Journal articles: 'Speaker normalisation' – Grafiati (2024)

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AbstractThis paper introduces deep neural network (DNN)–hidden Markov model (HMM)-based methods to tackle speech recognition in heterogeneous groups of speakers including children. We target three speaker groups consisting of children, adult males and adult females. Two different kind of approaches are introduced here: approaches based on DNN adaptation and approaches relying on vocal-tract length normalisation (VTLN). First, the recent approach that consists in adapting a general DNN to domain/language specific data is extended to target age/gender groups in the context of DNN–HMM. Then, VTLN is investigated by training a DNN–HMM system by using either mel frequency cepstral coefficients normalised with standard VTLN or mel frequency cepstral coefficients derived acoustic features combined with the posterior probabilities of the VTLN warping factors. In this later, novel, approach the posterior probabilities of the warping factors are obtained with a separate DNN and the decoding can be operated in a single pass when the VTLN approach requires two decoding passes. Finally, the different approaches presented here are combined to take advantage of their complementarity. The combination of several approaches is shown to improve the baseline phone error rate performance by thirty per cent to thirty-five per cent relative and the baseline word error rate performance by about ten per cent relative.

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The acquisition of new vowel sounds is one of the most challenging tasks for the adult learner of a second language. It is also an aspect which requires a great deal of time and individual attention. Learners of English are particularly hampered by the irregular orthographic representation of vowel sounds. This paper reports on research in progress into the development of an application to provide learners with real time feedback on their vowel production. This process includes the calculation and plotting of formants on a graph using the PRAAT programme. The patterns which result are highly reminiscent of the traditional vowel chart, which in turn reflects articulation, i.e. articulatory changes are reflected on the graph. This application can provide feedback on both pure vowels and diphthongs. Some of the difficulties and obstacles which as yet prevent it from being a tool which can be used by the learner autonomously will also be outlined and discussed. Foremost amongst which are: the question of speaker normalisation (how to compensate for the difference in values between male, female and pre-pubertal speakers) which may be resolved by way of statistical elaboration of the formant data; and the methods used to isolate the vowel sound from the rest of the signal.

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In this paper a partly novel combination of auditory transformation and vowel-extrinsic normalisation is applied to acoustic vowel data from six Edinburgh middle-class speakers. It is shown that the vowel plots thus produced correspond rather well to articulatory and impressionistic descriptions found in the literature. Furthermore, the relatively small variability found between the speakers in a number of vowel features suggests that a typical middle-class Edinburgh vowel space does exist. However, it is also shown that in acoustic terms this vowel space is organised even less symmetrically than is generally assumed.

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AbstractThis article considers the experiences and views of “new speakers” of Gaelic, focusing on how they characterise their language production and its relationship to the language of traditional speakers. In contrast to some other European minority languages, a significant population of new Gaelic speakers in Scotland has emerged only recently, particularly with the development of Gaelic-medium education since 1985, provision that increasingly serves children who do not acquire Gaelic in the home. Given the ongoing decline of Gaelic in traditional “heartland” areas, it is apparent that new speakers of Gaelic emerging from urban Scotland will become increasingly important in coming years. This study of 35 new speakers in the cities of Edinburgh and Glasgow builds on emerging research on new speakers of minority languages across other European contexts (see O’Rourke et al. 2015) where traditional communities of speakers are being eroded as a consequence of increased urbanisation and economic modernisation. This article considers issues involving legitimacy, authority and authenticity amongst new speakers of Gaelic and the extent to which new speakers are producing their own set of contexts of language use and their own standards of performance or conversely, if they continue to reproduce ideals of localism, tradition and linguistic purity. Participants expressed contrasting views on these topics, some of them endeavouring to accommodate what they perceived as native speakers’ perceptions and preferences, others expressing a rather more oppositional viewpoint, rejecting practices or assumptions that they view as impeding the modernisation and normalisation of the language.

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Combination Ibrutinib (IB) plus Venetoclax (Ven) for the treatment of Mantle Cell Lymphoma (MCL) has demonstrated efficacy in the relapsed/refractory setting. The AIM trial treated 24 patients with IB monotherapy for 4 weeks (560mg/day) with Ven added (stepwise to 400mg/day) thereafter resulting in an overall response rate of 71% at 16 weeks (Tam et al, NEJM 2018). 5 patients discontinued treatment within 6 months due to resistant disease and 3 patients relapsed. 16 patients remained on treatment for more than 1 year. In this study we examined the longitudinal changes in peripheral blood (PB) immunology in patients treated in the AIM trial in order to identify immunological and inflammatory biomarkers associated with response and to examine if stable control of MCL without further chemotherapy exposure was associated with immunological recovery. Multiparameter flow cytometry of cryopreserved PBMCs collected at enrolment (baseline), and weeks 4, 16, 56 and 110 of treatment was used to assess the proportions of immune subsets (CD4 and CD8 memory subsets, γδ T cells and CD16+ NK cells) in AIM patients and compared to 13 age matched healthy donor (HD) samples. At baseline samples from MCL patients exhibited alterations in multiple immune subsets - most notably skewing in CD8+ memory subsets (Figure 1). Despite reduction of circulating B cell numbers consistent with clinical responses, there were no significant changes to PB immune subset distributions between baseline and 16 weeks. However at the later time points of 56 and 110 weeks there was evidence in responding patients of PB immunology normalisation to HD levels in T cell subsets including a shift in CD8 T cells from Naïve and Central Memory (CM) to Effector Memory (EM) and Terminally differentiated EM (TEMRA) phenotype and a shift in CD4 T cells from Naïve and CM to EM phenotype (Figure 2). Increased proportions of γδ T cells (Baseline 2.8 ± 3.0% week 56 4.4 ± 3.4% P<0.05) and CD16+ NK cells (Baseline 40.1 ± 28.0% week 56 79.1 ± 21.0% P<0.01) were also observed. T cell function assessed by intracellular IFNγ, TNFα and IL-2 in CD4 and CD8 T cells in response to T cell stimulation beads showed no change in IFNγ or TNFα production by CD4 or CD8 cells following therapy. In patients with elevated IL2+ CD4 and CD8 populations at early time points, these normalised by week 56 to HD levels. To further examine changes in immune function pathways, targeted multiplex gene expression profiling using 770 gene NanoString nCounter® PanCancer Immune Profiling Panel was performed on PBMCs at baseline and weeks 4, 16 and 56 and analyzed using nSolver advanced analysis module. Consistent with the flow cytometric findings there were minimal changes in gene expression at week 16 compared to baseline. The greatest changes were observed at week 56 with alterations in multiple pathways including increased signalling through complement, adhesion, TNF superfamily and transporter pathways in responding patients. The top upregulated genes at week 56 were CTSS (Cathepsin S), FCER1G (Fc fragment of IgE), S100A8 (S100 calcium binding protein A8) and CD14 while the top downregulated gene was CD22 (reflecting the change in B cell burden). Increased expression of C1QA and C1QB at week 16 was significantly associated with disease non-response or relapse on IB + Ven and warrants further investigation in an independent cohort to assess its applicability as a predicative biomarker for patient response. Our findings show that long term treatment with combination IB and Ven in MCL is associated with immune recovery and changes in the expression of inflammatory biomarkers. This study demonstrates that while short term assessments can be used to examine clinical disease responses, long term assessments are required to determine the immunological consequences of small molecule inhibitors. Restoration of immune system function in these patients may allow responses to subsequent immunotherapies and suggests that, in contrast to conventional chemotherapy-based regimens, this combination targeted therapy may result in beneficial impacts on immunological recovery. Disclosures Handunnetti: Gilead: Honoraria. Anderson:Walter and Eliza Hall Institute: Employment, Patents & Royalties: Institute receives royalties for venetoclax, and I receive a fraction of these.. Roberts:AbbVie: Other: Unremunerated speaker for AbbVie, Research Funding; BeiGene: Research Funding; Janssen: Research Funding; Walter and Eliza Hall Institute: Patents & Royalties: Institute receives royalties for venetoclax, and I receive a fraction of these.; Australasian Leukaemia and Lymphoma Group: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Seymour:AbbVie: Consultancy, Honoraria, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Janssen: Consultancy, Research Funding; Roche: Consultancy, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Acerta: Consultancy; Celgene: Consultancy, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Takeda: Consultancy. Tam:Janssen: Honoraria, Research Funding; Pharmacyclics LLC, an AbbVie company: Honoraria; Roche: Honoraria; AbbVie: Honoraria, Research Funding; BeiGene: Honoraria; Novartis: Honoraria. Ritchie:Sanofi: Honoraria; Novartis: Honoraria; Imago: Research Funding; Beigene: Research Funding; Amgen: Consultancy, Honoraria, Research Funding; Pfizer: Consultancy; BMS: Research Funding; Takeda: Research Funding. Koldej:NanoString Technologies: Other: Travel grant.

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Introduction Severe COVID-19 disease is associated with a hyperinflammatory, pro-thrombotic state and a high mortality. A thrombotic phenotype rather than a coagulopathy is suggested and we undertook plasma exchange to determine its effects on organ function and thrombo-inflammatory markers. Methods Plasma exchange was carried out in seven critically ill adults with severe COVID-19 respiratory failure (PaO2:FiO2 ratio &lt;200 mmHg) requiring invasive or non-invasive ventilatory support and elevated thrombo-inflammatory markers (LDH&gt;800 IU/L and D dimer&gt;1000 µg/L (or doubling from baseline). Patients received a daily single volume 3 litre plasma exchange for a minimum of five days. No other immunomodulatory medications were initiated during this period. Effects on organ function, thrombo-inflammatory markers and complications were monitored. Seven patients matched for age and baseline biochemistry were a comparator group. Results Coagulation screening revealed no evidence of coagulopathy. However, von Willebrand Factor (VWF) activity, antigen and VWF antigen:ADAMTS13 ratio, Factor VIII and D-dimers were all elevated. Following five days of plasma exchange, plasma levels of all the above, and ferritin levels, were significantly reduced (p&lt;0.05, Figure 1) while lymphocyte count normalized (p&lt;0.05). The PaO2:FiO2 ratio increased from a median(IQR) of 11.6 (10.8- 19.7) kPa to 18.1 (16.0-25.9) kPa (p&lt;0.05). Similar improvements were not observed in controls. Acute kidney injury (AKI) occurred among 5 patients in the control arm but not in patients who underwent plasma exchange. Conclusion Plasma exchange was associated with an improvement in oxygenation, decreased incidence of AKI, normalisation of lymphocytes and reduction in circulating thrombo-inflammatory markers including D-Dimer and VWF Ag:ADAMTS13 ratio. Disclosures Thomas: Ablynx: Honoraria, Other: Advisory Board; Bayer: Honoraria, Speakers Bureau; Sanofi: Honoraria, Other: Advisory Board. Scully:Takeda: Consultancy, Speakers Bureau; Alexion: Consultancy, Speakers Bureau; Sanofi: Consultancy, Speakers Bureau; Shire/Takeda: Other: Advisory Board, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Novartis: Other: Advisory Board, Speakers Bureau; Takeda: Speakers Bureau; Ablynx/Sanofi: Consultancy, Other: Advisory Board, Speakers Bureau.

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In the Monmouthshire and District National Eisteddfod, August 2016, a new consultation document was launched outlining the Welsh Government's priorities as it aims to reach the target of doubling the number of Welsh speakers to a million by 2050. In the document, education is listed as one of the key vehicles on the journey, with changing attitudes towards the Welsh language (through 'normalisation') also listed as an important engine. In a previous edition of this journal, Gwyn Lewis expressed his disappointment to find the Welsh language in Successful Futures nothing more than a 'subject in the curriculum – rather than a teaching and learning medium across the curriculum'. Contemplating the goal of a 'million Welsh speakers', this article considers what kind of positive changes could be initiated by adopting a more all-encompassing approach to languages, one that frees language from the constraints of a skill-centered mentality. It revisits Successful Futures, and examines the potential for the Welsh language as a key player beyond the 'Area of Learning and Experience: Languages, Literacy and Communication' described by Donaldson. It finds an opportunity to embrace the nation's bilingualism as an agent that can go a significant way towards attaining the core 'four purposes' of the new curriculum.

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Abstract Abstract 4368 Paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria (PNH) is a rare, acquired bone marrow disorder characterised by intravascular hemolysis with resultant anemia often leading to transfusion dependence, severe disabling symptoms and, frequently, life threatening thrombosis. Historically the management of PNH was largely supportive, relatively ineffective and resulted in frequent visits to hospital, admissions, an inability to function normally including loss of employment or other daily activities. PNH is a chronic condition and in most patients persists for the remainder of the patient’s life. Eculizumab was first used for PNH in 2002 and has been licensed since 2007. Eculizumab has been reported to improve all symptoms due to hemolysis in PNH as well as preventing the common complications, such as thrombosis and renal failure and normalising survival. However eculizumab has to be given as an intravenous infusion every 2 weeks indefinitely. In the UK PNH is managed in a shared care model between local hematologists and the National PNH Service from two Centres based in St James’s University Hospital, Leeds and Kings College Hospital, London. Here we report the management of patients treated with eculizumab within the PNH National Service. A total of 130 patients have been treated with eculizumab since May 2002 with 120 currently receiving therapy. 5 patients have died and none were directly related to PNH or eculizumab. 99 patients requiring transfusions prior to eculizumab have been on treatment for at least a year and 65 (66%) of these have not required transfusions for at least the last 12 months. The rarity of PNH means that patients frequently have to travel long distances for review and treatment. This leads to major issues both in terms of time commitment and expense. In order to allow patients to lead as normal lives as possible we have developed a service model in which Specialist PNH Clinics are performed regionally by the PNH Centre and in which patients receive eculizumab every 2 weeks in their homes delivered by a homecare nursing team. In the UK, the PNH Service and Healthcare at Home Ltd (www.hah.co.uk) have been working in partnership for over 7 years during the clinical trials of eculizumab and since its license in 2007. The PNH Service manages the prescription and delivery of eculizumab including an education program for the homecare nurses. This innovative home infusion programme ensures the safe administration of eculizumab outside of the hospital environment, leading to enhanced treatment-associated convenience for patients and their families. Each year the home infusion program has grown, now over 3000 infusions are given annually including whilst patients are on holiday, visiting family, at University or in the workplace. A recent patient survey has been conducted from the 2 PNH Centres to assess the patients’ experience of their PNH diagnosis and treatment. 122 patients responded with 70 of these patients receiving treatment with eculizumab and all currently on the home infusion programme. 63 of 68 patients reported the homecare service as excellent or very good compared to 1 reporting it as poor and 66 of the 68 patients preferred to have their treatment at home compared to hospital. The patients main concerns before starting treatment were reduced life expectancy and the requirement for blood transfusions along with fatigue. With eculizumab treatment and the convenience of homecare 30 patients reported being able to return to work. The homecare service is supported by contact between the clinic appointments, 56 of 67 patients having contact with their PNH Specialist Centre by phone or email in addition to the care of the patient’s local hematology team that over 90% of the patients continue to see. The impact of PNH on patients lives before eculizumab treatment was rated and improved from a median of 3 out of 10 (0 = no quality of life; 10 = normal) prior to eculizumab to a median of 8 out of 10 on treatment. In summary, a novel model of provision of care in PNH with Outreach Specialist Clinics, a 24 hour on call service and homecare delivery of eculizumab permits the normalisation of patients’ lives and overcomes most of the hurdles associated with prolonged regular intravenous therapy. This allows patients to benefit fully from eculizumab including reduction in transfusions, the prevention of serious complications, normalisation of quality of life and where appropriate a return to work. Disclosures: Arnold: Alexion Pharmaceuticals: Honoraria. Kelly:Alexion Pharmaceuticals: Honoraria, Membership on an entity’s Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau. Hill:Alexion Pharmaceuticals: Honoraria, Membership on an entity’s Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau. Richards:Alexion Pharmaceuticals: Honoraria, Speakers Bureau. Elebute:Alexion Pharmaceuticals: Honoraria, Membership on an entity’s Board of Directors or advisory committees. Hillmen:Alexion Pharmaceuticals: Honoraria, Membership on an entity’s Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau.

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Background: T follicular helper cells (Tfh), characterised by surface expression of CXCR5, PD1 and ICOS, regulate development of antigen-specific B cell immunity through germinal centre (GC) formation, generation of long-lived memory B cells and high-affinity plasma cells. Methods: In this prospective study of peripheral blood B and circulating Tfh (cTfh) cell subsets, iTTP patients at 32 acute presentations, 23 elective rituximab (ER) episodes and 27 age & sex-matched healthy controls (HC) were studied using flow cytometry. All acute cases received PEX, steroids and RTX. All ER patients previously received RTX as acute therapy or previous ER at a median of 22 months (range 12-191 months). Serial samples were taken post-rituximab (RTX). B cell return was defined by laboratory CD19 count (&lt;5 x 106/L). Statistical analysis was performed using GraphPad Prism 8. Results: 11/32 (34%) acute cases received potentially immunomodulatory therapy prior to blood sampling and were excluded. Median ADAMTS13 activity was &lt;5 IU/dL (&lt;5-10.4 IU/dL) and anti-ADAMTS13 IgG 46% (2-127%). In 23 ER cases, median ADAMTS13 activity was 9 IU/dL (&lt;5-24IU/dL) and antibody 8% (2-89%). At acute presentation, CD4+CXCR5+ and CD4+CXCR5+PD1+ cTfh were decreased compared to HC (6.1% vs 9.4%; [p=0.003] and 1.2% vs 1.8%; [p=0.003] respectively), whereas activated cTfh (CD4+CXCR5+PD1+ICOS+) were increased (0.95% vs 0.55%; [p=0.01]) (Table 1). B cell subsets in acute iTTP showed decreased pre-switch and switched memory subsets compared to HC: IgD+/CD27+ [p=0.003]; IgD-/CD27+ [p=0.02] and IgD-/CD38+ [p=0.008]. Plasmablasts (IgD-CD38++) were increased [p=0.03] (Figure 1). ER patients pre-RTX had increased transitional and naïve B cells compared to HC [p=0.001; p&lt;0.0001 respectively] and increased percentages of plasmablasts [p&lt;0.0001]. Memory subsets defined by IgD/CD38 were all significantly decreased [p&lt;0.0001] (Figure 1). Activated cTfh were increased in ER pre-RTX compared to HC [p&lt;0.0001], whereas CD4+CXCR5+ICOS+ cells were reduced. There was no difference in CD4+CXCR5+ cells (Table 1). Memory subsets (defined by IgD/CD38) in ER were all significantly reduced compared with acute iTTP cases (Figure 1) likely to be due to previously described (often long term) changes in B cell subsets following B cell return after RTX. Longitudinal analysis: B cell return post-RTX in acute cases occurred mainly with transitional/naïve cells at a median of 8 months (0.5-14) but was not associated with iTTP relapse. Memory B cell subsets (defined by IgD/CD38) were significantly reduced at B cell return (Table 2). In ER patients, B cell subsets at repopulation were generally similar to levels seen prior to re-treatment with RTX. Frequency of cTfh was not significantly altered by RTX therapy in either acute TTP or ER. Two ER patients were followed longitudinally from RTX therapy, through ADAMTS13 normalisation & subsequent fall requiring further RTX re-treatment. Asymptomatic ADAMTS13 relapse (activity &lt;15 IU/dL) was temporally related with an apparent maturation to memory phenotype and increase in % plasmablasts. Conclusions: At acute iTTP presentation and prior to elective re-treatment with RTX, activated (CD4+CXCR5+PD1+ICOS+) cTfh cells are increased, suggesting a role of T cell help in development of anti-ADAMTS13 IgG antibodies. Prior to RTX, B cell phenotype is also altered in acute TTP, with decreased frequency of memory subsets and a trend to increased naïve cells and plasmablasts. Persistent changes in B cell subsets were seen in ER patients who had received previous RTX with naive cells predominating and reduced memory cells. Interestingly, no patient relapsed/ required re-treatment related to B cell return, with relapse occurring at least 4 months after detection of B cells. Resumption of the autoimmune response therefore appeared limited by the rate of maturation of autoantigen(ADAMTS13)-specific B cells, either by selection/differentiation of ADAMTS13-naive B cells and/or expansion of ADAMTS13-specific memory B cells to Ig producing cells. This process, presumably driven by interaction with Tfh cells, suggests a role of T cell help in development of anti-ADAMTS13 IgG antibodies. Longitudinal analysis of the evolution of B and cTfh cells may help in predicting relapse in iTTP. Disclosures Scully: Alexion: Consultancy, Speakers Bureau; Ablynx/Sanofi: Consultancy, Other: Advisory Board, Speakers Bureau; Novartis: Other: Advisory Board, Speakers Bureau; Takeda: Consultancy, Speakers Bureau; Sanofi: Consultancy, Speakers Bureau; Takeda: Speakers Bureau; Shire/Takeda: Other: Advisory Board, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau. Thomas:Ablynx: Honoraria, Other: Advisory Board; Sanofi: Honoraria, Other: Advisory Board; Bayer: Honoraria, Speakers Bureau.

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Abstract Background Acquired haemophilia A (AHA) is a rare and potentially fatal bleeding disorder characterised by the development of autoantibodies directed against factor VIII. The optimal treatment for AHA remains uncertain and there is a paucity of published data to guide clinical practice. The EACH2 Registry has provided the largest observational dataset from 117 European centres on the management of AHA. The aim of this study is to provide retrospective analysis of the experience of all Haemophilia Centres across London on the management of AHA and compare it to the data presented in the EACH2 Registry. Method We performed a multicentre centre retrospective analysis of all AHA patients presenting between January 2009 and December 2012 to Haemophilia Centres across London. Data collected included demographics, aetiology, bleeding characteristics immunosuppression and haemostatic agents used to control the first bleeding episode. Results There were 65 patients identified. The median (IQR) age at diagnosis was 78 (57-85) years. At presentation, the median haemoglobin concentration, FVIII:C and inhibitor titre were 80 g/L (68-100), 2 IU/dl (0-5.5) and 13.0BU/ml(3.5-47 ). At presentation 48/65 patients demonstrated bleeding from multiple sites with 18/65 experiencing life-threatening bleeds. 4 patients had no evidence of clinical bleeding and there was no difference in haemoglobin level, baseline FVIII:C and peak inhibitor titre compared to those who bled(P>0.05). 50% of patients had idiopathic cause of AHA with malignancy being the second most common. Around 50% (33/65) of patients were treated with activated prothrombin complex concentrate (aPCC) alone and 19/65 patients alternated between aPCC and recombinant activated FVII (FVIIa). 6(9%) patients with bleeding symptoms were managed with tranexamic acid or desmopressin alone without bypassing agents. There median (IQR) time to treatment response (defined as days to factor VIII >50IU/dl or negative Bethesda) was 45(23-82) days. Single agent prednisolone was most common (32/64) immunosuppression used followed by combination therapy with prednisolone and cyclophosphamide (22/64). 87% of patients achieved treatment response. A higher proportion of patients (21/22) treated with prednisolone and cyclophosphamide achieved response compared to prednisolone alone (29/33). There was no difference in the days to response (83 vs 69 p=0.055), time to remission (days to stopping immunosuppression)(123 vs 1958 p=0.065), incidence of relapses (7/32 vs 5/22) or duration of sustained remission (264 vs 204 p= 0.42) between the 2 groups. 8 patients received rituximab in addition to prednisolone and/or cyclophosphamide and 3 was treated with rituximab alone. 16% (12/65) of patients relapsed. These patients exhibited a higher mean baseline and peak inhibitor (BU/ml) (140 vs 54 p=0.011, 143vs 64 p=0.03) There was no difference in the time to response (78vs94 p=0.50) between patients who relapsed compared to those who did not. Presenting inhibitor of >16BU was also associated with longer days to treatment response(121 vs 58 p=0.001) 70% of patients were alive at follow up with similar portions seen in the between the cyclophosphamide and prednisolone group and prednisolone only group. Figure 1 Figure 1. Figure 2 Figure 2. Summary: Our study reinforced the findings of the EACH2 Registry that FVIII level and inhibitor tire did not correspond to the presence of bleeding or the severity of bleeding. However a low presenting inhibitor titre <16BU/ml was associated with faster inhibitor eradication and normalisation of FVIII. A higher baseline and peak inhibitor titre also influenced the rate of relapse. Bypassing agents were used to treat 91% of our patients with clinical bleeding, unlike only 70% in the EACH2 registry. 70 % of patients in the registry were treated with rFVIIa alone, which was observed in only 8% of our patients. The majority of our patients receive aPCC or alternating treatment between aPCC and rFVIIa. This selection preference for aPCC may be reflected by difference in the half life between the bypassing agents. In contrast to the EACH2 Registry, we did not observe a shorter time to treatment response, a reduction in relapse rate or an increase in duration of sustained remission with the addition of cyclophosphamide to prednisolone. Despite this, our study does concur with the EACH2 Registry that the final survival outcome was not affected by the choice of first line immunosuppression. Disclosures Luo: Grifols: Research Funding. Austin:Baxter: Speakers Bureau; Novonordisk: Honoraria, Speakers Bureau. Hart:Baxter: Speakers Bureau; Octapharma: Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Novo Nordisk: Speakers Bureau; Pfizer: Speakers Bureau. Batty:Octapharma: Research Funding.

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Introduction: Interim PET identifies patients with early stage classical HL (cHL) suitable for risk-adapted treatment escalation or de-escalation, but relapse-free survival remains inferior for patients with a negative interim PET who omit radiotherapy. Genetic risk predictors have demonstrated potential to enhance the negative predictive value of interim PET. In the BioPET study reported here, we evaluated the association between a priori selected candidate genes with interim PET and cHL-specific event free survival (cHL-EFS) for patients enrolled on the UK NCRI RAPID trial (NCT00943423). Methods: Patients with stage 1A or 2A cHL treated with 3 cycles of ABVD followed by interim PET assessment using a 5-point scale, full clinical data and available diagnostic biopsy material were included. Patients with a score of 1-2 (PET 'negative') were randomised (1:1) to involved field radiotherapy (IFRT) or no further treatment (NFT); those with a score of 3-5 (PET 'positive') received a further cycle of ABVD plus IFRT. Pre-treatment diagnostic FFPE material was obtained for 227 patients (21 with cHL events). Tissue hom*ogenates were prepared and analysed using Quantigene 2.0 (QG_2.0) Plex for expression of 57 candidate genes known to be associated with treatment response and survival in cHL. QG_2.0 data were generated for experimental samples (n=227), RNA controls (n=15) and FFPE controls (n=12). Data were capped at both upper and lower limits of detection. Four housekeeper genes with the lowest variance (GUSB, TBP, HMBS, ABL1) were used for normalisation using the geometric mean. Candidate genes were ranked according to variability of expression. The association between gene expression, PET outcomes and cHL-EFS (disease progression or death) in the three treatment groups was evaluated in a series of regression analyses (Cox and binary logistic), both in univariable and multivariable settings using stepwise procedures, taking baseline EORTC and GHSG risk stratification into account. Analyses were run on the full dataset as there were insufficient cases for a training:validation split. Results: In total, cHL events were observed in 10/121 (8.3%) PET score 1, 4/53 (7.5%) PET score 2, 2/33 (6.1%) PET score 3, 1/10 (10.0%) PET score 4 and 4/10 (40.0%) PET score 5 respectively. Several genes were found to be associated with PET response after ABVD, and two genes remained in the multivariable model: PRF1 increased the risk of PET score 3-5 (OR=1.49, 95% CI: 1.05-2.13, p=0.03); BCL2L1 decreased risk (OR=0.65, 95% CI: 0.44-0.96, p=0.03). BCL2L1 was also strongly associated with a lower PET score (OR=0.62, 95% CI: 0.46-0.83, p&lt;0.01) in multivariable analysis of ordinal PET scores (PET score 1/2/3/4/5). We found no evidence of an association between any of the genes and PET score 4-5 only, likely due to the small number of cases in this group (n=20). Three genes (CD22, BID, IL15RA) were associated with cHL-EFS and included in the multivariable model after adjusting for PET ordinal score (CD22 (HR=0.54, 95%CI: 0.41-0.72, p&lt;0.001); BID (HR=4.04, 95%CI: 1.79-9.14, p=0.001; IL15RA (HR=0.39, 95%CI: 0.16-0.97, p=0.04); PET score p=0.06). Using this model, a cut-off value of 0.69 for the predicted probability performed best in a time-dependent ROC curve analysis of cHL-EFS with a true positive rate of 67.7% and a false positive rate of 9.5% (Figure 1). There was no evidence of an association with baseline EORTC and GHSG risk scores, and the observed results for genes were similar after adjusting for risk score. We also considered a combined variable of treatment failure (PET score 4-5 or cHL event; n=36) versus success (PET score 1-3 and no cHL event; n=191), adjusting for study group; five genes were associated with treatment failure (CD22, BCL2, SH2D1A, ITGA4, CD3D), and CD22 (HR=0.66, 95% CI: 0.51-0.85, p=0.02) remained in the multivariable model. Conclusions: A combined multivariable model using interim PET and selected pre-treatment genes shows promising utility for enhanced prediction of cHL-EFS in early stage cHL that is independent of EORTC and GHSG pre-treatment clinical risk scores. These findings warrant further evaluation in an independent cohort with a view to more precisely individualising treatment, improving disease control and minimising late toxicity for patients with early stage cHL. Figure 1. Kaplan-Meier survival plot of cHL-EFS based on expression of CD22, BID and IL15RA Figure Disclosures Linton: Roche: Consultancy; Celgene: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Janssen: Other: Travel, accommodations, expenses ; Celgene: Other: Travel, accommodations, expenses; Beigene: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Takeda: Honoraria; Gilead: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Karyopharm: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees. Burton:Leeds Teaching Hospitals NHS Trust: Current Employment; Takeda: Honoraria, Other: Travel Support; BMS: Honoraria; Celgene: Honoraria; Roche: Honoraria, Other: Travel Support. Illidge:Takeda: Honoraria; Merck: Research Funding; Roche: Consultancy; Takeda: Consultancy; Roche: Speakers Bureau; Takeda: Speakers Bureau; Roche: Honoraria. Radford:Pfizer: Research Funding; AstraZeneca: Current equity holder in publicly-traded company, Other: Spouse; Takeda: Consultancy, Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Seattle Genetics: Honoraria, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Speakers Bureau; Novartis: Consultancy, Honoraria; BMS: Consultancy, Honoraria, Speakers Bureau; ADCT: Consultancy, Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees, Research Funding; GlaxoSmithKline: Current equity holder in publicly-traded company, Other: Spouse.

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Abstract Background Data from the Australian and New Zealand (ANZ) Myeloma and Related Diseases Registry (MRDR) shows that 85% of newly diagnosed multiple myeloma (NDMM) patients (pts) in ANZ are induced with bortezomib(V)-containing therapies, predominantly triplets of V-cyclophosphamide-dexamethasone (VCD). Of these, 15% demonstrate treatment failure - either a sub-optimal response (<partial response [PR]) (SOR) or primary refractoriness (1REF). Published data demonstrate that the outcome for these pts remains poor with short progression free (PFS) and overall survival (OS), thus representing an area of ongoing unmet medical need. The ALLG MM17 trial was designed to evaluate the efficacy of early response adaption with a switch to an intensive salvage strategy built around the triplet of carfilzomib-thalidomide-dexamethasone (KTd) in transplant eligible (TE) NDMM patients failing V-based induction. Methods MM17 was a multi-centre single arm study sponsored by the ALLG. Eligible pts were TE NDMM undergoing pre-autologous stem cell transplant (ASCT) induction with V-based therapy and demonstrating either SOR (defined as <minimal response [MR] after 2 inductions cycles or <PR after 4 induction cycles) or 1REF (defined as disease progression while on or within 60 days of completing induction therapy). KTd was K56mg/m2 on D1, 2, 8, 9, 15 and 16 of each 28-day cycle (27mg/m2 D1 and 2 of cycle 1); thalidomide 100mg D1-28; and, dexamethasone 40mg on D1, 8, 15, and 22 of each cycle. VTE and anti-viral prophylaxis was as per individual institutional practice. Pts were planned to receive KTd x 4 cycles then undergo disease re-evaluation. Those achieving a stringent complete response (sCR) (defined as a morphologically normal bone marrow [BM] and immunofixation negativity and normalisation of the involved light chain isotype) proceeded to a MEL200 conditioned ASCT. Those with <sCR received a further KTd x 2 cycles, then proceeded to ASCT. Commencing at day 100 post-ASCT pts received a further 2 cycles of KTd and then continued Td to complete a total of 12 months post-ASCT consolidation. Euroflow minimal residual disease (MRD) evaluation was undertaken pre-ASCT, at day 100 post-ASCT, after KTd x 2 consolidation post ASCT and after completion of Td. CD138 enrichment of BM at study entry was assessed for EMC-92 gene signature for disease stratification utilising the Affymetric DX2 platform. Liquid biopsies at study entry were obtained to isolate cell free (cf) DNA for high-sensitivity targeted amplicon sequencing (TAS) for mutational characterisation of the MM at both study entry and relapse. The primary endpoint of the study was the overall response rate (ORR) to pre-ASCT KTd. Results Fifty pts were recruited from 6 Australian sites between September 2016 and April 2018. EMC92 stratification was successful in 21 pts with 10 (48%) being high-risk and with cfDNA successfully obtained from 49 pts and currently undergoing baseline TAS. Data cut-off date was July 18 2018 with 39 pts evaluable for the primary end-point with the reverse-Kaplan-Meier estimate of the median potential follow-up for survival being 10.9 months (95% CI: 6.0 - 13.1 months). Median age was 50 years (36-71) with 72% males. Disease status at study entry was SOR in 26 (66%) (< MR n = 13, < PR n = 13) and 1REF in 13 (33%). The median number of pre-ASCT KTd cycles was 6 (6 cycles, n = 27 [69%]; 5 cycles, n = 1 [3%], 4 cycles, n = 5 [13%]; ≤ 3 cycles, n = 6 [15%]). Two pts were withdrawn due to treatment related toxicity - pulmonary arterial hypertension (n=1) and acute renal failure (n=1). One pt died of sepsis on treatment and one was withdrawn and subsequently died due to a second primary malignancy. ORR was 72% (95% CI: 56-83%)* - sCR 13%, CR 5%, VGPR 36% and PR 18%. Euroflow confirmed MRD negativity in 36% (14 of 39) of pts pre-ASCT and in 43% (12 of 28) at day 100 post-ASCT. Eight pts have progressed, 7 with highly aggressive extra-medullary disease. Neither median PFS (left panel) nor OS (right panel) have been reached. Conclusions This preliminary analysis of the ALLG MM17 trial demonstrates that early response adaptive escalation to KTd results in high response rates, including MRD negativity, in patients failing V-based induction therapy. *95% Credible interval from the posterior distribution. Bayesian updating based on observed data and a minimally informative prior for ORR with a median of 35%. Figure. Figure. Disclosures Spencer: Celgene: Honoraria, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Janssen-Cilag: Honoraria, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; Amgen: Honoraria, Research Funding; BMS: Research Funding; Takeda: Honoraria, Research Funding, Speakers Bureau; STA: Honoraria. Quach:Sanofi Genzyme: Research Funding; Janssen Cilag: Consultancy; Amgen: Consultancy, Research Funding; Celgene: Consultancy, Research Funding. Kalff:Janssen: Honoraria; Amgen: Other: travel to preceptorship; Celgene: Honoraria; Takeda: Honoraria. Bergin:AMGEN: Other: Travel to education meeting; Celgene: Consultancy. Reynolds:Novartis: Equity Ownership, Other: former employee of Novartis AG and holds stock in the company. .

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Abstract Background Mutations in Isocitrate Dehydrogenase 2 (IDH2) occur in many cancers including Acute Myeloid Leukemia (AML). In preclinical models mutant IDH2 (mIDH2) causes partial hemopoietic differentiation block1. Recently, we showed that single agent enasidenib, a first-in-class, selective mIDH2 inhibitor, produces a 40% response in relapsed/refractory AML patients by promoting differentiation2. Here, we studied response and acquired resistance to enasidenib, in sequential samples treated in the Phase 1 study of Enasidenib in relapsed/ refractory AML patients. Results We studied a cytogenetically and genetically representative subset of 25 patients enriched for enasidenib responders, genotyped by whole exome sequencing (WES) or cancer gene panel targeted re-sequencing. Pre-enasidenib, differentiation arrest in these AML patients resulted in abnormally expanded leukaemic progenitors or precursors and diminished mature haematopoietic populations. Complete remission (CR) post-enasidenib was associated with in increased mature populations, near-normalisation of haematopoietic progenitor profiles, and restoration of in vitro progenitor function. In most patients, mature blood cells (of erythroid and granulocyte-monocyte lineages) post-enasidenib are IDH2 mutant, consistent with enasidenib inducing differentiation of IDH2 mutant leukaemic progenitors/ precursors. Each mIDH2 patient studied had on average 13 somatic, non-synonymous exonic or splice site mutations in addition to IDH2 . We used single cell genotyping (SCG) to reveal linear or branching clonal structures in mIDH2 AML. We combined clonal structure data and immunophenotyping of haematopoietic progenitor, precursor and mature populations to track functional behaviour of mIDH2 clones before, and during enasidenib treatment. We demonstrate, for the first time, that mIDH2 subclones within the same patient are functionally heterogeneous: both in their ability to differentiate pre-enasidenib, and in their sensitivity to Enasidenib-induced differentiation. This suggests that different combinations of co-operating mutations result in functional heterogeneity of mIDH2 clones. When we studied the contribution of mIDH2 clones to functional haematopoiesis at CR, we found that this was supported by either ancestral or leukaemic terminal mIDH2 clones. Despite a median survival of 18-21 months in patients who respond to enasidenib, most patients eventually relapse3. In contrast to targeted therapies such as tyrosine kinase inhibitors, in all 12 relapse samples studied, none had second site mutations in IDH2 . Furthermore, 2-hydroxyglurate (2HG) levels remain suppressed in most patients suggesting enasidenib remains effective in inhibiting mIDH2 enzyme. Instead, mIDH2 clones, which had persisted at CR or partial remission (PR) acquired additional mutations or aneuploidy, highlighting bypass pathways which re-impose differentiation arrest. We found 4 patterns: i) acquisition of IDH1 codon R132 mutations which resulted in a rise in 2HG (n=2), ii) deletion of chromosome 7q (n=4), iii) gain of function mutations in genes implicated in cell proliferation (FLT3, CSF3R) (n=3) and iv) mutation in hematopoietic transcription factors (GATA2, RUNX1) (n=2). We also found mutations in 4 genes (DHX15 and DEAF1 (n=1) ; NFKB1 (n=1) and MTUS1 (n=1)) not previously implicated in haematopoietic differentiation arrest which were selected for, or evolved in mIDH2 subclones at relapse. Conclusion This study provides a paradigm of how deep clonal single cell analysis in purified hemopoietic compartments in sequential samples through therapy reveals clonal complexity and the impact of the selective pressure of therapy on clonal architecture. Furthermore, we gain insights into the functional heterogeneity of mIDH2 subclones in their ability to differentiate pre-and post-Enasidenib. Further analysis of this kind in a larger cohort of IDH2 -inhibitor-treated patients would also provide insight to improve efficacy of this novel class of therapeutics, and design of combination therapies in AML and other cancers. Finally, this provides a platform for further study of the pathways mediating enasidenib resistance. References 1. Kats, L.M. , et al. Cell Stem Cell14, 329-341 (2014). 2. Amatangelo, M.D. , et al. Blood (2017). 3. Stein, E.M. , et al. Blood (2017). Disclosures Quek: Celgene Corporation: Research Funding. Amatangelo: Celgene Corporation: Employment. Agresta: Agios Pharmaceuticals, Inc.: Employment, Equity Ownership. Yen: Agios: Employment, Equity Ownership. Stein: Pfizer: Consultancy, Other: Travel expenses; Agios Pharmaceuticals, Inc.: Consultancy, Research Funding; Constellation Pharma: Research Funding; Novartis: Consultancy, Research Funding; GSK: Other: Advisory Board, Research Funding; Celgene Corporation: Consultancy, Other: Travel expenses, Research Funding; Seattle Genetics: Research Funding. De Botton: Agios: Honoraria, Research Funding; Celgene: Honoraria; Novartis: Honoraria; Pfizer: Honoraria; Servier: Honoraria. Thakurta: Celgene Corporation: Employment, Equity Ownership. Levine: Qiagen: Equity Ownership; Qiagen: Equity Ownership; Celgene: Research Funding; Roche: Research Funding; Celgene: Research Funding; Roche: Research Funding. Vyas: Jazz Pharmaceuticals: Speakers Bureau; Celgene Corporation: Speakers Bureau.

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Abstract Introduction: Stratification of multiple myeloma patient responses by reductions in monoclonal component is based upon reliable, historic outcome data. With the introduction of novel agents, a greater number of patients are achieving hitherto unthought-of responses, with many expecting to meet the requirement for VGPR or greater. Multiple factors can impact the quantification and assessment of response in patients achieving deep responses including the influence of IgG recycling, accuracy of quantitation against an increasing polyclonal background and the presence of monoclonal immunotherapies. Alternative strategies for monoclonal protein measurement include heavy+light chain (HLC) immunoassays. Here for the first time we compare the consistency of response assignment between the two methods and evaluate the clinical impact of discordance. Methods: Sera from 509 newly diagnosed intact immunoglobulin multiple myeloma (IIMM) patients enrolled onto IFM-2009 trial were available (median age was 59 (range: 33-66) years, follow-up 30 (3-56) months). Two patients arms were treated with RVDx3+ASCT+RVDx2 or RVDx8, followed by 12 months Lenalidomide maintenance. Responses were assigned at the end of consolidation therapy according to IMWG criteria using changes in monoclonal protein concentrations measured by either SPE or dHLC (clonal - non clonal). Complete response (CR) was assigned by either method by the absence of monoclonal protein on IFE or a normal HLC ratio (HLCr), respectively, and <5% BM plasma cells. HLC-pair suppression was defined as levels of the non-clonal HLC (e.g. IgGλ in an IgGκ patient) below the reference range (IgGκ <3.84g/L; IgGλ <1.91g/L; IgAκ <0.57g/L; IgAλ <0.44g/L). Minimal residual disease (MRD) was assessed by 7-color flow cytometry at the end of consolidation therapy. Results: IFE and HLCr concordantly identified clonality in 99% patients. In 463 patients followed until the end of consolidation we found moderate agreement in response assignment between the two tests. HLC gave similar response assignments to electrophoretic tests in patients with poor response (≤PR, 76/96; 79%) or complete response (≥CR, 130/142; 92%). However in patients achieving VGPR there was considerable discordance between methods for response assignment (102/225; 45%). Having identified discordant results for VGPR we sought to assess the clinical accuracy of the responses assigned within this group. Of the 225 patients with standard VGPR, HLC response assignment varied (PR (18/225), VGPR (102/225) and ≥CR (105/225)). Median PFS for patients achieving standard VGPR was 34.5 months; responses by HLC further described these patients into those with poorer PFS (PR, median PFS=21.3 months (95%CI: 9.0-33.7)); VGPR (PFS=28.9 months (95%CI: 25.1-32.6)), and those with improved outcomes (CR, median PFS not reached); p<0.0001 (Figure 1). This suggested that the response assigned by electrophoresis could be refined by HLC analysis. By contrast, responses assigned by electrophoretic methods offered no added clinical value in patients achieving VGPR (log-rank: p=0.724) or ≥CR (log-rank: p=0.402) by HLC assessment. Furthermore, an abnormal HLCr post-consolidation had a greater concordance with MRD+ assessment (78% positive) compared to IFE (51% positive); whereas both a normal HLCr and negative IFE displayed similar agreement with MRD- assessment (88% and 94% negative, respectively). Finally we assessed the clinical impact of recovering polyclonal immunoglobulin levels after consolidation therapy. In 142 patients with complete responses, HLC-pair suppression (n=15, median PFS=35.1 months (95%CI: 20.9-49.2) and severe suppression (n=7, median PFS=22.9 months (95%CI: 16.6-29.2)) were associated with poorer outcomes (p=0.060 and p=0.004, respectively). Conclusions: In patients achieving a poor or exceptional response there was good agreement between HLC and standard response assignment. For patients achieving a VGPR we suggest that HLC response assignment may be beneficial, therefore overall the assessment could be used to augment or replace electrophoresis. The prognostic significance of HLC responses seems to be partly dependent in the patient's ability to recover their immune system, as determined by normalisation of non-clonal HLC levels. Figure 1 Figure 1. Disclosures Michallet: Bristol-Myers Squibb: Consultancy, Honoraria, Research Funding; Pfizer: Consultancy, Honoraria; Novartis: Consultancy, Honoraria; Pfizer: Consultancy, Honoraria; Astellas Pharma: Consultancy, Honoraria; MSD: Consultancy, Honoraria; Genzyme: Consultancy, Honoraria. Attal:sanofi: Consultancy; janssen: Consultancy, Research Funding; amgen: Consultancy, Research Funding; celgene: Consultancy, Research Funding. Moreau:Novartis: Honoraria; Celgene: Honoraria; Takeda: Honoraria; Janssen: Honoraria, Speakers Bureau; Amgen: Honoraria; Bristol-Myers Squibb: Honoraria. Avet-Loiseau:janssen: Consultancy; sanofi: Consultancy; amgen: Consultancy; celgene: Consultancy.

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07–533Anh Tuan, Truong & Storch Neomy (U Melbourne, Australia; neomys@unimelb.edu.au), Investigating group planning in preparation for oral presentations in an EFL class in Vietnam. RELC Journal (Sage) 38.1 (2007), 104–124.07–534Bada, Erdogan & Bilal Genc (U Çukurova, Turkey; erdoganbada@gmail.com), An investigation into the tense/aspect preferences of Turkish speakers of English and native English speakers in their oral narration. The Reading Matrix (Readingmatrix.com) 7.1 (2007), 141–150.07–535Beasley, Robert (Franklin College, USA; rbeasley@franklincollege.edu), Yuangshan Chuang & Chao-chih Liao, Determinants and effects of English language immersion in Taiwanese EFL learners engaged in online music study. The Reading Matrix (Readingmatrix.com) 6.3 (2006), 330–339.07–536Campbell, Dermot, Ciaron Mcdonnell, Marti Meinardi & Bunny Richardson (Dublin Institute of Technology, Ireland; dermot.campbell@dit.ie), The need for a speech corpus. 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System (Elsevier) 35.1 (2007), 66–92.07–553Napier, Jemina (Macquarie U, Australia), Effectively teaching discourse to sign language interpreting students. Language, Culture and Curriculum (Multilingual Matters) 19.3 (2006), 251–265.07–554Reinders, Hayo (U Auckland, New Zealand; system@hayo.nl), Supporting independent learning environments: An analysis of structures and roles of language learning advisers. System (Elsevier) 35.1 (2007), 93–111.07–555Stracke, Elke (U Canberra, Australia; Elke.Stracke@canberra.edu.au), A road to understanding: A qualitative study into why learners drop out of a blended language learning (BLL) environment. ReCALL (Cambridge University Press) 19.1 (2007), 57–78.07–556Stroud, Christopher (U West Cape, South Africa; cstroud@uwc.ac.za) & Lionel Wee, Anxiety and identity in the language classroom. RELC Journal (SAGE Publications) 37.3 (2006), 299–307.07–557Taguchi, Naoko (Carnegie Mellon U, USA), Task difficulty in oral speech act production. 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07–398Ammar, Ahlem (U de Montréal, Canada; ahlem.ammar@umontreal.ca) & Nina Spada, One size fits all? Recasts, prompts, and L2 learning. Studies in Second Language Acquisition (Cambridge University Press) 28.4 (2006), 543–574.07–399August, Gail (Hostos Community College, USA), So, what's behind adult English second language reading?Bilingual Research Journal (National Association for Bilingual Education) 30.2 (2006), 245–264.07–400Beasley, Robert (Franklin College, USA; rbeasley@franklincollege.edu), Yuangshan Chuang& Chao-chih Liao, Determinants and effects of English language immersion in Taiwanese EFL learners engaged in online music study. The Reading Matrix (Readingmatrix.com) 6.3 (2006), 330–339.07–401Brown, Jill (Monash U, Australia), Jenny Miller & Jane Mitchell, Interrupted schooling and the acquisition of literacy: Experiences of Sudanese refugees in Victorian secondary schools. Australian Journal of Language and Literacy (Australian Literacy Educators' Association) 29.2 (2006), 150–162.07–402Bunch, George C. (U California, USA), ‘Academic English’ in the 7th grade: Broadening the lens, expanding access. Journal of English for Academic Purposes (Elsevier) 5.4 (2006), 284–301.07–403Chambers, Andrea (Insa de Lyon, France; andrea.emara@insa-lyon.fr) & Stephen Bax (Canterbury Christ Church U, UK), Making CALL work: Towards normalisation. System (Elsevier) 34.4 (2006), 465–479.07–404Chan, Alice (City U of Hong Kong, China; enalice@cityu.edu.hk), Strategies used by Cantonese speakers in pronouncing English initial consonant clusters: Insights into the interlanguage phonology of Cantonese ESL learners in Hong Kong. International Review of Applied Linguistics in Language Teaching (Walter de Gruyter) 44.4 (2006), 331–355.07–405Coulter, Cathy (Arizona State U, USA) & Mary Lee Smith, English language learners in a comprehensive high school. Bilingual Research Journal (National Association for Bilingual Education) 30.2 (2006), 309–335.07–406Elia, Antonella (U Naples, Italy; aelia@unina.it), Language learning in tandem via skype. The Reading Matrix (Readingmatrix.com) 6.3 (2006), 269–280.07–407Ellis, Rod (U Auckland, New Zealand; r.ellis@auckland.ac.nz) & Younghee Sheen, Reexamining the role of recasts in second language acquisition. Studies in Second Language Acquisition (Cambridge University Press) 28.4 (2006), 575–600.07–408Farrell, Thomas S. C. (Brock U, Canada; tfarrell@brocku.ca) & Christophe Mallard, The use of reception strategies by learners of French as a foreign language. The Modern Language Journal (Blackwell) 90.3 (2006), 338–352.07–409Feuer, Avital (York U, Canada), Parental influences on language learning in Hebrew Sunday school classes. Language, Culture and Curriculum (Multilingual Matters) 19.3 (2006), 266–27707–410Harada, Tetsuo (Waseda U, Japan; tharada@waseda.jp), The acquisition of single and geminate stops by English-speaking children in a Japanese immersion program. Studies in Second Language Acquisition (Cambridge University Press) 28.4 (2006), 601–632.07–411Karlsson, Leena (Helsinki U, Finland; leena.karlsson@helsinki.fi) Felicity Kjisik & Joan Nordlund, Language counselling: A critical and integral component in promoting an autonomous community of learning. System (Elsevier) 35.1 (2007), 46–65.07–412Lieberman, Moti (American U, USA; aoshima@american.edu) Sachiko Aoshima & Colin Phillips, Nativelike biases in generation ofwh-questions by nonnative speakers of Japanese. 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System (Elsevier) 35.1 (2007), 66–92.07–417Napier, Jemina (Macquarie U, Australia), Effectively teaching discourse to sign language interpreting students. Language, Culture and Curriculum (Multilingual Matters) 19.3 (2006), 251–265.07–418Nassaji, Hossein (U Victoria, Canada; nassaji@uvic.ca), The relationship between depth of vocabulary knowledge and L2 learners' lexical inferencing strategy use and success. The Modern Language Journal (Blackwell) 90.3 (2006), 387–401.07–419Nıxon, Helen & Barbara Comber (U South Australia, Australia; helen.nixon@unisa.edu.au), Differential recognition of children's cultural practices in middle primary literacy classrooms. Literacy (Oxford University Press) 40.3 (2006), 127–136.07–420Reinders, Hayo (U Auckland, New Zealand; system@hayo.nl), Supporting independent learning environments: An analysis of structures and roles of language learning advisers. System (Elsevier) 35.1 (2007), 93–111.07–421Sangpıl Byon, Andrew (State U New York, USA), Language socialization in Korean as-a-foreign-language classrooms. Bilingual Research Journal (National Association for Bilingual Education) 30.2 (2006), 265–291.07–422Song, Bailin (City U New York, USA), Content-based ESL instruction: Long-term effects and outcomes. English for Specific Purposes (Elsevier) 25.4 (2006), 420–437.07–423Soonhyang, Kim (Ohio State U, Columbus, USA), Academic oral communication needs of East Asian international graduate students in non-science and non-engineering fields. English for Specific Purposes (Elsevier) 25.4 (2006), 479–489.07–424Stroud, Christopher (U West Cape, South Africa; cstroud@uwc.ac.za) & Lionel Wee, Anxiety and identity in the language classroom. RELC Journal (Sage) 37.3 (2006), 299–307.07–425Sunderman, Gretchen (Florida State U, USA; gsunderm@fsu.edu) & Judith F. Kroll, First language activation during second language lexical processing: An investigation of lexical form, meaning, and grammatical class. Studies in Second Language Acquisition (Cambridge University Press) 28.3 (2006), 387–422.07–426Woodrow, Lindy J. (U Sydney, Australia; l.woodrow@edfac.usyd.edu.au), A model of adaptive language learning. The Modern Language Journal (Blackwell) 90.3 (2006), 297–319.07–427Xuesong, Gao (U Hong Kong, China; Gao@hkusua.hku.hk), Strategies used by Chinese parents to support English language learning. RELC Journal (Sage) 37.3 (2006), 285–298.07–428Zwıers, Jeff (California, USA), Integrating academic language, thinking, and content: Learning scaffolds for non-native speakers in the middle grades. Journal of English for Academic Purposes (Elsevier) 5.4 (2006), 317–332.07–429Zyzik, Eve (Michigan State U, USA; zyzik@msu.edu), Transitivity alternations and sequence learning: Insights from L2 Spanish production data. Studies in Second Language Acquisition (Cambridge University Press) 28.3 (2006), 449–485.

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Setting the Mood Weirdly, everything feels the same. There’s absolutely no distinction for me between news, work, walking, gaming, Netflix, rock collecting, scrolling, messaging. I don’t know how this happened, but everything has simply blurred together. There’s a dreadful and yet soothing sameness to it, scrolling through images on Instagram, scrolling Netflix, walking the dog, scrolling the news, time scrolling by as I watch face after face appear or disappear on my screen, all saying something, yet saying nothing. Is this the rhythm of crisis in a slow apocalypse? Really, would it be possible for humans to just bore themselves into oblivion? Because in the middle of a pandemic, boredom feels in my body the same as doom ... just another swell that passes, like my chest as it rises and falls with my breath. This opening anecdote comes from combining narratives in two studies we conducted online during the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020: a global study, Massive and Microscopic Sensemaking: Autoethnographic Accounts of Lived Experience in Times of Global Trauma; and an Australian project, The Shut-In Worker: Working from Home and Digitally-Enabled Labour Practices. The Shut-In Worker project aimed to investigate the thoughts, beliefs, and experiences of Australian knowledge workers working from home during lockdown. From June to October 2020, we recruited twelve households across two Australian states. While the sample included households with diverse incomes and living arrangements—from metropolitan single person apartment dwellers to regional families in free standing households—the majority were relatively privileged. The households included in this study were predominantly Anglo-Australian and highly educated. Critically, unlike many during COVID-19, these householders had maintained their salaried work. Participating households took part in an initial interview via Zoom or Microsoft Teams during which they took us on workplace tours, showing us where and how the domestic had been requisitioned for salaried labour. Householders subsequently kept digital diaries of their working days ahead of follow up interviews in which we got them to reflect on their past few weeks working from home with reference to the textual and photographic diaries they had shared with us. In contrast to the tight geographic focus of The Shut-In Worker project and its fairly conventional methodology, the Massive and Microscopic Sensemaking project was envisaged as a global project and driven by an experimental participant-led approach. Involving more than 150 people from 26 countries during 2020, the project was grounded in autoethnography practice and critical pedagogy. Over 21 days, we offered self-guided prompts for ourselves and the other participants—a wide range of creative practitioners, scholar activists, and researchers—to explore their own lived experience. Participants with varying degrees of experience with qualitative methods and/or autoethnography started working with the research questions we had posed in our call; some independently, some in collaboration. The autoethnographic lens used in our study encouraged contributors to document their experience from and through their bodies, their situated daily routines, and their relations with embedded, embodied, and ubiquitous digital technologies. The lens enabled deep exploration and evocation of many of the complexities, profound paradoxes, fears, and hopes that characterise the human and machinic entanglements that bring us together and separate the planetary “us” in this moment (Markham et al. 2020). In this essay we draw on anecdotes and narratives from both studies that speak to the “Zoom experience” during COVID-19. That is, we use Zoom as a socio-technical pivot point to think about how the experience of liminality—of being on/off screen and ambiently in between—is operating to shift both our micro practices and macro structures as we experience and struggle within the rupture, “event”, and conjuncture that marks the global pandemic. What we will see is that many of those narratives depict disjointed, blurry, or confusing experiences, atmospheres, and affects. These liminal experiences are entangled in complex ways with the distinctive forms of commercial infrastructure and software that scaffold video conferencing platforms such as Zoom. Part of what is both enabling and troubling about the key proprietary platforms that increasingly host “public” participation and conversation online (and that came to play a dominant role during COVID19) in the context of what Tarleton Gillespie calls “the internet of platforms” is a sense of the hidden logics behind such platforms. The constant sense of potential dis/connection—with home computers becoming ambient portals to external others—also saw a wider experience of boundarylessness evoked by participants. Across our studies there was a sense of a complete breakdown between many pre-existing boundaries (or at least dotted lines) around work, school, play, leisure and fitness, public and media engagement, and home life. At the same time, the vocabulary of confinement and lockdown emerged from the imposition of physical boundaries or distancing between the self and others, between home and the outside world. During the “connected confinement” of COVID-19, study participants commonly expressed an affective sensation of dysphoria, with this new state of in betweenness or disorientation on and off screen, in and out of Zoom meetings, that characterises the COVID-19 experience seen by many as a temporary, unpleasant disruption to sociality as usual. Our contention is that, as disturbing as many of our experiences are and have been during lockdown, there is an important, ethically and politically generative dimension to our global experiences of liminality, and we should hold on to this state of de-normalisation. Much ink has been spilled on the generalised, global experience of videoconferencing during the COVID-19 pandemic. A line of argument within this commentary speaks to the mental challenge and exhaustion—or zoom fatigue as it is now popularly termed—that many have been experiencing in attempting to work, learn, and live collectively via interactive screen technologies. We suggest zoom fatigue stands in for a much larger set of global social challenges—a complex conjuncture of microscopic ruptures, decisions within many critical junctures or turning points, and slow shifts in how we see and make sense of the world around us. If culture is habit writ large, what should we make of the new habits we are building, or the revelations that our prior ways of being in the world might not suit our present planetary needs, and maybe never did? Thus, we counter the current dominant narrative that people, regions, and countries should move on, pivot, or do whatever else it takes to transition to a “new normal”. Instead, drawing on the work of Haraway and others interested in more than human, post-anthropocenic thinking about the future, this essay contends that—on a dying planet facing major global challenges—we need to be embracing liminality and “staying with the trouble” if we are to hope to work together to imagine and create better worlds. This is not necessarily an easy step but we explore liminality and the affective components of Zoom fatigue here to challenge the assumption that stability and certainty is what we now need as a global community. If the comfort experienced by a chosen few in pre-COVID-19 times was bought at the cost of many “others” (human and more than human), how can we use the discomfort of liminality to imagine global futures that have radically transformative possibilities? On Liminality Because liminality is deeply affective and experienced both individually and collectively, it is a difficult feeling or state to put into words, much less generalised terms. It marks the uncanny or unstable experience of existing between. Being in a liminal state is marked by a profound disruption of one’s sense of self, one’s phenomenological being in the world, and in relation to others. Zoom, in and of itself, provokes a liminal experience. As this participant says: Zoom is so disorienting. I mean this literally; in that I cannot find a solid orientation toward other people. What’s worse is that I realize everyone has a different view, so we can’t even be sure of what other people might be seeing on their screen. In a real room this would not be an issue at all. The concept of liminality originally came out of attempts to capture the sense of flux and transition, rather than stasis, that shapes culture and community, exemplified during rites of passage. First developed in the early twentieth century by ethnographer and folklorist Arnold van Gennep, it was later taken up and expanded upon by British anthropologist Victor Turner. Turner, best known for his work on cultural rituals and rites of passage, describes liminality as the sense of “in betweenness” experienced as one moves from one status (say that of a child) to another (formal recognition of adulthood). For Turner, community life and the formation of societies more broadly involves periods of transition, threshold moments in which both structures and anti-structures become apparent. Bringing liminality into the contemporary digital moment, Zizi Papacharissi discusses the concept in collective terms as pertaining to the affective states of networked publics, particularly visible in the development of new social and political formations through wide scale social media responses to the Arab Spring. Liminality in this context describes the “not yet”, a state of “pre-emergence” or “emergence” of unformed potentiality. In this usage, Papacharissi builds on Turner’s description of liminality as “a realm of pure possibility whence novel configurations of ideas and relations may arise” (97). The pandemic has sparked another moment of liminality. Here, we conceptualise liminality as a continuous dialectical process of being pushed and pulled in various directions, which does not necessarily resolve into a stable state or position. Shifting one’s entire lifeworld into and onto computer screens and the micro screens of Zoom, as experienced by many around the world, collapses the usual functioning norms that maintain some degree of distinction between the social, intimate, political, and work spheres of everyday life. But this shift also creates new boundaries and new rules of engagement. As a result, people in our studies often talked about experiencing competing realities about “where” they are, and/or a feeling of being tugged by contradictory or competing forces that, because they cannot be easily resolved, keep us in an unsettled, uncomfortable state of being in the world. Here the dysphoric experiences associated not just with digital liminality but with the broader COVID-19 epidemiological-socio-political conjuncture are illustrated by Sianne Ngai’s work on the politics of affect and “ugly feelings” in the context of capitalism’s relentlessly affirmative culture. Rather than dismissing the vague feelings of unease that, for many of us, go hand in hand with late modern life, Ngai suggests that such generalised and dispersed affective states are important markers of and guides to the big social and cultural problems of our time—the injustices, inequalities, and alienating effects of late capitalism. While critical attention tends to be paid to more powerful emotions such as anger and fear, Ngai argues that softer and more nebulous forms of negative affect—from envy and anxiety to paranoia—can tell us much about the structures, institutions, and practices that frame social action. These enabling and constraining processes occur at different and intersecting levels. At the micro level of the screen interface, jarring experiences can set us to wondering about where we are (on or off screen, in place and space), how we appear to others, and whether or not we should showcase and highlight our “presence”. We have been struck by how people in our studies expressed the sense of being handled or managed by the interfaces of Zoom or Microsoft Teams, which frame people in grid layouts, yet can shift and alter these frames in unanticipated ways. I hate Zoom. Everything about it. Sometimes I see a giant person, shoved to the front of the meeting in “speaker view” to appear larger than anyone else on the screen. People constantly appear and disappear, popping in and out. Sometimes, Zoom just rearranges people seemingly randomly. People commonly experience themselves or others being resized, frozen, or “glitched”, muted, accidentally unmuted, suddenly disconnected, or relegated to the second or third “page” of attendees. Those of us who attend many meetings as a part of work or education may enjoy the anonymity of appearing at a meeting without our faces or bodies, only appearing to others as a nearly blank square or circle, perhaps with a notation of our name and whether or not we are muted. Being on the third page of participants means we are out of sight, for better or worse. For some, being less visible is a choice, even a tactic. For others, it is not a choice, but based on lack of access to a fast or stable Internet connection. The experience and impact of these micro elements of presence within the digital moment differs, depending on where you appear to others in the interface, how much power you have over the shape or flow of the interaction or interface settings, or what your role is. Moving beyond the experience of the interface and turning to the middle range between micro and macro worlds, participants speak of attempting to manage blurred or completely collapsed boundaries between “here” and “there”. Being neither completely at work or school nor completely at home means finding new ways of negotiating the intimate and the formal, the domestic and the public. This delineation is for many not a matter of carving out specific times or spaces for each, but rather a process of shifting back and forth between makeshift boundaries that may be temporal or spatial, depending on various aspects of one’s situation. Many of us most likely could see the traces of this continuous shifting back and forth via what Susan Leigh Star called “boundary objects”. While she may not have intended this concept in such concrete terms, we could see these literally, in the often humorous but significantly disruptive introduction of various domestic actants during school or work, such as pets, children, partners, laundry baskets, beds, distinctive home decor, ambient noise, etc. Other trends highlight the difficulty of maintaining zones of work and school when these overlap with the rest of the physical household. One might place Post-it Notes on the kitchen wall saying “I’m in a Zoom meeting so don’t come into the living room” or blur one’s screen background to obscure one’s domestic location. These are all strategies of maintaining ontological security in an otherwise chaotic process of being both here and there, and neither here nor there. Yet even with these strategies, there is a constant dialectical liminality at play. In none of these examples do participants feel like they are either at home or at work; instead, they are constantly shifting in between, trying to balance, or straddling physical and virtual, public and private, in terms of social “roles” and “locations”. These negotiations highlight the “ongoingness” of and the labour involved in maintaining some semblance of balance within what is inherently an unbalanced dialectical process. Participants talked about and showed in their diaries and pictures developed for the research projects the ways they act through, work with, or sometimes just try to ignore these opposing states. The rise of home-based videoconferencing and associated boundary management practices have also highlighted what has been marginalised or forgotten and conversely, prioritised or valorised in prior sociotechnical assemblages that were simply taken for granted. Take for example the everyday practices of being in a work versus domestic lifeworld; deciding how to handle the labor of cleaning cups and dishes used by the “employees” and “students” in the family throughout the day, the tasks of enforcing school attendance by children attending classes in the family home etc. This increased consciousness—at both a household and more public level—of a previously often invisible and feminised care economy speaks to larger questions raised by the lockdown experience. At the same time as people in our studies were negotiating the glitches of screen presence and the weird boundarylessness of home-leisure-domestic-school-work life, many expressed an awareness of a troubling bigger picture. First, we had just the COVID lockdowns, you know, that time where many of us were seemingly “all together” in this, at home watching Tiger King, putting neighborly messages in our windows, or sharing sourdough recipes on social media. Then Black Lives Matters movements happened. Suddenly attention is shifted to the fact that we’re not all in this together. In Melbourne, people in social housing towers got abruptly locked down without even the chance to go to the store for food first, and yet somehow the wealthy or celebrity types are not under this heavy surveillance; they can just skip the mandatory quarantine. ... We can’t just go on with things as usual ... there are so many considerations now. Narratives like these suggest that while 2020 might have begun with the pandemic, the year raised multiple other issues. As many things have been destabilised, the nature or practice of everyday life is shifting under our feet. Around the world, people are learning how to remain more distanced from each other, and the rhythms of temporal and geographic movement are adapting to an era of the pandemic. Simultaneously, many people talk about an endlessly arriving (but never quite here) moment when things will be back to normal, implying not only that this feeling of uncertainty will fade, but also that the zone of comfort is in what was known and experienced previously, rather than in a state of something radically different. This sentiment is strong despite the general agreement that “we will never [be able to] go back to how it was, but [must] proceed to some ‘new normal’”. Still, as the participant above suggests, the pandemic has also offered a much broader challenge to wider, taken-for-granted social, political, and economic structures that underpin late capitalist nations in particular. The question then becomes: How do we imagine “moving on” from the pandemic, while learning from the disruptive yet critical moment it has offered us as a global community? Learning from Liminality I don’t want us to go back to “normal”, if that means we are just all commuting in our carbon spitting cars to work and back or traveling endlessly and without a care for the planet. COVID has made my life better. Not having to drive an hour each way to work every day—that’s a massive benefit. While it’s been a struggle, the tradeoff is spending more time with loved ones—it’s a better quality of life, we have to rethink the place of work. I can’t believe how much more I’ve been involved in huge discussions about politics and society and the planet. None of this would have been on my radar pre-COVID. What would it mean then to live with as well as learn from the reflexive sense of being and experience associated with the dis-comforts of living on and off screen, a Zoom liminality, if you will? These statements from participants speak precisely to the budding consciousness of new potential ways of being in a post-COVID-19 world. They come from a place of discomfort and represent dialectic tensions that perhaps should not be shrugged off or too easily resolved. Indeed, how might we consider this as the preferred state, rather than being simply a “rite of passage” that implies some pathway toward more stable identities and structured ways of being? The varied concepts of “becoming”, “not quite yet”, “boundary work”, or “staying with the trouble”, elaborated by Karen Barad, Andrew Pickering, Susan Leigh Star, and Donna Haraway respectively, all point to ways of being, acting, and thinking through and with liminality. All these thinkers are linked by their championing of murky and mangled conceptions of experience and more than human relations. Challenging notions of the bounded individual of rational humanism, these post-human scholars offer an often-uncomfortable picture of being in and through multiplicity, of modes of agency born out of a slippage between the one and the many. While, as we noted above, this experience of in betweenness and entanglement is often linked to emotions we perceive as negative, “ugly feelings”, for Barad et al., such liminal moments offer fundamentally productive and experimental modalities that enable possibilities for new configurations of being and doing the social in the anthropocene. Further, liminality as a concept potentially becomes radically progressive when it is seen as both critically appraising the constructed and conventional nature of prior patterns of living and offering a range of reflexive alternatives. People in our studies spoke of the pandemic moment as offering tantalizing glimpses of what kinder, more caring, and egalitarian futures might look like. At the same time, many were also surprised by (and skeptical of) the banality and randomness of the rise of commercial platforms like Zoom as a “choice” for being with others in this current lifeworld, emerging as it did as an ad hoc, quick solution that met the demands of the moment. Zoom fatigue then also suggests a discomfort about somehow being expected to fully incorporate proprietary platforms like Zoom and their algorithmic logics as a core way of living and being in the post-COVID-19 world. In this sense the fact that a specific platform has become a branded eponym for the experience of online public communicative fatigue is telling indeed. The unease around the centrality of video conferencing to everyday life during COVID-19 can in part be seen as a marker of anxieties about the growing role of decentralized, private platforms in “replacing or merging with public infrastructure, [thereby] creating new social effects” (Lee). Further, jokes and off-hand comments by study participants about their messy domestic interiors being publicized via social media or their boss monitoring when they are on and offline speak to larger concerns around surveillance and privacy in online spaces, particularly communicative environments where unregulated private platforms rather than public infrastructures are becoming the default norm. But just as people are both accepting of and troubled by a growing sense of inevitability about Zoom, we also saw them experimenting with a range of other ways of being with others, from online co*cktail parties to experimenting with more playful and creative apps and platforms. What these participants have shown us is the need to “stay with the trouble” or remain in this liminal space as long as possible. While we do not have the space to discuss this possibility in this short provocation, Haraway sees this experimental mode of being as involving multiple actants, human and nonhuman, and as constituting important work in terms of speculating and figuring with various “what if” scenarios to generate new possible futures. As Haraway puts it, this process of speculative figuring is one of giving and receiving patterns, dropping threads, and so mostly failing but sometimes finding something that works, something consequential and maybe even beautiful, that wasn’t there before, of relaying connections that matter, of telling stories in hand upon hand, digit upon digit, attachment site upon attachment site, to craft conditions for flourishing in terran worlding. This struggle of course takes us far beyond decisions about Zoom, specifically. This deliberately troubling liminality is a process of recognizing old habits, building new ones, doing the hard work of reconsidering broader social formations in a future that promises more trouble. Governments, institutions, corporate entities, and even social movements like Transition Towns or #BuildBackBetter all seem to be calling for getting out of this liminal zone, whether this is to “bounce back” by returning to hyper-consumerist, wasteful, profit-driven modes of life or the opposite, to “bounce forward” to radically rethink globalization and build intensely localized personal and social formations. Perhaps a third alternative is to embrace this very transitional experience itself and consider whether life on a troubled, perhaps dying planet might require our discomfort, unease, and in-betweenness, including acknowledging and sometimes embracing “glitches” and failures (Nunes). Transitionality, or more broadly liminality, has the potential to enhance our understanding of who and what “we” are, or perhaps more crucially who “we” might become, by encompassing a kind of dialectic in relation to the experiences of others, both intimate and distant. As many critical commentators before us have suggested, this necessarily involves working in conjunction with a rich ecology of planetary agents from First People’s actors and knowledge systems--a range of social agents who already know what it is to be liminal to landscapes and other species--through and with the enabling affordances of digital technologies. This is an important, and exhausting, process of change. And perhaps this trouble is something to hang on to as long as possible, as it preoccupies us with wondering about what is happening in the lines between our faces, the lines of the technologies underpinning our interactions, the taken for granted structures on and off screen that have been visibilized. We are fatigued, not by the time we spend online, although there is that, too, but by the recognition that the world is changing. References Barad, Karen. Meeting the Universe Halfway: Quantum Physics and the Entanglement of Matter and Meaning. Duke UP, 2006. Gillespie, Tarleton. Custodians of the Internet: Platforms, Content Moderation, and the Hidden Decisions That Shape Social Media. Yale UP 2018. Haraway, Donna J. “SF: Science Fiction, Speculative Fabulation, String Figures, So Far.” Ada New Media 3 (2013). <http://adanewmedia.org/2013/11/issue3-haraway>. Lee, Ashlin. “In the Shadow of Platforms: Challenges and Opportunities for the Shadow of Hierarchy in the Age of Platforms and Datafication.” M/C Journal 24.2 (2021). <http://doi.org/10.5204/mcj.2750>. Markham, Annette N., et al. “Massive and Microscopic Sensemaking during COVID-19 Times.” Qualitative Inquiry Oct. 2020. <https://doi.org/10.1177/1077800420962477>. Ngai, Sianne. Ugly Feelings. Harvard UP, 2005. Nunes, Mark. Error, Glitch, Noise and Jam in New Media Cultures. Bloomsbury, 2012. Papacharissi, Zizi. Affective Publics: Sentiment, Technology, and Politics. Oxford UP, 2015. Pickering, Andrew. “The Mangle of Practice: Agency and Emergence in the Sociology of Science.” American Journal of Sociology 99.3 (1993): 559-89. Star, Susan Leigh. “The Structure of Ill-Structured Solutions: Boundary Objects and Heterogeneous Distributed Problem Solving.” Readings in Distributed Artificial Intelligence. Eds. Les Gasser and Michael N. Huhns. Kaufman, 1989. 37-54. Turner, Victor. “Betwixt and Between: The Liminal Period in Rites de Passage.” The Forests of Symbols: Aspects of Ndembu Ritual. Cornell UP, 1967. 93-111. Turner, Victor. “Liminality and Communitas”. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Chicago: Al<line Publishing, 1969. 94-113, 125-30.

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Previously limited and somewhat neglected as a focus of academic scrutiny, interest in home and domesticity is now growing apace across the humanities and social sciences (Mallett; Blunt, “Cultural Geographies of Home”; Blunt and Dowling). This is evidenced in the recent publication of a range of books on home from various disciplines (Chapman and Hockey; Cieraad; Miller; Chapman; Pink; Blunt and Dowling), the advent in 2004 of a new journal, Home Cultures, focused specifically on the subject of home and domesticity, as well as similar recent special issues in several other journals, including Antipode, Cultural Geographies, Signs and Housing, Theory and Society. This increased interest in the home as a site of social and cultural inquiry reflects a renewed fascination with home and domesticity in the media, popular culture and everyday life. Domestic life is explicitly central to the plot and setting of many popular and/or critically-acclaimed television programs, especially suburban dramas like Neighbours [Australia], Coronation Street [UK], Desperate Housewives [US] and The Secret Life of Us [Australia]. The deeply-held value of home – as a place that must be saved or found – is also keenly represented in films such as The Castle [Australia], Floating Life [Australia], Rabbit-Proof Fence [Australia], House of Sand and Fog [US], My Life as a House [US] and Under the Tuscan Sun [US]. But the prominence of home in popular media imaginaries of Australia and other Western societies runs deeper than as a mere backdrop for entertainment. Perhaps most telling of all is the rise and ratings success of a range of reality and/or lifestyle television programs which provide their audiences with key information on buying, building, renovating, designing and decorating home. In Australia, these include Backyard Blitz , Renovation Rescue, The Block, Changing Rooms, DIY Rescue, Location, Location and Our House. Likewise, popular magazines like Better Homes and Gardens and Australian Vogue Living tell us how to make our homes more beautiful and functional. Other reality programs, meanwhile, focus on how we might secure the borders of our suburban homes (Crimewatch [UK]) and our homeland (Border Security [Australia]). Home is also a strong theme in other media forms and debates, including life writing, novels, art and public dialogue about immigration and national values (see Blunt and Dowling). Indeed, notions of home increasingly frame ‘real world’ experiences, “especially for the historically unprecedented number of people migrating across countries”, where movement and resettlement are often configured through processes of leaving and establishing home (Blunt and Dowling 2). In this issue of M/C Journal we contribute to these critical voices and popular debates, seeking to further untangle the intricate and multi-layered connections between home and everyday life in the contemporary world. Before introducing the articles comprising this issue, we want to extend some of the key themes that weave through academic and popular discussions of home and domesticity, and which are taken up and extended here by the subsequent articles. Home is powerful, emotive and multi-faceted. As a basic desire for many, home is saturated with the meanings, memories, emotions, experiences and relationships of everyday life. The idea and place of home is perhaps typically configured through a positive sense of attachment, as a place of belonging, intimacy, security, relationship and selfhood. Indeed, many reinforce their sense of self, their identity, through an investment in their home, whether as house, hometown or homeland. But at the same time, home is not always a well-spring of succour and goodness; others experience alienation, rejection, hostility, danger and fear ‘at home’. Home can be a site of domestic violence or ‘house arrest’; young gay men and lesbians may feel alienated in the family home; asylum seekers are banished from their homelands; indigenous peoples are often dispossessed of their homelands; refugees might be isolated from a sense of belonging in their new home(land)s. But while this may seriously mitigate the affirmative experience of home, many still yearn for places, both figurative and material, to call ‘home’ – places of support, nourishment and belonging. The experience of violence, loss, marginalisation or dispossession can trigger, in Michael Brown’s words, “the search for a new place to call home”: “it means having to relocate oneself, to leave home and reconfigure it elsewhere” (50). Home, in this sense, understood as an ambiguous site of both belonging and alienation, is not a fixed and static location which ‘grounds’ an essential and unchanging sense of self. Rather, home is a process. If home enfolds and carries some sense of desire for positive feelings of attachment – and the papers in this special issue certainly suggest so, most quite explicitly – then equally this is a relationship that requires ongoing maintenance. Blunt and Dowling call these processes ‘homemaking practices’, and point to how home must be understood as a lived space which is “continually created and recreated through everyday practices” (23). In this way, home is posited as relational – the ever-changing outcome of the ongoing and mediated interaction between self, others and place. What stands out in much of the above discussion is the deep inter-connection between home, identity and self. Across the humanities and social sciences, home has been keenly explored as a crucial site “for the construction and reconstruction of one’s self” (Young 153). Indeed, Blunt and Dowling contend that “home as a place and an imaginary constitutes identities – people’s sense of themselves are related to and produced through lived and imaginative experiences of home” (24). Thus, through various homemaking practices, individuals generate a sense of self (and social groups produce a sense of collective identity) while they create a place called home. Moreover, as a relational entity, neither home nor identity are fixed, but mutually and ongoingly co-constituted. Homemaking enables changing and cumulative identities to be materialised in and supported by the home (Blunt and Dowling). Unfolding identities are progressively embedded and reflected in the home through both everyday practices and routines (Wise; Young), and accumulating and arranging personally meaningful objects (Marcoux; Noble, “Accumulating Being”). Consequently, as one ‘makes home’, one accumulates a sense of self. Given these intimate material and affective links between home, self and identity, it is perhaps not surprising that writing about a place called home has often been approached autobiographically (Blunt and Dowling). Emphasising the importance of autobiographical accounts for understanding home, Blunt argues that “through their accounts of personal memories and everyday experiences, life stories provide a particularly rich source for studying home and identity” (“Home and Identity”, 73). We draw attention to the importance of autobiographical accounts of home because this approach is prominent across the papers comprising this issue of M/C Journal. The authors have used autobiographical reflections to consider the meanings of home and processes of homemaking operating at various scales. Three papers – by Brett Mills, Lisa Slater and Nahid Kabir – are explicitly autobiographical, weaving scholarly arguments through deeply personal experiences, and thus providing evocative first-hand accounts of the power of home in the contemporary world. At the same time, several other authors – including Melissa Gregg, Gilbert Caluya and Jennifer Gamble – use personal experiences about home, belonging and exclusion to introduce or illustrate their scholarly contentions about home, self and identity. As this discussion suggests, home is relational in another way, too: it is the outcome of a relationship between material and imaginative qualities. Home is somewhere – it is situated, located, emplaced. But it is also much more than a location – as suggested by the saying, ‘A house is not a home’. Rather, a house becomes a home when it is imbued with a range of meanings, feelings and experiences by its occupants. Home, thus, is a fusion of the imaginative and affective – what we envision and desire home to be – intertwined with the material and physical – an actual location which can embody and realise our need for belonging, affirmation and sustenance. Blunt and Dowling capture this relationship between emplacement and emotion – the material and the imaginative – with their powerful assertion of home as a spatial imaginary, where “home is neither the dwelling nor the feeling, but the relation between the two” (22). Moreover, they demonstrate that this conceptualisation also detaches ‘home’ from ‘dwelling’ per se, and invokes the creation of home – as a space and feeling of belonging – at sites and scales beyond the domestic house. Instead, as a spatial imaginary, home takes form as “a set of intersecting and variable ideas and feelings, which are related to context, and which construct places, extend across spaces and scales, and connects places” (Blunt and Dowling 2). The concept of home, then, entails complex scalarity: indeed, it is a multi-scalar spatial imaginary. Put quite simply, scale is a geographical concept which draws attention to the layered arenas of everyday life – body, house, neighbourhood, city, region, nation and globe, for instance – and this terminology can help extend our understanding of home. Certainly, for many, house and home are conflated, so that a sense of home is coterminous with a physical dwelling structure (e.g. Dupuis and Thorns). For others, however, home is signified by intimate familial or community relationships which extend beyond the residence and stretch across a neighbourhood (e.g. Moss). And moreover, without contradiction, we can speak of hometowns and homelands, so that home can be felt at the scale of the town, city, region or nation (e.g. Blunt, Domicile and Diaspora). For others – international migrants and refugees, global workers, communities of mixed descent – home can be stretched into transnational belongings (e.g. Blunt, “Cultural Geographies of Home”). But this notion of home as a multi-scalar spatial imaginary is yet more complicated. While the above arenas (house, neighbourhood, nation, globe, etc.) are often simply posited as discrete territories, they also intersect and interact in complex ways (Massey; Marston). Extending this perspective, we can grasp the possibility of personal and collective homemaking processes operating across multiple scales simultaneously. For instance, making a house into a home invariably involves generating a sense of home and familiarity in a wider neighbourhood or nation-state. Indeed, Greg Noble points out that homemaking at the scale of the dwelling can be inflected by broader social and national values which are reflected materially in the house, in “the furniture of everyday life” (“Comfortable and Relaxed”, 55) – landscape paintings and national flags and ornaments, for example. He demonstrates that “homes articulate domestic spaces to national experience” (54). For others – those moving internationally between nation-states – domestic practices in dwelling structures are informed by cultural values and social ideals which extend well beyond the nation of settlement. Everyday domestic practices from one’s ‘land of origin’ are integral for ‘making home’ in a new house, neighbourhood and country at the same time (Hage). Many of the papers in this issue reflect upon the multi-scalarity of homemaking processes, showing how home must be generated across the multiple intersecting arenas of everyday life simultaneously. Indeed, given this prominence across the papers, we have chosen to use the scale of home as our organising principle for this issue. We begin with the links between the body – the geography closest to our skin (McDowell) – the home, and other scales, and then wind our way out through evocations of home at the intersecting scales of the house, the neighbourhood, the city, the nation and the diasporic. The rhetoric of home and belonging not only suggests which types of places can be posited as home (e.g. houses, neighbourhoods, nations), but also valorises some social relations and embodied identities as homely and others as unhomely (Blunt and Dowling; Gorman-Murray). The dominant ideology of home in the Anglophonic West revolves around the imaginary ‘ideal’ of white, middle-class, heterosexual nuclear family households in suburban dwellings (Blunt and Dowling). In our lead paper, Melissa Gregg explores how the ongoing normalisation of this particular conception of home in Australian politico-cultural discourse affects two marginalised social groups – sexual minorities and indigenous Australians. Her analysis is timely, responding to recent political attention to the domestic lives of both groups. Scrutinising the disciplinary power of ‘normal homes’, Gregg explores how unhomely (queer and indigenous) subjects and relationships unsettle the links between homely bodies, ideal household forms and national belonging in politico-cultural rhetoric. Importantly, she draws attention to the common experiences of these marginalised groups, urging “queer and black activists to join forces against wider tendencies that affect both communities”. Our first few papers then continue to investigate intersections between bodies, houses and neighbourhoods. Moving to the American context – but quite recognisable in Australia – Lisa Roney examines the connection between bodies and houses on the US lifestyle program, Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, in which families with disabled members are over-represented as subjects in need of home renovations. Like Gregg, Roney demonstrates that the rhetoric of home is haunted by the issue of ‘normalisation’ – in this case, EMHE ‘corrects’ and normalises disabled bodies through providing ‘ideal’ houses. In doing so, there is often a disjuncture between the homely ideal and what would be most helpful for the everyday domestic lives of these subjects. From an architectural perspective, Marian Macken also considers the disjuncture between bodily practices, inhabitation and ideal houses. While traditional documentation of house designs in working drawings capture “the house at an ideal moment in time”, Macken argues for post factum documentation of the house, a more dynamic form of architectural recording produced ‘after-the-event’ which interprets ‘the existing’ rather than the ideal. This type of documentation responds to the needs of the body in the inhabited space of domestic architecture, representing the flurry of occupancy, “the changes and traces the inhabitants make upon” the space of the house. Gilbert Caluya also explores the links between bodies and ideal houses, but from a different viewpoint – that of the perceived need for heightened home security in contemporary suburban Australia. With the rise of electronic home security systems, our houses have become extensions of our bodies – ‘architectural nervous systems’ which extend our eyes, ears and senses through modern security technologies. The desire for home security is predicated on controlling the interplay between the house and wider scales – the need to create a private and secure defensible space in hostile suburbia. But at the same time, heightened home security measures ironically connect the mediated home into a global network of electronic grids and military technologies. Thus, new forms of electronic home security stretch home from the body to the globe. Irmi Karl also considers the connections between technologies and subjectivities in domestic space. Her UK-based ethnographic analysis of lesbians’ techo-practices at home also considers, like Gregg, tactics of resistance to the normalisation of the heterosexual nuclear family home. Karl focuses on the TV set as a ‘straightening device’ – both through its presence as a key marker of ‘family homes’ and through the heteronormative content of programming – while at the same time investigating how her lesbian respondents renegotiated the domestic through practices which resisted the hetero-regulation of the TV – through watching certain videos, for instance, or even hiding the TV set away. Susan Thompson employs a similar ethnographic approach to understanding domestic practices which challenge normative meanings of home, but her subject is quite different. In an Australian-based study, Thompson explores meanings of home in the wake of relationship breakdown of heterosexual couples. For her respondents, their houses embodied their relationships in profoundly symbolic and physical ways. The deterioration and end of their relationships was mirrored in the material state of the house. The end of a relationship also affected homely, familiar connections to the wider neighbourhood. But there was also hope: new houses became sources of empowerment for former partners, and new meanings of home were created in the transition to a new life. Brett Mills also explores meanings of home at different scales – the house, neighbourhood and city – but returns to the focus on television and media technologies. His is a personal, but scholarly, response to seeing his own home on the television program Torchwood, filmed in Cardiff, UK. Mills thus puts a new twist on autobiographical narratives of home and identity: he uses this approach to examine the link between home and media portrayals, and how personal reactions to “seeing your home on television” change everyday perceptions of home at the scales of the house, neighbourhood and city. His reflection on “what happens when your home is on television” is solidly but unobtrusively interwoven with scholarly work on home and media, and speaks to the productive tension of home as material and imaginative. As the above suggests, especially with Mills’s paper, we have begun to move from the homely connections between bodies and houses to focus on those between houses, neighbourhoods and beyond. The next few papers extend these wider connections. Peter Pugsley provides a critical analysis of the meaning of domestic settings in three highly-successful Singaporean sitcoms. He argues that the domestic setting in these sitcoms has a crucial function in the Singaporean nation-state, linking the domestic home and national homeland: it is “a valuable site for national identities to be played out” in terms of the dominant modes of culture and language. Thus, in these domestic spaces, national values are normalised and disseminated – including the valorisation of multiculturalism, the dominance of Chinese cultural norms, benign patriarchy, and ‘proper’ educated English. Donna Lee Brien, Leonie Rutherford and Rosemary Williamson also demonstrate the interplay between ‘private’ and ‘public’ spaces and values in their case studies of the domestic sphere in cyberspace, examining three online communities which revolve around normatively domestic activities – pet-keeping, crafting and cooking. Their compelling case studies provide new ways to understand the space of the home. Home can be ‘stretched’ across public and private, virtual and physical spaces, so that “online communities can be seen to be domesticated, but, equally … the activities and relationships that have traditionally defined the home are not limited to the physical space of the house”. Furthermore, as they contend in their conclusion, these extra-domestic networks “can significantly modify practices and routines in the physical home”. Jennifer Gamble also considers the interplay of the virtual and the physical, and how home is not confined to the physical house. Indeed, the domestic is almost completely absent from the new configurations of home she offers: she conceptualises home as a ‘holding environment’ which services our needs and provides care, support and ontological security. Gamble speculates on the possibility of a holding environment which spans the real and virtual worlds, encompassing email, chatrooms and digital social networks. Importantly, she also considers what happens when there are ruptures and breaks in the holding environment, and how physical or virtual dimensions can compensate for these instances. Also rescaling home beyond the domestic, Alexandra Ludewig investigates concepts of home at the scale of the nation-state or ‘homeland’. She focuses on the example of Germany since World War II, and especially since re-unification, and provides an engaging discussion of the articulation between home and the German concept of ‘Heimat’. She shows how Heimat is ambivalent – it is hard to grasp the sense of longing for homeland until it is gone. Thus, Heimat is something that must be constantly reconfigured and maintained. Taken up in a critical manner, it also attains positive values, and Ludewig suggests how Heimat can be employed to address the Australian context of homeland (in)security and questions of indigenous belonging in the contemporary nation-state. Indeed, the next couple of papers focus on the vexed issue of building a sense home and belonging at the scale of the nation-state for non-indigenous Australians. Lisa Slater’s powerful autobiographical reflection considers how non-indigenous Australians might find a sense of home and belonging while recognising prior indigenous ownership of the land. She critically reflects upon “how non-indigenous subjects are positioned in relation to the original owners not through migrancy but through possession”. Slater urges us to “know our place” – we need not despair, but use such remorse in a productive manner to remake our sense of home in Australia – a sense of home sensitive to and respectful of indigenous rights. Nahid Kabir also provides an evocative and powerful autobiographical narrative about finding a sense of home and belonging in Australia for another group ‘beyond the pale’ – Muslim Australians. Hers is a first-hand account of learning to ‘feel at home’ in Australia. She asks some tough questions of both Muslim and non-Muslim Australians about how to accommodate difference in this country. Moreover, her account shows the homing processes of diasporic subjects – transnational homemaking practices which span several countries, and which enable individuals and social groups to generate senses of belonging which cross multiple borders simultaneously. Our final paper also contemplates the homing desires of diasporic subjects and the call of homelands – at the same time bringing our attention back to home at the scales of the house, neighbourhood, city and nation. As such, Wendy Varney’s paper brings us full circle, lucidly invoking home as a multi-scalar spatial imaginary by exploring the diverse and complex themes of home in popular music. Given the prevalence of yearnings about home in music, it is surprising so little work has explored the powerful conceptions of home disseminated in and through this widespread and highly mobile media form. Varney’s analysis thus makes an important contribution to our understandings of home presented in media discourses in the contemporary world, and its multi-scalar range is a fitting way to bring this issue to a close. Finally, we want to draw attention to the cover art by Rohan Tate that opens our issue. A Sydney-based photographer, Tate is interested in the design of house, home and the domestic form, both in terms of exteriors and interiors. This image from suburban Sydney captures the shifting styles of home in suburban Australia, giving us a crisp juxtaposition between modern and (re-valued) traditional housing forms. Bringing this issue together has been quite a task. We received 60 high quality submissions, and selecting the final 14 papers was a difficult process. Due to limits on the size of the issue, several good papers were left out. We thank the reviewers for taking the time to provide such thorough and useful reports, and encourage those authors who did not make it into this issue to keep seeking outlets for their work. The number of excellent submissions shows that home continues to be a growing and engaging theme in social and cultural inquiry. As editors, we hope that this issue of M/C Journal will make a vital contribution to this important range of scholarship, bringing together 14 new and innovative perspectives on the experience, location, creation and meaning of home in the contemporary world. References Blunt, Alison. “Home and Identity: Life Stories in Text and in Person.” Cultural Geography in Practice. Eds. Alison Blunt, Pyrs Gruffudd, Jon May, Miles Ogborn, and David Pinder. London: Arnold, 2003. 71-87. ———. Domicile and Diaspora: Anglo-Indian Women and the Spatial Politics of Home. Malden: Blackwell, 2005. ———. “Cultural Geographies of Home.” Progress in Human Geography 29.4 (2005): 505-515. ———, and Robyn Dowling. Home. London: Routledge, 2006. Brown, Michael. Closet Space: Geographies of Metaphor from the Body to the Globe. London: Routledge, 2000. Chapman, Tony. Gender and Domestic Life: Changing Practices in Families and Households. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. ———, and Jenny Hockey, eds. Ideal Homes? Social Change and Domestic Life. London: Routledge, 1999. Cieraad, Irene, ed. At Home: An Anthropology of Domestic Space. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1999. Dupuis, Ann, and David Thorns. “Home, Home Ownership and the Search for Ontological Security.” The Sociological Review 46.1 (1998): 24-47. Gorman-Murray, Andrew. “Homeboys: Uses of Home by Gay Australian Men.” Social and Cultural Geography 7.1 (2006): 53-69. Hage, Ghassan. “At Home in the Entrails of the West: Multiculturalism, Ethnic Food and Migrant Home-Building.” Home/world: Space, Community and Marginality in Sydney’s West. Eds. Helen Grace, Ghassan Hage, Lesley Johnson, Julie Langsworth and Michael Symonds. Annandale: Pluto, 1997. 99-153. Mallett, Shelley. “Understanding Home: A Critical Review of the Literature.” The Sociological Review 52.1 (2004): 62-88. Marcoux, Jean-Sébastien. “The Refurbishment of Memory.” Home Possessions: Material Culture Behind Closed Doors. Ed. Daniel Miller. Oxford: Berg, 2001. 69-86. Marston, Sally. “A Long Way From Home: Domesticating the Social Production of Scale.” Scale and Geographic Inquiry: Nature, Society and Method. Eds. Eric Sheppard and Robert McMaster. Oxford: Blackwell, 2004. 170-191. Massey, Doreen. “A Place Called Home.” New Formations 17 (1992): 3-15. McDowell, Linda. Gender, Identity and Place: Understanding Feminist Geographies. Cambridge: Polity, 1999. Miller, Daniel, ed. Home Possessions: Material Culture Behind Closed Doors. Oxford: Berg, 2001. Moss, Pamela. “Negotiating Space in Home Environments: Older Women Living with Arthritis.” Social Science and Medicine 45.1 (1997): 23-33. Noble, Greg. “Comfortable and Relaxed: Furnishing the Home and Nation.” Continuum: Journal of Media and Cultural Studies 16.1 (2002): 53-66. ———. “Accumulating Being.” International Journal of Cultural Studies 7.2 (2004): 233-256. Pink, Sarah. Home Truths: Gender, Domestic Objects and Everyday Life. Oxford: Berg, 2004. Wise, J. Macgregor. “Home: Territory and Identity.” Cultural Studies 14.2 (2000): 295-310. Young, Iris Marion. “House and Home: Feminist Variations on a Theme.” On Female Body Experience: ‘Throwing Like a Girl’ and Other Essays. New York: Oxford University Press, 2005. 123-154. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Gorman-Murray, Andrew, and Robyn Dowling. "Home." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/01-editorial.php>. APA Style Gorman-Murray, A., and R. Dowling. (Aug. 2007) "Home," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/01-editorial.php>.

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Abstract:

The old “Is the glass half empty or half full?” question does more than just illustrate a person’s proclivity for pessimism or for optimism. It alerts us to the possibility that the same real world phenomena may be interpreted in entirely different ways, with very real consequences. It is this notion that I apply to the way fat sex and thin sex are conceptualised in the larger social consciousness. While sexual, romantic and/or intimate acts between people where at least one individual is fat (Fat Sex) are deemed atypical, abnormal, fetishistic and even abusive (Saguy qtd. in Swami & Tovee 90; Schur qtd. in Prohaska 271; Gailey 119), such encounters between able-bodied individuals who are thin or of average weight (Thin Sex) are deemed normal and desirable. I argue in this article that this discrepancy in how we label and treat fat and thin sexuality is unjustified because the two domains are more similar than distinct. Given their similarity we should treat similar aspects of both domains in the same way, i.e. either as normal, or as fetishistic based on relevant criteria rather than body size. I also argue that fat prejudice and thin privilege underlie this discrepancy in modern western society. I finally conclude that this causes significant personal and social harm to both fat and thin individuals.Fat Sex – The Fetishized NormalHanne Blank, in writing of her foray into publishing body positive material exploring fat sexuality, speaks of the need for spaces that acknowledge the vitality and diversity of fat sex; not in fetishistic and p*rnographic portrayals of Big Beautiful Women offering themselves up as an object of desire but reflecting the desires and sexual experiences of fat people themselves (10). If there are a 100 million people in America who are obese according to BMI standards, she argues, they represent a whole array of body sizes and a lot of sexual activity, which she describes as follows:Fat people have sex. Sweet, tender, luscious sex. Sweaty, feral, sheet-ripping sex. Shivery, jiggly, gasping sex. Sentimental, slow, face-cradling sex. Even as you read these words, there are fat people out there somewhere joyously getting their freak on. Not only that, but fat people are falling in love, having hook-ups, being crushed-out, putting on sexy lingerie, being the objects of other people’s lust, flirting, primping before hot dates, melting a little as they read romantic notes from their sweeties, seducing and being seduced, and having shuddering, toe-curling org*sms that are as big as they are. It’s only natural. (15)Such normalcy and diverse expression, however, is not usually portrayed in popular media, nor even in much scholarly research. Apart from body positive spaces carved out by the fat acceptance movement online and the research of fat studies scholars, which, contextualises fat sexuality as healthy and exciting, in “the majority of scholarship on this topic, fat women’s sexual behaviors are never the result of women’s agency, are always the result of their objectification, and are never healthy” (Prohaska 271).This interpretation of fat sexuality, the assumptions associated with it and the reinforcement of these attitudes have much to do with the pervasiveness of fat prejudice in society today. One study estimates that the prevalence of weight based discrimination in the US increased by 66% between 1996 and 2006 (Andreyeva, Puhl and Brownell) and is now comparable to gender and race based discrimination (Puhl, Andreyeva and Brownell). This is not an isolated trend. An anthropological study analysing the globalisation of notions of fat being unhealthy and a marker of personal and social failing suggests that we have on our hands a rapidly hom*ogenising global stigma associated with fat (Brewis, Wutich and Rodriguez-Soto), a climate of discrimination leading many fat people to what Goffman describes as a spoiled identity (3).Negative stereotypes affecting fat sexuality are established and perpetuated through a process of discursive constraint (Cordell and Ronai 30-31). “’No man will ever love you,’ Weinstein’s grandmother informs her (Weinstein, prologue), simultaneously offering her a negative category to define herself by and trying to coerce her into losing weight – literally constraining the discourse that Weinstein may apply to herself.Discursive constraint is created not only by individuals reinforcing cultural mores but also by overt and covert messages embedded in social consciousness: “fat people are unattractive”, “fat is ugly”, “fat people are asexual”, “fat sex is a fetish”, “no normal person can be attracted to a fat person”. Portrayals of fat individuals in mainstream media consolidate these beliefs.One of the most loved fat characters of 1990s, Fat Monica from the sitcom Friends is gluttonous, ungainly (rolling around in a bean bag, jolting the sofa as she sits), undesirable (Chandler says to Ross, “I just don’t want to be stuck here all night with your fat sister!”), and desperate for sex, affection and approval from the opposite sex: “the comedic potential of Fat Monica is premised on an understanding that her body is deviant or outside the norm” (Gullage 181).In Shallow Hal, a film in which a shallow guy falls in love with the inner beauty of a fat girl, Hal (Jack Black) is shown to be attracted to Rosemary (Gwyneth Paltrow) only after he can no longer see her real fat body and her “inner beauty” is represented by a thin white blond girl. All the while, the movie draws laughs from the audience at the fat jokes and gags made at the expense of Paltrow’s character.Ashley Madison, a website for married people looking to have an affair, used the image of a scantily clad fat model in an advertisem*nt with the tagline “Did your wife scare you last night?”, implying that infidelity is justified if you’re not attracted to your partner, and fatness precludes attraction. And a columnist from popular magazine Marie Claire wrote about Mike and Molly, a sitcom about two fat people in a relationship:Yes, I think I'd be grossed out if I had to watch two characters with rolls and rolls of fat kissing each other ... because I'd be grossed out if I had to watch them doing anything. (Kelly)It is the prevalence of these beliefs that I call the fetishisation of fat sexuality. When fat bodies are created as asexual and undesirable, it gives rise to the rhetoric that to be sexually attracted to a fat body is unnatural, therefore making any person who is attracted to a fat body a fetishist and the fat person themselves an object of fetish.The internalisation of these beliefs is not only something that actively harms the self-esteem, sexual agency & health and happiness of fat individuals (Satinsky et al.), but also those who are attracted to them. Those who internalise these beliefs about themselves may be unable to view themselves as sexual and engage with their own bodies in a pleasurable manner, or to view themselves as attractive, perhaps discounting any assertions to the contrary. In a study designed to investigate the relationship between body image and sexual health in women of size, one participant revealed:I’ve had my issues with T as far as um, believing that T is attracted to me…because of my weight, my size and the way I look. (Satinsky et al. 717)Another participant speaks of her experience masturbating and her discomfort at touching her own flesh, leading her to use a vibrator and not her hands:Like, I don’t, I don’t look down. I look at the ceiling and I try to – it’s almost like I’m trying to imagine that I was thinner. Like, imagine that my stomach was flatter or something like that, which sounds bizarre, but I guess that’s what I’m trying to do. (Satinsky et al. 719)Others stay in bad marriages because they believe they wouldn’t find anyone else (Joanisse and Synnott 55) or tolerate abuse because of their low self-esteem (Hester qtd. in Prohaska 271).Similarly, men who internalise these attitudes about fat find it easier to dehumanise and objectify fat women, believe that they’d be desperate for sex and hence an easy target for a sexual conquest, and are less deserving of consideration (Prohaska and Gailey 19).On the other hand, many men who find fat women attractive (Fat Admirers or FA’s) remain closeted because their desire is stigmatised. Many do not make their preference known to their peer group and families, nor do they publicly acknowledge the woman they are intimate with. Research suggests that FA’s draw the same amount of stigma for being with fat women and finding them attractive, as they would for themselves being fat (Goode qtd. in Prohaska and Gailey).I do not argue here that all fat individuals have spoiled identities or that all expressions of fat sexuality operate from a place of stigma and shame, but that fat sexuality exists within a wider social fabric of fat phobia, discrimination and stigmatisation. Fulfilling sexual experience must therefore be navigated within this framework. As noted, the fat acceptance movement, body positive spaces online, and fat studies scholarship help to normalise fat sexuality and function as tools for resisting stigma and fetishisation.Resisting Stigma: Creating Counter NarrativesGailey, in interviews with 36 fat-identified women, found that though 34 of them (94%) had ‘experienced a life of ridicule, body shame and numerous attempts to lose weight’ which had an adverse effect on their relationships and sex life, 26 of them reported a positive change after having ‘embodied the size acceptance ideology’ (Gailey 118).Recently, Kristin Chirico, employee of Buzzfeed, released first an article and then a video titled My Boyfriend Loves Fat Women about her relationship with her boyfriend who loves fat women, her own discomfort with her fatness and her journey in embracing size acceptance ideologies: I will let him enjoy the thing he loves without tearing it down. But more importantly, I will work to earn love from me, who is the person who will always play the hardest to get. I will flirt as hard as I can, and I will win myself back.Books such as Wann’s Fat!So?, Blank’s Big Big Love: A Sex and Relationships Guide for People of Size (and Those Who Love Them), Chastain’s Fat: The Owner’s Manual and her blog Dances with Fat, Tovar’s Hot and Heavy: Fierce Fat Girls on Life, Love and Fashion, as well as Substantia Jones’s fat photography project called The Adipositivity Project are some examples of fat activism, size acceptance and body positive spaces and resources. The description on Jones’s site reads:The Adipositivity Project aims to promote the acceptance of benign human size variation and encourage discussion of body politics, not by listing the merits of big people, or detailing examples of excellence (these things are easily seen all around us), but rather through a visual display of fat physicality. The sort that's normally unseen. When fat individuals create personal narratives to resist stigmatisation of fat sexuality they confront the conundrum of drawing the line between sexual empowerment and glorifying fat fetishism. To see one’s own and other fat bodies as sexual, normal and worthy of pleasure is one way to subvert this fetishism. One would also take seriously any sexual advances, seeing oneself as desirable. The line between normal expression of fat sexuality and the wide spread belief that fat sex is fetishistic is so blurred however, that it becomes difficult to differentiate between them, so it is common to ask if one is being sexual or being an object of fetish. There is also the tension between the heady sense of power in being a sexual agent, and the desire to be wanted for more than just being a fat body.Modern burlesque stage is one arena where fat bodies are being recreated as sexy and desirable, offering a unique resource to ‘fat performers and audience members who want to experience their bodies in new and affirming ways’. Because burlesque is an erotic dance form, fat women on the burlesque stage are marked as ‘sexual, without question or challenge’. The burlesque stage has a great capacity to be a space for transforming sexual identity and driving changes in audience attitudes, creating a powerful social environment that is contrary to mainstream conditions in society (Asbill 300).The founder and creative director of “Big Burlesque” and “Fat-Bottom Revue” the world’s first all-fat burlesque troupe, however, notes that when she started Big Burlesque there were a couple of “bigger” performers on the neo-burlesque circuit, but they did not specifically advocate fat liberation. ‘Fat dance is rare enough; fat exotic/erotic dance is pretty much unheard of outside of “fetish” acts that alienate rather than normalise fat bodies’ (McAllister 305).In another instance, Laura writes that to most men her weight is a problem or a fetish, constraining the potential in relationships. Speaking of BBW (Big Beautiful Women) and BHM (Big Handsome Men) websites that cater to Fat Admirers she writes:As I’ve scrolled through these sites, I’ve felt vindicated at seeing women my size as luscious pinups. But, after a while, I feel reduced to something less than a person: just a gartered thigh and the breast-flesh offered up in a corset. I want to be lusted after. I want to be wanted. But, more than this, I want to love, and be loved. I want everything that love confers: being touched, being valued and being seen.That sexual attraction might rely wholly or partly on physical attributes, however, is hardly unfamiliar, and is an increasing phenomenon in the wider culture and popular media. Of course, what counts there is being thin and maintaining the thin state!Thin Sex: The Normalised FetishUnlike the fat body, the thin body is created as beautiful, sexually attractive, successful and overwhelmingly the norm (van Amsterdam). Ours is a culture fixated on physical beauty and sex, both of which are situated in thin bodies. Sexiness is a social currency that buys popularity, social success, and increasingly wealth itself (Levy). Like fat sex, thin sex operates on the stage set by the wider cultural ideals of beauty and attractiveness and that of the burden of thin privilege. Where stigma situates fat sexuality to abnormality and fetish, thin sexuality has to deal with the pressures of conforming to and maintaining the thin state (vam Amsterdam).Thin individuals also deal with the sexualisation of their bodies, confronting the separation of their personhood from their sexuality, in a sexual objectification of women that has long been identified as harmful. Ramsey and Hoyt explore how being objectified in heterosexual relationships might be related to coercion within those relationships. Their evidence shows that women are routinely objectified, and that this objectification becomes part of the schema of how men relate to women. Such a schema results in a fracturing of women into body parts dissociated from their personhood , making it easier to engage in violence with, and feel less empathy for female partners (in cases of rape or sexual assault). (Ramsey and Hoyt) What is interesting here is the fact that though aspects of thin sexuality are recognised as fetishistic (objectification of women), thin sex is still considered normal.Thin Sex, Fat Sex and 50 Shades of OverlapThe normalisation of sexual objectification -- society for the most part being habituated to the fetishistic aspects of thin sex, can be contrasted with attitudes towards comparable aspects of fat sex. In particular, Feederism, is generally viewed within scholarly discourse (and public attitudes) as ‘a consensual activity, a fetish, a stigmatised behaviour, and abuse’ (Terry & Vassey, Hester, Bestard, Murray as qtd. in Prohaska 281). Prohaska argues that Feederism and Diet Culture are broadly similar phenomena that elicit tellingly opposing judgements. She reports that the culture of feederism (as analysed on online forums) is a mostly consensual activity, where the community vocally dissuades non-consensual activities and any methods that may cause bodily harm (268). It is mostly a community of people who discuss measures of gradual weight gain and support and encourage each other in those goals. This, she argues, is very similar in tone to what appears on weight loss websites and forums (269). She contends, however that despite these parallels ‘the same scrutiny is not given to those who are attempting to lose weight as is placed upon those who do not diet or who try to gain weight’ (269).She notes that whereas in judging feederism emphasis is on fringe behaviours, in evaluating diet culture the focus is on behaviours deemed normal and healthy while only disorders like anorexia, bulimia, and pill using are judged fringe behaviours. This disparity, she claims, is rooted in fat phobia and prejudice (270).In comparing the dating sections of feederism websites with mainstream dating sites she notes that here too the nature of ads is similar, with the only difference being that in mainstream sites the body size preference is assumed. People seeking relationships on both kinds of sites look for partners who are ‘caring, intelligent and funny’ and consider ‘mutual respect’ as key (270).This is similar to what was revealed in an article by Camille Dodero, who interviewed a number of men who identify as fat admirers and delved into the myths and realities of fat admiration. The article covers stories of stigma that FA’s have faced and continue to face because of their sexual preference, and also of internalised self-hatred that makes it difficult for fat women to take their advances seriously. The men also create BBW/BHM dating websites as more than a fetish club. They experience these online spaces as safe spaces where they can openly meet people they would be interested in just as one would on a normal/mainstream dating site. Even if most women fit the type that they are attracted to in such spaces, it does not mean that they would be attracted to all of those women, just as on match.com one would look over prospective candidates for dating and that process would include the way they look and everything else about that person.Attempting to clear up the misconception that loving fat women is a fetish, one of the interviewees says,“Steve, over there, has a type,” gesturing wanly at a stranger in a hockey jersey probably not named Steve. “I have a type, too. Mine’s just bigger. He may like skinny blondes with bangs and long legs. I like pear shapes with brown hair and green eyes. I have a type—it just happens to be fat.” Besides, people aren’t fetish objects, they’re people. “It’s not like having a thing for leather.” (Dodero 3)ConclusionAnalysis of the domains of thin and fat sex shows that both have people engaging in sexual activity and romantic and intimate relationships with each other. Both have a majority of individuals who enjoy consensual, fulfilling sex and relationships, however these practices and desires are celebrated in one domain and stigmatised in the other. Both domains also have a portion of the whole that objectifies relationship partners with immense potential for harm, whether this involves sexualisation and objectification and its related harms in thin sex, objectification of fat bodies in some BBW and BHM circles, and the fringes of feederism communities, or non-body size specific fetish acts that individuals from both domains engage in. Qualitatively, since both domains significantly overlap, it is difficult to find the justification for the fetishisation of one and the normativity of the other. It seems plausible that this can be accounted for by the privilege associated with thin bodies and the prejudice against fat.Our failure to acknowledge such fetishisation of normal fat sex and normalisation of the fetishistic aspects of thin sex creates huge potential for harm for both groups, for it not only causes the fragmentation of effort when it comes to addressing these issues but also allows for the rich vitality and diversity of “normal” fat sex to wallow in obscurity and stigma.References Andreyeva, Tatiana, Rebecca M. Puhl, and Kelly D. Brownell. "Changes in Perceived Weight Discrimination among Americans, 1995–1996 through 2004–2006." Obesity 16 (2008): 1129-1134.Asbill, D. Lacy. "'I’m Allowed to Be a Sexual Being': The Distinctive Social Conditions of the Fat Burlesque Stage." The Fat Studies Reader, eds. Sondra Solovay and Esther Rothblum. New York: New York UP, 2009. 299.Blank, Hanne. Big Big Love, Revised, A Sex and Relationship Guide for People of Size (and Those Who Love Them). New York: Celestial Arts, 2011.Bogart, Laura. Salon 4 Aug. 2014.Brewis, A.A., A. Wutich and I. Rodriguez-Soto. "Body Norms and Fat Stigma in Global Perspective." Current Anthropology 52 (2011): 269-276.Chirico, Kristin. My Boyfriend Loves Fat Women. 25 Feb. 2015.Cordell, Gina, and Carol Rambo Ronai. "Identity Management among Overweight Women: Narrative Resistance to Stigma." Interpreting Weight: The Social Management of Fatness and Thinness, eds. Jeffery Sobal and Donna Maurer. Transaction Publishers, 1999. 29-48. Dodero, Camille. Guys Who Like Fat Chicks. 4 May 2011.Prohaska, Ariane, and Jeannine A. Gailey. "Achieving Masculinity through Sexual Predation: The Case of Hogging." Journal of Gender Studies 19.1 (2010): 13-25.Gailey, Jeannine A. “Fat Shame to Fat Pride: Fat Women’s Sexual and Dating Experiences.” Fat Studies: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Body Weight and Society 1.1 (2012). Goffman, Erving. Stigma: Notes on the Management of Spoiled Identity. Englewood Cliffs, N.J: Prentice-Hall, 1963.Gullage, Amy. "Fat Monica, Fat Suits and Friends." Feminist Media Studies 14.2 (2012): 178-89. Jacqueline. "I'm The 'Scary' Model in That Awful Ashley Madison Ad." 11 July 2011. Online. 24 May 2015.Jones, Substantia. The Adipositivity Project. n.d. Kelly, M. "Should 'Fatties' Get a Room? (Even on TV?)" 2010.Levy, Ariel. "Raunch Culture." Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture. New York: Free Press, 2005. 7-45.McAllister, Heather. "Embodying Fat Liberation." The Fat Studies Reader, eds. Sondra Solovay and Esther Rothblum. New York: New York UP, 2009. 305.Prohaska, Ariane. “Help Me Get Fat! Feederism as Communal Deviance on the Internet.” Deviant Behaviour 35.4 (2014). Puhl, Rebecca M., Tatiana Andreyeva, and Kelly Brownell. "Perceptions of Weight Discrimination: Prevalence and Comparison to Race and Gender Discrimination in America." International Journal of Obesity 32 (2008): 992-1000.Ramsey, Laura R., and Tiffany Hoyt. "The Object of Desire: How Being Objectified Creates Sexual Pressure for Women in Heterosexual Relationships." Psychology of Women Quarterly (2014): 1-20.Satinsky, Sonya, et al. "'Fat Girl Complex': A Preliminary Investigation of Sexual Health and Body Image in Women of Size." Culture, Health and Sexuality: An International Journal for Research, Intervention and Care 15.6 (2013): 710-25.Swami, Viren, and Martin J. Tovee. “Big Beautiful Women: The Body Size Preferences of Male Fat Admirers.” The Journal of Sex Research 46.1 (2009): 89-86.Joanisse, Leanne, and Anthony Synnott. "Fighting Back: Reactions and Resistance to the Stigma of Obesity." Interpreting Weight: The Social Management of Fatness and Thinness, eds. Jeffery Sobal and Donna Maurer. New York: First Transaction Printing, 2013. 49-73.Van Amsterdam, Noortje. "Big Fat Inequalities, Thin Privilege: An Intersectional Perspective on 'Body Size'." European Journal of Women's Studies 20.2 (2013): 155-69.Weinstein, Rebecca Jane. “Fat Sex: The Naked Truth”. EBook, 2012.

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As part of an effort to grapple with the meaning of violence, Hannah Arendt argued that it was curious how infrequently violence was taken up for special consideration in conversations of history and politics, remarking that “this shows to what an extent violence and its arbitrariness were taken for granted and therefore neglected; no one questions or examines what is obvious to all” (8). While we are not suggesting that violence has eluded the critical eye in the time since Arendt’s argument, there is something remarkably resonant about the idea that violence is taken-for-granted as part of human existence, and thus—for privileged citizens protected from its affects—invisible. In this issue, the contributors explore how violence continues to define and shape social, political, and cultural terrains. In what follows, we explore what it means to talk about violence and follow this with a general introduction to the pieces in this special issue that tease out the various locations of violence and its representations across different spaces. Defining Violence In general in western society, we think of violence in its most manifest forms: war, terrorism or massacres. But violence operates in many forms, some of them more subtle or latent and arguably more destructive given their structural and far-reaching character. Some forms of violence are easily recognised, others decontextualised and depoliticised through complex cultural processes of normalisation and denial (Brison). Violence can become a spectacle, an aestheticised representation, or it can be reduced to banality when its horror and trauma is refracted through everyday lives and spaces which are shaped by violent systems and ideologies (Arendt). Notions of trauma, spectatorship, testimony, and witnessing circulate through narratives of violence. Ideas of “civilisation” implicitly and explicitly reference competing discourses of violence and put them to work in damaging ways, often in the service of ideals (liberalism, for example) that mask the very violence that supports them. Even those discourses that claim most ardently to uphold principles of safety and inclusion (for example, multiculturalism) are impeded by or invested in systems of violence, and in fact they depend on it for their very legitimacy. For those of us living and working in white, patriarchal, settler states, it is inevitable that our cultural and material conditions are underpinned by a systemic and perpetual condition of violence. Even for those of us who feel generally safe, violence is all around us, shaping how we live, work, think, feel, and act. However, violence is not equally experienced throughout the world or within our own communities, nor is the absence of violence. Ultimately, feeling safe from violence is often a marker of privilege and safety often comes at the price of violence enacted upon others. What makes violence so powerful as a force with material and symbolic consequences is both this articulation with privilege and its resultant banal expression in everyday spaces. Projects of racial, gendered, sexed, classed and ableist exclusion and violence operate below the surface of conscious registration for those not immediately impacted by them, allowing violence to elude critical interrogation. In this respect, even the idea of safety is only possible through a guarantee of violence, a guarantee written into the lands themselves, the institutions of the state, and the discourse of Western liberal traditions. Both victims and perpetrators of violence differ in their visibility. In easily recognised forms of violence, there is usually an actor who is violent and a victim of that violence. However, even in the most obvious cases, there are examples of missing perpetrators. For example, domestic violence is often discussed using passive language that centres the victim and erases the perpetrator (Katz and Earp). Or in the case of police violence against minorities, even where there is compelling evidence of police brutality, legal systems fail to find and sentence perpetrators (e.g. Chernega; Waters). This process of erasure is itself a further act of violence that places blame on victims, leading outsiders to question why they didn’t take action to prevent their victimisation. However, increasing attention has been given to these subtle erasures; for example, Jane Gilmore’s book Fixed It: Violence and the Representation of Women in the Media calls the mainstream media to task for their representation of gender violence as a problem women experience, rather than a problem perpetrated by men. This issue of M/C Journal invited responses to the theme of “violence,” understood broadly, as it operates through various social, cultural, institutional, and affective domains. The articles included here demonstrate the complexity of different forms of violence. They cover terrain such as symbolic violence and the discursive, political and social domination that shapes contemporary or historical realities; pedagogical violence and the operation of power and control over the means of intellectual, social and cultural production in spaces of learning; physical violence and the attendant damages that this entails; technological violence and the ways in which media technologies facilitate or resist violence; and violence as a subject of public interest in forms including news media, true crime, and entertainment. This issue’s articles intersect in interesting ways which encourage readers to think about multiple aspects of violence. We explore some of the common themes below, and in doing so introduce readers to the rich collection of ideas included in this issue. Enacted Violence It is interesting to consider what we can learn from violence by thinking about the perspectives of those who perpetrate it, and those who experience it. As discussed above, sometimes these agents are easier to spot. Larissa Sexton-Finck’s contribution reminds us that the most visible forms of violence aren’t necessarily the most damaging. In her essay, she explores her experience of being in a car crash. The obvious perpetrator of violence is the driver of the car that caused the crash, but as we read through her experience we see that she was victimised in many ways by those who filmed her experience in order to sell it to the news. These ‘citizen journalists’ are likely to think of their work as important and not as enacting violence on others, but Sexton-Finck’s firsthand experience of being filmed highlights the violence of the act. Similarly, some practices are so commonplace that it is easy to overlook the violence inherent within them. Yirga Woldeyes gives us the example of museum collections, a taken-for-granted effect of colonisation, which perpetuates an ongoing violent epistemic power differential. This is another example of violence with an invisible perpetrator; museums consider themselves keepers of knowledge, protectors of culture and heritage. Where collecting is considered an act of violence, it is typically perceived as action from the past, rather than an ongoing act of violence with continuing experiences of victimisation. However, as Woldeyes’ article makes clear, the violence of the act reverberates for generations. For Ailie McDowall, violence works in subtle ways that are both unconscious or explicit. Exploring pre-service teacher engagements with an Indigenous education subject, McDowall speaks to the limits of intention (Milner) by highlighting how the good intentions of pre-service teachers can result in ideological violence through the bringing of Indigenous peoples and knowledges into Western epistemic comprehension as part of an effort to know. Further, while educators are often called to envision “preferred futures” (Hicks) in their teaching practice, McDowall shows us that ethical calls to teach and live responsibly and critically in the face of colonial logics results in a deferral of that responsibility to the future, what McDowall identifies as an act of violence. Representations of Violence Social understandings of violence are both shaped by, and influence, representations of violence in media, culture, and the arts. Such representations can themselves be forms of symbolic violence, that is, ”violence wielded with tacit complicity between its victims and its agents, insofar as both remain unconscious of submitting to or wielding it” (Bourdieu 17). As mechanisms for transmitting normalised ideas of politics and peoples, representations can effect such symbolic violence by disseminating hegemonic notions of exclusion/inclusion, safety/harm, and justifications and logics for violence. Indeed, as Dervin argues, “representations do have an ideological component and […] an exercise of power is always present in representations” (185). Yet, we are wise to remember that representations, the projection of power, and the ideological legitimation of symbolic violence that may inhere in representations can neither guarantee truth nor action as people exercise agency and speak and act back to and against those very representations of “truth”. The authors in this issue work within this tension, highlighting efforts by some to either create and deploy representation as an instrument of legitimating violence or critically engaging representations of violence as part of efforts to dismantle and surfaces the symbolic violence transmitted through various works. When considering the symbolic violence of media, it is crucial that we consider who is doing the representation, and how that representation is mediated. Social media (as discussed in the contribution by Milton and Petray), has different characteristics to products of the culture industry (Adorno) such as commercial news reporting (Sexton-Finck) or cinematic films (McKenzie-Craig). And these are different again in the literary genre of the autobiographical novel (Nile) or the form of the public testimony (Craven). Some representations of violence allow for more agency than others. Creative works by victims of violence, for example that discussed by Sexton-Finck, challenge viewers and draw our attention to the ways the commodification of the culture industry (Adorno) makes us complicit as spectators in acts of violence. In a similar way, creative representations of enacting violence can cause productive discomfort by going against stereotypes and norms about who perpetrates violence. Carolyn McKenzie-Craig's contribution compares representations of gender and violence that defy expectations. McKenzie-Craig considers the Swedish film Män som hatar kvinnor (released in English as The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo) alongside work from non-binary artist, Cassils, and her own creative works. In all three of these works, women and non-binary agents enact violence in ways that unsettle viewers, forcing contemplation about the nature of violence. Likewise, literature provides a fruitful arena for examining violence as a cultural force. Indeed, post-colonial scholars have shown us that literature has been a tool of violence, and has, in contrast, also been used to “write back” to oppressive ideologies (Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin, after Salman Rushdie). Richard Nile’s essay considers the power of violence to echo through families in cases of intergenerational trauma. In considering an autobiographical novel that takes the form of a family drama, Nile traces the reverberations of real wartime violence and family violence and shows how fictionalising such trauma can reveal new ways of looking at it, both for the author of such a work and for the historians and literary scholars who examine such work. In the article by Milton and Petray, the authors explore how violence mediates and regulates ideas of belonging as it is is represented through a lens of citizenship via social media. Through an exploration of a digital space, Milton and Petray highlight the bifurcation of people into us/them, a split predicated on desires to protect the sanctity of “us” and “our” citizenship through the use of violent discourse to normalise the divide. What is perhaps most striking is the reminder that categories of inclusion are powerfully framed through everything from the banality of seemingly mundane language and everyday languages of race (Billig; Hill) through to more abhorrent language and far reaching discourses of normalised violence. Through this, Milton and Petray draw our attention not just to the manifestation of violence online but also its use as a strategy for regulating inclusion into the deemed “legitimate” community through the very act of representing people as either legitimate citizens or not. As who counts as a citizen in need of state protection is contested, so is what counts as violence. In “The Last of the Long Takes: Feminism, Sexual Harassment, and the Action of Change”, Allison Craven reminds us that the naming of systemic violence remains a crucial early step in the fight against it, and goes some way toward dismantling its taken-for-grandness. In considering Lauren Berlant’s notion of the “diva citizen” in relation to Anita Hill’s 1991 testimony of sexual harassment, Craven reframes the #metoo movement as a call to action to which, crucially, the body politic must respond. Craven draws our attention to the fact that the second-wave feminist movement’s naming of workplace sexual harassment created the conditions for a public that would hear and witness these later testimonies. In naming violence where we see it and considering violence from various and multiple scholarly dimensions, the essays in this issue refuse to shelter it beneath the veil of the everyday, the arbitrary, the taken for granted. In explicitly naming violence, they bring it out into the open, and they allow us to consider alternatives. Creative works, for example, offer an opportunity to play with the meanings of violence, and to reimagine what it means to be an aggressor or a victim (McKenzie-Craig; Sexton-Finck). Through such explorations, these pieces collectively draw to our attention the possibility and need for futures different from the histories and present that we inherit and live within today. Together, the arguments, insights and calls for something different compel us to confront that which some seek not to discuss, that which some of us might take for granted as a condition of everyday life. Through such calls, we are asked to confront what it means to live and relate ethically together for something and somewhere different. References Adorno, Theodor W. “Culture Industry Reconsidered.” Media Studies. Eds. P. Marris and S. Thornham. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1999. 31–7. Arendt, Hannah. On Violence. London: Harcourt, 1970. Ashcroft, Bill, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin. The Empire Writes Back: Theory and Practice in Postcolonial Literatures. London: Routledge, 1989. Billig, Michael. Banal Nationalism. Thousand Oaks: Sage, 1995. Bourdieu, Pierre. On Television and Journalism. London: Pluto Press, 1998. Chernega, Jennifer. “Black Lives Matter: Racialised Policing in the United States.” Comparative American Studies 14.3-4 (2016): 234-45. Dervin, Fred. “Cultural Identity, Representation and Othering.” The Routledge Handbook of Language and Intercultural Communication. Ed Jane Jackson. New York: Routledge, 2012. 181–94. Gilmore, Jane. Fixed It: Violence and the Representation of Women in the Media. Melbourne: Penguin Random House, 2019.Hicks, David. Lessons for the Future: The Missing Dimension in Education. New York: Routledge Falmer, 2002. Hill, Jane. The Everyday Language of White Racism. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2008. Katz, Jackson, and Jeremy Earp. Tough Guise. 2011. Milner, H. Richard. “But Good Intentions Are Not Enough: Doing What’s Necessary to Teach for Diversity.” White Teachers, Diverse Classrooms: Creating Inclusive Schools, Building on Students’ Diversity, and Providing True Educational Equity. Eds. Julie. Landsman and Chance Lewis. 2nd ed. Stirling, VA: Stylus Publishing, 2011. 56–74. Waters, Jeff. Gone for a Song: A Death in Custody on Palm Island. Sydney: Harper Collins, 2008.

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This article proposes that the growing popularity of reality television in the southernmost state of India, Kerala – disseminated locally and throughout the Indian diaspora – is not the product of an innocuous nostalgia for a fast-disappearing regional identity but rather a spectacular example of an emergent ideology that displaces cultural memory, collective identity, and secular nationalism with new, globalised forms of public sentiment. Further, it is arguable that this g/local media culture also displaces hard-won secular feminist constructions of gender and the contemporary modern “Indian woman.” Shows like Idea Star Singer (hereafter ISS) (Malayalam [the language spoken in Kerala] television’s most popular reality television series), based closely on American Idol, is broadcast worldwide to dozens of nations including the US, the UK, China, Russia, Sri Lanka, and several nations in the Middle East and the discussion that follows attempts both to account for this g/local phenomenon and to problematise it. ISS concentrates on staging the diversity and talent of Malayalee youth and, in particular, their ability to sing ‘pitch-perfect’, by inviting them to perform the vast catalogue of traditional Malayalam songs. However, inasmuch as it is aimed at both a regional and diasporic audience, ISS also allows for a diversity of singing styles displayed through the inclusion of a variety of other songs: some sung in Tamil, some Hindi, and some even English. This leads us to ask a number of questions: in what ways are performers who subscribe to regional or global models of televisual style rewarded or punished? In what ways are performers who exemplify differences in terms of gender, sexuality, religion, class, or ability punished? Further, it is arguable that this show—packaged as the “must-see” spectacle for the Indian diaspora—re-imagines a traditional past and translates it (under the rubric of “reality” television) into a vulgar commodification of both “classical” and “folk” India: an India excised of radical reform, feminists, activists, and any voices of multiplicity clamouring for change. Indeed, it is my contention that, although such shows claim to promote women’s liberation by encouraging women to realise their talents and ambitions, the commodification of the “stars” as televisual celebrities points rather to an anti-feminist imperial agenda of control and domination. Normalising Art: Presenting the Juridical as Natural Following Foucault, we can, indeed, read ISS as an apparatus of “normalisation.” While ISS purports to be “about” music, celebration, and art—an encouragement of art for art’s sake—it nevertheless advocates the practice of teaching as critiqued by Foucault: “the acquisition and knowledge by the very practice of the pedagogical activity and a reciprocal, hierarchised observation” (176), so that self-surveillance is built into the process. What appears on the screen is, in effect, the presentation of a juridically governed body as natural: the capitalist production of art through intense practice, performance, and corrective measures that valorise discipline and, at the end, produce ‘good’ and ‘bad’ subjects. The Foucauldian isomorphism of punishment with obligation, exercise with repetition, and enactment of the law is magnified in the traditional practice of music, especially Carnatic, or the occasional Hindustani refrain that separates those who come out of years of training in the Gury–Shishya mode (teacher–student mode, primarily Hindu and privileged) from those who do not (Muslims, working-class, and perhaps disabled students). In the context of a reality television show sponsored by Idea Cellular Ltd (a phone company with global outposts), the systems of discipline are strictly in line with the capitalist economy. Since this show depends upon the vast back-catalogue of film songs sung by playback singers from the era of big studio film-making, it may be seen to advocate a mimetic rigidity that ossifies artistic production, rather than offering encouragement to a new generation of artists who might wish to take the songs and make them their own. ISS, indeed, compares and differentiates the participants’ talents through an “opaque” system of evaluations which the show presents as transparent, merit-based and “fair”: as Foucault observes, “the perpetual penalty that traverses all points and supervises every instant in the disciplinary institutions compares, differentiates, hierarchizes, hom*ogenizes, excludes. In short, it normalizes” (183). On ISS, this evaluation process (a panel of judges who are renowned singers and composers, along with a rotating guest star, such as an actor) may be seen as a scopophilic institution where training and knowledge are brought together, transforming “the economy of visibility into the exercise of power” (187). The contestants, largely insignificant as individuals but seen together, at times, upon the stage, dancing and singing and performing practised routines, represent a socius constituting the body politic. The judges, enthroned on prominent and lush seats above the young contestants, the studio audience and, in effect, the show’s televised transnational audience, deliver judgements that “normalise” these artists into submissive subjectivity. In fact, despite the incoherence of the average judgement, audiences are so engrossed in the narrative of “marks” (a clear vestige of the education and civilising mission of the colonial subject under British rule) that, even in the glamorous setting of vibrating music, artificial lights, and corporate capital, Indians can still be found disciplining themselves according to the values of the West. Enacting Keraleeyatham for Malayalee Diaspora Ritty Lukose’s study on youth and gender in Kerala frames identity formations under colonialism, nationalism, and capitalism as she teases out ideas of resistance and agency by addressing the complex mediations of consumption or consumptive practices. Lukose reads “consumer culture as a complex site of female participation and constraint, enjoyment and objectification” (917), and finds the young, westernised female as a particular site of consumer agency. According to this theory, the performers on ISS and the show’s MC, Renjini Haridas, embody this body politic. The young performers all dress in the garb of “authentic identity”, sporting saris, pawaadu-blouse, mundum-neertha, salwaar-kameez, lehenga-choli, skirts, pants, and so on. This sartorial diversity is deeply gendered and discursively rich; the men have one of two options: kurta-mundu or some such variation and the pant–shirt combination. The women, especially Renjini (educated at St Theresa’s College in Kochi and former winner of Ms Kerala beauty contest) evoke the MTV DJs of the mid-1990s and affect a pidgin-Malayalam spliced with English: Renjini’s cool “touching” of the contestants and airy gestures remove her from the regional masses; and yet, for Onam (festival of Kerala), she dresses in the traditional cream and gold sari; for Id (high holy day for Muslims), she dresses in some glittery salwaar-kameez with a wrap on her head; and for Christmas, she wears a long dress. This is clearly meant to show her ability to embody different socio-religious spheres simultaneously. Yet, both she and all the young female contestants speak proudly about their authentic Kerala identity. Ritty Lukose spells this out as “Keraleeyatham.” In the vein of beauty pageants, and the first-world practice of indoctrinating all bodies into one model of beauty, the youngsters engage in exuberant performances yet, once their act is over, revert back to the coy, submissive docility that is the face of the student in the traditional educational apparatus. Both left-wing feminists and BJP activists write their ballads on the surface of women’s bodies; however, in enacting the chethu or, to be more accurate, “ash-push” (colloquialism akin to “hip”) lifestyle advocated by the show (interrupted at least half a dozen times by lengthy sequences of commercials for jewellery, clothing, toilet cleaners, nutritious chocolate bars, hair oil, and home products), the participants in this show become the unwitting sites of a large number of competing ideologies. Lukose observes the remarkable development from the peasant labor-centered Kerala of the 1970s to today’s simulacrum: “Keraleeyatham.” When discussing the beauty contests staged in Kerala in the 1990s, she discovers (through analysis of the dress and Sanskrit-centred questions) that: “Miss Kerala must be a naden pennu [a girl of the native/rural land] in her dress, comportment, and knowledge. Written onto the female bodies of a proliferation of Miss Keralas, the nadu, locality itself, becomes transportable and transposable” (929). Lukose observes that these women have room to enact their passions and artistry only within the metadiegetic space of the “song and dance” spectacle; once they leave it, they return to a modest, Kerala-gendered space in which the young female performers are quiet to the point of inarticulate, stuttering silence (930). However, while Lukose’s term, Keraleeyatham, is useful as a sociological compass, I contend that it has even more complex connotations. Its ethos of “Nair-ism” (Nayar was the dominant caste identity in Kerala), which could have been a site of resistance and identity formation, instead becomes a site of nationalist, regional linguistic supremacy arising out of Hindu imaginary. Second, this ideology could not have been developed in the era of pre-globalised state-run television but now, in the wake of globalisation and satellite television, we see this spectacle of “discipline and punish” enacted on the world stage. Thus, although I do see a possibility for a more positive Keraleeyatham that is organic, inclusive, and radical, for the moment we have a hegemonic, exclusive, and hierarchical statist approach to regional identity that needs to be re-evaluated. Articulating the Authentic via the Simulacrum Welcome to the Malayalee matrix. Jean Baudrillard’s simulacrum is our entry point into visualising the code of reality television. In a state noted for its distinctly left-leaning politics and Communist Party history which underwent radical reversal in the 1990s, the political front in Kerala is still dominated by the LDF (Left Democratic Front), and resistance to the state is an institutionalised and satirised daily event, as marked by the marchers who gather and stop traffic at Palayam in the capital city daily at noon. Issues of poverty and corporate disenfranchisem*nt plague the farming and fishing communities while people suffer transportation tragedies, failures of road development and ferry upkeep on a daily basis. Writers and activists rail against imminent aerial bombing of Maoists insurgent groups, reading in such statist violence repression of the Adivasi (indigenous) peoples scattered across many states of eastern and southern India. Alongside energy and ration supply issues, politics light up the average Keralaite, and yet the most popular “reality” television show reflects none of it. Other than paying faux multicultural tribute to all the festivals that come and go (such as Id, Diwaali, Christmas, and Kerala Piravi [Kerala Day on 1 November]), mainly through Renjini’s dress and chatter, ISS does all it can to remove itself from the turmoil of the everyday. Much in the same way that Bollywood cinema has allowed the masses to escape the oppressions of “the everyday,” reality television promises speculative pleasure produced on the backs of young performers who do not even have to be paid for their labour. Unlike Malayalam cinema’s penchant for hard-hitting politics and narratives of unaccounted for, everyday lives in neo-realist style, today’s reality television—with its excessive sound and light effects, glittering stages and bejewelled participants, repeat zooms, frontal shots, and artificial enhancements—exploits the paradox of hyper-authenticity (Rose and Wood 295). In her useful account of America’s top reality show, American Idol, Katherine Meizel investigates the fascination with the show’s winners and the losers, and the drama of an American “ideal” of diligence and ambition that is seen to be at the heart of the show. She writes, “It is about selling the Dream—regardless of whether it results in success or failure—and about the enactment of ideology that hovers at the edges of any discourse about American morality. It is the potential of great ambition, rather than of great talent, that drives these hopefuls and inspires their fans” (486). In enacting the global via the site of the local (Malayalam and Tamil songs primarily), ISS assumes the mantle of Americanism through the plain-spoken, direct commentaries of the singers who, like their US counterparts, routinely tell us how all of it has changed their lives. In other words, this retrospective meta-narrative becomes more important than the show itself. True to Baudrillard’s theory, ISS blurs the line between actual need and the “need” fabricated by the media and multinational corporations like Idea Cellular and Confident Group (which builds luxury homes, primarily for the new bourgeoisie and nostalgic “returnees” from the diaspora). The “New Kerala” is marked, for the locals, by extravagant (mostly unoccupied) constructions of photogenic homes in garish colours, located in the middle of chaos: the traditional nattumparathu (countryside) wooden homes, and traffic congestion. The homes, promised at the end of these shows, have a “value” based on the hyper-real economy of the show rather than an actual utility value. Yet those who move from the “old” world to the “new” do not always fare well. In local papers, the young artists are often criticised for their new-found haughtiness and disinclination to visit ill relatives in hospital: a veritable sin in a culture that places the nadu and kin above all narratives of progress. In other words, nothing quite adds up: the language and ideologies of the show, espoused most succinctly by its inarticulate host, is a language that obscures its distance from reality. ISS maps onto its audience the emblematic difference between “citizen” and “population”. Through the chaotic, state-sanctioned paralegal devices that allow the slum-dwellers and other property-less people to dwell in the cities, the voices of the labourers (such as the unions) have been silenced. It is a nation ever more geographically divided between the middle-classes which retreat into their gated neighbourhoods, and the shanty-town denizens who are represented by the rising class of religio-fundamentalist leaders. While the poor vote in the Hindu hegemony, the middle classes text in their votes to reality shows like ISS. Partha Chatterjee speaks of the “new segregated and exclusive spaces for the managerial and technocratic elite” (143) which is obsessed by media images, international travel, suburbanisation, and high technology. I wish to add to this list the artificially created community of ISS performers and stars; these are, indeed, the virtual and global extension of Chatterjee’s exclusive, elite communities, decrying the new bourgeois order of Indian urbanity, repackaged as Malayalee, moneyed, and Nayar. Meanwhile, the Hindu Right flexes its muscle under the show’s glittery surface: neither menacing nor fundamentalist, it is now “hip” to be Hindu. Thus while, on the surface, ISS operates according to the cliché, musicinu mathamilla (“music has no religion”), I would contend that it perpetuates a colonising space of Hindu-nationalist hegemony which standardises music appreciation, flattens music performance into an “art” developed solely to serve commercial cinema, and produces a dialectic of Keraleeyatham that erases the multiplicities of its “real.” This ideology, meanwhile, colonises from within. The public performance plays out in the private sphere where the show is consumed; at the same time, the private is inserted into the public with SMS calls that ultimately help seal the juridicality of the show and give the impression of “democracy.” Like the many networks that bring the sentiments of melody and melancholy to our dinner table, I would like to offer you this alternative account of ISS as part of a bid for a more vociferous, and critical, engagement with reality television and its modes of production. Somehow we need to find a way to savour, once again, the non-mimetic aspects of art and to salvage our darkness from the glitter of the “normalising” popular media. References Baudrillard, Jean. The Mirror of Production. Trans. Mark Poster. New York: Telos, 1975. ———. Selected Writings. Ed. Mark Poster. California: Stanford UP, 1988. Chatterjee, Partha. The Politics of the Governed: Reflections on Popular Politics in Most of the World. Delhi: Permanent Black, 2004. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. New York: Vintage, 1995. Lukose, Ritty. “Consuming Globalization: Youth and Gender in Kerala, India.” Journal of Social History 38.4 (Summer 2005): 915-35. Meizel, Katherine. “Making the Dream a Reality (Show): The Celebration of Failure in American Idol.” Popular Music and Society 32.4 (Oct. 2009): 475-88. Rose, Randall L., and Stacy L. Wood. “Paradox and the Consumption of Authenticity through Reality Television.” Journal of Consumer Research 32 (Sep. 2005): 284-96.

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We Break Up, I Publish: Theorising and Emotional Processing like Taylor Swift In 2007 after the rather painful end of my first long-term same-sex relationship I asked myself two questions (and like a good graduate student wrote a paper about it that was subsequently published): (1) what is love; (2) and if love exists, are queer and straight love somehow different. I asked myself the second question because, unlike my previous “straight” breakups (back when I honestly thought I was straight), this one was different, was far more messy, and seemed to have a lot to do with the fact that my then fresh ex-boyfriend and I had dramatically different ideas about how the relationship should look, work, be codified, or if it should or could be codified. It was an eye-opening experience since the truth that these different ideas existed—basically his point of view—really only “came out” in my mind through the act and learning involved in that breakup. Until then, from a Queer Theory perspective, you could have described me as a “man who had sex with men,” called himself hom*osexual, but was so hom*onormative that if you’d approached me with even a light version of Michel Foucault’s thoughts on “Friendship as a Way of Life” I’d have looked at you as queerly, and cluelessly, as possible. Mainstream Queer Theory would have put the end of the relationship down to the difference and conflict between what is pejoratively called the “marriage-chasing-Gay-normaliser,” represented by me, and the “radical-Queer(ness)-of-difference” represented by my ex-boyfriend, although like a lot of theory, that misses the personal (which I recall being political...), and a whole host of non-theoretical problems that plagued that relationship. Basically I thought Queer/hom*osexual/Lesbian/Transgendered and the rest of the alphabet soup was exactly the same as Straight folks both with respect to a subjective understanding of the self, social relations and formations, and how you acted or enacted yourself in public and private except in the bedroom.. I thought, since Canada had legalised same-sex marriage, all was well and equal (other than the occasional hate-crime which would then be justly punished). Of course I understood that at that point Canada was the exception and not the rule with respect to same-sex rights and same-sex marriage, so it followed in my mind that most of our time collectively should be spent supporting those south of the border or overseas who still faced restrictions on these basic rights, or out-and-out violence, persecution and even state-sanctioned death for just being who they are and/or trying to express it. And now, five years on, stating that Canada is the exception as opposed to the rule with respect to the legalisation of same-sex marriage and the codification of same-sex rights in law has the potential to be outdated as the recent successes of social movements, court rulings and the tenor of political debate and voting has shifted internationally with rapid speed. But it was only because of that breakup that these theoretical and practical issues had come out of my queer closet and for the first time I started to question some necessary link between love and codification (marriage), and how the queer in Queer relationships does or potentially can disrupt this link. And not just for Queers, but for Straight folk too, which is the primary point that should be underlined now and is addressed at the end of this paper. Because, embittered as I was at the time, I still basically agree with the theoretical position that I came to in that paper on love—based on a queering of the terms of Alain Badiou—where I affirmed that love resisted codification, especially in its queer form, because it is fidelity to an act and truth between two or more partners which resists the rigid walls of State-based codification (Potts, Love Hurts; Badiou, Ethics and Saint Paul). But as one of the peer reviewers for this paper rightly pointed out, the above distinctions between my ex and myself implicitly rely upon a State-centric model of rights and freedoms, which I attacked in the first paper, but which I freely admit I am guilty of utilising and arguing in favour of here. But that is because I am interested, here, not in talking about love as an abstract concept towards which we should work in our personal relationships, but as the state of things, and specifically the state of same-sex marriage and the discourse and images which surrounds it, which means that the State does matter. This is specifically so given the lack of meaningful challenges to the State System in Canada and the US. I maintain, following Butler, that it is through power, and our response to the representatives of power “hailing us,” that we become bodies that matter and subjects (Bodies That Matter; The Psychic Life of Power; and Giving An Account of Oneself). While her re-reading of Althusser in these texts argues that we should come to a philosophical and political position which challenges this State-based form of subject creation and power, she also notes that politically and philosophically we have yet to articulate such a position clearly, and I’d say that this is especially the case for what is covered and argued in the mainstream (media) debate on same-sex marriage. So apropos what is arguably Foucault’s most mature analysis of “power,” and while agreeing that my State-based argument for inclusion and rights does indeed strengthen the “biopolitical” (The History of Sexuality 140 and 145) control over, in this case, Queer populations, I argue that this is nonetheless the political reality with which we are working in and analyzing, and that is my concern here. Despite a personal desire that this not be the case, the State or state sanctioned institutions do continue to hold a monopoly of power in conferring subjecthood and rights. To take a page from Jeremy Bentham, I would say that arguing from a position which does not start from or seriously consider the State as the current basis for rights and subjecthood, though potentially less ethically problematic and more in line with my personal politics, is tantamount to talking and arguing about “nonsense on stilts.” “Caught in a Bad Romance?” Comparing hom*onationalist Trajectories and the Appeal of Militarist Discourse to LGBT Grassroots Organisations In comparing the discourses and enframings of the debate over same-sex marriage between Canada in the mid 1990s and early 2000s and in the US today, one might presume that how it came to say “I do” in Canada and how it might or might not get “left at the altar” in the US, is the result of very different national cultures. But this would just subscribe to one of a number of “cultural explanations” for perceived differences between Canada and the US that are usually built upon straw-man comparisons which then pillorise the US for something or other. And in doing so it would continue an obscuration that Canada, unlike the US, is unproblematically open and accepting when it comes to multicultural, multiracial and multisexual diversity and inclusion. Which Canada isn’t nor has it ever been. When you look at the current discourse in both countries—by their key political representatives on the international stage—you find the opposite. In the US, you have President Barack Obama, the first sitting President to come out in favour of same-sex marriage, and the Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton, setting same-sex rights at home and abroad as key policy planks (Gay Rights are Human Rights). Meanwhile, in Canada, you have Prime Minister Stephen Harper, in office since 2006, openly support his Conservative Party’s “traditional marriage” policy which is thankfully made difficult to implement because of the courts, and John Baird, the badly closeted Minister of Foreign Affairs, who doesn’t mention same-sex rights at home or with respect to foreign relations—unless it is used as supplementary evidence to further other foreign policy goals (c.f. Seguin)—only showing off his sexuality outside of the press-gallery to drum up gay-conservative votes or gay-conservative fundraising at LGBTQ community events which his government is then apt to pull funding for (c.f. Bradshaw). Of course my point is not to just reverse the stereotypes, painting an idyllic picture of the US and a grim one of Canada. What I want to problematise is the supposed national cultural distinctions which are naturalised when arguments are made through them as to why same-sex marriage was legalised in Canada, while the Defense of Marriage Act still stands in the US. To follow and extend Jasbir Puar’s argument from Terrorist Assemblages, what we see in both same-sex marriage debates and discourses is really the same phenomenon, but, so far, with different outcomes and having different manifestations. Puar contends that same-sex rights, like most equalising rights for minority groups, are only granted when all three of the following conditions prevail: (1) in a state or narrative of exception, where the nation grants a minority group equal rights because “the nation” feels threatened from without; (2) only on the condition that normalisation (or hom*onormalisation in the case of the Queer community) occurs, with those who don’t conform pushed further from a place in the national-subject; (3) and that the price of admission into being the “allowed Queer” is an ultra-patriotic identification with the Nation. In Canada, the state or narrative of exception was an “attack” from within which resulted in the third criterion being downplayed (although it is still present). Court challenges in a number of provinces led in each case to a successful ruling in favour of legalising same-sex marriage. Appeals to these rulings made their way to the Supreme Court, who likewise ruled in favour of the legalisation of same-sex marriage. This ruling came with an order to the Canadian Parliament that it had to change the existing marriage laws and definition of marriage to make it inclusive of same-sex marriage. This “attack” was performed by the judiciary who have traditionally (c.f. Makin) been much less partisan in appointment or ruling than their counterparts in the US. When new marriage laws were proposed to take account of the direction made by the courts, the governing Liberal Party and then Prime Minister Paul Martin made it a “free vote” so members of his own party could vote against it if they chose. Although granted with only lacklustre support by the governing party, the Canadian LGBTQ community rejoiced and became less politically active, because we’d won, right? International Queers flocked to Canada—one in four same-sex weddings since legalisation in Canada have been to out of country residents (Postmedia News)—as long as they had the proper socioeconomic profile (which is also a racialised profile) to afford the trip and wedding. This caused a budding same-sex marriage tourism and queer love normalisation industry to be built around the Canada Queer experience because especially at the time of legalisation Canada was still one of the few countries to allow for same-sex marriages. What this all means is that hom*onationalism in Canada is much less charged. It manifests itself as fitting in and not just keeping up with the Joneses when it comes to things like community engagement and Parent Teacher Association (PTA) meetings, but trying to do them one better (although only by a bit so as not to offend). In essence, the comparatively bland process in the 1990s by which Canada slowly underwent a state of exception by a non-politically charged and non-radical professional judiciary simply interpreting the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms at the provincial and then the federal level is mirrored in the rather bland and non-radical hom*onationalism which resulted. So unlike the US, the rhetoric of the LGBT community stays subdued unless there’s a hint that the right to same-sex divorce might get hit by Conservative Party guns, in which case all hell breaks loose (c.f. Ha). While the US is subject to the same set of logics for the currently in-progress enactment of legalising same-sex marriage, the state of exception is dramatically different. Puar argues it is the never-ending War on Terror. This also means that the enframings and debate in the US are exceptionally charged and political, leading to a very different type of hom*onationalism and hom*onationalist subject than is found in Canada. American hom*onationalism has not radically changed from Puar’s description, but due to leadership from the top (Obama, Clinton and Lady Gaga) the intensity and thereby structured confinement of what is an acceptable Queer-American subject has become increasingly rigid. What is included and given rights is the hyper-patriotic queer-soldier, the defender of the nation. And what reinforces the rigidity of what amounts to a new “glass closet” for queers is that grassroots organisations have bought into the same rhetoric, logic, and direction as to how to achieve equality as the Homecoming advertisem*nt from the Equal Love Campaign in Britain shows. For the other long-leading nation engaged in the War on Terror narrative, Homecoming provides the imagery of a gay member of the armed services draped in the flag proposing to his partner at the end of duty overseas that ends with the following text: “All men can be heroes. All men can be husbands. End discrimination.” Can’t get more patriotic—and heteronormative with the use of the term “husbands”—than that. Well, unless you’re Lady Gaga. Now Lady Gaga stands out as a public figure whom has taken an explicitly pro-queer and pro-LGBT stance from the outset of her career. And I do not want to diminish the fact that she has been admirably effective in her campaigning and consistent pro-queer and pro-LGBT stance. While above I characterised her input above as leadership from the top, she also, in effect, by standing outside of State Power unlike Obama and Clinton, and being able to be critical of it, is able to push the State in a more progressive direction. This was most obviously evidenced in her very public criticism of the Democratic Party and President Obama for not moving quickly enough to adopt a more pro-queer and pro-LGBT stance after the 2008 election where such promises were made. So Lady Gaga plays a doubled role whereby she also acts as a spokesperson for the grassroots—some would call this co-opting, but that is not the charge made here as she has more accurately given her pre-existing spotlight and Twitter and Facebook presence over to progressive campaigns—and, given her large mainstream media appeal and willingness to use this space to argue for queer and LGBT rights, performs the function of a grassroots organisation by herself as far as the general public is concerned. And in her recent queer activism we see the same sort of discourse and images utilised as in Homecoming. Her work over the first term of Obama’s Presidency—what I’m going to call “The Lady Gaga Offensive”—is indicative: she literally and metaphorically wrapped herself in the American flag, screaming “Obama, ARE YOU LISTENING!!! Repeal ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ and [have the hom*ophobic soldiers] go home, go home, go home!” (Lady Gaga Rallies for Repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell). And presumably to the same home of otherness that is occupied by the terrorist or anything that falls under the blanket of “anti-American” in Puar’s critique of this approach to political activism. This speech was modelled on her highly successful one at the National Equality March in 2009, which she ended with “Bless God and Bless the Gays.” When the highly watched speeches are taken together you literally can’t top them for Americanness, unless it is by a piece of old-fashioned American apple-pie bought at a National Rifle Association (NRA) bake-sale. And is likely why, after Obama’s same-sex “evolution,” the pre-election ads put out by the Democratic Party this year focused so heavily on the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” and the queer patriotic soldier or veteran’s obligation to or previous service in bearing arms for the country. Now if the goal is to get formal and legal equality quickly, then as a political strategy, to get people onside with same-sex marriage, and from that place to same-sex rights and equal social recognition and respect, this might be a good idea. Before, that is, moving on to a strategy that actually gets to the roots of social inequality and doesn’t rely on “hate of ‘the other’” which Puar’s analysis points out is both a byproduct of and rooted in the base of any nationalist based appeal for minoritarian rights. And I want to underline that I am here talking about what strategy seems to be appealing to people, as opposed to arguing an ethically unproblematic and PC position on equality that is completely inclusive of all forms of love. Because Lady Gaga’s flag-covered and pro-military scream was answered by Obama with the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” and the extension of some benefits to same-sex couples, and has Obama referring to Gaga as “your leader” in the pre-election ads and elsewhere. So it isn’t really surprising to find mainstream LGBT organisations adopting the same discourse and images to get same-sex rights including marriage. One can also take recent poll numbers from Canada as indicative as well. While only 10 percent of Canadians have trust in political parties, and 17 and 16 percent have trust in Parliament and Prime Minister Harper respectively, a whopping 53 percent have trust in the Canadian Forces (Leblanc). One aspect that undergirds Puar’s argument is that especially at a "time of war," more than average levels of affection or trust is shown for those institutions that defend “us,” so that if the face of that institution is reinscribed to the look of the hyper-patriotic queer-soldier (by advertising of the Homecoming sort which is produced not by the State but by grassroots LGBT organisations), then it looks like these groups seem to be banking that support for Gays and Lesbians in general, and same-sex marriage in specific, will further rise if LGBT and Queer become substantively linked in the imagination of the general public with the armed forces. But as 1980s Rockers Heart Asked: “But There’s Something That You Forgot. What about Love?” What these two hom*onationalist trajectories and rhetorics on same-sex marriage entirely skip over is how exactly you can codify “love.” Because isn’t that the purpose of marriage? Saying you can codify it is like grasping at a perfectly measured and exact cubic foot of air and telling it to stay put in the middle of a hurricane. So to return to how I ended my earlier exploration of love and if it could or should be codified: it means that as I affirm love, and as I remain in fidelity to it, I subject myself in my fundamental weakness constantly to the "not-known;" to constant heartbreak; to affirmations which I cannot betray as it would be a betrayal of the truth process itself. It's as if at the very moment the Beatles say the words 'All you need is love' they were subjected to wrenching heartbreak and still went on: 'All you need is love...' (Love Hurts) Which is really depressing when I look back at it now. But it was a bad breakup, and I can tend to the morose in word choice and cultural references when depressed. But it also remains essentially my position. If you impose “till death or divorce do us part” on to love you’re really only just participating in the chimera of static love and giving second wind to a patriarchal institution which has had a crappy record when it comes to equality. It also has the potential to preserve asymmetrical roles “traditional marriage” contains from when the institution was only extended to straight couples. And isn’t equality the underlying philosophical principle and political position that we’re supposedly fighting for if we’re arguing for an equal right to get married? Again, it’s important to try and codify the same rights for everyone through the State at the present time because I honestly don’t see major changes confronting the nation state system in Canada or the US in the near future. We remain the play-children of a digitally entrenched form of Foucaultian biopower that is State and Capital directed. Because while the Occupy Wall Street movements got a lot of hay in the press, I’ve yet to see any substantive or mainstreamed political change come out of them—if someone can direct me to their substantive contribution to the recent US election I’d be happy to revise my position—which is likely to our long term detriment. So this is a pragmatic analysis, one of locating one node in the matrices of power relations, of seeing how mainstream LGBT political organisations and Lady Gaga are applying the “theoretical tool kits” given to us by Foucault and Puar, and seeing how these organisations and Gaga are applying them, but in this case in a way that is likely counter to authorial intention(s) and personal politics (Power/Knowledge 145, 193; Terrorist Assemblages). So what this means is that we’re likely to continue to see, in mainstream images of same-sex couples put out by grassroots LGBT organisations, a hom*onationalism and ideological construction that grows more and more out of touch with Queer realities—the “upper-class house-holding PTA Gay”; although on a positive note I should point out that the Democratic Party in the US seems to be at least including both white and non-white faces in their pre-election same-sex marriage ads—and one that most Queers don’t or can’t fit themselves into especially when it comes down to the economic aspect of that picture, which is contradictory and problematic (c.f. Christopher). It also means that in the US the hom*onationalism on the horizon looks the same as in Canada except with a healthy dose of paranoia of outsiders and “the other” and a flag draped membership in the NRA, that is, for when the queer super-soldier is not in uniform. It’s a straightjacket for a closet that is becoming smaller because it seeks, through the images projected, inclusion for only a smaller and smaller social sub-set of the Lesbian and Gay community and leaves out more and more of the Queer community than it was five years ago when Puar described it. So instead of trying to dunk the queer into the institution of patriarchy, why not, by showing how so many Queers, their relationships, and their loving styles don’t fit into these archetypes help give everyone, including my “marriage-chasing-Gay-normaliser” former self a little “queer eye, for all eyes.” To look at and see modern straight marriage through the lenses and reasons LGBT and Queer communities (by-and-large) fought for years for access to it: as the codification and breakdown of some rights and responsibilities (i.e. taking care of children); as an act which gives you straightforward access to health benefits and hospital visitation rights; as an easy social signifier for others of a commitment to another person that doesn’t use diluted language like “special friend;” and because when it comes down to it that “in sickness and in health” part of the vow—in the language of a queered Badiou, a vow can be read as the affirmation of a universal and disinterested truth (love) and a moment which can’t be erased retrospectively, say, by divorce—seems like a sincere way to value at least one of those you really care for in the world. And hopefully it, as a side-benefit, it acts as a reminder but is not the actuality of that first fuzzy feeling which (hopefully) doesn’t go away. But I learned my lesson the first time and know that the fuzzy feeling might disappear as it often does. It doesn’t matter how far we try and cram it into any variety of hom*onationalist closets, since it’ll always find a way to not be there, no matter how tight you thought you’d locked the door to keep it in for good if it wants out. Because you can’t keep emotions by contract: so at the end of the day the logical, ethical and theoretically sound position is to argue for the abolition of marriage as an institution. However, Plato and others have been making that argument for thousands of years, and it still doesn’t seem to have gained popular traction. And we also need to realise, contrary to the opinion of my former self and The Beatles, that you really do need more than love as fidelity to an event of you and your partner’s making when you are being denied your partners health benefits just because you are a same-sex couple, especially when those health benefits could be saving your life. And if same-sex marriage codification is a quick fix for that and similar issues for those who can fit into the State sanctioned same-sex marriage walls, which admittedly leaves some members of the Queer community who don’t overlap out, as part of an overall and more inclusive strategy that does include them then I’m in favour of it. That is, till the time comes that Straight and Queer can, over time and with a lot of mutual social learning, explore how to recognise and give equal rights with or without State based codification to the multiple queer and sometimes polyamorous relationship models that already populate the Gay and Straight worlds right now. So in the meantime continue to count me down as a “marriage-chasing-Gay.” But just pragmatically, not to normalise, as one of a diversity of political strategies for equality and just for now. References Badiou, Alain. Ethics: An Essay on the Understanding of Evil. New York: Verso, 2001. ———. Saint Paul: The Foundation of Universalism, Stanford: Stanford UP, 2003. Bradshaw, James. “Pride Toronto Denied Federal Funding.” The Globe and Mail. 7 May. 2012 ‹http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/toronto/pride-toronto-denied-federal-funding/article1211065/›. Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. New York: Routledge,1990. ———. Bodies That Matter: On the Discursive Limits of “Sex”. New York: Routledge, 1993. ———. Excitable Speech: A Politics of the Performative. New York: Routledge, 1997. ———. The Psychic Life of Power: Theories of Subjection. Stanford: Stanford UP, 1997. ———. Giving an Account of Oneself. New York: Fordham UP, 2005. Christopher, Nathaniel. “Openly Gay Men Make Less money, Survey Shows.” Xtra! .5 Nov. 2012 ‹http://www.xtra.ca/public/Vancouver/Openly_gay_men_make_less_money_survey_shows-12756.aspx›. Clinton, Hillary. “Gay Rights Are Human Rights, And Human Rights Are Gay Rights.” United Nations General Assembly. 26 Dec. 2011 ‹http://thinkprogress.org/lgbt/2011/12/06/383003/sec-clinton-to-un-gay-rights-are-human-rights-and-human-rights-are-gay-rights/?mobile=nc›. Foucault, Michel. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings 1972-1977. Ed. Colin Gordon. Trans. Colin Gordon, Leo Marshall, John Mepham, Kate Soper. New York: Random House,1980. —. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. Toronto: Random House, 1977. —. The History of Sexuality Volume One: An Introduction. Trans. Robert Hurley. New York: Random House, 1978. Heart. “What About Love.” Heart. Capitol Records, 1985. CD. Ha, Tu Thanh. “Dan Savage: ‘I Had Been Divorced Overnight’.” The Globe and Mail. 12 Jan. 2012 ‹http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/politics/dan-savage-i-had-been-divorced-overnight/article1358211/›. “Homecoming.” Equal Love Campaign. ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a54UBWFXsF4›. Leblanc, Daniel. “Harper Among Least Trusted Leaders, Poll Shows.” The Globe and Mail. 12 Nov. 2012 ‹http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/politics/harper-among-least-trusted-leaders-poll-shows/article5187774/#›. Makin, Kirk. “The Coming Conservative Court: Harper to Reshape Judiciary.” The Globe and Mail. 24 Aug. 2012 ‹http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/politics/the-coming-conservative-court-harper-to-reshape-judiciary/article595398/›. “Lady Gaga Rallies for Repeal of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ in Portland, Maine.” 9 Sep. 2010 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g4rGla6OzGc›. “Lady Gaga Speaks at Gay Rights Rally in Washington DC as Part of the National Equality March.” 11 Oct. 2009 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7jepWXu-Z38›. “Obama’s Stirring New Gay Rights Ad.” Newzar.com. 24 May. 2012 ‹http://newzar.com/obamas-stirring-new-gay-rights-ad/›. Postmedia News. “Same-sex Marriage in Canada will not be Revisited, Harper Says.” 12 Jan. 2012 ‹http://news.nationalpost.com/2012/01/12/same-sex-marriage-in-canada-will-not-be-revisited-harper-says/›. Potts, Graham. “‘Love Hurts’: Hunter S. Thompson, the Marquis de Sade and St. Paul Queer Alain Badiou’s Truth and Fidelity.” CTheory. rt002: 2009 ‹http://www.ctheory.net/articles.aspx?id=606›. Puar, Jasbir. Terrorist Assemblages: hom*onationalism in Queer Times. London: Duke UP, 2007. Seguin, Rheal. “Baird Calls Out Iran on Human Rights Violations.” The Globe and Mail. 22 Oct. 2012 ‹http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/politics/baird-calls-out-iran-on-human-rights-violations/article4628968/›.

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Screens, as technological but also narrative and social devices, alter reading and writing practices. Users consume vids, read stories on the Web, and produce creative contents on blogs or Web archives, etc. Uses of seriality and transmediality are here discussed, that is watching, reading, and writing as interpreting, as well as respective and reciprocal uses of iteration and interaction (with technologies and with others). A specific figure of users or readers will be defined as a skilful and literate audience: fans on archives (FanFiction.net-FFNet, and Archive of Our Own-AO3). Fans produce serial and transmedia narratives based upon their favourite TV Shows, publish on-line, and often produce discourses or meta-discourse on this writing practice or on writing in general.The broader perspective of reception studies allows us to develop a three-step methodology that develops into a process. The first step is an ethnographic approach based on practices and competencies of users. The second step develops and clarifies the ethnographic dimension into an ethno-narrative approach, which aims at analysing mutual links between signs, texts, and uses of reading and writing. The main question is that of significance and meaning. The third step elaborates upon interactions in a technological and mediated environment. Social, participative, or collaborative and multimodal dimensions of interacting are yet regarded as key elements in reshaping a reading-writing cultural practice. The model proposed is a socio-narrative device, which hangs upon three dimensions: techno-narrative, narratological, and socio-narrative. These three dimensions of a shared narrative universe illustrate the three steps process. Each step also offers specific uses of interacting: an ethnographic approach of fictional expectation, a narrative ethnography of iteration and transformation, and a socio-narrative perspective on dialogism and recognition. A specific but significant example of fans' uses of reading and interacting will illustrate each step of the methodology. This qualitative approach of individual uses aims to be representative of fans' cultural practice (See Appendix 1). We will discuss cultural uses of appropriation. How do reading, interpreting, writing, and rewriting, that is to say interacting, produce meaning, create identities, and build up our relation to others and to the (story)world? Given our interest in embodied and appropriated meanings, appropriation will be revealed as an open cultural process, which can question the conflict and/or the convergence of the old and the new in cultural practices, and the way former and formal dichotomies have to be re-evaluated. We will take an interest in the composition of meaning that unfolds a cultural and critical process, from acknowledgement to recognition, a process where iteration and transformation are no longer opposites but part of a continuum.From Users' Competencies to the Composition of Narrative and Social Skills: A Fictional ExpectationThe pragmatic question of real uses steers our approach toward reading and writing in a mediated environment. Michel de Certeau's work first encourages us to apply his concepts of strategies and tactics to institutional strategies of engaging the audience and to real audience tactics of appropriation or diversion. Real uses are traceable on forums, discussions groups, weblogs, and archives. A model can be built upon digital tracks of use left on fan fiction archives: types of audience, interactions, and types of usage are here considered.Media Types Interaction Types Usage Types Media audienceConsumerSkilfulViewingReadingInformation searchContent production (informative, critical, and creative)Multimedia audienceConsumerSkilful+Online readingE-shoppingSharingRecommendationDiscussionInformative content productionCross-media audienceConsumerSkilful+SerendipityPutting objects in perspectiveNetworkingCritical content productionTransmedia audienceConsumerSkilfulInvolvedPrecursor+Understanding enhanced narrativesValue judgments, evaluationUnderstanding economic dimensions of the media systemCreative content productionTable 1 (Cailler and Masoni Lacroix)Users gear their reading and writing practices toward one medium, or toward multiple media in multi-, cross-, and trans- dimensions. These dimensions engage different and specific kinds of content production, and also the way users think about their relation to the media system. We focus on cumulative uses needed in an evolving media system. Depending on their desire for cultural products issued from creative and entertainment industries, audiences can be consumer-oriented or skilful, but also what we term "involved" or "precursor." Their interactive capacity within these industries allows audiences to produce informative, narrative, discursive, creative (or re-creative), and critical content. An ethnographic approach, based upon uses, understands that accumulating, crossing, and mastering different uses requires available and potential competencies and literacies, which may be immediately usable, or which have to be gained.Figure 1 (Masoni Lacroix and Cailler)The English language enables us to use different words to specify competencies, from ability to skill (when multiple abilities tend towards appropriation), to capability and competency (when multiple skills tend towards cultural practice). This introduces an enhancement process, which describes the way users accumulate and cross competencies to enhance their capability of understanding a multimedia or transmedia system, shaped by multiple semiotic systems and literacies.Abilities and skills represent different literacies that can be distributed in four groups-literacy, graphic literacy, digital literacy and interactive literacy, converging to a core of competencies including cognitive capability, communicative capability, cultural capability and critical capability. Note that critical skills appear below in bold italics. Digital LiteracyTechnical ability / Computational ability / Digital ability or skill Informational skill Visual LiteracyGraphic abilityVisual abilitySemiotic skillSymbolic skill Core of CompetenciesCognitive capabilityCommunicative capabilityCultural capabilityCritical capability Interactive LiteracyInteractional abilitySpectatorial abilityCollective abilityAffective skill LiteracyNarrative ability or skill / Linguistic ability / Reading and interpreting ability / Mimetic and fictional ability Discursive skillTable 2 (Masoni Lacroix and Cailler)Our first illustration exhibits the diversity, even the profuse and confused multiplicity, of cultural influences and preferences of a fan, which he or she comprehends as a whole.Gabihime, born on 6 October in Lafayette, Louisiana, in the United States, joined FFNet in 2001, and last updated her profile in September of 2010. She has written 44 stories for a variety of fandoms, and she belongs to two fandom communities. She has written one story about Twin Peaks (1990-) for an annual fandom gift exchange in 2008. Within Twin Peaks, her favourite and only romantic pair is Audrey Horne and Dale Cooper. Pairing represents a formal and cultural use of fan fiction writing, and also a favourite variation of the original text. Gabihime proposes notes to follow the story:I love Twin Peaks, and I love Audrey Horne particularly, and the rich stilted imagery of the show certainly […] I started watching my favourite season one episodes and reading the script notes for them. When I got to the 4-5 episode break (when Cooper comes back from visiting Jacques's cabin to the delightful sounds of the Icelandic junket roaring at their big shindig and finds Audrey in his bed) I discovered that this scene was originally intended to be left extremely ambiguous.Two main elements can be highlighted. Love founds fans' relation to the characters and the text. Interaction is based on this affect or emotion. Ambiguity, real or presumed, leads to what can be called a fictional expectation. This strong motive to interact within a text means that readers have to fill in the blanks of the text (Jenkins, "Transmedia"). They fill it with their desire for a character, a pairing, and a story. Another illustration of a fan's affective investment, Lynzee005 (see below) specifies that her fiction, "shows what I hope happened in between the scenes to which we were treated in the series."Gabihime does not write fan fiction stories anymore. She has a web site where she posts her stories and links to other fan art, vids, or fiction, as well as a blog where she writes her original fiction, and various meta-narrative and/or meta-discursive productions, including a wiki, Tumblr account, LiveJournal page, and Twitter account.A Narrative Ethnography of Fans' Production Content: Acculturation as Iteration and TransformationWe can briefly focus on another partial but significant example of narratives and discourses of a fan, in the perspective of a qualitative and iterative approach. We will then emphasise that narratives and discourses circulate, in other words that they are written and reformulated in and on different periods and platforms, but also that narratives use iteration and variation (Eco 1985).Lynzee005 was born in 1985 in Canada. She joined FFNet in 2008 and last updated her profile in September 2015. She has a beta profile, which means that she reads and reviews other fans' work-in-progress. We can also clarify that publishing chapter-by-chapter and being re-read on FFNet appears to be a principle of writing and of writing circulation. So, writing reveals an iterative and participative practice.Prior to this updating she wrote:When I read, I look for an emotional connection with the characters and I hope to be genuinely invested in where the story is going. […] I tackle everything in chunks, concentrating on the big issues (consistent characterization, believable plot lines, etc.) before moving down to the smaller ones (spelling, punctuation). Once I finish reading a "chunk," I put it together in the whole and see if it works against the other "chunks," and if not, then I go back and start over.She has written 17 stories for 7 different fandoms. She wrote five stories for Twin Peaks including a crossover with another fandom. She joined AO3 in December 2014 and completed her Twin Peaks trilogy. Her profile no longer underlines this serial process of chunking and dispersal, stressed by Jenkins ("Transmedia"), but only evokes how scenes can be stitched together. She now insists on the outcome of unity or continuity rather than on the process of serialization and fragmentation.Stories about fans, their affective and interpretive relations to a story universe and their uses of reading and writing in and out a fandom, can illustrate a diversity of attachments and interests. We can briefly describe a range of attachments. Attachment to the character, described above, can move towards self-narration, to the exhibit of self both as a person and a character, to a self-distancing, an identity affect. Attachment also has interpretative and critical dimensions. Attached to a narrative universe, attached to storytelling, fans promote a writing normalisation and a narrative format (genre, pairing, tagging, memes, etc.). Every fan seems to iterate and alter this conduct. This appropriation renews self-imposed narrative codes. The use of writing by fans, based on attachments, is both iterative and transformative. The Organization for Transformative Works (OTW), AO3's parent apparatus, asserts that derivative fans' work is transformative.According to Umberto Eco's vision of a postmodern aesthetics of seriality, "Something is offered as original and different […] this something is repeating something else that we already know; and […] just because of it we like it" (167). There is an "enjoyment of variations" (174). "Seriality and repetition are not opposed to innovation" (175). Eco claims a dialectic between repetition and innovation, that is to say a: "dialectic between order and novelty -in other words, between scheme and innovation," where "the variation is no longer more appreciable than the scheme" (173). We acknowledge the "inseparable knot of scheme-variation" he is stressing (Eco 180), and we intend to put narrative fragmentation and narration dispersal forward to their reconstruction in a narrative universe as a whole, within the socio-narrative device. The knot illustrates the dialogical principle of exceeding dichotomies that will be discussed hereunder.The plurality of uses and media calls for an accumulation of competencies, which engage users in the process of media acculturation. A "literate" or skilful user should be able to comprehend "the flow of content across multiple media platforms," the media industries' cooperation, "the migratory behavior of media audiences," and the "technological, industrial, cultural, and social changes" that the word convergence manages to describe (Jenkins, Convergence, 3).Acculturation conveys an appropriation process, borrowed from "French" sociology of uses. Audiences become gradually intimate with the context of the evolving media environment. Scholars progressively understand how audiences are familiarizing themselves with competencies until they master literacies, where competencies are gathered. Users become sensitive, as well as mindful of time and space in literacy (Literacy), and of how writing can be spatialised (Graphic Literacy), of how the media space is technologized (Digital Literacy), and of what kind of structural interactions are emerging (Interactive Literacy).Thus, the research question takes shape: "What kind of interactions can users establish with objects that are both technical and cultural?" Which also means: "In a study of effective uses, can the researcher find appropriation logics or tactics in the way users, specifically here readers and writers, improve their cultural practices?" As Davallon and Le Marec furthered it, uses have to be included in a process of cultural growth. Users can cross technical and cultural dimensions of an object in two main ways: They can compare the object with other cultural products they are used to, or they can grasp its novelty when engaging a cognitive and cultural capability of adaptation. Acknowledgment and adaption are part of the social process of cultural growth. In this sense, use can be an integrated activity or a novel one.The model of cultural growth means that different and dispersed uses are progressively entering a meaning-making process. The question of meaning holds together, even unifies, multiple uses of reading and writing in a cultural practice of reading-writing. With this in mind, the core of competencies described above accurately displays the importance of critical skills (semiotic, informational, affective, symbolic, narrative, and discursive) nourishing a critical capability. Critically literate, users are able to question the place to which they have been attributed and the place they can gain, in an evolving (and even uncertain) media system. They can elaborate a critical reflection on their own practices of reading and writing.Two Principles of a Socio-Narrative Device: Dialogism and RecognitionUses of reading and writing online invite us to visualize and think through the convergence of a narrative object (technical, visual, and cultural), its medium and format(s), and the audiences involved. Here, multimodality has to be (re)considered. This is not only a question of different modes but a question of multiplicity in reading and writing uses, that leads us to the way a fan attachment creates his or her participation in the meaning of the text, and more generally leads us to the polyphonic form of writing questions. Dispersed uses converging into a cultural and social practice bring to light dialogical dimensions of writing, in the sense pointed out by Bakhtin in the early 1930s. Dialogism expands the notion of intertextuality to a social practice; enunciation appears polyphonic, and speakers are interacting. Every discourse is oriented to other discourses, interacting and responding to pre-existing discourses addressing the same object. Discourse is always others' discourse and shows a multiple and inter-relational subject.A fan producing meta-narratives or meta-discourses on media and fan fiction is an inter-relational subject. By way of illustration, Slaymesoftly, displays her stories on AO3, on her own Web site, and on specialized archives. She does not justify fan fiction writing through warnings or disclaimers but defines broadly what fiction is and how she uses fiction in her stories. She analyses publishing, describes her universe and the alternative universes that she explores, and depicts how stories become a series. Slaymesoftly can be considered a literate fan, approaching writing with emotion or attachment and critical rationality, or more precisely, leading her attachment to writing with the distance that critical thought allows. She writes "Essays -about writing, vampires, and whatever else I decide to blather on about" on her Web site or on her LiveJournal, where she also joined a community. In the main, Slaymesoftly experiences multiple variations, in the sense of Eco, variations that oppose and tie a character to a canon, or a loving writing object to what could be newly told. Slaymesoftly also exposes the desire for recognition engaged by fans' uses of interaction. This process of mutual recognition, stated in Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit highlights and questions fans' attachment, individual identity, and normative foundation. Mutual recognition could strengthen communitarianism or conformism in writing, but it can also offer a way for attachments to be shared, a way to initiate a narrative, and a social practice of dialog.Dialogical dimensions of cultural practices of reading-writing (both in production and reception) design a fragmented narrative universe, unfinished but one, that can be comprehend in a socio-narrative device.Figure 2 (Masoni Lacroix & Cailler)Texts, authors, writers, and readers are not opposed but are part of a socio-narrative continuity. This device crosses three complementary and evolving dimensions of the narrative universe: techno-narrative, socio-narrative (playful, creative, and critical, in their interactivity), and narratological. Uses of literacy generating multimedia, cross-media, and transmedia productions also question the multimodal form of writing and invite us to an iterative, open, dialogical, and interrogative practice of multimodality. A (post)narratological activity opens up to an interrogative practice. This practice dialogs with others' discourse and narrative. The questioning complexity remains open. In a proximate meaning, a transmedia narrative is fragmented, open to incompletion, but enrolled in a continuum (Jenkins, "Transmedia").Looking back, through the overtaken dichotomy between production and reception, a social and narrative process has been described that leads to the reshaping of multiple uses of literacies into cultural practices, and further on, to a cultural and social practice of reading-writing blended into interactivity. Competencies, dictated uses of reading and writing and alterna(rra)tive upsurges (as fans' production content) can be questioned. What can be questioned is either the fragmentation, the incompletion, and the continuity of narratives, that Jenkins no longer brings into conflict ("Transmedia"). This is also what the social and narrative form of dialogism teaches us: dichotomies, as a tool or a structure of thought, appear suspect or no longer significant. There is continuity in the acculturation process, from acknowledgement to recognition, continuity in the multiple uses of interacting, continuity from narrative to discourse, continuity from emotion to writing critically, a transformative continuity in iteration and variation, a polyphonic continuity.ReferencesBakhtin, Michaïl, and V.N. Volosinov. Marxism and the Philosophy of Language. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1973.Cailler, Bruno, and Céline Masoni Lacroix. "El 'French Touch' Transmediatico: Un Inventario." Transmediación: Espacios, Reflexiones y Experiencias. Eds. Denis Porto Renó et al. Bogotá, Colombia: Editorial Universidad del Rosario, 2012. 181-98.Davallon, Jean, and Joëlle Le Marec. "L'Usage en son Contexte. Sur les Usages des Interactifs des Céderons des Musées." Réseaux 101 (2000): 173-95.De Certeau, Michel. L'Invention du Quotidien. Paris: Folio Essais, 1990.Eco, Umberto. "Innovation and Repetition: Between Modern and Postmodern Aesthetics." Daedalus 114 (1985): 161-84.Hegel, G.W.F. Phénoménologie de l'Esprit. Trans. Bernard Bourgeois. Paris: Vrin, 2006.Jenkins, Henry. Convergence Culture. Where Old and New Media Collide. New York UP, 2006.———. "Transmedia 202: Further Reflections." 2011. <http://henryjenkins.org/2011/08/defining_transmedia_further_re.html>.Masoni Lacroix, Céline. "Mise en Récit des Fictions de Fans de Séries Télévisées: Variations, Granularité et Réflexivité." Tension narrative et Storytelling. Eds. Nicolas Pélissier and Marc Marti. Paris: L'harmattan, 2014. 83-100.———. "Narrativités 2.0: Fragmentation-Organisation d'un Métadiscours." Cahiers de Narratologie 32 (2017). <http://journals.openedition.org/narratologie/7781>.———, and Bruno Cailler. "Fans versus Universitaires, l'Hypothèse Dialogique de la Transmédialité au sein d'un Dispositif Socio-narratif." Revue française des sciences de l'information et de la communication 7 (2015). <http://journals.openedition.org/rfsic/1662>.———, and Bruno Cailler. "Principes Co-extensifs de la Fiction Sérielle, de la Distribution Diffusée à une Pratique Interprétative Dialogique: une Nouvelle Donne Socio-narrative?" Cahiers de Narratologie 31 (2016). <http://narratologie.revues.org/7576>. TV Show Fandoms ExploredBuffy The Vampire Slayer (Joss Whedon).Sherlock (Mark Gatiss & Steven Moffat).Twin Peaks (Mark Frost & David Lynch).Wallander (from Henning Mankell to Philip Martin).

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Introduction In October 2008, the UK’s National Videogame Archive became a reality and after years of negotiation, preparation and planning, this partnership between Nottingham Trent University’s Centre for Contemporary Play research group and The National Media Museum, accepted its first public donations to the collection. These first donations came from Sony’s Computer Entertainment Europe’s London Studios who presented the original, pre-production PlayStation 2 EyeToy camera (complete with its hand-written #1 sticker) and Harmonix who crossed the Atlantic to deliver prototypes of the Rock Band drum kit and guitar controllers along with a slew of games. Since then, we have been inundated with donations, enquiries and volunteers offering their services and it is clear that we have exciting and challenging times ahead of us at the NVA as we seek to continue our collecting programme and preserve, conserve, display and interpret these vital parts of popular culture. This essay, however, is not so much a document of these possible futures for our research or the challenges we face in moving forward as it is a discussion of some of the issues that make game preservation a vital and timely undertaking. In briefly telling the story of the genesis of the NVA, I hope to draw attention to some of the peculiarities (in both senses) of the situation in which videogames currently exist. While considerable attention has been paid to the preservation and curation of new media arts (e.g. Cook et al.), comparatively little work has been undertaken in relation to games. Surprisingly, the games industry has been similarly neglectful of the histories of gameplay and gamemaking. Throughout our research, it has became abundantly clear that even those individuals and companies most intimately associated with the development of this form, do not hold their corporate and personal histories in the high esteem we expected (see also Lowood et al.). And so, despite the well-worn bluster of an industry that proclaims itself as culturally significant as Hollywood, it is surprisingly difficult to find a definitive copy of the boxart of the final release of a Triple-A title let alone any of the pre-production materials. Through our journeys in the past couple of years, we have encountered shoeboxes under CEOs’ desks and proud parents’ collections of tapes and press cuttings. These are the closest things to a formalised archive that we currently have for many of the biggest British game development and publishing companies. Not only is this problematic in and of itself as we run the risk of losing titles and documents forever as well as the stories locked up in the memories of key individuals who grow ever older, but also it is symptomatic of an industry that, despite its public proclamations, neither places a high value on its products as popular culture nor truly recognises their impact on that culture. While a few valorised, still-ongoing, franchises like the Super Mario and Legend of Zelda series are repackaged and (digitally) re-released so as to provide continuity with current releases, a huge number of games simply disappear from view once their short period of retail limelight passes. Indeed, my argument in this essay rests to some extent on the admittedly polemical, and maybe even antagonistic, assertion that the past business and marketing practices of the videogames industry are partly to blame for the comparatively underdeveloped state of game preservation and the seemingly low cultural value placed on old games within the mainstream marketplace. Small wonder, then, that archives and formalised collections are not widespread. However antagonistic this point may seem, this essay does not set out merely to criticise the games industry. Indeed, it is important to recognise that the success and viability of projects such as the NVA is derived partly from close collaboration with industry partners. As such, it is my hope that in addition to contributing to the conversation about the importance and need for formalised strategies of game preservation, this essay goes some way to demonstrating the necessity of universities, museums, developers, publishers, advertisers and retailers tackling these issues in partnership. The Best Game Is the Next Game As will be clear from these opening paragraphs, this essay is primarily concerned with ‘old’ games. Perhaps surprisingly, however, we shall see that ‘old’ games are frequently not that old at all as even the shiniest, and newest of interactive experiences soon slip from view under the pressure of a relentless industrial and institutional push towards the forthcoming release and the ‘next generation’. More surprising still is that ‘old’ games are often difficult to come by as they occupy, at best, a marginalised position in the contemporary marketplace, assuming they are even visible at all. This is an odd situation. Videogames are, as any introductory primer on game studies will surely reveal, big business (see Kerr, for instance, as well as trade bodies such as ELSPA and The ESA for up-to-date sales figures). Given the videogame industry seems dedicated to growing its business and broadening its audiences (see Radd on Sony’s ‘Game 3.0’ strategy, for instance), it seems strange, from a commercial perspective if no other, that publishers’ and developers’ back catalogues are not being mercilessly plundered to wring the last pennies of profit from their IPs. Despite being cherished by players and fans, some of whom are actively engaged in their own private collecting and curation regimes (sometimes to apparently obsessive excess as Jones, among others, has noted), videogames have, nonetheless, been undervalued as part of our national popular cultural heritage by institutions of memory such as museums and archives which, I would suggest, have largely ignored and sometimes misunderstood or misrepresented them. Most of all, however, I wish to draw attention to the harm caused by the videogames industry itself. Consumers’ attentions are focused on ‘products’, on audiovisual (but mainly visual) technicalities and high-definition video specs rather than on the experiences of play and performance, or on games as artworks or artefact. Most damagingly, however, by constructing and contributing to an advertising, marketing and popular critical discourse that trades almost exclusively in the language of instant obsolescence, videogames have been robbed of their historical value and old platforms and titles are reduced to redundant, legacy systems and easily-marginalised ‘retro’ curiosities. The vision of inevitable technological progress that the videogames industry trades in reminds us of Paul Duguid’s concept of ‘supersession’ (see also Giddings and Kennedy, on the ‘technological imaginary’). Duguid identifies supersession as one of the key tropes in discussions of new media. The reductive idea that each new form subsumes and replaces its predecessor means that videogames are, to some extent, bound up in the same set of tensions that undermine the longevity of all new media. Chun rightly notes that, in contrast with more open terms like multimedia, ‘new media’ has always been somewhat problematic. Unaccommodating, ‘it portrayed other media as old or dead; it converged rather than multiplied; it did not efface itself in favor of a happy if redundant plurality’ (1). The very newness of new media and of videogames as the apotheosis of the interactivity and multimodality they promise (Newman, "In Search"), their gleam and shine, is quickly tarnished as they are replaced by ever-newer, ever more exciting, capable and ‘revolutionary’ technologies whose promise and moment in the limelight is, in turn, equally fleeting. As Franzen has noted, obsolescence and the trail of abandoned, superseded systems is a natural, even planned-for, product of an infatuation with the newness of new media. For Kline et al., the obsession with obsolescence leads to the characterisation of the videogames industry as a ‘perpetual innovation economy’ whose institutions ‘devote a growing share of their resources to the continual alteration and upgrading of their products. However, it is my contention here that the supersessionary tendency exerts a more serious impact on videogames than some other media partly because the apparently natural logic of obsolescence and technological progress goes largely unchecked and partly because there remain few institutions dedicated to considering and acting upon game preservation. The simple fact, as Lowood et al. have noted, is that material damage is being done as a result of this manufactured sense of continual progress and immediate, irrefutable obsolescence. By focusing on the upcoming new release and the preview of what is yet to come; by exciting gamers about what is in development and demonstrating the manifest ways in which the sheen of the new inevitably tarnishes the old. That which is replaced is fit only for the bargain bin or the budget-priced collection download, and as such, it is my position that we are systematically undermining and perhaps even eradicating the possibility of a thorough and well-documented history for videogames. This is a situation that we at the National Videogame Archive, along with colleagues in the emerging field of game preservation (e.g. the International Game Developers Association Game Preservation Special Interest Group, and the Keeping Emulation Environments Portable project) are, naturally, keen to address. Chief amongst our concerns is better understanding how it has come to be that, in 2009, game studies scholars and colleagues from across the memory and heritage sectors are still only at the beginning of the process of considering game preservation. The IGDA Game Preservation SIG was founded only five years ago and its ‘White Paper’ (Lowood et al.) is just published. Surprisingly, despite the importance of videogames within popular culture and the emergence and consolidation of the industry as a potent creative force, there remains comparatively little academic commentary or investigation into the specific situation and life-cycles of games or the demands that they place upon archivists and scholars of digital histories and cultural heritage. As I hope to demonstrate in this essay, one of the key tasks of the project of game preservation is to draw attention to the consequences of the concentration, even fetishisation, of the next generation, the new and the forthcoming. The focus on what I have termed ‘the lure of the imminent’ (e.g. Newman, Playing), the fixation on not only the present but also the as-yet-unreleased next generation, has contributed to the normalisation of the discourses of technological advancement and the inevitability and finality of obsolescence. The conflation of gameplay pleasure and cultural import with technological – and indeed, usually visual – sophistication gives rise to a context of endless newness, within which there appears to be little space for the ‘outdated’, the ‘superseded’ or the ‘old’. In a commercial and cultural space in which so little value is placed upon anything but the next game, we risk losing touch with the continuities of development and the practices of play while simultaneously robbing players and scholars of the critical tools and resources necessary for contextualised appreciation and analysis of game form and aesthetics, for instance (see Monnens, "Why", for more on the value of preserving ‘old’ games for analysis and scholarship). Moreover, we risk losing specific games, platforms, artefacts and products as they disappear into the bargain bucket or crumble to dust as media decay, deterioration and ‘bit rot’ (Monnens, "Losing") set in. Space does not here permit a discussion of the scope and extent of the preservation work required (for instance, the NVA sets its sights on preserving, documenting, interpreting and exhibiting ‘videogame culture’ in its broadest sense and recognises the importance of videogames as more than just code and as enmeshed within complex networks of productive, consumptive and performative practices). Neither is it my intention to discuss here the specific challenges and numerous issues associated with archival and exhibition tools such as emulation which seek to rebirth code on up-to-date, manageable, well-supported hardware platforms but which are frequently insensitive to the specificities and nuances of the played experience (see Newman, "On Emulation", for some further notes on videogame emulation, archiving and exhibition and Takesh*ta’s comments in Nutt on the technologies and aesthetics of glitches, for instance). Each of these issues is vitally important and will, doubtless become a part of the forthcoming research agenda for game preservation scholars. My focus here, however, is rather more straightforward and foundational and though it is deliberately controversial, it is my hope that its casts some light over some ingrained assumptions about videogames and the magnitude and urgency of the game preservation project. Videogames Are Disappearing? At a time when retailers’ shelves struggle under the weight of newly-released titles and digital distribution systems such as Steam, the PlayStation Network, Xbox Live Marketplace, WiiWare, DSiWare et al bring new ways to purchase and consume playable content, it might seem strange to suggest that videogames are disappearing. In addition to what we have perhaps come to think of as the ‘usual suspects’ in the hardware and software publishing marketplace, over the past year or so Apple have, unexpectedly and perhaps even surprising themselves, carved out a new gaming platform with the iPhone/iPod Touch and have dramatically simplified the notoriously difficult process of distributing mobile content with the iTunes App Store. In the face of this apparent glut of games and the emergence and (re)discovery of new markets with the iPhone, Wii and Nintendo DS, videogames seem an ever more a vital and visible part of popular culture. Yet, for all their commercial success and seemingly penetration the simple fact is that they are disappearing. And at an alarming rate. Addressing the IGDA community of game developers and producers, Henry Lowood makes the point with admirable clarity (see also Ruggill and McAllister): If we fail to address the problems of game preservation, the games you are making will disappear, perhaps within a few decades. You will lose access to your own intellectual property, you will be unable to show new developers the games you designed or that inspired you, and you may even find it necessary to re-invent a bunch of wheels. (Lowood et al. 1) For me, this point hit home most persuasively a few years ago when, along with Iain Simons, I was invited by the British Film Institute to contribute a book to their ‘Screen Guides’ series. 100 Videogames (Newman and Simons) was an intriguing prospect that provided us with the challenge and opportunity to explore some of the key moments in videogaming’s forty year history. However, although the research and writing processes proved to be an immensely pleasurable and rewarding experience that we hope culminated in an accessible, informative volume offering insight into some well-known (and some less-well known) games, the project was ultimately tinged with a more than a little disappointment and frustration. Assuming our book had successfully piqued the interest of our readers into rediscovering games previously played or perhaps investigating games for the first time, what could they then do? Where could they go to find these games in order to experience their delights (or their flaws and problems) at first hand? Had our volume been concerned with television or film, as most of the Screen Guides are, then online and offline retailers, libraries, and even archives for less widely-available materials, would have been obvious ports of call. For the student of videogames, however, the choices are not so much limited as practically non-existant. It is only comparatively recently that videogame retailers have shifted away from an almost exclusive focus on new releases and the zeitgeist platforms towards a recognition of old games and systems through the creation of the ‘pre-owned’ marketplace. The ‘pre-owned’ transaction is one in which old titles may be traded in for cash or against the purchase of new releases of hardware or software. Surely, then, this represents the commercial viability of classic games and is a recognition on the part of retail that the new release is not the only game in town. Yet, if we consider more carefully the ‘pre-owned’ model, we find a few telling points. First, there is cold economic sense to the pre-owned business model. In their financial statements for FY08, ‘GAME revealed that the service isn’t just a key part of its offer to consumers, but its also represents an ‘attractive’ gross margin 39 per cent.’ (French). Second, and most important, the premise of the pre-owned business as it is communicated to consumers still offers nothing but primacy to the new release. That one would trade-in one’s old games in order to consume these putatively better new ones speaks eloquently in the language of obsolesce and what Dovey and Kennedy have called the ‘technological imaginary’. The wire mesh buckets of old, pre-owned games are not displayed or coded as treasure troves for the discerning or completist collector but rather are nothing more than bargain bins. These are not classic games. These are cheap games. Cheap because they are old. Cheap because they have had their day. This is a curious situation that affects videogames most unfairly. Of course, my caricature of the videogame retailer is still incomplete as a good deal of the instantly visible shopfloor space is dedicated neither to pre-owned nor new releases but rather to displays of empty boxes often sporting unfinalised, sometimes mocked-up, boxart flaunting titles available for pre-order. Titles you cannot even buy yet. In the videogames marketplace, even the present is not exciting enough. The best game is always the next game. Importantly, retail is not alone in manufacturing this sense of dissatisfaction with the past and even the present. The specialist videogames press plays at least as important a role in reinforcing and normalising the supersessionary discourse of instant obsolescence by fixing readers’ attentions and expectations on the just-visible horizon. Examining the pages of specialist gaming publications reveals them to be something akin to Futurist paeans dedicating anything from 70 to 90% of their non-advertising pages to previews, interviews with developers about still-in-development titles (see Newman, Playing, for more on the specialist gaming press’ love affair with the next generation and the NDA scoop). Though a small number of publications specifically address retro titles (e.g. Imagine Publishing’s Retro Gamer), most titles are essentially vehicles to promote current and future product lines with many magazines essentially operating as delivery devices for cover-mounted CDs/DVDs offering teaser videos or playable demos of forthcoming titles to further whet the appetite. Manufacturing a sense of excitement might seem wholly natural and perhaps even desirable in helping to maintain a keen interest in gaming culture but the effect of the imbalance of popular coverage has a potentially deleterious effect on the status of superseded titles. Xbox World 360’s magnificently-titled ‘Anticip–O–Meter’ ™ does more than simply build anticipation. Like regular features that run under headings such as ‘The Next Best Game in The World Ever is…’, it seeks to author not so much excitement about the imminent release but a dissatisfaction with the present with which unfavourable comparisons are inevitably drawn. The current or previous crop of (once new, let us not forget) titles are not simply superseded but rather are reinvented as yardsticks to judge the prowess of the even newer and unarguably ‘better’. As Ashton has noted, the continual promotion of the impressiveness of the next generation requires a delicate balancing act and a selective, institutionalised system of recall and forgetting that recovers the past as a suite of (often technical) benchmarks (twice as many polygons, higher resolution etc.) In the absence of formalised and systematic collecting, these obsoleted titles run the risk of being forgotten forever once they no longer serve the purpose of demonstrating the comparative advancement of the successors. The Future of Videogaming’s Past Even if we accept the myriad claims of game studies scholars that videogames are worthy of serious interrogation in and of themselves and as part of a multifaceted, transmedial supersystem, we might be tempted to think that the lack of formalised collections, archival resources and readily available ‘old/classic’ titles at retail is of no great significance. After all, as Jones has observed, the videogame player is almost primed to undertake this kind of activity as gaming can, at least partly, be understood as the act and art of collecting. Games such as Animal Crossing make this tendency most manifest by challenging their players to collect objects and artefacts – from natural history through to works of visual art – so as to fill the initially-empty in-game Museum’s cases. While almost all videogames from The Sims to Katamari Damacy can be considered to engage their players in collecting and collection management work to some extent, Animal Crossing is perhaps the most pertinent example of the indivisibility of the gamer/archivist. Moreover, the permeability of the boundary between the fan’s collection of toys, dolls, posters and the other treasured objects of merchandising and the manipulation of inventories, acquisitions and equipment lists that we see in the menus and gameplay imperatives of videogames ensures an extensiveness and scope of fan collecting and archival work. Similarly, the sociality of fan collecting and the value placed on private hoarding, public sharing and the processes of research ‘…bridges to new levels of the game’ (Jones 48). Perhaps we should be as unsurprised that their focus on collecting makes videogames similar to eBay as we are to the realisation that eBay with its competitiveness, its winning and losing states, and its inexorable countdown timer, is nothing if not a game? We should be mindful, however, of overstating the positive effects of fandom on the fate of old games. Alongside eBay’s veneration of the original object, p2p and bittorrent sites reduce the videogame to its barest. Quite apart from the (il)legality of emulation and videogame ripping and sharing (see Conley et al.), the existence of ‘ROMs’ and the technicalities of their distribution reveals much about the peculiar tension between the interest in old games and their putative cultural and economic value. (St)ripped down to the barest of code, ROMs deny the gamer the paratextuality of the instruction manual or boxart. In fact, divorced from its context and robbed of its materiality, ROMs perhaps serve to make the original game even more distant. More tellingly, ROMs are typically distributed by the thousand in zipped files. And so, in just a few minutes, entire console back-catalogues – every game released in every territory – are available for browsing and playing on a PC or Mac. The completism of the collections allows detailed scrutiny of differences in Japanese versus European releases, for instance, and can be seen as a vital investigative resource. However, that these ROMs are packaged into collections of many thousands speaks implicitly of these games’ perceived value. In a similar vein, the budget-priced retro re-release collection helps to diminish the value of each constituent game and serves to simultaneously manufacture and highlight the manifestly unfair comparison between these intriguingly retro curios and the legitimately full-priced games of now and next. Customer comments at Amazon.co.uk demonstrate the way in which historical and technological comparisons are now solidly embedded within the popular discourse (see also Newman 2009b). Leaving feedback on Sega’s PS3/Xbox 360 Sega MegaDrive Ultimate Collection customers berate the publisher for the apparently meagre selection of titles on offer. Interestingly, this charge seems based less around the quality, variety or range of the collection but rather centres on jarring technological schisms and a clear sense of these titles being of necessarily and inevitably diminished monetary value. Comments range from outraged consternation, ‘Wtf, only 40 games?’, ‘I wont be getting this as one disc could hold the entire arsenal of consoles and games from commodore to sega saturn(Maybe even Dreamcast’ through to more detailed analyses that draw attention to the number of bits and bytes but that notably neglect any consideration of gameplay, experientiality, cultural significance or, heaven forbid, fun. “Ultimate” Collection? 32Mb of games on a Blu-ray disc?…here are 40 Megadrive games at a total of 31 Megabytes of data. This was taking the Michael on a DVD release for the PS2 (or even on a UMD for the PSP), but for a format that can store 50 Gigabytes of data, it’s an insult. Sega’s entire back catalogue of Megadrive games only comes to around 800 Megabytes - they could fit that several times over on a DVD. The ultimate consequence of these different but complementary attitudes to games that fix attentions on the future and package up decontextualised ROMs by the thousand or even collections of 40 titles on a single disc (selling for less than half the price of one of the original cartridges) is a disregard – perhaps even a disrespect – for ‘old’ games. Indeed, it is this tendency, this dominant discourse of inevitable, natural and unimpeachable obsolescence and supersession, that provided one of the prime motivators for establishing the NVA. As Lowood et al. note in the title of the IGDA Game Preservation SIG’s White Paper, we need to act to preserve and conserve videogames ‘before it’s too late’.ReferencesAshton, D. ‘Digital Gaming Upgrade and Recovery: Enrolling Memories and Technologies as a Strategy for the Future.’ M/C Journal 11.6 (2008). 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/viewArticle/86›.Buffa, C. ‘How to Fix Videogame Journalism.’ GameDaily 20 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/how-to-fix-videogame-journalism/69202/?biz=1›. ———. ‘Opinion: How to Become a Better Videogame Journalist.’ GameDaily 28 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-how-to-become-a-better-videogame-journalist/69236/?biz=1. ———. ‘Opinion: The Videogame Review – Problems and Solutions.’ GameDaily 2 Aug. 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-the-videogame-review-problems-and-solutions/69257/?biz=1›. ———. ‘Opinion: Why Videogame Journalism Sucks.’ GameDaily 14 July 2006. 13 Jun 2009 ‹http://www.gamedaily.com/articles/features/opinion-why-videogame-journalism-sucks/69180/?biz=1›. 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