Bernard MacLaverty Research Articles

Rescue and Resurrection Narratives: Reexamining Bernard MacLaverty's Career through Blank Pages and Other Stories

Rescue and Resurrection Narratives: Reexamining Bernard MacLaverty's Career through Blank Pages and Other Stories

Bernard MacLaverty’s Grace Notes: Dialectic Melancholy and Apocalyptic Hope

This paper illuminates a social side of Catherine McKenna’s melancholic affect in Bernard MacLaverty’s Grace Notes. A composer of classical music, Catherine is a character whose musical musings about Northern Irish liberation from sectarian politics parallel the liberation from Irish inner oppressions Stephen Dedalus artistically envisions in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Catherine’s postpartum depression, or her ongoing melancholy as its extension, signifies two things in Grace Notes. On the one hand, the melancholy of Catherine figures the elegiac mood in the emotional profile of Irish identity. It echoes the Irish melancholic psyche displaying collectively internalized mourning for Irish sectarian deaths throughout English colonialism. On the other hand, Catherine’s melancholy is regarded as a dialectical means for messianic noumena in Walter Benjamin’s terms. In particular, Catherine’s melancholy is viewed in Benjamin’s messianic idea of dialectic melancholy, an affective cathexis in which a superhuman possibility is inspired for uncreated, integrative identity at the moment of hopelessness. Vernicle, Catherine’s conciliation symphony, is the melancholic feminine contemplation of an a priori reality carrying the apocalyptic hope for an Irish reconciliation overturning the Northern Irish masculine patriarchies perpetuating sectarian schisms.

In the Firing Line: Censorship, the Civil War in Ireland, and its Aftermath

In the Firing Line:Censorship, the Civil War in Ireland, and its Aftermath John Horgan Correction: Ceartúchán: Correction We wish to correct an error in volume 33, no. 3 (Autumn, 2018) in the article "Redemptive Suffering in the Isenheim Altarpiece and Bernard MacLaverty's Cal,"https://muse.jhu.edu/article/714957 by Lanta Davis. The image on page 82 is mislabeled. The image credit should instead be: The Isenheim Altarpiece (third view). By permission of Musee d'Unterlinden/Art Resource, NY. We regret the misidentification. The online version has been corrected. Much of the research about media in independent Ireland in the first half of the twentieth century has focused, understandably, on the controversies that attended the establishment and convoluted history of the Censorship of Publications Board, especially in relation to work by Irish writers that was thought to impinge on the allegedly pristine and incorrupt nature of Irish sexuality, and on political censorship during the World War II. Less studied—perhaps because it was more chaotic, and also more short-lived—is the military and political censorship instituted in the early years of the Free State by an administration that found the problems of establishing its legitimacy exacerbated by the unexpected but lethal and intense, events of the civil war.1 The challenge of focusing on this brief, but significant period of controversy is made more difficult by the sometimes chaotic condition of the early Free State administration's filing system, and by what appear to be differing (but, at least on paper, unvoiced, views within that administration on the relative values of military activity and of more irenic measures to be taken against their republican opponents. This is particularly true of the period of heightened tension and, eventually, civil war, following the Treaty setting up the Irish Free State administration in January 1922, which was to be ratified by the UK parliament on December 6 of that year. It is impossible to overestimate the climate of fear and suspicion that prevailed in 1922–23 as former comrades-in-arms found themselves first politically, and then militarily, in conflict with each other in the increasingly ruthless civil war that broke out in July, and the heightened tension following Michael Collins's assassination on August 22. The security and [End Page 62] military situation was further exacerbated after November of that year, following the execution of eight republican prisoners, and the retaliatory murder by republicans of the TD Sean Hales in Dublin in December. Clearly, political and administrative responsibility for managing the resultant challenges presented by the institution of media censorship was diffuse and inadequately centralized, involving recurrent tensions between military and civil leaders. The cabinet papers from this period reveal many unresolved tensions, and disputes about areas of responsibility between different government departments, about the role of the military, and regarding the nascent and erratic machinery of censorship itself. The leaders of the Anglo-Irish War had not anticipated this problem; this may, in part explain, their unfocused, often uncertain (and on occasion, despairing) attempts to deal with it. The relatively scant records that remain also reveal that newspaper editors' attitude to the new Free State government did not preclude attempts by both the Irish Independent and the Irish Times to record some of the events of the civil war in ways that sometimes failed fully to heed the new government's hostility to any language that might imply that their military opponents had claims to political legitimacy. The implications of the onset of civil war for newspapers had been considered poorly, if at all, by the new administration. The national daily newspaper with the greatest circulation in Ireland, the Irish Independent, had been hostile to the Rising because of its loyalty to the fast-disappearing Irish Party at Westminster, but by the time of the civil war it had patently shifted its loyalty to the new Free State administration. Its national contemporary, the Protestant-owned and Unionist Irish Times had—albeit for different reasons—been hostile to constitutional Irish nationalism, and opposed post-1921 Irish Republicanism virulently, but rapidly came to a political accommodation with the new Irish Free State—not least because of that newspaper...

Redemptive Suffering in the Isenheim Altarpiece and Bernard MacLaverty's Cal

Redemptive Suffering in the Isenheim Altarpiece and Bernard MacLaverty's Cal

Empathy, Mirror Neurons and the Subversion of Certitude: Political Writing and Creative Reading in Short-Stories by Bernard MacLaverty, William Trevor and Colum McCann

This paper aims at bringing together literary discourse analysis and neurosciences to consider the impact the discovery of mirror-neurons might have on our understanding of empathy phenomena and consequently on the power of literature to subvert certitude. Examining short-stories set against the backdrop of The Troubles by William Trevor, Bernard MacLaverty or Colum McCann, we shall see how writers make readers literally experience in their bodies and minds conflicting perspectives, hopefully leaving them no other choice but to discard preconceived ideas. In this perspective, any act of writing becomes a political act. Paul Brennan’s academic works have always seemed to me tireless efforts to develop the understanding of the other. This is offered in resonance with his deep power of empathy.

The Rebirth of the Musical Author in Recent Fiction Written in English

In his 2005 monograph on The Author, Andrew Bennett reflects on how “authorship is central to the way in which critical practice is currently conceptualized and theorized”. The rebirth of the author in contemporary criticism is being accompanied by a renewed fascination with the figure of the author as the subject of recent fiction. This can be seen reflected in current portrayals of real and fictional writers such as Henry James, in David Lodge’s Author, Author (2004), or Olive Wellwood, in A.S. Byatt’s The Children’s Book (2009). Moreover, the recovery of the author can be traced as well in the context of the emergence of music as a fertile referent for interartistic narratives. In terms of the dialogue between contemporary fiction and music, there seems to be a common interest in the image of the author, both in the act of creation, as a composer, and of re-creation, as a performer. Works such as Bernard MacLaverty’s Grace Notes (1997), Vikram Seth’s An Equal Music (1999), Conrad Williams’ The Concert Pianist (2006), or Kazuo Ishiguro’s Nocturnes. Five Stories of Music and Nightfall (2009) favour the author-musician’s perspective as they interact with music in different ways. In light of this, the aim of this article is to explore the process of rebirth of the musical author in recent fiction written in English, analysing this trend as part of a more general tendency to recover the author’s presence and voice in both fiction and criticism.

“Hewers of Wood and Drawers of Water, Right Enough”: The Rural Landscape in Bernard MacLaverty's Cal

“Hewers of Wood and Drawers of Water, Right Enough”: The Rural Landscape in Bernard MacLaverty's Cal

Two Ways of Responding to “Troubles”: Bernard MacLaverty's Use of the Blues and the Western in Cal

Two Ways of Responding to “Troubles”: Bernard MacLaverty's Use of the Blues and the Western in Cal

Blood, Shit, and Tears: The Textual Reinscription of Sacrifice, Ritual, and Victimhood in Bernard MacLaverty's Cal

This essay revisits Bernard MacLaverty's 1983 novel, Cal , in order to re-read it as a site of textual ritual sacrifice. This sacrificial reading draws on René Girard's landmark literary-anthropological explorations of the dynamic relations between sacrifice, religion and violence in Violence and the Sacred and Things Hidden Since the Foundation of the World . The essay argues (a) that Cal obsessively articulates and engages the Girardian mechanisms of violence, religion and sacrifice, and (b) that Cal makes it possible to theorize how literary texts "sacrificially" intervene in, modify and reinscribe the dynamics of modern political violence.

Seamus Heaney’s Regionalism

Each person in Ulster lives first in Ulster of actual present, and then in one or other Ulster of mind. --Heaney (Place and Displacement 4) [W]hile literary scene in which provinces revolve around centre is demonstrably Copernican one, task of talent is to reverse things to Ptolemaic condition. The writer must reenvisage region as original point. --Heaney (The Regional Forecast 13) In ways that are only just now beginning to be realized, best writers from Philip Hobsbaum's Belfast Group (1963-66), such as Seamus Heaney, Michael Longley, Stewart Parker, and Bernard MacLaverty, have articulated regional literature that interacted fruitfully with regional literatures all over British and Irish archipelago, including Scottish, Welsh, and regional English, and with regional writers from America, such as Robert Frost. The literary devolution that comprises largely untold story of twentieth-century literature suggests viability of regionalism generally and decline in dominance of London-centered literature. The imaginative efforts of series of Northern Irish writers beginning in early twentieth century have led to establishment of regional, bicultural, and finally trans-cultural literature that has devolved aesthetically, albeit as special case, from British and Irish literature. This regional literature can be placed alongside that developing in Scotland, Wales, and parts of England outside Home Counties, such as northern England. R. P. Draper has recently discussed how, during course of twentieth century, places like Liverpool, Manchester, Newcastle and Hull became much more regional capitals of still urban, but no longer [solely a] London-based literary activity. Many of best English poets came from regions and maintained non-metropolitan, or even anti-metropolitan outlook. (Regional 161) We can easily add Belfast to this catalog of regional literary activity in United Kingdom, although it is an anomaly, geographically detached from British mainland and profoundly bicultural in way that no other major British city is, including Glasgow. Although not identified as specific region in T. S. Eliot's argument about importance of maintaining regional culture in United Kingdom, Northern Ireland nonetheless accords with his description of region or satellite culture: the satellite exercises considerable influence upon stronger culture; and so plays larger part in world at large than it could in isolation (128). As evidence of this influence of Northern Irish culture on English culture, Neil Corcoran argues that the Troubles beginning in 1968 have been the single most influential factor on subsequent history [...] of contemporary 'English' (qtd. in Stevenson 255). Far from being provincial, Northern Irish literature is actually regional in an expansive sense of term, astonishingly plural and cosmopolitan in ways that far surpass some Irish and British literature. Only time will tell if province will be incorporated into Republic of Ireland, but for now, its literature exists in fragile and fascinating moment, redolent with hope for its future. (1) Beginning in 1960s, Northern Irish poet Seamus Heaney began developing regionally based poetry by analyzing his literary predecessors in province, elsewhere in United Kingdom, and even in United States, through series of book reviews and essays. Although Heaney is powerful literary critic, his criticism has been either largely neglected in favor of his poetry or read primarily to explain his poetry. Thankfully, countervailing trajectory has recently emerged. For example, Eugene O'Brien has argued that poet's prose is central to his developing project (Searches 10) and should be considered as such, rather than following usual procedure, which is to see it as a meta-commentary on his poetry. …

Exorcising the Ghosts of Conflict in Northern Ireland: Stewart Parker's The Iceberg and Pentecost

Exorcising the Ghosts of Conflict in Northern Ireland: Stewart Parker's The Iceberg and Pentecost Richard Rankin Russell Plays and ghosts have a lot in common. The energy which flows from some intense moment of conflict in a particular time and place seems to activate them both. Plays intend to achieve resolution, however, whilst ghosts appear to be stuck fast in the quest for vengeance. Stewart Parker.1 Stewart Parker's The Iceberg (1974) and Pentecost (1987), works that function as bookends of his all-too-short dramatic career, are haunted by ghosts from Northern Ireland's history.2 Both plays accord with Bernard McKenna's description of Northern Irish drama as "'perform[ing]' moments of rupture that consciously emphasize the destruction of individuals' and communities' identities" (8). The Iceberg stages the loss of pride in the Irish Protestant community surrounding the sinking of the Titanic in 1913, whereas Pentecost explores a seeming triumph of Northern Irish Protestantism, the 1974 Ulster Workers' Council strike—an event, however, that led to a more inflexible political discourse and additional destructive violence in the province. Both works feature revenants, [End Page 42] persistent ghosts whose claims must be recognized and resolved through a process of reconciliation. Parker's revenants share their marginalized status with other ghosts from literature set in Northern Ireland: for example, Brian Friel's three Catholic characters trapped in the Derry Guildhall in The Freedom of the City (1973) and Seamus Heaney's fisherman friend Louis O'Neill in "Casualty" (1979). Friel's and Heaney's ghosts haunt the places where they were murdered and function as emblems of conscience for their respective authors who reject, finally, the official rhetoric of both Irish nationalism and British authority. Parker's ghosts also haunt their localities, watching and waiting for their presence to be realized and their lives given retrospective value and worth; unlike Heaney's shade of his friend O'Neill, however, they are steadfastly sectarian, bound to their respective Protestant communities by religious and cultural ties. Whereas Heaney's vision of his dead friend leads to a realization that he must leave his Catholic "tribe" to write poetry, Parker's imagined ghosts suggest a commitment to work within his own Protestant community to develop a drama that might soften a hardened political divide. Parker belonged to a cohort at Queen's University in Belfast in the early to mid-1960s that included Michael Longley, Seamus Heaney, and Bernard MacLaverty.3 All joined Philip Hobsbaum's Belfast Group, a writing group modeling a "twin emphasis on ethics and aesthetics" that proved crucial in developing the ecumenical, highly crafted work of participants (Russell, "Inscribing Cultural Corridors" 223). Parker would quickly merge an ethical compulsion to ameliorate sectarian tensions with his developing dramatic craft: his dual concern to experiment with a variety of styles and to fashion plays "composed of parts which work together in harmony" equipped him to critique the random violence and fragmentation in Northern Ireland in the 1970s and 1980s in formally diverse plays invoking a vision of cultural wholeness ("The Modern Poet as [End Page 43] Dramatist" 2).4 Parker's early concern with aesthetic harmony coincided with his developing ethical urge to promote social accord in the province through depicting its particularized local situation and engaging members of disparate factions in dialogue. Apparitions in The Iceberg and Pentecost emerge from the sense of deprivation engendered by the conflicts in the North—such as those from the 1910s and 1920s, and the contemporary Troubles that began in 1969, the latter of which includes Protestant opposition that toppled the provisional power-sharing government in 1974. The flitting, circling ghosts in these two dramas invoke that pervasive sense of dislocation among Northern Irish Protestants, who feel neither fully British nor Irish and fear abandonment by Britain. Moreover, these apparitions suggest a generalized Northern Irish working-class dispossession stemming from a shared poverty, a deprivation both fueling sectarianism and existing as a potential bond...

Strategies of Silence: Colonial Strains in Short Stories of the Troubles

This essay finds a resonance between the short story form and familiar features of 'Troubles' writing: the emphasis on reticence and silence, the articulation of historical forces through narrative gaps, the intrusion of political disturbance into the private or domestic realm, the use of symbolism, the attempt to express a social condition through non-mimetic modes. It argues that the short story form both reflects problems of articulation and representation, yet with its characteristically wry, elliptical point of view can be a subversive strategy of understatement. It includes readings of short stories by John Montague, Bernard MacLaverty, Mary Beckett, Anne Devlin, and William Trevor.

The Contemporary Irish Novel: Critical Readings by Linden Peach (review)

scarce are Beckett'sofferingsthat this is something of an occupationalhazard, and Albrightcould surelybe expected to have teased something furtherfrom this fabric. A similarintuitionof the unsaidhoversaroundAlbright'sthree citationsof Beckett's I937 'German Letter' to Axel Kaun (B&A,pp. I3, 53, I45), of which the middle instanceleaves the most questionsbegging. The multipleand indefinitemoods of 'in the forestof symbols,which aren't any, the little birdsof interpretation,which isn't any, are never silent' cannot be narratedby 'Beckettfamouslysneers'(B&A,p. 53); elsewhere in the book, however, Albright proves himself superlativelysubtle and insightfulon the subjectof Beckett and symbols. The chapter-headingsof Beckett andAesthetics imply a thematic or media-centred approach:'Introduction:Beckettand Surrealism','I. Stage:ResistingFurniture','2. Tape recorder, radio, film, television:resistingthe human image', and '3. Music: losing the will to resist'.However, within this structureAlbrightby and large traces a chronological line: from Eleutheria through WaitingforGodot, Endgame, and Happy Daysin chapter one; with chaptertwo takingin Krapp's LastTape,All thatFall,Rough for RadioI and II, Film,EhJoe, and GhostTrio.After this consummate overview, the third (and shortest)chapter is something of a disappointment,the change in focus given away by what is, by Albright'sstandards,an uncharacteristically gauche turn: 'Reading this [Watt]is like hearing difficultmusic for the firsttime. Now, let us see whether hearing difficult music is like reading Beckett' (B&A, p. I46). While the elements in the equation may be the same, directionis everything,and it is misleading to imply that considerationof the compositionsof Philip Glass, Heinz Holliger, Gyorgy Kurtag, Morton Feldman, and Earl Kim -however Beckett-inspired will necessarilyreveal anything about the works of Samuel Beckett. Such was the mutual importanceof music to Modernism, music to Beckett,and Modernism and Beckett to each other, one might have hoped for more from this final chapter;but I could be guiltyof imposingan imaginaryteleology on Albright'silluminatingtour, conducted once again with a certain old-fashioned charm, informal yet informed ('Ms.Akalaitis','Mr. Halley' (B&A,p. 67)).Wary undergraduatesand wearyprofessors alike will find much of interest, use, and pleasure in this deceptively slim volume; and I am already impatient for its successor. UNIVERSITY OFLONDON THOMAS MANSELL The Contemporary Irish Novel: Critical Readings. By LINDEN PEACH. Basingstoke and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. 2004. xvi + 250 pp. /45 (pbk jI4.99). ISBN:0-333-94892-0 (pbk 0-333-94893-9). Linden Peach considers selected novels by Glenn Patterson and Robert McLiam Wilson; Seamus Deane and Joseph O'Connor; Jennifer Johnston, Mary Leland, and Linda Anderson; Brian Moore and John McGahern; Emma Donoghue and Kathleen Ferguson; Dermot Bolger; Roddy Doyle and Mary Morrissy; Patrick McCabe and William Trevor; and John Banville and Bernard MacLaverty; the critical readings offered here are, therefore, necessarilycompressed. For example, Peach has frequentrecourseto the self-confessedlyobvious method of commenting on characters'names (p. 59); his remarksabout 'Eddie Virago' (p. 30), 'Miranda' (p. 59), 'Moran' (p. 85), 'Tracey Evans' (p. I29), 'Rita Spain' (p. 162),and 'Godkin' (p. 209) are by turns far-fetched and self-evident. Still, better that something scarce are Beckett'sofferingsthat this is something of an occupationalhazard, and Albrightcould surelybe expected to have teased something furtherfrom this fabric. A similarintuitionof the unsaidhoversaroundAlbright'sthree citationsof Beckett's I937 'German Letter' to Axel Kaun (B&A,pp. I3, 53, I45), of which the middle instanceleaves the most questionsbegging. The multipleand indefinitemoods of 'in the forestof symbols,which aren't any, the little birdsof interpretation,which isn't any, are never silent' cannot be narratedby 'Beckettfamouslysneers'(B&A,p. 53); elsewhere in the book, however, Albright proves himself superlativelysubtle and insightfulon the subjectof Beckett and symbols. The chapter-headingsof Beckett andAesthetics imply a thematic or media-centred approach:'Introduction:Beckettand Surrealism','I. Stage:ResistingFurniture','2. Tape recorder, radio, film, television:resistingthe human image', and '3. Music: losing the will to resist'.However, within this structureAlbrightby and large traces a chronological line: from Eleutheria through WaitingforGodot, Endgame, and Happy Daysin chapter one; with chaptertwo takingin Krapp's LastTape,All thatFall,Rough for RadioI and II, Film,EhJoe, and GhostTrio.After this consummate overview, the third (and shortest)chapter is something of a disappointment,the change in focus given away by what is, by Albright'sstandards,an uncharacteristically gauche turn: 'Reading this [Watt]is like hearing difficultmusic for the firsttime. Now, let us see whether hearing difficult music...

Beckett, Late Modernism, and Bernard MacLaverty's Grace Notes

My fascination with Bernard MacLaverty's writing, particularly with his novels Lamb (1980) and Cal (1983), began almost twenty years ago. After teaching his fiction in several courses, I endeavored some years ago to explain its representation of human subjectivity and weigh the possibilities MacLaverty affords his characters for resistance to—dare I say, happiness in spite of?—the despair wrought by violence in Northern Ireland. One of my conclusions was that, although the fates of MacLaverty's protagonists "appear to result from choices they themselves make," he "always makes such a determination exceedingly difficult, because his characters' 'freedom of choice' is typically exercised within a narrowly circumscribed ambit of possibility." 1 I was also intrigued by the narrative function of the derelict cottage in Cal, a site of momentary respite from the "Troubles," where Cal and Marcella Morton share a measure of bliss: "As Marcella's feeling for Cal evolves into sexual passion, the cottage itself is transformed, albeit momentarily and precariously, into an alternative space for both of them." 2 A decade after writing these sentences, both suppositions about subjectivity and resistance in Bernard MacLaverty's fiction strike me not so much as indefensible, but as imprecise and incomplete. The simple passage of time and my own changing critical commitments are hardly the only things responsible for my querulousness. MacLaverty's more recent fiction, his now enlarged oeuvre, in some ways demands such a reassessment. 3

Names in Bernard MacLaverty's Cal: Etymology, Onomastics, and Irony

Names in Bernard MacLaverty's Cal: Etymology, Onomastics, and Irony

Double Visions: Women and Men in Modern and Contemporary Irish Fiction

In this text, the author examines gender issues in the writing and in the lives of dozen notable authors and their fictional characters in Ireland, from the late 19th century to the end of the 20th. With the exception of James Joyce, the question of gender in Irish fiction by men has largely been ignored. Typically, the male novelist or short story writer has been presented as a writer, while the female has been viewed exclusively as woman writer. Cahalan aims to close this gap in Irish literary history by pairing similar works of fiction by both men and women and advancing gender-balanced critical readings. The author addresses how women writers' characterizations of men compare with men's representations of women. Sensitive to other distinctions such as class and region, Cahalan reveals differences in perceptions of shared subjects - such as politics and autobiography - to illuminate series of double visions. This book aims to be of interest to scholars and students of women's studies and feminist criticism as well as Irish literature. The introduction presents far-ranging critique of feminist criticism and gender issues in Irish cultural history, while the conclusion touches on several other Irish novels and films. The text includes readings of the Aran Islands narratives of Emily Lawless and Liam O'Flaherty, the comic fictions and serious careers of Somerville and Ross versus James Joyce, the coming-of-age novels of Edna O'Brien versus John McGahern and Brian Moore, and troubles novels by four authors, Jennifer Johnston, Bernard MacLaverty, Julia O'Faolain and William Trevor.

Traces of Another Time: History and Politics in Postwar British Fiction (review)

Reviewed by: Traces of Another Time: History and Politics in Postwar British Fiction Margaret Moan Rowe Margaret Scanlan . Traces of Another Time: History and Politics in Postwar British Fiction. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1990. 211 pp. $27.50. Margaret Scanlan's study, which provides absorbing analyses of a number of contemporary British novels, invites praise. In three parts she moves from works as different as J. G. Farrell's Troubles, to Iris Murdoch's Nuns and Soldiers, to Doris Lessing's Children of Violence, and Anthony Burgess' The End of the World News. Her particular interest is Britain's relationship with Ireland, Republic and North (her movement between references to England and references to Britain is somewhat annoying). This interest leads to the strongest section in the book "Part One: Troubles in Ireland." In those three chapters, Scanlan's argument that in contemporary fiction "we find a rebirth and development of the sceptical and critical history novel that Thackeray wrote" finds its most cohesive presentation in her readings of novels by Murdoch, Bowen, Farrell, and works by less well known Irish writers like Thomas Kilroy and Bernard MacLaverty. More diffuse and less satisfying is her second section "Losing Confidence: Spies and Other Aliens" where her inclusion of chapters on fiction influenced by Kim Philby's story and Murdoch's Nuns and Soldiers seems a forced fit. Once again, however, I must note that the chapters themselves arc very absorbing. Scanlan writes clearly and displays a real command of the nineteenth- and twentieth-century novel; she has read widely and makes effective use of examples. She draws on contemporary historiography and literary theory to buttress her readings of the novels, and, as Alvin Kiernan aptly notes on the book jacket, "The theory, most of which is quietly assumed rather than flaunted and agonized over, is very impressive." [End Page 623] Copyright © 1990 Purdue Research Foundation