In a cross-disciplinary investigation of lighting technology and sleep science, I strive to illuminate the ways in which Victorians under the seductive influence and increasing availability of bright city light saw night as a useful space and time. Stoker's Dracula (1897) is a crucial text for examining change in late Victorian nightlife because one of the key determinants of power and powerlessness in Dracula is in the way the body rejects or succumbs to the instincts of sleep. First, I analyse the late nineteenth-century social and medical opinions surrounding technological advances in artificial lighting in order to ascertain the significance of light's apparent effect on Victorians' sleep patterns and sleep quality. Second, I liken the descent from wakefulness into sleep, a state called 'hypnagogia' in sleep science, to the vampiric state of the undead. Dracula holds his victims within the hypnagogic trance to assert his power over them in their weakened and liminal consciousness. My study concludes that Stoker writes men as both strong and weak in their resistance to sleep, and the women as reliant upon the sleep deprivation of men for health and life.
Artificial Light, Hypnagogia, and Quality of Sleep in Dracula
Karen Beth Strovas
Recusant confessional texts were discursively produced by and productive of secret spaces – the confessional itself and the torture chamber. They were sites of private, intimate probing that enabled disclosures of truth, which, to the English recusant community of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, had a particular resonance. The confessional was a site of Catholic reconciliation, but to the state it was a signifier of Catholic treason. The state used the torture of recusants, particularly priests, to reveal the truth, but here the ‘truth’, ostensibly a list of people, places and actions that can be discovered in the body of the victim, was opposed to the recusant’s ‘truth’ as internal belief. But despite these opposing concepts of the location and nature of truth, the discourses of its revelation are similar. Torture binds together the perpetrator and victim through the secrets the participants strive to reveal or conceal. In the confessional too, the confessor and the confessant are bound together by what is hidden.
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.
Elizabeth Cary and the Story of Edward II
Janet Starner-Wright and Susan M. Fitzmaurice
Elizabeth Tanfield Cary dashed off her History of Edward II during the course of a month in 1627 to ‘out-run those weary hours of a deep and sad Passion’. While historical accounts of Edward II were much in evidence during the reigns of James I and his son, no single, authoritative interpretation prevailed. Holinshed’s Chronicles (1577) focuses on the idea of misgovernance; Marlowe’s dramatic rendering, Edward II (1591), directs attention to the nature of the King’s relationship with his favourite, Gaveston; the Mirrour for Magistrates’s 1610 addition highlights Edward’s flattering courtiers and Isabella’s passion for Mortimer, and Drayton explores the story within the boundaries of several genres and thematic foci. Francis Hubert’s poem, The Deplorable Life and Death of Edward the Second (1628), written as a complaint from the King’s perspective, was almost contemporaneous with Cary’s history. Edward’s story was thus very much in the air at the time that Cary composed her text; neither the genre nor the subject she chose was precedent-setting. In this paper, our principal concern is to demonstrate how Cary marshals the linguistic and rhetorical features of orality to dramatise and render transhistorical this conventional early modern literate genre for the teaching of ‘Truth’. Cary’s achievement was to produce a self-conscious text that participates in oral as well as literate rhetorical practices and linguistic forms and that safeguards her self as speaker while simultaneously allowing her the space to make pronouncements that she may attribute to the wisdom of history.
A Character in Search of a Plot
Katherine Isobel Baxter
Borrowing heavily from the opening of Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, Edward Said’s Orientalism suggests that imperialist acquisitiveness was excused through an anthropological rhetoric of geography: ‘The important thing was to dignify simple conquest with an idea, to turn the appetite for more geographical space into a theory about the special relationship between geography on the one hand and civilized or uncivilized peoples on the other.’1 Intriguingly anticipating this critique, in Lord Jim, Conrad explores the fallout of such idealisation both for the colonies and, more particularly, for the colonisers. The idealising rhetoric of justification that Said identifies has already been fully internalised by Jim so that he fails to recognise its fictional basis. It is exactly this problem of blurred boundaries between fictional ideal and the lived experience of reality that Conrad seeks to explore in the novel. This exploration takes place not only in the realm of colonialism, however, but also in that of narrative itself, so that the novel exhibits a certain sceptical self-reflexivity of the kind usually denied by Said to those orientalising authors he seeks to critique. This narratalogical self-consciousness is more pertinently discussed by Said in his 1974 essay, ‘Conrad: The Presentation of a Narrative’, yet here his focus refrains from acknowledging the ethical import of Conrad’s narrative play.2 What follows then is an exploration of Lord Jim that, without being an overtly Saidian reading of the novel, unpacks the ethical concerns that arise from the elision of fiction and reality in the ideal of romance.
Todd Swift, Jodie Hollander, David Attwooll, Amanda Bonnick, and Daniel Roy Connelly
spattered insignia to be reapplied So I could fit into my own job description. After Rimbaud’s Après Le Deluge by Jodie Hollander After the idea of the deluge ended, a little hare appeared in the moving flowers, spoke of rainbows lighting the spaces of a
Edited by Bryan Loughrey and Graham Holderness
that spirit, we want to open more space for new entrants to the academic profession to publish in the journal, as well as continuing to disseminate work from those creatively engaged in traditional scholarship. So, as a thirtieth birthday present to the
Fanny Silviu-Dan and Keith Woodhouse
Silviu-Dan Cassandra By Keith Woodhouse Needle thin, silvirkrin, silver slithers, Born with a gemini moon and a silver spoon, Turtle neck, tortoise neck, taurus neck, The words of a dead man ratified in the living. Biblical faces fading into spaces
Flying birds away into endless spaces Ranged hills all autumn colors again I walk up Hua Tzu hill and walk down – Will my sadness never come to its end? —Wang We I’ll go out for long walks + then I shall feel quite well. —Dorothy Edwards, undated
Sarah James and Humphrey John Moore
slack around us. Their tides in my blood made me this brittled shape, with a sharp brine crust and hollowed space. But put your ear to my shell, and softness echoes. From a cold rush-then-spill, the lullaby of moon rhythms. Hold me gently, and I will