This chapter theorizes place as both an object and an agent of renewal, taking, as its case study, Ben Jonson’s revision of Every Man in His Humour. Although the play was set in Florence when first performed by the Lord Chamberlain’s Men in 1598, Jonson shifts that setting to London when preparing Every Man in His Humour for his 1616 folio. Beneath this remarkable change lie several striking continuities, including Jonson’s repeated allusions to the New World. Such allusions are effectively reprinted in the 1616 folio, and yet they are simultaneously rewritten through Jonson’s change of setting. To trace the effects of such rewriting, the chapter documents the deepening imbrication of England and the New World in the first decades of the seventeenth century, showing, in turn, how Jonson’s revisions of Every Man in His Humour both acknowledge and manage the consequences of this imbrication for his comedy of humors.

Physiological CTG interpretation refers to the application of knowledge of fetal pathophysiology and responses to hypoxic and non-hypoxic intrauterine stresses when interpreting changes in fetal heart rate observed on the CTG trace. The onset of regular uterine contractions that progressively increase in frequency, duration and strength as labour advances causes intermittent hypoxic stress to fetuses. Most can withstand such interruptions in the delivery of oxygen and transient accumulation of carbon dioxide and metabolic by-products without sustaining tissue hypoxia and the onset of metabolic acidosis or the development of metabolic acidosis in high-priority central organs resulting in neurological injury. International Expert Consensus Guidelines on Physiological CTG interpretation (2018) recommended the exclusion of pre-existing fetal compromise by looking for decompensation of fetal central organs at the start of CTG monitoring and determining features of different types of hypoxia and response to stress. The revised international consensus statement (2024) included relative uteroplacental insufficiency and fetal inflammation (chorioamnionitis) in the classification table.

The first part of this chapter examines how commentators in both adversarial and inquisitorial systems have looked to the other system as a means to prevent wrongful convictions. Those in adversarial systems have been attracted to inquisitorial commitments to truth-finding, aversion to plea bargaining and fact-based appellate revisions. Those in inquisitorial systems have looked to the role of the defence counsel in calling and cross-examining witnesses and public and transparent fact-finding. The second part illustrates some differences among inquisitorial systems by contrasting the correction of wrongful convictions in Sweden and Norway and the different use of guilty pleas in China and Taiwan. The next part examines how German, Italian, French, Chilean and Japanese systems remedy wrongful convictions, including through fact-based revision procedures. Finally, trends in the use of guilty pleas and summary procedures in those countries are examined. Although it is diminishing, inquisitorial systems still have an advantage over adversarial systems because of their caution in relying on guilty pleas and summary procedures for serious offences.

This chapter examines the changing reception of Charles Harpur’s poetry. Firstly, it considers the valuing of Harpur as a nature poet, and secondly, the impact of literary theory on interpretative approaches. It then outlines a third phase that is text-historical or text-critical, and which is attentive to the poems’ multiple moments of composition and revision. The chapter discusses Harpur’s navigation of colonial readership, and how he experimented with a range of voices. It includes an examination of his translations that are related, in part, to Harpur’s fascination with the role of the poet and with other poets, such as Coleridge.

Chapter 4 examines how the uncanny status of the automobile in Edwardian England (at once a foreign novelty, and offering a return to familiar destinations cut off by the railway) lends itself to themes of revision and romance in James’s writing. In most critical readings of James’s ‘motor-story’, ‘The Velvet Glove’, the car features primarily as a clue from which to identify the tale’s ‘real-life’ heroine, Edith Wharton. This chapter argues that the role of the automobile is much more intrinsic, with regard both to the story’s self-conscious biographical encodings and to its ironic posturing as a romance. Drawing on contemporary treatments of the motor car in music-hall songs, newspapers, and the popular chauffeur romance, as well as James’s personal correspondence and travel essays, the chapter demonstrates how the car contributes to the tale’s structured series of revelations. John Berridge’s fascination with the adventures of mobile strangers also refers to specific experiences made possible by the motor car, whose ambivalent reception inflects the story’s atmosphere of ‘supreme strangeness’.

What happens to submissions to a journal such as Research on Language and Social Interaction which publishes close, technically sophisticated analysis of interaction? What do its editors look for? We begin by explaining why submission might be desk-rejected: it might be simply unsuitable in topic or methodology for the journal, or it might be that it is somehow not quite up to standard. Methodologically sound work on a topic of interest to the EM/CA community will pass the first hurdle and be sent out for review by knowledgeable peers. Reviewers will report on the strength of the argument, the relation of the work to what is already known, and the quality of the analysis. Most papers at this stage will receive an encouraging invitation to revise and resubmit according to the reviewers’ comments and the editors’ recommendations. The revision, to pass the next stage, should be accompanied by a closely written, collegially written commentary on what the authors have done with the reviewers’ comments. The editors will scrutinize the revision and the covering letter very carefully; if all is well, then, with one last round of very minor tidying up, all is set for publication.

Clare’s declaration that he ‘found the poems in the fields, and only wrote them down’ is, to some extent, pretence; however quickly he might compose, he corrects and revises from very early on, before he gets any guidance from others. The more he writes, the more he confronts the inevitable problem of repetition: his solutions can be seen in the concentrated echoes and references back and forth between poems. The manuscripts in all their teeming detail demonstrate his determination to get things right. Once publication arrives he has to contend with the conflicting demands of editors, publishers, and supporters; there are vexed questions of taste and politics. As he moves towards The Shepherd’s Calendar, however keen his desire for independence, increasingly the process becomes collaborative. When his life is turned upside down with the move to Northborough in 1832, his deeply personal poems of loss are worked on with extraordinary intensity.

Author Kiewra has submitted many manuscripts, served on several editorial boards, and was a journal editor. He finds the review process flawed. Ask three academics to review a manuscript and expect an arms race of criticisms and recommendations. Also expect editors to behave like managers instead of scholars. Many line up reviewers, parrot their comments, and make no judgment of their own. Regardless, authors must know how to handle submissions that were rejected or given a second chance. If rejected, join the club. Top-tier journals reject about 90 percent of submissions, so don’t get discouraged. One productive scholar said, “You have to learn how to take criticism and rejection because we’re pretty critical of each other, and reviewers can sometimes be brutal.” Consider resubmitting your work elsewhere. Another scholar said, “You can always find a home for a paper in a second-tier journal.” Do a happy dance if you receive a revise and resubmit decision. The reviews provide a roadmap for acceptance. Follow that revision map. When you resubmit, include a response letter that specifies how and where you addressed each reviewer point. Also, accept the blame and be polite, respectful, thankful, and positive.

This chapter examines the context and consequences of the Registry ReVision project from the perspective of its management ideas and practices. While championed by Herman von Hebel, newly elected registrar of the court in 2013, ReVision was a long-term project of institutional transformation fostered and executed by external consultants, internal experts, judges, and staff members. While taking place in a wider context of court contention and dissent from certain quarters, ReVision told a uniquely managerial story about the court’s deficiencies and future organisational needs in ways that prioritised certain contexts, problems, and voices over others. And although its effect was to depoliticise the court, it simultaneously offered this effort as the extent and limit of the court’s own political ambitions. By surveying the actors, practices, and documentation of ReVision, this chapter offers an account of the reorganisation as a project of professional comfort.

Many factors have worked against an understanding of the genesis of Die Zauberflöte. Few of the composer’s letters mention it. The work has no single dramatic or operatic model. Only a couple of sketches and drafts survive, and the autograph score is relatively free of significant compositional changes. Mozart did not live to see a revised production. The gaps have traditionally been filled with speculations and false histories: the claim that Karl Ludwig Giesecke was a co-author (he wasn’t); an assertion that the text in the libretto and score was not original (it is); a hypothesis of the creators’ change of plans mid-stream, leading to discontinuities between Acts 1 and 2 (this does not hold up); and endless theories of planned symbolism and allegory (mostly wild beyond credibility). But there is evidence of the opera’s creation in the libretto and its construction; in the autograph score; in surviving material from early performances; and in stage directions and other scenic clues. The picture that emerges suggests an opera that was much less stable than has been assumed, and of a work that underwent revision just like most stage works of the late eighteenth century.