It is usually assumed that the maidens in Chaucer’s Sir Thopas who ‘mourn’ for him ‘when hem were bet to slepe’ are a parodic misunderstanding of the habit of romance knights of mourning for their ladies. This chapter argues that the maiden in love who passes sleepless nights lamenting is characteristic of a significant proportion of the metrical romances that Chaucer is imitating; it is the number of the maidens, the moralistic attitude to their sleep and the suppression of their agency that constitute the joke.

Claude Chabrol's La Cérémonie can be considered the pinnacle of his career so far. But not only is La Cérémonie a masterful film in its own right, it can also be seen as a compendium of some of the motifs that characterise Chabrol's work as a whole. Above and beyond individual cases, the fait divers as a form can be usefully compared to Chabrol's cinema in general. The film thus functions both as a thriller and, in a political sense, as an illustration of the class war which Chabrol continues to observe in French society. The representation of Sophie, Violette and Julie as variations on the femme fatale is partly dependent on Chabrol's use of the expressionist mise en scène associated with film noir. Ambivalence characterises Chabrol's male characters, for example the noble avenger-cowardly liar Charles in Que la bête meure or the white knight-greedy manipulator Wolf in Masques.

Book Three begins with the arrival of the Hirsau reformers at Petershausen, including a brief biography of the reforming abbot Theodoric (r. 1086–1116) and a detailed description of his material renovation of the monastery. An extended series of miracles, visions, and anecdotes follow, many of which serve as subtle commentaries on the success and challenges of the reform. The book then describes the efforts of the monks to establish and manage daughter houses, which presents many setbacks and challenges for the monastery. In the midst of these efforts, the investiture controversy emerges again, but this time at the local level. Conflict and even a short exile ensue when a pro-imperial bishop is installed at Constance. After the conflict ends in Theodoric’s favor, an account of his death follows, commemorating his unique character and contributions to the library.

Railway stations provide the setting for meetings and departures.Trains roaring through contrast with the bleakness of an emptyplatform after farewells have been made. Several UK stations havedrawn on Brief Encounter as a name for refreshment rooms. CarnforthStation, now described as ‘The Home of Brief Encounter’, has made amajor tourist attraction out of its contact with the actual filmingof the night scenes there. It replicates the film’s tea room,screens the film daily, and has a shop full of souvenir artefacts ofthe film.

Sanctuary legislation is used in many different contexts. What the so-called ‘sanctuary cities’ have in common is that city authorities actively ignore people’s legal status when conducting business with their inhabitants. Thus, while drawing on humanitarian principles, sanctuary practices often have a pragmatic side. For example, the variety of legal and residency statuses of people living together in a city have often resulted in complicated organisational and social networks, the disruption of which by immigration authorities would endanger social peace. This tension has been framed as a contradiction between national requirements and a post-national local reality, a tension that sanctuary practices might be seen as responding to. This chapter draws on these contradictions between the national and the post-national to explore in metropolitan areas discussion of the future role of the local and of statehood is being made and remade in response to concerns around national identity and post-national populations. Sanctuary in these contexts emerges as an urban policy framing that results from such discussions. The chapter thus argues that if sanctuary legislation is a sign of political change in the perception and organisation of migration, it may also signal the changing nature and significance of the nation-state in an interconnected and increasingly urbanised world.

This chapter considers renderings of the fall of the angels narrative in the homilies of Ælfric and Archbishop Wulfstan of York. Ælfric explores the complex relationship between sovereigns and disobedient subjects, imagining the angelic fall as a crisis of individual agency. Wulfstan adopts Ælfric’s approach in the wake of the viking invasions. With Wulfstan, I work to overturn some predominant readings of his famous Sermo Lupi ad Anglos (namely, that he characterises the vikings as heralds of Antichrist). Armed with the doctrine of replacement as his rhetorical weapon, Wulfstan suggests that the English body politic has instead come to resemble the rebel order of angels, implying that the vikings could supplant them and take their place as ‘replacements,’ inbound colonisers destined for heavenly seats. Just as the originally pagan Anglo-Saxons had been replacements for the sinful Christian Britons, Wulfstan urges Anglo-Saxon Christians not to cede to the vikings their providential role in salvation history.

By the end of the 1940s, Lance Comfort had established a solid record of achievement in 'A' features, primarily in the melodramatic mode. Towards the end of the 1940s and the early 1950s, the dominant figures in the British cinema's corner of the field of cultural production were those whose output could be seen as having literary or social realist affiliations. This was the period of the ascendancy of Carol Reed, David Lean and Anthony Asquith, all of whom enjoyed critically privileged positions in British cinema. In a field dominated by the likes of those, a number of directors who had made some mark in the 1940s were to find difficulties in conducting careers at the same level in the succeeding decades. Among those who, like Comfort, had made their names and their most attractive films in the melodramatic mode were Leslie Arliss, Bernard Knowles, Arthur Crabtree and Lawrence Huntington.

This chapter explains why an understanding of the political economy of security is important, especially in East Asia. It details the geopolitical conditions that have made politics and economics such inextricably intertwined, mutually constitutive forces across the region. The historical experience of the East Asian half of the Asia-Pacific serves as a powerful reminder that international orders are ultimately social processes, which are realized within specific geopolitical circumstances. The chapter briefly introduces some of the more important theoretical innovations that have made the political economy perspective such an important part of contemporary debates about security and international relations. It gives more detailed consideration to the East Asian experience, explaining what is distinctive about it, as well as how and why East Asian political elites have been keen to promote and defend their approaches to development.

The first sound film, Don Juan, was made in August 1926. Many of the so-called sound films appearing over the next three years were basically silent films with occasional sections of spoken dialogue. During these years, many silent films were made without dialogue or sound effects, and they reveal the extent to which silent filmmaking had, at this point in its development, attained an extremely high level of creative artistry. This chapter discusses three films which had qualities that tended to disappear once speech was substituted for the richness and depth of meaning inherent in a structure based on the visual. The films are: Casanova, made by Russian exiles who fled to France following the Russian Revolution; Victor Sjöström's The Wind and G. W. Pabst's Diary of a Lost Girl. The very first European sound films date from 1930. Diary of a Lost Girl was Pabst's last silent film.