Journal articles on the topic 'Scores; Alice in Wonderland; Carroll, Lewis'

Perhaps the allusions and references contained in the first part of this article might not be readily intelligible to someone whose childhood was not spent listening to stories from Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland or to someone not presently involved in the current debates about the finance of United Kingdom universities. Let me therefore offer a few words of explanation.Alice in Wonderland, and its companion Alice Through the Looking Glass, are children's stories which explore the limits of reason in most creative ways. Their author, the Reverend C. L. Dodgson, a nineteenth-century mathematician at Christchurch, Oxford who wrote under the name of Lewis Carroll, used the stories to discuss the nature of limit processes in mathematics, the phenomenon of relative size and aspects of the absurd. In the stories animals speak, playing cards come to life and the heroine, Alice, undergoes many transformations of bodily size. Since I regard the recent research selectivity exercise of the Universities Funding Council (UFC) as beyond the limits of reason, I have drawn upon the Alice stories by way of satire and I have tried to use some typical Carroll literary devices — plays on words, accounts of physical transformations and the like — to emphasize the relevant points.

Lewis Carroll wrote in 1864 the novel of Alice in Wonderland “Alice`s Adventures under Ground” [1]. The British psychiatrist John Todd (1914-1987) described the curious condition of micro-and macrosomatognosia, altered perceptions of body image, and described it as Alice in Wonderland Syndrome. John Todd described it 1955 and gave it the literary name in his publication

In the context of recent work on Charles Lutwidge Dodgson/Lewis Carroll, this paper argues that, given the scarcity of new archival information on the author and his life, the cultural ‘afterlife’ of Carroll and his books, such as Alice in Wonderland, provides a rich alternative avenue for scholarly research. It focuses on the 1932 centenary of Lewis Carroll's birth, which marks a key transition point in cultural discourses around the author and Alice. While the Alice books had, by 1932, been incorporated into a society very different from the 1860s Britain in which they were first published, they were also subject to conservative notions of authenticity and fidelity to the original. Carroll was already considered in terms of literary ‘immortality’, and his work associated with a nostalgic past, yet he also remained within living memory, while ‘the real Alice’, Mrs Hargreaves, was still alive, and feted as one of the text's cultural curators. Both Carroll and Alice were, meanwhile, subject to new contemporary discourses such as psychoanalysis, and became key to literary tourism and heritage on both a local and national level.

Alice's adventures in wonderland by Lewis Carroll is a captivating story that appeals to students in the middle grades. It also provides an opportunity to help students develop an understanding of some complex mathematical content, particularly the multiplication of fractions, which is introduced in the middle grades.

Alice's adventures in wonderland, the captivating book first published in 1865, began as a story told by a young mathematics lecturer to the three Liddell sisters, ages 8 to 13, during an afternoon of rowing on the river. The story might have evaporated into the summer's air but for Alice Liddell, then aged 10, who asked Charles Lutwidge Dodgson to write it down for her. Although Dodgson himself illustrated the first copy, which he gave to Alice as a Christmas gift in 1864, he later expanded the story, had it illustrated by the famous artist John Tenniel, and published it under the name of Lewis Carroll (Cohen 1995).

L’article démontre comment les deux romans de Lewis Carroll, Les aventures d’Alice au pays des merveilles (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland) et De l’autre côté du miroir (Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There), sillonnent la jurisprudence canadienne, et il s’interroge sur les raisons de ce phénomène également observable dans la jurisprudence australienne, britannique, américaine et sud-africaine.

This article explores how Charles Lutwidge Dodgson's fantasies about Alice's adventures in Wonderland and through the looking-glass (1865, 1871), published under the pen-name Lewis Carroll, renewed the genre of children's literature by turning the vocal play of literary nonsense into the organising principle of child-centric, non-didactic, ludic narratives. 1 It shows how his language games strategically undermine tyrannical ideological structures, whether in the form of discursive ‘regimes of truth’ (Foucault 80), the institution of monarchy, the adult–child hierarchy maintained by a pedagogy of fear, or speciesist supremacy of human over animal.

Em 2015, o maior clássico da literatura infanto-juvenil moderna, Alice in Wonderland, celebra seus 150 anos de lançamento. A obra-prima do controverso Lewis Carroll já foi traduzida/retraduzida/adaptada nos mais diversos meios de expressão artística. Em 2002, despontando como um dos nomes revolucionários na contemporânea literatura para crianças e jovens, Suzy Lee publicou sua tradução intersemiótica em livro-imagem (publicação que se utiliza de narrativas pictóricas) para o livro ilustrado original do autor britânico. Em harmonia à ideia de Carroll referente a “um sonho dentro de um sonho”, Lee segue em sua publicação a ideia de “um livro dentro de um livro”, tornando ainda mais clara sua fonte de inspiração para a sua criação/recriação/adaptação. Objetivando realizar uma breve análise comparatista entre as obras literárias de Carroll e Lee, propomos um diálogo entre os pensamentos do linguista Roman Jakobson e os escritos do artista Julio Plaza no que se refere à tradução intersígnica, entre signos do código verbal para o código visual, para as versões de Alice in Wonderland aqui enunciadas. Sugerimos ainda uma aproximação com as ideias de Robert Stam sobre a adaptação literária, no caso da presente proposta, do livro ilustrado para o livro-imagem – narrativa composta por palavras para uma narrativa construída por imagens.

There are many mathematical references in Lewis Carroll’s two tales for children: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865) and Through the Looking-Glass (1872). Many critics suggested that Carroll inserted hidden meanings in those passages. We rather consider them as part of the story’s setting and narrative. Yet, those passages may be interpreted and used as convenient to illustrate mathematical ideas. In this paper, we consider two passages from the Alice tales that relate to arithmetic, and we discuss them in relation to issues of personal identity, mathematical certainty, the role of notations and the processes of composition and decomposition in mental calculation. Hence, we show how literary texts can be used to convey ideas related to mathematics, mathematical culture and mathematical education. We conclude on the importance of mathematical writings as literary texts.

This paper is a critique of the book “Lewis Carroll in Russia: Translations of Alice in Wonderland 1879–1989” by Fan Parker, Ph.D., which reviews eleven Russian versions of the children’s classic. Detailed analysis of Dr. Parker’s book has led the author to conclude that most of its principal arguments and findings are unsubstantiated, mistaken, biased or inexpert, and that it cannot possibly be seen as a source of authority in literary translation studies.

Alice in Wonderland Syndrome (AIWS) is a perceptual disorder, principally involving visual and somesthetic integration, firstly reported by Todd, on the literary suggestion of the strange experiences described by Lewis Carroll in Alice in Wonderland books. Symptoms may comprise among others aschematia and dysmetropsia. This syndrome has many different etiologies; however EBV infection is the most common cause in children, while migraine affects more commonly adults. Many data support a strict relationship between migraine and AIWS, which could be considered in many patients as an aura or a migraine equivalent, particularly in children. Nevertheless, AIWS seems to have anatomical correlates. According to neuroimaging, temporoparietal-occipital carrefour (TPO-C) is a key region for developing many of AIWS symptoms. The final part of this review aims to find the relationship between AIWS symptoms, presenting a pathophysiological model. In brief, AIWS symptoms depend on an alteration of TPO-C where visual-spatial and somatosensory information are integrated. Alterations in these brain regions may cause the cooccurrence of dysmetropsia and disorders of body schema. In our opinion, the association of other symptoms reported in literature could vary depending on different etiologies and the lack of clear diagnostic criteria.

O objetivo deste artigo é mostrar como uma mesma obra pode ser traduzida de inúmeras maneiras, dependendo do projeto de tradução da editora e do tradutor. Com esse intuito, três traduções, para o português, da obra Alice’s adventures in wonderland de Lewis Carroll, que foi retraduzida e publicada diversas vezes no Brasil, foram selecionadas para uma leitura comparativa. As traduções escolhidas foram: Alice no país das maravilhas da L&PM Pocket (1998), traduzida por Rosaura Eichenberg e Ísis Alves; Alice: edição comentada da Jorge Zahar Editor (2002), traduzida por Maria X. de A. Borges; e Alice no país das maravilhas da Editora Ática (2006), traduzida por Ana Maria Machado. O esquema teórico para a descrição de traduções literárias de Lambert e Van Gorp (1985) serve de ponto de partida para a leitura comparada. Entretanto, como a obra traduzida inclui aspectos da cultura inglesa, presentes na narrativa por meio da intertextualidade, principalmente de alusões, trocadilhos e paródias, esses tópicos constituem o cerne da leitura comparativa. Os dados coletados indicam que, apesar das semelhanças entre as traduções, os textos traduzidos apresentam diferenças e peculiaridades quando se considera os públicos leitores previstos e os participantes envolvidos no processo tradutório.

Nabokov's translation of L. Carroll's fairy tale "Alice in Wonderland" is analyzed in the article in two aspects: in the context of the meaning of the translation made at the early stage of Nabokov's creative evolution, in the writer's work, as well as in the aspect of translation features aimed at russifying the original, which make it possible to identify the translation as free. Through a comparative analysis of the translated work "Anya in Wonderland" with later Russian-language novels ("Invitation to Execution", "Gift"), as well as the writer's English-language works ("Lolita", "Ada"), the author of the article comes to the conclusion about the heroine's identity Anya's translated fairy tale to Nabokov's heroes in the aspect of their search for an artistic world corresponding to their inner content.

O presente escrito visa refletir sobre a escolha da fotografia como elemento constitutivo e potencial da narrativa pictórica em Alice in Wonderland (2002), de Suzy Lee. Em seu primeiro livro-imagem, a book artist sul-coreana utiliza-se da linguagem visual fotográfica para estruturar e registrar jogos de revelação/falsificação em imagens que lampejam incessantes re-presentificações ao clássico da Literatura Infantil escrito por Lewis Carroll. Para refletirmos sobre esse processo de ficcionalização imagético, tomaremos as reflexões de Philippe Dubois (2016, 2017) sobre o conceito de imagem-ficção, vertente esta exponencial no campo da arte-fotografia contemporânea. E para nos auxiliar a pensar sobre o re-posicionamento sensível do olhar proposto por Suzy Lee em seu livro híbrido – entre o literário, plástico, fotográfico –, buscamos em Georges Didi-Huberman (2010, 2013, 2015, 2017) as compreensões de dupla distância e de montagem como limiares que irrompem diante do leitor, criança ou jovem, produzindo estranhamentos ao seu experienciar a aura da obra de arte.

Corporate governance is not a new concept. In fact the last 15 years has seen a surge in academic publications and case law in relation to the lack of corporate governance. Research Gap is that Company Directors are attending a “mad hatters’ tea party” when it comes to the implementation of governance codes, with the recent spate of court cases involving breaches of directors fiduciary duties. Methodology used was review of case law using archival data. This research looks at the type of case law issues of corporate governance in Australia and in particular accountability, and relates the case law to the Corporations Act (2001) to find where company directors are getting corporate governance wrong. The findings indicate that perhaps the “if not why not” prescription, should not be an option for corporate governance for some Boards. For some Boards the invitation from Alice to jump down the rabbit hole into creative accounting and bad board behaviour at the “mad hatters’ tea party” is just too great an incentive. Implications show that this review of important corporate governance case law will assist Boards to concentrate their efforts on improving the environment they operate in, as good governance equates to good business. “In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.” Carroll, Lewis (1865) Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865) was translated in Italy for the first time in 1872 by Teodorico Pietrocòla Rossetti. Since then, it has found fruitful ground in the so-called “creative transposition” (Jakobson, 2002), which makes use of the creative channel to communicate with a lay public that relies on rewritings to approach classic texts (Lefevere, 1992). Rewriters include translators and people who manipulate source texts for economic, political or social reasons. Their work is evidence of the evolution of literature as it brings classic texts down to the level of the common reader, ensuring their survival through time. Alice, a mixture of narrative voice and nonsense poetry, survives through the rewritings aimed at a young public. This paper explores poetry in selected translations of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, including Donatella Ziliotto’s translation published by Salani in 2010, Masolino D’Amico’s translation in the children’s literature series of classics published by BUR Ragazzi in 2016, and the modernized re-edition of Silvio Spaventa Filippi’s translation first published in 1913, distributed in a new book series in 2013. The translations analysed have all been published between 1991 and 2016 by different translators and publishing houses. This selection allowed for a mixed methodology of analysis delving into the paratext and poetic language, in order to compare rhythm, structure and rhyme, looking for common aspects but especially divergent approaches as a mark of creativity wishing to release the potential of the poetic verse and mediate it for young readers.

This essay tests how Lewis Carroll’s Alice books might bridge four potentially disparate approaches to literary analysis: thing theory, animal studies, actor-network theory, and food studies. Expanding the investigation of objects and “things” in literature beyond a human/thing dichotomy, I draw on the actor-network theory (ANT) of Bruno Latour to explore the entanglement of humans, objects, animals, and appetites that generates so much of the wonder in Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865) and Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There (1871). I argue that these texts attempt to reconcile the Victorian destabilization of discrete “human” and “animal” categories facilitated by evolutionary theory with an increasingly commodified culture where everything and everyone seem potentially consumable. The Alice books give us “things” in networks, but networks that supersede, and have utility beyond, the human. Eating, I propose, is our way into these networks. I show how Carroll presents a world that is both fully social and thoroughly objectified, where humans, animals, and objects trade, share, and fight for positions in a network of edible things.

The Middle School Years Represent an important time in the formation of an individual's lifelong attitudes toward mathematics. Middle school teachers are faced with the challenge of convincing their students that mathematics is an exciting, useful, and creative field of study. Interdisciplinary approaches to mathematics have been useful in accomplishing this goal. In particular, connecting mathematics to literature is an inventive way to capture students' interests, since examples from literature can be used to teach important mathematical concepts in an exciting and innovative manner. Many classic literary texts are rich in mathematical content, including Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll and Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott. However, to stimulate students' interest, it is important to find interconnections between mathematics and current popular children's literature.

The aim of this article is to speculate on the meaning that Lewis Carroll’s (1865, 1871) Alice’s journey through dark Wonderland has acquired in two examples of contemporary YA fiction, Tim Burton’s 2010 film adaptation and A. G. Howard’s 2013 Splintered novel, both depicting Wonderlands that are more dangerous and threatening than what Carroll himself envisioned in his novels. The study shows how Alice’s gender and the fact that she is now portrayed as an adolescent affect her narrative. Among other reasons, the author of the paper argues that the fact that Carroll’s books feature a girl protagonist who wanders alone in a strange land, together with a long-standing tradition of warning girls against doing precisely this, has resulted in the proliferation of YA narratives that turn Carroll’s ‘golden afternoon’ into a Gothic nightmare.

<p>O presente artigo tem como objetivo analisar as características da literatura infantil e as adaptações que o tradutor faz para que tais características sejam respeitadas durante o processo tradutório. Os fatores que mais desafiam o tradutor quando este traduz literatura infantil, muito mais do que quando ele traduz literatura adulta, são as diferenças culturais e temporais entre o polissistema do texto de partida e o polissistema do texto de chegada. Em casos em que tais diferenças estão presentes, pergunta-se, até que ponto o texto deve ser adaptado para a realidade da criança? É com o intuito de contribuir com alguns exemplos para reflexões a esse respeito que analisamos as escolhas que três tradutores brasileiros fizeram em trechos críticos encontrados na clássica obra britânica da época vitoriana,<em> Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland</em> (1865), de Lewis Carroll; duas das traduções tinham como público-alvo a criança e uma tinha como público alvo os adultos eruditos. Com base nessas traduções, também pudemos comparar as diferenças entre as escolhas feitas para crianças e as feitas para adultos.</p>

We study temporal networks of characters in literature focussing on Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1865) by Lewis Carroll and the anonymous La Chanson de Roland (around 1100). The former, one of the most influential pieces of nonsense literature ever written, describes the adventures of Alice in a fantasy world with logic plays interspersed along the narrative. The latter, a song of heroic deeds, depicts the Battle of Roncevaux in 778 A.D. during Charlemagne’s campaign on the Iberian Peninsula. We apply methods recently developed by Taylor et al. [Taylor, D., Myers, S. A., Clauset, A., Porter, M. A. and Mucha, P. J., Eigenvector-based centrality measures for temporal networks, CoRR (2015).] to find time-averaged eigenvector centralities, Freeman indices and vitalities of characters. We show that temporal networks are more appropriate than static ones for studying stories, as they capture features that the time-independent approaches fail to yield.

Forms are plastic, names cannot determine the essence of living things, and ceaselessly changing organisms cannot be conceived as elements within a signifying system. Each of these precepts of evolutionary theory finds itself reflected in Lewis Carroll's Alice books: Alice grows bigger and smaller without relation to any notion of a normal or standard size, fantastic organisms such as the “bread-and-butterfly” are generated out of metaphors and puns on taxonomic names, and the Queen's croquet game cannot function properly because the animals do not fulfill their prescribed roles. Lewis Carroll familiarized himself thoroughly with Darwinian theory in the years leading up to his composition of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (1865) and Through the Looking-Glass (1871). He “read widely on the subject of evolution” (Woolf 191), possessing “nineteen books on Darwin, his theories and his critics” (Smith 8), as well as five works of social evolutionist Herbert Spencer, including First Principles (1862), which put Darwinian theory in dialogue with religious understandings of the world (Cohen 350; Stern 17). As a lecturer in mathematics at Christchurch Oxford from 1855 to 1881, he was present during the famous 1860 debate at Oxford University Museum between Thomas Henry Huxley, one of the main proponents of evolutionary theory in the late nineteenth century, and Bishop of Oxford William Wilberforce, one of its major critics.

Based on a talk given at the Symposium in honor of Dr. Greetham’s retirement, this essay addresses the influence Greetham has had on the author’s scholarship and pedagogy. Lauer describes a project she completed as Greetham’s student in which she analyzed the illustration history of the book Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. She argues that the history of a text’s illustration can be read as a history of publishing intent: just as different annotations suit a text for a particular implied readership, so too do different illustrations. The illustrators of Alice come after each other, not to re-envision the words of Lewis Carroll, but to re-envision the scenes as already represented pictorially. Furthermore, Lauer posits that the creation of different illustrated editions is part of the historical trajectory of versioning. As Greetham says of annotation, illustration, too, is “always contingent and local, for the relationship between text and audience is always changing” (1994, 369).

Contrasting Epistemics“why if a fish came to me and told me he was going on a journey, I shouldsay, With what porpoise?”’ “Don’t you mean burpose’?” said Alice.“I mean what I say,” the Mock Turtle replied in an ofended tone.(Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland)Consider this analogy: There was a man beneath a tree. He wished to collecthis thoughts, but the sparrows disturbed him with their chirping. He wouldchase them with his stick and then resume his train of thought, but the sparrowswould come back and he would have to scare them away. . . Eventuallysomeone told him: %is is like being a slave at the wheel going round andround forever. Ifyou want to escape the vicious circle, you shouldfell the tree:Imam al Ghazali,(Ihya’ ‘Ulum al Din)Cultural Parodies: Shaping a DiscourseAbstractIt has been the practice for the dominant paradigm to set the terms ofrational discourse and for the “Other” to defer in reverence - if it wanted tobe admitted to the circle of respectability. In this case, the tables are turnedMOM Abul-Fadl directs the Research Project on Western Thought at the InternationalInstitute of Islamic Thought, Herndon, Virginia and is the chairperson of the Political ScienceDiscipline Council of the Association of Muslim Social Scientists.and the dominant paradigm, which is secularist, is viewed critically throughthe lens of a re-emerging tawhidi paradigm. The purpose is not to engagein a test of will or vision, but to lay the ground for a discourse which canaccommodate a genuine diversity-in-dignity for all, and which would includeSelf and Other in a re-formed world of inter-relatedness developed throughnew categories and points of reference. In a common human heritage richin communicable symbols and transitive experiences, cultivating the termsof a hermeneutic of mutuality is imminent. Its objectives would be to redefineand assure worldly morality and rationality at higher levels of reality. Onlythen can the self-imposed constraints, constrictions, and anomalies whichare inherent in the prevailing culture be transcended. The context for shapingthis discourse can be as broad and encompassing or as concrete and particularas the response in the concurrent fields of the humanities and the social scienceswill admit ...

The reflections are part of the Master's Dissertation entitled Integration of digital media in basic education for the study of sustainability, Professional Master in Business Administration from Unoesc, Chapecó (Brazil). The research aims to understand the TPACK structure and its relationship to the process of teaching and learning in the context of the classroom. The research addresses the integration of digital media in the teaching-learning process, allowing the student to learn in a healthy, pleasurable, meaningful and innovative way. The structure is based on Koehler and Mishra (2009), who touted the need for teachers to understand pedagogically the inclusion of technologies in the context of the classroom. The study was developed through qualitative research, using semi-structured interviews with teachers of the Education Network of a municipality located in the Santa Catarina’s State, characterized as a case study. As for its nature, the research is classified as applied and based on its objectives, the study can be considered descriptive. The dice were analyzed by content technique analysis. Among the main results, it is identified that teachers use digital media available in schools, but present traditional postures where the student becomes a passive being. In schools where digital media integration occurs, work depends on the computer teacher. Some teachers yearn for the integration of technological resources in teaching practice, however, they need training.ResumoAs reflexões fazem parte da Dissertação de Mestrado intitulada Integração das novas tecnologias na Educação Básica para o estudo da sustentabilidade, Mestrado profissional em Administração da Unoesc, Campus Chapecó. A pesquisa objetiva entender a estrutura TPACK e sua relação com o processo de ensinar e aprender no contexto da sala de aula. A pesquisa aborda a integração das mídias digitais no processo ensino aprendizagem, permitindo o aluno aprender de maneira saudável, prazerosa, significativa e inovadora. A estrutura se fundamenta em Koehler e Mishra (2009), que apregoa a necessidade dos docentes compreenderem pedagogicamente a inclusão das tecnologias no contexto da sala de aula. O estudo foi desenvolvido por meio de pesquisa qualitativa, utilizando entrevista semi-estruturada com professores da Rede de Ensino de um Município localizado no Estado de Santa Catarina, caracterizando-se como estudo de caso. Quanto à sua natureza, a pesquisa se classifica como aplicada e com base nos seus objetivos, o estudo pode ser considerado descritivo. Os dados foram analisados pela técnica de análise de conteúdo. Dentre os principais resultados, identifica-se que os docentes utilizam as mídias digitais disponíveis nas escolas, porém apresentam posturas tradicionais onde o aluno se torna um ser passivo. Nas escolas onde ocorre integração das mídias digitais, o trabalho depende do professor de informática. Alguns docentes anseiam pela integração de recursos tecnológicos na prática docente, contudo, necessitam de formação.SommarioLe riflessione che seguono sono parte della Dissertazione del Master intitolata integrazione dei media digitale nell’istruzione di base e studio della sostenibilità, Master professionale in Amministrazione dell’ Unoesc, Chapecó (Brasile). La ricerca ha l’obiettivo di comprendere la struttura TPACK e la sua relazione con il processo di insegnamento e apprendimento nel contesto della classe. La ricerca tratta dell’introduzione dei media digitale nel processo d’istruzione, dando la possibilità all’alunno di imparare di forma salutare e piacevole, significativa e innovativa. La struttura si basa negli studi di Koehler e Mishra (2009), che evidenziano la necessità di comprendere dal punto di vista della didattica il ricorso alle nuove tecnologie nel contesto della classe da parte dei docenti. Lo studio è stato realizzato per mezzo di ricerca qualitativa, utilizzando intreviste semi-strutturate con professori della rete d’istruzione di un Municipio localizzato nello Stato di Santa Catarina, si caratterizza come studio di caso. Per quanto riguarda la sua natura, la ricerca si classifica come applicata e con base nei suoi obiettivi, lo studio può essere considerato descritivo. I dati sono stati analizzati con la tecnica di analise de contenuto. Tra i principali risultati, si ha identificato che i docenti fanno ricorso ai media digitali disponibili nelle scuole, però ricorrono ad approcci tradizionali ai quali l’alunno diventa un essere passivo. Nelle scuole dove occorre l’introduzione dei media digitali, il lavoro dipende dal professore di informatica. Alcuni docenti attendono per l’inserimento di strumenti tecnologici nella pratica dell’insegnamento, tuttavia, hanno necessità di formazione.Palavras-chave: Mídias digitais, Aprender, Ensinar, Conhecer.Keywords: Digital media, Learn, Teach, To know.Parole chiavi: Media digitali, Apprendere, Insegnare, Conoscere.ReferencesASSMANN, Hugo. A metamorfose do aprender na sociedade da informação. Ci. Inf., Brasília, v. 29, n. 2, p. 7-15, maio/ago. 2000. Disponível em: <http://www.scielo.br/scielo.php?script=sci_arttext&pid=S0100-19652000000200002&lng=en&nrm=iso>. Acesso em: 12 jan. 2017.BENVENUTTI, Dilva B. Avaliação nos processos de aprendizagem. Curitiba: Prismas, 2017.CARROLL, Lewis. Alice no País das Maravilhas. São Paulo: Martin Claret, 2007. Título original em inglês: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (1866).CLOSS, Lisiane Quadrado; ANTONELLO, Claudia Simone. Teoria da aprendizagem transformadora: contribuições para uma educação gerencial voltada para a sustentabilidade. Revista de Administração Mackenzie, v. 15, n. 3, p. 221-252, 2014. Disponível em: http://www.spell.org.br/documentos/ver/31872/teoria-da-aprendizagem-transformadora--contribuicoes-para-uma-educacao-gerencial-voltada-para-a-sustentabilidade. Acesso em: 13 fev. 2018.DEMO, Pedro. Educação hoje: “novas” tecnologias, pressões e oportunidades. São Paulo: Atlas, 2009.GABRIEL, Martha. Educ@r: a (r)evolução digital na educação. São Paulo: Saraiva, 2013.KENSKI, Vani Moreira Educação e tecnologias: o novo ritmo da informação. 8.ed. Campinas, SP: Papirus, 2012.KOEHLER, Matthew J.; MISHRA, Punya. What is technological pedagogical content knowledge? Contemporary Issues in Technology and Teacher Education, v.9, n.1, p. 60-70, 2009. Disponível em: http://www.citejournal.org/volume-9/issue-1-09/general/what-is-technological-pedagogicalcontent-knowledge. Acesso em: 01 jan. 2017.KONDRAT, Hebert; MACIEL, Maria de Lourdes. 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The phenomenon of Alice in Wonderland Syndrome is not considered a disease in its own right but usually occurs as an accompanying symptom of a migraine attack or as a precursor of an epileptic seizure in the form of an aura with pronounced visual perceptual disturbances [1]. However, an Alice in Wonderland syndrome can also be caused by the Epstein-Barr virus, influenza virus [18], drugs [3] or encephalitis [2]. The term "Alice in Wonderland syndrome" was named after the children's book Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll and coined by John Todd as a possible, but not essential, concomitant of migraine and epilepsy [1]. Carroll suffered from migraines himself; it is believed that his experiences with the condition served as inspiration for the hallucination-like effects described in his work [1]. In addition, Carroll's narrative has been discussed as a description of a trip following consumption of mind-altering drugs. In one of the most famous sequences in the book, Alice changes size by biting off pieces from different sides of a mushroom. However, there is no evidence of drug use by Lewis Carroll. Alice in Wonderland syndrome results in changes in the perception of one's surroundings [6,7]. These changes include both micropsia and macropsia (everything appears reduced or enlarged), as well as altered auditory perception, altered tactile perception, an altered sense of time. The syndrome is particularly common in children. Attacks are often shorter and may also be completely painless, although accompanying symptoms such as nausea, vomiting, and sensitivity to light and sound is more pronounced. Neurological deficits may occur so that the affected child begins to hallucinate. He or she perceives his or her body as larger or smaller and/or begins to see "fantastic images“. The changes in perception can severely affect affected individuals, causing them to become disoriented and "unable to find their way around." In extreme cases, falls and other accidents may occur. The perceptual disturbances can lead to Alice in Wonderland syndrome being confused with other mental disorders or misinterpreted as "craziness". The primary focus is the treatment of the underlying condition, such as symptomatic treatment of migraine. Recent publications shed light on sexual abuse in childhood as the origin of AIWS-like visual disturbances [4,5].

Alice in Wonderland Syndrome (AIWS) was named after the description of Lewis Carroll in his novel. In 1955, John Todd, a psychiatrist described this entity for the first time and results in a distortion of perception. Todd described it as „Alice's Adventures in Wonderland“ by Lewis Carroll. The author Carroll suffered from severe migraine attacks. Alice in Wonderland Syndrome is a disorienting condition of seizures affecting visual perception. AIWS is a neurological form of seizures influencing the brain, thereby causing a disturbed perception. Patients describe visual, auditory, and tactile hallucinations and disturbed perceptions. The causes of AIWS are still not known exactly. Cases of migraine, brain tumors, depression episodes, epilepsy, delirium, psychoactive drugs, ischemic stroke, depressive disorders, and EBV, mycoplasma, and malaria infections are correlating with AIWS like seizures. Often no EEG correlate is found. Neuroimaging studies reveal disturbances of brain regions including the temporoparietal junction, the temporal and occipital lobe as typical localization of the visual pathway. A decrease of perfusion of the visual pathways could induce these disturbances, especially in the temporal lobe in patients with AIWS. Other theories suggest distorted body illusions stem from the parietal lobe. The concrete origin of this mysterious syndrome is to date not clearly defined.

In Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll creates a whimsical, alternative reality based on arbitrary rules and nonsense to express his ideas regarding the nature of dreams. While the original illustrations of the text were created by 19th-century English artist and satirist John Tenniel, famed surrealist Salvador Dalí provides a more expressionistic and psychological exploration of the mind through his own illustrations of Carroll’s work in the 1969 Maegenus Press edition of Alice. In order to understand Dalí’s interpretation of the text, it is important to trace his interests in dreams back to its origins in Sigmund Freud and Surrealism, which came to light during the early 20th-century and focused on new forms of expression that sought to unhinge the supposed creativity trapped in the unconscious mind. Although Carroll, Dalí, and Freud were all from different time periods, their individual beliefs about the nature of dreams allow for a better understanding of how to analyze Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland as a whole.

The three scholarly monographs published between 2017 and 2020 by Laura White, Laura Tosi and Peter Hunt, and Kiera Vaclavik, are recent contributions to Lewis Carroll scholarship. They belong to what Michael Heyman calls “the sense school” of nonsense literary criticism in so far as they attribute a specific agenda, a systematic structure, a decipherable message, and a homogenised reading to the Alice tales (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and its sequel, Through the Looking Glass). Each re-explores a well-known children’s classic from fresh new perspectives by relying on interdisciplinary methodologies, mingling the literary historical approach with insights of critical fashion studies, evolutionary biology, and comparative cross-cultural analysis (translation studies), respectively. Like adaptations, these critical theoretical interpretations of the Alice books are in a constant dialogue with one another within a Genettian transtextual network of multimodal narratives.

AbstractIn a recent very influential court case, Juliana v. United States, climate scientist Kevin Trenberth used the “storyline” approach to extreme event attribution to argue that greenhouse warming had affected and will affect extreme events in their regions to such an extent that the plaintiffs already had been or will be harmed. The storyline approach to attribution is deterministic rather than probabilistic, taking certain factors as contingent and assessing the role of climate change conditional on those factors. The US Government’s opposing expert witness argued that Trenberth had failed to make his case because “all his conclusions of the injuries to Plaintiffs suffer from the same failure to connect his conditional approach to Plaintiffs’ local circumstances.” The issue is whether it is possible to make statements about individual events based on general knowledge. A similar question is sometimes debated within the climate science community. We argue here that proceeding from the general to the specific is a process of deduction and is an entirely legitimate form of scientific reasoning. We further argue that it is well aligned with the concept of legal evidence, much more so than the more usual inductive form of scientific reasoning, which proceeds from the specific to the general. This has implications for how attribution science can be used to support climate change litigation. “The question is”, said Alice, “whether you can make words mean different things.” “The question is”, said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master — that’s all.” (Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland).

The article is devoted to questions of formation of cross-cultural communication on the classes with foreign students studying Russian language.. The authors propose to include reading of literary texts and their translation in the system of foreigners’ training with the aim of developing students’ practical skills of cross-cultural communication. Authors pay attention to the fact that the literary text helps to understand another culture and to overcome cultural distance. To facilitate the cultural perception of the text, the authors propose a system of reading of the adapted English literary fairy tale by Lewis Carroll " Alice&apos;s Adventures in Wonderland " in a literary translation of Boris Zakhoder. The proposed approach differs from the traditional one because, foreign readers have the opportunity to compare the world view of the English fairy tales author and the Russian translator, and also to correlate his translation from a classic translation. The article focuses on the fact that in connection with the identity of the tales author, the author of literary translation and for the foreign reader to different cultures and different national consciousnesses, the teacher together with the students-foreigners, must overcome cultural and language barriers for successful cross-cultural communication. The authors consider that the task of grammatical, lexical and communicative approach aim at achieving the text comprehension. Additional tasks of translation, that extend the capabilities of traditional work, also help. Tasks presented in the article help the student to understand the main thing: the ignorance of some of the cultural backgrounds of native speakers of a particular country does not mean that we should avoid translation work, because this work helps to learn a different language culture.

As Lewis Carroll’s Alice comes to the end of her journey through the looking glass world, she has also come to the end of her patience with its strange power games and arbitrations. At every stage of the adventure, she has encountered someone who wants to dictate rules and protocols, and a lesson on table manners from the Red Queen finally triggers rebellion. “I can’t stand this any more,” Alice cries, as she seizes the tablecloth and hurls the entire setting into chaos (279). Then, catching hold of the Red Queen, she gives her a good shaking, until the rigid contours of the imperious figure become fuzzy and soft. At this point, the hold of the dream dissolves and Alice, awakening on the other side of the mirror, realises she is shaking the kitten. Queens have long been associated with ideas of transformation. As Alice is duly advised when she first looks out across the chequered landscape of the looking glass world, the rules of chess decree that a pawn may become a queen if she makes it to the other side. The transformation of pawn to queen is in accord with the fairy tale convention of the unspoiled country girl who wins the heart of a prince and is crowned as his bride. This works in a dual register: on one level, it is a story of social elevation, from the lowest to the highest rank; on another, it is a magical transition, as some agent of fortune intervenes to alter the determinations of the social world. But fairy tales also present us with the antithesis and adversary of the fortune-blessed princess, in the figure of the tyrant queen who works magic to shape destiny to her own ends. The Queen and the mirror converge in the cultural imaginary, working transformations that disrupt the order of nature, invert socio-political hierarchies, and flout the laws of destiny. In “Snow White,” the powers of the wicked queen are mediated by the looking glass, which reflects and affirms her own image while also serving as a panopticon, keep the entire realm under surveillance, to pick up any signs of threat to her pre-eminence. All this turbulence in the order of things lets loose a chaotic phantasmagoria that is prime material for film and animation. Two major film versions of “Snow White” have been released in the past few years—Mirror Mirror (2012) and Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)—while Tim Burton’s animated 3D rendition of Alice in Wonderland was released in 2010. Alice through the Looking Glass (2016) and The Huntsman: Winter’s War, the 2016 prequel to Snow White and the Huntsman, continue the experiment with state-of-the-art-techniques in 3D animation and computer-generated imaging to push the visual boundaries of fantasy. Perhaps this escalating extravagance in the creation of fantasy worlds is another manifestation of the ancient lore and law of sorcery: that the magic of transformation always runs out of control, because it disrupts the all-encompassing design of an ordered world. This principle is expressed with poetic succinctness in Ursula Le Guin’s classic story A Wizard of Earthsea, when the Master Changer issues a warning to his most gifted student: But you must not change one thing, one pebble, one grain of sand, until you know what good and evil will follow on that act. The world is in balance, in Equilibrium. A wizard's power of Changing and Summoning can shake the balance of the world. It is dangerous, that power. (48)In Le Guin’s story, transformation is only dangerous if it involves material change; illusions of all kinds are ultimately harmless because they are impermanent.Illusions mediated by the mirror, however, blur the distinction Le Guin is making, for the mirror image supposedly reflects a real world. And it holds the seductive power of a projected narcissism. Seeing what we wish for is an experience that can hold us captive in a way that changes human nature, and so leads to dangerous acts with material consequences. The queen in the mirror becomes the wicked queen because she converts the world into her image, and in traditions of animation going back to Disney’s original Snow White (1937) the mirror is itself an animate being, with a spirit whose own determinations become paramount. Though there are exceptions in the annals of fairy story, powers of transformation are typically dark powers, turbulent and radically elicit. When they are mediated through the agency of the mirror, they are also the powers of narcissism and autocracy. Through a Glass DarklyIn her classic cultural history of the mirror, Sabine Melchior-Bonnet tracks a duality in the traditions of symbolism associated with it. This duality is already evident in Biblical allusions to the mirror, with references to the Bible itself as “the unstained mirror” (Proverbs 7.27) counterpointed by images of the mortal condition as one of seeing “through a glass darkly” (1 Corinthians 13.12).The first of these metaphoric conventions celebrates the crystalline purity of a reflecting surface that reveals the spiritual identity beneath the outward form of the human image. The church fathers drew on Plotinus to evoke “a whole metaphysics of light and reflection in which the visible world is the image of the invisible,” and taught that “humans become mirrors when they cleanse their souls (Melchior-Bonnet 109–10). Against such invocations of the mirror as an intermediary for the radiating presence of the divine in the mortal world, there arises an antithetical narrative, in which it is portrayed as distorting, stained, and clouded, and therefore an instrument of delusion. Narcissus becomes the prototype of the human subject led astray by the image itself, divorced from material reality. What was the mirror if not a trickster? Jean Delumeau poses this question in a preface to Melchior-Bonnet’s book (xi).Through the centuries, as Melchior-Bonnet’s study shows, these two strands are interwoven in the cultural imaginary, sometimes fused, and sometimes torn asunder. With Venetian advances in the techniques and technologies of mirror production in the late Renaissance, the mirror gained special status as a possession of pre-eminent beauty and craftsmanship, a means by which the rich and powerful could reflect back to themselves both the self-image they wanted to see, and the world in the background as a shimmering personal aura. This was an attempt to harness the numinous influence of the divinely radiant mirror in order to enhance the superiority of leading aristocrats. By the mid seventeenth century, the mirror had become an essential accessory to the royal presence. Queen Anne of Austria staged a Queen’s Ball in 1633, in a hall surrounded by mirrors and tapestries. The large, finely polished mirror panels required for this kind of display were made exclusively by craftsmen at Murano, in a process that, with its huge furnaces, its alternating phases of melting and solidifying, its mysterious applications of mercury and silver, seemed to belong to the transformational arts of alchemy. In 1664, Louis XIV began to steal unique craftsmen from Murano and bring them to France, to set up the Royal Glass and Mirror Company whose culminating achievement was the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles.The looking glass world of the palace was an arena in which courtiers and visitors engaged in the high-stakes challenge of self-fashioning. Costume, attitude, and manners were the passport to advancement. To cut a figure at court was to create an identity with national and sometimes international currency. It was through the art of self-fashioning that the many princesses of Europe, and many more young women of title and hereditary distinction, competed for the very few positions as consort to the heir of a royal house. A man might be born to be king, but a woman had to become a queen.So the girl who would be queen looks in the mirror to assess her chances. If her face is her fortune, what might she be? A deep relationship with the mirror may serve to enhance her beauty and enable her to realise her wish, but like all magical agents, the mirror also betrays anyone with the hubris to believe they are in control of it. In the Grimm’s story of “Snow White,” the Queen practises the ancient art of scrying, looking into a reflective surface to conjure images of things distant in time and place. But although the mirror affords her the seer’s visionary capacity to tell what will be, it does not give her the power to control the patterns of destiny. Driven to attempt such control, she must find other magic in order to work the changes she desires, and so she experiments with spells of self-transformation. Here the doubleness of the mirror plays out across every plane of human perception: visual, ethical, metaphysical, psychological. A dynamic of inherent contradiction betrays the figure who tries to engage the mirror as a servant. Disney’s original 1937 cartoon shows the vain Queen brewing an alchemical potion that changes her into the very opposite of all she has sought to become: an ugly, ill-dressed, and impoverished old woman. This is the figure who can win and betray trust from the unspoiled princess to whom the arts of self-fashioning are unknown. In Tarsem Singh’s film Mirror Mirror, the Queen actually has two mirrors. One is a large crystal egg that reflects back a phantasmagoria of palace scenes; the other, installed in a primitive hut on an island across the lake, is a simple looking glass that shows her as she really is. Snow White and the Huntsman portrays the mirror as a golden apparition, cloaked and faceless, that materialises from within the frame to stand before her. This is not her reflection, but with every encounter, she takes on more of its dark energies, until, in another kind of reversal, she becomes its image and agent in the wider world. As Ursula Le Guin’s sage teaches the young magician, magic has its secret economies. You pay for what you get, and the changes wrought will come back at you in ways you would never have foreseen. The practice of scrying inevitably leads the would-be clairvoyant into deeper levels of obscurity, until the whole world turns against the seer in a sequence of manifestations entirely contrary to his or her framework of expectation. Ultimately, the lesson of the mirror is that living in obscurity is a defining aspect of the human condition. Jorge Luis Borges, the blind writer whose work exhibits a life-long obsession with mirrors, surveys a range of interpretations and speculations surrounding the phrase “through a glass darkly,” and quotes this statement from Leon Bloy: “There is no human being on earth capable of declaring with certitude who he is. No one knows what he has come into this world to do . . . or what his real name is, his enduring Name in the register of Light” (212).The mirror will never really tell you who you are. Indeed, its effects may be quite the contrary, as Alice discovers when, within a couple of moves on the looking glass chessboard, she finds herself entering the wood of no names. Throughout her adventures she is repeatedly interrogated about who or what she is, and can give no satisfactory answer. The looking glass has turned her into an estranged creature, as bizarre a species as any of those she encounters in its landscapes.Furies“The furies are at home in the mirror,” wrote R. S. Thomas in his poem “Reflections” (265). They are the human image gone haywire, the frightening other of what we hope to see in our reflection. As the mirror is joined by technologies of the moving image in twentieth-century evolutions of the myth, the furies have been given a new lease of life on the cinema screen. In Disney’s 1937 cartoon of Snow White, the mirror itself has the face of a fury, which emerges from a pool of blackness like a death’s head before bringing the Queen’s own face into focus. As its vision comes into conflict with hers, threatening the dissolution of the world over which she presides, the mirror’s face erupts into fire.Computer-generated imaging enables an expansive response to the challenges of visualisation associated with the original furies of classical mythology. The Erinyes are unstable forms, arising from liquid (blood) to become semi-materialised in human guise, always ready to disintegrate again. They are the original undead, hovering between mortal embodiment and cadaverous decay. Tearing across the landscape as a flock of birds, a swarm of insects, or a mass of storm clouds, they gather into themselves tremendous energies of speed and motion. The 2012 film Snow White and the Huntsman, directed by Rupert Sanders, gives us the strongest contemporary realisation of the archaic fury. Queen Ravenna, played by Charlize Theron, is a virtuoso of the macabre, costumed in a range of metallic exoskeletons and a cloak of raven’s feathers, with a raised collar that forms two great black wings either side of her head. Powers of dematerialisation and rematerialisation are central to her repertoire. She undergoes spectacular metamorphosis into a mass of shrieking birds; from the walls around her she conjures phantom soldiers that splinter into shards of black crystal when struck by enemy swords. As she dies at the foot of the steps leading up to the great golden disc of her mirror, her face rapidly takes on the great age she has disguised by vampiric practices.Helena Bonham Carter as the Red Queen in Burton’s Alice in Wonderland is a figure midway between Disney’s fairy tale spectre and the fully cinematic register of Theron’s Ravenna. Bonham Carter’s Queen, with her accentuated head and pantomime mask of a face, retains the boundaries of form. She also presides over a court whose visual structures express the rigidities of a tyrannical regime. Thus she is no shape-shifter, but energies of the fury are expressed in her voice, which rings out across the presence chamber of the palace and reverberates throughout the kingdom with its calls for blood. Alice through the Looking Glass, James Bobin’s 2016 sequel, puts her at the centre of a vast destructive force field. Alice passes through the mirror to encounter the Lord of Time, whose eternal rule must be broken in order to break the power of the murdering Queen; Alice then opens a door and tumbles in free-fall out into nothingness. The place where she lands is a world not of daydream but of nightmare, where everything will soon be on fire, as the two sides in the chess game advance towards each other for the last battle. This inflation of the Red Queen’s macabre aura and impact is quite contrary to what Lewis Carroll had in mind for his own sequel. In some notes about the stage adaptation of the Alice stories, he makes a painstaking distinction between the characters of the queen in his two stories.I pictured to myself the Queen of Hearts as a sort of embodiment of ungovernable passion—a blind and aimless Fury. The Red Queen I pictured as a Fury, but of another type; her passion must be cold and calm—she must be formal and strict, yet not unkindly; pedantic to the 10th degree, the concentrated essence of governesses. (86)Yet there is clearly a temptation to erase this distinction in dramatisations of Alice’s adventures. Perhaps the Red Queen as a ‘not unkindly’ governess is too restrained a persona for the psychodynamic mythos surrounding the queen in the mirror. The image itself demands more than Carroll wants to accord, and the original Tenniel illustrations give a distinctly sinister look to the stern chess queen. In their very first encounter, the Red Queen contradicts every observation Alice makes, confounds the child’s sensory orientation by inverting the rules of time and motion, and assigns her the role of pawn in the game. Kafka or Orwell would not have been at all relaxed about an authority figure who practises mind control, language management, and identity reassignment. But here Carroll offers a brilliant modernisation of the fairy story tradition. Under the governance of the autocratic queen, wonderland and the looking glass world are places in which the laws of science, logic, and language are overturned, to be replaced by the rules of the queen’s games: cards and croquet in the wonderland, and chess in the looking glass world. Alice, as a well-schooled Victorian child, knows something of these games. She has enough common sense to be aware of how the laws of gravity and time and motion are supposed to work, and if she boasts of being able to believe six impossible things before breakfast, this signifies that she has enough logic to understand the limits of possibility. She would also have been taught about species and varieties and encouraged to make her own collections of natural forms. But the anarchy of the queen’s world extends into the domain of biology: species of all kinds can talk, bodies dissolve or change size, and transmutations occur instantaneously. Thus the world-warping energies of the Erinyes are re-imagined in an absurdist’s challenge to the scientist’s universe and the logician’s mentality.Carroll’s instinct to tame the furies is in accord with the overall tone and milieu of his stories, which are works of quirky charm rather than tales of terror, but his two queens are threatening enough to enable him to build the narrative to a dramatic climax. For film-makers and animators, though, it is the queen who provides the dramatic energy and presence. There is an over-riding temptation to let loose the pandemonium of the original Erinyes, exploiting their visual terror and their classical association with metamorphosis. FashioningThere is some sociological background to the coupling of the queen and the mirror in fairy story. In reality, the mirror might assist an aspiring princess to become queen by enchanting the prince who was heir to the throne, but what was the role of the looking glass once she was crowned? Historically, the self-imaging of the queen has intense and nervous resonances, and these can be traced back to Elizabeth I, whose elaborate persona was fraught with newly interpreted symbolism. Her portraits were her mirrors, and they reflect a figure in whom the qualities of radiance associated with divinity were transferred to the human monarch. Elizabeth developed the art of dressing herself in wearable light. If she lacked for a halo, she made up for it with the extravagant radiata of her ruffs and the wreaths of pearls around her head. Pearls in mediaeval poetry carried the mystique of a luminous microcosm, but they were also mirrors in themselves, each one a miniature reflecting globe. The Ditchely portrait of 1592 shows her standing as a colossus between heaven and earth, with the changing planetary light cycle as background. This is a queen who rules the world through the mediation of her own created image. It is an inevitable step from here to a corresponding intervention in the arrangement of the world at large, which involves the armies and armadas that form the backdrop to her other great portraits. And on the home front, a regime of terror focused on regular public decapitations and other grisly executions completes the strategy to remaking the world according to her will. Renowned costume designer Eiko Ishioka created an aesthetic for Mirror Mirror that combines elements of court fashion from the Elizabethan era and the French ancien régime, with allusions to Versailles. Formality and mannerism are the keynotes for the palace scenes. Julia Roberts as the Queen wears a succession of vast dresses that are in defiance of human scale and proportion. Their width at the hem is twice her height, and 100,000 Svarovski crystals were used for their embellishment. For the masked ball scene, she makes her entry as a scarlet peacock with a high arching ruff of pure white feathers. She amuses herself by arranging her courtiers as pieces on a chess-board. So stiffly attired they can barely move more than a square at a time, and with hats surmounted by precariously balanced ships, they are a mock armada from which the Queen may sink individual vessels on a whim, by ordering a fatal move. Snow White and the Huntsman takes a very different approach to extreme fashioning. Designer Colleen Atwood suggests the shape-shifter in the Queen’s costumes, incorporating materials evoking a range of species: reptile scales, fluorescent beetle wings from Thailand, and miniature bird skulls. There is an obvious homage here to the great fashion designer Alexander McQueen, whose hallmark was a fascination with the organic costuming of creatures in feathers, fur, wool, scales, shells, and fronds. Birds were everywhere in McQueen’s work. His 2006 show Widows of Culloden featured a range of headdresses that made the models look as if they had just walked through a flock of birds in full flight. The creatures were perched on their heads with outstretched wings askance across the models’ faces, obscuring their field of vision. As avatars from the spirit realm, birds are emblems of otherness, and associated with metempsychosis, the transmigration of souls. These resonances give a potent mythological aura to Theron’s Queen of the dark arts.Mirror Mirror and Snow White and the Huntsman accordingly present strikingly contrasted versions of self-fashioning. In Mirror Mirror we have an approach driven by traditions of aristocratic narcissism and courtly persona, in which form is both rigid and extreme. The Queen herself, far from being a shape-shifter, is a prisoner of the massive and rigid architecture that is her costume. Snow White and the Huntsman gives us a more profoundly magical interpretation, where form is radically unstable, infused with strange energies that may at any moment manifest themselves through violent transformation.Atwood was also costume designer for Burton’s Alice in Wonderland, where an invented framing story foregrounds the issue of fashioning as social control. Alice in this version is a young woman, being led by her mother to a garden party where a staged marriage proposal is to take place. Alice, as the social underling in the match, is simply expected to accept the honour. Instead, she escapes the scene and disappears down a rabbit hole to return to the wonderland of her childhood. In a nice comedic touch, her episodes of shrinking and growing involve an embarrassing separation from her clothes, so divesting her also of the demure image of the Victorian maiden. Atwood provides her with a range of fantasy party dresses that express the free spirit of a world that is her refuge from adult conformity.Alice gets to escape the straitjacket of social formation in Carroll’s original stories by overthrowing the queen’s game, and with it her micro-management of image and behaviour. There are other respects, though, in which Alice’s adventures are a form of social and moral fashioning. Her opening reprimand to the kitten includes some telling details about her own propensities. She once frightened a deaf old nurse by shouting suddenly in her ear, “Do let’s pretend that I’m a hungry hyaena and you’re a bone!” (147). Playing kings and queens is one of little Alice’s favourite games, and there is more than a touch of the Red Queen in the way she bosses and manages the kitten. It is easy to laud her impertinence in the face of the tyrannical characters she meets in her fantasies, but does she risk becoming just like them?As a story of moral self-fashioning, Alice through the Looking Glass cuts both ways. It is at once a critique of the Victorian social straitjacket, and a child’s fable about self-improvement. To be accorded the status of queen and with it the freedom of the board is also to be invested with responsibilities. If the human girl is the queen of species, how will she measure up? The published version of the story excludes an episode known to editors as “The Wasp in a Wig,” an encounter that takes place as Alice reaches the last ditch before the square upon which she will be crowned. She is about to jump the stream when she hears a sigh from woods behind her. Someone here is very unhappy, and she reasons with herself about whether there is any point in stopping to help. Once she has made the leap, there will be no going back, but she is reluctant to delay the move, as she is “very anxious to be a Queen” (309). The sigh comes from an aged creature in the shape of a wasp, who is sitting in the cold wind, grumbling to himself. Her kind enquiries are greeted with a succession of waspish retorts, but she persists and does not leave until she has cheered him up. The few minutes devoted “to making the poor old creature comfortable,” she tells herself, have been well spent.Read in isolation, the episode is trite and interferes with the momentum of the story. Carroll abandoned it on the advice of his illustrator John Tenniel, who wrote to say it didn’t interest him in the least (297). There is interest of another kind in Carroll’s instinct to arrest Alice’s momentum at that critical stage, with what amounts to a small morality tale, but Tenniel’s instinct was surely right. The mirror as a social object is surrounded by traditions of self-fashioning that are governed by various modes of conformity: moral, aesthetic, political. Traditions of myth and fantasy allow wider imaginative scope for the role of the mirror, and by association, for inventive speculation about human transformation in a world prone to extraordinary upheavals. ReferencesBorges, Jorge Luis. “Mirrors of Enigma.” Labyrinths: Selected Stories and Other Writings. Eds. Donald A. Yates and James Irby. New York: New Directions, 2007. 209–12. Carroll, Lewis. Alice through the Looking Glass. In The Annotated Alice. Ed. Martin Gardner. London: Penguin, 2000.The King James Bible.Le Guin, Ursula. The Earthsea Quartet. London: Penguin, 2012.Melchior-Bonnet, Sabine. The Mirror: A History. Trans. Katherine H. Jewett. London: Routledge, 2014.Thomas, R.S. “Reflections.” No Truce with the Furies, Collected Later Poems 1988–2000. Hexham, Northumberland: Bloodaxe, 2011.

Looked at again and again half consciously by a mind thinking of something else, any object mixes itself so profoundly with the stuff of thought that it loses its actual form and recomposes itself a little differently in an ideal shape which haunts the brain when we least expect it. (Virginia Woolf 38) From briefcases to drugs, and from boxing rings to tower blocks, this issue of M/C Journal turns its attention to the diverse materialities that make up our social worlds. Across a variety of empirical contexts, the collected papers employ objects, structures, and spaces as lenses onto corporeality, extending and unsettling habitual understandings of what a body is and does. By exploring everyday encounters among bodies and other materialities, the contributors elucidate the material processes through which human corporeality is enacted and imagined, produced and unmade.That materialities “tell stories” of bodies is an implicit tenet of embodied existence. In biomedical practice, for example, the thermometer assigns a value to a disease process which might already be felt, whereas the blood pressure cuff sets in motion a story of illness that is otherwise hidden or existentially absent. In so doing, such objects recast corporeality, shaping not only experiences of embodied life, but also the very matter of embodiment.Whilst recognising that objects are “companion[s] in life experience” (Turkle 5), this issue seeks to go beyond a sole focus on embodied experience, and explore the co-constitutive entanglements of embodiment and materiality. The collected papers examine how bodies and the material worlds around them are dialectically forged and shaped. By engaging with a specific object, structure, or space, each paper reflects on embodiment in ways that take account of its myriad material dynamics. BodiesHow to conceptualise the body and attend to its complex relationships with sociality, identity, and agency has been a central question in many recent strands of thinking across the humanities and social sciences (see Blackman; Shilling). From discussions of embodiment and personhood to an engagement with the affective and material turns, these strands have challenged theoretical emphases on body/mind dualisms that have historically informed much thinking about bodies in Western thought, turning the analytic focus towards the felt experience of embodied being.Through these explorations of embodiment, the body, as Csordas writes, has emerged as “the existential ground of culture” (135). Inspired by phenomenology, and particularly by the writings of Merleau-Ponty, Csordas has theorised the body as always-already inter-subjective. In constant dynamic interaction with self, others, and the environment, the body is both creative and created, constituting culture while being constituted by it. As such, bodies continuously materialise through sensory experiences of oneself and others, spaces and objects, such that the embodied self is at once both material and social.The concept of embodiment—as inter-subjective, dynamic, and experientially focussed—is central to this collection of papers. In using the term corporeality, we build on the concept of embodiment in order to interrogate the material makings of bodies. We attend to the ways in which objects, structures, and spaces extend into, and emanate from, embodied experiences and bodily imaginings. Being inherently inter-subjective, bodies are therefore not individual, clearly bounded entities. Rather, the body is an "infinitely malleable and highly unstable culturally constructed product” (Shilling 78), produced, shaped, and negated by political and social processes. Studies of professional practice—for example, in medicine—have shown how the body is assembled through culturally specific, sometimes contingent, arrangements of knowledges and practices (Berg and Mol). Such arrangements serve to make the body inherently “multiple” (Mol) as well as mutable.A further challenge to entrenched notions of singularity and boundedness has been offered by the “affective turn” (Halley and Clough) in the humanities and social sciences (see also Gregg and Siegworth; Massumi; Stewart). Affect theory is concerned with the felt experiences that comprise and shape our being-in-the-world. It problematises the discursive boundaries among emotive and visceral, cognitive and sensory, experiences. In so doing, the affective turn has sought to theorise inter-subjectivity by engaging with the ways in which bodily capacities arise in relation to other materialities, contexts, and “force-relations” (Seigworth and Gregg 4). In attending to affect, emphasis is placed on the unfinishedness of both human and non-human bodies, showing these to be “perpetual[ly] becoming (always becoming otherwise)” (3, italics in original). Affect theory thereby elucidates that a body is “as much outside itself as in itself” and is “webbed in its relations” (3).ObjectsIn parallel to the “affective turn,” a “material turn” across the social sciences has attended to “corporeality as a practical and efficacious series of emergent capacities” which “reveals both the materiality of agency and agentic properties inherent in nature itself” (Coole and Frost 20). This renewed attention to the “stuff” (Miller) of human and non-human environments and bodies has complemented, but also challenged, constructivist theorisations of social life that tend to privilege discourse over materiality. Engaging with the “evocative objects” (Turkle) of everyday life has thereby challenged any assumed distinction between material and social processes. The material turn has, instead, sought to take account of “active processes of materialization of which embodied humans are an integral part, rather than the monotonous repetitions of dead matter from which human subjects are apart” (Coole and Frost 8).Key to this material turn has been a recognition that matter is not lumpen or inert; rather, it is processual, emergent, and always relational. From Bergson, through Deleuze and Guattari, to Bennett and Barad, a focus on the “vitality” of matter has drawn questions about the agency of the animate and inanimate to the fore. Engaging with the agentic capacities of the objects that surround us, the “material turn” recognises human agency as always embedded in networks of human and non-human actors, all of whom shape and reshape each other. This is an idea influentially articulated in Actor-Network-Theory (Latour).In an exposition of Actor-Network-Theory, Latour writes: “Scallops make the fisherman do things just as nets placed in the ocean lure the scallops into attaching themselves to the nets and just as data collectors bring together fishermen and scallops in oceanography” (107, italics in original). Humans, non-human animals, objects, and spaces are thus always already entangled, their capacities realised and their movements motivated, directed, and moulded by one another in generative processes of responsive action.Embodied Objects: The IssueAt the intersections of a constructivist and materialist analysis, Alison Bartlett’s paper draws our attention to the ways in which “retro masculinity is materialised and embodied as both a set of values and a set of objects” in Nancy Meyers’s film The Intern. Bartlett engages with the business suit, the briefcase, and the handkerchief that adorn Ben the intern, played by Robert De Niro. Arguing that his “senior white male body” is framed by the depoliticised fetishisation of these objects, Bartlett elucidates how they construct, reinforce, or interrupt the gaze of others. The dynamics of the gaze are also the focus of Anita Howarth’s analysis of food banks in the UK. Howarth suggests that the material spaces of food banks, with their queues of people in dire need, make hunger visible. In so doing, food banks draw hunger from the hidden depths of biological intimacy into public view. Howarth thus calls attention to the ways in which individual bodies may be caught up in circulating cultural and political discursive regimes, in this case ones that define poverty and deservingness. Discursive entanglements also echo through Alexandra Littaye’s paper. Like Bartlett, Littaye focusses on the construction and performance of gender. Autoethnographically reflecting on her experiences as a boxer, Littaye challenges the cultural gendering of boxing in discourse and regulation. To unsettle this gendering, Littaye explores how being punched in the face by male opponents evolved into an experience of camaraderie and respect. She contends that the boxing ring is a unique space in which violence can break down definitions of gendered embodiment.Through the changing meaning of such encounters between another’s hand and the mutable surfaces of her face, Littaye charts how her “body boundaries were profoundly reconfigured” within the space of the boxing ring. This analysis highlights material transformations that bodies undergo—agentially or unagentially—in moments of encounter with other materialities, which is a key theme of the issue. Such material transformation is brought into sharp relief by Fay Dennis’s exploration of drug use, where ways of being emerge through the embodied entanglements of personhood and diamorphine, as the drug both offers and reconfigures bodily boundaries. Dennis draws on an interview with Mya, who has lived experience of drug use, and addiction treatment, in London, UK. Her analysis parses Mya’s discursive construction of “becoming normal” through the everyday use of drugs, highlighting how drugs are implicated in creating Mya’s construction of a “normal” embodied self as a less vulnerable, more productive, being-in-the-world.Moments of material transformation, however, can also incite experiences of embodied extremes. This is elucidated by the issue’s feature paper, in which Roy Brockington and Nela Cicmil offer an autoethnographic study of architectural objects. Focussing on two Brutalist housing developments in London, UK, they write that they “feel small and quite squashable in comparison” to the buildings they traverse. They suggest that the effects of walking within one of these vast concrete entities can be likened to having eaten the cake or drunk the potion from Alice in Wonderland (Carroll). Like the boxing ring and diamorphine, the buildings “shape the physicality of the bodies interacting within them,” as Brockington and Cicmil put it.That objects, spaces, and structures are therefore intrinsic to, rather than set apart from, the dynamic processes through which human bodies are made or unmade ripples through this collection of papers in diverse ways. While Dennis’s paper focusses on the potentiality of body/object encounters to set in motion mutual processes of becoming, an interest in the vulnerabilities of such processes is shared across the papers. Glimpsed in Howarth’s, as well as in Brockington and Cicmil’s discussions, this vulnerability comes to the fore in Bessie Dernikos and Cathlin Goulding’s analysis of teacher evaluations as textual objects. Drawing on their own experiences of teaching at high school and college levels, Dernikos and Goulding analyse the ways in which teacher evaluations are “anything but dead and lifeless;” they explore how evaluations painfully intervene in or interrupt corporeality, as the words on the page “sink deeply into [one’s] skin.” These words thereby enter into and impress upon bodies, both viscerally and emotionally, their affective power unveiling the agency that imbues a lit screen or a scribbled page.Yet, importantly, this issue also demonstrates how bodies actively forge the objects, spaces, and environments they encounter. Paola Esposito’s paper registers the press of bodies on material worlds by exploring the collective act of walking with golden thread, a project that has since come to be entitled “Walking Threads.” Writing that the thread becomes caught up in “the bumpy path, trees, wind, and passers-by,” Esposito explores how these intensities and forms register on the moving collective of bodies, just as those bodies also press into, and leave traces on, the world around them. That diverse materialities thereby come to be imbued with, or perhaps haunted by, the material and affective traces of (other) bodies, is also shown by the metonymic resonance between Littaye’s face and her coach’s pad: each bears the marks of another’s punch. Likewise, in Bartlett’s analysis of The Intern, Ben is described as having “shaped the building where the floor dips over in the corner” due to the heavy printers he used in his previous, analogue era, job.This sense of the marks or fragments left by the human form perhaps emerges most resonantly in Michael Gantley and James Carney’s paper. Exploring mortuary practices in archaeological context, Gantley and Carney trace the symbolic imprint of culture on the body, and of the body on (material) culture; their paper shows how concepts of the dead body are informed by cultural anxieties and technologies, which in turn shape death rituals. This discussion thereby draws attention to the material, even molecular, traces left by bodies, long after those bodies have ceased to be of substance. The (im)material intermingling of human and non-human bodies that this highlights is also invoked, albeit in a more affective way, by Chris Stover’s analysis of improvisational musical spaces. Through a discussion of “musical-objects-as-bodies,” Stover shows how each performer leaves an imprint on the musical bodies that emerge from transient moments of performance. Writing that “improvised music is a more fruitful starting place for thinking about embodiment and the co-constitutive relationship between performer and sound,” Stover suggests that performers’ bodies and the music “unfold” together. In so doing, he approaches the subject of bodies beyond the human, probing the blurred intersections among human and non-human (im)materialities.Across the issue, then, the contributors challenge any neat distinction between bodies and objects, showing how diverse materialities “become” together, to borrow from Deleuze and Guattari. This blurring is key to Gantley and Carney’s paper. They write that “in post-mortem rituals, the body—formerly the manipulator of objects—becomes itself the object that is manipulated.” Likewise, Esposito argues that “we generally think of objects and bodies as belonging to different domains—the inanimate and the animate, the lifeless and the living.” Her paper shares with the others a desire to illuminate the transient, situated, and often vulnerable processes through which bodies and (other) materialities are co-produced. Or, as Stover puts it, this issue “problematise[s] where one body stops and the next begins.”Thus, together, the papers explore the many dimensions and materialities of embodiment. In writing corporeality, the contributors engage with a range of theories and various empirical contexts, to interrogate the material dynamics through which bodies processually come into being. The issue thereby problematises taken-for-granted distinctions between bodies and objects. The corporeality that emerges from the collected discussions is striking in its relational and dynamic constitution, in the porosity of (imagined) boundaries between self, space, subjects, and objects. As the papers suggest, corporeal being is realised through and within continuously changing relations among the visceral, affective, and material. Such relations not only make individual bodies, but also implicate socio-political and ecological processes that materialise in structures, technologies, and lived experiences. We offer corporeality, then, as a framework to illuminate the otherwise hidden, politically contingent, becomings of embodied beings. ReferencesBarad, Karen. “Posthumanist Performativity: Toward an Understanding of How Matter Comes to Matter.” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 28 (2003): 801–831.Bennett, Jane. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2010.Berg, Marc, and Annemarie Mol (eds.) Differences in Medicine: Unraveling Practices, Techniques, and Bodies. Durham, NC: Duke, 1998.Bergson, Henri. Creative Evolution. London: Henry Holt and Company, 1911Blackman, Lisa. The Body: Key Concepts. London: Berg, 2008.Carroll, Lewis. Alice in Wonderland. London: Macmillan, 1865.Coole, Diana, and Samantha Frost. “Introducing the New Materialisms.” New Materialisms: Ontology, Agency, and Politics. Eds. Diana Coole and Samantha Frost. Durham, NC: Duke, 2010. 1-46.Csordas, Thomas J. “Somatic Modes of Attention.” Cultural Anthropology 8.2 (1993): 135-156.Deleuze, Gilles, and Felix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. London: Continuum, 2004.Gregg, Melissa, and Gregory Seigworth (eds.) The Affect Theory Reader. Durham, NC: Duke, 2010.Halley, Jean, and Patricia Ticineto Clough. The Affective Turn: Theorizing the Social. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2007.Latour, Bruno. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2005.Massumi, Brian. The Politics of Affect. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2015.Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phenomenology of Perception. Trans. Colin Smith. London: Routledge, 1962Miller, Daniel. Stuff. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2010.Mol, Anemarie. The Body Multiple: Ontology in Medical Practice. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2002.Seigworth, Gregory, and Melissa Gregg. “An Inventory of Shimmers.” The Affect Theory Reader. Eds. Melissa Gregg and Gregory Seigworth. Durham, NC: Duke, 2010. 1-28.Shilling, Chris. The Body and Social Theory. Nottingham: SAGE Publications, 2012.Stewart, Kathleen. Ordinary Affects. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2007.Turkle, Sherry. “The Things That Matter.” Evocative Objects: Things We Think With. Ed. Sherry Turkle. Cambridge MA: MIT Press, 2007.Woolf, Virginia. Street Haunting. London: Penguin Books, 2005.

Introduction: Brutal?The word “brutal” has associations with cruelty, inhumanity, and aggression. Within the field of architecture, however, the term “Brutalism” refers to a post-World War II Modernist style, deriving from the French phrase betón brut, which means raw concrete (Clement 18). Core traits of Brutalism include functionalist design, daring geometry, overbearing scale, and the blatant exposure of structural materials, chiefly concrete and steel (Meades 1).The emergence of Brutalism coincided with chronic housing shortages in European countries ravaged by World War II (Power 5) and government-sponsored slum clearance in the UK (Power 190; Baker). Brutalism’s promise to accommodate an astonishing number of civilians within a minimal area through high-rise configurations and elevated walkways was alluring to architects and city planners (High Rise Dreams). Concrete was the material of choice due to its affordability, durability, and versatility; it also allowed buildings to be erected quickly (Allen and Iano 622).The Brutalist style was used for cultural centres, such as the Perth Concert Hall in Western Australia, educational institutions such as the Yale School of Architecture, and government buildings such as the Secretariat Building in Chandigarh, India. However, as pioneering Brutalist architect Alison Smithson explained, the style achieved full expression by “thinking on a much bigger scale somehow than if you only got [sic] one house to do” (Smithson and Smithson, Conversation 40). Brutalism, therefore, lent itself to the design of large residential complexes. It was consequently used worldwide for public housing developments, that is, residences built by a government authority with the aim of providing affordable housing. Notable examples include the Western City Gate in Belgrade, Serbia, and Habitat 67 in Montreal, Canada.Brutalist architecture polarised opinion and continues to do so to this day. On the one hand, protected cultural heritage status has been awarded to some Brutalist buildings (Carter; Glancey) and the style remains extremely influential, for example in the recent award-winning work of architect Zaha Hadid (Niesewand). On the other hand, the public housing projects associated with Brutalism are widely perceived as failures (The Great British Housing Disaster). Many Brutalist objects currently at risk of demolition are social housing estates, such as the Smithsons’ Robin Hood Gardens in London, UK. Whether the blame for the demise of such housing developments lies with architects, inhabitants, or local government has been widely debated. In the UK and USA, local authorities had relocated families of predominantly lower socio-economic status into the newly completed developments, but were unable or unwilling to finance subsequent maintenance and security costs (Hanley 115; R. Carroll; The Pruitt-Igoe Myth). Consequently, the residents became fearful of criminal activity in staircases and corridors that lacked “defensible space” (Newman 9), which undermined a vision of “streets in the sky” (Moran 615).In spite of its later problems, Brutalism’s architects had intended to develop a style that expressed 1950s contemporary living in an authentic manner. To them, this meant exposing building materials in their “raw” state and creating an aesthetic for an age of science, machine mass production, and consumerism (Stadler 264; 267; Smithson and Smithson, But Today 44). Corporeal sensations did not feature in this “machine” aesthetic (Dalrymple). Exceptionally, acclaimed Brutalist architect Ernö Goldfinger discussed how “visual sensation,” “sound and touch with smell,” and “the physical touch of the walls of a narrow passage” contributed to “sensations of space” within architecture (Goldfinger 48). However, the effects of residing within Brutalist objects may not have quite conformed to predictions, since Goldfinger moved out of his Brutalist construction, Balfron Tower, after two months, to live in a terraced house (Hanley 112).An abstract perspective that favours theorisation over subjective experiences characterises discourse on Brutalist social housing developments to this day (Singh). There are limited data on the everyday lived experience of residents of Brutalist social housing estates, both then and now (for exceptions, see Hanley; The Pruitt-Igoe Myth; Cooper et al.).Yet, our bodily interaction with the objects around us shapes our lived experience. On a broader physical scale, this includes the structures within which we live and work. The importance of the interaction between architecture and embodied being is increasingly recognised. Today, architecture is described in corporeal terms—for example, as a “skin” that surrounds and protects its human inhabitants (Manan and Smith 37; Armstrong 77). Biological processes are also inspiring new architectural approaches, such as synthetic building materials with life-like biochemical properties (Armstrong 79), and structures that exhibit emergent behaviour in response to human presence, like a living system (Biloria 76).In this article, we employ an autoethnographic perspective to explore the corporeal effects of Brutalist buildings, thereby revealing a new dimension to the anthropological significance of these controversial structures. We trace how they shape the physicality of the bodies interacting within them. Our approach is one step towards considering the historically under-appreciated subjective, corporeal experience elicited in interaction with Brutalist objects.Method: An Autoethnographic ApproachAutoethnography is a form of self-narrative research that connects the researcher’s personal experience to wider cultural understandings (Ellis 31; Johnson). It can be analytical (Anderson 374) or emotionally evocative (Denzin 426).We investigated two Brutalist residential estates in London, UK:(i) The Barbican Estate: This was devised to redevelop London’s severely bombed post-WWII Cripplegate area, combining private residences for middle class professionals with an assortment of amenities including a concert hall, library, conservatory, and school. It was designed by architects Chamberlin, Powell, and Bon. Opened in 1982, the Estate polarised opinion on its aesthetic qualities but has enjoyed success with residents and visitors. The development now comprises extremely expensive housing (Brophy). It was Grade II-listed in 2001 (Glancey), indicating a status of architectural preservation that restricts alterations to significant buildings.(ii) Trellick Tower: This was built to replace dilapidated 19th-century housing in the North Kensington area. It was designed by Hungarian-born architect Ernő Goldfinger to be a social housing development and was completed in 1972. During the 1980s and 1990s, it became known as the “Tower of Terror” due to its high level of crime (Hanley 113). Nevertheless, Trellick Tower was granted Grade II listed status in 1998 (Carter), and subsequent improvements have increased its desirability as a residence (R. Carroll).We explored the grounds, communal spaces, and one dwelling within each structure, independently recording our corporeal impressions and sensations in detailed notes, which formed the basis of longhand journals written afterwards. Our analysis was developed through co-constructed autoethnographic reflection (emerald and Carpenter 748).For reasons of space, one full journal entry is presented for each Brutalist structure, with an excerpt from each remaining journal presented in the subsequent analysis. To identify quotations from our journals, we use the codes R- and N- to refer to RB’s and NC’s journals, respectively; we use -B and -T to refer to the Barbican Estate and Trellick Tower, respectively.The Barbican Estate: Autoethnographic JournalAn intricate concrete world emerges almost without warning from the throng of glass office blocks and commercial buildings that make up the City of London's Square Mile. The Barbican Estate comprises a multitude of low-rise buildings, a glass conservatory, and three enormous high-rise towers. Each modular building component is finished in the same coarse concrete with burnished brick underfoot, whilst the entire structure is elevated above ground level by enormous concrete stilts. Plants hang from residential balconies over glimmering pools in a manner evocative of concrete Hanging Gardens of Babylon.Figure 1. Barbican Estate Figure 2. Cromwell Tower from below, Barbican Estate. Figure 3: The stairwell, Cromwell Tower, Barbican Estate. Figure 4. Lift button pods, Cromwell Tower, Barbican Estate.R’s journalMy first footsteps upon the Barbican Estate are elevated two storeys above the street below, and already an eerie calm settles on me. The noise of traffic and the bustle of pedestrians have seemingly been left far behind, and a path of polished brown brick has replaced the paving slabs of the city's pavement. I am made more aware of the sound of my shoes upon the ground as I take each step through the serenity.Running my hands along the walkway's concrete sides as we proceed further into the estate I feel its coarseness, and look up to imagine the same sensation touching the uppermost balcony of the towers. As we travel, the cold nature and relentless employ of concrete takes over and quickly becomes the norm.Our route takes us through the Barbican's central Arts building and into the Conservatory, a space full of plant-life and water features. The noise of rushing water comes as a shock, and I'm reminded just how hauntingly peaceful the atmosphere of the outside estate has been. As we leave the conservatory, the hush returns and we follow another walkway, this time allowing a balcony-like view over the edge of the estate. I'm quickly absorbed by a sensation I can liken only to peering down at the ground from a concrete cloud as we observe the pedestrians and traffic below.Turning back, we follow the walkways and begin our approach to Cromwell Tower, a jagged structure scraping the sky ahead of us and growing menacingly larger with every step. The estate has up till now seemed devoid of wind, but even so a cold begins to prickle my neck and I increase my speed toward the door.A high-ceilinged foyer greets us as we enter and continue to the lifts. As we push the button and wait, I am suddenly aware that carpet has replaced bricks beneath my feet. A homely sensation spreads, my breathing slows, and for a brief moment I begin to relax.We travel at heart-racing speed upwards to the 32nd floor to observe the view from the Tower's fire escape stairwell. A brief glance over the stair's railing as we enter reveals over 30 storeys of stair casing in a hard-edged, triangular configuration. My mind reels, I take a second glance and fail once again to achieve focus on the speck of ground at the bottom far below. After appreciating the eastward view from the adjacent window that encompasses almost the entirety of Central London, we make our way to a 23rd floor apartment.Entering the dwelling, we explore from room to room before reaching the balcony of the apartment's main living space. Looking sheepishly from the ledge, nothing short of a genuine concrete fortress stretches out beneath us in all directions. The spirit and commotion of London as I know it seems yet more distant as we gaze at the now miniaturized buildings. An impression of self-satisfied confidence dawns on me. The fortress where we stand offers security, elevation, sanctuary and I'm furnished with the power to view London's chaos at such a distance that it's almost silent.As we leave the apartment, I am shadowed by the same inherent air of tranquillity, pressing yet another futuristic lift access button, plummeting silently back towards the ground, and padding across the foyer's soft carpet to pursue our exit route through the estate's sky-suspended walkways, back to the bustle of regular London civilization.Trellick Tower: Autoethnographic JournalThe concrete majesty of Trellick Tower is visible from Westbourne Park, the nearest Tube station. The Tower dominates the skyline, soaring above its neighbouring estate, cafes, and shops. As one nears the Tower, the south face becomes visible, revealing the suspended corridors that join the service tower to the main body of flats. Light of all shades and colours pours from its tightly stacked dwellings, which stretch up into the sky. Figure 5. Trellick Tower, South face. Figure 6. Balcony in a 27th-floor flat, Trellick Tower.N’s journalOutside the tower, I sense danger and experience a heightened sense of awareness. A thorny frame of metal poles holds up the tower’s facade, each pole poised as if to slip down and impale me as I enter the building.At first, the tower is too big for comprehension; the scale is unnatural, gigantic. I feel small and quite squashable in comparison. Swathes of unmarked concrete surround the tower, walls that are just too high to see over. Who or what are they hiding? I feel uncertain about what is around me.It takes some time to reach the 27th floor, even though the lift only stops on every 3rd floor. I feel the forces of acceleration exert their pressure on me as we rise. The lift is very quiet.Looking through the windows on the 27th-floor walkway that connects the lift tower to the main building, I realise how high up I am. I can see fog. The city moves and modulates beneath me. It is so far away, and I can’t reach it. I’m suspended, isolated, cut off in the air, as if floating in space.The buildings underneath appear tiny in comparison to me, but I know I’m tiny compared to this building. It’s a dichotomy, an internal tension, and feels quite unreal.The sound of the wind in the corridors is a constant whine.In the flat, the large kitchen window above the sink opens directly onto the narrow, low-ceilinged corridor, on the other side of which, through a second window, I again see London far beneath. People pass by here to reach their front doors, moving so close to the kitchen window that you could touch them while you’re washing up, if it weren’t for the glass. Eye contact is possible with a neighbour, or a stranger. I am close to that which I’m normally separated from, but at the same time I’m far from what I could normally access.On the balcony, I have a strong sensation of vertigo. We are so high up that we cannot be seen by the city and we cannot see others. I feel physically cut off from the world and realise that I’m dependent on the lift or endlessly spiralling stairs to reach it again.Materials: sharp edges, rough concrete, is abrasive to my skin, not warm or welcoming. Sharp little stones are embedded in some places. I mind not to brush close against them.Behind the tower is a mysterious dark maze of sharp turns that I can’t see around, and dark, narrow walkways that confine me to straight movements on sloping ramps.“Relentless Employ of Concrete:” Body versus Stone and HeightThe “relentless employ of concrete” (R-B) in the Barbican Estate and Trellick Tower determined our physical interactions with these Brutalist objects. Our attention was first directed towards texture: rough, abrasive, sharp, frictive. Raw concrete’s potential to damage skin, should one fall or brush too hard against it, made our bodies vulnerable. Simultaneously, the ubiquitous grey colour and the constant cold anaesthetised our senses.As we continued to explore, the constant presence of concrete, metal gratings, wire, and reinforced glass affected our real and imagined corporeal potentialities. Bodies are powerless against these materials, such that, in these buildings, you can only go where you are allowed to go by design, and there are no other options.Conversely, the strength of concrete also has a corporeal manifestation through a sense of increased physical security. To R, standing within the “concrete fortress” of the Barbican Estate, the object offered “security, elevation, sanctuary,” and even “power” (R-B).The heights of the Barbican’s towers (123 metres) and Trellick Tower (93 metres) were physically overwhelming when first encountered. We both felt that these menacing, jagged towers dominated our bodies.Excerpt from R’s journal (Trellick Tower)Gaining access to the apartment, we begin to explore from room to room. As we proceed through to the main living area we spot the balcony and I am suddenly aware that, in a short space of time, I had abandoned the knowledge that some 26 floors lay below me. My balance is again shaken and I dig my heels into the laminate flooring, as if to achieve some imaginary extra purchase.What are the consequences of extreme height on the body? Certainly, there is the possibility of a lethal fall and those with vertigo or who fear heights would feel uncomfortable. We discovered that height also affects physical instantiation in many other ways, both empowering and destabilising.Distance from ground-level bustle contributed to a profound silence and sense of calm. Areas of intermediate height, such as elevated communal walkways, enhanced our sensory abilities by granting the advantage of observation from above.Extreme heights, however, limited our ability to sense the outside world, placing objects beyond our range of visual focus, and setting up a “bizarre segregation” (R-T) between our physical presence and that of the rest of the world. Height also limited potentialities of movement: no longer self-sufficient, we depended on a working lift to regain access to the ground and the rest of the city. In the lift itself, our bodies passively endured a cycle of opposing forces as we plummeted up or down numerous storeys in mere seconds.At both locations, N noticed how extreme height altered her relative body size: for example, “London looks really small. I have become huge compared to the tiny city” (N-B). As such, the building’s lift could be likened to a cake or potion from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. This illustrates how the heuristics that we use to discern visual perspective and object size, which are determined by the environment in which we live (Segall et al.), can be undermined by the unusual scales and distances found in Brutalist structures.Excerpt from N’s journal (Barbican Estate)Warning: These buildings give you AFTER-EFFECTS. On the way home, the size of other buildings seems tiny, perspectives feel strange; all the scales seem to have been re-scaled. I had to become re-used to the sensation of travelling on public trains, after travelling in the tower lifts.We both experienced perceptual after-effects from the disproportional perspectives of Brutalist spaces. Brutalist structures thus have the power to affect physical sensations even when the body is no longer in direct interaction with them!“Challenge to Privacy:” Intersubjective Ideals in Brutalist DesignAs embodied beings, our corporeal manifestations are the primary transducers of our interactions with other people, who in turn contribute to our own body schema construction (Joas). Architects of Brutalist habitats aimed to create residential utopias, but we found that the impact of their designs on intersubjective corporeality were often incoherent and contradictory. Brutalist structures positioned us at two extremes in relation to the bodies of others, forcing either an uncomfortable intersection of personal space or, conversely, excessive separation.The confined spaces of the lifts, and ubiquitous narrow, low-ceilinged corridors produced uncomfortable overlaps in the personal space of the individuals present. We were fascinated by the design of the flat in Trellick Tower, where the large kitchen window opened out directly onto the narrow 27th-floor corridor, as described in N’s journal. This enforced a physical “challenge to privacy” (R-T), although the original aim may have been to promote a sense of community in the “streets in the sky” (Moran 615). The inter-slotting of hundreds of flats in Trellick Tower led to “a multitude of different cooking aromas from neighbouring flats” (R-T) and hence a direct sensing of the closeness of other people’s corporeal activities, such as eating.By contrast, enormous heights and scales constantly placed other people out of sight, out of hearing, and out of reach. Sharp-angled walkways and blind alleys rendered other bodies invisible even when they were near. In the Barbican Estate, huge concrete columns, behind which one could hide, instilled a sense of unease.We also considered the intersubjective interaction between the Brutalist architect-designer and the inhabitant. The elements of futuristic design—such as the “spaceship”-like pods for lift buttons in Cromwell Tower (N-B)—reconstruct the inhabitant’s physicality as alien relative to the Brutalist building, and by extension, to the city that commissioned it.ReflectionsThe strength of the autoethnographic approach is also its limitation (Chang 54); it is an individual’s subjective perspective, and as such we cannot experience or represent the full range of corporeal effects of Brutalist designs. Corporeal experience is informed by myriad factors, including age, body size, and ability or disability. Since we only visited these structures, rather than lived in them, we could have experienced heightened sensations that would become normalised through familiarity over time. Class dynamics, including previous residences and, importantly, the amount of choice that one has over where one lives, would also affect this experience. For a full perspective, further data on the everyday lived experiences of residents from a range of different backgrounds are necessary.R’s reflectionDespite researching Brutalist architecture for years, I was unprepared for the true corporeal experience of exploring these buildings. Reading back through my journals, I'm struck by an evident conflict between stylistic admiration and physical uneasiness. I feel I have gained a sympathetic perspective on the notion of residing in the structures day-to-day.Nevertheless, analysing Brutalist objects through a corporeal perspective helped to further our understanding of the experience of living within them in a way that abstract thought could never have done. Our reflections also emphasise the tension between the physical and the psychological, whereby corporeal struggle intertwines with an abstract, aesthetic admiration of the Brutalist objects.N’s reflectionIt was a wonderful experience to explore these extraordinary buildings with an inward focus on my own physical sensations and an outward focus on my body’s interaction with others. On re-reading my journals, I was surprised by the negativity that pervaded my descriptions. How does physical discomfort and alienation translate into cognitive pleasure, or delight?ConclusionBrutalist objects shape corporeality in fundamental and sometimes contradictory ways. The range of visual and somatosensory experiences is narrowed by the ubiquitous use of raw concrete and metal. Materials that damage skin combine with lethal heights to emphasise corporeal vulnerability. The body’s movements and sensations of the external world are alternately limited or extended by extreme heights and scales, which also dominate the human frame and undermine normal heuristics of perception. Simultaneously, the structures endow a sense of physical stability, security, and even power. By positioning multiple corporealities in extremes of overlap or segregation, Brutalist objects constitute a unique challenge to both physical privacy and intersubjective potentiality.Recognising these effects on embodied being enhances our current understanding of the impact of Brutalist residences on corporeal sensation. This can inform the future design of residential estates. Our autoethnographic findings are also in line with the suggestion that Brutalist structures can be “appreciated as challenging, enlivening environments” exactly because they demand “physical and perceptual exertion” (Sroat). 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