The Politics ofInterdictive Jurisprudence:Interrogative Practices andPsychological Evaluations (Gemütszustandsuntersuchungen) in the Adjudication of Civil Interdiction Cases before Berlin's District Courts (1877-1914).

“A Revolution in Labor”: African Americans and Hybrid Labor Activism in Illinois during the Early Jim Crow Era

Thinking with the Nation"National" Literatures at the Cusp Sukanya Banerjee (bio) Critical discussions of the nineteenth-century nation tend to be anachronistic inasmuch as we retrofit contemporary notions of the nation into nineteenth-century politico-cultural formations. One can be forgiven for this anachronistic move because nineteenth-century literary and cultural history bears ample evidence of the singularity with which the spirit of nationalism imbued itself in and through aesthetic and cultural practices, be it in Romantic imaginings or the literary artifact of the Victorian novel. However, it is worth noting that the object of nationalism—the nation—remained considerably opaque throughout the century. Incidentally, while the French Revolution is widely understood to mark the point at which state power begins to affix itself to national sentiment, the sovereign nation-state was hardly a ubiquitous phenomenon until about the mid-twentieth century.1 But it is also the case that the nation itself was quite amorphous over the course of the nineteenth century. Even as Walter Bagehot authored a definitive treatise on what is a key instrument of nationhood, the constitution (in this case, the English constitution), he also mused: "But what are nations?"2 The opacity of the nation arose not so much from its mutability (changing borders) but from the uncertainty regarding its organizing logic. What was the coherent element around which a community imagined itself? Was it language? Was it race? How much could one put store in territoriality, which, after all, could shift? As twenty-first century readers and scholars, we are all too familiar with the artifice of the nation, the fact of its constructedness. But so were thinkers in the nineteenth [End Page 84] century. What does it mean, then, to read this contingency back into the nineteenth century, when nations were are at various stages of making, nonmaking, and unmaking? How does such a chronologically apposite view impinge upon our otherwise unitary understanding of "national literature" or "national tradition" that a post–Second World War critical and political legacy has bequeathed us? How might revisiting the nation in the late nineteenth century, at the cusp, in fact, between the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, reorient our thinking about the nation and the critical frameworks that it might generate? In addressing these questions, I want to consider analytical frameworks that might be apropos to the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries given that this was a period that came in the wake of the Italian Risorgimento and German unification but also witnessed an upsurge in anticolonial agitation as well as colonial nationalisms that understood sovereignty and affiliation as nested, layered, and dispersed.3 The idea of the nation was very much in the air in Britain, too, where national sovereignty had been continually negotiated through franchise reform (the latest installment in 1882) and national identity found expression in patriotic jingoism attending the Boer wars. But the British nation was also inextricable from its empire, and if, as Hedinger and Hee point out, the tendency of "transnational history" is to "nationalize empires," such that "imperial history is read as the history of a nation-state beyond its borders,"4 then it is worth noting the inadequacy of the transnational as an analytical template in this context, not least because of the impossibility of reading the British nation as a discrete formation. In trying to read the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century nation and the literatures and traditions that gathered under its rubric, it might be productive, instead, to consider theories of nation extant in the nineteenth century, which is to say, to read through the nineteenth century and with the Victorians—widely understood—rather than retrospectively superimpose our late twentieth- and twenty-first-century critical frameworks upon them. At one level, then, I am making a temporal argument about our reading of the nation, suggesting that while we tend to read back into the nineteenth- and early twentieth-century nation and its literatures and cultures, we should focus instead on the nineteenth century and use that as a basis for reading [End Page 85] forward. Evidently, the famed temporal paradoxes of the nation inflect our reading habits, as well. But why focus on the...

Sámi Literature in Norwegian Language Arts Textbooks

I This paper will trace the evolution of the attitudes expressed by the Scottish Clerks' Association (SCA) towards women in clerical work in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century. For women trying to establish careers in office work it was necessary to be accepted as colleagues by men in organisations like the SCA. But, as Sylvia Walby noted, explanations of the increasing presence of women in clerical work in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century have emphasised the role of employers as the main actors in the feminisation of clerical work, while the resistance (or acceptance) by male clerks has been given less attention.' The evolution of the SCA's attitudes illustrates such resistance and then the growth of a kind of acceptance of women clerks in the early twentieth century; but this acceptance was within the context of male clerks' attempts to restructure their occupational group in order to preserve the better jobs for themselves. Clerical work as an occupation was ripe for restructuring due to the changes it was undergoing by the late nineteenth century. Earlier in that century, clerical work had been work mainly for men, in small offices, in close proximity to the owner of the firm. Men in clerical work would expect to support their families through that work, possibly to rise to become businessmen themselves, and to feel secure in their masculinity throughout their working lives. But by the end of the nineteenth century, the intimate, secure, small offices so often portrayed by Dickens were changing dramatically. Expanding enterprises in large-scale manufacturing, finance and transport required much larger offices and many more clerks than Dombey or Scrooge ever required. Even in small enterprises, increasing competitive pressures prompted greater attention to business decisions like costing and purchasing, and thus more thorough and careful record keeping and reporting were needed. In addition, a greater interest by the state in profitability and employment also created the need for increased record keeping and reporting. All of

Reviewed by: Organic Memory: History and the Body in the Late Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries John Limon Organic Memory: History and the Body in the Late Nineteenth and Early Twentieth Centuries. Laura Otis. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1994. Pp. 297. $37.50. “Organic memory” is a tidy phrase for a messy confusion of what can be inherited and what can be remembered. Especially in the last third of the last century, according to Laura Otis’s [End Page 164] compendious study, scientists and litterateurs alike were preoccupied with bad analogies of genetic inheritance, cultural heritage, and memory. Lump them sufficiently, and peoples (defined by geography and /or culture and /or race and /or language) may be conceived as corporate people; just as human individuals are integrated by personal memories, nations may be united by racial ones. Not for nothing would the portentous muddles of organic memory seduce German polymaths. But wherever national identity was at issue in the late nineteenth century into the twentieth, as for example in Spain after 1898, the organic memory idea was a temptation. Otis’s study is largely a history of that idea, born out of Lamarckian biology and Haeckel’s law that ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny; refined at the border of experiment and prophecy by such thinkers as Ewald Hering and Théodule Ribot; adapted for fictional purposes by Emile Zola and ironized by Thomas Mann and Thomas Hardy; translated into twentieth-century intellectual culture by Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung. (I have named only a few of the major players in Organic Memory. Otis’s book is nothing if not populated.) The book crosses several frontiers (national, epochal, disciplinary) with nonchalant courage. And Otis’s scholarship excavates a deep source of material on questions of transcendent modern importance. What is the relationship of individuals and nations? Can memory be located in a place? Can spatialized memories find their way to the genetic blueprint of bodies? All literary criticism must now, by a universally observed rule, pass as metacriticism; my only basic reservation about Otis’s book is that on that level, I am not sure what she has shown. Otis opens Organic Memory quoting an incredulous challenge from a graduate student in neuroscience: “Why would anyone want to study the literature from past times?” (vii) Metacriticism, apparently, is the first order of business; the working hypotheses of Organic Memory are that we study literature because it foregrounds metaphors that inform all thinking, even scientific thinking, and that we study “literature from past times” because the past hardly ever does us the favor of dying. Of course, some ideas do fade away, scientific ones, preëminently—for example, organic memory. But they fade away only as science. Done in as science by their essential metaphoricity, they may linger elsewhere precisely by virtue of metaphoric power. The study of literature brings that hidden source of power to light, where it can do us less damage. At the beginning and end of her book, Otis is explicit about what damage organic memory has already done: Nazis and Serbs are much on her mind. The unexamined assumption (barely qualified on a couple of occasions) is that bad ideas have bad consequences. But implicit throughout the book is a lesson murkier than the one Otis herself infers from it. Part of the problem is that “organic memory” conflates, I think, two ideas: first that genetic inheritance should be conceived as a kind of memory; second, that actual memories are transmitted genetically. The former is probably more conducive to racist appropriation: racial similarity would seem, in its terms, to imply national identity. The latter, Lamarckian conception could be essentially inclusive, since hundreds of years of shared memories (as by Germans and Jews) would begin to produce genetic overlap. No wonder that two German Jews, Moritz Lazarus and Heymann Steinthal, are near the center of Otis’s story. And the presence of Freud (with Jung—but not as distinct from Jung as one had thought) at the culmination of the narrative makes it clear that exclusive conceptions of race did not have to be, by any logical entailment, essential to conceptions of organic memory. Racial memories might be shared...

Revolutionary Violence and the Rise of the Art Novel

The first work of Jewish art to attract scholarly attention toward the end of the nineteenth century was the “Sarajevo Haggadah,” a medieval illuminated manuscript from Iberia. It was eventually published in Vienna in 1898. A few years earlier, one of the few surviving synagogues in Spain, a building commissioned by Samuel Halevi Abulafia in Toledo (1356), had been declared a national monument, and since 1910 the site has functioned as a museum. A dramatic turning point in the historiography of Jewish art occurred in 1932, with the discovery of the 3rd-century synagogue at Dura Europos in modern Syria. In the years to follow, numerous other synagogues and illuminated manuscripts were first documented and were later analyzed and contextualized. The late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries also saw the establishment of several collections of Jewish ritual objects. Whereas medieval finds in this field are extremely rare, such collections are relatively rich in early modern objects. Illuminated manuscripts began to appear in Jewish societies in the tenth century in the Middle East and around the 1230s in Iberia, France, the German lands, and Italy. Although numerous ancient synagogues have been unearthed by modern archaeologists, architectural remains from the Middle Ages are extremely sparse. The earliest structure that was still standing in 1938 was a Romanesque synagogue in Worms. Having been destroyed in November 1938 by the Nazis, it was reconstructed by the German authorities in 1961. Other structures were to follow, and the oldest continuously functioning synagogue (from c. 1280) is found in Prague. By the late nineteenth century, few medieval synagogues in Iberia that had passed into Christian hands in the course of the fifteenth century and after the expulsions of the Jews from Iberia in the 1490s were still standing. Several archaeological campaigns since the late twentieth century have revealed further remains. Significantly, more structures survive at various locations in Europe from the Early Modern period. What is described here as works of Jewish art were not always produced by Jews. Hence, the definition of “Jewish art” in the Middle Ages and the Early Modern period does not necessarily or solely depend on any artists’ identities. For the purpose of this survey, Jewish art will thus not be defined by means of its makers, but rather by means of its users. It refers to art not necessarily made by but for Jews, art that thus functioned as a fermenter in the formation of Jewish cultures. In many fields of Jewish art, the role played by preferences of Jewish patrons is still in need of serious attention in modern scholarship.

The Last Ottoman Generation and the Making of the Modern Middle East

The research purpose. The article under consideration is devoted to the problem of reconstructing the everyday life of Mariupol residents in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The author summarises certain results of its study and, on the basis of materials from reference books, periodicals, photographic documents, and sources of personal origin, identifies the most important components of urban everyday life, old and new cultural practices, and the time cycle of the city's life. The main research findings. The research reveals that the urban culture of Mariupol, like many commercial and industrial centres of southern Ukraine, especially since the late nineteenth century, has been developing in new realities. The specific combination of functions, including 'port city' and 'large industrial centre', in the economy of Mariupol, its involvement in foreign trade, and the active participation of foreign citizens (merchants and industrialists) in the economic and social life of the city, resulted in a rapid westernisation of urban everyday life, especially in the early twentieth century. Consequently, the gap between the culture of urban elites and ordinary residents gradually disappeared. It has been demonstrated that this phenomenon is most clearly evident in the emergence of infrastructure common to all categories of the population, as well as in the development of shared urban spaces for leisure activities, such as recreational areas, including city gardens and squares, as well as theatres and cinemas. The wider use of technical means had a significant impact on the city's entertainment culture and its mass appeal, particularly in the fields of communications, public transport, cinema and mass media. The early 20th century witnessed a significant telephonisation of the city, ranking it second only to the provincial city of Katerynoslav in terms of its telephone coverage. Concurrently, new routes, including automobile ones, were established to connect the city with its industrial suburbs and the port. Plans for the introduction of trams were also discussed in the city council. Cinemas, a popular form of leisure, emerged not only in the city centre but also in suburban working-class communities. Concurrently, the daily city newspaper, Mariupolskaya Zhizn, was established. The city witnessed the opening of two gymnasiums, a network of primary schools, libraries, and bookstores, contributing to the enhancement of residents' awareness regarding health, nutrition, clothing, and leisure. Conclusions. Despite the numerous changes that have occurred, it has been determined that the influence of the Greek community of immigrants from the Crimea has remained the most significant, despite its significant decline in proportion to other ethnic groups that constituted the city's population in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. This is particularly evident in the preservation of names in the urban topography of the old part of the city, which is associated with the Crimean period of the Greek community's history, as well as in the preservation of certain production and festive practices and food traditions. This phenomenon is particularly evident in the preservation of names in the urban topography of the old part of the city, which are associated with the Crimean period of the Greek community's history. It is also evident in the preservation of certain production and festive practices and food traditions. Key words: Mariupol, everyday life, citizens, urbanisation, urban space, urban culture.

Since the early twentieth century, anthropologists have been including issues related to food into their scholarly scope (B. Malinowski, E. Evans-Pritchard, C. Lévi-Strauss, etc.). Food-culture studies (or culinary culture) examine the production, distribution, consumption, and ingredients of food products and analyse elements of culture related to food. One of the directions of food-culture studies is the gender approach, which considers subordination in female communities and ethno-social factors. The article’s aim is to study the attributes of the bol’shukha’s power (Rus. большуха) in Karelian peasant culture between the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, which was part of everyday practices and played a symbolic role in the in-group stratification of the female community. The author studies attributes connected with the “culinary” topic, i. e. the stove, the dough bowl, and the samovar, referring to testimonies of contemporaries published in the press. She also uses archival documents, the materials of ethnographic expeditions, and linguistic data (dialectal speech and dictionaries). The Russian history of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was characterised by the preservation of certain elements of the rural population’s traditional lifestyle while it was being modernised in the course of reforms. For the purposes of the article, the author adds the samovar to the traditional symbols of a housewife (the stove and the dough bowl) as it had become widespread by the late nineteenth century and was placed on the women’s side of the table in Karelian households. Having certain household objects demonstrated a woman’s status in the in-group hierarchy. The research focus chosen by the author is relevant for cultural anthropology and women’s studies, helping us form an idea of how women organised and realised hierarchy within their communities. The gender approach adds to our knowledge about the social practices and life experience of women’s communities and takes into account factors of ethnicity.

Capitalism, Protectionism, and Beer Wars in Rock Island, 1880–1900

The Women's Ordination Movement in the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints: Historical and Sociological Perspectives

The Idea of the Muslim World: A Global Intellectual History

Deseret Hospital, Women, and the Perils of Modernization

The Way She Looks: A History of Female Gazes in African Portraiture—Photographs from the Walther Collection