Journal articles on the topic 'Richard Hammond'

Henry Hammond (1605–60), the learned and practical English priest who during the Interregnum did as much as any man and a good deal more than most to reinforce and renew the ideational underpinnings of his Church, is a familiar figure in seventeenth-century Anglican studies. Historians speak of his captaincy of a circle of Anglican divines. One names him the “oracle of the High Church party”; another sees him as the principal transformer of Anglicanism. The Independent John Owen likened him to a clerical Atlas bearing on his shoulders “the whole weight of the episcopal cause.” The scholars just quoted call Hammond a “Laudian” but are uneasy with the label and loath to defend it. He appears in their work as an exemplary High Churchman standing for de jure episcopacy, Prayer-Book piety, the Eucharist, and royal headship of the Church. His intransigent Churchmanship contrasts in some degree with his character and temperament. He comes down to us as “the spokesman of those who would make no concession,” yet Richard Baxter, who thought him “the fons et origo of the prelatical bigotry of his day, wrote that he “took the death of Dr. Hammond … for a very great loss; for his piety and wisdom would sure have hindered much of the violence” of the Restoration.

The Puritans are well known for their teachings on practical godliness, especially godliness in the family. This article reviews three selections from biblical commentaries, five portions of books, four booklets, and seven complete books by the Puritans on family life that have been reprinted recently. Full books reviewed include those by William Gouge, Richard Baxter, Daniel Rogers, Matthew Henry, George Hammond, and Dutch Further Reformation divine Jacobus Koelman. The article concludes with a full bibliography of Puritan works on the family, including Pearly modern publications and more recent reprints.

The most important contribution made by Archbishop James Ussher to the ecclesiastical developments of the Interregnum and Restoration periods was his short tract The Reduction of Episcopacy Unto the Form of Synodical Government. Printed only after his death in 1656, its combination of ministerial synods with episcopal rule was seen as a basis for presbyterian-episcopal reconciliation over the next three decades. The tract was printed in five editions during the later 1650s, and came out in two more editions in 1679, when the Popish Plot and the calling of a new Parliament revived hopes that dissenters could be comprehended within the Church of England. It was printed once more in 1689, in Edinburgh, when “comprehension” was again being hotly debated in both England and Scotland. By that time Ussher's name had come to symbolize such “limited” or “primitive” episcopacy, and indeed it has continued to do so among twentieth-century historians.The fame of the Reduction rests upon its content and authorship. Although the tract was only one of many such compromises offered during the Interregnum, it was the most radical to come from the royalist and Anglican side during that period. Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of all Ireland, Ussher was admired and respected by radical puritans and major Laudian spokesmen such as Henry Hammond and Bishop John Bramhall. The power of Ussher's name in this context was shown in 1685, when the nonconformist divine and politician Richard Baxter was on trial for allegedly making a printed attack against the king and the bishops. When Baxter's attorney, Sir Henry Pollexfen, sought to introduce as evidence one of Baxter's own printed compromises between episcopal and presbyterian government, Lord Chief Justice George Jeffreys replied, “I will see none of his books; it is for primitive Episcopacy, I will warrant you — a bishop in every parish.” In replying “Nay, my lord, it is the same with Archbishop Usher's,” Pollexfen indicated both the radical nature of the Reduction and the legitimacy that Ussher's name lent to other compromises of this kind.

This article was originally presented at a seminar organized by Josephine Berry (2020) around the ideas of milieu and geoaesthetics, derived respectively from Michel Foucault (2009) and Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari (1999). In this account of a network of artworks, I will focus on direct reading of a significant conjunction between works by Richard Serra and David Hammons through an understanding of the political economy of New York at an important moment of transition. I develop the understanding of milieu derived from Michel Foucault with Henri Lefebvre’s concepts of the ‘production of space’ (1991) and the ‘reproduction of the relations of production’ (1976), operations by which capitalism survives its crisis of accumulation at a key conjuncture in the 1970s which has direct consequences for the works I discuss. Responding to the initial presentation context for this article, a seminar coordinated by Dr Josephine Berry, geoaesthetics, a concept derived by Berry from ideas of milieu and geoaesthetics, respectively, from Michel Foucault (2009) and Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari (1986) is grasped in the sense of art and aesthetics responding to the earth’s (adopting the same prefix as) geology, geography and geometry (ge) by offering a planetary reading of art or experience of art that is entwined with a consciousness of our planet as a totality, and perhaps galvanized by our increasing awareness of it as a finite resource. Geoaesthetics in this context is thought of as an aesthetics, an attempt to understand the experience of artworks in ways that render accessible the conditions of their making and witnessing in terms that are inseparable from the environments and conditions in which they are made and experienced.

Though the teaching of Hamming codes has not lost its relevance and remains an essential part of the error control codes theory, it is a tool without which modern communication and computer science students can hardly be prepared. This abstract is a survey of the historical development of Hamming codes with a focus on the role of Richard Hamming and the post-Richard Hamming periods in this respect. Their close connections to the error-free transmitting of data and the storage of data in the digital-era are examined.Furthermore, methods are presented to teach such a complex material using didactic tools for the successful development of the students. The most important point of the study is the training through innovative disciplines, such as data transmission. The main goal is to become a mass practice in universities and schools, so that it is not only a novelty, but also to be a motivation for undertaking practical projects.

Frederick H. Smith; Caribbean Rum: A Social and Economic History (Franklin W. Knight)Stephan Palmié; Wizards and Scientists: Explorations in Afro-Cuban Modernity and Tradition (Julie Skurski)Miguel A. De la Torre; The Quest for the Cuban Christ: A Historical Search (Fernando Picó)L. Antonio Curet, Shannon Lee Dawdy & Gabino La Rosa Corzo (eds.); Dialogues in Cuban Archaeology (David M. Pendergast)Jill Lane; Blackface Cuba, 1840-1895 (Arthur Knight)Hal Klepak; Cuba’s Military 1990-2005: Revolutionary Soldiers during Counter-Revolutionary Times (Antoni Kapcia)Lydia Chávez (ed.); Capitalism, God, and a Good Cigar: Cuba Enters the Twenty-First Century (Ann Marie Stock)Diane Accaria-Zavala & Rodolfo Popelnik (eds.); Prospero’s Isles: The Presence of the Caribbean in the American Imaginary (Sean X. Goudie)Alexandra Isfahani-Hammond (ed.); The Masters and the Slaves: Plantation Relations and Mestizaje in American Imaginaries (Danielle D. Smith) David J. Weber; Bárbaros: Spaniards and Their Savages in the Age of Enlightenment (Neil L. Whitehead)Larry Gragg; Englishmen Transplanted: The English Colonization of Barbados, 1627-1660 (Richard S. Dunn)Jon F. Sensbach; Rebecca’s Revival: Creating Black Christianity in the Atlantic World (Aaron Spencer Fogleman)Jennifer L. Morgan; Laboring Women: Reproduction and Gender in New World Slavery (Verene A. Shepherd)Jorge Luis Chinea; Race and Labor in the Hispanic Caribbean: The West Indian Immigrant Worker Experience in Nineteenth-Century Puerto Rico, 1800-1850 (Juan José Baldrich)Constance R. Sutton (ed.); Revisiting Caribbean Labour: Essays in Honour of O. Nigel Bolland (Mary Chamberlain)Gert Oostindie; Paradise Overseas: The Dutch Caribbean: Colonialism and its Transatlantic Legacies (Bridget Brereton)Allan Pred; The Past Is Not Dead: Facts, Fictions, and Enduring Racial Stereotypes (Karen Fog Olwig)James C. Riley; Poverty and Life Expectancy: The Jamaica Paradox (Cruz María Nazario)Lucia M. Suárez; The Tears of Hispaniola: Haitian and Dominican Diaspora Memory (J. Michael Dash)Mary Chamberlain; Family Love in the Diaspora: Migration and the Anglo-Caribbean Experience (Kevin Birth)Joseph Palacio (ed.); The Garifuna: A Nation Across Borders (Grant Jewell Rich)Elizabeth M. DeLoughery, Renée K. Goss on & George B. Handley (eds.); Caribbean Literature and the Environment: Between Nature and Culture (Bonham C. Richardson)Mary Gallagher (ed.); Ici-Là: Place and Displacement in Caribbean Writing in French (Christina Kullberg)David V. Moskowitz; Caribbean Popular Music: An Encyclopedia of Reggae, Mento, Ska, Rock Steady, and Dancehall (Kenneth Bilby)John H. McWhorter; Defining Creole (Bettina M. Migge)Ellen M. Schnepel; In Search of a National Identity: Creole and Politics in Guadeloupe (Paul B. Garrett)

Frederick H. Smith; Caribbean Rum: A Social and Economic History (Franklin W. Knight)Stephan Palmié; Wizards and Scientists: Explorations in Afro-Cuban Modernity and Tradition (Julie Skurski)Miguel A. De la Torre; The Quest for the Cuban Christ: A Historical Search (Fernando Picó)L. Antonio Curet, Shannon Lee Dawdy & Gabino La Rosa Corzo (eds.); Dialogues in Cuban Archaeology (David M. Pendergast)Jill Lane; Blackface Cuba, 1840-1895 (Arthur Knight)Hal Klepak; Cuba’s Military 1990-2005: Revolutionary Soldiers during Counter-Revolutionary Times (Antoni Kapcia)Lydia Chávez (ed.); Capitalism, God, and a Good Cigar: Cuba Enters the Twenty-First Century (Ann Marie Stock)Diane Accaria-Zavala & Rodolfo Popelnik (eds.); Prospero’s Isles: The Presence of the Caribbean in the American Imaginary (Sean X. Goudie)Alexandra Isfahani-Hammond (ed.); The Masters and the Slaves: Plantation Relations and Mestizaje in American Imaginaries (Danielle D. Smith) David J. Weber; Bárbaros: Spaniards and Their Savages in the Age of Enlightenment (Neil L. Whitehead)Larry Gragg; Englishmen Transplanted: The English Colonization of Barbados, 1627-1660 (Richard S. Dunn)Jon F. Sensbach; Rebecca’s Revival: Creating Black Christianity in the Atlantic World (Aaron Spencer Fogleman)Jennifer L. Morgan; Laboring Women: Reproduction and Gender in New World Slavery (Verene A. Shepherd)Jorge Luis Chinea; Race and Labor in the Hispanic Caribbean: The West Indian Immigrant Worker Experience in Nineteenth-Century Puerto Rico, 1800-1850 (Juan José Baldrich)Constance R. Sutton (ed.); Revisiting Caribbean Labour: Essays in Honour of O. Nigel Bolland (Mary Chamberlain)Gert Oostindie; Paradise Overseas: The Dutch Caribbean: Colonialism and its Transatlantic Legacies (Bridget Brereton)Allan Pred; The Past Is Not Dead: Facts, Fictions, and Enduring Racial Stereotypes (Karen Fog Olwig)James C. Riley; Poverty and Life Expectancy: The Jamaica Paradox (Cruz María Nazario)Lucia M. Suárez; The Tears of Hispaniola: Haitian and Dominican Diaspora Memory (J. Michael Dash)Mary Chamberlain; Family Love in the Diaspora: Migration and the Anglo-Caribbean Experience (Kevin Birth)Joseph Palacio (ed.); The Garifuna: A Nation Across Borders (Grant Jewell Rich)Elizabeth M. DeLoughery, Renée K. Goss on & George B. Handley (eds.); Caribbean Literature and the Environment: Between Nature and Culture (Bonham C. Richardson)Mary Gallagher (ed.); Ici-Là: Place and Displacement in Caribbean Writing in French (Christina Kullberg)David V. Moskowitz; Caribbean Popular Music: An Encyclopedia of Reggae, Mento, Ska, Rock Steady, and Dancehall (Kenneth Bilby)John H. McWhorter; Defining Creole (Bettina M. Migge)Ellen M. Schnepel; In Search of a National Identity: Creole and Politics in Guadeloupe (Paul B. Garrett)

Richard W. Hamming's The Art of Doing Science and Engineering: Learning to Learn is one of the true essentials, a book to be read by every scientist or engineer (and certainly software engineer) interested in the big picture; it may be safely skipped by those who aim only at a life and career where one has "merely survived and amused" oneself, as Hamming himself puts it in his final, summative, chapter. The essence of this book is a combination of anecdote and aphorism drawn from a mature, active mind, reflecting on a great career spent at great places (Los Alamos, and then Bell Labs in its heyday, to be precise). There is also a great deal of mathematics, but the aphorism, backed by well-chosen anecdote(s), is fundamental; you do not need to know or care much about differential equations (and there are many here) to benefit from this book. It is hard to convey the value of the anecdotes, in a short review. The aphorisms, however, can be more than mentioned; what follows is, in reverse order, the entire set of Hamming's bolded, inset, aphorisms, by chapter (combining multiple chapters on the same topic, e.g., simulation). I have truncated one long item, which offers up a description of pure mathematics; you will have to read the book to get that one. The focus on aphorism is appropriate; I think Hamming himself would have agreed that this entire wonderful book is a kind of elaboration and proof of Pasteur's "Luck favors the prepared mind", which Hamming quotes not once, not twice, but seven times.

BackgroundThe aim of the Systemic Lupus Erythematosus Prospective Observational Cohort Study (SPOCS) is to examine the disease course of patients with systemic lupus erythematosus (SLE) in relation to their type I interferon gene signature (IFNGS) status.1 IFNGS has been associated with SLE disease activity.2ObjectivesTo identify associations between IFNGS status and patient-reported outcomes (PROs) among patients receiving clinical care while enrolled in SPOCS.MethodsThis noninterventional, international, prospective, observational cohort study included adult patients (≥18 years) with moderate to severe SLE receiving standard therapy. Short Form 36 Health Survey version 2 (SF-36; 0–100), Lupus Quality of Life (LupusQoL; 0–100) and Functional Assessment of Chronic Illness Therapy-Fatigue (FACIT-F; 0–52) were assessed at baseline, 6 months, and 12 months. Higher scores indicate better outcomes. Analyses were stratified by high or low IFNGS status (4-gene test) at baseline.ResultsOf 827 patients, mean (standard deviation [SD]) age was 45.1 (14.0) years, 771 (93%) were female, 525 (63%) were IFNGS high, and 219 (26%) were IFNGS low. IFNGS-high patients were younger than IFNGS-low (mean [SD] 43.0 [13.7] vs 50.7 [12.9] years), had fewer comorbidities (83% vs 91%) and similar baseline disease activity (mean [SD]: SLE Disease Activity Index 2000, 9.8 [4.3] vs 9.2 [5.2]; Physician’s Global Assessment, both 1.5 [0.6]). At baseline, there were some differences in PROs between IFNGS-high and -low patients. At Month 12, changes in most domains did not meet the minimal clinically important difference (MCID). Slight improvement was observed only in selected domains in the IFNGS-high group. This group was younger and had fewer comorbidities at baseline. (Table 1, Figure 1).Table 1.PRO Scores at Baseline and Month 12 by IFNGS StatusBaselineMonth 12Change From BaselineMCID (≥)PROTotal (n=810)IFNGS HighIFNGS Low (n=219)Total (n=431)IFNGS HighIFNGS Low (n=147)TotalIFNGS HighIFNGS Low(n=525)(n=279)SF-36Physical Component Summary37.4 (10.5)38.3 (10.5)+35.2 (10.6)139.8 (10.8)41.7 (10.4)+35.7 (10.8)2.3 (7.6)3.0 (8.1)*0.6 (6.4)2.5Mental Component Summary43.2 (11.6)43.6 (11.7)42.7 (11.6)44.9 (11.2)45.9 (10.6)43.4 (11.5)0.9 (9.2)1.4 (9.6)-0.3 (8.4)2.5LupusQoLPhysical health56.4 (27.4)58.1 (27.0)+52.1 (27.7)60.5 (26.9)65.0 (25.3)+52.5 (27.7)2.6 (18.1)5.0 (19.2)*-1.4 (16.4)3.4Pain54.3 (30.3)55.7 (29.8)50.2 (30.8)61.4 (28.5)66.0 (26.5)+52.6 (29.1)5.4 (23.8)8.1 (25.2)0.7 (21.3)8.5Planning61.4 (32.2)63.7 (31.8)+57.0 (32.2)66.3 (29.6)70.8 (27.8)+58.5 (30.8)2.9 (24.4)4.2 (24.7)-1.0 (22.9)6.5Intimate relationships58.0 (34.8)61.2 (34.1)+50.9 (34.8)59.8 (33.9)65.6 (32.3)+50.6 (34.7)-0.6 (24.5)-0.7 (25.9)-0.8 (22.3)9.2Burden to others50.7 (32.6)50.7 (32.6)50.4 (33.5)56.4 (30.7)59.7 (29.5)51.8 (31.7)3.1 (25.4)5.6 (26.0)*0.1 (23.9)5.3Emotional health66.3 (25.6)66.1 (26.0)67.8 (24.8)71.1 (24.7)72.9 (23.8)69.2 (24.7)1.8 (19.4)3.1 (20.3)-0.5 (18.1)3.4Body image62.6 (29.4)61.0 (30.1)66.4 (28.3)68.2 (27.6)70.3 (27.4)65.1 (27.0)2.0 (23.9)*4.1 (24.3)*-0.4 (22.1)1.1Fatigue48.6 (27.8)49.9 (27.6)45.5 (28.2)53.7 (26.9)57.4 (26.2)+46.9 (25.7)2.1 (19.3)3.5 (20.0)-0.9 (18.7)3.9FACIT-F25.8 (13.4)26.9 (13.4)+23.4 (12.9)28.7 (13.2)31.1 (12.7)+24.6 (12.9)2.3 (9.6)3.2 (10.2)0.6 (8.5)4.0Data are mean (SD). Asterisks (*) indicate changes from baseline ≥ MCID. +Comparison between high and low IFNGS status by Mann-Whitney U test (nominal p-value<0.01).Data for n are patients per subgroup and do not reflect responses per PRO assessment.ConclusionIn this cohort study, patients with moderate to severe SLE had poor health status, health-related quality of life, and fatigue. A clinically meaningful change was not met in most PROs, suggesting patients continue to have a high need for improved treatment options.References[1]Hammond ER. BMJ Open 2020;10:e036563.[2]Dall’era MC. Ann Rheum Dis 2005;64:1692–7.AcknowledgementsWriting assistance by Shelley Harris, PhD (Fishawack). This study was sponsored by AstraZeneca.Disclosure of InterestsMartin Aringer Speakers bureau: AbbVie, AstraZeneca, BMS, Boehringer Ingelheim, Chugai, HEXAL, Lilly, MSD, Mylan, Novartis, Roche, Sanofi, UCB, Consultant of: AbbVie, AstraZeneca, BMS, Boehringer Ingelheim, Galapagos, GSK, Pfizer, Roche, Sanofi, Laurent Arnaud Speakers bureau: AstraZeneca, Consultant of: AstraZeneca, Grant/research support from: AstraZeneca, Christine Peschken Consultant of: AstraZeneca, GSK, Grant/research support from: AstraZeneca, Richard Furie Speakers bureau: AstraZeneca, Genentech, Consultant of: AstraZeneca, Grant/research support from: AstraZeneca, Eric F. Morand Speakers bureau: GSK, Novartis, Paid instructor for: AstraZeneca, Biogen, Eli Lilly, Consultant of: AstraZeneca, Biogen, Bristol Myers Squibb, Eli Lilly, EMD Serono, Genentech, GSK, Janssen, Servier, Grant/research support from: Abbvie, AstraZeneca, Bristol Myers Squibb, GSK, Janssen, Caroline Seo Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, Employee of: AstraZeneca, Eleni Rapsomaniki Employee of: AstraZeneca, Jonatan Hedberg Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, Employee of: AstraZeneca, Jacob Knagenhjelm Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, Employee of: AstraZeneca, Tina Grünfeld Eén Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, Employee of: AstraZeneca, Barnabas Desta Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, Employee of: AstraZeneca, Raj Tummala Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, Employee of: AstraZeneca, Alessandro Sorrentino Shareholder of: Galapagov, Abbott Laboratories, Gilead Sciences, Moderna, Employee of: Janssen, Sanofi, AstraZeneca, Heide Stirnadel-Farrant Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, GSK, Employee of: AstraZeneca

BackgroundEmphasis in clinical research and care has been placed on the need to include evaluations that reflect the perspectives of both patients and physicians.ObjectivesThe goal of this study was to analyze patient and physician assessments and to determine characteristics associated with concordance and discordance of these assessments.MethodsBaseline data of patients with moderate to severe SLE enrolled in the Systemic Lupus Erythematosus Prospective Observational Cohort Study (SPOCS)1 were analyzed. Physician’s Global Assessment (PGA) representing disease activity during the 4-week interval prior to baseline and Patient Global Assessment (PtGA) representing the impact of disease during a 1-month interval prior to baseline were independently scored on visual analogue scales (PGA 0-3; PtGA 0-100). Spearman’s rank (rho) was calculated to assess their correlation. A difference between PGA and PtGA scores ≥25 points defined discordance (after rescaling PGA to 0–100).2 Baseline characteristics associated with concordance and discordance were assessed.Results827 patients were included in this analysis. At baseline, the mean PGA score was 1.5 (SD 0.6, n=824), and the mean PtGA score was 51.1 (SD 25.5, n=790). The correlation between PGA and PtGA was low (rho=0.19, P<0.001, n=787) (Figure 1). PGA and PtGA scores were discordant in 301 (38%) of patients. Among those patients exceeding the threshold defining discordance, 152 (19%) had higher PGA scores than PtGA scores, and 149 (19%) had higher PtGA scores than PGA scores. The subgroup of PGA-higher discordant patients had higher mean SLEDAI-2K scores, greater serological activity, and more frequent type 1 interferon gene signature positivity, whereas PtGA-higher discordant patients were more likely to be using analgesics and/or anti-depressants, had higher mean BMI and were less likely to be employed (Table 1).Table 1.Characteristics associated with PGA and PtGA scoresaConcordant (N=486)PGA higher (N=152)PtGA higher (N=149)P-value-1bP-value-2bAge, years45.5 (13.7)42.7 (14.4)46.4 (14.0)0.0220.043Race, White326 (71%)96 (66%)94 (69%)0.1920.360BMI, kg/m227.6 (7.2)25.6 (5.4)27.2 (6.4)0.0320.011Employed249 (51%)80 (53%)51 (34%)0.0010.001SLEDAI-2K total score10.0 (4.8)10.8 (5.1)8.2 (3.0)<0.001<0.001Positive ANA/anti-dsDNA436 (90%)143 (94%)127 (85%)0.0120.041Low Complement (C3 or C4)132 (46%)58 (60%)41 (43%)0.0140.026High IFNGS313 (71%)101 (78%)89 (64%)0.0140.049≥1 mild flare115 (24%)20 (13%)45 (30%)<0.0010.001≥1 moderate flare88 (18%)37 (24%)23 (16%)0.0570.120≥1 severe flare39 (8%)11 (7%)15 (10%)0.3720.628OCS daily dose0.0520.129No OCS214 (44%)57 (38%)62 (42%)>0–7.5 mg139 (29%)38 (25%)52 (35%)>7.5–15 mg75 (15%)37 (25%)18 (12%)>15 mg57 (12%)19 (13%)17 (11%)Immunosuppressants271 (56%)80 (53%)75 (50%)0.6900.467Biologics106 (22%)25 (16%)19 (13%)0.3640.032Analgesics152 (31%)22 (14%)46 (31%)<0.001<0.001Antidepressants123 (25%)31 (20%)52 (35%)0.0050.013aMean (SD) for continuous, n (%) for nominal variables. Missing data was <10% of patients for the variables displayed. Denominators exclude missing data. bP-value-1 compares PGA higher vs PtGA higher. P-value-2 compares all 3 groups. Based on the chi-squared test for categorical variables and t-test or ANOVA for continuous variables.IFNGS, type 1 interferon gene signature; OCS, oral corticosteroid; PGA, physician global assessment; PtGA, patient global assessmentConclusionLow correlation between PGA and PtGA suggests both should be used to acquire a broad perspective of the impact of disease on the overall health of patients. Different baseline characteristics were associated with the PGA-higher compared to the PtGA-higher discordant subgroups.References[1]Hammond ER, et al. BMJ Open. 2020;10:e036563.[2]Challa DNV, et al. Rheumatol Ther. 2017;4:201–8.AcknowledgementsEditing assistance by Rebecca S. Jones, PhD (Fishawack). This study was sponsored by AstraZeneca.Disclosure of InterestsLaurent Arnaud Speakers bureau: AstraZeneca, Consultant of: AstraZeneca, Grant/research support from: AstraZeneca, Richard Furie Speakers bureau: AstraZeneca, Genentech, Consultant of: AstraZeneca, Grant/research support from: AstraZeneca, Eric F. Morand Speakers bureau: GSK, Novartis, Paid instructor for: AstraZeneca, Biogen, Eli Lilly, Consultant of: AstraZeneca, Biogen, Bristol Myers Squibb, Eli Lilly, EMD Serono, Genentech, GSK, Janssen, Servier, Grant/research support from: Abbvie, AstraZeneca, Bristol Myers Squibb, GSK, Janssen, Christine Peschken Consultant of: AstraZeneca, GSK, Grant/research support from: AstraZeneca, Martin Aringer Speakers bureau: AbbVie, AstraZeneca, BMS, Boehringer Ingelheim, Chugai, HEXAL, Lilly, MSD, Mylan, Novartis, Roche, Sanofi, UCB, Consultant of: AbbVie, AstraZeneca, BMS, Boehringer Ingelheim, Galapagos, GSK, Pfizer, Roche, Sanofi, Eleni Rapsomaniki Employee of: AstraZeneca, Jonatan Hedberg Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, Employee of: AstraZeneca, Jacob Knagenhjelm Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, Employee of: AstraZeneca, Caroline Seo Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, Employee of: AstraZeneca, Tina Grünfeld Eén Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, Employee of: AstraZeneca, Barnabas Desta Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, Employee of: AstraZeneca, Alessandro Sorrentino Shareholder of: Galapagov, Abbott LAboratories, Gilead Sciences, Moderna, Employee of: Janssen, Sanofi, AstraZeneca, Raj Tummala Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, Employee of: AstraZeneca, Heide Stirnadel-Farrant Shareholder of: AstraZeneca, GSK, Employee of: AstraZeneca

Diante de um cenário de internacionalização nas universidades, é importante que a comunidade acadêmica esteja preparada para o confronto com a diversidade cultural, e para tanto, defendemos que o letramento crítico e o ensino de línguas intercultural trazem uma nova perspectiva sobre a noção de língua, cultura e a educação. Essa nova visão pode transformar a maneira como o professor planeja aulas ou cursos de língua estrangeira (LE). Assim, este artigo tem como objetivo refletir teoricamente sobre o planejamento de cursos a partir das premissas do letramento crítico e ensino intercultural, e analisar o planejamento de curso de língua alemã realizado com base nessas teorias de ensino. Para tanto, apoiaremo-nos em autores que tratam sobre o planejamento de cursos de LE (DUBIN, OLSCHTAIN, 1986; ALMEIDA FILHO, 1997; RICHARDS, 2001; ALMEIDA FILHO, 2012), o letramento crítico (HAMMOND, MACKEN-HORARIK, 1999; SOUZA, 2011; JORDÃO, 2013; ROZENFELD, 2016) e o ensino de línguas intercultural (BYRAM, 1997; HOUSE, 2007; KRAMSCH, 2009; LIDDICOAT, 2011). A partir do estudo dos autores citados, realizamos uma pesquisa qualitativa e exploratória, com foco na análise do planejamento de um minicurso de seis horas, para alunos universitários de Letras, que consistiu na exibição e discussão da minissérie alemã Unsere Mütter Unsere Väter. Por meio da análise, foi possível notar que o planejamento seguiu os princípios do ensino intercultural estabelecidos no modelo de Byram (1997), e pretendeu alcançar os principais objetivos do letramento crítico, preparando o aluno, assim, para o contexto de internacionalização. Concluiu-se que, além de estar coerente com ambas as teorias, é necessário que o professor repense sua prática e execute projetos que estimulem o aluno a agir em favor da mudança social e cidadania.

I had the privilege of getting to see the creation of the Crawford v. Washington revolution up close. Less than two months after I argued my first case before the Court, it granted Jeffrey Fisher’s petition for writ of certiorari in Crawford. Richard Friedman, who had taught me Evidence when I was a student at Michigan a decade earlier and who is rightfully credited as the intellectual architect of the Crawford revolution, asked me in the fall of 2003 to help moot Jeff, who was also a Michigan alumnus. I went to Washington to hang out with Jeff and Rich (who authored an amicus brief and second-chaired Jeff) and watch the argument. I celebrated with Jeff and Rich the big victory in Crawford, in which the Court held that the Confrontation Clause guaranteed a criminal defendant the right to cross-examine witnesses who made “testimonial” statements that the prosecution wished to introduce at trial. I went back with Jeff and Rich two terms later, to sit with them at counsel’s table and watch them argue the consolidated cases of Hammon v. Indiana (Rich) and Davis v. Washington (Jeff), which helped flesh out the definition of a “testimonial” statement. But I write this short article not to express how cool it was to see the Court overturn decades of precedent and revive the Confrontation Clause right of a defendant to, well, actually confront the witnesses against them instead of allowing the prosecution to introduce out-of-court testimonial statements to prove guilt, even if those statements would be admissible under modern hearsay doctrine. Instead, I write to point out the unsurprising fact that, twenty years later, the Crawford revolution is not quite complete.

Methodism figures as a kind of puzzle in the history of eighteenth-century England. Even writers who are not unsympathetic to John Wesley sometimes find his thought incoherent and confused. “The truth should be faced,” writes Frank Baker, “that Wesley (like most of us) was a bundle of contradictions.” Albert Outler celebrates Wesley's merits not as a thinker but as a popularizer of other men's doctrines. His Wesley was “by talent and intent, afolk-theologian: an eclectic who had mastered the secret of plastic synthesis, simple profundity, the common touch.” One man's eclecticism, however, is another man's humbug. The very qualities that Outler admires are those that E. P. Thompson condemns inThe Making of the English Working Class. Here Methodist theology is dismissed as “opportunist, anti-intellectual, and otiose.” Wesley “appears to have dispensed with the best and selected unhesitatingly the worst elements of Puritanism.” In doctrinal terms Methodism was not a plastic synthesis but “a mule.” What offends Thompson is not so much Wesley's incoherence as the social ambivalence of the movement that he had created. In class terms Methodism was, Thompson says, “hermaphroditic.” It attracted both masters and men. It catered to hostile social interests. It served a “dual role, as the religion of both the exploiters and the exploited.” The belief that Methodism is socially incomprehensible and perhaps in some sense socially illegitimate is not original with Thompson. Early statements of this assumption can be found in Richard Niebuhr'sThe Social Sources of Denominationalismand in John and Barbara Hammond's The Town Labourer.

This paper’s topic is on Smartphone RSS traces for Forensic analysis; RSS represents Really Simple Syndication whereas smartphone RSS traces refers to a small software program that collects and displays RSS feeds. It allows you to scan headlines from a number of news sources in a central location and has the ability to suggest information of interest to you based on the criteria of your search. RSS feed has been in existence for many years but has never been as widely used as it is today, the term syndication refers to publishing information on the Internet that can be used by other sites as well as by stand-alone reader applications. The introduction of blogs hyped content syndication before, the syndicated content, known as feeds, was typically found on news sites only. Once blogs began proliferating on the Internet, content started being shared left and right, and users began using readers and aggregators to track their favorite blogs. In addition, those who subscribe to podcasts are actually using technology built on RSS. Whether providing a feed for a blog, providing a feed of changes for some software you may be writing, or doing your own podcast, the applications for content syndication are almost endless, and its usage is growing at a phenomenal rate every day.” Robert Richards, January 2006- Article on “RSS feed and content Syndication”. Forensically, Smartphone RSS feed gives the forensic examiner a fair idea about the conception of the individual whose phone contains the analyzed feed. This is because the feed usually contains information of interest to the user which helps you think like the user in order to get the needed information you are looking for. This paper will also identify gaps with smartphone RSS feed users and suggest solutions/recommendations to mitigate them in order to be safe even after subscribing to certain RSS feeds. Keywords: RSS, Forensics, Syndication, Tracing, Cybersecurity, Feeds BOOK Chapter ǀ Research Nexus in IT, Law, Cyber Security & Forensics. Open Access. Distributed Free Citation: Roselyn Abena Terbie Hammond (2022): Smartphone RSS Traces For Forensic Analysis Book Chapter Series on Research Nexus in IT, Law, Cyber Security & Forensics. Pp 227-232 www.isteams.net/ITlawbookchapter2022. dx.doi.org/

<strong>ABSTRACT</strong> In this paper, the study aims to analyze the physicochemical properties of water in the region of Dhamar (Yemen). &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;We have chosen five Qa&#39;s (sectors) from the Dhamar Basin (<em>Qa &#39;sherah, Qa&#39; Samah Qa &#39;Balasan, Wadi Almawaheb, and Qa&#39; Asawad</em>). The physicochemical parameters such as T^o, pH, EC and TH and the major ions Na⁺, k⁺ Ca²⁺, Mg²⁺, Cl^-, SO₄^2-, HCO₃^- were evaluated in 60 wells: the temperatures recorded in the waters vary between 20 and 41 &deg;C, &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;the temperature (&gt; 30^oC) was found mainly in <em>Wadi Almawaheb</em> and in some parts of <em>Qa &#39;Balasan</em>, this indicates that the boreholes are located in a volcanic zone, however the pH of the groundwater is alkaline and in accordance with the standard; Compared to Yemen standards, While that salinity, major ions concentrations, and total hardness are normal in all four <em>Qa&#39;s</em> boreholes (<em>Qa &#39;Balasan, Qa&#39; Samah, Qa&#39; Sherah, and Qa&#39; Asawad</em>), whereas they are abnormal in <em>Wadi Almawaheb</em> due to the impact of sewage from the city of Dhamar. The correlation coefficients of the TH and EC variables are strongly correlated with all the parameters except the pH, T&deg; and K. The principal component analyzes (PCA) show a total variation explained by each parameter with the wells, we found that 6 wells are polluted at <em>Wadi Almawaheb</em> at all chemical parameters except potassium, this complies with the laboratory analysis. Hydrogeological assessment of groundwater indicates dominance of Ca²⁺&gt; Na⁺&gt; Mg²⁺&gt; K⁺ and HCO₃^-&gt; Cl^- &gt;SO₄^- and the dominant type of groundwater is 48% cation and anion mixture, 30% HCO₃^--Ca^{2 +}7% HCO₃^--Na⁺ and 15% Cl^--SO₄^2--Na⁺ respectively, this indicates that the groundwater type is a dissolution of a mixture of dolomite, CaMg (CO3), gypsum (CaSO₄ 2H₂O) and Halite (NaCl). Irrigation evaluation parameters are sodium adsorption rate (SAR), residual sodium carbonate (RSC) or Na% and electrical conductivity (EC), permeability index (PI), sodium content (SC) and EC with SAR. They show that water can be used in agriculture in <em>Qa &#39;Sherah, Qa&#39; Samah, Qa&#39; Balasan and Qa&#39; Asawad</em> except at <em>Wadi Almawaheb</em> and according to the US Salinity classification, the samples studied are classified as follows: 75%, C2- S1, 1.7% C2-S2, 15% C3-S1, 5% C4-S1 and 3.3% C4-S2. <strong>Key words:</strong> Groundwater, physicochemical characteristics, PCA, ArcGIS<strong>.\</strong> <strong>REFERENCES</strong> Al-Ansari, N., (2013). Management of water resources in Iraq: perspectives and prognoses. Engineering. 5(6), 667-684. Al-Borani, A., (1999).The soils of Al-Mawahib (Dhamar Governorate), FAO, Rome (Italy). Land and Water Development Div. eng. Al-Dawsari, N., (2012). Tribal governance and stability in Yemen Washington: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. (Vol. 24). Appelo, C., Anthony J., and Dieke, P., (2004).Geochemistry,groundwater and pollution. CRC press. Al-Kohlani, T. A M.,(2009). Geochemistry of thermal waters from Al-Lisi-Isbil geothermal field, Dhamar Governorate, Yemen GEOTHERMAL TRAINING PROGRAMME Or kustofnun. 9,(10),53-76. Bakraji, E.H., and Karago, J., (1999). Determination of heavy metals in damascue drinking water using total reflection X-ray fluorescence. Water quality research journal of Canada. 34, 34-305. Caballero, R. J., Farhi, E., &amp; Gourinchas, P. O., (2006). An equilibrium model of&quot; global imbalances&quot; and low interest rates. National Bureau of Economic Research. No. w11 96. Chapman, D. V., &amp; World Health Organization., (1996). Water quality assessments: a guide to the use of biota, sediments and water in environmental monitoring . Doneen, L.D., (1964). Notes on Water Quality in Agriculture. Published as a Water Science and Engineering Paper 4001. Department of Water Science and Engineering, University of California. Eaton E. M., (1950) Significance of carbonate in irrigation water. Soil Sci 69:123&ndash;133. Grolier, M. J., Tibbitts, G. C., &amp; Ibrahim, M. M., (1984). A qualitative appraisal of the hydrology of the Yemen Arab Republic from Landsat images. US Government Printing Office. &nbsp;National Water Resources Authority(NWRA)., (2000). Minister of Water and environment Water Quality Standard. Report No. 2000/100. Fani, A., Ghazi, I., &amp; Malekian, A., (2016). Challenges of Water Resource Management in Iran. American Journal of Environmental Engineering.6 (4), 123-128. &nbsp;Girard, M.. (1975). Pr&eacute;l&egrave;vements d&#39;&eacute;chantillons en grotte et station de terrain sec en vue de l&#39;analyse pollinique. Bulletin de la Soci&eacute;t&eacute; pr&eacute;historique fran&ccedil;aise. Comptes rendus des s&eacute;ances mensuelles. 72(5),158-160.&rlm; Glass, N., (2010). The water crisis in Yemen: causes, consequences and solutions. Global Majority E-Journal, 1(1), 17-30.&rlm; Gleick, P. H., (2000). A look at twenty-first century water resources development. Water International. 25(1), 127-138. Gray, N. F., (2008).Drinking water quality: problems and solutions. Cambridge University Press. &rlm;pp77. Hem. J. D., (1991). Study and interpretation of the chemical characteristics of natural waters, 3rd edn. Book 2254. Scientific Publishers, Jodhpur. Join, J., Jean C., and Kevin, L., (1997). &quot;Using principal components analysis and Na/Cl ratios to trace groundwater circulation in a volcanic island: the example of Reunion.&quot; Journal of Hydrology. 190.1-2 1-18.&rlm; Kot, B., Baranowski, R., &amp; Rybak, A., (2000). Analysis of mine waters using X-ray fluorescence spectroscopy. Polish journal of environmental studies. 9, 429. Kuster,S.M.,(2011).National Conference for the Management and Development of Water Resources in Yemen, Paper 2-B. &nbsp;Lenore, S. C., Arnold, E. G., Andrew, D. E., (1998). Standard methods for examination of water and wastewater. American Public Health Association, American Water Works Association and World Environment Federation, 20th Edition, Washington, DC. USA. Pp80-250. Mark Z. T., Nasser A., And Hammou L., (2012). &quot;Water demand management in Yemen and Jordan: addressing power and interests.&quot; The Geographical Journal. 178,1, 54-66.&rlm; Mekonnen, M. M., &amp; Hoekstra, A. Y., (2016). Four billion people facing severe water scarcity. Science advances. 2(2), e1500323. Swapna Gurrapu and Estari Mamidala. Medicinal Plants Used By Traditional MedicinePractitioners in the Management of HIV/AIDS-Related Diseases in Tribal Areas of AdilabadDistrict, Telangana Region. The Ame J Sci &amp; Med Res. 2016:2(1):239-245.doi:10.17812/ajsmr2101 Minissale, A., Mattash, M.A., Vaselli, O., Tassi, F., Al-Ganad, I.N., Selmo, E., Shawki, M.N.,8 Tedesco, D., Poreda, R., Ad-Dukhain, A.M., et al., (2007): Thermal springs, fumaroles and gas vents of continental Yemen: their relation with active tectonics, regional hydrology and country&rsquo;s geothermal potential. Applied Geochemistry. 22, 799 - 820. Odhiambo, G. O., (2016). Water scarcity in the Arabian Peninsula and socio-economic implications. Applied Water Science. 1-14. Overstreet, W. C., Kiilsgaard, T. H., Grolier, M. J., Schmidt, D. L., Domenico, J. A., Donato, M. M., ... &amp; Harms, T. F., (1985). Contributions to the geochemistry, economic geology, and geochronology of the Yemen Arab Republic). US Geological Survey. No. 85-755. Patil, P. N., Sawant, D. V., &amp; Deshmukh, R. N., (2012). Physico-chemical parameters for testing of water-A review. International Journal of Environmental Sciences, 3(3), 1194. Piper, A.M., (1944). A graphic procedure in the geochemical interpretation of water analysis. Trans. Am. Geophys. Union 25, 914-923. Rafiullah, M.K., Milind, J.J., and Ustad, I.R., (2012). Physicochemical analysis of Triveni lake water of Amaravati district in [MS] India. Bioscience discovery. 3, 64-66. Richards, L.A., (1954). Diagnosis and Improvement of Saline and Alkali Soils, U. S. Department of Agriculture Handbook, vol. 60. Washington D.C., USA. p.160. Schoeller, H., (1967). Geochemistry of ground water. An international guide for research and practice. UNESCO 15, 1-18. Sporry, R. J., (1991). Groundwater exploration on the mountain plains of Dhamar and Rada in the Yemen Arabic Republic. Geoexploration. 27(1-2), 135-164. Stroeve, J., Serreze, M., Drobot, S., Gearheard, S., Holland, M., Maslanik, J., &amp; Scambos, T., (2008). Arctic sea ice extent plummets in 2007. Eos, Transactions American Geophysical Union. 89(2), 13-14. Todd, D.K., (1980). Ground Water Hydrogeology. John Wiley and Sons. Van S. F., Bamaga, O. A., &amp; Al-Weshali, A. M., (2012). GROUNDWATER SECURITY IN YEMEN. pp35 .&nbsp; Vollenweidre R. A., (1986). &ldquo;Scientific fundamental of the eutrophication of lakes and flowing waters with special reference to nitrogen and phosphorus, as factoring eutrophication&rdquo;. O. E C. D. Paris .WMO, (1977). The Use of Satellite Imagery in Tropical Cyclone Analysis, TD-No. 473, Technical Note. No. 153. &nbsp;Wilcox L.V., (1948). The quality of water for irrigation, use. US Department of Agriculture, Washington, DC. Tech Bull 1962:19 Wilcox, L.V., (1955). Classification and Use of Irrigation Waters. US Department of Agriculture. Cire. 969,WashingtonD.C., USA, p. 19. World Health Organization., (2003). Selenium in drinking-water: background document for preparation of WHO guidelines for drinking-water quality. Geneva, Switzerland. USSL., (1954). Diagnosis and Improvement of Saline and Alkali Soils. USDA, Handbook, vol. 60, p. 147. &nbsp;

This edition of CORESS feedback reinforces the very basic principles of obtaining and using an accurate history and examination to make an appropriate diagnosis in the face of equivocal or uninformative investigations and failing equipment. Case 126 illustrates once again the potential deleterious consequences of failing to check a drug correctly prior to administration. We are grateful to the clinicians who have provided the material for these reports. The online reporting form is on our website ( www.coress.org.uk ), which also includes all previous feedback reports. Published contributions will be acknowledged by a ‘Certificate of Contribution’, which may be included in the contributor’s record of continuing professional development. CORESS relies heavily on the expertise of the specialty members of the Advisory Board in the preparation of feedback reports and dissemination of safety information related to surgical practice. The organisation is grateful to the following members of the Advisory Board and Board of Directors who have contributed to published reports in 2010 and 2011: Board of Directors: Viscount Bridgeman, Mr Chris Chilton, Mr Martin Else, Professor Nicholas Gair, Mr Adam Lewis CVO, Miss Clare Marx, Mr Andrew May, Lord Bernard Ribeiro, Mr Frank Smith, Mr Peter Tait, Mr Denis Wilkins. Advisory Board: Ms E Baird, Mr Daryl I Baker, Mr Ken Catchpole, Dr Lauren Morgan, Mr Stephen Clark, Mr Robert Davies, Mr Mark Deakin, Ms D Eastwood, Mr Barry Ferris, Mr Mark Fordham, Mr Paul J Gibbs, Mr Grey Giddins, Mr Robert Greatorex, Mr Mervyn Griffiths, Mr John Hammond, Mr William Harkness, Mr M Hemadri, Mr Richard Holdsworth, Miss Claire Hopkins, Professor Zygmunt Krukowski, Mr N Mamode, Mr Ian Martin, Surgeon Commander Mark Midwinter, Mr J Richard Novell, Professor Gerald O’Sullivan, Dr Gerard Panting, Mr Mike Pittam, Dr Mike Powers QC, Ms Patricia Scott, Professor Alastair Thompson, Dr J P van Besouw, Mr Mark Vipond, Mr David Webster, Mr Michael Wyatt.

Baseado nas referências apresentadas, o presente artigo aborda conceitos básicos para a construção de códigos corretores de erros. Esses códigos são utilizados para aumentar a confiabilidade da informação durante o armazenamento e/ou transmissão de dados. Abordamos também os códigos lineares, que formam uma classe especial de códigos corretores de erros que são fáceis de descrever graças a sua estrutura algébrica. Além disso, são descritos os códigos de Hamming. Essa família de códigos foi desenvolvida por Richard W. Hamming, um dos pioneiros da teoria dos códigos corretores de erros. Esse código é utilizado no processamento de sinal e em telecomunicações.

We would like to thank the following abstract graders for their invaluable time and effort in reviewing abstracts for Scientific Sessions 2011. Brian Abbott Friederike K. Keating Geoffrey Abbott John Kern Evan Abel Karl Kern Benjamin S. Abella Morton Kern Theodore Abraham Amit Khera William T. Abraham Raymond J. Kim Stephan Achenbach Sue Kimm Michael A. Acker Carey D. Kimmelstiel Michael J. Ackerman Jacobo Kirsch David H. Adams Joel Kirsh M. Jacob Adams Lorrie Kirshenbaum Ted Adams Raj Kishore Philip A. Ades Masafumi Kitakaze Gail K. Adler Andre Kleber Sunil K. Agarwal Neil S. Kleiman Frank Aguirre George J. Klein Masood Ahmad Helmut U. Klein Bina Ahmed Liviu Klein Gorav Ailawadi Robert A. Kloner Anthony Aizer Bjorn Knollmann Teiji Akagi Kirk Knowlton Fadi Akar Walter J. Koch Shahab Akhter Wolfgang Koenig Khatib Sana Al Stavros Konstantinides Mark J. Alberts Michael C. Kontos John H. Alexander Bruce A. Koplan Karen P. Alexander Gideon Koren Mo Ali Robert Kormos Larry A. Allen Jane M. Kotchen Norrina B. Allen Frederic Kraemer Matthew A. Allison Itzhak Kronzon Mouaz Al-Mallah Harlan M. Krumholz Diego Alvarez Helmut Kuecherer Aman M. Amanullah Aaron Kugelmass Giuseppe Ambrosio Johan Kuiper Amit P. Amin Marrick L. Kukin Philipe Amouyel Lewis H. Kuller Ezra Amsterdam Lih Kuo Inder S. Anand J. W. Kwang Paul Anaya Wai-meng Kwok Gregor Andelfinger Raymond Kwong Jeffrey Anderson Bonnie Ky Rob Andrews Daniel T. Lackland Stefan Anker Wyman Lai David Antoniucci John J. Lamberti Charles Antzelevitch Rachel J. Lampert Piero Anversa Roberto Lang Ani Anyanwu Alexandra Lansky Lawrence J. Appel Warren K. Laskey Juan Aranda Michael Lauer Paul W. Armstrong Harold L. Lazar Suzanne Arnold Eric Lazartigues James Arrighi Ngoc Anh Le James. Arrowood Linda Leatherbury Takayuki Asahara Jonathan W. Lederer Deborah D. Ascheim Byron K. Lee Euan Ashley Christopher Lee Muhammad Ashraf Richard Lee Samuel Asirvatham Vivien Lee Saira Aslam David J. Lefer Dan Atar Thierry Lefevre Dianne L. Atkins Carl V. Leier Pavan Atluri Larry Leiter Andrew M. Atz Thierry LeJemtel John A. Auchampach Scott Lemaire John Augoustides Robert Lemery Robert Augustyniak Isabelle Lemieux Gerard P. Aurigemma Terry A. Lennie Metin. Avkiran Martin Leon Leon Axel Dario Leosco Philip Aylward Stamatios Lerakis Arnold Baas Annarosa Leri Joseph D. Babb Amir Lerman V L. Babikian Israel E. Lev David Bach Sidney Levitsky Michael Bader Jerrold H. Levy Juan Jose Badimon Martin M. Lewinter Steven R. Bailey Ji Li Alison Baird Qian Hong Li Kenneth Baker Ren-Ke Li Robert Balaban Xia Li Sameer Bansilal James K. Liao Lili A.. Barouch Ronglih Liao Gregory W. Barsness Alice H. Lichtenstein Robyn Barst David S. Liebeskind Philip Barter Chee Lim Matthias Barton Joao A. Lima Jozef Bartunek Marian Limacher Craig Todd Basson Michael A. Lincoff Eric R. Bates cecilia Linde Jeroen Bax Jonathan Lindner Christoph R. Becker Bruce Lindsay Lance Becker Frederick Ling Richard Becker Mark Link Theresa Beckie Harold Litt David Beiser Sheldon Litwin Amber Beitelshees Kiang Liu Romualdo Belardinelli Zhi-ping Liu Souad Belmadani Donald M. Lloyd-Jones David Benditt Thomas Lohmeier Frank Bengel Jamie L. Lohr Emelia Benjamin Nicole Lohr Daniel Bensimhon Dawn Lombardo D Woodrow Benson Barry London Robert Berg Carlin Long Alan Keith Berger Gary. Lopaschuk Wolfgang Bergmeier John J. Lopez Daniel S. Berman Jose Lopez-Sendon Kathy A. Berra Chaim Lotan Jarett D. Berry Pamela Lucchesi Donald M. Bers Jennifer Lucitti Michael Bettmann Russell V. Luepker Deepak Bhakta Xin Ma Deepak Bhatt Michael Mack Giuseppe Bianchi Rachel H. Mackey Andrew Bierhals Nigel Mackman Angelika Bierhaus William R.. MacLellan Yochai Birnbaum Kenneth W. Mahaffey John Bisognano William Mahle John Bittl Ronald V. Maier Vera Bittner Alan S. Maisel Henry Black Amgad N. Makaryus James Blankenship S Christopher Malaisrie Burns Blaxall Marek Malik Kenneth Bloch Ziad Mallat Robert Block Craig Malloy David A. Bluemke Judy Mangion Roger Blumenthal Douglas L. Mann Ben Bobrow Warren Manning John Boehmer Steven Manoukian Eric Boersma Michael S. Marber Bernd Boettiger Francis Marchlinski Rainer. Boger Kenneth Margulies Catherine Boisson Ali J. Marian Steven Bolling Bradley Marino Sebastien Bonnet Cindy M. Martin Munir Boodhwani Thomas Marwick Ebony Bookman Steven O. Marx William B. Borden Frederick A. Masoudi Michael A. Borger Steffen Massberg Karin Bornfeldt Barry Massie Steven Borzak Michael A. Mathier Robert Bourge Khalid Matrougui Scott Bradley Rumiko Matsuoka Kelley Branch Susan Mayer Jerome F. Breen Maritza Mayorga H. Bryan Brewer Manuel Mayr Ralph G. Brindis Pamela McCabe Eliot A. Brinton Patrick M. McCarthy Susan C. Brozena Aileen P. McGinn Charles J. Bruce Darren K. McGuire Benoit Bruneau Sharon McKinley Dirk L. Brutsaert John McMurray Matthew Budoff Elizabeth M. McNally L. Maximilian Buja Colleen McNamara Michael Burch Tim C. McQuinn Gregory L. Burke Calum McRae Lora E. Burke Jean C. McSweeney John C. Burnett Mandeep R. Mehra Mary Susan Burnett Roxana Mehran Alex Bustamante Nehal Mehta Brian Buxton Philippe Menasche Lu Cai Raina Merchant David A. Calhoun Daphne Merkus David Callans John Messenger Clifton W. Callaway Marco Metra James Calvin Joseph Miano David S. Cannom Evangelos D. Michelakis Christopher P. Cannon Jennifer H. Mieres Charles E. Canter William Miles Maurizio Capogrossi Dianna Milewicz Thomas Cappola Alan B. Miller Ronald P. Caputo D. Craig Miller Blase A. Carabello Edgar R. Miller Mercedes Carnethon Fletcher A. Miller Peter Carson John Miller Andrea E. Cassidy-Bushrow Todd D. Miller Tara Catanzano James K. Min Yong-mei Cha Wang Min Alejandro Chade Gary S. Mintz Claudia Chae Sanjay Misra Alan Chait Seema Mital Bernard R. chaitman Judith E. Mitchell Hunter Champion Suneet Mittal Kwan Chan Derek Mittleider Paul S. Chan Peter Mohler Krishnaswamy Chandrasekaran Friedrich Mohr Byung-Chul Chang David Moliterno Gene Chang Kevin Monahan Mary Y. Chang Marc Moon Panithaya Chareonthaitawee Michael A. Moore Israel Charo Fred Morady Seemant Chaturvedi Henning Morawietz Farooq Chaudhry Carlos A. Morillo Jersey Chen David Morrow Jonathan Chen Debra K. Moser Ju Chen Martin Moser Peng-Sheng Chen Arthur J. Moss Xiongwen Chen Jochen Muehlschlegel Yeong-renn Chen Kenneth J. Mukamal Alan Cheng Sharon L. Mulvagh Stanley Chetcuti Srinivas Murali Joseph Cheung Anne M. Murphy Yung-wei Chi Elizabeth Murphy Nipavan Chiamvimonvat Ralph Nachman William Chilian Vinay Nadkarni Michael Chin Sherif Nagueh Julio Chirinos Srihari Naidu Yeon H. Choe Yoshifumi Naka Geir Christensen Sanjiv M. Narayan Sumeet Chugh Andrea Natale Mina Chung Stanley Nattel Timothy Church Mohamad Navab Nadine Clausell L Gabriel Navar David Cohen Saman Nazarian Jerome D. Cohen Stefan Neubauer Marc Cohen Robert Neumar Mauricio Cohen Chris Newton-Cheh Michael V. Cohen Graham Nichol Mitchell Cohen Petros Nihoyannopoulos Lola Coke Konstantin Nikolaou Jamie B. Conti John Nixon Joshua M. Cooper Vuyisile T. Nkomo Lawton S. Cooper Koichi Node Leslie Cooper Detlef Obal Ramon Corbalan Edward R. Obrien James Coromilas Erwin Oechslin Marco Costa Richard G. Ohye Tina Costacou Roberta K. Oka Maria Rosa Costanzo Trevor Orchard William G. Cotts Karen Ordovas Dermot Cox Brian O'Rourke Patricia B. Crane David Orsinelli Michael Crow Kinya Otsu Marina Cuchel Catherine M. Otto Jess D. Curb Francis D. Pagani Jeptha Curtis Julio A. Panza Linda K. Curtiss Gilles Paradis Mary Cushman Rahul Parag Donald E. Cutlip Nisha I. Parikh Haim Danenberg Sahil Parikh Werner G. Daniel Michael S. Parmacek Stephen Daniels Sampath Parthasarathy A Danser Rod S. Passman Dipak K. Das Shailesh Patel Mithilesh K. Das Elizabeth Barnett Pathak James Daubert Cam C. Patterson Harold Dauerman Walter Paulsen Alan Daugherty Daniel F. Pauly Sandra Davidge Thomas A. Pearson Charles J. Davidson Patricia A. Pellikka Sean Davidson Michele M. Pelter Martha Daviglus Matthias Peltz Jean Davignon Constantino Pena Victor G. Davila Karsten Peppel Jonathan Davis John R Pepper Michael E. Davis Muthu Periasamy Buddhadeb Dawn Todd S. Perlstein Lemos James de Louis Perrault Tombe Pieter De Karlheinz Peter Barbara J. Deal Anne Peters G William Dec Nancy Petersen Prakash C. Deedwania Pam Peterson Christopher Defilippi Gbaby Kuster Pfister Curt G. DeGroff Otmar Pfister Elisabeth Deindl Ken Philipson Monte Federica del Robert A. Phillips Etienne Delacretaz Robert Piana Mario Delmar Mariann Piano Judy M. Delp Michael H. Picard Pablo Denes Jonathan P. Piccini Margo Denke August Pichard Christophe Depre J Geoffrey Pickering Albert deRoos Luc Pierard Milind Desai Eduardo Pimenta Nimesh D. Desai Ileana L. Pina Isabelle Deschenes Duane Pinto Jean-Pierre Despres Maria Vittoria Pitzalis Naranjan Dhalla Paul Poirier David Dichek Don Poldermans Gregory Dick Jennifer S. Pollock Timm Dickfeld Piotr Ponikowski Kenneth Dickstein Athena Poppas Sean P. Didion Thomas R. Porter Javier Díez Michael Portman Vasken Dilsizian Mark J. Post J. Michael DiMaio Wendy Post John DiMarco Bunny J. Pozehl Stefanie Dimmeler Ashwin Prakash Thomas G. Disalvo J Howard Pratt Daniel J. Diver Susan Pressler Debra I. Diz Silvia G. Priori Lynn V. Doering Eric N. Prystowsky Feng Dong Lu Qi Michael Donino Gangjian Qin Thomas J. Donohue Federico Quaini Gerald Dorn II Arshed Ali Quyyumi David Dostal Philip Raake Mark Drazner Joseph Rabinowitz Barbara J. Drew Glenn Radice Daniel L. Dries Wolfgang A.K. Radtke Xiaoping Du Gilbert Raff Samuel Dudley Shahbudin H. Rahimtoola Barton Duell Leopoldo Raij Srinivas Dukkipati Danny Ramzy Sandra Dunbar Sunil V. Rao Mark Dunlap Vivek Rao Sue Duval Chitra Ravishankar Vladimir Dzavik Rita Redberg Charles B. Eaton Gautham P. Reddy Robert Eberhardt Jalees Rehman Peter Eckman Nathaniel Reichek Dana Edelson James A. Reiffel Igor Efimov Giuseppe Rengo Brent M. Egan Kristi Reynolds Pirooz Eghtesady Michael W. Rich John Eikelboom Stuart Rich David A. Eisner Barbara J. Riegel Daniel Eitzman Vera Rigolin Kenneth A. Ellenbogen Eric Rimm William J. Elliott Maria Teresa Rizzo Helene Eltchaninoff John Robb Masao Endoh Shamburek Robert Stefan Engelhardt Robert Roberts Marguerite M. Engler Richard J. Rodeheffer Mary B. Engler Carlos J. Rodriguez Mark L. Entman E. Rene R odriguez Sabine Ernst Leonardo Rodriguez Abby Ershow Veronique L. Roger Thomas Eschenhagen Anand Rohatgi Lorraine Evangelista Wayne D. Rosamond Brendan M. Everett Sylvia Rosas Gregg C. Ewald Anne G. Rosenfeld Michael D. Ezekowitz lawrence S.. rosenthal Joan Fair Anthony Rosenzweig Michael E. Farkouh Robert S. Ross Sergio Fazio Noreen Rossi Savitri Fedson Daniel G. Rowland Kenneth Feingold Denis Roy Steven Feinstein Yoseph. Rozenman Frederick Feit Melvyn Rubenfire David Feldman Frederick L. Ruberg Michael Felker Ronen Rubinshtein Michael A. Fifer Marc Ruel Gerasimos S. Filippatos Xiao Ruiping Gregory D. Fink Carlos E. Ruiz Peter Fischbach John S. Rumsfeld Tim Fischell Raymond Russell Avi fischer Martin K. Rutter Jens Fischer Michael Ryan John Fisher Catherine Ryan Jerome Fleg Joseph Sabik John Floras Craig Sable Mark A. Fogel Junichi Sadoshima Gregg C. Fonarow Jeffrey E. Saffitz Myriam Fornage Kiran B. Sagar Elyse Foster David J. Sahn Caroline S. Fox Arwa Saidi Gary S. Francis Shuichi Saito Barry Franklin Hajime Sakuma Stanley S. Franklin Adam C. Salisbury John K. French Habib Samady Matthias G. Friedrich Prashanthan Sanders James Froehlich Stephen Sanders Victor Froelicher John L. Sapp Toshiro Fujita Muhamed Saric Keiichi Fukuda Comilla Sasson William H. Gaasch Jonathan Satin Elena Galkina Jorge Saucedo Erhe Gao William Henry Sauer Timothy J. Gardner Andreas Schaefer Vidu Garg Katrin Schaefer Vesna Garovic Urs Scherrer Daniel J. Garry Valerie Schini-Kerth Meinrad Gawaz David Schneider Raúl J. Gazmuri David Schneider Arnar Geirsson Paul Schoenhagen Romergryko Geocadin U Schoepf Demetrios Georgiou Heribert Schunkert Marie D. Gerhard-Herman Arnold Schwartz Edward P. Gerstenfeld Robert Schwartz Robert Gerszten Dawn Schwenke Godfrey S. Getz Udo Sechtem Jalal K. Ghali Frank Sellke Nancy Ghanayem Elizabeth Selvin Nancy Ghanayem Clay F. Semenkovich Shobha Ghosh Patrick W. Serruys C Michael Gibson Howard D. Sesso Samuel S. Gidding Sanjiv Shah Ian Gilchrist Simon F. Shakar Thomas D. Giles Richard P. Shannon Linda D. Gillam Tali Sharir Lawrence W. Gimple William Sharp Frank J. Giordano Steven Shea Anselm K. Gitt Farah Sheikh Groot Adriana Gittenberger-de Robert S. Sheldon Robert P. Giugliano Win Kuang Shen Kathy Glatter James M. Shikany Christian Gleissner Ken Shinmura Donald D. Glower Takahiro Shiota Prospero B. Gogo Sara J. Shumway Michael R. Gold Horst Sievert Anne C. Goldberg Marc Silver Lee R. Goldberg Robert Simari Ron Goldberg Daniel I. Simon Sidney Goldstein David S. Siscovick Mardi Gomberg-Maitland Mark Slaughter Antoinette Gomes Craig Smith Shaun Goodman Susan Smyth John Gorcsan Dirk Snyders Robert Gorman Christopher Sobey Heather Gornik R John Solaro Stephen S. Gottlieb Andrey Sorokin Abhinav Goyal Vincent L. Sorrell Christopher B. Granger James Sowers Guido Grassi John Spertus Kurt Greenlund Francis G. Spinale Gabriel Gregoratos David Spragg Brian Griffin Monvadi B. Srichai Liliana Grinfeld V.S. Srinivas Garrett J. Gross Austin Stack Eugene Grossi William Stanley P Michael Grossman Randall Starling Peter Gruber Charles Steenbergen, Jr. Eliseo Guallar Philippe Gabriel Steg Yiru Guo Barry Stein Himanshu Gupta Richard A. Stein Michelle Gurvitz Nicolas Stettler David D. Gutterman Alex Stewart T. Sloane Guy Kerry Stewart John R. Guyton Charles T. Stier Tomasz Guzik Arthur Stillman Luis A. Guzman Robert Storey Henry R. Halperin Karen Stout Naomi Hamburg Bradley Strauss Larry Hamm S. Adam Strickberger H. Kirk Hammond Mark A. Sussman Diane E. Handy Gopinath Sutendra Arlene Hankinson Filip K. Swirski Joshua Hare Gabor Szabo Robert Harrington Heinrich Taegtmeyer David Harris Genzou Takemura David Hasdai W Tang Gerd Hasenfuss Wilson Tang Richard Hauer Ahmed Tawakol Ed P. Havranek David Taylor David L. Hayes Doris A. Taylor Laura L. Hayman W Robert Taylor Joachim Hebe Alain Tedgui Robert Hegele Usha Tedrow Paul Heidenreich John R. Teerlink Donald D. Heistad Keurs Hendrik Ter Gary Heller Patricia Thistlethwaite Thomas M. Helle-Valle Charles Thodeti Linda Hemphill Eric Thorin Michel Henry Rong Tian Timothy Henry Henry Ting James Hermiller David Tirschwell Adrian F. Hernandez Akihiro Tojo Ray Hershberger Gordon Tomaselli Roland Hetzer Ronald J. Torry Joseph A. Hill Rhian Touyz Michael Hill Dwight Towler Yoshitaka Hirooka Richard Troughton Irl Hirsch Teresa Tsang Michael Ho Sotirios Tsimikas Vincent B. Ho Jonathan Tune Udo Hoffmann James E. Udelson Brian D. Hoit Philip C. Ursell Maureen Hood Karen Uzark John D. Horowitz Alec Vahanian Steven R. Houser Anne Marie Valente Henry H. Hsia Marco Valgimigli Eileen Hsich Eyk Jennifer Van Daphne T. Hsu Horn Linda Van Spencer C. Huang Heide Richard Vander Sally A. Huber Dorothy Vatner Michael P. Hudson Stephen F. Vatner Mark Huffman Emir Veledar William Hundley Lakshmi Venkitachalam Judy Hung Hector O. Ventura Judy Hung Ralph Verdino Paul M. Hwang Giovanni Veronesi Guido Iaccarino Renu Virmani Ahamed H. Idris Robert A. Vogel John Ikonomidis Jens Vogel-Claussen Erik Ingelsson Adriaan Voors Joanne S. Ingwall Saroja Voruganti Paul A. Insel Raju Vulapalli Joseph Izzo Mary B. Wagner Alice K. Jacobs Ron Waksman Jill Jacobs Andrew Wang Terry A. Jacobson Tracy Wang Michael Jaff Xuejun Wang Allan Jaffe Cary C. Ward Mukesh Jain Carole Warnes Ik-Kyung Jang Keith A. Webster Paul Janssen Dorothee. Weihrauch James Januzzi William Weintraub Valluvan Jeevanandam Neil J. Weissman Nancy S. Jenny Cornelia Weyand Allen Jeremias Grayson Wheatley Michael Jerosh-Herold David Whellan Michael Jessen Samuel A. Wickline Michael Jessen Martin Wilkins Ishwarlal Jialal Stephen D. Wiviott Bingbing Jiang Michael Wolin Kai Jiao Kai C. Wollert Suk-Won Jin Anna Woo Roy John Mary Woo Andrew Johnson Y Joseph Woo Jason L. Johnson Malissa Wood W. Schuyler Jones Marcella A. Wozniak Pedro Jose Joseph C. Wu Jerome Jouan Joseph C. Wu Corrine Jurgens Katherine Wu Edmond Kabagambe Sean M. Wu Alan H. Kadish George Wyse Mark Kahn Chen Yan Jan Kajstura Yu Yan Sanjeeva Kalva Demetris Yannopoulos Michael Kapiloff Karen S. Yehle Norman Kaplan Liya Yin Navin Kapur James B. Young Hrayr Karagueuzian Chun Yuan Richard H. Karas Doron Zahger Joel Karliner Mengwei Zang Edward Kasper Julie J. Zerwic Robert Kass David Zhang Prasad Katakam Hao Zhang Sekar Kathiresan Yanqiao Zhang Zvonimir S. Katusic Jie Zheng Amos Katz Michael R. Zile John Kaufman Ronald Zolty Martin Keane Irving H. Zucker

La investigación en didáctica se ha posicionado como un área de gran importancia en el campo educativo debido a su capacidad para proporcionar una mejor comprensión de los procesos de enseñanza y aprendizaje. En este contexto, Michael Fullan y Gimeno Sacristán, han estudiado la relación de la didáctica con la formación docente, el desarrollo profesoral o la desarticulación de la teoría y la práctica. Investigaciones más recientes, han establecido la necesidad de formular didácticas relacionadas con campos específicos del conocimiento. Así, Linda Darling-Hammond se ha enfocado en el desarrollo profesional docente, Robet Marzano en prácticas docentes y la evaluación o Richard Mayer en el aprendizaje multimedia. Esto ha permitido el desarrollo de nuevos modelos educativos, la adaptación de contenidos curriculares y la optimización de la práctica docente, lo que, sin duda, promueve una mejora significativa de la calidad educativa. Adicionalmente, estos procesos investigadores proporcionan fundamentos y esquemas conceptuales para la elección de determinados contenidos, así como métodos apropiados para enseñar esos contenidos dependiendo de las características de los estudiantes (Wickman &amp; Lundegard, 2020). También permiten evaluar la eficacia de los métodos educativos para comprender su aplicabilidad en diferentes contextos (Quintas-Hijós, et al, 2020). La escuela del siglo XXI está permeada por nuevas maneras de abordar el conocimiento. El antiguo paradigma de la enseñanza por transmisión, fuertemente cuestionado, pero todavía presente, ha sido reevaluado. Y es allí donde las didácticas especificas han hecho un aporte científicamente riguroso, lo que ha llevado a que ese paradigma se sienta anacrónico y poco pertinente. Por esa razón, la Universidad Antonio Nariño y la Universidad de Valencia, han evidenciado la necesidad de contribuir al debate académico mediante un número especial enfocado en didácticas específicas. El resultado tangible es la decena de trabajos recogidos en este número monográfico, muchos de los cuales proceden de docentes y estudiantes del programa de Doctorado en Didácticas Específicas de la Universidad de Valencia y sus líneas de investigación (Didáctica de la Educación Física, Didáctica de la Música, Didáctica de las Artes Visuales, Didáctica de las Ciencias Experimentales, Didáctica de las Ciencias Sociales, Didáctica de las Matemáticas y Educación Literaria y Lingüística), así como de los programas de Licenciatura, Maestría y Doctorado en educación de la Universidad Antonio Nariño, lo que permite evidenciar y avalar el progreso en este campo del conocimiento y su vitalidad, al tiempo que se abren nuevas y necesarias vías de comunicación, trabajo e intercambio de ideas y metodologías docentes entre ambas instituciones. Este número especial aborda contribuciones sobre didáctica de la lectura, del inglés, de la educación física, de la química, del español y de la geografía, en los que se incide en la integración de metodologías adaptativas y de recursos innovadores que buscan responder a las necesidades diversificadas de los estudiantes. Así, se destaca la implementación del Aprendizaje Basado en Juegos o la aplicación de gamificación en las aulas, con enfoques que muestran un compromiso con la creación de ambientes educativos más inclusivos y motivadores. También se ofrece una visión integral de cómo las didácticas específicas se han enfrentado a algunos de los desafíos contemporáneos en educación. El volumen enfatiza además la importancia de adaptar las prácticas pedagógicas a las realidades actuales y de explorar nuevas formas de involucrar a los estudiantes en su proceso de aprendizaje.A la luz de la evolución continua en los paradigmas educativos, los trabajos aquí publicados ilustran un cambio hacia metodologías que no solo son teóricamente sólidas, sino también relevantes en su abordaje práctico en las aulas, lo que permite abordar las diversas necesidades de los estudiantes mediante la integración de estrategias adaptativas y recursos innovadores. A medida que los contextos educativos se vuelven cada vez más complejos, es esencial que tanto académicos como profesionales se involucren y contribuyan al desarrollo de estas didácticas específicas. Por lo tanto, aquí se reafirma la idea de que los procesos educativos deben dar respuesta a las particularidades (geográficas, políticas, sociales y económicas) y a la diversidad de una escuela, que debe prepararse para afrontar los retos de un futuro inminente. Las experiencias publicadas en este número son una contribución valiosa a la ciencia de las didácticas específicas en la medida en que se abordan situaciones reales de las escuelas, que son llevadas a la práctica por profesorado en activo que busca mejorar sus prácticas docentes, y que, además, pone sus conocimientos al servicio de la construcción colectiva de una ciencia social, políticamente responsable y educativa y científicamente comprometida en la elaboración y consolidación de los proyectos educativos de los países de cada uno de los autores.

Stephen Greenblatt: Tyrant – Shakespeare on Politics. W. W. Norton &amp;amp; Company, New York/London 2018, 212 p. (Norbert Lennartz, Vechta) Björn Spiekermann: Der Gottlose. Geschichte eines Feindbilds in der Frühen Neuzeit. (Das Abendland, Neue Folge 44). Vittorio Klostermann, Frankfurt am Main 2020, 772 S. (Hans-Christof Kraus, Passau) Karen Gloy: Macht und Gewalt. Politik, Wissen, Psychologie, Geld, Netzwerke. Verlag Königshausen &amp;amp; Neumann GmbH, Würzburg 2020, 229 S. (Peter Nitschke) Carl Müller Frøland: Understanding Nazi Ideology – The Genesis and Impact of a Political Faith. Translated by John Irons. McFarland &amp;amp; Company, Jefferson, N.C. 2020, VI, 345 S. (Bertram Wojaczek) Wolfram Eilenberger: Feuer der Freiheit. Die Rettung der Philosophie in finsteren Zeiten. 1933 – 1943. Klett-Cotta, Stuttgart 2020, 400 S. (Isabelle-Christine Panreck) Axel Schildt: Medien-Intellektuelle in der Bundesrepublik. Wallstein-Verlag, ‌Göttingen 2020, 896 S. (Hans-Christof Kraus) Ulrich Bröckling: Postheroische Helden. Ein Zeitbild. Suhrkamp Verlag, Berlin 2020, 276 S. (Eva-Maria Kaufmann) Richard Tuck: The Left Case for Brexit. Reflections on the Current Crisis. Polity, Cambridge/Medford, MA 2020, VIII, 178 S. (Samuel Garrit Zeitlin) Ruud Koopmans: Das verfallene Haus des Islam. Die religiösen Ursachen von Unfreiheit, Stagnation und Gewalt. C.H. Beck, München 2020, 288 S. (Yousry Hammed) Isabelle-Christine Panreck (Hrsg.): Populismus – Staat – Demokratie: Ein interdisziplinäres Streitgespräch. Springer VS, Wiesbaden 2020, VII, 240 S. (Josefin Graef)

Abstract Background Household transmission is a major driver of SARS-CoV-2 spread. Viral genomic sequencing is a powerful tool for evaluation of putative within-household transmission. Characteristics of participants from multi-participant households with one or more positive tests for SARS-CoV-2 Methods CASCADIA, a prospective household cohort study that enrolled individuals in Oregon and Washington state, conducted active surveillance for respiratory viral infection through weekly symptom surveys and self-collected nasal swabs. Additional swabs and surveys were collected when new symptoms were reported or after an initial positive or inconclusive SARS-CoV-2 PCR test. Here we examine all positive SARS-CoV-2 test results from households with &amp;gt; 2 members enrolled in the study. Tests resulting as inconclusive were not considered. We also analyze genomic data generated from these positive swabs, limiting consideration to the first SARS-CoV-2 genome from each person and to households with sequenced samples from &amp;gt; 2 participants collected ≤ 14 days apart. Relationships among samples from the same household were assessed by determining the genetic (hamming) distance between genomes and the Pango lineage of each genome using Nextclade. Characteristics of pairs of positive samples from different study participants within the same household. Consideration was limited to the first sequenced sample from each participant and to pairs of samples collected 14 days apart or less. Results Between July 2022 to May 2023, 597 participants from 341 households with &amp;gt; 2 participants tested positive for SARS-CoV-2 (Table 1). Positive tests from &amp;gt; 2 participants collected ≤ 14 days apart were observed in 143 of these households. 93 households had sequence data for samples from &amp;gt; 2 persons collected ≤ 14 days apart. 5 (5%) of these households had 2 viral lineages detected with a median of 11 (range 4 – 14) days between detection of the first and second lineages (Figure 1). Two lineages were detected in 3 out of 6 sample pairs collected in the same household exactly 14 days apart. Among the 88 households with one lineage detected, samples from all participants were genetically identical (genetic distance of 0) in 60% (51/88). Conclusion SARS-CoV-2 genomes were identical in most households with sequence data from multiple cases detected ≤ 14 days apart. Multiple viral lineages were detected in a subset of the remaining households, suggesting &amp;gt; 1 viral introduction event rather than intra-household transmission. This data will aid in interpretation of household-based studies of SARS-CoV-2 that lack sequence data. Disclosures Mark A. Schmidt, PhD, MPH, HilleVax: Grant/Research Support|Janssen: Grant/Research Support|Moderna: Grant/Research Support|Pfizer: Grant/Research Support|Vir Biotechnology: Grant/Research Support Jennifer L. Kuntz, MS, PhD, Hillevax, Inc: Grant/Research Support Stephen P. Fortmann, MD, Pfizer: Grant/Research Support Holly C. Groom, MPH, Hillevax: Grant/Research Support|Moderna: Grant/Research Support Richard A. Mularski, MD, MSHS, MCR, Pfizer, Inc: Grant/Research Support Neil D. Yetz, M.P.H., N/A: Expert Testimony Janet A. Englund, MD, Abbvie: Advisor/Consultant|AstraZeneca: Advisor/Consultant|AstraZeneca: Grant/Research Support|GlaxoSmithKline: Advisor/Consultant|GlaxoSmithKline: Grant/Research Support|Meissa Vaccines: Advisor/Consultant|Merck: Advisor/Consultant|Pfizer: Board Member|Pfizer: Grant/Research Support|Pfizer: Speaker at meeting|SanofiPasteur: Advisor/Consultant|Shinogi: Advisor/Consultant Helen Y. Chu, MD, MPH, Abbvie: Advisor/Consultant|Merck: Advisor/Consultant|Vir: Advisor/Consultant

If I find out that you have bought a $90 red light sabre, Tara, well there's going to be trouble. -- Kevin Brabazon A few Saturdays ago, my 71-year old father tried to convince me of imminent responsibilities. As I am considering the purchase of a house, there are mortgages, bank fees and years of misery to endure. Unfortunately, I am not an effective Big Picture Person. The lure of the light sabre is almost too great. For 30 year old Generation Xers like myself, it is more than a cultural object. It is a textual anchor, and a necessary component to any future history of the present. Revelling in the aura of the Australian release for Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, this paper investigates popular memory, an undertheorised affiliation between popular culture and cultural studies.1 The excitement encircling the Star Wars prequel has been justified in terms of 'hype' or marketing. Such judgements frame the men and women cuing for tickets, talking Yodas and light sabres as fools or duped souls who need to get out more. My analysis explores why Star Wars has generated this enthusiasm, and how cultural studies can mobilise this passionate commitment to consider notions of popularity, preservation and ephemerality. We'll always have Tattooine. Star Wars has been a primary popular cultural social formation for a generation. The stories of Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Darth Vader, Yoda, C-3PO and R2D2 offer an alternative narrative for the late 1970s and 1980s. It was a comfort to have the Royal Shakespearian tones of Alec Guinness confirming that the Force would be with us, through economic rationalism, unemployment, Pauline Hanson and Madonna discovering yoga. The Star Wars Trilogy, encompassing A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi, was released between 1977 and 1983. These films have rarely slipped from public attention, being periodically 'brought back' through new cinematic and video releases. The currency of Star Wars is matched with the other great popular cultural formations of the post-war period: the James Bond series and Star Trek. One reason for the continued success of these programmes is that other writers, film makers and producers cannot leave these texts alone. Bond survives not only through Pierce Brosnan's good looks, but the 'Hey Baby' antics of Austin Powers. Star Trek, through four distinct series, has become an industry that will last longer than Voyager's passage back from the Delta Quadrant. Star Wars, perhaps even more effectively than the other popular cultural heavyweights, has enmeshed itself into other filmic and televisual programming. Films like Spaceballs and television quizzes on Good News Week keep the knowledge system and language current and pertinent.2 Like Umberto Eco realised of Casablanca, Star Wars is "a living example of living textuality" (199). Both films are popular because of imperfections and intertextual archetypes, forming a filmic quilt of sensations and affectivities. Viewers are aware that "the cliches are talking among themselves" (Eco 209). As these cinematic texts move through time, the depth and commitment of these (con)textual dialogues are repeated and reinscribed. To hold on to a memory is to isolate a moment or an image and encircle it with meaning. Each day we experience millions of texts: some are remembered, but most are lost. Some popular cultural texts move from ephemera to popular memory to history. In moving beyond individual reminiscences -- the personal experiences of our lifetime -- we enter the sphere of popular culture. Collective or popular memory is a group or community experience of a textualised reality. For example, during the Second World War, there were many private experiences, but certain moments arch beyond the individual. Songs by Vera Lynn are fully textualised experiences that become the fodder for collective memory. Similarly, Star Wars provides a sense-making mechanism for the 1980s. Like all popular culture, these texts allow myriad readership strategies, but there is collective recognition of relevance and importance. Popular memory is such an important site because it provides us, as cultural critics, with a map of emotionally resonant sites of the past, moments that are linked with specific subjectivities and a commonality of expression. While Star Wars, like all popular cultural formations, has a wide audience, there are specific readings that are pertinent for particular groups. To unify a generation around cultural texts is an act of collective memory. As Harris has suggested, "sometimes, youth does interesting things with its legacy and creatively adapts its problematic into seemingly autonomous cultural forms" (79). Generation X refers to an age cohort born between the mid-1960s and the mid-1970s. Finally cultural studies theorists have found a Grail subculture. Being depthless, ambivalent, sexually repressed and social failures, Xers are a cultural studies dream come true. They were the children of the media revolution. Star Wars is integral to this textualised database. A fan on the night of the first screening corrected a journalist: "we aren't Generation X, we are the Star Wars generation" (Brendon, in Miller 9). An infatuation and reflexivity with the media is the single framework of knowledge in which Xers operate. This shared understanding is the basis for comedy, and particularly revealed (in Australia) in programmes like The Panel and Good News Week. Television themes, lines of film dialogue and contemporary news broadcasts are the basis of the game show. The aesthetics of life transforms television into a real. Or, put another way, "individual lives may be fragmented and confused but McDonald's is universal" (Hopkins 17). A group of textual readers share a literacy, a new way of reading the word and world of texts. Nostalgia is a weapon. The 1990s has been a decade of revivals: from Abba to skateboards, an era of retro reinscription has challenged linear theories of history and popular culture. As Timothy Carter reveals, "we all loved the Star Wars movies when we were younger, and so we naturally look forward to a continuation of those films" (9). The 1980s has often been portrayed as a bad time, of Thatcher and Reagan, cold war brinkmanship, youth unemployment and HIV. For those who were children and (amorphously phrased) 'young adults' of this era, the popular memory is of fluorescent fingerless gloves, Ray Bans, 'Choose Life' t-shirts and bubble skirts. It was an era of styling mousse, big hair, the Wham tan, Kylie and Jason and Rick Astley's dancing. Star Wars action figures gave the films a tangibility, holding the future of the rebellion in our hands (literally). These memories clumsily slop into the cup of the present. The problem with 'youth' is that it is semiotically too rich: the expression is understood, but not explained, by discourses as varied as the educational system, family structures, leisure industries and legal, medical and psychological institutions. It is a term of saturation, where normality is taught, and deviance is monitored. All cultural studies theorists carry the baggage of the Birmingham Centre into any history of youth culture. The taken-for-granted 'youth as resistance' mantra, embodied in Resistance through Rituals and Subculture: The Meaning of Style, transformed young people into the ventriloquist's puppet of cultural studies. The strings of the dancing, smoking, swearing and drinking puppet took many years to cut. The feminist blade of Angela McRobbie did some damage to the fraying filaments, as did Dick Hebdige's reflexive corrections in Hiding in the Light. However, the publications, promotion and pedagogy of Gen X ended the theoretical charade. Gen X, the media sophisticates, played with popular culture, rather than 'proper politics.' In Coupland's Generation X, Claire, one of the main characters believed that "Either our lives become stories, or there's just no way to get through them." ... We know that this is why the three of us left our lives behind us and came to the desert -- to tell stories and to make our own lives worthwhile tales in the process. (8) Television and film are part of this story telling process. This intense connection generated an ironic and reflexive literacy in the media. Television became the basis for personal pleasures and local resistances, resulting in a disciplined mobilisation of popular cultural surfaces. Even better than the real thing. As the youngest of Generation Xers are now in their late twenties, they have moved from McJobs to careers. Robert Kizlik, a teacher trainer at an American community college expressed horror as the lack of 'commonsensical knowledge' from his new students. He conducted a survey for teachers training in the social sciences, assessing their grasp of history. There was one hundred percent recognition of such names as Madonna, Mike Tyson, and Sharon Stone, but they hardly qualify as important social studies content ... . I wondered silently just what it is that these students are going to teach when they become employed ... . The deeper question is not that we have so many high school graduates and third and fourth year college students who are devoid of basic information about American history and culture, but rather, how, in the first place, these students came to have the expectations that they could become teachers. (n. pag.) Kizlik's fear is that the students, regardless of their enthusiasm, had poor recognition of knowledge he deemed significant and worthy. His teaching task, to convince students of the need for non-popular cultural knowledges, has resulted in his course being termed 'boring' or 'hard'. He has been unable to reconcile the convoluted connections between personal stories and televisual narratives. I am reminded (perhaps unhelpfully) of one of the most famous filmic teachers, Mr Holland. Upon being attacked by his superiors for using rock and roll in his classes, he replied that he would use anything to instil in his students a love of music. Working with, rather than against, popular culture is an obvious pedagogical imperative. George Lucas has, for example, confirmed the Oprahfied spirituality of the current age. Obviously Star Wars utilises fables, myths3 and fairy tales to summon the beautiful Princess, the gallant hero and the evil Empire, but has become something more. Star Wars slots cleanly into an era of Body Shop Feminism, John Gray's gender politics and Rikki Lake's relationship management. Brian Johnson and Susan Oh argued that the film is actually a new religion. A long time ago in a galaxy far far away -- late 1970s California -- the known universe of George Lucas came into being. In the beginning, George created Star Wars. And the screen was without form, and void. And George said, 'Let there be light', and there was Industrial Light and Magic. And George divided the light from the darkness, with light sabres, and called the darkness the Evil Empire.... And George saw that it was good. (14) The writers underestimate the profound emotional investment placed in the trilogy by millions of people. Genesis narratives describe the Star Wars phenomenon, but do not analyse it. The reason why the films are important is not only because they are a replacement for religion. Instead, they are an integrated component of popular memory. Johnson and Oh have underestimated the influence of pop culture as "the new religion" (14). It is not a form of cheap grace. The history of ideas is neither linear nor traceable. There is no clear path from Plato to Prozac or Moses to Mogadon. Obi-Wan Kenobi is not a personal trainer for the ailing spirituality of our age. It was Ewan McGregor who fulfilled the Xer dream to be the young Obi Wan. As he has stated, "there is nothing cooler than being a Jedi knight" (qtd. in Grant 15). Having survived feet sawing in Shallow Grave and a painfully large enema in Trainspotting, there are few actors who are better prepared to carry the iconographic burden of a Star Wars prequel. Born in 1971, he is the Molly Ringwall of the 1990s. There is something delicious about the new Obi Wan, that hails what Hicks described as "a sense of awareness and self- awareness, of detached observation, of not taking things seriously, and a use of subtle dry humour" (79). The metaphoric light sabre was passed to McGregor. The pull of the dark side. When fans attend The Phantom Menace, they tend to the past, as to a loved garden. Whether this memory is a monument or a ruin depends on the preservation of the analogue world in the digital realm. The most significant theoretical and discursive task in the present is to disrupt the dual ideologies punctuating the contemporary era: inevitable technological change and progress.4 Only then may theorists ponder the future of a digitised past. Disempowered groups, who were denied a voice and role in the analogue history of the twentieth century, will have inequalities reified and reinforced through the digital archiving of contemporary life. The Web has been pivotal to the new Star Wars film. Lucasfilm has an Internet division and an official Website. Between mid November and May, this site has been accessed twenty million times (Gallott 15). Other sites, such as TheForce.net and Countdown to Star Wars, are a record of the enthusiasm and passion of fans. As Daniel Fallon and Matthew Buchanan have realised, "these sites represent the ultimate in film fandom -- virtual communities where like-minded enthusiasts can bathe in the aura generated by their favourite masterpiece" (27). Screensavers, games, desktop wallpaper, interviews and photo galleries have been downloaded and customised. Some ephemeral responses to The Phantom Menace have been digitally recorded. Yet this moment of audience affectivity will be lost without a consideration of digital memory. The potentials and problems of the digital and analogue environments need to be oriented into critical theories of information, knowledge, entertainment and pleasure. The binary language of computer-mediated communication allows a smooth transference of data. Knowledge and meaning systems are not exchanged as easily. Classifying, organising and preserving information make it useful. Archival procedures have been both late and irregular in their application.5 Bocher and Ihlenfeldt assert that 2500 new web sites are coming on-line every day ("A Higher Signal-to-Noise Ratio"). The difficulties and problems confronting librarians and archivists who wish to preserve digital information is revealed in the Australian government's PADI (Preserving Access to Digital Information) Site. Compared with an object in a museum which may lie undisturbed for years in a storeroom, or a book on a shelf, or even Egyptian hieroglyd on the wall of a tomb, digital information requires much more active maintenance. If we want access to digital information in the future, we must plan and act now. (PADI, "Why Preserve Access to Digital Information?") phics carve The speed of digitisation means that responsibility for preserving cultural texts, and the skills necessary to enact this process, is increasing the pressure facing information professionals. An even greater difficulty when preserving digital information is what to keep, and what to release to the ephemeral winds of cyberspace. 'Qualitative criteria' construct an historical record that restates the ideologies of the powerful. Concerns with quality undermine the voices of the disempowered, displaced and decentred. The media's instability through technological obsolescence adds a time imperative that is absent from other archival discussions.6 While these problems have always taken place in the analogue world, there was a myriad of alternative sites where ephemeral material was stored, such as the family home. Popular cultural information will suffer most from the 'blind spots' of digital archivists. While libraries rarely preserve the ephemera of a time, many homes (including mine) preserve the 'trash' of a culture. A red light sabre, toy dalek, Duran Duran posters and a talking Undertaker are all traces of past obsessions and fandoms. Passion evaporates, and interests morph into new trends. These objects remain in attics, under beds, in boxes and sheds throughout the world. Digital documents necessitate a larger project of preservation, with great financial (and spatial) commitments of technology, software and maintenance. Libraries rarely preserve the ephemera -- the texture and light -- of the analogue world. The digital era reduces the number of fan-based archivists. Subsequently forfeited is the spectrum of interests and ideologies that construct the popular memory of a culture. Once bits replace atoms, the recorded world becomes structured by digital codes. Only particular texts will be significant enough to store digitally. Samuel Florman stated that "in the digital age nothing need be lost; do we face the prospect of drowning in trivia as the generations succeed each other?" (n. pag.) The trivia of academics may be the fodder (and pleasures) of everyday life. Digitised preservation, like analogue preservation, can never 'represent' plural paths through the past. There is always a limit and boundary to what is acceptable obsolescence. The Star Wars films suggests that "the whole palette of digital technology is much more subtle and supple; if you can dream it, you can see it" (Corliss 65). This film will also record how many of the dreams survive and are archived. Films, throughout the century, have changed the way in which we construct and remember the past. They convey an expressive memory, rather than an accurate history. Certainly, Star Wars is only a movie. Yet, as Rushkoff has suggested, "we have developed a new language of references and self-references that identify media as a real thing and media history as an actual social history" (32). The build up in Australia to The Phantom Menace has been wilfully joyful. This is a history of the present, a time which I know will, in retrospect, be remembered with great fondness. It is a collective event for a generation, but it speaks to us all in different ways. At ten, it is easy to be amazed and enthralled at popular culture. By thirty, it is more difficult. When we see Star Wars, we go back to visit our memories. With red light sabre in hand, we splice through time, as much as space. Footnotes The United States release of the film occurred on 19 May 1999. In Australia, the film's first screenings were on 3 June. Many cinemas showed The Phantom Menace at 12:01 am, (very) early Thursday morning. The three main players of the GNW team, Paul McDermott, Mikey Robbins and Julie McCrossin, were featured on the cover of Australia's Juice magazine in costumes from The Phantom Menace, being Obi-Wan, Yoda and Queen Amidala respectively. Actually, the National Air and Space Museum had a Star Wars exhibition in 1997, titled "Star Wars: The Magic of Myth". For example, Janet Collins, Michael Hammond and Jerry Wellington, in Teaching and Learning with the Media, stated that "the message is simple: we now have the technology to inform, entertain and educate. Miss it and you, your family and your school will be left behind" (3). Herb Brody described the Net as "an overstuffed, underorganised attic full of pictures and documents that vary wildly in value", in "Wired Science". The interesting question is, whose values will predominate when the attic is being cleared and sorted? This problem is extended because the statutory provision of legal deposit, which obliges publishers to place copies of publications in the national library of the country in which the item is published, does not include CD-ROMs or software. References Bocher, Bob, and Kay Ihlenfeldt. "A Higher Signal-to-Noise Ratio: Effective Use of WebSearch Engines." State of Wisconsin Department of Public Instruction Website. 13 Mar. 1998. 15 June 1999 &lt;http://www.dpi.state.wi.us/dpi/dlcl/lbstat/search2.php&gt;. Brody, Herb. "Wired Science." Technology Review Oct. 1996. 15 June 1999 &lt;http://www.techreview.com/articles/oct96/brody.php&gt;. Carter, Timothy. "Wars Weary." Cinescape 39 (Mar./Apr. 1999): 9. Collins, Janet, Michael Hammond, and Jerry Wellington. Teaching and Learning with Multimedia. London: Routledge, 1997. Corliss, Richard. "Ready, Set, Glow!" Time 18 (3 May 1999): 65. Count Down to Star Wars. 1999. 15 June 1999 &lt;http://starwars.countingdown.com/&gt;. Coupland, Douglas. Generation X. London: Abacus, 1991. Eco, Umberto. Travels in Hyper-Reality. London: Picador, 1987. Fallon, Daniel, and Matthew Buchanan. "Now Screening." Australian Net Guide 4.5 (June 1999): 27. Florman, Samuel. "From Here to Eternity." MIT's Technology Review 100.3 (Apr. 1997). Gallott, Kirsten. "May the Web Be with you." Who Weekly 24 May 1999: 15. Grant, Fiona. "Ewan's Star Soars!" TV Week 29 May - 4 June 1999: 15. Hall, Stuart, and Tony Jefferson, eds. Resistance through Rituals. London: Hutchinson, 1976. Harris, David. From Class Struggle to the Politics of Pleasure: the Effects of Gramscianism on Cultural Studies. London: Routledge, 1992. Hebdige, Dick. Hiding in the Light. London: Routledge, 1988. Hopkins, Susan. "Generation Pulp." Youth Studies Australia Spring 1995. Johnson, Brian, and Susan Oh. "The Second Coming: as the Newest Star Wars Film Illustrates, Pop Culture Has Become a New Religion." Maclean's 24 May 1999: 14-8. Juice 78 (June 1999). Kizlik, Robert. "Generation X Wants to Teach." International Journal of Instructional Media 26.2 (Spring 1999). Lucasfilm Ltd. Star Wars: Welcome to the Official Site. 1999. 15 June 1999 &lt;http://www.starwars.com/&gt;. Miller, Nick. "Generation X-Wing Fighter." The West Australian 4 June 1999: 9. PADI. "What Digital Information Should be Preserved? Appraisal and Selection." Preserving Access to Digital Information (PADI) Website. 11 March 1999. 15 June 1999 &lt;http://www.nla.gov.au/padi/what.php&gt;. PADI. "Why Preserve Access to Digital Information?" Preserving Access to Digital Information (PADI) Website. &lt;http://www.nla.gov.au/padi/why.php&gt;. Rushkoff, Douglas. Media Virus. Sydney: Random House, 1994. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Tara Brabazon. "A Red Light Sabre to Go, and Other Histories of the Present." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.4 (1999). [your date of access] &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/sabre.php&gt;. Chicago style: Tara Brabazon, "A Red Light Sabre to Go, and Other Histories of the Present," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 4 (1999), &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/sabre.php&gt; ([your date of access]). APA style: Tara Brabazon. (1999) A red light sabre to go, and other histories of the present. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(4). &lt;http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9906/sabre.php&gt; ([your date of access]).

Ever since I tripped over Tiddles while I was carrying a pile of discs into the studio, I’ve known it was possible to get a laugh out of gramophone records!Max Bygraves In 1978 the music critic Lester Bangs published a typically pugnacious essay with the fighting title, “The Ten Most Ridiculous Albums of the Seventies.” Before deliciously launching into his execution of Uri Geller’s self-titled album or Rick Dees’ The Original Disco Duck, Bangs asserts that because that decade was history’s silliest, it stands to reason “that ridiculous records should become the norm instead of anomalies,” that abominations should be the best of our time (Bangs, 1978). This absurd pretzel logic sounds uncannily like Jacques Derrida’s definition of the “post” condition, since for it to arrive it begins by not arriving (Derrida 1987, 29). Lester is thinking like a poststructuralist. The oddness of the most singularly odd album out in Bangs’ greatest misses of the seventies had nothing to do with how ridiculous it was, but the fact that it even existed at all. (Bangs 1978) The album was entitled The Best of Marcel Marceao. Produced by Michael Viner the album contained four tracks, with two identical on both sides: “Silence,” which is nineteen minutes long and “Applause,” one minute. To underline how extraordinary this gramophone record is, John Cage’s Lecture on Nothing (1959) is cacophonous by comparison. While Bangs agrees with popular opinion that The Best of Marcel Marceao the “ultimate concept album,” he concluded that this is “one of those rare records that never dates” (Bangs, 1978). This tacet album is a good way to start thinking about the Classical Gas project, and the ironic semiotics at work in it (Tofts &amp; Gye 2011). It too is about records that are silent and that never date. First, the album’s cover art, featuring a theatrically posed Marceau, implies the invitation to speak in the absence of speech; or, in our terms, it is asking to be re-written. Secondly, the French mime’s surname is spelled incorrectly, with an “o” rather than “u” as the final letter. As well as the caprice of an actual album by Marcel Marceau, the implicit presence and absence of the letters o and u is appropriately in excess of expectations, weird and unexpected like an early title in the Classical Gas catalogue, Ernesto Laclau’s and Chantal Mouffe’s Hegemony and Socialist Strategy. (classical-gas.com) Like a zootrope animation, it is impossible not to see the o and u flickering at one at the same time on the cover. In this duplicity it performs the conventional and logical permutation of English grammar. Silence invites difference, variation within a finite lexical set and the opportunity to choose individual items from it. Here is album cover art that speaks of presence and absence, of that which is anticipated and unexpected: a gramophone recoding without sound. In this the Marceau cover is one of Roland Barthes’ mythologies, something larger than life, structured like a language and structured out of language (Barthes 1982). This ambiguity is the perfidious grammar that underwrites Classical Gas. Images, we learned from structuralism, are codified, or rather, are code. Visual remix is a rhetorical gesture of recoding that interferes with the semiotic DNA of an image. The juxtaposition of text and image is interchangeable and requires our imagination of what we are looking at and what it might sound like. This persistent interplay of metaphor and metonymy has enabled us to take more than forty easy listening albums and republish them as mild-mannered recordings from the maverick history of ideas, from Marxism and psychoanalysis, to reception theory, poststructuralism and the writings of critical auteurs. Foucault à gogo, for instance, takes a 1965 James Last dance album and recodes it as the second volume of The History of Sexuality. In saying this, we are mindful of the ambivalence of the very possibility of this connection, to how and when the eureka moment of remix recognition occurs, if at all. Mix and remix are, after Jean Baudrillard, both precession and procession of simulacra (Baudrillard, 1983). The nature of remix is that it is always already elusive and anachronistic. Not everyone can be guaranteed to see the shadow of one text in dialogue with another, like a hi-fi palimpsest. Or another way of saying this, such an epiphany of déjà vu, of having seen this before, may happen after the fact of encounter. This anachrony is central to remix practices, from the films of Quentin Tarrantino and the “séance fictions” of Soda_Jerk, to obscure Flintstones/Goodfellas mashups on YouTube. It is also implicit in critical understandings of an improbable familiarity with the superabundance of cultural archives, the dizzying excess of an infinite record library straight out of Jorge Luis Borges’ ever-expanding imagination. Drifting through the stacks of such a repository over an entire lifetime any title found, for librarian and reader alike, is either original and remix, sometime. Metalanguages that seek to counter this ambivalence are forms of bad faith, like film spoilers Brodie’s Notes. Accordingly, this essay sets out to explain some of the generic conventions of Classical Gas, as a remix project in which an image’s semiotic DNA is rewired and recontextualised. While a fake, it is also completely real (Faith in fakes, as it happens, may well be a forthcoming Umberto Eco title in the series). While these album covers are hyperreal, realistic in excess of being real, the project does take some inspiration from an actual, rather than imaginary archive of album covers. In 2005, Jewish artist Dani Gal happened upon a 1968 LP that documented the events surrounding the Six Day War in Israel in 1967. To his surprise, he found a considerable number of similar LPs to do with significant twentieth century historical events, speeches and political debates. In the artist’s own words, the LPs collected in his Historical Record Archive (2005-ongoing) are in fact silent, since it is only their covers that are exhibited in installations of this work, signifying a potential sound that visitors must try to audition. As Gal has observed, the interactive contract of the work is derived from the audience’s instinct to “try to imagine the sounds” even though they cannot listen to them (Gal 2011, 182). Classical Gas deliberately plays with this potential yearning that Gal astutely instils in his viewer and aspiring auditor. While they can never be listened to, they can entice, after Gilles Deleuze, a “virtual co-existence” of imaginary sound that manifests itself as a contract between viewer and LP (Deleuze 1991, 63). The writer Jeffrey Sconce condensed this embrace of the virtual as something plausibly real when he pithily observed of the Classical Gas project that it is “the thrift-bin in my fantasy world. I want to play S/Z at 78 rpm” (Sconce 2011). In terms of Sconce’s spectral media interests the LPs are haunted by the trace of potential “other” sounds that have taken possession of and appropriated the covers for another use (Sconce 2000).Mimetic While most albums are elusive and metaphoric (such as Freud’s Totem and Taboo, or Luce Irigaray’s Ethics of Sexual Difference), some titles do make a concession to a tantalizing, mimetic literalness (such as Das Institut fur Sozialforschung). They display a trace of the haunting subject in terms of a tantalizing echo of fact or suggestion of verifiable biography. The motivation here is the recognition of a potential similarity, since most Classical Gas titles work by contrast. As with Roland Barthes’ analysis of the erotics of the fashion system, so with Gilles Deleuze’s Coldness and Cruelty: it is “where the garment gapes” that the tease begins. (Barthes 1994, 9) Or, in this instance, where the cigarette smokes. (classical-gas.com) A casual Max Bygraves, paused in mid-thought, looks askance while lighting up. Despite the temptation to read even more into this, a smoking related illness did not contribute to Bygraves’ death in 2012. However, dying of Alzheimer’s disease, his dementia is suggestive of the album’s intrinsic capacity to be a palimpsest of the co-presence of different memories, of confused identities, obscure realities that are virtual and real. Beginning with the album cover itself, it has to become an LP (Deleuze 1991, 63). First, it is a cardboard, planar sleeve measuring 310mm squared, that can be imprinted with a myriad of different images. Secondly, it is conventionally identified in terms of a title, such as Organ Highlights or Classics Up to Date. Thirdly it is inscribed by genre, which may be song, drama, spoken word, or novelty albums of industrial or instrumental sounds, such as Memories of Steam and Accelerated Accordians. A case in point is John Woodhouse And His Magic Accordion from 1969. (classical-gas.com) All aspects of its generic attributes as benign and wholesome accordion tunes are warped and re-interpreted in Classical Gas. Springtime for Kittler appeared not long after the death of its eponymous philosopher in 2011. Directed by Richard D. James, also known as Aphex Twin, it is a homage album to Friedrich Kittler by the PostProducers, a fictitious remix collective inspired by Mel Brooks whose personnel include Mark Amerika and Darren Tofts. The single from this album, yet to be released, is a paean to Kittler’s last words, “Alle Apparate auschalten.” Foucault à gogo (vol. 2), the first album remixed for this series, is also typical of this archaeological approach to the found object. (classical-gas.com) The erasure and replacement of pre-existing text in a similar font re-writes an iconic image of wooing that is indicative of romantic album covers of this period. This album is reflective of the overall project in that the actual James Last album (1968) preceded the publication of the Foucault text (1976) that haunts it. This is suggestive of how coding and recoding are in the eye of the beholder and the specific time in which the remixed album is encountered. It doesn’t take James Last, Michel Foucault or Theodor Holm Nelson to tell you that there is no such thing as a collective memory with linear recall. As the record producer Milt Gabler observes in the liner notes to this album, “whatever the title with this artist, the tune remains the same, that distinct and unique Foucault à gogo.” “This artist” in this instance is Last or Foucault, as well as Last and Foucault. Similarly Milt Gabler is an actual author of liner notes (though not on the James Last album) whose words from another album, another context and another time, are appropriated and deftly re-written with Last’s Hammond à gogo volume 2 and The History of Sexuality in mind as a palimpsest (this approach to sampling liner notes and re-writing them as if they speak for the new album is a trope at work in all the titles in the series). And after all is said and done with the real or remixed title, both artists, after Umberto Eco, will have spoken once more of love (Eco 1985, 68). Ambivalence Foucault à gogo is suggestive of the semiotic rewiring that underwrites Classical Gas as a whole. What is at stake in this is something that poststructuralism learned from its predecessor. Taking the tenuous conventionality of Ferdinand de Saussure’s signifier and signified as a starting point, Lacan, Derrida and others embraced the freedom of this arbitrariness as the convention or social contract that brings together a thing and a word that denotes it. This insight of liberation, or what Hélène Cixous and others, after Jacques Lacan, called jouissance (Lacan 1992), meant that texts were bristling with ambiguity and ambivalence, free play, promiscuity and, with a nod to Mikhail Bakhtin, carnival (Bakhtin 1984). A picture of a pipe was, after Foucault after Magritte, not a pipe (Foucault 1983). This po-faced sophistry is expressed in René Magritte’s “Treachery of Images” of 1948, which screamed out that the word pipe could mean anything. Foucault’s reprise of Magritte in “This is Not a Pipe” also speaks of Classical Gas’ embrace of the elasticity of sign and signifier, his “plastic elements” an inadvertent suggestion of vinyl (Foucault 1983, 53). (classical-gas.com) This uncanny association of structuralism and remixed vinyl LPs is intimated in Ferdinand de Saussure’s Cours de linguistique générale. Its original cover art is straight out of a structuralist text-book, with its paired icons and words of love, rain, honey, rose, etc. But this text as performed by Guy Lombardo and his Royal Canadians in New York in 1956 is no less plausible than Saussure’s lectures in Geneva in 1906. Cultural memory and cultural amnesia are one and the same thing. Out of all of the Classical Gas catalogue, this album is arguably the most suggestive of what Jeffrey Sconce would call “haunting” (Sconce, 2000), an ambivalent mixing of the “memory and desire” that T.S. Eliot wrote of in the allusive pages of The Waste Land (Eliot 1975, 27). Here we encounter the memory of a bookish study of signs from the early twentieth century and the desire for its vinyl equivalent on World Record Club in the 1960s. Memory and desire, either or, or both. This ambivalence was deftly articulated by Roland Barthes in his last book, Camera Lucida, as a kind of spectral haunting, a vision or act of double seeing in the perception of the photographic image. This flickering of perception is never static, predictable or repeatable. It is a way of seeing contingent upon who is doing the looking and when. Barthes famously conceptualised this interplay in perception of an between the conventions that culture has mandated, its studium, and the unexpected, idiosyncratic double vision that is unique to the observer, its punctum (Barthes 1982, 26-27). Accordingly, the Cours de linguistique générale is a record by Saussure as well as the posthumous publication in Paris and Lausanne of notes from his lectures in 1916. (Barthes 1982, 51) With the caption “Idiot children in an institution, New Jersey, 1924,” American photographer Lewis Hine’s anthropological study declares that this is a clinical image of pathological notions of monstrosity and aberration at the time. Barthes though, writing in a post-1968 Paris, only sees an outrageous Danton collar and a banal finger bandage (Barthes 1982, 51). With the radical, protestant cries of the fallout of the Paris riots in mind, as well as a nod to music writer Greil Marcus (1989), it is tempting to see Hine’s image as the warped cover of a Dead Kennedys album, perhaps Plastic Surgery Disasters. In terms of the Classical Gas approach to recoding, though, this would be far too predictable; for a start there is neither a pipe, a tan cardigan nor a chenille scarf to be seen. A more heart-warming, suitable title might be Ray Conniff’s 1965 Christmas Album: Here We Come A-Caroling. Irony (secretprehistory.net) Like our Secret Gestural Prehistory of Mobile Devices project (Tofts &amp; Gye), Classical Gas approaches the idea of recoding and remixing with a relentless irony. The kind of records we collect and the covers which we use for this project are what you would expect to find in the hutch of an old gramophone player, rather than “what’s hot” in iTunes. The process of recoding the album covers seeks to realign expectations of what is being looked at, such that it becomes difficult to see it in any other way. In this an album’s recoded signification implies the recognition of the already seen, of album covers like this, that signal something other than what we are seeing; colours, fonts etc., belonging to a historical period, to its genres and its demographic. One of the more bucolic and duplicitous forms of rhetoric, irony wants it both ways, to be totally lounge and theoretically too-cool-for school, as in Rencontre Terrestre by Hélène Cixous and Frédéric-Yves Jeannet. (classical-gas.com) This image persuades through the subtle alteration of typography that it belongs to a style, a period and a vibe that would seem to be at odds with the title and content of the album, but as a totality of image and text is entirely plausible. The same is true of Roland Barthes’ S/Z. The radical semiologist invites us into his comfortable sitting room for a cup of coffee. A traditional Times font reinforces the image of Barthes as an avuncular, Sunday afternoon story-teller or crooner, more Alistair Cooke/Perry Como than French Marxist. (classical-gas.com) In some instances, like Histoire de Tel Quel, there is no text at all on the cover and the image has to do its signifying work iconographically. (classical-gas.com) Here a sixties collage of French-ness on the original Victor Sylvester album from 1963 precedes and anticipates the re-written album it has been waiting for. That said, the original title In France is rather bland compared to Histoire de Tel Quel. A chic blond, the Eiffel Tower and intellectual obscurity vamp synaesthetically, conjuring the smell of Gauloises, espresso and agitated discussions of Communism on the Boulevard St. Germain. With Marcel Marceao with an “o” in mind, this example of a cover without text ironically demonstrates how Classical Gas, like The Secret Gestural Prehistory of Mobile Devices, is ostensibly a writing project. Just as the images are taken hostage from other contexts, text from the liner notes is sampled from other records and re-written in an act of ghost-writing to complete the remixed album. Without the liner notes, Classical Gas would make a capable Photoshop project, but lacks any force as critical remix. The redesigned and re-titled covers certainly re-code the album, transform it into something else; something else that obviously or obliquely reflects the theme, ideas or content of the title, whether it’s Louis Althusser’s Philosophy as a Revolutionary Weapon or Luce Irigaray’s An Ethics of Sexual Difference. If you don’t hear the ruggedness of Leslie Fiedler’s essays in No! In Thunder then the writing hasn’t worked. The liner notes are the albums’ conscience, the rubric that speaks the tunes, the words and elusive ideas that are implied but can never be heard. The Histoire de Tel Quel notes illustrate this suggestiveness: You may well think as is. Philippe Forest doesn’t, not in this Éditions du Seuil classic. The titles included on this recording have been chosen with a dual purpose: for those who wish to think and those who wish to listen. What Forest captures in this album is distinctive, fresh and daring. For what country has said it like it is, has produced more robustesse than France? Here is some of that country’s most famous talent swinging from silk stockings, the can-can, to amour, presented with the full spectrum of stereo sound. (classical-gas.com) The writing accurately imitates the inflection and rhythm of liner notes of the period, so on the one hand it sounds plausibly like a toe-tapping dance album. On the other, and at the same time, it gestures knowingly to the written texts upon which it is based, invoking its rigours as a philosophical text. The dithering suggestiveness of both – is it music or text – is like a scrambled moving image always coming into focus, never quite resolving into one or the other. But either is plausible. The Tel Quel theorists were interested in popular culture like the can-can, they were fascinated with the topic of love and if instead of books they produced albums, their thinking would be auditioned in full stereo sound. With irony in mind, then, it’s hardly surprising to know that the implicit title of the project, that is neither seen nor heard but always imminent, is Classical Gasbags. (classical-gas.com) Liner notes elaborate and complete an implicit narrative in the title and image, making something compellingly realistic that is a composite of reality and fabulation. Consider Adrian Martin’s Surrealism (A Quite Special Frivolity): France is the undeniable capital of today’s contemporary sound. For Adrian Martin, this is home ground. His French soul glows and expands in the lovely Mediterranean warmth of this old favourite, released for the first time on Project 3 Total Sound Stereo. But don’t be deceived by the tonal and melodic caprices that carry you along in flutter-free sound. As Martin hits his groove, there will be revolution by night. Watch out for new Adrian Martin releases soon, including La nuit expérimentale and, his first title in English in many years, One more Bullet in the Head (produced by Bucky Pizzarelli). (classical-gas.com) Referring to Martin’s famous essay of the same name, these notes allusively skirt around his actual biography (he regularly spends time in France), his professional writing on surrealism (“revolution by night” was the sub-title of a catalogue for the Surrealism exhibition at the National Gallery of Australia in Canberra and the Art Gallery of New South Wales in 1993 to which he contributed an essay) (Martin 1993), as well as “One more bullet in the head,” the rejected title of an essay that was published in World Art magazine in New York in the mid-1990s. While the cover evokes the cool vibe of nouvelle vague Paris, it is actually from a 1968 album, Roma Oggi by the American guitarist Tony Mottola (a real person who actually sounds like a fictional character from Sergio Leone’s Once Upon A Time in America, a film on which Martin has written a book for the British Film Institute). Plausibility, in terms of Martin’s Surrealism album, has to be as compellingly real as the sincerity of Sandy Scott’s Here’s Sandy. And it should be no surprise to see the cover art of Scott’s album return as Georges Bataille’s Erotism. Gramophone The history of the gramophone represents the technological desire to write sound. In this the gramophone record is a ligature of sound and text, a form of phonographic writing. With this history in mind it’s hardly surprising that theorists such as Derrida and Kittler included the gramophone under the conceptual framework of a general grammatology (Derrida 1992, 253 &amp; Kittler 1997, 28). (classical-gas.com) Jacques Derrida’s Of Grammatology is the avatar of Classical Gas in its re-writing of a previous writing. Re-inscribing the picaresque Pal Joey soundtrack as a foundation text of post-structuralism is appropriate in terms of the gramme or literate principle of Western metaphysics as well as the echolalia of remix. As Derrida observes in Of Grammatology, history and knowledge “have always been determined (and not only etymologically or philosophically) as detours for the purpose of the reappropriation of presence” (Derrida 1976, 10). A gas way to finish, you might say. But in retrospect the ur-text that drives the poetics of Classical Gas is not Of Grammatology but the errant Marcel Marceau album described previously. Far from being an oddity, an aberration or a “novelty” album, it is a classic gramophone recording, the quintessential writing of an absent speech, offbeat and untimely. References Bahktin, Mikhail. Rabelais and His World. Trans. Hélène Iswolsky. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1985. Bangs, Lester. “The Ten Most Ridiculous Albums of the Seventies”. Phonograph Record Magazine, March, 1978. Reproduced at http://rateyourmusic.com/list/dacapo/the_ten_most_ridiculous_records_of_the_seventies__by_lester_bangs. Barthes, Roland. Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography. Trans. Richard Howard. London: Flamingo, 1982. ---. Mythologies. Trans. Annette Lavers. London: Granada, 1982. ---. The Pleasure of the Text. Trans. Richard Miller. Oxford: Blackwell, 1994. Baudrillard, Jean. Simulations. Trans. Paul Foss, Paul Patton and Philip Beitchman. New York: Semiotext[e], 1983. Deleuze, Gilles. Bergsonism. Trans. Hugh Tomlinson and Barbara Habberjam. New York: Zone Books, 2000. Derrida, Jacques. Of Grammatology. Trans. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1976. ---. The Post Card: From Socrates to Freud and Beyond. Trans. Alan Bass. Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1987. ---. “Ulysses Gramophone: Hear Say Yes in Joyce,” in Acts of Literature. Ed. Derek Attridge. New York: Routledge, 1992. Eco, Umberto. Reflections on The Name of the Rose. Trans. William Weaver. London: Secker &amp; Warburg, 1985. Eliot, T.S. The Waste Land and Other Poems. London: Faber &amp; Faber, 1975. Foucault, Michel. This Is Not a Pipe. Trans. James Harkness. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983. ---. The Use of Pleasure: The History of Sexuality Volume 2. Trans. Robert Hurley. New York: Random House, 1985. Gal, Dani. Interview with Jens Hoffmann, Istanbul Biennale Companion. Istanbul Foundation for Culture and the Arts, 2011. Kittler, Friedrich. “Gramophone, Film, Typewriter,” in Literature, Media, Information Systems. Ed. John Johnston. Amsterdam: Overseas Publishers Association, 1997. Lacan, Jacques. The Ethics of Psychoanalysis (1959–1960): The Seminar of Jacques Lacan. Trans. Dennis Porter. London: Routledge, 1992. Marcus, Greil. Lipstick Traces: A Secret History of the Twentieth Century. London: Secker &amp; Warburg, 1989. Martin, Adrian. “The Artificial Night: Surrealism and Cinema,” in Surrealism: Revolution by Night. Canberra: National Gallery of Australia, 1993. Sconce, Jeffrey. Haunted Media: Electronic Presence from Telegraphy to Television. Durham: Duke University Press, 2000. ---. Online communication with authors, June 2011. Tofts, Darren and Lisa Gye. The Secret Gestural Prehistory of Mobile Devices. 2010-ongoing. http://www.secretprehistory.net/. ---. Classical Gas. 2011-ongoing. http://www.classical-gas.com/.

“Language is inseparable from the world that provokes it”-- Don DeLillo, “In the Ruins of the Future”The attacks of 9/11 generated a public discourse of suspicion, with Osama bin Laden occupying the role of the quintessential “most wanted” for nearly a decade, before being captured and killed in May 2011. In the novel, Falling Man (DeLillo), set shortly after the attacks of September 11, Justin, the protagonist’s son, and his friends, the two Siblings, spend much of their time at the window of the Siblings’ New York apartment, “searching the skies for Bill Lawton” (74). Mishearing bin Laden’s name on the news, Robert, the younger of the Siblings, has “never adjusted his original sense of what he was hearing” (73), and so the “myth of Bill Lawton” (74) is created. In this paper, I draw on postclassical, cognitive narratology to “defamiliarise” processes undertaken by both narrator and reader (Palmer 28) in order to explore how narrative elements impact on readers’ and characters’ perceptions of the terrorist. My focus on select episodes within the novel “pursue[s] the author’s means of controlling his reader” (Booth i), and I refer to a generic reader to identify a certain intuitive reaction to the text. Assuming that “the written text imposes certain limits on its unwritten implications” (Iser 281), I trace a path from the uttered or printed word, through the reading act, to the process of meaning-making. I demonstrate how renaming the terrorist, and other language games, challenge the notion that terror can be synonymous with a locatable, destructible source by activating a suspicion towards the text in particular, and towards language in general.Falling Man tells the story of Keith who, after surviving the attacks on the World Trade Centre, shows up injured and disoriented at the apartment of his estranged wife, Lianne, and their son, Justin. The narrative, set at different periods between the day of the attacks and three years later, focuses on Keith’s and Lianne’s lives as they attempt to deal, in their own ways, with the trauma of the attacks and with the unexpected reunion of their small family. Keith disappears into games of poker and has a brief relationship with another survivor, while Lianne searches for answers in the writings of Alzheimer sufferers, in places of worship, and in conversations with her mother, Nina, and her mother’s partner, Martin, a German art-dealer with a questionable past. Each of the novel’s three parts also contains a short narrative from the perspective of Hammad, a fictional terrorist, starting with his early days in a European cell under the leadership of the real terrorist, Mohamed Atta, through the group’s activities in Florida, to his final moments aboard the plane that crashes into the World Trade Centre. DeLillo’s work is noted for treating language as central to society and culture (Weinstein). In this personalised narrative of post-9/11, DeLillo’s choices reflect his “refusal to reproduce the mass media’s representations of 9/11 the reader is used to” (Grossinger 85). This refusal is manifest not so much in an absence of well-known, mediated images or concepts, but in the reshaping and re-presenting of these images so that they appear unexpected, new, and personal (Apitzch). A notable example of such re-presentation is the Falling Man of the title, who is introduced, surprisingly, not as the man depicted in the famous photograph by Richard Drew (Leps), but a performance artist who uses the name Falling Man when staging his falls from various New York buildings. Not until the final two sentences of the novel does DeLillo fully admit the image into the narrative, and even then only as Keith’s private vision from the Tower: “Then he saw a shirt come down out of the sky. He walked and saw it fall, arms waving like nothing in this life” (246). The bin Laden/Bill Lawton substitution shows a similar rejection of recycled concepts and enables a renewed perspective towards the idea of bin Laden. Bill Lawton is first introduced as an anonymous “man” (17), later to be named Bill Lawton (73), and later still to be revealed as bin Laden mispronounced (73). The reader first learns of Bill Lawton in a conversation between Lianne and the Siblings’ mother, Isabel, who is worried about the children’s preoccupation at the window:“It has something to do with this man.”“What man?”“This name. You’ve heard it.”“This name,” Lianne said.“Isn’t this the name they sort of mumble back and forth? My kids totally don’t want to discuss the matter. Katie enforces the thing. She basically inspires fear in her brother. I thought maybe you would know something.”“I don’t think so.”“Like Justin says nothing about any of this?”“No. What man?”“What man? Exactly,” Isabel said. (17)If “the piling up of data [...] fulfils a function in the construction of an image” (Bal 85), a delayed unravelling of the bin Laden identity distorts this data-piling so that by the time the reader learns of the Bill Lawton/bin Laden link, an image of a man is already established as separate from, and potentially exclusive of, his historical identity. The segment beginning immediately after Isabel’s comment, “What man? Exactly” (17), refers to another, unidentified man with the pronoun “he” (18), as if to further sway the reader’s attention from the subject of that man’s identity. Fludernik notes that “language games” are a key feature of the postmodern text (Towards 221), adding that “techniques of linguistic emasculation serve implicitly to question a simple and naive view of the representational potential of language” (225). I propose that, in Falling Man, bin Laden is emasculated by the Bill Lawton misnomer, and is thereby conceptualised as two entities, one historical and one fictional. The name-switch activates what psychologists refer to as a “dual-process,” conscious and unconscious, that forms the reader’s experience of the narrative (Gerrig 37), creating a cognitive dissonance between the two. Much like Wittgenstein’s duck-rabbit drawing, bin Laden and Bill Lawton exist as two separate entities, occupying the same space of the idea of bin Laden, but demanding to be viewed singularly for the process of recognition to take place. Such distortion of a well-known figure conveys the sense that, in this novel, “all identities are either confused [...] or double [...] or merging [...] or failing” (Kauffman 371), or, occasionally, doing all these things simultaneously.A similar cognitive process is triggered by the introduction of aliases for all three characters that head each of the novel’s three parts. Ernst Hechinger is revealed as Martin Ridnour’s former, ‘terrorist’ identity (DeLillo, Falling 86), and performance artist David Janiak (180) as the Falling Man’s everyday name. But the bin Laden/Bill Lawton switch offers an overt juxtaposition of the historical with the fictional or, as Žižek would have it, “the Raw real” with the “virtual” (387), and allows the mutated bin Laden/Bill Lawton figure to shift, in the mind of the reader, between the two worlds, as well as form a new, blended entity.At this point, it is important to notice that two, interconnected, forms of suspicion exist in the novel. The first is invoked in the story-level towards various terrorist-characters such as Bill Lawton, Hammad, and Martin. The second form is activated when various elements within the narrative prompt the reader to treat the text itself as suspicious, triggering in the reader a cognitive reaction that mirrors that of the narrated character. One example is the “halting process” (Leps) that is forced on the reader when attempting to manoeuvre through the narrative’s anachronical arrangement that mirrors Keith’s mental perception of time and memory. Another such narrative device is the use of “unheralded pronouns” (Gerrig 50), when ‘he’ or ‘she’ is used ambiguously, often at the beginning of a chapter or segment. The use of pronouns in narrative must adhere to strict grammatical rules (Fludernik, Introduction) and when these rules are ignored, the reading pattern is affected. First, the reader of Falling Man is immersed within an element in the story, then becomes puzzled about the identity of a character, and finally re-reads the passage to gain clarity. The reader, after a while, distances somewhat from the text, scanning for alternative possibilities and approaching interpretation with a tentative sense of doubt.The conversation between the two mothers, the Bill Lawton/bin Laden split, and the use of unheralded pronouns also destabilises the relationship between person and name, and appears to create a world in which “personality has disintegrated into a mere semiotic mark” (Versluys 21). Keith’s obsession with correcting the spelling of his surname, Neudecker, “because it wasn’t him, with the name misspelled” (DeLillo, Falling 31), Lianne’s fondness of the philosopher Kierkegaard, “right down to the spelling of his name. The hard Scandian k’s and lovely doubled a” (118), her consideration of “Marko [...] with a k, whatever that might signify” (119), and Rumsey, who is told that “everything in his life would be different [...] if one letter in his name was different” (149), are a few examples of the text’s semiotic emphasis. But, while Versluys sees this tendency as emblematic of the novel’s portrayal of a decline in humanity, I suggest that the text’s preoccupation with the shape and constitution of words may work to “de-automatise” (Margolin 66) the relationship between sign and perception, rather than to denigrate the signified human. With the renamed terrorist, the reader comes to doubt not only the printed text, but also his or her automatic response to “bin Laden” as a “brand, a sort of logo which identifies and personalises the evil” (Chomsky, September 36). Bill Lawton, according to Justin, speaks in monosyllables (102), a language Justin chooses, for a time, for his own speech (66), and this also contributes to the de-automatisation of the text. The language game, in which a speaker must only use words with one syllable, began as a classroom activity “designed to teach the children something about the structure of words and the discipline required to frame clear thoughts” (66). The game also gives players, and readers, an embodied understanding of what Genette calls the gap between “being and saying” (93) that is inevitable in the production of language and narrative. Justin, who continues to play the game outside the classroom, because “it helps [him] go slow when [he] thinks” (66), finds comfort in the silent pauses that are afforded by widening the gap between thought and utterance. History in Falling Man is a collection of the private narratives of survivors, families, terrorists, artists, and the host of people that are affected by the attacks of 9/11. Justin’s character, with the linguistic and psychic code of a child, represents the way in which all participants, to some extent, choose their own antagonist, language, plot, and sequence to personalise this mega-public event. He insists that the towers did not collapse (72), but that they will, “this time coming” (102); Bill Lawton, for Justin, “has a long beard [...] speaks thirteen languages but not English except to his wives [and] has the power to poison what we eat” (74). Despite being confronted with the factual inaccuracies of his narrative, Justin resists editing his version precisely because these inaccuracies form his own, non-mediated, authentic account. They are, in a sense, a work of fiction and, paradoxically, more ‘real’ because of that. “We want to pass beyond the limits of safe understandings”, thinks Lianne, “and what better way to do it than through make-believe” (63). I have so far shown how narrative elements create a suspicion in the way characters operate within their surrounding universe, in the reader’s attitude towards the text, and, more implicitly, in the power of language to accurately represent a personal reality. Within the context of the novel’s historical setting—the period following the 9/11 attacks—the narration of the terrorist figure, as represented in Bill Lawton, Hammad, Martin, and others, may function as a response to the “binarism” of Bush’s proposal (Butler 2), epitomised in his “either you are with us, or you are with the terrorists” (Silberstein 14) approach. Within the novel’s universe, its narration of terrorist-characters works to free discourse from superficial categorisations and to provide “a counterdiscourse to the prevailing nationalistic interpretations” (Versluys 23) of the events of 9/11 by de-automatising a response to “us” and “them.” In his essay published shortly after the attacks, DeLillo notes that “the sense of disarticulation we hear in the term ‘Us and Them’ has never been so striking, at either end” (“Ruins”), and while he draws distinctions, in the same essay, with technology on ‘our’ side and religious fanaticism on ‘their’ side, I believe that the novel is less settled on the subject. The Anglicisation of bin Laden’s name, for example, suggests that Bush’s either-or-ism is, at least partially, an arbitrary linguistic construct. At a time when some social commentators have highlighted the similarity in the definitions of “terror” and “counter terror” (Chomsky, “Commentary” 610), the Bill Lawton ‘error’ works to illustrate how easily language can destabilise our perception of what is familiar/strange, us/them, terror/counter-terror, victim/perpetrator. In the renaming of the notorious terrorist, “the familiar name is transposed on the mass murderer, but in return the attributes of the mass murderer are transposed on one very like us” (Conte 570), and this reciprocal relationship forms an imagined evil that is no longer so easily locatable within the prevailing political discourse. As the novel contextualises 9/11 within a greater historical narrative (Leps), in which characters like Martin represent “our” form of militant activism (Duvall), we are invited to perceive a possibility that the terrorist could be, like Martin, “one of ours […] godless, Western, white” (DeLillo, Falling 195).Further, the idea that the suspect exists, almost literally, within ‘us’, the victims, is reflected in the structure of the narrative itself. This suggests a more fluid relationship between terrorist and victim than is offered by common categorisations that, for some, “mislead and confuse the mind, which is trying to make sense of a disorderly reality” (Said 12). Hammad is visited in three short separate sections; “on Marienstrasse” (77-83), “in Nokomis” (171-178), and “the Hudson corridor” (237-239), at the end of each of the novel’s three parts. Hammad’s narrative is segmented within Keith’s and Lianne’s tale like an invisible yet pervasive reminder that the terrorist is inseparable from the lives of the victims, habituating the same terrains, and crafted by the same omniscient powers that compose the victims’ narrative. The penetration of the terrorist into ‘our’ narrative is also perceptible in the physical osmosis between terrorist and victim, as the body of the injured victim hosts fragments of the dead terrorist’s flesh. The portrayal of the body, in some post 9/11 novels, as “a vulnerable site of trauma” (Bird, 561), is evident in the following passage, where a physician explains to Keith the post-bombing condition termed “organic shrapnel”:The bomber is blown to bits, literally bits and pieces, and fragments of flesh and bone come flying outwards with such force and velocity that they get wedged, they get trapped in the body of anyone who’s in striking range...A student is sitting in a cafe. She survives the attack. Then, months later, they find these little, like, pellets of flesh, human flesh that got driven into the skin. (16)For Keith, the dead terrorist’s flesh, lodged under living human skin, confirms the malignancy of his emotional and physical injury, and suggests a “consciousness occupied by terror” (Apitzch 95), not unlike Justin’s consciousness, occupied from within by the “secret” (DeLillo, Falling 101) of Bill Lawton.The macabre bond between terrorist and victim is fully realised in the novel’s final pages, when Hammad’s death intersects, temporally, with the beginning of Keith’s story, and the two bodies almost literally collide as Hammad’s jet crashes into Keith’s office building. Unlike Hammad’s earlier and clearly framed narratives, his final interruption dissolves into Keith’s story with such cinematic seamlessness as to make the two narratives almost indistinguishable from one another. Hammad’s perspective concludes on board the jet, as “something fell off the counter in the galley. He fastened his seatbelt” (239), followed immediately by “a bottle fell off the counter in the galley, on the other side of the aisle, and he watched it roll this way and that” (239). The ambiguous use of the pronoun “he,” once again, and the twin bottles in the galleys create a moment of confusion and force a re-reading to establish that, in fact, there are two different bottles, in two galleys; one on board the plane and the other inside the World Trade Centre. Victim and terrorist, then, share a common fate as acting agents in a single governing narrative that implicates both lives.Finally, Žižek warns that “whenever we encounter such a purely evil on the Outside, [...] we should recognise the distilled version of our own self” (387). DeLillo assimilates this proposition into the fabric of Falling Man by crafting a language that renegotiates the division between ‘out’ and ‘in,’ creating a fictional antagonist in Bill Lawton that continues to lurk outside the symbolic window long after the demise of his historical double. Some have read this novel as offering a more relative perspective on terrorism (Duvall). However, like Leps, I find that DeLillo here tries to “provoke thoughtful stillness rather than secure truths” (185), and this stillness is conveyed in a language that meditates, with the reader, on its own role in constructing precarious concepts such as ‘us’ and ‘them.’ When proposing that terror, in Falling Man, can be found within ‘us,’ linguistically, historically, and even physically, I must also add that DeLillo’s ‘us’ is an imagined sphere that stands in opposition to a ‘them’ world in which “things [are] clearly defined” (DeLillo, Falling 83). Within this sphere, where “total silence” is seen as a form of spiritual progress (101), one is reminded to approach narrative and, by implication, life, with a sense of mindful attention; “to hear”, like Keith, “what is always there” (225), and to look, as Nina does, for “something deeper than things or shapes of things” (111).ReferencesApitzch, Julia. "The Art of Terror – the Terror of Art: Delillo's Still Life of 9/11, Giorgio Morandi, Gerhard Richter, and Performance Art." Terrorism, Media, and the Ethics of Fiction: Transatlantic Perspectives on Don DeLillo. Eds. Peter Schneck and Philipp Schweighauser. London: Continuum [EBL access record], 2010. 93–110.Bal, Mieke. Narratology: Introduction to the Theory of Narratology. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 1985.Bird, Benjamin. "History, Emotion, and the Body: Mourning in Post-9/11 Fiction." Literature Compass 4.3 (2007): 561–75.Booth, Wayne C. The Rhetoric of Fiction. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1961.Butler, Judith. Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence. New York: Verso, 2004.Chomsky, Noam. "Commentary Moral Truisms, Empirical Evidence, and Foreign Policy." Review of International Studies 29.4 (2003): 605–20.---. September 11. Crows Nest, NSW: Allen &amp; Unwin, 2002.Conte, Joseph Mark. "Don Delillo’s Falling Man and the Age of Terror." MFS Modern Fiction Studies 57.3 (2011): 557–83.DeLillo, Don. Falling Man. London: Picador, 2007.---. "In the Ruins of the Future." The Guardian (22 December, 2001). ‹http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2001/dec/22/fiction.dondelillo›.Duvall, John N. &amp; Marzec, Robert P. "Narrating 9/11." MFS Modern Fiction Studies 57.3 (2011): 381–400.Fludernik, Monika. An Introduction to Narratology. Taylor &amp; Francis [EBL access record], 2009.---. Towards a 'Natural' Narratology. Routledge, [EBL access record], 1996.Genette, Gerard. Figures of Literary Discourse. New York: Columbia U P, 1982.Gerrig, Richard J. "Conscious and Unconscious Processes in Reader's Narrative Experiences." Current Trends in Narratology. Ed. Greta Olson. Berlin: De Gruyter [EBL access record], 2011. 37–60.Grossinger, Leif. "Public Image and Self-Representation: Don Delillo's Artists and Terrorists in Postmodern Mass Society." Terrorism, Media, and the Ethics of Fiction: Transatlantic Perspectives on Don DeLillo. Eds. Peter Schneck and Philipp Schweighauser. London: Continuum [EBL access record], 2010. 81–92.Iser, Wolfgang. "The Reading Process: A Phenomenological Approach." New Literary History 3.2 (1972): 279–99.Kauffman, Linda S. "The Wake of Terror: Don Delillo's in the Ruins of the Future, Baadermeinhof, and Falling Man." Modern Fiction Studies 54.2 (2008): 353–77.Leps, Marie-Christine. "Falling Man: Performing Fiction." Terrorism, Media, and the Ethics of Fiction: Transatlantic Perspectives on Don DeLillo. Eds. Peter Schneck and Philipp Schweighauser. London: Continuum [EBL access record], 2010. 184–203.Margolin, Uri. "(Mis)Perceiving to Good Aesthetic and Cognitive Effect." Current Trends in Narratology. Ed. Greta Olson. Berlin: De Gruyter [EBL access record], 2011. 61–78.Palmer, Alan. "The Construction of Fictional Minds." Narrative 10.1 (2002): 28–46.Said, Edward W. "The Clash of Ignorance." The Nation 273.12 (2001): 11–13.Silberstein, Sandra. War of Words : Language Politics and 9/11. Taylor &amp; Francis e-Library, 2004.Versluys, Kristiaan. Out of the Blue: September 11 and the Novel. New York: Columbia U P, 2009.Weinstein, Arnold. Nobody's Home: Speech, Self and Place in American Fiction from Hawthorne to DeLillo. Oxford U P [EBL Access Record], 1993.Žižek, Slavoj. "Welcome to the Desert of the Real!" The South Atlantic Quarterly 101.2 (2002): 385–89.

Introduction: From Classic Noir Parody to Aussie Comedy Noir However you choose to identify noir – as a genre, style, or cycle – over its 80 years from classic American film noir to neo-noir, neon-noir, national noirs, and television noir, it has undeniably seeped into popular culture. Exemplary of this is the way noir has hybridised with other genres and styles, true of comedy as much as its more serious pairings with science fiction, Western, and Gothic. This is not a new phenomenon: Sue Short points out that pastiche noir began appearing at the end of the classic cycle, citing Kiss Me Deadly (1955) as an example that noir has always had “a sense of exaggeration and self-consciousness” (185). Successful parody relies on a shared understanding of visual motifs, narratives, characters, and iconography. As Dahlia Schweitzer indicates, “we take the rules of genres so seriously that we even call attention to them for the sake of comedy … even when poking fun, the rules are still being followed” (117-118). With so many easily identifiable features, noir has enjoyed homage and parody in sketch comedy, films, animation, and the ‘noir episode’ in television over the years. There are also comedy-noir hybrids that don’t solely rely on parody but rather weave the style into the fabric of their narratives and visuals. Comedy-noir draws not only on classic film noir and neo-noir, but encompasses other noir iterations, such as Scandi Noir, its international adaptations, and the rise of distinctive national noirs, including the growing catalogue of Australian Noir. Audience understanding of the generic ‘rules’ of these ‘new noirs’ has also allowed for comedic parodies and hybridisations to emerge. Australian audiences are no strangers to comedy-infused crime, and Greg Dolgopolov’s work includes a great discussion of its distinct flavour in Australian features as well as defining the features of Outback Noir. Series such as Mr Inbetween (2018-2021), which Cath Moore notes was “billed as a black comedy crime drama” (127), have also been recognised as part of the growing Australian Noir oeuvre, with critic Andrew Nette describing the hitman drama as “so dark, so funny and so noir [and] also … so very Australian”. The SBS series Troppo (2022), based on the successful novels of Candice Fox (marketed under the publisher’s ‘Penguin Noir’ banner), also fits the Australian Noir mould. Its comic moments arise from the relationship between its two leads, a jaded American cop and a damaged local loner with a passion for sleuthing, employing the common crime trope of mismatched detectives. While these two shows are solid examples of how comic overtones inevitably bleed into Australian Noir, I would be hesitant to bill them as ‘comedy-noir’. There are others that fit this description more closely, combining noir conventions with comedy (and a touch of the Australian Gothic) for a more baked-in approach that pays homage to or takes inspiration from noir, as well as drawing on Australian comic-crime traditions. I’d like to explore this concept in a small selection of recent TV series: Thou Shalt Not Steal (2024), Deadloch (2023), and Bay of Fires (2023). Outback Comedy Noir: Thou Shalt Not Steal I believe Stan’s recent series Thou Shalt Not Steal (2024) is our first Outback Noir comedy, parodying identifiable aspects of Outback Noir, which itself shares generic lineage with the Western. Ivan Sen’s Mystery Road (2013) and its subsequent sequels and TV series “flipped the colour palette” of noir (Turnbull) to Outback red, and inverted the traditional noir iconography of shadowed night into bright day (Dolgopolov 80). That the visual language of Mystery Road is repeated in Thou Shalt is no accident: writer-director Dylan River also co-wrote and directed the prequel series Mystery Road: Origin. The Mystery Road film was shot in Queensland and its various series in Western Australia, showcasing iconic Outback Noir landscapes, with long stretches of red-dusted roads flanked by dry scrub. Thou Shalt is set and shot in South Australia and the Northern Territory, so immediately places the viewer in this familiar setting. To signify its comic turn, Thou Shalt amplifies the revisionist Western iconography of Outback Noir in the Mystery Road universe (Dolgopolov 79), with outward parody of classic Westerns, including in its music and titles design. When Robyn (Sherry-Lee Watson) escapes juvenile incarceration in the first episode, she jumps on a correctional officer's back as if riding a bucking bronco. After initiating her escape on foot, Robyn busts her ailing grandfather (Warren H. Williams) from hospital then proceeds to steal a taxi. After he reveals her father is still alive, she drives them to where her mother lives to find answers, eventually setting off to find him and evade recapture. The determination of cabbie Maxine (Miranda Otto) to retrieve her car, and the sizable bag of cash in its boot, sets an adventurous interstate pursuit in motion. She convinces outback preacher Robert (Noah Taylor) to drive her in his rattling station wagon and caravan, as his son Gidge (Will McDonald) has also absconded with Robyn. Thou Shalt first flips the Outback Noir genre by making the young Indigenous girl the protagonist rather than the victim. Thematically, “past and present are inextricably linked” in Outback Noir, as they are in other forms of noir (Dolgopolov 84), and the young Robyn’s journey is similarly concerned with reconciling elements of her past with her present. Just as Mystery Road’s Indigenous detective Jay Swan (Aaron Pederson) “negotiates a complex world between black and white” (Dolgopolov 82), Robyn is similarly caught between two worlds: in one, her estranged alcoholic black mother, in the other, the absent white father she's trying to find. Like classic noir detectives, Robyn is also given a narrational voiceover, but in her case, her expletive-laden inner voice adds to the comic effect while also establishing the series’ socio-cultural context: “I’m 17 and I’m a thief. Them missionaries reckon ‘thou shalt not steal’. A bit rich from the bible bashing bastards that stole our country” (ep. 1). As Short identifies in features such as Pulp Fiction (1994) and Fargo (1996), “accidental or inept criminality” and “comic mischance” (201; 202) can be used to subvert noir-style crime and violence. Thou Shalt employs such shockingly hilarious moments: Maxine is electrocuted by the caravan’s dodgy wiring, and a trucker accidently shoots himself in the head. Dolgopolov notes that dumb criminals often feature in Australian crime comedies (84), and to them Thou Shalt adds even dumber cops. Robyn easily fools a local uniformed cop to avoid arrest, and a mismatched duo of federal police officers, cheekily monikered Burke and Wills (Darren Gilshenen and Shari Sebbens), often seem as lost as their namesakes. The white male of the pair parodies male cop machismo, much to the eye-rolling chagrin of his Indigenous female partner. Although many scenes are played for laughs, the comedy does not detract from Robyn’s serious situation. She is certainly no angel and knows it, but the plucky teen refuses to remain a victim and fights back even in the face of hopelessness. Likewise, serious issues encountered by the Indigenous characters – racism, alcoholism, incarceration – are woven into the plot, but the characters are also allowed to have some fun, for example the Aboriginal men making fun (in their language) of Will’s clothing, and the cheeky aunties who make sexual comments about a young police officer. Creator Dylan River deliberately set out to educate with humour, saying “with comedy, hopefully people will watch this who usually wouldn’t watch an Aboriginal, Indigenous drama” (qtd. in Frater). Dark secrets and moral decay lurking beneath the surface in small communities is a common rural noir (and indeed, Australian Noir) trope that also appears in Thou Shalt. Preacher Robert has lied to his son Gidge about the boy’s parentage, is profiteering from selling alcohol to the local Aboriginal community, and, despite his self-proclaimed piety, is easily swayed by Maxine’s sexual advances, which barely conceal her own dark motives. Robyn and Gidge are betrayed by the morally corrupt adults they encounter, such as the road stop truckers who menace the teens with the threat of sexual assault, one of whom is likely a serial killer and kidnaps Gidge. Although Maxine initially purports to help Robyn, she later tries to force the girl into prostitution as payback for her theft. Robyn’s reunion with her dumb ocker father also proves a fizzer, with his wife summoning Burke and Wills to arrest them both. Ultimately, it’s up to Gidge and Robyn to save each other. Just as Outback Noir provides a glimmer of reconciliatory hope, shown through Mystery Road’s black and white detectives working together (Dolgopolov 84), Robyn’s unlikely allyship with Gidge blossoms into a sweet romance, making their story akin to the lovers-on-the-run noir trope. While the series’ ending sees Robyn back in juvenile detention, she and Gidge dance joyfully together from opposite sides of the chain-link fence, the smile never leaving her face even as she is dragged away by the guards. This scene comically embodies Alberto Garcia’s concept of ‘bright noir’, in which noir’s traditional narrative of futility is undermined by instead “embrac[ing] optimism” (42). Robyn’s voiceover intones, “I’m gonna take a new road. With this fella” (ep. 8), and audiences are left hopeful the couple will find a way (if not necessarily legal) to be together. Tassie Goth-Noir-Comedy: Deadloch Amazon’s Deadloch bills itself as “a feminist noir comedy set against a bucolic backdrop with a rising body count” (Guesswork TV), not only placing its homage to noir front and centre, but teasing an intriguing twist on generic conventions. When watching the series, it becomes clear that the ‘noir’ in its tagline refers to more recent television noir, and in particular Scandinavian (or Nordic) Noir, rather than the classic era. Crime scholar Sue Turnbull says the series “flips the Nordic Noir crime genre on its arse”, and the Hollywood Reporter states this Tasmanian Noir is an “irreverent send up of self-serious Nordic-noir/Scandi-noir shows like The Killing and The Bridge and their international imitators like the U.K.’s Broadchurch” (Rahman). In fact, creators Kate McCartney and Kate McLennan used the working title Funny Broadchurch while developing the show (Press). Like any parody, Deadloch’s success as a comedy-noir lies in the audience’s understanding of the original style. I would also argue that a further precedent to this understanding can be found in the dramatic Tassie Goth-Noir series The Kettering Incident (2016) and The Gloaming (2020), themselves self-consciously influenced by Scandi Noir (Brammer 125). Deadloch also makes use of its Tasmanian setting to visually reference Scandi (and Tassie) Noir. Just as the opening title sequences of The Gloaming and The Kettering Incident showcase Tasmania’s dangerous beauty and hint at their dark themes (Brammer 132), Deadloch’s opener consists of “a drone shot across an expanse of grey water under a leaden sky accompanied by eerie music and a sense of foreboding” (Turnbull), coding it as a noir-mystery without foregrounding its comic stylings. In a television interview, McLennan states, “we keep calling it Tassie Noir, I mean we're not the first person to say that, but it is”, emphasising that the creative team imagined what a northern hemisphere crime drama would look like in Australia, and in particular in Tasmania, where “it feels like that no matter where you are in Tasmania that you're in a small town” (qtd. in The Project). Deadloch’s first scene encapsulates McLennan’s and McCartney’s key aims of interrogating the tropes of television crime noir. It delightfully flips the naked, violated female corpse trope of endless crime dramas, by having two Indigenous teen girls discover the corpse of a white man on the shores of its titular lake. Miranda (Kartanya Maynard) and Tammy (Leonie Whyman) are sneaking a smoke on the beach in the early morning gloom, and as Vanity Fair’s reviewer observes, “if this were your standard thriller, they’d be the killer’s prey” (Press). When they encounter the body, the victim’s penis is foregrounded and centred in the frame – a shock for viewers and the characters alike – and then Tammy drops her smoke on the corpse, prompting her to beat the embers on the unfortunate man’s pubic hair with a cry of “shit, his dick’s on fire!” (ep. 1). McCartney says this choice of victim is a direct result of the creators being “sick of seeing cold white tits on a slab … with fully dressed men having a conversation over the top of them” (qtd. in Standard Issue). The black humour in this inversion of a typical TV noir scene is “inviting us to laugh at the expense of the unfortunate” (Short 183), and as a self-proclaimed feminist comedy the ‘unfortunate’ here is the man. Like Thou Shalt’s Robyn, Miranda and Tammy also reverse the Outback Noir roles of Indigenous women, a deliberate creative choice to “give a voice to people that would normally be portrayed as victims in these shows” (McLennan qtd. in Standard Issue). Deadloch includes the familiar trope of a pair of investigators forcibly buddied up to investigate a case, trading the “mismatched male and female cop from different cultural backgrounds” (Turnbull) for two women. Local detective Dulcie (Kate Box) is level-headed and meticulous, but rather than parodying the troubled female detective of Scandi noir, she aligns her more closely with the noir male cop with a troubled home life (Turnbull). The shadow of an affair she had when she and wife Cath (Alicia Gardner) lived in Sydney looms over their marriage. Her chalk-and-cheese partner Eddie (Madelaine Sami) is brought in from Darwin to help solve the crime, and this forced partnership cleverly drives both comic and more serious narratives in the show. Just as Steven Sanders noted that classic hybrid-noir series Twin Peaks (1990-1) contained “convoluted plot and subplots, grotesque minor characters, and a protagonist, … with a troubled past” (453), we observe all these aspects in Deadloch. Eddie’s past – the death of her former work partner – churns a hidden darkness within her. In another inversion of Scandi Noir, her darkness doesn’t manifest in the quiet moodiness of a Sarah Lund (The Killing) or the idiosyncrasies of a Saga Noren (The Bridge). Instead, Eddie is loud, rambunctious, and often inappropriately shooting her mouth off, manifesting a grotesque major character. For much of the series, Eddie’s vocal and physical characterisation serves as “the grotesque, unruly female … celebrated and utilised for comic effect” (Boyle 83). Actress Sami’s skills as a physical comedian embody the comic grotesque, and Eddie is constantly moving where Dulcie is more still and observant. Eddie’s hilariously profane one-liners are countered by Dulcie’s calm and deadpan delivery of her comedic lines. Like the famous female Scandi detectives mentioned above, Dulcie and Eddie each have a distinctive look. Eddie stubbornly wears the incongruous outfit of shorts, singlet and tropical print shirt with sandals until the Tasmanian cold gets the better of her, when she adopts a new signature look of colourfully mismatched camping shop fleeces and cargo pants, all of which contrast the professionally-clad and well-groomed Dulcie. The actors skilfully navigate the comic-to-serious turn in the narrative, evidenced when Dulcie chases the drunken Eddie on the slippery deck of a boat (ep. 3), showcasing the physical comedy chops of both actors. Dulcie uncharacteristically raises her voice to Eddie and then savagely mimics her. This temporary swapping of their comic performance styles also marks the turning point in their working relationship, with the scene’s seamless switch to more serious tone as Eddie reveals her past trauma. While there are plenty of other laughs to be had in the town’s quirky inhabitants, it is the comedic interplay of the two leads which ultimately drives Deadloch as comedy and noir-crime procedural. Their relationship can be read both as a sophisticated feminine rendering of the ‘straight man/wiseguy’ trope of classic comic team-ups and a deliberate twist on the pairing of noir detectives. Aussie Noir in Tassie: Bay of Fires ABC’s Tasmanian-set series is the most slippery of the three to slot into the comedy-noir mould. It undoubtedly takes on aspects of the classic noir gangster/organised crime element, the ‘small town crime’ tropes of much of Australian Noir, and as ‘Tassie Noir’ it leverages the landscape and rural quirkiness. However, the comedy component doesn’t always hit the mark, and certainly isn’t as consistently present on screen as in Deadloch and Thou Shalt. In Bay of Fires, successful Melbourne CEO Anika (Marta Dusseldorp) has the rug pulled from under her when she is targeted by hitmen. All she knows is she has been betrayed by partner (in business and love) Johann (Nikolai Nikolaeff), and must flee to Tasmania with her children into witness protection. Renaming herself Stella, she tries her best to survive both the weirdness and danger in the fictional town of Mystery Bay. Producer and star Dusseldorp states that the backdrop for Bay of Fires, Tasmania’s west coast, “is really a character in this show, it’s a wild wild west” (ABC Radio National). Locations around Zeehan, Queenstown, and Strahan become Mystery Bay, a remote ‘wild west’ enclave harbouring criminals and informants. This area has previously been referred to as the ‘wild west’ in deference to the mining activities of the late nineteenth century which formed the unique moon-like appearance Mount Lyell (Bullock 89), and in Bay of Fires this poisoned landscape is reflective of its poisonous characters. Its opening title sequence follows the style of its comic and serious Tassie-Noir counterparts, with aerial shots over mist-covered mountains segueing to a dark green underwater shot, highlighting the gothic dread of the landscape. It is of course also extremely beautiful, and the picturesque is deliberately juxtaposed with the violent and strange. Mystery Bay sports a raft of eccentric small-town inhabitants, such as the pig-owning couple with a snobby eye for fashion, Magda and Heather (Pamela Rabe and Roz Hammond), a UFO-obsessed mechanic (Bob Franklin), and a shadowy cult-like family residing on the edge of town. This places viewers in the familiar, comfortable territories of Australian Noir and crime comedy with actors they recognise and love. As critic Mel Campbell notes, these “veteran actors … are having a tremendous amount of fun here as Colourful Locals from Central Casting”. Joining them is hapless local cop Jason (Andre DeVanny), who is clearly powerless against the town’s criminal element. His character is a benign comic example of the struggle figures of authority face in the “moral rottenness of small towns” in Outback Noir (Dolgopolov 80). The classic noir theme of organised crime is realised in the town’s microcosmic criminal underworld, led by ‘queenpin’ Frankie (Kerry Fox). Sanders notes that “violence is an inherent function of the mobster ethos” in television gangster noir such as The Sopranos (453), and Frankie doesn’t shy away from doling out violent retribution. This is evidenced in the dispatch of real estate agent Francis (Stephen Curry), who is chased through the dark woods, put on ‘trial’ by the townsfolk and later found dead in a stream by Stella and her kids, his face covered in a plastic bag (ep. 2). Frankie demands absolute loyalty, even slaying Magda and Heather’s beloved porcine pet when they dare to go against her. While Fox largely plays it straight as the quietly-terrifying matriarch, her crime ‘family’ sometimes subvert her aura of menace with criminal ineptitude. Stretch (Jalen Sutcliffe) sets off a classic gangland-style shootout when he accidently shoots a Russian mobster, his sweet face intoning “Shit. Sorry!” before all hell breaks loose (ep. 8). While much Australian crime comedy has favoured lower-class underdogs (Dolgopolov 85), Bay of Fires flips the protagonist to the upper-class Stella, with many of the series’ initial comic moments arising from her fish-out-of-water adjustment to her new home, including trading her designer clothes for local op shop finds and moving into a barely-standing house. Stella’s classist view of the criminals she meets also plays on the critique of white Anglo privilege that Dolgopolov observes in other Australian crime comedies (86). However, it doesn’t take long for Stella to join the ranks of her new criminal neighbours, albeit inadvertently. Francis’s brutal gang-style killing is contrasted by Stella’s panicked disposal of a public servant she runs over (eps. 3-4), demonstrative of the neo-noir comic trope involving accidental killers and troublesome corpses (Short 187). She also uses her business acumen to bring white-collar crime to the town, with a plan to avoid becoming another of Frankie’s gruesome victims by generating cash through embezzlement. Dusseldorp describes the series as a “drama, comedy, thriller” which aims for a tone “like Ozark meets Fargo meets Schitt’s Creek” (qtd. in ABC Radio National). Some critics believe the show struggles to balance this tone, with Mel Campbell stating it “reels between comedy and drama in a stressful and frustrating way”, with lead Dusseldorp “simultaneously the most dramatic onscreen and the most unrealistically clownish”. Any style of comedy is subjective, and as such audiences will respond differently to the show’s tonal inflections; personally, I laughed out loud several times. Overall, the series draws on the landscape aesthetic of Tassie Noir, the classic noir tropes of organised crime and shady underworlds, and neo-noir’s darkly comic use of violence. Underpinning this are Australian Noir/comic-crime’s quirky rural sensibilities and penchant for skilful ensemble casting. Conclusion While we have produced a spate of excellent Australian Noir drama on screens big and small, we just cannot help laughing at ourselves, so the appearance of Australian comedy-noir is no surprise. Reading Thou Shalt Not Steal using Greg Dolgopolov’s comprehensive analysis of Outback Noir’s features reveals that the series redeploys these to hilarious effect, while maintaining its own narrative integrity and originality. Shows such as Deadloch prove that we can walk the comic-noir tightrope, and turn an even newer niche sub-genre (Tassie Noir, itself borne of Scandi Noir) into a slick and entertaining crime comedy with a surprisingly heartfelt buddy-cop twist. Bay of Fires, whilst not quite as successfully hitting its comic targets, nonetheless imbues the Australian Noir tropes of small-town secrets and colourful crooks with a few dark laughs. As Jonathan Rayner notes, Australian Gothic cinema embraced the “subversive impact [of] incongruities and startling juxtapositions of horror and humour” (31). Deadloch, and Bay of Fires, as hybrid comedy-gothic-noirs, delight in such juxtapositions and push the incongruity further by punctuating Tasmania’s picture-postcard landscapes with horrific violence. Sue Short points out that other black comedy TV noirs such as Twin Peaks and Fargo (2014-2024) present an “idyllic town with a dark underside” (207). This is inherent in Deadloch, which embeds the rural crime trope where everyone is a suspect (Turnbull), and in Bay of Fires, with its (somewhat less idyllic) town of mysterious misfits. The outback landscape and rural settings are another hallmark of the Australian Gothic (Rayner 83) and have organically bled into small-screen crime settings. Thou Shalt Not Steal consciously takes its visual lead from “noir/Gothic Westerns” like Mystery Road (Rayner 117), then adds its own comic subversions. Mel Campbell’s comment that “Deadloch [indulges in] the procedural pleasures of rural noir yet [is] ruthlessly willing to lampoon the genre’s clichés” mirrors Short’s assertion that “lampooning well-worn conventions is not an affirmation of noir’s demise [but reflects a] need to imaginatively reinvent the genre” (197). It is also refreshing to find all three series featuring female leads and prominent female supporting roles, with a combination of established actors and rising young Indigenous talent. What we are observing in these comic noirs is the imaginative reinvention not only of broader concepts of noir, but also of Australian Noir itself. Acknowledgment The author’s research is supported by an Australian Government Research Training Program (RTP) Scholarship. References Bay of Fires. TV series. Exec. prods. A. Knight, B. Popplewell, and G. Sitch. ABC/Archipelago Productions, 2023-. Brammer, Rebekah. “From Scandi Noir to Tassie Noir: Victoria Madden’s Adapting Auteurship of Noir in Australian Television.” The Australasian Journal of Popular Culture 13.2 (2024): 125-136. Boyle, Bridget. “Take Me Seriously. Now Laugh at Me! How Gender Influences the Creation of Contemporary Physical Comedy.” Comedy Studies 6.1 (2015): 78-90. Bullock, Emily. “Around the Bend: The Curious Power of the Hills around Queenstown, Tasmania.” Cultural Studies Review 18.1 (2012): 86-106. Campbell, Mel. “Bay of Fires on ABC Review: Excruciating Attempts at Comedy.” Screen Hub, 11 July 2023.&lt;https://www.screenhub.com.au/news/reviews/bay-of-fires-on-abc-review-excruciating-attempts-at-comedy-2619952/&gt;. Deadloch. TV series. Exec. prods. K. McCartney and K. McLennan. Amazon/Guesswork TV, 2023-. Dolgopolov, Greg. “New Australian Crime Drama.” Australian Genre Film. Ed. Kelly McWilliam. Routledge, 2021. 74-89. Frater, Patrick. “Dylan River’s Toronto Series ‘Thou Shalt Not Steal’ Explores Australia’s Dark History with Humor: ‘If You’re Preaching to the Converted, How Are You Educating?’”. Variety, 13 Sep. 2024. &lt;https://variety.com/2024/tv/news/dylan-river-toronto-thou-shalt-not-steal-australia-dark-history-1236143083/&gt;. Garcia, Alberto N. “The Rise of ‘Bright Noir’.” European Television Crime Drama and Beyond. Eds. Kim Toft Hansen, Steven Peacock, and Sue Turnbull. Cham: Springer, 2018. Guesswork Television. Deadloch Press Kit. 2023. &lt;https://guessworktv.com.au/show/deadloch/&gt;. Moore, Cath. “Shadows under the Sun: Situating Nordic Noir within an Australian Audiovisual Landscape.” The Scandinavian Invasion: Nordic Noir and Beyond. Eds. Richard McCulloch and William Proctor. Oxford: Peter Lang, 2023. 123-44. Mystery Road. Movie. Dir. I. Sen. Bunya Productions/Mystery Road Films, 2013. Mystery Road. TV series. Exec. prods. R. Anderson, K. Goldsworthy, S. Riley, and I. Sen. Bunya Productions, 2018-. Mystery Road: Origin. TV series. Exec. prods. B. Ayshford, A. Gregory, S. Riley, and I. Sen. Bunya Productions, 2022-. Nette, Andrew. “Mr. Inbetween: It's Time to Appreciate the Genius of This Very Australian Noir.” Crime Reads, 4 Jan. 2023. &lt;https://crimereads.com/mr-inbetween/&gt;. Press, Joy. “'Deadloch' Is the Feminist Crime Parody You Didn’t Know You Needed.” Vanity Fair, 6 July 2023.&lt;https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2023/07/deadloch-tv-review&gt;. Project, The. “Kate McCartney and Kate McLennan on How to Make a Murder Mystery with a Comedy Twist.” 30 May 2023. &lt;https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oXEswj-gR-0&gt;. Rahman, Abid. “‘Deadloch’ Creators on How Olivia Colman Inspired Aussie Noir Comedy and How a C-Word Manifesto Convinced Producers to Keep the Swear.” The Hollywood Reporter, 24 Nov. 2024. &lt;https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/tv/tv-news/deadloch-creators-kate-mclennan-kate-mccartney-interview-season-2-1236068343/&gt;. Rayner, Jonathan. Australian Gothic: A Cinema of Horrors. Cardiff: U of Wales P, 2022. Sanders, Steven. “Television Noir.” A Companion to Film Noir. Ed. Andre Spicer and Helen Hanson. Oxford: Blackwell, 2013. 440-57. Schweitzer, Dahlia. Cindy Sherman's Office Killer: Another Kind of Monster. UK: Intellect, 2014. “Secrets Unravel in New Tassie-Noir Thriller 'Bay of Fires'.” ABC Radio National Breakfast, 11 July 2023. &lt;https://www.abc.net.au/listen/programs/radionational-breakfast/abc-rn-breakfast-patricia-karvelas-podcast-guest-name/102585948&gt;. Short, Sue. Darkness Calls: A Critical Investigation of Neo-Noir. Palgrave MacMillan, 2019. Standard Issue. “Kate McLennan and Kate McCartney on Deadloch.” Podcast. 27 July 2023. &lt;https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uuBfOaL9OM&gt;. Thou Shalt Not Steal. TV series. Exec. prods. D. Chang and T. Glynn-Maloney. Stan/Ludo Studio, 2024. Turnbull, Sue. “How 'Deadloch' Flips the Nordic Noir Crime Genre on Its Arse and Makes It Funny.” The Conversation, 30 June 2023. &lt;https://theconversation.com/how-deadloch-flips-the-nordic-noir-crime-genre-on-its-arse-and-makes-it-funny-208478&gt;.

It’s a portrait of grief, to be sure, but it puts grief in the air, as a cultural atmospheric, without giving us anything to mourn.—— Tom Junod, “The Man Who Invented 9/11”The nearly decade-long attempt by families of 9/11 victims to reclaim the remains of their relatives involves rhetorics of bodilessness, waste, and virtuality that offer startling illustrations of what might be termed “the poetics of grief.” After combining as the WTC Families for Proper Burial Inc. in 2002, the families sued the city of New York in 2005. They lost and the case has been under appeal since 2008. WTC Families is asking for nearly one million tons of material to be moved from the Fresh Kills landfill on Staten Island in order to sift it for human remains. These remains will then be reclaimed and interred: Proper Burial. But the matter is far less definitive. When a judge hearing the appeal asked how one would prove someone’s identity, the city’s lawyer replied, “You have to be able to particularise and say it’s your body. All that’s left here is a bunch of undifferentiated dust.” The reply “elicited gasps and muttered ‘no’s’ from a crowd whose members wore laminated photos of deceased victims” (Hughes). These laminated displays are an attempt by WTC Families to counteract the notion of the victims as “undifferentiated dust”; the protected, hermetic images are testimony to painful uncertainty, an (always) outmoded relic of the evidentiary self.In the face of such uncertainty, it was not only court audiences who waited for a particular response to the terrorist attacks. Adam Hirsch, reviewer for the New York Sun, claimed that “the writer whose September 11 novel seemed most necessary was Don DeLillo. Mr. DeLillo, more than any other novelist, has always worked at the intersection of public terror and private fear.” DeLillo’s prescience regarding the centrality of terrorism in American culture was noted by many critics in the aftermath of the attack on the World Trade Centre. The novelist even penned an essay for Harper’s in which he reflected on the role of the novelist in the new cultural landscape of the post-9/11 world. In an online book club exchange for Slate, Meghan O’Rourke says, “DeLillo seemed eerily primed to write a novel about the events of September 11. … Rereading some of his earlier books, including the terrorism-riddled Mao II, I wondered, half-seriously, if Mohamed Atta and crew had been studying DeLillo.” If there was any writer who might have been said to have seen it coming it was DeLillo. The World Trade Center had figured in his novels before the 9/11 attacks. The twin towers are a primary landmark in Underworld, gracing the cover of the novel in ghostly black and white. In Players (1977), a Wall Street worker becomes involved in a terrorist plot to bomb the New York Stock exchange and his wife works in the WTC for the “Grief Management Council”—“Where else would you stack all this grief?” (18).ClassificationsAs the WTC Families for Proper Burial Inc. trial demonstrates, the reality of the terrorist attacks of September 11 offered an altogether more macabre and less poetic reality than DeLillo’s fiction had depicted. The Fresh Kills landfill serves in Underworld as a metaphor for the accumulated history of Cold War America in the last half-century. Taking in the “man-made mountain,” waste management executive Brian Glassic thinks, “It was science fiction and prehistory”; seeing the World Trade Center in the distance, “he sensed a poetic balance between that idea and this one” (Underworld 184). But the poetic balance DeLillo explores in the 1997 novel has been sundered by the obliteration of the twin towers. Fresh Kills and the WTC are now united by a disquieting grief. The landfill, which closed in 2001, was forced to reopen when the towers collapsed to receive their waste. Fresh Kills bears molecular witness to this too-big collective trauma. “‘They commingled it, and then they dumped it,’ Mr. Siegel [lawyer for WTC Families] said of the remains being mixed with household trash, adding that a Fresh Kills worker had witnessed city employees use that mixture to fill potholes” (Hughes). The revelation is obscene: Are we walking and driving over our dead? The commingling of rubble and human remains becomes a collective (of) contamination too toxic, too overwhelming for conventional comprehension. “You can’t even consider the issue of closure until this issue has been resolved,” says the lawyer representing WTC Families (Hartocollis).Nick Shay, Underworld’s main character, is another waste executive who travels the world to observe ways of dealing with garbage. Of shopping with his wife, Nick says, “Marion and I saw products as garbage even when they sat gleaming on store shelves, yet unbought. We didn’t say, What kind of casserole will that make? We said, What kind of garbage will that make?” (121). This attests to the virtuality of waste, a potentiality of the products – commercial, temporal, biological – that comprise the stuff of contemporary American culture. Synecdoche and metonymy both, waste becomes the ground of hysteron proteron, the rhetorical figure that disorders time and makes the future always present. Like (its) Fresh Kills, waste is science fiction and prehistory.Repeating the apparent causal and temporal inversion of hysteron proteron, Nick’s son Jeff uses his home computer to access a simultaneous future and past that is the internal horizon of Underworld’s historical fiction. Jeff has previously been using his computer to search for something in the video footage of the “Texas Highway Killer,” a serial murderer who randomly shoots people on Texan highways. Jeff tries to resolve the image so that the pixels will yield more, exposing their past and future. “He was looking for lost information. He enhanced and super-slowed, trying to find some pixel in the data swarm that might provide a clue to the identity of the shooter” (118). Searching for something more, something buried, Jeff, like WTC Families, is attempting to redeem the artifactual and the overlooked by reconfiguring them as identity. DeLillo recognises this molecular episteme through the “dot theory of reality”: “Once you get inside a dot, you gain access to hidden information, you slide inside the smallest event. This is what technology does. It peels back the shadows and redeems the dazed and rambling past. It makes reality come true” (177). Like the gleaming supermarket products Nick and Marion see as garbage, the unredeemed opens onto complex temporal and rhetorical orders. Getting inside garbage is like getting “inside a dot.” This approach is not possible for the unplanned waste of 9/11. Having already lost its case, WTC Families will almost certainly lose its appeal because its categories and its means are unworkable and inapplicable: they cannot particularise.PremonitionsIn his 9/11 essay “In the Ruins of the Future,” published in Harper’s a few months after the attacks, DeLillo says “We are all breathing the fumes of lower Manhattan where traces of the dead are everywhere, in the soft breeze off the river, on rooftops and windows, in our hair and on our clothes” (39). DeLillo‘s portrait of molecular waste adumbrates the need to create “counternarratives.” Until the events of 11 September 2001 the American narrative was that of the Cold War, and thus also the narrative of Underworld; one for which DeLillo claims the Bush administration was feeling nostalgic. “This is over now,” he says. “The narrative ends in the rubble and it is left to us to create the counternarrative” (34).DeLillo was already at work on a narrative of his own at the time of the terrorist attacks. As Joseph Conte notes, when the World Trade Center was attacked, “DeLillo, had nearly finished drafting his thirteenth novel, Cosmopolis [… and] shared in the collective seizure of the American mind” (179). And while it was released in 2003, DeLillo sets the novel in 2000 on “a day in April.” If the millennium, the year 2000, has been as Boxall claims the horizon of DeLillo’s writing, the tagging of this “day in April” at the beginning of the novel signals Cosmopolis as a limit-work (4). 9/11 functions as a felt absence in the novel, a binding thing floating in the air, like the shirt that DeLillo will use to begin and end Falling Man; a story that will ‘go beyond’ the millennial limit, a story that is, effectively, the counternarrative of which DeLillo speaks in his 9/11 essay. Given the timing of the terrorist attacks in New York, and DeLillo’s development of his novel, it is extraordinary to consider just how Cosmopolis reflects on its author’s position as a man who should have “seen it coming.” The billionaire protagonist Eric Packer traverses Manhattan by car, his journey a bifurcation between sophistication and banality. Along the way he has an onanistic sexual encounter whilst having his prostate examined, hacks into and deletes his wife’s old money European fortune, loses his own self-made wealth by irrationally betting against the rise of the yen, kills a man, and shoots himself in the hand in front of his assassin. Eric actively moves toward his own death. Throughout Eric’s journey the socially binding integrity of the present and the future is teased apart. He continually sees images of future events before they occur – putting his hand on his chin, a bomb explosion, and finally, his own murder – via video screens in his car and wristwatch. These are, as Conte rightly notes, repeated instances of hysteron proteron (186). His corpse does not herald obsolescence but begins the true life of waste: virtual information. Or, as Eric’s “Chief of Theory” asks, “Why die when you can live on a disk?” (106). There are shades here of Jeff’s pixelated excursion into the video footage of the Texas Highway Killer: “Once you get inside a dot, you gain access to hidden information.” Life at this level is not only virtual, it is particularised, a point (or a collection of points) Eric comes to grasp during the protracted scene in which he watches himself die: “The stuff he sneezes when he sneezes, this is him” (207). In Falling Man, the work in which DeLillo engages directly with the 9/11 attack, the particularised body recurs in various forms. First there is the (now iconic) falling man: the otherwise unknown victim of the terrorist attack who leapt from the WTC and whose descent was captured in a photograph by Richard Drew. This figure was named (particularised) by Tom Junod (who provides the epigram for this essay) as “The Falling Man.” In DeLillo’s novel another Falling Man, a performance artist, re-enacts the moment by jumping off buildings, reiterating the photograph (back) into a bodily performance. In these various incarnations the falling man is serially particularised: photographed, named, then emulated. The falling man is a single individual, and multiple copies. He lives on long after death and so does his trauma. He represents the poetic expression of collective grief. Particularised bodies also infect the terror narrative of Falling Man at a molecular level. Falling Man’s terrorist, Hammad, achieves a similar life-after-death by becoming “organic shrapnel.” The surviving victims of the suicide bomb attack, months later, begin to display signs of the suicide bombers in lumps and sores emerging from their bodies, too-small bits of the attacker forever incorporated. Hammad is thus paired with the victims of the crash in a kind of disseminative and absorptive (rhetorical) structure. “The world changes first in the mind of the man who wants to change it. The time is coming, our truth, our shame, and each man becomes the other, and the other still another, and then there is no separation” (80). RevisionsThe traces of American culture that were already contained in the landfill in Underworld have now become the resting place of the dust and the bodies of the trauma of 9/11. Rereading DeLillo’s magnum opus one cannot help but be struck by the new resonance of Fresh Kills.The landfill showed him smack-on how the waste stream ended, where all the appetites and hankerings, the sodden second thoughts came runneling out, the things you wanted ardently and then did not…. He knew the stench must ride the wind into every dining room for miles around. When people heard a noise at night, did they think the heap was coming down around them, sliding toward their homes, an omnivorous movie terror filling their doorways and windows?The wind carried the stink across the kill…. The biggest secrets are the ones spread before us. (184-5)The landfill looms large on the landscape, a huge pile of evidence for the mass trauma of what remains, those that remain, and what may come—waste in all its virtuality. The “omnivorous movie terror filling their doorways and windows” is a picture of dust-blanketed Downtown NYC that everybody, everywhere, continually saw. The mediatory second sight of sifting the landfill, of combing the second site of the victims for its “sodden second thoughts,” is at once something “you wanted ardently and then did not.” The particles are wanted as a distillate, produced by the frameline of an intentional, processual practice that ‘edits’ 9/11 and its aftermath into a less unacceptable sequence that might allow the familiar mourning ritual of burying a corpse. WTC Families Inc. is seeking to throw the frame of human identity around the unincorporated particles of waste in the Fresh Kills landfill, an unbearably man-made, million-ton mountain. This operation is an attempt to immure the victims and their families from the attacks and its afterlife as waste or recycled material, refusing the ever-present virtual life of waste that always accompanied them. Of course, even if WTC Families is granted its wish to sift Fresh Kills, how can it differentiate its remains from those of the 9/11 attackers? The latter have a molecular, virtual afterlife in the present and the living, lumpy reminders that surface as foreign bodies.Resisting the city’s drive to rebuild and move on, WTC Families for Proper Burial Inc. is absorbed with the classification of waste rather than its deployment. In spite of the group’s failed court action, the Fresh Kills site will still be dug over: a civil works project by the NYC Department of Parks &amp; Recreation will reclaim the landfill and rename it “Freshkills Park,” a re-creational area to be twice the size of Central Park—As DeLillo foresaw, “The biggest secrets are the ones spread before us.”ReferencesBoxall, Peter. Don DeLillo: The Possibility of Fiction. London: Routledge, 2006.Conte, Joseph M. “Writing amid the Ruins: 9/11 and Cosmopolis”. The Cambridge Companion to Don DeLillo. Ed. John N. Duvall. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. 179-192.Cowart, David. Don DeLillo: The Physics of Language. Athens: University of Georgia Press, 2003.DeLillo, Don. Players. London: Vintage, 1991.———. Mao II. London: Vintage, 1992.———. Underworld. London: Picador, 1997.———. “In the Ruins of the Future”. Harper’s. Dec. 2001: 33-40.———. Cosmopolis. London: Picador, 2003.———. Falling Man. New York: Scribner, 2007.Hartocollis, Anemona. “Landfill Has 9/11 Remains, Medical Examiner Wrote”. 24 Mar. 2007. The New York Times. 7 Mar. 2009 ‹http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/24%20/nyregion/24remains.html›. Hirsch, Adam. “DeLillo Confronts September 11”. 2 May 2007. The New York Sun. 10 May 2007 ‹http://www.nysun.com/arts/delillo-confronts-september-11/53594/›.Hughes, C. J. “9/11 Families Press Judges on Sifting at Landfill”. 16 Dec. 2009. The New York Times. 17 Dec. 2009 ‹http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/17/nyregion/17sift.html›.Junod, Tom. “The Man Who Invented 9/11”. 7 May 2007. Rev. of Falling Man by Don DeLillo. Esquire. 28 May 2007 ‹http://www.esquire.com/fiction/book-review/delillo›.O’Rourke, Meghan. “DeLillo Seemed Almost Eerily Primed to Write a Novel about 9/11”. 23 May 2007. Slate.com. 28 May 2007 ‹http://www.slate.com/id/2166831/%20entry/2166848/›.