Littérature scientifique sur le sujet « Hudson River Bridge (N.Y. and N.J.) »

The ancyrocephalids (Monogenea) parasitizing the temperate basses (Percichthyidae) of North America are reviewed. Onchocleidus mimus Mueller, 1936 is redescribed from material found on the gills of Morone chrysops (white bass) taken in Ontario. Onchocleidus rogersi (Hanek and Fernando, 1972) Beverley-Burton, 1984 is declared a synonym of O. mimus. Onchocleidus interruptus Mizelle, 1936 is redescribed from paratype material (14 specimens) found on M. mississippiensis (yellow bass) taken in Illinois. Additional morphometric and morphologic data for O. chrysops (Mizelle and Klucka, 1953) Beverley-Burton, 1984 are provided. Cleidodiscus sp. of S. Tedla and C. H. Fernando and "Tetraonchinae" of C. J. Sindermann are considered to be referrable to the genus Onchocleidus sensu Beverley-Burton. Following a study of type specimens of Aristocleidus hastatus Mueller, 1936 from M. saxatilis (striped bass) taken in Florida, the genus and species are recognised as valid. However, there is need for a revision of the generic diagnosis when new material becomes available as the morphology of the male copulatory complex appears to be distinctive and of a "type" as yet undescribed. Urocleidus nactus Mayes and Johnson, 1975 found on M. americana (white perch) taken in coastal waters of North Carolina is transferred to Pterocleidus Mueller, 1937 as Pterocleidus nactus (Mayes and Johnson, 1975) n. comb. The possibility that ancyrocephalids found on M. americana taken in estuarine waters of the Hudson River by V. M. Liguori and identified as U. biramosus (Mueller, 1937) are conspecific with P. nactus is discussed. Ancyrocephalids possessing the spiral filament penis type occur almost exclusively on fishes of the Percoidae. Possible evolutionary pathways involving ancestral dactylogyridans (sensu Beverley-Burton) parasitizing estuarine Percichthyidae or freshwater Centrarchidae are presented with particular reference to the ancryrocephalids found on Morone spp.

Sugar beet (Beta vulgaris L.) and canola (Brassica napus L.) are major crops in North Dakota, with sugar beet production primarily in the eastern part of the state in the Red River Valley and canola production across the northern half of the state. Both crops are hosts of sugar beet cyst nematode (SBCN), Heterodera schachtii Schmidt. In April 2011, soil samples were collected from four sugar beet fields belonging to three growers who believed the fields were infested with SBCN. The fields were located in a 65-km2 area in the Yellowstone Valley of western North Dakota. Cysts were extracted by sieving and Heterodera-like cysts with eggs were observed in all four soil samples. Population densities in the four fields ranged from 100 to 1,750 eggs/100 cm3 soil. Sugar beet seedlings (cv. M832224) were grown in a potting mix for 6 weeks in the greenhouse and then transferred to conetainers (type D40; volume 656 ml) containing autoclaved river sand. Conetainers were placed in sand in plastic pots immersed in a water bath at 27°C. Three plants were each infested with 800 eggs from field No. 2. After 55 days of incubation, the average number of females was 115 per plant. A similar experiment was conducted with canola cvs. Hyclass 940, Caliber 30, and Westar, which were inoculated with 500 eggs each from field No. 2. After 53 days of incubation, there was an average of 39, 20, and 30 females for each respective cultivar. Flask-shaped cysts (n = 26) from canola roots were light to dark brown; the vulval cone was ambifinestrate with dark brown, molar-shaped bullae positioned underneath the vulval bridge. Body length (excluding neck) ranged from 600 to 850 μm (mean 701.2 μm); body width, 350 to 580 μm (mean 469.2 μm); and length/width ratio, 1.2 to 1.8 (mean 1.5). Second-stage juvenile (J2) (n = 21) body length ranged from 400 to 485 μm (mean 437.1 μm); stylet length was 25 μm (no variation) with forwardly directed knobs; conical tail with rounded tip ranged from 37.5 to 55.0 μm long (mean 46.6 μm) with hyaline region from 20.0 to 32.5 μm (mean 27.3 μm); and lateral field presented four incisures. These morphometrics were used to identify H. schachtii according to Subbotin et al. (4). Confirmation of identification was by amplification and sequencing of a 28S rDNA gene fragment (1) from individual females (GenBank Accession No. JQ040526), which was 100% identical to H. schachtii 28S rDNA sequence (GenBank Accession No. GU475088). To our knowledge, this is the first confirmed report of H. schachtii in North Dakota. A 1958 report of SBCN in North Dakota (2) was not subsequently confirmed (3). Because there is extensive canola production across the northern part of the state bordering western and eastern sugar beet- production areas, canola may serve as a bridge for movement of SBCN from west to east. SBCN is a potential threat to these two important crops. References: (1) A. Amiri et al. Eur. J. Plant Pathol. 108:497, 2002. (2) F. Caveness. J. Sugar Beet Res. 10:544, 1958. (3) P. Donald and R. Hosford. Plant Dis. 64:45, 1980. (4) S. A. Subbotin et al. Systematics of Cyst Nematodes (Nematoda: Heteroderinae). Nematology Monographs and Perspectives. Vol. 8B. Brill, The Netherlands. 2010.


 
 
 This 21st century is known as a period in which access to information and communi- cation technology (ICT) are widely open. This brings good in various fields, one of which is educa- tion. In relation to the use of technology in education sector, Kurniawan developed a learning model based on ICT that is a combination of the components of animation technology with aspects of Eng- lish learning specifically reading comprehension. The model is called Creative Reading Learning Model aiming to increase vocabulary understanding, concept and the use of previously owned knowledge. The model emphasizes the role of educators in preparing learning and students in under- standing learning through the help of animation technology that can arise prior knowledge to under- stand learning materials. This study aims to complete the Research and Development phase until the product is complete and analyze the pedagogical implications of the application of Creative Reading as a form of triggering metalinguistic awareness in the test group. Data obtained through observation. The results of this study indicate that children understand most of the vocabulary presented. Related to metalinguistic awareness, there are children who have used English intentionally with an under- standing of form and meaning as the basis.
 Keywords: Creative Reading, English, Learning Models, Reading Comprehension, Vocabulary
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Определение реакции речных систем на климатические изменения является одной из ключевых проблем современной гидрологии. Тем более это касается Дальнего Востока России, режим увлажнения которого известен своей неустойчивостью. В настоящей статье представлены результаты оценки изменения характеристик паводкового стока рек бассейна Уссури при ожидаемых изменениях климата, связанных с глобальным потеплением. Оценки выполнены на основе схемы динамикостохастического моделирования, при которой на вход в гидрологическую модель подаются многочисленные ряды синтетических осадков, для перебора всевозможных условий увлажнения на водосборе. Для расчетов стока использовалась региональная гидрологическая модель паводочного цикла малого речного бассейна, ориентированная на описание процессов формирования стока летне осеннего паводкового периода. Для задания климатического сценария использовалось объединение регионализированной стохастической модели осадков и данных расчетов по глобальным моделям климата (GCM) на последнюю треть XXI века (2071 2100 гг.). Показано, что увеличение осадков приводит к непропорциональному отклику в исследуемых характеристиках максимального стока теплого периода года. При этом относительный рост норм максимальных расходов за сезон достигает 4 5 раз, а норм суммарного слоя стока 2 3 раз в зависимости от варианта расчета с совмещением различных климатических моделей и сценариев. Полученные результаты согласуются с анализом данных наблюдений на основе использования так называемого коэффициента эластичности , а также с проведенными ранее исследованиями. Таким образом, при климатических изменениях можно предполагать рост паводковой опасности в исследуемом регионе. Виноградов Ю.Б. Математическое моде-лирование процессов формирования сто-ка. Л.: Гидрометеоиздат, 1988. 311 с. Гарцман Б.И. Дождевые наводнения на реках юга Дальнего Востока: методы рас-четов, прогнозов, оценок риска. Влади-восток: Дальнаука, 2008. 421 с. Гарцман Б.И. Губарева Т.С. Прогноз гид-рографа дождевых паводков на реках Дальнего Востока // Метеорология и гид-рология. 2007. № 5. с. 70-80. Гарцман И.Н. Лыло В.М. Черненко В.Г. Паводочный сток рек Дальнего Востока. Л.: Гидрометеоиздат, 1971. 264 с. Гельфан А.Н. Динамико-стохастическое моделирование формирования талого стока. М.: ИВП РАН, 2007. 294 с. Гельфан А.Н. Морейдо В.М. Описание макромасштабной структуры поля снеж-ного покрова равнинной территории с помощью динамико-стохастической мо-дели его формирования // Лёд и Снег. 2015. Т.55. № 4. c. 61-72. Bales R., Molotch N., Painter Th., Dettinger M., Rice R., Dozier J. Mountain hydrology of the western United States // Water Resources Research. 2006. V. 42. Iss. 8. W08432. DOI: 10.1029/2005WR004387 Belyakova P.A. Gartsman B.I. Possibilities of Flood Forecasting in the West Caucasian Rivers Based on FCM Model // Water Re-sources. 2018. V. 45 (Suppl. 1). P. 50-58 DOI: 10.1134/S0097807818050317 Bentsen M. et al. The Norwegian Earth sys-tem model, NorESM1-M – Part 1: Descrip-tion and basic evaluation of the physical cli-mate // Geoscientific Model Development. 2013. Vol. 6. P. 687-720. DOI: 10.5194/gmdd-5-2843-2012 Chen N.Ch. Lee K.T. Gartsman B.I. Applica-tion of Flood Cycle Model for daily flow simulating in different climate area // Taiwan Water Conservancy. 2008. Vol. 56. No. 2. P. 1-13. Dufresne J.-L. et al. Climate change projec-tions using the IPSL-CM5 Earth System Model: from CMIP3 to CMIP5 // Climate Dynamics. 2013. V. 40. Iss. 9-10. P. 2123-2165. DOI: 10.1007/s00382-012-1636-1 Dunne J. et al. GFDL’s ESM2 Global Cou-pled Climate-Carbon Earth System Models. Part I: Physical Formulation and Baseline Simulation Characteristics // Journal of Cli-mate. 2012. Vol. 25. No. 19. P. 6646-6665. DOI: 10.1175/JCLI-D-11-00560.1 Gartsman B.I. Lupakov S.Yu. Effect of cli-mate changes on the maximal runoff in the Amur Basin: Estimation based on dynamic-stochastic simulation // Water Resources. 2017. Vol. 44. Iss. 5. P. 697-706. DOI: 10.1134/S0097807817050062 Gartsman B.I. Lupakov S.Yu. Changes in the maximum runoff regime in the Ussuri River basin: the methodological aspects of fore-casting based on dynamic-stochastic simula-tion // Water Resources. 2018. Vol. 45. Suppl. 1. P. S79-S89. DOI: 10.1134/S0097807818050342 IPCC: Climate Change 2013: The Physical Science Basis. Contribution of Working Group I to the Fifth Assessment Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change [Stocker, T.F., D. Qin, G.-K. Platt-ner, M. Tignor, S.K. Allen, J. Boschung, A. Nauels, Y. Xia, V. Bex and P.M. Midgley (eds.)]. Cambridge University Press, Cam-bridge, United Kingdom and New York. 2013. 1535 p. Jones C.D. et al. The HadGEM2-ES imple-mentation of CMIP5 centennial simulations // Geoscientific Model Development. 2011. Vol. 4. Iss. 3. P. 543-570. DOI: 10.5194/gmd-4-543-2011 Oudin L., Hervieu F., Michel C., Perrin C., Andreassian V., Anctil F., Loumagne C. Which potential evapotranspiration input for a lumped rainfall-runoff model? Part 2: To-wards a simple and efficient potential evapo-transpiration model for rainfall-runoff mod-elling // Jornal of Hydrology. 2005a. Vol. 303. Iss. 1-4. P. 290-306. DOI: 10.1016/j.jhydrol.2004.08.026 Oudin L. Michel C. Anctil F. Which potential evapotranspiration input for a lumped rain-fall-runoff model? Part 1 - Can rainfall-runoff models effectively handle detailed potential evapotranspiration inputs? // Jornal of Hydrology. 2005b. Vol. 303. Iss. 1-4. P. 275-289 DOI: 10.1016/j.jhydrol.2004.08.025 Sankarasubramanian A., Vogel R.M., Limbrunner J.F. Climate elasticity of streamflow in the United States // Water Re-sources Research. 2001. Vol. 37. Iss. 6. P. 1771-1781. DOI: 10.1029/2000WR900330 Trzaska S. Schnarr E. A review of downscaling methods for climate change projections (Technical report, United States Agency for International Development). Burlington, Vermont: Tetra Tech ARD. 2014. 56 p. van Vuuren D.P. et al. The representative concentration pathways: an overview // Cli-matic Change. 2011. Vol. 109. P. 5-31. DOI: 10.1007/s10584-011-0148-z Warszawski L., Frieler K., Huber V., Pi-ontek F., Serdeczny O., Schewe J. The Inter-Sectoral Impact Model Intercomparison Pro-ject (ISI-MIP): project framework // Pro-ceedings of the National Academy of Sci-ences. 2014. Vol. 111. Iss. 9. P. 3228-3232. DOI: 10.1073/pnas.1312330110. Watanabe S. et al. MIROC-ESM 2010: model description and basic results of CMIP5 experiments // Geoscientific Model Development. 2011. Vol. 4. P. 845-872. DOI: 10.5194/gmdd-4-1063-2011 Wu Y., Zhang G., Shen H., Jun Xu Y. Non-linear Response of Streamflow to Climate Change in High-Latitude Regions: A Case Study in Headwaters of Nenjiang River Ba-sin in China’s Far Northeast // Water. 2018. Vol. 10. No. 3. 294. DOI: 10.3390/w10030294 Zhang A., Liu W., Yin Zh., Fu G., Zheng Ch. How will climate change affect the water availability in the Heihe River basin, north-west China? // Journal of Hydrometeorology. 2016. Vol. 17. No. 5. P. 1517-1542. DOI: 10.1175/JHM-D-15-0058.1 Detecting reaction of river systems to climate changes is one of the key problems in modern hydrology. Moreover, this is the case of the Far East of Russia, where moisture regime variability is well known. The presented article deals with the assessment results of changes in the flood characteristics of the Ussuri river and its tributaries under the expected climate changes, linked with global warming. The estimates are based on dynamicstochastic modeling scheme, in which numerous synthetic precipitation series are input to the hydrological model for searching of all kinds of humidification conditions at the investigated catchments. There was used a regional hydrological Flood Cycle Model of small river basin that focuses on the description of runoff formation processes in the summer autumn flood period. Climate changes input is based on the integration of the regional stochastic rainfall model and General Circulation Models (GCM) data to the end of XXI century (2071 2100). It is shown that an increase in precipitation sum leads to an unproportional response of the evaluated flood flow characteristics. The relative increase in the mean values of the maximum flow reaches 4 5 times and 2 3 times for the seasonal runoff depth depending on applied GCM and climate scenarios. The obtained results are consistent with the analysis of observational data using the elasticity coefficient and previous investigations. Therefore, flood risks could be expected at the investigated territory due to climate changes. Bales R., Molotch N., Painter Th., Dettinger M., Rice R., Dozier J. Mountain hydrology of the western United States. Water Resources Re-search, 2006, vol. 42, iss. 8, W08432. DOI: 10.1029/2005WR004387 Belyakova P.A. Gartsman B.I. Possibilities of Flood Forecasting in the West Caucasian Rivers Based on FCM Model. Water Resources, 2018, vol. 45, suppl. 1, pp. 50-58. DOI: 10.1134/S0097807818050317 Bentsen M. et al. The Norwegian Earth system model, NorESM1-M - Part 1: Description and basic evaluation of the physical climate. Geoscien-tific Model Development, 2013, vol. 6, pp. 687-720. DOI: 10.5194/gmdd-5-2843-2012 Chen N.Ch. Lee K.T. Gartsman B.I. Application of Flood Cycle Model for daily flow simulating in different climate area. Taiwan Water Conservan-cy, 2008, vol. 56, no 2, pp. 1-13. Dufresne J.-L. et al. Climate change projections using the IPSL-CM5 Earth System Model: from CMIP3 to CMIP5. Climate Dynamics, 2013, vol. 40, iss. 9-10, pp. 2123-2165. DOI: 10.1007/s00382-012-1636-1 Dunne J. et al. GFDL’s ESM2 Global Coupled Climate-Carbon Earth System Models. Part I: Physical Formulation and Baseline Simulation Characteristics. Journal of Climate, 2012, vol. 25, no. 19, pp. 6646-6665. DOI: 10.1175/JCLI-D-11-00560.1 Gartsman B.I. Dozhdevye navodneniya na rekah Dalnego Vostoka: metody raschetov, prognozov, otsenki riska [Rainfall Floods in the Rivers of the Far East: Calculation, Forecasting, and Risk As-sessment Methods]. Vladivostok: Publ. Dalnauka, 2008. 421 p. (In Russian) Gartsman B.I. Gubareva T.S. Prognoz gidrografa dozhdevyh pavodkov na rekah Dal'nego Vostoka [Forecast of the rainfall flood hydrograph on the Far East rivers] // Meteorologija i gidrologija [Me-teorology and hydrology (Russia)], 2007, no. 5, p. 70-80. (In Russian; abstract in English) Gartsman B.I. Lupakov S.Yu. Effect of climate changes on the maximal runoff in the Amur Basin: Estimation based on dynamic-stochastic simula-tion. Water Resources, 2017, vol. 44, iss. 5, pp. 697-706. DOI: 10.1134/S0097807817050062 Gartsman B.I. Lupakov S.Yu. Changes in the maximum runoff regime in the Ussuri River basin: the methodological aspects of forecasting based on dynamic-stochastic simulation. Water Re-sources, 2018, vol. 45, suppl. 1, pp. S79-S89. DOI: 10.1134/S0097807818050342 Gartsman I.N. Lylo V.M. Chernenko V.G. Pa-vodochnyj stok rek Dal'nego Vostoka [Flood flow of the Far Eastern rivers]. Leningrad, Publ. Gidrometeoizdat, 1971. 264 p. (In Russian) Gelfan A.N. Dinamiko-stohasticheskoye mod-elirovaniye formirovaniya talogo stoka [Dynam-ic—Stochastic Simulation of Snowmelt Runoff Formation]. Moscow: Publ. of Institute of Water Problems RAS, 2007. 294 p. (In Russian) Gelfan A.N. Moreydo V.M. Opisanie makromasshtabnoj struktury polja snezhnogo pokrova ravninnoj territorii s pomoshh'ju dina-miko-stohasticheskoj modeli ego formirovanija [Describing macro-scale structure of the snow cover by a dynamic-stochastic model]. Led i sneg [Ice and snow (Russia)], 2015, vol. 55, no. 4, pp. 61-72. (In Russian; abstract in English) IPCC: Climate Change 2013: The Physical Sci-ence Basis. Contribution of Working Group I to the Fifth Assessment Report of the Intergovern-mental Panel on Climate Change [Stocker, T.F., D. Qin, G.-K. Plattner, M. Tignor, S.K. Allen, J. Boschung, A. Nauels, Y. Xia, V. Bex and P.M. Midgley (eds.)]. Cambridge, United Kingdom and New York, Cambridge University Press, 2013. 1535 p. Jones C.D. et al. The HadGEM2-ES implementa-tion of CMIP5 centennial simulations. Geoscien-tific Model Development, 2011, vol. 4, iss. 3, pp. 543-570. DOI: 10.5194/gmd-4-543-2011 Oudin L., Hervieu F., Michel C., Perrin C., An-dreassian V., Anctil F., Loumagne C. Which po-tential evapotranspiration input for a lumped rain-fall-runoff model? Part 2: Towards a simple and efficient potential evapotranspiration model for rainfall-runoff modelling. Jornal of Hydrology, 2005a, vol. 303, no. 1-4. pp. 290-306. DOI: 10.1016/j.jhydrol.2004.08.026 Oudin L. Michel C. Anctil F. Which potential evapotranspiration input for a lumped rainfall-runoff model? Part 1 - Can rainfall-runoff models effectively handle detailed potential evapotranspi-ration inputs? Jornal of Hydrology, 2005b, vol. 303, no. 1-4, pp. 275-289. DOI: 10.1016/j.jhydrol.2004.08.025 Sankarasubramanian A., Vogel R.M., Limbrunner J.F. Climate elasticity of streamflow in the United States. Water Resources Research, 2001, vol. 37, iss. 6, pp. 1771-1781. 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By the time you read this, it will be wrong. Things seemed to be moving so fast in these first days after airplanes crashed into the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and the Pennsylvania earth. Each certainty is as carelessly dropped as it was once carelessly assumed. The sounds of lower Manhattan that used to serve as white noise for residents—sirens, screeches, screams—are no longer signs without a referent. Instead, they make folks stare and stop, hurry and hustle, wondering whether the noises we know so well are in fact, this time, coefficients of a new reality. At the time of writing, the events themselves are also signs without referents—there has been no direct claim of responsibility, and little proof offered by accusers since the 11th. But it has been assumed that there is a link to US foreign policy, its military and economic presence in the Arab world, and opposition to it that seeks revenge. In the intervening weeks the US media and the war planners have supplied their own narrow frameworks, making New York’s “ground zero” into the starting point for a new escalation of global violence. We want to write here about the combination of sources and sensations that came that day, and the jumble of knowledges and emotions that filled our minds. Working late the night before, Toby was awoken in the morning by one of the planes right overhead. That happens sometimes. I have long expected a crash when I’ve heard the roar of jet engines so close—but I didn’t this time. Often when that sound hits me, I get up and go for a run down by the water, just near Wall Street. Something kept me back that day. Instead, I headed for my laptop. Because I cannot rely on local media to tell me very much about the role of the US in world affairs, I was reading the British newspaper The Guardian on-line when it flashed a two-line report about the planes. I looked up at the calendar above my desk to see whether it was April 1st. Truly. Then I got off-line and turned on the TV to watch CNN. That second, the phone rang. My quasi-ex-girlfriend I’m still in love with called from the mid-West. She was due to leave that day for the Bay Area. Was I alright? We spoke for a bit. She said my cell phone was out, and indeed it was for the remainder of the day. As I hung up from her, my friend Ana rang, tearful and concerned. Her husband, Patrick, had left an hour before for work in New Jersey, and it seemed like a dangerous separation. All separations were potentially fatal that day. You wanted to know where everyone was, every minute. She told me she had been trying to contact Palestinian friends who worked and attended school near the event—their ethnic, religious, and national backgrounds made for real poignancy, as we both thought of the prejudice they would (probably) face, regardless of the eventual who/what/when/where/how of these events. We agreed to meet at Bruno’s, a bakery on La Guardia Place. For some reason I really took my time, though, before getting to Ana. I shampooed and shaved under the shower. This was a horror, and I needed to look my best, even as men and women were losing and risking their lives. I can only interpret what I did as an attempt to impose normalcy and control on the situation, on my environment. When I finally made it down there, she’d located our friends. They were safe. We stood in the street and watched the Towers. Horrified by the sight of human beings tumbling to their deaths, we turned to buy a tea/coffee—again some ludicrous normalization—but were drawn back by chilling screams from the street. Racing outside, we saw the second Tower collapse, and clutched at each other. People were streaming towards us from further downtown. We decided to be with our Palestinian friends in their apartment. When we arrived, we learnt that Mark had been four minutes away from the WTC when the first plane hit. I tried to call my daughter in London and my father in Canberra, but to no avail. I rang the mid-West, and asked my maybe-former novia to call England and Australia to report in on me. Our friend Jenine got through to relatives on the West Bank. Israeli tanks had commenced a bombardment there, right after the planes had struck New York. Family members spoke to her from under the kitchen table, where they were taking refuge from the shelling of their house. Then we gave ourselves over to television, like so many others around the world, even though these events were happening only a mile away. We wanted to hear official word, but there was just a huge absence—Bush was busy learning to read in Florida, then leading from the front in Louisiana and Nebraska. As the day wore on, we split up and regrouped, meeting folks. One guy was in the subway when smoke filled the car. Noone could breathe properly, people were screaming, and his only thought was for his dog DeNiro back in Brooklyn. From the panic of the train, he managed to call his mom on a cell to ask her to feed “DeNiro” that night, because it looked like he wouldn’t get home. A pregnant woman feared for her unborn as she fled the blasts, pushing the stroller with her baby in it as she did so. Away from these heart-rending tales from strangers, there was the fear: good grief, what horrible price would the US Government extract for this, and who would be the overt and covert agents and targets of that suffering? What blood-lust would this generate? What would be the pattern of retaliation and counter-retaliation? What would become of civil rights and cultural inclusiveness? So a jumble of emotions came forward, I assume in all of us. Anger was not there for me, just intense sorrow, shock, and fear, and the desire for intimacy. Network television appeared to offer me that, but in an ultimately unsatisfactory way. For I think I saw the end-result of reality TV that day. I have since decided to call this ‘emotionalization’—network TV’s tendency to substitute analysis of US politics and economics with a stress on feelings. Of course, powerful emotions have been engaged by this horror, and there is value in addressing that fact and letting out the pain. I certainly needed to do so. But on that day and subsequent ones, I looked to the networks, traditional sources of current-affairs knowledge, for just that—informed, multi-perspectival journalism that would allow me to make sense of my feelings, and come to a just and reasoned decision about how the US should respond. I waited in vain. No such commentary came forward. Just a lot of asinine inquiries from reporters that were identical to those they pose to basketballers after a game: Question—‘How do you feel now?’ Answer—‘God was with me today.’ For the networks were insistent on asking everyone in sight how they felt about the end of las torres gemelas. In this case, we heard the feelings of survivors, firefighters, viewers, media mavens, Republican and Democrat hacks, and vacuous Beltway state-of-the-nation pundits. But learning of the military-political economy, global inequality, and ideologies and organizations that made for our grief and loss—for that, there was no space. TV had forgotten how to do it. My principal feeling soon became one of frustration. So I headed back to where I began the day—The Guardian web site, where I was given insightful analysis of the messy factors of history, religion, economics, and politics that had created this situation. As I dealt with the tragedy of folks whose lives had been so cruelly lost, I pondered what it would take for this to stop. Or whether this was just the beginning. I knew one thing—the answers wouldn’t come from mainstream US television, no matter how full of feelings it was. And that made Toby anxious. And afraid. He still is. And so the dreams come. In one, I am suddenly furloughed from my job with an orchestra, as audience numbers tumble. I make my evening-wear way to my locker along with the other players, emptying it of bubble gum and instrument. The next night, I see a gigantic, fifty-feet high wave heading for the city beach where I’ve come to swim. Somehow I am sheltered behind a huge wall, as all the people around me die. Dripping, I turn to find myself in a media-stereotype “crack house” of the early ’90s—desperate-looking black men, endless doorways, sudden police arrival, and my earnest search for a passport that will explain away my presence. I awake in horror, to the realization that the passport was already open and stamped—racialization at work for Toby, every day and in every way, as a white man in New York City. Ana’s husband, Patrick, was at work ten miles from Manhattan when “it” happened. In the hallway, I overheard some talk about two planes crashing, but went to teach anyway in my usual morning stupor. This was just the usual chatter of disaster junkies. I didn’t hear the words, “World Trade Center” until ten thirty, at the end of the class at the college I teach at in New Jersey, across the Hudson river. A friend and colleague walked in and told me the news of the attack, to which I replied “You must be fucking joking.” He was a little offended. Students were milling haphazardly on the campus in the late summer weather, some looking panicked like me. My first thought was of some general failure of the air-traffic control system. There must be planes falling out of the sky all over the country. Then the height of the towers: how far towards our apartment in Greenwich Village would the towers fall? Neither of us worked in the financial district a mile downtown, but was Ana safe? Where on the college campus could I see what was happening? I recognized the same physical sensation I had felt the morning after Hurricane Andrew in Miami seeing at a distance the wreckage of our shattered apartment across a suburban golf course strewn with debris and flattened power lines. Now I was trapped in the suburbs again at an unbridgeable distance from my wife and friends who were witnessing the attacks first hand. Were they safe? What on earth was going on? This feeling of being cut off, my path to the familiar places of home blocked, remained for weeks my dominant experience of the disaster. In my office, phone calls to the city didn’t work. There were six voice-mail messages from my teenaged brother Alex in small-town England giving a running commentary on the attack and its aftermath that he was witnessing live on television while I dutifully taught my writing class. “Hello, Patrick, where are you? Oh my god, another plane just hit the towers. Where are you?” The web was choked: no access to newspapers online. Email worked, but no one was wasting time writing. My office window looked out over a soccer field to the still woodlands of western New Jersey: behind me to the east the disaster must be unfolding. Finally I found a website with a live stream from ABC television, which I watched flickering and stilted on the tiny screen. It had all already happened: both towers already collapsed, the Pentagon attacked, another plane shot down over Pennsylvania, unconfirmed reports said, there were other hijacked aircraft still out there unaccounted for. Manhattan was sealed off. George Washington Bridge, Lincoln and Holland tunnels, all the bridges and tunnels from New Jersey I used to mock shut down. Police actions sealed off the highways into “the city.” The city I liked to think of as the capital of the world was cut off completely from the outside, suddenly vulnerable and under siege. There was no way to get home. The phone rang abruptly and Alex, three thousand miles away, told me he had spoken to Ana earlier and she was safe. After a dozen tries, I managed to get through and spoke to her, learning that she and Toby had seen people jumping and then the second tower fall. Other friends had been even closer. Everyone was safe, we thought. I sat for another couple of hours in my office uselessly. The news was incoherent, stories contradictory, loops of the planes hitting the towers only just ready for recycling. The attacks were already being transformed into “the World Trade Center Disaster,” not yet the ahistorical singularity of the emergency “nine one one.” Stranded, I had to spend the night in New Jersey at my boss’s house, reminded again of the boundless generosity of Americans to relative strangers. In an effort to protect his young son from the as yet unfiltered images saturating cable and Internet, my friend’s TV set was turned off and we did our best to reassure. We listened surreptitiously to news bulletins on AM radio, hoping that the roads would open. Walking the dog with my friend’s wife and son we crossed a park on the ridge on which Upper Montclair sits. Ten miles away a huge column of smoke was rising from lower Manhattan, where the stunning absence of the towers was clearly visible. The summer evening was unnervingly still. We kicked a soccer ball around on the front lawn and a woman walked distracted by, shocked and pale up the tree-lined suburban street, suffering her own wordless trauma. I remembered that though most of my students were ordinary working people, Montclair is a well-off dormitory for the financial sector and high rises of Wall Street and Midtown. For the time being, this was a white-collar disaster. I slept a short night in my friend’s house, waking to hope I had dreamed it all, and took the commuter train in with shell-shocked bankers and corporate types. All men, all looking nervously across the river toward glimpses of the Manhattan skyline as the train neared Hoboken. “I can’t believe they’re making us go in,” one guy had repeated on the station platform. He had watched the attacks from his office in Midtown, “The whole thing.” Inside the train we all sat in silence. Up from the PATH train station on 9th street I came onto a carless 6th Avenue. At 14th street barricades now sealed off downtown from the rest of the world. I walked down the middle of the avenue to a newspaper stand; the Indian proprietor shrugged “No deliveries below 14th.” I had not realized that the closer to the disaster you came, the less information would be available. Except, I assumed, for the evidence of my senses. But at 8 am the Village was eerily still, few people about, nothing in the sky, including the twin towers. I walked to Houston Street, which was full of trucks and police vehicles. Tractor trailers sat carrying concrete barriers. Below Houston, each street into Soho was barricaded and manned by huddles of cops. I had walked effortlessly up into the “lockdown,” but this was the “frozen zone.” There was no going further south towards the towers. I walked the few blocks home, found my wife sleeping, and climbed into bed, still in my clothes from the day before. “Your heart is racing,” she said. I realized that I hadn’t known if I would get back, and now I never wanted to leave again; it was still only eight thirty am. Lying there, I felt the terrible wonder of a distant bystander for the first-hand witness. Ana’s face couldn’t tell me what she had seen. I felt I needed to know more, to see and understand. Even though I knew the effort was useless: I could never bridge that gap that had trapped me ten miles away, my back turned to the unfolding disaster. The television was useless: we don’t have cable, and the mast on top of the North Tower, which Ana had watched fall, had relayed all the network channels. I knew I had to go down and see the wreckage. Later I would realize how lucky I had been not to suffer from “disaster envy.” Unbelievably, in retrospect, I commuted into work the second day after the attack, dogged by the same unnerving sensation that I would not get back—to the wounded, humbled former center of the world. My students were uneasy, all talked out. I was a novelty, a New Yorker living in the Village a mile from the towers, but I was forty-eight hours late. Out of place in both places. I felt torn up, but not angry. Back in the city at night, people were eating and drinking with a vengeance, the air filled with acrid sicklysweet smoke from the burning wreckage. Eyes stang and nose ran with a bitter acrid taste. Who knows what we’re breathing in, we joked nervously. A friend’s wife had fallen out with him for refusing to wear a protective mask in the house. He shrugged a wordlessly reassuring smile. What could any of us do? I walked with Ana down to the top of West Broadway from where the towers had commanded the skyline over SoHo; downtown dense smoke blocked the view to the disaster. A crowd of onlookers pushed up against the barricades all day, some weeping, others gawping. A tall guy was filming the grieving faces with a video camera, which was somehow the worst thing of all, the first sign of the disaster tourism that was already mushrooming downtown. Across the street an Asian artist sat painting the street scene in streaky black and white; he had scrubbed out two white columns where the towers would have been. “That’s the first thing I’ve seen that’s made me feel any better,” Ana said. We thanked him, but he shrugged blankly, still in shock I supposed. On the Friday, the clampdown. I watched the Mayor and Police Chief hold a press conference in which they angrily told the stream of volunteers to “ground zero” that they weren’t needed. “We can handle this ourselves. We thank you. But we don’t need your help,” Commissioner Kerik said. After the free-for-all of the first couple of days, with its amazing spontaneities and common gestures of goodwill, the clampdown was going into effect. I decided to go down to Canal Street and see if it was true that no one was welcome anymore. So many paths through the city were blocked now. “Lock down, frozen zone, war zone, the site, combat zone, ground zero, state troopers, secured perimeter, national guard, humvees, family center”: a disturbing new vocabulary that seemed to stamp the logic of Giuliani’s sanitized and over-policed Manhattan onto the wounded hulk of the city. The Mayor had been magnificent in the heat of the crisis; Churchillian, many were saying—and indeed, Giuliani quickly appeared on the cover of Cigar Afficionado, complete with wing collar and the misquotation from Kipling, “Captain Courageous.” Churchill had not believed in peacetime politics either, and he never got over losing his empire. Now the regime of command and control over New York’s citizens and its economy was being stabilized and reimposed. The sealed-off, disfigured, and newly militarized spaces of the New York through which I have always loved to wander at all hours seemed to have been put beyond reach for the duration. And, in the new post-“9/11” post-history, the duration could last forever. The violence of the attacks seemed to have elicited a heavy-handed official reaction that sought to contain and constrict the best qualities of New York. I felt more anger at the clampdown than I did at the demolition of the towers. I knew this was unreasonable, but I feared the reaction, the spread of the racial harassment and racial profiling that I had already heard of from my students in New Jersey. This militarizing of the urban landscape seemed to negate the sprawling, freewheeling, boundless largesse and tolerance on which New York had complacently claimed a monopoly. For many the towers stood for that as well, not just as the monumental outposts of global finance that had been attacked. Could the American flag mean something different? For a few days, perhaps—on the helmets of firemen and construction workers. But not for long. On the Saturday, I found an unmanned barricade way east along Canal Street and rode my bike past throngs of Chinatown residents, by the Federal jail block where prisoners from the first World Trade Center bombing were still being held. I headed south and west towards Tribeca; below the barricades in the frozen zone, you could roam freely, the cops and soldiers assuming you belonged there. I felt uneasy, doubting my own motives for being there, feeling the blood drain from my head in the same numbing shock I’d felt every time I headed downtown towards the site. I looped towards Greenwich Avenue, passing an abandoned bank full of emergency supplies and boxes of protective masks. Crushed cars still smeared with pulverized concrete and encrusted with paperwork strewn by the blast sat on the street near the disabled telephone exchange. On one side of the avenue stood a horde of onlookers, on the other television crews, all looking two blocks south towards a colossal pile of twisted and smoking steel, seven stories high. We were told to stay off the street by long-suffering national guardsmen and women with southern accents, kids. Nothing happening, just the aftermath. The TV crews were interviewing worn-out, dust-covered volunteers and firemen who sat quietly leaning against the railings of a park filled with scraps of paper. Out on the West Side highway, a high-tech truck was offering free cellular phone calls. The six lanes by the river were full of construction machinery and military vehicles. Ambulances rolled slowly uptown, bodies inside? I locked my bike redundantly to a lamppost and crossed under the hostile gaze of plainclothes police to another media encampment. On the path by the river, two camera crews were complaining bitterly in the heat. “After five days of this I’ve had enough.” They weren’t talking about the trauma, bodies, or the wreckage, but censorship. “Any blue light special gets to roll right down there, but they see your press pass and it’s get outta here. I’ve had enough.” I fronted out the surly cops and ducked under the tape onto the path, walking onto a Pier on which we’d spent many lazy afternoons watching the river at sunset. Dust everywhere, police boats docked and waiting, a crane ominously dredging mud into a barge. I walked back past the camera operators onto the highway and walked up to an interview in process. Perfectly composed, a fire chief and his crew from some small town in upstate New York were politely declining to give details about what they’d seen at “ground zero.” The men’s faces were dust streaked, their eyes slightly dazed with the shock of a horror previously unimaginable to most Americans. They were here to help the best they could, now they’d done as much as anyone could. “It’s time for us to go home.” The chief was eloquent, almost rehearsed in his precision. It was like a Magnum press photo. But he was refusing to cooperate with the media’s obsessive emotionalism. I walked down the highway, joining construction workers, volunteers, police, and firemen in their hundreds at Chambers Street. No one paid me any attention; it was absurd. I joined several other watchers on the stairs by Stuyvesant High School, which was now the headquarters for the recovery crews. Just two or three blocks away, the huge jagged teeth of the towers’ beautiful tracery lurched out onto the highway above huge mounds of debris. The TV images of the shattered scene made sense as I placed them into what was left of a familiar Sunday afternoon geography of bike rides and walks by the river, picnics in the park lying on the grass and gazing up at the infinite solidity of the towers. Demolished. It was breathtaking. If “they” could do that, they could do anything. Across the street at tables military policeman were checking credentials of the milling volunteers and issuing the pink and orange tags that gave access to ground zero. Without warning, there was a sudden stampede running full pelt up from the disaster site, men and women in fatigues, burly construction workers, firemen in bunker gear. I ran a few yards then stopped. Other people milled around idly, ignoring the panic, smoking and talking in low voices. It was a mainly white, blue-collar scene. All these men wearing flags and carrying crowbars and flashlights. In their company, the intolerance and rage I associated with flags and construction sites was nowhere to be seen. They were dealing with a torn and twisted otherness that dwarfed machismo or bigotry. I talked to a moustachioed, pony-tailed construction worker who’d hitched a ride from the mid-west to “come and help out.” He was staying at the Y, he said, it was kind of rough. “Have you been down there?” he asked, pointing towards the wreckage. “You’re British, you weren’t in World War Two were you?” I replied in the negative. “It’s worse ’n that. I went down last night and you can’t imagine it. You don’t want to see it if you don’t have to.” Did I know any welcoming ladies? he asked. The Y was kind of tough. When I saw TV images of President Bush speaking to the recovery crews and steelworkers at “ground zero” a couple of days later, shouting through a bullhorn to chants of “USA, USA” I knew nothing had changed. New York’s suffering was subject to a second hijacking by the brokers of national unity. New York had never been America, and now its terrible human loss and its great humanity were redesignated in the name of the nation, of the coming war. The signs without a referent were being forcibly appropriated, locked into an impoverished patriotic framework, interpreted for “us” by a compliant media and an opportunistic regime eager to reign in civil liberties, to unloose its war machine and tighten its grip on the Muslim world. That day, drawn to the river again, I had watched F18 fighter jets flying patterns over Manhattan as Bush’s helicopters came in across the river. Otherwise empty of air traffic, “our” skies were being torn up by the military jets: it was somehow the worst sight yet, worse than the wreckage or the bands of disaster tourists on Canal Street, a sign of further violence yet to come. There was a carrier out there beyond New York harbor, there to protect us: the bruising, blustering city once open to all comers. That felt worst of all. In the intervening weeks, we have seen other, more unstable ways of interpreting the signs of September 11 and its aftermath. Many have circulated on the Internet, past the blockages and blockades placed on urban spaces and intellectual life. Karl-Heinz Stockhausen’s work was banished (at least temporarily) from the canon of avant-garde electronic music when he described the attack on las torres gemelas as akin to a work of art. If Jacques Derrida had described it as an act of deconstruction (turning technological modernity literally in on itself), or Jean Baudrillard had announced that the event was so thick with mediation it had not truly taken place, something similar would have happened to them (and still may). This is because, as Don DeLillo so eloquently put it in implicit reaction to the plaintive cry “Why do they hate us?”: “it is the power of American culture to penetrate every wall, home, life and mind”—whether via military action or cultural iconography. All these positions are correct, however grisly and annoying they may be. What GK Chesterton called the “flints and tiles” of nineteenth-century European urban existence were rent asunder like so many victims of high-altitude US bombing raids. As a First-World disaster, it became knowable as the first-ever US “ground zero” such precisely through the high premium immediately set on the lives of Manhattan residents and the rarefied discussion of how to commemorate the high-altitude towers. When, a few weeks later, an American Airlines plane crashed on take-off from Queens, that borough was left open to all comers. Manhattan was locked down, flown over by “friendly” bombers. In stark contrast to the open if desperate faces on the street of 11 September, people went about their business with heads bowed even lower than is customary. Contradictory deconstructions and valuations of Manhattan lives mean that September 11 will live in infamy and hyper-knowability. The vengeful United States government and population continue on their way. Local residents must ponder insurance claims, real-estate values, children’s terrors, and their own roles in something beyond their ken. New York had been forced beyond being the center of the financial world. It had become a military target, a place that was receiving as well as dispatching the slings and arrows of global fortune. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Deer, Patrick and Miller, Toby. "A Day That Will Live In … ?" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.1 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/adaythat.php>. Chicago Style Deer, Patrick and Miller, Toby, "A Day That Will Live In … ?" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 1 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/adaythat.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Deer, Patrick and Miller, Toby. (2002) A Day That Will Live In … ?. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(1). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0203/adaythat.php> ([your date of access]).

Introduction For the past ten years, a transformative trend has emerged in the consumption of journalistic content, diverging significantly from its traditional engagement pathways. This evolution is characterised by the allure of serial journalistic podcasts such as Serial, which have seamlessly integrated narrative techniques typically reserved for fiction into journalistic storytelling (Kulkarni et al.). These podcasts have leveraged episodic structures, suspenseful build-ups, and dramatic climaxes to foster a level of engagement akin to fiction's grip on audiences. This shift towards addictive media consumption is eloquently linked to the binge-watching culture of on-demand television described by Dowling and Miller, situating such podcasts within a lineage of high-calibre television narratives (168). The concept of "binge-listening" (Krause and Uhrig 446) has emerged from this trend, signifying a consumption pattern where audiences, particularly those drawn to multi-part serial podcasts in genres like true crime, engage in extended listening sessions or eagerly anticipate new episodes. This pattern, reflective of an excessive indulgence in content, underscores the creators' success in crafting compelling narratives that captivate and retain audience interest. Illustrative of this phenomenon are listener testimonials for Die Mafiaprinzessin, a narrative podcast series by Süddeutsche Zeitung Magazine (part of Germany’s major quality newspaper), where users expressed their inability to disengage, consuming the entire series rapidly. One user stated, "I couldn't stop listening", and another, "I binged all episodes in two days" (quoted in Krause and Uhrig 447). But what makes serial storytelling podcasts in Germany so appealing, and which lessons can be drawn from this? This article provides answers through a historical lens and a focus on the creative process, distribution, and the transparency of journalistic research. Incorporating these sources and viewpoints, the discussion provides an overview of the cultural shift in media consumption towards serialised journalistic podcasts, highlighting their role in redefining audience engagement with media content. From Written to Spoken Storytelling Traditions The narrative-driven approach to audio journalism discussed in this article is typically unfolding over five to ten serialised podcast episodes of 30 to 45 minutes each, and diverges from shorter news snippets or dialogue-based formats, tackling complex topics through well-researched and dramatised storytelling. Kelleter defines serial storytelling as the delivery of continuation stories featuring consistent characters, produced and narrated in a mass-appealing, schematic manner (18). This definition, originally pertaining to fiction, aptly describes the serialised journalistic content's approach, emphasising that while the storytelling techniques may mirror fiction, the content remains firmly anchored in journalistic rigour and quality. It is neither based on a true story nor loosely associated with fiction. The podcast series that are the focus of this article are journalism in audio form, dedicated to journalism’s core values. This article aims to shed light on the development, cultural significance, and economic implications of such podcasts in Germany, specifically those produced by publishing houses as part of their digital strategy to gain digital subscriptions and hence turn readers into paying customers. The economic potential of such journalistic storytelling podcasts can be quite significant, as Newman describes in the 2023 Digital News Report: “podcasting may not yet be a mass market medium, but its audience profile is extremely interesting to publishers and to advertisers” (48). Newman continues to describe that podcast audiences generally have higher incomes, are more educated, and, notably, skew towards a younger demographic, making them an attractive demographic for publishers. While it is true that podcasts have achieved mass-market appeal on a global scale, the particular narratives that resonate with individual listeners can be highly specialised and varied, mirroring their diverse interests. This phenomenon is analogous to the realm of print magazines, which as a medium cater to a broad readership. However, individual publications often cater to distinct niches, attracting readers who share a specific set of interests. However, individual publications often target distinct niches, appealing to readers who share a specific set of interests. Podcasts in general appeal to a wide range of ages as a versatile medium, suitable for listening during various activities such as travel to and from work, dog walking, gym sessions, or while engaging in routine household chores like tidying up. Their capacity to build meaningful relationships with the audience is just beginning to be analysed. It has been found that “podcasts can provide informational and social gratifications to listeners” (Tobin and Guadagno 2). First Steps towards Serial Storytelling Podcasts in Germany The surge in serialised storytelling podcasts started shortly after the first season of the NPR podcast Serial in the English-speaking world, and was dubbed the medium’s “Golden Age” (Berry 170). These intricately produced journalistic podcasts became a new avenue for traditional media companies to market their in-depth research beyond print and online articles. And in many ways, this makes a lot of sense: with in-depth investigative research being one of the core values (and yet one of the most time-consuming, sometimes frustrating, and often very expensive assets) of any editorial medium, it makes economic sense to use as many channels as possible to publish the results of this research. In terms of content diversity, podcasts occupy a niche that is similar to what investigative journalism books or documentaries once did as a premium journalistic product where complex stories or investigations can be told in full, without the length constraints of typical journalistic formats (Krause and Uhrig 449). Podcasts have been distributed since 2005, but it took almost a decade for them to break away from the time limitations of linear radio slots. In Germany, serialised podcast storytelling arrived a year after Serial, with the Rundfunk Berlin-Brandenburg series Wer hat Burak erschossen? (Who Shot Burak?) from 2015, which many consider to be one of the first German podcast series in this new narrative tradition (Preger 7). Since then, the range of podcast series has diversified rapidly in Germany, just like in the US, in terms of both topics and providers. Following the already successful American themes of crime and terrorism, there were soon investigative research stories about topics ranging from the rise and fall of the former German economic powerhouse (and later notoriously fraudulent) Wirecard by Süddeutsche Zeitung or the popular media scandal about the publication of the fake diaries of Adolf Hitler by Stern Magazine in the 1980s, which the publishing house turned into a successful podcast series in 2020. And from 2021 onwards, there was an increase in biographically centred podcasts that combine elements of portraiture with investigative or contemporary historical elements such as the 2022 series Who the F*** Is Alice by Süddeutsche Zeitung Magazine, elaborating on the controversial work of Germany’s most popular first-generation feminist Alice Schwarzer. Yet, one of the most successful German storytelling podcasts is the episodic tale about the tragic descent of former radio host Ken Jebsen, from beloved (yet edgy) media personality to controversial conspiracy theorist, which was turned into a stunning tale in the series Cui Bono: WTF Happened to Ken Jebsen in 2021 (Eins 37), hitting a nerve in German society in times of Covid and the subsequent rise of populist conspiracy movements. Other notable German storytelling podcasts about prominent figures in Germany include the 2023 Series SchwarzRotGold: Mesut Özil zu Gast bei Freunden, about football player Mesut Özil and his complicated and highly political life story as an immigrant in Germany (published on RTL+), or Wild Wild Web: The Kim Dotcom Story from 2021 about Kim Dotcom, the controversial entrepreneur and founder of the now defunct file-sharing operator Megaupload, by Bayerischer Rundfunk. Specifics of Successful German Storytelling Podcasts While audio journalism has traditionally been a domain of public and private broadcasting companies in Germany, there has been a shift towards podcast productions from a more diverse set of media outlets. Approximately 66% of daily and weekly papers in Germany are currently producing podcasts, with 29% offering at least three different podcast series (Eins 104). This is a trend that is not limited to the big national subscription newspapers but can also be observed in smaller regional and local publications. According to a study by Wild & Wild, at least one third of the 308 regional and local subscription newspapers examined have incorporated podcasts into their offerings. The content of these podcasts primarily focusses on society and social issues (25%) and sports and leisure activities (20%) (175). What makes these podcasts specifically German (in contrast to series from other countries) is hard to answer and would require further research. What can be said, however, is that Germany has a vibrant scene for audio journalism and German audiences are rather familiar with the form of long-form audio reporting through the country's relatively strong public broadcasting system, which has been publishing quite elaborate forms of audio journalism since the 1950s. Even though many statistics and audience engagement metrics remain confidential, it has been written that audience engagement has been very good (Wild and Wild). It is evident that serial podcasts rank among the most successful digital offerings of large national media companies such as Süddeutsche Zeitung, fetching significant digital subscriptions with series like Wer ist Joni? (Who is Joni?), which was selected as one of the best podcasts in 2023 by the German newspaper Die Tageszeitung and was described as follows: Who is Joni? is a podcast about trust on the internet. We've all heard about marriage swindlers or people who extort money online. But Joni's case is different. It's particularly compelling because Christiane Lutz narrates it so personally. She contrasts her research with her own thoughts and feelings. She feels naïve, paranoid, angry, relieved, and all of this is completely relatable to the listener. (Fromm) As described here, the role of the host as the storyteller is paramount. The host serves as a convivial guide, offering subjective but meticulously researched narratives, sometimes paired with a serious sidekick for contrast. A recent study in Journalism Practice suggests that even news journalism benefits from narrative elements (Nee and Santana). Another study highlights two factors that enthral listeners: intimacy and emotion (Lindgren), which are prevalent across all podcast genres, including the often-criticised "chat podcasts" where two hosts discuss daily matters. At least in Germany, they are predominantly male, yet the masculine dominance has been challenged and reflected upon in recent discourse (Attig). These podcasts, which often rank highly on the German podcast charts on platforms such as Spotify, are quite different from the serial storytelling podcasts that many publishing houses see as a new way to engage with journalistic content. Common Ingredients of Successful German Storytelling Podcasts According to Schlütz, several characteristics distinguish narrative journalism as specific to podcasts, among them subjectivity, personalisation, contextualisation, and transparency (10). Building upon these findings, this article looks at various attributes of successful German podcasts from the serial storytelling variety. The selection of these podcasts was driven by their demonstrated popularity, as evidenced by reviews in newspapers, radio shows, or newsletters, as well as their recognition in the form of nominations or receipt of prestigious awards such as the German Reporter Prize and the German Podcast Prize. Such honours imply that these podcasts distinguish themselves by features like captivating storytelling, perceptive journalism, inventive production methods, or other exceptional qualities that have earned the respect and admiration of both their industry peers and listeners. Nevertheless, it should be acknowledged that this curated group does not represent an exhaustive overview of Germany's storytelling podcast landscape. The evaluation of the chosen podcasts was based on an analysis of their auditory content and the media's reception of them, including interviews with and reviews of both the podcasts and their creators. From this investigation, three principal insights emerged: Strong host figures who, in many cases, not only guide through the story, but become part of the story themselves. In the Norddeutscher Runkfunk production Eschede – 25 Jahre danach from 2023 (Eschede – 25 years after) the reporter Miriam Arndts researches the tragic accident that occurred in Eschede, Lower Saxony, in 1998, where a high-speed train derailed and collided with a bridge, resulting in the loss of 101 lives. Among the bereaved was Arndts, who lost her mother in the disaster. Making this podcast highly personal, Arndts engages with survivors and relatives of the victims, intertwining their accounts with her personal story, in line with Lindgren’s findings that “the involvement of the journalist (or host) in the story transcends self-reflexive metacommentary on journalistic practice to focus on the journalist as a private person” (10). Suspense and drama are leading elements of many of the successful podcasts: in Frauke Liebs – die Suche nach dem Mörder (Frauke Liebs – the search for the murderer) from the Magazine Stern, host and journalist Dominik Stawski embarks on a mission to solve a crime that he has been following for a good part of his career – addressing the murderer directly over the course of the episodes. This series could only be realised because of the reporter’s deep involvement in the story and his contacts with many of the people involved in the case, including the family of the victim. This is a good example of how such a series can be created from investigations that have already been published, but can now use the advantages of the longer form of serial storytelling in audio. The understanding of topical events and news is deepened by serial podcasts. As has been mentioned by Planer and Godulla, news stories can also be the drivers of in-depth audio storytelling (105). In Germany this can be exemplified by the popular series Die Flut – Warum musste Johanna sterben? (The flood – why did Johanna have to die?) from 2022, whose team of reporters from Westdeutscher Rundfunk investigates the circumstances of the tragic events of the deadly flood of the river Ahr in Germany that lead to many deaths in the summer of 2021. While this event is clearly of journalistic relevance, such tragedies are typically covered only for a short period by traditional news media. This podcast, in contrast, puts a lot of time and effort into trying to understand the consequences of such a natural disaster for those directly affected by it. The producers of the podcast describe their experience like this: During production, tears were shed more than once. And then, it is precisely this directness of emotion that makes the cruelty of the events tangible. It glosses over nothing, hides nothing. It makes the questions of responsibility directed at politicians even more pressing. (Beisenherz) These aspects show that – among others – these elements are recurring themes of storytelling podcasts in Germany. Of course, there are other factors that determine success of podcasts – the production (Preger 233), the distribution (Krause & Uhrig 457), and the marketing (Eins 169) being the most obvious ones. Current Trends and Economic Potential As Eins has pointed out, many leading publishers in Germany, including Der Spiegel, Süddeutsche Zeitung, and Handelsblatt, have in recent years created digital team positions to manage podcast productions (104). Audio studios have been established within publishing houses. Some editorial teams turn to external service providers, such as Die Zeit working with Pool Artists in Berlin for their podcasts or Süddeutsche Zeitung seeking external expertise for dramaturgy or sound design. The decision to manage podcasts in-house or to hire external providers depends on the available budget, expertise, and the complexity of the project (Eins 105). As Eins has pointed out, simple two-microphone interviews can be self-recorded by amateurs familiar with recording equipment and basic audio editing. However, sophisticated audio features with intricate sound design require teamwork, which is often sought from outside companies. German Media houses increasingly collaborate with external production companies. As podcast market competition grows, distinctive dramaturgy and sound may become crucial, especially for major media brands – this makes collaborations more interesting. For example, Süddeutsche Zeitung has produced elaborate investigative audio features, often in partnership with streaming services. The series Im Schattenkloster (2023/24) about a destructive religious cult in rural Bavaria has been produced in collaboration with Audible, an Amazon company. These podcast series sometimes continue the narrative of previously published investigations and articles in audio form, such as Der Spiegel's Made in Germany – das Flughafenfiasko BER or Going to Ibiza by Süddeutsche Zeitung, or they may be released as exclusive digital content like Narcoland by Aachener Zeitung. The appeal of producing serialised podcasts in an era where digital performance and the attraction of many paying customers to buy digital subscriptions is very important could be attributed to their relatively long production cycle (Krause and Uhrig 456). Unlike topical formats tied to release dates, complex storytelling podcasts retain significance over time in what is known as the Long Tail, described by Anderson, which encapsulated the concept of (digital) products that do not rely on high sales volume from a few mainstream products but achieve sales through a variety of niche products. And the numbers point in this direction: the 2020 podcast series Der Mörder und meine Cousine (The Murderer and My Cousin) produced by Bayerischer Rundfunk registered over 1.2 million plays between June 2020 and January 2022. Of these, 534,000 plays were recorded in the first two months following its release. Over the next 18 months, it garnered an additional 677,973 listens. Even in January 2022, more than 18 months post-release, the monthly play count exceeded 10,000, according to data from the provider's portal Spotify for Podcasters and the internal analysis tool MeFo Charts used by Bayerischer Rundfunk (Krause and Uhrig 457) Conclusion In the landscape of modern journalism in Germany, the advent of serial storytelling through podcasts has carved out a novel niche for high-quality narrative forms. Their appeal lies significantly in their adaptability, which has seen their popularity skyrocket and has made them an important asset in the sales strategy of digital subscriptions for publishing houses (Eins 106). By leveraging the power of audio, these formats not only captivate new demographics but also play a crucial role in shaping journalistic identities, presenting narratives in ways that resonate with the changing consumption patterns of listeners. These narratives, designed for on-the-go consumption, echo the episodic consumption trends set by intricate television and streaming shows, seamlessly fitting into the listener's lifestyle. Journalistically, these podcast series offer a compelling twist on storytelling (Krause and Uhrig 459), often expanding beyond traditional broadcast journalism principles to explore deeper, more intricate narratives, marking an exciting evolution in the way stories are told and consumed. This article has pointed out three aspects that storytelling podcasts in Germany have in common: strong host figures, suspense and drama, and a relation to current news and events, building bridges between classic news reporting and storytelling techniques exemplified by this article. 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