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Ken Gelder

This chapter looks at colonial grave sites and – to a degree – the question of memorialisation in Australia. It begins by looking at unquiet, uncommemorated settler graves; ‘Fisher’s Ghost’ (1836) is an important early story here. The chapter then discusses the neglected shepherd’s grave and, by contrast, the most commemorative settler colonial poem of all, Charles Harpur’s ‘The Creek of the Four Graves’ (1845). It then looks at some Aboriginal massacre sites in colonial writing, beginning with ‘The Shepherd’s Grave’ (1874) about settler killings of Aboriginal people at a place later known as Murdering Flat. Colonial Australia is increasingly cast as a spiralling series of deathscapes, many of which remain unmemorialised. Two poems about the 1838 Myall Creek Massacre lead to a discussion of the ‘Aboriginal lament’, a ventriloquised witness account in the voice of an Indigenous massacre survivor. The Myall Creek memorial site opened in June 2000; it is understood here as a ‘site of memory’. Another ‘Aboriginal lament’, from 1876, leads to an account of settler grave robbing and the illegal trade in Aboriginal skulls and bones. In Henry Lawson’s story ‘The Bush Undertaker’ (1892), an old shepherd (who may have earlier participated in an Aboriginal massacre) digs up Aboriginal remains with the aim of participating in that trade. W. S. Walker’s ‘The Evil of Yelcomorn Creek’ (1898) folds grave-robbing into an expression of colonial extinction discourse and ‘weird’ spectral effects: where terra nullius turns into a ‘badland’. For Mark Fisher, the ‘weird’ conjoins things that ‘do not belong together’, which is precisely what colonial grave literature seems to do. The colonial grave never seems to be at rest; in some cases, its afterlife can reach into Australia today and demand recognition.

in Graveyard Gothic
Abstract only
Some comparisons, some reflections
Diane Robinson-Dunn

In addition to reiterating the arguments with regard to diversity and liberalism explained in the Introduction and supported throughout the book, the Conclusion compares the trajectories of the movements examined, Bahá’í, Woking Muslim Mission (WMM) and Zionist, and the networks that sustained them. It explains instances of parallelism with regard to Bahá’í and Zionist networks despite lack of alliance or affinity and addresses the similarities between the Bahá’í movement and the WMM despite their separate development and only occasional crossing of paths. The chapter explains how the book complicates common assumptions with regard to the metropole–periphery dynamic, for in each case the metropole was not the place of origin for the core or canonical ideologies of the movements in question but, rather, and significantly, it served as the international nexus where people from different, and often otherwise unconnected, parts of the world were able to meet, and therefore where equally diverse ideas could make their way from one area of the periphery to another, from periphery to outside the empire and vice versa. It observes how the book as a whole speaks to the complex ways that people and movements, already characterized by hybridity between Occident and Orient both culturally and practically, could intersect with an equally hybridized empire, during a period when the British state had reached the apogee of its expansion in the East, allowing those historical actors to realize goals that were independent of and therefore capable of outlasting the empire itself.

in An empire of many cultures
Mexican graveyards and Gothic returns
Enrique Ajuria Ibarra

In Mexico, graveyards are not solely resting places but also sites for remembrance. During the Day of the Dead, visiting and spending the night in cemeteries appeals to the memory of the deceased. The return works through commemorative rituals in which the living and the dead are able to communicate. This practice is provided with a heightened visual appeal in the animated film Coco (2017). Here, the graveyard is a setting that foregrounds the connection between the living and the spirits of the deceased: when their living relatives remember them, they can return for one single night. The idea of the graveyard filled with returning ghosts is not new. In fact, it can be traced back to other works in Mexican fiction, such as in Juan Rulfo’s seminal novel Pedro Páramo (1955) and Mexican films Cien gritos de terror (1965), directed by Ramón Obón, or Día de difuntos (1988), directed by Luis Alcoriza. This chapter focuses on the conversational graveyard, an active site for remembrance and community, where hauntings return through memory and communication. In Mexico, the celebration of the dead is a social dynamic that does not necessarily involve Gothic-related traumas or uncanny revelations but more likely an awareness of family and life.

in Graveyard Gothic
David McAllister

This chapter considers the anti-Gothic ideology that led to the mass closure of graveyards in Britain in mid nineteenth century, the opening of new cemeteries that were designed to combat Gothic affects, and the reclamation of these now decaying spaces for the Gothic mode at the fin de siècle. It begins by showing how burial reformers of the 1830s and 1840s drew on associationist psychological theories to argue that Britain’s decaying urban graveyards were an unacceptably Gothic presence in the nation’s modernising cities. I show how they were identified as damaging sites of both physical and psychological pollution: breeding grounds for disease and superstition, and exemplars of a Gothic inheritance that a progressive new era wished to reject. Social reformers argued that if Britain was to move forward as a nation – socially, morally and financially – its graveyards must be replaced by aestheticised cemeteries: spaces in which ‘the imagination is robbed of its gloomy horrors’, according to one enthusiast, by excluding and disguising decay. The chapter then moves forward in the century to narrate the failure of this project, through an examination of Lucy Westenra’s tomb in Dracula. Here I argue that Victorian attempts to eliminate decay made this de-Gothicising project impossible, and in itself constituted a new and superadded terror, with the vampire as a figure of this denial of decay. The chapter concludes that by the 1890s, with the ornate tombs of aestheticised Victorian cemeteries themselves falling into decay, the graveyard was reinstated as a key Gothic location.

in Graveyard Gothic
Practices, routines and experiences

This collective volume looks at European psychiatry in the second half of the twentieth century through a variety of practices that were experienced and routinised in the mental health field after World War II. Case studies from across Europe allow one to appreciate how new ‘ways of doing’ contributed to transform the field, beyond the watchwords of deinstitutionalisation, the introduction of neuroleptics, centrality of patients, humanisation of spaces and overcoming of asylum-era habits. Through a variety of sources and often adopting a small-scale perspective, the chapters closely examine the way new practices took shape and how they installed themselves, eventually facing resistance, injecting new purposes and contributing to enlarging psychiatry’s fields of expertise, therefore blurring its once-more-defined boundaries. The book has four sections: visions, experimentation, reflections and crossing boundaries. The first focuses on experiences that were viewed, lived and narrated by the protagonists as unique and utopian. This character of novelty is also questioned through the patient’s perspective. The following section focuses on some cases whose protagonists were aware that they were trialling new ways of doing. Although these did not necessarily become mainstream, new frameworks of therapeutic intervention were shaped, and feebler protocolar procedures and eclectic appropriations were allowed for. The third section shows how the actors were called to reflect on practices and give them meaning, adopting a reflective habit that questioned the very role of each protagonist of the therapeutic scene. The last section analyses how psychiatry entered fields of expertise other than those usually assumed.

Bahá’ís, Muslims, Jews and the British state, 1900–20

With the outbreak of the First World War and British expansion into the Middle East, certain Bahá’í, Muslim and Jewish leaders found it necessary to form new relationships with the British government and its representatives, relationships which would prove to be of pivotal importance for each and have a lasting impact on future generations. This book, based upon extensive archival research, explores how Bahá’ís in England and Palestine, Muslim missionaries from India based in Woking and Jews in England on both sides of the Zionist debate understood interactions with the British state and larger imperial culture prior to and during the war. One of the most significant findings of this study is that while an appreciation of diversity tends to be regarded as a modern, postcolonial phenomenon, a way to remedy the unjust remnants of an imperial past, the men and women of the early twentieth century whose words and actions come to life of the pages of this book understood diversity as a defining characteristic of the empire itself. They found real meaning and value in the variety of religions, races, languages, nations, cultures and ethnicities that comprised that vast, global entity. This recognition of its diversity, along with certain British liberal ideals, allowed extraordinary individuals to find common ground between that state and their own beliefs, goals and aspirations, thus helping to lay the foundation for the eventual development of the Bahá’í Faith as a world religion, a new era of Muslim missionary activity in the West and a Jewish state in Palestine.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá and the cultivation of British–Bahá’í networks in England and the Middle East
Diane Robinson-Dunn

This chapter elucidates the relationship between the Bahá’í movement, the English people who were attracted to it and the British Empire, focusing on the early twentieth century and especially the First World War period. As British troops expanded into the Ottoman Middle East during that conflict, all three intersected in ways that would prove pivotal for Bahá’í history, marking the beginning of that persecuted movement’s establishment as a major world religion. This chapter explains how individual historical actors, from the movement’s leadership in the Haifa–Acre area, to the Bahá’ís in England, to (although to a lesser extent) the British officers and administrators in Palestine, were able to sift through a variety of principles, beliefs and representations culturally available to them in order to create systems of meaning that made new Bahá’í–British relationships possible. Areas of common ground included certain shared liberal, democratic ideals; a global perspective that included people from many different ethnic, racial, religious and national backgrounds; and a willingness to cross familiar boundaries between “East” and “West,” even as those concepts were created and recreated in the process.

in An empire of many cultures
Open Access (free)
The genesis of therapeutic practices in Basaglia’s psychiatric community (1962–68)
Marica Setaro

This chapter considers the therapeutic community established by Franco Basaglia at the Gorizia Psychiatric Hospital in Italy. It maintains that the general assembly is one of the most notable and under-investigated therapeutic practices introduced in the community. Indeed, the general assembly is the first expression of what Basaglia called ‘l’utopia della realtà’ (i.e. the actual utopia), which was actual to such an extent that it produced the dismemberment of the psychiatric institution while creating an actual, new and cohesive psychiatric system in Italy, with legislative repercussions (the closing of mental hospitals from the 1980s). In their reshaping of doctors’, nurses’ and patients’ roles, assemblies acted as primary tools for bringing the patients to the centre of the stage, as reformist psychiatrists dreamt of, and for their resubjectification. An unpublished set of sources in which the minutes of the general meetings were reported – the patients’ bulletin Il Picchio (1962–66) – will be read alongside the foundational works curated by Franca Ongaro Basaglia and Franco Basaglia. The comparison between these publications and the numerous issues of the internal ‘newspaper’ written by patients-as-journalists will prove instrumental to a more comprehensive appreciation of Basaglia’s endeavour.

in Doing psychiatry in postwar Europe
Cultural remains and literary beginnings
Eric Parisot

Eighteenth-century graveyard poetry was a devotional mode of poetry focused on Christian death, salvation and the afterlife, one that invested heavily in Gothic affect as a spur to piety. As a crucial tributary to later Gothic and Romantic traditions, it helped to establish the graveyard and related sites of burial and ruin as mournful locales imbued with melancholic fear. This chapter isolates the churchyard as a particular proto-Gothic poetic locale in graveyard poetry, restoring the historical, lexical and religious peculiarity of the churchyard as consecrated ground. Comparative readings of the poetry of Thomas Parnell, Thomas Gray, Edward Young and Robert Blair, and the funereal prose of James Hervey, focus on how the interrelation of nature, the church and the buried dead was carefully managed to produce a spectrum of emotions ranging from pensive melancholy to religious awe, existential and eschatological anxiety, and deathly horror. In doing so, this chapter reveals the premodern churchyard as a composite memento mori, a place with deep communal roots, a site of transformation within the Christian cosmos, as a point of origins as well as endings. The imagined churchyards of graveyard poetry, then, are apt literary emblems of a fading mortuary culture and a harbinger of the Gothic’s expansive and transformative engagement with the dead.

in Graveyard Gothic
Abstract only

Graveyard Gothic is the first sustained consideration of the graveyard as a key Gothic locale. This volume examines various iterations of the Gothic graveyard (and other burial sites) from the eighteenth century to the twenty-first, as expressed in numerous forms of culture and media including poetry, fiction, TV, film and video games. The volume also extends its geographic scope beyond British traditions to accommodate multiple cultural perspectives, including those from the US, Mexico, Japan, Australia, India and Eastern Europe. The seventeen chapters from key international Gothic scholars engage a range of theoretical frameworks, including the historical, material, colonial, political and religious. With a critical introduction offering a platform for further scholarship and a coda mapping potential future critical and cultural developments, Graveyard Gothic is a landmark volume defining a new area of Gothic studies.