Word Love Research Articles

The Cultural Work of Empire: The Seven Years’ War and the Imagining of the Shandean State (review)

Reviewed by: The Cultural Work of Empire: The Seven Years’ War and the Imagining of the Shandean State Richard Davies Carol Watts. The Cultural Work of Empire: The Seven Years’ War and the Imagining of the Shandean State. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2007. 335 pp. $65.00. The Cultural Work of Empire: The Seven Years’ War and the Imagining of the Shandean State is a complex and challenging book, densely written and hard to summarize, claiming to map hitherto unrecognized links between “the cultural work of empire” and the writing of Laurence Sterne. What, you might ask, is the cultural work of empire? Watts says, “ [I]t’s the general process of subject formation” and “a broader penetration of an instrumental rationality connecting governance and the flows of public culture” (13). If that sounds abstract, it is. Cultural work of empire is the idea of the imagined state conceived, performatively, as the political form of social life, at home as well as abroad: “It is my view [writes Watts] that the long process of abstraction of the modern state takes an intense cultural turn at the mid-point of the eighteenth century” (11). In particular, the Seven Years’ War (1756–63) brought about significant changes in the idea of the state and the subjectivity of the individual and consequently animated the literature of the day. The account here of the cultural work of empire uses a wide array of eighteenth-century writers, thinkers, and artists (the list is a long one), but Watts maintains, nevertheless, that “This is a book about the work of Laurence Sterne” (17) because Sterne’s proves to be a significant repository of political ideas, so much so that the publicly imagined idea of the state at the middle of the eighteenth century can even be said to be “Shandean.” Watts obviously enjoys suturing (one of her favourite words) such abstract ideas to literary texts, and following her is not always easy as we negotiate the book’s sixty-eight sections, 799 footnotes, and thirty-three pages of bibliography, and an argument that, to use Carol Watts’s own cinematic metaphor, one minute treats us to a close-up of a text and the next minute offers us a “crane shot” swooping down from above (19). It’s during the crane shots that a reader might well lose focus because Carol Watts has a love of difficult words. The question is if the struggle to understand her is worth the effort. I would say, on balance, it is. [End Page 247] Carol Watts wants to keep the horizon of Tristram Shandy’s modernity in view at all times by continually juxtaposing eighteenth-century sources and modern-day theoretical ones. Intellectually we are kept on our toes as Watts choreographs the many connections between the cultural work of empire and her chosen texts, chief among which is Tristram Shandy. In the first chapter, for example, we consider Candide and Rasselas (both appearing in the same year as the first two volumes of Tristram Shandy). Candide is shown to be an “uncompromisingly political” book while the attempt to read Rasselas as an allegory of imperial Britain revealing “dimensions of the cultural work of empire internal to Britain at this time” is less convincing. As Watts explains repeatedly, the cultural work of empire is as much about internal colonization as planting the flag and administering countries far from home, so Watts segues easily into the locally hewn Tristram Shandy. It might surprise readers of Uncle Toby, though, to learn that “he is an agent for imperial violence, economic gain” (80), and it might provoke skepticism to learn that he is “an imaginary, and yet literal, configuration of the nature and cost of social labour in the crucible of empire” (98). But however extreme Watts’s conclusions (Marx is evoked in the final line of the chapter), her analysis of the figure of the military veteran as a sacrificial victim of the pursuit of empire defines Toby as part “critique,” yet part upholder, of the sublimity of war re-enacted with energy on his bowling green: His effeminacy resembles on the one hand a kind of impotence, a weakness...

Iauo

The verb iauo occurs frequently in the Iliad and Odyssey. It is usually translated as »to sleep« or »to spend the night«. Surprisingly, though, iauo as used by Homer also clearly indicates an active behaviour and even the contrary of sleeping. David Daube closely analyses the texts concerned to discover the complete spectrum of the word’s meaning to solve the riddle. It is a piece of work very typical of Daube’s love of words and hermeneutics. Special thanks go to Calum Carmichael who transcribed the article from the manuscript left by David Daube and gave us the permission to publish it. Recommended citation: Daube, David, Iauo. To sleep or not to sleep, in: Rechtsgeschichte - Legal History Rg 11 (2007) 66-75, online: http://dx.doi.org/10.12946/rg11/066-075

Building Word Consciousness

A love of words is usually not cultivated by defining terms on a worksheet. The activities described in this article are designed to stimulate curiosity for learning new vocabulary. Excellent trade books serve as the backbone for these lessons. Students are encouraged to look within and beyond the walls of the classroom for fresh ways to express what they see and hear. They become engaged in pursuits that stimulate movement and the senses. By creating a place where the study of words is treasured and enjoyed, teachers will reap the benefits throughout the year.

Professor Arthur J. Willis (1922–2006)

Professor Arthur J. Willis (1922–2006)

Metamorphosis

IRVKW Metamorphosis Stephen Burn Who Wrote the Book of Love? Lee Siegel University of Chicago Press http://www.press.uchicago.edu 235 pages; cloth, $24.00 Lee Siegel's last two novels were dense, experimental fictions that showcased the author's linguistic dexterity and formal inventiveness. Love in a DeadLanguage (1999) retold Nabokov's Lolita (1955) in a book disguised as a scholarly translation of the Kamasutra that was interspersed with pictures, a fake website, and pages printed upside down. Love and Other Games ofChance: A Novelty (2003) began as a parody oíMoby-Dick (1851), but the one hundred chapters of its story were also the squares on a Snakes and Ladders board, and Siegel encouraged the reader to play the book as a "great aleatory game." Although Siegel's new novel, Who Wrote the Book ofLove?, extends his meditation on love, it also marks a momentary retreat from these eye-catching formal explorations. Siegel's earlier work demonstrates that he evidently likes to embed his novels in non-novelistic forms, but after writing a novel in the form of a scholarly text, and one in the form of a board game, he has turned to the more accessible format of the memoir for his new book. There is much authentic narrative and linguistic energy to enjoy in the book. Who Wrote the Book ofLove? is a chronicle ofa boy's sexual awakening in Beverly Hills in the 1950s, and it unfolds in ten sections that cover a year each. The narrator of the memoir is an apparently semifictional Lee Siegel, and the memoir begins in 1950, when at the age of four or five he is given a child's guide to sex by his parents. This is a seminal moment for the young Siegel, who will turn out to be obsessed notjust with love, but with books and language, too. In this respect the boy has much in common with the book's author, and Siegel subtly stresses this parallel by humorously replaying his own literary strategies through the boy's writing. Just as Siegel attempted to rewrite Nabokov and Melville in his earlier love books, so his young narrator produces a romantic revision of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876) to prove in a term paper that Tom has sexual intercourse with Becky Thatcher in chapter thirty-one of the book. But while the adult author gets praised in literary journals, the boy narrator is suspended from school and dropped from the swim team. This is a hard first lesson about literary censorship. With the book's chronology tied to the narrator 's development, transformation becomes the controlling idea behind Siegel's memoir, though his earlier books insist that mutability is embedded in the word love itself. Siegel notes near the end ofLove in a DeadLanguage that: "[W]e cannot comprehend the meaning (either the intent or significance) ofour word for love. . .the meanings of abstract words in a living language cannotbe fixed; by theiressential nature they are persistently and insistently changing as the living language changes. ..."Appropriately, Who Wrote the BookofLove? builds on this idea, exploring the way the significance attached to the word love changes, and develops, as Siegel matures. The narrator views love variously as imaginary, voyeuristic, and deceptive, as he draws nearer to discovering love as a physical fulfillment. But as the concept signified by the word "love" changes for the narrator, so Siegel traces parallel changes in the young Siegel. Some development is inevitable in a memoir, but what is unusual about the metamorphoses of the narrator is the degree of self-consciousness that accompanies his transformations. This becomes clear on the many occasions when the narrator examines himself in the mirror. The first time he does this he is trying out a cowboy outfit: I looked at myselfin the large mirrors on the closet doors ofmy mother's dressing room. Ifthe doors were opened atjust the right angles to each other, I could see myself from all sides, and, when the mirrors faced each otherjust so and I squeezed in between them, millions ofcowboys lined up behind me, and another million faced me. And all of them were me. The...

CSR: Where is the Love?

As fully‐socialised beings, all human experience is characterised by communication and primarily facilitated by language. Every society seeks legitimation for its ideologies and practices and it legitimates itself chiefly through language. When employed as an instrument of governance, it can bring about social cohesion, also has the power to cause disintegration when consensus is absent, and can have serious consequences when its constituent parts are dismembered. This paper addresses the context in which value‐attribution and labelling takes place and examines the idea of CSR in terms of its lexicology or theoretical lexicography. In particular, the demands and imperatives incumbent on the word responsibility are explored according to its use as part of language, discourse and most significantly as a referent within the expression, corporate social responsibility. In the first part, it is suggested that this approach may provide clues as to the alleged failure, in spite of recent national and international endeavours, to provide any useful universal framework for ethically‐sound corporate behaviour. The second part constitutes a tentative inquiry into whether an alternative to the word responsibility might produce a better result. To this end, a specific definition of the word love is posited as a substitute or at the very least, acknowledged as a worthy driving force for responsible corporate citizenship.

Eudora Welty's Personal Epic: Autobiography, Art, and Classical Myth

The importance of tale, legend, and myth, especially many aspects of classical myth, to the creation and understanding of fiction by Eudora Welty has been long recognized and widely accepted. Many of her works have been read in mythical terms, in particular her short fiction cycle The Golden Apples (1949); yet only a few critical efforts have extended the perspectives of myth to her entire canon, and even fewer have considered Classicism as central to her overall accomplishments. (1) Welty's work is vital to the contemporary transformation of the twentieth-century American and southern literary pantheon, so earlier considerations of her classical connections focus on feminine, if not feminist, retellings of ancient narratives. Although recent readings of Welty's fiction by way of female myths reveal much of its subtle beauty and cultural complexity, more may be discovered by re-reading her canon within the full contexts of the Classicism informed the origins, accomplishments, and traditions of the Southern Renaissance. (2) Certainly, feminist readers are right to contrast Welty's use of the Classics with of her more traditional male role models such as William Faulkner and Robert Penn Warren as well as with their modernist mentors such as T. S. Eliot and James Joyce. The classical intertextualities form her fictions are employed more on the model of female modernists such as Virginia Woolf and Elizabeth Bowen, or, closer to home, Katherine Anne Porter and Caroline Gordon. Yet Welty's fictional canon might be read as her Modernist epic of the self, much in the terms Alan Williamson applied to Allen Tate's poetic oeuvre by defining this contemporary variant of the epic tradition as that particularly modern form which views historical material entirely through the glass of private sensibility, fragmenting it as a series of lyrics rather than presenting it as a whole, as narrative (714). Lyrical narratives rather than poetic lyrics are the individual aspects of her personal vision, while her canon is united in a quest for fulfillment as a woman and as an artist. These two aspects of Welty's art share much with male and female precursors alike in her recreation of American, southern, and Mississippi by autobiographical, artistic, and classical means. Although Eudora Welty did not have the rigorous classical training of academic colleagues learned in Greek and Latin in the Southern Renaissance, such as Allen Tate and Robert Penn Warren, her formal and informal education in the Classics was still substantial. Her memoir, One Writer's Beginnings (1984), recalls her immersion in mythical material almost from the time she began to read; certainly it dated from the sixth or seventh birthday when doting parents presented her with Every Child's Story Book, a compilation of fairy tales ... myths and legends ... [and] history (One Writer's Beginnings 8). English lessons at Jefferson Davis School and later French and Latin classes at Jackson Central High School confirmed the young Eudora's love for words and stories. Her high school Latin was strong enough to excuse her from assignments in order to tutor her less proficient classmates (Waldron II)., The Classics were still the center of college preparation in the early 1920s, and Central High's honoraries were organized around classical themes; for example, the club book in Welty's senior year was The Aeneid (Waldron 12). English, French, and Latin were once more her favorite classes at nearby Mississippi State College for Women, where Welty studied for two years before transferring to complete a degree in English at the University of Wisconsin-Madison in 1929 with a creative thesis, now lost (Waldron 41). Evidently, the writer returned often to her favorite books in all three literatures and languages, or in translations, to mark transitions in her career (Waldron 183). For example, after completing The Golden Apples, her book most fully structured by classical allusion, Welty reread Homer's Odyssey in preparation for her first trip to Europe in 1949 by way of Italy and the Mediterranean (Marrs 145). …

True to Type: A Typographical Autobiography (review)

If at the age of eighteen and a half Ruari McLean had indeed followed his dream of riding horses in South America, this book would never have come to be. Instead, his autobiography gives a vivid and personal account of his career in typography. McLean's autobiography is perhaps much like the diaries he tells us he has kept since his youth. Full of drawings, letters, photographs, and reproductions of book covers and designs and peopled with anecdotes of characters who touched his life, McLean's book is more than an autobiography, it is a tribute to all who inspired him—whether through encouragement, friendship, collaboration, comedy, example or rejection—and to everything that instilled in him a love of words. It is at once a series of personal recollections, a memoir of his career, and an anecdotal history of the publishing world of London in the 1950s and 1960s.

Hooglied, liggaam en die mistikus, Sint Teresa van Avila (1515–1582)

Song of Songs, body and the mystic, St Teresa of Avila (1515 – 1582)In this article the interaction between an allegorical (tropological) understanding of the Song of Songs, the body and the internalized societal values of the sixteenth century Spanish mystic, St Teresa of Avila will be highlighted. Our bodies are central in our symbolizing activities and this confirms that we are (animated) bodies. St Teresa cannot escape her body, not even in the elevated spiritual state of the unio mystica, utilizing the words of love in the Song to voice the soul’s glowing love for Christ. The body’s “voice” is always present, in spite of her societal dualistic values of prioritising the spirit at the expense of the body and it even subtly enhances self-realisation. The repressed body always returns. The “text” of the body onto which is “written” societal values becomes an important source of exposing a society’s hidden ideologies.

Art Of The Brain: UCLA Neuro-Oncology Program

Newsflash. . . I sell brain cancer The words came on the wind of a rumor. “I have breast cancer, but I'm not selling it like Judi Kaufman,” someone said. Words laden with spit smacked my heart. I hold residual hurt in the palm of my hand for examination. I see whispers that I hear like screams. “Yes, I AM selling brain cancer. I terrify people while I ask myself ‘What's the problem?’” The deal God and I made was He was to make a map to a place where I can manage my head with hope. An oligodendroglioma, a kind of malignant brain tumor, was resected from my right frontal lobe on November 3, 1997. It is fall 2001, and I am still alive. I sell brain cancer with all of my heart because some die from brain cancer. By the end of 2001, 13,000 people in the United States alone will be gone. Because the brain is the most complex and fragile organ in the body, controlling all of our functions, yours and mine, it makes brain cancer the most difficult kind of cancer to treat. I have more than 100 brain buddy volunteers, 35 who I know personally. We have broken bread together in my home. As we watch people leave this world, we think this is a big-enough reason for us to be selling brain cancer. My friend and co-chair, Joyce Bromiley, watched her Aunt Angie die days after our first event in the fall of 2000. Richard Seymour's mother, Teresa Seymour, died the day after Richard did an operatic concert in her honor to help pay for her medical care. At her funeral, we heard music and know that Richard keeps his mother's memory alive by creating “Music from the Heart”. So folks, it is as simple as that. I do sell brain cancer, as a stargazer. I pray that my work will mean that people like Laura Gibson, age 20, Kevin Green, age 4, along with people like my friend Shari Lewis, Gary Schwartz, Michael Strudnick, Charlie English and Jack Elliot will have a chance at life. I have the chance, right now, to help. When my tumor was removed, I lost my number and time skills. As soon as I knew and told people these disabilities, I found that those who truly love me accept my changes and respect my efforts. I am less inhibited these days and love words that talk truth. I received a great gift from my frontal lobe surgery. My creativity has gone wild, like a yellow blowing balloon on a long string in one hand, and a red one in the other. I have to ask for assistance in blowing big bubbles, so as not to overwhelm my family and friends. I do not have expectations that anyone should be like me or perform like me. Selling disease, like me, is not for everyone. Most keep theirs private, as it should be for others. Believe me, I know that selling brain cancer means we all have a better chance at life. Dr. Timothy Cloughesy, Director of Neuro-Oncology at UCLA, is using emerging technology that is already increasing the survival rate for many brain cancer patients. I think I am one of those lucky ones. You bet I sell brain cancer for me, for my family, for friends. Not so bad, this news, it is good for me. I am glad I can still hear and feel the wind, understand other people's pain. I fly free.

Silence Proceeding

SILENCE IS THE MOST FORGOTTEN of the divine names. Our world has grown too loud to appreciate the veneration that is silence. Reluctant to encounter the stillness and interiority on which it insists, the modern mind finds it all too easy to ignore the silence of God. It is only in and through this divine silence, however, that God's perfect love can be realized. It is where, according to Simone Weil, God reveals his truest self: "He who is capable not only of listening but also of loving hears this silence as the word of God. The speech of created beings is with sounds. The word of God is silence. God's secret word of love can be nothing else but silence. Christ is the silence of God." 1 T. S. Eliot likewise sees God's silence as the place where we meet his Word, insisting that

Is Love a Management Virtue?

The aim of this paper is not to provide a rigorous proof that love is a man agement but rather to show that the proposition cannot be lightly dismissed. The word love has a tangled web of meanings, mirroring the complexity of love itself (Martin 1996, 11), or, as William Frankena says, the basic form of an ethics of love is 'Be loving!' But this talk is not very clear and much depends on how it is understood (1973, 26). When considering whether love is a management virtue, the love to which I refer is the love which is a genuine caring for others, considered by Aquinas to be the most excellent of the virtues (2-2.23.6),1 and the love which we show when we love someone so as to wish them good (2-2.23.1). Erotic and amorous love which involves sexual desires and activity, while it may be benevolent, is not usually a function of management and is not the subject of this paper. Aristotle divides virtues into two types (NE 2.1.1102b),2 the intellec tual virtues such as practical wisdom and scientific insight, and the moral virtues including temperance, courage, justice and proper ambition (NE 6.3.1139b). For him virtue in a man will be the disposition which (a) makes him a good man, (b) enables him to perform his function well (NE 2.6.1106a). Thus is both inherent and shown in action (see also Hauerwas and Pinches 1997, 31).

“I Do, I Do”: Medieval Models of Marriage and Choice of Partners in Marie de France’s “Le Fraisne”

That de France would choose to write a story about love and with a happy ending is rather a surprise to readers mindful of the historical reality of the Middle Ages. The prospect of a woman having a happy, loving in twelfth-century Renaissance France is bleak indeed. Georges Duby comments on how little historians do know about love between spouses: que savons-nous, en France, au XIIe siecle, de l'amour entre epoux ? Nous n'en savons rien, et n'en saurons, je pense, jamais rien pour l'immense majorite des menages.... (Que sait-on de l'amour en France au XI[I.sup.e] siecle? 5). Notwithstanding, the celebrated historian does mention de France and how her depiction of love in the Lais seeks as its ultimate goal: In the poems attributed to de France, ideal love is that which leads to marriage (The Knight, the Lady, and the Priest 224). Marie's notion of love as a constant presence creates among the poems a reciprocal harmony of lovers in love that makes for a unified collection. Jean Flori's insightful article on Marie's Lais points toward a commonality based on unconventional love: tous racontent une histoire d'amour contrarie et, dans tous les cas, les sympathies de l'auteur vont aux amants tant qu'ils vivent cet amour sans se soucier des convenances sociales (19). Cynthia Ho in her stimulating essay from Crossing the Bridge, assigns monogamy in Marie's Lais a somewhat curious meaning, defined as exclusive, committed love in disregard of vows (142). Robert Hanning in his reflective chapter from The Olde Daunce recognizes the various qualities of Marie's love in its many guises: married and adulterous, young and mature, successful and unsuccessful, idealized and degraded, comic and tragic (95). Philippe Menard in his essay Marie de France et nous insists upon the nature of love as shared: Un aspect touchant de ces peintures tient au fait que l'amour vecu est reciproque (12). Moreover, as evidence that does not value the superficiality of courtly love games, Menard judiciously comments upon Marie's penchant for authenticity in love: En outre, loin d'accepter aveuglement les rites elegants, mais un peu artificiels de l'amour courtois ... prefere la spontaneite et les elans d'un coeur sincere (14). in demands equality between the sexes and thus defies the domination/submission precept of courtly love: L'idee qu'il ne saurait y avoir de domination en amour, qu'aucun des partenaires ne doit commander a l'autre est eminemment etrangere a la doctrine courtoise (15). For Donald Maddox in his provocative book Fictions of Identity in Medieval France, the tender and loving words of Tristan in Chievrefoil link the Lais together: Bele amie, si est de nus:/Ne sanz mei, ne jeo sanz vus (77-78). Maddox maintains that this unadorned utterance is arguably the umbilicus, the key locus of the entire (77). Yves Badel comments on how the brevity of the lays as a genre invites one lay to complement another: un texte court reussi appelle un supplement, demande a etre repris, relance en quelque maniere ... ainsi de recit en recit, narrateur et lecteur sont solidement contraints, par loi dure de la brievete et d'une histoire a chaque fois nouvelle, a un face a face avec le reel de l'existence (39). Thus, we can see how Marie's collection as a literary genre has been assessed by scholars as succinct yet compatible texts that like separate streams find their common source in Marie's abiding wellspring of true love. While true love is everywhere present in Marie, are we able to generalize about love in the Lais? According to Burgess and Busby, generalization may be overly simplistic: Love in medieval literature, as in any other period (indeed, in life itself), is too complex to be reduced to a single model which will not admit of variation (Introduction 27-28). However, woven into the fabric of the Lais, we discover the fine thread of true love that embroiders one lay to another in a seamless tapestry where couples freely choose each other and enter into what we moderns would loosely designate as a relationship. …

From “La Mujer Esclava” to “La Mujer Limón”: Anarchism and the Politics of Sexuality in Early-Twentieth-Century Chile

From “La Mujer Esclava” to “La Mujer Limón”: Anarchism and the Politics of Sexuality in Early-Twentieth-Century Chile

What the Fortune Teller Didn't Say (review)

In her collection What the Fortune Teller Didn't Say, Shirley Geok-lin Lim doesn't deal directly with the subject of love. Indeed, throughout the book, she uses the word love only rarely. But behind the pain of childhood abandonment, the denigration faced by those born female, and the anxieties experienced by exiles--themes that dominate the collection--is the need for love. Not only do figures in the poems have difficulty securing it, but they also have difficulty expressing it. This, essentially, is the dilemma faced by Lim's various personae: the daughter who has only a poem to offer her deceased parent in "Father in China"; the immigrant in "Learning to Love America"; the girl who talks sweetly to please her stepmother in "Presumed Guilty." They all express a fundamental longing for love that they can't find or describe in words.

The House of Sky: Landscapes of a Western Mind , and: The Way of a Boy: A Memoir of Java (review)

Book Reviews267 Living on the Margins: Women Writers on Breast Cancer, edited by Hilda Raz. Persea Books, NewYork, 1999. 285 pages, $25.95. Poets and writers often use their own Uves as source material, but not always in personal terms. So when LuciUe Clifton, MarUyn Hacker, Maxine Kumin, AUcia Ostriker, and fourteen other exciting writers ofpoetry, fiction, journaUsm, and scholarship teU readers what reaUy happened to them when they had breast cancer, it is an event worth noting. The book includes poems, personal essays, shaped journals, and interviews in a satisfying mix of lyricism , humor, information, and self-revelation. CoUectively, these voices offer an alternative to fear—whether it's LuciUe CUfton's poetry asking, "what is the splendor of one breast/on one woman?"; Maxine Kumin relating her struggles with a doctor intent on usurping her decisions; Annette WiUiams Jaffee's brave efforts to break the cycle of genetic legacy that caused her to lose her mother and aunts so young: "My mother was dying in the front bedroom but I was on the porch eating those tart green grapes"; Alicia Ostriker's "Scenes from a Mastectomy," which depicts a marriage handfing a mastectomy ; Mimi Schwartz's misadventures at a "Reach for Recovery" conference ; Pamela Post's empathy to rock in the middle of the night with the woman in the next hospital bed, feeUng her pain "as much as the surgeon's knife"—and many more. Not aU the explorations are personal, though. There is an informative interview with Dr. Susan Love, the breast cancer activist, andJudith HaU s piece on Fanny Burney's mastectomy without anesthesia in 1811. The book's title, says editor Hilda Raz, refers to clean margins that those with cancer hope for, indicating no cancer spread. But life is on the margins , and the question is, how weU do we manage this? Very well—is the inspiring message ofthese women writers who ffll in, as Raz says, the "margin of missing literature [that] surrounds breast cancer." Elizabeth Templeman With my memory for detail ever more unreliable, and my love of fine prose fairly constant, I believe I could spend the rest of my Ufe rereading selections from a dozen or so favorite books. Among them are two comingof -age memoirs which, despite their differing circumstances, evoke, for me, a famiUar sweetness and terror, a secret longing and secret pain. 268Fourth Genre The House of Sky: Landscapes of a Western Mind by Ivan Doig. HarcourtBrace , 1987. 314 pages, paperback $13.00. In the 1960s Doig saw the lifestyle ofhis family—herding sheep over the hardscrabble plains of Montana—disappearing. So he set out to capture its haunting landscapes and its bold, hard-living, and utterly memorable cast of characters. This is oral history, taken down with respectful precision. It aims to preserve a richly inventive language of cussing and the ingenuity, crushing work, and high stakes ofthe transient life. Its cadence is as quirky as the language is powerful. One section on lambing includes multiple-page paragraphs : lambing was work without respite. In one ofa chain ofblessings, the chüd ofirregular schooling discovered a stash of abandoned magazines, material to feed his imagination and budding love of words: I read right through whatever shone dark on the snowfield pages ... as an Eskimo who had never before seen a movie might watch the newsreel and then the cartoon and then the feature film without ever knowing to separate them in his mind, simply letting himself be taken with the habited flow of flashing images. . . . His mother died when he was six and Doig describes how he reached back "along my father's teUings" to find her "in the oldest shadows" but the book is finaUy a tribute to his father, Charles Doig, and the maternal grandmother , Bessie Ringer, who formed an uneasy aUiance for the raising ofthe boy. The Way of a Boy: A Memoir ofJava by Ernest HiUen. Penguin, 1995. 314 pages, paperback, $10.70 (throughAmazon.com). In this, the first of two memoirs, HiUen teUs about the Japanese imprisonment ofDutch and EngUsh famflies Uving in Indonesia. The story is one ofthose ripples ofhistory that to my limited knowledge isn't much remembered . I...

A Tribute to Charles S. Cameron, MD, CA's Founding Editor

Charles S. Cameron, MD, CA's founding Editor, died on October 24, 1998, at the age of 90. During his long and useful life, Dr. Cameron made many remarkable contributions to the care of cancer patients, most notably in cancer prevention and detection and in educating physicians about cancer. Dr. Cameron's love of words and language was evident in his skillful writing and inspirational speaking. His lucid style and superb timing would bring audiences to their feet, cheering. Dr. Cameron joined the National Office of the American Cancer Society as Medical and Scientific Director in 1948, eventually becoming Vice President. While at the Society he lectured and wrote about the importance of early treatment, aiming his message at both physicians and the public. He pioneered the use of closed circuit television in professional education and promoted special fellowships in cancer diagnosis and treatment. His 1955 book The Truth About Cancer became a best seller. One of the first to recognize the potential of the Pap test for reducing deaths from cervical cancer, Dr. Cameron widely promoted its use. In 1950 Dr. Cameron founded CA—A Bulletin of Cancer Progress, which later became CA—A Cancer Journal for Clinicians. Convinced that when cancer was treated was more important than how, he wanted to reach general practitioners, the first doctors that patients consult. For these busy physicians, CA would condense “authentic information about diagnosis, treatment, control, and research,” as he said in the first issue, distilling material of practical usefulness. In a letter to Dr. Cameron celebrating his 90th birthday, friends and colleagues noted that his work with the ACS and his book “were among the original factors in the formation of a national campaign against cancer.” He left the Society in 1956 to become Dean of Hahnemann Medical College and Hospital and went on to become President and Chairman of the Board of Trustees. Throughout his career, Dr. Cameron used his gift for communication to better the lives of cancer patients, their families, and the health professionals who treat them. CA, which will celebrate its 50th anniversary next year, stands as a lasting tribute to Dr. Cameron's legacy.

The standard modes of aversion: fear, disgust and hatred

I have nothing to offer but (a) one very plain and unexciting thesis of asymmetry between the fundamental types of emotional responses (or responses and reactions) to objects: liking and disliking, or, say, pro and con, appreciative/appetitive and aversive: an asymmetry not just empirically encountered but analysable and explainable; and (b) a restricted and somewhat arbitrary triadic selection of modes of aversion on which to base a diffential analysis. I shall argue that no such fundamental division, that is, none exactly on the same logical footing with this, can be attempted in the vastly more variegated range of friendly responses; and shall also mildly try to uphold the fairly representative character of the chosen triad of fear, disgust, hatred. Certainly we are accustomed to such apparently symmetrical contrasts as like and dislike, pro and con, being pleased and displeased, appetite and repugnance, attraction and aversion, and hatred. That appearance of symmetry is near enough to evident truth so long as we stick closely to the highly general root concepts of pro and con, like and dislike, or acceptance and rejection. It tends, however, to break down as our interest turns to the specified forms of pro and con emotional attitudes. Is hatred a symmetrical opposite of love? In every language, the word love has a way of embracing the entire conceptual field of pro responses: hence the traditional trinity of amor complacentiae, amor concupiscentiae and amor benevolentiae. Hatred is confined within much narrower limits: its proper object is only a person or a collective of persons, or at any rate something strictly expressive of the attitudes or words of such. In other cases, loathing, detestation, or repugnance rather than hatred seems to be the fit counterpart of what may still quite properly be called love. I the ducks in the park; I would refuse to say that I hate the seagulls which infest it in wintertime. Again, disgust has its range of objects limited to live beings or their remains, products, vestiges or representations; there is no similarly classic counterpart to it on the pro side. Again, what is the opposite

The Surgeon of Crowthorne: A tale of murder, madness and the love of words. By Simon Winchester

<i>The Surgeon of Crowthorne: A tale of murder, madness and the love of words</i>. By Simon Winchester

Questions of Interpretation in 'La Princesse de Cleves'

Prefatory Note. Introduction. I Questions of love. Words of love. Possession, repression, oppression. 'Le plus grand de tous les maux...'. The dream of love. The heart of the matter. A reasonable choice? II Relationships. Marriage. Friendship. The Court. III Appearances. Image. Belief. Hide-and-seek. Discovery? IV Home Truths. True confessions? Seeing clearly. V The right decision? Right and wrong. Uneasy rest. Postscript. Bibliography.