Overall, Contested Bodies has all the good intentions of addressing the construction and experience of ‘othered’ bodies that often disrupt boundaries of organization, and many of the topics discussed should interest organizational researchers and other social scientists concerned with the body. Some of the ideas and arguments proposed are quite intriguing, but as they are presented within the boundaries of rather short contributions they could have been highly improved had they been developed in greater depth and length. While length is never a guarantee for theoretical scrutiny or sophistication, lengthier chapters may have been able to offer more in-depth, critical and theorized analyses. Anyway, it is problematic that some of the concepts employed (e.g. space) by various contributors appear thrown in rather than critically analyzed. For example, Collier’s references to ontology, the social and otherness are superficial and contribute little to the argument as such, and Bell’s chapter does not provide a critical analysis of the hype-terminology used by the cyberpunk subculture itself and its academic commentators. Although some will find Bhattacharyya’s personal, narrative prose attractive, the shortage of scholarly references and discussion is glaring. Featherstone’s introductory account of Freudian metaphysics and Eadie’s otherwise convincing and well-written reading of Shivers are overly descriptive. Indeed, Eadie’s chapter may have been more obviously relevant to students of management and organization had its conceptual analysis of boundaries been developed in more detail. A similar objection could be made against Whittle’s chapter, which is highly atheoretical. However, potential readers, who undoubtedly will benefit from Whittle’s inside knowledge of the transgender community, should be more wary of out-of-date factual details. 1
is subject to constant reconstruction and chanc e” (Cohen , 1996 p14). Take it from the now Victor/ious, Monstrous I that bodies and being are always at stake in the pursuit of knowledge. We have learned much about the pleasures and dangers of transforming the word and the image into flesh (and vice versa). Mary Daly (1987) helped me detect the pattern behind the deceptive patterns of
Rosemary Muir Wright similarly argues that, in representing the Antichrist as a man, medieval illuminators would have failed to signal his “malignity” and “otherness” (2) to the reader. The representation of the Antichrist thus becomes less concerned with accurately portraying the Biblical version of the Antichrist – albeit vague as it is – and more concerned with provoking the correct reaction of horror on the part of the reader. That is to say, “the imagery has to be seen as a set of visual responses to historical and social pressures by which artists portrayed this deceiver...in an inescapable confrontation with the viewer...” (2). The representations of the Antichrist as the Beast from the Sea in the Trinity and Getty Apocalypse are particularly interesting in this respect: both respond to the viewer's presumed fear of being at the mercy of the Antichrist by placing the Beast in a position of autocratic power. In folio 15r of Trinity, it stands on a draped table, calmly watching those who refuse to worship it being slaughtered; in folio 24v of Getty, the Beast is seated on a throne with its legs crossed in the “conventional pose of the wicked tyrant, visually confirming the commentary's identification of the beast with the Antichrist...” (Lewis Reading Images 136). Indeed, the Getty Apocalypse features a double representation of the Antichrist: in the images preceding the Sea Beast, the seven-headed dragon who terrorises the Woman clothed in the Sun bears an eighth additional head on its tail, in direct contradiction to the text. Many scholars interpret this head as being another representation of the Antichrist; in folio 20r, where the headed-tail sweeps a third of the stars from the sky, Lewis argues that this foreshadows the Antichrist's coming and hoodwinking of the brightest men of the time (119). Again, in order to wholly convey the Antichrist's inner monstrosity and terror, illuminators chose to represent him physically as a monstrous deformed body, reiterating the association between physical abnormality and evil.
Frequently regarded as an abject and monstrous figure whose body and presence is regulated by the tutor and life‐drawers, the art school life‐model is a naked, roving, chattering shape‐shifter. Taming and containing the monstrous model is a key function of the tutor. But what happens when the life‐model teaches the class? This paper discusses findings from The Art of the Life‐Model course at Leeds Art Gallery, noting the shape‐ shifting benefits of model‐led pedagogy. 2 It discusses the development and experience of model‐led teaching, noting the monstrous implications of moving between the conventionally discrete positions of 'model' and 'tutor' and the effects of combining these roles; with some reflection on how nudity can be managed and negotiated with learners in this context. The paper also illustrates how gallery spaces and collections can be used to extend the outrageous authoring of monstrous model testimony through embodied and instinctive engagement with figurative art history. It asks why some art colleges are choosing to drop life‐drawing from its curriculums despite widespread interest in this, and reports on a recent decision to ban all forms of nude‐working in the public spaces of Leeds Museums and Galleries. It asks how art‐makers can continue to work flexibly and creatively with the body in institutions marked by an excessively corporate and risk‐averse climate. It notes that this climate is at odds with a widespread tolerance of nudity in arts spaces from the general public. The paper suggests that life‐modelling should form a major component of contemporary visual arts and life‐drawing studies in the C21st.
If the assignment is only present as a contextual coordinate, as the monstrous treatment of quantifiers would have it, we still have the option, when specifying the interpretation of third person pronouns, of requiring that their descriptive content be met at the time and world of the context or at the time and world of the circumstance. In the first case, the monstrous theory makes the same wrong prediction about (37) as the proposal in section 6, in the second case it makes the same wrong prediction as (39) concerning (42). In other words, what generates the problem is the attempt to provide a uniform semantics for third person pronouns whether bound or free, not the choice of a non monstrous account of quantifiers over a monstrous one (we come back to this issue in the next section where we discuss previous accounts of third person pronouns).
M*A*S*H remains, nevertheless, one of the most interesting examples of Khaki Gothic. With two hundred and fifty-one episodes spanning eleven years, there is ample material available for analysis. M*A*S*H had the time to experiment with and perfect the use of Khaki Gothic – time lacking for two-hour feature films like Apocalypse Now or the six episodes of Blackadder Goes Forth. Additionally, the writers of M*A*S*H appeared to have a working understanding of classic Gothic tropes: the programme often makes direct reference to Gothic (or Gothicised) literature or figures. From The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, and The Picture of Dorian Gray, to Dracula, the evocation of the Gothic goes beyond off-hand references, employed not to frighten, but as a release to hide from the real horrors. Next to the monstrous world they inhabit, vampires and mummies are a welcome distraction.
(particular) features of the bat, underlined by Basil the Great in his commentary on the Book of Isaiah appeared in the description from Hexaemeron: ”καὶ ὥσπερ ὁρµαθὸς, ἀλλήλων αἱ νυκτερίδες ἔχονται, καὶ µία τῆς µιᾶς ἤρτηνται· ὅπερ ἐφ᾿ ἡµῶν τῶν ἀνθρώπων οὐ ῥᾴδιον κατορθωθῆναι. Τὸ γὰρ ἀπεσχισµένον καὶ ἰδιάζον τοῦ κοινωνικοῦ καὶ ἡνωµένου τοῖς πολλοῖς προτιµότερον”. Unlike the comment on the Book of Isaiah, the one on Hexaemeron is constructed in such a manner that the principles of focalizaton on the monstrous character of the creature became futile (because in the Hexaemeron, the theme that ensures the semantic unity of the text is the eulogy of God’s Creation). As a result, atypical features of the creature become secondary to its peculiarities circumscribed to τ ὸ φιλάλληλον (mutuum amorem).
“…there are two general points to note here, first, from many different direc- tions, and within many different disciplines, this question of »difference« and »otherness« has come to play an increasingly significant role. Secondly, »difference« is ambivalent. it can be both, positive or negative. it is necessary for the production of meaning, the formation of language and culture and for social identities - and at the same time, threatens, a site of danger, of negative feelings, of splitting, hostility and aggression towards the »Other«” (hall 1997, p. 238 in Dogan 2000, p. 17).
If Forster ma kes the distinction then, between the recognisable Other (as representative of colonial India) and the unknowable Other (as representative of the ‘real’ India), Forster’s characters ultimately refuse to experience this ‘real’ India, 5 Fro m a letter of 26th September 1921 attempting to confine it to a picturesque vision. Only a page after Forster’s description of the sublime landscape, Adela Quested sees those same hills through the need for something picturesque, reducing their power and ‘Otherness’; These hills look ro mantic in certain lights and at a suitable distance, and seen of an evening from the upper veranda of the Club they caused Miss Quested to say conversationally to Derek that she should like to have gone. (Forster Passage 118)(14)
What we have then is a sliding scale which extends between extremes of otherness, and which reflects and reinforces wider notions of ‘deviance and morality’, ‘inclusion and exclusion’. At one end of the spectrum are those who are of society but not in it: dole scroungers, asylum seekers, travellers, who are portrayed as social and economic parasites, contributing little or nothing to the economy, while relentlessly draining the state and hard-working tax payers of vital resources better deployed elsewhere. At the other end are those who are in society but not of it: paedophiles, child killers and religious fundamentalist terrorists, whose acts are portrayed as an affront against the sacrosanct values of virtue, decency and morality, apparently held by all respectable citizens.
East European postwar socialist governments’ attempts to settle and thus bring to modern civilization through education those who lived “outside of history” (i.e., the Roma) failed, not because Roma are barbarians who cannot be civilized, but because an education system based on the ideals of modernity is incapable of accommodating “human diversity, complexity and contingency” (Dahlberg, Moss, & Pence, 2007, p. 22); it is incapable of overcoming the notion of foreignness as a type of transitory sickness. By its very nature, the pragmatic order of the school created, through explicit rules and regulations, a process of exclusion and inclusion of content for learning. Moreover, the medium of instruction—written texts—has resulted in the alienation of minorities of non-European descent, among whom the Roma figure prominently. Since “the idea of civilization implies knowledge of the past” (Todorov, 2010, p. 24), the selective process of including certain aspects of the past and excluding others attempts to create a universal knowledge of the world that would, in turn, create an ideal order in which the dominated populations are subjugated, normalized, and assimilated; their foreignness or Otherness is thus transient.
The core of Plaskow‘s objection is that which she considers patriarchal in Jewish tradition, which is embodied by the silence and absence of women in Jewish history. Exploring the terrain of the silence of women, she argues that despite the fact that half of Jews have been women, men have always defined normative Judaism. The presence of women and female experiences are largely invisible in Jewish texts and records. In her view, this is especially unfortunate, because like men, women have also lived Jewish lives, experienced Jewish history, and carried its burdens. Nevertheless, female perceptions, experiences and questions have not been addressed in texts which are predominantly records of male activity. In an attempt to explain this, she identifies the key to the cause of female silence within Judaism as being the otherness of women. This notion of otherness is reflected in the following statement by Plaskow:
contaminating flesh, can be regarded as a distorted, amplified symbols of masculine society’s concerns regarding the permeability and instability of women’s bodies; they graphically embody the confusion of physical categories, and feminine contagiousness that made women’s bodies so disturbing to patriarchal society. The horror of these figures is amplified by an understanding of Rome’s pervasive sexual and corporeal ideologies, as these monsters violate the physical and psychological bounds of the men who seek to subdue and avert them. Tisiphone, the Argive snake-woman, and the Sphinx represent a complete loss of control; they are feminine, gluttonous, insatiable in their appetite for human flesh. Their infectious corpses are dark perversions of generative sexuality and maternity, disturbingly highlighting human materiality and vulnerability, and the inescapability of deterioration and death, as well as the fearful, unstable nature of the female. These creatures force the Roman audience to confront the breakdown of the vital boundaries of the human body, and their viscerally repulsive, noxious maternal bodies reflect a deep anxiety relating to feminine biology. Although the monstrous figures of the Thebaid certainly exhibit the influence of an extensive cultural inheritance of archaic Greek misogyny, they also expose the anxieties of their contemporary Roman audience.