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The history of British art abounds with an interest in the environmental, especially landscape paintings that embody the pastoral and the rural, cloud studies, and stormy skies. John Barrell’s Dark Side of the Landscape published forty years ago, convincingly argued that landscape paintings that we interpret almost immediately as idyllic, in fact emerge “from a world of social and economic relations that are anything but idyllic”. Writing about Gainsborough and Constable, among others, Barrell’s leftist critique of the English pastoral (following E.P. Thompson) urged viewers to see in the harmony that pastoral painting propagated between human and non-human, land and labour, the “evidence of the very conflict it seems to deny”. Beyond the English working class, the discipline of art history, especially British art history, is a product of the nineteenth century and thoroughly entangled with histories of colonialism and capitalism—and slavery. The art critic, John Ruskin’s interest in the geological sciences and his mineralogical collection used to teach design aesthetics, architecture, and geology is well known. In Modern Painters (1843–1860), Ruskin pressed artists to study geology. According to Ruskin, landscape possessed “vital truth” by which it simultaneously conveyed the past, the present, and the future. Metal mining in the UK and in the colonies were at its peak when Ruskin was writing. Kathryn Yusoff has recently updated what Ruskin called the “truth of the earth” by showing us how geology (and its fossil objects) is entwined with processes of racialization through speciation and notions of progress, and how it is a mode in which racial logics have been inscribed within the material politics of extraction, continuing to constitute lived forms of racism (from eugenics to environmental racism). Making the link between spatial dispossession of land (for extraction) and dispossessions of persons in chattel slavery (as another form of spatial extraction), Yusoff has argued that geology is historically situated as a transactional zone, in which mineral-as-property and person-as-property were one and the same. Conversations with the literary and gender studies scholar Katherine McKittrick have also taught me to think about how a direct line between the race thinking of slavery and our contemporary environmental predicament can end up mistreating the complexity of Black time by obscuring Black time. In privileging non-personhood as an origin story, we run the risk of undermining histories of rebellion, multiplicity, and Black life.

To investigate the energy and protein adequacy of meals and dietary intake of older psychiatric inpatients and describe patient and mealtime factors potentially influencing intake.Multiple case studies.Psychiatric inpatients aged 65 years and older, admitted to a single mental health ward during the 6-week study period (April-May 2019) were eligible for inclusion. Dietary intake was observed for two consecutive days each week (minimum four observation days). Visual plate waste methods were used to estimate patients' dietary intake at mealtimes, with energy and protein intake calculated using known food composition data and compared with estimated requirements. Medical records were reviewed weekly to collect information on potential factors related to intake and mealtime care. Data from all sources were first summarized in a case record for within-case analysis using descriptive statistics, followed by cross-case analysis.Eight participants (five men, age 67-90 years, two underweight and one overweight, and four requiring some mealtime assistance) had 5-12 days of observation data recorded. Three met their estimated daily energy and protein requirements throughout the study period, while the remaining five participants did not. The main barriers identified as contributing to insufficient energy and protein intake were as follows: missing meals (asleep and treatment); inadequate food provided (insufficiency of the standard hospital menu); and need for increased mealtime assistance.Poor dietary intake may be common among older psychiatric patients, suggesting that they may also need nursing and multidisciplinary nutrition care interventions shown to effectively prevent and treat malnutrition in other older inpatient groups.Older psychiatric patients experience similar nutrition and mealtime issues to other older inpatients. This study highlights the need for nurses and the multidisciplinary team to ensure patients order and receive adequate food, especially when they miss meals and that they receive proactive mealtime assistance.目的: 调查老年精神病住院患者膳食和饮食摄入的能量和蛋白质充足性, 并描述可能影响摄入的患者和进餐时间因素。 设计: 多案例研究。 方法: 在为期6周的研究期间 (2019年4月至5月) , 65岁及以上的精神病住院患者可纳入研究。每周连续观察两天的饮食摄入 (至少观察四天) 。采用目测餐盘废物法估计患者进餐时的饮食摄入量, 利用已知的食物成分数据计算能量和蛋白质摄入量, 并与估计的需求量进行比较。每周回顾病历, 以收集与摄入和进餐时间护理相关的潜在因素的信息。所有来源的数据首先汇总在病例记录中, 采用描述性统计进行病例内分析, 然后进行交叉病例分析。 结果: 记录了8名参与者 (5名男性, 年龄67至90岁, 2名体重不足, 1名超重, 4名需要一些进餐之间协助) 在5至12天内的观察数据。在整个研究期间, 三名参与者满足了他们每日的能量和蛋白质需求, 而其余五名参与者未满足。导致能量和蛋白质摄入不足的主要障碍如下: 缺餐 (睡着和治疗) ; 提供的食物不足 (医院标准菜单不足) ; 需要增加进餐时间协助。 结论: 饮食摄入不足可能在老年精神病患者中很常见, 这表明他们可能还需要护理和多学科营养护理干预措施, 以有效预防和治疗其他老年住院患者群体的营养不良。 影响: 老年精神病患者的营养和进餐时间问题与其他老年住院患者相似。此项研究强调了需要护士和多学科团队, 以确保患者订购和获得足够的食物, 特别是当他们不进食的时候, 他们获得了主动进餐时间协助。.

This chapter examines the image of the Indian put across by William Cody in his Wild West Show. The ethos and implications of Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show have recently received a good deal of thoughtful academic attention. But understanding the ways in which Buffalo Bill's show was received in Britain, not just in 1887 but on its subsequent visits, involves exploring not only what British spectators might be encouraged to internalize about the American-ness from the shows themselves, but also what is revealed about perceptions of British national identity from their reception. The chapter then looks at the resonances that the Wild West could be made to have for a number of domestic concerns—about mass culture, about gender, and, above all, about Britain's position as a world power. What, however, may we learn of the responses of the Wild West Indians themselves to their experiences? Frustratingly, not as much as one would hope. If the Show Indians were angry about their treatment—whether at the hands of Buffalo Bill or the American government back home—there is no prominent record of it.

This chapter assesses how attitudes started to shift at the beginning of the twentieth century—partly under the influence of Western movies, partly as modernist writers and artists started to idealize the Indian for their own ends, and as other wannabe Indians, most notably Grey Owl, began to develop the association of Indianness with environmental preservation. It also looks at some contemporary writing by native peoples—especially James Welch and Leslie Marmon Silko—that aims to reappropriate nineteenth-century transatlantic history in a range of imaginative ways. By writing this fiction today, both Silko and Welch reclaim and rewrite the possibilities inherent for native peoples in the late nineteenth century. In so doing, they demonstrate that despite the importance, then and now, of tradition as both concept and practice within Indian society, identity, and modes of thought, it stands not isolated from modernity, but rather in mediation and dialogue with it. At a time when critical attention within American studies has increasingly turned toward imperialism and transnationalism, to explore the importance of the transatlantic Indian is to provide an important reminder that the internal colonial relations of the United States cannot be separated from these other trajectories.

This chapter discusses the parallels that could be drawn between the American frontier and various frontiers in the British Empire, together with the apparent lessons that might be taken on board from America's treatment of her native peoples. To be sure, the romance of the American frontier played a significant role in adventure fiction—both homegrown and imported—and within travel writing, and the role of the frontiersman was co-opted into various versions of Anglo-Saxon manliness. But at the same time, concerns about American coarseness, brutality, exploitation, and greed, as manifested in different aspects of frontier life, raised issues about the social directions that country was taking and about the dangers of atavism on the borders of “civilization.” This anxiety held true for the edges of empire as well. Indeed, for the Victorians, the very term “Indian frontier” was highly ambiguous. The chapter then looks at how the visits to London of Catherine Sutton, a Credit Indian, and then of the poet and performer Pauline Johnson illuminate Britain's attitudes toward First Nations people from an Indian perspective.

This chapter explores British popular writing. It considers some of the means by which stereotypes of Indians that emanated from the United States circulated within Britain and were modified and filtered through domestic concerns. The chapter first assesses the influence that James Fenimore Cooper had on transatlantic adventure and historical fiction, and then pass to Charles Dickens's often contradictory treatments of native peoples, before looking at the more complicated case of Mayne Reid. This British writer of popular Westerns employed contemporary American-generated stereotypes of Indians and at times reinforced that country's message of manifest destiny, yet he also managed to question certain political and racial aspects of American life in a way that offered up a warning to his home readership. These stereotypes are read through a consideration of the shifting nuances of the idea of the “savage” in mid-Victorian Britain.

This chapter assesses the portrayal of Native Americans by British women writers. This treatment was often far more radical, and far more angry—whether focusing on racial issues or on imperial ambitions in general—than that found in the work of many male authors. Until the midcentury at least, the cultural work performed by those women writers who took Indians as their subject oscillated between mourning their imminent and inevitable demise and protesting against the specific political and racist attitudes that lay behind their treatment in America. After the middle of the century, although women's appropriation of the figure of the Indian occurred less frequently within serious imaginative writing, those poets who engaged with these native peoples showed an increasing tendency to extrapolate from the American context and turn their humanitarian gaze toward the workings of the British Empire itself. Women seem to have been particularly drawn to Indians as a poetic topic, both finding them a suitable object on which to expend the fashionable literary currency of sentimental compassion and, it has been argued, seeing them, in their apparent disempowerment and marginalization, as an analogue for their own condition as women.

This chapter looks at the image of the Indian that the nineteenth century inherited from Romantic writing, one that emphasized the trope of the “dying Indian” as a member of a race associated with positive connotations of bravery, loyalty, dignity, and so on. It shows how it provided an opportunity for poets to exploit their fondness for the melancholic or to explore the qualities of supposedly primitive people. The chapter then traces the shift from the way in which the Indian was seen as a vehicle of rhetorical eloquence to being a figure of pathos. How did this transition come about? The answer lies in a combination of factors. Taken together, these illustrate the interdependency of poetic traditions on either side of the Atlantic during this period and the adaptability of the idea of the dying Indian to serve a range of aesthetic, political, and emotional ends. In both Britain and the United States, there was a growing and increasingly compassionately expressed knowledge about what was happening to native peoples. Indians in North America, however numerous they might appear to those who still saw them as formidable military allies or opponents, were becoming increasingly vulnerable: not just to diseases, but to displacement.

This chapter studies British–First Nations relations, looking at Indians and missionaries. The missionaries in question, though, are not just the British who worked in Canada, but First Nations men who toured Britain as preachers and spokespeople. The chapter extends the category to include George Copway, whose account of his 1850 visit to Britain, en route to the third World Peace Conference, provides an extended example of native engagement with, and enthusiasm for, modernity. Many of the white missionaries believed they were importing spiritual and material benefits that would allow their native flocks to engage more effectively with an increasingly technological, less localized, and less subsistence-based world. Native commentators who left accounts likewise often position themselves, however awkwardly, as mediators between old and new lifestyles and discourses. Although they often situate themselves quite confidently as supporters of progress, setting the supposedly ahistorical and primitive against the teleological imperatives that informed late-nineteenth-century social systems, this confidence often breaks down when it comes to the question of belief. Not only do they—both native and white—often seek to establish a common ground between native and Christian spirituality, but they have, perhaps inevitably, a blind spot when it comes to asking whether the substitution, or overlaying, of one belief system with another does, in fact, constitute a form of modernity.

This chapter describes how the Indian functioned as a figure of American national identity within Britain. By the time of the 1851 Great Exhibition, America was presenting herself as a thoroughly modern country, yet the empty floor spaces within the U.S. section of the exhibition provided plenty of opportunity to assess this claim, as well as to consider the implications of unpopulated—or apparently unpopulated—space. The sculptural figure of the Wounded Indian, which formed part of the American exhibit, was readily seized upon for its ironic potential. In the light of national self-presentation, the chapter asks whether or not the Indian was, in Britain, identified with, or against, American identity in the midcentury, a question that is highly pertinent to the reception of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem Hiawatha (1855). The figure of Hiawatha provides an example, moreover—albeit highly fictionalized and idealized—of the ideals of noble masculinity, something that continues the emphasis on the strongly gendered way in which Native Americans were understood.

This chapter discusses the place of the Native American in the British cultural imagination from the time of American independence up to the early decades of the twentieth century. The iconic image of the Indian is not only inseparable from the expansion and the internal policies of the new nation during the nineteenth century, and from the country's reflections concerning its history and its national identity, but is also central to Britain's conceptualization of the whole American continent. Additionally, the Indian is a figure charged with significance when it comes to Britain's interpretation of her whole imperial role and her responsibility toward indigenous peoples. In other words, the Indian is a touchstone for a whole range of British perceptions concerning America during the long nineteenth century and plays a pivotal role in the understanding and imagining of cultural difference. But transatlantic crossings were not limited to visual and textual representations. A significant number of Native Americans visited Britain in the long nineteenth century, and this book explores their engagement with that country, its people and institutions, and these visitors' perceptions of the development of modern, urban, industrialized life. Their reactions—whether curiosity, shock, resistance, or enthusiasm—show them to have been far from the declining and often degenerate race that popular culture frequently made them out to be.

This chapter reflects on issues of gender in relation to native peoples—in commentaries by travelers and sportsmen and, more particularly, in the use of Indian themes to comment on contemporary domestic gender debates, as in Elizabeth Gaskell's “Lois the Witch” and Gilbert Parker's 1894 novel The Translation of a Savage, which may be read as a reworking of the Pocahontas story. When it came to commenting on gender in relation to Native Americans, the usual strategy, whether consciously invoked or silently underpinning the representations, was to read Indian society in relation to the customary standards of white British, or on occasion Anglo-American, culture. There is little to surprise here. Such assumptions of cultural and racial normativity have been extensively commented upon in discussions of ethnography, travel writing, and representation. As well as revelatory of dominant social attitudes, and illustrative of how shared assumptions can be used to consolidate bonds between authors and readers at both national and transnational levels, such writing illustrates the enabling role of the socially familiar when it comes to making vivid something strange.

This chapter examines the impact made by the Ojibwa and Iowa Indians who toured with George Catlin in the 1840s—and the impression that their travels in Britain made upon them. Both groups performed dances and uttered “the dreadful war-whoop,” and both groups were, effectively, live exhibits, introduced and explained in lectures and in the question-and-answer sessions Catlin held. How did these Indians interpret England? The evidence is somewhat limited, since it must come largely from Catlin's words, in the book he published about his years in England and Europe. In conveying Indian voices, Catlin invariably makes them sound as though they think and express themselves in a simpler, more “innocent” way than the—by implication—more sophisticated product of Western civilization. A native perspective on 1840s Britain is provided by the Ojibwa Maungwudaus. Throughout his account, individual experience gains its importance not through subjective response but as something that may be shared through terms designed to reach a specific readership or audience, with its own familiar frames of reference. Native peoples are not the Other against which modernity is being postulated; rather, the modern world is being presented for them.

This article explores what it means to write a cultural history of the flash gun, the apparatus used to explode flash powder between the late nineteenth and the mid twentieth centuries. Finding saf...