Name You Research Articles

Thomas Larcher and Michael Haas in Conversation

Austrian Studies 26 (2018), 30–39© Modern Humanities Research Association 2019 Thomas Larcher and Michael Haas in Conversation Thomas Larcher and Michael Haas King’s College London, 31 August 2017 Michael Haas: There are several things that come to me when I listen to the symphony, Kenotaph, one of which always occurs to me when I approach a new symphony by an Austrian composer: the idea of national or cultural identity. And I say this because, in my own work, I discovered that composers who had been thrown out of Austria in 1938 began to write symphonies after the war was over. And they had never written a symphony before. Egon Wellesz wrote nine symphonies, but only started in 1945. Ernst Toch wrote seven symphonies, also starting in 1945. Erich Wolfgang Korngold wrote a symphony. This need to identify a kind of Austrian return, particularly when they’re outside Austria, when they’ve been thrown out of Austria, this idea of finding a kind of musical identity in something that most of us would just consider a form. And I was impressed by what you were saying about wanting to return to these old forms, through the idea of the symphony, and yet obviously none of the movements in your symphony take on the classical structure. They avoid that, they’re much more Mahlerian in trying to create a kind of overall cosmos, whilst remaining a symphony. And I don’t know to what extent you see the idea of the symphony as being an identifying feature as an Austrian composer. Thomas Larcher: Well, maybe I can start at quite another point. For me, just in terms of my personal development, I wouldn’t have dared to call any work, any orchestra work — be it half an hour long or ten minutes long — a symphony, because a symphony for me always was something really holy, something really substantial, and I was very unsure about my own pieces for most of my life, until I was around the age of forty. And having been a player, a pianist, a concert promoter and having admired so much music, which has been there and which had been written alongside my playing, and for me, by composers like Beat Furrer or Olga Neuwirth or [Toshio] Hosokawa or whomever. And I never felt that I really could belong in this company, and somehow I still have to say to myself that I just do what I do, and I try to do what I do, but at some point it just became unavoidable to call a work a symphony. And maybe one name you mentioned, Mahler, may be a very crucial name in all that, because you say that my symphonies don’t really strictly follow the forms of the movements Thomas Larcher and Michael Haas in Conversation 31 they used to have towards the beginning of the twentieth century. And there is this meeting between Mahler and Sibelius, where it’s told that Sibelius was struggling with the form and was very concerned about the form and Mahler said that for him the most important thing was that a symphony contains the whole world. And I remembered this at some point, and I thought: well, the whole musical world must be in every piece I write, it must have everything, from death to joy and every facet as a nucleus in it. But I must openly admit also that whenever someone said ‘your pieces somehow sound Austrian, I cannot tell you why, but there is a distinctive Austrian tone’, I would just get mad, because I hated it, because I didn’t see myself in any Austrian tradition at all. But inevitably of course when you hear it with a bit more distance, then you have to admit, that’s probably right. Michael Haas: Well, I’m not so sure I’d say that the music itself is quintessentially Austrian. The return to the idea of the symphony is what I find quintessentially Austrian. And I also find it interesting that an Austrian composer dealing with the subject of flight, of translocation, of assuming a host-land as opposed to a homeland, that this...

Twenty years of Internet addiction … Quo Vadis?

Byline: P. Dalal, Debasish. Basu "A person who never made a mistake never tried anything new." -Albert Einstein THE BEGINNING In 1995, when the New York based psychiatrist Dr. Ivan Goldberg posted a sincere-looking but satirical note on the online psychiatric bulletin board PsyCom.net (no longer available now) taking a dig at the rigid diagnostic criteria of the newly released 4 [sup]th edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM-IV) of the American Psychiatric Association (APA) by "creating" a fictitious disorder called Internet addiction disorder (IAD) and cooking up its "diagnostic criteria" as per DSM style for substance dependence, little did he know that he had opened the proverbial Pandora's box. [sup][1] He and his bulletin board were flooded with people narrating their tales of woe of "remaining caught in the Net" and seeking help for their condition. This was one condition he did not intend to create (he himself did not believe that there could be a true "addiction" to Internet but rather excessive or pathological use), but there it was whatever name you gave it! In 1995, a clinical psychology student Ms Kimberly Young, then in Rochester, USA, got interested in the psychological factors behind computer use and independently conceived of "addictive use of the Internet" as a pathological condition. [sup][2] It is interesting to hear of this story from the author herself 20 years later: "Internet addiction began as a pet project in a young researcher's one bedroom apartment in Rochester, New York. I was that young researcher. It was in 1995, and a friend of mine's husband was seemingly addicted to AOL Chat Rooms spending 40, 50, and 60 h online at a time when it was still $2.95/h to dial into the Internet. Not only did they suffer financial burdens but also their marriage ended in divorce when he met women in online chat rooms." [sup][3] The rest, as they say, is history, with her first illustrative case report published in 1996 having been cited 755 times, and her first definitive research article titled, "Internet addiction: Emergence of a new clinical disorder," published in 1998, having been cited a phenomenal 3144 times as on December 15, 2015! [sup][4] In 1995, a clinical psychologist Mark Griffiths, working at Nottingham Trent University, Nottingham, UK, who had been interested in research on gambling, computer use, and use of various machines or technology by humans in general for a few years at that time, published an article named, "Technological addictions." [sup][5] The next year, in 1996, he published on Internet addiction, conceptualized by him as a subset of the broader term technology addiction. [sup][6] This was the beginning, 20 years ago. As the freelance writer Michael OReilly, reporting in Canadian Medical Association Journal in 1996, (who, himself, interestingly, declared that "he may be at risk for developing IAD") titled his article as "Internet addiction: A new disorder enters the medical lexicon," where he mentioned Young's still unpublished research on Internet addiction. [sup][7] Truly, a PubMed search on "Internet addiction" pegs this short report as the very first article included in PubMed on the topic. The Accolades… Now, in 2015/6, as on December 15, 2015, there are 1561 articles cited in PubMed on "Internet addiction." What is more interesting is a look at the acceleration rate of publication. While there were only three articles in 1996, there were 32 in 2005, 275 in 2014, and 296 (and still counting) in 2015! Thus, while the growth rate of publications was not hugely impressive in the first decade of its life, Internet addiction is now a robust young adult in its postteen year with a sizeable growth spurt in its second decade. Not many "new" terms can boast of such growth in just 20 years in the PubMed! As an aside, it is to be noted that the term "Internet addiction" has many competing contenders; some of the important ones are pathological Internet use, problematic Internet use (PIU), compulsive Internet use, Internet use disorder (IUD), and pathological use of electronic media among others. …

FICTION IN REVIEW

1 5 4 Y F I C T I O N I N R E V I E W D A V I D G A L E F What’s by turns comic or confusing, real or imaginary, and has Something Not Quite Right? The literary genre known as slipstream , by definition evading easy categorization, hovers between mainstream and speculative fiction. Readers are never exactly sure whether the thing that goes bump in the night is a loose floorboard or a ghost on the loose. Though the term was coined by William Gibson, one of the originators of cyberpunk, perhaps the best-known practitioner of ‘‘maybe’’ is Kelly Link, whose first short story collection, Stranger Things Happen, came out in 2001. It contained such titles as ‘‘Flying Lessons’’ and ‘‘Survivor’s Ball; or, The Donner Party.’’ Are we in some fairy tale past or an uncertain present? Exactly what kind of meal is being served at the hotel? Has a minor character died or merely vanished – and how? Idiosyncratic lists and acontextual observations provide more intrigue without quite answering the questions they raise. Yet the style is authoritative. These are people and situations that Link makes us believe in, as in this G e t i n Tr o u b l e : S t o r i e s , b y K e l l y L i n k ( R a n d o m H o u s e , 3 5 2 p p . , $ 2 5 ) 1 5 5 R introductory bit from ‘‘Travels with the Snow Queen’’: ‘‘You enter the walls of the city early in the evening, when the cobblestones are a mottled pink with reflected light, and cold beneath the slap of your bare, bloody feet. You ask the man who is guarding the gate to recommend a place to stay the night, and even as you are falling into the bed at the inn, the bed, which is piled high with quilts and scented with lavender, perhaps alone, perhaps with another traveler, perhaps with the guardsman who had such brown eyes, and a mustache that curled up on either side of his nose like two waxed black laces, even as this guardsman, whose name you didn’t ask calls out a name in his sleep that is not your name, you are dreaming about the road again.’’ Link followed this up in 2005 with her second collection, Magic for Beginners, which drew praise from writers ranging from Michael Chabon to Daniel Mendelsohn. Link has also come out with Pretty Monsters, a collection marketed for the Young Adult crowd, as well as an edited anthology, Trampoline, which shows Link’s a≈nity for experimental work, not just in form but also in stance. Link possesses the literary equivalent of peripheral vision – like peering into a neighboring, o√-kilter realm. As the French surrealist Paul Éluard is reputed to have remarked, ‘‘There is another world, and it is in this one.’’ Link’s latest collection, Get in Trouble, contains stories with her trademark weirdness, including hints of magic and science fiction, yet these narratives take a few steps away from her earlier work. If they seem a bit less edgy (as in cutting edge and the edge of reality), they’re also more substantial, imbued with definite meaning and morality. Starting o√ the collection is ‘‘The Summer People,’’ in part a tale about elves, maybe, and the tactful handling they require. The teenage protagonist, Fran, acts as caretaker for a clutch of summer houses, but one of those houses has rather special inhabitants . As Ophelia, a schoolmate of Fran’s, finds out when she enters, they hoard items: ‘‘Dolls’ legs and silverware sets and tennis trophies and mason jars and empty matchboxes and false teeth and still chancier things poked out of paper bags and plastic carriers.’’ They make ingenious little objects, including a grotesque jack-in-the-box and a walnut-and-ebony iPhone case. They can be nice or nasty, fairies or fae. Part of Link’s elusivity, if that’s a 1 5 6 G A L E F Y word, is a refusal to clarify. Perhaps the...

Digital Traces of the Persona through Ten Years of Facebook

Over the past decade, Facebook has become integrated into the everyday lives of many of its 1.28 billion active users to the point that Facebook can no longer be considered "new media." The site is driven by the "disclosures" (Stutzman, Gross and Acquisti) users make on the site—by uploading photos, writing status updates, commenting on posts made by others, sharing news items, entering biographical details, and so on. These digital traces of life are archived by default, persisting indefinitely as etches in Facebook’s servers around the world. Especially for young users who have grown up using Facebook, significant parts of their social and cultural lives have been played out on the site. As spaces in which the persona is enacted and made visible, social network sites like Facebook also effectively capture growing up stories through a chronicle of mediated, transitional experiences: birthdays, graduations, the beginning (and end) of relationships, first jobs, travel, and so on. For these reasons, Facebook also comes to serve as a site of memorialisation for users who have passed away. To mark its tenth anniversary (2014), Facebook drew attention to the great depth and wealth of experiences users had traced upon its pages through the release of one-minute "look back" videos, chronicling the life of individual users over their time on Facebook. These videos have become short manifestations of the personas presented on the site, crafted through an algorithmic selection of critical moments in the user’s life (as shared on the site) to tell that user’s story. To turn Bowker’s musings in the above quote into a question, what do these sets of traces that we leave in the world add up to? In this article, I undertake a critical reading of Facebook’s look back videos to argue that they serve as the strongest reminder yet about the function of Facebook as memory archive. I draw on several sources: my own analysis of the structure of the videos themselves, the Facebook corporate blog describing the roll out of the videos, and the public campaign played out on YouTube by John Berlin to have a look back video generated for his deceased son. I argue that Facebook comes to serve two critical functions for users, as both the site upon which life narratives are performed and organised, and also the site through which the variously public and private disclosures that constitute a persona are recalled and reflected upon. In setting out these arguments, I divide this paper into three parts: first, a description and reflection upon my own experience of the look back video; second, a consideration of critical moments selected for inclusion in the look back videos by algorithm as persona; and third, a discussion of death and memorialisation, as a sharp example of the significance of the digital traces we leave behind.

LONG VACATION PASTORALS: CLOUGH, TENNYSON, AND THE POETRY OF THE LIBERAL UNIVERSITY

In the opening passage ofA Room of One's Own, Virginia Woolf catches herself, and is subsequently caught out, in a moment of reflection on the banks of a river, within the grounds of a barely fictionalised “Oxbridge University”:Here then was I (call me Mary Beton, Mary Seton, Mary Carmichael or by any name you please – it is not a matter of any importance) sitting on the banks of a river a week or two ago in fine October weather, lost in thought. That collar I have spoken of, women and fiction, the need of coming to some conclusion on a subject that raises all sorts of prejudices and passions, bowed my head to the ground. To the right and left bushes of some sort, golden and crimson, glowed with the colour, even it seemed burnt with the heat, of fire. On the further bank the willows wept in perpetual lamentation, their hair about their shoulders. The river reflected whatever it chose of sky and bridge and burning tree, and when the undergraduate had oared his boat through the reflections they closed again, completely, as if he had never been. There one might have sat the clock round lost in thought. (6–7)In this fictional account of her trespass on university property, Woolf forges a close association between the environment in which she does her thinking and what she thinks, so that body, mind, and text are shown to be engaged in the same work. Her thoughts, she suggests, have a physical weight: they bow her head to the ground. The landscape bows with her so that a momentarily surreal vista of flaming leaves and long-haired trees is at once the place she is sitting and the space of her imagination, and the “reflections” through which the undergraduate oars take on a double meaning as the boat floats through her consciousness and back out again. The interruption of the beadle causes her to lose her train of thought: it is a fish that jumps and then disappears back into the river. This reverie, which rehearses the lecture's central argument concerning the material conditions required for gender equality, identifies the university as a case in point. Oxbridge is experienced by Woolf's fictional avatar as a place where intellectual freedom is achieved within a series of carefully regulated spaces, and her essay balances the attraction and acknowledged value of these exclusive spaces against the experience of her own exclusion. As so often in her work, the geography of Woolf's prose is haunted by the Victorians, whose lyric voices she can only half hear as she sits at a college window. Her essay therefore invites a return to nineteenth-century accounts of university life that pay attention to the material, or formal, delineations of the university.

A Literary Add-a-Pearl Necklace: Oaken Transformations Brighton, Michigan

38 World Literature Today photos : susan blackwell ramsey 5 poetry trails january–february 2013 • 39 A Literary Add-a-Pearl Necklace Oaken Transformations | Brighton, Michigan Susan Blackwell Ramsey Susan Blackwell Ramsey is a displaced bookseller in Kalamazoo whose first book, A Mind Like This, was just published by the University of Nebraska Press. Editorial note: For more information on Oaken Transformations, see www.miartwalk.com. I f not many poetry walks are National Wildlife Federation–designated wildlife refuges, even fewer have their trailhead in a maxillofacial surgeon’s waiting room. But just off the highway outside Brighton, Michigan, turning in at the sign for Dr. Fredric Bonine’s Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery also brings you to Oaken Transformations, a half-mile poetry and sculpture walk dedicated exclusively to artists with Michigan connections. No one is surprised to see you; the pleasant woman behind the desk just asks you to sign the guest book and take a map, then goes back to answering phones. Banks of daylilies and towering hydrangeas crowd a chipmunk-riddled brick courtyard, so the abrupt turn onto woodland trail is startling. The website describes Oaken Transformations as “post-glacial / post-industrial,” which pretty well brackets Michigan’s formative forces but doesn’t begin to describe the range of terrain here: the oval trail curves between two ponds, into forest, up a hill, through a meadow, and along a neighboring horse pasture. It feels much longer than half a mile, and measured in steps probably is, since side paths branch off to installations of poetry and sculpture. The sculpture is for sale and stays for only a year, while the poetry is carefully described as being there “indefinitely” (post-glacial / postindustrial doesn’t encourage illusions of permanence ). Not surprisingly, then, the sculpture and poetry aren’t linked. More surprising is how little of the poetry could be described as “nature poetry” or even poetry meant to be glanced at, read in passing. Robert Fanning’s “What Is Written on the Leaves,” for example, is thirty-eight long lines. On the other hand, it is one of the loveliest poems on the walk, with its incantatory let go: Of the season, let go. Of the ache to shape and make meaning let go. Of the hand in the dark, let go. Moss and worm, the awful gnaw, of the docked tongue, the rootclenched heart, let go . . . The poems are in white on signs the same green as the one telling you this is the exit for Brighton—surprising if you’re expecting bronze (remember, indefinitely, not permanently), but practical. The walk, after all, is new, a sort of literary add-a-pearl necklace, still growing, with room for dozens more. There’s a poem by a high school student, one by an elementary student. Some names you recognize; others you resolve to look up. One of the happiest installations, at the edge of a meadow of shoulder-high grasses, is Aaron McCollough’s “Threshold: The Lawn”: Before Edwin Budding in 1830 grass had to be managed with a scythe or with grazing beasts. The typical American yard was a scraggly garden of plantain, henbit, creeping pale, barberry and multiflora rose, a kind of meadow in miniature . Where it grew, grass tended to grow unchecked. It grew exceptionally tall. The beautiful uncut hair of graves. Thank you, Dr. Bonine. Kalamazoo, Michigan ...

After Eden

After Eden Diane Vreuls (bio) Click for larger view View full resolution Interstate 25, Eden Colorado, 1968, Photo by Robert Adams, courtesy of Yale University Art Gallery [End Page 288] Wind out of compass bird out of speech flowers that have bloomed in no tongue before, what do I name you how shall I call you what are your fruits after Eden O Lord? [End Page 289] Diane Vreuls Diane Vreuls is the author of: Are We There Yet? (Simon and Schuster, 1976), Sums: A Looking Game (Viking, 1977), Instructions (Kayak) and Let Us Know (Viking, 1986). She lives in Oberlin, Ohio. diane.vreuls@gmail.com Copyright © 2012 The Johns Hopkins University Press

The Third Man : Zone/Frontier; Gangster Films and Westerns

The Third Man: Zone/Frontier; Gangster Films and Westerns Mitchell Breitwieser (bio) . . . here in the Zone categories have been blurred badly. The status of the name you miss, love, and search for has now grown ambiguous and remote, but this is even more than the bureaucracy of mass absence—some still live, some have died, but many, many have forgotten which they are. Their likenesses will not serve. Down here are only wrappings left in the light, in the dark: images of the Uncertainty . . . —Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow. In The Third Man, Graham Greene’s zone is the same as Pynchon’s, though about two years later, middle Europe after World War II, a time when clear and effective civil authority was not yet reestablished, and certain ambiguities and potentialities flourished as a consequence of that. When Sir Alexander Korda asked Greene to come up with a film set in Vienna, Greene had the germ of an idea, written down “twenty years back, on the flap of an envelope”—a man named Harry, buried the week before, is seen on the Strand one February day—but not much more. It took a trip to Vienna to supply the precipitant, the first result of which was not the screenplay of The Third Man but a prose narrative “treatment” Greene planned to use as a foundation for the script. That treatment was published as a novel after the film had proved a success, succeeding in the public’s attention the text it had preceded in compositional history. In this essay I will be concerned mainly with that novel blossomed from Greene’s Vienna trip, the first fruit of the excitement that Vienna awoke in Greene, though I will suggest as well that in making the film Greene and Carol Reed continued [End Page 13] to explore what Greene had come upon in the zone. Vienna revived his enthusiasm for certain imperfectly administered terrains he had visited in movies—boweries in gangster movies and frontiers in westerns—and reminded him of a character type endemic to such sites, an effervescent, charismatic innocent whose soul didn’t age because he’d found a setting that didn’t require it, who could only be terminated, rather than taught or matured, a blithe criminal rebuttal to the theory of inevitable decline preached in the “Intimations Ode”: though for Wordsworth it’s inevitable that “Shades of the prison-house begin to close / Upon the growing boy,” for Greene’s boys the only danger is jail rather than spiritual inhibition because they always go eagerly on, never grow reluctantly up. Calloway, the British MP played by Trevor Howard in the film, describing Harry Lime: “[Lime had] never grown up. Marlowe’s devils wore squibs attached to their tails: evil was like Peter Pan—it carried with it the horrifying and horrible gift of eternal youth.” Such perennial boys have a knack for finding spots in real space that leave plenty of room for free play, for a while, at least: and if the thought that opportunity is always only temporary ever makes them melancholy, melancholy never alters their course; they play out their main chance, until the last moment, when reasserted territoriality has the last word, not a consummate word, just the last one. * * * Though the term is rarely used, the illicit circulation of liquor in the U.S. during Prohibition created a one-commodity black market, and the combination of scarcity-induced demand and imperfect policing in postwar Vienna led to outcomes similar to those depicted in gangster movies during the ‘Thirties. Initially, the flow of black traffic in Vienna was improvised and sporadic, face-to-face bargains struck in certain crowded public locations, to which the Viennese police and the Occupying Authority responded by keeping crowds on the move, by making those locations out of bounds to troops, and by introducing scrip in “an attempt to break the chain of selling military supplies on [End Page 14] the black market and buying more supplies with the proceeds,” provisions that left intact what a British military publication entitled Austria: Report and Review called an emergent “black market gentry.” The sort of crime syndicate over which Harry...

Zoning Laws: Facebook and Google+

Zoning Laws: Facebook and Google+

A Study on Micro-Credit in Eastern Uttar-Pradesh Region (With Special Reference to CASHPOR Micro Credit)

Micro-credit is something which is not going to disappear...because this is a need of the people, whatever name you give it, you have to have those financial facilities coming to them because it is totally unfair...to deny half the population of the world financial services. - Mohammad Yunus (Founder, Bangladesh Grameen Bank)CASHPOR Micro-Credit (CMC) is providing micro-credit on a large scale exclusively to poor in the poverty-incapacitated areas of eastern region of Uttar-Pradesh. CASHPOR was started in 1996 and as on 31st march, 2009 it has provided credit worth INR 1.82 billion to 319,000 poor women. The current paper attempts to review the business policy (plans), financial performance and efficiency, productivity and profitability ratios of CMC in last 10 years of operation. It also discusses the monitoring system of business and their special traits to maximize the outreach. The current paper based on secondary data. In the analysis it was observed that in very short span of time CMC achieved a remarkable outreach in the region and its pro-poor policies made big impact on the client's life.

An approach to the chest radiograph

![Figure][1]</img> Image courtesy of ©2010 Jupiterimages Corp. > I try and spy with my little eye, > > Your age, your sex, the name you go by, > > The type of exam, position you’re in, > > Comparison films? Oh good, let’s begin. > Next time can you take a bigger “big breath?” > > I

Deaf Studies by Any Other Name?

Welcome to Volume 15 and the 15th year of the Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education. Throughout this volume, the two of us will be co-editing a special section on Deaf Studies, to appear in each issue. A bit of history will be instructive. In 1985, the field of Deaf Studies was in its infancy. Studies of and by deaf people were about their languages, their behaviors, their community histories, and only occasionally about their cultures. In that year, the First International Deaf Researchers Workshop was held at Bristol University. It was limited to deaf participants only and attended by interested scholars and teachers from all over the world. One of the co-editors of the Deaf Studies section (Tom) spoke at this conference on distinguishing deaf people from Deaf people, a convention that had been used before, but not widely, and became known as ‘‘small d’’ and ‘‘big D.’’ The ways that ‘‘deaf ’’ interact with ‘‘Deaf ’’ turned out to be very complex, indeed, perhaps more than we imagined at the time. Discussion for the duration of the conference and for several years after reflected both our determination to understand how to think about categorization and segmentation of people who are deaf and the sometimes problematic ambiguity when we use the sign ‘‘DEAF.’’ So went Deaf Studies, an emerging field marked by ambiguity. Ten years later, in 1995, a group of investigators interested in sign language, the development of deaf children, cognition and learning among deaf individuals, and related areas came together and created the Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education. Finding a publisher was not as difficult as expected, but among the other early tasks was naming the new journal. Input was solicited from a broad audience and suggestions varied widely. It was clear that the word ‘‘deafness’’ was to be avoided, and some people were averse to using ‘‘deaf ’’ as an adjective. One (hearing) observer, for example, emphatically argued that terms like ‘‘deaf education’’ do not make sense, even if they are commonly used. Others argued against phrases like ‘‘deaf children’’ in favor of options like ‘‘children who are deaf and hard of hearing.’’ Attempts to resolve all the contradictory advice yielded either titles too long to fit on the spine of the journal or ones that failed to capture the diverse content that we hoped to publish. At one point, the name quest was taken to Gallaudet University, where a large number of researchers had gathered for a conference on education. Mutually exclusive suggestions continued to overwhelm the editorial group until it was suggested that one of them (the other co-editor of the Deaf Studies section,Marc) ask a prominent member of the Deaf community attending the conference for advice. The situation was explained to her and she responded ‘‘It doesn’t matter which name you choose. You are hearing, whatever you choose will be [seen by others as] wrong. If you were deaf, whatever you choose would be right.’’ Armed with that wisdom, the group sought out the broadest possible title and settled on the Journal of Deaf Studies and Deaf Education. No conflicts of interest were reported. Correspondence should be sent to Marc Marschark, Center for Education Research Partnerships, National Technical Institute for the Deaf, Rochester Institute of Technology, 52 Lomb Memorial Drive, Rochester, NY 14623 (e-mail: marc.marschark@ rit.edu).

Top Dollar, and: Too Grassy, and: Green Pastures, and: Flock Hard

110 JORDAN STEMPLEMAN TOP DOLLAR It’s no wonder I’ve never seen a clear bathtub since staring at one life is hard enough. Imagine the creator of absence, and now imagine having them over for dinner, and finally, consider how in god’s name you might explain a boat ride, your life story, the third largest animal you ever raised. There are those days when all we do is eat. A head has the smallest opening. If you speak directly into it, I’ll go out looking for my missing pants, my best pants, lost in this wide open city. 111 JORDAN STEMPLEMAN TOO GRASSY But you’re lean and fit, you’ll finish me before I’m right. I’m not following the stretch of that part where we part laughing. I’ve landed myself sailing and underdressed, calling what’s indeed—sweetheart—what’s wrong— waiting in the next room on your left—what’s morning— my noble dang thing. It’s why I look as I do, stilled by this late June stuffing—our apartment filled with hundreds of gang members counting off by fives. 112 JORDAN STEMPLEMAN GREEN PASTURES This is no galleria, but a real nipple factory that’s finally hung up its sinking island for the promise of one night skies and the patience to heal. Aster and ‘some like traffic,’ aside from the more famous, have shown up under threat of life and limb. Vague memories will now one day hear about the notorious phone that quit ringing. Criteria? Entirely. Do you need one more year? Never. Some days are called off for emergency and understanding. The irresponsible go haywire for hands-on blackouts. And we know, this is the time to see one another as deadly, since we mimic the darkness, scooting along to kiss one another by forcefully bumping our eyes. 113 JORDAN STEMPLEMAN FLOCK HARD There are millions who’ve polished wood, reached where they’ve wanted, cut the grass on an empty stomach, then wavered when calmed by the times. To depend best lives on through its word. On horseback, the cheese tasted powerless. The blind spots are stubborn and measured to go nowhere just below our centers, so that when we finally left all the animals behind, the walk back seemed to follow the miles that stayed. There are flowers where there shouldn’t be. They mean what we don’t remember, they’ll get away with what they can. ...

The Rest Is Noise: Listening to the Twentieth Century (review)

Reviewed by: The Rest Is Noise: Listening to the Twentieth Century Richard D. Burbank The Rest Is Noise: Listening to the Twentieth Century. By Alex Ross. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2007. [xiv, 624 p. ISBN-13: 978-0-374-24939-7. $30.] Illustrations, bibliographic references, discography, index. Music librarians have a treasure in this wonderful new book: unlocking the treasure chest itself is best accomplished by reading the index first. That way, names you might want to see in the text but that do not appear there will not surprise you. The index provides a detailed overview of just who and what are discussed in the book. Next, read the preface. That is where Alex Ross reveals his purpose: “Each chapter cuts a wide swath through a given period, but there is no attempt to be comprehensive: certain careers stand in for certain scenes, certain key pieces stand in for entire careers, and much great music is left on the cutting-room floor” (p. xiv). Ross emphasizes in his preface that he “chronicles not only the artists themselves but also the politicians, dictators, millionaire patrons, and CEOs who tried to control what music was written; the intellectuals who attempted to adjudicate style; the writers, painters, dancers and filmmakers who provided companionship on lonely roads of exploration; the audiences who variously reveled in, reviled, or ignored what composers were doing, the technologies that changed how music was made and heard; and the revolutions, hot and cold wars, waves of emigration, and deeper social transformations that reshaped the landscape in which composers worked” (p. xii–xiii). After reading the book itself, the reader may want to read the endnotes to find out just where all of these bits of information came from, and to see how artfully Ross has woven them into his text. Ross freely admits that “portions of the book originally appeared, in different form, in The New Yorker.” He also states that his subtitle is meant literally: “this is the twentieth century heard through its music” (p. xiii). He informs the reader that the book is the result of fifteen years of work as a music critic. He also occasionally reiterates the purpose of the book as the text unfolds, as, for example, when he writes that the book illuminates “the cultural predicament of the composer in the twentieth century” (p. 185). These interjections make the book an excellent lesson and a wonderful ride. Finally, near the end of the book, Ross once again highlights his intent: “This has been a book about the fate of composition in the twentieth century” (p. 514). As the text on the book jacket points out: “The end result is not so much a history of twentieth-century music as a history of the twentieth century through its music.” Here, then, are some composers the reader will not find in Ross’s book. It is important to list these names so that, in case the list contains some of your favorites from the twentieth century, you will be able to calm down and allow Ross to shine his own lights on that century: Isaac Albéniz, Dominick Argento, Arthur Benjamin, Richard Rodney Bennett, Lennox Berkeley, Arthur Bliss, Ernest Bloch, William Bolcom, Henry Brant, Havergal Brian, Samuel Taylor-Coleridge, Michael Colgrass, Roque Cordero, Chou Wen-Chung, Mario David-ovsky, Frederick Delius, Edison Denisov, Jacob Druckman, Gottfried von Einem, Gerald Finzi, Elena Firsova, Michael Finnissy, Arthur Foote, Alberto Ginastera, Umberto Giordano, Rheinhold Gliere, Alexander Gretchaninoff, John Harbison, Elizabeth Lutyens, Bruno Maderna, Roman Haubenstock-Ramati, Victor Herbert, Alun Hoddinott, York Höller, Vagn Holmboe, Jacques Ibert, Vincent d’Indy, Mikhail Ippolitov-Ivanov, Andre Jolivet, Joseph Jongen, Dmitri Kabalevsky, Jean Langlais, Paul Lansky, Benjamin Lees, Ton de Leeuw, Alan Jay Lerner, Gian Francesco Malipiero, Jules Massenet, Nicholas Maw, Thea Musgrave, Andrzej Panufnik, Vincent Persichetti, Astor Piazzolla, Bernard Rands, Einojuhani Rautavaara, Ottorino Respighi, Wolfgang Rihm, Edmund Rubbra, Aulis Sallinen, and the Tcherepnins. Ross divides the twentieth century into three parts: 1900–1933; 1933–1945; 1945–2000. He uses the two world wars as major [End Page 75] points of demarcation after writing about Vienna (prior to World War I), then Hitler and Stalin, then New York...

The Shadow on the Picture: Of Evil or the Negative

Contemporary discourse—or, to put itmore precisely, globalizedofficial discourse—seems to be invoking its ultimate purpose when it persistently dins our ears with its legitimate aspiration to an all-embracing positivity: peace (repeated relentlessly in all languages as a univocal directive), cooperation, communication, and so on. As if the elimination of the negative were at last within reach, that we had but a few final obstacles to remove before casting it out of history once and for all, or at least that suchapurpose could be accomplished if only we had the will to do so, ambient discourse boldly brandishes the optative in a chain of resolutions: no more wars, no more divisions, no more borders, and so forth. Not so fast, the realist pensively sighs, there may still be a long road ahead; but insofar as the end is concerned, there is nothing to discuss. Henceforth, political and religious discourse (the grand ecumenism of the pope and the dalai lama) are in total agreement on the subject. Yet, hand in hand with this triumph of asepticized unanimity, at least on the level of discourse, we have been witnessing an amazingly primitive resurgence of diabolical figures whose elimination would purportedly suffice for history to finally show its radiant face. “Call it, as I do, axis of evil; call it by any name you choose, but let us speak the truth.” Apparently one last “conspiracy” is unexpectedly delaying our progress (in just the same way communist regimes used to speak of final conspiracies diabolically obstructing the road to a “radiant future”). Evil, I repeat, or whatever else you call it, it’s all the same. A point of resistance or blockage is being designated whose nature is such that it has no part in any coherence and whose erad-

Fiction Writing: Theft or Weft?

What can a writer of fiction steal: a voice, a landscape, some history, a story, a name? Is barefaced best, ficto-critical more honest, slight of hand more deft? Good relationships and elaborate permissions have failed to protect the best of writers. Preparing for hostilities can warp a narrative. Examining the heart of a dark obsessive story could lend to an exploration of the notion of heredity, but what if the story is historically anchored to a name, your name, or at least the name you took up with a man? Is it the weight of the exegesis bearing down, which demands of the writer such self-conscious examination of the inchoate novel, conceived but not transformed? This paper sets the rights and privacies of others, against the quirks of imagination, and the trust writers invest in themselves in order to create their work.

A Note from the Editor-Select

In January 2004, we start the transition of editorship for the Journal of Broadcasting & Electronic Media. I feel greatly honored with the 2005-2008 appointment and the bestowal of trust involved with editing the leading journal of our discipline. We are coming upon our 50th Anniversary in BEA and the Journal of Broadcasting. The year was 1955, and our first editors are names you'll remember: Robert E. Summers, John M. Kittross, and Christopher H. Sterling. We are deeply indebted to these early editors who established the foundation for our journal as one of the premier publications of scholarly research. I pledge to follow that tradition. As you read this note, I'm just beginning to review manuscripts as editor-select. My first issue will appear March 2005, when I assume the editor's role. During this transition, editor Thomas R. Lindlof (University of Kentucky) continues to publish articles for his term, and he's teaching me the process. I don't foresee a lot of change in my tenure as editor. I think we have the finest journal in the field. The articles published represent a diversified spectrum of interests, disciplines, and methodologies. This variation strengthens all of us, as well as our discipline. It is my intention that JOBEM remain an intellectual leader as we will stay the course of excellence. As always in such transitions, there will a few changes on the editorial board. The purpose of the board remains to provide a collective body of national and international expertise. The board remains strong in disciplines of quantitative research. I have also invited qualitative scholars to join the board and have worked to maintain a large pool of reviewers from all disciplines. Really, the most important decision an editor makes is the assignment of reviewers to a manuscript. It is the quality of the editorial board and manuscript reviewers that have maintained, and continues to maintain, the high quality of our journal. One of my goals as editor is to affirm our current quantitative submissions while at the same time encouraging more qualitative submissions in history, criticism, and law. I'd like to invite variety in our subject matter and our methodological approaches. So, you'll notice a few changes in the Guidelines for Submission of Manuscripts. Manuscripts may submitted in APA, MLA, or The Chicago Manual of Style. This is our first step. I hope this flexibility will encourage more research from our historical, critical, and legal scholars. Upon a manuscript's acceptance the Publications Committee still mandates that the publication style APA and must prepared, by the author, in accordance with the current edition of the Publication Manual of the American psychological Association. You'll notice that I've also edited the length considerations. I don't want to discourage longer submissions; however, I do want to encourage more submissions. Thus, succinctness is highly encouraged. I know how important each word seems, but it has been my own experience that my manuscripts have always been improved by a good dose of editing for brevity. I totally agree with our previous editors who have worked hard to maintain a short manuscript evaluation turnaround time. I will work to maintain no more than a three month period where possible. Having said that, I'd like to provide a few words of advice and encouragement to our younger scholars and those looking anew at JOBEM. I want to encourage new and young scholars to consider our Journal--your quality work is paramount. Having reviewed many manuscripts over the years, I'd like to say to you, be persistent, polite, accommodating. I pledge that your manuscripts will reviewed by scholars who are leaders in our field. I ask you to remember that these scholarly reviewers are often the busiest of our colleagues, these are productive people with national reputations. They review your material without compensation or rewards of any kind. …

Echo: Reading The Unnamable through Kant and Kristeva

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Left to Themselves: The Subversive Boys Books of Edward Prime‐Stevenson (1858–1942)

Edward Irenaeus Prime-Stevenson. A name you are very unlikely to have heard of, although in his time he enjoyed a modest renown as a writer of some distinction. Using his entire name or some variant (such as E. I. Stevenson, Edward Stevenson, Edward Prime-Stevenson, E. Irenaeus Stevenson), he wrote many different types of literature, and enjoyed some success as an author of magazine fiction, poetry, literary and music criticism, travel essays, esoterica such as cartomancy, and the two areas which concern us today: boys books, which he wrote early in his career; and overtly homosexual works, which he penned later on, that place him among America's earliest gay authors. Edward Irenaeus Prime-Stevenson. In spite of the fact that his books are difficult to get hold of-his two major gay works, Imre: A Memorandum (1906), and The Intersexes (1908), can be had only in facsimile copies; and his two boys books only by locating rare editions in a handful of libraries-in spite of this difficulty, his is a name, as critic Noel I. Garde put it, that ought not to be forgotten. And it won't, if I have any say in it. During the past summer I worked for Broadview Press on an edition of Imre: A Memorandum, the first overtly gay novel by an American that dared to present a happy ending in a period that allowed homosexuals recognition only if they came to punishment or suicide by the conclusions of the rare novels where they might appear. It is to be hoped that the return of this novel in an accessible and modern format will spark an interest in what critic Roger Austen calls the Father of Modern American Gay Literature. While researching-with some difficulty-- the life of this elusive author, I read whatever other works of his I could find, and his two boys books were especially fascinating, not only because they were successful in their day and clearly emulated the more visible Horatio Alger series of novels for boys, but also because Prime-Stevenson had named these books himself as having a definite homoerotic subtext. In The Intersexes, a monumental defense of homosexuality written in response to the nineteenth-century medical establishment's creation of gayness, Stevenson-- writing under the pseudonym of Xavier Mayne-- said in a somewhat coy aside: Fiction for young people that has uranian hints naturally is thought the last sort for circulating among British boys and girls. [Nevertheless] ... in White Cockades, a little tale of the flight of the Younger Pretender, by E. I. Stevenson, issued in Edinburgh some years ago, passionate devotion from a rustic youth toward the prince, and its recognition are half-hinted as homosexual in essence. The sentiment of uranian adolescence is more distinguishable in another book for lads, Philip and Gerald, by the same hand: a romantic story in which a youth in his latter teens is irresistibly attracted to a much younger lad; and becomes, con amore, responsible for the latter's personal safety, in a series of unexpected events that throw them together-for life. (366-68) The acknowledgment that he had written boys books and deliberately subverted or tweaked their agenda would be fascinating enough if such an admission were to be made by a present-day writer, but it becomes especially intriguing when we think of such an event occurring in the straitlaced Victorian Period, not one particularly known for its sexual openness. Boys books had their own agenda, to be sure. Such books were meant to be edifying, instilling in young boys notions of manhood, boyhood, morality, patriotism, patriarchy, goals, and ideals. For Stevenson to say that he was able to inject-apparently without detection or objection from the publishers-a portrait of gay boys in a genre unilaterally heterosexual, is to suggest that the genre itself was open to such usurpation. Horatio Alger's books provide a sterling model, and we realize that, once past the doubtless unconscious phallocentrism of such titles as Ragged Dick, Bound to Rise, Risen from the Ranks, Charlie Codman's Cruise, Struggling Upward, and Strong and Steady, the books are quintessentially male-oriented, any female characters always tangential to the plots. …

Platonic Eros and Deconstructive Love

In your name you are destiny, for me you are destiny. Everything began, you remember, when I pronounced it, you had your hands on the wheel, and I know that I am writing this, destiny, fate, chance, when on the envelope I risk, which is indeed how I feel the thing, when I risk the first word of the address. I address myself to you, somewhat as if I were sending myself, never certain of seeing it come back, that which is destined for me. And when I am able to pronounce it, when I softly call myself by your name, nothing else is there, do you hear, nothing else, no one else in the world. --Jacques Derrida (1) MY LOVE IS DESTINY, IS WRITTEN INTO MY STORY FROM THE BEGINNING. But despite that, because of that, I am vulnerable, vulnerable in and as for There is simultaneously indeterminacy and a force of determination. story, told by me, should be of love, its verbal force directed towards another object, which is receding away somewhere else. But call it her, and it is at once decisively feminized, substantialized. The suggestion of object for verbal power is now its entirety, and washes it away. My is now love, beloved. She is everywhere, and I can find nowhere for myself. My is destined to be the one who alienates my for her. Because she occupies all its possibilities, all the possibilities of love, I am vulnerable, alienated in the midst of determination. This is also the condition of Wordsworth's Blessed Babe in The Prelude, who holds mute with mother's heart by intercourse of and by sight gather from her eyes. It is the birthright of his being, a of love that is at his poetic origin. His is undefined, and must first make contact with an earthly soul, the touch of which is the breeze which vivifies, combines and organizes the elements of his mind, makes them into a mind. This bond enables him to return to her nature, but with active, original force, mind as poetic imagination, nature as new creation. (2) Andrzej Warminski shows that this origin, however, is difficult, does not coincide with itself as original. Poetry is the elaborated, linguistic bond of self-consciousness, yet here it comes from a glance, a touch, merely perceptual sensations: In other words, unlike the Babe's reading of the Mother, [this] phenomenalizing, phenomenological interpretation cannot read passion--because it wants to think it in naturalistic, perceptual, preconscious, prelinguistic terms; i.e., as a need--and hence cannot understand the origin of language. As Paul de Man puts it in a footnote on the erotic in Hypogram and Inscription: Rather than being a heightened version of sense experience, the erotic is a figure that makes such experience possible. We do not see what we but we in the hope of confirming the illusion that we are seeing anything at all. (3) The origin of poetry is not poetic, forcing Wordsworth into illegitimate imposition which makes dialogues of touch and articulated gathering of out of sight. In the passage from Derrida, the speaker is constituted by his for a who, once she is reached, dissolves the possibility of that trajectory away. In the same way, Wordsworth seems to formulate the erotic as art loving nature, the empirical perception of the feminine the desire of masculinity's transcendentality of mind. Yet that transcendency, as transcendency, to be itself must have constituted feminine nature from the start and so cannot have been itself--which of course also means that nature cannot be entirely natural either. The discipline of is language making itself into language at the point where it precisely cannot have been linguistic. My passion for beloved, at the point she appears, washes me away. As de Man puts it in the footnote quoted by Warminski, the beloved does not make us love, but we in order to make the beloved the beloved, to make possible. …