The Read to Me program will pay the shipping costs for the costume at $140 per site. First preference for costume character placement is public libraries who share a costume with another public library. Libraries are also encouraged to arrange for the character to visit at least one other venue (school, Head Start center, etc.) in their community and to invite opinion leaders to your event during Idaho Family Reading Week, November 14 – 21, 2010.
Read to Me计划将以每个网站140美元的价格支付服装的运费。公共图书馆与另一个公共图书馆共享一套服装，这是人们对服装角色放置的第一偏好。图书馆还鼓励安排角色访问社区中的至少一个其他场所（学校、Head Start中心等），并邀请意见领袖参加2010年11月14日至21日爱达荷州家庭阅读周期间的活动。
{"title":"Curious George","authors":"Cyrus Console","doi":"10.1111/criq.12729","DOIUrl":"10.1111/criq.12729","url":null,"abstract":"The Read to Me program will pay the shipping costs for the costume at $140 per site. First preference for costume character placement is public libraries who share a costume with another public library. Libraries are also encouraged to arrange for the character to visit at least one other venue (school, Head Start center, etc.) in their community and to invite opinion leaders to your event during Idaho Family Reading Week, November 14 – 21, 2010.","PeriodicalId":44341,"journal":{"name":"CRITICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"65 2","pages":"118-122"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-06-06","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"48651970","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
<p>It remains a mystery to me why Elizabeth Taylor, onetime member of the Communist Party – ‘I did not see why economic freedom would not lead to the other more important liberties – of speech & thought & expression . . . a woman respected first as a person, not as a machine for reproduction’ – is hardly considered a politically engaged novelist.<sup>1</sup> It really seems like a case where a writer's ability to describe hats has worked against her, as though someone who knows the details of women's clothing, and describes with precision the running of a household, can have little to say about the politics of her time. It is true that, with the exception of her first novel, <i>At Mrs Lippincote's</i> (1945), communists or political radicals don't occupy a prominent place in her writing. And even in this book, the depiction of the Communist Party is irreverent, a woman attending a party meeting misquoting Auden to herself to keep going (‘today the expending of powers on the ephemeral pamphlet’), only drawn to attention by horror, ‘Hindus tied to trees by their hands, their toes barely touching the ground, hanging there in the ferocity of the sun, a punishment for – and this was the point – trade union activity.’<sup>2</sup> But the mostly conservative, sometimes sequestered characters that Taylor creates in her other novels are no less politically interesting than Communist Party members. Not least because of – to use a somewhat old-fashioned phrase – Taylor's historical consciousness, one that includes, much to her credit, awareness of the distinction between elasticised stockings and those held up by garters.</p><p>I read most Elizabeth Taylor's thirteen novels during the COVID-19 lockdowns in Britain, and the ones I had already read, I reread. Taylor is excellent at plot, by which I mean its concealment – events seem to be just a flow of actions and consequences. Living alone, I was sometimes lonely. I borrowed a sense of movement, of time as something dynamic, from the novels. In those circumstances, one book stood out: <i>Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont</i>. This is amongst Taylor's best known novels, and was nominated for the Booker Prize in 1971. Here Taylor makes something of a page-turner out of the experience of stuck time, offering an intimate portrait of boredom and loneliness. This alone is remarkable, but in this essay I want to examine the ways in which Taylor's novel situates the roots of this loneliness in Britain's loss of empire, a reading of the nation that is all too relevant in the present.</p><p>Taylor's writing takes us into Mrs Palfrey's experience of time. Already waiting for breakfast, she contemplates a day of waiting around. Observe the punctuation in the passage above, the commas in particular give pause, interrupt the reading. This halting movement through Mrs Palfrey's thoughts, the unwelcome and awkward pockets of enforced quiet between the clauses are much like Mrs Palfrey's day, where each errand is eked ou
{"title":"‘Cucumber sandwiches that repeated’: Loneliness and melancholia in Elizabeth Taylor's Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont","authors":"Akshi Singh","doi":"10.1111/criq.12728","DOIUrl":"10.1111/criq.12728","url":null,"abstract":"<p>It remains a mystery to me why Elizabeth Taylor, onetime member of the Communist Party – ‘I did not see why economic freedom would not lead to the other more important liberties – of speech & thought & expression . . . a woman respected first as a person, not as a machine for reproduction’ – is hardly considered a politically engaged novelist.<sup>1</sup> It really seems like a case where a writer's ability to describe hats has worked against her, as though someone who knows the details of women's clothing, and describes with precision the running of a household, can have little to say about the politics of her time. It is true that, with the exception of her first novel, <i>At Mrs Lippincote's</i> (1945), communists or political radicals don't occupy a prominent place in her writing. And even in this book, the depiction of the Communist Party is irreverent, a woman attending a party meeting misquoting Auden to herself to keep going (‘today the expending of powers on the ephemeral pamphlet’), only drawn to attention by horror, ‘Hindus tied to trees by their hands, their toes barely touching the ground, hanging there in the ferocity of the sun, a punishment for – and this was the point – trade union activity.’<sup>2</sup> But the mostly conservative, sometimes sequestered characters that Taylor creates in her other novels are no less politically interesting than Communist Party members. Not least because of – to use a somewhat old-fashioned phrase – Taylor's historical consciousness, one that includes, much to her credit, awareness of the distinction between elasticised stockings and those held up by garters.</p><p>I read most Elizabeth Taylor's thirteen novels during the COVID-19 lockdowns in Britain, and the ones I had already read, I reread. Taylor is excellent at plot, by which I mean its concealment – events seem to be just a flow of actions and consequences. Living alone, I was sometimes lonely. I borrowed a sense of movement, of time as something dynamic, from the novels. In those circumstances, one book stood out: <i>Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont</i>. This is amongst Taylor's best known novels, and was nominated for the Booker Prize in 1971. Here Taylor makes something of a page-turner out of the experience of stuck time, offering an intimate portrait of boredom and loneliness. This alone is remarkable, but in this essay I want to examine the ways in which Taylor's novel situates the roots of this loneliness in Britain's loss of empire, a reading of the nation that is all too relevant in the present.</p><p>Taylor's writing takes us into Mrs Palfrey's experience of time. Already waiting for breakfast, she contemplates a day of waiting around. Observe the punctuation in the passage above, the commas in particular give pause, interrupt the reading. This halting movement through Mrs Palfrey's thoughts, the unwelcome and awkward pockets of enforced quiet between the clauses are much like Mrs Palfrey's day, where each errand is eked ou","PeriodicalId":44341,"journal":{"name":"CRITICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"65 2","pages":"58-73"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-06-06","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/criq.12728","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"43408565","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Stress: A Keyword for Today?","authors":"Jonathan Arac","doi":"10.1111/criq.12725","DOIUrl":"10.1111/criq.12725","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":44341,"journal":{"name":"CRITICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"65 3","pages":"44-47"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-05-26","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"48958318","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Bowing to a Cloud","authors":"Alan Felsenthal","doi":"10.1111/criq.12732","DOIUrl":"10.1111/criq.12732","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":44341,"journal":{"name":"CRITICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"65 3","pages":"77"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-05-22","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"49269948","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
<p>With global shortages of health-care workers, child care, eldercare and care for people with disabilities, news outlets around the world have reported a <i>care crisis</i> worsened by the COVID-19 pandemic. In <i>The Care Manifesto</i> (Verso Books, 2020), the authors observe, ‘Rhetorically at least, governments worldwide have responded [to the pandemic], and in sharp contrast to 2019, <i>talk</i> of care is currently everywhere’ (p.7). A glimpse into <i>care</i>'s long history adds what Raymond Williams described as ‘just that extra edge of consciousness’ (<i>Keywords</i>, 1976) to understand the implications of <i>care</i> in contemporary English usage. The word's complexity arises not only from its status as a noun and a verb but also from its ability to describe, variously, an action, a feeling, supervision, paid or unpaid labour and the object of care itself, as well as from the word's strong association with conflicting ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ emotions.</p><p>The word <i>care</i> is inherited from Germanic and first attested before the eleventh century in its noun and verb forms. <i>Care</i> the noun derives from Old English <i>caru</i>, <i>cearu</i>, and the verb derives from Old English <i>carian</i>. <i>OED</i> includes quotations from <i>Beowulf</i> (c. 975–1025) documenting some of the earliest uses in the entries for both the noun <i>care</i> (‘Cearu wæs geniwod, geworden in wicun’ [sorrow was renewed, it had come to the dwellings]) and for the verb (‘na ymb his lif cearað’ [he never cared about his life]). <i>OED</i> sense 1 of the noun <i>care</i> denotes ‘Mental suffering, sorrow, grief, trouble’ and ‘Utterance of sorrow; lamentation, mourning’ and is now obsolete. <i>OED</i> sense 2b of the entry <i>to care</i> remains an active sense of the word today: ‘To feel concern (great or little), be concerned, trouble oneself, feel interest. Also in colloquial phrases expressing or implying lack of interest or concern: for all I care, see if I care, who cares?’</p><p>Beginning in the thirteenth century, <i>to care for</i> described an other-directed action or provision: ‘to take thought for, provide for, look after, take care of’. Still active today, this sense of the verb <i>to care</i> applies in many contexts, including parenting, <i>eldercare</i>, pet keeping, farming, and <i>health care. OED</i> sense 5 of <i>to care</i>, the most recent sense of the verb, indicates the addition of an affective meaning. This sense of <i>to care</i> denoting ‘To have regard, fondness, or attachment for’ dates back to the sixteenth century and could be used to describe one's feelings about a person or a thing. The most common collocation used when this affective sense of <i>care</i> is meant is <i>to care <b>about</b></i>, whereas <i>to care <b>for</b></i> typically describes an action, i.e. hands-on caregiving. While the <i>OED</i> notes that the verb was originally used only in negative constructions (e.g. he never cared to; they cared for nothi
由于全球卫生保健工作者、儿童保育、老年人护理和残疾人护理短缺，世界各地的新闻媒体都报道了COVID-19大流行加剧的护理危机。在《关怀宣言》(Verso Books, 2020年)中，作者观察到，“至少在口头上，世界各国政府已经(对疫情)做出了回应，与2019年形成鲜明对比的是，目前到处都在谈论关怀”(第7页)。对care的悠久历史的一瞥增加了Raymond Williams所描述的“只是意识的额外边缘”(关键词，1976)，以理解care在当代英语用法中的含义。这个词的复杂性不仅来自于它作为名词和动词的地位，还来自于它描述各种行为、感觉、监督、有偿或无偿劳动以及护理对象本身的能力，以及这个词与相互冲突的“积极”和“消极”情绪的强烈联系。care这个词继承自日耳曼语，在11世纪之前，它的名词和动词形式首次得到证实。名词Care来源于古英语caru, cearu，动词Care来源于古英语carian。《牛津英语词典》收录了《贝奥武夫》(Beowulf，约975-1025年)的引语，记录了这些词条中名词care的一些最早用法(' Cearu wæs geniwood, geworden in wicun '[悲伤重新出现，它已经来到住所])和动词care的用法(' na ymb his life cearað '[他从不关心自己的生活])。名词care在OED中的释义1表示“精神上的痛苦、悲伤、悲伤、麻烦”和“悲伤的表达;“哀号，哀悼”，现在已经过时了。《牛津英语词典》中care一词的释义2b至今仍保留着这个词的活跃意义:“感到关心(或大或小)、关心、烦恼、感兴趣。”也用于表达或暗示缺乏兴趣或关心的口语化短语:尽管我关心，看看我是否关心，谁关心?从13世纪开始，to care for用于描述他人指导的行动或提供:“考虑、提供、照顾、照顾”。直到今天，care这个动词的意思仍然很活跃，在很多情况下都有应用，包括养育子女、照顾老人、养宠物、务农和医疗保健。《牛津英语词典》中to care的词义5是该动词的最新词义，表示添加了情感意义。care意为“关注、喜爱或依恋”，可以追溯到16世纪，可以用来描述一个人对一个人或一件事的感觉。当这种情感关怀的意思是关心时，最常用的搭配是关心，而关心通常描述的是一种行动，即动手照顾。而《牛津英语词典》指出，这个动词最初只用于否定结构中(例如，他从未关心过;他们什么也不在乎;我不在乎)，肯定结构在当代英语中很常见。尽管care这个名词最早表示悲伤或悲伤的意思已经过时了，但这种与“消极”情绪和精神痛苦的联系在这个词的两种意义上仍然很明显。care的释义2表示“因害怕、怀疑或担心某事而产生的精神负担状态”;忧虑、焦虑、精神不安”，释义3a将护理定义为“严重或严重的精神关注;思想被任何事物所控制;关注;留心，谨慎，注意，关注;谨慎,痛苦”。这两种护理意识强调了将护理视为一种负担的可能的负面看法，并强调了对护理者潜在的身体、精神和情感影响。名词care的其他含义至今仍很活跃，包括“冲锋”的意思;以保护、保存或指导为目的的监督”(OED释义4a)和相关短语“take care of”(OED释义4b)，这不仅意味着“照顾、提供”，有趣的是，它还意味着“处理、处置”。从16世纪后期开始，care除了作为一种精神状态、行动和监督的意思外，还表示关心的对象或关心的本身，并且经常以复数形式使用，如习语“世界上没有牵挂”和“把世界上所有的牵挂都放在自己的肩膀上”。尽管形容词形式careless最初的意思是“无忧无虑、焦虑或忧虑”，但这个词的意思从17世纪开始就变得古老了，现在这个意思被归为更积极的形容词，无忧无虑，而careless表示“不关心”或“不注意、疏忽、粗心”。形容词的意思是“充满悲伤的;悲哀的;“sorrow”现在已经过时了，这个“careless”的反义词通常表示“谨慎的，警惕的，谨慎的”，对某人或某事充满关心或关心，或者对某人的工作非常关心或关注。 正如这个词的语义发展的简明大纲所说明的那样，care这个词的名词和动词形式在其漫长的历史过程中有多种相互竞争的意思，这个词在当代英语的用法中变得更具挑战性。care的名词和动词形式都显示出较高的相对频率，根据《牛津英语词典》，在典型的现代英语用法中，名词形式的使用频率比动词形式的使用频率要高(100-1000次对10-100次)。广泛的搭配和care修饰语解释了名词较高的相对频率。一些最常见的由护理前修饰语组成的搭配包括卫生保健、儿童护理、寄养、重症监护、初级保健和医疗保健。在这些搭配中，护理是指由个人(如医生、护士、护理助理、父母或其他家庭成员)或机构提供的有偿或无偿工作，以满足护理接受者的身体、物质、精神、社会和/或情感需求。最常用的动词搭配是take care，提供care和receive care，这反映了care的事务性和关系性。与care相关的单词经常被搭配在一起，包括近义词caregiver、caretaker和care provider，此外还有care home、care pathway、care work和care package。《牛津英语词典》关于名词care的词条在2001年增加了一些草案，对上面提到的特定搭配进行了评论。在医学语境中，照护通常等同于卫生工作者对患者的治疗，正如术语“照护途径”所示，照护途径的定义是诊断特定疾病的最佳步骤顺序和针对个人的治疗计划。卫生工作者提供的护理可被视为护理工作，但这类工作还包括照顾儿童、教学、照顾老人和为他人服务的家务劳动。就教学和保健而言，护理工作可能得到补偿，但正如女权主义经济学、性别研究和社会学等领域的学者长期以来所认识到的那样，护理工作通常描述的是非常必要的、但被低估的、不成比例地由妇女、少数民族、移民和穷人从事的无偿劳动。英国表达“社区护理”描述了在社区内或由亲戚而不是医院或其他机构为残疾人或有精神健康问题的个人提供的医疗或社会护理，这是政府旨在减少机构提供长期护理的政策的结果。从通过社会福利或公共援助方案提供照护，转向自给自足和个人对健康和福祉负责的观念，这种类似的转变在目前对“自我照护”一词的使用中很明显。根据《牛津英语词典》，这个词最早出现在16世纪中期，意为“关心或关心自己;自利行为”，但在19世纪中期扩展为“照顾自己的健康、外表或幸福的活动”，这是今天普遍使用的意思。照顾好自己无疑是很重要的，然而最近关于自我护理的言论让这个词变得几乎毫无意义，公司、社交媒体和文章几乎把从点蜡烛到敷水疗面膜的一切事情都贴上了“自我护理”的标签。这种商品化的、新自由主义版本的自我照顾与作家、民权活动家奥德丽•洛德(Audre Lorde)在《光的爆发》(a Burst of Light, 1988)中所设想的相距甚远。她在书中写道:“照顾自己不是自我放纵，而是自我保护，这是一种政治斗争行为。”自我护理行业利用了新自由主义将健康责任转移给个人的趋势，在人们无法负担得起且公平地获得医疗和精神保健的情况下，自我护理消费品的销售蓬勃发展。关爱是人类、其他动物和植物生存的基本需求。没有它，社会将停止运转。然而，护理的提供并不公平——在工作场所和家庭中，护理仍然高度性别化
{"title":"Care","authors":"Holly Yanacek","doi":"10.1111/criq.12727","DOIUrl":"10.1111/criq.12727","url":null,"abstract":"<p>With global shortages of health-care workers, child care, eldercare and care for people with disabilities, news outlets around the world have reported a <i>care crisis</i> worsened by the COVID-19 pandemic. In <i>The Care Manifesto</i> (Verso Books, 2020), the authors observe, ‘Rhetorically at least, governments worldwide have responded [to the pandemic], and in sharp contrast to 2019, <i>talk</i> of care is currently everywhere’ (p.7). A glimpse into <i>care</i>'s long history adds what Raymond Williams described as ‘just that extra edge of consciousness’ (<i>Keywords</i>, 1976) to understand the implications of <i>care</i> in contemporary English usage. The word's complexity arises not only from its status as a noun and a verb but also from its ability to describe, variously, an action, a feeling, supervision, paid or unpaid labour and the object of care itself, as well as from the word's strong association with conflicting ‘positive’ and ‘negative’ emotions.</p><p>The word <i>care</i> is inherited from Germanic and first attested before the eleventh century in its noun and verb forms. <i>Care</i> the noun derives from Old English <i>caru</i>, <i>cearu</i>, and the verb derives from Old English <i>carian</i>. <i>OED</i> includes quotations from <i>Beowulf</i> (c. 975–1025) documenting some of the earliest uses in the entries for both the noun <i>care</i> (‘Cearu wæs geniwod, geworden in wicun’ [sorrow was renewed, it had come to the dwellings]) and for the verb (‘na ymb his lif cearað’ [he never cared about his life]). <i>OED</i> sense 1 of the noun <i>care</i> denotes ‘Mental suffering, sorrow, grief, trouble’ and ‘Utterance of sorrow; lamentation, mourning’ and is now obsolete. <i>OED</i> sense 2b of the entry <i>to care</i> remains an active sense of the word today: ‘To feel concern (great or little), be concerned, trouble oneself, feel interest. Also in colloquial phrases expressing or implying lack of interest or concern: for all I care, see if I care, who cares?’</p><p>Beginning in the thirteenth century, <i>to care for</i> described an other-directed action or provision: ‘to take thought for, provide for, look after, take care of’. Still active today, this sense of the verb <i>to care</i> applies in many contexts, including parenting, <i>eldercare</i>, pet keeping, farming, and <i>health care. OED</i> sense 5 of <i>to care</i>, the most recent sense of the verb, indicates the addition of an affective meaning. This sense of <i>to care</i> denoting ‘To have regard, fondness, or attachment for’ dates back to the sixteenth century and could be used to describe one's feelings about a person or a thing. The most common collocation used when this affective sense of <i>care</i> is meant is <i>to care <b>about</b></i>, whereas <i>to care <b>for</b></i> typically describes an action, i.e. hands-on caregiving. While the <i>OED</i> notes that the verb was originally used only in negative constructions (e.g. he never cared to; they cared for nothi","PeriodicalId":44341,"journal":{"name":"CRITICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"65 3","pages":"51-54"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-05-22","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/criq.12727","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"47494705","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
<p>It is two years since my diagnosis and I am still no closer to finding a reason why I have become so ill; I am an idiopathic medical anomaly. My diagnosis of chronic pancreatitis occurred in the middle of the first coronavirus lockdown in the United Kingdom. It was a solitary experience as I shuffled into distanced hospital waiting rooms, was fed into various machines that instructed me on when and how to breathe and sent back to my flat to await a phone call appointment to discuss their results. This solitary experience of illness was populated by many literary diagnostic voices. The words ‘no apparent cause’ were repeated across letters from my consultants to my GP surgery. As I was copied into an ongoing epistolary conversation about my health, it often felt like I was merely overhearing a conversation about me with no chance to interject. As if in response, the eighteenth-century poets that I was researching gave their parallel diagnoses to my twenty-first century consultants. While I had lost the energy to do most tasks, I spent the moments when my brain and body reconnected reading and taking notes on eighteenth-century poems about health. If my consultants could not find the answer as to why I was ill, their eighteenth-century counterparts pushed me to delve deeper inside my body and listen to my own rhythms of illness.</p><p>A 2016 study on chronic pancreatitis confirms that this could be a fruitful means of discovering why my pancreas has turned against itself. Presenting chronic pancreatitis as a ‘diagnostic dilemma’, it notes that it is ‘characterised by irreversible morphological change and typically causing pain and/or permanent loss of function’ and is ‘beset by destruction of healthy pancreatic tissue and the development of fibrous scar tissue’.<sup>1</sup> The pancreas attempts to conceal itself by hiding behind the stomach and hampers research by being inaccessible and inflaming itself at the slightest touch. To understand the pancreas, it seems we need to reach beyond the medical and consult various sources. An article on the history of pancreatitis turns to the allegory of Plato’s cave in its conclusion, suggesting that those searching to understand the pancreas are the cave dwellers as ‘most of our knowledge of pancreatitis comes from the shadows cast by the disease’.<sup>2</sup> We are always multiple steps behind the events that trigger the pancreas to destroy itself, attempting to understand its reasoning for doing so through the shadows cast by its inflammations. There is no universally accepted diagnostic standard for chronic pancreatitis; instead it is usually diagnosed with an array of radiological and endoscopic tools. But could poetic or emotional tools also be added to this list? An eighteenth-century physician-poet would argue that they were essential.</p><p>Mark Akenside’s 1745 <i>Odes on Several Subjects</i> are wide ranging, though there is a particular through line of the poet’s physical and emotional health
我的诊断已经过去两年了，但我仍然没有找到我病得这么重的原因;我是一个特发性医学异常。我对慢性胰腺炎的诊断发生在英国第一次冠状病毒封锁期间。这是一次孤独的经历，我拖着脚步走进远处的医院候诊室，被送入各种指示我何时以及如何呼吸的机器，然后被送回我的公寓，等待电话预约，讨论检查结果。这种孤独的疾病经历充斥着许多文学诊断的声音。“没有明显的原因”这句话在我的顾问给我的全科医生的信中反复出现。当我被抄写进一篇关于我健康状况的书信谈话时，我常常觉得自己只是在无意中听到一段关于我的谈话，没有机会插话。好像是作为回应，我研究的18世纪诗人给了我21世纪的顾问们类似的诊断。当我失去了做大多数事情的精力时，我利用大脑和身体重新连接的时刻阅读和记录18世纪关于健康的诗歌。如果说我的咨询师们找不到我生病的原因，那么他们18世纪的同行们则促使我更深入地研究我的身体，倾听我自己的疾病节奏。2016年一项关于慢性胰腺炎的研究证实，这可能是一种有效的方法，可以发现我的胰腺为什么会自我对抗。将慢性胰腺炎描述为一个“诊断困境”，它指出，其“特征是不可逆的形态变化，通常导致疼痛和/或永久性功能丧失”，并且“被健康胰腺组织的破坏和纤维瘢痕组织的发展所困扰”胰腺试图通过隐藏在胃后面来隐藏自己，并通过难以接近和在最轻微的触摸中发炎来阻碍研究。要了解胰腺，我们似乎需要超越医学，查阅各种资料。一篇关于胰腺炎历史的文章在其结论中转向柏拉图洞穴的寓言，暗示那些试图理解胰腺的人是洞穴居民，因为“我们对胰腺炎的大部分知识来自疾病投下的阴影”我们总是在触发胰腺自我毁灭的事件背后走了好几步，试图通过它的炎症阴影来理解它这样做的原因。慢性胰腺炎没有公认的诊断标准;相反，它通常通过一系列放射学和内窥镜工具进行诊断。但是，诗歌或情感工具也可以添加到这个列表中吗?一位18世纪的医生诗人会认为它们是必不可少的。马克·阿肯赛德1745年的《几主题颂歌》内容广泛，尽管在全集中有一条关于诗人身体和情感健康的特别贯穿线。他个人的疾病经历与我的痛苦相呼应，并给了我一种语言:“夜色多么浓啊![…]当悲伤使我昏昏沉沉的时候，这些炽热的痛苦撕裂了我脆弱的血管从一个18世纪的医生诗人的作品中找到安慰似乎有些奇怪，他曾多次尝试建立成功的实践，但都以失败告终，并以对病人的严厉而闻名，但他富有诗意的对待病人的态度正是我在慢性疾病发作的孤独发作中深深感受到的。阿肯赛德在22岁时就因他的诗歌而闻名全国，尽管他也强烈希望继续从事医疗事业。他从当地反对宗教的教会那里得到了一笔资助，为牧师学习，但在到达爱丁堡大学不到一年的时间里，他就转学医学了。1742年初回到纽卡斯尔后，他把时间花在了写《想象的乐趣》上。阿肯赛德把手稿以120英镑的价格卖给了著名的书商罗伯特·多斯利(Robert Dodsley)， 1744年1月16日，它以匿名的方式出现，迅速成为本世纪最受欢迎的哲学诗歌之一。值得注意的是，大概是用他从多德利那里得到的钱，阿肯赛德去了莱顿大学继续他的医学研究。这种医学教育直接影响了他的诗歌，阿肯赛德认为诗歌是一种治疗工具，可以用来缓解身心的痛苦。回到英国后，他定居在北安普顿，并试图建立一个医疗实践。在未能吸引足够多的病人离开住院医生后，他搬到了汉普斯特德，他的密友耶利米·戴森在那里拥有一所房子。戴森试图利用他在当地居民中的影响力帮助Akenside建立一个实践，但它再次失败，Akenside搬到了布鲁姆斯伯里广场，戴森为他提供了大量的津贴和一个家。 虽然在他的医学生涯中不稳定，但阿肯赛德仍然在他的文学作品中多产，他在1745年3月出版了他的《几个主题的颂歌》。孤独出现在阿肯赛德的整个作品中，但它是这本诗集的中心焦点。孤独的变化呈现遵循每首颂歌的诗歌韵律，用标准的抑扬格四步或五音步标志着孤独和内省的贺拉斯影响，演讲者专注于他们与自然的关系，以及气候和疾病对人们思想的潜在危险。贺拉斯颂诗中押韵的对联是阿肯赛德探索各种身体和精神疾病的一种手段。对Akenside来说，诗歌具有强烈的治疗作用，往往是通往健康和快乐的途径。他的押韵试图复制情绪和疾病对身体的影响，并讲述诗歌的节奏本身如何可以作为一种治疗方法。快乐和健康的“双重恩惠”是整个颂歌的关键主题。自然的“财富”和个人的“健康”的押韵组合，与贺拉斯颂歌的“安逸”形成了一个简洁的平行关系，在颂歌的开头，“忧虑的疾病”得到了喘息。想象花园中孤独的凉亭是理解诗歌的轻松和自然的丰富如何结合起来对抗疾病并促进诗人和读者的健康的途径。在整个卷中，有一个从疾病到健康的发展叙事过渡，重点关注心灵的能力，将自己从忧郁中解脱出来，通过快乐的思想。阿肯赛德把他的书放在18世纪流行的忧郁和孤独的诗歌中，注意到他的诗歌缪斯在孤独中更多地转向光明和快乐，而不是墓地的“可怕的黑暗”。诗中提到的朦胧墓地的阴暗与我自己的日常生活遥相呼应，在那里，快乐和健康的“双重恩惠”似乎遥不可及。我坐在一团无法消散的脑雾里，悬浮在我身体的废墟和一个正在萎缩的器官的坟墓里。我就是阿肯赛德要找的理想读者。如果我没有体力把自己从沙发上拉起来，也许他那诗意的缪斯能把我的思想拉向阳光和欢乐。在孤独的阅读中，Akenside的说话人发现自己沉浸在古典诗歌和哲学中，让他的想象力接管并构建一个替代场景，以分散冬天阴沉潮湿的注意力。孤独地遁入哲学和诗歌之后，我想象着与这些过去的诗人和哲学家进行社会互动，就像我自己阅读《阿肯赛德》导致我孤独地生病，与“已故的杰出老人”一起度过，以理解我生病的身体一样。因此，读诗可以填补我们的孤独，让我们从忧郁中解脱出来。我的皮肤变得越来越苍白，照镜子的时候，我的眼睛变得呆滞，在阿肯赛德的台词中有一种我在医学语言中没有遇到过的诊断品质。阿肯赛德在这些诗节中使用头韵来表现怀疑的毒液对身体的连续中毒效果。在接下来的诗句中，“静脉”与感染它的“毒液”搭配在一起，而眼睛里的“弥漫”后面是它的头韵传播:“Soon will her secret venom spread”。阿肯赛德在整首颂歌中不断地使用头韵来诗意地表现身体上的症状。“失落的喜悦之光”引出了另一个贯穿整部颂歌的主题:当没有一定量的快乐时，缺席的有害影响。失去的喜悦的闪光会“引起大脑的深层不和谐”，“喜悦”和随之而来的“深层不和谐”之间的头韵将这种怀疑可能导致的记忆和精神痛苦联系起来。同样，重复的“all your heart and all your head”与最初的症状“Already in your eyes”联系在一起，Akenside使用了辅音和头韵来记录疾病在你身体上的压倒性和交织性。这些元音表达了一种看不见的强烈的倦意，这种倦意正慢慢渗透到我身体的每一个关节。在鼓励我退回到自己身体的节奏中去的过程中，艾肯赛德帮助我建立了一个词汇表，来描述一种疾病似乎在慢慢吞噬我的身体时的感觉。在他对快乐的定义和保持自己在极端之间的相关好处中，Akenside热衷于展示它如何在治疗上有益于那些发现自己处于疾病引起的孤独之中的人。阿肯赛德在整首颂歌中始终依赖于“作曲”的双重含义，既用于诗歌创作，又用于心灵的平静和安宁。 就像诗歌一样，身体的节奏可以被谱写成一首健康之歌。他的病房是一个让思想向内移动，走向死亡的地方，在那里“你那深
{"title":"Affliction’s Lonely Hour","authors":"James Morland","doi":"10.1111/criq.12717","DOIUrl":"10.1111/criq.12717","url":null,"abstract":"<p>It is two years since my diagnosis and I am still no closer to finding a reason why I have become so ill; I am an idiopathic medical anomaly. My diagnosis of chronic pancreatitis occurred in the middle of the first coronavirus lockdown in the United Kingdom. It was a solitary experience as I shuffled into distanced hospital waiting rooms, was fed into various machines that instructed me on when and how to breathe and sent back to my flat to await a phone call appointment to discuss their results. This solitary experience of illness was populated by many literary diagnostic voices. The words ‘no apparent cause’ were repeated across letters from my consultants to my GP surgery. As I was copied into an ongoing epistolary conversation about my health, it often felt like I was merely overhearing a conversation about me with no chance to interject. As if in response, the eighteenth-century poets that I was researching gave their parallel diagnoses to my twenty-first century consultants. While I had lost the energy to do most tasks, I spent the moments when my brain and body reconnected reading and taking notes on eighteenth-century poems about health. If my consultants could not find the answer as to why I was ill, their eighteenth-century counterparts pushed me to delve deeper inside my body and listen to my own rhythms of illness.</p><p>A 2016 study on chronic pancreatitis confirms that this could be a fruitful means of discovering why my pancreas has turned against itself. Presenting chronic pancreatitis as a ‘diagnostic dilemma’, it notes that it is ‘characterised by irreversible morphological change and typically causing pain and/or permanent loss of function’ and is ‘beset by destruction of healthy pancreatic tissue and the development of fibrous scar tissue’.<sup>1</sup> The pancreas attempts to conceal itself by hiding behind the stomach and hampers research by being inaccessible and inflaming itself at the slightest touch. To understand the pancreas, it seems we need to reach beyond the medical and consult various sources. An article on the history of pancreatitis turns to the allegory of Plato’s cave in its conclusion, suggesting that those searching to understand the pancreas are the cave dwellers as ‘most of our knowledge of pancreatitis comes from the shadows cast by the disease’.<sup>2</sup> We are always multiple steps behind the events that trigger the pancreas to destroy itself, attempting to understand its reasoning for doing so through the shadows cast by its inflammations. There is no universally accepted diagnostic standard for chronic pancreatitis; instead it is usually diagnosed with an array of radiological and endoscopic tools. But could poetic or emotional tools also be added to this list? An eighteenth-century physician-poet would argue that they were essential.</p><p>Mark Akenside’s 1745 <i>Odes on Several Subjects</i> are wide ranging, though there is a particular through line of the poet’s physical and emotional health ","PeriodicalId":44341,"journal":{"name":"CRITICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"65 2","pages":"25-37"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-05-19","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/criq.12717","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"47890110","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
<p>In an essay on Grote's <i>History of Greece</i>, John Stuart Mill remarked: ‘The battle of Marathon, even as an event in English history, is more important than the battle of Hastings.’<sup>1</sup> We may find this statement surprising, but Mill's contemporaries would not have. Just as nineteenth-century European scholars focused on the ancient Orient and its religions largely because they thought modern Eastern cultures static or degraded and of incidental value, so too, as Suzanne Marchand has pointed out, many members of the European educated elite thought the same was true of their own culture, ‘which is why the study of classical antiquity was dominant in educational institutions and why religious reformers emphasized the virtues of Jesus and the apostles, rather than those of contemporary Christians’.<sup>2</sup></p><p>In nineteenth-century England, appeal to classical antiquity was used to remedy cultural despair, yet in the course of the century the programme was collapsing, as there arose an increasingly acrimonious struggle between the claims of science and those of classical antiquity with regard to the explanation for the uniqueness and success of Western culture. Nowhere is this clearer than in the attempts of promoters of classical education to provide a model of character development. Character development was something that had almost always been a core role of the study of classical antiquity and, as the claims of Christianity in this role began to be questioned in Europe from the end of the eighteenth century, it took on a new urgency. Frank Turner notes that Greek antiquity began to absorb the interests of eighteenth-century Europeans as their Roman and Christian heritage began to come apart, attempting to identify ‘prescriptive signposts for the present age in the European past that predated Rome and Christianity’.<sup>3</sup></p><p>To understand the extent of classical studies in the curriculum of the English educational system, however, we need to recognise from the outset how class-bound education was in England. By contrast with Germany, for example, where Humboldt's reforms of 1810 were designed to open up tertiary education to the middle classes, in England in the first half of the nineteenth century education was seen as a privilege, and there was a widespread belief among the elite that too much education would produce overqualified and unemployable people.<sup>7</sup> The resistance to general education was reflected in literacy levels: in 1850 the literacy rate (reading and writing) in Prussia was 85 per cent, that in Britain just 52 per cent.<sup>8</sup> Museums, at the forefront of general educational programme in Germany, laboured under a class-ridden ideology in Britain. The trustees of the British Museum, predominantly members of the aristocracy and Anglican clergy, were staunchly resistant to displaying its specimens to the public, and by contrast with French and German museums its collection was sadly lacki
{"title":"The shaping of character: The classics as a remedy for cultural despair in Victorian England","authors":"Stephen Gaukroger","doi":"10.1111/criq.12724","DOIUrl":"10.1111/criq.12724","url":null,"abstract":"<p>In an essay on Grote's <i>History of Greece</i>, John Stuart Mill remarked: ‘The battle of Marathon, even as an event in English history, is more important than the battle of Hastings.’<sup>1</sup> We may find this statement surprising, but Mill's contemporaries would not have. Just as nineteenth-century European scholars focused on the ancient Orient and its religions largely because they thought modern Eastern cultures static or degraded and of incidental value, so too, as Suzanne Marchand has pointed out, many members of the European educated elite thought the same was true of their own culture, ‘which is why the study of classical antiquity was dominant in educational institutions and why religious reformers emphasized the virtues of Jesus and the apostles, rather than those of contemporary Christians’.<sup>2</sup></p><p>In nineteenth-century England, appeal to classical antiquity was used to remedy cultural despair, yet in the course of the century the programme was collapsing, as there arose an increasingly acrimonious struggle between the claims of science and those of classical antiquity with regard to the explanation for the uniqueness and success of Western culture. Nowhere is this clearer than in the attempts of promoters of classical education to provide a model of character development. Character development was something that had almost always been a core role of the study of classical antiquity and, as the claims of Christianity in this role began to be questioned in Europe from the end of the eighteenth century, it took on a new urgency. Frank Turner notes that Greek antiquity began to absorb the interests of eighteenth-century Europeans as their Roman and Christian heritage began to come apart, attempting to identify ‘prescriptive signposts for the present age in the European past that predated Rome and Christianity’.<sup>3</sup></p><p>To understand the extent of classical studies in the curriculum of the English educational system, however, we need to recognise from the outset how class-bound education was in England. By contrast with Germany, for example, where Humboldt's reforms of 1810 were designed to open up tertiary education to the middle classes, in England in the first half of the nineteenth century education was seen as a privilege, and there was a widespread belief among the elite that too much education would produce overqualified and unemployable people.<sup>7</sup> The resistance to general education was reflected in literacy levels: in 1850 the literacy rate (reading and writing) in Prussia was 85 per cent, that in Britain just 52 per cent.<sup>8</sup> Museums, at the forefront of general educational programme in Germany, laboured under a class-ridden ideology in Britain. The trustees of the British Museum, predominantly members of the aristocracy and Anglican clergy, were staunchly resistant to displaying its specimens to the public, and by contrast with French and German museums its collection was sadly lacki","PeriodicalId":44341,"journal":{"name":"CRITICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"66 2","pages":"4-17"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-05-19","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/criq.12724","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"47715776","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
<p>Much could be said about these lines, but my concern here is with the relationship they thematise between melancholy, self-reflection and solitude. The rest of the poem leaves us in no doubt that Burton regards solitary meditation upon oneself as an integral part of the ‘abstract’ of the melancholic pathology (‘When to myself I act and smile / With pleasing thoughts the time beguile … When I lie, sit, or walk alone, / I sigh, I grieve, making great moan … Friends and Companions get you gone, / 'Tis my desire to be alone; / Ne'er well but when my thoughts and I / Do domineer in privacy …. I am a beast, a monster grown, / I will no light nor company, / I find it now my misery’).<sup>3</sup> The special significance of solitude in the <i>Anatomy</i> is also announced on its illustrated frontispiece, produced from Burton's instructions by the Frankfurt engraver Christof Le Blon, and first appearing in the third edition of 1628 (Figure 1). Again, when Burton provides his readers with a guide to the contents here, the importance of solitude is reflected in the fact that it is given its own panel (Figure 2), together with depictions of the main types of melancholy discussed in the book, and two famous herbal therapies (borage and hellebore), set beside portraits of the author and his ancient philosophical predecessor Democritus.<sup>4</sup> Solitude here is depicted, as Burton explains in another poem added in 1632 (‘The Argument of the Frontispiece), ‘[b]y sleeping dog, cat: Buck and Doe, / Hares, Conies in the desert go: Bats, Owls the shady bowers over, / In melancholy darkness hover’.<sup>5</sup> All of these creatures were traditionally associated with both solitude and melancholy, and it is perhaps also notable that all the human figures on the frontispiece are alone.<sup>6</sup></p><p>In this essay, I explore the pathological aspects of solitude in <i>The Anatomy of Melancholy</i>. The first part outlines Burton's account of the medical dimension of solitude, in which the desire to be alone is, according to the teachings of physicians from antiquity to the seventeenth century, a prominent symptom of the melancholic disease. Here, the <i>Anatomy</i> draws on a range of medical authorities to connect solitariness with the characteristically melancholic passions of fear and sorrow. However, when analysed in conjunction with physical idleness and excessive thinking, solitude could also be regarded as part of an unhealthy physical and psychological regimen, and thereby come to be a cause of melancholy. As we shall see, Burton is particularly interested in the effects of solitude upon the mind of the melancholic sufferer, and describes the process of ‘melancholizing’, the passage from pleasurable meditation to painful mental fixation, as one of the intrinsic dangers of the voluntary withdrawal from the external world. In the second part of the essay, I turn to the spiritual significance of solitude in Burton's work. Whilst solitude had been regarded
{"title":"The Solitary Mind in the Anatomy of Melancholy","authors":"Angus Gowland","doi":"10.1111/criq.12726","DOIUrl":"10.1111/criq.12726","url":null,"abstract":"<p>Much could be said about these lines, but my concern here is with the relationship they thematise between melancholy, self-reflection and solitude. The rest of the poem leaves us in no doubt that Burton regards solitary meditation upon oneself as an integral part of the ‘abstract’ of the melancholic pathology (‘When to myself I act and smile / With pleasing thoughts the time beguile … When I lie, sit, or walk alone, / I sigh, I grieve, making great moan … Friends and Companions get you gone, / 'Tis my desire to be alone; / Ne'er well but when my thoughts and I / Do domineer in privacy …. I am a beast, a monster grown, / I will no light nor company, / I find it now my misery’).<sup>3</sup> The special significance of solitude in the <i>Anatomy</i> is also announced on its illustrated frontispiece, produced from Burton's instructions by the Frankfurt engraver Christof Le Blon, and first appearing in the third edition of 1628 (Figure 1). Again, when Burton provides his readers with a guide to the contents here, the importance of solitude is reflected in the fact that it is given its own panel (Figure 2), together with depictions of the main types of melancholy discussed in the book, and two famous herbal therapies (borage and hellebore), set beside portraits of the author and his ancient philosophical predecessor Democritus.<sup>4</sup> Solitude here is depicted, as Burton explains in another poem added in 1632 (‘The Argument of the Frontispiece), ‘[b]y sleeping dog, cat: Buck and Doe, / Hares, Conies in the desert go: Bats, Owls the shady bowers over, / In melancholy darkness hover’.<sup>5</sup> All of these creatures were traditionally associated with both solitude and melancholy, and it is perhaps also notable that all the human figures on the frontispiece are alone.<sup>6</sup></p><p>In this essay, I explore the pathological aspects of solitude in <i>The Anatomy of Melancholy</i>. The first part outlines Burton's account of the medical dimension of solitude, in which the desire to be alone is, according to the teachings of physicians from antiquity to the seventeenth century, a prominent symptom of the melancholic disease. Here, the <i>Anatomy</i> draws on a range of medical authorities to connect solitariness with the characteristically melancholic passions of fear and sorrow. However, when analysed in conjunction with physical idleness and excessive thinking, solitude could also be regarded as part of an unhealthy physical and psychological regimen, and thereby come to be a cause of melancholy. As we shall see, Burton is particularly interested in the effects of solitude upon the mind of the melancholic sufferer, and describes the process of ‘melancholizing’, the passage from pleasurable meditation to painful mental fixation, as one of the intrinsic dangers of the voluntary withdrawal from the external world. In the second part of the essay, I turn to the spiritual significance of solitude in Burton's work. Whilst solitude had been regarded","PeriodicalId":44341,"journal":{"name":"CRITICAL QUARTERLY","volume":"65 2","pages":"5-24"},"PeriodicalIF":0.2,"publicationDate":"2023-05-17","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/criq.12726","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"42532307","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":4,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
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