They talked—perhaps commenting on what was coming from the radio—in a mixture ofpidgin English and their language. I couldn’t understand their words, but Iimagined they were speaking of the dwindling stocks of fish in the river, therising toxicity of the water and how soon they might have to move to a placewhere the fishing was still fairly good. I listened in and out of sleep and Idreamed of the little girl with the burnished skin

the barrenness, the oil slick and thesame indefinable sadness in the air, as if a community of ghosts were suspendedabove the punctured zinc roofs, unwilling to depart, yet powerless to return

Apparendy glad to speak, Ray said: "That's a largemonkey.""His ears have come very loose.

f Paris hap-pened to him on top of everything els

I have forgotten my Strand

patch of dark where they had been

He has forgottencrying. . . . There was dead silence behind Mme Fisher'sdoor

re-readingThe Strand Magazine, which she had brought in here fromthe salon when Miss Fisher sent her to go and play

e ispitying me. When she thought, she thought: Forgivenessshould be an act, but this is a state with him.

France being France at nights, with lights undertrees, over tables, a band, an outdoor cinema.

have been and not a breath of his name ought to troubletheir marriage.

a shark's fin.Karen's resistance to Leopold and Ray's idea of Leopold hard-ened each time the shark's fin showed.

Such a dialogue, being circular, has no end.

he: "Then why can't we be alone?"He: "Because he is always somewhere.

top remembering."He: "It is you who remember."

His and her life together was an unspoken dialogue

To find one-self like a young tree inside a tomb is to discover the power tocrack the tomb and grow up to any height.""Does a tree do that?""They need not stay ignorant of you. That is in your hands.But you must grow faster, more strongly than other people

"But I have not been alive for nearly ten years.""Have you been in bed?" said Leopold."That does not matter. Wherever I am now, I do not feeland am not felt."

the Trocadero

ignorance of the present, their impotence now

What is the good of saying you make mehumble, when you know I cannot feel anything now?

The fatal house in Paris still so possessed her thatnothing was real that happened outside that.

Nothing was to be said. This was like being a dog in a housein which they are packing up quiedy, or a sick man from whomit is kept that he is going to die. If a silence rears its head, itis struck down like a snake, but with a light smile, as thoughyou had struck the head off a grass.

To foresee pleasuremakes anybody a poet—all sorts of intense fancies must havequickened during the journey down—to seek pleasure makesa hero of anyone: you open yourself so entirely to fate. Spoiltpleasure is a sad, unseemly thing; you can only bury it.

hestnut

amarisks flying past the rainywindows were some dream—not your own, a dream you haveheard described. Not what they both saw—the sea, the barehill, the railway arch, trees, villas—but the sense of not seeingthese stamped their drive for he

He and she could not be, like lucky lovers,provincial, full of litde references and jokes. They had beennowhere together, their childhoods had been different, ofwhat people they had in common they dreaded to speak

Karen went to shut the window tokeep out London, the door to keep out home.

"How unrealit seems!"141

Edith Belfrey has made an-other muddle," she said. She went on: "Mme Fisher seems tosuggest that that young man is marrying Naomi for her money.How odd the French are!"

I shall be sendingher, a little nearer her marriage, a small comb set with pearlswhich should, I think, be her type

In the sun, the curtains wereflame-pink; prismatic crystal candlesticks shot rays out; theflooded empty white room looked like a stage. She died beforethis, thought Karen.

The sea of trees in thePark did not look too smiling: after all, they had not knownher.

Tables and chairs that have their period, four legs and theirprice; they are more than visionary. And for a bed you gener-ally go to Heal's. Mrs. Michaelis and Karen often stoppedbefore an antique shop window with the same pleased thought.But not always—an Empire sofa in Wigmore Street one morn-ing suddenly sent the blood to Karen's head.

This would be the last Mayof her undecided girlhood; this time next year she would beKaren Forrestier, living in a house she had not seen yet; even,possibly, going to have a child. She saw herself familiar withtheir new hall door, staircase, and firesides, picturing timesof day in the future house, making to-morrow fatten thin to-day.

That end of April had been in itself a summer: no morecame after it for some time. The Twickenham cherry musthave moulted its petals before another day came when youcould sit on the grass.

Would those un-mysterious views in a railway carriage make you visit a place,even in dreams? You could not fall in love with the subject ofan Edwardian camera-portrait, with polished shoulders,coiffure and curved throat. The lake showing every ripple, thewood showing every leaf, or the stately neck with pearls aretoo deadeningly clear. It is more than colour they lack. Withouttheir indistinctness things do not exist; you cannot desirethem

"I think I have done now—how sweet the tree smells," sheadded, looking up."Not the flowers," said Max. "Simply, the leaves smellgummy.

I'd neverbeen to Twickenham till to-day, and I suppose I may nevercome again. If I did come, I might never find this house. Idon't know the address; I suppose it has one.

"You still exist in that house—haunt it, if you prefer. Theyare not likely to.""How I wasted that year I""How?""In being eighteen.

ut Karen, looking at Max, against a stuffy draped curtain,thought: This is like an epilogue to a book. You hardly readon, the end is so near: you know.That had been yesterday

ulgarity,inborn like original sin, unfolds with the woman nature, un-folds ahead of it quickly and has a flamboyant flowering in theyoung girl. Wise mothers do not nip it immediately; thatmakes for trouble later, they watch it out.

It had beenthe air of Ireland, perhaps, or the shock of having just heardabout Aunt Violet. But now I am back here, where I reallybelong. . . . Sunday London silence filled the half-empty din-ing-room, with its unbright silver and lifeless wall-mirrors

memory had exaggerated him.

always the same letter in answer to anenquiry

Not for nothinghad Mme Fisher lived years with the English and discoveredtheir liberalness and liking for the half-way.

"Your poison's not mine," she quoted

The time in Ireland, like one long day spentwaiting, hung on her mind

From the topof a case of exiled books, a bust of the Duke of Wellingtonfrowned down at you blindly; the walls were hung with en-gravings of the Virtues in action which Mrs. Michaelis hadnever liked.

ChesterTerrace next morning when Karen got home

"I meant, apart from shipwrecksand outside things," she said, "surely what happens to one iswhat one makes happen oneself?

She seemed to be one ofthose decent pink pious racy girls who screech a good deal,speak of their fathers as Pappy and are really rather severelykept down at home. She could not help acting Irish even atKaren: once in England what a time she would have! Therelation between the two races remains a mixture of showingoff and suspicion, nearly as bad as sex. Where would the Irishbe without someone to be Irish at?

Mme Fisher also writes, which is good news, thatNaomi is in London now, for a few d

"Ray,—I am leaving here on Friday, so your next letter heremay miss me; they'll send it on, I suppose. I know I had saidI would be staying longer, but Aunt Violet is going to have anoperation next month, so I cannot take up more of their time.If anything happens to Aunt Violet I shall inherit Uncle Bill,as there seems to be no one else, so I

Aunt Violet's probably dyingwas not only Aunt Violet's probably dying, it was like ice be-ginning to move south. Useless to wish she had never come toMount Iris; the cold zone crept forward everywhere.

I never had very much character. But people have alwaysbeen good to me. Perhaps that was the reason

Aunt Violet began playingSchubert: notes came stepping lighdy on to the moment inwhich Karen realised she was going to die

hrough looped white muslin curtains the un-sunny sea daylight fell on French blue or sage-green wall-papers with paler scrolls on them, and water-colours of placesthat never were. The rooms smelt of Indian rugs, spirit-lamps,hyacinths. In the drawing-room, Aunt Violet's music wasstacked on the rosewood piano; a fringed shawl embroideredwith Indian flowers was folded across the foot of the couch;the writing-table was crowded with brass things.

keeping up. The nineteenth-century calm hanging over thecolony makes the rest of Ireland a frantic or lonely dream.

it was not easy to see why Aunt Violet, who had got on sohappily as a widow living outside Florence, becoming eachyear more like an ageless primitive angel, should have mar-ried this hysterical little person who had not even a place:his house, Montebello, had been burnt in the troubles

he looked at people atonce vaguely and boldly; for years she had learnt from othereyes what hers did. This makes any lover or friend a narcissuspool; you do not want anyone else once you have learnt whatyou are; there is no more to lear

Would he know her again? Or suppose she walked straightthrough him, as though she had lost her memory in the nigh

But Cork consumes its own sound: thehaze remained quite silent

he ship, checking, balanceduncertainly up the narrowing river, trees on each side, asthough navigating an avenue, leaving a salt wake. Housesasleep with their eyes open watched the vibrating ship pass:against the woody background those red and white funnelsmust look like a dream. Seagulls, circling, settled on mownlawns. The wake made a dark streak in the glassy river; itsripples broke against garden walls. Every hill running down,each turn of the river, seemed to trap the ship more and cutoff the open se

They are not rococo, asthe aristocracy are supposed to be, or, like the middle classes,tangles of mean motives: up against no one, they are hard tobe up against. The Michaelis were, in the least unkind sense,a charming family.

So Karen was crossing to Ireland, notlong after Easter, which fell early that year. Having since lastnight left London behind, she already felt calm enough tosteady a ship

cy narratives students construct draw from dominantgender myths and that while men view literacy as a way to gain social autonomy,females consider it a means to social participation (250)

worlding

o do so would be to slide once again into the muck of racism, clas-sism, nationalism, modernism, and imperialism

So in addressing the slow violence in the Gulf of Mexico we return tothe vanishing acts performed by a name: Agent Orange as “herbicide” thatcontinues to poison down the generations; “cluster bombs” that dispersetheir staggered casualties across the years; “Corexit” that through tide andwave action, ocean currents, and chemical diffusion, compounds a calamityit purports to redres

Crucially, in terms of the postcolonial skepticism towardenvironmentalism that was cemented during the 1980s, few American envi-ronmentalists showed any interest in linking Reagan’s transnational imperi-alism to socioenvironmental degradation in the global South

When refugees are severed from environments that have providedancestral sustenance they fi nd themselves stranded not just in place but intime as well.

In many instances, theirrelationship to the land is historically deep but legally informal.

ozaboy: A Novel in Rotten English, a witty and wrench-ing book about life in the Nigerian Civil War, is an iconoclastic work inpatois, daring and brimful of fi ne writing.

“Cities of Salt,” Munif once explained, “means cities that offer no sus-tainable existence. When the waters come in, the fi rst waves will dissolvethe salt and reduce these great glass cities to dust

otherworlding

Yes, Munif breaks with the dominant traditions of the European andAmerican novel, but his iconoclasm is not wholly eccentric: he is scarcelyalone in working with a crowded canvas and with themes of collectivetransformation.

To what extent, in engaging a history as vast, as multifarious, as that of theresource curse, is the novel itself an adaptable resource? How, moreover,do the geological, geopolitical, and technological translations of an oralculture’s vernacular landscapes into petro-capitalism’s official landscapesimpact the refraction of oral community through the written technologyof the novel?

an oasis is not an enclave, it is a placewhere (to adapt James Clifford’s terms) rootedness is routed through theconstancy of movement

region’s nation-states existed. Munif recalls in interview how “we broughtflour from Amman to Saudi Arabia and, at the same time, brought salt anddates from Saudi Arabia back to Jorda

Munif falls back on tropesfamiliar from other postcolonial or neocolonial literatures to project anatmosphere of conjoined ecological integrity and cultural authenticity

Hitherto, water (and its dependent trees) hadbeen the foundational bounty—connecting past to future, time to space,place to movement, agriculture to nomadism

n route he earned a Ph.D. in oil economics from Belgrade Uni-versity, edited the Baghdad journal Oil and Development, and worked in theSyrian oil minist

French foreign policy makers, for example, would sometimesdivide Africa into Afrique utile and Afrique unitile, the gulf between the usefuland the useless bits corresponding largely to those enclaves with exploitableresources that could be profitably incorporated into metropolitan capitaliststructures and the unincorporated, disposable remainder.

as all that seemed solid melts intoliquid tailings, oil spills, and plumes of toxic air?

how do you dramatize the costs of uneven develop-ment when their delayed effects are intimate but their genesis is far-offin time?

an occluded economic relationship physically manifestthrough his narrator’s body, Sinha thus ingeniously resolves the dilemmathat Williams posed: how to give a novel a local materiality while expos-ing the web of transnational forces that permeate and shape the local

eco-drama . . . is a contradiction in terms

Eavan Boland is pertinentto the novelistic challenges Sinha must negotiate: “If the voice of a characterin a fiction speaks too clearly with the anger and hindsight of an ethical viewof history, then the voice may be made louder by argument but grow lessconvincing through being less imagined. Then both humanity and historycan be sentimentalized.”

The Ukrainian body politic, though politically autonomous, remainedenvironmentally and epidemiologically dominated by the “foreign burden”of a ghosted country, by a Soviet past that (as Faulkner would have it) wasnot even past.

The onus ofproof fell on Ukrainians to develop, over time, an intimate expertise thatwas both bodily and bureaucratic. Which symptoms counted and whichwere discounted by the state? What work history in which officially recog-nized affected areas (and for how long) would strengthen one’s claim forthe imprimatur of sufferer? Which doctors, lawyers, and bureaucrats couldaccelerate one’s efforts to enter that inner circle? How could one meet suchinfluential people? Did they need to be bribed?

Animal’s People can be read as a novelof risk relocation, not just in Susan Cutter’s spatial sense but across timeas well, for the transnational off-loading of risk from a privileged com-munity to an impoverished one changes the temporal topography of fearin the long term

globalization

A quarter century ago, Raymond Williams called for morenovels that attend to “the close living substance” of the local while simul-taneously tracing the “occluded relationships”—the vast transnational eco-nomic pressures, the labor and commodity dynamics—that invisibly shapethe local

early 1980s through the late-1990s—in what one might call neoliberalism’s near present

Too dark for education, too bright for sleep: modernity’s false dawn.

as a community contendswith attritional assaults on its ecological networks, it isn’t granted equitableaccess (or any access at all) to modernity’s basic infrastructural networks—piped clean water, a sewage system, an electric grid, a public transport grid,or schools—utilities that might open up alternatives to destitution

I have thus sought to integrate reflections on empire,foreign policy, and resistance with questions about aesthetic strategy. It issometimes argued that ecocriticism’s singular contribution to environmen-tal studies ought to be centered on the aesthetic—that an attentiveness toform is the environmental literary scholar’s proper bailiwick. 62 But there is arisk in this if the aesthetic gets walled off as a specialist domain, severed fromthe broader sociopolitical environmental contexts that animate the formsin question.

Questions of socialchange and power become projected onto questions of form so that formalcategories such as rupture, irony, and bricolage assume an inflated agencythrough what Anne McClintock has called “a fetishism of form:”The question is whether it is sufficient to locate agency in theinternal fissures of discourse. [This] runs the risk of what canbe called a fetishism of form: the projection of historical agencyonto formal abstractions that are anthropomorphized and givena life of their own. Here abstractions become historical actors;

instead of referring solely to the movement ofpeople from their places of belonging, refers rather to the loss of the land andresources beneath them, a loss that leaves communities stranded in a placestripped of the very characteristics that made it inhabitable

the Great Acceleration, a second stage of the Anthropocene Age thatthey dated to the mid-twentieth century. Writing in 2007, Steffen et al. notedhow “nearly three-quarters of the anthropogenically driven rise in CO2 con-centration has occurred since 1950 (from about 310 to 380 ppm), and abouthalf of the total rise (48 ppm) has occurred in just the last 30 y

To confront slow violence requires, then, that we plot and givefigurative shape to formless threats whose fatal repercussions are dispersedacross space and time.

Kwame Anthony Appiah famously asked, “Is the ‘Post-’ in ‘Postcolonial’the ‘Post-’ in ‘Postmodern’?” As environmentalists we might ask similarlysearching questions of the “post” in postindustrial, post–Cold War, and post-conflict

postconflict societies whose leaders may annually commemorate,as marked on the calendar

Yet, just one year earlier, Fanon, in the opening pages ofWretched of the Earth, had comfortably invoked DDT as an affi rmative meta-phor for anticolonial violence: he called for a DDT-fi lled spray gun to be

eye-catching and page-turning powerthat tales of slow violence, unfolding over years, decades, even centuries,cannot match. Stories of toxic buildup, massing greenhouse gases, andaccelerated species loss due to ravaged habitats are all cataclysmic, but theyare scientifically convoluted cataclysms in which casualties are postponed,often for generations.

Summers’ arguments assumed a direct link between aesthetically unsightlywaste and Africa as an out-of-sight continent, a place remote from greenactivists’ terrain of concern

public intellectual

What were habitually his final meditations? Of some one sole unique advertisement to cause passers to stop in wonder, a poster novelty, with all extraneous accretions excluded, reduced to its simplest and most efficient terms not exceeding the span of casual vision and congruous with the velocity of modern lif

the infinite possibilities hitherto unexploited of the modern art of advertisement if condensed in triliteral monoideal symbols, vertically of maximum visibility (divined), horizontally of maximum legibility (deciphered) and of magnetising efficacy to arrest involuntary attention, to interest, to convince, to decide.

imitation Crown Derby

William Gilbey and Co’s white invalid port

Plumtree’s potted meat

videlicet 3, 1, 4, and 100.

On the penultimate blank page of a book of inferior literary style, e

of a city in Canada, Quebec

What, reduced to their simplest reciprocal form, were Bloom’s thoughts about Stephen’s thoughts about Bloom and about Stephen’s thoughts about Bloom’s thoughts about Stephen?

Dearer far than song or wine. You are mine. The world is mine

ubsequently thrown away)

Evening Telegraph,

a packet of Epps’s soluble cocoa, five ounces of Anne Lynch’s choice tea at 2/- per lb in a crinkled leadpaper bag, a cylindrical canister containing the best crystallised lump sugar, two onions, one, the larger, Spanish, entire, the other, smaller, Irish, bisected with augmented surface and more redolent, a jar of Irish Model Dairy’s crea

That he was hydrophobe, hating partial contact by immersion or total by submersion in cold water,

Barrington’s lemonflavoured soap

its submarine fauna and flora (anacoustic, photophobe), numerically, if not literally, the inhabitants of the glob

Its universality: its democratic equality and constancy to its nature in seeking its own level:

To enter or not to enter. To knock or not to knock.

In 1884 with Owen Goldberg and Cecil Turnbull at night on public thoroughfares between Longwood avenue and Leonard’s corner and Leonard’s corner and Synge street and Synge street and Bloomfield avenue. In 1885 with Percy Apjohn in the evenings, reclined against the wall between Gibraltar villa and Bloomfield hous

continental to an insular manner of life, a cisatlantic to a transatlantic place of residence

Music, literature, Ireland, Dublin, Paris, friendship, woman, prostitution, diet, the influence of gaslight or the light of arc and glowlamps on the growth of adjoining paraheliotropic trees, exposed corporation emergency dustbuckets, the Roman catholic church, ecclesiastical celibacy, the Irish nation, jesuit education, careers, the study of medicine, the past day, the maleficent influence of the presabbath, Stephen’s collaps

Joyce composes a portrait of the Liffeyas part of a larger network of waterways that have dictated the shape andculture of their respective nations and civilizations

The Citizens’ Obedience Is the City’s Happiness

The present chapter supportsCastle’s reading of the continuity between the revival and modernism andreads Joyce’s use of myth and landscape in the early sketches of the Wakeas an extension of the revival’s project

The Irish literary revival often focused on the relationship between my-thology and landscape to root its revitalization project firmly in a specificplace.

In FinnegansWake, landscapes tell stories; they act as repositories for language, culture,history, and identity, and they also influence the creation of stories

TheRiver Liffey’s physical and cultural relationship to Dublin city is exploredin drafts of I.8, and the relationships between Irish cities and their proxim-ity to water in general are explored with drafts of I.6.

The decoupling of nature from religion is one of the most importanthistorical shifts in human attitudes toward the environment. For socialpolicy, medicine, science, literature, art, and nearly any endeavor in themodern world, the separation of the environment from divine providentialcontrol is an essential assumption

Nature woulddo what it was going to do, regardless of human actions and wishes.

The fear that grew from this new awareness clashed withresidual faith in the human ability to understand and control nature andput into question confidence in the ability of technology to effectivelymanipulate and harness natural resources.

In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, millions of liveswere lost around the world as a result of erosion, famine, disease, floods,earthquakes, tornados, hurricanes, and tsunamis, and with new develop-ments in cinema, these natural disasters were often up on the big screen,thousands of miles away, within days of their occurrence

The cycles of famine in history suggest famines willcontinually appear, as they are, after all, negative feedback cycles that con-trol populations and regulate resources such as soil, minerals, and water

lso provides an account of the celebrity of several individual worksin the life sciences during this period. For example, she discusses the en-tomologist Jean-Henri Fabre, his Souvenirs entomologiques (a series of textson insects, published from 1879 to 1909), and how his work exploded inpopularity: “Thirty-three books based on English translations of Fabre’sworks appeared in the 1910s and another in the 1920s; additionally, be-tween 1912 and 1922 The English Review intermittently printed excerptsfrom Souvenirs entomologiques and extracts appeared as well in the Fort-nightly Review and the Daily Mail” (55). 6 The popularity of entomologyduring the 1920s may explain where Joyce found some of the informationused for “The Ondt and the Gracehoper,” or at least where he found someof the ideas, as the Daily Mail was a source for the first Finnegans Wakenotebooks (at least in 1922–1924).

Anna Bramwell’s Ecology in the 20th Century: A History explainshow, during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, belief inthe perfection and indestructibility of God’s creation was replaced withthe idea of “biological holism.”

he first major text of modernist literature to express profoundengagement with the environment.

Temp untamed will hist for no man. As you spring so shall you nea

nicies and priers, the King fierceas Humphrey, with illysus distilling, exploits and all

And it steeping and stuping since this time last wik. How many goes is it I wonder I washed it? I know by heart the places he likes to saale, duddurty devil! Scorching my hand and starving my famine to make his private linen public. Wallop it well with your battle and clean it. My wrists are wrusty rubbing the mouldaw stains. And the dneepers of wet and the gangres of sin in it! What was it he did a tail at all on Animal Sendai? And how long was he under loch and neagh?

One of the reasons we have been slow to explore bodily responses inreading is our presumption that all readers have bodies that respondroughly the same. Althou

Can we mourn the dead without becoming them?The ceremonies of slave route tourism and the fantasy of return suggestthe opposite—to remember the dead is to assume their place. Yet mourn-ing need not entail stepping into the ancestors’ shoes or negating the dif-ference between us and them with the bludgeon of identification. In otherwords, can we fashion an emancipatory vision not premised on recoveryor disentangle mourning from overcoming the past

Ironically the declaration ‘‘You are back!’’ undermines the very violencethat these memorials assiduously work to present by claiming that thetourist’s excursion is the ancestor’s return. Given this, what does the journeyback bode for the present? What is surprising is that despite the emphasisplaced on remembrance and return, these ceremonies are actually unableto articulate in any decisive fashion, other than the reclamation of a trueidentity, what remembering yields.

Yet if this rupture engenders diasporicidentity, then the search for roots can only exacerbate one’s sense of beingestranged, intensify the exilic consciousness, and confirm the impossibilityof reversion.11 The want of an authentic identity and long-awaited reunionwith Africa exacerbates the crisis of homelessness

past

forgery

Mahatmas, variously termed‘Adepts, Masters of Wisdom, Masters of Compassion, or Elder Brothers’.These were not exactly spirits, but, rather, highly evolved men, ‘great-souled ones’, said to reside chiefly in Tibet and ‘thought to be part of aGreat White Brotherhood or White Lodge, who watch over and guide theevolution of humanity and who preserve the truths of the ageless wisdom’ –this much-emphasised whiteness of the Brotherhood is not without sig-nificance and reinforced the close links that existed between Aryanism andtheosophy.

egg

Row

Row

Row

Row

Row

Row

Row

Row

Row

Row

Row

Row

modernity requires skepti-cal and flexible habits of mind, habits that the early novel helped to form.

Britain in the late seventeenth century sawtwin revolutions, one in finance and the other in information. The earliest full-blown information economy was tied to the English financial revolution.

Here was found a temple belonging to the children of Ammon in olden times, and an idol of theirs seated upon a throne or chair, and made of stone overlaid with gold. Two women are represented sitting one on the right and one on the left of it, and there is an altar in front before which the Ammonites used to sacrifice and burn incense

The Greek inhabitants are very rich in gold and precious stones, and they go clothed in garments of silk with gold embroidery, and they ride horses, and look like princes. Indeed, the land is very rich in all cloth stuffs, and in bread, meat, and wine.p.23 Wealth like that of Constantinople is not to be found in the whole world. Here also are men learned in all the books of the Greeks, and they eat and drink every man under his vine and his fig-tree. They hire from amongst all nations warriors called Loazim (Barbarians) to fight with the Sultan Masud[47], King of the Togarmim (Seljuks), who are called Turks; for the natives are not warlike, but are as women who have no strength to fight.

There are also hot-water springs to the number of about twenty, which issue from the ground and are situated near the sea, and every man who has any disease can go and bathe in them and get cured. All the afflicted of Lombardy visit it in the summer-time for that purpose.

the Sabbathbecomes a sacred center, analogous to Jerusalem and the Garden of Eden,and the synagogue a miniature temple {tnikdash tn ‘at), allowing for aregular re-creation of cosmos out of chaos.

e land that is deemed holy is also unpossessable, that is, gen -erates its own diasporic force field of desire. In its most radical form,this is an imaginative license that has no geographical coordinates: it isan affirmation and reconfiguration of the Jewish word as nomadic ex -ercise and Jewish exile as a kind of literary privilege

The postmoderncritique of romantic notions of homecoming invokes the culture of ex-ile as a response to the dangers of circularity and closure. If the banish -ment from the garden is the “moment” when myth becomes history, sohistoire—both history and story, as challenged by Edmond Jabes, JacquesDerrida, and other theorists of the postmodern—is in its most reductiveform represented as the narrative of creation, exile and redemption.

Ulyssessynthesized and domesticated into a modern urban myth the Jewish andGreek paradigms of exile, one might legitimately argue that certain lit-erary traditions have exhausted their privilege and then ask what thereis in the Jewish story that warrants particular attentio

in their marginalization, in the eliminationof their functions, we find the implicit political dimension of narrative asa form

It is filled with nursery rhymes and images of flowergirls and children’s laughter. But the gaiety, according to her, is specious,bought at the price of ignoring the actual social circumstances of children’sexperience, as if “real” childhood were replaced by a symbolically expurgatedversion of itself, as if adults were lying about social conditions, idealizingchildhood as a utopian location.

His experience demonstrates the limits that class canplace on the Enlightenment’s idealization of pedagogy and the successfulsocialization of the child

He did not tell Miss Weaver that the colors were those of girls’ drawers,but his note to her did privilege “the Devil” as the primary player in thenarrative. His coming, guessing, failing, coming again, and being thwartedanother time provides the focus of the clue.

Kate

The Mime of Mick, Nick and the Maggies.” Howdoes the text allot attention among the actors in the drama? Who comesforward as the narrative progresses? Who is exiled or wounded or assigneda subordinate role? What is the function of inferiority?

This strategy serves also to bring out the so-cioformal dimension of narrative—quite apart from the dynamics that wemight infer or extrapolate from social interactions outside the form. Thecharacter system, Woloch continues, offers “not simply many interactingindividuals but many intersecting character-spaces, each of which encom-passes an embedded interaction between the discretely implied person andthe dynamically elaborated narrative form” (18)

Izod

Feenichts

he feminine object of desire always consists of two girls commun-ing with each other, corresponding to Irigaray’s two lips kissing.

yond polarity (and this problem relates to Irigaray’s vision) is that Issyis vain, aggressive, and conventional.

His mind bred vermin”

It reckons with the violence of history by “crafting a love letter to all those who had been harmed.” As Haley notes, close narration produces a different tempo of history, which some might describe as the changing same or heterogeneous time or a constellation; in other words, it is an accumulated and sedimented experience of time, a now containing multiple moments and eras, a durée unregulated by discrete and homogenized units of time, imposed periodization, and hierarchical and linear plots of history. It is all now.

ces) as an exces-sive and aberrant incursion into English social and economic circuits, due in partto her colonial orig

quite obviously sexual commodities(chorus girls, prostitutes, mistresses of wealthy men) whose economic circulationis conditioned by the requirement that they conform to predictable economic andsexual patterns. Anna is actually called "excessive" by a man she picks up earlyin the novel because she doesn't meet his expectations for how a young woman ofher station ought to behave around an older, wealthy man (13). On the same page,Anna's friend Maudie tells the assembled company that their fellow chorus girls"call [Anna] the Hottentot" because of her West Indian

Voyage's prominent sexual-economic thematics reinforce its formal interventionsand underscores the text's function as an economic commentary, as it is sexual cir-culation that is subject to narrative and economic conta

in deploying herformal strategies from a metro-colonial position, Rhys's use of identifiably mod-ernist technique contests the idea that the colonies can either be unproblemati-cally assimilated into or foreclosed from a metropolitan national imagination.

emphasizeagain how sexual economics is critical in this regard because reproducing British-ness is literally and figuratively a sexual matter.

ned as a whole body or system

n with absti-nence, or the insufficient acting out of demand, with sexological discourses of thesame period. Drawing from Lawrence Birken's insights on the direct conceptualsharing of neoclassical economics and sexology in the late nineteenth century, inwhich consumption is likened to sexual activity and de

on, Rhys expressly conflates colonial and sexualassimilation to the national body with distinct measures of economic managementand ultimately renders an alternative economic form of Englishness through hernovelistic techniqu

My account replicates the very order of violence that it writes against by placing yetanother demand upon the girl, by requiring that her life be made useful or instructive, byfinding in it a lesson for our future or a hope for history.

Delia, Drana, Renty, and Jack were the photographic subjects of Louis Aggasiz’sstudy of polygenesis; Aranchna was one of the eleven enslaved women experimented on by Morton Sims, thefounder of gynecology. See Harriet W

Anarcha

2 Others appear under the pressure and incitement of discourse: A flagellant and aHottentot. A sulky bitch. A dead negréss. A syphilitic whore.