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No city occupies as many paradoxical positions in the popular imagination as Los Angeles. It is the new frontier and the end of the trail; it is American Eden and Babylon by the Pacific; it is by turns celebrated and condemned for its diversity; it is the city of perpetual renewal and the city of imminent apocalypse. This collection reveals LA in all its contradictions by documenting a literary tradition as kaleidoscopic and cacophonous as the city itself. The writings explored by Los Angeles: A Literary History record how a dusty cow town morphed into a global metropolis within a matter of decades, and how this unprecedented transformation came to define the experience of modernity. Los Angeles's literature has long gone underappreciated, the city's culture dismissed as flat and frivolous: this volume upturns that narrative, reshaping American literary history by resituating LA as its beating heart.
How might we read Paul Laurence Dunbar as a poet of place and landscape? Dunbar wrote his poetry in an era where local color, regionalism, and realism were dominant forces in American literature, and his poetry engages in complex ways with these generic traditions. At the same time, Dunbar’s poetry, particularly his writing in non-dialect verse, is deeply influenced by his lifelong study of and engagement with British Romantic and Victorian poetic traditions, and the modes of environmental representation through apostrophe, lyric meditation, and balladic narrative central to these traditions. I read Dunbar’s explorations of place and landscape in dialogue with these intersecting influences, in and through which Dunbar develops a sustained reflection on struggle, displacement, violence, and unfreedom as the fundamental conditions of Black experience in the post-Reconstruction era United States. Less oriented by local specificity or realist detail, evocations of landscape and place in Dunbar’s work engender abstract and self-reflexive meditations on terrains of anti-Black violence and pain as well as sites of retreat and resilience in the face of these conditions.
Chapter 1 assesses the evidence beyond the charter corpus for literary activity in Kent, Mercia and Wessex in the mid-ninth century. This evidence comprises five categories: surviving manuscripts with contemporary English provenances, letters, inscribed objects, the events of the 850s, and Asser’s account of King Alfred’s childhood engagement with books. The importance of understanding survival patterns and the nature of the evidence is stressed, particularly because attempts were rarely made to preserve letters for posterity, and because different ways of engaging with books and inscribed objects generated varyingly large fingerprints for twenty-first-century eyes. Asser’s famous account, furthermore, needs to be approached with caution, though it does in several ways align with the impression of literary activity that one gets from mid-ninth-century sources. A good deal remains unknown about many of the contexts in which literary activity took place, but it is nonetheless clear that the written word was conspicuous in many mid-ninth-century social settings, despite the likelihood that in some contexts resources for new literary productions were limited. Much of this literary culture was fundamentally social, and it was often inspired by international exchange.
This Element argues that the sex worker character in crime narratives, often dismissed as a flat stereotype or mere plot device, actively performs crucial narratological labor that shapes the novel's realism and challenges conventional understandings of character, agency, and social reproduction. By applying Alex Woloch's theory of character-space and drawing on contemporary Black feminist scholarship that privileges power, pleasure, and desire, this study reveals how sex worker characters, through their evolving representation from marginal figures to central agents, resist narrative containment and illuminate broader socio-cultural tensions surrounding gender, class, and authority within the genre.
Plantations are major drivers of biodiversity loss, habitat degradation, and climate change. They find root in (neo)colonial logics of mastery and progress that position nature as a passive resource, exploited to serve (certain) humans' ends. Yet the rise and fall of plantations have never been determined entirely by those humans and institutions who claim to create and control them. Rather, plantations are animated by entangled processes of multispecies extraction, extinction, and emergence. This Element considers the violence and vulnerabilities engendered by plantations for differently positioned humans and non-humans-from indentured labourers, displaced communities, and environmental activists, to soils, parasites, and crops. It examines how acts of resistance, alliance, and solidarity have challenged the dominance of plantations over places, plants, and peoples. Approaching plantations as fertile sites for theorizing inter- and intra-human relations, the Element unearths in their troubled terrains unexpected yet urgent possibilities for cultivating counter-plantation futures and multispecies justice.
In the vital traditions of women of color feminisms, queer of color critique, and aligned projects disidentified from majoritarian worlds, this Element focuses attention on how we continue to work in and with the attenuating conditions of academic life.There is, it suggests, hope to be found, nurtured, and elicited amid the difficulties of the present. This Element does not romanticize or assign nobility or moral purpose to teaching or to scholarly life more broadly. Rather, it elaborates an understanding of teaching as a name for how we go about building collectivities, sensibilities, and social formations organized by and around mutuality, reciprocity, and solidarity. This Element remembers the classroom to be any space dedicated to the work of collectively thinking hard, and one in which we rehearse the forms of relation, social being, and collegiality we wish to proliferate.
William Sancho was the son of Ignatius Sancho, one of the eighteenth century's most important Black Britons. In contrast to his father, however, William's life has never been fully explored. This Element builds a new evidential trail to uncover a multifaceted career that saw the younger Sancho undertake an apprenticeship and become a bookseller, rate-paying citizen and well-connected man about town. Sancho also contributed to the early vaccination movement and the campaign against slavery. Remarkable as elements of it were, Sancho's story makes sound historical sense for someone so deeply embedded within the country's burgeoning entrepreneurial, literate, male-dominated, metropolitan and imperially-focused public sphere. Sancho was a Black man who lived a distinctly 'British' life: his importance stands on its own terms, but also alters our perspectives of what these two historical labels have traditionally implied, and the experiences that were possible as part of them.
This Element explores how twenty-first century Iranian filmmakers have applied elements from Persian culture to the horror genre. Although horror films have not often been a part of the rich Iranian cinematic tradition due in part to censorship laws following the 1979 revolution, I argue that a small group of directors has made provocative use of the genre. The first section draws on theories of monstrosity to examine the re-contextualisation of pre-revolutionary film tropes in the work of Fereydoun Jeyrani. The second section examines how Mohammad Hossein Latifi uses the slasher to navigate debates around female university students. The third section discusses Shahram Mokri's use of single takes to facilitate horror's function as social critique. The final section examines the depiction of politics and history in the films of Mani Haghighi. The analysis reveals Iranian horror to be both a vibrant tradition and valuable for understanding the genre's global importance.
This Element theorizes the emergence of the girl as the ideal subject of Western imperialist power. Feminist anti-imperialist scholars have long argued that imperialism operates through the global North's claim to be the savior of voiceless, victimized women and girls in the global South. However, during the global war on terrorism, the military and development organizations of the global North shifted their practices and rhetoric in response to the popularization of this feminist anti-imperialist critique. Focusing on this key historical shift, Theory of the Counterinsurgent Girl argues that hegemonic Western cultural and military strategies have moved away from 'saving' women to 'empowering' girls, in keeping with the neoliberal emphasis on individual resilience and agency. This Element traces the rise to dominance of the figure of the agential girl, analyzing how she has been incorporated into decision-making, securitizing, and policing operations as both a surveillance tool and a social justice goal.
Chapter 1 offers an overview of the larger themes addressed by the book, focusing on the question of contingency and how letters can be considered as literary ‘works’. The chapter argues that chance or happenstance itself governs letters and letter-writing both in material and in affective or conceptual ways. It proposes that the ‘radical contingency’ of letters can be said to set them apart from literary works more specifically conceived, in the sense that the latter do not generally and in principle hold a primary or formative connection with the specific events surrounding their composition. The chapter argues that the question of contingency connects with Keats’s governing ideas about life – with what he repeatedly refers to in his letters as life’s ‘circumstances’, ‘chance’, or ‘accidents’.
Romanticism Bewitched concludes with a discussion of Joanna Baillie’s Gothic tragedy, Witchcraft, written as a response to what she believed to be a missed opportunity by Scott in his novel, The Bride of Lammermoor, to explore the psychological and social dimensions of the rise of witchcraft. The first section outlines the similarities between Scott’s novel and Macbeth. Both Scott’s novel and Shakespeare’s tragedy take place in Scotland in a politically precarious moment with squabbling factions and dwindling confidence in the central authority of the government. In the second section, Baillie argues that the decidedly unsympathetic treatment of the female supernatural by Scott and others perpetuates damaging stereotypes and diverts our attention from the real problem – a social structure founded on inequity. Baillie’s tragedy explores the outbreak of accusations of witchcraft as the consequence of a diseased patriarchy and the abdication of the responsibilities of fathers, literally within the family unit and figuratively as the representatives of the authority of church and state.