"Counter-memories of Englishness: The Crisis in the Atlantic World"
In the London clubs and public houses men are talking this week about American savagery. . . . Five continents and the islands of the sea are pointing figures of scorn at this country because of the black deed of one wild night in a Pennsylvania borough.
The Philadelphia Record, as quoted in Crisis, April 12, 1912 (254)
"What, as a judge of the third commonwealth of the United States, can I say to my English friends and relatives who ask me if it is true . . . ?"
Edward O. Brown, "The Nation's Duty," Crisis, June 12, 1912 (87)
The Crisis's efforts to confront white versions of American and world history by creating "black counter-memories," both of ancient Africa and of contemporary black artists' successes in Europe, are well documented. What has received far less scholarly attention to date, however, are the magazine's "counter-memories" of Englishness and its strategic use of materials reprinted from other sources to campaign against racial violence and injustice in "modern" America. Crisis wrote its own copy, hired its own photographers and artists, and established its own literary prizes to affirm the achievements of African Americans. But it mounted its case against racial violence and injustice through collages of quotations as well as original copy during its earliest years of publication. Sometimes, these collages were built around striking visual materials that manage, amazingly enough, not to sensationalize lynching. Still more frequently, these collages were purely textual, and they involved very complex layerings of citations. This presentation addresses the Crisis's diverse array of print media interlocutors, which ranged from local and regional newspapers such as the Macon Telegraph, the Topeka Plaindealer, and the Philadelphia Record—or the Sydney Morning Herald—to newspapers such as the London Times with substantial international circulations in the early 1910s. As staged in the Crisis, the public sphere was both more local or more regional and more ambitiously transatlantic and transnational, though less consistently centered on or dominated by metropolitan culture, than conventional mappings of the period have recognized. Positioning itself in relation to multiple periodical communities rather than containing its activities within a single counterpublic sphere, Crisis drilled down to local media and threw local voices into play regionally, nationally, transatlantically, and globally as it contravened white America's frames of reference and value. The territory it mapped was global rather than either Anglo-American or more broadly transatlantic in many regards, for it reported on the condition of the "darker races" in Australia, New Zealand, East Africa, and Cape Town, as well as Macon, Georgia or Coatesville, PA. Yet English ideals of civic discourse and civil liberty, English "counter-memories" of nineteenth-century anti-slavery activists such as John Stuart Mill, and imagined English audiences—such as those invoked in the passages cited above—provided a key frame of reference in its efforts to expose both the "cultural logic of lynching" (Jacqueline Goldsby's phrasing) in "modern" America and the contradictions of Enlightenment theory and practices more generally.
"Figures at the Intersection: Mallarmé's and Pierre Bonnard's La Revue Blanche"
Journalism's inseparability from "advanced" literary and visual culture registered well before Picasso began clipping newspaper mastheads and advertising typeface for his collages. The possibilities and liabilities of art's relationship to journalism, for example, inform "Variations sur un sujet," a series of 'poèmes critiques' Stéphane Mallarmé published between 1893 and 1897 in La Revue Blanche. Mallarmé's selection of this venue for his most sustained and generative meditations on "the originality of the Press" was logical. Not only was it one of France's most esteemed "petits revues," La Revue Blanche had distinguished itself from peer publications by surprising interruptions of its otherwise sober elegance with satirical faits divers and annonces. The pages of the journal, particularly between 1893 and 1897, were made available in unprecedented ways to visual and literary artists for pictorial experimentation with genre, typography, and formatting in the vernacular of commercial journalism.
Through an inter-textual reading of Mallarmé's "Variations sur un sujet" and Pierre Bonnard's 1894 color lithographic poster La Revue Blanche, this paper offers a case study of one such experiment in the liminal space between journalism and "art." The evolution of projects like Bonnard's and Mallarme's within La Revue Blanche's social and professional networks illuminates the changing topography of late nineteenth-century exhibitionary culture. It underscores the increasing importance of "the journal" to cultural work that crosses media and probes the intersections between "restricted" and profit-driven art.
"Under Imperial Mastheads: Producing the Imagined Community of Empire in the Philippines and Cuba"
Although the wars of 1898 are remembered as the "correspondents' war," few studies have examined the newspapers and periodicals that were founded and written by and for U.S. soldiers across the emerging imperial archipelago. Stationed in the Philippines and Cuba, enterprising soldier-editors started their own newspapers and periodicals to serve the occupation forces of empire. In the Philippines, soldiers launched numerous publications—including American Soldier, Manila Outpost, and Soldier's Letter—while their naval comrades aboard Admiral Dewey's flagship, Olympia, founded a monthly paper called The Bounding Billow. In Cuba, volunteers with the Fourth Tennessee Infantry Regiment ran weekly issues of Volunteer for the first three months of 1899. In the pages of empire's mastheads, soldier-correspondents mapped the everyday culture and shared values of their imperial community, offering a unique window on the means by which soldiers forged and imagined their imperial community.
Soldier newspapers, however, didn't only circulate among the troops nor did they restrict their reporting simply to local camp matters; they also traveled home as newsy souvenirs for distant family members and often incorporated news of the domestic homefront as well. In other words, soldier newspapers both contained and exceeded the nation. In this respect, they provide an opportunity to revise Benedict Anderson's famous discussion of the newspaper as a technology for producing the imagined community of the nation. Like Anderson's newspapers, soldier newspapers' focus on the local events of the imperial outpost certainly helped to create a sense of belonging and community for the occupation forces. Their transnational trajectories, however, also fashioned a different imaginary for their readers. On the one hand, as newspapers in the Philippines relayed information about troops stationed in Cuba or as newspapers in Cuba reported on the start of military conflict with Filipino nationalists in February 1899, they produced a decidedly imperial imagination for soldiers, making visible their shared role and experience as participants in the transnational project of empire. On the other hand, as they brought news of the national homeland and the different sites of imperial occupation under the same masthead, they created a transnational imagined community of empire for their readers both at home and abroad.
In circulating between and connecting the disjointed spaces of empire, soldier newspapers also functioned as sites for the interplay of ideologies of race, empire, and nation. Publishing journalistic and fictional narratives of wartime adventure, newspapers overlaid their representation of Cuban and Filipino subjects with racist domestic images of Native Americans and African Americans. In this way, soldier newspapers recirculated and reproduced the dominant national narrative of the imperial wars as a stage for the regeneration of white American manhood through violent conflict with racial others. Given the fact that many of the soldier-readers of these newspapers did not participate in actual battlefield combat or were mired in the mundane tasks of colonial occupation, such narratives offered soldiers a way to ironically experience the heroic adventure and renewed masculinity promised by romantic ideology as part of their imagined world of empire.
"British Decadence and American print media in the 1890s: Puffing, Reviews, Censorship and 'Piracy'"
This is a paper about how American imprints featured in the management of the publication of Walter Pater's work, posthumously and in his lifetime. It involves a variety of expected players in the publishing matrix–'friends' of the author, family, and British and American firms. The latter, Thomas Mosher, published collectable, fine reprints of Pater's work and that of other British decadent writers. It also sweeps into visibility some significant events in the publication of decadent prose more generally that were shouldered by American rather than British media and publishers. This is the decade which British novelists open with complaints about censorship by publishers and circulating libraries, so it is not surprising that an alternative English language publishing industry proved welcome to British decadents and aesthetes, if not to their British publishers.
The paper will look at three examples of transatlantic iterations: the first is an issue of Harper's New Monthly Magazine from Nov 1893 that might be termed a 'decadent' number, including as it does Arthur Symons's article 'The Decadent Movement in Literature', as well as a 'decadent' short story by Pater, who is one of the figures named by Symons as a participant in the movement. This will be a brief but indicative prelude to sections two and three of the paper.
Section two concerns the publication matrix in the issue of a posthumous volume of reviews by Pater, Essays from the Guardian. This set of publications, comprising anonymous reviews in a weekly religious newspaper, their privately printed collection in volume form, an American reprint which is their first edition, and their graduated insertion by Macmillan, Pater's British publishers, into collected editions of 1901 and 1910. The salient points here are the tensions between journalism and literature, whereby reviews are presented (anxiously) as 'essays' by their collector and criticised as a published collection by Symons; anonymous reviews and puffing; the low status of reviews in Britain and their translation into bijou volumes by Gosse, Mosher and Macmillan, where the authorial name mediates their origins; and how institutional and voluntary censorship—by 'protective' family and friends in the immediate wake of the Wilde trials—prevent Macmillan from publishing these reviews, allowing British and American alternatives, Gosse's 'private printing' and Mosher to serve and develop the connoisseur element of the public market. The small formats of Gosse's and Mosher's editions will be considered, as will the ways the title functioned then and how it is read differently now, as the force of the diction fades, and memory/knowledge of the 'Guardian' is eclipsed.
Lastly, I want to look at Mosher's British list, and how it functioned to circulate British writing among 'collectors' who purchased fine editions even as cheap books, newspapers, periodicals and public libraries made classics of English literature widely accessible.
"Stenographic Suffrage: Emergent Communication Technologies and Political 'Voice' in The Sturdy Oak"
Like social media today—credited for facilitating revolution in the Arab world—the telephone, the typewriter, and other emergent communication technologies played a significant role in fostering "deliberative democracy" at the turn of the last century. So, too, did modern forms of mass print culture, from serialized fiction to the composite novel. My paper, "Stenographic Suffrage: Emergent Communication Technologies and Political 'Voice' in The Sturdy Oak," examines how modern US suffrage fiction demonstrates how emergent communication technologies fostered dialogic and democratic alternatives to the more monologic political oratory; in particular, it focuses on The Sturdy Oak, a middlebrow novel published in Collier's during the 1917 New York State woman suffrage referendum campaign that promotes suffrage through representations of savvy stenographers and other "early adopters" who use modern communication technology—the typewriter, lithography, the telephone and even a suffragist version of Morse code—to defeat the anti-suffragists in their community during an election campaign. Inspired by Richard Menke's Telegraphic Realism: Victorian Fiction and Other Information Systems,I argue that the novel's form—both compositely authored and serially released—is an information system that mirrors the novel's content, in the sense that both are working to enrich the public sphere by fostering public dialogue and debate.
"Literary/Imperial Spaces and Markets in the Illustrated London News"
This paper examines the connections between the overlapping spatial rhetorics of newspaper journalism, the literary marketplace, and British imperialism through a reading of the Illustrated London News in the summer of 1892. The early nineties marked the peak of British imperialism, which was a major source of news and images for the newspaper. The paper focuses on a set of, at first glance, seemingly unrelated texts: Henry James's two-part short story, "Greville Fane," Robert Louis Stevenson's serial novel, The Beach at Falesa, a display advertisement for Lipton's Tea, and coverage of imperial developments in Burma and Morocco, along with accompanying illustrations in each case. The paper seeks to unearth through these texts the analogous logic that binds the Illustrated London News to the spatial rhetoric of empire. The stories, the advertisement, and the Illustrated London News in toto, I argue, variously represent a set of spatial relationships that can be understood as imperial. These texts, that is, map hierarchical, value-laden spatial relationships between center and periphery for an audience of readers figured as occupying centers of power. Stevenson's story and the tea advertisement explicitly thematize colonial relations and geography: the story, set in the South Pacific, plays out a Conradian parable of colonial rapacity, while the tea advertisement asserts the imperial economic machinery's efficiency in transporting desired products to the imperial center. (In much the same way, the Illustrated London News boasts its ability to bring news and images from the periphery to the living rooms of Holborn and Soho.) James's "Greville Fane," which tells a story of professional affiliation and jealousy in the London literary marketplace, would seem to be the odd man out in this triad, having no explicit reference to the empire. I argue, however, that the story is invested in a precisely analogous set of spatial relationships: the story differentiates positions in the literary marketplace that it values from those it deplores via a set of spatial metaphors of center and periphery, attempting to shunt work-a-day "hack" writers off to the urban margins. As Nicholas Daly has written, "fantasies about colonial space often appear to function simultaneously as fantasies about literary production" (22).
<https://webmail.bsu.edu/owa/?ae=Item&a=New&t=IPM.Note#_ftn1> This paper will probe this relationship in the context of the Illustrated London News, a weekly paper dedicated both to establishing literary appreciation as a middle class value and to "bringing the empire home" for London readers.
<https://webmail.bsu.edu/owa/?ae=Item&a=New&t=IPM.Note#_ftnref1> "Colonialism and Popular Fiction at the Fin de Siecle," Modernism and Colonialism: British and Irish Literature, 1899-1939. Ed. Richard Begam and Michael Valdez Moses. Durham and London: Duke UP, 2007.
"Cane in the Magazines: Race, Form, and Transatlantic Periodical Networks"
With the recent publication of the long-awaited second edition of the Norton Critical Edition of Cane and resulting media attention, it seems an appropriate time to take another look at Jean Toomer's Harlem Renaissance masterpiece.1 While critics have puzzled over and tried to explain Cane's most striking quality—its formal experimentation, the text's embeddedness in the transatlantic periodical culture of the time has been mostly overlooked. Toomer's writings, before and after Cane, were published in periodicals, particularly modernist little magazines and The Crisis magazine, and I argue that analyses of Cane's hybrid form—with its line drawings, poetry, short fiction, and dramatic elements—must take into account the fact that Toomer published portions of Cane in various magazines before publishing it in a book form.
Within a compressed period of time before its publication in October 1923, Cane's various parts were published in little magazines and also in one exception, The Crisis, the official organ of the NAACP. While sections of Cane were published in magazines like The Little Review, The Modern Review, The Nomad, Prairie, S4N, and The Liberator, my paper focuses on Broom, An International Magazine of the Arts (1921-1924) with its international focus, The Double Dealer (1921-1926) with its emphasis on the American South, and The Crisis (1910-present), which was, of course, aimed at an audience of mostly African Americans and some interested whites. Unearthing these periodical networks allows us to examine the text in the context of The Crisis's racial politics or that of the images in Broom's Mayan issue.
Cane's pre-book publication history also provides insight into the construction of Toomer's reputation, particularly how his writing was perceived and categorized by both Toomer and the magazines within the contexts of cosmopolitan modernism and of the Harlem Renaissance. Despite their differences, these magazines were united by their oppositionality to the mainstream, however it may be defined. Reading Cane through the lens of periodical studies reanimates our understanding of the text and its readership – and of the periodicals themselves.
Thinking about Toomer's text as components that were originally published in magazines may seem to lead to the understanding that Cane itself can be read in parts as an anthology of pieces, rather than a unified whole. Yet what I claim is that reading Cane through its pre-book publication history and, consequently, through the lens of periodical studies provides a better understanding of the workings of Cane as an organic whole. This method of reading Cane as embedded in the periodical culture of the time allows for the reconciliation of Cane's hybridity and organic nature without flattening these qualities; in other words, the heterogeneity that constitutes periodical culture gives a way of reading the heterogeneity of the text's form. Ultimately, this kind of reading offers a deeper way to read Cane's formal experimentation within the context of modernism and the little magazines, and this reveals the way Cane's modernist experimentation is inextricable from Toomer's theories of race and social change.
1 The media attention has included a New York Times article and an article by the editors of the Norton edition in The Chronicle of Higher Education. See Felicia R. Lee, "Scholars Say Chronicler of Black Life Passed for White," The New York Times 26 December 2010 and also Rudolph P. Byrd and Henry Louis Gates Jr., "Jean Toomer's Conflicted Racial Identity," The Chronicle of Higher Education 6 February 2011.
"French Origins of the Proto-Modernist Bibelots: Le Chat Noir in Montmartre and Beyond"
Over the last few years, a small group of us (including Johanna Drucker and Kirsten MacLeod) have begun to uncover the history of a largely over-looked international fad for proto-modernist, fin-de-siècle, magazines, known variously as "chapbooks," "fadzines," "toy magazines," and "ephemeral bibelots." These seem to have been in some vague way the forerunners of the more famous little magazines of the next decade, but without the latter's bluster, artistic manifestoes, or oversized personalities—and also without, or so it would seem from the critical record, noteworthy or lasting contributions to art and literature. They scored scant mention in Frank Luther Mott's magisterial history of American magazines and were dismissed outright by Hoffman, Allen and Ulrich, who wrote in The Little Magazine that they "were not very inspiring."1 And yet their numbers are quite astounding—with over two-hundred published from 1894 to 1898 in the United States, and hundreds more worldwide, including in most of the cosmopolitan centers of Eastern and Western Europe, South America, Japan, and India. To give just one suggestive example, Nobel Prize winning Bengali writer, Rabindranath Tagore, brought out a little magazine called Sadhana from 1891 to 1895, in which he published a number of short stories.2
What were these things, where did they come from, and where did they go? What inspired this first international vogue of the modernist period? How to explain its fabulously campy (in a quite technical way) tone, its peripatetic appeal across national borders, its parodic back-and-forth between authors and journals, and its absolute ephemerality as a movement? How to theorize the charge of is aesthetic, which seems to have depended on a meta-discursive awareness of circulation, itself, as a key component?
This paper returns to what appears to have been the point of origin for the bibelots vogue, Parisian cabaret culture of the 1880s. It argues that the starting point for the fad was Le Chat Noir, the journal originating in the cabaret of the same name made famous by Mallarmé's circle of Symbolist poets and post-Impressionist graphic artists like Toulouse-Lautrec and Steinlen. The paper has two goals. First, it will sketch the cultural history of the bibelot vogue in Paris, centered as it was around the artistic cabarets of Montmarte, and it will describe some of the journals, including Le Chat Noir, Le Mirliton, Le Rire, Le Scapin, and La Vogue. Second, it will provide a few thoughts on how to theorize their movement out of Paris—as a media form, an aesthetic vogue, and indexical point of reference. Parodic images of Steinlen's black cats were everywhere by the 1890s (in the US, for example, on the cover of Vogue and in the decorated margins of Le Petit Journal des Refusées). The paper will suggest a rubric for thinking of this circulation with reference to modernist mass culture and an emergent aesthetic public sphere.
1 Frank Luther Mott, A History of American Magazines, Volume IV, 1885-1905, (Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 1957). Frederick J. Hoffman, Charles Allen, and Carolyn F. Ulrich, The Little Magazine: A History and Bibliography, (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1947), 7.
2 William Radice, "Introduction," Selected Short Stories by Rabindranath Tagore (New York: Penguin, 1991) 1-28, 2.
"'Their Side of the Story': Native American Boarding School Students & the Periodical Press"
The field of print culture studies has much to offer students and scholars of Native American literature who are interested in exploring how periodicals have served and continue to serve as an important forum for Native American literary production. As Phillip H. Round explains in Removable Type: Histories of the Book in Indian Country, 1663-1880 (2010), the turn toward print culture in Native American literary studies marks a relatively new effort on the part of scholars to create "a theoretical framework for moving from simple questions of textual authority" to questions of circulation and readership. Round argues that all texts, Native American and Euro-American alike, "are the products of complex networks of publishers, printers, editors, audiences, and authors." Following Round and drawing on the emergent field of periodical studies, this paper exposes the complex networks that have shaped and continue to shape the production of periodicals by and for Native Americans. The field of periodical studies in particular offers new source materials for scholars of Native American literature as well as a new way to theorize the role of the periodical press in the development of pan-Indian rhetorical traditions at the turn of the twentieth century.
This paper seeks to expand our conception of what constitutes Native American letters beyond the fiction and poetry of the 1960s by examining how the periodical became a prominent form in Native American literary production in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. With its focus on the boarding school, this paper provides insight into the context in which students first learned how to make complex and sophisticated choices in print. Within the contested disciplinary space of the boarding school, the periodical press functioned as a site for competing discourses on assimilation. Whereas school authorities used the white-run school newspapers to publicize their programs of cultural erasure, students used the student-run school newspapers to defend and preserve Native American identity and culture in the face of the assimilationist imperatives of the boarding schools and the dominant culture.
In my paper, I focus on two of the student-run newspapers printed at the Carlisle Indian School and Hampton Institute. Written, edited, and printed by students, Carlisle's School News (1880-1883) and Hampton's Talks and Thoughts of the Hampton Indian Students (1886-1907) contained primary texts as well as original commentary on the schools and issues related to education and citizenship. Both periodicals were published monthly and though they were originally intended to serve as a "communication link" between boarding school students and graduates, the newspapers enjoyed a broader audience composed of school authorities and other non-Indians interested in Indian reform and the educational work of the schools. Through writing for, editing, and printing these periodicals, students learned complex strategies of critique: specifically, they learned how to address an audience with complex and often contradictory views and expectations and to write in multiple genres. Perhaps most importantly, as writers and editors of these newspapers, students learned how to negotiate the demands placed on them by school authorities who oversaw the boarding school press. Reading closely the writings students published in the School News and Talks and Thoughts, I highlight the formative impact of students' experiences with the boarding school press on the periodical practices and rhetorical strategies of two well-known Native American literary figures, Zitkala-Ša and Charles Eastman. In this way, my paper seeks to reveal important continuities between these writers' strategic and political uses of the periodical press as a vehicle for reform at the turn of the twentieth century.
"Ezra Pound, Harriet Monroe, and Religion in the Magazines"
The aesthetic cultivated by Harriet Monroe during her tenure as editor of Poetry: A Magazine of Verse provides a fuller cross-section of the varieties of innovation that characterized modernist poetry, as well as indicators of the cultural background without which the extent of that innovation cannot be intelligible. In this paper, I single out one aspect of that cultural background illuminated by Monroe's dialogue with her transatlantic correspondent Ezra Pound–the fate of religion in modernity. I argue that on this point both had the same goal in mind for Poetry, namely, the expansion of the religious sensibilities of its readers, so that creating an audience for modernist poetry and modifying dominant religious sensibilities were correlative projects. Expanding religious sensibilities meant breaking the normative hold of Protestantism on discourses of moral rectitude and Anglo-American national identities. However, this agenda posed a potential problem for the reputation and financial solvency of the magazine. Monroe felt a tension between deferring to the abstract Protestant identity of "the public" and creating a public for modernist poetry that welcomed other religions. Consequently she attempted to subsume the markers of Christianity and those of other religions under the larger, anti-institutional category of "spirituality." In attempting to feign a productive ignorance of religious sectarianism without offending Christians, Monroe undoubtedly let the language of Christianity dictate the form of the language of spirituality. To adapt the words of Habermas, who in recent years has tried to redress his earlier neglect of religion, the question of how consensus can be reached in the public sphere without excluding participants on the basis of religious difference is one aspect of the unfinished project of secular modernity.
Persistently obscured by assumptions about the teleology of secularization, the connections between poetic and religious modernisms become visible at the conjunction of two developments, one that recasts secularism as a type of contingent religious condition subject to historical investigation and one that continues to diminish the separation between modernist artists and the wider cultural realms they inhabited, in this case, through periodical and public-oriented constructions of modernism. By conducting what Ann Ardis calls a "vertical study" of the "internal dialogics" of Poetry as an expression of the dialogue between Pound and Monroe, I suggest one way in which modernists thought about interacting with religious publics through the form of the magazine. The dialogue unfolded both at the level of their poetry and criticism and in Monroe's ultimate choices of poets, advertisers, and promotional tactics. I position these tactics relative to the oppositional stance of The Little Review and the Christmas commercialism of Scribner's. Lastly, the dialogue between Pound and Monroe suggests that the opposition between spirituality and religion is another durable binary bequeathed to the present by what Robert Scholes calls the High/Low "paradoxies" of modernism. To conclude, I suggest that the opposition between spirituality and religion is also reflected in English little magazines of the period, but with significant differences reflecting a different national religious culture.
"The Feminist Complaint: Everyday Life and the Woman Worker"
"There are times in the lives of all of us when we wish we had not been brought into the world: or, being here, we should dearly love to sink through the floor or clothe ourselves in an invisible garment" ("Our Prize Page: Bad Minutes," Woman Worker, Dec 2, 1908). In 1908, for a prize of one guinea, the socialist feminist weekly Woman Worker (renamed Woman Folk) sought narratives chronicling the worst five minutes readers had ever spent. At first glance, this solicitation seems atypical for the short-lived sister paper of the Clarion: the Woman Worker wove essays regarding lifestyle issues (fashion, housekeeping, consumption, literature and the arts) together with articles on suffrage, feminist-socialist politics, and women's entrance into the professions. The contributors to Woman Worker worked to explore everyday life as a gendered concept associated with private life;at the same time the contributors to Woman Worker used their features on women in the professions ("Pandora's" "Employment Bureau," for example) to provide narratives of women's labor stitched closely to the "modern" plot of a successful movement from the private to the public sphere.
Yet, Woman Worker also allowed for the frustrations, set-backs, boredom, and injustices associated with both everyday life and modern labor, including the labor associated with writing and journalism. This paper isolates the feminist complaints that emerged from the Woman Worker to explore the ways in which the complaint allows for a detailed look at the rhythm of feminist labor, including the labor of feminist analysis itself. "Pandora's" "Employment Bureau," for example, discouraged readers from embarking upon a career in journalism; and Woman Worker's final two editors, Julia Dawson and Winifred Blatchford, referenced with a great deal of consistency the discomfort and dis-ease associated with writing and compiling the paper. This willingness to complain, grouch, argue, even rhetorically slow the production schedule, highlights a gendered analysis of the rhythms of daily life in a periodical fully engaged in the intersection of private sphere activities (cooking, cleaning, eating, dressing) with feminist socialist-feminist politics.
The term "feminist complaint" of my title is meant to echo Lauren Berlant's description of a "female complaint" of women's "intimate public sphere" which relies upon a "structure of relevancy, address, and absorption [which] enables the consumers of 'women's culture' to feel that their emotional lives are already shared and have already been raised to a degree of general significance."1 That intimacy achieved through tone, direct address, sentiment, and the repetition of familiar gestures, creates a world in the pages of the Woman Worker where the rhythms of daily life can be noticed, and sometimes even reimagined.
1 Lauren Berlant, The Female Complaint: The Unfinished Business of Sentimentality in American Culture. Durham: Duke UP, 2008, ix.
Ellen Gruber Garvey
"Mark Twain's Self-Pasting Scrap-Book, the Authorship of Blank Books, and Developing Concepts of Authorship"
While Mark Twain's work to promote international copyright is well known, his related engagement with the common nineteenth-century practices of unpaid recirculation of writing has not been explored to the same extent. Although he was dismayed by some of the ways his work recirculated, he promoted the scrapbook he invented using those same circuits of recirculation. His own scrapbook keeping, which led to inventing his self-pasting scrapbook, was part of a widespread British and American practice of novelists and story writers keeping scrapbooks both to save newspaper items to use as the basis for writing and to preserve their own publications. When Twain arranged to have scrapbooks made from the articles he wrote while traveling in the Middle East, which he later used as the basis of Innocents Abroad, he took advantage of the broad distribution of newspapers, essentially using his newspapers publications as what we might think of today as remote storage or cloud storage. This paper takes up the relationship of Mark Twain's Self Pasting Scrap-Book to issues of intellectual property, authorship, and to transnational developments in writing practices.
Mark Twain's position on protecting his writing shifted over time. On the international front, he was initially content with the absence of international copyright protection, since it allowed him as a consumer to buy pirated British books cheaply. But once he became better known and as his oeuvre grew he sought to tighten his own and other authors' legal possession of their works. He campaigned for what Siva Vaidhyanathan calls "thick" protection–international agreements and copyright extending for the author's life plus fifty or sixty years, and traveled to Canada and England to be present there on the day of publication and thus secure those countries' copyright protection. As I will discuss, Twain availed himself–or tried to–of the three separate legal modes for protecting what is now called intellectual property: copyright, trademark, and patent law.
Huckleberry Finn's Emmeline Grangerford is a satiric target, for her embrace of death culture; her scrapbook has become emblematic of a mode of amateur writing that Twain mocked. Yet her mode of reusing and recirculating clippings was crucial to types of authorship engaged in by newspaper writers, anthologists, and more unambiguously literary writers. While the idea of the author as individual genius held sway in the popular imagination and was central to arguments for expanding copyright protection, corporate and composite forms of authorship were responsible for a large proportion of the printed matter produced in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Many of these relied on reuse. Authorship was a practical task that entailed reshaping and recirculating existing writing, and scrapbooks show them at this work.
In pasting "obituaries and accidents and cases of patient suffering in it out of the Presbyterian Observer" as the basis from which to "write poetry after them out of her own head," Emmeline followed the lead of professional writers whose clipping, storing, and use of newspaper items was praised for substantiating their work's realism. The British author Charles Reade reportedly drew on his extensive newspaper scrapbooks for the "facts on which his stories are founded" as well as "their actual incidents," and brought them out to prove that the "ultra-sensational" events he wrote about really happened. Wilkie Collins's plots were similarly attributed to newspaper clippings he saved in scrapbooks. He even was said to owe a novel's origin "to a newspaper clipping sent him from America by an enthusiastic admirer." He thus offered readers another way to write with scissors, by forwarding choice morsels to favorite writers. Twain's scrapbook making encompassed clipping newspapers for such events as the Tichborne Trial for possible reuse in fiction, and clipping his own work to be revised and reworked into other writing. Unless Twain is indicting himself, Emmeline Grangerford is not faulted for gleaning material from the newspapers but rather for not gleaning a broader variety.
Examining Mark Twain as scrapbook keeper, inventor, and writer discussing scrapbooks, this paper will take up issues of recirculation and the nature of authorship at the turn of the century.
"The Magazine as Readymade Commodity: New York Dada and the Transgression of Perceived National, Gender, and Genre Boundaries"
Accounts of New York Dada (New York, 1921, ed. Marcel Duchamp, Man Ray) typically describe it in the context of the Dada movement and use it as a source for various texts and images. By acknowledging the significance of the publication itself, this paper explicates the New York Dadaists' strategic manipulation of the magazine medium and the fascinating, if bizarre, perspective it offers on print media trends, transatlantic exchange, and gender relations after World War I. New York Dada marks its editors' bid to participate in the transnational avant-garde Dada art movement and to appeal to Dada's primarily male, European advocates across the Atlantic. At the same time, however, it imitates mass culture magazines such as Vanity Fair and Ladies' Home Journal, which increasingly sought out American women as readers and consumers in the postwar period. It assumes the "material markers" of the genre, including price, page size, and types of advertisements.1 More than simply illustrating the rise in consumer culture, New York Dada's editors recognized the magazine itself as a commodity. In many ways they treated it like a readymade, a given type or medium.2 By imitating advertising language and contributing to the Dada network a publication with such direct commercial affiliations, Duchamp and Man Ray defied perceptions of a hierarchical relationship between art journals and society glossies. They challenged their Dada affiliates to go beyond simply referencing mass culture and to adopt a genre from the commercial sphere. In so doing, they poignantly pointed out that even Dada journals maintained a commodity status critical to advertising the Dada movement.
Duchamp, Man Ray, as well as the Baroness Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven, whose image and poetry appear on the final page of New York Dada, took advantage of the magazine to interrogate identity. The performativity and fluidity of gender and authorship are demonstrated in the publication's images and texts, most of which are anonymous or pseudonymous. The New York Dadaists also engaged the performative potential of the magazine. By producing graphically inventive pages and directly addressing readers, they invited interaction and opened the publication up to readers' various responses.4 With this emphasis on reception, they not only illustrated the destabilization of fixed gender roles but also enacted it, effectively calling the identity of their readers into question and even compelling, however farcically, their mostly male European counterparts across the Atlantic to slip on an American, female identity. Transgressing fiercely defended national, gender, and genre divisions of the time, New York Dada responds to the extraordinary convergence of publishing genres in the early twentieth century and highlights print culture's capacity both to endorse and to subvert these boundaries within an ever more consumerist and globalized climate. Based on archival research and analysis of New York Dada in relation to contemporaneous American magazines and newspapers, this paper offers a novel interpretation of this extraordinary publication, the Dada movement, and transatlantic print culture in the early 1920s.
1 Mark Morrisson, The Public Face of Modernism: Little Magazines, Audiences, and Reception, 1905-1920 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2001), 39.
2 In her analysis of Duchamp's and Man Ray's readymade, pictured on the cover of New York Dada, entitled, Belle Haleine-Eau de Voilette (1921), Amelia Jones writes that Marcel Duchamp's alter ego Rrose Sélavy, is "multiply fetishized" and writes that here both perfume and magazine are presented as commodity fetishes. Amelia Jones, "'Women' in Dada: Elsa, Rrose, and Charlie," in Women in Dada: Essays on Sex, Gender, and Identity, ed. Naomi Sawelson-Gorse (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1998), 154.
3 Examples include Marcel Duchamp posing as Rrose Sélavy for a photograph used as part of the label for a perfume (this readymade is reproduced on the cover of New York Dada), Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven's simultaneous exaggerated femininity and androgyny in two photographs on the back page, and a description of a debutante ball doubling as Marsden Hartley's "coming out party." One of the few attributed texts refers to a company, "Dadataxi Limited."
4 In her analysis of Dada in New York, Amelia Jones describes its "performativity," namely "its opening up of artistic production to the vicissitudes of reception." Jones,'Women' in Dada," 143.
"Maps for Mobile Audiences in the Creation of a Bestseller"
What does a mid-century bestseller look like? How does it cross the social lines required for 'mass' readership? This paper examines the ways in which Laird & Lee, a Chicago publisher active at the turn of the century, used the mobile audiences created by railroad networks to expand its reader base. Mobile audiences, in this case, comprised businessmen from outlying areas, often-progressive socialites drawn onto the tracks by new, luxurious Pullman cars, and employees of the railroad itself, who were largely affiliated with and/or sympathetic to their sister union organizations.
In 1894, Laird & Lee published the first edition of William T. Stead's book, If Christ Came to Chicago! A Plea for the Union of all who Love in the Service of all who Suffer, satisfying pre-orders to the number of 70,000. The text itself is a strange mix of yellow journalism, social evangelism, and tabloid sensationalism, elements that might appear incompatible, but are drawn together by in the act of publication and serve in the common project of cross marketing to visitors drawn to Chicago in the wake of the 1893 World's Fair. For example, the first thing would-be readers encounter is a color-coded, grid-based map of Chicago's notorious nineteenth precinct. The blocks represent local businesses, with blank boxes of legitimate stores set against the brilliant red of brothels, the abysmal black of saloons, and the more-neutral gray of pawnshops. To place such a map before the text, table of contents, and even the title page, suggests that the map itself was a key selling point for many prurient buyers uninterested in Stead's political agenda, particularly as it is the only image in a text marketed as 'illustrated.'
This ploy works in conjunction with the text's production by union workers and its voyeuristic approach to social reform; in isolation, none these elements could fulfill the readership numbers required for such runaway success. In this sense, Laird & Lee assumes co-authorship, reaching one audience with the book's layout and marketing, while Stead courted another with his public personage and political activism. Laird & Lee was known for courting railroad workers and travelers, marketing pocket dictionaries and travel tales in paperback, and often distributing directly on railroad lines through the American News Company and the Union News Company. These audiences were, of course, heterogeneous in their reading wants and needs, and arriving in Chicago for different purposes. Thus, the physical composition of the text, as well as its several published incarnations, suggest something for everyone: for the union workers, for the railroad distributors, for the journalist, for the sex tourist, and for the militant reformer. Ultimately, all of these populations had to participate in purchasing the book to generate such broad public interest; in this sense, my paper argues that the printed artifact serves as a kind of central station, drawing together new kinds of audiences traveling on cross-tracks, and meeting only momentarily in the act of purchase.
"The Butter Printer: U.S. Middlebrow Magazines, Mass Production, and Taste Anxiety"
In a 1930 DAC News article, "The Menace of Buttered Toast," Robert Benchley declared his modern sophistication compared to his children's natural naïvete: "My two little boys seem to have the idea that butter grows on trees when everyone knows that it is cut in great sheets by a buttercutter [butter-cutter, butter-cutter, where have you been?] whence it is shipped to the stampingroom." Benchley speculates that buttered toast is both in excessive demand and overly available—that the ritual of eating toast has devolved into a chaos of conspicuous consumption, resulting in sticky hands and confused minds. The "butter-cutter" that Benchley features so prominently in his column was also known as the "butter printer"; the sheets of dairy that Benchley imagines bear a striking resemblance to the sheets of print produced by mass-market periodicals.
This essay considers the way that American middlebrow cultural producers commented on the relationship between marketing and journalism, commodities and taste-making, duplication and quality. As "The Menace of Buttered Toast" demonstrates, these writers were often anxious about the expansion of middlebrow culture facilitated by new printing technologies and the ascension of advertising. Though it granted writers like Benchley, Margaret Fishback, and Ogden Nash broad audiences for their tongue-in-cheek humor, mass production threatened a sense of authorial autonomy and artistic uniqueness. These writers use familiar genres in order to parody the sense of duplicability within mass production. For example, Nash writes: "If ethyl vanillin be the food of love, drink on!" Commenting on the rise of soft drinks and the expansion of the artificial flavor industry during Prohibition, Nash also communicates the new availability of high cultural artifacts and the irreverent, combinatory aesthetic of middlebrow humor (Shakespeare and soda pop). During the same period when Ernest Hemingway and Gertrude Stein described unique food and beverage experiences linked to European places and traditions, middlebrow magazine writers cited industrial food and artificial flavor. They debunk industrial processes that produce foods that only seem natural—thus advancing their modern savvy and ironic distance from the advertising that surrounds their prose. They also use artificial flavor and industrial food production as tropes for their function as literary producers; they produce taste that will appeal to a mass audience, that makes the fingers messy (like butter and newsprint), that sweetens the urban routine (like ethyl vanillin and magazine humor). The double career of Fishback as a light verse writer and an advertiser who worked with food and flavor companies like General Foods, Borden's, and Wrigley attests to this proximity. My essay will juxtapose these works of literary humor with food marketing materials, suggesting both the textual hybridity of visual representation and literary description and also the rhetorical operation of humor dismantling the assembled product to stress its artificiality. In this way, I explore the implicit theorization of mass-produced taste (metaphorical as well as literal) in the depiction of industrial food and artificial flavor in middlebrow magazines from the 1920s
through the 1950s.
"Magazines 1.0: Coding and Decoding Modernism's Operating System"
The work of Friedrich Kittler has opened up a new way of understanding modernism as a specific set of cultural and aesthetic responses to the first wave of "new media" innovations that powerfully shaped—and continue to shape—a long twentieth century. In this model, Edison and Bell must be understood simultaneously with Joyce and Woolf, a juxtaposition that has itself helped define what might be called the "media turn" in modernist studies. The paper I'm proposing for the Mediamorphosis conference seeks to pursue this line of historical and theoretical work by examining the ways in which the modern magazine emerged in the late nineteenth century as itself one of the most influential new media, its technologies, forms, data streams, and processes every bit as important as Kittler's gramophone, film, and typewriter. The modern periodical, in other words, is best understood not as some poor cousin to the book but as an emergent information system—a technology for threading together documents in ways we are only just now gaining the tools to understand. Modern magazines anticipate what is known in cybernetics as "emergence" and in information systems theory as "autopoiesis": the generation of complex and often unexpected meaning from an apparently simple set of initial, rule-governed conditions. The deep structure of magazines is now becoming visible to us precisely because it can be most powerfully described by key concepts that also underwrite digital systems including procedural logic, recursion, and the blurring of content and form.
This is a contentious and far-reading claim that has implications for periodical studies, modernist studies, and even our understanding of the boundaries of digital culture. (Indeed, it's the central idea behind my current book project.) In this paper, therefore, I want to pursue only one small piece of it. Specifically, I want to claim that The Little Review can be powerfully re-read as a recursive, ergodic system structured by a set of procedural codes—a program that both enables and constrains the act of reading. Focusing on the "Nestor" episode of Ulysses as it appeared in the April 1918 issue of the magazine, my paper will tack between Joyce's texts and those surrounding it, including the essay by May Sinclair that first coins the term "stream of consciousness," Pound's translation of the Unanism manifesto, and Ben Hecht's experimental narrative of urban life. My core argument will be that a new way of reading Ulysses emerges when we see it as part of the recursive, procedural system of The Little Review—and this reading itself helps us better understand the magazine's own operative rules and logic. "Magazines 1.0" will thus bring together digital theory with periodical studies to offer a new way of reading Joyce's work in The Little Review as a site of aesthetic emergence deeply engaged with the deep structures of our own information culture.
"Olive Beaupre Miller's My Book House: Transatlantic Heteroglossia in a Midwestern Children's Anthology"
Susan Otis Thompson's 1977 American Book Design and William Morris delineates the historical rapidity with which the book production principles of William Morris's Kelmscott Press entered American publishing practices. In particular, Thompson describes a current of innovative book design that led from Morris's 1891 establishment of Kelmscott, through the American book-industry magazine The Inland Printer, to the small presses that were thriving in and around Chicago in the early twentieth century. A previously undocumented example of Morris's influence in the Midwestern United States is Olive Beaupre Miller's six-volume children's anthology, My Book House, first published in 1920. In this paper I describe the influence of Morris and other Victorian printers, writers and illustrators on Miller's beautifully designed, illustrated and produced volumes. I also explain how, as an editor and designer, Miller subsumes six volumes of literary excerpts from around the world, as well as a wide variety of illustration styles from American and European illustrators, into a single material object: a literal, cardboard house that holds the six volumes and was crucial in the door-to-door marketing practice of Miller's all-female sales staff. Finally, I argue that Miller uses this architectural framework not only to domesticate tales, poems and images from around the world, but also to emplot both child and adult readers in a narrative of looking either outward or inward upon the wild variety of the public world.
As Barbara M. Benedict argues, Bakhtinian heteroglossia, or the holding together of different dialects or ways of speaking in tension with one another under a single rubric, is a characteristic not only of the novel but of the anthology. Benedict also points out that the form of anthologies participates in a paradox: anthologies are "more than one work, at the same times as they also are one work." Miller's work as editor uses anthological heteroglossia to manage the particular paradoxes of a children's anthology conceived of as transnational in its scope. For example, Miller did not limit the stories and poems in My Book House to Anglo-American classics, jingoistic tales of American frontier prowess, or classical mythology. She included such stories and poems, but she situated them neutrally within a larger context of stories from around the world. Moreover, the foreign and American tales not only tend to echo each other's sometimes colonialist motifs, such as exploration and conquest, but also to interact in ways that elucidate, historicize, and sometimes de-essentialize traditional forms of American xenophobia. And while the volumes are indexed for parents according to title and author, subject, and "ethical theme," the semiotic playfulness of the juxtapositions of form and content throughout the books encourages children to perform what Benedict calls "dip, sip and skip" reading (without parental intervention). The material object—a house of books—provides a synchronically organized domestic space for readers to experience a self-generating, unique and diachronic experience of the cacophony of voices and images within and without the walls of the Book House. Through an exploration of the many materialized oppositions of My Book House, I will explain how Miller's literary object mediates the tensions between public and domestic, adult and child, American and foreign, Western and Other, and tradition and innovation.
"Beyond Little Magazines?"
In 2007, Suzanne Churchill and I claimed that "little magazines made modernism happen." We wrote this bit of hyperbole for the verso and catalogue copy of our essay collection, Little Magazines and Modernism: New Approaches, with the obvious intention of piquing the interest of potential readers and in order to corner the vast and lucrative market of periodical and print culture studies. Although we failed in our attempt at market dominance, we did manage to draw the attention of Robert Scholes and Cliff Wulfman, who rightly noted–in their truly groundbreaking study, Modernism in the Magazines: An Introduction–the limitations of our claim: "Modernism happened in the magazines all right, but it didn't happen only in the little ones" (41). This assertion–not to mention a growing body of scholarship–contextualizes little magazines within a larger modern print culture, and it is becoming increasingly clear that we will in fact need to think "beyond little magazines" in order to further our understanding of modernism.
But Scholes and Wulfman seem to want to propel current ideas about modernist little magazines even further than mere re-contextualization: ". . . we must learn to stop talking, writing, and thinking as if the category of 'little magazines' represented something real in the textual world. It is," they assert, "a dream category" (61). This is a provocative claim, based to a large degree on Scholes and Wulfman's experiences working on The Modernist Journals Project, and it calls for engagement and analysis. As it turns out, both archival and digital research demonstrates that the moderns (i.e., both "the modernists" and those who were experiencing and writing about modernity) used the term "little magazine" regularly and across a spectrum of publications. But were they using this term consistently? Were there divergent uses of the term? We might also ask ourselves if this dream categorization of little magazines is a deepening of our historical understanding of modernism, or if it is, instead, an effect caused by the rise of digital humanities. Perhaps our new technologies are creating false or distorting analogies. How does digitization change our understanding of magazines (little, quality, pulp, mass, etc.), and what should our concerns be as we move further into the age of digital scholarship?
In "Beyond Little Magazines?," I will engage these issues by examining the status of little magazines in a variety of periodicals published during and after the rise of modernism. Ultimately, I will contend that "little magazines," like other problematic terms, may defy simple categorization, but it is also not a dream category that can be once and forever undone by pixilation and text-coding.
"Britannia Rules the Waves: The BBC's The Listener as Print Contact Zone 1929-1940"
In the Foreword to Venu Chitale's 1950 novel, In Transit, M. R. Jayakar points to Chitale's years of employment at the BBC's Eastern Service (a short-wave service directed to the subcontinent) as a kind of initiation:
The author of this novel, Mrs. Leelabai Khare (nee Miss Venu Chitale) had considerable experience of British public and social life, acquired during her long stay in England and her work in connexion with the B.B.C. in London. With the aid of this knowledge and experience, she can be said to have acquired an aptitude to appraise Indian social life as a study in comparisons. Her present production, In Transit, appears to be the result of this process. (ix)
Jayakar thus suggests that Chitale's time abroad gave her an intimate and thorough understanding of English life which she could then contrast with "Indian social life." I'm suggesting that the opposite is in fact the case; that Chitale's work with the BBC paradoxically put her in closer contact with Anglophone Indian writers and print culture than may have been the case had she worked in India during the war years. Furthering the idea that the BBC was a contact zone, laboratory for postcolonial critique, institutional center of anti-imperial politics and a space where Indian writers nurtured one another's careers, Jayakar's Foreword is followed by an open letter from Chitale's fellow novelist and co-worker at the BBC, Mulk Raj Anand, who credits her with "a sensitiveness far in excess of your contemporaries" in part, he tells her, because of "the way you reacted to the poetry of one of my scripts when your colleagues merely passed it through the censorship with the routine expression typical of authorities in such matters" (xi). While the broadcasts of the Eastern Service of the BBC served as a valuable platform for Indian writers (in addition to Chitale and Anand, Ahmed Ali, R. K. Narayan, G. V. Desani, and J. M. Tambimuttu all worked or broadcast for the BBC) so too did the various BBC print publications like The Listener and London Calling which reprinted broadcast programs and book reviews. In fact, Anand's career received an early boost from Herbert Read's favorable review of Persian Art in a December 1930 issue of the Listener. After reviewing the literary circle at the BBC, this paper turns to the publication–in England and in empire–of broadcast talks and book reviews in order to challenge Jurgen Habermas's assertion that broadcasting is inimical to print culture and to show how the print versions of talks were used as a means of preserving and extending the dynamic interactions between writers throughout the empire.
"How to Recognize a Modernist When You See One: Modernist Print Networks"
This paper use the digital social network analysis (SNA) tool Gephi to analyze the print culture networks within which D. H. Lawrence, T. S. Eliot, and Virginia Woolf published. It speaks to the conference's interest in developing our knowledge of Anglo-American networks among writers and other participants in the period's print culture as well as analyzing and theorizing the relationship between transformations in print culture and evolving notions of authorship and the literary in a transatlantic context. I look at the networks created by coappearance in periodicals and anthologies in order to understand the emergence of high modernism—the phase of modernism in which it became a movement in itself and for itself—since it was in part within this network that this self-awareness emerged. My contention is that simply reading the books published by the most prominent modernists is insufficient to understanding the larger phenomenon of modernism because doing so not only neglects the many, many figures who appeared alongside Eliot, Joyce, Woolf, etc., and who also shaped authors' and readers' sense of what the modern was but also skips over a major question: how was it that these books and authors attracted readership? It was through these networks, which drew readers to, say, Lawrence not only by putting him in an anthology bearing the cultural capital of the Georgian Poetry anthology but also by putting him alongside authors who already had an audience and could discover him as a result of their interest in, for instance, John Drinkwater, Francis Ledwidge, or any number of now largely forgotten poets. At the same time that a luminary might draw a more obscure figure out of the shadows, the opposite effect could also occur, in which the ignominy of a group of writers (or even a single one) could taint a writer by mere association. Wai Chee Dimmock has suggested that we think about genre metaphorically as a network; this paper takes that suggestion literally, visualizing authorial networks created by media in order to reveal just how diverse the networks of modernism were and to challenge the persistence of the notion that modernism was a coterie culture. While Mark Morrisson and others have looked at the reciprocal effects of co-publication within the same magazine or even issue, I will show that we need to look beyond the metaphorical boundaries of magazine titles and the literal borders of nations in order to detect and study the cross publication and transnational publishing networks of modernism and we need to include hundreds of publications and authors in these comprehensive networks, not just a handful of writers.
In order to understand why these networks matter, consider the advice given to readers by Michael Sadleir in his introduction to a bibliography of "young novelists" in the 1918 anthology New Paths: read two or three periodicals, pay attention to publishers' lists, read reviews and ads, and learn the names of authors rather than book titles. It is advice like this—focused on the extratextual rather than simply trusting one's own reading habits and taste—that confirms the need for modernist studies to move away from an exclusive focus on authors and major texts and develop new ways of thinking about context, consumption, and circulation. SNA is one way to do so, framing as it does anthologies and periodicals as occasions for locating authors, in the
sense both of identifying new ones and of interpreting their positions in the field of literary production. It is no coincidence that Eliot and Lawrence emerged form the Twenties with completely different reputations, the former at a peak, the latter decidedly not, in part thanks to Lawrence's financial inability to be nearly as selective about publication during the decade as Eliot was. As a result, Lawrence's fiction appeared alongside some of the most prominent middlebrow authors of the time, such as Norman Davey, Hugh Walpole, while Eliot was printed alongside Dostoyevsky and Pound (and it should be said, Lawrence himself),and these associations determined who read them and how they were read. This paper will present visualizations of these networks (see the sample visualization of a network—Lawrence's appearances in fiction anthologies—underneath) on a much broader scale, taking in the entirety of Eliot's, Woolf's, and Lawrence's non-book publishing networks, and examine what they can tell us about the nature, development, and posthumous careers of not just these central figures but of modernism itself.
"'The Mouthpiece of Particularly the Coloured People': The Circum-Caribbean/ Transatlantic Black Press and the Black Internationalist Challenge to Empire, 1920s-1930s"
In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the travels of scores of thousands of British Caribbean men and women to migratory destinations such as Venezuela, Panama, Costa Rica, Cuba, the Dominican Republic, and the United States created a migratory sphere within which news, prints, remittances, and kin routinely circulated across national and imperial boundaries. In the interwar years, this mobile world would see the birth of many of the twentieth century's most influential black internationalisms, from Marcus Garvey's U.N.I.A. to a host of other political, social, and popular cultural movements.
The emergence of a self-aware and "race-conscious" transnational black print-based public sphere in the interwar years was a crucial component of the panoramic vantage that made emerging black internationalisms internationalist. Migrants had founded new local papers as they went, and each local paper served as a point of entry into an expanding circum-Caribbean/transatlantic black press—which drew on the institutions, conventions, and technological and commercial innovations of Anglo-American print culture more broadly. The Pittsburgh Courier had subscribers in Costa Rica, the New York Age and Chicago Defender were routinely excerpted in the Panama Tribune, the Barbados Weekly Herald was hawked in Harlem, the U.N.I.A had papers from across the region on its "exchange list." News of discrimination or violence against people of color in Britain and France received prominent coverage, drawing on reports from the London Times or Daily Telegraph as well as black-run periodicals like the Africa Times and Orient Review and La Depêche Africaine.
The geopolitical vision made possible by the circum-Caribbean/transatlantic black press meant that when black sojourners found their mobility rights curtailed in the mid-1920s, they could see not only the local but the inter-national and inter-imperial dimensions of the phenomenon. The forms of civic alliance and sense of broad belonging made possible by the same print-based public sphere meant that those targeted by the new state racism understood themselves not as individual victims but as part of a collective many thousands strong, whose demands had a right to be heard. The salience of race and security of empire were transformed as a result.
This paper details the creation and functioning the circum-Caribbean/transatlantic black press: the practices of publication and circulation that created it, and the practices of readership and joining that gave it social depth, community impact, and personal meaning. Meanwhile, I show how closely linked British Caribbeans abroad came to be to the U.S. Afro-American press. Citation and letters-to-the-editor turned U.S.-based black papers into international spaces in ways whose significance may not have been clear to the publishers of the Courier, Defender, or New York Age at the time (and have not always been clear to historians of the Afro-North-American media subsequently).
Ultimately, this international network of local papers generated a space within which regular people could and did interpellate themselves as part of something they identified as "Our People"—a Negro World—a social collective with a knowable past and a redeemable future.
"Literary Intersections: St. Ives"
This paper engages with questions around textual authenticity, authorship and authority (raised by critics McGann, Shillingsburg and Eggert), but situates them with specific reference to late–19th editorial and publishing practices. It takes as its starting point my research towards a scholarly edition of St. Ives (to be published as part of the New Edinburgh Edition of Robert Louis Stevenson's Works), and uses correspondence around the novel and the three existing manuscript versions to address larger questions about both the intersections of commercial and aesthetic dynamics in a cross–border context and perceptions of literary value and intellectual ownership over a range of different print–culture interest groups.
St. Ives, a historical adventure novel, unfinished at the time of Stevenson's death in Samoa in 1894, was the subject of various transatlantic negotiations during and after Stevenson's lifetime, as Stone & Kimball and Scribner's competed over the American rights to the text, while negotiating with English publishers Heinemann, and Stevenson's financial and literary representatives Sidney Colvin and Charles Baxter. The novel has a complicated publishing history, appearing in McClure's Magazine in the USA, incomplete, between March 1897 and November 1897 but also in the Pall Mall Magazine, November 1896-November 1897, with a final six chapters written by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch; it was then published by Scribner's in America and Heinemann in Great Britain though not simultaneously as Stevenson's literary executor, Colvin, wished. The textual history is problematic too: three versions of the manuscript exist, in the Firestone Library, Princeton, the Beinecke, and the Huntington, comprising 800 pages in total. Parts of the manuscript are in the hand of Isobel Strong, Stevenson's amanuensis. The published version takes material from all three manuscripts but none shows evidence of editorial intervention apart from the occasional printer's mark.
St. Ives therefore functions as a 'strange case' in which to examine the transatlantic perceptions of a range of editors, publishers, agents, and intellectuals including the London agent of Scribner's, W. Lemuel Bangs, often at the centre of negotiations. Underpinning these dialogues over publication, however, are wider issues of commercial and cultural value. As he acknowledged in his literary essays, Stevenson was always a figure on the borders of popular and high culture; his relations with literary marketplaces and the positioning of his work were further complicated by his increasing geographic distance from cultural centres on either side of the Atlantic. The fact that St. Ives was considered suitable for completion (as compared to the critically-lauded Weir of Hermiston, also left unfinished) raises questions about notions of intellectual ownership in relation to differing genres of writing and differing contexts of publication: what Ardis and Collier refer to as the "'chessboard' of emerging market segments." The complicated process whereby the printed versions, produced by a range of different hands, appeared in a range of different publishing contexts, gives these abstractions sharper empirical definition. This paper seeks to theorise evolving notions of the literary and of authorship by exploring them in a specific transatlantic cultural context.
"1616, Bilingual Modernism, and Anglo-Spanish Literary History"
This paper examines the short-lived London-based journal 1616: English and Spanish Poetry (1934-35), which was founded by the Spanish poet Manuel Altolaguirre during his time on fellowship in England. Altolaguirre was a leading poet of Spain's Generation of '27 (his friend Federico García Lorca was the most famous of this group), and he brought to the English reading public a vision of their country's literary history as inextricably tied to that of his native Spain. Thus, he named his journal for the year in which Shakespeare and Cervantes died, and he presented through the journal's run a rich array of English- and Spanish-language poems from across four hundred years. These included works such as Sidney's and Drummond's translations of Spanish sonneteers; his own translations of Percy Shelley, A. E. Housman, and T. S. Eliot; Lord Byron's translation of a Spanish ballad; and his wife's translations of the poetry of contemporary university students in London, to name only a few of 1616's highlights. Not only with translations, but also with juxtapositions, histories of transnational forms like the sonnet, and the material format of the review, Altolaguirre offers his commentary on the literary bonds that cosmopolitan figures in England and in Spain must reawaken. Furthermore, he did all of this on his own printing press (purchased in London), through which he created a luxurious and multi-color look for the journal, competing against a vast field of print publications in England that he considered drab. 1616, I argue, provides an excellent inroads into several innovative, yet overlooked, ways of thinking about modernism across two national/linguistic entities, the forms and shape of transnational literary histories, and the public sphere of the interwar period that mixed-language media diversified. This paper is both a reading of some of the key moments in 1616 (along with images of the text itself) and a theorization of this critical work that the journal is doing.
"An Engaged Mass Audience? The Provocation of a Popular Front Slick, Direction (1937-1945)"
What happened to revolutionary little magazines that burst angrily onto the international stage from 1933 to 1935 and the new generation of lively, radical, and often modernist writers who published in them? It has been compelling to cast the cultural developments of the late thirties as a silencing of the early decade's upstart culture. Indeed, many important writers at the crux of modernism and politics (such as Tillie Olsen, George Oppen, and Carl Rakosi) left writing behind for decades while many others lost most access to public outlets (Louis Zukofsky, Joseph Kalar). Many innovative little magazines folded or were consolidated into academic or increasingly elitist organs such as when Partisan Review consumed The Anvil. Adversarial communities of writers like the John Reed Clubs were replaced with the nationally affirming associations with the Federal Writers' Project. In many ways, this is a moment when the proletarian writers do disappear for those looking for them within the frameworks of little magazines, coteries, or coherent avant-gardes. There is a shift here from the rough early thirties magazines on cheap paper drawing from epistolary networks, a shift, but not an erasure. The transformation and continuation of these socially and aesthetically engaged projects are compellingly embodied in the long lasting popular front magazine Direction (1937-1945).
Direction, with glossy pages, photos, playful covers, and brief articles would hardly seem to be the inheritor of the little journal tradition; the mass market format makes it almost invisible for those seeking theshock of the new as defined by an earlier generation. It seems that the magazine rests on a cusp between the avant-garde and "mid-century modern" as a form of interior decoration. Indeed, the striking covers of the magazine are the canvas where Paul Rand, eventual father of mid-century graphic design and "channel through which modern art and design Russian Constructivisim, Dutch De Stijl and the German Bauhaus—was introduced to American commercial art" (Heller Paul Rand 12), developed his distinctive and highly lucrative style.
Rather than the loss of modernist dynamism or thirties engagement, I would argue that Direction reprises and even synthesizes some of the central tensions of modernism. Rejecting the advertising-fueled distribution of the mass market magazines, its non-profit, low-cost model sustains Direction for almost eight years through the tumult of economic depression and war. More compelling, it makes new forms of authorship and creative work central to its mission, publishing collective work from the Federal Writers Project, the Federal Arts Project, and worker-writers centrally through its run. Graphically intense, it pursues publication as a mode for exploring international politics, expansive local subjectivities, and forms distinct from the culture industry laughing all the way to the bank. Direction represents a self-conscious, contradictory attempt to extend the little journal ethos to a mass audience through mass-market forms.
Amy Von Lintel
"Publishing and Popular Art History in a Transatlantic Context"
My research examines the popular origins of art history and the role of publishing in bringing histories of art to new audiences. While the origins of art history are most often traced to the elite contexts of universities and art museums, my paper demonstrates how British and American publishers in the late 1800s expanded the public sphere of art history in significant, if underappreciated, ways. Firms based in London and New York, for example, simultaneously issued the same affordable introductory art histories for a transatlantic readership between 1870 and 1910. Moreover, the business contracts in extant publishing archives reveal how these firms shared electrotyped copies of the wood-engraved illustrations, allowing the same sets of images to appear in these international versions. Such a widespread repetition of both visual and textual information went far in solidifying the standards of art history as a field: the canon of art objects featured in the illustrations of these volumes, for instance, continues to form the basis of art history to this day.
In focusing on art history books printed and packaged for non-specialist audiences, I also explore the productive interplay of texts and images that introduced new publics to the history of art. I pay particular attention to the image technologies employed in this transitional period. While the humble, black-and-white prints in these books might appear archaic in our era of full color digital media, wood engravings and relief electrotypes were in fact the cutting-edge media of their day. They enabled ready replication and easy exchange between publishers on opposite sides of the Atlantic, while their simultaneously printable text-image dialectic dominated for decades until the halftone photograph took over in the twentieth century. In contrast to the commonly held notion that "illustrations" are somehow subordinate to texts, I examine the equal contributions of texts and images in the pedagogy of art history, while I also highlight the differences between images employed as "illustrations" and as "reproductions."
Finally, a study of the transatlantic publishing of popular art histories can uniquely illuminate the rise of female authorship in the field. While the works of numerous British women—including Anna Jameson, as well as the lesser-known Nancy Bell, whose Elementary History of Art (first edition, 1874) offered the first comprehensive survey written by a woman—saw enduring circulation in both American and British contexts, American publishers also employed American women as art history authors. The collaborations between publishers and women authors expanded art history's public beyond the realm of elite scholars, curators, and collectors. As a result, I argue, the "low realm" of affordable art history books circulating in Britain and America deserves scholarly attention alongside the development of art history in the European university and art museum.
"Adversarial Internationalisms: Black Feminism and the Press in the 1920s"
When the black press in the US was at its height from the 1880s through to 1920, new papers were emerging at a rapid pace: between 1900 and 1909 alone, 344 new black papers were established. African American literacy was also growing at spectacular rates: 30 per cent of black Americans were literate by 1880, but that figure rose to 55.5 per cent by 1900 (Detweiler 61). The explosion of the black press at the turn into the twentieth century coincides with what black feminist historiographies have often hailed as the height of organized black feminism, marked by the national federation of women's clubs and the suffrage focus of the black women's club movement. This moment is also one in which black women journalists were active like never before. "Twenty-three black women in the nation . . . had achieved status as journalists by 1891 . . . . an additional fifteen began writing after 1891. . . . For the period from 1883 to 1905 . . . forty-six black women journalists [worked] in the United States," creating what as Gloria Wade-Gayles has called a unique group of black women activists who were "more dramatically political [and] more varied in their activities" than any other group preceding them (1410).
Yet African American feminists were taking their politics national and international since at least the 1850s. Edward Said coined the term "adversarial internationalisms" to refer to attempts at organizing alliances to challenge prevailing discourses of Western universalism. Black feminists were building or calling for such alliances from the abolition work of Sarah Parker Remond and Ellen Craft in the UK and Ireland, which forged links between the conditions and interests of the British working-class, Irish tenant farmers and enslaved African Americans; through to the black feminist manifesto of Anna Julia Cooper–a critique of internal and external colonization, US imperialism and racism–which began in her column in the southern black periodical, The Southland (1891); Pauline Hopkins's work as editor of Colored American Magazine (especially 1900-1904), which argued for black uplift "in all quarters of the globe" and indicted US imperialism in the Philippines; Jessie Fauset's writings on Pan-Africanism and her "The Looking Glass" column in The Crisis (1919, 1921; and Amy Jacques Garvey's column "Our Women and What they Think" for Negro World (1924-1927), in which she reprinted letters she solicited from "Negro women of all climes." This paper will focus on Jessie Fauset's and Amy Jacques Garvey's columns to argue not only that black feminists were building a transatlantic reach for their politics that worked outside the usual UK-US routing by linking the US to the African continent and to the Caribbean, but also that they did so using distinctive and well-established press forms that had been constitutive of black feminism since at least the 1830s–letters to the editor and recirculation. Challenging the tendency to see Pan-Africanism and Garveyism as resolutely masculinist politics, black feminism as "local" and limited in its influence until the turn into the 20th century and the emergence of the black women's club movement, and transatlantic print culture through a US-UK lens will enable us to better comprehend the reach and varied aims of black feminisms as they used the press to create publics for their politics.