This essay considers the phenomenon of non-Warwickshire cities and towns that have imported the name of Stratford for their locales, and the later ramifications of this inescapably Shakespearean place name. My aim is to explore why citizens around the world have chosen 'Stratford' as a name for their locale, what connotations they were hoping to evoke and to import, and how the choice of place name has affected the subsequent development of the space. The various imported Stratfords discussed in this essay, from America to New Zealand, suggest the complex associations between the name of 'Stratford' and its most famous original resident, from evoking a sense of tradition, stability and history; to the complicated relationships between national identities. This often tumultuous partnership is indicative of the shifting values and meanings behind both 'Stratford' and Shakespeare, from the nineteenth century to the present, and in various geographical locales and economic circumstances.
Tourism, Travel Journalism, and the Construction of a Modern National Identity in Sweden
Tourism research has analyzed how modern nations are marketed to attract tourists from abroad and how domestic tourism has been used in the construction of national identities. Less attention has been given to the construction of outbound tourism as a central aspect of how a nation becomes modern. The following article studies Swedish travel journalism in the 1930s, when older forms of masculine colonial travel shared space with modern tourism trips. Even though few Swedes could travel abroad, tourism, both domestic and outbound, was vividly discussed as an established practice. To travel was practically a duty and something that would make the Swedes healthy, modern, and worldly. It would also foster proper national sentiments. The ideal of a warm but not chauvinistic celebration of one’s own country is a common Swedish position in relation to the world.
South to a New Place
Suzanne W. Jones and Sharon Monteith
In 1971 Albert Murray published South To A Very Old Place. Commissioned by the editor of Harper’s magazine, Willie Morris, to write about ‘home’ in a series of articles, the African American writer produced much more: South To A Very Old Place is memoir, travelogue, social commentary. Orchestrated as a jazz and blues composition, it is a meditation on the American South. Taking his title as our starting point, in this issue of Critical Survey we have gathered contributors who continue the work of critically and creatively mapping the American South, a region that exasperates as it inspires definition(s). Murray’s blues forms are open-ended and improvised so the blues metaphor and the jazz form are key in a collection called ‘South To A New Place’. It begins to chart connections with ‘other’ Souths in ways that open up spaces and places from which we might read the South as a site of exchange – the South of Italy in Michael Kreyling’s essay; the South as shaped and commodified by the best-selling magazine Southern Living in Amy Elias’s essay; and the literary South of Walker Percy and Richard Ford’s making in Martyn Bone’s essay, for example.
The Green Man, Psychoanalysis and Kingsley Amis
A range of texts published since the late nineteenth century take for their theme the forest, presented as an ambiguous and ‘uncivilised’ space, as deadly as it is seductive, and as frightening as it is bursting with life; they portray the wooded realm as the habitat of shadowy supernatural presences which embody these contradictory qualities. The work of the anthropologist Sir James George Frazer suggested every wood to be teeming with imagined vegetation spirits; the eerie fin-de-siècle fictions of Arthur Machen and Algernon Blackwood presented sylvan settings as the garden of the Arcadian Pan, reborn as a creature of ecstasy and terror. Latterly, such imagery has often centred on a supposed British wood-god, the ‘Green Man’. It is my contention that this marginal, though persistent, tradition can be understood in the terms of a theory that the French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan set forth, in a wholly different context, in 1959–1960: that of the Thing, the life-giving yet deathly object of the drive to escape the ‘original curse’ of language. This article aims to elucidate Lacan’s theory, and its relevance to ambivalent visions of the mythic forest, in a reading of Kingsley Amis’s novel of death, desire and the supernatural, The Green Man, published in 1969.
Home and Dislocations in Andrew Marvell's 'Upon Appleton House'
This essay analyses Andrew Marvell's 'Upon Appleton House' and demonstrates that the poem registers the ways in which spatial politics, and the representation of home, in particular, underpins as well as enriches its meaning. Borrowing Donna Birdwell-Pheasant's and Denise Lawrence-Zuniga's definition of home and house the essay focuses on Lord Fairfax's house and shows that, notwithstanding the multiplicity of spaces presented in the particular poem, and despite his agonising effort to present Nunappleton as Lord Fairfax's home, Marvell in fact reflects his patron experiencing a strong sense of dislocation while living in Appleton House due to its complex as well as disconcerting religious and familial associations. In other words, beneath the façade of the heroic Protestant man who chose to withdraw from the public arena to the private sphere of Nunappleton, was a man trying to come to terms with his Catholic origins as well as with the fact that the particular estate reminded him of his displacement from the male line of his family as well as his disempowerment by the female sex. Hence, Appleton House, at that precise historical moment, fails to become 'a symbol of self' or 'a manifestation of family identity'; instead it is 'an inn to entertain / Its Lord a while, but not remain' (ll. 71-72).
Home, Harem and the Hybrid Family in Ahdaf Soueif's The Map of Love
The Map of Love (1999), a novel by the Egyptian writer Ahdaf Soueif, opens in Egypt and America in the late twentieth century, but shifts in time to explore and imaginatively reclaim the terrain of the travels of a Victorian woman in Egypt, Lady Lucie Duff Gordon, English author of Letters from Egypt (1865). The novel explores the links between a contemporary American-Egyptian family and a nineteenth-century Anglo-Egyptian one. By focussing on the hybrid family and by drawing on historical figures such as Gordon and the English Orientalist painter John Frederick Lewis, Soueif seeks to explore the complex dynamics of intercultural discourse. The Map of Love destabilises the homogeneity of a patriarchal and imperial narrative (several of Soueif 's nineteenth century British characters are anti-imperial) and it is through the representation of the harem as desirable domestic space that Soueif's revisionist project advances a positive vision of nineteenth-century Arab-Muslim domesticity and culture. These representations also align her project with nineteenth-century female travellers' accounts of the harem.
Subjects and Citizens
In the last few months Britain has lived through several moments when the idea of being a citizen has been at the forefront of people’s minds. In the space of twenty-four hours in July 2005 we experienced the jubilation of winning the right to host the 2012 London Olympics and felt the horror and shock caused by the terrorist attacks on the London transport network. Both events showed in stark contrast what being a citizen means for a nation in the twenty-first century: the inevitable coming together of a people to celebrate national success turned to bewilderment as Britons struggled to understand how fellow citizens could inflict such destruction on their own country. Questioning citizenship is now a daily occurrence in the national press as tabloids call for loyalty tests, immigrants to be repatriated, and tougher laws for extremists. The following six articles, written before the aforementioned events, tackle some of the very same issues that now trouble us. They address themes such as identity, nationality, confinement, attacks on liberty, citizenship, and being the subject of oppression. Analysing at a fundamental level the nature of being a subject or citizen, these papers challenge notions of dominant ideology and highlight the importance of self in the construction of identity and a harmonious citizenry.
Roger Ascham has been credited with rehabilitating Elizabeth Tudor's image after a near-disastrous seduction at the hands of her stepmother's husband Thomas Seymour. But in many ways Ascham's tutelage merely continues a process the Lord Admiral had already begun, educating a young girl about what to wear, how to comport herself, and how to regard her male teacher, all necessary steps in the programme Vives details as removing 'the residue of her infancy'. This essay examines Ascham's seductions and Seymour's pedagogy with the larger aim of exploring the Tudor classroom, at once an official site of humanist learning and kind of rival space where women were taught to read and to write and to counteract the designs of male teachers. If images of Lucretia and Griselda resurface in accounts of Elizabeth's prodigious learning, there were other female figures - like Katherine Parr and Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth's governess Kat Ashley and the Duchess of Suffolk - who shaped a humanism of the household just as crucial as the humanism of the university.
Pilgrim Economies, Tourists, and Local Communities in Global Tokyo
This article intends to analyze the emergence of new subjectivities and economic discourses, and the semiotic construction of sacred places in global Tokyo as inventively constituted within the popular urban pilgrimage routes of the Seven Lucky Gods (shichifukujin). While a specific neoliberal discourse in Japan linked to tourism and the media has promoted the reinvention of traditional pilgrimage sites as New Age “power spots” informed by novel forms of temporality and subjectivity, urban communities living in those places, with their specific concerns and problems related to the local neighborhoods, often generate pilgrimage spaces that are radically different from those of the “neoliberal pilgrims.” I will thus argue that the pilgrimage of the Seven Lucky Gods emerges as a double discourse through which religious institutions and urban collectives semiotically assemble themselves not only by rebranding older sites as neoliberal power spots through media and tourism practices, but also by creatively producing hybrid subjectivities, sacred places, and alternative ontologies that are set apart from neoliberal economies.
J.M. Coetzee is not known for confessional self-revelation. In a series of seven novels, from Dusklands in 1974 to The Master of Petersburg in 1994, he has honed a fictional style that, whatever the mode of narration, offers no hint of a personal authorial presence. The characters through whose consciousness the narrative is relayed, characters such as Magda in In The Heart of the Country, the Magistrate in Waiting for the Barbarians, Susan Barton in Foe, or Mrs Curren in Age of Iron, whether they are represented in the first or third person, absorb the entire affective and axiological space of the fiction. Coetzee’s substantial body of critical commentary, too – which includes the books White Writing and Giving Offense as well as the articles collected in Doubling the Point – while moving away from the highly technical stylistic analyses of the early essays to issues of more autobiographical relevance like censorship and animal rights in the later work, is not in any way self-revelatory. His reluctance to account for his fictions in the terms provided by his own life reaches a somewhat absurd extreme in the written interview that was published in the 1994 special issue of the South Atlantic Quarterly devoted to Coetzee: questions that occupy some thirteen pages in all receive answers that add up to little more than a page.