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. American imperial policy also played a role with the shift from formal to informal empire, territorial control to economic and cultural influence with the ever-present threat of military intervention to keep other countries ‘on the right track’.83 The zombie embodied fears around issues of both the exercise of and resistance to control. In ‘Cult of the Undead’ from The Beyond #4 (1951), anxieties around empire were displaced on to ‘Pizarro, the bloody Spanish conquistador’ and his ‘swordpoint empire’ in the Andes.84 Here, the American Gerald Knowlton is lured to Peru in
successful railway engineer. Its existence in the family raises the issue of contrasting fraternal relationship among the Ruthyns and the Le Fanus. 11 The wolf of course has a place – honoured or otherwise – in two complementary but contrasting bodies of lore. In popular mythology of the vampire, he plays a part in the undead’s repertoire of animal-disguises. In psycho
The portrait’s undead subject, Dorian, is driven to destroy his own image after stabbing the artist in the neck – gestures reminiscent both of the staking of the vampire and the act of vampirism. The palette knife that had created the portrait is now used to destroy the artist; ‘as it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painter’s work, and all that that meant’ (187). It would kill the
that it did for Van Helsing, the sweep of secularisation since the time of Bram Stoker’s writing has not done away with the vampire. Rather, the impulses of religion have been turned into something like the vampire itself, undead remainders with a disturbing and still vital presence in modern culture. According to Paul Barber, the popular belief that it is bad luck to break a mirror stems from the superstition that
Russia’s past have proven invaluable. It is largely within this space, between the unofficial uncovering of the past and the state’s official concealment of the past, that the scholarly study of cultural memory in contemporary Russia has emerged. In his 2013 book, Warped Mourning: Stories of the undead in the land of the unburied, Alexander Etkind introduces the terms ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ memory. Hard memory, according to Etkind, is signified by city monuments and architectural forms of commemoration that indicate a broad social consensus about the meaning of the past in
condition in which the figure of this ‘undead’ woman does shortly appear to return from the morgue, in a classic instance of female abjection at the turning-point of the play. There, in a bizarre dream sequence that literalizes the loathsome void with the suspenseful structure of a horror film, an old courtier recounts how the ghost of Hermione has appeared to him in a nightmare
none too distant future. The film ends with a meditation on the end of nuclear energy. Depending on one’s perspective, this death of nuclear power has already occurred without anyone noticing, or is unlikely ever to occur; to put it in a gothic metaphor, nuclear power is weirdly undead. Die Wolke and Der erste Tag project the abolition of nuclear
Hochschulreform (Frankfurt am Main, 2010), pp. 11–12; Mitchell G. Ash, ‘Humboldt the Undead: Multiple Uses of “Humboldt” and His “Death” in the “Bologna” Era’, in The Humboldtian Tradition, ed. by Josephson, Thomas Karlsohn, & Östling, p. 85. Parts of this chapter are based on Östling, ‘Humboldts idé’; Johan Östling, ‘Universitetets historia: Humboldttraditionen som akademiskt historiemedvetande’, in Historiens hemvist: Etik, politik och historikerns ansvar, ed. by Patricia Lorenzoni & Ulla Manns (Göteborg, 2016); and Johan Östling, ‘Universitetets moderna tid’, in Tiden
; Holland, in playful tribute, turns the poet into one of the Undead in his novel, The Vampyre: The Secret History of Lord Byron ( 1995 ). Explicitly forbidden to reveal the truth about his race, Rice’s Louis deigns to give an interview while Lestat, ever more flamboyant and reckless, another Byron, goes fully public and even becomes a rock star. Byron’s dark sons and daughters ponder the prospect
246 The arts of Angela Carter 12 The rough and the holy: Angela Carter’s marionette theatre Maggie Tonkin L ‘ “ ive” theatre – though it might be better to call it “undead” theatre – used to embarrass me so much I could hardly bear it, that dreadful spectacle of painted loons in the middle distance making fools of themselves’ (Carter, 2013: 495): these scathing remarks, made in ‘Acting it Up on the Small Screen’, an essay published in New Society in 1979, reveal much about Angela Carter’s view of classic British theatre. Her characterization of classic