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11 Unreal cities and undead legacies: T.S. Eliot and Gothic hauntings in Waugh’s A Handful of Dust and Barnes’s Nightwood Avril Horner and Sue Zlosnik By the mid 1930s, when Waugh’s A Handful of Dust and Barnes’s Nightwood were published, The Waste Land (1922) had been absorbed into high culture and T.S. Eliot was established as an important man of letters both in England and in the United States. The transatlantic nature of Modernism itself, exemplified by the lives and works of Eliot, H.D., Pound, Stein and Barnes, was part of a newly dynamised interchange
. Every effort of art from now on and in remembrance of this moment will find its authority dependent upon what it can neither enliven, beautify, nor forget (since forgetfulness, aesthetically, is just sentimentality, entertainment, the culture industry). Dissonance, sublime unknowability, is the aesthetic (non-)representation of the undead. Near the beginning of the novel this climatic moment is anticipated as Zuckerman reflects on how everyday life depends on our trying to understand those people around us and how, no matter how careful, judicious, patient, attentive
one of the major battlegrounds during the initial years of the independence struggle but is also – as the meaning of its name (‘All Souls’) in Tetum indicates – the spiritual home of the souls of the East Timorese deceased. Over the years I would encounter this belief in the return of Nicolau Lobato and other ‘un-dead’ figures, especially from the early years of the independence struggle time and again.3 Kammen (2009: 400–5) for example notes the adherence of one of the spiritual leaders of Colimau 2000, a ritual/martial arts group, to this Claiming the dead
here’, as the character Peter famously explains. This image of the cannibalistic undead highlights an entire set of connections among capitalism, colonisation, and consumption, which can be traced back to Marx's own reliance on cannibalistic figures such as the vampire and the zombie, to describe capitalist exploitation. 39 Taking Night as a turning point in the history of horror film, which puts the allegorical white zombie at the heart of racial capitalism, opens a
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
8 Monstrous regiment versus Monsters Inc.: competing imaginaries of science and social order in responsible (research and) innovation Stevienna de Saille, Paul Martin All monsters are undead. Maybe they keep coming back because they still have something to say or show us about our world and ourselves. Maybe that is the scariest part. (Beal, 2014: 10) As new technological domains emerge, so too do promises and warnings about the future they will bring. However, as technology has grown ever more complex, predicting either benefits or risks has become increasingly
neologisms like the uncanny (das Unheimlich) or the undead, both of which seem to take something of their spooky quality precisely from the grammatical violation. On the uncanny, see also Thomson, Chapter 4 above. 77 Deleuze, ‘The exhausted’, Essays, p. 173. 78 Deleuze, ‘He stuttered’, Essays, p. 113.
I have previously referred to net neutrality for a decade as an ‘undead’ debate which telecoms lawyers and economists have been unable to kill, for instance Marsden ( 2009 ), stating: ‘No matter how many economists plant a stake in its heart, or come to bury it not praise it, net neutrality will not die.’ 3 The ‘Internet’ is a
woodland insects and maggots, or buried for the worms and such to clean it, or even placed in an ants nest’. In a few days ‘they will clean off every bit of tendon and fat from the bone’.62 Such details bring the organic nature of the casket to life for us. Presumably, this process would have likewise heightened the Anglo-Saxon bone-worker’s sense that he or she was working with something still living or, at least, undead. The carving stage would have had a similar effect. Each side of the casket is intricately carved, the runes and images cut with a knife. From the