Pub Date : 2022-07-03DOI: 10.1080/10436928.2022.2100670
Wit Píetrzak
A sequence of nineteen paginated sonnets that concludes One Thousand Things Worth Knowing, “Dirty Data” is, by Muldoon’s own admission, “a kind of wild poem that attempts to draw together certain far-flung ideas” (Rutkin 20). These disparate ideas include events from Lew Wallace’s biography and allusions to his novel Ben-Hur as well as its celebrated 1959 adaptation, all of which are metamorphosed into the story of an Irishman Ben Houlihane, whose life intertwines with Bloody Sunday and Winston Churchill’s funeral. It is by interweaving those narratives that the poem addresses what Muldoon calls “political occurrences” (Rutkin 20), elegizing the Irish, Native Americans, and Jews, a transnational grouping that the poem casts into what Giorgio Agamben calls the state of exception. By focusing its mournful song on representatives of those oppressed peoples, “Dirty Data” seeks to oppose and undermine the logic of oppression embodied by the empires from ancient Rome, through Britain all the way to the United States. In what follows, I first discuss Agamben’s theorization of the notions of sovereign oppression and state of exception in the context of his remarks about language and poetry, particularly elegy. It is through this optics that the elusiveness and formal complexity of Muldoon’s poem reveal themselves as parts of a radically political gesture that aims to challenge the spread of coercive logic, as it also articulates a message of nonsectarian forgiveness. Although Agamben discusses elegy infrequently, it is striking that the entire Homo Sacer series can be read as an elegy for bare life, written as it is “in a tragic situation . . . affected by an irreversible historical necessity” (Frost 1). The immediate sources for Agamben’s understanding of bare life are Aristotle, Walter Benjamin’s essay “Critique of Violence,” and Michel Foucault’s 1975/1976 lectures published as The Society Must Be Defended, in which he argues that inclusion of the body in the public sphere regulated by the state marks the advent of biopolitics understood as nondisciplinary exercise of power (Foucault 242). Agamben continues this investigation of power, focusing specifically on how a path to the implementation of the state of exception has been inscribed in the logic of Western jurisprudence since
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Pub Date : 2022-07-03DOI: 10.1080/10436928.2022.2100667
P. Simpson
In this article, I examine two works of literature that re-imagine the narrative of migration through establishing a symbiosis between artmaking and the act of writing. My analysis of Leonora Carrington’s Down Below (1944) and Dubravka Ugrešić’s The Ministry of Pain (2006) will be developed by theorizing across the disciplines of literary criticism, the visual arts, and the field of transnational migration studies. This cross-disciplinary perspective focuses on a core theme: the re-imagining of human movement and its social, political, and cultural relationalities. I will demonstrate how Carrington and Ugrešić create a lexicon of migration, which resonates with Gayle Munro’s concept of migratory life as an evolving life, subject to “multi-layered affiliations” across geographical, cultural, and state boundaries (108). The literary works under discussion draw heavily on the visual imagination and the creation of complex textual montages to present this idea of the migrant’s evolving life, across time and space. It is a process that dovetails with a key tenet of transnational social field theory: the emphasis put on what Peggy Levitt and Nina Glick Schiller describe as the simultaneity of connection, which exists for migrants who combine “ways of being and ways of belonging” differently in specific contexts (1008). The perspective achieved is of migratory life as a kind of work-in-progress, open to more expansive interpretation than that found in much contemporary public discourse, which conflates issues of immigration, race, status, and asylum to the detriment of those living migratory lives. In my analysis, I will draw on the montage aesthetics developed by the writer and philosopher Walter Benjamin in the early part of the 20th century, in particular his use of Denkbilder, “thought-images.” Historically, as Gerhard Richter states, the Denkbild was conceived as a “brief, aphoristic prose text” (7). In the 1920s and 1930s, Benjamin transformed its narrative potential to examine the cultural and political processes of a world challenged by the rise of fascism. As Susan Buck-Morss argues, he foregrounds the interpretive power of images through his use of Denkbilder in order to “make conceptual points concretely [and] with reference to the world outside the text” (6). The
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Pub Date : 2022-07-03DOI: 10.1080/10436928.2022.2100669
Marina Cano
Recent scholarship has brought late twentiethand early twenty-first-century critical theory to bear upon Jane Austen. Sydney Miller and Devoney Looser read Austen and her afterlife alongside Susan Sontag’s essay “Notes on ‘Camp’” (1964). They agree that modern Austen mash-ups and kitsch reproductions reveal the “campiness,” or sheer frivolity, of the Austen originals, as theorized by Sontag. Matthew Taylor (“Beholding the Beholder’s Eye”; “Sensibility’s Double Take”), in turn, applies generative anthropology and mimetic theory to the novels, in particular René Girard’s premise of “two audiences,” while my own work has read Austen and her afterlife through theories of performance and performativity, such as Judith Butler’s, and through Jack Halberstam’s notion of gaga feminism (Cano, “Austen and Shakespeare”; Jane Austen and Performance; “Jane Goes Gaga”). Such a growing trend has begun to complement more traditional, and still prevalent, historicist approaches to Austen, allowing us to see Austen anew by highlighting little-noticed aspects of her fiction (camp sensibility, mimetic tendencies, the absence of an original “performance”). Yet what remains largely missing among these various theoretical enquiries is a psychoanalytic reading of the novels that investigates the unconscious of the text and the existential challenges it poses to writer, characters, and readers. In this essay, I bring Austen’s first published novel, Sense and Sensibility, into conversation with French linguist and psychoanalyst Julia Kristeva, one of Sontag’s and Girard’s contemporaries and still a prominent and prolific figure in the Western intellectual landscape. Not surprising, given the novel’s rootedness in eighteenth-century notions of sentimentality, most studies of Sense and Sensibility have been historically inflected. Marvin Mudrick’s now classic assessment, Jane Austen: Irony as Defense and Discovery, regards Sense and Sensibility as a condemnation of excessive feeling and a parody of the novel of sensibility, as its title suggests already (62, 90). Another classic, Deidre Lynch’s The Economy of Character, reads the Dashwood sisters in relation to the flowering commercial modernity
最近的学术研究使二十世纪末二十一世纪初的批判理论对简·奥斯汀产生了影响。西德尼·米勒（Sydney Miller）和德文尼·卢瑟（Devoney Looser）阅读了奥斯汀和她的来生，以及苏珊·桑塔格（Susan Sontag）的文章《营地笔记》（1964）。他们一致认为，现代奥斯汀的混搭和媚俗的复制品揭示了桑塔格所说的奥斯汀原作的“做作”或纯粹的轻浮。马修·泰勒（Matthew Taylor）（《注视着年长者的眼睛》（Beholding the Beholder’s Eye）；《情感的双重接受》（Sensibility’s Double Take，并通过杰克·哈尔伯斯塔姆的gaga女权主义概念（卡诺，《奥斯汀与莎士比亚》；简·奥斯汀与表演；《简去嘎嘎》）。这种日益增长的趋势已经开始补充对奥斯汀更传统、仍然流行的历史主义方法，使我们能够通过突出她小说中鲜为人知的方面（营地情感、模仿倾向、缺乏原创“表演”）来重新审视奥斯汀。然而，在这些不同的理论探索中，仍然缺少的是对小说的精神分析阅读，它调查了文本的无意识及其对作家、人物和读者构成的生存挑战。在这篇文章中，我将奥斯汀出版的第一部小说《理智与情感》与法国语言学家和精神分析学家朱莉娅·克里斯特娃进行了对话，她是桑塔格和吉拉德的同时代人之一，仍然是西方知识界杰出而多产的人物。毫不奇怪，考虑到这部小说植根于18世纪的多愁善感观念，大多数对《理智与情感》的研究都受到了历史的影响。马文·穆德里克（Marvin Mudrick）现在的经典评价《简·奥斯汀：作为防御和发现的讽刺》（Jane Austen：Irony as Defense and Discovery）将《理智与情感》（Sense and Sensibility）视为对过度情感的谴责和对情感小说的模仿，正如其标题所暗示的那样（62，90）。另一部经典作品，黛德丽·林奇的《性格的经济》，解读了达什伍德姐妹与繁荣的商业现代性的关系
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Pub Date : 2022-07-03DOI: 10.1080/10436928.2022.2100668
Sierra M. Senzaki
While the achievements of Virginia Woolf have provided a rich site for decades of study from numerous critical angles, Woolf has largely been seen as a masterful narrator of psychological interiority. Her most widely read novels—Mrs. Dalloway (1925), To the Lighthouse (1927), and The Waves (1931)—plunge into the human psyche. Yet Woolf’s own working theory of psychology posits two main modes of consciousness between which we oscillate and in only one of which such interiority flourishes. According to Woolf’s theory, we pass most of our time in “moments of non-being,” living without really paying attention to what we think, see, and feel. Consequently, these details of life do not register in our minds or memories. Occasionally, however, we are jolted without warning into states of heightened awareness, or “moments of being.” These experiences become our most vivid memories. Woolf refers to this theory of moments of being and nonbeing throughout her career. For example, it surfaces in the title of the 1927 short story “Moments of Being: Slater’s Pins Have No Points” and in her 1926 essay On Being Ill, although the latter text does not use those specific terms. Woolf’s theory of bifurcated modes of consciousness is formulated most thoroughly in her unfinished posthumous memoir “A Sketch of the Past” (1939–40), which provides multiple examples of moments of being and nonbeing from her own childhood. Written in bursts from April 1939 to November 1940 and abandoned months before her death by suicide in March 1941, “A Sketch of the Past” is usually considered a source of information about Woolf’s painful childhood or about her mental state in her final years. When read on its own terms, however, this text is a fascinating meditation on the workings of mind and memory that proceeds through multiple overlapping registrations of the relationship between Woolf and her surroundings. To illustrate the distinction between moments of being and moments of nonbeing, Woolf hearkens back to her sojourns in St. Ives, the Cornish seaside village where she spent her childhood summers. “As a child then,” she writes, “my days, just as they do now, contained a large proportion of this cotton wool, this non-being. Week
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Pub Date : 2022-04-03DOI: 10.1080/10436928.2022.2075179
Karen J. Renner
It is impossible to keep on top of the horror films being produced these days. Not only are platforms like Netflix and Prime creating their own content, but they are also making a wide array of international fare available to viewers. Now more than ever we need scholarship that can apprise us of significant developments in the genre. The first set of essays in this special collection, Emerging Trends in Horror Film and Television, encourages us to rethink a range of presumptions and practices that may limit horror criticism: the conflation of horror and the Gothic, the treatment of narrative innovations as resulting from cultural change rather than economic motives, the prioritization of national identities over regional ones, and the tendency to favor ideological critiques over analyses of aesthetic choices. Together, these essays chart out important new directions for future scholarship. In his essay, “Contemporary Gothic Horror Cinema: The Imagined Pasts and Traumatic Ghosts of Crimson Peak (2015) and The Woman in Black (2012),” Xavier Aldana Reyes reminds us of the enduring influence of the Gothic horror film, which he claims is due to its ability to comment on present issues despite—and, in fact, because of—its focus on the past. Aldana Reyes argues that power of the Gothic film comes from its ability to pit “present values, beliefs, and behaviors against those of previous times” (83). Whereas science fiction projects problematic aspects of our culture into the future, showing the dangerous results that may come of them, Gothic horror traces contemporary issues back in time, thereby linking problematic current views and behaviors to an outdated past. Crimson Peak, according to Aldana Reyes, uses its early-twentieth-century setting “to channel ideas of women’s rights and female empowerment” relevant to today (86). The Woman in Black, by contrast, “recasts the ghost as a metaphor for psychological instability and the difficulty of overcoming the loss of a loved one” (87). Aldana Reyes also seeks to untangle the terms “Gothic” and “horror,” which are far too frequently conflated. He argues that, unlike the diffuse category of horror, the Gothic invokes a recognizable aesthetic, which, in turn, is linked to certain devices (e.g., doppelgängers), themes (e.g., the corruption of the aristocracy), and plot
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Pub Date : 2022-04-03DOI: 10.1080/10436928.2022.2075185
Chera Kee
Since the rise of both found footage horror films and ghost-hunting reality TV in the 1990s and early 2000s, these two forms have traded in many of the same conventions in order to communicate a sense of realism alongside a sense of the otherworldly. Both depend on the use of documentary aesthetics to create a sense of verisimilitude, yet also employ self-reflexive strategies to alert viewers to their constructed natures. Both use manufactured defects to help construct realism as well as imply paranormal interference, and both often position viewers in the same spaces as diegetic character(s) and/or camera(s), sometimes going so far as to mirror the audience’s viewing position in the diegesis itself. In other words, both forms evoke the fuzzy boundaries between the real and the fictional, and the viewer and the viewed, that exist across media today. In found footage horror and ghost-hunting reality TV shows, claims of authenticity are partly tied to their documentary aesthetics—using handheld cameras and available lighting, for instance—but these aesthetics also self-reflexively display the technology used to record the text itself. On the one hand, these forms work to craft a sense of reality by showing their construction, but on the other, showing this construction ironically works to conceal the myriad other ways this “reality” is manufactured. Adam Daniel further suggests that found footage films’ claims to authenticity based on their documentary form “have . . . been problematised by a postmodern society that questions the notion of the visual record ever holding a stable claim to indexical truthfulness. The anxiety that belies this potential inconsistency between authenticity and the documentary form plays a vital role in the power of found footage, opening up a space for the ‘unreal’” (41). Yet, Mark Andrejevic notes, “In promising to move beyond or to get behind the constructed façade of representation,” reality TV shows “cater to a reflexively savvy audience familiar with the understanding that all representations are constructed” (170). Thus, depending on the context, audiences may have made peace with a highly fabricated screen
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Pub Date : 2022-04-03DOI: 10.1080/10436928.2022.2075183
A. Hayat
The prominence of slasher television programs in the twenty-first century is evident in the variety that have been produced by a wide array of cable networks. Among these shows are FX’s American Horror Story (2011–), NBC’s Hannibal (2013–2015), A&E’s Bates Motel (2013–2017), MTV’s Scream: The TV Series (2015–2016) and Scream: Resurrection (2019), and Chiller’s Slasher (2016–2019). These shows are utilized to meet the overall programming goals of their producing networks and, to do so, employ narrative innovations that reinforce the significance of the killer character. The killers no longer operate only as obstacles to the protagonist. Increasingly, they also have their own backstories and narrative arcs that explain their constitution as psychological and dynamic beings, allowing these shows to highlight certain social issues especially relevant to the show’s targeted audiences. Furthermore, these killers are usually punished for their crimes, allowing the shows to warn a network’s desired demographic away from certain behaviors or to signal the network’s adherence to more traditional moral standards. Academic inquiries have discussed how morally complex protagonists and the heinous acts they commit function as serialized components intended to lure the producing network’s desired demographics, increase audience shares, and ensure series longevity (Lotz, Cable Guys; Mittell, “Lengthy Interactions”; Smith, Storytelling Industries). However, the development of the killer in slasher series has been thus far neglected. Even though slasher shows are profitable for basic cable networks, frequently occupying primetime slots, generating sufficient ratings, and airing for multiple seasons, few academic accounts mention their notable status and impact on programming plans and strategies. Instead, inquiries are generally concerned with gender representations and the development of slasher genre tropes across television and film, with special attention given to the depiction and evolution of the Final Girl. These investigations link the representations of gender to cultural values instead of considering the influence of changing production contexts and industrial practices. Furthermore, comparing film series to television series, as these studies frequently do, ignores the industrial specificities and operational dynamics of both visual mediums.
{"title":"Complex Slasher Characters in American Basic Cable Television","authors":"A. Hayat","doi":"10.1080/10436928.2022.2075183","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1080/10436928.2022.2075183","url":null,"abstract":"The prominence of slasher television programs in the twenty-first century is evident in the variety that have been produced by a wide array of cable networks. Among these shows are FX’s American Horror Story (2011–), NBC’s Hannibal (2013–2015), A&E’s Bates Motel (2013–2017), MTV’s Scream: The TV Series (2015–2016) and Scream: Resurrection (2019), and Chiller’s Slasher (2016–2019). These shows are utilized to meet the overall programming goals of their producing networks and, to do so, employ narrative innovations that reinforce the significance of the killer character. The killers no longer operate only as obstacles to the protagonist. Increasingly, they also have their own backstories and narrative arcs that explain their constitution as psychological and dynamic beings, allowing these shows to highlight certain social issues especially relevant to the show’s targeted audiences. Furthermore, these killers are usually punished for their crimes, allowing the shows to warn a network’s desired demographic away from certain behaviors or to signal the network’s adherence to more traditional moral standards. Academic inquiries have discussed how morally complex protagonists and the heinous acts they commit function as serialized components intended to lure the producing network’s desired demographics, increase audience shares, and ensure series longevity (Lotz, Cable Guys; Mittell, “Lengthy Interactions”; Smith, Storytelling Industries). However, the development of the killer in slasher series has been thus far neglected. Even though slasher shows are profitable for basic cable networks, frequently occupying primetime slots, generating sufficient ratings, and airing for multiple seasons, few academic accounts mention their notable status and impact on programming plans and strategies. Instead, inquiries are generally concerned with gender representations and the development of slasher genre tropes across television and film, with special attention given to the depiction and evolution of the Final Girl. These investigations link the representations of gender to cultural values instead of considering the influence of changing production contexts and industrial practices. Furthermore, comparing film series to television series, as these studies frequently do, ignores the industrial specificities and operational dynamics of both visual mediums.","PeriodicalId":42717,"journal":{"name":"LIT-Literature Interpretation Theory","volume":"33 1","pages":"102 - 114"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-04-03","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"46170206","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2022-04-03DOI: 10.1080/10436928.2022.2075181
Xavier Aldana Reyes
Among the hundreds of horror films produced so far in the twenty-first century, there have been quite a few prominent trends, many of which are explored elsewhere in this special journal issue: found footage horror, “torture porn,” zombie films, possession films, and so-called “post-horror” or “elevated horror.” Overwhelmingly, these horror strands set events in the present or near future. The most industrious of these strands, found footage, is characterized by its foregrounding of modern video recording and telecommunication technologies (Aldana Reyes, “Reel Evil” 124; Turner 54–78), most recently of immersive, diegetic laptop screens and mobile phones. The second, torture porn, best exemplified by Saw (2004), Hostel (2005), and The Human Centipede (First Sequence) (2009), emphasizes spectacles of torture and gruesome murder reminiscent of online execution videos. The third, the zombie film, has been associated with post-9/11 terrorist fears, capitalism, apocalypticism, and posthumanism (Wetmore 159–64; Keetley). The twenty-first century has also seen contemporary updates of the possession film that rose to fame in the 1970s, best represented by Paranormal Activity (2009) and The Last Exorcism (2010). As for post-horror, some of the most commercially and critically successful films of the 2010s, such as Get Out (2017), Midsommar (2019), and Candyman (2021), tackle head on very timely socio-political issues like racial tension in the U.S. or toxic masculinity. In short, post-millennial horror has its finger firmly on the pulse of the here and now. In this article, I place the focus on a different manifestation of contemporary horror cinema that, despite being less dominant than in the 1930s and 1960s, still commands considerable audience and critical interest: Gothic horror. Sleepy Hollow (1999), The Wyvern Mystery (2000), The Others (2001), Dorian Gray (2009), The Awakening (2011), The Lodgers (2017), The Little Stranger (2018), The Wrath (2018), Rebecca (2020), and Eight for Silver (2021) are only some of the many films that have been labeled “Gothic” by reviewers and critics since the turn of the millennium. Despite its modern fragmentation and dispersion (Punter 145–46), the Gothic mode has thrived in the twenty-
在21世纪迄今为止制作的数百部恐怖电影中，有相当多的突出趋势，其中许多都在本期特刊的其他地方进行了探讨：发现片段恐怖、“酷刑色情”、僵尸电影、占有电影，以及所谓的“后恐怖”或“高级恐怖”，这些恐怖的线索将事件设定在现在或不久的将来。在这些发现的片段中，最勤奋的片段以其对现代视频记录和电信技术的前瞻性为特征（Aldana Reyes，“Reel Evil”124；Turner 54-78），最近的是身临其境的数字笔记本电脑屏幕和手机。第二种是酷刑色情，以《电锯惊魂》（2004年）、《旅馆》（2005年）和《人类蜈蚣》（第一序列）（2009年）为例，强调酷刑和可怕谋杀的场面，让人想起网上处决视频。第三部是僵尸电影，与9/11后的恐怖恐惧、资本主义、启示录和后人道主义有关（Wetmore 159-64；Keetley）。21世纪也见证了20世纪70年代成名的控球电影的当代更新，以《超自然活动》（2009年）和《最后的驱魔》（2010年）为代表。至于后恐怖，2010年代一些商业上和评论上最成功的电影，如《脱身》（2017）、《仲夏夜》（2019）和《坎迪曼》（2021），都直面了非常及时的社会政治问题，如美国的种族紧张局势或有毒的男子气概。简言之，后千禧一代的恐怖事件牢牢抓住了此时此地的脉搏。在这篇文章中，我将重点放在当代恐怖电影的一种不同表现上，尽管它的主导地位不如20世纪30年代和60年代，但仍然吸引了相当多的观众和评论兴趣：哥特式恐怖。Sleepy Hollow（1999）、The Wyvern Mystery（2000）、The Others（2001）、Dorian Gray（2009）、The Awakening（2011）、The Lodgers（2017）、The Little Stranger（2018）、The Wrath（2018），Rebecca（2020）和Eight for Silver（2021）只是自千禧年之交以来被评论家和评论家称为“哥特式”的众多电影中的一部分。尽管其现代的分裂和分散（Punter 145-46），哥特式模式在二十世纪二十年代蓬勃发展-
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Pub Date : 2022-04-03DOI: 10.1080/10436928.2022.2075184
Rebecca Wynne-Walsh
Some of the most significant changes to the contemporary film industry are the new screen technologies and online streaming platforms that provide global reach to distinctly local productions. One of the key dangers in the globalized contemporary cinematic landscape is the occlusion of regional specificity in favor of the mainstream marketability of singular nation or genre-based categorizations. National frameworks, though not without their benefits, conflate heterogenous intranational regional identities and, as an extension, cinematic outputs and thus place interstitial cultural groups under peril of erasure. An oversubscription to the national as a singular concept triggers the silencing of the distinct and pluralistic regional cultures that exist within any given nation state. As Mette Hjort and Duncan Petrie insist, “there can be little doubt that film studies today requires models that go well beyond conceptions of the nation as a monadic entity” (1). Transnational film studies emerged as the dominant framework of studying the flows, exchanges, and hybridities across national borders and film industries. Transnationalism approaches the interstices of cinema with a large focus on multinational co-productions and distribution in an effort to “rethink” the problematic question of “world cinema.” Stephanie Dennison and Song Hwee Lim, for example, desire a more “positive definition of World Cinema,” one which “moves away from the iron grip of hierarchized binarism” in an effort to “create flexible geographies with no particular cinema occupying a central position” (10). Horror could benefit from similar conversations. The first two decades of the twenty-first century have seen a “boom” in the critical and commercial success of mainstream “quality” horror cinema, of which Scott Meslow cites The Conjuring (2013) and Get Out (2017) as key examples. As the genre has grown in popularity globally, the dominance of mainstream, that is to say
{"title":"Contemporary Basque Horror: Legado en los huesos (2019) and the Value of Regional Readings within National Traumas","authors":"Rebecca Wynne-Walsh","doi":"10.1080/10436928.2022.2075184","DOIUrl":"https://doi.org/10.1080/10436928.2022.2075184","url":null,"abstract":"Some of the most significant changes to the contemporary film industry are the new screen technologies and online streaming platforms that provide global reach to distinctly local productions. One of the key dangers in the globalized contemporary cinematic landscape is the occlusion of regional specificity in favor of the mainstream marketability of singular nation or genre-based categorizations. National frameworks, though not without their benefits, conflate heterogenous intranational regional identities and, as an extension, cinematic outputs and thus place interstitial cultural groups under peril of erasure. An oversubscription to the national as a singular concept triggers the silencing of the distinct and pluralistic regional cultures that exist within any given nation state. As Mette Hjort and Duncan Petrie insist, “there can be little doubt that film studies today requires models that go well beyond conceptions of the nation as a monadic entity” (1). Transnational film studies emerged as the dominant framework of studying the flows, exchanges, and hybridities across national borders and film industries. Transnationalism approaches the interstices of cinema with a large focus on multinational co-productions and distribution in an effort to “rethink” the problematic question of “world cinema.” Stephanie Dennison and Song Hwee Lim, for example, desire a more “positive definition of World Cinema,” one which “moves away from the iron grip of hierarchized binarism” in an effort to “create flexible geographies with no particular cinema occupying a central position” (10). Horror could benefit from similar conversations. The first two decades of the twenty-first century have seen a “boom” in the critical and commercial success of mainstream “quality” horror cinema, of which Scott Meslow cites The Conjuring (2013) and Get Out (2017) as key examples. As the genre has grown in popularity globally, the dominance of mainstream, that is to say","PeriodicalId":42717,"journal":{"name":"LIT-Literature Interpretation Theory","volume":"33 1","pages":"115 - 130"},"PeriodicalIF":0.1,"publicationDate":"2022-04-03","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"41993292","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":3,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Pub Date : 2022-01-02DOI: 10.1080/10436928.2022.2019507
J. Galbraith
Questions of interpretation have dominated the reading of The Shortest Way with the Dissenters since its initial publication in 1702. Claiming to be the work of an extremist Anglican clergyman, the prose satire called for persecuting those who did not conform to the established Church of England. Because it was printed anonymously, many of Daniel Defoe’s initial readers failed to realize that the pamphlet’s author, a Dissenter, did not actually espouse its incendiary argument. When it was revealed that he was the author, Defoe insisted that the pamphlet was not meant to be taken straight. It was a work of irony. As is well known, the authorities read the text much differently, charging Defoe with seditious libel and sentencing him to the pillory. Although interpretive differences no longer bear such high stakes, literary scholars continue to disagree concerning how best to interpret The Shortest Way. For some scholars, the issue is how, or to what extent, irony operates in the satire, whereas others remain skeptical whether irony can be found in the satire at all. Scholars who would otherwise disagree tend to find common ground in the assumption that Defoe had little in common with the bombastic priest he aimed to expose. The present essay reframes the conversation surrounding The Shortest Way by challenging this traditional assumption. It does so by examining the satire in light of the changes taking place in the discourse of religion, particularly as these changes appeared in the controversy surrounding occasional conformity. During the Restoration period, the practice of occasional conformity developed as a work-around to the Test Act requiring officeholders to prove their conformity to the established church. Provided that the Dissenter could attest to have taken the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper in a parish church, it did not matter that he continued to attend his nonconformist meeting house. This practice of communicating, or receiving communion, in different churches raised serious issues for both Defoe and the high churchmen he sought to expose. The problem of communication, of negating the distinction between the parish church and the meeting-house, becomes evident in Defoe’s speaker’s remark that “the Spirit of Martyrdom is over” (The Shortest Way 106). According to Defoe’s high-church Anglican
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