Early Love Research Articles

David B. Fossan

David B. Fossan, a world leader in studies of nuclear structure and properties of exotic states of nuclei, died 27 July 2003, following a heart attack. At the time, he was swimming at Long Island’s south shore during an annual beach outing he had organized for his research group. A professor of physics at SUNY Stony Brook, he had been on the faculty there since 1965.Dave was born in Faribault, Minnesota, on 23 August 1934. He received his BA in physics and mathematics from St. Olaf College in Minnesota in 1956 and his PhD in physics from the University of Wisconsin in 1960. His doctoral thesis, under the direction of Heinz Barschall, was on fast neutron total cross sections of beryllium, carbon, and oxygen.After a postdoctoral appointment (1961–62) at the Niels Bohr Institute at the University of Copenhagen, Dave took a research staff position (1963–64) with the Lockheed Corp in Palo Alto, California. He then joined the physics department at Stony Brook as a charter member of the new nuclear structure laboratory. His prolific research, remarkable for its breadth of focus, has long been the cornerstone of the laboratory’s program. As new techniques and theory opened new avenues, he returned many times to several themes for exploring nuclei in extreme conditions.In 1987, Dave was leader in establishing the Gammasphere detector, a national facility for gamma-ray spectroscopy at the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory (LBNL). He served on the detector’s steering committee from its inception until 1996. He relied on measurements using the Gammasphere for his research involving the correlations of multiple photons emitted in deexcitations of highly excited nuclei. Gammasphere became notorious when, in the movie The Incredible Hulk, a replica was used as the main character’s vehicle of wrath.Dave led many studies of heavy nuclei at high spin in which many structures compete in complex quantum superpositions. Using a wide range of techniques, he investigated such phenomena as backbending, the coexistence of spherical and deformed states, prolate and oblate competition, the shears mechanism of magnetic rotation, and the g-factors of yrast states. Those studies provided the detailed understanding of how heavy nuclei acquire their angular momentum on the basis of collective motions of individual nucleons. The 1999 Physics Reports review article of Anatolijs Afanasjev, Fossan, Gregory Lane, and Ingemar Ragnarsson is a standard reference on the transition from collective to noncollective states and serves as a bridge to the study of other mesoscopic systems. Dave’s earlier studies of nuclear shapes matured in his last few years with the discovery of chiral doublet structures in odd-odd nuclei, in which right and left-handed triaxial nuclei were shown to have a nearly degenerate set of energy levels. Until that finding, the presence of such mirror nuclei had been unknown, and their observation opens new avenues of study of the role of symmetries in nuclear structure. An exceptional mentor for young scientists, Dave set rigorous standards, and his energy, enthusiasm, and dedication helped him provide an unparalleled learning environment for students. He gave them real responsibility and demanded that they produce, but offered advice along the way. Enormously generous with his time, he went out of his way to work with students in both the laboratory and the classroom.In the national arena, Dave played a variety of important roles. He served on advisory committees at Brookhaven National Laboratory, the Indiana Cyclotron Facility, LBNL, Oak Ridge National Laboratory, and Argonne National Laboratory. He held guest appointments at BNL, the University of Munich, the Hahn-Meitner Institute in Berlin, LBNL, and the Chalk River Nuclear Laboratories in Canada. He was a member of the editorial board for Physical Review C and chair of the 1987 Gordon Conference on Nuclear Chemistry.In 1989, Dave received the Humboldt Senior Scientist Award from the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation. In 2002, he was awarded the inaugural State University of New York Chancellor’s Award for Excellence in Research.Dave’s affability and good nature masked a deep competitive drive, which sometimes was revealed in the demands he placed on himself to extend the understanding of physics. An even more apparent manifestation, though, was his athletic drive. His early love for basketball transformed in later days to frequent rounds of tennis, in which he would put away the opposition with a smile on his face.We remember Dave for his many contributions to our understanding of the complex processes at work in large and exotic nuclei. His experimental skills, coupled with his deep understanding of the quantum basis for multiparticle systems, distinguished his research career. Even more, we remember him for his outstanding personal contributions to generations of physicists, his fierce honesty, remarkable cheerfulness, and deep interest in bringing out the best in others.David B. FossanPPT|High resolution© 2004 American Institute of Physics.

Shelley in Italy

ABSTRACT Shelley's time in Italy, between 1818 and 1822, divides into two periods. During the first, he and his family moved from place to place, visiting all the sights of the Grand Tour. During the second, they settled in and around Pisa. In the process, Shelley turned from a tourist into an expatriate. This change altered his relation to inherited perceptions of Italian landscape and Italian culture. It increased his receptiveness to the otherness of Italy and the Italians. And, thirdly, it had an influence upon his sense of himself as a Romantic poet. ********** 'Il bel paese' Shelley spent the last four years of his life in Italy. He left England in March 1818, soon after publishing The Revolt of Islam, and travelled through France and Switzerland to Milan. After a year and a half spent visiting the major tourist centres of Italy--Venice, Rome, Naples, and Florence--Shelley and his family settled near Pisa until a few months before his death in spring 1822. The immediate pretext for going abroad in 1818 was Byron's insistence that Shelley bring him his illegitimate daughter, Allegra. Allegra's mother, Claire Clairmont was Mary Shelley's step-sister and a long-standing member of the Shelley household. Byron's demands, though, served Shelley's purpose: he was already restless and unwell in England, keen to renew his friendship with Byron and eager to see classical and Renaissance Italian art at first-hand. Over the four years he spent in Italy, however, all the original motives for his journey either altered or disappeared. Shelley took root for the first time in one place and community; he placed his relations with Byron on a different footing; he thought through afresh his way of seeing a country that was filled with antiquity. These changes brought him gradually into dispute with contemporary English taste. While abroad Shelley went through a process of discovering how to co-ordinate inherited ideas of Italy with the place as it was. This accompanied a new understanding of his place within a social circle and altered his way of thinking about the role of the individual amidst events. It changed, therefore, his sense of his relationship to 'Life'. The Continent had been largely closed to English visitors during the Napoleonic Wars. When, in the years after 1815, foreign travel was possible again, the English arrived in a rush, expecting to see Italian landscapes that made Claude Lorrain's paintings real and hoping to wander around Shakespeare's Venice or Virgil's Cumae. (1) Italy had been so fully portrayed in advance, through literature, painting, and the currently fashionable travel-guides, that travellers found confirmation or disappointment everywhere. Entering Italy via the Simplon Pass, a Mrs Hinde remarked in 1819: 'Here I felt for the first time that I actually was in Italy, that country of which I had read so much and so long wished to see.' (2) Samuel Rogers catches the same feeling of astonishment at being 'actually' there: Am I in Italy? Is this the Mincius? [...] Such questions hourly do I ask myself; And not a finger-post on the road-side 'To Mantua'--'To Ferrara'--but excites Surprise, and doubt, and self-congratulation. (3) Lady Morgan, the raconteur and novelist, found her reading brought to life: 'There was likewise no want of figures that might well pass current for Shylocks; and the gentle Jessica is to be traced in almost every sunny female face that passes in the streets.' (4) Effusive, Lady Morgan was also self-aware. 'Even the most Gothic traveller', she says, 'comes to Rome influenced by associations imbibed with early love, incorporated with youthful prepossession, and connected with childhood's first dream' (ii, 455). John Chetwood Eustace, a classicist and Roman Catholic, shares the feeling of recognition and endorses it: 'How natural then is the emotion of the traveller when he first beholds the distant domes of a city of such figures in the History of the Universe, of such weight in the destinies of mankind, so familiar to the imagination of the boy, so interesting to the feelings of the man! …

Memoirs: a twentieth-century journey in science and politics

The fascinating recollections of one of the most brilliant and controversial scientists of the 20th century. . The story of Edward Teller is the story of the twentieth century. Born in Hungary in 1908, Teller witnessed the rise of Nazism and anti-Semitism, two world wars, the McCarthy era, and the changing face of big science. A brilliant and controversial figure whose work on nuclear weapons was key to the American war effort, Teller has long believed in freedom through strong defense, a philosophy reflected in his stance on arms control and nuclear policy. These extraordinary recollections at last reveal the man behind the headlines-passionate and humorous, devoted and loyal. In clear and compelling prose, Teller tells of the people, events, and ideas that shaped him as a scientist, beginning with his early love of music and math, and continuing with his study of quantum physics with Werner Heisenberg. Present at many of the pivotal moments in modern science, Teller also describes his friendships with some of the century's greatest minds-Einstein, Bohr, Fermi, Szilard, von Neumann, Oppenheimer-and offers an honest account of the development of the atomic and hydrogen bombs. He also offers a moving portrait of his childhood, his marriage and family life, and his friendship with physicist Maria Mayer. Writing about those aspects of his life that have had important public consequences-from his conservative politics to his relationships with scientists and presidents-Teller reveals himself to be a man with deep beliefs about liberty, security, and the moral responsibility of science.

Memoirs: A Twentieth-Century Journey in Science and Politics

The fascinating recollections of one of the most brilliant and controversial scientists of the 20th century. . The story of Edward Teller is the story of the twentieth century. Born in Hungary in 1908, Teller witnessed the rise of Nazism and anti-Semitism, two world wars, the McCarthy era, and the changing face of big science. A brilliant and controversial figure whose work on nuclear weapons was key to the American war effort, Teller has long believed in freedom through strong defense, a philosophy reflected in his stance on arms control and nuclear policy. These extraordinary recollections at last reveal the man behind the headlines-passionate and humorous, devoted and loyal. In clear and compelling prose, Teller tells of the people, events, and ideas that shaped him as a scientist, beginning with his early love of music and math, and continuing with his study of quantum physics with Werner Heisenberg. Present at many of the pivotal moments in modern science, Teller also describes his friendships with some of the century's greatest minds-Einstein, Bohr, Fermi, Szilard, von Neumann, Oppenheimer-and offers an honest account of the development of the atomic and hydrogen bombs. He also offers a moving portrait of his childhood, his marriage and family life, and his friendship with physicist Maria Mayer. Writing about those aspects of his life that have had important public consequences-from his conservative politics to his relationships with scientists and presidents-Teller reveals himself to be a man with deep beliefs about liberty, security, and the moral responsibility of science.

Narration and Unease in Ian McEwan's Later Fiction

For a generation of well-established postmodernist writers in Britain, the exploration of narrative as the containment and control of temporal experience is of central importance. What makes Ian McEwan's writing especially worthy of attention is the way in which his experimentation with time and narrative is interlinked with the rethinking of gender identity. The early stories First Love, Last Rites (1975) and In Between the Sheets (1979) contained troubled and claustrophobic examinations of emergent masculinity. However, his novels from the 1980s onward contain an increasingly confident investment in gender as the cetral problematic through which the agency of the male writer can be reimagined in relation to both time and social space.

The Mother-Daughter Love Affair Across the Generations

The relationship between mother and daughter is the basis for all love relationships throughout life. Through the eyes and hands of the mother, the intimate and caring nature of love is transmitted from generation to generation. Mother-daughter love is also the beginning of heterosexual love and of sensual pleasure. However, sexuality separates and alienates mother and daughter. As a consequence, the daughter's identification with the mother becomes the most important transmitter of love. We review psychoanalytic studies of the development and fate of the mother-daughter love relationship, with particular attention to the change of the daughter's early love for the mother to identification with the mother and falling in love with a man, and to the significance of sexuality in this developmental process.

An anthology of early Latin epigrams? A ghost reconsidered

In Book 19, chapter 9 of the Nodes Atticae Gellius describes the birthday party of a young Greek of equestrian rank at which a group of professional singers entertained the guests by performing poems by Anacreon, Sappho, ‘et poetarum quoque recentium ⋯λεγεῖα quaedam erotica’ (4). After the singing, Gellius goes on, some of the Greek συμπόται present challenged Roman achievements in erotic poetry, excepting only Catullus and Calvus, and criticized in particular Laevius, Hortensius, Cinna, and Memmius. Rising to meet this charge, Gellius’ teacher of rhetoric, Antonius Julianus, admits the superiority of the Greeks in what he calls ‘cantilenarum mollitiae’ in general (8), but to show that the Romans too have some good erotic poets, he recites four early Latin love epigrams, by Valerius Aedituus (frs. 1 and 2), Porcius Licinus (fr. 6), and Lutatius Catulus (fr. I). The same three poets are listed in the same order in Apuleius’ Apology in a list of amatory poets which he provides in order to establish precedents and thus invalidate his prosecutors’ referral to his erotic poems in their accusation (Apul. Apol. 9). Catulus is also enumerated in Pliny's list of Roman dignitaries who composed ‘uersiculos seueros parum’ like his own (Ep. 5.3.5), and an amatory epigram of his is cited by Cicero in De Natura Deorum 1.79 (fr. 2). We possess no further evidence connecting the other two with the composition of either erotic or, more generally, ‘light’ verse, but a poem by Porcius Licinus on Roman literary history is attested by several sources including Varro, Suetonius, and Gellius himself.

William Gilpin and the Latitudinarian Picturesque

William Gilpin and the Latitudinarian Picturesque Robert Mayhew (bio) Eighteenth-century historians writing in the wake of Jonathan Clark’s book, English Society (1985), have increasingly recognized the continuing importance of church politics and denominational disputes to the intellectual milieu of the period. 1 More recently, the complex debates within eighteenth-century Anglicanism have started to receive the attention they deserve. As Young has shown, themes of space, the system of nature, and the design of the earth were often central to those debates within Anglicanism. 2 This growing awareness of the continued strength of ecclesiological and theological issues in eighteenth-century English society has yet to feed into the study of eighteenth-century literature in general, let alone into analyses of literary representations of landscape and nature. 3 This essay exemplifies the fruitfulness of reinvestigating the literary treatment of landscape and the natural world in the light of theological debates in the eighteenth century. William Gilpin’s picturesque aesthetic, so influential in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, is shown to draw on low-church Anglican apologetics, and, in doing so, Gilpin is shown to have been continuing a link between Latitudinarianism and literary treatments of landscape which, as I only have space to hint en passant, had been forged by Addison, Edward Young, Fielding, and others. I. Gilpin and Posterity William Gilpin (1724–1804) is remembered as the pioneer of an aesthetic approach to landscape, “the picturesque.” 4 Indeed, the standard modern biography of Gilpin is exclusively concerned with his picturesque drawings and tours. 5 If that is [End Page 349] Gilpin’s legacy, it is certainly not the one that he had hoped to leave. Writing an autobiographical Memoir (1801), Gilpin’s own evaluation of his life’s work was rather different from that which might be expected of an aesthetic theorist: “Thus Mr G[ilpin] has given an account of the only two transactions of his life, which make it worth the attention of his posterity—his mode of managing his school at Cheam, which was uncommon—and his mode of endowing his parish school at Boldre, from the profits of his amusements.” 6 The “profits” Gilpin refers to were the result of publishing his picturesque tours; therefore, as literature, the tours clearly occupied a marginal position in Gilpin’s own estimation of his achievements. Evidently, Gilpin was most proud of his affiliation to the two schools at Cheam and Boldre. From his own account of his “uncommon” management of those schools, we learn much about his scale of values. The Memoir suggests that Gilpin tried to inculcate political and religious values of liberty and Protestantism in his pupils. Politically, the boys were taught the laws of the school and, with literal Lockeanism, signed contracts promising to obey those laws, thereby “impressing young minds with an early love of order, law and liberty.” Equally, Gilpin’s schools were uncommon in the emphasis they placed on moral and religious instruction, at the expense of a classical education, because of Gilpin’s belief that “where one boy miscarries for want of classical knowledge, hundreds are ruined for want of religious principles.” 7 In one sense, Gilpin’s self-assessment of his achievements as a religious and political educator has started to attract attention through studies of the “politics of the picturesque,” which move the grounds of assessment of his life’s work away from the purely aesthetic. 8 But the role of religion in Gilpin’s achievement as a writer has not attracted attention: while Barbier accepts that “in the last analysis” nature for Gilpin is “a divine work of art,” 9 there has been no attempt to draw out the lines of influence between Gilpin’s dual religious roles of Anglican clergyman and religious educator and his picturesque oeuvre. Following the hierarchy of values in Gilpin’s Memoir, I will move from his neglected moral and religious writings, in particular their construction of nature and landscape, to the picturesque tours, showing how an attenuated and aestheticized form of the Latitudinarian approach to the face of nature influenced Gilpin’s picturesque. Before doing this, however, I will first sketch the approach to nature and landscape forged by...

Reflections on "Universal Absolutes"

On the grounds of an (essentially) Roman Catholic moral theology and political philosophy, Michael J. Perry states and argues for positions that vindicate the accent of recent popes on human rights as both a matter of faith and of reason—positions I believe to be largely valid and that could gain even stronger support from a Reformed Christian philosophical theology. This should not be surprising, for the Catholic tradition was the common tradition for centuries, it deeply stamped the legal structure of the West that gave rise to “rights talk,” and those strands which led to human rights in its modern form were implicitly in it, even if they were strengthened by the struggles of Protestants to establish a right to convert and, later, to advocate the freedom of religion on spiritual, intellectual, and organization grounds. Perry knows, as most Catholic and Protestants believe, that social morality is unavoidably linked to religion, that these matters can be discussed in public discourse, and that it is fateful for politics, law, social well-being and international relationships to do so. These matters are made clear not only in this book, but also in his earlier Love and Power: The Role of Religion and Morality in American Politics, The Constitution and the Courts: Law or Politics and Religion in Politics: Constitutional and Moral Perspectives. In the present book, as in the other remarkable products of this decade, we find Perry engaged not only with contemporary political philosophy and jurisprudence, which are largely secular in outlook, but with a number of scholars who are concerned with what David Tracy has called “public theology,” a term which several Protestants as well as Catholics have adopted—although in somewhat different ways.

Masaoka Shiki: selected poems

Here are graceful and timeless poems by one of Japan's greatest modern writers, rendered by a master translator. Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902) is credited with modernizing Japan's two traditional verse forms, haiku and tanka. Born at a time of social and cultural change in Japan, Shiki welcomed the new influences from the West and responded to them by reinvigorating the native haiku and tanka forms. He freed them from outdated conventions, made them viable for artistic expression in modern Japan, and paved the way for the haiku to become one of his nation's most influential cultural exports. Burton Watson's excellent introduction explores the course of Shiki's life: his poverty-stricken childhood, his early love for literature, his education, and his work as a haiku editor for the newspaper Nippon, and as a correspondent during the Sino-Japanese war. Watson details Shiki's long struggle with tuberculosis and its poignant expression in his poetry. Confined to bed for months before his death, Shiki continued to devote his energies to literary pursuits: writing poems and critical essays, and joining with friends and followers who gathered in his sickroom to discuss literature. He died a few weeks before his thirty-fifth birthday. These poems-more than a hundred haiku, several tanka, and three kanshi-are arranged chronologically within each genre, revealing the development of Shiki's art and the seamless way in which he wove his life and illness into his poetry.

3. The Voyager and the Voyage

ABSTRACT Chapter 3 presents the biography of Dodge Morgan from childhood through the end of his remarkable voyage. Derived from biographical and autobiographical sources, his life narrative is presented chronologically as basic data for our case study. The importance of his male role models, his early love of sailing, and his later adventures on boats, in Alaska, and in the business world are illustrated. We describe the context of his voyage and his intense, thorough voyage preparations, both external and internal. We also delineate his successful circumnavigation in detail.

Domesticating the School Story, Regendering a Genre: Alcott's Little Men

Domesticating the School Story, Regendering a Genre: Alcott’s Little Men Beverly Lyon Clark (bio) One of the signs that children’s literature is gaining respectability is the increasing attention paid to Louisa May Alcott in prestigious venues, as feminists negotiate between an early love for her work and subsequent misgivings. Since 1990, articles on Alcott have appeared in Signs, American Literature, and New Literary History. In the latter, Catharine R. Stimpson explores her passionate admiration for Little Women in the framework of theorizing the paracanon, works that (some) people love, the children’s canon becoming the adults’ paracanon (in a move that simultaneously creates space for children’s literature and reinscribes it as subordinate). 1 So far, however, very little attention has been paid to Little Men: Life at Plumfield with Jo’s Boys (1871), where Alcott has shifted her focus from family to school—shifted to a setting where a greater measure of rebelliousness was possible, certainly not altogether out of the question. Furthermore, in writing this school story, and in crossing both genders and generations, Alcott destabilized the conventional codes—deconstructing and regendering, even re-generating, the genre. The norms for the genre had been established in 1857 by Thomas Hughes’s Tom Brown’s Schooldays, the norms for what is too often considered “the” school story—to the extent that divergent stories, both earlier and later ones, have been rendered invisible. 2 In a canonical story, set at a British boys’ public school, we would see the arrival of an ordinary good-natured boy, his awe of the older boys, and the larks and scrapes of his early years; we would see him rise through the ranks to the sixth form and become a creature of awe himself. We would witness our hero’s prowess at rugby or cricket, perhaps his valiant attempt to defeat the school bully, perhaps his suffering a wrongful accusation but staunchly bearing the blame. Competition (sports, the fight with the bully) is thus balanced against peer solidarity (sports, not telling tales). Other commentators have underscored the connection of these stories with the imperial project 3 but not the gender connection—how the exclusion of females undergirds the genre. [End Page 323] For the canonical school story emerges when society separates “public” from “private,” “public” schooling from “private” family. The school story symbolically carves out a realm where a boy could move from a private to a more public arena. 4 And it does so by eliminating females. Excluding mothers and girls—boys were even chary of admitting that they had sisters—lent the boys authority, an authority enacted in, for instance, the code against telling tales to adults. These late-nineteenth-, early-twentieth-century stories were written mostly by men. One of the three books on the genre, Isabel Quigly’s The Heirs of Tom Brown, devotes only one short chapter to girls’ books and mentions hardly any women authors of boys’ school stories. The other two critics give even shorter shrift to women authors—these men are, like schoolboys, chary of admitting to sisters. Yet a woman writing about boys is especially well positioned to illuminate the dialectics of the genre and to explore its positioning with respect to gender—and with respect to generations. As a woman writing across gender (writing about males) and across generations (writing about children), Alcott can probe the instabilities of these two bifurcating, socially constructed categories, especially in a genre as gender marked as the school story (and age marked too, like all children’s literature). Her work becomes a site for mediating conflicting codes and ideologies—here the ideologies associated with adulthood and childhood as they intersect with those of gender and, in passing, those of class. When women write a boys’ school story they may, for instance, tentatively adopt an accepted code, such as the schoolboy code against talebearing. But perhaps not having fully internalized the code, they at times proceed to contradict it, or are at pains to justify and contextualize it, or maybe (if they are Alcott) transform it. These activities are much less likely—indeed I have found virtually no evidence of them—in writers for whom the code...

Courting, Harlotry and the Art of Gothic Ivory Carving

The iconographer's search for significance in late medieval amatory imagery is often over before it begins. Faced with the knowledge that--from the theological standpoint of the Middle Ages--true Meaning transcended the sensory realm to which both early love and artistic representation belonged, the interpreter may be left wondering what, if anything meaningful, is to be gained by considering art. What may be gained from a consideration of the art of Gothic ivory carving is an appreciation of its lively discourse on the limits of art, related specifically to the imaginative products of courtly culture. This discourse is fully developed in the ivory carvers' interpretation of the parable of the Prodigal Son, one example of which may be found on a casket in the Metropolitan Museum. Here, in a delightful visual game, the ivory carvers portrayed themselves as courtly artists only to reveal their art as harlotry. Despite its ultimately negative verdict on art, the narrative they constructed depended upon their...

Cyclical Structures in the Late Music of Leoš Janáček

Cyclical procedures involve the recurrence (often varied) of musical themes or motives, harmonies or keys, and related coloristic, figural, or rhythmic patterns. These repetitions may occur between sections, movements, or even acts of a larger composition and often feature a developmental, climactic treatment of earlier material. Composers have employed such large-scale formal mechanisms since the cyclical masses of the Renaissance and the dramatic works of Monteverdi. In the eighteenth century, cyclical structures were occasionally introduced into instrumental music, as in Mozart's String Quintet in G Minor, K. 516 (1787), and his Jupiter Symphony, K. 551 (1788). In the nineteenth century, cyclical processes were increasingly permeated by poetic and programmatic stimuli. Here the principal, germinal ideas were subjected to elaborate transformational metamorphoses, as with Berlioz's idge fixe or Wagner's Leitmotiv technique. As a result, entire dramatic scenes were often recapitulated in varied climactic guises in order to insure both musicodramatic relationships and the sense of a culminating denouement. A convenient example is the death scene in Berlioz's dramatic symphony Romeo et Juliette (1839), which paraphrases--and ultimately disintegrates--the main thematic gestures of the earlier love scene, all the while preserving the latter's tonal matrix around A major and C-sharp minor. A similar cyclical transformation process may be observed in Wagner's Ring tetralogy between act 3 of Siegfried and act 1 (with introductory pro-

Borges' Early Love Poetry

The name Jorge Luis Borges rarely comes to mind in a survey of Hispanic love poets. The omission may be attributed to a general lack of familiarity with Borges' poetry, in particular his early work written as a young man during the late 1910s and 1920s.1 In any case, the myth of Borges as a cold, cerebral author untouched by human concerns persists even among those personally acquainted with him. For example, the Argentine writer Estela Canto, with whom Borges was romantically involved for years between 1944 and the early 1950s, has portrayed him as un escritor que nunca escribe sobre mujeres, como no sea como complemento o pretexto para una situaci?n dram?tica que prescinde de ellas (69).

An Interview with Thomas Sanchez

AN INTERVIEW WITH THOMAS SANCHEZ Thomas Sanchez Thomas Sanchez has written three novels, MiZe Zero, Rabbit Boss, and Zoot-Suit Murders, and the non-fiction Native Notes from the Land of Earthquake and Fire. He has received fellowships from both the National Endowment for the Arts and the Guggenheim foundation. This interview was conducted by Kay Bonetti, Director of the American Audio Prose Library. The Prose Library offers tapes of American authors reading and discussing their work. For information contact AAPL at P.O. Box 842, Columbia, MO 65205. An Interview with Thomas Sanchez IKay Bonetti Interviewer: Mr. Sanchez, you've described your life as being somewhat Dickensian. Certainly your books deal with extremes— extremes of behavior, extremes of circumstance. Does your work reflect the extremes of your life? Sanchez: It probably has, but I never thought that my life was extreme. You feel that the way you are living is the way everyone lives, especially when you're a child. My father died in World War II on an aircraft carrier that went down in the Pacific three months before I was born. My earliest memories are of having nightmares of being on fire and drowning. Interviewer: And eventually your mother became so ill that you ended up in the St. Francis School for Boys. Can you tell us about that? Sanchez: It was kind of a combination orphanage and boarding school and reform school. Most of the children there were either very poor children or orphans. There were Chicano children, there were American Indians, there were black children. It was a true American melting pot. It seems rather simplistic, but I really did live in a kind of "Family of Man" situation. A very tough one at times and a very dangerous one at times. But one which gave me a concept of what life could be outside the confines of that particular school. Interviewer: Where was the school located? Sanchez: It was in Watsonville, California, which is on the edge of the Monterey Bay in Northern California. Interviewer: Is that near the Cannery Row of Steinbeck's novel? The Missouri Review · 77 Sanchez: Yes. Cannery Row is also on Monterey Bay. I spent some time living on the edge of Cannery Row when I was a kid, in particular as a teenager. When I was there, the Cannery Row that Steinbeck had written about, that ghostly presence, was still there. It had not yet been turned into chic boutiques and restaurants. Interviewer: Did your mother work in the canning factories there? Sanchez: No, but she did work in cannery factories on the east Bay of San Francisco, as did my grandmother. Interviewer: To what do you attribute your early love of learning and literature, your attraction to writing? Sanchez: It's difficult to find that moment of illumination, but, looking back, I think it goes to my grandmother. She was taken out of school at a very early age and for various reasons she didn't learn to read or write. She was ashamed of that, and I bring it up because it's important. She developed a sense of the oral; she developed a sense of storytelling. She could take the language, in particular the American language, and make something of it. She invented words and she had a real mastery of telling a story. She'd throw some verbs up in the air like they were a pizza pie and they would come down as a cherry pie. The postman and the neighbors would come along to have a cup of coffee in my grandmother's kitchen and stay for hours upon end. She gave me a great gift without knowing it. She kept her very few precious objects in a little cedar box. Two of them were her favorite rosary and a very carefully folded and yellowing advertisement and review for my first novel, Rabbit Boss. When I discovered this after she died, I realized that for her the mystery 78 - The Missouri Review Thomas Sanchez "The magic of words was equal with the spiritual world." and the power that were held within that rosary also were held within the review of Rabbit Boss...

LOCAL HABITATIONS AND NAMES IN MS RAWLINSON C 813 IN THE BODLEIAN LIBRARY, OXFORD

MS RAWLINSON C 813 in the Bodleian Library, Oxford (Summary Catalogue 12653) now consists of two originally separate manuscripts, and it is with the first, now numbered fos. 1-98, that this article is concerned.1 The manuscript is well known as one of the major repositories of late medieval and early sixteenth-century courtly love lyrics.2 A very rough and ready classification of the lyric verse yields some thirty-nine courtly love lyrics; five poems concerned with death in the form of two epitaphs, two lamentations, and a testament (of a buck); four humorous or light poems; and three moral and admonitory ones.3 The manuscript also contains an extract from Skelton's Why Come Ye Nat to Courte?,4 Latin verses on the Seven

New Songs from a Jade Terrace: An Anthology of Early Chinese Love Poetry

New Songs from a Jade Terrace: An Anthology of Early Chinese Love Poetry

Some thoughts on resistance to cancer chemotherapy

Despite its successes cancer chemotherapy fails to cure the great majority of patients treated (2). This failure is due to the overgrowth of resistant cells. The final common pathway of all chemotherapy strategies is to overcome the resistance of tumor cells to eradication at dose levels which are tolerable by the host. The concept of resistance is as old as cytotoxic chemotherapy itself. The views on resistance mechanisms, however, have been changing over the years as it has become obvious that the older hypotheses were not resulting in new successful treatment strategies. In the early days of chemotherapy the major postulated mechanism of resistance was viewed to be kinetic. Drugs were viewed as being optimally effective against actively proliferating cells. Drugs were classified according to their preferential killing within the cell cycle based on cell culture kinetic studies. The most resistant cell was viewed to be the nonproliferating cell and such cells were labelled as Go to separate them from cells that were moving through the actively proliferating phases of the cell cycle (M --) G, --) S -+ G, + M). Solid tumors were viewed as being more resistant than hematological malignancies because they had a large percentage of cells in the Go phase and reciprocally their growth fraction was low and their doubling time long. New drugs were sought which would be able to kill Go cells. This search was hampered by the fact that the in viva screening systems in common use had very high growth fractions and short doubling times in comparison to human solid tumors. A second view ofresistance which began to evolve relatively early in the history of cancer chemotherapy was the biochemical view. A significant number of the early effective cytotoxic drugs were anti-metabolites. The early chemotherapists developed elegant biochemical paradigms for the mechanisms of action of drugs such as methotrexate, 6-mercaptopurine and 5-Fluorouracil. These paradigms enabled elegant hypothesis of biochemical resistance to be developed which to a great degree were testable, and seemingly validated, in cell culture studies. This early love of postulated biochemical patterns for mechanisms of action and resistance can still be found today in the chemotherapy literature. The biochemical view of drugs action led to the concept of ‘rational’ drug design which was set up in opposition to the empirically based approach of

Platonic love, transference love, and love in real life.

Plato and Freud transformed our way of looking at love. In Plato's Dialogues one can trace the transition and transformation of the mythical view on love into philosophical conceptualizations. The waning of the mythical point of view created the demand for man to know himself, and love became a puzzle. Plato was the first to propose that erotic impulses can undergo sublimation to higher and desexualized aims. Freud was not a Platonist, but if we trace the history of certain ideas it becomes evident that Plato's influence on Freud went further and deeper than was assumed by previous psychoanalytic writers. Freud's conceptualization of the libido can be seen as a Latinized version of Plato's Eros. Some of the difficulties associated with the psychoanalytic use of the term sublimation go back to the Platonic origin of the term. Freud's conviction that tender and aim-inhibited love was a later transformation of sexual impulses also went back to Plato, as did his belief that aim-inhibited love endures longer than sexual love. Because erotic love impulses can be sublimated, transference love can be harnessed in the service of cure based on insight. Erotized transference is not based on the refinding of an early love object and therefore is less capable of yielding the therapeutic climate required for psychoanalytic treatment. Freud's treatment procedure confirms Plato's belief in the plasticity of Eros.