Louise Erdrich is one of the most critically and commercially successful Native American writers. This book is a fully comprehensive treatment of her writing, analysing the textual complexities and diverse contexts of her work to date. Drawing on the critical archive relating to Erdrich's work and Native American literature, it explores the full depth and range of her authorship. Breaking Erdrich's oeuvre into several groupings – poetry, early and late fiction, memoir and children's writing – it develops individual readings of both the critical arguments and the texts themselves. The book argues that Erdrich's work has developed an increasing political acuity to the relationship between ethics and aesthetics in Native American literature, and her insistence on being read as an American writer is shown to be in constant and mutually inflecting dialogue with her Ojibwe heritage.
This chapter addresses the ways in which Erdrich and her critics examine the complex symbiosis of her various ‘spheres’, outlining her working collaboration with Michael Dorris in order to study the revision process that is important to her work. It then discusses two of Erdrich's memoirs, and considers the ways she uses to record her influences, writing processes, and the importance of families and homes to her creativity. The chapter ends with a section on the pedagogical brief of Erdrich's children's writing.
Shérazade and other women in the work of Leïla Sebbar
Margaret A. Majumdar
Of mixed Franco-Algerian parentage, Leïla Sebbar spans a variety of genres in her writing, including short stories, journalism, essays, children's writing and contributions to collaborative works, including collections of visual material. Images constitute a rich thematic seam running through all of Sebbar's books, where they feature in different ways. They may be official markers, for identification purposes, as with the hostages in Le Fou de Shérazade. Sebbar often uses the unmediated gaze to convey something about a particular moment in a personal relationship. Her recent work, such as Soldats, is marked by a preoccupation with war and the images are used to represent conflicts, wherever they may be. The subversion of the gaze is just one stage in the process of self-determination, but none the less a crucial part of Sebbar's complicated textual universe.
's Literature, Popular Culture ; Roberts and Murnaghan, Childhood and the Classics . On periodicals, see e.g. Avery, Childhood's Pattern ; Boyd, Manliness and the Boys’ Story Paper ; Dixon, ‘Children's magazines and science’; Drotner, English Children and their Magazines ; Lang, ‘Childhood's champions’; Prince, ‘Shakespeare in the Victorian Children's Periodicals’; Pooley, ‘Children's writing and the popular press’; Sumpter, Victorian Press and the Fairy Tale
, to bring somebody into the world, literally to give the day or daylight to somebody. But here it is shadowed and upturned into the nightlight of dreams: ‘We will bring forth into the light of night innumerable children.’ Writing, as she says elsewhere, is nighting: ‘What we call the day prevents me from seeing. Solar daylight blinds me to the visionary day … Night becomes a verb. I night. I write at night. I write: the Night.’ 12 It is perhaps helpful here to recall that Cixous’s mother Eve worked in Algiers as a midwife and that Hélène, when she was just fourteen
Reading the Second World War in children’s crime fiction of the 1990s and 2000s
, whose letters he draws on, sometimes verbatim,
in the sections devoted to Paula’s narration.
Vice, ChildrenWriting the Holocaust (London: Palgrave/Macmillan,
2004), p. 12.
war fic See
Chapter 11 of
taken from Sue
book ‘ ‘ is
Vice, ChildrenWriting the
Holocaust, p. 163.
Slocombe, Qui se souvient de Paula?, p. 259 (stay inside
, ‘Language, genre and
register’, in Frances Christie (ed.), ChildrenWriting:
Reader (Geelong: Deakin University Press, 1984), pp.
21–9 (on p. 25).
Suzanne Eggins, An Introduction to
Systemic Functional Linguistics (London: Pinter, 1994);
this challenge (through its
prosaic rendering of multiplicity and fragmentation) and also emerges
from an implicit understanding of the ideal function of narrative as
described by Marcus. Ford is looking for a coherent story, an explanatory narrative for himself, as subject, in a rapidly altering world. (As a
secondary process, he also searches for a complete narrative for his
children.) Writing to his wife during a German cure for his 1904 breakdown, he analyses himself: ‘I have the feeling that if I could be back
with you my troubles
at the age of eighty-nine.
By his own admission Robert junior loved children.
Writing to his sister Mary he enthused, ‘I am so fond of Children
that if I was in England I should be loading my Nephews and Nieces
with Whistles and Trumpets and Dolls etc.’ 98 He shared a loving relationship
with his sons and daughters, using his diary to note down each of
their births, and as they
wonders at first if the emphasis lies on that word ‘imagine’, and that
this is merely a whimsical thought experiment: that she follows this with
an example of childrenwriting on walls might suggest that by ‘primary’ she
means ‘earliest in life’. However, when she boldly states further down that
‘the bulk of early modern writing was written on walls’, there is no question
of her meaning. Given wall-writing’s ephemeral, erasable nature, it is hard
to see how it could ever be measured as a basis for this statement.
14 Fleming, Graffiti and the Writing Arts, p. 41.