legitimise fashion exhibitions as a serious pursuit. Exhibitions such as Fashion and Politics (New York 2009), Fashion India: Spectacular Capitalism (Oslo 2014) and Fashion as Social Energy (Milan 2015) show that fashion can explore deeper social concerns and political issues.The Rise of Fashion CuratorsThe fashion curator is a relative newcomer. What would become the modern fashion curator made inroads into museums through ethnographic and anthropological collections early in the 20th century. Fashion as “history” soon followed into history and social museums. Until the 1990s, the fashion curator in a museum was seen as, and closely associated with, the fashion historian or craft curator. It could be said that James Laver (1899–1975) or Stella Mary Newton (1901–2001) were the earliest modern fashion curators in museums. They were also fashion historians. However, the role of fashion curator as we now know it came into its own right in the 1970s. Nadia Buick asserts that the first fashion exhibition, Fashion: An Anthology by Cecil Beaton, was held at the Victoria and Albert Museum, curated by the famous fashion photographer Cecil Beaton. He was not a museum employee, a trained curator, or even a historian (15). The museum did not even collect contemporary fashion—it was a new idea put forward by Beaton. He amassed hundreds of pieces of fashion items from his friends of elite society to complement his work.Radical changes in museums since the 1970s have been driven by social change, new expectations and new technologies. Political and economic pressures have forced museum professionals to shift their attention from their collections towards their visitors. There has been not only a growing number of diverse museums but also a wider range of exhibitions, fashion exhibitions included. However, as museums and the exhibitions they mount have become more socially inclusive, this has been somewhat slow to filter through to the fashion exhibitions. I assert that the shift in fashion exhibitions came as an outcome of new writing on fashion as a social and political entity through Jennifer Craik’s The Face of Fashion. This book has had an influence, beyond academic fashion theorists, on the way in which fashion exhibitions are curated. Since 1997, Judith Clark has curated landmark exhibitions, such as Malign Muses: When Fashion Turns Back (Antwerp 2004), which examine the idea of what fashion is rather than documenting fashion’s historical evolution. Dress is recognised as a vehicle for complex issues. It is even used to communicate a city’s cultural capital and its metropolitan modernity as “fashion capitals” (Breward and Gilbert). Hence the reluctant but growing willingness for dress to be used in museums to critically interrogate, beyond the celebratory designer retrospectives. Fashion CurationFashion curators need to be “brilliant scavengers” (Peoples). Curators such as Clark pick over what others consider as remains—the neglected, the dissonant—bringing to the fore what is forgotten, where items retrieved from all kinds of spheres are used to fashion exhibitions that reflect the complex mix of the tangible and intangible that is present in fashion. Allowing the brilliant scavengers to pick over the flotsam and jetsam of everyday life can make for exciting exhibitions. Clothing of the everyday can be used to narrate complex stories. We only need think of the black layette worn by Baby Azaria Chamberlain—or the shoe left on the tarmac at Darwin Airport, having fallen off the foot of Mrs Petrov, wife of the Russian diplomat, as she was forced onto a plane. The ordinary remnants of the Chinese miners do not appear to have been kept. Often, objects can be transformed by subsequent significant events.Museums can be sites of transformation for its audiences. Since the late 1980s, through the concept of the New Museum (Vergo), fashion as an exhibition theme has been used to draw in wider museum audiences and to increase visitor numbers. The clothing of Vivienne Westwood, (34 Years in Fashion 2005, NGA) Kylie Minogue (Kylie: An Exhibition 2004­–2005, Powerhouse Museum), or Princess Grace (Princess Grace: Style Icon 2012, Bendigo Art Gallery) drew in the crowds, quantifying the relevance of museums to funding bodies. As Marie Riegels Melchior notes, fashion is fashionable in museums. What is interesting is that the New Museum’s refrain of social inclusion (Sandell) has yet to be wholly embraced by art museums. There is tension between the fashion and museum worlds: a “collision of the fashion and art worlds” (Batersby). Exhibitions of elite designer clothing worn by celebrities have been seen as very commercial operations, tainting the intellectual and academic reputations of cultural institutions. What does fashion curation have to do with the banner mentioned previously? It would be miraculous for authentic clothing worn by Chinese miners to surface now. In revising the history of Lambing Flat, fashion curators need to employ methodologies of absence. As Clynk and Peoples have shown, by examining archives, newspaper advertisements, merchants’ account books, and other material that incidentally describes the business of clothing, absence can become present. While the later technology of photography often shows “Sunday best” fashions, it also illustrates the ordinary and everyday dress of Chinese men carrying out business transactions (MacGowan; Couchman). The images of these men bring to mind the question: were these the children of men, or indeed the men themselves, who had their pigtails violently cut off years earlier? The banner was also used to show that there are quite detailed accounts of events from local and national newspapers of the day. These are accessible online. Accounts of the Chinese experience may have been written up in Chinese newspapers of the day. Access to these would be limited, if they still exist. Historian Karen Schamberger reminds us of the truism: “history is written by the victors” in her observations of a re-enactment of the riots at the Lambing Flat Festival in 2014. The Chinese actors did not have speaking parts. She notes: The brutal actions of the European miners were not explained which made it easier for audience members to distance themselves from [the Chinese] and be comforted by the actions of a ‘white hero’ James Roberts who… sheltered the Chinese miners at the end of the re-enactment. (9)Elsewhere, just out of town at the Chinese Tribute Garden (created in 1996), there is evidence of presence. Plaques indicating donors to the garden carry names such as Judy Chan, Mrs King Chou, and Mr and Mrs King Lam. The musically illustrious five siblings of the Wong family, who live near Young, were photographed in the Discover Central NSW tourist newspaper in 2015 as a drawcard for the Lambing Flat Festival. There is “endurance”, as the title of NMA animation scroll highlights. Conclusion Absence can be turned around to indicate presence. The “presence of absence” (Meyer and Woodthorpe) can be a powerful tool. Seeing is the pre-eminent sense used in museums, and objects are given priority; there are ways of representing evidence and narratives, and describing relationships, other than fashion presence. This is why I argue that dress has an important role to play in museums. Dress is so specific to time and location. It marks specific occasions, particularly at times of social transitions: christening gowns, bar mitzvah shawls, graduation gowns, wedding dresses, funerary shrouds. Dress can also demonstrate the physicality of a specific body: in the extreme, jeans show the physicality of presence when the body is removed. The fashion displays in the museum tell part of the region’s history, but the distraction of the poor display of the dressed mannequins in the LFFM gets in the way of a “good story”.While rioting against the Chinese miners may cause shame and embarrassment, in Australia we need to accept that this was not an isolated event. More formal, less violent, and regulated mechanisms of entry to Australia were put in place, and continue to this day. It may be that a fashion curator, a brilliant scavenger, may unpick the prey for viewers, placing and spacing objects and the visitor, designing in a way to enchant or horrify the audience, and keeping interest alive throughout the exhibition, allowing spaces for thinking and memories. Drawing in those who have not been the audience, working on the absence through participatory modes of activities, can be powerful for a community. Fashion curators—working with the body, stimulating ethical and conscious behaviours, and constructing dialogues—can undoubtedly act as a vehicle for dynamism, for both the museum and its audiences. As the number of museums grow, so should the number of fashion curators.ReferencesArgus. 10 July 1861. 20 June 2015 ‹http://trove.nla.gov.au/›.Batersby, Selena. “Icons of Fashion.” 2014. 6 June 2015 ‹http://adelaidereview.com.au/features/icons-of-fashion/›.Bitgood, Stephen. “When Is 'Museum Fatigue' Not Fatigue?” Curator: The Museum Journal 2009. 12 Apr. 2015 ‹http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/j.2151-6952.2009.tb00344.x/abstract›. Breward, Christopher, and David Gilbert, eds. Fashion’s World Cities. Oxford: Berg Publications, 2006.Buick, Nadia. “Up Close and Personal: Art and Fashion in the Museum.” Art Monthly Australia Aug. (2011): 242.Clynk, J., and S. Peoples. “All Out in the Wash.” Developing Dress History: New Directions in Method and Practice. Eds. Annabella Pollen and Charlotte Nicklas C. London: Bloomsbury, forthcoming Sep. 2015. 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This paper reviews eight highly-rated books on Moral Theology to find a common ground for an ethics education program for undergraduate students. Using James Rest’s four domains of moral functioning as its frame of reference, it examined the substantive contents and determined the extent of their alignment with identified learning outcomes for an undergraduate ethics course. Although they differed in the elements of approach and method, it is evident that in terms of their overall substantive content, the eight books adequately covered what is widely considered as the foundation stones of Catholic morality. Nonetheless, it is clear that their usefulness as “tool, tutor, and guide” for ethics education would largely have to depend on the professional competence, intended outcomes, pedagogical skills/strategies, and personal qualities of the facilitator. References Armstrong, Mary Beth, Edward Ketz & Dwigth Owsenc. Ethics Education in Accounting: Moving Towards Ethical Motivation and Ethical Behavior. Available online at https://doi.org/10.1016/S0748-5751(02)00017-9, 2002. Bebeau, Michael J., Rest, James R. & Narvaez, Darcia. Beyond the Promise: A Perspective on Research in Moral Education. Volume: 28 issue: 4, 1999:18-26 https://doi.org/10.3102/0013189X028004018. Bretzke, James T. Select Bibliography on Fundamental Moral Theology, 2014. Available online at https://www2.bc.edu/...bretzke/FundamentalMoralBibliography. Callahan, Daniel. Goals in the Teaching of Ethics. In Callahan, D., Bok, S. (Eds.) Ethics Teaching in Higher Education: 61-80. Part of The Hastings Center Series in Ethics book series. Springer, Boston, MA. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4613-3138-4_2. (1980). Carino, Michael. Evangelism in a Postmodern World (Part 1) Reaching a Conversational Generation. (2000). Available online at https://bible.org/article/clash-cultures-evangelism-postmodern-world-part-i. Carol Ellam, Terry Stratton, & Denise Gibson Welcoming a New Generation to College: The Millennial Students. Journal of College Admission, n195, 2007. Cavadini, John C. Why Study God? “The Role of Theology at a Catholic University,” in Commonweal, October 2013. Available online at sites.nd.edu/oblation/.../why-study-god-the-role-of-theology-at-a-catholicuniversity/. Cessario, Romanus. O.P. Introduction to Moral Theology, Catholic University of America Press, 2001. Dorran, Robert M., S.J. “A New Project in Systematic Theology,” Theological Studies 2015, Vol. 76(2): 244-246. Gula, Richard M. Reason Informed by Faith: Foundations of Catholic Morality. New York: Paulist Press, 1989. Jimenez-David, Rina. (2016). A "teen-pregnancy crisis," Philippine Daily Inquirer, July 01 2016. Available online at inquirer.net. 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Second Edition. (Huntington, Indiana: Our Sunday Visitor Publishing Division, 1983. Myyry, Liisa, “Components of Morality: A Professional Ethics Perspective on Moral Motivation, Moral Sensitivity, Moral Reasoning and Related Constructs among University Students,” in Social Psychology Studies 9. Department of Psychology, University of Helsinki. Nucci, Larry, & Narvaez, Darcia. ((Eds.). Handbook of Moral and Character Education. New York: Routledge, 2008 O’Reilly, Kevin E. OP, “University Education Construed in the Light of Faith. A Review,” Edited by the Dominicans of the English Province. Vol. 98, No. 1076, 373-386. July 2017 https://doi.org/10.1111/nbfr.12046. Ozar, David .T. Learning Outcomes for Ethics across the Curriculum Programs. 2001. Available online at https://www.uvu.edu/.../Learning%20Outcomes%20for%20Ethics%20Across%20the. Pesche, Karl H., SVD. Christian Ethics: General Moral Theology in the Light of Vatican II. Manila: Divine Word Publications, 1996. Pieper, J. Z.T. & Vermeer, P. “Religious Consciousness of Dutch Youth: Consequences for Religious Education,” in Journal of Empirical Theology, 2011: 14, 2, 56. Pinckaers, Servais, O.P. The Sources of Christian Ethics. Translated by Sr. Mary Thomas Noble, O.P.Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press. 3rd Edition, 1995. Prummer, Dominic M. Handbook of Moral Theology. Roman Catholic Books, 1995. Radcliffe, Timothy, O.P. What is the Point of Being a Christian? New York: Burns and Oates, 2005. Ratzinger, Joseph. Principles of Catholic Theology. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 1987. Rest, James R. “A Psychologist Looks at the Teaching of Ethics, “in Moral Development and Moral Education. Hastings Center Report, 12:29-36. February 1982. https://doi.org/10.2307/3560621. Sanks, T.Howland, S.J. “A Church That Can and Cannot Change: The Dynamics of Tradition,” in Theological Studies, 2015, Vol. 76 (2): 298-299. Schweigert Francis J. “Moral Formation in Four Essential Components: Sensitivity, Judgment, Motivation, and Character. In: Business Ethics Education and the Pragmatic Pursuit of the Good. Advances in Business Ethics Research,” in A Journal of Business Ethics Book Series), Vol. 6. 2016. Springer, Cham.DOI https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-33402-8_10 Sharkey, Stephen. “A Critical Review of Some Best Selling Textbooks in Catholic Social Teaching. In The Catholic Social Science Review, Vol. IX: 2004: 317-337. Sommers, Christina H. “Are we living in a moral stone age?” in Imprimis, 1998. Available online at https://books.google.com.ph/books?isbn=0295800763 Strauss, William & Howe, Neil. Millennials Rising: The Next Great Generation (New York: Vintage Original, 2000). Vermeer, Paul & Van der Ven, Johanne. “Students' Moral Consciousness," in Journal of Empirical Theology 15 (2002): 57. Villegas, Diana. The Christian Path in a Pluralistic World and the Study of Spirituality (Maryland: Lexington Books, 2012).

Cultural sociologists (Bourdieu; DiMaggio, “Cultural Capital”, “Classification”; Gans; Lamont & Foumier; Halle; Erickson) wrote about high culture and popular culture in an attempt to explain the growing social and economic inequalities, to find consensus on culture hierarchies, and to analyze cultural complexities. Halle states that this categorisation of culture into “high culture” and “popular culture” underlined most of the debate on culture in the last fifty years. Gans contends that both high culture and popular culture are stereotypes, public forms of culture or taste cultures, each sharing “common aesthetic values and standards of tastes” (8). However, this article is not concerned with these categorisations, or macro analysis. Rather, it is a reflection piece that inquires if opera, which is usually considered high culture, has become more equal to popular culture, and why some directors change the time and place of opera plots, whereas others will stay true to the original setting of the story. I do not consider these productions “adaptations,” but “post-modern morphologies,” and I will refer to this later in the paper. In other words, the paper is seeking to explain a social phenomenon and explore the underlying motives by quoting interviews with directors. The word ‘opera’ is defined in Elson’s Music Dictionary as: “a form of musical composition evolved shortly before 1600, by some enthusiastic Florentine amateurs who sought to bring back the Greek plays to the modern stage” (189). Hence, it was an experimentation to revive Greek music and drama believed to be the ideal way to express emotions (Grout 186). It is difficult to pinpoint the exact moment when stage directors started changing the time and place of the original settings of operas. The practice became more common after World War II, and Peter Brook’s Covent Garden productions of Boris Godunov (1948) and Salome (1949) are considered the prototypes of this practice (Sutcliffe 19-20). Richard Wagner’s grandsons, the brothers Wieland and Wolfgang Wagner are cited in the music literature as using technology and modern innovations in staging and design beginning in the early 1950s. Brief Background into the History of Opera Grout contends that opera began as an attempt to heighten the dramatic expression of language by intensifying the natural accents of speech through melody supported by simple harmony. In the late 1590s, the Italian composer Jacopo Peri wrote what is considered to be the first opera, but most of it has been lost. The first surviving complete opera is Euridice, a version of the Orpheus myth that Peri and Giulio Caccini jointly set to music in 1600. The first composer to understand the possibilities inherent in this new musical form was Claudio Monteverdi, who in 1607 wrote Orfeo. Although it was based on the same story as Euridice, it was expanded to a full five acts. Early opera was meant for small, private audiences, usually at court; hence it began as an elitist genre. After thirty years of being private, in 1637, opera went public with the opening of the first public opera house, Teatro di San Cassiano, in Venice, and the genre quickly became popular. Indeed, Monteverdi wrote his last two operas, Il ritorno d’Ulisse in patria and L’incoronazione di Poppea for the Venetian public, thereby leading the transition from the Italian courts to the ‘public’. Both operas are still performed today. Poppea was the first opera to be based on a historical rather than a mythological or allegorical subject. Sutcliffe argues that opera became popular because it was a new mixture of means: new words, new music, new methods of performance. He states, “operatic fashion through history may be a desire for novelty, new formulas displacing old” (65). By the end of the 17th century, Venice alone had ten opera houses that had produced more than 350 operas. Wealthy families purchased season boxes, but inexpensive tickets made the genre available to persons of lesser means. The genre spread quickly, and various styles of opera developed. In Naples, for example, music rather than the libretto dominated opera. The genre spread to Germany and France, each developing the genre to suit the demands of its audiences. For example, ballet became an essential component of French opera. Eventually, “opera became the profligate art as large casts and lavish settings made it the most expensive public entertainment. It was the only art that without embarrassment called itself ‘grand’” (Boorstin 467). Contemporary Opera Productions Opera continues to be popular. According to a 2002 report released by the National Endowment for the Arts, 6.6 million adults attended at least one live opera performance in 2002, and 37.6 million experienced opera on television, video, radio, audio recording or via the Internet. Some think that it is a dying art form, while others think to the contrary, that it is a living art form because of its complexity and “ability to probe deeper into the human experience than any other art form” (Berger 3). Some directors change the setting of operas with perhaps the most famous contemporary proponent of this approach being Peter Sellars, who made drastic changes to three of Mozart’s most famous operas. Le Nozze di Figaro, originally set in 18th-century Seville, was set by Sellars in a luxury apartment in the Trump Tower in New York City; Sellars set Don Giovanni in contemporary Spanish Harlem rather than 17th century Seville; and for Cosi Fan Tutte, Sellars chose a diner on Cape Cod rather than 18th century Naples. As one of the more than six million Americans who attend live opera each year, I have experienced several updated productions, which made me reflect on the convergence or cross-over between high culture and popular culture. In 2000, I attended a production of Don Giovanni at the Estates Theatre in Prague, the very theatre where Mozart conducted the world premiere in 1787. In this production, Don Giovanni was a fashion designer known as “Don G” and drove a BMW. During the 1999-2000 season, Los Angeles Opera engaged film director Bruce Beresford to direct Verdi’s Rigoletto. Beresford updated the original setting of 16th century Mantua to 20th century Hollywood. The lead tenor, rather than being the Duke of Mantua, was a Hollywood agent known as “Duke Mantua.” In the first act, just before Marullo announces to the Duke’s guests that the jester Rigoletto has taken a mistress, he gets the news via his cell phone. Director Ian Judge set the 2004 production of Le Nozze di Figaro in the 1950s. In one of the opening productions of the 2006-07 LA opera season, Vincent Patterson also chose the 1950s for Massenet’s Manon rather than France in the 1720s. This allowed the title character to appear in the fourth act dressed as Marilyn Monroe. Excerpts from the dress rehearsal can be seen on YouTube. Most recently, I attended a production of Ariane et Barbe-Bleu at the Paris Opera. The original setting of the Maeterlinck play is in Duke Bluebeard’s castle, but the time period is unclear. However, it is doubtful that the 1907 opera based on an 1899 play was meant to be set in what appeared to be a mental institution equipped with surveillance cameras whose screens were visible to the audience. The critical and audience consensus seemed to be that the opera was a musical success but a failure as a production. James Shore summed up the audience reaction: “the production team was vociferously booed and jeered by much of the house, and the enthusiastic applause that had greeted the singers and conductor, immediately went nearly silent when they came on stage”. It seems to me that a new class-related taste has emerged; the opera genre has shot out a subdivision which I shall call “post-modern morphologies,” that may appeal to a larger pool of people. Hence, class, age, gender, and race are becoming more important factors in conceptualising opera productions today than in the past. I do not consider these productions as new adaptations because the libretto and the music are originals. What changes is the fact that both text and sound are taken to a higher dimension by adding iconographic images that stimulate people’s brains. When asked in an interview why he often changes the setting of an opera, Ian Judge commented, “I try to find the best world for the story and characters to operate in, and I think you have to find a balance between the period the author set it in, the period he conceived it in and the nature of theatre and audiences at that time, and the world we live in.” Hence, the world today is complex, interconnected, borderless and timeless because of advanced technologies, and updated opera productions play with symbols that offer multiple meanings that reflect the world we live in. It may be that television and film have influenced opera production. Character tenor Graham Clark recently observed in an interview, “Now the situation has changed enormously. Television and film have made a lot of things totally accessible which they were not before and in an entirely different perception.” Director Ian Judge believes that television and film have affected audience expectations in opera. “I think audiences who are brought up on television, which is bad acting, and movies, which is not that good acting, perhaps require more of opera than stand and deliver, and I have never really been happy with someone who just stands and sings.” Sociologist Wendy Griswold states that culture reflects social reality and the meaning of a particular cultural object (such as opera), originates “in the social structures and social patterns it reflects” (22). Screens of various technologies are embedded in our lives and normalised as extensions of our bodies. In those opera productions in which directors change the time and place of opera plots, use technology, and are less concerned with what the composer or librettist intended (which we can only guess), the iconographic images create multi valances, textuality similar to Mikhail Bakhtin’s notion of multiplicity of voices. Hence, a plurality of meanings. Plàcido Domingo, the Eli and Edyth Broad General Director of Los Angeles Opera, seeks to take advantage of the company’s proximity to the film industry. This is evidenced by his having engaged Bruce Beresford to direct Rigoletto and William Friedkin to direct Ariadne auf Naxos, Duke Bluebeard’s Castle and Gianni Schicchi. Perhaps the most daring example of Domingo’s approach was convincing Garry Marshall, creator of the television sitcom Happy Days and who directed the films Pretty Woman and The Princess Diaries, to direct Jacques Offenbach’s The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein to open the company’s 20th anniversary season. When asked how Domingo convinced him to direct an opera for the first time, Marshall responded, “he was insistent that one, people think that opera is pretty elitist, and he knew without insulting me that I was not one of the elitists; two, he said that you gotta make a funny opera; we need more comedy in the operetta and opera world.” Marshall rewrote most of the dialogue and performed it in English, but left the “songs” untouched and in the original French. He also developed numerous sight gags and added characters including a dog named Morrie and the composer Jacques Offenbach himself. Did it work? Christie Grimstad wrote, “if you want an evening filled with witty music, kaleidoscopic colors and hilariously good singing, seek out The Grand Duchess. You will not be disappointed.” The FanFaire Website commented on Domingo’s approach of using television and film directors to direct opera: You’ve got to hand it to Plàcido Domingo for having the vision to draw on Hollywood’s vast pool of directorial talent. Certainly something can be gained from the cross-fertilization that could ensue from this sort of interaction between opera and the movies, two forms of entertainment (elitist and perennially struggling for funds vs. popular and, it seems, eternally rich) that in Los Angeles have traditionally lived separate lives on opposite sides of the tracks. A wider audience, for example, never a problem for the movies, can only mean good news for the future of opera. So, did the Marshall Plan work? Purists of course will always want their operas and operettas ‘pure and unadulterated’. But with an audience that seemed to have as much fun as the stellar cast on stage, it sure did. Critic Alan Rich disagrees, calling Marshall “a representative from an alien industry taking on an artistic product, not to create something innovative and interesting, but merely to insult.” Nevertheless, the combination of Hollywood and opera seems to work. The Los Angeles Opera reported that the 2005-2006 season was its best ever: “ticket revenues from the season, which ended in June, exceeded projected figures by nearly US$900,000. Seasonal attendance at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion stood at more than 86% of the house’s capacity, the largest percentage in the opera’s history.” Domingo continues with the Hollywood connection in the upcoming 2008-2009 season. He has reengaged William Friedkin to direct two of Puccini’s three operas titled collectively as Il Trittico. Friedkin will direct the two tragedies, Il Tabarro and Suor Angelica. Although Friedkin has already directed a production of the third opera in Il Trittico for Los Angeles, the comedy Gianni Schicchi, Domingo convinced Woody Allen to make his operatic directorial debut with this work. This can be viewed as another example of the desire to make opera and popular culture more equal. However, some, like Alan Rich, may see this attempt as merely insulting rather than interesting and innovative. With a top ticket price in Los Angeles of US$238 per seat, opera seems to continue to be elitist. Berger (2005) concurs with this idea and gives his rationale for elitism: there are rich people who support and attend the opera; it is an imported art from Europe that causes some marginalisation; opera is not associated with something being ‘moral,’ a concept engrained in American culture; it is expensive to produce and usually funded by kings, corporations, rich people; and the opera singers are rare –usually one in a million who will have the vocal quality to sing opera arias. Furthermore, Nicholas Kenyon commented in the early 1990s: “there is suspicion that audiences are now paying more and more money for their seats to see more and more money spent on stage” (Kenyon 3). Still, Garry Marshall commented that the budget for The Grand Duchess was US$2 million, while his budget for Runaway Bride was US$72 million. Kenyon warns, “Such popularity for opera may be illusory. The enjoyment of one striking aria does not guarantee the survival of an art form long regarded as over-elitist, over-recondite, and over-priced” (Kenyon 3). A recent development is the Metropolitan Opera’s decision to simulcast live opera performances from the Met stage to various cinemas around the world. These HD transmissions began with the 2006-2007 season when six performances were broadcast. In the 2007-2008 season, the schedule has expanded to eight live Saturday matinee broadcasts plus eight recorded encores broadcast the following day. According to The Los Angeles Times, “the Met’s experiment of merging film with live performance has created a new art form” (Aslup). Whether or not this is a “new art form,” it certainly makes world-class live opera available to countless persons who cannot travel to New York and pay the price for tickets, when they are available. In the US alone, more than 350 cinemas screen these live HD broadcasts from the Met. Top ticket price for these performances at the Met is US$375, while the lowest price is US$27 for seats with only a partial view. Top price for the HD transmissions in participating cinemas is US$22. This experiment with live simulcasts makes opera more affordable and may increase its popularity; combined with updated stagings, opera can engage a much larger audience and hope for even a mass consumption. Is opera moving closer and closer to popular culture? There still seems to be an aura of elitism and snobbery about opera. However, Plàcido Domingo’s attempt to join opera with Hollywood is meant to break the barriers between high and popular culture. The practice of updating opera settings is not confined to Los Angeles. As mentioned earlier, the idea can be traced to post World War II England, and is quite common in Europe. Examples include Erich Wonder’s approach to Wagner’s Ring, making Valhalla, the mythological home of the gods and typically a mountaintop, into the spaceship Valhalla, as well as my own experience with Don Giovanni in Prague and Ariane et Barbe-Bleu in Paris. Indeed, Sutcliffe maintains, “Great classics in all branches of the arts are repeatedly being repackaged for a consumerist world that is increasingly and neurotically self-obsessed” (61). Although new operas are being written and performed, most contemporary performances are of operas by Verdi, Mozart, and Puccini (www.operabase.com). This means that audiences see the same works repeated many times, but in different interpretations. Perhaps this is why Sutcliffe contends, “since the 1970s it is the actual productions that have had the novelty value grabbed by the headlines. Singing no longer predominates” (Sutcliffe 57). If then, as Sutcliffe argues, “operatic fashion through history may be a desire for novelty, new formulas displacing old” (Sutcliffe 65), then the contemporary practice of changing the original settings is simply the latest “new formula” that is replacing the old ones. If there are no new words or new music, then what remains are new methods of performance, hence the practice of changing time and place. Opera is a complex art form that has evolved over the past 400 years and continues to evolve, but will it survive? The underlining motives for directors changing the time and place of opera performances are at least three: for aesthetic/artistic purposes, financial purposes, and to reach an audience from many cultures, who speak different languages, and who have varied tastes. These three reasons are interrelated. In 1996, Sutcliffe wrote that there has been one constant in all the arguments about opera productions during the preceding two decades: “the producer’s wish to relate the works being staged to contemporary circumstances and passions.” Although that sounds like a purely aesthetic reason, making opera relevant to new, multicultural audiences and thereby increasing the bottom line seems very much a part of that aesthetic. It is as true today as it was when Sutcliffe made the observation twelve years ago (60-61). My own speculation is that opera needs to attract various audiences, and it can only do so by appealing to popular culture and engaging new forms of media and technology. Erickson concludes that the number of upper status people who are exclusively faithful to fine arts is declining; high status people consume a variety of culture while the lower status people are limited to what they like. Research in North America, Europe, and Australia, states Erickson, attest to these trends. My answer to the question can stage directors make opera and popular culture “equal” is yes, and they can do it successfully. Perhaps Stanley Sharpless summed it up best: After his Eden triumph, When the Devil played his ace, He wondered what he could do next To irk the human race, So he invented Opera, With many a fiendish grin, To mystify the lowbrows, And take the highbrows in. References The Grand Duchess. 2005. 3 Feb. 2008 < http://www.ffaire.com/Duchess/index.htm >.Aslup, Glenn. “Puccini’s La Boheme: A Live HD Broadcast from the Met.” Central City Blog Opera 7 Apr. 2008. 24 Apr. 2008 < http://www.centralcityopera.org/blog/2008/04/07/puccini%E2%80%99s- la-boheme-a-live-hd-broadcast-from-the-met/ >.Berger, William. Puccini without Excuses. New York: Vintage, 2005.Boorstin, Daniel. The Creators: A History of Heroes of the Imagination. New York: Random House, 1992.Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1984.Clark, Graham. “Interview with Graham Clark.” The KCSN Opera House, 88.5 FM. 11 Aug. 2006.DiMaggio, Paul. “Cultural Capital and School Success.” American Sociological Review 47 (1982): 189-201.DiMaggio, Paul. “Classification in Art.”_ American Sociological Review_ 52 (1987): 440-55.Elson, C. Louis. “Opera.” Elson’s Music Dictionary. Boston: Oliver Ditson, 1905.Erickson, H. Bonnie. “The Crisis in Culture and Inequality.” In W. Ivey and S. J. Tepper, eds. Engaging Art: The Next Great Transformation of America’s Cultural Life. New York: Routledge, 2007.Fanfaire.com. “At Its 20th Anniversary Celebration, the Los Angeles Opera Had a Ball with The Grand Duchess.” 24 Apr. 2008 < http://www.fanfaire.com/Duchess/index.htm >.Gans, J. Herbert. Popular Culture and High Culture: An Analysis and Evaluation of Taste. New York: Basic Books, 1977.Grimstad, Christie. Concerto Net.com. 2005. 12 Jan. 2008 < http://www.concertonet.com/scripts/review.php?ID_review=3091 >.Grisworld, Wendy. Cultures and Societies in a Changing World. Thousand Oaks, CA: Pine Forge Press, 1994.Grout, D. Jay. A History of Western Music. Shorter ed. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, Inc, 1964.Halle, David. “High and Low Culture.” The Blackwell Encyclopedia of Sociology. London: Blackwell, 2006.Judge, Ian. “Interview with Ian Judge.” The KCSN Opera House, 88.5 FM. 22 Mar. 2006.Harper, Douglas. Online Etymology Dictionary. 2001. 19 Nov. 2006 < http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?search=opera&searchmode=none >.Kenyon, Nicholas. “Introduction.” In A. Holden, N. Kenyon and S. Walsh, eds. The Viking Opera Guide. New York: Penguin, 1993.Lamont, Michele, and Marcel Fournier. Cultivating Differences: Symbolic Boundaries and the Making of Inequality. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1992.Lord, M.G. “Shlemiel! Shlemozzle! And Cue the Soprano.” The New York Times 4 Sep. 2005.Los Angeles Opera. “LA Opera General Director Placido Domingo Announces Results of Record-Breaking 20th Anniversary Season.” News release. 2006.Marshall, Garry. “Interview with Garry Marshall.” The KCSN Opera House, 88.5 FM. 31 Aug. 2005.National Endowment for the Arts. 2002 Survey of Public Participation in the Arts. Research Division Report #45. 5 Feb. 2008 < http://www.nea.gov/pub/NEASurvey2004.pdf >.NCM Fanthom. “The Metropolitan Opera HD Live.” 2 Feb. 2008 < http://fathomevents.com/details.aspx?seriesid=622&gclid= CLa59NGuspECFQU6awodjiOafA >.Opera Today. James Sobre: Ariane et Barbe-Bleue and Capriccio in Paris – Name This Stage Piece If You Can. 5 Feb. 2008 < http://www.operatoday.com/content/2007/09/ariane_et_barbe_1.php >.Rich, Alan. “High Notes, and Low.” LA Weekly 15 Sep. 2005. 6 May 2008 < http://www.laweekly.com/stage/a-lot-of-night-music/high-notes-and-low/8160/ >.Sharpless, Stanley. “A Song against Opera.” In E. O. Parrott, ed. How to Be Tremendously Tuned in to Opera. New York: Penguin, 1990.Shore, James. Opera Today. 2007. 4 Feb. 2008 < http://www.operatoday.com/content/2007/09/ariane_et_barbe_1.php >.Sutcliffe, Tom. Believing in Opera. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton UP, 1996.YouTube. “Manon Sex and the Opera.” 24 Apr. 2008 < http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YiBQhr2Sy0k >.

IntroductionIn this article, I discuss the potential of sound to construct fictional spaces and build relations between bodies using two performance installations as case studies. The first is Invisible Flock’s 105+dB, a site-specific sound work which transports crowd recordings of a soccer match to alternative geographical locations. The second is Atelier Bildraum’s Bildraum, an installation performance using live photography, architectural models, and ambient sound. By writing through these two works, I question how sound builds relations between bodies and across space as well as questioning the role of site within sound installation works. The potential for sound to create shared space and foster relationships between bodies, objects, and the surrounding environment is evident in recent contemporary art exhibitions. For MOMA’s Soundings: A Contemporary Score, curator Barbara London, sought to create a series of “tuned environments” rather than use headphones, emphasising the potential of sound works to envelop the gallery goer. Similarly, Sam Belinafante’s Listening, aimed to capture a sense of how sound can influence attention by choreographing the visitors’ experience towards the artworks. By using motorised technology to stagger each installation, gallery goers were led by their ears. Both London’s and Belinafante’s curatorial approaches highlight the current awareness and interest in aural space and its influence on bodies, an area I aim to contribute to with this article.Audio-based performance works consisting of narration or instructions received through headphones feature as a dominant trend within the field of theatre and performance studies. Well-known examples from the past decade include: Janet Cardiff’s The Missing Case Study B; Graeme Miller’s Linked; and Lavinia Greenlaw’s Audio Obscura. The use of sound in these works offers several possibilities: the layering of fiction onto site, the intensification, or contradiction of existing atmospheres and, in most cases, the direction of audience attention. Misha Myers uses the term ‘percipient’ to articulate this mode of engagement that relies on the active attendance of the participant to their surroundings. She states that it is the participant “whose active, embodied and sensorial engagement alters and determines [an artistic] process and its outcomes” (172-23). Indeed, audio-based works provide invaluable ways of considering how the body of the audience member might be engaged, raising important issues in relation to sound, embodiment and presence. Yet the question remains, outside of individual acoustic environments, how does sound build physical relations between bodies and across space? Within sound studies the World Soundscape Project, founded in the 1970s by R. Murray Schafer, documents the acoustic properties of cities, nature, technology and work. Collaborations between sound engineers and musicians indicated the musicality inherent in the world encouraging attunement to the acoustic characteristics of our environment. Gernot Böhme indicates the importance of personal and emotional impressions of space, experienced as atmosphere. Atmosphere, rather than being an accumulation of individual acoustic characteristics, is a total experience. In relation to sound, sensitivity to this mode of engagement is understood as a need to shift from hearing in “an instrumental sense—hearing something—into a way of taking part in the world” (221). Böhme highlights the importance of the less tangible, emotional consistency of our surrounding environment. Brandon Labelle further indicates the social potential of sound by foregrounding the emotional and psychological charges which support “event-architecture, participatory productions, and related performative aspects of space” (Acoustic Spatiality 2) these, Labelle claims enable sound to catalyse both the material world and our imaginations. Sound as felt experience and the emotional construction of space form the key focus here. Within architectural discourse, both Juhani Pallasmaa and Peter Zumthor point to atmospheric nuances and flows of energy which can cause events to furnish the more rigid physical constructs we exist between, influencing spatial quality. However, it is sensorial experience Jean-Paul Thibaud claims, including attention to light, sound, smell and texture that informs much of how we situate ourselves, contributing to the way we imaginatively construct the world we inhabit, even if only of temporary duration. To expand on this, Thibaud locates the sensorial appreciation of site between “the lived experience of people as well as the built environment of the place” (Three Dynamics 37) hinting at the presence of energetic flows. Such insights into how relations are built between bodies and objects inform the approach taken in this article, as I focus on sensorial modes of engagement to write through my own experience as listener-spectator. George Home-Cook uses the term listener-spectator to describe “an ongoing, intersensorial bodily engagement with the affordances of the theatrical environment” (147) and a mode of attending that privileges phenomenal engagement. Here, I occupy the position of the listener-spectator to attend to two installations, Invisible Flock’s 105+dB and Atelier Bildraum’s Bildraum. The first is a large-scale sound installation produced for Hull UK city of culture, 2017. The piece uses audio recordings from 16 shotgun microphones positioned at the periphery of Hull City’s soccer pitch during a match on 28 November 2016. The piece relocates the recordings in public space, replaying a twenty-minute edited version through 36 speakers. The second, Bildraum, is an installation performance consisting of photographer Charlotte Bouckaert, architect Steve Salembier with sound by Duncan Speakman. The piece, with a running time of 40-minutes uses architectural models, live photography, sound and lighting to explore narrative, memory, and space. In writing through these two case studies, I aim to emphasise sensorial engagement. To do so I recognise, as Salomé Voegelin does, the limits of critical discourse to account for relations built through sound. Voegelin indicates the rift critical discourse creates between what is described and its description. In her own writing, Voegelin attempts to counteract this by using the subjective “I” to foreground the experience of a sound work as a writer-listener. Similarly, here I foreground my position as a listener-spectator and aim to evidence the criticality within the work by writing through my experience of attending thereby bringing out mood, texture, atmosphere to foreground how relations are built across space and between bodies.105+dB Invisible Flock January 2017, I arrive in Hull for Invisible Flock’s 105+dB programmed as part of Made in Hull, a series of cultural activities happening across the city. The piece takes place in Zebedee’s Yard, a pedestrianised area located between Princes Dock Street and Whitefriargate in the grounds of the former Trinity House School. From several streets, I can already hear a crowd. Sound, porous in its very nature, flows through the city expanding beyond its immediate geography bringing the notion of a fictional event into being. I look in pub windows to see which teams are playing, yet the visual clues defy what my ears tell me. Listening, as Labelle suggests is relational, it brings us into proximity with nearby occurrences, bodies and objects. Sound and in turn listening, by both an intended and unsuspecting public, lures bodies into proximity aurally bound by the promise of an event. The use of sound, combined with the physical sensation implied by the surrounding architecture serves to construct us as a group of attendees to a soccer match. This is evident as I continue my approach, passing through an archway with cobbled stones underfoot. The narrow entrance rapidly fills up with bodies and objects; push chairs, wheelchairs, umbrellas, and thick winter coats bringing us into close physical contact with one another. Individuals are reduced to a sea of heads bobbing towards the bright stadium lights now visible in the distance. The title 105+dB, refers to the volume at which the sound of an individual voice is lost amongst a crowd, accordingly my experience of being at the site of the piece further echoes this theme. The physical structure of the archway combined with the volume of bodies contributes to what Pallasmaa describes as “atmospheric perception” (231), a mode of attending to experience that engages all the senses as well as time, memory and imagination. Sound here contributes to the atmosphere provoking a shift in my listening. The importance of the listener-spectator experience is underscored by the absence of architectural structures habitually found in stadiums. The piece is staged using the bare minimum: four metal scaffolding structures on each side of the Yard support stadium lights and a high-visibility clad figure patrols the periphery. These trappings serve to evoke an essence of the original site of the recordings, the rest is furnished by the audio track played through 36 speakers situated at intervals around the space as well as the movement of other bodies. As Böhme notes: “Space is genuinely experienced by being in it, through physical presence” (179) similarly, here, it is necessary to be in the space, aurally immersed in sound and in physical proximity to other bodies moving across the Yard. Image 1: The piece is staged using the bare minimum, the rest is furnished by the audio track and movement of bodies. Image courtesy of the artists.The absence of visual clues draws attention to the importance of presence and mood, as Böhme claims: “By feeling our own presence, we feel the space in which we are present” (179). Listening-spectators actively contribute to the event-architecture as physical sensations build and are tangibly felt amongst those present, influenced by the dramaturgical structure of the audio recording. Sounds of jeering, applause and the referees’ whistle combine with occasional chants such as “come on city, come on city” marking a shared rhythm. Specific moments, such as the sound of a leather ball hitting a foot creates a sense of expectation amongst the crowd, and disappointed “ohhs” make a near-miss audibly palpable. Yet, more important than a singular sound event is the sustained sensation of being in a situation, a distinction Pallasmaa makes, foregrounding the “ephemeral and dynamic experiential fields” (235) offered by music, an argument I wish to consider in relation to this sound installation.The detail of the recording makes it possible to imagine, and almost accurately chart, the movement of the ball around the pitch. A “yeah” erupts, making it acoustically evident that a goal is scored as the sound of elation erupts through the speakers. In turn, this sensation much like Thibaud’s concept of intercorporeality, spreads amongst the bodies of the listening-spectators who fist bump, smile, clap, jeer and jump about sharing and occupying Zebedee’s Yard with physical manifestations of triumph. Through sound comes an invitation to be both physically and emotionally in the space, indicating the potential to understand, as Pallasmaa suggests, how “spaces and true architectural experiences are verbs” (231). By physically engaging with the peaks and troughs of the game, a temporary community of sorts forms. After twenty minutes, the main lights dim creating an amber glow in the space, sound is reduced to shuffling noises as the stadium fills up, or empties out (it is impossible to tell). Accordingly, Zebedee’s Yard also begins to empty. It is unclear if I am listening to the sounds in the space around me, or those on the recording as they overlap. People turn to leave, or stand and shuffle evidencing an attitude of receptiveness towards their surrounding environment and underscoring what Thibaud describes as “tuned ambiance” where a resemblance emerges “between what is felt and what is produced” (Three Dynamics 44). The piece, by replaying the crowd sounds of a soccer match across the space of Zebedee’s Yard, stages atmospheric perception. In the absence of further architectural structures, it is the sound of the crowd in the stadium and in turn an attention to our hearing and physical presence that constitutes the event. Bildraum Atelier BildraumAugust 2016, I am in Edinburgh to see Bildraum. The German word “bildraum” roughly translates as image room, and specifically relates to the part of the camera where the image is constructed. Bouckaert takes high definition images live onstage that project immediately onto the screen at the back of the space. The audience see the architectural model, the taking of the photograph, the projected image and hear both pre-recorded ambient sounds by Speakman, and live music played by Salembier generating the sensation that they are inhabiting a bildraum. Here I explore how both sound and image projection can encourage the listener-spectator to construct multiple narratives of possible events and engage their spatial imagination. Image 2: The audience see the architectural model, the taking of the photograph, the projected image and hear both live and pre-recorded sounds. Image courtesy of the artists.In Bildraum, the combination of elements (photographic, acoustic, architectural) serve to create provocative scenes which (quite literally) build multiple spaces for potential narratives. As Bouckaert asserts, “when we speak with people after the performance, they all have a different story”. The piece always begins with a scale model of the actual space. It then evolves to show other spaces such as a ‘social’ scene located in a restaurant, a ‘relaxation’ scene featuring sun loungers, an oversize palm tree and a pool as well as a ‘domestic’ scene with a staircase to another room. The use of architectural models makes the spaces presented appear as homogenous, neutral containers yet layers of sound including footsteps, people chatting, doors opening and closing, objects dropping, and an eerie soundscape serve to expand and incite the construction of imaginative possibilities. In relation to spatial imagination, Pallasmaa discusses the novel and our ability, when reading, to build all the settings of the story, as though they already existed in pre-formed realities. These imagined scenes are not experienced in two dimensions, as pictures, but in three dimensions and include both atmosphere and a sense of spatiality (239). Here, the clean, slick lines of the rooms, devoid of colour and personal clutter become personalised, yet also troubled through the sounds and shadows which appear in the photographs, adding ambiance and serving to highlight the pluralisation of space. As the piece progresses, these neat lines suffer disruption giving insight into the relations between bodies and across space. As Martin Heidegger notes, space and our occupation of space are not mutually exclusive but intertwined. Pallasmaa further reminds us that when we enter a space, space enters us and the experience is a reciprocal exchange and fusion of both subject and object (232).One image shows a table with several chairs neatly arranged around the outside. The distance between the chairs and the table is sufficient to imagine the presence of several bodies. The first image, though visually devoid of any living presence is layered with chattering sounds suggesting the presence of bodies. In the following image, the chairs have shifted position and there is a light haze, I envisage familiar social scenes where conversations with friends last long into the night. In the next image, one chair appears on top of the table, another lies tilted on the floor with raucous noise to accompany the image. Despite the absence of bodies, the minimal audio-visual provocations activate my spatial imagination and serve to suggest a correlation between physical behaviour and ambiance in everyday settings. As discussed in the previous paragraph, this highlights how space is far from a disinterested, or separate container for physical relations, rather, it underscores how social energy, sound and mood can build a dynamic presence within the built environment, one that is not in isolation but indeed in dialogue with surrounding structures. In a further scene, the seemingly fixed, stable nature of the models undergoes a sudden influx of materials as a barrage of tiny polystyrene balls appears. The image, combined with the sound suggests a large-scale disaster, or freak weather incident. The ambiguity created by the combination of sound and image indicates a hidden mobility beneath what is seen. Sound here does not announce the presence of an object, or indicate the taking place of a specific event, instead it acts as an invitation, as Voegelin notes, “not to confirm and preserve actuality but to explore possibilities” (Sonic 13). The use of sound which accompanies the image helps to underscore an exchange between the material and immaterial elements occurring within everyday life, leaving a gap for the listener-spectator to build their own narrative whilst also indicating further on goings in the depth of the visual. Image 3: The minimal audio-visual provocations serve to activate my spatial imagination. Image courtesy of the artists.The piece advances at a slow pace as each model is adjusted while lighting and objects are arranged. The previous image lingers on the projector screen, animated by the sound track which uses simple but evocative chords. This lulls me into an attentive, almost meditative state as I tune into and construct my own memories prompted by the spaces shown. The pace and rhythm that this establishes in Summerhall’s Old Lab creates a productive imaginative space. Böhme argues that atmosphere is a combination of both subjective and objective perceptions of space (16). Here, stimulated by the shifting arrangements Bouckaert and Salembier propose, I create short-lived geographies charting my lived experience and memories across a plurality of possible environments. As listener-spectator I am individually implicated as the producer of a series of invisible maps. The invitation to engage with the process of the work over 40-minutes as the building and dismantling of models and objects takes place draws attention to the sensorial flows and what Voegelin denotes as a “semantic materiality” (Sonic 53), one that might penetrate our sensibility and accompany us beyond the immediate timeframe of the work itself. The timeframe and rhythm of the piece encourages me, as listener-spectator to focus on the ambient sound track, not just as sound, but to consider the material realities of the here and now, to attend to vibrational milieus which operate beyond the surface of the visible. In doing so, I become aware of constructed actualities and of sound as a medium to get me beyond what is merely presented. ConclusionThe dynamic experiential potential of sound installations discussed from the perspective of a listener-spectator indicate how emotion is a key composite of spatial construction. Beyond the closed acoustic environments of audio-based performance works, aural space, physical proximity, and the importance of ambiance are foregrounded. Such intangible, ephemeral experiences can benefit from a writing practice that attends to these aesthetic concerns. By writing through both case studies from the position of listener-spectator, my lived experience of each work, manifested through attention to sensorial experience, have indicated how relations are built between bodies and across space. In Invisible Flock´s 105+dB sound featured as a social material binding listener-spectators to each other and catalysing a fictional relation to space. Here, sound formed temporal communities bringing bodies into contact to share in constructing and further shaping the parameters of a fictional event.In Atelier Bildraum’s Bildraum the construction of architectural models combined with ambient and live sound indicated a depth of engagement to the visual, one not confined to how things might appear on the surface. The seemingly given, stable nature of familiar environments can be questioned hinting at the presence of further layers within the vibrational or atmospheric properties operating across space that might bring new or alternative realities to the forefront.In both, the correlation between the environment and emotional impressions of bodies that occupy it emerged as key in underscoring and engaging in a dialogue between ambiance and lived experience.ReferencesBildraum, Atelier. Bildraum. Old Lab, Summer Hall, Edinburgh. 18 Aug. 2016.Böhme, Gernot, and Jean-Paul Thibaud (eds.). The Aesthetics of Atmospheres. New York: Routledge, 2017.Cardiff, Janet. The Missing Case Study B. Art Angel, 1999.Home-Cook, George. Theatre and Aural Attention. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015.Greenlaw, Lavinia. Audio Obscura. 2011.Bouckaert, Charlotte, and Steve Salembier. Bildraum. Brussels. 8 Oct. 2014. 18 Jan. 2017 <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eueeAaIuMo0>.Daemen, Merel. “Steve Salembier & Charlotte Bouckaert.” 1 Jul. 2015. 18 Jan. 2017 <http://thissurroundingusall.com/post/122886489993/steve-salembier-charlotte-bouckaert-an-architect>. Haydon, Andrew. “Bildraum – Summerhall, Edinburgh.” Postcards from the Gods 20 Aug. 2016. 18 Jan. 2017 <http://postcardsgods.blogspot.co.uk/2016/08/bildraum-summerhall-edinburgh.html>. Heidegger, Martin. “Building, Dwelling, Thinking.” Basic Writings. Ed. David Farrell Krell. Oxford: Routledge, 1978. 239-57.Hutchins, Roy. 27 Aug. 2016. 18 Jan. 2017 <http://fringereview.co.uk/review/edinburgh-fringe/2016/bildraum/>.Invisible Flock. 105+dB. Zebedee’s Yard, Made in Hull. Hull. 7 Jan. 2017. Labelle, Brandon. “Acoustic Spatiality.” SIC – Journal of Literature, Culture and Literary Translation (2012). 18 Jan. 2017 <http://hrcak.srce.hr/file/127338>.———. “Other Acoustics” OASE: Immersed - Sound & Architecture 78 (2009): 14-24.———. “Sharing Architecture: Space, Time and the Aesthetics of Pressure.” Journal of Visual Culture 10.2 (2011): 177-89.Miller, Graeme. Linked. 2003.Myers, Misha. “Situations for Living: Performing Emplacement.” Research in Drama Education 13.2 (2008): 171-80.Pallasmaa, Juhani. “Space, Place and Atmosphere. Emotion and Peripheral Perception in Architectural Experience.” Lebenswelt 4.1 (2014): 230-45.Schafer, R. Murray. The Soundscape: Our Sonic Environment and the Tuning of the World. Vermont: Destiny Books, 1994.Schevers, Bas. Bildraum (trailer) by Charlotte Bouckaert and Steve Salembier. Dec. 2014. 18 Jan. 2017 <https://vimeo.com/126676951>.Taylor, N. “Made in Hull Artists: Invisible Flock.” 6 Jan. 2017. 9 Jan. 2017 <https://www.hull2017.co.uk/discover/article/made-hull-artists-invisible-flock/>. Thibaud, Jean-Paul. “The Three Dynamics of Urban Ambiances.” Sites of Sound: of Architecture and the Ear Vol. II. Eds. B. Labelle and C. Martinho. Berlin: Errant Bodies P, 2011. 45-53.———. “Urban Ambiances as Common Ground?” 4.1 (2014): 282-95.Voegelin, Salomé. Listening to Sound and Silence: Toward a Philosophy of Sound Art. New York: Continuum, 2010.———. Sonic Possible Worlds. London: Bloomsbury, 2014.Zumthor, Peter. Thinking Architecture. Basel: Birkhäuser, 1998.———. Atmosphere: Architectural Environments – Surrounding Objects. Basel: Birkhäuser, 2006.

Introducción La literatura infantil ha sido, desde sus inicios, un elemento esencial en la vida y el desarrollo de la primera infancia. Desde el punto de vista pedagógico, específicamente los cuentos infantiles son un elemento fundamental en la vida cotidiana del niño. Procuran dejar un mensaje, una enseñanza, una moraleja o, simplemente, cautivar la atención del lector. La literatura en general ha sido, durante siglos, utilizada para comunicar historias, sentimientos, opiniones. Particularmente, la literatura infantil, pretende cultivar hábitos de lectura desde edades muy tempranas e incentivar el gusto por la lectura a medida que el niño va creciendo. En este sentido, Angelo Nobile afirma que: En nuestros días existe una rica literatura pedagógica que, sobre la base de los geniales descubrimientos freudianos y sintonizando con los resultados obtenidos por la más reciente y acreditada investigación en psicología en la que se pone en evidencia la enorme capacidad educativa de la etapa preescolar, subraya la importancia fundamental de los primeros años de vida, no sólo para el posterior desarrollo intelectual, lingüístico, emotivo-afectivo, ético y social del individuo, sino también para la aparición, el refuerzo y el futuro despliegue de los hábitos activos de lectura. (1992, p. 27). En efecto, los tradicionales cuentos para niños, que han permanecido vigentes pasando de generación en generación, son una pieza fundamental en la cotidianidad del niño. Asimismo, con la llegada de las tecnologías de la información y la comunicación, el cuento infantil se transforma de manera radical al pasar del papel a la pantalla, convirtiéndose en cuentos interactivos. Estas transformaciones requieren diferentes aspectos de análisis, debido a que las nuevas generaciones, es decir, los niños del siglo XXI que nacieron en un mundo invadido por las nuevas tecnologías, tienen una adaptación innata a estas tecnologías, por lo cual, estos chicos prefieren los formatos digitales, a diferencia de lo que puede suceder con un lector adulto que prefiere el formato impreso, puesto que es el referente que conoce. Según señalan Julio Alonso Arévalo y José A. Cordón: Este esfuerzo de adaptación al nuevo formato es menor para las nuevas generaciones, los llamados ‘nativos digitales’, que han convivido desde siempre con las tecnologías de la información y que se sienten incluso más cómodos leyendo en una pantalla que sobre papel. Incluso, según algún estudio que se ha llevado a cabo, afirman que se sienten más motivados y lo hacen con más eficiencia y rapidez leyendo en un dispositivo electrónico que sobre el papel. (2010, p. 62). De esta manera, nace la necesidad de generar otros métodos de enseñanza, acordes a los avances y las transformaciones de la sociedad, de la mano de las nuevas tecnologías de la información y la comunicación, pues los modelos de aprendizaje que se aplicaban hace más de 20 años, pueden ya no ser tan efectivos para la infancia y la juventud del siglo XXI. El eje principal de la presente investigación son los cuentos infantiles, diseñados por PlayTales, una librería digital de cuentos interactivos multilenguaje, que ofrece contenidos de alta calidad para bebes, niños preescolares y en edad escolar. Como objetivo general, esta Tesis busca identificar las características con las cuales PlayTales diseña sus cuentos Infantiles, con el fin de que sean herramientas lúdico-didácticas que estimulen el desarrollo lingüístico del niño entre los 3 y 5 años de edad. Del mismo modo, propone tres objetivos específicos con los que se pretende corroborar la hipótesis planteada, el primero busca identificar las características de los cuentos infantiles clásicos que facilitan el desarrollo lingüístico en la primera infancia. Igualmente se propone investigar la importancia de las aplicaciones interactivas como herramientas lúdico-didácticas para niños entre 3 y 5 años. Finalmente, se realiza un análisis gráfico los cuentos clásicos interactivos, desarrollados por PlayTales, para determinar si tienen alguna repercusión en el desarrollo lingüístico del niño. Esta investigación consta de cuatro capítulos, basados en conceptos derivados de tres campos específicos, teorías del diseño y la comunicación, la aplicación de nuevas tecnologías y pedagogía infantil, atravesando diferentes conceptos como cuentos infantiles y sus variaciones, interactividad y multimedia. En este sentido, es fundamental realizar un acercamiento a cada término con el fin de lograr una mayor claridad en el desarrollo del proyecto. A lo largo de la Tesis, se consideran distintas variaciones con respecto al cuento infantil en cuanto al contenido y la historia. Cabe aclarar que cuando se menciona cuento clásico o tradicional, se toma la definición de Rossini y Calvo (2013) quienes basan su teoría en el autor Vladimir Propp (1985), estos autores definen los cuentos clásicos o también llamados cuentos tradicionales, como aquellas historias que le dieron vida a la literatura infantil y han sido transmitidas de generación en generación hace más de cuatro mil años. Por su parte, al hablar de cuentos actuales se hace referencia a historias escritas y creadas en el siglo XXI, con temáticas más modernas y contemporáneas. (Rossini y Calvo, 2013) Del mismo modo, se consideran los cuentos maravillosos o cuentos de hadas, a aquellos cuentos con cierto grado de contenido fantástico pero orientados al público y/o lectores infantiles, independientemente si sus historias son clásicas o actuales. “El sentido dramático de los cuentos de hadas busca un cambio, en sus finales, una conciliación para el conflicto. Su intención moralizadora hace que los buenos triunfen y que sus esfuerzos sean premiados por una vida feliz” (Rossini y Calvo, 2013). Asimismo, se tiene en cuenta la definición de los cuentos fantásticos, en los que se ven finales trágicos e inesperados. “Mientras en el mundo de las hadas la magia y el encantamiento se aceptan como hechos cotidianos y naturales, lo fantástico irrumpe como lo inexplicable, lo misteriosos y lo insólito” (Rossini y Calvo, 2013). Y por último, se encuentran los cuentos folklóricos, entendidos como aquellas historias antiguas, provenientes de la tradición oral de su cultura. “El término ‘folklore’ significa ‘saber del pueblo’. Integran el folklore aquellas manifestaciones que, surgidas en el seno del pueblo y en una región determinada, se han transmitido a través de las generaciones, preservadas por la tradición” (Rossini y Calvo, 2013). Vinculado al concepto de cuentos infantiles, el eje principal de esta Tesis, se estudia a la interactividad como una característica facilitadora de la literatura infantil. Igualmente, se hace referencia al cuento multimedial interactivo, mencionado también en esta Tesis como cuento interactivo o cuento multimedial. Para esto, se realiza una definición de multimedia e interactividad, se sigue la definición de Alfonso Gutiérrez Martín (1997) quien define la multimedia como cualquier producto hardware o software que relacione la imagen y el sonido en un ordenador, integrando diversos medios digitales para la creación de un documento multisensorial e interactivo visto en una plataforma. Mientras que para el concepto de interactividad, se considera la teoría de Rodrigo Alonso (2005), quien se refiere a interactividad como el proceso por el cual una instalación necesita de un usuario para poner en marcha su funcionamiento. Alonso (2005) afirma que en una pieza interactiva no existen espectadores, existen usuarios. La relación entre el usuario y la pieza ya no se basa en la contemplación, sino que para su funcionamiento el usuario deberá activarla, manipularla o interferir en ella, su uso depende de la forma en que se opera o estimula; de otra manera la pieza carece de todo sentido y función. En este sentido, se puede afirmar que un cuento infantil interactivo para dispositivos móviles es, en otras palabras, un cuento multimedial, que tiene como factor primordial de diseño y comunicación la interactividad. Dentro de este marco teórico, se hace énfasis en cada uno de los contenidos a desarrollar en los cuatro capítulos que conforman esta Tesis. Inicialmente, el capítulo I hace referencia a los cuentos infantiles, allí se realiza una contextualización histórica de la literatura infantil de la mano de teorías como la de Xabier Etxaniz (2008) quien realizó una investigación en torno al tema. Asimismo, se realiza un análisis teórico con el fin de determinar la importancia que tiene la literatura en la primera infancia, se define qué es un cuento clásico, debido a la elección del caso de estudio que analiza tres cuentos clásicos: Caperucita Roja, Los Tres Cerditos y Peter Pan, y su inclusión en las nuevas tecnologías. En el capítulo II se aborda el desarrollo pedagógico de los nativos digitales que están entre los 3 y los 5 años de edad, y cómo es la transformación que enfrentan los procesos de enseñanza-aprendizaje. En este capítulo se recurre a las teorías de Jerome S. Bruner (1998) y Jean Piaget (1996) quienes se refieren a diferentes etapas o estadios que se dan en los primeros años de vida de un niño, del mismo modo se analizan algunas de las características de niños entre 3 y 5 años de edad, en el siglo XXI (Fernández, 2010). Adicionalmente, en el capítulo III, se toma el concepto ‘lúdico-didáctico’ y se realiza un desarrollo de ambos términos, destacando la importancia que tienen aquellas herramientas que buscan enseñar, por medio del juego, a niños en la primera infancia. Del mismo modo, se presentan los cuentos infantiles interactivos como herramientas lúdico-didácticas, y finalmente se realiza un panorama del diseño y la comunicación visual en los cuentos infantiles y algunos de sus recursos gráficos. Por último, en el capítulo IV se realiza todo el planteo metodológico que enmarca tres instrumentos de recolección de datos, por medio de los cuales se busca, finalmente, afirmar que los cuentos infantiles interactivos desarrollados por PlayTales son herramientas lúdico-didácticas que facilitan el desarrollo lingüístico del niño entre 3 y 5 años de edad, hipótesis planteada en esta investigación. En conclusión, se plantea que el cuento infantil forma parte del mundo digital, convirtiéndose en una herramienta interactiva más atractiva para el niño. No obstante, para lograr que un cuento multimedial interactivo sea considerado un complemento de un cuento impreso, es necesario tener en cuenta las características gráficas y pedagógicas que tienen los cuentos impresos, además de añadir a su diseño características de interactividad. En efecto, el cuento infantil interactivo será una edición mejorada o un avance exitoso en la historia de la literatura infantil, que sin perder sus fines pedagógicos incursiona en el mundo digital y se convierte en una herramienta interactiva. Para finalizar, es importante resaltar que esta Tesis se enmarca en dos líneas temáticas para su desarrollo, nuevas tecnologías y pedagogía del diseño y la comunicación.

I A sense of in-between shapes contemporary theoretical perspectives on identity through concepts such as fluidity, hybridity and diaspora. These concepts have traction when theorising global social and cultural orders characterised by ‘a delocalized transnation’. In this formation, Appadurai argues, ‘the formula of hyphenation (as in Italian-Americans, Asian-Americans, and African-Americans) is reaching the point of saturation, and the right-hand side of the hyphen can barely contain the unruliness of the left-hand side’ (803). Yet in the relatively monocultural space of Anglo-Celtic rural Australia, delocalised and hyphenated transnational identities tend to make their presence felt most strongly on television. Rather than fluidity, rigidity appears to be a more appropriate metaphor for reading the divisions in rural settler-Australian identity that function as ‘uneven, local attempts to make sense of the world’ (Gilroy 98). In Lismore on the north coast of NSW, for example, the relatively fixed notion of being “a local” maintains its power. Since returning to my home-town of Lismore in 1999 I have become particularly fascinated by the constant use of the word “local” in everyday conversation and in the local newspapers. When I share my fascination with students and colleagues, I am struck by the emotive engagement, both positive and negative, that the idea of being “a local” stimulates. That these students and colleagues have local knowledge of what it means to be “a local” is no doubt a factor in this emotion and engagement: being “a local” marks a divide in belonging and in the local social order. While there is ample literature regarding “the local” within the context of globalisation, “the local” in place-based and regional research, “local knowledges” in anthropology, or “the local” as metaphor for issues of subjectivity and self in feminism and postcolonial theory, literature on being “a local” is curiously sparse. A strong thread of scholarship comes from Hawai’i (for an example see Ohnuma). Conversely, in the Australian context I am aware of only one publication dealing specifically with the idea of being a local. In Ronnie’s Story, Richard Woolley analyses the performance of being a local at a pub in the Sydney suburb of Redfern. By telling first-person anecdotes about a long-term Redfern local, Ronnie, more recent arrivals position themselves in a local order of being local. Woolley’s analysis indicates the power and significance that the idea of being a local has in Australian society, even in places where populations are relatively fluid. Yet while performance may be one strategy for creating a local order, the key to a successful performance in Woolley’s analysis is a relation with an “authentic” local who has qualities not of fluidity, but of routine and rootedness. It is this latter sense of being local that has salience in Lismore. It functions as a benchmark for authenticity and acceptance. This sense of being “a local” deserves scrutiny because it carries the full weight of traditional settler belonging. In addition, being “a local” deserves careful unpacking because it is a category that excludes. Concealed within the idea is a racial and colonial discourse. An analysis of being local in Lismore reveals that not everyone can be a local and the conditions of acceptance are obscured. One criterion is, however, clear and discussable: if there is a question of one’s status as a local, conversation typically and quickly moves to duration of personal and ancestral residence. II “When I first came to Lismore twenty-five years ago, people told me it takes 25 years to become a local […]. My time’s up. I think I can safely say I’ve made it.” (Nora Vidler-Blanksby qtd. in Satherley) “All [the people I just mentioned were] born and bred in the area, plus John Chant, who has been here for 40 years, which makes him a local.” (Baxter) “[…W]hat I’ve come to understand is that you are never a local unless you are born here. […] I mean even after twenty-odd years people say [to me], well, you’re not a local.” (Irwin) Becoming local takes time: routine every day time spent on the ground. There is a notion here of connection between identity and a “patch of dirt”, of authenticity through autochthony, of a seed planted, of being a child of the soil, of coming from a place as distinct from a womb. Being local weaves identity and place together in this most intimate fashion. A local’s sense of identity emerges through time from a developing everyday personal relationship to place through a meld of history, community and geography (Miller 217). To come from outside Lismore, and move beyond being “just a blow-in” — an unannounced stranger blown off-course — the honorific must be earned through an infusion of soil into one’s blood. The period required for this metamorphosis is clearly open to question: 25 years, 40 years, forever. In a sense, locals were never not there. History begins with their arrival. III The stability of this reading of the local order rests on the concealment of an anxiety: an anxiety that settler autochthony is a fiction. Diffusion of settlers and dispersal of Aborigines was the reality of locals’ “settling”. Aborigines upset the signifying chain of local settler belonging at its source because a straightforward appeal to duration of residence is quickly undermined by 40,000 years of Indigenous tenure. This challenge to autochthony initiates a pre-emptive strategy of avoidance and concealment. The language of the settler “local”, articulated through history, community and geography of necessity excludes Aborigines. In de Certeau’s words “locals” define themselves within a ‘proper place’ — ‘a place appropriated as one’s own’ — ‘in a world bewitched by the invisible powers of the Other’ (1984: 36). An analysis of the use of the word “local” reveals how the idea of being “a local” stabilises local settler belonging through concealment. Local, in this usage, is an adjective doing the work of a noun. By becoming a substitute for the noun, the actual noun which “local” modifies is understood, elided, concealed. ‘So you’re “a local”, huh? A local what?’ we might ask. Turning to local newspapers reveals what the concealed noun is not. Within everyday settler discourse Aborigines cannot be noun-locals. To do so would pollute the proper place of “the local” with the Other. Instead, Aborigines are adjective-locals. In The Northern Star, Lismore’s daily paper, Digby Moran is described as a ‘local […] indigenous artist’ (Redmond). Bill Walker, the co-ordinator of the Bundjalung Nation Aboriginal Cultural Heritage Committee, is a ‘respected local identity’ (“Co-ordinator named”). These instances are illustrative of the repeated use of the term “local” as a regular adjective in reference to Aborigines. Local is a modifier of the nouns “artist” and “identity”, indeed a modifier that refers to an imagined boundary rather than to the land itself. Now and then there is a subversion of this order and someone will refer to an Aborigine as a ‘fair dinkum local’ (Opit). Nevertheless, a qualifier is required. Supporting evidence is needed for the Aboriginal claim to status as “a local” – a fair-dinkum local as opposed to a no-need-to-explain local. If there was a class of nouns to which “local” belonged, we would be justified in labelling them “dispossessives”. IV Being a local is a valued aspect of Australian culture and identity — an embodiment of care for community and place for the long term. In the contemporary moment, characterised in the media by accelerating cultural change and personal and national threat, the local represents tradition through apparently unchanging repetition that tourists, sea-changers and tree-changers seek as a refuge and solace. The locals might be said to offer a community of resistance and trust. The local stands within a clearing in a cluttered and threatening world. As I have attempted to argue, however, the local that is revealed in the light of the clearing contains concealment. As an adjective masquerading as a noun, “local” silences talk of the clearing of Aborigines and in the Aborigines’ place it silently installs the settler as original and autochthonous. As Heidegger writes, the ‘clearing in which beings stand is in itself at the same time concealment. […C]oncealment […] occurs within what is lighted. One being places itself in front of another being, the one helps to hide the other, the former obscures the latter, a few obstruct many, one denies all. […A] being […] presents itself as other than it is.’ (Heidegger 54) While there is much to value in being local, as an everyday contemporary practice of colonialism and exclusion it deserves careful attention and transformation. The transformation is clearly more than a task of defining and reinstating the noun that follows the adjective “local,” and instead requires an ontological earthquake of sorts for settler locals. How could the local order in Australia be otherwise than colonial? How might settler Australians be able to imagine the clearing they inhabit in a way that does not clear the land of Aborigines? Within these questions lies a possible ethics of location for settler Australians. References Appadurai, Arjun. “The Heart of Whiteness.” Callaloo 16 (1993): 796-807. Baxter, Reg. “Six Pack Not So Bad”. The Northern Star 17 Mar. 2004: 11. “Co-ordinator Named”. The Northern Star 18 Feb. 2004: 3. De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Trans. Steven Rendall. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984. Gilroy, Paul. Between Camps: Race, Identity and Nationalism at the End of the Colour Line. Harmondsworth: Allen Lane, 2000. Heidegger, Martin. Poetry, Language, Thought. Trans. Albert Hofstadter. New York: Harper & Row, 1975. Irwin, Ros. Personal communication with author [transcript from tape]. 26 Aug. 2003. Miller, Linn. “Belonging to Country — A Philosophical Anthropology.” Voicing Dissent, New Talents 21C: Next Generation Australian Studies 76 (2003): 215-23, 257-8. Ohnuma, Keiko. “Local Haole – A Contradiction in Terms? The Dilemma of Being White, Born and Raised in Hawai’i.” Cultural Values 6 (2002): 273-85. Opit, G. “Stand Up for the Fair Dinkum Local.” Byron Shire Echo 18 Nov. 2003: 9. Redmond, Renee. “The Perfect Backdrop for Local Artist.” The Northern Star 11 Jul. 2003: 5. Satherley, Zoe “Look Who Wants to Be Mayor.” The Northern Star 30 Jan. 2004: 3. Woolley, Richard. “Ronnie’s Story: Narrative and Belonging to Place.” TASA 2003 Conference. The Australian Sociological Association. University of New England, Armidale. 4-6 December 2003. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Garbutt, Rob. "Local Order." M/C Journal 7.6 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0501/08-garbutt.php>. APA Style Garbutt, R. (Jan. 2005) "Local Order," M/C Journal, 7(6). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0501/08-garbutt.php>.

In this paper, I will be looking at how the news media may be both helpful (‘good’) and a hindrance (‘bad’) to lesbian and gay parents. While I acknowledge the incommensurable differences between the experiences of lesbian parents and gay parents, I do believe that representations of both lesbian and gay parents in the media tend to focus on any similarities that exist between (and within) the two groups, rather than looking at the important differences. I would suggest that this is the result of the hetero-normative assumptions that inform the news media, which take heterosexual parents to be the norm from which all other parents differ. Such normative assumptions thus suggest that it is important to look at how particular moral frameworks are employed in both pro- and anti-gay news media reports of lesbian and gay parents, the implication being that the former may not necessarily be better than the latter. As lesbian and gay parents, we may thus do ourselves a disservice by uncritically accepting that ‘positive’ media accounts are useful in our fight for rights. ‘Good Parents’ and the ‘Rhetoric of Pseudoscience’ One of the most central aspects of representations of lesbian and gay parents in the news media is the use of ‘scientific proof’ to legitimate lesbian and gay parenting. Some examples include: Significant, reliable social scientific evidence indicates that lesbian and gay parents are as fit, effective and successful as heterosexual parents (Judith Stacey reported in http://www.lethimstay.com/wrong_socscience_expert.html). Because many beliefs about lesbian and gay parents and their children are open to empirical test, psychological research can evaluate their accuracy (American Psychological Association [APA], 1995, http://www.apa.org/pi/parent.html). Scientific findings debunk the myth that gay men cannot be nurturing parents (http://www.familypride.org/issues/myths.htm). A comprehensive international review of 25 years of research into lesbian and gay parenting… shows convincingly that the children of lesbian and gay parents do not demonstrate any important differences from those of heterosexual parents (Gay & Lesbian Rights Lobby, 2002, http://www.glrl.org.au/issues/parenting.htm). One particular strategy of legitimation evident in these extracts demonstrates what Kitzinger has termed the ‘rhetoric of pseudoscience’ – disproving your opponents claims to truth by demonstrating their ‘bad science’ (see also Riggs, “Politics”). Thus, in the examples above, ‘significant, reliable social scientific evidence’ is contrasted with ‘debunk[ed]… myth[s]’. Another example of this is provided in Stacey’s claim that: Paul Cameron is the primary disreputable and discredited figure in this [anti-lesbian and gay parenting] literature. He was expelled from the APA… for unethical scholarly practices, such as selective, misleading representations of research and making claims that could not be substantiated (http://www.lethimstay.com/wrong_socscience_expert.html). Here, Stacey uses the authority of ‘good’ social scientific research in order to disprove the claims of ‘bad’ ‘disreputable and discredited figure[s]’. In so doing, while she seeks to support lesbian and gay parents in our fight for rights, she also perpetuates the notion that scientific knowledge is the appropriate arbiter of what counts as ‘good parenting’. This is reinforced in the statement of the APA, which suggests that ‘many beliefs about lesbian and gay parents and their children are open to empirical test’. While this is intended to demonstrate the importance of using psychological research to ‘evaluate [the] accuracy’ of such beliefs, it also demonstrates the risks that we run when using science to determine what will count as ‘truth’ (Clarke; Riggs, “Politics”, “On Whose Terms”). Thus, while psychological knowledge in the extracts above is deployed in support of lesbian and gay parents, we only need to look back 30-odd years to see a vastly different story. It is as recently as that that same-sex attraction was classified as a pathology in the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-II). Thus, as Joshua Gamson (76) suggests, that which is considered ‘“normal” is often a synonym for “power”’. In this regard, the power that is evoked through the use of scientific discourse in news media may also be used against lesbian and gay parents. For example, Bill Maier, a clinical psychologist and vice president of the (right-wing and, anti-gay) Focus on the Family Institute is reported as saying that: Every responsible psychologist in the APA should be ashamed; the organization is obviously more concerned with appeasing its powerful gay lobby than it is with retaining any semblance of moral and ethical duty (Baptist Press News, http://www.bpnews.net/bpnews.asp?ID=18784). Here morality and ethics are constructed as being a priori oriented towards the values of the heterosexual majority. Even if lesbian and gay rights activists are to counter this with ‘proof’ of the normality of lesbians and gay men, this does little to destabilise the hegemony of scientific knowledge and its ability to define what counts as moral and ethical. Indeed, Maier draws attention to a very important point – while organisations such as the APA may seek to use psychological knowledge to refute anti-gay claims, they do so without challenging the ideological assumptions that underpin it. As a result, the APA (and those who use psychological knowledge in pro-accounts more generally) are left open to accusations of bias and wilful ignorance of a system of law that is based upon the values of white, heterosexual, middle-class men (Bernstein). ‘Taking Sides’: Is There Any Difference? This leads me to ask the following question: Do we as lesbians and gay men actually want to be ‘good parents’? How might our location within this position only serve to erase the unique experiences of parenting and families that we share? Eldridge suggests that what appear as debates over social issues may more accurately be described as ‘one-sided debates’, wherein the ‘opposing parties’ are actually arguing very similar points. This is particularly evident in debates over lesbian and gay parenting, as both those for and those against lesbian and gay parents often uncritically accept the notions of ‘science’ that inhere to the debates. For example, in the previous section we saw Stacey claim that anti-gay researchers have questionable ethics, just as Maier suggested that the support for lesbian and gay issues given by the APA represents a crisis in its ‘ethical and moral duty’. While pro-accounts of lesbian and gay parents may be useful in the short term to generate ‘positive’ representations of lesbian and gay parents in the media (which in some cases may be an important aspect of legal challenges in regards to lesbian and gay adoption rights), they do little to challenge the networks of power within which they are located, focused as they are upon stereotypical representations of ‘good’ lesbian and gay parents who are typically white, able-bodied, and financially secure. As a result, these representations further marginalise those lesbians and gay men who do not fit within this category (for example, due to economic or cultural difference from the white, middle-class majority), in addition to those lesbians and gay men who choose not to parent. These points demonstrate how the fight for ‘positive representation’ within the media can lead to the further marginalisation of groups of lesbian and gay men who already have little access to such representation (Gamson). Within this paper, I have demonstrated some of the ways in which ‘good’ representations of lesbian and gay parents may also be ‘bad’—they may render us complicit with discourses of science that have often been used against us, and they also encourage us to conform to a heterosexual model of relationality. In this way, lesbian and gay parents are expected to be ‘as fit, effective and successful as heterosexual parents’ (Stacey). As a result, lesbian and gay parents are encouraged to accept a form of subjectivity that recognises scientific arguments as legitimate, and which thus encourages lesbians and gay men to open their lives to scientific scrutiny, measurement, and objectification. Moreover, it encourages lesbian and gay parents ‘not [to] demonstrate any important differences from… heterosexual parents’ (Gay & Lesbian Rights Lobby) under threat of being declared, by default, unfit parents. The converse effect of news media reports of lesbian and gay parents can also be true: ‘bad’ representations may inadvertently draw attention to the problems that inhere to using science to ‘prove the case’. Thus, as the extract from Maier suggests, naively believing that science is the answer ignores the moral assumptions that shape news media and which further marginalise the often critical moral frameworks of lesbian and gay parents. Obviously, I am not advocating here for more statements like those of Maier. Rather, I am suggesting that as lesbian and gay parents we need to be wary of accepting normative framework when mounting our resistances. In other words, if ‘bad’ is often ‘good’, and ‘good’ is often ‘bad’ in scientific media accounts of lesbian and gay parents, then it would seem important that we develop alternate ways of accounting for our experiences, at the same time as we critique such accounts in order to demonstrate their moral assumptions. Acknowledgements I would first like to acknowledge the sovereignty of the Kaurna people, upon whose land I live in Adelaide, South Australia. Thanks as always go to Greg for support and proof reading, and to our foster child, Gary, for helping this all make sense. References Bernstein, Mary. “Gender, Queer Family Policies, and the Limits of the Law.” Queer Families, Queer Politics: Challenging Culture and the State. Ed. Mary Bernstein and Renate Reimann. New York: Columbia UP, 2001. Clarke, Victoria. “‘Stereotype, Attack and Stigmatize Those Who Disagree’: Employing Scientific Rhetoric in Debates about Lesbian and Gay Parenting.” Feminism & Psychology 10 (2000): 152-9. Eldridge, John. “News, Truth and Power.” Getting the Message: News, Truth and Power. Ed. John Eldridge. London: Routledge, 1993. Gamson, Joshua. “Talking Freaks: Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Families on Daytime Talk TV.” Queer Families, Queer Politics: Challenging Culture and the State. Ed. Mary Bernstein and Renate Reimann. New York: Columbia UP, 2001. Kitzinger, Celia. “The Rhetoric of Pseudoscience.” Deconstructing Social Psychology. Eds. Ian Parker and John Shotter. London: Routledge, 1990. Riggs, Damien W. “The Politics of Scientific Knowledge: Constructions of Sexuality and Ethics in the Conversion Therapy Literature.” Lesbian & Gay Psychology Review 5 (2004): 6-14. Riggs, Damien W. “On Whose Terms?: Psychology and the Legitimisation of Lesbian and Gay Parents.” GLIP News 3 (2004): 3-6. http://www.psychology.org.au/units/interest_groups/gay_lesbian/publications.asp>. Riggs, Damien W. “The Psychologisation of Foster Care: Implications for Lesbian and Gay Parents.” PsyPag Quarterly 51 (2004): 34-43. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Riggs, Damien. "Who Wants to Be a 'Good Parent'?: Scientific Representations of Lesbian and Gay Parents in the News Media." M/C Journal 8.1 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0502/05-riggs.php>. APA Style Riggs, D. (Feb. 2005) "Who Wants to Be a 'Good Parent'?: Scientific Representations of Lesbian and Gay Parents in the News Media," M/C Journal, 8(1). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0502/05-riggs.php>.

This article reflects upon the process of the making and screening of an interactive short film called Textual @traction, which I wrote and directed. The film is 12 minutes long, 35mm film, and shows how a series of messages sent to a lost mobile phone inadvertently allows two gay men to declare their love for each other. In the form of a puzzle, the film denies sight of the crucial messages sent between the characters, messages which motivate their actions. However, through the simple use of SMS (Short Message System) text technology, the audience can receive each of these messages on their own mobile phones as they watch the film in the cinema. Billed as an interactive event with prior information for audience telephone registration, the film has been screened at cinemas, film festivals, and conferences as well as on broadcast television. To receive the text messages during the film, the phone owner is asked to send a message before the screening to a five-digit number that registers their telephone for the event. If audience members do not have a mobile phone, they must share with another audience member or try to solve the puzzle of the film without messages. Messages are sent to audience members’ mobile/cell phones from a laptop computer by a bulk SMS delivery programme, via an SMS gateway, directly to the appropriate national mobile telephone network provider, guaranteeing split-second accuracy. When appropriate and depending on the location of the screening, audience members can also choose the language of the messages when they register. Textual @traction was nominated for UK BAFTA Interactive Award 2005 and won the Best New Media: Interactive Award at the Celtic Film Festival 2005. It has been shown in a number of international film festivals, including the International Festival of New Film, in Split, Croatia 2004; the International Short Film Festival in Los Angeles 2005(Academy-listed); and the Atlantic Film Festival, Halifax, Nova Scotia, 2005. It had its broadcast premier, and world-first for an interactive film, on S4C (Sianel Pedwar Cymru), the Welsh Language Channel with its Welsh title, ‘Caru T x’, on 25 Jan. 2006. This article addresses the audience’s experience of this interactive event, speculating on the relative audience/user positions inherent in the two technologies (cinema and mobile telephone) and on whether or not their combination can be described as a collaboration. Underpinning this speculation is the assumption that modes of representation and communication construct the subject/user in specific ways and that the Textual @traction interactive event requires of the audience member to occupy both the position of cinema viewer and of phone user alternately during the event if they are to ‘complete’ the fiction. Following on from this assumption, I have set out a number of oppositions: Live/Dead, Social/Individual, Intimate/Anonymous, and Passive/Active, against which the differences between the two technologies and the ways they construct the viewer/user are posited. These polarities also allow exploration of the various aspects of the suspension of disbelief assumed by the viewer of the film and whether the interruption to the flow of images and sounds on the cinema screen by the actions required of the viewer to retrieve and read the telephone messages dismantles that suspension by spoiling the viewer’s identification with the characters, undermining their assumptions governing the world of the film, and shattering its temporal and spatial coherence. As writer and director of the film, my initial intention was not to set out to explore these questions at all. Once the story took shape and I saw the possibility that the only dialogue in the film was that delivered by text message, it was a short step (albeit, initially, a frivolous one!) to investigate the possibility of delivering those messages to the audience during the screening of the film. I dislike reading diegetic written text on the cinema screen, believing it to be a betrayal of cinema’s essential qualities: it is a medium of pictures and sounds, not words. Of course, once it became clear that it was going to be possible to send time-specific messages to the audience members, enabling them to simultaneously read the very same message the character on screen is reading, I soon became intrigued by the potential effect this would have on the audience. Would it ‘deepen’ the process of identification with the characters? None of the characters in the film are aware of each other’s identity when they communicate and thus the narrative unfolds with dramatic irony. Would the audience’s resulting privileged knowledge in relation to the characters be enhanced by the film’s interactive dimension, because the characters are ‘unaware’ that the audience members are reading ‘their messages’? The following explores these questions and is, to a large extent, a product of observation and analysis of the interactive event, post-event, and also includes reflection on comments from audience members that have attended the event. Live/Dead Textual @traction has been constructed according to the principles of classic continuity, with every shot contributing to the narrative chain. At the end of the film, there is closure, both the conventional culmination and the objective of the classic (Hollywood) narrative, the classic continuity approach. Textual @traction, like all forms of cinema—whether classic narrative, avant-garde, multi-screen, or home movie—is a record of past events. In this film we engage with re-animated past events at twenty-four still frames a second, willingly suppressing whatever knowledge and awareness of apparatus and artifice we possess. However, while knowledge of a process of construction and presentation are suppressed, there is no necessity for the viewer to believe that the events on screen are happening as we observe them. We know these events are in the past; rather, it is the knowledge of the active arrangement of these discreet, past events (shots, scenes, sequences…) into a natural flow that we necessarily suppress. This is achievable, of course, by our unconscious operation of a complex system that organises this flow into spatial, temporal, and narrative coherence. ‘Film language’ is the term given to this internalised vocabulary we bring to bear on a film to make sense of what we see and hear—modified in each film, some more than others. It allows us to understand spatial and temporal construction, to accept ellipses, parallel action and so on. It is a very complex system, which in classical continuity is mobilised in the service of the story and rendered invisible, so that a film unfolds as if conforming to natural laws (Bazin; Metz; Monaco). I made the decision at an early stage in the development process for Textual @traction that the film would do precisely this. While I wanted the film to be challenging and ‘experimental’, I believed its potential for breaking new ground resided in the realm of the juxtaposition/collaboration of the two technologies and its impact on the viewer’s engagement with the fictional world of the story. The messages would necessarily be disruptive of a mode of presentation that is sacrosanct (at least in mainstream cinema) and I thought the tighter the narrative chain, the more apparent the effects of this juxtaposition/collaboration would be. Disruption does occur when the viewer receives a message (there are eleven in all during the 12 minutes of the film) and it is at these points that the viewer becomes phone user and the recipient of a ‘live’ communication that is time-specific. Technically, each message is sent from the bulk-messaging programme to all the registered phones at the same time so that their arrival coincides with the arrival of the ‘same message’ in the on-screen character’s phone: audience member and on-screen character then read the same message simultaneously. To achieve this, the start time of the computer programme and the start time of the film projection in the cinema have to coincide exactly. One always presumes that text messages sent to our phones originate with a person, even those that are anonymous (news and sports alerts, etc.). The assumption underlying the use of the messages in Textual @traction is that, since according to the classic narrative cinema-effect we ‘become’ each character in order to understand what motivates their actions (identifying most energetically with the protagonist), receiving the same text messages they are receiving and reading them at the same time as they are is consistent with this process of identification, although stretching it to its limits. Crucial to the achievement of identification within the classic continuity approach is the point-of view shot, and it is this element that the messages ‘substitute’ or, perhaps, ‘literalise’ in the film (Bordwell 29-33; Branigan; Gaut 260-270). Conventionally in a film, when a character looks at something that is significant to the story, the look is followed on screen by the point-of-view shot, which shows the audience what is being seen by that character. In Textual @traction, point-of-view shots are deployed in this conventional manner. Moreover, as the main character in the film is a photographer whom we see taking photographs early in the film, the act of looking and the views he sees are, in fact, clearly foregrounded in a number of shot-reverse shot sequences. However, when we see characters looking at their phones and reading the messages they’ve been sent by other characters in the film, these shots are not followed by point-of-view shots that show the messages they are reading. Instead, the spectators in the cinema ‘enact’ their own point-of-view shot as they look at the same message on their phone screens in their hands. In a ‘literal’ sense, the audience members, at these points, ‘become’ the characters. Thus, in Textual @traction there is a two-fold process that reverses the live/dead polarity of cinema. Firstly, the arrival of the message in the audience-member’s phone transforms the past event on the screen to a live one. The suspension of disbelief in the viewer is heightened in order to accept the impossibility of acquiring the same knowledge the people on screen are acquiring, at the same time. Secondly, the viewer in the cinema, when reading the messages, ‘becomes’ the fictional character, performing a live enactment of the point-of view shot that is missing on screen. In both processes, phone technology bestows its live-ness to the dead world of the film—at least momentarily, until rational thought points out its absurdity. Social/Individual While going to the cinema is a social activity, the apparatus of cinema is organised in such a way as to individuate the cinema experience. The combination of the dimming of the auditorium lights to darkness and the seating arrangement encourages the viewer to suppress the awareness of others. The experience can then become intensely private. While there are physical and aural constraints on the viewer’s behaviour, imposed mainly to guarantee other viewers’ enjoyment (including, ordinarily, the prohibition of mobile phone use!), once seated and still, the viewer feels entitled to respond to the action on the screen in whatever way appropriate: they can smile, shudder, or weep with impunity. Additionally, the optics of the lens (the cinema projector reproducing the camera’s), in conjunction with the design of the auditorium itself, continues the tradition of Renaissance perspective in providing a single vanishing point that guarantees centrality to each viewer in relation to the scene depicted however many viewers there are in the cinema, wherever they are sitting. As far as the apparatus of cinema is concerned, there is no privileged view of the visual field displayed on the screen; each viewer in the auditorium see the same view, wherever they sit, centred and interpolated individually. Text-messaging is one-to-one communication par excellence. It takes speech telephone privacy one step further: even in a situation where both sender and receiver are in public spaces, surrounded by people, two-way communication can be completely private. When every member of the audience in a screening of Textual @traction receives text messages, they receive them at the same time as everyone else, and they assume they are receiving the same message. Emphasised by the cacophony of (individually-chosen) text alerts as each message reaches its destination within split seconds of each other, the simultaneity and the common address transforms what is usually an individual and private mode of communication into a collective, social one. At the same time, the individuating effect of the cinematic apparatus is undermined. Awareness of their counterparts’ presence returns, the light from individual phone screens illuminate the viewers’/phones users’ faces as they retrieve and read their messages and they look around the auditorium to compare their reactions with those of others. In those moments, the social/individual polarity as it relates to the two technologies is reversed: the phone’s from individual to social; cinema, from individuating to collectivising. Intimate/Anonymous While the apparatus of cinema individuates, the address of cinema is anonymous, making no adjustment for the individual (Baudry; Comolli; De Lauretis). Of course, there is specificity in the address of most cinema: the various genre of commercial film, as well as the varieties of independent and avant-garde films, presume certain audiences and address these audiences on the basis of a shared set of assumptions and expectations. These include individual films’ themes, the forms of narrative (or non-narrative), its variety of characters, the pleasures the films afford, and so on. However, cinema is not discursive. It cannot by ‘adjusted’ to suit the individual. The Intimate/Anonymous polarity is one that draws out the difference between a mode of representation, in this case cinema, and a mode of communication, text messaging. The former presents a completed artefact of some kind while the latter is a technology that allows for discursive activity between sender and receiver. Of course, various forms of interactive art are necessarily making this notion of the ‘artefact’ problematic, allowing the individual viewer to organise and re-organise narratives, modify environments, and create unique assemblages of images and sounds, often enabled by sophisticated computer programmes. During such interaction, individuals may create never-to-be repeated experiences brought about by complex, randomised interfaces. Nevertheless, these are examples of interaction with the artefact and while they may be unique, they are also anonymous. If discursive activity between users is achieved in these circumstances then the technology by definition becomes a mode of communication, however mediated by technology or programming. Telephone communication is all about individual address, both in spoken and text language. A text messages is either sent to elicit a response or it is the response. Unless it is an unsolicited, anonymous message, a text message is a specific and personal missive to the individual, its specificity arising from the sender’s knowledge of the receiver. Receiving such text messages during Textual @traction (and because of the sexual tenor of some of the messages, they are especially ‘personal’)—‘sent’ to the audience members ‘unwittingly’ by the individual fictional characters on screen—transforms the address of the film from anonymous to intimate, from general to individual. The intimacy associated with text messaging enhances our identification with the on-screen characters because we are given an insight into their motivations by being (voyeuristically) included what is generally a private discourse. For those who have experienced the Textual @traction interactive event and who have expressed an opinion about it, it does seem that it was this dimension of the experience that was a particular source of pleasure. Passive/Active In mainstream cinema we enter the auditorium and we sit down to face the screen, on which the film appears. While we watch and listen we may eat and drink, shout, weep, and laugh. We can also leave if we disapprove of the film or of the behaviour of others around us. While all these activities (and more) are possible, none will impact on what is happening on the screen, nor, crucially, on the flow of information that constructs our understanding of the characters’ actions and the narrative in general. In this respect, as an audience, we are effectively passive. The receiving of messages during Textual @traction invites the audience to collaborate actively in the final form of the narrative that is the interactive event, completing the fictional world constructed by film and text messages together. The information they receive by text message enhances their understanding of both character motivation and of the narrative in general. Without their activity, the film is a puzzle. Added to the conceptual activity that this involves, there is also the physical activity and the psychological adjustment: when the audience members’ message alert sounds, they have to undertake a number of keystrokes on their keypad in order to bring the message up on the phone screen, then they have to read the message and construe the message’s relevance to the characters on screen, before returning to the cinema-screen element of the event once more. Conclusion There is no doubt that the Textual @traction interactive event strains credulity, or, to put it another way, depends on an enhancement of the suspension of disbelief normally accustomed to by a cinema audience. The notion that on-screen characters are ‘unwittingly’ sending text messages to audience members and that they are reading them ‘at the same time’ is nothing short of absurd. Absurdity and its wilful disregard by the audience, however, is no stranger to cinema, as we know. What I have attempted to do in this paper is to account for the success of the Textual @traction interactive event, despite its absurdity, by identifying three forms of collaboration that it depends on: collaboration with the text in order to complete the fiction, a collaboration between cinema as a mode of representation and messaging as a mode of communication that the audience member enables, and a collaboration between cinema/subject and telephone/subject performed by each audience member. As I have indicated, when these collaborations take place, some of the habitual characteristics of both modes are transformed or modified: text messaging becomes a social rather than a private activity, while the apparatus of cinema transforms from one that individuates to one that collectivises. In addition, the address of cinema, normally anonymous, is bestowed with intimacy by the text messaging, and finally, a normally passive audience is active in their involvement to complete the fiction. References Baudry, Jean-Louis. “Ideological Effects of the Basic Cinematographic Apparatus.” Film Quarterly 28.2 (Winter 1974-5): 39-47. Bazin, André. “The Evolution of the Language of the Cinema.” What Is Cinema? Trans. Hugh Gray. Berkeley: U of California P, 1967. 23-40. Branigan, Edward. “Formal Permutations of the Point-of-View Shot”. Screen 16.3 (1975): 54-64. Bordwell, D., J. Staiger, and K. Thompson. The Classical Hollywood Cinema: Film Style and Mode of Production to 1960. London: Routledge, 1985. Comolli, Jean-Louis. “Technique and Ideology: Camera, Perspective, Depth of Field.” Movies and Methods Vol. II. Ed, Bill Nichols. Berkeley: U of California P, 1985. 40-57. De Lauretis, T., and S. Heath. The Cinematic Apparatus. London: Macmillan, 1980. Gaut, Berys. “Identification and Emotion in Narrative Film.” Philosophy of Film and Motion Pictures: An Anthology. Ed. Noel Carroll and Jinhee Choi. London: Blackwell, 2006. Metz, Christian. Film Language. Trans. Michael Taylor. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1975 [2004]. Monaco, James. How to Read a Film. 3rd ed. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2000. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Morris, Ieuan. "Interruption/Interaction/Collaboration: A Critical Appraisal of the Textual @traction Interactive Event." M/C Journal 9.2 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/15-morris.php>. APA Style Morris, I. (May 2006) "Interruption/Interaction/Collaboration: A Critical Appraisal of the Textual @traction Interactive Event," M/C Journal, 9(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0605/15-morris.php>.

Sometimes ... we don’t want to feel like a post-modern, post-feminist, overstretched woman but, rather, a domestic goddess, trailing nutmeggy fumes of baking pie in our languorous wake (Nigella Lawson, How to be a Domestic Goddess vii). IntroductionFor today’s female readers, the idea of trailing “nutmeggy fumes” of home-baked pie through their kitchens could be as much a source of gender-stereotyping outrage as one of desire or longing. Regardless of personal response, there seems little doubt that the image Lawson’s words create prevails even in the 21st century: an apron-clad, kitchen-bound woman, cooking for others as an expression of love and communication. This is particularly true of contemporary cookbooks written by and aimed at women. Two examples are Sophie Dahl’s Miss Dahl’s Voluptuous Delights (2010) and Nigella Lawson’s How to be a Domestic Goddess (2000). This paper explores how Dahl and Lawson use three narrative strategies—sequence, description and voice—to frame their recipes; it also analyses how these narrative strategies encourage readers to embrace traditional constructs of domestic femininity, albeit in a contemporary and celebratory light. The authors’ use of these strategies also makes their cookbooks more than simply instruction manuals—instead, they become engaging and pleasurable texts that use memoir, humour and nostalgia to convey their recipes and create distinct authorial personas and cultural ideas about food and femininity. While primary purpose of cookbooks is to instruct, what makes them distinctive—and, arguably, so popular—is their mix of pleasure and utility. The stories they tell, both cultural and personal, are what make us continue to buy and read them, despite bookshelves that may already bend beneath the weight of three hundred different versions of chicken risotto and chocolate cake; as Anne Bower notes, many women read cookbooks for escapism and enjoyment. This concept of escapism and enjoyment is closely tied to the role of narrative. Cognitive narratology, a more recent strand of narrative theory, emphasises what readers bring to a text, and how narrative allows readers to frame and understand texts and the world around them. Therefore, cookbooks that situate their recipes among personal anecdotes and familiar cultural ideals or myths—such as the woman in the kitchen—appeal to our experiences and emotions. Cookbooks thus become engaging and resonant on personal and sociocultural levels: Gvion argues that cookbooks are “social texts” (54), which seems appropriate when considering the meanings we ascribe to food—it remains a fundamental part of our culture and identity (Lupton). Certain cookbooks—those that emphasise the social and emotional aspects of what we consume—can be regarded as a reflection of how we attach meanings to foods in particular contexts (Mintz). The books discussed in this paper combine the societal and personal aspects of this process: their authors blend familiar cultural tropes with their own engaging autobiographical anecdotes using sequence, description and voice. Narrative theory has traditionally been applied to fiction, and cookbooks obviously lack fictional elements such as plot and character. However, cognitivist narratology, which directs its focus to humans’ cognitive understanding and perception of various actions and events (Fludernik, Histories), makes it applicable to a range of texts. Cookbooks’ use of sequence, description, and voice create “storyworlds” for readers, which “can be viewed as [a] global mental representation enabling interpreters to draw inferences about items and occurrences either explicitly or implicitly included in a narrative” (Herman 9). Cookbook authors use memories, anecdotes and imagery to conjure scenes to which readers can aspire or relate, perhaps prompting responses similar to those experienced when reading fiction.Prince characterises narrative as a “representation of events in a time sequence” (82). The sequence of information and anecdotes in a cookbook—its introduction, chapter structure and recipe structure—positions readers to read and interpret the text in a particular way; it is both part of how the texts authors construct a sense of self and of how they encourage readers to construct their own meanings in response. Dahl, for example, arranges her recipes according to season, since she places great importance on seasonal eating. Description is the cornerstone of any successful cookbook, since it becomes impossible to successfully replicate a dish if you cannot make sense of the instructions. However, in a narrative sense, description operates as part of a narrator’s “rhetorical strategy” (Bal 36); it helps construct their narrative persona and enables them to reinforce the associations between food, culture and identity in evocative language. Voice is the final piece of the narrative puzzle. These cookbooks are all “narrated” by their authors, who offer selected anecdotes and stories to support their authorial intentions and position readers to interpret their texts in a particular way. Feminist narratologist Susan Lanser regards voice as the “intersection of social identity and textual form” (14), a definition that recognises the broader social and cultural significance of cookbooks. Since they tend to be narrated “directly” from author to readers, authorial voice serves not only to engage readers, but also to establish authors’ culinary authority. The two cookbooks analysed here are written by—and, arguably, primarily aimed at—women, and this paper contends that their authors use narrative to reclaim a powerful sense of feminine ownership. While they are just two of many contemporary cookbooks that arguably strive to achieve similar ends (Tessa Kiros’s 2010 Apples for Jam, and Monica Trapaga’s 2010 She’s Leaving Home, are two recent Australian examples), Dahl’s and Lawson’s texts are apt case studies: both are commercially successful and their authors occupy a significant space in the public imagination, particularly where women’s identity is concerned. Dahl is a former plus-size model who lost weight “rather publicly” (Dahl xi) and whose book charts the evolution of her complex relationship with food; Lawson’s books and cooking programs have seen her variously characterised as “prefeminist housewife … antifeminist Stepford wife … the saviour of downshifting middle-class career women and as both the negative and positive product of postfeminism” (Hollows 180). Dahl and Lawson narrate the knowledge and skill of their recipes in a context of experiences and memories related to their lives as mothers and/or partners and food professionals, which underscores the weight of their kitchen authority as women while still maintaining that rather mythic connection between the feminine and domestic. Sequence The introductory pages and internal structure of each book reflects both its author’s intentions, and the persona they construct within the text that speaks directly to readers. It also foregrounds the link between women and food. The link between this domesticity and feminine identity is explicit in both texts. Miss Dahl’s Voluptuous Delights is a food memoir as well as a cookbook, and Dahl’s use of narrative sequence makes this clear: in her introduction, she reveals that “the second word I ever spoke was ‘crunch,’ muddled baby-speak for fudge” (viii). Interspersed between the book’s four sections (Autumn, Winter, Spring and Summer) are essays that chart Dahl’s evolving relationship with food and cooking, framed particularly in terms of her female identity: they detail her progression from a plump-cheeked teenager unhappy about carrying a few extra pounds to a woman at ease with her body and appetite who cannot “get away from the siren call of the kitchen” (15). Dahl often introduces her recipes with reference to their personal significance, particularly in relation to cooking as an act of love or communication—“Musician’s Breakfast,” for example, is so named because it is a favourite of her boyfriend, jazz musician Jamie Cullum (152). Lawson’s book is ostensibly more practical—her chapters are arranged according to types of dish, such cakes or biscuits. She also explicitly summons the familiar vision of the woman at home in the kitchen. Although she draws on the clichéd image of the domestic goddess, her preface seems aimed at making female readers feel at ease. For example, she writes that she does not want her audience to think of baking as a “land you do not inhabit” or to “confine you to kitchen quarters” (vii); rather, her aim is to make them “feel” (vii) like a domestic goddess rather than be one, an act that might be interpreted as an attempt to put a more contemporary spin on a dated archetype.Nonetheless, throughout Lawson’s book, the prose that introduces her recipes draws on those associations between baking and homely comfort: cake-baking “implies effort and domestic prowess,” (2) but is easy in practice, and baking loaf cakes makes one feel “humble and worthy and brimming with good things” (5). Again, Lawson’s own experience—particularly as a busy mother and career woman—shapes the introductory words for each recipe and establishes a sense of her authorial persona in relation to broader social constructs of food and the feminine. Description Vivid, evocative descriptions of food and food-related memories and experiences are an integral part of what makes these texts narratively engaging, and how they continue to enforce and idealise that connection between the feminine and the domestic. Both authors frequently describe food in terms that create concepts of cosy domesticity: Lawson describes baking as a metaphor for “familial warmth” (vii), and for Dahl, roast chicken “is Sunday ... there’s something about that smell wafting through the house” (53). A distinct sense of nostalgia is at play here; as Linda Hutcheon observes, one can “look and reject” or “look and linger longingly” (online), and this apparent yearning to return to simpler times summons a “mythical past of comfort and stability” (Duruz 57), seemingly embodied in images of wholesome foods cooked for us by mothers or wives. This idea of food as emotionally nourishing is frequently related in terms of the author’s duties as domestic providers and as women who occasionally—and by choice—inhabit traditional female roles. However, Lawson and Dahl reveal the tensions between past and present: while they embrace the pleasures of old-fashioned domesticity, they do not—and cannot—wholly recreate it. Instead, they must balance it with other priorities, making space for a more liberated and contemporary female home cook who can choose to occupy a place at the stove. Of course, the title of Lawson’s book—and the wording of its preface, quoted at the start of this paper—refers explicitly to the old-fashioned idea of the domestic goddess. But Lawson aims to update or demystify the concept for today’s busy women: she expresses the view that many have become “alienated” from the domestic sphere, but that “it can actually make us feel better to claim back some of that space, make it comforting rather than frightening” (vii). While she summons very traditional images—for example, “a pie is just what we all know should be emanating from the kitchen of a domestic goddess” (81)—she also puts a new spin on them, perhaps in an attempt to make them seem less patronising or intimidating while still enforcing how satisfying it can be to feel like a domestic goddess without slaving in the kitchen. She frequently emphasises the simplicity of her recipes and describes food in terms of the pleasure it brings the cook as well as those for whom she is cooking: while baking bread brings “crucial satisfaction, that warm feeling of homespun achievement,” she also notes that “my way of baking bread is designed to fit more easily into the sort of lives we lead” (291). As Hollows notes, the “Nigella cooking philosophy” is that “cooking should be pleasurable and should start from the desire to eat” (182), a concept far removed from the traditional construct of women as “providers of food for others” who have difficulty “experiencing food as pleasurable themselves, particularly in a domestic context” (184). Dahl also emphasises pleasure, ease and practicality, and describes food in terms of its nostalgic and emotional associations, particularly in relation to her female relatives. As a child, Dahl attended boarding school, and on the last night of her holidays—before she returned to terrible school food, with its “gristly stew, grey Scotch eggs and collapsed beetroot” (7)—her mother would cook her a special dinner, and she remembers feasting on “roast chicken wrapped in bacon with tarragon creeping wistfully over its breast, potatoes golden and gloriously crispy on the outside and flaking softly from within” (7). Although Dahl’s mother taught her the importance of “cooking for your man,” this very old-fashioned idea is presented in a tongue-in-cheek way, with the caveat, “woe betide any man who doesn’t appreciate it” (73). Again, the act of cooking is described as something that brings intense domestic satisfaction, and represents a conscious choice to relive the past in a contemporary, and perhaps slightly ironic (albeit still enjoyable), context: making tawny granola “makes one feel very fifties housewife, because as it bakes the house is bathed in a warm cinnamon-y glow” (25). Such descriptions of food and cooking are both evocative and romantic, even while they emphasise convenience and practicality. This perhaps reflects the realities of modern life for busy modern women juggling work and family commitments; it emphasises that tension between the ideal of the past and the reality of the present. While Lawson and Dahl still idealise the correlation between women, food and the domestic, drawing on familiar and perhaps comforting associations, they nonetheless manage to make their cookbooks both narratively engaging and culturally revealing: as Susan Leonardi points out, recipes are an exchange between reader and writer, and they require “a recommendation, a context ... a reason to be” (340). Descriptions of memories, emotions and sensations in relation to cooking and women’s identity help to create a particular narrative “storyworld” (Herman 9) or familiar context; the authors here describe experiences that are likely to resonate with female readers to enforce that connection between women and their kitchens. Since they draw so heavily on their authors’ lives, these cookbooks are almost forms of life narrative; by drawing on their own recollections to appeal to readers and share recipes, their narrators are “performing several rhetorical acts, justifying their own perceptions, conveying cultural information” (Smith and Watson 10). This is a fundamental aspect of narrative voice: who “speaks” in the text (Genette 185). Voice Both authors use their identity as women and home cooks to enforce the feminine/domestic connection and relate to their audience. They each create a distinct narrating voice or authorial persona that speaks directly to readers and aims to win their trust and sympathy. Lawson positions herself as a busy mother and wife; Dahl focuses on her evolving relationship with food, particularly in the context of her former career as a plus-size model and her subsequent weight loss. Both women share cooking anecdotes, and often, significantly, their kitchen failures—Dahl’s recipe for asparagus soup reveals that one of her attempts at trialling the recipe resulted in soup spurting from her blender, “covering me, the walls and floor in a thick slick of green” (168). Both women write as passionate home cooks: what seems most important is a love of food and what it represents, the joy of cooking as much as the culinary skill it may require. Lanser writes that “the authority of a given voice or text is produced from a conjunction of social and rhetorical properties” (6), and both Dahl’s and Lawson’s authority comes from their domestic experience and their roles as women who cook for themselves and for the pleasure it brings them as much as for their families. Although they advocate this sense of enjoyment over duty, there remains in each text a distinctly romantic idea of what it means to cook; specifically, to be a female home cook. This is most explicit in how Dahl and Lawson narrate their texts, particularly in terms of the confidences they share. Both confess their shortcomings in relaxed and informal tones: Lawson writes about an occasion when she found herself in “dire straits” when trying to make marzipan (6), and confesses to being a “negligent mother” because all she does with her children is cook with them (209); Dahl says that she “would plant tarragon in my garden in London, but the neighbour’s cat is partial to peeing on every herb I have” (58). Both imbue their actual recipes, as well as the prose that surrounds them, with a very personal tone, offering tips and advice drawn from their own experience: Dahl advises readers to “go by instinct and taste, adding or taking away as you want” (52) and Lawson suggests leaving “a decent amount of uncooked cake batter in the bowl for scraping-out purposes” (183). Conclusion Pasupathi’s work on constructing identity in storytelling, and how recounting stories becomes a way of establishing a sense of self, is particularly relevant here; a similar concept is evident in cookbooks. Lawson and Dahl choose familiar life stories and situations that readers, (particularly female), might recognise and engage with. As Fludernik observes, narrators are integral to narrative texts, since they help to establish narrative meaning and interest (An Introduction to Narratology). The narrating voices of Dahl’s and Lawson’s cookbooks foreground their identity as women and home cooks to highlight experiences and issues relevant to women. All three of the narrative strategies discussed in this paper contribute to this. Both texts do, to a degree, enforce cultural stereotypes—most obviously, the idea of a woman’s kitchen as a kind of natural habitat—but they also emphasise the pleasures of cooking. Despite the clichéd imagery and heavy nostalgia, Dahl’s and Lawson’s appropriation of the domestic goddess image exposes and reconfigures the contradictions between the idealised past and more liberated present; offering female readers and cooks “beguiling possibilities … for re-enactment” (Duruz 57). Lawson and Dahl’s use of narrative strategies not only makes their texts more engaging to read, but reflects the social and cultural relevance of cookbooks, and how they can embody and reshape our engrained values and ideas. In their own way, they seek to affirm the female domestic experience and position it as something celebratory rather than oppressive. Perhaps no one puts it so aptly as Lawson: “I know the idea of being in the kitchen faffing around with bottles and jars and hot pans might seem confining to many, but honestly, I have found it liberating. The sense of connectedness you get, with your kitchen, your home, your food, is the very opposite of constraint” (334). This seems an apt reflection of cookbooks’ narrative power and ability to explore fundamental social and cultural ideas; they engage us, inspire us and entertain us. References Bal, Mieke. Introduction to the Theory of Narrative. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 1997. Bower, Anne. “Romanced by Cookbooks.” Gastronomica 4.2 (2004): 35–42. Dahl, Sophie. Miss Dahl’s Voluptuous Delights. London: HarperCollins, 2009. Duruz, Jean. “Haunted Kitchens: Cooking and Remembering.” Gastronomica 4.1 (2004): 57–68. Fludernik, Monica. An Introduction to Narratology. New York: Routledge, 2009. Fludernik, Monica. “Histories of Narrative (II): From Structuralism to the Present.” A Companion to Narrative Theory. Eds. James Phelan and Peter J. Rabinowitz. Hoboken: Blackwell, 2005. Blackwell Reference Online. 4 Apr. 2013. Genette, Gerard. Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Trans. Jane E. Lewin. New York: Cornell UP, 1980. Gvion, Liora. “What’s Cooking in America? Cookbooks Narrate Ethnicity: 1850–1990.” Food, Culture, and Society 7.1 (2004): 53–76. Herman, David. Story Logic: Problems and Possibilities of Narrative. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 2002. Hollows, Joanne. “Feeling Like a Domestic Goddess: Postfeminism and Cooking.” European Journal of Cultural Studies 6.2 (2003): 179–202. Hutcheon, Linda. “Irony, Nostalgia, and the Postmodern.” U of Toronto English Library, 1998. 21 Oct. 2010. ‹http://www.library.utoronto.ca/utel/criticism/hutchinp.html›. Lanser, Susan. Fictions of Authority: Women Writers and Narrative Voice. New York: Cornell UP, 1992. Lawson, Nigella. How to be a Domestic Goddess. London: Chatto & Windus, 2000. Leonardi, Susan. “Recipes for Reading: Summer Pasta, Lobster á la Riseholme, and Key Lime Pie.” Modern Language Association 104.3 (1989): 340–47. Lupton, Deborah. “Food and Emotion.” The Taste Culture Reader: Experiencing Food and Drink. Ed. Carolyn Korsmeyer. Oxford: Berg, 2005. 317–24. Mintz, Sidney. “Sweetness and Meaning.” The Taste Culture Reader: Experiencing Food and Drink. Ed. Carolyn Korsmeyer. Oxford: Berg, 2005. 110–22. Pasupathi, Monisha. “Silk from Sow’s Ears: Collaborative Construction of Everyday Selves in Everyday Stories.” Identity and Story: Creating Self in Narrative. Ed. Dan P. McAdams, Ruthellen Josselson, and Amia Lieblich. Vol. 4. Washington, DC: APA, 2006. 129–50. Prince, Gerald. Narratology: The Form and Function of Narrative. Berlin: Mouton, 1982. Smith, Sidonie, and Julia Watson. Reading Autobiography: A Guide to Interpreting Life Narratives. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2001.

In 1988, historian Nadia Wheatley and indigenous artist Donna Rawlins published their award-winning picture book, My Place, a reinterpretation of Australian national identity and sovereignty prompted by the bicentennial of white settlement. Twenty years later, the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC) commissioned Penny Chapman’s multi-platform project based on this book. The 13 episodes of the television series begin in 2008, each telling the story of a child at a different point in history, and are accompanied by substantial interactive online content. Issues as diverse as religious difference and immigration, wartime conscription and trauma, and the experiences of Aboriginal Australians are canvassed. The program itself, which has a second series currently in production, introduces child audiences to—and implicates them in—a rich ideological fabric of deeply politicised issues that directly engage with vexed questions of Australian nationhood. The series offers a subversive view of Australian history and society, and it is the child—whether protagonist on the screen or the viewer/user of the content—who is left to discover, negotiate and move beyond often problematic societal norms. As one of the public broadcaster’s keystone projects, My Place signifies important developments in ABC’s construction of multicultural child citizenship. The digitisation of Australian television has facilitated a wave of multi-channel and new media innovation. Though the development of a multi-channel ecology has occurred significantly later in Australia than in the US or Europe, in part due to genre restrictions on broadcasters, all major Australian networks now have at least one additional free-to-air channel, make some of their content available online, and utilise various forms of social media to engage their audiences. The ABC has been in the vanguard of new media innovation, leveraging the industry dominance of ABC Online and its cross-platform radio networks for the repurposing of news, together with the additional funding for digital renewal, new Australian content, and a digital children’s channel in the 2006 and 2009 federal budgets. In line with “market failure” models of broadcasting (Born, Debrett), the ABC was once the most important producer-broadcaster for child viewers. With the recent allocation for the establishment of ABC3, it is now the catalyst for a significant revitalisation of the Australian children’s television industry. The ABC Charter requires it to broadcast programs that “contribute to a sense of national identity” and that “reflect the cultural diversity of the Australian community” (ABC Documents). Through its digital children’s channel (ABC3) and its multi-platform content, child viewers are not only exposed to a much more diverse range of local content, but also politicised by an intricate network of online texts connected to the TV programs. The representation of diasporic communities through and within multi-platformed spaces forms a crucial part of the way(s) in which collective identities are now being negotiated in children’s texts. An analysis of one of the ABC’s My Place “projects” and its associated multi-platformed content reveals an intricate relationship between postcolonial concerns and the construction of child citizenship. Multicultural Places, Multi-Platformed Spaces: New Media Innovation at the ABC The 2007 restructure at the ABC has transformed commissioning practices along the lines noted by James Bennett and Niki Strange of the BBC—a shift of focus from “programs” to multi-platform “projects,” with the latter consisting of a complex network of textual production. These “second shift media practices” (Caldwell) involve the tactical management of “user flows structured into and across the textual terrain that serve to promote a multifaceted and prolonged experience of the project” (Bennett and Strange 115). ABC Managing Director Mark Scott’s polemic deployment of the “digital commons” trope (Murdock, From) differs from that of his opposite number at the BBC, Mark Thompson, in its emphasis on the glocalised openness of the Australian “town square”—at once distinct from, and an integral part of, larger conversations. As announced at the beginning of the ABC’s 2009 annual report, the ABC is redefining the town square as a world of greater opportunities: a world where Australians can engage with one another and explore the ideas and events that are shaping our communities, our nation and beyond … where people can come to speak and be heard, to listen and learn from each other. (ABC ii)The broad emphasis on engagement characterises ABC3’s positioning of children in multi-platformed projects. As the Executive Producer of the ABC’s Children’s Television Multi-platform division comments, “participation is very much the mantra of the new channel” (Glen). The concept of “participation” is integral to what has been described elsewhere as “rehearsals in citizenship” (Northam). Writing of contemporary youth, David Buckingham notes that “‘political thinking’ is not merely an intellectual or developmental achievement, but an interpersonal process which is part of the construction of a collective, social identity” (179). Recent domestically produced children’s programs and their associated multimedia applications have significant potential to contribute to this interpersonal, “participatory” process. Through multi-platform experiences, children are (apparently) invited to construct narratives of their own. Dan Harries coined the term “viewser” to highlight the tension between watching and interacting, and the increased sense of agency on the part of audiences (171–82). Various online texts hosted by the ABC offer engagement with extra content relating to programs, with themed websites serving as “branches” of the overarching ABC3 metasite. The main site—strongly branded as the place for its targeted demographic—combines conventional television guide/program details with “Watch Now!,” a customised iView application within ABC3’s own themed interface; youth-oriented news; online gaming; and avenues for viewsers to create digital art and video, or interact with the community of “Club3” and associated message boards. The profiles created by members of Club3 are moderated and proscribe any personal information, resulting in an (understandably) restricted form of “networked publics” (boyd 124–5). Viewser profiles comprise only a username (which, the website stresses, should not be one’s real name) and an “avatar” (a customisable animated face). As in other social media sites, comments posted are accompanied by the viewser’s “name” and “face,” reinforcing the notion of individuality within the common group. The tool allows users to choose from various skin colours, emphasising the multicultural nature of the ABC3 community. Other customisable elements, including the ability to choose between dozens of pre-designed ABC3 assets and feeds, stress the audience’s “ownership” of the site. The Help instructions for the Club3 site stress the notion of “participation” directly: “Here at ABC3, we don’t want to tell you what your site should look like! We think that you should be able to choose for yourself.” Multi-platformed texts also provide viewsers with opportunities to interact with many of the characters (human actors and animated) from the television texts and share further aspects of their lives and fictional worlds. One example, linked to the representation of diasporic communities, is the Abatti Pizza Game, in which the player must “save the day” by battling obstacles to fulfil a pizza order. The game’s prefacing directions makes clear the ethnicity of the Abatti family, who are also visually distinctive. The dialogue also registers cultural markers: “Poor Nona, whatsa she gonna do? Now it’s up to you to help Johnny and his friends make four pizzas.” The game was acquired from the Canadian-animated franchise, Angela Anaconda; nonetheless, the Abatti family, the pizza store they operate and the dilemma they face translates easily to the Australian context. Dramatisations of diasporic contributions to national youth identities in postcolonial or settler societies—the UK (My Life as a Popat, CITV) and Canada (How to Be Indie)—also contribute to the diversity of ABC3’s television offerings and the positioning of its multi-platform community. The negotiation of diasporic and postcolonial politics is even clearer in the public broadcaster’s commitment to My Place. The project’s multifaceted construction of “places,” the ethical positioning of the child both as an individual and a member of (multicultural) communities, and the significant acknowledgement of ongoing conflict and discrimination, articulate a cultural commons that is more open-ended and challenging than the Eurocentric metaphor, the “town square,” suggests. Diversity, Discrimination and Diasporas: Positioning the Viewser of My Place Throughout the first series of My Place, the experiences of children within different diasporic communities are the focal point of five of the initial six episodes, the plots of which revolve around children with Lebanese, Vietnamese, Greek, and Irish backgrounds. This article focuses on an early episode of the series, “1988,” which explicitly confronts the cultural frictions between dominant Anglocentric Australian and diasporic communities. “1988” centres on the reaction of young Lily to the arrival of her cousin, Phuong, from Vietnam. Lily is a member of a diasporic community, but one who strongly identifies as “an Australian,” allowing a nuanced exploration of the ideological conflicts surrounding the issue of so-called “boat people.” The protagonist’s voice-over narration at the beginning of the episode foregrounds her desire to win Australia’s first Olympic gold medal in gymnastics, thus mobilising nationally identified hierarchies of value. Tensions between diasporic and settler cultures are frequently depicted. One potentially reactionary sequence portrays the recurring character of Michaelis complaining about having to use chopsticks in the Vietnamese restaurant; however, this comment is contextualised several episodes later, when a much younger Michaelis, as protagonist of the episode “1958,” is himself discriminated against, due to his Greek background. The political irony of “1988” pivots on Lily’s assumption that her cousin “won’t know Australian.” There is a patronising tone in her warning to Phuong not to speak Vietnamese for fear of schoolyard bullying: “The kids at school give you heaps if you talk funny. But it’s okay, I can talk for you!” This encourages child viewers to distance themselves from this fictional parallel to the frequent absence of representation of asylum seekers in contemporary debates. Lily’s assumptions and attitudes are treated with a degree of scepticism, particularly when she assures her friends that the silent Phuong will “get normal soon,” before objectifying her cousin for classroom “show and tell.” A close-up camera shot settles on Phuong’s unease while the children around her gossip about her status as a “boat person,” further encouraging the audience to empathise with the bullied character. However, Phuong turns the tables on those around her when she reveals she can competently speak English, is able to perform gymnastics and other feats beyond Lily’s ability, and even invents a story of being attacked by “pirates” in order to silence her gossiping peers. By the end of the narrative, Lily has redeemed herself and shares a close friendship with Phuong. My Place’s structured child “participation” plays a key role in developing the postcolonial perspective required by this episode and the project more broadly. Indeed, despite the record project budget, a second series was commissioned, at least partly on the basis of the overwhelmingly positive reception of viewsers on the ABC website forums (Buckland). The intricate My Place website, accessible through the ABC3 metasite, generates transmedia intertextuality interlocking with, and extending the diegesis of, the televised texts. A hyperlinked timeline leads to collections of personal artefacts “owned” by each protagonist, such as journals, toys, and clothing. Clicking on a gold medal marked “History” in Lily’s collection activates scrolling text describing the political acceptance of the phrase “multiculturalism” and the “Family Reunion” policy, which assisted the arrival of 100,000 Vietnamese immigrants. The viewser is reminded that some people were “not very welcoming” of diasporic groups via an explicit reference to Mrs Benson’s discriminatory attitudes in the series. Viewsers can “visit” virtual representations of the program’s sets. In the bedroom, kitchen, living room and/or backyard of each protagonist can be discovered familiar and additional details of the characters’ lives. The artefacts that can be “played” with in the multimedia applications often imply the enthusiastic (and apparently desirable) adoption of “Australianness” by immigrant children. Lily’s toys (her doll, hair accessories, roller skates, and glass marbles) invoke various aspects of western children’s culture, while her “journal entry” about Phuong states that she is “new to Australia but with her sense of humour she has fitted in really well.” At the same time, the interactive elements within Lily’s kitchen, including a bowl of rice and other Asian food ingredients, emphasise cultural continuity. The description of incense in another room of Lily’s house as a “common link” that is “used in many different cultures and religions for similar purposes” clearly normalises a glocalised world-view. Artefacts inside the restaurant operated by Lily’s mother link to information ranging from the ingredients and (flexible) instructions for how to make rice paper rolls (“Lily and Phuong used these fillings but you can use whatever you like!”) to a brief interactive puzzle game requiring the arrangement of several peppers in order from least hot to most hot. A selectable picture frame downloads a text box labelled “Images of Home.” Combined with a slideshow of static, hand-drawn images of traditional Vietnamese life, the text can be read as symbolic of the multiplicity of My Place’s target audience(s): “These images would have reminded the family of their homeland and also given restaurant customers a sense of Vietnamese culture.” The social-developmental, postcolonial agenda of My Place is registered in both “conventional” ancillary texts, such as the series’ “making of” publication (Wheatley), and the elaborate pedagogical website for teachers developed by the ACTF and Educational Services Australia (http://www.myplace.edu.au/). The politicising function of the latter is encoded in the various summaries of each decade’s historical, political, social, cultural, and technological highlights, often associated with the plot of the relevant episode. The page titled “Multiculturalism” reports on the positive amendments to the Commonwealth’s Migration Act 1958 and provides links to photographs of Vietnamese migrants in 1982, exemplifying the values of equality and cultural diversity through Lily and Phuong’s story. The detailed “Teaching Activities” documents available for each episode serve a similar purpose, providing, for example, the suggestion that teachers “ask students to discuss the importance to a new immigrant of retaining links to family, culture and tradition.” The empathetic positioning of Phuong’s situation is further mirrored in the interactive map available for teacher use that enables children to navigate a boat from Vietnam to the Australian coast, encouraging a perspective that is rarely put forward in Australia’s mass media. This is not to suggest that the My Place project is entirely unproblematic. In her postcolonial analysis of Aboriginal children’s literature, Clare Bradford argues that “it’s all too possible for ‘similarities’ to erase difference and the political significances of [a] text” (188). Lily’s schoolteacher’s lesson in the episode “reminds us that boat people have been coming to Australia for a very long time.” However, the implied connection between convicts and asylum seekers triggered by Phuong’s (mis)understanding awkwardly appropriates a mythologised Australian history. Similarly in the “1998” episode, the Muslim character Mohammad’s use of Ramadan for personal strength in order to emulate the iconic Australian cricketer Shane Warne threatens to subsume the “difference” of the diasporic community. Nonetheless, alongside the similarities between individuals and the various ethnic groups that make up the My Place community, important distinctions remain. Each episode begins and/or ends with the child protagonist(s) playing on or around the central motif of the series—a large fig tree—with the characters declaring that the tree is “my place.” While emphasising the importance of individuality in the project’s construction of child citizens, the cumulative effect of these “my place” sentiments, felt over time by characters from different socio-economic, ethnic, and cultural backgrounds, builds a multifaceted conception of Australian identity that consists of numerous (and complementary) “branches.” The project’s multi-platformed content further emphasises this, with the website containing an image of the prominent (literal and figurative) “Community Tree,” through which the viewser can interact with the generations of characters and families from the series (http://www.abc.net.au/abc3/myplace/). The significant role of the ABC’s My Place project showcases the ABC’s remit as a public broadcaster in the digital era. As Tim Brooke-Hunt, the Executive Head of Children’s Content, explains, if the ABC didn’t do it, no other broadcaster was going to come near it. ... I don’t expect My Place to be a humungous commercial or ratings success, but I firmly believe ... that it will be something that will exist for many years and will have a very special place. Conclusion The reversion to iconic aspects of mainstream Anglo-Australian culture is perhaps unsurprising—and certainly telling—when reflecting on the network of local, national, and global forces impacting on the development of a cultural commons. However, this does not detract from the value of the public broadcaster’s construction of child citizens within a clearly self-conscious discourse of “multiculturalism.” The transmedia intertextuality at work across ABC3 projects and platforms serves an important politicising function, offering positive representations of diasporic communities to counter the negative depictions children are exposed to elsewhere, and positioning child viewsers to “participate” in “working through” fraught issues of Australia’s past that still remain starkly relevant today.References ABC. Redefining the Town Square. ABC Annual Report. Sydney: ABC, 2009. Bennett, James, and Niki Strange. “The BBC’s Second-Shift Aesthetics: Interactive Television, Multi-Platform Projects and Public Service Content for a Digital Era.” Media International Australia: Incorporating Culture and Policy 126 (2008): 106-19. Born, Georgina. Uncertain Vision: Birt, Dyke and the Reinvention of the BBC. London: Vintage, 2004. boyd, danah. “Why Youth ♥ Social Network Sites: The Role of Networked Publics in Teenage Social Life.” Youth, Identity, and Digital Media. Ed. David Buckingham. Cambridge: MIT, 2008. 119-42. Bradford, Clare. Reading Race: Aboriginality in Australian Children’s Literature. Carlton: Melbourne UP, 2001. Brooke-Hunt, Tim. Executive Head of Children’s Content, ABC TV. Interviewed by Dr Leonie Rutherford, ABC Ultimo Center, 16 Mar. 2010. Buckingham, David. After the Death of Childhood: Growing Up in the Age of Electronic Media. Cambridge: Polity, 2000. Buckland, Jenny. Chief Executive Officer, Australian Children’s Television Foundation. Interviewed by Dr Leonie Rutherford and Dr Nina Weerakkody, ACTF, 2 June 2010. Caldwell, John T. “Second Shift Media Aesthetics: Programming, Interactivity and User Flows.” New Media: Theories and Practices of Digitextuality. Eds. John T. Caldwell and Anna Everett. London: Routledge, 2003. 127-44. Debrett, Mary. “Riding the Wave: Public Service Television in the Multiplatform Era.” Media, Culture & Society 31.5 (2009): 807-27. From, Unni. “Domestically Produced TV-Drama and Cultural Commons.” Cultural Dilemmas in Public Service Broadcasting. Eds. Gregory Ferrell Lowe and Per Jauert. Göteborg: Nordicom, 2005. 163-77. Glen, David. Executive Producer, ABC Multiplatform. Interviewed by Dr Leonie Rutherford, ABC Elsternwick, 6 July 2010. Harries, Dan. “Watching the Internet.” The New Media Book. Ed. Dan Harries. London: BFI, 2002. 171-82. Murdock, Graham. “Building the Digital Commons: Public Broadcasting in the Age of the Internet.” Cultural Dilemmas in Public Service Broadcasting. Ed. Gregory Ferrell Lowe and Per Jauert. Göteborg: Nordicom, 2005. 213–30. My Place, Volumes 1 & 2: 2008–1888. DVD. ABC, 2009. Northam, Jean A. “Rehearsals in Citizenship: BBC Stop-Motion Animation Programmes for Young Children.” Journal for Cultural Research 9.3 (2005): 245-63. Wheatley, Nadia. Making My Place. Sydney and Auckland: HarperCollins, 2010. ———, and Donna Rawlins. My Place, South Melbourne: Longman, 1988.

I was at Harry’s last night, ostensibly for a quick glass of wine. Instead it turned into a few over many hours and a rare experience of the “regular” identity. It was relatively quiet when I arrived and none of the owners were there. David [a regular] was DJing; we only vaguely acknowledged each other. He was playing great music though, and I was enjoying being there by myself for the first time in a while—looking about at other customers and trying to categorise them, and occasionally chatting to the girl next to me. My friend Angie came to join me about an hour later, and then Paul, a regular, arrived. He sat on my other side and alternated between talking to me, David [they are close friends], the staff, and other customers he knew who passed by. As the evening progressed a few more regulars arrived; the most “unconnected” regulars I can recall seeing at one time. We were sitting along the bar, making jokes about whether the manager for the evening would let us have a lock in. None of us thought so, however the joking seemed to engender a shared identity—that we were a collective of regulars, with specialised knowledge and expectations of privileges. Perhaps it only arose because we were faced with the possibility of having those privileges refused. Or because just for once there were more than one or two of us present. Evenings like that put the effort and pain of the work I put into gaining that identity into context. (Research note, 18 June 2011) Being a Harry’s Regular Harry’s is my favourite bar in my neighbourhood. It is a small wine bar, owned by three men in their late thirties and targeted at people like them; my gentrifying inner city neighbourhood’s 20 to 40 something urban middle class. Harry’s has seats along the bar, booths inside, and a courtyard out the back. The seating arrangements mean that larger groups tend to gather outside, groups of two to four spread around the location, and people by themselves, or in groups of two, tend to sit at the bar. I usually sit at the bar. Over the three or so years I’ve been patronising Harry’s I’ve developed quite an attachment to the place. It is somewhere I feel comfortable and secure, where I have met and continue to run into other neighbourhood residents, and that I approach with an openness as to how the evening may play out. The development of this attachment and sense of ease has been a cumulative process. The combination of a slow growing familiarity punctuated by particularly memorable evenings, such as the one described above, where heightened emotions coalesce into a reflexive recognition of identification and belonging. As a result I would describe myself as an irregular regular (Katovich and Reese 317). This is because whilst my patronage is sporadic, I have a regular’s expectation of recognition, as well as an awareness of the privileges and responsibilities that this identification brings. Similar processes of identification and attachment have been described in earlier ethnographic work on regulars within bars and cafes. These have described the ways that group identifications and broader cultural roles are continually renegotiated and reinforced through social interaction, and how physical and symbolic tools, such as business layout and décor, acquired knowledge, as well as non-regulars, are utilised in this process (Anderson 33–38; Katovich and Reese 324, 328, 330; Spradley and Mann 67, 69, 84). However the continuing shifts in the manner in which consumption practices shape our experiences of the urban environment (see for example Lloyd; Zukin), and of collective identification (see for example Cova, Kozinets and Shankar), suggest that ongoing investigation in this area would be fruitful. Accordingly, this paper extends this earlier work to consider the ways this kind of regular collective identification may manifest within consumption spaces in the contemporary Western inner city. In particular this research is interested in the implications for regular identification of the urban middle class’s use of consumption spaces for socialising, and the ways this can construct social realms. These realms are not fixed within physical pieces of space, and are instead dependent on the density and proportions of the relationship types that are present (Lofland 11). Whilst recognising, as per Ash Amin (“Collective Culture and Urban Public Space” 8), that physical and symbolic elements also shape our experiences of collective identification in public spaces, this paper focuses specifically on these social elements. This is not only because it is social recognition that is at the heart of regular identification, but more significantly, because the layers of meaning that social realms produce are continually shifting with the ebb and flow of people within these spaces, potentially complicating the identification process. Understanding how these shifting social realms are experienced, and may aid or undermine identification, is thus an important aspect of understanding how regular collective identification may be experienced in the contemporary city, and the key aim of this paper. To do so, this paper draws on autoethnographic research of my consumption experiences within an Australian inner city neighbourhood, conducted from September 2009 to September 2010. Through this autoethnography I sought to explore the ways consumption spaces can support experiences of place-based community, with a particular interest in the emotional and imaginative aspects of this process. The research data drawn on here comes from detailed research memos that recorded my interactions, identifications and emotional responses within these spaces. For this paper I focus specifically on my experiences of becoming a regular at Harry’s as a means of exploring regular identification in the contemporary inner city. The Shapes of Third Places in Contemporary Inner City Harry’s could be described as my third place. This term has been used to describe public locations outside of home and work that are host to regular, voluntary, informal and happily anticipated gatherings of individuals (Oldenburg 16). These regular’s bars and locals cafés have been celebrated in research and popular culture for their perceived ability to facilitate “that easier version of friendship and congeniality that results from casual and informal affiliation” (Oldenburg 65). They are said to achieve this by offering accessible, neutral spaces, where worries and inequalities are left at the door, and spirited, playful conversation is the focus of activity (Oldenburg 25, 29, 32). This is the idealised place “where everybody knows your name.” Despite the undeniable appeal of the third place concept, these types of social and inclusive consumption spaces are more likely to be seen on television, or in property development marketing, than on the shopping streets of our neighbourhoods. Instead many consumption spaces are purely that; spaces in which individual’s consume goods and services in ways that can encourage individualism, segregation, and stifle interaction. This has been attributed to a range of factors, including planning systems that encourage single use zoning, a reliance on cars limiting our use of public places, and the proliferation of shopping centres that focus on individualised consumption and manufactured experiences (Lofland 145, 205, 218; Oldenburg 61). In addition, the fundamentals of running a successful business can also work against a consumption space’s accessibility and neutrality. This is because location, décor, product offering, pricing, competition, and advertising practices all physically and symbolically communicate a desired target audience and expected behaviour patterns that can implicitly shape customer interactions, and the meanings we attach to them (Bitner 61; Sherry 4). More subtlety, the changing lifestyle preferences of residents of gentrifying neighbourhoods such as mine, may also work as a barrier to the development of third places. Research tells us that the urban middle class is a demographic which engages in a broad range of lifestyle-based consumption activities for socialising purposes and as part of their identity construction (Lloyd 122; Zukin 7). However this is also a demographic that is said to be increasingly mobile, and thus less restricted by geographic boundaries, such as of the neighbourhood they live in (Amin, “Re-Thinking the Urban Social” 107). As I noted above, it was not often that I experienced a critical mass of regulars at Harry’s, indeed I rarely expected to. This is because whilst Harry’s target demographic would seem likely candidates for becoming regular café or bar customers, they are also likely to be socialising in a number of different cafés, bars, and restaurants across a number of different neighbourhoods in my city, thus reducing the frequency of their presence within any one particular location. Finally, even those consumption spaces that do support social interaction may still not be operating as third places. This is because this sociality can alter a space’s level of openness, through the realms that it constructs (Lofland 11). Lofland (14) describes three types of social realms: public, parochial, and private. Private realms are dominated by intimate relations, parochial realms by communal relations, and the public realm by relations with people who are only categorically known. According to this classification, the regular’s café or bar is primarily operating as a parochial realm, identifiable by the shared sense of commonality that defines the regular collective. However naming the regular identification of the third place as the product of a social realm also highlights its fragility, and suggests that instead of being reliable and able to be anticipated, that the collective identification such spaces offers is uncertain, and easily disrupted by the shifts in patronage and patterns of interaction that consumption based socialising can bring. This is fluidity is articulated in the work of Veronique Aubert-Gamet and Bernard Cova, who describe two ways consumption spaces can support public collective identification; as anchoring and exposure sites. Anchoring sites are those within which an established collective gathers to interact and reinforce their shared identity (Aubert-Gamet and Cova 40). These are parochial realms in their more closed form, and are perhaps most likely to offer the certainty of the happily anticipated gathering that Ray Oldenburg describes. However because of this they are also more likely to be exclusionary. This is because anchoring can limit collective identification to those who are recognised as community members, thus undermining the potential for openness. This openness is instead found within exposure sites, in which individuals are able to observe and engage with the identification practices of others at limited risk (Aubert-Gamet and Cova 41). This is not quite the anomie of the public street, but neither is it the security of anchoring or the third place. This is because exposure realms can offer both familiarity, such as through the stability of physical setting, and strangeness, through the transience of customers and relationships. Furthermore, by hovering at the ever shifting boundary of parochial and public realms, these moments of exposure may offer the potential for the type of spontaneous conviviality that has been proposed as the basis for fleeting collective identifications (Amin, “Collective Culture and Urban Public Space” 10; Maffesoli). That is, it may be that when a potential third place is dominated by an exposure realm, it is experienced as open and accessible, whereas when an anchoring realm dominates, the security of collective identification takes precedence. It is the potential of social interaction at the boundaries of these realms and the ways it shapes regular identification that is of interest to this paper. This is because it is in this shifting space that identifications themselves are most fluid, unpredictable, and thus open to opportunistic breaches in the patterns of interaction. This unpredictability, and the interaction strategies we adopt to negotiate it, may also suggest ways in which a certain kind of third place experience can be developed and maintained in the contemporary inner city, where consumption based socialising is high, but where people are also mobile and less tied into fixed patterns of patronage. The remainder of the paper draws on my experiences of regular identification in Harry’s to consider how this might work. Becoming a Harry’s Regular: Anchoring and the Regular Collective The Harry’s regular collective is formed from a loose social network of neighbourhood residents, variably connected through long established friendships and more recently established consumption space based acquaintances. Evenings such as the one described above work to reinforce that shared identity and the specialised knowledge that underpins it; of the quirks of the owners and staff, of our privileges and responsibilities as regulars, and of the shared cultural identity that reflects a specific aspect of the gentrifying neighbourhood in which we live. However, achieving this level of identification and belonging has not been not easy. Whilst Oldenburg suggests that to establish third place membership one mainly just turns up regularly and tries not to be obnoxious (35), my experience instead suggests it’s a slightly more complicated, and emotional process, that is not always positive. My research notes indicate that discontent, worry, and shame, were as much a feature of my interactions in Harry’s, as were moments of joy, excitement, or an optimistic feeling of connection. This paper suggests that these negative experiences often stemmed from the confusion created by the shifting realms of interaction that occurred within the bar. This is because whilst Harry’s appeared to be a regular’s bar, it more often operated as an anchoring realm for a social network linked to the owners. Many of Harry’s regulars were established friends of the owners, and their shared identity definition appeared to be based on those primary ties. Whilst over time I became acquainted with some of this social network through my patronage, their dominance of the regular group had important implications for the collective identification I was trying to achieve. It created a realm that appeared to be parochial, but often became private, through simple acts such as the arrival of additional social network members, or a staff member shifting their orientation to another, from regular customer to friend. One consequence of these shifting realms was that my perceived inability to penetrate this anchored social network led me to doubt the value and presence of a broader consumption space based regular collective. The boundaries between private, parochial, and public appeared rigid, with no potential for cumulative impacts from fleeting connections in the public realm. It also made me question my motives regarding this desire to identify as suggested here: Thinking about tonight and Kevin [an owner] and Lucas [staff member] and introductions and realising I feel a bit let down/disappointed about the lack of something from them. But I realise also that is because I am wanting something more from them than the superficial I keep on going on about. I want recognition, as a person worth knowing. And that is perhaps where the thing of doing it by yourself falls down. I have an emotional investment in it. … Linking back to my previous thoughts about being able to be placed within a social network—having that emotional certainty of being able to be identified as part of a specific social network would reinforce to ME, who I am within this place. That I had some kind of identifiable position—which is not about superficial connections at all—it’s about recognisable strong ties. (Research note, 2 February 2009) As this excerpt suggests, I struggled to appreciate the identification within my interactions in Harry’s, because I had difficulty separating my emotional need for recognition from the implication that a lack of acknowledgement beyond the superficial I theoretically expected was a social rejection. That is, I had difficulty negotiating the boundary between the parochial realm of the regular collective, and its manifestation as a more closed private realm for the anchored social network. I expected regular, voluntary, informal and happily anticipated gatherings (Oldenburg 16), instead what I got was the brief hellos and limited yet enjoyable conversations that mark the sociality of public collective identifications. It could be suggested that what I also failed to grasp here is the difference between regularity as collective and as an individual identification. It is the collective identity that is reinforced in the parochial realm, as is evident in the description that opened this paper, and yet what I hoped for was recognition as an individual, “a person worth knowing.” However as the following section will suggest, the regular identity can also be experienced, and actively embraced, as an individual identity within realms of exposure. And it is through this version of the regular identity, that this paper suggests that some kind of personal recognition is able to be achieved. Becoming a Harry’s Regular: Exposing the Regular as Individual Given the level of comfort and connection expressed within the research excerpt that opened this paper, it is clear that I overcame the uncertainty described in the previous section, and was able to establish myself within the Harry’s regular collective. This is despite, as noted above, that both the presence and openness of Harry’s regular collective was unpredictable. However, this uncertainty also created a tension that could be said to positively increase the openness of the space. This is because it challenged the predictability that can be associated with anchored regularity, and instead forced me to look outside that identity for those reliable moments of easy friendship and congeniality within realms of exposure. That is, because of the uncertainty regarding both the presence and openness of established regulars, I often turned to fleeting interactions with non-regulars to generate that sense of identification. The influence of non-regulars can be downplayed in ethnographies of cafes and bars, perhaps because they tend to be excluded from the primary group’s identifications that are being investigated. Michael Katovich and William Reese provide the most detailed description of their relevance to the regular identity when they describe how the non-regulars in the Big Derby Lounge were used as tools against which established regulars compared their position and standing, as well as being a potential pool of recruits (336). This paper argues that non-regulars are also significant because their presence alters the realms operating within the space, thus creating opportunities for interactions at those boundaries that can be identity defining. My interactions with non-regulars in Harry’s generally offered the opportunity for spirited, playful and at times quite involved conversations, in which acquired knowledge, familiarity with staff or products, or simple statements of attachment were sufficient markers to establish an experience of regular identification in the eyes of the other. Whilst at times the density of these strangers altered Harry’s realms to the extent I did not feel at home at all, they nonetheless provided an avenue through which to remedy the uncertainties created by my interactions with the anchored social network. These non-regular interactions were able to do this because they operated at the low emotional involvement but high emotional gain boundary between fleeting public realm relations, and more meaningful experiences of exposure, where shared values and identities are on display. That is, I was confirming my regular identity not through an experience of the regular collective, but through an experience of being an individual and a regular. And in each successful encounter there was also the affirmation I had unsuccessfully sought through the regular collective, the emotional certainty that I had some kind of identifiable position within that place. Conclusion: Anchoring and Exposing in the Third Place This paper has drawn from my experiences in Harry’s to explore the process of regular identification as it operates at the boundaries of social realms. This focus provides a means to explore the ways that regular collective identification may develop in the contemporary inner city, where regularity can be sporadic and consumption based socialising is common. Drawing on autoethnographic work, this paper suggests that regularity is experienced both as an individual and a collective identity, according to the nature of the realms operating within the space. Collective identification occurs in anchoring realms, and supports the established regular group, whereas individual regular identification occurs within exposure realms, and relies on recognition from willing non-regulars. Furthermore, this paper suggests it is the latter of these identifications that is the more easily achieved, because it can be experienced at the exposure boundaries of the parochial realm, a less risky and more accessible place to identify when patronage is infrequent and social realms so fluid. It is this use of non-regular relations to balance the emotional work involved in the development of anchored relationships that I believe points to the true potential of third places in the contemporary inner city. Establishing a place where everybody knows your name is improbable in this context. However encouraging consumption spaces in which an individual’s regular patronage can form the basis of an identification, from which one can both anchor and expose, may ultimately work to support a kind of contemporary inner city version of the easier friendship and congeniality that the third place is hoped to offer. References Amin, Ash. “Collective Culture and Urban Public Space.” City 12.1 (2008): 5–24. ———. “Re-Thinking the Urban Social.” City 11.1 (2007): 100–14. Anderson, Elijah. A Place on the Corner. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1978. Aubert-Gamet, Veronique, and Bernard Cova. “Servicescapes: From Modern Non-Places to Postmodern Common Places.” Journal of Business Research 44 (1999): 37–45. Bitner, Mary Jo. “Servicescapes: The Impact of Physical Surroundings on Customers and Employees.” Journal of Marketing 56 (Apr. 1992): 57–71. Cova, Bernard, Robert V. Kozinets, and Avi Shankar. Eds. Consumer Tribes, Oxford: Butterworth-Heinemann, 2007. Katovich, Michael A., and William A. Reese II. “The Regular: Full-Time Identities and Memberships in an Urban Bar.” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography 16.3 (1987): 308–43. Lloyd, Richard. Neo-Bohemia: Art and Commerce in the Post-Industrial City. New York: Routledge, 2006. Lofland, Lyn H. The Public Realm: Exploring the City's Quintessential Social Territory. Hawthorne, New York: Aldine De Gruyter, 1998. Maffesoli, Michel. The Times of the Tribes: The Decline of Individualism in Mass Society. Trans. Don Smith. London: Sage, 1996. Oldenburg, Ray. The Great Good Place: Cafes. Coffee Shops, Bookstores, Bars, Hair Salons and Other Hangouts at the Heart of a Community. New York: Marlowe and Company, 1999. Sherry, John F., Jr. “Understanding Markets as Places: An Introduction to Servicescapes.” Servicescapes: The Concept of Place in Contemporary Markets. Ed. John F. Sherry, Jr. Chicago: NTC Business Books, 1998. 1–24. Spradley, James P., and Barbara J. Mann. The Cocktail Waitress: Woman’s Work in a Man’s World. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1975. Zukin, Sharon. Naked City: The Death and Life of Authentic Urban Places. New York: Oxford UP, 2010.

In PilsenTwenty-six Station Road,She climbed to the third floorUp stairs which were all that was leftOf the whole house,She opened her doorFull on to the sky,Stood gaping over the edge.For this was the placeThe world ended.Thenshe locked up carefullylest someone stealSiriusor Aldebaranfrom her kitchen,went back downstairsand settled herselfto waitfor the house to rise againand for her husband to rise from the ashesand for her children’s hands and feet to be stuck back in placeIn the morning they found herstill as stone, sparrows pecking her hands.Five Minutes after the Air Raidby Miroslav Holub(Calder 287) Holding Still Detonation. Affect. During the Second World War, London and other European cities were subjected to the terrors of aerial bombardment, rendered through nightmarish anticipations of the bomber (Gollin 7) and the material storm of the real air-raid. The fall of bombs plagued cities and their citizens with the terrible rain of explosives and incendiary weapons. A volatile landscape was formed as the urban environment was ‘unmade’ and urged into violent motion. Flying projectiles of shrapnel, debris and people; avalanches of collapsing factories and houses; the inhale and exhale of compressed air and firestorms; the scream of the explosion. All these composed an incredibly fluid urban traumatic, as atmospheres fell over the cities that was thick with smoke, dust, and ventilated only by terror (see for instance Sebald 10 and Mendieta’s 3 recent commentary). Vast craters were imprinted onto the charred morphologies of London and Berlin as well as Coventry, Hamburg and Dresden. Just as the punctuations of the bombing saw the psychic as well as the material give way, writers portraying Britain as an ‘volcano island’ (Spaight 5) witnessed eruptive projections – the volleys of the material air-war; the emotional signature of charged and bitter reprisals; pain, anguish and vengeance - counter-strikes of affect. In the midst of all of this molten violence and emotion it seems impossible that a simultaneous sense of quiescence could be at all possible. More than mere physical fixity or geographical stasis, a rather different sort of experience could take place. Preceding, during and following the excessive mobilisation of an air raid, ‘stillness’ was often used to describe certain plateuing stretches of time-space which were slowed and even stopped (Anderson 740). Between the eruptions appeared hollows of calm and even boredom. People’s nervous flinching under the reverberation of high-explosive blasts formed part of what Jordan Crandall might call a ‘bodily-inclination’ position. Slackened and taut feelings condensed around people listening out for the oncoming bomber. People found that they prepared for the dreadful wail of the siren, or relaxed in the aftermath of the attack. In these instances, states of tension and apprehension as well as calm and relief formed though stillness. The peculiar experiences of ‘stillness’ articulated in these events open out, I suggest, distinctive ways-of-being which undo our assumptions of perpetually fluid subjectivities and the primacy of the ‘body in motion’ even within the context of unparalleled movement and uncertainty (see Harrison 423 and also Rose and Wylie 477 for theoretical critique). The sorts of “musics of stillness and silence able to be discovered in a world of movement” (Thrift, Still 50), add to our understandings of the material geographies of war and terror (see for instance Graham 63; Gregory and Pred 3), whilst they gesture towards complex material-affective experiences of bodies and spaces. Stillness in this sense, denotes apprehending and anticipating spaces and events in ways that sees the body enveloped within the movement of the environment around it; bobbing along intensities that course their way through it; positioned towards pasts and futures that make themselves felt, and becoming capable of intense forms of experience and thought. These examples illustrate not a shutting down of the body to an inwardly focused position – albeit composed by complex relations and connections – but bodies finely attuned to their exteriors (see Bissell, Animating 277 and Conradson 33). In this paper I draw from a range of oral and written testimony archived at the Imperial War Museum and the Mass Observation wartime regular reports. Edited publications from these collections were also consulted. Detailing the experience of aerial bombing during the Blitz, particularly on London between September 1940 to May 1941, forms part of a wider project concerning the calculative and affective dimensions of the aeroplane’s relationship with the human body, especially through the spaces it has worked to construct (infrastructures such as airports) and destroy. While appearing extraordinary, the examples I use are actually fairly typical of the patternings of experience and the depth and clarity with which they are told. They could be taken to be representative of the population as a whole or coincidentally similar testimonials. Either way, they are couched within a specific cultural historical context of urgency, threat and unparalleled violence.Anticipations The complex material geographies of an air raid reveal the ecological interdependencies of populations and their often urban environments and metabolisms (Coward 419; Davis 3; Graham 63; Gregory The Colonial 19; Hewitt Place 257). Aerial warfare was an address of populations conceived at the register of their bio-rhythmical and metabolic relationship to their milieu (Adey). The Blitz and the subsequent Allied bombing campaign constituted Churchill’s ‘great experiment’ for governments attempting to assess the damage an air raid could inflict upon a population’s nerves and morale (Brittain 77; Gregory In Another 88). An anxious and uncertain landscape constructed before the war, perpetuated by public officials, commentators and members of parliament, saw background affects (Ngai 5) of urgency creating an atmosphere that pressurised and squeezed the population to prepare for the ‘gathering storm’. Attacks upon the atmosphere itself had been readily predicted in the form of threatening gas attacks ready to poison the medium upon which human and animal life depended (Haldane 111; Sloterdijk 41-57). One of the most talked of moments of the Blitz is not necessarily the action but the times of stillness that preceded it. Before and in-between an air raid stillness appears to describe a state rendered somewhere between the lulls and silences of the action and the warnings and the anticipatory feelings of what might happen. In the awaiting bodies, the materialites of silence could be felt as a kind-of-sound and as an atmospheric sense of imminence. At the onset of the first air-raids sound became a signifier of what was on the way (MO 408). Waiting – as both practice and sensation – imparted considerable inertia that went back and forth through time (Jeffrey 956; Massumi, Parables 3). For Geographer Kenneth Hewitt, sound “told of the coming raiders, the nearness of bombs, the plight of loved ones” (When the 16). The enormous social survey of Mass Observation concluded that “fear seems to be linked above all with noise” (original emphasis). As one report found, “It is the siren or the whistle or the explosion or the drone – these are the things that terrify. Fear seems to come to us most of all through our sense of hearing” (MO 378). Yet the power of the siren came not only from its capacity to propagate sound and to alert, but the warning held in its voice of ‘keeping silent’. “Prefacing in a dire prolepsis the post-apocalyptic event before the event”, as Bishop and Phillips (97) put it, the stillness of silence was incredibly virtual in its affects, disclosing - in its lack of life – the lives that would be later taken. Devastation was expected and rehearsed by civilians. Stillness formed a space and body ready to spring into movement – an ‘imminent mobility’ as John Armitage (204) has described it. Perched on the edge of devastation, space-times were felt through a sense of impending doom. Fatalistic yet composed expectations of a bomb heading straight down pervaded the thoughts and feelings of shelter dwellers (MO 253; MO 217). Waves of sound disrupted fragile tempers as they passed through the waiting bodies in the physical language of tensed muscles and gritted teeth (Gaskin 36). Silence helped form bodies inclined-to-attention, particularly sensitive to aural disturbances and vibrations from all around. Walls, floors and objects carried an urban bass-line of warning (Goodman). Stillness was forged through a body readied in advance of the violence these materialities signified. A calm and composed body was not necessarily an immobile body. Civilians who had prepared for the attacks were ready to snap into action - to dutifully wear their gas-mask or escape to shelter. ‘Backgrounds of expectation’ (Thrift, Still 36) were forged through non-too-subtle procedural and sequential movements which opened-out new modes of thinking and feeling. Folding one’s clothes and placing them on the dresser in-readiness; pillows and sheets prepared for a spell in the shelter, these were some of many orderly examples (IWM 14595). In the event of a gas attack air raid precautions instructions advised how to put on a gas mask (ARPD 90-92),i) Hold the breath. ii) Remove headgear and place between the knees. iii) Lift the flap of the haversack [ …] iv) Bring the face-piece towards the face’[…](v) Breathe out and continue to breathe in a normal manner The rational technologies of drill, dressage and operational research enabled poise in the face of an eventual air-raid. Through this ‘logistical-life’ (Reid 17), thought was directed towards simple tasks by minutely described instructions. Stilled LifeThe end of stillness was usually marked by a reactionary ‘flinch’, ‘start’ or ‘jump’. Such reactionary ‘urgent analogs’ (Ngai 94; Tomkins 96) often occurred as a response to sounds and movements that merely broke the tension rather than accurately mimicking an air raid. These atmospheres were brittle and easily disrupted. Cars back-firing and changing gear were often complained about (MO 371), just as bringing people out of the quiescence of sleep was a common effect of air-raids (Kraftl and Horton 509). Disorientation was usually fostered in this process while people found it very difficult to carry out the most simple of tasks. Putting one’s clothes on or even making their way out of the bedroom door became enormously problematic. Sirens awoke a ‘conditioned reflex’ to take cover (MO 364). Long periods of sleep deprivation brought on considerable fatigue and anxiety. ‘Sleep we Must’ wrote journalist Ritchie Calder (252) noticing the invigorating powers of sleep for both urban morale and the bare existence of survival. For other more traumatized members of the population, psychological studies found that the sustained concentration of shelling caused what was named ‘apathy-retreat’ (Harrisson, Living 65). This extreme form of acquiescence saw especially susceptible and vulnerable civilians suffer an overwhelming urge to sleep and to be cared-for ‘as if chronically ill’ (Janis 90). A class and racial politics of quiescent affect was enacted as several members of the population were believed far more liable to ‘give way’ to defeat and dangerous emotions (Brittain 77; Committee of Imperial Defence).In other cases it was only once an air-raid had started that sleep could be found (MO 253). The boredom of waiting could gather in its intensity deforming bodies with “the doom of depression” (Anderson 749). The stopped time-spaces in advance of a raid could be soaked with so much tension that the commencement of sirens, vibrations and explosions would allow a person overwhelming relief (MO 253). Quoting from a boy recalling his experiences in Hannover during 1943, Hewitt illustrates:I lie in bed. I am afraid. I strain my ears to hear something but still all is quiet. I hardly dare breathe, as if something horrible is knocking at the door, at the windows. Is it the beating of my heart? ... Suddenly there seems relief, the sirens howl into the night ... (Heimatbund Niedersachsen 1953: 185). (Cited in Hewitt, When 16)Once a state of still was lost getting it back required some effort (Bissell, Comfortable 1697). Cautious of preventing mass panic and public hysteria by allowing the body to erupt outwards into dangerous vectors of mobility, the British government’s schooling in the theories of panicology (Orr 12) and contagious affect (Le Bon 17; Tarde 278; Thrift, Intensities 57; Trotter 140), made air raid precautions (ARP) officers, police and civil defence teams enforce ‘stay put’ and ‘hold firm’ orders to protect the population (Jones et al, Civilian Morale 463, Public Panic 63-64; Thomas 16). Such orders were meant to shield against precisely the kinds of volatile bodies they were trying to compel with their own bombing strategies. Reactions to the Blitz were moralised and racialised. Becoming stilled required self-conscious work by a public anxious not to be seen to ‘panic’. This took the form of self-disciplination. People exhausted considerable energy to ‘settle’ themselves down. It required ‘holding’ themselves still and ‘together’ in order to accomplish this state, and to avoid going the same way as the buildings falling apart around them, as some people observed (MO 408). In Britain a cup of tea was often made as a spontaneous response in the event of the conclusion of a raid (Brown 686). As well as destroying bombing created spaces too – making space for stillness (Conradson 33). Many people found that they could recall their experiences in vivid detail, allocating a significant proportion of their memories to the recollection of the self and an awareness of their surroundings (IWM 19103). In this mode of stillness, contemplation did not turn-inwards but unfolded out towards the environment. The material processual movement of the shell-blast literally evacuated all sound and materials from its centre to leave a vacuum of negative pressure. Diaries and oral testimonies stretch out these millisecond events into discernable times and spaces of sensation, thought and the experience of experience (Massumi, Parables 2). Extraordinarily, survivors mention serene feelings of quiet within the eye of the blast (see Mortimer 239); they had, literally, ‘no time to be frightened’ (Crighton-Miller 6150). A shell explosion could create such intensities of stillness that a sudden and distinctive lessening of the person and world are expressed, constituting ‘stilling-slowing diminishments’ (Anderson 744). As if the blast-vacuum had sucked all the animation from their agency, recollections convey passivity and, paradoxically, a much more heightened and contemplative sense of the moment (Bourke 121; Thrift, Still 41). More lucid accounts describe a multitude of thoughts and an attention to minute detail. Alternatively, the enormous peaking of a waking blast subdued all later activities to relative obsolescence. The hurricane of sounds and air appear to overload into the flatness of an extended and calmed instantaneous present.Then the whistling stopped, then a terrific thump as it hit the ground, and everything seem to expand, then contract with deliberation and stillness seemed to be all around. (As recollected by Bill and Vi Reagan in Gaskin 17)On the other hand, as Schivelbusch (7) shows us in his exploration of defeat, the cessation of war could be met with an outburst of feeling. In these micro-moments a close encounter with death was often experienced with elation, a feeling of peace and well-being drawn through a much more heightened sense of the now (MO 253). These are not pre-formed or contemplative techniques of attunement as Thrift has tracked, but are the consequence of significant trauma and the primal reaction to extreme danger.TracesSusan Griffin’s haunting A Chorus of Stones documents what she describes as a private life of war (1). For Griffin, and as shown in these brief examples, stillness and being-stilled describe a series of diverse experiences endured during aerial bombing. Yet, as Griffin narrates, these are not-so private lives. A common representation of air war can be found in Henry Moore’s tube shelter sketches which convey sleeping tube-dwellers harboured in the London underground during the Blitz. The bodies are represented as much more than individuals being connected by Moore’s wave-like shapes into the turbulent aggregation of a choppy ocean. What we see in Moore’s portrayal and the examples discussed already are experiences with definite relations to both inner and outer worlds. They refer to more-than individuals who bear intimate relations to their outsides and the atmospheric and material environments enveloping and searing through them. Stillness was an unlikely state composed through these circulations just as it was formed as a means of address. It was required in order to apprehend sounds and possible events through techniques of listening or waiting. Alternatively being stilled could refer to pauses between air-strikes and the corresponding breaks of tension in the aftermath of a raid. Stillness was composed through a series of distributed yet interconnecting bodies, feelings, materials and atmospheres oriented towards the future and the past. The ruins of bombed-out building forms stand as traces even today. Just as Massumi (Sensing 16) describes in the context of architecture, the now static remainder of the explosion “envelops in its stillness a deformational field of which it stands as the trace”. The ruined forms left after the attack stand as a “monument” of the passing of the raid to be what it once was – house, factory, shop, restaurant, library - and to become something else. The experience of those ‘from below’ (Hewitt 2) suffering contemporary forms of air-warfare share many parallels with those of the Blitz. Air power continues to target, apparently more precisely, the affective tones of the body. Accessed by kinetic and non-kinetic forces, the signs of air-war are generated by the shelling of Kosovo, ‘shock and awe’ in Iraq, air-strikes in Afghanistan and by the simulated air-raids of IDF aircraft producing sonic-booms over sleeping Palestinian civilians, now becoming far more real as I write in the final days of 2008. Achieving stillness in the wake of aerial trauma remains, even now, a way to survive the (private) life of air war. AcknowledgementsI’d like to thank the editors and particularly the referees for such a close reading of the article; time did not permit the attention their suggestions demanded. Grateful acknowledgement is also made to the AHRC whose funding allowed me to research and write this paper. ReferencesAdey, Peter. Aerial Geographies: Mobilities, Bodies and Subjects. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010 (forthcoming). 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Previously limited and somewhat neglected as a focus of academic scrutiny, interest in home and domesticity is now growing apace across the humanities and social sciences (Mallett; Blunt, “Cultural Geographies of Home”; Blunt and Dowling). This is evidenced in the recent publication of a range of books on home from various disciplines (Chapman and Hockey; Cieraad; Miller; Chapman; Pink; Blunt and Dowling), the advent in 2004 of a new journal, Home Cultures, focused specifically on the subject of home and domesticity, as well as similar recent special issues in several other journals, including Antipode, Cultural Geographies, Signs and Housing, Theory and Society. This increased interest in the home as a site of social and cultural inquiry reflects a renewed fascination with home and domesticity in the media, popular culture and everyday life. Domestic life is explicitly central to the plot and setting of many popular and/or critically-acclaimed television programs, especially suburban dramas like Neighbours [Australia], Coronation Street [UK], Desperate Housewives [US] and The Secret Life of Us [Australia]. The deeply-held value of home – as a place that must be saved or found – is also keenly represented in films such as The Castle [Australia], Floating Life [Australia], Rabbit-Proof Fence [Australia], House of Sand and Fog [US], My Life as a House [US] and Under the Tuscan Sun [US]. But the prominence of home in popular media imaginaries of Australia and other Western societies runs deeper than as a mere backdrop for entertainment. Perhaps most telling of all is the rise and ratings success of a range of reality and/or lifestyle television programs which provide their audiences with key information on buying, building, renovating, designing and decorating home. In Australia, these include Backyard Blitz , Renovation Rescue, The Block, Changing Rooms, DIY Rescue, Location, Location and Our House. Likewise, popular magazines like Better Homes and Gardens and Australian Vogue Living tell us how to make our homes more beautiful and functional. Other reality programs, meanwhile, focus on how we might secure the borders of our suburban homes (Crimewatch [UK]) and our homeland (Border Security [Australia]). Home is also a strong theme in other media forms and debates, including life writing, novels, art and public dialogue about immigration and national values (see Blunt and Dowling). Indeed, notions of home increasingly frame ‘real world’ experiences, “especially for the historically unprecedented number of people migrating across countries”, where movement and resettlement are often configured through processes of leaving and establishing home (Blunt and Dowling 2). In this issue of M/C Journal we contribute to these critical voices and popular debates, seeking to further untangle the intricate and multi-layered connections between home and everyday life in the contemporary world. Before introducing the articles comprising this issue, we want to extend some of the key themes that weave through academic and popular discussions of home and domesticity, and which are taken up and extended here by the subsequent articles. Home is powerful, emotive and multi-faceted. As a basic desire for many, home is saturated with the meanings, memories, emotions, experiences and relationships of everyday life. The idea and place of home is perhaps typically configured through a positive sense of attachment, as a place of belonging, intimacy, security, relationship and selfhood. Indeed, many reinforce their sense of self, their identity, through an investment in their home, whether as house, hometown or homeland. But at the same time, home is not always a well-spring of succour and goodness; others experience alienation, rejection, hostility, danger and fear ‘at home’. Home can be a site of domestic violence or ‘house arrest’; young gay men and lesbians may feel alienated in the family home; asylum seekers are banished from their homelands; indigenous peoples are often dispossessed of their homelands; refugees might be isolated from a sense of belonging in their new home(land)s. But while this may seriously mitigate the affirmative experience of home, many still yearn for places, both figurative and material, to call ‘home’ – places of support, nourishment and belonging. The experience of violence, loss, marginalisation or dispossession can trigger, in Michael Brown’s words, “the search for a new place to call home”: “it means having to relocate oneself, to leave home and reconfigure it elsewhere” (50). Home, in this sense, understood as an ambiguous site of both belonging and alienation, is not a fixed and static location which ‘grounds’ an essential and unchanging sense of self. Rather, home is a process. If home enfolds and carries some sense of desire for positive feelings of attachment – and the papers in this special issue certainly suggest so, most quite explicitly – then equally this is a relationship that requires ongoing maintenance. Blunt and Dowling call these processes ‘homemaking practices’, and point to how home must be understood as a lived space which is “continually created and recreated through everyday practices” (23). In this way, home is posited as relational – the ever-changing outcome of the ongoing and mediated interaction between self, others and place. What stands out in much of the above discussion is the deep inter-connection between home, identity and self. Across the humanities and social sciences, home has been keenly explored as a crucial site “for the construction and reconstruction of one’s self” (Young 153). Indeed, Blunt and Dowling contend that “home as a place and an imaginary constitutes identities – people’s sense of themselves are related to and produced through lived and imaginative experiences of home” (24). Thus, through various homemaking practices, individuals generate a sense of self (and social groups produce a sense of collective identity) while they create a place called home. Moreover, as a relational entity, neither home nor identity are fixed, but mutually and ongoingly co-constituted. Homemaking enables changing and cumulative identities to be materialised in and supported by the home (Blunt and Dowling). Unfolding identities are progressively embedded and reflected in the home through both everyday practices and routines (Wise; Young), and accumulating and arranging personally meaningful objects (Marcoux; Noble, “Accumulating Being”). Consequently, as one ‘makes home’, one accumulates a sense of self. Given these intimate material and affective links between home, self and identity, it is perhaps not surprising that writing about a place called home has often been approached autobiographically (Blunt and Dowling). Emphasising the importance of autobiographical accounts for understanding home, Blunt argues that “through their accounts of personal memories and everyday experiences, life stories provide a particularly rich source for studying home and identity” (“Home and Identity”, 73). We draw attention to the importance of autobiographical accounts of home because this approach is prominent across the papers comprising this issue of M/C Journal. The authors have used autobiographical reflections to consider the meanings of home and processes of homemaking operating at various scales. Three papers – by Brett Mills, Lisa Slater and Nahid Kabir – are explicitly autobiographical, weaving scholarly arguments through deeply personal experiences, and thus providing evocative first-hand accounts of the power of home in the contemporary world. At the same time, several other authors – including Melissa Gregg, Gilbert Caluya and Jennifer Gamble – use personal experiences about home, belonging and exclusion to introduce or illustrate their scholarly contentions about home, self and identity. As this discussion suggests, home is relational in another way, too: it is the outcome of a relationship between material and imaginative qualities. Home is somewhere – it is situated, located, emplaced. But it is also much more than a location – as suggested by the saying, ‘A house is not a home’. Rather, a house becomes a home when it is imbued with a range of meanings, feelings and experiences by its occupants. Home, thus, is a fusion of the imaginative and affective – what we envision and desire home to be – intertwined with the material and physical – an actual location which can embody and realise our need for belonging, affirmation and sustenance. Blunt and Dowling capture this relationship between emplacement and emotion – the material and the imaginative – with their powerful assertion of home as a spatial imaginary, where “home is neither the dwelling nor the feeling, but the relation between the two” (22). Moreover, they demonstrate that this conceptualisation also detaches ‘home’ from ‘dwelling’ per se, and invokes the creation of home – as a space and feeling of belonging – at sites and scales beyond the domestic house. Instead, as a spatial imaginary, home takes form as “a set of intersecting and variable ideas and feelings, which are related to context, and which construct places, extend across spaces and scales, and connects places” (Blunt and Dowling 2). The concept of home, then, entails complex scalarity: indeed, it is a multi-scalar spatial imaginary. Put quite simply, scale is a geographical concept which draws attention to the layered arenas of everyday life – body, house, neighbourhood, city, region, nation and globe, for instance – and this terminology can help extend our understanding of home. Certainly, for many, house and home are conflated, so that a sense of home is coterminous with a physical dwelling structure (e.g. Dupuis and Thorns). For others, however, home is signified by intimate familial or community relationships which extend beyond the residence and stretch across a neighbourhood (e.g. Moss). And moreover, without contradiction, we can speak of hometowns and homelands, so that home can be felt at the scale of the town, city, region or nation (e.g. Blunt, Domicile and Diaspora). For others – international migrants and refugees, global workers, communities of mixed descent – home can be stretched into transnational belongings (e.g. Blunt, “Cultural Geographies of Home”). But this notion of home as a multi-scalar spatial imaginary is yet more complicated. While the above arenas (house, neighbourhood, nation, globe, etc.) are often simply posited as discrete territories, they also intersect and interact in complex ways (Massey; Marston). Extending this perspective, we can grasp the possibility of personal and collective homemaking processes operating across multiple scales simultaneously. For instance, making a house into a home invariably involves generating a sense of home and familiarity in a wider neighbourhood or nation-state. Indeed, Greg Noble points out that homemaking at the scale of the dwelling can be inflected by broader social and national values which are reflected materially in the house, in “the furniture of everyday life” (“Comfortable and Relaxed”, 55) – landscape paintings and national flags and ornaments, for example. He demonstrates that “homes articulate domestic spaces to national experience” (54). For others – those moving internationally between nation-states – domestic practices in dwelling structures are informed by cultural values and social ideals which extend well beyond the nation of settlement. Everyday domestic practices from one’s ‘land of origin’ are integral for ‘making home’ in a new house, neighbourhood and country at the same time (Hage). Many of the papers in this issue reflect upon the multi-scalarity of homemaking processes, showing how home must be generated across the multiple intersecting arenas of everyday life simultaneously. Indeed, given this prominence across the papers, we have chosen to use the scale of home as our organising principle for this issue. We begin with the links between the body – the geography closest to our skin (McDowell) – the home, and other scales, and then wind our way out through evocations of home at the intersecting scales of the house, the neighbourhood, the city, the nation and the diasporic. The rhetoric of home and belonging not only suggests which types of places can be posited as home (e.g. houses, neighbourhoods, nations), but also valorises some social relations and embodied identities as homely and others as unhomely (Blunt and Dowling; Gorman-Murray). The dominant ideology of home in the Anglophonic West revolves around the imaginary ‘ideal’ of white, middle-class, heterosexual nuclear family households in suburban dwellings (Blunt and Dowling). In our lead paper, Melissa Gregg explores how the ongoing normalisation of this particular conception of home in Australian politico-cultural discourse affects two marginalised social groups – sexual minorities and indigenous Australians. Her analysis is timely, responding to recent political attention to the domestic lives of both groups. Scrutinising the disciplinary power of ‘normal homes’, Gregg explores how unhomely (queer and indigenous) subjects and relationships unsettle the links between homely bodies, ideal household forms and national belonging in politico-cultural rhetoric. Importantly, she draws attention to the common experiences of these marginalised groups, urging “queer and black activists to join forces against wider tendencies that affect both communities”. Our first few papers then continue to investigate intersections between bodies, houses and neighbourhoods. Moving to the American context – but quite recognisable in Australia – Lisa Roney examines the connection between bodies and houses on the US lifestyle program, Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, in which families with disabled members are over-represented as subjects in need of home renovations. Like Gregg, Roney demonstrates that the rhetoric of home is haunted by the issue of ‘normalisation’ – in this case, EMHE ‘corrects’ and normalises disabled bodies through providing ‘ideal’ houses. In doing so, there is often a disjuncture between the homely ideal and what would be most helpful for the everyday domestic lives of these subjects. From an architectural perspective, Marian Macken also considers the disjuncture between bodily practices, inhabitation and ideal houses. While traditional documentation of house designs in working drawings capture “the house at an ideal moment in time”, Macken argues for post factum documentation of the house, a more dynamic form of architectural recording produced ‘after-the-event’ which interprets ‘the existing’ rather than the ideal. This type of documentation responds to the needs of the body in the inhabited space of domestic architecture, representing the flurry of occupancy, “the changes and traces the inhabitants make upon” the space of the house. Gilbert Caluya also explores the links between bodies and ideal houses, but from a different viewpoint – that of the perceived need for heightened home security in contemporary suburban Australia. With the rise of electronic home security systems, our houses have become extensions of our bodies – ‘architectural nervous systems’ which extend our eyes, ears and senses through modern security technologies. The desire for home security is predicated on controlling the interplay between the house and wider scales – the need to create a private and secure defensible space in hostile suburbia. But at the same time, heightened home security measures ironically connect the mediated home into a global network of electronic grids and military technologies. Thus, new forms of electronic home security stretch home from the body to the globe. Irmi Karl also considers the connections between technologies and subjectivities in domestic space. Her UK-based ethnographic analysis of lesbians’ techo-practices at home also considers, like Gregg, tactics of resistance to the normalisation of the heterosexual nuclear family home. Karl focuses on the TV set as a ‘straightening device’ – both through its presence as a key marker of ‘family homes’ and through the heteronormative content of programming – while at the same time investigating how her lesbian respondents renegotiated the domestic through practices which resisted the hetero-regulation of the TV – through watching certain videos, for instance, or even hiding the TV set away. Susan Thompson employs a similar ethnographic approach to understanding domestic practices which challenge normative meanings of home, but her subject is quite different. In an Australian-based study, Thompson explores meanings of home in the wake of relationship breakdown of heterosexual couples. For her respondents, their houses embodied their relationships in profoundly symbolic and physical ways. The deterioration and end of their relationships was mirrored in the material state of the house. The end of a relationship also affected homely, familiar connections to the wider neighbourhood. But there was also hope: new houses became sources of empowerment for former partners, and new meanings of home were created in the transition to a new life. Brett Mills also explores meanings of home at different scales – the house, neighbourhood and city – but returns to the focus on television and media technologies. His is a personal, but scholarly, response to seeing his own home on the television program Torchwood, filmed in Cardiff, UK. Mills thus puts a new twist on autobiographical narratives of home and identity: he uses this approach to examine the link between home and media portrayals, and how personal reactions to “seeing your home on television” change everyday perceptions of home at the scales of the house, neighbourhood and city. His reflection on “what happens when your home is on television” is solidly but unobtrusively interwoven with scholarly work on home and media, and speaks to the productive tension of home as material and imaginative. As the above suggests, especially with Mills’s paper, we have begun to move from the homely connections between bodies and houses to focus on those between houses, neighbourhoods and beyond. The next few papers extend these wider connections. Peter Pugsley provides a critical analysis of the meaning of domestic settings in three highly-successful Singaporean sitcoms. He argues that the domestic setting in these sitcoms has a crucial function in the Singaporean nation-state, linking the domestic home and national homeland: it is “a valuable site for national identities to be played out” in terms of the dominant modes of culture and language. Thus, in these domestic spaces, national values are normalised and disseminated – including the valorisation of multiculturalism, the dominance of Chinese cultural norms, benign patriarchy, and ‘proper’ educated English. Donna Lee Brien, Leonie Rutherford and Rosemary Williamson also demonstrate the interplay between ‘private’ and ‘public’ spaces and values in their case studies of the domestic sphere in cyberspace, examining three online communities which revolve around normatively domestic activities – pet-keeping, crafting and cooking. Their compelling case studies provide new ways to understand the space of the home. Home can be ‘stretched’ across public and private, virtual and physical spaces, so that “online communities can be seen to be domesticated, but, equally … the activities and relationships that have traditionally defined the home are not limited to the physical space of the house”. Furthermore, as they contend in their conclusion, these extra-domestic networks “can significantly modify practices and routines in the physical home”. Jennifer Gamble also considers the interplay of the virtual and the physical, and how home is not confined to the physical house. Indeed, the domestic is almost completely absent from the new configurations of home she offers: she conceptualises home as a ‘holding environment’ which services our needs and provides care, support and ontological security. Gamble speculates on the possibility of a holding environment which spans the real and virtual worlds, encompassing email, chatrooms and digital social networks. Importantly, she also considers what happens when there are ruptures and breaks in the holding environment, and how physical or virtual dimensions can compensate for these instances. Also rescaling home beyond the domestic, Alexandra Ludewig investigates concepts of home at the scale of the nation-state or ‘homeland’. She focuses on the example of Germany since World War II, and especially since re-unification, and provides an engaging discussion of the articulation between home and the German concept of ‘Heimat’. She shows how Heimat is ambivalent – it is hard to grasp the sense of longing for homeland until it is gone. Thus, Heimat is something that must be constantly reconfigured and maintained. Taken up in a critical manner, it also attains positive values, and Ludewig suggests how Heimat can be employed to address the Australian context of homeland (in)security and questions of indigenous belonging in the contemporary nation-state. Indeed, the next couple of papers focus on the vexed issue of building a sense home and belonging at the scale of the nation-state for non-indigenous Australians. Lisa Slater’s powerful autobiographical reflection considers how non-indigenous Australians might find a sense of home and belonging while recognising prior indigenous ownership of the land. She critically reflects upon “how non-indigenous subjects are positioned in relation to the original owners not through migrancy but through possession”. Slater urges us to “know our place” – we need not despair, but use such remorse in a productive manner to remake our sense of home in Australia – a sense of home sensitive to and respectful of indigenous rights. Nahid Kabir also provides an evocative and powerful autobiographical narrative about finding a sense of home and belonging in Australia for another group ‘beyond the pale’ – Muslim Australians. Hers is a first-hand account of learning to ‘feel at home’ in Australia. She asks some tough questions of both Muslim and non-Muslim Australians about how to accommodate difference in this country. Moreover, her account shows the homing processes of diasporic subjects – transnational homemaking practices which span several countries, and which enable individuals and social groups to generate senses of belonging which cross multiple borders simultaneously. Our final paper also contemplates the homing desires of diasporic subjects and the call of homelands – at the same time bringing our attention back to home at the scales of the house, neighbourhood, city and nation. As such, Wendy Varney’s paper brings us full circle, lucidly invoking home as a multi-scalar spatial imaginary by exploring the diverse and complex themes of home in popular music. Given the prevalence of yearnings about home in music, it is surprising so little work has explored the powerful conceptions of home disseminated in and through this widespread and highly mobile media form. Varney’s analysis thus makes an important contribution to our understandings of home presented in media discourses in the contemporary world, and its multi-scalar range is a fitting way to bring this issue to a close. Finally, we want to draw attention to the cover art by Rohan Tate that opens our issue. A Sydney-based photographer, Tate is interested in the design of house, home and the domestic form, both in terms of exteriors and interiors. This image from suburban Sydney captures the shifting styles of home in suburban Australia, giving us a crisp juxtaposition between modern and (re-valued) traditional housing forms. Bringing this issue together has been quite a task. We received 60 high quality submissions, and selecting the final 14 papers was a difficult process. Due to limits on the size of the issue, several good papers were left out. We thank the reviewers for taking the time to provide such thorough and useful reports, and encourage those authors who did not make it into this issue to keep seeking outlets for their work. The number of excellent submissions shows that home continues to be a growing and engaging theme in social and cultural inquiry. As editors, we hope that this issue of M/C Journal will make a vital contribution to this important range of scholarship, bringing together 14 new and innovative perspectives on the experience, location, creation and meaning of home in the contemporary world. References Blunt, Alison. “Home and Identity: Life Stories in Text and in Person.” Cultural Geography in Practice. Eds. Alison Blunt, Pyrs Gruffudd, Jon May, Miles Ogborn, and David Pinder. London: Arnold, 2003. 71-87. ———. Domicile and Diaspora: Anglo-Indian Women and the Spatial Politics of Home. Malden: Blackwell, 2005. ———. “Cultural Geographies of Home.” Progress in Human Geography 29.4 (2005): 505-515. ———, and Robyn Dowling. Home. London: Routledge, 2006. Brown, Michael. Closet Space: Geographies of Metaphor from the Body to the Globe. London: Routledge, 2000. Chapman, Tony. Gender and Domestic Life: Changing Practices in Families and Households. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. ———, and Jenny Hockey, eds. Ideal Homes? Social Change and Domestic Life. London: Routledge, 1999. Cieraad, Irene, ed. At Home: An Anthropology of Domestic Space. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1999. Dupuis, Ann, and David Thorns. “Home, Home Ownership and the Search for Ontological Security.” The Sociological Review 46.1 (1998): 24-47. Gorman-Murray, Andrew. “Homeboys: Uses of Home by Gay Australian Men.” Social and Cultural Geography 7.1 (2006): 53-69. Hage, Ghassan. “At Home in the Entrails of the West: Multiculturalism, Ethnic Food and Migrant Home-Building.” Home/world: Space, Community and Marginality in Sydney’s West. Eds. Helen Grace, Ghassan Hage, Lesley Johnson, Julie Langsworth and Michael Symonds. Annandale: Pluto, 1997. 99-153. Mallett, Shelley. “Understanding Home: A Critical Review of the Literature.” The Sociological Review 52.1 (2004): 62-88. Marcoux, Jean-Sébastien. “The Refurbishment of Memory.” Home Possessions: Material Culture Behind Closed Doors. Ed. Daniel Miller. Oxford: Berg, 2001. 69-86. Marston, Sally. “A Long Way From Home: Domesticating the Social Production of Scale.” Scale and Geographic Inquiry: Nature, Society and Method. Eds. Eric Sheppard and Robert McMaster. Oxford: Blackwell, 2004. 170-191. Massey, Doreen. “A Place Called Home.” New Formations 17 (1992): 3-15. McDowell, Linda. Gender, Identity and Place: Understanding Feminist Geographies. Cambridge: Polity, 1999. Miller, Daniel, ed. Home Possessions: Material Culture Behind Closed Doors. Oxford: Berg, 2001. Moss, Pamela. “Negotiating Space in Home Environments: Older Women Living with Arthritis.” Social Science and Medicine 45.1 (1997): 23-33. Noble, Greg. “Comfortable and Relaxed: Furnishing the Home and Nation.” Continuum: Journal of Media and Cultural Studies 16.1 (2002): 53-66. ———. “Accumulating Being.” International Journal of Cultural Studies 7.2 (2004): 233-256. Pink, Sarah. Home Truths: Gender, Domestic Objects and Everyday Life. Oxford: Berg, 2004. Wise, J. Macgregor. “Home: Territory and Identity.” Cultural Studies 14.2 (2000): 295-310. Young, Iris Marion. “House and Home: Feminist Variations on a Theme.” On Female Body Experience: ‘Throwing Like a Girl’ and Other Essays. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. 123-154. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Gorman-Murray, Andrew, and Robyn Dowling. "Home." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/01-editorial.php>. APA Style Gorman-Murray, A., and R. Dowling. (Aug. 2007) "Home," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/01-editorial.php>.

The Digital TurnMuch of the 19th century disappeared from public view during the 20th century. Historians recovered what they could from archives and libraries, with the easy pickings-the famous and the fortunate-coming first. Latterly, social and political historians of different hues determinedly sought out the more hidden, forgotten, and marginalised. However, there were always limitations to resources-time, money, location, as well as purpose, opportunity, and permission. 'History' was principally a professionalised and privileged activity dominated by academics who had preferential access to, and significant control over, the resources, technologies and skills required, as well as the social, economic and cultural framework within which history was recovered, interpreted, approved and disseminated.Digitisation and the broader development of new communication technologies has, however, transformed historical research processes and practice dramatically, removing many constraints, opening up many opportunities, and allowing many others than the professional historian to trace and track what would have remained hidden, forgotten, or difficult to find, as well as verify (or otherwise), what has already been claimed and concluded. In the 21st century, the SEARCH button has become a dominant tool of research. This, along with other technological and media developments, has altered the practice of historians-professional or 'public'-who can now range deep and wide in the collection, portrayal and dissemination of historical information, in and out of the confines of the traditional institutional walls of retained information, academia, location, and national boundaries.This incorporation of digital technologies into academic historical practice generally, has raised, as Cohen and Rosenzweig, in their book Digital History, identified a decade ago, not just promises, but perils. For the historian, there has been the move, through digitisation, from the relative scarcity and inaccessibility of historical material to its (over) abundance, but also the emerging acceptance that, out of both necessity and preference, a hybridity of sources will be the foreseeable way forward. There has also been a significant shift, as De Groot notes in his book Consuming History, in the often conflicted relationship between popular/public history and academic history, and the professional and the 'amateur' historian. This has brought a potentially beneficial democratization of historical practice but also an associated set of concerns around the loss of control of both practice and product of the professional historian. Additionally, the development of digital tools for the collection and dissemination of 'history' has raised fears around the commercialised development of the subject's brand, products and commodities. This article considers the significance and implications of some of these changes through one protracted act of recovery and reclamation in which the digital made the difference: the life of a notorious 19th century professional agitator on both sides of the Atlantic, John De Morgan. A man thought lost, but now found."Who Is John De Morgan?" The search began in 1981, linked to the study of contemporary "race riots" in South East London. The initial purpose was to determine whether there was a history of rioting in the area. In the Local History Library, a calm and dusty backwater, an early find was a fading, but evocative and puzzling, photograph of "The Plumstead Common Riots" of 1876. It showed a group of men and women, posing for the photographer on a hillside-the technology required stillness, even in the middle of a riot-spades in hand, filling in a Mr. Jacob's sandpits, illegally dug from what was supposed to be common land. The leader of this, and other similar riots around England, was John De Morgan. A local journalist who covered the riots commented: "Of Mr. De Morgan little is known before or since the period in which he flashed meteorlike through our section of the atmosphere, but he was indisputably a remarkable man" (Vincent 588). Thus began a trek, much interrupted, sometimes unmapped and haphazard, to discover more about this 'remarkable man'. "Who is John De Morgan" was a question frequently asked by his many contemporary antagonists, and by subsequent historians, and one to which De Morgan deliberately gave few answers. The obvious place to start the search was the British Museum Reading Room, resplendent in its Victorian grandeur, the huge card catalogue still in the 1980s the dominating technology. Together with the Library's newspaper branch at Colindale, this was likely to be the repository of all that might then easily be known about De Morgan.From 1869, at the age of 21, it appeared that De Morgan had embarked on a life of radical politics that took him through the UK, made him notorious, lead to accusations of treasonable activities, sent him to jail twice, before he departed unexpectedly to the USA in 1880. During that period, he was involved with virtually every imaginable radical cause, at various times a temperance advocate, a spiritualist, a First Internationalist, a Republican, a Tichbornite, a Commoner, an anti-vaccinator, an advanced Liberal, a parliamentary candidate, a Home Ruler. As a radical, he, like many radicals of the period, "zigzagged nomadically through the mayhem of nineteenth century politics fighting various foes in the press, the clubs, the halls, the pulpit and on the street" (Kazin 202). He promoted himself as the "People's Advocate, Champion and Friend" (Allen). Never a joiner or follower, he established a variety of organizations, became a professional agitator and orator, and supported himself and his politics through lecturing and journalism. Able to attract huge crowds to "monster meetings", he achieved fame, or more correctly notoriety. And then, in 1880, broke and in despair, he disappeared from public view by emigrating to the USA.LostThe view of De Morgan as a "flashing meteor" was held by many in the 1870s. Historians of the 20th century took a similar position and, while considering him intriguing and culturally interesting, normally dispatched him to the footnotes. By the latter part of the 20th century, he was described as "one of the most notorious radicals of the 1870s yet remains a shadowy figure" and was generally dismissed as "a swashbuckling demagogue," a "democratic messiah," and" if not a bandit … at least an adventurer" (Allen 684). His politics were deemed to be reactionary, peripheral, and, worst of all, populist. He was certainly not of sufficient interest to pursue across the Atlantic. In this dismissal, he fell foul of the highly politicised professional culture of mid-to-late 20th-century academic historians. In particular, the lack of any significant direct linkage to the story of the rise of a working class, and specifically the British Labour party, left individuals like De Morgan in the margins and footnotes. However, in terms of historical practice, it was also the case that his mysterious entry into public life, his rapid rise to brief notability and notoriety, and his sudden disappearance, made the investigation of his career too technically difficult to be worthwhile.The footprints of the forgotten may occasionally turn up in the archived papers of the important, or in distant public archives and records, but the primary sources are the newspapers of the time. De Morgan was a regular, almost daily, visitor to the pages of the multitude of newspapers, local and national, that were published in Victorian Britain and Gilded Age USA. He also published his own, usually short-lived and sometimes eponymous, newspapers: De Morgan's Monthly and De Morgan's Weekly as well as the splendidly titled People's Advocate and National Vindicator of Right versus Wrong and the deceptively titled, highly radical, House and Home. He was highly mobile: he noted, without too much hyperbole, that in the 404 days between his English prison sentences in the mid-1870s, he had 465 meetings, travelled 32,000 miles, and addressed 500,000 people. Thus the newspapers of the time are littered with often detailed and vibrant accounts of his speeches, demonstrations, and riots.Nonetheless, the 20th-century technologies of access and retrieval continued to limit discovery. The white gloves, cradles, pencils and paper of the library or archive, sometimes supplemented by the century-old 'new' technology of the microfilm, all enveloped in a culture of hallowed (and pleasurable) silence, restricted the researcher looking to move into the lesser known and certainly the unknown. The fact that most of De Morgan's life was spent, it was thought, outside of England, and outside the purview of the British Library, only exacerbated the problem. At a time when a historian had to travel to the sources and then work directly on them, pencil in hand, it needed more than curiosity to keep searching. Even as many historians in the late part of the century shifted their centre of gravity from the known to the unknown and from the great to the ordinary, in any form of intellectual or resource cost-benefit analysis, De Morgan was a non-starter.UnknownOn the subject of his early life, De Morgan was tantalisingly and deliberately vague. In his speeches and newspapers, he often leaked his personal and emotional struggles as well as his political battles. However, when it came to his biographical story, he veered between the untruthful, the denial, and the obscure. To the twentieth century observer, his life began in 1869 at the age of 21 and ended at the age of 32. His various political campaign "biographies" gave some hints, but what little he did give away was often vague, coy and/or unlikely. His name was actually John Francis Morgan, but he never formally acknowledged it. He claimed, and was very proud, to be Irish and to have been educated in London and at Cambridge University (possible but untrue), and also to have been "for the first twenty years of his life directly or indirectly a railway servant," and to have been a "boy orator" from the age of ten (unlikely but true). He promised that "Some day-nay any day-that the public desire it, I am ready to tell the story of my strange life from earliest recollection to the present time" (St. Clair 4). He never did and the 20th century could unearth little evidence in relation to any of his claims.The blend of the vague, the unlikely and the unverifiable-combined with an inclination to self-glorification and hyperbole-surrounded De Morgan with an aura, for historians as well as contemporaries, of the self-seeking, untrustworthy charlatan with something to hide and little to say. Therefore, as the 20th century moved to closure, the search for John De Morgan did so as well. Though interesting, he gave most value in contextualising the lives of Victorian radicals more generally. He headed back to the footnotes.Now FoundMeanwhile, the technologies underpinning academic practice generally, and history specifically, had changed. The photocopier, personal computer, Internet, and mobile device, had arrived. They formed the basis for both resistance and revolution in academic practices. For a while, the analytical skills of the academic community were concentrated on the perils as much as the promises of a "digital history" (Cohen and Rosenzweig Digital).But as the Millennium turned, and the academic community itself spawned, inter alia, Google, the practical advantages of digitisation for history forced themselves on people. Google enabled the confident searching from a neutral place for things known and unknown; information moved to the user more easily in both time and space. The culture and technologies of gathering, retrieval, analysis, presentation and preservation altered dramatically and, as a result, the traditional powers of gatekeepers, institutions and professional historians was redistributed (De Groot). Access and abundance, arguably over-abundance, became the platform for the management of historical information. For the search for De Morgan, the door reopened. The increased global electronic access to extensive databases, catalogues, archives, and public records, as well as people who knew, or wanted to know, something, opened up opportunities that have been rapidly utilised and expanded over the last decade. Both professional and "amateur" historians moved into a space that made the previously difficult to know or unknowable now accessible.Inevitably, the development of digital newspaper archives was particularly crucial to seeking and finding John De Morgan. After some faulty starts in the early 2000s, characterised as a "wild west" and a "gold rush" (Fyfe 566), comprehensive digitised newspaper archives became available. While still not perfect, in terms of coverage and quality, it is a transforming technology. In the UK, the British Newspaper Archive (BNA)-in pursuit of the goal of the digitising of all UK newspapers-now has over 20 million pages. Each month presents some more of De Morgan. Similarly, in the US, Fulton History, a free newspaper archive run by retired computer engineer Tom Tryniski, now has nearly 40 million pages of New York newspapers. The almost daily footprints of De Morgan's radical life can now be seen, and the lives of the social networks within which he worked on both sides of the Atlantic, come easily into view even from a desk in New Zealand.The Internet also allows connections between researchers, both academic and 'public', bringing into reach resources not otherwise knowable: a Scottish genealogist with a mass of data on De Morgan's family; a Californian with the historian's pot of gold, a collection of over 200 letters received by De Morgan over a 50 year period; a Leeds Public Library blogger uncovering spectacular, but rarely seen, Victorian electoral cartoons which explain De Morgan's precipitate departure to the USA. These discoveries would not have happened without the infrastructure of the Internet, web site, blog, and e-mail. Just how different searching is can be seen in the following recent scenario, one of many now occurring. An addition in 2017 to the BNA shows a Master J.F. Morgan, aged 13, giving lectures on temperance in Ledbury in 1861, luckily a census year. A check of the census through Ancestry shows that Master Morgan was born in Lincolnshire in England, and a quick look at the 1851 census shows him living on an isolated blustery hill in Yorkshire in a railway encampment, along with 250 navvies, as his father, James, works on the construction of a tunnel. Suddenly, literally within the hour, the 20-year search for the childhood of John De Morgan, the supposedly Irish-born "gentleman who repudiated his class," has taken a significant turn.At the end of the 20th century, despite many efforts, John De Morgan was therefore a partial character bounded by what he said and didn't say, what others believed, and the intellectual and historiographical priorities, technologies, tools and processes of that century. In effect, he "lived" historically for a less than a quarter of his life. Without digitisation, much would have remained hidden; with it there has been, and will still be, much to find. De Morgan hid himself and the 20th century forgot him. But as the technologies have changed, and with it the structures of historical practice, the question that even De Morgan himself posed – "Who is John De Morgan?" – can now be addressed.SearchingDigitisation brings undoubted benefits, but its impact goes a long way beyond the improved search and detection capabilities, into a range of technological developments of communication and media that impact on practice, practitioners, institutions, and 'history' itself. A dominant issue for the academic community is the control of "history." De Groot, in his book Consuming History, considers how history now works in contemporary popular culture and, in particular, examines the development of the sometimes conflicted relationship between popular/public history and academic history, and the professional and the 'amateur' historian.The traditional legitimacy of professional historians has, many argue, been eroded by shifts in technology and access with the power of traditional cultural gatekeepers being undermined, bypassing the established control of institutions and professional historian. While most academics now embrace the primary tools of so-called "digital history," they remain, De Groot argues, worried that "history" is in danger of becoming part of a discourse of leisure, not a professionalized arena (18). An additional concern is the role of the global capitalist market, which is developing, or even taking over, 'history' as a brand, product and commodity with overt fiscal value. Here the huge impact of newspaper archives and genealogical software (sometimes owned in tandem) is of particular concern.There is also the new challenge of "navigating the chaos of abundance in online resources" (De Groot 68). By 2005, it had become clear that:the digital era seems likely to confront historians-who were more likely in the past to worry about the scarcity of surviving evidence from the past-with a new 'problem' of abundance. A much deeper and denser historical record, especially one in digital form seems like an incredible opportunity and a gift. But its overwhelming size means that we will have to spend a lot of time looking at this particular gift horse in mouth. (Cohen and Rosenzweig, Web).This easily accessible abundance imposes much higher standards of evidence on the historian. The acceptance within the traditional model that much could simply not be done or known with the resources available meant that there was a greater allowance for not knowing. But with a search button and public access, democratizing the process, the consumer as well as the producer can see, and find, for themselves.Taking on some of these challenges, Zaagsma, having reminded us that the history of digital humanities goes back at least 60 years, notes the need to get rid of the "myth that historical practice can be uncoupled from technological, and thus methodological developments, and that going digital is a choice, which, I cannot emphasis strongly enough, it is not" (14). There is no longer a digital history which is separate from history, and with digital technologies that are now ubiquitous and pervasive, historians have accepted or must quickly face a fundamental break with past practices. However, also noting that the great majority of archival material is not digitised and is unlikely to be so, Zaagsma concludes that hybridity will be the "new normal," combining "traditional/analogue and new/digital practices at least in information gathering" (17).ConclusionA decade on from Cohen and Rozenzweig's "Perils and Promises," the digital is a given. Both historical practice and historians have changed, though it is a work in progress. An early pioneer of the use of computers in the humanities, Robert Busa wrote in 1980 that "the principal aim is the enhancement of the quality, depth and extension of research and not merely the lessening of human effort and time" (89). Twenty years later, as Google was launched, Jordanov, taking on those who would dismiss public history as "mere" popularization, entertainment or propaganda, argued for the "need to develop coherent positions on the relationships between academic history, the media, institutions…and popular culture" (149). As the digital turn continues, and the SEARCH button is just one part of that, all historians-professional or "amateur"-will take advantage of opportunities that technologies have opened up. Looking across the whole range of transformations in recent decades, De Groot concludes: "Increasingly users of history are accessing the past through complex and innovative media and this is reconfiguring their sense of themselves, the world they live in and what history itself might be about" (310). ReferencesAllen, Rob. "'The People's Advocate, Champion and Friend': The Transatlantic Career of Citizen John De Morgan (1848-1926)." Historical Research 86.234 (2013): 684-711.Busa, Roberto. "The Annals of Humanities Computing: The Index Thomisticus." Computers and the Humanities 14.2 (1980): 83-90.Cohen, Daniel J., and Roy Rosenzweig. Digital History: A Guide to Gathering, Preserving, and Presenting the Past on the Web. Philadelphia, PA: U Pennsylvania P, 2005.———. "Web of Lies? Historical Knowledge on the Internet." First Monday 10.12 (2005).De Groot, Jerome. Consuming History: Historians and Heritage in Contemporary Popular Culture. 2nd ed. Abingdon: Routledge, 2016.De Morgan, John. Who Is John De Morgan? A Few Words of Explanation, with Portrait. By a Free and Independent Elector of Leicester. London, 1877.Fyfe, Paul. "An Archaeology of Victorian Newspapers." Victorian Periodicals Review 49.4 (2016): 546-77."Interchange: The Promise of Digital History." Journal of American History 95.2 (2008): 452-91.Johnston, Leslie. "Before You Were Born, We Were Digitizing Texts." The Signal 9 Dec. 2012, Library of Congress. <https://blogs.loc.gov/thesignal/292/12/before-you-were-born-we-were-digitizing-texts>.Jordanova, Ludmilla. History in Practice. 2nd ed. London: Arnold, 2000.Kazin, Michael. A Godly Hero: The Life of William Jennings Bryan. New York: Anchor Books, 2006.Saint-Clair, Sylvester. Sketch of the Life and Labours of J. De Morgan, Elocutionist, and Tribune of the People. Leeds: De Morgan & Co., 1880.Vincent, William T. The Records of the Woolwich District, Vol. II. Woolwich: J.P. Jackson, 1890.Zaagsma, Gerban. "On Digital History." BMGN-Low Countries Historical Review 128.4 (2013): 3-29.

Introduction This article situates the dark as a liminal and creative space of experimentation where tensions are generative and people tinker with emerging technologies to create alternative futures. Darkness need not mean chaos and fear of violence – it can mean privacy and protection. We define dark as an experimental space based upon uncertainties rather than computational knowns (Bridle) and then demonstrate via a case study of cryptocurrencies the contribution of dark and liminal social spaces to future(s)-making. Cryptocurrencies are digital cash systems that use decentralised (peer-to-peer) networking to enable irreversible payments (Maurer, Nelms, and Swartz). Cryptocurrencies are often clones or variations on the ‘original’ Bitcoin payment systems protocol (Trump et al.) that was shared with the cryptographic community through a pseudonymous and still unknown author(s) (Nakamoto), creating a founder mystery. Due to the open creation process, a new cryptocurrency is relatively easy to make. However, many of them are based on speculative bubbles that mirror Bitcoin, Ethereum, and ICOs’ wealth creation. Examples of cryptocurrencies now largely used for speculation due to their volatility in holding value are rampant, with online clearing houses competing to trade hundreds of different assets from AAVE to ZIL. Many of these altcoins have little to no following or trading volume, leading to their obsolescence. Others enjoy immense popularity among dedicated communities of backers and investors. Consequently, while many cryptocurrency experiments fail or lack adoption and drop from the purview of history, their constant variation also contributes to the undertow of the future that pulls against more visible surface waves of computational progress. The article is structured to first define how we understand and leverage ‘dark’ against computational cultures. We then apply thematic and analytical tactics to articulate future-making socio-technical experiments in the dark. Based on past empirical work of the authors (Maddox "Netnography") we focus on crypto-cultures’ complex emancipatory and normative tensions via themes of construction, disruption, contention, redirection, obsolescence, and iteration. Through these themes we illustrate the mutation and absorption of dark experimental spaces into larger social structures. The themes we identify are not meant as a complete or necessarily serial set of occurrences, but nonetheless contribute a new vocabulary for students of technology and media to see into and grapple with the dark. Embracing the Dark: Prework & Analytical Tactics for Outside the Known To frame discussion of the dark here as creative space for alternative futures, we focus on scholars who have deeply engaged with notions of socio-technical darkness. This allows us to explore outside the blinders of computational light and, with a nod to Sassen, dig in the shadows of known categories to evolve the analytical tactics required for the study of emerging socio-technical conditions. We understand the Dark Web to usher shifting and multiple definitions of darkness, from a moral darkness to a technical one (Gehl). From this work, we draw the observation of how technologies that obfuscate digital tracking create novel capacities for digital cultures in spaces defined by anonymity for both publisher and user. Darknets accomplish this by overlaying open internet protocols (e.g. TCP/IP) with non-standard protocols that encrypt and anonymise information (Pace). Pace traces concepts of darknets to networks in the 1970s that were 'insulated’ from the internet’s predecessor ARPANET by air gap, and then reemerged as software protocols similarly insulated from cultural norms around intellectual property. ‘Darknets’ can also be considered in ternary as opposed to binary terms (Gehl and McKelvey) that push to make private that which is supposed to be public infrastructure, and push private platforms (e.g. a Personal Computer) to make public networks via common bandwidth. In this way, darknets feed new possibilities of communication from both common infrastructures and individual’s platforms. Enabling new potentials of community online and out of sight serves to signal what the dark accomplishes for the social when measured against an otherwise unending light of computational society. To this point, a new dark age can be welcomed insofar it allows an undecided future outside of computational logics that continually define and refine the possible and probable (Bridle). This argument takes von Neumann’s 1945 declaration that “all stable processes we shall predict. All unstable processes we shall control” (in Bridle 21) as a founding statement for computational thought and indicative of current society. The hope expressed by Bridle is not an absence of knowledge, but an absence of knowing the future. Past the computational prison of total information awareness within an accelerating information age (Castells) is the promise of new formations of as yet unknowable life. Thus, from Bridle’s perspective, and ours, darkness can be a place of freedom and possibility, where the equality of being in the dark, together, is not as threatening as current privileged ways of thinking would suggest (Bridle 15). The consequences of living in a constant glaring light lead to data hierarchies “leaching” (Bridle) into everything, including social relationships, where our data are relationalised while our relations are datafied (Maddox and Heemsbergen) by enforcing computational thinking upon them. Darkness becomes a refuge that acknowledges the power of unknowing, and a return to potential for social, equitable, and reciprocal relations. This is not to say that we envision a utopian life without the shadow of hierarchy, but rather an encouragement to dig into those shadows made visible only by the brightest of lights. The idea of digging in the shadows is borrowed from Saskia Sassen, who asks us to consider the ‘master categories’ that blind us to alternatives. According to Sassen (402), while master categories have the power to illuminate, their blinding power keeps us from seeing other presences in the landscape: “they produce, then, a vast penumbra around that center of light. It is in that penumbra that we need to go digging”. We see darkness in the age of digital ubiquity as rejecting the blinding ‘master category’ of computational thought. Computational thought defines social/economic/political life via what is static enough to predict or unstable enough to render a need to control. Otherwise, the observable, computable, knowable, and possible all follow in line. Our dig in the shadows posits a penumbra of protocols – both of computational code and human practice – that circle the blinding light of known digital communications. We use the remainder of this short article to describe these themes found in the dark that offer new ways to understand the movements and moments of potential futures that remain largely unseen. Thematic Resonances in the Dark This section considers cryptocultures of the dark. We build from a thematic vocabulary that has been previously introduced from empirical examples of the crypto-market communities which tinker with and through the darkness provided by encryption and privacy technologies (Maddox "Netnography"). Here we refine these future-making themes through their application to events surrounding community-generated technology aimed at disrupting centralised banking systems: cryptocurrencies (Maddox, Singh, et al.). Given the overlaps in collective values and technologies between crypto-communities, we find it useful to test the relevance of these themes to the experimental dynamics surrounding cryptocurrencies. We unpack these dynamics as construction, rupture and disruption, redirection, and the flip-sided relationship between obsolescence and iteration leading to mutation and absorption. This section provides a working example for how these themes adapt in application to a community dwelling at the edge of experimental technological possibilities. The theme of construction is both a beginning and a materialisation of a value field. It originates within the cyberlibertarians’ ideological stance towards using technological innovations to ‘create a new world in the shell of the old’ (van de Sande) which has been previously expressed through the concept of constructive activism (Maddox, Barratt, et al.). This libertarian ideology is also to be found in the early cultures that gave rise to cryptocurrencies. Through their interest in the potential of cryptography technologies related to social and political change, the Cypherpunks mailing list formed in 1992 (Swartz). The socio-cultural field surrounding cryptocurrencies, however, has always consisted of a diverse ecosystem of vested interests building collaborations from “goldbugs, hippies, anarchists, cyberpunks, cryptographers, payment systems experts, currency activists, commodity traders, and the curious” (Maurer, Nelms, and Swartz 262). Through the theme of construction we can consider architectures of collaboration, cooperation, and coordination developed by technically savvy populations. Cryptocurrencies are often developed as code by teams who build in mechanisms for issuance (e.g. ‘mining’) and other controls (Conway). Thus, construction and making of cryptocurrencies tend to be collective yet decentralised. Cryptocurrencies arose during a time of increasing levels of distrust in governments and global financial instability from the Global Financial Crisis (2008-2013), whilst gaining traction through their usefulness in engaging in illicit trade (Saiedi, Broström, and Ruiz). It was through this rupture in the certainties of ‘the old system’ that this technology, and the community developing it, sought to disrupt the financial system (Maddox, Singh, et al.; Nelms et al.). Here we see the utility of the second theme of rupture and disruption to illustrate creative experimentation in the liminal and emergent spaces cryptocurrencies afford. While current crypto crazes (e.g. NFTs, ICOs) have their detractors, Cohen suggests, somewhat ironically, that the momentum for change of the crypto current was “driven by the grassroots, and technologically empowered, movement to confront the ills perceived to be powered and exacerbated by market-based capitalism, such as climate change and income inequality” (Cohen 739). Here we can start to envision how subterranean currents that emerge from creative experimentations in the dark impact global social forces in multifaceted ways – even as they are dragged into the light. Within a disrupted environment characterised by rupture, contention and redirection is rife (Maddox "Disrupting"). Contention and redirection illustrate how competing agendas bump and grind to create a generative tension around a deep collective desire for social change. Contention often emerges within an environment of hacks and scams, of which there are many stories in the cryptocurrency world (see Bartlett for an example of OneCoin, for instance; Kavanagh, Miscione, and Ennis). Other aspects of contention emerge around how the technology works to produce (mint) cryptocurrencies, including concern over the environmental impact of producing cryptocurrencies (Goodkind, Jones, and Berrens) and the production of non-fungible tokens for the sale of digital assets (Howson). Contention also arises through the gendered social dynamics of brogramming culture skewing inclusive and diverse engagement (Bowles). Shifting from the ideal of inclusion to the actual practice of crypto-communities begs the question of whose futures are being made. Contention and redirections are also evidenced by ‘hard forks’ in cryptocurrency. The founder mystery resulted in the gifting of this technology to a decentralised and leaderless community, materialised through the distributed consensus processes to approve software updates to a cryptocurrency. This consensus system consequently holds within it the seeds for governance failures (Trump et al.), the first of which occurred with the ‘hard forking’ of Bitcoin into Bitcoin cash in 2017 (Webb). Hard forks occur when developers and miners no longer agree on a proposed change to the software: one group upgraded to the new software while the others operated on the old rules. The resulting two separate blockchains and digital currencies concretised the tensions and disagreements within the community. This forking resulted initially in a shock to the market value of, and trust in, the Bitcoin network, and the dilution of adoption networks across the two cryptocurrencies. The ongoing hard forks of Bitcoin Cash illustrate the continued contention occurring within the community as crypto-personalities pit against each other (Hankin; Li). As these examples show, not all experiments in cryptocurrencies are successful; some become obsolete through iteration (Arnold). Iteration engenders mutations in the cultural framing of socio-technical experiments. These mutations of meaning and signification then facilitate their absorption into novel futures, showing the ternary nature of how what happens in the dark works with what is known by the light. As a rhetorical device, cryptocurrencies have been referred to as a currency (a payment system) or a commodity (an investment or speculation vehicle; Nelms et al. 21). However, new potential applications for the underlying technologies continue emerge. For example, Ethereum, the second-most dominant cryptocurrency after Bitcoin, now offers smart contract technology (decentralised autonomous organisations, DAO; Kavanagh, Miscione, and Ennis) and is iterating technology to dramatically reduce the energy consumption required to mine and mint the non-fungible tokens (NFTs) associated with crypto art (Wintermeyer). Here we can see how these rhetorical framings may represent iterative shifts and meaning-mutation that is as pragmatic as it is cultural. While we have considered here the themes of obsolescence and iteration threaded through the technological differentiations amongst cryptocurrencies, what should we make of these rhetorical or cultural mutations? This cultural mutation, we argue, can be seen most clearly in the resurgence of Dogecoin. Dogecoin is a cryptocurrency launched in 2013 that takes its name and logo from a Shiba Inu meme that was popular several years ago (Potts and Berg). We can consider Dogecoin as a playful infrastructure (Rennie) and cultural product that was initially designed to provide a low bar for entry into the market. Its affordability is kept in place by the ability for miners to mint an unlimited number of coins. Dogecoin had a large resurgence of value and interest just after the meme-centric Reddit community Wallstreetbets managed to drive the share price of video game retailer GameStop to gain 1,500% (Potts and Berg). In this instance we see the mutation of a cryptocurrency into memecoin, or cultural product, for which the value is a prism to the wild fluctuations of internet culture itself, linking cultural bubbles to financial ones. In this case, technologies iterated in the dark mutated and surfaced as cultural bubbles through playful infrastructures that intersected with financial systems. The story of dogecoin articulates how cultural mutation articulates the absorption of emerging techno-potentials into larger structures. Conclusion From creative experiments digging in the dark shadows of global socio-economic forces, we can see how the future is formed beneath the surface of computational light. Yet as we write, cryptocurrencies are being absorbed by centralising and powerful entities to integrate them into global economies. Examples of large institutions hoarding Bitcoin include the crypto-counterbalancing between the Chinese state through its digital currency DCEP (Vincent) and Facebook through the Libra project. Vincent observes that the state-backed DCEP project is the antithesis of the decentralised community agenda for cryptocurrencies to enact the separation of state and money. Meanwhile, Facebook’s centralised computational control of platforms used by 2.8 billion humans provide a similarly perverse addition to cryptocurrency cultures. The penumbra fades as computational logic shifts its gaze. Our thematic exploration of cryptocurrencies highlights that it is only in their emergent forms that such radical creative experiments can dwell in the dark. They do not stay in the dark forever, as their absorption into larger systems becomes part of the future-making process. The cold, inextricable, and always impending computational logic of the current age suffocates creative experimentations that flourish in the dark. Therefore, it is crucial to tend to the uncertainties within the warm, damp, and dark liminal spaces of socio-technical experimentation. References Arnold, Michael. "On the Phenomenology of Technology: The 'Janus-Faces' of Mobile Phones." Information and Organization 13.4 (2003): 231-56. Bartlett, Jamie. 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At one point in Victor Hugo’s novel, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, the archdeacon, Claude Frollo, looked up from a book on his table to the edifice of the gothic cathedral, visible from his canon’s cell in the cloister of Notre Dame: “Alas!” he said, “this will kill that” (146). Frollo’s lament, that the book would destroy the edifice, captures the medieval cleric’s anxiety about the way in which Gutenberg’s print technology would become the new universal means for recording and communicating humanity’s ideas and artistic expression, replacing the grand monuments of architecture, human engineering, and craftsmanship. For Hugo, architecture was “the great handwriting of humankind” (149). The cathedral as the material outcome of human technology was being replaced by the first great machine—the printing press. At this point in the third millennium, some people undoubtedly have similar anxieties to Frollo: is it now the book’s turn to be destroyed by yet another great machine? The inclusion of “post print” in our title is not intended to sound the death knell of the book. Rather, we contend that despite the enduring value of print, digital publishing is “present and active” and is changing the way in which research, particularly in the humanities, is being undertaken. Our approach has three related parts. First, we consider how digital technologies are changing the way in which content is constructed, customised, modified, disseminated, and accessed within a global, distributed network. This section argues that the transition from print to electronic or digital publishing means both losses and gains, particularly with respect to shifts in our approaches to textuality, information, and innovative publishing. Second, we discuss the Children’s Literature Digital Resources (CLDR) project, with which we are involved. This case study of a digitising initiative opens out the transformative possibilities and challenges of digital publishing and e-scholarship for research communities. Third, we reflect on technology’s capacity to bring about major changes in the light of the theoretical and practical issues that have arisen from our discussion. I. Digitising in a “post-print age” We are living in an era that is commonly referred to as “the late age of print” (see Kho) or the “post-print age” (see Gunkel). According to Aarseth, we have reached a point whereby nearly all of our public and personal media have become more or less digital (37). As Kho notes, web newspapers are not only becoming increasingly more popular, but they are also making rather than losing money, and paper-based newspapers are finding it difficult to recruit new readers from the younger generations (37). Not only can such online-only publications update format, content, and structure more economically than print-based publications, but their wide distribution network, speed, and flexibility attract advertising revenue. Hype and hyperbole aside, publishers are not so much discarding their legacy of print, but recognising the folly of not embracing innovative technologies that can add value by presenting information in ways that satisfy users’ needs for content to-go or for edutainment. As Kho notes: “no longer able to satisfy customer demand by producing print-only products, or even by enabling online access to semi-static content, established publishers are embracing new models for publishing, web-style” (42). Advocates of online publishing contend that the major benefits of online publishing over print technology are that it is faster, more economical, and more interactive. However, as Hovav and Gray caution, “e-publishing also involves risks, hidden costs, and trade-offs” (79). The specific focus for these authors is e-journal publishing and they contend that while cost reduction is in editing, production and distribution, if the journal is not open access, then costs relating to storage and bandwith will be transferred to the user. If we put economics aside for the moment, the transition from print to electronic text (e-text), especially with electronic literary works, brings additional considerations, particularly in their ability to make available different reading strategies to print, such as “animation, rollovers, screen design, navigation strategies, and so on” (Hayles 38). Transition from print to e-text In his book, Writing Space, David Bolter follows Victor Hugo’s lead, but does not ask if print technology will be destroyed. Rather, he argues that “the idea and ideal of the book will change: print will no longer define the organization and presentation of knowledge, as it has for the past five centuries” (2). As Hayles noted above, one significant indicator of this change, which is a consequence of the shift from analogue to digital, is the addition of graphical, audio, visual, sonic, and kinetic elements to the written word. A significant consequence of this transition is the reinvention of the book in a networked environment. Unlike the printed book, the networked book is not bound by space and time. Rather, it is an evolving entity within an ecology of readers, authors, and texts. The Web 2.0 platform has enabled more experimentation with blending of digital technology and traditional writing, particularly in the use of blogs, which have spawned blogwriting and the wikinovel. Siva Vaidhyanathan’s The Googlization of Everything: How One Company is Disrupting Culture, Commerce and Community … and Why We Should Worry is a wikinovel or blog book that was produced over a series of weeks with contributions from other bloggers (see: http://www.sivacracy.net/). Penguin Books, in collaboration with a media company, “Six Stories to Start,” have developed six stories—“We Tell Stories,” which involve different forms of interactivity from users through blog entries, Twitter text messages, an interactive google map, and other features. For example, the story titled “Fairy Tales” allows users to customise the story using their own choice of names for characters and descriptions of character traits. Each story is loosely based on a classic story and links take users to synopses of these original stories and their authors and to online purchase of the texts through the Penguin Books sales website. These examples of digital stories are a small part of the digital environment, which exploits computer and online technologies’ capacity to be interactive and immersive. As Janet Murray notes, the interactive qualities of digital environments are characterised by their procedural and participatory abilities, while their immersive qualities are characterised by their spatial and encyclopedic dimensions (71–89). These immersive and interactive qualities highlight different ways of reading texts, which entail different embodied and cognitive functions from those that reading print texts requires. As Hayles argues: the advent of electronic textuality presents us with an unparalleled opportunity to reformulate fundamental ideas about texts and, in the process, to see print as well as electronic texts with fresh eyes (89–90). The transition to e-text also highlights how digitality is changing all aspects of everyday life both inside and outside the academy. Online teaching and e-research Another aspect of the commercial arm of publishing that is impacting on academe and other organisations is the digitising and indexing of print content for niche distribution. Kho offers the example of the Mark Logic Corporation, which uses its XML content platform to repurpose content, create new content, and distribute this content through multiple portals. As the promotional website video for Mark Logic explains, academics can use this service to customise their own textbooks for students by including only articles and book chapters that are relevant to their subject. These are then organised, bound, and distributed by Mark Logic for sale to students at a cost that is generally cheaper than most textbooks. A further example of how print and digital materials can form an integrated, customised source for teachers and students is eFictions (Trimmer, Jennings, & Patterson). eFictions was one of the first print and online short story anthologies that teachers of literature could customise to their own needs. Produced as both a print text collection and a website, eFictions offers popular short stories in English by well-known traditional and contemporary writers from the US, Australia, New Zealand, UK, and Europe, with summaries, notes on literary features, author biographies, and, in one instance, a YouTube movie of the story. In using the eFictions website, teachers can build a customised anthology of traditional and innovative stories to suit their teaching preferences. These examples provide useful indicators of how content is constructed, customised, modified, disseminated, and accessed within a distributed network. However, the question remains as to how to measure their impact and outcomes within teaching and learning communities. As Harley suggests in her study on the use and users of digital resources in the humanities and social sciences, several factors warrant attention, such as personal teaching style, philosophy, and specific disciplinary requirements. However, in terms of understanding the benefits of digital resources for teaching and learning, Harley notes that few providers in her sample had developed any plans to evaluate use and users in a systematic way. In addition to the problems raised in Harley’s study, another relates to how researchers can be supported to take full advantage of digital technologies for e-research. The transformation brought about by information and communication technologies extends and broadens the impact of research, by making its outputs more discoverable and usable by other researchers, and its benefits more available to industry, governments, and the wider community. Traditional repositories of knowledge and information, such as libraries, are juggling the space demands of books and computer hardware alongside increasing reader demand for anywhere, anytime, anyplace access to information. Researchers’ expectations about online access to journals, eprints, bibliographic data, and the views of others through wikis, blogs, and associated social and information networking sites such as YouTube compete with the traditional expectations of the institutions that fund libraries for paper-based archives and book repositories. While university libraries are finding it increasingly difficult to purchase all hardcover books relevant to numerous and varied disciplines, a significant proportion of their budgets goes towards digital repositories (e.g., STORS), indexes, and other resources, such as full-text electronic specialised and multidisciplinary journal databases (e.g., Project Muse and Proquest); electronic serials; e-books; and specialised information sources through fast (online) document delivery services. An area that is becoming increasingly significant for those working in the humanities is the digitising of historical and cultural texts. II. Bringing back the dead: The CLDR project The CLDR project is led by researchers and librarians at the Queensland University of Technology, in collaboration with Deakin University, University of Sydney, and members of the AustLit team at The University of Queensland. The CLDR project is a “Research Community” of the electronic bibliographic database AustLit: The Australian Literature Resource, which is working towards the goal of providing a complete bibliographic record of the nation’s literature. AustLit offers users with a single entry point to enhanced scholarly resources on Australian writers, their works, and other aspects of Australian literary culture and activities. AustLit and its Research Communities are supported by grants from the Australian Research Council and financial and in-kind contributions from a consortium of Australian universities, and by other external funding sources such as the National Collaborative Research Infrastructure Strategy. Like other more extensive digitisation projects, such as Project Gutenberg and the Rosetta Project, the CLDR project aims to provide a centralised access point for digital surrogates of early published works of Australian children’s literature, with access pathways to existing resources. The first stage of the CLDR project is to provide access to digitised, full-text, out-of-copyright Australian children’s literature from European settlement to 1945, with selected digitised critical works relevant to the field. Texts comprise a range of genres, including poetry, drama, and narrative for young readers and picture books, songs, and rhymes for infants. Currently, a selection of 75 e-texts and digital scans of original texts from Project Gutenberg and Internet Archive have been linked to the Children’s Literature Research Community. By the end of 2009, the CLDR will have digitised approximately 1000 literary texts and a significant number of critical works. Stage II and subsequent development will involve digitisation of selected texts from 1945 onwards. A precursor to the CLDR project has been undertaken by Deakin University in collaboration with the State Library of Victoria, whereby a digital bibliographic index comprising Victorian School Readers has been completed with plans for full-text digital surrogates of a selection of these texts. These texts provide valuable insights into citizenship, identity, and values formation from the 1930s onwards. At the time of writing, the CLDR is at an early stage of development. An extensive survey of out-of-copyright texts has been completed and the digitisation of these resources is about to commence. The project plans to make rich content searchable, allowing scholars from children’s literature studies and education to benefit from the many advantages of online scholarship. What digital publishing and associated digital archives, electronic texts, hypermedia, and so forth foreground is the fact that writers, readers, publishers, programmers, designers, critics, booksellers, teachers, and copyright laws operate within a context that is highly mediated by technology. In his article on large-scale digitisation projects carried out by Cornell and University of Michigan with the Making of America collection of 19th-century American serials and monographs, Hirtle notes that when special collections’ materials are available via the Web, with appropriate metadata and software, then they can “increase use of the material, contribute to new forms of research, and attract new users to the material” (44). Furthermore, Hirtle contends that despite the poor ergonomics associated with most electronic displays and e-book readers, “people will, when given the opportunity, consult an electronic text over the print original” (46). If this preference is universally accurate, especially for researchers and students, then it follows that not only will the preference for electronic surrogates of original material increase, but preference for other kinds of electronic texts will also increase. It is with this preference for electronic resources in mind that we approached the field of children’s literature in Australia and asked questions about how future generations of researchers would prefer to work. If electronic texts become the reference of choice for primary as well as secondary sources, then it seems sensible to assume that researchers would prefer to sit at the end of the keyboard than to travel considerable distances at considerable cost to access paper-based print texts in distant libraries and archives. We considered the best means for providing access to digitised primary and secondary, full text material, and digital pathways to existing online resources, particularly an extensive indexing and bibliographic database. Prior to the commencement of the CLDR project, AustLit had already indexed an extensive number of children’s literature. Challenges and dilemmas The CLDR project, even in its early stages of development, has encountered a number of challenges and dilemmas that centre on access, copyright, economic capital, and practical aspects of digitisation, and sustainability. These issues have relevance for digital publishing and e-research. A decision is yet to be made as to whether the digital texts in CLDR will be available on open or closed/tolled access. The preference is for open access. As Hayles argues, copyright is more than a legal basis for intellectual property, as it also entails ideas about authorship, creativity, and the work as an “immaterial mental construct” that goes “beyond the paper, binding, or ink” (144). Seeking copyright permission is therefore only part of the issue. Determining how the item will be accessed is a further matter, particularly as future technologies may impact upon how a digital item is used. In the case of e-journals, the issue of copyright payment structures are evolving towards a collective licensing system, pay-per-view, and other combinations of print and electronic subscription (see Hovav and Gray). For research purposes, digitisation of items for CLDR is not simply a scan and deliver process. Rather it is one that needs to ensure that the best quality is provided and that the item is both accessible and usable by researchers, and sustainable for future researchers. Sustainability is an important consideration and provides a challenge for institutions that host projects such as CLDR. Therefore, items need to be scanned to a high quality and this requires an expensive scanner and personnel costs. Files need to be in a variety of formats for preservation purposes and so that they may be manipulated to be useable in different technologies (for example, Archival Tiff, Tiff, Jpeg, PDF, HTML). Hovav and Gray warn that when technology becomes obsolete, then content becomes unreadable unless backward integration is maintained. The CLDR items will be annotatable given AustLit’s NeAt funded project: Aus-e-Lit. The Aus-e-Lit project will extend and enhance the existing AustLit web portal with data integration and search services, empirical reporting services, collaborative annotation services, and compound object authoring, editing, and publishing services. For users to be able to get the most out of a digital item, it needs to be searchable, either through double keying or OCR (optimal character recognition). The value of CLDR’s contribution The value of the CLDR project lies in its goal to provide a comprehensive, searchable body of texts (fictional and critical) to researchers across the humanities and social sciences. Other projects seem to be intent on putting up as many items as possible to be considered as a first resort for online texts. CLDR is more specific and is not interested in simply generating a presence on the Web. Rather, it is research driven both in its design and implementation, and in its focussed outcomes of assisting academics and students primarily in their e-research endeavours. To this end, we have concentrated on the following: an extensive survey of appropriate texts; best models for file location, distribution, and use; and high standards of digitising protocols. These issues that relate to data storage, digitisation, collections, management, and end-users of data are aligned with the “Development of an Australian Research Data Strategy” outlined in An Australian e-Research Strategy and Implementation Framework (2006). CLDR is not designed to simply replicate resources, as it has a distinct focus, audience, and research potential. In addition, it looks at resources that may be forgotten or are no longer available in reproduction by current publishing companies. Thus, the aim of CLDR is to preserve both the time and a period of Australian history and literary culture. It will also provide users with an accessible repository of rare and early texts written for children. III. Future directions It is now commonplace to recognize that the Web’s role as information provider has changed over the past decade. New forms of “collective intelligence” or “distributed cognition” (Oblinger and Lombardi) are emerging within and outside formal research communities. Technology’s capacity to initiate major cultural, social, educational, economic, political and commercial shifts has conditioned us to expect the “next big thing.” We have learnt to adapt swiftly to the many challenges that online technologies have presented, and we have reaped the benefits. As the examples in this discussion have highlighted, the changes in online publishing and digitisation have provided many material, network, pedagogical, and research possibilities: we teach online units providing students with access to e-journals, e-books, and customized archives of digitised materials; we communicate via various online technologies; we attend virtual conferences; and we participate in e-research through a global, digital network. In other words, technology is deeply engrained in our everyday lives. In returning to Frollo’s concern that the book would destroy architecture, Umberto Eco offers a placatory note: “in the history of culture it has never happened that something has simply killed something else. Something has profoundly changed something else” (n. pag.). Eco’s point has relevance to our discussion of digital publishing. The transition from print to digital necessitates a profound change that impacts on the ways we read, write, and research. As we have illustrated with our case study of the CLDR project, the move to creating digitised texts of print literature needs to be considered within a dynamic network of multiple causalities, emergent technological processes, and complex negotiations through which digital texts are created, stored, disseminated, and used. Technological changes in just the past five years have, in many ways, created an expectation in the minds of people that the future is no longer some distant time from the present. Rather, as our title suggests, the future is both present and active. References Aarseth, Espen. “How we became Postdigital: From Cyberstudies to Game Studies.” Critical Cyber-culture Studies. Ed. David Silver and Adrienne Massanari. New York: New York UP, 2006. 37–46. An Australian e-Research Strategy and Implementation Framework: Final Report of the e-Research Coordinating Committee. Commonwealth of Australia, 2006. Bolter, Jay David. Writing Space: The Computer, Hypertext, and the History of Writing. Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum, 1991. Eco, Umberto. “The Future of the Book.” 1994. 3 June 2008 ‹http://www.themodernword.com/eco/eco_future_of_book.html>. Gunkel, David. J. “What's the Matter with Books?” Configurations 11.3 (2003): 277–303. Harley, Diane. “Use and Users of Digital Resources: A Focus on Undergraduate Education in the Humanities and Social Sciences.” Research and Occasional Papers Series. Berkeley: University of California. Centre for Studies in Higher Education. 12 June 2008 ‹http://www.themodernword.com/eco/eco_future_of_book.html>. Hayles, N. Katherine. My Mother was a Computer: Digital Subjects and Literary Texts. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2005. Hirtle, Peter B. “The Impact of Digitization on Special Collections in Libraries.” Libraries & Culture 37.1 (2002): 42–52. Hovav, Anat and Paul Gray. “Managing Academic E-journals.” Communications of the ACM 47.4 (2004): 79–82. Hugo, Victor. The Hunchback of Notre Dame (Notre-Dame de Paris). Ware, Hertfordshire: Wordsworth editions, 1993. Kho, Nancy D. “The Medium Gets the Message: Post-Print Publishing Models.” EContent 30.6 (2007): 42–48. Oblinger, Diana and Marilyn Lombardi. “Common Knowledge: Openness in Higher Education.” Opening up Education: The Collective Advancement of Education Through Open Technology, Open Content and Open Knowledge. Ed. Toru Liyoshi and M. S. Vijay Kumar. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2007. 389–400. Murray, Janet H. Hamlet on the Holodeck: The Future of Narrative in Cyberspace. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001. Trimmer, Joseph F., Wade Jennings, and Annette Patterson. eFictions. New York: Harcourt, 2001.

Introduction Cookbooks are an exceptional written record of what is largely an oral tradition. They have been described as “magician’s hats” due to their ability to reveal much more than they seem to contain (Wheaton, “Finding”). The first book printed in Germany was the Guttenberg Bible in 1456 but, by 1490, printing was introduced into almost every European country (Tierney). The spread of literacy between 1500 and 1800, and the rise in silent reading, helped to create a new private sphere into which the individual could retreat, seeking refuge from the community (Chartier). This new technology had its effects in the world of cookery as in so many spheres of culture (Mennell, All Manners). Trubek notes that cookbooks are the texts most often used by culinary historians, since they usually contain all the requisite materials for analysing a cuisine: ingredients, method, technique, and presentation. Printed cookbooks, beginning in the early modern period, provide culinary historians with sources of evidence of the culinary past. Historians have argued that social differences can be expressed by the way and type of food we consume. Cookbooks are now widely accepted as valid socio-cultural and historic documents (Folch, Sherman), and indeed the link between literacy levels and the protestant tradition has been expressed through the study of Danish cookbooks (Gold). From Apicius, Taillevent, La Varenne, and Menon to Bradley, Smith, Raffald, Acton, and Beeton, how can both manuscript and printed cookbooks be analysed as historic documents? What is the difference between a manuscript and a printed cookbook? Barbara Ketchum Wheaton, who has been studying cookbooks for over half a century and is honorary curator of the culinary collection in Harvard’s Schlesinger Library, has developed a methodology to read historic cookbooks using a structured approach. For a number of years she has been giving seminars to scholars from multidisciplinary fields on how to read historic cookbooks. This paper draws on the author’s experiences attending Wheaton’s seminar in Harvard, and on supervising the use of this methodology at both Masters and Doctoral level (Cashman; Mac Con Iomaire, and Cashman). Manuscripts versus Printed Cookbooks A fundamental difference exists between manuscript and printed cookbooks in their relationship with the public and private domain. Manuscript cookbooks are by their very essence intimate, relatively unedited and written with an eye to private circulation. Culinary manuscripts follow the diurnal and annual tasks of the household. They contain recipes for cures and restoratives, recipes for cleansing products for the house and the body, as well as the expected recipes for cooking and preserving all manners of food. Whether manuscript or printed cookbook, the recipes contained within often act as a reminder of how laborious the production of food could be in the pre-industrialised world (White). Printed cookbooks draw oxygen from the very fact of being public. They assume a “literate population with sufficient discretionary income to invest in texts that commodify knowledge” (Folch). This process of commoditisation brings knowledge from the private to the public sphere. There exists a subset of cookbooks that straddle this divide, for example, Mrs. Rundell’s A New System of Domestic Cookery (1806), which brought to the public domain her distillation of a lifetime of domestic experience. Originally intended for her daughters alone, Rundell’s book was reprinted regularly during the nineteenth century with the last edition printed in 1893, when Mrs. Beeton had been enormously popular for over thirty years (Mac Con Iomaire, and Cashman). Barbara Ketchum Wheaton’s Structured Approach Cookbooks can be rewarding, surprising and illuminating when read carefully with due effort in understanding them as cultural artefacts. However, Wheaton notes that: “One may read a single old cookbook and find it immensely entertaining. One may read two and begin to find intriguing similarities and differences. When the third cookbook is read, one’s mind begins to blur, and one begins to sense the need for some sort of method in approaching these documents” (“Finding”). Following decades of studying cookbooks from both sides of the Atlantic and writing a seminal text on the French at table from 1300-1789 (Wheaton, Savouring the Past), this combined experience negotiating cookbooks as historical documents was codified, and a structured approach gradually articulated and shared within a week long seminar format. In studying any cookbook, regardless of era or country of origin, the text is broken down into five different groupings, to wit: ingredients; equipment or facilities; the meal; the book as a whole; and, finally, the worldview. A particular strength of Wheaton’s seminars is the multidisciplinary nature of the approaches of students who attend, which throws the study of cookbooks open to wide ranging techniques. Students with a purely scientific training unearth interesting patterns by developing databases of the frequency of ingredients or techniques, and cross referencing them with other books from similar or different timelines or geographical regions. Patterns are displayed in graphs or charts. Linguists offer their own unique lens to study cookbooks, whereas anthropologists and historians ask what these objects can tell us about how our ancestors lived and drew meaning from life. This process is continuously refined, and each grouping is discussed below. Ingredients The geographic origins of the ingredients are of interest, as is the seasonality and the cost of the foodstuffs within the scope of each cookbook, as well as the sensory quality both separately and combined within different recipes. In the medieval period, the use of spices and large joints of butchers meat and game were symbols of wealth and status. However, when the discovery of sea routes to the New World and to the Far East made spices more available and affordable to the middle classes, the upper classes spurned them. Evidence from culinary manuscripts in Georgian Ireland, for example, suggests that galangal was more easily available in Dublin during the eighteenth century than in the mid-twentieth century. A new aesthetic, articulated by La Varenne in his Le Cuisinier Francois (1651), heralded that food should taste of itself, and so exotic ingredients such as cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger were replaced by the local bouquet garni, and stocks and sauces became the foundations of French haute cuisine (Mac Con Iomaire). Some combinations of flavours and ingredients were based on humoral physiology, a long held belief system based on the writings of Hippocrates and Galen, now discredited by modern scientific understanding. The four humors are blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm. It was believed that each of these humors would wax and wane in the body, depending on diet and activity. Galen (131-201 AD) believed that warm food produced yellow bile and that cold food produced phlegm. It is difficult to fathom some combinations of ingredients or the manner of service without comprehending the contemporary context within they were consumeSome ingredients found in Roman cookbooks, such as “garum” or “silphium” are no longer available. It is suggested that the nearest substitute for garum also known as “liquamen”—a fermented fish sauce—would be Naam Plaa, or Thai fish sauce (Grainger). Ingredients such as tea and white bread, moved from the prerogative of the wealthy over time to become the staple of the urban poor. These ingredients, therefore, symbolise radically differing contexts during the seventeenth century than in the early twentieth century. Indeed, there are other ingredients such as hominy (dried maize kernel treated with alkali) or grahams (crackers made from graham flour) found in American cookbooks that require translation to the unacquainted non-American reader. There has been a growing number of food encyclopaedias published in recent years that assist scholars in identifying such commodities (Smith, Katz, Davidson). The Cook’s Workplace, Techniques, and Equipment It is important to be aware of the type of kitchen equipment used, the management of heat and cold within the kitchen, and also the gradual spread of the industrial revolution into the domestic sphere. Visits to historic castles such as Hampton Court Palace where nowadays archaeologists re-enact life below stairs in Tudor times give a glimpse as to how difficult and labour intensive food production was. Meat was spit-roasted in front of huge fires by spit boys. Forcemeats and purees were manually pulped using mortar and pestles. Various technological developments including spit-dogs, and mechanised pulleys, replaced the spit boys, the most up to date being the mechanised rotisserie. The technological advancements of two hundred years can be seen in the Royal Pavilion in Brighton where Marie-Antoinin Carême worked for the Prince Regent in 1816 (Brighton Pavilion), but despite the gleaming copper pans and high ceilings for ventilation, the work was still back breaking. Carême died aged forty-nine, “burnt out by the flame of his genius and the fumes of his ovens” (Ackerman 90). Mennell points out that his fame outlived him, resting on his books: Le Pâtissier Royal Parisien (1815); Le Pâtissier Pittoresque (1815); Le Maître d’Hôtel Français (1822); Le Cuisinier Parisien (1828); and, finally, L’Art de la Cuisine Française au Dix-Neuvième Siècle (1833–5), which was finished posthumously by his student Pluméry (All Manners). Mennell suggests that these books embody the first paradigm of professional French cuisine (in Kuhn’s terminology), pointing out that “no previous work had so comprehensively codified the field nor established its dominance as a point of reference for the whole profession in the way that Carême did” (All Manners 149). The most dramatic technological changes came after the industrial revolution. Although there were built up ovens available in bakeries and in large Norman households, the period of general acceptance of new cooking equipment that enclosed fire (such as the Aga stove) is from c.1860 to 1910, with gas ovens following in c.1910 to the 1920s) and Electricity from c.1930. New food processing techniques dates are as follows: canning (1860s), cooling and freezing (1880s), freeze drying (1950s), and motorised delivery vans with cooking (1920s–1950s) (den Hartog). It must also be noted that the supply of fresh food, and fish particularly, radically improved following the birth, and expansion of, the railways. To understand the context of the cookbook, one needs to be aware of the limits of the technology available to the users of those cookbooks. For many lower to middle class families during the twentieth century, the first cookbook they would possess came with their gas or electrical oven. Meals One can follow cooked dishes from the kitchen to the eating place, observing food presentation, carving, sequencing, and serving of the meal and table etiquette. Meal times and structure changed over time. During the Middle Ages, people usually ate two meals a day: a substantial dinner around noon and a light supper in the evening (Adamson). Some of the most important factors to consider are the manner in which meals were served: either à la française or à la russe. One of the main changes that occurred during the nineteenth century was the slow but gradual transfer from service à la française to service à la russe. From medieval times to the middle of the nineteenth century the structure of a formal meal was not by “courses”—as the term is now understood—but by “services”. Each service could comprise of a choice of dishes—both sweet and savoury—from which each guest could select what appealed to him or her most (Davidson). The philosophy behind this form of service was the forementioned humoral physiology— where each diner chose food based on the four humours of blood, yellow bile, black bile, or phlegm. Also known as le grand couvert, the à la française method made it impossible for the diners to eat anything that was beyond arm’s length (Blake, and Crewe). Smooth service, however, was the key to an effective à la russe dinner since servants controlled the flow of food (Eatwell). The taste and temperature of food took centre stage with the à la russe dinner as each course came in sequence. Many historic cookbooks offer table plans illustrating the suggested arrangement of dishes on a table for the à la française style of service. Many of these dishes might be re-used in later meals, and some dishes such as hashes and rissoles often utilised left over components of previous meals. There is a whole genre of cookbooks informing the middle class cooks how to be frugal and also how to emulate haute cuisine using cheaper or ersatz ingredients. The number dining and the manner in which they dined also changed dramatically over time. From medieval to Tudor times, there might be hundreds dining in large banqueting halls. By the Elizabethan age, a small intimate room where master and family dined alone replaced the old dining hall where master, servants, guests, and travellers had previously dined together (Spencer). Dining tables remained portable until the 1780s when tables with removable leaves were devised. By this time, the bread trencher had been replaced by one made of wood, or plate of pewter or precious metal in wealthier houses. Hosts began providing knives and spoons for their guests by the seventeenth century, with forks also appearing but not fully accepted until the eighteenth century (Mason). These silver utensils were usually marked with the owner’s initials to prevent their theft (Flandrin). Cookbooks as Objects and the World of Publishing A thorough examination of the manuscript or printed cookbook can reveal their physical qualities, including indications of post-publication history, the recipes and other matter in them, as well as the language, organization, and other individual qualities. What can the quality of the paper tell us about the book? Is there a frontispiece? Is the book dedicated to an employer or a patron? Does the author note previous employment history in the introduction? In his Court Cookery, Robert Smith, for example, not only mentions a number of his previous employers, but also outlines that he was eight years working with Patrick Lamb in the Court of King William, before revealing that several dishes published in Lamb’s Royal Cookery (1710) “were never made or practis’d (sic) by him and others are extreme defective and imperfect and made up of dishes unknown to him; and several of them more calculated at the purses than the Gôut of the guests”. Both Lamb and Smith worked for the English monarchy, nobility, and gentry, but produced French cuisine. Not all Britons were enamoured with France, however, with, for example Hannah Glasse asserting “if gentlemen will have French cooks, they must pay for French tricks” (4), and “So much is the blind folly of this age, that they would rather be imposed on by a French Booby, than give encouragement to an good English cook” (ctd. in Trubek 60). Spencer contextualises Glasse’s culinary Francophobia, explaining that whilst she was writing the book, the Jacobite army were only a few days march from London, threatening to cut short the Hanoverian lineage. However, Lehmann points out that whilst Glasse was overtly hostile to French cuisine, she simultaneously plagiarised its receipts. Based on this trickling down of French influences, Mennell argues that “there is really no such thing as a pure-bred English cookery book” (All Manners 98), but that within the assimilation and simplification, a recognisable English style was discernable. Mennell also asserts that Glasse and her fellow women writers had an enormous role in the social history of cooking despite their lack of technical originality (“Plagiarism”). It is also important to consider the place of cookbooks within the history of publishing. Albala provides an overview of the immense outpouring of dietary literature from the printing presses from the 1470s. He divides the Renaissance into three periods: Period I Courtly Dietaries (1470–1530)—targeted at the courtiers with advice to those attending banquets with many courses and lots of wine; Period II The Galenic Revival (1530–1570)—with a deeper appreciation, and sometimes adulation, of Galen, and when scholarship took centre stage over practical use. Finally Period III The Breakdown of Orthodoxy (1570–1650)—when, due to the ambiguities and disagreements within and between authoritative texts, authors were freer to pick the ideas that best suited their own. Nutrition guides were consistent bestsellers, and ranged from small handbooks written in the vernacular for lay audiences, to massive Latin tomes intended for practicing physicians. Albala adds that “anyone with an interest in food appears to have felt qualified to pen his own nutritional guide” (1). Would we have heard about Mrs. Beeton if her husband had not been a publisher? How could a twenty-five year old amass such a wealth of experience in household management? What role has plagiarism played in the history of cookbooks? It is interesting to note that a well worn copy of her book (Beeton) was found in the studio of Francis Bacon and it is suggested that he drew inspiration for a number of his paintings from the colour plates of animal carcasses and butcher’s meat (Dawson). Analysing the post-publication usage of cookbooks is valuable to see the most popular recipes, the annotations left by the owner(s) or user(s), and also if any letters, handwritten recipes, or newspaper clippings are stored within the leaves of the cookbook. The Reader, the Cook, the Eater The physical and inner lives and needs and skills of the individuals who used cookbooks and who ate their meals merit consideration. Books by their nature imply literacy. Who is the book’s audience? Is it the cook or is it the lady of the house who will dictate instructions to the cook? Numeracy and measurement is also important. Where clocks or pocket watches were not widely available, authors such as seventeenth century recipe writer Sir Kenelm Digby would time his cooking by the recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. Literacy amongst protestant women to enable them to read the Bible, also enabled them to read cookbooks (Gold). How did the reader or eater’s religion affect the food practices? Were there fast days? Were there substitute foods for fast days? What about special occasions? Do historic cookbooks only tell us about the food of the middle and upper classes? It is widely accepted today that certain cookbook authors appeal to confident cooks, while others appeal to competent cooks, and others still to more cautious cooks (Bilton). This has always been the case, as has the differentiation between the cookbook aimed at the professional cook rather than the amateur. Historically, male cookbook authors such as Patrick Lamb (1650–1709) and Robert Smith targeted the professional cook market and the nobility and gentry, whereas female authors such as Eliza Acton (1799–1859) and Isabella Beeton (1836–1865) often targeted the middle class market that aspired to emulate their superiors’ fashions in food and dining. How about Tavern or Restaurant cooks? When did they start to put pen to paper, and did what they wrote reflect the food they produced in public eateries? Conclusions This paper has offered an overview of Barbara Ketchum Wheaton’s methodology for reading historic cookbooks using a structured approach. It has highlighted some of the questions scholars and researchers might ask when faced with an old cookbook, regardless of era or geographical location. By systematically examining the book under the headings of ingredients; the cook’s workplace, techniques and equipment; the meals; cookbooks as objects and the world of publishing; and reader, cook and eater, the scholar can perform magic and extract much more from the cookbook than seems to be there on first appearance. References Ackerman, Roy. The Chef's Apprentice. London: Headline, 1988. Adamson, Melitta Weiss. Food in Medieval Times. Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood P, 2004. Albala, Ken. Eating Right in the Renaissance. Ed. Darra Goldstein. Berkeley: U of California P, 2002. Beeton, Isabella. Beeton's Book of Household Management. London: S. Beeton, 1861. 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