Thinking with the Nation: "National" Literatures at the Cusp

Sámi Literature in Norwegian Language Arts Textbooks

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

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

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

Immigrant Positioning in Twentieth-Century Mexico: Middle Easterners, Foreign Citizens, and Multiculturalism

The RLDS Church, Global Denominations, and Globalization: Why the Study of Denominations Still Matters

Revolutionary Violence and the Rise of the Art Novel

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...

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

vol. 6, 2014 Copyright © 2014 The Pennsylvania State University, University Park, PA The year 2013 marked the twenty-fifth anniversary of the publication of Lawrence Levine’s Highbrow/ Lowbrow: The Emergence of Cultural Hierarchy in America. The book was immediately, and wildly, influential among American cultural historians and students of American literature. I remember attending a national meeting shortly after it came out where participants reverentially invoked Levine’s key terms and assumptions, as if they had discovered in the book’s pages an explanation, deeply satisfying both ideologically and emotionally, for a phenomenon that had long been troubling them. In the years since 1988, Highbrow/Lowbrow has exhibited the staying power of a classic, a status certified by the book’s appearance on countless syllabi and oral exam lists. Today it remains available in paperback and in a Kindle version, and I am told that a French edition was just recently published. Many of us have profited a great deal from Levine’s study, and we lament his untimely death in 2006. Yet those of us who have been working in the history of the book and related areas have arrived at a point where we might profitably reassess the arguments of Highbrow/Lowbrow, instead of merely appropriating its framework. What have we learned over the last twentyfive years about cultural hierarchy in America? What Rethinking the Creation of Cultural Hierarchy in America

Echoes of Emerson: Rethinking Realism in Twain, James, Wharton, and Cather

This chapter offers three main historical perspectives on corporate sustainability. First, it addresses the ‘what’, ‘how’ and ‘why’ questions of corporate sustainability. It investigates the ‘what’ question through the issues to which corporate sustainability has been addressed; the ‘how’ question through the modes which have been deployed to deliver corporate sustainability; and the ‘why’ question through the rationales that have been offered for corporate sustainability. Second, it investigates the ‘who’ question by unpacking the historical roles and relationships of society, business, government and the natural environment actors. Third, it examines the ‘when’ question through three key phases of corporate sustainability. It presents corporate sustainability in the contexts of: industrialisation in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries; the rise of the modern corporation and ‘managerial capitalism’ in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries; and rapid internationalisation in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries bringing wider impacts of corporate power and the greater awareness of the Anthropocene and human interdependency. This analysis of three historical phases is illustrated through the experiences of two long-standing companies: Boots, the UK pharmacist, and Tata, the Indian conglomerate.

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

Reviewed by: Deportation: The Origins of U.S. Policy by Torrie Hester Kunal M. Parker (bio) Deportation: The Origins of U.S. Policy. By Torrie Hester. (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2017. Pp. viii, 243. $45.00 cloth; $45.00 ebook) Torrie Hester's book is an important addition to the substantial literature on American deportation policy. The scale and significance of deportation are unquestionable. As Hester points out at the beginning of the book, between 1892 and 2015, the United States deported over 50 million people, close to 95 percent of them after 1970 (p. 1). That enormous number understates the terrible impact of deportation in both the United States and elsewhere: families torn apart, communities sundered, businesses disrupted, and American social problems such as crime willfully shifted to other countries less able to cope with them. Hester traces how the basic structure of deportation policy took shape. She begins in the late nineteenth century, showing how the U.S. Supreme Court exempted substantive deportation law from the purview of the U.S. Constitution. Because deportation was not seen for constitutional purposes as punishment for a crime, immigrants were unable to avail of the various protections afforded by the U.S. Constitution to criminal defendants. Hester then moves to explore how U.S. deportation policy developed two distinct tracks, one for Chinese immigrants that allowed for judicial challenges to deportation decisions and another for all other immigrants that vested administrative decisions with finality. Eventually, she shows how both tracks merged, so that it became increasingly difficult to challenge deportation decisions in court. This did not, of course, stop immigrants from seeking judicial review of deportation decisions, although they would increasingly do so on procedural, rather than substantive, grounds. Hester also shows in detail how deportation law shifted from the aim of removing excludable immigrants (those who should never have been admitted in the first place but who were let in erroneously) to punishing immigrants for post-admission activities that the state frowned upon. As the nineteenth century gave way to the twentieth, [End Page 563] deportation law increasingly became an instrument of domestic social policy. Invoking the fact of immigrants' non-citizenship, the state could remove immigrants from its territory when they engaged in behaviors ranging from crime to seeking public assistance to expressing politically undesirable views. This has been the focus of deportation law ever since. While deportation continues to function as an adjunct to exclusion, its main purpose is to punish immigrants for acts committed after (in many cases, long after) they have entered the United States. While citizens may be incarcerated, immigrants' incarceration is often followed by deportation to countries they might not even know. Much of Hester's story is familiar in its broad outlines to scholars of immigration and citizenship law, although the details she provides are compelling. Her major contribution is in highlighting the international dimension of deportation law. The United States might be eager to get rid of immigrants, but how did it decide where to send them? What if immigrants preferred to be sent elsewhere? Hester highlights state-to-state negotiations over the repatriation of immigrants in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. She also shows how the old system of transporting immigrants to the border gradually ceded to the practice of sending immigrants back to their countries of origin. Her account of the "Red Scare" deportations around 1920 is a particularly detailed account of deporting immigrants from the Russian empire back to the Soviet Union at a time when the United States and the Soviet Union did not have diplomatic relations. Overall, Hester's book is a fine addition to the literature on American deportation policy. It historicizes one of the urgent problems of our time. [End Page 564] Kunal M. Parker KUNAL M. PARKER teaches law at the University of Miami. He is the author of Making Foreigners: Immigration and Citizenship Law in America, 1600–2000 (2015) and is currently working on a project on mid-twentieth century American legal thought. Copyright © 2018 Kentucky Historical Society