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This article offers a comparative examination of the literary responses of four leading early modern Pashtun authors to an armed clash in the Momand tribe in 1711. The responses include a chronicle record in prose (Afżal Khān Khaṫak) and three poems – an elegy (ʿAbd al-Raḥmān Momand), a satire (ʿAbd al-Ḥamīd Momand), and a war ode (ʿAbd al-Qādir Khaṫak). Discussed as both authentic historical documents and creative writings linked to a local social discourse, these Pashto texts enable us to reassess the intensity of everyday literary communications in Pashtun tribal areas in early modern times and append new factual material to the study of ethno-cultural processes within the Persophone oecumene. The salient stylistic and rhetoric diversity of the texts not only highlights the authors’ individual mindsets and literary techniques, but also provides an insight into a variety of social moods, political attitudes and ethics in the Pashtun traditional society.

One of the more powerful recurring motifs in the Iliad is that of the grief-stricken woman lamenting the death of a hero. As with much else in the Homeric epics, these scenes have a formulaic character; when Briseis laments Patroclus, and Hecuba, Andromache and Helen lament Hector, each is depicted delivering a specialized form of speech, specific to the context of a woman's lament. The narrative depiction of grieving women, as well, is formalized, with specific gestures and recurring images that typify these scenes. One element of this depiction that has largely escaped serious consideration is the comparison of a woman in her initial moment of recognition of the corpse to Aphrodite. In this article, I will argue that the allusion is not merely to her beauty but to the myth of Aphrodite and Adonis, specifically the moment of the goddess’ discovery of the death of her mortal lover. As the earliest surviving explicit reference to Adonis in Greek literature appears c.600 b.c.e., this would require a raising of the terminus ante quem for the transmission of the Adonis myth from the Near East to the mid eighth century.

“Vajtim,” mourning, is an expression of women’s grief and cannot be counted in months or years: it is a continued expression of the inner world that for many women can take decades. In this paper, I examine how women have carried and preserved the lament songs of the Southern Albania region from generation to generation. Field research in my hometown, Gjirokastër, reveals how the laments songs are connected from mother to daughter within the families. Using descriptions of lamenting rituals, personal interviews with mourners, and analysis of lyrics and field recordings, I demonstrate how women continue this tradition through generations.

State legislative elections in the United States have long exhibited relatively low contestation rates. Between 2002 and 2016, for example, the percentage of state legislative seats fully contested by the two major parties in even-year elections never reached more than 63.6% and was as low as 54.6%.1 Indeed, some states always see fewer than one third of their legislative seats contested. It is not surprising that local media around the country routinely lament the low level of competition in statehouse races.2

This article discusses Fulvio Testi's libretto “L'isola di Alcina” (1626), based on Ariosto's “Orlando furioso.” After considering its significance to the cultural politics of the Este and the author's preoccupations with poetical and political lineage, the essay focuses on the sorceress Alcina's lament in act 4 and its afterlife in the Baroque cantata repertoire. Echoes from Claudio Monteverdi and Ottavio Rinuccini's “Arianna” as well as the memory of the sorceress Armida from Torquato Tasso's “Gerusalemme liberata” are crucial to the gradual reshaping that, across poetry and music, transforms the evil character into a woman worthy of the audience's sympathy.

This session considers the works of Indigenous thinkers and poets. It will reflect on how language and poetry can help us understand relations between humans and non-humans, to be attentive to local markers and traces in ecology, and how the deep histories of elements can also be inferred from seeds. Through a literary reading of a recent translation of late Dongria Kondh poet and elder Dambu Praska’s song (Lament of Niyamraja, a film by Surya Shankar Dash), the talk will discuss how literary metaphors are archives of interpretations of the climate crisis as confronted already by several Indigenous communities.

Until relatively recently, melodrama has been an unfairly maligned genre of theatre history; its pejorative associations based on the prejudiced assumptions that its aesthetics of excess (in terms of its extravagant emotion, sensationalism and popularity amongst predominantly working class audiences) meant, therefore, that it was for simpletons. What Walter Benjamin excoriated as the “ancient lament that the masses seek distraction whereas art demands concentration from the spectator” fuelled bourgeois disdain for this theatrical form and the derision of theTheatrical Inquisitor’s dismissal of melodrama as “aris[ing] from an inertness in the minds of the spectators, and a wish to be amused without the slightest exertion on their own parts, or any exercise whatever of their intellectual powers” remained the dominant critical response throughout the nineteenth century. Indeed, such views continued well into the twentieth century and certainly characterized the modernist reactions of the founding figures of the Irish national theatre in this period. Frank Fay, cofounder of the National Dramatic Society, denounced both the aesthetics of Dublin's Queen's Theatre as the “home of the shoddiest kind of melodrama,” and the intelligence of its audiences who, “wouldn't,at present, understand anything else.”

An unusual ancient Greek lament form, hitherto overlooked by students of the subject, displays the following syntax: parallel sentences with verb in initial position (Vi) expressing the loss, followed by the grammatical subject (S). Sometimes the same verb was used in each of the parallel lines. ViS parallelism is a subliterary syntax reflecting a very old style. A number of Greek authors adopted this syntax to represent or allusively echo the form. Examples, although relatively scarce, are spread through a diverse range of ancient literature spanning at least six centuries, from the second century BC to the fourth century AD, with earlier echoes as far back as Homer.

Peter Brook begins the second chapter ofThe Empty Space,“The Holy Theatre,” with a lament for the loss of sacred approaches to theatre; approaches that satisfy a community's need to make visible its identity, its hope, and its history. In describing the vacuum within the modern theatre once occupied by ceremony—what he defines as the importance of a noble aim for theatre—Brook critiques hollow and backward attempts to fill new and grand spaces with old and meaningless ritual. In postwar Europe, he saw a need for new spaces that “crie[d] out for a new ceremony, but of course it is the new ceremony that should have come first—it is the ceremony in all its meanings that should have dictated the shape of the place.” Brook's assessment of postwar European bourgeois theatre and its search for new and meaningful agendas is framed by conceptions of space as antecedent to action, requiring only performer and audience in order for theatre to occur, and for a space to be called a theatre. Indeed, theatrical space is always a product of well-established cultural performance conventions—a phenomenon common throughout history. Brook's critique focuses on the conventions of theatrical space that developed from the romantic dramas and spectacle-driven performances of the late nineteenth century and continued well into the twentieth century. Echoing Bertolt Brecht, Brook rejected theatres that predetermined the limits of drama and performance, arguing that it was necessary to strip them of conventional expectations in order to lay bare their potential. Essentially, he asks: When and how does a space become a theatre?

This article analyzes two contemporary pieces, Faustin Linyekula'sLa Création du Monde 1923–2012and Vera Mantero'sA mysterious thing said e. e. Cummings, which respond to dance productions presented in Europe in the early decades of the twentieth century by criticizing their “negrophilic” attitude. The article juxtaposes the analysis of these two contemporary pieces with rereadings of the historical choreographies/events of the 1920s to which they refer, namely, Les Ballets Suédois'sLa Création du Monde(1923) and Josephine Baker's performances. Theoretically revisiting historical works that developed within such a “negrophilic” framework alongside contemporary pieces relating to them can be taken as attacking this very framework, trying to “undo” the Eurocentrism inherent in its cannibalistic processes. Such a perspective may allow for the acknowledgement of plural, multiple views of Africanistic presences in an otherwise “negrophilic” context.

By the beginning of the fourteenth century the court histories of the Īl-Khānate had begun to lament that ‘qarachu’ (non-royal) commanders dominated the realm. The same histories report that these qarachu were drawn from the families of the khans’ royal guardsmen (kešik). The fact that these kešik families had come to eclipse, and in some cases threaten, the power of their Chinggisid patrons suggests a much broader transformation of the Īl-Khān polity from the patrimonial government of the khan's household, which characterised the early Mongol Empire, to a quasi-feudal state, dominated by a powerful military aristocracy. The present study will elucidate how this new aristocracy supported their authority through the hereditary transmission of armies, property and, offices, which entrenched their position at the summit of Īl-Khān polity.

A persistent lament by qualitative organizational researchers is that qualitative research is not published, published enough, cited enough, or valued by industrial–organizational (I-O) psychologists. Pratt and Bonaccio (2016) present convincing data that there has been an increase in the visibility of qualitative studies throughout many organizational research journals, though some of the flagship journals in I-O psychology are less receptive. Also, they present a series of suggestions that largely entail ways that journal editors and nonqualitative researchers can adapt their attitudes and behaviors to help qualitative research have more of an impact. I agree with those suggestions and think that they should be pursued. On the other hand, I was disappointed that none of the suggestions presented by Pratt and Bonaccio offered things that qualitative researchers might do to make their research more impactful to I-O psychologists. For qualitative research to have a bigger impact in the organizational literature, qualitative researchers need to make changes as well. In this short commentary, I propose three things that qualitative researchers might do to improve their impact within the field of I-O psychology.

Propertian elegy is not an obstinately male genre. It is engendered as masculine in its discursive mastery over the female object of its erotics and poetics, but engenders itself as effeminate in its association with softness, submissiveness, and impotence, and as feminine especially in its self-critique and its interrogation of Roman gender and sexuality. M. Wyke, The Roman Mistress (Oxford, 2002), 189 As W.R. Johnson puts it neatly, Cynthia ‘is not even supposed to be in this volume’. Yet Cynthia’s startling return to Propertian verse in 4.7 - after being tossed out of elegy at the end of Book 3 - is staged brilliantly. Cynthia comes back to life (for it seems she has died) in a manner that is just as disturbing for the reader as it is for Propertius himself. The mistress’ ghost appears unbidden at the poet’s bedside, scorched and scarred by the funeral pyre, her bones rattling and her voice crackling with rage. Cynthia rebukes Propertius for the shoddy funeral he gave her; but she seems especially galvanized to give her own radical version of the life they spent together in a way that threatens to upend the truths that readers have accepted from Propertius himself. If Cynthia’s sudden reappearance is shocking, what she has to say is more shocking still. We are invited to rethink elegy from the very beginning. Critical opinion has long wrestled with what to make of Cynthia’s ghost. In an era influenced by biographical criticism, readers were perturbed by an ambiguous tone in the poem (does it intend a serious lament? or is it an inappropriate satire, offered in what must be bad taste?); concern was also expressed at the poem’s position, for not only does Cynthia turn up dead in 4.7 after being dismissed in 3.24, she also appears very much full of life in the next poem, 4.8. Focus shifted subsequently to Propertius’ deft artistry in characterizing his mistress’ ghostly visitation, and, in particular, to the elegist’s complex cross-genre interaction with comedy and mime, epigram and epic as a means of enriching Cynthia’s character, and so the character of the poetry narrating her. The most recent shift has been to examine Cynthia as a speaking character in her own right, who, along with other female narrators of Book 4, seeks to expose ‘the discursive mastery’ (in Maria Wyke’s apt phrase from the opening epigraph) that elegy’s male narrator has exerted over female representation in elegy, even as he continues to do so. In the present article, Cynthia’s penultimate poem benefits from bringing together these disparate perspectives into a coherent interpretation. Moreover, I argue for a new way of reading the significance of Cynthia’s final speech that seeks to reconcile the infamous contradictions present not only in the poem but also in its characterisation in Propertian scholarship. For instance, a prominent concern of most recent analysis has been the way in which a narrating Cynthia offers a radically different version of the affair from the one that Propertius has offered. In Micaela Janan’s reading, in particular, when Cynthia narrates her own story she seeks to evade the (masculine) systems through which her male poet, and Roman society more broadly, seek to categorize women and to confer meaning upon female behaviour. In the following discussion I combine this approach to Cynthia as an autonomous speaker with a reading that acknowledges the paradoxical similarity to Propertius’ own discourse that Cynthia’s speech also displays. Here I propose that Cynthia’s exemplary elegiac performance in 4.7 - coming (nearly) at the end of Propertian elegy, and offering a sweeping reorganisation of the existing poetry, right back to the beginning - presents itself provocatively as the model after which Propertian elegy has itself been shaped. Cynthia’s acute awareness of her vulnerability to others’ representational control, and her concern to destabilise the cultural apparatus that has determined her biography, offer retrospective commentary on the origins of Propertius’ own emasculated persona and the broader critique his poetry offers of Roman authority and ideology (in Wyke’s terms, elegy’s ‘effeminate’ and ‘feminine’ character, respectively). In her closing remarks, Cynthia certainly mounts a vehement attack on elegiac verities. But she also significantly furthers the way in which Book 4 as a whole develops and reflects upon elegy’s existing complexities. In the end—for all that she supposedly should not be in Book 4 - Cynthia’s belated presence helps to make sense of a collection that, in its first six poems, never quite manages the clean break from Propertius’ erotic past that he had promised it would.

Published in 1879 in theTahzīb ul-Akhlāqas well as in book form, Maulana Altaf Husain Hali'sMusaddas on the Ebb and Flow of Islam(better known asMusaddas-e Hālī) is a unique text. The poem, which recalls a glorious Islamic past and mourns its decline in India, both drew on the Urdushahr āshobtradition that had developed since the eighteenth century as well as innovatively developed a very Arabic “flavour” and style that was uncommon at the time. While C. Shackle and J. Majeed have analysed Hali's use of typical Arabic literary devices in their excellent study and edition of theMusaddas, they conceded that “the overt influence of Arabic poetry is less easy to establish”. However, new evidence from theAligarh Institute Gazetteof 1878 brings another piece to the puzzle and enables us to situate Hali'sMusaddasin its broader historical and literary context: indeed, two articles written by Sayyid Ahmad Khan in January of that year show that Hali's masterpiece was in fact conceived as an Urdu re-adaptation of an Arabic classic, al-Rundi's famousLament for the fall of Seville.

Deprivationism cannot accommodate the common sense assumption that we should lament our death iff, and to the extent that, it is bad for us. Call this the Nothing Bad, Nothing to Lament Assumption. As such, either this assumption needs to be rejected or deprivationism does. I first argue that the Nothing Bad, Nothing to Lament Assumption is false. I then attempt to figure out which facts our attitudes concerning death should track. I suggest that each person should have two distinct attitudes toward death: one determined by agent’s reasonable expectations about when she will die and one determined by the amount of metaphysically possible good one reasonably believes death precludes.

Eighteenth-century composers wrote many passages in which a treble line rises from scale degrees 1 or 3 up to 5, while the bass descends chromatically from 1 down to 5. The diverging lines reach an octave by way of an augmented-sixth interval. These passages represent a voice-leading schema analogous to those introduced by Robert O. Gjerdingen in his book Music in the Galant Style. Following Gjerdingen's use of Italian words to refer to some of his schemata, I propose the word ‘Morte’ for this schema and survey its use by musicians, who relied on it not only as an intensely expressive gesture that could effectively enhance the most tragic moments of a work but also as a compositional building-block: an ornate half cadence that they found especially useful in transitional passages and development sections.

The first anthropological inquiries into lament, led by pioneering anthropologists Emile Durkheim (1961:442–49), Marcel Mauss (1921), and Alfred RadcliffeBrown (1922:239–46), focused on its socially determined nature. Lament was seen as a social duty imposed on the afflicted persons that expressed the need for social cohesion rather than a sincere feeling of personal pain. Greg Urban (1988:393), in a comparative study of ritual wailing in Amerindian Brazil, reopened the question of how lament produces sociability by highlighting the way it regiments the expression of a powerful emotion such as grief. In recent decades, the individual/ society dichotomy, which underlies these views on lament, has been seriously questioned in anthropology (Ingold 1996). An understanding has been developed of persons “as simultaneously containing the potential for relationships and always embedded in a matrix of relations with others” (Strathern 1996:66). In this view, lament cannot be considered a way to transform an individual expression of authentic grief into a socially regimented one, which, by being regimented, conveys a desire for sociability. Rather, this desire is the very condition that allows pain to be voiced in a manner that enhances the self in relation to the group and thus reinforces the community. As Elizabeth Tolbert poignantly states with regard to Finnish–Karelian lament: “Poised at the nexus between voice and body, self and other, the lamenter creates an intersubjective understanding of emotional pain by expressing the inexpressible, by rendering the isolation of individual mourning into an intensely communal experience” (Tolbert 2007:148). According to ethnomusicologist Steven Feld, an essential feature of lamenting is “the dynamic interplay of individual expression and collective forms and sentiments,” a boundary dynamic that is also present on a stylistic level in the switching between speech and song (Feld 1990:241). In their recent discussion of funerary lament, Francois Berthome and Michael Houseman (2010), in a more detailed way, show how oscillating social and sonic dynamics are a constitutive feature of this ceremonial practice. According to these authors, funerary lament, as an expressive mode, is highly equivocal. It presents itself as an uneasy combination of crying, speaking, and singing, characterized by “an ongoing oscillation between stylization and affective outburst” (Berthome and Houseman 2010:59). Its interactive features entail a similar oscillation between interdependent modes of sociability and individual isolation. The wailer addresses herself to the deceased

In a recent article titled “Kartuli Mama-p’ap’uri Seksi” (Georgian Ancestral Sex), Aleko Tskhitishvili asks the following question: “was there ever sex [seksi] in Georgia, or not?”1 But what is sex? The Georgian term seksi is a recent loan from English, inheriting many of the ambiguities of the English word sex.2 If “sex” (seksi) is defi ned in terms of its prototypical biophysical referent, (heterosexual) vaginal intercourse, potentially leading to pregnancy, then, Tskhitishvili argues, of course there has apparently been a lot of sex through the ages in Georgia, given the large number of Georgians alive today. But if “sex” is meant as sex decoupled from biological reproduction, then sex has indeed been relatively absent from Georgia. The author is seemingly searching for traces of another kind of sex, a kind of sexual sociability, a purely elective, “play” form of sex, pursued entirely for its own sake and unencumbered by any connection to biological reproduction or marital obligation.3 This is a kind of sex defi ned by absence (it seemingly doesn’t exist in Georgia) and alterity (it is normatively quite alien to Georgia). According to the author, “Among us, there is no sex!” was the oft -heard lament from the “frigid” Homo sovieticus decrying the absence of sex in Georgia. It is also the battle cry of postsocialist Georgian traditionalists decrying the appearance of a Georgian-language Playboy (with Georgian models): “In the land of Queen Ketevan and Nestan-Darejan, Playboy should not exist!”4

As to the isothermicity of the translucent walls, experimental laboratories will be able in the near future to give us a new translucent material whose isothermal properties will be equal to that of the thickest wall. From then on, we will witness the inauguration of a new era: buildings will be altogether hermetically closed. Windows will no longer be needed on the façade; consequently neither dust nor flies nor mosquitoes will enter the houses; nor will noise.Le Corbusier's fascination with light and glass formed a continuing thread throughout his career. After his maxim ‘architecture is lighted floors’ came the passionate discourses to defend the building's openness, first with his fenêtre en longueur, the ribbon window, and ultimately with his emblematic pan de verre, the glass wall that would not only provide sunlight-flooded interiors but would also most significantly contribute to shape the Modernist imagery. Despite the profuse explorations invested in this concept, Le Corbusier would always lament his failure to execute his ‘pan de verre 100%’ in the way he would have desired: ‘as a mur neutralisant constituted by a double glass-wall with an internal cavity through which conditioned air would circulate, hot in winter, cold in summer’.The idea of the mur neutralisant was born as part of a challenging environmental theory for buildings, termed either respiration exacte or air exact [1], proposed by Le Corbusier in collaboration with his cousin and practice partner Pierre Jeanneret in 1928. Le Corbusier would describe this theory in two of his most dogmatic publications: first, as one of his lectures (5 October 1929) collected in Précisions (1930) and, second, as part of La Ville Radieuse (1935), his manifesto on modern habitation.

(ProQuest: ... denotes non-US-ASCII text omitted.)I thank Yohanan Petrovsky-Shtern, Eva Steinova, Jesse Njus, the members of the Newberry Library Seminar on Medieval Intellectual History, and two anonymous readers for their helpful comments on earlier drafts.Outbreaks of anti-Jewish violence in late medieval cities were hardly rare. For that reason, among others, surviving records are often frustratingly brief and formulaic. Yet, in the case of the pogrom that devastated Prague's Jewish community on Easter 1389, we have an extraordinary source that has yet to receive a close reading. This account, supplementing numerous chronicle entries and a Hebrew poem of lament, is the Passio Iudeorum Pragensium , or Passion of the Jews of Prague --a polished literary text that parodies the gospel of Christ's Passion to celebrate the atrocity.1 In this article I will first reconstruct the history, background, and aftermath of the pogrom as far as possible, then interrogate the Passio as a scriptural and liturgical parody, for it has a great deal to teach us about the inner workings of medieval anti-Judaism.2 By "parody" I mean not a humorous work, but a virtuosic pastiche of authoritative texts, such as the Gospels and the Easter liturgy, that would have been known by heart to much of the intended audience.3 We may like to think of religious parodies as "daring" or "audacious," seeing in them a progressive ideological force that challenges corrupt institutions, ridicules absurd beliefs, and pokes holes in the pious and the pompous. But The Passion of the Jews of Prague shows that this was by no means always the case.According to the Passio and the chronicle sources, the trouble began on Holy Saturday (April 17), when a priest, bringing communion to a sick person, passed down a Jewish street and a disturbance occurred. It was said that some Jews had either thrown stones at a monstrance or mocked the priest; in one account, a pyx was broken and hosts spilled on the ground. Charges of host desecration with their violent sequels were so common that, on the face of it, it may seem unlikely that any sane Jew would have issued such an overt provocation, least of all during Holy Week.4 Until recently, therefore, historians have taken this and similar charges as self-evident slander. Yet some revisionists now argue that such incidents did occur, given the intensity of Jewish revulsion against Christian "idolatry" toward the cross and the host.5 In any case, there was a brawl, and the Jews deemed responsible were hauled into the town hall for punishment. There the matter might have ended, except that Prague was in a highly inflamed mood at the time because of simmering discontent with the king, and more specifically with his use of Jewish moneylenders as an instrument of royal finance.The reigning Wenceslas IV, like most European rulers, protected "his" Jews as "serfs of the royal chamber," granting them exemptions and privileges so that, whenever he needed ready cash, he could tax them or confiscate their assets.6 His father Charles IV had done the same, even speculating on future pogroms in order to profit from them.7 Though such policies were commonplace, they were also deeply unpopular, not because ordinary Christians pitied the Jews but because they resented the profits of usury, which theologians and church councils repeatedly condemned as sinful.8 It did not help that Wenceslas was a weak and unpopular king, unlike his father Charles. According to the abbot Ludolf of Sagan (d. 1422), he was disliked by "clergy and people, the nobles, the burghers, and the peasants--and acceptable only to the Jews."9 So, by attacking this resented and vulnerable minority, the people could also voice their displeasure with the king. As David Nirenberg has written in a different context, "attacks upon the king's Jews were attacks on royal majesty, and time after time the Crown condemned them as such."10 Moreover, the clergy and especially theologians at the University of Prague (founded by Charles in 1348) had been engaged in a long-standing dispute with the Crown over usury. …

Writing pseudonymously in the New Age in February 1909, Arnold Bennett, acerbic chronicler of Edwardian chapel culture, deplored the lack of proper bookshops in English provincial towns. A substantial manufacturing community, he claimed, might be served only by a stationers shop, offering ‘Tennyson in gilt. Volumes of the Temple Classics or Everyman. Hymn books, Bibles. The latest cheap Shakespeare. Of new books no example, except the brothers Hocking.’ Bennett’s lament was an unintended compliment to the ubiquity of the novels of Silas and Joseph Hocking, brothers whose literary careers spanned more than half a century, generating almost two hundred novels and innumerable serials and short stories. Silas Hocking (1850–1935), whose first book was published in 1878 and last in 1934, has been described as the most popular novelist of the late nineteenth century. By 1900 his sales already exceeded one million volumes. The career of Joseph Hocking (1860–1937) was slightly shorter, stretching from 1887 to 1936, but his output was equally impressive. The Hockings’ works have attracted interest principally among scholars of Cornish life and culture. It will be argued here, however, that they have significance for the history of late Victorian and Edwardian Nonconformity, both reflecting and reinforcing the attitudes, beliefs and prejudices of their large and appreciative readership.

Fors seulement is among Johannes Ockeghem's most extensively discussed chansons. A much debated feature of this rondeau is that its two upper voices span almost the same high register. Sources disagree over which of these voices is the tenor: earlier and authoritative manuscripts assign this role to the uppermost voice, while later ones ‘normalise’ the disposition by giving it to the slightly lower one. Apart from a few passing remarks, musicologists have not taken into sufficient consideration that the text of Fors seulement, the lament of a woman, is modelled upon Alain Chartier's Complainte on the death of his lady, as Paula Higgins has demonstrated. This article focuses on the transformation of the rhetoric of grief from male Complainte to female rondeau, and considers anew the issue of Fors seulement's unique contrapuntal structure and its troubled reception from the point of view of the peculiarly gendered nature of its poetic voice.

This is certainly a strange business: on the one hand, the thrill of discovery, the glory of gold, the flattery of the media and the purring of officialdom; on the other, the agonised frustrations of academics whose job it is to make sense of everything brought to light on this island. An editor is supposed to remain neutral, but in this case there is no contest. Antiquity champions research — so while we are happy to welcome the arrival of a mass of shiny things, we are bound to lament the loss of an opportunity to understand what they mean. Then there is the paradox of the English system: the treasure hunters are applauded and rewarded, but the archaeologists are seemingly obliged to lurk in the shadows, anxious not to spoil the party. Does it have to be like this?

Interviews are designed to gather propositional information communicated through reference and predication. Some lament the fact that interviews always include interactional positioning that presupposes and sometimes creates social identities and power relationships. Interactional aspects of interview events threaten to corrupt the propositional information communicated, and it appears that these aspects need to be controlled. Interviews do often yield useful propositional information, and interviewers must guard against the sometimes-corrupting influence of interactional factors. But we argue that the interactional aspects of interview events can also be valuable data. Interview subjects sometimes position themselves in ways that reveal something about the habitual positioning that characterizes individuals or groups. We illustrate the potential value of this interactional information by describing “payday mugging” stories told by interviewees in one New Latino Diaspora town. (Interview data, narrating events, transference)

SGOI 01/01/07 is a highly refined 20-line elegiac epitaph from Cnidus which probably dates to the first century BC. Despite the poem's striking formal features and poetic qualities it has received almost no attention since its first publication by Sir Charles Newton in 1863. The first four sections of this article demonstrate that the inscription represents an important witness to certain epigraphic practices and epitaphic traditions, including those of inscribed dialogue and lament. The final section then presents a reading of the poem which centres on the competing poetics of consolation, memory and forgetfulness proposed by the epitaph's two speaking voices.

While researching dance within the Occupied Palestinian Territories, comments made by the choreographers of local performance troupes resonated in my mind because they exemplify how foreign hegemony controls notions of modernity. The first was a lament: “But can't they understand that this is our contemporary dance?” It followed the rejection of the group's application to a European contemporary dance festival, on the basis that their dance production was not contemporary enough and that it would be better suited to a folkloric festival. For those engaged in creative innovation in dance, this rebuke can feel like being sent to a home for the elderly: packed off to a place where everybody dances in circles, reminiscing about the glorious golden past of their own particular civilization. The second comment cropped up in numerous conversations with local dance practitioners and audiences: “I don't like the modern dance.” This comment was generally directed at any foreign or local dance production that did not fit within nostalgically imagined impressions of dance in times gone by.

The "war on terror" has brought to the fore the old debate on the role of religion in politics and international relations, a question on which Tolstoy wrote extensively during the latter part of his life. He considered Jesus to have clearly spelt out some rational moral and political rules for conduct, the most important of which was non-resistance to evil. For Tolstoy, Jesus' instructions not to resist evil, to love one's enemies and not to judge one another together imply that a sincere Christian would denounce any form of violence and warfare, and would strive to respond to (whatever gets defined as) evil with love, not force. In today's "war on terror," therefore, Tolstoy would lament both sides' readiness to use violence to reach their aims; and he would call for Christians in particular to courageously enact the rational wisdom contained in Jesus' Sermon on the Mount. Tolstoy's exegesis of Christianity may be too literal and too rationalistic, and may lead to an exceedingly utopian political vision; but it articulates a refreshingly peaceful method for religion to shape politics, one that can moreover and paradoxically be related to by non-Christians precisely because of its alleged grounding in reason. The "war on terror(ism)," we are told by Western politicians, is a war that will take time to win; but eventually, thanks to the sheer power and deter- mination of Western forces, freedom and democracy will prevail over "evil," over the enemies of civilization. If Leo Tolstoy could hear this, The author wishes to thank the editors and two anonymous readers for their detailed comments on earlier drafts of this article, as well as the anonymous referees from previous journal submissions, the friends and the family members who examined earlier drafts, and the scholars who commented on presentations of this paper at the Political Studies Association and elsewhere.

The genre of the History of Economics Society presidential address is not fixed. As some of my predecessors have observed, the early genre fluctuated between those who used the occasion to lament the state of our discipline and those used it to speak on an area of their own scholarly expertise. I am happy to say, however, that in recent years the lament has largely disappeared and people have focused more and more on pure questions of scholarship. In the last three presidential addresses, my immediate predecessors have each used the occasion to speak to a facet of their own work and, in each, to push the frontier out a little further. Last year, Wade Hands posed a question at the beginning of his address, regarding the similarities between mainstream philosophy of science and mainstream economics between 1945 and 1965 and then used the occasion to convince us that the question was worth our attention and to sketch out three possible answers to the question. The year before that, Mary Morgan spoke to us about the evolution of models of ‘‘economic man,’’ demonstrating convincingly that the nature of the human being depicted in models had become thin and etiolated over time. The year before that, Roy Weintraub discussed how the focus of our historical research may be influenced by our own biographies. In one way or another, all three of these addresses dealt with an issue at the heart of the scholar’s recognized work and then pressed into new territory. In general, I would like to follow in this more recent tradition of focusing on a scholarly question and using the occasion to push into some questions and issues that are new. However, at the end I would like to add a final twist that is, I believe, somewhat different. 1

The people of the land have used oppression, and exercised robbery, and have wronged the poor and needy, and have oppressed the stranger unlawfully.(Ezekiel22:29)Ezekiel's lament emphasizes that oppression in general, and especially oppression of the needy and the distressed, is always an extremely immoral and illegal act. In the Bible, “oppression” describes the unilateral taking of another person's property or depriving her of her rights. Yet, sometimes even an apparently voluntary agreement might be oppressive. Preventing oppression, therefore, has became one of the declared aims of contractual doctrine, as in the well-known American doctrine of unconscionability.Unconscionability and oppression are broad concepts that describe a wide-ranging array of cases and situations. Not surprisingly, therefore, despite the formidable and complex body of legal writing on the unconscionability doctrine, a great deal of ambiguity remains as to its theoretical basis, as well as its practical content.In this article I seek to enrich the modern Western discussion by analyzing Jewish law doctrine which addresses the issue of oppressive exploitative contracts, an approach which is both unique and to date largely neglected by scholars in the area. This Jewish law doctrine developed in response to a specific kind of oppressive contract, in which a semi-monopolistic party exploits the distress of a needy party in order to demand an above-market price (hereinafter referred to as oppressive-exploitative contracts).

The concept of belief, when applied in its strong sense, assumes an inner state that sets believers apart from non-believers. This article suggests that a concept of trust is more appropriate for the study of the religious orientation among Pentecostal Christians in Chinsapo, an impoverished township in Malawi's capital city. Trust is a critical issue because even fellow members of Pentecostal congregations can turn out to have been sent by the Devil. Pastors also have to exercise considerable forbearance in order to encourage spiritual growth among backsliders. The boundaries of Pentecostal congregations are often permeable, with little emphasis on doctrinal differences. Pentecostal Christians also have frequent contact with kin, neighbours, customers and co-workers who do not share their religious orientation. Rather than being a matter of calculating risks, trust emerges in relation to the existential dangers of misfortune, hunger and disease that affect the lives of all township dwellers. Everyday contexts of township life are as important as proselytizing in generating trust between Pentecostals and those who are yet to experience the second birth in the Holy Spirit. In contrast to views that lament Africans’ particularized trust relations as an obstacle to democracy, this article suggests that generalized trust can emerge from a particular religious orientation. The article draws attention to the actual sources of civility and trust in contemporary Africa.

Greek tragedy served as a disciplinary state apparatus that displaced women's public performances of the lament. Yet, in spite of its displacements and regulatory structures, the tragedy has been adopted by Euro-American playwrights and performers for political and even feminist political purposes. From Heiner Müller's Medeamaterial to readings of the comedy of Lysistrata, the structures of the Greek stage are currently deployed to stage the relation of gender to state practices. While these examples may seem to be in contradiction to the Greek structures, they actually further the use of the classical dramaturgical devices for their purposes within the tradition. However, certain Arabic revisions of Lysistrata reveal the assumptions in the model that prevent its adoption.

In this article Christian M. Billing considers the relationship between female lament and acts of vengeance in fifth-century Athenian society and its theatre, with particular emphasis on the Hekabe of Euripides. He uses historical evidence to argue that female mourning was held to be a powerfully transgressive force in the classical period; that considerable social tensions existed as a result of the suppression of female roles in traditional funerary practices (social control arising from the move towards democracy and the development of forensic processes as a means of social redress); and that as a piece of transvestite theatre, authored and performed by men to an audience made up largely, if not entirely, of that sex, Euripides' Hekabe demonstrates significant gender-related anxiety regarding the supposedly horrific consequences of allowing women to speak at burials, or to engage in lament as part of uncontrolled funerary ritual. Christian M. Billing is an academic and theatre practitioner working in the fields of ancient Athenian and early modern English and European drama. He has worked extensively as a director and actor and has also taught at a number of universities in the United Kingdom and the USA. He is currently Lecturer in Drama at the University of Hull.

Alas! brother, alas! For almost everywhere in this land the rule of regular life falls away and the secular way of life thrives.Alcuin of York’s famous lament to Abbot. Æthelbald of Wearmouth-Jarrow at the end of the eighth century could serve as a neat summary of the traditional scholarly picture of eighth-century Anglo-Saxon monasticism: a movement in near-terminal decline with falling standards in religious observance and monasteries increasingly coming under secular control. The bishops of Worcester have been seen by many scholars as taking a leading role in the fight-back against this creeping secularization. It was not, however, that they played a key role in the drafting of conciliar legislation or that they produced texts condemning the lax standards of Anglo-Saxon monasticism. Rather, successive bishops of Worcester have been seen, since the eighteenth century at least, as challenging secularization through the property strategies they adopted. In order to challenge lay lordship, secularization and declining monastic standards the bishops of Worcester in the eighth century were, in Brooks’ words, ‘attempting, with mixed success, to persuade lords to bequeath their family monasteries to the see of Worcester’. This allowed the bishops to have greater control over the monasteries in tbeir diocese than existing legislation would otherwise have permitted. The bishops could directly intervene in the affairs of these monasteries and impose their own abbots and staff. As Thacker argues, the bishops of Worcester were attempting to ensure ‘independent proprietary monasteries were brought under their control and put in the charge of priests from the episcopalfamilia.

The International Court of Justice's decision inDRCvUgandatouches on, but fails to address, the circumstances under which a State has a right to use force in self-defence against non-State actors.1In particular, the Court holds that, because the attacks carried out by anti-Ugandan rebels operating from the Democratic Republic of Congo's (DRC) territory are not attributable to the DRC, Uganda has no right to use force in self-defenceagainst theDRC.2The separate opinions inDRC v Ugandalament the Court's failure to take the opportunity to address the right to act in self-defence against non-State actors3–an issue of such obvious importance to the international community in an age of terrorism. As will be examined below, there are arguably good reasons–on the facts of the case–for the Court's refusal to pronounce itself on the matter. Furthermore, its decision need not be read as absolutely precluding a use of force in foreign territory in response to armed attacks by non-State actors.

My purpose in this article is straightforward, to counter some misconceptions about two of Statius' poems,Silu.2.1, his consolatory poem for the death of the twelve-year old Glaucias, andSilu.2.7, his consolatory poem for the death of the poet Lucan. These are the first and last poems of Book 2. Poems of lament and consolation constitute the majority of the poems of Statius'Siluae. Yet these poems have been generally dismissed as wearisomely rhetorical and have been largely overlooked in the critical literature aboutconsolationesas they endorse lamentation, elaborate upon it, and thus run counter to philosophical strictures against overt grief. Issues of class also surely play a role in their dismissal as trivial poems. Unlike Augustan poems of lament—for instance Ovid's poem on the death of Tibullus—two of the poems in Book 2 mourn a child of low birth and a young slave (Silu.2.1 andSilu.2.6). A proper understanding of the social occasions and circumstances in whichSilu.2.1 andSilu.2.7 are embedded, however, will show that they can offer valuable insight into contemporary Flavian society. Such an understanding moreover can point the way to a freshliteraryappreciation of these poems, although that is not the chief aim of this article.

Historians of the United States have long contended that the study of governmental institutions, including the history of public policy, is no longer central to the teaching and writing of American history. Some lament this development; others hail it as a sign that other worthy topics are finally getting the attention they deserve. Yet is it true? The recent outpouring of scholarship on the relationship between the state and the market, or what an earlier generation would have called political economy, raises questions about this venerable conceit. Indeed, if one were to pick a single word to characterize the state of the field in the history of American political economy, it might well be “robust.”

The Old English poem known as The Husband's Message begins in the same minimalist style as is typical of a number of poems of the Exeter Book (Exeter, Cathedral Library, 3501). A first-person speaker, an ‘I’, begins speaking without any context for speech yet being established, without any self-introduction, and without as yet any known purpose: Nu ic onsundran þe secgan wille … As with the Exeter Book elegies known as The Seafarer, The Wife's Lament and Wulf and Eadwacer, just as with all fifty Exeter Book riddles that are put into the first person singular voice, there is an implied challenge for the reader to discover who the speaker is and to fill out his or her full story. The poem thus begins with a small enigma. It is easy to tell that we are in the midst of that part of the Exeter Book that consists of close to one hundred riddles interspersed by a small miscellany of other poems, several of which are riddle-like in their resistance to easy interpretation.

5,>,,rhen selecting exciting case studies in business ethics, arcane tax policy t v disputes do not readily command attention. Given the choice, surely the average student or professor would choose a good product liability fiasco, corporate scandal or consumer fraud case over intergenerational property transfer tax debates. However, this may be an unfortunate tendency today. In their recent book, The Myth of Ownership: Taxes and Justice (2002), philosophers Liam Murphy and Thomas Nagel lament the fact that moral issues in taxation are eclipsed by seemingly "sexier" applied ethics topics, such as abortion, free speech, pornography, and euthanasia. After all, will contests are juicier than ever before (e.g., Anna Nicole Smith). As the old adage has it, "where there's a will, there's a fight.' With large fortunes at stake, mourning may go on for a few days, but the fighting goes on for years. Machiavelli cynically observed that people "forget the death of a father more quickly than the loss of a patrimony" (The Prince [1513], chap. 17). In Machiavelli's day a sibling's loss of a patrimony was often due to the privileged position of the eldest male in the family (the law of primogeniture). Today in the United States, Uncle Sam assumes the role of eldest brother by threatening estates over $1 million with a fifty percent tax. In consequence, the traditional family feud has been replaced by a virtual tax revolt. After a lifetime of taxation, what could possibly be more unjust than paying taxes again at death? According to attorney William Gates, Sr. co-chair of the

What did the planctus mean to Abelard? During the 1130s Abelard was rethinking this musical genre and its potential for expressing personalized, dramatic lament. Abelard's relationship with Heloise at this time (and indeed her own literary output) may have provoked a reaction to the generic features of the planctus.

In this essay I argue that lament, as the primary liturgical witness to divine absence in times of human need, functions in worship as a discipline of negation and disruption through which what might be termed the God of glory – the God installed by liturgical gestures of ‘praise’ – is opposed and denied, in effect forsaking God by clinging to God's promise over and against God. To spell out this argument, I turn first to Psalm 22, then to the choreography of Holy Week, contending that in proper Christian worship and life, the doxology of triumph (‘hosanna’) is transformed via lamentation into an eschatological form of praise (‘hallelujah’).

This article seeks to place lament in the context of Asian modernities, theorize memory in relation to genres of performance, and introduce the notion of social technologies of forgetting. Evidence suggests that Bangladeshi culture is changing in ways congruent with some models of globalizing modernity. Indeed, my data indicate that displacing certain performance genres may be key to modernist transformation. Yet, several persons I describe here endured hardship over several years to continue performing genres their neighbors deemed dated or sacrilegious. This problematizes teleological visions of the progress of a monolithic modernity stamping out older expressive forms. If the construction of memory is a core theoretical issue in history, understanding how memories give way to forgetfulness also requires attention. This paper is about technologies of commemoration-amongst which we must count lament-and of forgetting. It must therefore concern metadiscoursestalk about forms of talk (forms, here, that serve or efface memory). Lamenttuneful, texted weeping-is a technique for keeping memories alive and transforming them. I will examine how Islamization or Christianization can serve as technologies of forgetting. Cultural and individual agency are at work in active forgetting; forgetting is not simply a matter of "false consciousness." Memory is never about the past alone and, at least in its guise as commemoration, never private (Casey 1987). It is a tenuous achievement, partly because commemorations may be contested. The contestations and commemorations I describe are about the present as well as about the past, since commemoration tends to make past and present consubstantial (Casey 1985:254). The "present" at stake

There is much hand-wringing in the arms control trenches these days over the role and future of arms control in U.S. policy. Liberal supporters of arms control lament what they see as a decade of missed opportunities to pursue deep cuts in the world's nuclear arsenals and to strengthen the regimes for controlling the spread of weapons of mass destruction. Those on the right, perceiving grave weaknesses in Cold War–era arms control regimes, prefers to move ahead with “assertive isolationism,” happily unencumbered with the comprehensive test ban or soon, they hope, the Anti–Ballistic Missile (ABM) Treaty. After a promising start in arms control at the beginning of the 1990s, both sides see U.S. arms control policy drifting in purpose and slackening in momentum, with arms control officials spread thin over a proliferating agenda.

WHEN I WAS IN COLLEGE (1937-4 1, THAT IS THE SECOND DECADE OF THE Pahlavi era), the study of Qajar history was far less fashionable than that of earlier periods of Persian history. The earlier periods were thought of as the time frames for the political, military, or cultural achievements that one could feel good about, or else the temporal receptacles of calamities and defeats one could lament. The Qajar period, however, was not distant enough to command "historical" respectability. As might be expected in the aftermath of a fallen dynasty, the names of the Qajar kings were too much tainted by allegations of backwardness, ineptitude, corruption, and abuse of royal power to inspire sufflcient interest. Social sciences had not yet made adequate headway in Persia to encourage the recording and analysis of contemporary events. Pioneers in researching Qajar history, like Abbas Eqbal, were few, and those who occupied themselves with it focused mainly on selected events of particular import, such as Persian defeats in the Perso-Russian wars, the reforms of Amir Kabir and his execution, Anglo-Russian intervention in Persian affairs, the Tobacco Regie and the Constitutional movement. The study of Qajar society, its ethos, its economy and fiscal infrastructure, and its social and administrative schemes, did not seem dramatic enough to attract attention. In the West, however, the Qajar period coincided with the high point of European imperial expansion and the study of "the Persian question," as Lord Curzon put it, was part of the ongoing colonial agenda and the "Great Game" played primarily by Britain and Russia over the future of Central Asia and Afghanistan in relation to India, "the jewel in the crown." It gave rise to a number of works on Persian contemporary conditions. The nineteenth century was also the heyday of European, particularly German, philological interest in the East, and the study of the languages, religions, arts, and history of Persia led also to descriptive works on the contemporary conditions of the land and its topography. In Great Britain alone, numerous works-from Sir John Malcolm's pioneering The History of Persia (1815, revised ed. 1829) to James Morier's two travelogues: A Journey through Persia, Armenia and Asia Minor. . . in the Years 1808 and 1809 (1812) and A Second Journey through Persia, Armenia ... 1810-16 (1818) to his trenchant satire of Persian mores in the nineteenth-century Persia, The Adventures of Hajii Baba of Isphahan in three volumes (1824-28) to

One of the most significant shifts in Psalms scholarship in recent years has been the emergence of a new interest in tracing how early religious communities interpreted this religious poetry within the context of an emerging scriptural canon. Whereas the form-critical studies that dominated much of the twentieth century concentrate on recovering the originalSitz im Leben(or “life setting”) of the liturgical compositions collected in the Psalter within Israel's religious cult, the recent scholarly turn emphasizes how these prayers and praises came to be reread in light of narratives and other material found elsewhere in the Bible. In point of fact, the earliest evidence for this practice of canonical relecture is preserved within the Book of Psalms itself, where historical superscriptions correlate a number of psalms with specific events in King David's life. Through the addition of superscriptions, the moving penitential prayer found in Psalm 51 becomes “A Psalm of David, when Nathan the prophet came to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba” (compare 2 Samuel 11-12), the lament of an individual surrounded by threatening enemies found in Psalm 3 becomes “A Psalm of David, when he fled from Absalom his son” (compare 2 Samuel 15-18), and so forth.

Virginia, Britain's most populous and arguably most important North American colony, once seemed the perfect fit for the “consensus” interpretation of the War of Independence. Indeed, the percentage of white colonists who became loyalists was probably lower in Virginia than in any other rebelling colony. The widespread agreement on secession from Britain should not, however, be mistaken for social consensus. The reality was that revolutionary Virginia was frequently in turmoil. One of the most intriguing of the local insurrections broke out in the northern county of Loudoun just five months before the Declaration of Independence. In February 1776, the county erupted into a heated confrontation pitting gentlemen against their less wealthy neighbours. Lund Washington, who was managing Mount Vernon, warned his cousin, General George Washington, who was outside Boston training his fledgeling patriot army, that the “first Battle we have in this part of the Country will be in Loudon” – not against British soldiers, but against fellow patriots. Within a week, the revolutionary government in Williamsburg, the Committee of Safety, felt compelled to send troops to quell the disturbances. Yet, for months afterwards, gentry Virginians worried that their effort to suppress the rebellion had failed. In mid-May, Andrew Leitch told Leven Powell of Loudoun, “I really lament the torn and distracted condition of your County.” The “troublesome times,” as another gentleman called them, were slow to abate.