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Tattoos in crime and detective narratives: Marking and remarking examines representations of the tattoo and tattooing in literature, television and film, from two periods of tattoo renaissance (1851–1914, and around 1955 to the present). The collection reads tattoos and associated scarification, such as branding, as mimetic devices that mark and remark crime and detective narratives in complex ways. The chapters utilise a variety of critical perspectives drawn from posthumanism, spatiality, postcolonialism, embodiment and gender studies to read the tattoo as individual and community bodily narratives. The collection develops its focus from the first tattoo renaissance and considers the rebirth of the tattoo in contemporary culture through literature, children's literature, film and television. This book has a broad appeal and will be of interest to all literature and media scholars and, in particular, those with an interest in crime and detective narratives and skin studies.
, fragmented and inscribed in these contemporary crime fictions. In this chapter we will be concerned with the tattoo in contemporary crime fiction and marking of the body in a broad sense, including literal marking of the skin, as in the marking and ‘scarification’ of skin and bodies via cutting, branding, slicing and butchering. We are also concerned with how such marking and scarification can function as a representation and reflection of the perceived value of certain beings, particularly of nonhuman beings and women, and of their status in
( 2001 ), Steven Connor ( 2001 , 2004 ) and Jay Prosser’s ( 2001 ) writings demonstrate that skin acts as an imperfect biological record, marked by trauma, age, gender, gender realignment, class, race and disease, prior to the creation of the tattoo. The tattoo overlays this imperfect mnemonic record and complicates it. The tattooing process is permanent as methods of removal, typically through either a process of effacement (Connor 2004 ) 5 or further scarification, remark the body. The tattoo is a permanent act, causing both pain and
Madchester may have been born at the Haçienda in the summer of 1988, but the city had been in creative ferment for almost a decade prior to the rise of Acid House. The End-of-the-Century Party is the definitive account of a generational shift in popular music and youth culture, what it meant and what it led to. First published right after the Second Summer of Love, it tells the story of the transition from New Pop to the Political Pop of the mid-1980s and its deviant offspring, Post-Political Pop. Resisting contemporary proclamations about the end of youth culture and the rise of a new, right-leaning conformism, the book draws on interviews with DJs, record company bosses, musicians, producers and fans to outline a clear transition in pop thinking, a move from an obsession with style, packaging and synthetic sounds to content, socially conscious lyrics and a new authenticity.
This edition is framed by a prologue by Tara Brabazon, which asks how we can reclaim the spirit, energy and authenticity of Madchester for a post-youth, post-pop generation. It is illustrated with iconic photographs by Kevin Cummins.
This book is about people willing to do the sorts of things that most others couldn't, shouldn't or wouldn't. While there are all sorts of reasons why people consume substances, the author notes that there are those who treat drug-taking like an Olympic sport, exploring their capacity to really push their bodies, and frankly, wanting to be the best at it. Extreme athletes, death-defiers and those who perform incredible stunts of endurance have been celebrated throughout history. The most successful athletes can compartmentalise, storing away worry and pain in a part of their brain so it does not interfere with their performance. The brain releases testosterone, for a boost of strength and confidence. In bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism (BDSM) play, the endogenous opioid system responds to the pain, releasing opioid peptides. It seems some of us are more wired than others to activate those ancient biological systems, be it through being caned in a dungeon during a lunchbreak or climbing a sheer rock wall at the weekend. Back in 1990, sociologist Stephen Lyng coined the term 'edgework', now frequently used in BDSM circles, as 'voluntary pursuit of activities that involve a high potential for death, physical injury, or spiritual harm'.
and repetitive carved-out pyramidal geometric pattern. By varnishing the reclined seat with a translucent, deep red lacquer, Legrain enhanced the rich brown colour of the wood underneath. In the original chair, the unidentified Ngombe craftsmen used wood, brass and iron tacks to allow for a different form of slick and yet repetitively bumpy surface [ Figure 3.4 ]. Likely the property of a tribal chief, the chair in many ways mimics the scarification preferred by the Ngombe peoples [ Figure 3.5 ]. Within this
, sticking-plaster and printed directions. Costing a guinea – nearly a week’s average wage – the tin also held a half-pint bottle of his deliberately unpalatable mixture of ammonia and spirits of wine. In the 1860s, many Imperial doctors, particularly in India, concurred that ‘scarifications, suction of the wound, if possible a tight ligature, combined with every means to combat torpor
before the coming of Europeans the aborigines had any idea that a poisonous snake injected venom, the effects of which might be alleviated by ligatures, rapid sucking, or scarification’. 18 Rather, almost all Indigenous approaches sought to extract or inactivate the material injected by the snake. Suction but not scarification was employed near the Swan River Colony in 1831, whilst another tribe
by Voldemort is described clearly as a scar throughout the series, the magical act of cursing and the burning pain associated with it comes closer to the act of branding than any other form of scarification. In the earlier books, Harry’s scar just burns as a sign of Voldemort’s presence. For example, when Harry encounters Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest in The philosopher’s stone , ‘a pain pierced his head like he’d never felt before, it was as though his scar was on fire’ (Rowling 1997 : 187). Like the Dark Mark which burns again on the return of Voldemort (a
more prominent by the mid-1860s. Now elected Honorary Secretary of the Royal Society of Tasmania, James Agnew returned to snakebite in 1864. Pressing the contents of one dissected ‘black snake’ venom gland into the scarified leg of a young chicken, he forced the other gland down a second pullet’s throat. Repeating the experiment in a brace of kittens, he declared his results ‘so decisive, that I did