This book carefully considers the myriad and complex relationships between queer male masculinity and interior design, material culture and aesthetics in Britain between 1885 and 1957 - that is bachelors of a different sort - through rich, well-chosen case studies. It pays close attention to particular homes and domestic interiors of Lord Ronald Gower, Alfred Taylor, Oscar Wilde, Charles Shannon and Charles Ricketts, Edward Perry Warren and John Marshall, Sir Cedric Morris and Arthur Lett-Haines, Noel Coward and Cecil Beaton. The book underscores the discursive history and conceptual parameters of the bachelor as these collided with queer sexualities through social and cultural perceptions. It focuses on the seven deadly sins of the modern bachelor: queerness, idolatry, decadence, askesis, decoration, glamour, and finally, artifice. The seven deadly sins of the modern bachelor comprise a contested site freighted with contradiction, vacillating between and revealing the fraught and distinctly queer twining of shame and resistance. Together the furniture and collections that filled Gower's Windsor home compel us to search out the narratives that bric-a-brac at once enliven and expose well beyond the shadows of the endless and meaningless accumulation that late Victorians were said to been have afflicted by.
have inferred from this caveat that Shakespeare wrote in some sort of
philosophical, religious or political ‘code.’ 3 With tireless ingenuity they have argued
Shakespeare laced his plays with recondite ‘messages’
– whispers of the playwright’s secret predilection for
Rosicrucianism, Catholicism, the Kabala, or some other equally dangerous
-ism. This book is not an entry into those debates
Britain between 1885 and 1957 – that is bachelors of a different sort – through rich, well-chosen case studies. The domestic, and not the public domain, I suggest, was the landscape in which the battles over masculine identity and male sexuality were waged. The cases as I have positioned them here affirm a commingling of sex, gender and design as it cuts across fictional, embodied, performed and lived-in spaces. The seven deadly sins of the modern bachelor, as I have identified them and to be discussed later in this chapter, comprise a contested site freighted with
Place, practice and identity in eighteenth-century rural England
Administrative practices and the
‘middling sort’: place, practice and
identity in eighteenth-century rural
One of the quintessential sites for a particular form of English identity
is the country churchyard. Here the social structure of the village is
preserved in death with, for the eighteenth century, the poorer villagers being notable by their absence. The surviving headstones
mark the resting places of the more prosperous, those we have
come to know as the ‘middling sort’.1 In the Vale of Belvoir on the
the same sort of curiosity, awe and wonder as Chinese travellers to the
West did several decades later. 8 Still, as many of the chapters in this volume
show, the ‘cultural British world’ extended well beyond the
borders of formal or even informal empire: these writers commented on
almost everything they saw in China, and speculated about much of what
they did or could not see. The conventional emphasis on politics and
Knowing William Shakespeare better, we are better equipped to know his plays. Better knowing his plays brings us closer to knowing him. This book suggests that Shakespeare wrote not only for the mass audience, but simultaneously for that stratum of cognoscenti whom Gabriel Harvey dubbed 'the wiser sort.' It identifies many passages in the plays which Shakespeare resolves famous cruces which scholars have never been able to unravel, and casts new light on Shakespeare's mind and method. Shakespeare wrote into Julius Caesar more than one passage intelligible only to that handful of the wiser sort who had read Plutarch and knew their Suetonius. Into Macbeth Shakespeare injected a detail accessible only to the few intrepid souls brave or reckless enough to have cast the horoscope of King James I. We find a poem in Hamlet, where the prince invites his love and bandies matters of cosmology which were burning issues (literally) throughout Shakespeare's lifetime. While Julius Caesar's old Julian calendar prevailed in England its rival, the scientifically correct Gregorian reformed calendar, dominated most of Europe. Shakespeare suffused his plays with references to calendrical anomalies, as seen in Othello. By relating Shakespeare's texts, the Renaissance calendars and the liturgy, the book produces a lexicon apt for parsing the time-riddles in Romeo and Juliet. Shakespeare handled religious subjects, examined and interrogated the dogmas of the received religions, and parodied the Crucifixion by exploiting Holinshed's account of the persecution and assassination of York.
[T]here is a significant difference between the concepts of the aesthetic and the artistic, hence that an activity is intrinsically aesthetic does not in the least imply that it is art . [italics in original] ( 1980 , p. 77)
Why is this so?
Perhaps the first sort of aesthetic pleasure – including that sort grounded in “interestingness” – is more reflective and self-contained and therein more artificial and false. And perhaps the latter sort of aesthetic pleasure – that grounded in an objective correlative – is
Professional ethics require loyalty to the client, yet loyalty to an undesirable client undermines laws (popular) legitimacy. The solicitor Jonathan Harker places his legal skills at the service of Count Dracula and must wittingly facilitate the vampires predation. Canadian defence lawyer Ken Murray, a century later, represented a contemporary vampire, the serial rapist and child killer Paul Bernardo. Both lawyers embody the modern ideal of the neutral technician of law, an image forged in the later part of the nineteenth century to disrupt the enduring image of lawyer as vampire. Dracula and his consort lamia are a fiction. Bernardo and his consort Karla Homolka tragically are not. But lessons may be drawn from both, as a cautionary tale for lawyers who serve vampires.
Þragbysig is one of the most resistant of the Exeter Book collection to being
solved, and it has thus received more than its fair share of solutions
(fifteen, by the author’s count). These solutions have ranged from the
inanimate to the animate, from the homely to the exotic, from the physical
to the spiritual, and from the plausible to the implausible. This chapter
seeks first to pinpoint where previous solutions have failed, so as to
identify the key ambiguous language and the riddling tropes that a
successful solution must address. These include the relationship between the
subject of the riddle, the thegn, and the lord; the multiple rings; the
breaking of the bed; the ‘warm limb’; the idea of speaking and answering;
and the foolishness of the thegn. It then suggests that a learned,
scientific approach to the physical world—in particular astronomy—provides a
different way of understanding the text’s intractable metaphorical surface.
Drawing upon Bede, Boethius, and Isidore, the chapter argues that Þragbysig
is a description of a winter sun, rising over the horizon accompanied by the
conducted archival work, sorting through government documents in the regional office of Butare, the communal office of Nyakizu and several offices in other parts of the country to find letters, minutes from meetings and other documents related to security and violence. The bulk of this grass-roots research was completed within a year, but the book took several more years to complete, as Des Forges continued to chase down interviews and information across the globe.
Appearing five years after the genocide, in 1999, Leave None to Tell immediately became the most