In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 25.2 (2001) 368-370 [Access article in PDF] Book Review Skeptical Music: Essays on Modern Poetry Skeptical Music: Essays on Modern Poetry, by David Bromwich; xvii & 256 pp. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001; $49.00 cloth, $16.00 paper. In his preface to this gathering of his essays and reviews on twentieth-century American and British poetry, David Bromwich regrets that it is "too late to suppress the (...) evidence of a critic educating himself in public" (p. xi). But even the earliest work reprinted in Skeptical Music--"The Making of the Auden Canon," published in the Times Literary Supplement in 1976, when the author was still a graduate student at Yale--hardly qualifies as juvenilia. Indeed, in Bromwich's case, evidence of a critic educating himself in public seems to have been suppressed from the start. No single explanation will account for an author's precocity, but the consistency of Bromwich's critical voice over the last quarter century is certainly related to his early preoccupation with William Hazlitt, the subject of his first book. In choosing Hazlitt as his model, Bromwich rejected what he took to be the legacy of systematic and professional literary theory extending from Coleridge to each new school of academic criticism. Bromwich's own development as a critic has therefore been subtler and more introspective than the critical retooling of so many of his colleagues. Although never far from the evaluative art of the reviewer, Bromwich has come to favor the more speculative dimension of his work. The more recent the piece, the more overt the attempt to imagine "what was in the poet's mind, or what was in the poem's mind, on the theory that certain thoughts and feelings are worth the trouble to characterize because of their strangeness and originality" (p. xi).Some of the most compelling chapters in Skeptical Music imagine what was in the poet's mind, or the poem's mind, by telling stories about complex relationships between poems by different poets--between the work of Marianne Moore and Elizabeth Bishop, or T. S. Eliot and Hart Crane. These are stories about literary influence, or deep temperamental affinity. As in Harold Bloom's work, the stories are grounded in close readings, usually of the passages the critic prizes for their aesthetic superiority.A related procedure is at work in "Stevens and the Idea of the Hero"--a long speculative piece on Wallace Stevens's transfer of allegiance, at a crucial moment in his career, from the pragmatism of Nietzsche to the pragmatism of William James. What Stevens found "most persistently attractive" in Nietzsche's pragmatism, Bromwich coolly explains, was "the suggestion that the good of existence is change" and that "our most vivid acknowledgment of that good comes from the ability to imagine a life wiped clear of ourselves" (p. 71). But the Nietzschean sublime proved insufficient for Stevens. During the Second World War, the poet was confronted by "the reality of American soldiers going off to fight... for a cause which, as Stevens saw it, they could only make true by their fighting" (p. 68). Stevens turned to James for "the less brutal idea of a [End Page 368] man or woman who is made great by an enterprise in which others have a part" (p. 78).Bromwich's argument that Stevens became a more valuable poet when he located heroism in human solidarity, not just Nietzschean contingency and self-creation, bears a family resemblance to the work of one of James's heirs, Richard Rorty. Like Rorty, Bromwich often feels the pressure to adjudicate between the claims of the individual artist and the claims of the community; and like Rorty, he makes his judgements on a case by case basis, without recourse to a set standard, rule, or theory. In the closing chapter of Skeptical Music--"Is Taste Moral?"--Bromwich directly addresses the tension between aestheticism and the social good, a subject that also surfaces at the close of his preface and at numerous moments throughout the book. But the claims of the community seem relatively muted... (shrink)

In recent years, while extensive researches on various networks properties have been proposed and accomplished, little has been proposed and done on network robustness and node vulnerability assessment under cascades in directed large-scale online community networks. In essential, an online directed social network is a group-centered and information spread-dominated online platform which is very different from the traditional undirected social network. Some further research studies have indicated that the online social network has high robustness to random removals of nodes but (...) fails to the intentional attacks, particularly to those attacks based on node betweenness or node directed coefficient. To explore on the robustness of directed social network, in this article, we have proposed two novel node centralities of ITG and I M p v. These two new centrality models are designed to capture this cascading effect in directed online social networks. Furthermore, we also propose a new and highly efficient computing method based on iterations for I M p v. Then, with the abundant experiments on the synthetic signed network and real-life networks derived from directed online social media and directed human mobile phone calling network, it has been proved that our ITG and I M p v based on directed social network robustness and node vulnerability assessment method is more accurate, efficient, and faster than several traditional centrality methods such as degree and betweenness. And we also have proposed the solid reasoning and proof process of iteration times k in computation of I M p v. To the best knowledge of us, our research has drawn some new light on the leading edge of robustness on the directed social network. (shrink)

In "Literary Variation of Indian Buddhist Stories in Chinese 志怪 Novels," Wei Guo discusses Buddhist Sutra scriptures which have been a reservoir of inspiration for Zhiguai novels since their first introduction in Chinese literature. Buddhist texts were less relevant for the "documentary" tradition of Chinese literature owing to their rough structure, vague context, and lack of a sense of history and reality, since they were originally intended as texts of didacticism. Hence, in order to integrate these exotic literary (...) materials with local aesthetic concepts, Chinese writers explored creative adaptations including the addition of adding detail, linguistic embellishments, and the endowment of each story with specific narrative scenes in terms of character, place, and time. Guo argues that Indian Buddhist stories have been remolded in Zhiguai novels and transformed from imaginary religious literature into figurative and documentary literature whereby the convergence of the source texts with the target texts shows the processes of formation of world literature. (shrink)

The article deals with the determining role of the primary literary source on the Ukrainian theme in the creation of ballets. This made it possible to assert that at the junction of various arts, choreography and its special plastic form contribute to the creation of new avant-garde forms of art, thereby realizing the richest artistic potential of the direction. Based on this, it becomes clear that the relationship between literary and choreographic arts is close, because it affects the (...) enrichment of the ballet repertoire. Creating a choreographic work based on a literary background is one of the most important achievements of choreography.The artistic integrity of choreographic works forms the basis of the principle of art synthesis. The author of the article determined the important role of Ukrainian dance in creating a choreographic performance based on a literary source, because Ukrainian choreographic art is noted for its inexhaustible wealth of dance colors, emotional fervor, subtle folk humor and sincerity of performance, therefore creating a choreographic work based on literary works, especially on national themes, which is an auxiliary factor for activating the harmonious interrelationship of the specified time, space and transmitted events of the work with the means of stage and everyday dance vocabulary. The aim. The purpose and task of the article is to show the interpretation of literary works in the Ukrainian choreographic art of the 20th and early 21 centuries. Research methodology. A content-comparative method for comparing the works of researchers in different fields, the method of historicism - for researching a phenomenon within specific chronological limits, the method of generalization - for identifying the common and different points of view of scientists on the phenomenon under study. Research results: however, in the Ukrainian ballet theater of the late 50s of the 20th century, new aesthetic principles began to dominate, which were of great importance for the development of all musical and choreographic creativity. It is about rejecting prosaic plausibility as the only way to reproduce the truth of life on stage, restoring the hegemony of dance in the system of expressive means. In the ballet work of Ukrainian artists, the direction towards the heroization of the genre, the tendency towards the epic type of drama and the wide use of folklore becomes noticeable. Conclusion. In the process of working on the embodiment of a literary work or an image, the dramaturgy has the ability to change, develop, acquire specific features and details, the dramaturgy becomes alive, filled and exciting for the viewer. The ballet master’s solution to the embodiment of the literary source is embodied by the ballet dancers, who bring it to the audience with their art. The development and enrichment of choreographic art, the search for new forms, in this way, we observe in a creative union with adjacent muses, in interaction with other arts, where choreography does not dissolve in them, but while keeping its face, makes a fruitful contribution to the development of this union. The artistic integrity characteristic of the best choreographic works is based on the principle of synthesis of arts. Forms and means of dance-plastic action, principles of music-choreography dramaturgy, which allow to create works commensurate with the outstanding achievements of other arts, were formed in this experience. The key to the success of choreographic art is the mastery and development of this experience. (shrink)

This volume, reproducing a special issue of The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism on &"The Philosophy of Music&" (Winter 1994) with a revised introduction and two new articles, is distinguished by its breadth of content, diversity of approaches, and clarity of argument, which should make it useful for classroom teaching. The topics covered include musical representation, the expression of feeling in music, the metaphysics of operatic speech and song, musical understanding, musical composition, feminist music theory, music and politics, music (...) and racial identity, music in non-Western cultures, and the ontological implications of recording technology for rock music. The approaches used are philosophical, historical, social and political, feminist, and ethnomusicological. The book includes discussions of a great many styles and historical periods of music, from ancient Greek music and music theory to instrumental and operatic music in the Western classical tradition, Persian music, music of the Blackfoot Indians, rock and the blues, and the avant-garde compositions and performances of John Cage. The contributors, all eminent scholars in the field, are Philip Alperson, No&ël Carroll, Stephen Davies, Claire Detels, John Andrew Fisher, Lydia Goehr, Peter Kivy, Jerrold Levinson, James Manns, Bruno Nettl, Jenefer Robinson, Joel Rudinow, G&öran S&örbom, Francis Sparshott, and Kendall Walton. (shrink)

This paper defends the idea that literary works can be vehicles of what has been called experiential knowledge; that is, literary works can offer knowledge of what it is like to have a particular kind of experience. After reviewing some of the critiques this epistemological conception of literature has recently received, I offer a reading of one of its earliest formulations, found in Dorothy Walsh’s book Literature and Knowledge (1969), which I believe is still relevant to contemporary discussions (...) on the topic. By combining some key insights from Walsh’s account with John Dewey’s understanding of experience as a form of undergoing, I argue that literary works can give a sense or a feel of what it is like to experience something, while acknowledging that there are also some important differences between literary and real-world experiences. I illuminate my own understanding of experiential knowledge by analysing the account of the experience of social death in Toni Morrison’s novel Beloved (1987). I am especially interested in identifying the stylistic and literary techniques behind the experiential knowledge I believe the novel offers. The paper ends by providing a closer examination of the character of the literary experience underpinning experiential knowledge and by putting forth reasons why experiential knowledge should be considered a serious epistemic notion. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Temporal Registers in the Realist NovelIlya BernsteinIThere are two ways of thinking about time: in terms of sequences of events, and in terms of time-scales. In the first case, each event is conceived of as having a "before" and an "after": it is categorized as part of a sequence and distinguished from other events by its position in that sequence. In the second case, there is no (...) "before" and "after": events are conceived of as occupying different time-scales and distinguished from one another by being associated with durations of greater or lesser magnitude.1 Thus, the same situation may be categorized alternatively as an unfolding succession of events (event 1, event 2, event 3...) or as a progression of overlapping events on expanding time-scales (the second-event, the minute-event, the hour-event...). In what follows, I will argue that this distinction can shed light on narrative structure—as well as musical form—and that it has particularly interesting implications for literary realism.It may be claimed that this distinction between two ways of approaching time has been an explicit theme in the arts over the course of their history. Different musical forms, for instance, may be seen as being oriented toward one paradigm or the other. Thus, melody aesthetically suggests a sequential conception of time. Melodic forms are supposed to take listeners on a journey from point A to point B, by way of a succession of points in between. By contrast, a form such as the fugue addresses itself to discovering different degrees of density and intensity within the [End Page 173] same event, as it were. It adds layer upon layer, aesthetically dilating the event without moving away from it. The ideology of melody, we might say, thus leans toward a conception of time as a sequence, while the ideology of the fugue suggests a scaling notion of time.Echoes of the distinction between these two aesthetic alternatives may also be found in literature, as embodied in different approaches to narrative. Narrative, conceived of as a succession of episodes, suggests a sequential conception of time, oriented around a "before" and an "after." Yet within these parameters, a spectrum of tendencies may be identified. In some literary forms, the succession of episodes is organized to suggest the idea of a passage from one event to the next (Shakespearean drama, the realist novel), as the notions of "before" and "after" are projected onto ideas of past and future. In others, the succession of episodes represents the layer-by-layer assembly of some larger imaginative or conceptual construct (as is true, in different ways, of such texts as Plato's dialogues, the Divine Comedy, and any number of religious, philosophical, or allegorical narratives): "before" and "after" are interpreted not so much in terms of a past and a future, as in terms of premises and conclusions.Within this spectrum, the novel—and perhaps the realist novel in particular—would appear to be the literary form par excellence that embodies a sequential conception of time. It thematizes and dramatizes time's passage—the unknowability of the future and the irretrievability of the past—more exhaustively than any other narrative genre. Yet as I hope to show below, while the explicit themes of literary realism treat fictional events as a sequence (event 1, event 2, event 3...), its implicit organization is grounded in time-scales and directs readers' attention to differentiations among events taking place at different temporal registers (the sentence-event, the chapter-event, the novel-event...).III would like to begin exploring the theoretical distinction laid out above by going back to music and focusing on an empirical observation that has been made about a variety of musical forms. It has been pointed out that when people listen to a piece of music, they retain in their memory, at greater or lesser degrees of awareness, a certain segment of what they have just heard; this memory serves as a background for their perception of incoming sounds and as a frame of reference for their experience of them. Consequently, musical forms may be characterized, [End Page 174] compared, and distinguished from one another based... (shrink)

Upon abolition of the sultanate, proclamation of the Republic, and termination of the seemingly existing caliphate position, the 1921 Constitution was replaced with the 1924 Constitution, which would remain in full force until 1961. It is observed that as a result of all such consecutive developments, the no. 677 Law on Preclusion and Abolition of Lodges, Zawiyahs, Tomb Keepers and Some Titles, which had been presented to the assembly with a bill prepared by Refik Koraltan, a member of the parliament (...) from Konya province, along with his friends, accepted in November 30th, 1925 and published in the official gazette in December 13th, 1925, interrupted, in general, the religious Turkish music; and in particular, the music of Mevleviyeh and Bektashism cults -lodge/dervish music- during the production stages, which has been determined to be directly connected with the following problems to be dealt with, and which will constitute the focus of our study. Therefore, our "Music Policies in Turkish Single-party Era: Religious Music Example" titled study, as mentioned above, has been the subject of the research concentrated around especially the no. 677 Law came into force in December 13th, 1925, accepted with a bill, within the scope of transitions paving the way for the proclamation of the republic, and legitimacy of various revolutions implemented, and it is important that the effects of the political mobility experienced in our country between 1923 and 1950 during the single-party era on our society, and the extent of such effects on the music life, in particular Turkish religious music education, culture and art in our country can be observed and evaluated. (shrink)

In this article I offer an account and analysis of several patterns of valuation of the cardinal directions in medieval Scandinavian texts. While my topic is not altogether novel—ideas about space, along with those of time, have been matters of widespread and perennial concern to scholars of culture and religion, and those interested in the Norse context have proven no exception—I seek to go beyond previous examinations in several ways. First, many of the scholars who have focused on directionality (...) in Old Norse sources have been concerned with catalogu-ing and elucidating terminology for the cardinal points and for movement along and between them, with a particular emphasis on assessing the “correctness” of such terms' application in respect to ultimate or relative orientation. While I draw on the insights of such studies, my interests lie less in efforts to map or to describe movement in the real world known to medieval Scandinavians than in the values that they can be shown to have attached to the cardinal directions. My focus, therefore, is on imagined or moral as opposed to physical or topographical space. Of the studies that have taken a similar interest in Norse ideas about space, most have focused mainly or exclusively on the attempt, often from a structuralist perspective, to reconstruct from available sources pagan cosmography, to discover or assemble a systematic summa of the pre-Christian Norse mythical Weltbild. While pre-Christian ideas, or their traces, are also a focus of my article, I pay more than equal attention to conceptualizations and valuations of space held by Christian northerners. “Mythical,” then, is not a label that I reserve for heathen or patently fantastic materials but one under which I also subsume data from Christian and historiographical sources. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy of Music Education Review 12.1 (2004) 76-79 [Access article in PDF] Response to Kingsley Price, "How Can Music Seem to be Emotional" Forest Hansen Lake Forest College Just as at the International Symposium in Philosophy of Music Education IV (PME-IV) in Birmingham, Kingsley Price has demonstrated his acute logical prowess and his alluring wit. Then as now he was addressing the question of how music can seem to (...) have feelings, how it is that we attribute merriment, joy, sorrow, sadness, and the like to passages of instrumental music. On that occasion he systematically dissected the general theory which explains such attributions by reference to feelings or emotions caused in the listener, and he more explicitly criticized the causal model theories of Peter Kivy, Jerrold Levinson, and Roger Scruton. He half-promised, then, that he would in time examine another kind of relevant theory-namely one that explains by showing that music means feelings.Now he has examined for us what is probably the strongest version of such a theory-that of Susanne Langer-and found it wanting. And he has left us in limbo by refusing to reveal his own true and best theory. Perhaps for that we must wait for PME-VI!By way of responding to Price, I want to point out two things in his argument which I find rather slippery, one perhaps not so important and one that I think is [End Page 76] quite important. Then I will make a quasi-defense of Langer's theory of meaning which may evade Price's criticism. Finally, I would like to hazard a guess as to the kind of position which Price might put forward if he were not so reticent.First, the point that is not so important. There has long been an amazing amount of uncertainly about what constitutes an emotion or a feeling, amazing because philosophers and subsequently psychologists have been reflecting on and doing mental and laboratory experiments in the area for a long, long time. Some take feeling to be the larger field of which emotions are a subset; others do the reverse. Some differentiate feelings or emotions or both in terms of related behavior, whereas others put them in the box of subjective experience. So my first comments are meant to be cautionary with respect to speaking about feelings or emotions.Price, for instance, speaks of love as a kind of emotion. I find that peculiar, especially in the way he describes Romeo's love as "continuous, not a succession of discrete moments" and as something that has a more or less clear beginning and end with no lapses in between. But there must be many times that Romeo does not experience the so-called emotion, when he is asleep, for instance, or doing nothing between acts. I love my wife Valerie, but when I am speaking now, and in most of my actions every day, I am not experiencing some set of feelings that combine to make the emotion "Forest's love of Valerie." Often what we call emotions are only intermittently experienced and are perhaps best understood as dispositions or attitudes or beliefs or commitments.My second, and I hope more telling, point is to note how Price is playful with the notion of "reality." He makes it sound as if the distinction between appearance and reality is something that can be quite clear and unambiguous, even if it is not so in particular situations like that of a person seeing a nonexistent oasis or of Lady Macbeth seeing a nonexistent spot on her hand. But note how Price so often gives us examples from the world, so to speak, of art. Lady Macbeth and Romeo do not exist as real people. Those who enact their parts do, of course, but the Lady Macbeth actor is not fooled about the spot on the hand, and the Romeo actor might quite dislike the Juliet actor and not even be sexually attracted to her. Unlike us poor mortals, Romeo and Juliet live and die again and again... (shrink)

Adrian Stokes , long admired by a small, highly distinguished, mostly English circle, was the natural successor to Pater and Ruskin. But though his place in cultural history is important, what is of particular interest now to art historians is his theory of the presentness of painting, a theory which offers a challenging critique of the practice of artwriting. From Vasari to the present, the most familiar rhetorical strategy of the art historian is the narrative of “the form, prophet-saviour-apostles,” in (...) which the first artist poses some problem that his successors develop and their successors solve.1 Such very different books as Art and Illusion and Art and Culture deploy that plan. The three periods of naturalism in E. H. Gombrich’s narrative—antiquity, Renaissance religious narrative, nineteenth-century landscape—function like Clement Greenberg’s sequence—old master art, early French modernism, American abstract expressionism. Gombrich and Greenberg disagree about how to narrate art’s history and about which works to include in that narrative—Gombrich asserts that cubism closes the canon while for Greenberg analytical cubism anticipates Jackson Pollock—but in each case, the art historian aims, as the novelist does, to tell a satisfying story and achieve narrative closure, and so how we think of the artworks the historian discusses depends in part upon the structure of the narrative. In a certain mood, we may find this fact intolerable. Why should a mere text tell us how to see the painting we may stand before?Stokes’ attempt to respond to this mood belongs to a tradition of early twentieth-century antihistorical thinking. For Rainer Maria Rilke, Rodin’s sculpture aimed to “refer to nothing that lay beyond it.” For Ezra Pound, an image “is real because we know it directly”; Henri Gaudier-Brzeska could read Chinese ideograms without knowing that language because those ideograms are transparently meaningful images. For Wyndham Lewis, a musical piece is inferior to a statue, “always there in its entirety before you.”2 Such an artwork need not be interpreted because it contains “within itself all that is relevant to itself.”3 All art is accessible to the gifted observer, and time is, in an interesting double sense, irrelevant. We see directly the meaning of works even from distant cultures; the visual artwork is experienced all at once, outside of time. If these claims are correct, what is the artwriter to do? Speaking of the Tempio Malatestiana, Hugh Kenner points to this issue:There is no description of the Tempio in accordance with good Vorticist logic: one art does not attempt what another can do better, and the meaning of the Tempio has been fully explicated on the spot by Agostino di Duccio with his chisel.4 1. Michael Baxandall, Giotto and the Orators: Humanist Observers of Painting in Italy and the Discovery of Pictorial Composition 1350-1450 , p. 75.2. Rainer Maria Rilke, Rodin, trans. Jessie Lemont and Hans Trausil , p. 19; Ezra Pound, Gaudier-Brzeska: A Memoir , p. 86; Wyndham Lewis, Time and Western Man , p. 174.3. Frank Kermode, Romantic Image , p. 107.4. Hugh Kenner, The Pound Era , p. 428. David Carrier, associate professor of philosophy at Carnegie-Mellon University, is coauthor, with Mark Roskill, of Truth and Falsehood in Visual Images and author of the forthcoming Artwriting, a study of recent American art criticism. He is working on a history of art history. (shrink)

continent. 1.2 (2011): 136-140. In early 2011, Cow Heavy Books published The Official Catalog of the Library of Potential Literature , a compendium of catalog 'blurbs' for non-existent desired or ideal texts. Along with Erinrose Mager, I edited the project, in a process that was more like curation as it mainly entailed asking a range of contemporary writers, theorists, and text-makers to send us an entry. What resulted was a creative/critical hybrid anthology, a small book in which each page opens (...) to a new iteration of textual desire. These texts explore the material possibilities of the book. Somewhat parallel to the call of N. Katherine Hayles who, in her book Writing Machines , urges literary theorists to take up the practice of Medium Specific Analysis (to account for the way the medium in which it is presented conditions or at least bears on a literary text). I see in the imagined works of The Official Catalog a call for the innovative writers of today to become Medium-Responsive. This would mean thinking through the specific (materially constrained) possibilities offered by the media in which texts are presented, and in thinking of the literary text as a kind of art in the greater context of other arts and the book as a medium situated within the context of many other media. In doing so, the contemporary writer refutes the chorus of critics who lament the death of the book by consistently reinvigorating literary innovation. The following are selections from The Official Catalog of the Library of Potential Literature that show possible paths for (thinking about) new writing that engages with its medium. —Ben Segal, Editor THE CUBE Even the most radical non-linear texts have tended to exploit or subvert only the sequential possibilities of print—from the continuous loop of Joyce's Finnegans Wake to the shuffled cards of Marc Saporta's Composition No. 1 —but The Cube takes such multiplicities to an entirely new level. Set in a grid, the book's words can be read conventionally, across the page, as well as down each column—with either route making complete grammatical sense. But they can also be read as stacked strata and mined like lexical core samples through the layered pages of the book. Each path tells the same story from a different perspective (the narrative, naturally, hinges on the potential outcomes of a throw of cubed dice). By opening up the z-axis to reading in this way, The Cube recognizes the book as a three-dimensional sculptural space. Taking its lead from Armand Schwerner's (If Personal) and Raymond Queneau's Cent mille milliards de poèmes , The Cube reads like a experiment by Christian Bök precision printed by Emily McVarish. Craig Dworkin is the editor, most recently, of The Consequence of Innovation: 21st Century Poetics (Roof Books, 2008), The Sound of Poetry/The Poetry of Sound , with Marjorie Perloff (U. Chicago Press, 2009), and Against Expression: An Anthology of Conceptual Writing , with Kenneth Goldsmith (Northwestern UP, 2010). He teaches at the University of Utah. HE GOES In He Goes , we read notes, letters and e-mails from a scholar father to his novelist daughter. We read of the father's musings on Beckett, on Pinter, on Anne Frank; his description of a woman hanging laundry from a line. We read about his journey toward dying, followed by a brief, third person account of his death, and his obituary. Then a long series of blank pages that demand to be read in real time, non-sentence by non-sentence, blank page by blank page. Finally—and it is here that this peculiar little book begins to soar—the dead father writes to his as-of-yet-still-living daughter. He does not write from death. He does not write from life. The words unprint, unstamp, unkindle. Still, they require no translation. The father "writes" (for lack of a better word) about the serendipitous, the commonplace; he recommends another book. He jokes. He asks his daughter how her stomach is. He says forget about presence in absence, darling; screw words as memorial and the guys in garbage cans and loss as redemption and I can't go on I must go on. He goes, "Love, Fodder." He goes, "incidentally." He goes, "I thought you might like to know." Elizabeth Graver is the author of a story collection, Have You Seen Me? , and three novels: Unravelling ; The Honey Thief ; and Awake . Her work has been anthologized in Best American Short Stories , Best American Essays , and Prize Stories: the O. Henry Awards . She teaches at Boston College. THE PAPER ARCHIVIST A stunning package and a triumph of imagination, The Paper Archivist at times looks to be less a book than an abstract expressionist painting. Softly bound, its contents unfold to a single sheet of uneven thickness and texture—a canvas splattered with colored lines, stickers, broken sentences, and nonsense pictographs. But by following the directions to fold, dip, smell, rub, scratch, and tear the sheet according to the contingencies of the weather and using only the objects at hand, the reader slowly brings the forces hidden in the noise into a glorious sculptural convergence, processing a different story and shape each time. This is the rare book that continues to stir, whirl, and pop on every new reading. Sean Higgins blogs at BOMBlog where he is responsible for the column Volumes and Territories, as well as Ghost Island , a fledgling collaborative intellectual collective. THE SLOW BOOK The Slow Book , written by an anonymous author at the dawn of literacy, on a minor planet (otherwise notable only as the source of that exceptionally hardy, not very tasty grain called “shef” sowed on hostile planets as an early step to colonization), and encoded into a series of punctures on a strip of copper coiled inside a clever device, something between a player piano and an old-fashioned film projector, is being released into print, as was the author’s intention, at a rate of one word per century (local time). Each word is, across the Forty Galaxies, agreed to be uncannily apt for the century in which it appears—even “of,” in a century during which the highest value was attached to fidelity, whether to ideals, worlds, or romantic love; even “the,” which governed two centuries, one extraordinarily materialistic, during which advances in propulsion and navigation accelerated the exchange of exceptional objects between the remotest planets of the Forty, and one in which the central concern, both of philosophers and the common man, was whether, in an age of rapidly proliferating hypothetical worlds, anyone or anything concretely existed at all. Even those words published long before interstellar contact can be seen in retrospect to have transgalactic pertinence. As a result, attempts to abstract the machine from its publishers, Hobson & Hui, in order to “predict the future” for insight or gain by “fast- forwarding” the copper strip have been many and ingenious. While, in centuries of skepticism (“maybe”), or of unrest (“go”) the book has been nearly forgotten, in others it seems to haunt every thought, every deed, despite the fact that the subject of The Slow Book is still unclear. So far only a few sentences exist in print; everyone knows them, can quote them, offer the standard exegeses and assorted heresies; yet certainties are the stuff of adolescence; mature readers are forced to acknowledge that these sentences are probably only a preamble to the main argument. They contain no proper nouns, nor can we identify any definite theme. There is even disagreement about their tone, whether coolly ironic, as some insist, or ardent. The appearance of an unusual grammatical case, sometimes called the future pluperfect continuous, used to describe events that at some future point will have always been true (but are not yet)—hitherto known to appear only in the synthetic dogmas of the Thanatographical Society, and in certain highly circumscribed religious contexts—has suggested to some scholars that the Slow Book was originally intended for ritual use, but the proximity of the usage to a term designating a small hand plow that, as Pott and Mielcke have convincingly shown, would have borne a distinctly obscene double meaning in its culture of origin in the author’s time, argues otherwise. It is likewise unclear whether the situation that seems to be—with teasing incompleteness—sketched out in these few lines is intended as an illustration of general principles, a case study, a dramatic scene, or an extended metaphor. In short, we have no idea what The Slow Book is about. In our own time, we believe that it is almost certainly a work of fiction, but that may be because we live in the century of “if”. In each age, perhaps, we see the book we most need to read. Some have dared to suggest that the metal strip is blank until, with millennial fanfare, it advances into its new position, that no ur-text exists, that the book itself is brought into being—written—by our need. But that is exactly the sort of thing we would believe, in 7645. Shelley Jackson is the author of the story collection The Melancholy of Anatomy , the novel Half Life , and hypertexts including Patchwork Girl . The recipient of a Howard Foundation grant, a Pushcart Prize, and the 2006 James Tiptree Jr Award, she has also written and illustrated several children's books, including The Old Woman and the Wave ; Sophia, the Alchemist's Dog ; and Mimi's Dada Catifesto . Her stories and essays have appeared in Conjunctions , McSweeney's , The Paris Review , and Cabinet Magazine . In 2004 she launched her project SKIN , a story published in tattoos on 2095 volunteers. THE BOOK OF SOUNDS The Book of Sounds is just that: a book of sounds made when letters are construed in new ways to bring forth out of the alphabet new forms of speech. A book meant to be read out loud, The Book of Sounds is not unlike Laurie Anderson's O Superman or Brian Eno's Music for Airports in its attempt to make music out of the most primary and simplest of methods. It breaks language down to its barest bones and makes out of the page a drum that has never before been beaten upon. Peter Markus is the author of a novel, Bob, or Man on Boat (Dzanc Books) as well as two books of short fiction, Good, Brother and The Singing Fish , both of which were published by Calamari Press. A new collection of stories, We Make Mud , is now available from Dzanc Books. PARADISE OF THE BLIND by Celan Solen Although the reclusive Celan Solen published his first and only book in 1963—paying out-of-pocket for a limited edition of the slim collection No One May Have the Same Knowledge Again —he remained in American obscurity for almost three decades. In 1992 a micro-press in Istanbul brought out No One in Turkish. A German translation followed in 1995. Soon it became clear in literary circles Solen was a world-class (if highly unclassifiable) artist—lyrical, dense, enigmatic—who could undo the conventional short story in 397 words by inventing impossible worlds housed in impossible whirls (in “Small Sadnesses,” a single chartreuse tree frog in Borneo unknowingly holds time together by its very presence in the universe, while each letter of its tale refers, not to itself, but to the one preceding it in the alphabet). By his disappearance last year, Solen was considered master by a generation of writers and critics (except, alas, for those gentlemen in the Swedish Academy). Imagine, then, that generation’s delight at the discovery, locked away in the author’s safe-deposit box, of his second and final composition. Had Lynch’s Lost Highway been book instead of film, and had it been penned by Beckett at his least certain, revised by Barthelme at his most formally deranged, and typeset by Derrida at his most semiotically catastrophic, the result might have been something like Paradise of the Blind : interlacing narratives of a man composed of borrowed organs (whose most cheerless and difficult to locate, god, could only have been invented by an empty heart), a nonexistent medieval painting blamed for the ruin of future hope, and the spread of a philosophy that holds earth a mistake constantly recurring in the dream of a fish lying on the floor of the Atlantic (if the fish wakes, our world winks off)—all contained in a text packed with typed-over passages, torn postcards, poems that can be deciphered only when held up to a mirror, pages ornamented with trompe-l'œil paperclips and coffee stains and buzzing houseflies, some busy with illegible runes that dissolve when exposed to light, three that smell like roses or lemons (depending on whether a man or woman is reading), two that stain with the bloody fingerprints of the those who handle them, one that ignites when brushed with breath, thirteen sewn from baby skin, one that moans when touched, and one that screams—yet all without mass, unimaginable, and invisible. Lance Olsen is author of more than 20 books of and about innovative fiction, including, most recently, the novels Calendar of Regrets (2010) and Head in Flames (2009). He teaches experimental narrative theory and practice at the University of Utah. SUPERSTRUCTURE! by Barbara D'Albi As soon as I opened the third drawer of Barbara D'Albi's wooden novel, everything became hopeless. Now in Ithaca, there was no going back. And it wasn't just the intricate series of shelves, hinged doors and locked drawers which D'Albi layered into the book, no, lo, I was constructed anew by the story. Who else but D'Albi to imagine a God who becomes a carpenter and gets killed?! And makes it good! You want stories? D'Albi is a skyscraper, built with planes and levers. Momentarily I wondered where I could shelve this book, and then I thought: no matter; I couldn't put it down. Adam Robinson lives in Baltimore, where he runs Publishing Genius. He is the author of Adam Robison and Other Poems and Say, Poem. 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In Philip Alperson’s most recently edited collection, he skillfully puts together fifteen new articles on varying aspects of the philosophy of music. For the last two-hundred years the central philosophical question concerning music has been where its meaning lies. Alperson discusses this question in his introductory essay giving a historical introduction primarily through the views of Eduard Hanslick, who denies that the arousal of emotion in the listener or the expression of emotion in the music is the purpose of music. (...) If not in emotion, what is the meaning of music? Alperson notes that there has been a concerted effort by twentieth century aestheticians and theoreticians of music to place both music and musical practice in the broader context of human experiences and practices more generally. The essays that follow explain how music does this in several different ways. (shrink)

Episodic memory (memories of the personal past) and prospecting the future (anticipating events) are often described as mental time travel (MTT). While most use this description metaphorically, we argue that episodic memory may allow for MTT in at least some robust sense. While episodic memory experiences may not allow us to literally travel through time, they do afford genuine awareness of past-perceived events. This is in contrast to an alternative view on which episodic memory experiences present past-perceived events (...) as mere intentional contents. Hence, episodic memory is a way of coming into experiential contact with, or being again aware of, what happened in the past. We argue that episodic memory experiences depend on a causal-informational link with the past events being remembered, and that, assuming direct realism about episodic memory experiences, this link suffices for genuine awareness. Since there is no such link in future prospection, a similar argument cannot be used to show that it also affords genuine awareness of future events. Constructivist views of memory might challenge the idea of memory as genuine awareness of remembered events. We explain how our view is consistent with both constructivist and anti-causalist conceptions of memory. There is still room for an interpretation of episodic memory as enabling genuine awareness of past events, even if it involves reconstruction. (shrink)

continent. 2.1 (2012): 40–43. Lance Olsen is a professor of Writing and Literature at the University of Utah, Chair of the FC2 Board of directors, and, most importantly, author or editor of over twenty books of and about innovative literature. He is one of the true champions of prose as a viable contemporary art form. He has just published Architectures of Possibility (written with Trevor Dodge), a book that—as Olsen's works often do—exceeds the usual boundaries of its genre as it (...) explores his interests in narrative theory and pedagogy. The book is a kind of “anti-textbook;” a performative polemic against the stale, conservative and monolithic conception of the literary that so often dominates institutional discourse around creative writing. The following interview takes the occasion of AoP's publication as a chance to speak with Olsen about the book itself as well as to engage with larger, unanswerable, questions about the futures and intersections of literature and education. —Ben Segal INTERVIEW: 1) First, I want to start before the beginning, with the title. I’m really fascinated by the concept it conjures. Can you say something about innovative/experimental/(choose your adjective) literature in relation to both ideas around architecture and possibility? Innovative or experimental are tremendously fraught adjectives, needless to say. But for the purposes of my book, they modify a fiction concerned with the questions: What is fiction? What can it do, and how, and why? Now, of course, what looks “innovative” or “experimental” to one at 17 may not be what looks “innovative” or “experimental” to one at 27 or 57, and what looks “innovative” or “experimental” in 1812 may not be what looks “innovative” or “experimental” in 2012. A certain existential and historical perspectivism is always at work. But I think it’s fair to say that innovative and experimental usually refer to a narrativity that includes a self-reflective awareness of and engagement with theoretical inquiry, concerns, and obsessions, as well as a sense of being in conversation with fiction across space and time. One can't create challenging writing in a vacuum; it has to challenge in relation to something. So contemporary writers interested in the subject are not only in pursuit of the innovative, but are also always-already writing subsequent to it—writing, that is, in its long wake. Architectures of Possibility conceives of creativity as a possibility space, a locale just outside our comfort zones where we can and should take multiple chances in order to imagine in new ways, explore fresh strategies for finding and cultivating ideas, re-view what it is we’re doing and why, better understand what Samuel Beckett meant when he wrote: “Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” It reminds us that there are other ways of narrating our worlds and ourselves than those we have inherited from the entertainment industry, the government, academia, previous writing, and so on. 2) AoP seems to be directed at several audiences (and purposes) simultaneously. What I mean is that it seems at times a polemic in favor of innovative literature, at other times a creative writing textbook, and still other times a guide to the network of publishers, journals, and programs that make up the current world of non-mainstream literary art in the U.S. In my mind, Architectures is a theorized anti-textbook about writing. Most textbooks on the subject (think of Janet Burroway’s Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft , taught in most creative-writing classroom across the country) orchestrate how to construct conventional stories. They instruct from a place of power how to generate familiar stories that are repeated so often that many of us begin to take them as the primary model for narrativity, if not unconsciously as a kind of truth. The result, as Brian Kiteley points out in 3 A.M. Epiphany (one of the only other alternative textbooks about innovative writing around, by the way, and a tremendous repository of exercises), is merely competent texts. Architectures problematizes that gesture by outlining what conventional narrativity looks like, urging writers to think about its ideology of form as well as content, and invites them to imagine writing, not as a set of relatively stable conventions, but, rather, as a possibility space where everything can and should be thought, tried, challenged. It thereby rhymes with Roland Barthes’s definition of literature: the question minus the answer—which is to say Architectures poses complications to the act of writing rather than solutions. 3) One of the most notable things about the book is the use of interviews. This is also one of the reasons that I think the book works so well for a variety of audiences—that anyone with even a passing interest in the state and future of literature will have an interest in your conversation with people like Ben Marcus, Samuel Delany, and Lydia Davis. I was hoping you could just talk a little about how you chose these subjects to interview, how you edited the interview material, and which answers you received struck you the most. Experimentalism , like realism , wants to appear in the plural. The idea of gathering more than forty interviews (with the help of my awesome collaborator, Trevor Dodge, himself a fine innovative author) represents an attempt to suggest that: the wide, rich, exciting opportunities inherent in the term. There are interviews with younger writers, elder statesmen in the field, publishers, editors, hypermedia artists, comic book makers, and so on: Joe Wenderoth, Carole Maso, Scott McCloud, Nick Montfort, Kathy Acker, et al. Trevor and I decided to do flash interviews: short, concentrated Q&As, each focusing on a particular troubling of writing. We only lightly edited the results to match the manuscript’s overall style, and every interview arrived as a surprise housing several unexpected insights. Three brief examples: Michael Mejia, when asked about what he dreads when setting about writing: “Dread is an interesting word here. I associate it less with loathing or aversion, I suppose, than with a kind of productive fear. Do I dread a project’s failure? Sure, who doesn’t? Who wants to waste time on something that comes to nothing, or is unreadable? But then, what do these terms mean, and who or what defines a work as a ‘failure,’ as ‘waste,’ as ‘unreadable’? Should a work actually try to interrogate and exceed these conceptual limitations? My tendency is to write into dread in order to reveal to myself, as much as to any reader that may come after, the varied complacencies that make other, mostly more conventional writings, readable. It’s at the frontier between readability (security) and unreadability (terror) that I want to live creatively.” Carole Maso, when asked what she’d like a sentence to accomplish: “I think a sentence can if allowed carry emotional and intellectual states as they flee, as they come and go, an escaping essence difficult to hold in other ways. In this way I think the sentence can work as a phrase of music does, sounding something large and elusive in us. Alternatively it can provide sometimes a stability, an essence, a moment of being. Unlike music the sentence also of course carries language with all its potential for meaning making and memory traces and association with it as well. I probably love the accretion of sentences most—those patterns, that shimmer, that resonance.” Shelley Jackson, when asked what is innovative about the innovative: “The purpose of the innovative is, I think, to wake us up. We are not quite alive, most of the time; we occupy a sort of cartoon version of our lives, its lines made smooth by repetition. Writing can open the seams in that world, reintroduce us to the real lives that we have forgotten. Maybe all good writing is innovative in some sense, in that it shows or tells or makes you feel something you never felt before—something for which you have no cartoon ready.” 4) You talk a little about N. Katherine Hayles’s concept of Media Specific Analysis and propose the supplemental notion of Medium Specific Generation—basically taking Hayles and applying her thought from the perspective of the writer. I’ve been trying to develop somewhat related theoretical frameworks, so I was really excited to come upon this section of the book. I’m wondering if you can talk a little more about this idea and, in general, about the potentials that you see as being opened up by writers engaging with and exploiting different media as literary platforms? “Lulled into somnolence by five hundred years of print,” Hayles urges in her (at least for me) transformative 2004 essay, “Print is Flat, Code is Deep,” “literary analysis should awaken to the importance of media-specific analysis, a mode of critical attention which recognizes that all texts are instantiated and that the nature of the medium in which they are instantiated matters.” She goes on to argue critics should learn to become more attuned to the materiality of the medium under investigation—which is to say a story isn’t a story isn’t a story. Rather, the “same” story remediated through film is intrinsically different from that story remediated through conventionally printed books is intrinsically different from that story remediated through hypermedia. “Materiality,” Hayles goes on, “is reconceptualized as the interplay between a text’s physical characteristics and its signifying strategies, a move that entwines instantiation and signification at the outset.” My point in Architectures is simply to emphasize Media Specific Generation: the idea that when writing you should be cognizant, not only of the thematics of the text you are working on, and, as it were, the internal components of its narrativity (character, language, plot, etc.), but also of the material embodiment those components take, and, perhaps more important, the material embodiment those components can take. The idea that the way texts matter matters isn’t something usually addressed in any significant way in creative-writing classrooms and textbooks. It may almost go without saying such experimentation with typography, layout, and white space has a long tradition—certainly one that tracks back at least as far as Guillaume Apollinaire’s early twentieth-century Calligrammes , Laurence Sterne’s textually ribald eighteenth-century Tristram Shandy , although one could arguably plot a hypothetical trajectory that reaches to ancient Greek romances like Achilles Tatius’ second-century Leucippe and Clitophon . Experiments into atomic materiality and digital immateriality bracket the definition of “book” at the same time they highlight Michael Martone’s prediction of its present future as increasingly viral, collaborative, and ephemeral. Or, as Matthew Battles points out: the future of the “book” has already arrived, and it is “ethereal and networked” rather than “an immutable brick.”While conventional writing and reading practices are conceptualized as private, individual, relatively fixed experiences, many of the new forms indicate that writing and reading—from production through dissemination—are rapidly becoming public, collective, incrementally unfixed experiences. That strikes me as an astonishing set of opportunities for a writer to investigate. 5) Another concept you elaborate in AoP is that of limit texts, basically texts that, once you read them, change what you imagine as the shape/horizon/potential of literature. You provide a fantastic reading list of limit texts at the end of AoP. I was hoping you could talk about a few of them in terms of how they specifically operate as limit texts for you—how they expand your understanding of what literature could be or do. Karl Jaspers coined the word Grenzsituationen (border/limit situations) to describe existential moments accompanied by anxiety in which the human mind is forced to confront the restrictions of its existing forms—moments that make us abandon, fleetingly, the securities of our limitedness and enter new realms of self-consciousness. Death, for example. Limit texts are a variety of disturbance that carries various elements of narrativity to their brink so the reader can never quite imagine them in the same terms again. Once you’ve taken one down from the shelf, you’ll never be able to put it back up again. They won’t leave you alone. They will continue to work on your imagination long after you’ve read them. Simply by being in the world, they ask us to embrace difficulty, freedom, radical skepticism. One of the most important for me is Samuel Beckett’s The Unnamable . Instead of establishing conventional setting and building traditional character, from its first words it unsettles both: “Where now? Who now? When now?” That first trio of question marks broadcasts the thematics of the writing (“novel” may be too strong a word) that will follow: it is all about a voice (or, perhaps, voices, about the grammatical mistake of the first-person pronoun), a consciousness (maybe, again, too strong a word), often genderless, removed from place and chronology and socioeconomic reality, hovering in a state of perpetual aporia. All it knows is what it doesn’t know, and its not-knowing is blackly, sardonically comic. The Unnamable is the embodiment of an unreliable narrator—a subject position that can’t trust itself, let alone be trusted by a reader. It contradicts, takes back, digresses, undoes what it just did, forgets, lies, hallucinates gloriously. The language is abstract, disembodied, devoid of sensory data, grayish rather than painterly in texture. Without knowing this passage is from a novel, a reader might well conclude s/he were reading a patch of (anti-)Cartesian philosophy. It might be helpful to conceive of what Beckett is doing as post-genre writing, then, or perhaps what Raymond Federman referred to as critifiction—a mode that blurs conventional distinctions between theory and narrative. In completely different register, and much more recently, Anne Carson’s Nox blew me away. It takes the form of an elegy for her older brother, whom she didn’t know well and who died unexpectedly while on the run from the law in Europe. The thing itself arrives in a box that simulates a thick book, as well as the brother’s textual coffin. Open it, and inside you discover, not a codex, but an accordioned series of “pages” that folds out into an arrangement that suggests an ancient scroll (Carson is, perhaps illuminatingly, a professor of classics) made up of shards of her brother’s letters, old photographs, tickets, Carson’s observations, Catullus’ poem 101 (the one addressed to the Roman poet’s dead brother, a doubling of Carson’s situation), and extensive dictionary entries on all the words that compose that poem. The aggregate produces a collage about the impossibilities of aggregates, the impossibilities of understanding fully, of capturing absences in language. At times Nox feels less an example of what most readers consider a book than something closer to a three-dimensional work of assemblage art. It’s a beautiful mechanism for contemplating Media Specific Analysis, for urging us all to be more extreme. 6) Finally, I want to talk a little about pedagogy and institutions. I’m less interested in questions like “Are MFA programs good for writers?” than in questions about how your role as teacher informs your understanding of literature and your writing practice. I’m also very curious about your take on how commercially marginal literary art is largely patronized by large state institutions and at the same time often imagines itself as a critical and even possibly revolutionary practice. How have your own positions within universities and university-affiliated organizations shaped your thinking about them and about innovative literature? I can imagine in many ways it might make you even more critical. And (I know, another ‘and’...) how does AoP (especially given its relation to Rebel Yell , your previous text on creative writing) reflect your personal history and experience as a teacher and member of communities that are largely defined by institutions? In the classroom, I try to generate the pedagogical field I would have liked to have inhabited as a student, but didn’t. Roland Barthes has a lovely line about this: “We need to substitute for the magisterial [classroom] space of the past (the word delivered by the master from the pulpit above with the audience below, the flock, the sheep, the herd)—a less upright, less Euclidean space where no one, neither teacher nor students, would ever be in his final place.” Easier said than done, of course, but an important life project for all who think of themselves as educators. My own classroom, my own writing, and Architectures of Possibility itself attempt to create the sort of possibility space where, as I mentioned at the outset of our interview, everything should be thought, tried, challenged; where everything rhymes with Roland Barthes’s definition of literature: the question minus the answer. I’m not sure I could write what I’m writing now without the conversations I have almost daily with my students, the conversations they have with each other, the conversations we all have with the texts we study. Especially in light of the paradigm shift over the last, say, quarter century from academia as intellectual exploration to academia as McDonaldized trade school, the irony isn’t lost on me concerning the discrepancy between the safe harbor innovative authors find there and the cultural critiques those authors launch through their writing and pedagogical work. In 2001, I quit my full professorship at one institution precisely because of my disappointment over what had happened to the learning environment there. I had no intentions of reentering the field. In 2007, however, the University of Utah approached me, and I found myself in an environment much more hospitable to the sort of work I want to do—teaching experimental narrative theory and practice. It isn’t by any means a simple irony. One could easily argue innovative writing and pedagogy represents the trace of the paradigm Barthes suggests, and that trace is tremendously productive in all kinds of ways. Innovative writing has never and will never change the world in any large, macrocosmic way. But we’ve all had our lives changed, one by one, by an encounter with a difficult, rich, resonant piece of prose, poetry, music, art, you name it. We’ve all had our lives changed at the ahistorical, microcosmic moment by a class we’ve taken, a teacher we’ve studied with, to such an extent that we became, quite literally, different people. I just came across a stunning set of sentences from Derrida on the topic: “What is education? The death of the parents.” That’s what we’re all up to in the innovative, be it in written texts or the texts we call our classrooms or the texts we call our politics: trying to disrupt what both can and can’t be disrupted, trying to undo what both can and can’t be undone, continuously. (shrink)

While it is widely accepted that music evokes moods, there is disagreement over whether music-induced moods are relevant to the aesthetic appreciation of music as such. The arguments against the aesthetic relevance of music-induced moods are: moods cannot be intentionally directed at the music and music-induced moods are highly subjective experiences and are therefore a kind of mind-wandering. This paper presents a novel account of musical moods that avoids these objections. It is correct to say that a listener’s entire mood (...) is not relevant to the aesthetic appreciation of music. However, the experience of mood consists of having different feelings. Music induces feelings that are intentionally directed at the music and clusters of these feelings can be recognized as typical of a specific mood. Therefore, mood-feelings are relevant to the aesthetic appreciation of music. (shrink)

Music’s power to improve the ‘human condition’ has been acknowledged since ancient times. Something as counter-intuitive as weeping in response to music can ameliorate suffering for a time even for terminally ill patients. Several benefits—including catharsis, communication, and experiencing vitality—can be associated with grieving in response to “sad” music. In addressing the potential rewards of such an activity for terminally ill patients, this author combines concepts from philosopher Jerrold R. Levinson’s article, entitled “Music and Negative Emotion,” an illustration (...) from a major motion picture, and supporting research from medical reports and aesthetic writings. Carefully offering this experience is recommended for patients who retain the capacity to express preference. (shrink)

I start with the observation that we often respond to a musical performance with emotion -- even if it is just the performance of a piece of absolute music, unaccompanied by text, title or programme. We can be exhilarated after a Rossini overture brought off with subtlety and panache; somber and melancholy after Furtlanger’s performance of the slow movement of the Eroica. And so forth. These emotions feel like the real thing to me – or anyway very close to (...) the real thing. When one experiences them, it takes time for them to wear off, and one gets irritated with the companion who, because not similarly moved, wants immediately to start discussing where to go for dinner. Like many others, I am drawn to the philosophy of music by a need to understand how such emotional responses are possible. How can absolute music move us in the way that it does, and to the extent that it does? (shrink)

Throughout its history of almost a millennium and a half, Sanskrit kāvyaśāstra was resolutely obsessed with the task of unravelling the ontology kāvya. Literary theoreticians in Sanskrit, irrespective of their spatio-temporal locations, unanimously agreed upon the fact that kāvya was a special mode of expression characterized by the presence of certain unique linguistic elements. Nonetheless, this did not imply that kāvyaśāstra was an intellectual tradition unmarked by disagreements. The real point of contention among the practitioners of Sanskrit (...) class='Hi'>literary theory was the prioritization of certain formal elements as the ‘soul’ of literature. This strong sense of intellectual disagreement on the question of what constituted the soul of kāvya eventually paved the way for the emergence of new frameworks of criticism and extensive scrutiny of the existing categories, thus playing a vital role in keeping this tradition alive and new.But towards the turn of the 20th century, Sanskrit kāvyaśāstra tradition underwent an epistemic rupture primarily because of a change in the way the idea of literariness was understood. During this phase, the traditional Formalistic notions about literature underwent a radical transformation, and the style and language of literature eventually became similar to everyday speech. This trend played an important role in severing Sanskrit kāvyaśāstra’s natural tie with literature. Eventually, the vigour in which new treatises in Sanskrit literary poetics were produced also dwindled. This did not mean that the scholarship in Sanskrit poetics vanished. Scholars in Sanskrit poetics continued to flourish in India, but in a different form and shape. In other words, the focus of scholars in Sanskrit poetics slowly got shifted from the production of new treatises in Sanskrit poetics to the creation of the intellectual history of this field and the application of these theories to evaluate the literary merit of modern literary texts. Though these two approaches played a vital role in disseminating the knowledge about Sanskrit poetics in modern times, they were caught up in an ontological certitude. In other words, neither of these two directions attempted to study these theoretical positions from a standpoint other than that of literary theory. To borrow a Barthian terminology, these two approaches treated Sanskrit poetics as a ‘work,’ instead of a ‘Text.’ This paper aims to intervene in this lacuna of scholarship by proposing the Derridian idea of ‘play’ as a methodological framework to unearth the potentialities lying dormant in these theories and to move beyond the ontological certitude traditionally imposed on these theoretical positions. The new methodological praxis that I put forward in this paper is further exemplified through a non-canonical reading of Ānandavardhana’s avivakṣita-vācya-dhvani. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Literary Method of Urban Design: Design Fictions Using FictionAlan Marshall (bio)For students of design the world over, there’s usually nowhere near enough time in the school year to build a prototype of each and every single innovative idea that pops into one’s head—let alone to test them all in the social world or the marketplace. To speedily explore as many innovations as possible, students are sometimes (...) encouraged to follow an alternative pathway, to create “design fiction.” Intended to exist only on paper or the screen, a “design fiction” is not really destined for the real world.1 As a learning technique, it allows for a significant degree of technical experimentation as well as the imagining of new social arrangements. Many design experts see this “free-for-all” method as rather annoying and untrustworthy—more art than science. Yet for the most creative students, it serves to liberate them from the various constraints of their discipline. My own peculiar process of “design fiction” is what I call the “Literary Method of Urban Design.” I will come to this method in a moment.Last year, I was invited by the Bauhaus Museum in Weimar, Germany, to contribute artworks for a special exhibition entitled “Ways to Utopia: Life Between Desire and Crisis” (running from April 1, 2023—January 29, 2024).2 [End Page 560] This exhibition is a celebration of the one-hundredth anniversary of the Bauhaus’s first architectural product: a modern suburban family home in the city of Weimar called the Haus Am Horn. Built in 1923 the Haus Am Horn ushered in the Bauhaus style, a streamlined functional elegance presented in clean, bright, hopeful hues.3 Beyond just style, though, the house was proffered up in utopian terms. Its Bauhaus creators suggested that such a home could be mass-produced on an industrial scale cheaply and efficiently to provide elegant living to every single family in Europe, be they rich or poor. In its first iteration, the Staatliches Bauhaus was a high-spirited, playful, future-oriented, and socially aware fine arts and architecture school that ran from 1919 to 1933 in Weimar, then Dessau, then Berlin. However, its liberalism and experimentation away from traditional teaching and practice invited scorn from conservatives and from the Nazi Party. The former took the Bauhaus school’s funding away; the latter shuttered it for good. Despite the closure of the building, the Bauhaus style transformed design across the world as former teachers and ex-students applied Bauhaus principles and approaches in new settings. The old Bauhaus school has since been resurrected, with the opening of Bauhaus Universität Weimar, and the Bauhaus Museum, with locations in Weimar and Dessau.A few years back, Skyhorse Publishers published a book of my own “design fictions” depicting real-world cities set far in the future, each presented in utopian terms.4 Because of this, the Bauhaus approached me to help them celebrate their centennial anniversary by displaying my utopian urban designs in their museum. However, to convey the centenary theme of the exhibition, they requested exactly 100 different artworks of 100 different urban utopias portraying 100 different real-world cities set 100 years in the future. At the time, I had only produced eighty such works over the preceding decade. However, since the exhibition was to include masterworks by Bauhaus design greats like George Muche and Alma Buscher, I did not want to fall short. To make the “century” in quick time, I pushed ahead by deploying my own peculiar “Literary Method of Urban Design.”5 This method comprises three steps:1. Select a city.2. Select a literary work.3. Design the future of the selected city, based upon the themes of the selected literary work.[End Page 561] Click for larger view View full resolutionFigure 1.Future London. By the author, inspired by More’s Utopia (1516).When I used this method for the first time with Thomas More’s Utopia (1516) as the literary base, a curator at the Museum of London was tickled enough to include it in an exhibition about the future of London.6Since then, the utopian spark has flowed through many of... (shrink)

In many countries, life expectancy has increased considerably in past years, and the importance of finding ways to ensure good levels of wellbeing through aging has become more important than ever. Arts based interventions are promising in this respect, and the literature suggests that musical activities can reduce isolation and anxiety and foster feelings of achievement and self-confidence. The present study examined the effects of group music making programs on the health and wellbeing of nursing home residents in Southern Switzerland. (...) A team of professional and student musicians delivered 10 weekly music sessions in four nursing homes, focusing on singing, rhythm-based activities with percussion instruments, and listening to short, live performances. 22 participants (16 women and 6 men, aged 72-95 years, mean 83.6, SD ± 6.9) were recruited to take part in the study and were interviewed after the last music session. The data were analyzed with thematic analysis to investigate how residents experienced group music making and its effects. The findings show that the music programs were beneficial for residents’ wellbeing. Music plays an important role in their lives, both in their pasts and presently, and being involved in musical activities offers engagement and novelty in daily life, providing learning opportunities and facilitating interpersonal relationships. Moreover, these results were due to interactions with the musicians involved. Residents particularly appreciated the opportunity to listen to live performances as part of the sessions. This study suggests that nursing home residents value music and that music based interventions play an important and direct role in enhancing their wellbeing. (shrink)

_Experiencing Philosophy_ begins with the assumption that philosophy is not merely something you know but also something you experience and participate in. The book presents philosophical theories and ideas with reference to their practical relevance to the lives of student readers. To this end, a number of engaging features and inserts are provided: • _Original Sources_: Numerous primary readings are included, introducing students directly to the philosophical work of diverse thinkers ranging from Plato to Martin Luther King Jr. Each (...) reading is thoughtfully excerpted and followed by reflective questions. • _Philosopher Profiles_: Abstract ideas are connected to the lives of real historical figures through fascinating biographical profiles. • _Take It Personally_: To illustrate how philosophy can be useful and relevant, each chapter begins by placing the material in a personal context. • _Know Thyself Diagnostics_: This book takes seriously—as did Socrates—the Delphic Oracle’s dictum to “know thyself.” Students are given self-diagnostics to explore their own philosophical values, ideals, and beliefs. • _Philosophers in Action_: Philosophy is something you do, not just something you know. Prompts are provided throughout the text inviting students to conduct thought experiments, analyze concepts, and discuss and debate controversial points. • _Thinking about Your Thinking_: These metacognitive prompts require students to engage in higher-order thinking, not only about the presented readings and ideas but also with respect to their own values, assumptions, and beliefs. • _Plus_: Built-in study guides, diagrams, famous philosophical quotations, comics, feature boxes, and more! (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Teaching Musical FictionMarcin Stawiarski (bio)IntroductionGiven the increasing interest in musico-literary studies, I wish to examine some ways in which music can be used for pedagogical purposes in teaching literature. It has been widely recognized that music and poetry sprang from the common origin of chant or incantation.1 Throughout the ages, the sister arts sometimes went hand in hand and sometimes parted company, but since the end of the (...) nineteenth century musical aspects have been used quite extensively in literature, either as a subject matter or as a wellhead of structures. The number of musically inspired twentieth-century novels bears evidence to this strengthening of musico-literary relationships.2 Contemporary interactive, interdisciplinary, and multimedial works of art or artistic events also testify to a close sisterhood between the arts. This phenomenon has come to be called intermediality, which is defined as using more than one artistic medium in the creation of a work of art. But then, examining musical aspects in literature demands specific knowledge of the musical field itself, thus raising questions about the limits and the difficulties of using musico-literary materials in class. Suppose the student is not knowledgeable at all about music. What, then, can be the input the teacher can offer the student without necessarily inundating the latter with too much information? Is it possible to avoid generalizations in drawing comparisons or distinctions between music and literature? And, is it relevant to deal with music in teaching fiction?I wish to suggest that there are pragmatic elements of music that may be used in teaching music-related texts without previous skills in the musical field. In this respect, music may serve as an enriching and fascinating teaching tool. The point I would like to make is that quite often music leads the text to raise questions about literariness itself, so that it becomes possible not only to discuss musico-literary interrelations but to tackle the specificity of literature through the prism of intermediality. [End Page 78]This article will deal with two kinds of musico-literary phenomena appearing in fiction. On the one hand, I wish to examine the implications of the historical and cultural background in musicalized texts as an inherent aspect of many novels. On the other hand, I wish to broach the question of the musicalization of fiction, that is to say, the transposition or imitation of musical forms in literature.Literature Speaking about MusicThe Need of a ContextIn dealing with musical contexts of literary texts, the teacher may bring the student's attention to bear on the variety of ways a text may be related to music. A typology of different musico-literary interrelations has been established by such critics as Calvin S. Brown3 or Steven P. Scher. In Scher one will find a useful chart dividing musico-literary studies into two categories: literary presence within the musical field (explored by musicology) and musical presence within the literary field (explored by literary studies). The latter may be subdivided into word music, musical structures, and verbal music. This typology has been furthered by Werner Wolf in his critical work on the musicalization of fiction. Yet too detailed a categorization may seem difficult to put into practice in a classroom setting. Its principle drawback lies in the difficulty to sever one musical phenomenon in literature from the other. In numerous cases it seems impossible to drive an unequivocal wedge between (a) prosodic phenomena, appertaining to word music or musicality; (b) exclusively thematic or topical elements; and (c) specifically structural transpositions. Such an accurate classification, therefore, preferably would be used with more advanced students.The thematic or topical relationship I want to focus on in this section is by far the easiest to get across to students since it does not require musical skills. This approach is roughly tantamount to Scher's verbal music or Wolf's thematization,4 and it appears in texts dealing with music explicitly. Many texts resort to an extramusical (or paramusical) rather than a purely musical content. In other words, it is the critical or mythical context surrounding a given musical work that is often used in fiction. In reading Rose Tremain... (shrink)

There is no question, of course, that music is a temporal art. Stravinsky, noting that it is inconceivable apart from the elements of sound and time, classifies it quite simply as "a certain organization in time, a chrononomy."1 His definition stands as part of a long and honored tradition that encompasses such diverse figures as Racine, Lessing, and Schopenhauer. Schopenhauer, putting the case in its strongest terms, remarks that music is "perceived solely in and through time, to (...) the complete exclusion of space," thus making explicit the opposition between time and space and ruling out the latter as a possible area for legitimate musical experience. Yet anyone familiar with the philosophical and theoretical literature dealing with music must be struck by the persistence with which spatial terminology and categories appear. Indeed, it would seem to be impossible to talk about music at all without invoking spatial notions of one kind or another. Thus in discussing even the most elementary aspects of pitch organization—and among the musical elements, only pitch, we should remember, is uniquely musical—one finds it necessary to rely upon such spatially oriented oppositions as "up and down," "high and low," "small and large" , and so on. Space, then, pace Schopenhauer, apparently forms an inseparable part of the musical experience. · 1. Igor Stravinsky, Poetics of Music in the Form of Six Lessons, trans, Arthur Knodel and Ingolf Dahl , p. 28. Robert P. Morgan is active as both a music composer and theorist. A professor of music at the University of Chicago, he is currently composing a concerto for flute, oboe, and string orchestra to be performed at Swarthmore College. His previous contribution to Critical Inquiry, "On the Analysis of Recent Music," appeared in the Autumn 1977 issue. Anthony Gilbert responds to the current essay in "Musical Space: A Composer's View". (shrink)

In the near future, vehicles will gradually gain more autonomous functionalities. Drivers’ activity will be less about driving than about monitoring intelligent systems to which driving action will be delegated. Road safety, therefore, remains dependent on the human factor and we should identify the limits beyond which driver’s functional state (DFS) may no longer be able to ensure safety. Depending on the level of automation, estimating the DFS may have different targets, e.g. assessing driver’s situation awareness in lower levels of (...) automation and his ability to respond to emerging hazard or assessing driver’s ability to monitor the vehicle performing operational tasks in higher levels of automation. Unfitted DFS (e.g., drowsiness) may impact the driver ability respond to taking over abilities. This paper reviews the most appropriate psychophysiological indices in naturalistic driving while considering the DFS through exogenous sensors, providing the more efficient trade-off between reliability and intrusiveness. The DFS also originates from kinematic data of the vehicle, thus providing information that indirectly relates to drivers behaviour. The whole data should be synchronously processed, providing a diagnosis on the DFS, and bringing it to the attention of the decision maker in real time. Next, making the information available can be permanent or intermittent (or even undelivered), and may also depend on the automation level. Such interface can include recommendations for decision support or simply give neutral instruction. Mapping of relevant psychophysiological and behavioural indicators for DFS will enable practitioners and researchers provide reliable estimates, fitted to the level of automation. (shrink)

Yemeni writer Ahmed Qāsim al-Arīqī, in addition to his profession as a pharmacist, is a writer who has made a name for himself in the country's literary field, especially in the last fifteen years. A prolific writer, al-Arīqī is the author of poetry collections as well as stories and novels that emphasise awareness of the traditional issues of the Yemeni people. He has published "Maḳāmāt al-'Arīḳī" (2006), "Ġalṭṭetu Ḳalem" (2012), "Qurāt al-S̱-S̱elj" (2017), "Ta'riyya" (2018), "Zurbet al-Yumnā" (2018), "Da'wat al-Ḥuḳūl" (...) (2019), "Zuhr al-Ġarām" and "Sīret al-Kūbī" (2022). His novel "Yawma Māta al-Shaytan" (The Day Satan Died) was published electronically by Hindāwī Publishing House in 2022. The novel, which is approximately 120 pages, is written in six chapters. There are eleven passages in the first and fourth chapters, thirteen in the second and sixth chapters, twelve in the third chapter, and eight in the fifth chapter. The novel is about the adventures of a member of the army named Marwan Naji, who was wounded in the war between the Houthi militia and the Yemeni army, and after nine months in a coma, opens his eyes in a perfect world dominated by biological and technological advances. Symbolising the treatment of selfishness and various narcissisms with advanced vaccines through the death of Satan, the author describes Marwan's adventures in his world, which he sometimes describes as the realm of the jinn, in a very simple language, while not failing to criticise reality in its various political, social and religious dimensions. In fact, Marwan's world of imagination and fantasy is the main story of the novel, but not the only one. The author also includes the stories of family members in Marwan's world of turmoil, destruction, massacre, war and victory, giving the reader the opportunity to compare both worlds. While his mother Gusoun, his wife Hamide and his daughter Fatma, who later got engaged in time after being widowed, are the female characters of his real world, Professor Mari and Mariana, one of his seven wives, are the other important characters of his imaginary world. Gusûn is a devoted mother who does not leave the bedside of her comatose son, prays for him day and night and tries to do everything she can for his recovery. Gusûn, who is listened to at home to a certain extent, scolds her grandchildren to prevent the breakup of her son's home because of inheritance, defends that the existing wealth still belongs to her son and reminds them that she will not hesitate to spend money for his recovery. Gusûn's daughter-in-law Hamide also takes care of her husband, who shows no signs of recovery. Hamide, who is not as patient as her mother-in-law, is also a jealous woman. On the other hand, although both of them display false religious tendencies that have no relation with real life, Gusûn is more prone to the superstitious approaches put forward and adopted in the name of religion. Fatma is also a widow who, although she has the will to take care of her children and live her life alone, has been engaged for a long time to her uncle's son Münir, who, like her, took part in anti-regime demonstrations and whose love she believes in. Fatma, who is more conscious than her grandmother and mother, is not alien to the issues that society complains about and often participates in women's movements organised against the government. Professor Mari, one of the two important characters belonging to Marwan's imaginary world, is a psychologist and the chief physician of a large hospital who treats jealousy, anger, lying and selfishness, which are considered dangerous viruses, with vaccines developed by scientists. Professor Mari, who is personally involved in Marwan's treatment, also chairs the committee that records his memory and projects all his memories on a giant screen. Mariana, on the other hand, monitors Marwan's behaviour and thoughts through a biological chip to control the effect of the vaccines given to him, criticises him through the tragic images projected on the screen and provides information that will facilitate his adaptation to his new world. In the article, in which the author's main published works are briefly introduced along with a broad summary of the novel, the social messages that an author, who is not indifferent to the realities of the geography he lives in, tries to give directly and indirectly with a language far from locality, are tried to be determined through the mentioned female characters. It is seen that the desire to become a single nation by making; love, brotherhood, friendship and peace dominant lies behind the author's novelisation of the dream of an ideal world symbolised by the death of Satan. (shrink)

An excerpt from the INTRODUCTORY chapter: THE word "aesthetic," which originally meant perception by the senses, has had its meaning particularized so that it usually is associated with perception of a specific kind. In this sense it is applied to the appreciative attitude of the discerning mind towards the beautiful in art and in nature. Philosophy has spent not a little time and trouble on the attempt to formulate and define the essential nature of the beautiful; but what one (...) regards as beautiful, another will either lack interest in or even positively dislike, and such attempts, therefore, have not been particularly successful. This conflict of tastes is particularly noticeable in the case of the Art of Music. One age has its ideals which are often — if not usually — opposed to those of the succeeding generation; people in one country will take pleasure in a type of music which appears incomprehensible to those of another; and, even in the case of individuals of the same time and place, what one may admire and love another will abhor and detest. In the case of Music, therefore, it seems well-nigh hopeless to attempt to formulate or define what is the "beautiful," and I have no intention in this little book of trying such an unpromising task. Each of us has his or her own ideas of what constitutes musical beauty, and in most cases the criteria on which our judgments are based are not themselves fixed but are in a state of flux and development. Many people, it is true, seem obliged to adopt a fixed standard of artistic value to which they refer and on which their artistic judgments depend, and strenuously endeavor to prevent any change in, or deviation from, the rigorous formulae which regulate their musical thinking. An enlightened and progressive attitude is, naturally, for such, an impossibility, and the inevitable and necessary developments of Art pass unnoticed or misunderstood. Some aesthetic standards, however, are necessary, and if they are allowed to share in the inevitable process of development — if they are living, not dead — assist that process by giving it both direction and progressive energy. It is not even necessary that the musician should be able to formulate clearly what are the conditions and factors in a work in virtue of which it appeals to him as beautiful or the reverse. To reduce these aesthetic values to a clean-cut statement of relations intellectually apprehended, would, by that very act, tend to induce reference to dead and mechanical standards. The feeling of the beautiful is something which is intuitive, and which neither needs to be explained, nor can be explained, in terms of reason. In fact, it is something apprehended immediately, "perceived through the senses," and can no more be "explained" than those sensations which we call heat, cold, sweet, sour, etc. The Art of Music as practised in countries which owe their culture and civilization to Western Europe is the outgrowth of a body of doctrine and dogma which is extremely elaborate and complex. But for the fact that much of it is obviously derived from convention and custom rather than from natural law, it might almost be called a Science. It is very doubtful, however, if the feeling for the beautiful in Music is more keen in the case of the individual expert in the niceties of this quasi-science than in him who is entirely ignorant of its laws and conventions. (shrink)

It is frequently noted that a “crisis in language” accompanied the profound changes in human consciousness everywhere evident near the turn of the century. As the nature of reality itself became problematic—or at least suspect, distrusted for its imposition of limits upon individual imagination—so, necessarily, did the relationship of language to reality. Thus in the later nineteenth century, the adequacy of an essentially standardized form of “classical” writing was increasingly questioned as an effective vehicle for artistic expression: even though often (...) in “elevated” form, such writing bore too close a connection to ordinary discourse. Indeed, it was precisely the mutually shared, conventional aspects of language that came to be most deeply distrusted for their failure to mirror the more subjective, obscure, and improbable manifestations of a transcendent reality or, rather, realities—the plural reflecting an insistence upon the optional and provisional nature of human experience. Language in its normal manifestations—with its conventionalized vocabulary and standardized rules for syntactical combination—proved inadequate for an artistic sensibility demanding, in Friedrich Nietzsche’s words, “a world of abnormally drawn perspectives.”This dissatisfaction with “normal” language received its classic statement through Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s Lord Chandos. Writing in 1902, Hofmannsthal conveys through the figure of the aristocratic Chandos the loss of an encompassing framework within which the various objects of external reality are connected with one another and integrated with the internal reality of human feelings. Chandos’ world has become one of disparate, disconnected fragments, resistant to the abstractions of ordinary language. It is a world characterized by “a sort of feverish thought, but thought in a material that is more immediate, more fluid, and more intense than that of language.” Chandos longs for a new language in which not a single word is known to me, a language in which mute objects speak to me and in which perhaps one day, in the grave, I will give account of myself before an unknown judge.”2 The content and forms of art thus shifted away from exterior reality, which no longer provided a stable, “given” material, toward language itself—to “pure” language in a sense closely related to the symbolists’ “pure” poetry. “No artist tolerates reality,” Nietzsche proclaimed.3 And Gustave Flaubert’s farsighted advice to himself was that he should write “a book about nothing, a book dependent on nothing external, which would be held together by the internal strength of its style.”4 2. Hugo von Hofmannsthal, “Ein Brief,” Gesammelte Werke, ed. Bernd Schoeller with Rudolf Hirsch, 10 vols. , 7:471-72; my translation. All further translations are my own unless otherwise indicated.3. Friedrich Nitzsche, Complete Works, ed. Oscar Levy, 18 vols. , vol. 15, The Will to Power, trans. Anthony M. Ludovici, p. 74.4. Gustave Flaubert, Flaubert to Louise Colet, 16 Jan. 1852, The Letters of Gustave Flaubert 1830-1857, ed. and trans. Francis Steegmuller , p. 154. Other passages in this letter are equally remarkable for their “modernist” tone. Flaubert argues that from the standpoint of l’Art pur, “one might almost establish the axiom that there is no such thing as subject—style in itself being an absolute manner of seeing things” . Further:The finest works are those that contain the least matter; the closer expression comes to thought, the closer language comes to coinciding and merging with it, the finer the result. I believe the future of Art lies in this direction. I see it, as it has developed from its beginnings, growing progressively more ethereal …. Form, in becoming more skillful, becomes attenuated, it leaves behind all liturgy, rule, measure; the epic is discarded in favor of the novel, verse in favor of prose; there is no longer any orthodoxy, and form is as free as the will of its creator. This progressive shedding of the burden of tradition can be observed everywhere: governments have gone through similar evolution, from oriental despotisms to the socialisms of the future. [P. 154] Robert P. Morgan, professor of music at the University of Chicago, is currently writing a history of twentieth-century music and working on a study of form in nineteenth-century music. His previous contributions to Critical Inquiry are “On the Analysis of Recent Music” and “Musical Time/Musical Space”. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Moving Literary Theory OnWendell V. HarrisParadox has long been especially seductive to literary critics and theorists. For the New Critics, the presence of paradox in a text served to vouch for the complexity and therefore value of the perspective on life the text offered. For poststructuralists it seems to be even more important: paradox is the hallmark of earnestness. And if paradox is good, self-contradiction is even (...) better. That at least would seem to be the reasoning that justifies the amount of internal contradiction to be encountered among the critical principles most in vogue these days. Let us note twelve of the most egregious of these contradictions.(1) New Criticism is dead. But the New Critics’ major activity, the pursuit of the author’s intended meaning through close reading, is still very much with us. However much poststructuralists have wished to deny the importance of or possibility of achieving understanding of authorially intended meaning, their own critical commentary necessarily begins with the meaning the author is assumed to have intended. For instance, that which Derrida seeks to deconstruct or undercut in Saussure, Rousseau, Austin, or Searle begins in what he thinks they intended to say. However, the New Critic sought to resolve apparent contradictions on the principle that the interpretation producing the greatest consistency would be nearest the author’s meaning (since the author was assumed to have assumed that the reader would assume that the author intended a non-contradictory statement). In contrast, the poststructuralist typically seeks to find and emphasize or, if necessary, induce contradiction—but only after having assumed that degree of consonance and unity in the text necessary to interpret the intended meaning within which can be sought the contradictions for the [End Page 428] discovery of which the reading was undertaken. The result is thus more often than not a New Critical reading into which contradictions have been injected. One is reminded of the old story of the student in a short story writing class who told his friend that he had the story all written—all he had to do was go back and put in the symbols. The typical poststructuralist begins with a reading much like what one would expect from a New Critic and then begins inducing contradictions.(2) Literature and language cannot really be about anything beyond themselves. At the same time literature and the language on which it is dependent are regarded as largely constituting that which we experience. If language cannot refer to non-linguistic things and events, either it cannot have the power to shape our classifications, descriptions, and evaluations of things and events experienced, or there exists nothing beyond language—in which case we can abolish poverty, racism, and sexism by denying that those words have any meaning. Moreover, if language is about nothing but itself, any formulation that uses language to make statements denying the relationship of language to anything outside itself must be meaningless.(3) All narratives, indeed all statements about the world, are fictional. Yet “fictional” would have no meaning if it did not stand in contrast to those things that are not fictional, while the distinctions made available by the contrast are ones we can hardly do without. There are narratives (1) that both tellers and their hearers/readers know to be not true (“not to be the case” is the evasive formulation popular with philosophers), (2) that tellers and/or hearers/readers think true though they prove not to be, and (3) that tellers think true and are in fact partially, perhaps largely true, but erroneous in some details and necessarily incomplete. These classifications require a modicum of explanation, but to lose one’s way among them would seem to require a wilful pursuit of confusion.Class 1. Oliver Twist is fictional even though there were workhouses, thieves, and such sites as The Angel and Newgate existing at the time at which the narrative is set. Of course, within a fictional narrative, there may be subnarratives the reader is to regard as true within the total fictional narrative and others that are to be regarded as false. To take a light-hearted example, within the narrative of Gilbert and... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Directions in Contemporary German AestheticsMatthew PritchardÄsthetisches Denken, 6th ed., by Wolfgang Welsch. Stuttgart: Reclam, 1990 (2003), 223 pp.Aisthetik: Vorlesungen Über Ästhetik Als Allgemeine Wahrnehmungslehre, by Gernot Böhme. Munich: Wilhelm Fink, 2001, 199 pp.Ästhetische Korrespondenzen: Denken Im Technischen Raum, by Reinhard Knodt. Stuttgart: Reclam, 1994, 166 pp.The relationship between the Anglo-American and German aesthetic traditions is a paradoxical one. On the one hand, acquaintance with one or more figures from (...) the “great tradition” in German aesthetic thought over the last 250 years is a given for most philosophically oriented writers on aesthetics in Britain and America. Thinkers such as Kant or Adorno form a real and abiding part of our background. In some cases the connection with German intellectual lineages goes a good deal further. As an extreme case, take Terry Eagleton’s The Ideology of the Aesthetic,1 whose engagement with German thought is so deep that I have come across it as a set text for aesthetics courses in German universities (despite the fact that none of the dozen authors Eagleton analyzes are cited in their original language). On the other hand, interest in contemporary German aesthetics in English and American circles appears to be relatively slight. One would have little idea, from reading any of the philosophical journals in English, of just how much activity there is in this area, only a small proportion of which has been translated, cited, or reviewed. And yet the past two decades have seen the publication of dozens of relevant books by German authors, many proposing independent theoretical approaches. Among these—aside from the books reviewed here—are the substantial work done on performance and performativity by Erika Fischer-Lichte (Ästhetik des Performativen, 2004) and Dieter Mersch (Ereignis und Aura, 2002); the theoretical oeuvre of the prize-winning literary critic Karl Heinz Bohrer, of which Suddenness: On the Moment of Aesthetic Appearance, originally published in 1981, has made it into English; Ruth Sonderegger’s Romantic-leaning plea Für eine Ästhetik des Spiels (2000); Dieter Heinrich’s work on the philosophy of art and subjectivity, Fixpunkte: Aufsätze [End Page 117] und Essays zur Theorie der Kunst (2003); Martin Seel’s Aesthetics of Appearing (2004); the traditional neo-Kantian perspective of the late Rüdiger Bubner as set out in his Ästhetische Erfahrung (1989); Gábor Paál’s Was ist schön?—Ästhetik und Erkenntnis (2003); Konrad Paul Liessmann’s Reiz und Rührung: Über ästhetische Empfindungen (2003)... the list could be continued. And this is not to mention empirical-psychological approaches, works on the history of aesthetics, the reception accorded to analytical aesthetics and American philosophers such as Goodman and Danto, or the continuation of European poststructuralist and Frankfurt School traditions (for example, in the work of Albrecht Wellmer and Christoph Menke).Given this large “backlog” of writing not yet assimilated into Anglo-American discussion, it makes sense to be selective and range a little further than the most recently published texts. Owing to sheer diversity, I cannot honestly claim that the three books I am going to discuss here are “representative” of the interests driving contemporary German aesthetics. But I have chosen them for certain common traits, traditions, and emphases that seem to me to present a stimulating contrast with the approach of Anglo-American philosophical aesthetics, while retaining many points of contact with non-German thought. That the contrast does not come down to the crass standoff of “analytical” vs. “Continental,” and all the clichés about academic style that go with it, should become obvious. It is more interesting than that, and although I want to leave the details to the discussion of the three books, I can mention at the outset a few aspects I regard as important. One is that none of these authors addresses themselves exclusively to either the philosophy of art or to the aesthetics of nature and the environment. Instead they tend to make points relating to both, or to regard both as aspects of a single situation. “Environmental aesthetics” in Anglo-American philosophy—for instance, the work of Allen Carlson—is not only of recent date but is still a subdiscipline separated from aesthetics... (shrink)

In this paper, I will try to integrate Joel Krueger’s enactive theory of music perception with some of Erwin Straus’ reflections on different forms of experiencing spatiality and movement. Krueger (2009, 2011b) maintains that music perception is a form of active perception, in which our body and our ability to move with music act as vehicles to draw out certain features of the piece and to respond to the affordances it presents. However, the author does not specify what kind (...) of movements are involved in the enactment of music perception. I will propose such a specification, using Straus’ distinction between goal-directed and expressive movements (Straus 1930). (shrink)

From the winds of Mars to a baby's first laugh, a prolific philosopher-composer reflects on the profound imperative of sound in everyday life. Experiencing Sound presents its subject, the one sense we can never stop using, as fundamental to all experience-sensation, perception, and understanding. Lawrence Kramer turns on its head the widespread notion that vision takes pride of place among the senses and demonstrates how paying attention to sound can transform how we make meaning out of experience. Through a (...) series of brief, lyrical forays, Experiencing Sound shows that sound is the object of a primary need and an essential component in the sensation of being alive and the perception of time. It is something that we may suffer-or be made to suffer-as well as enjoy. Like its predecessor, The Hum of the World, this book ranges widely across music, philosophy, literature, art, media, and history, from classical antiquity to the present, as it invites us to experience sound anew. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Diacritics 31.3 (2001) 57-66 [Access article in PDF] Literary Study Among the Ruins J. Hillis Miller It must be remembered and squarely faced, though it is difficult to do so for a lover of literature like me, that in spite of the lip service paid these days to literature's authority by politicians, the media, and educationists, fewer and fewer people, in Europe and America at least, actually spend (...) much time reading "literature" in the old-fashioned sense of canonical works—Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Pope, Wordsworth, George Eliot, Virginia Woolf, and the rest, in English literature. Literature has been granted enormous authority in our culture, but though that authority may still be tacitly or even explicitly acknowledged, for example by the media, no candid observer can doubt that it is no longer so pragmatically operative. If the books just stay there on the shelves, their authority is only potential. They must be read to be performatively effective. The joke about how George W. Bush's presidential library has been destroyed, both books in it, has an uncannily plausible ring. He has better things to do than read literature.If you are watching a movie or television or playing a computer game or surfing the Internet, you cannot at the same time be reading Shakespeare. People spend, all the statistical evidence suggests, more and more time doing the former. Poetry, it might be argued, does little legislating these days, unacknowledged or otherwise. Fewer and fewer people are decisively influenced by such reading as they do. Radio, television, cinema, popular music, and now the Internet—these are more decisive in shaping citizens' ethos and values, as well as in filling their minds and feelings with imaginary worlds. It is these virtual realities rather than strictly literary ones that have most performative efficacy these days to generate people's feelings, behavior, and value judgments. To speak of literature's authority is already to speak, to some degree, of an historical epoch that began in the late seventeenth or early eighteenth century in Europe with the rise of modern democracies and their concomitant print cultures. That epoch is now perhaps rapidly vanishing, whatever teachers of literature say, write, or do. Nevertheless, if someone happens for some reason to pick up Hamlet, or Middlemarch, or Yeats's poems, these works may still exert their magic power. Literature still has great authority over me and over no doubt many others. Just what effects are the globalization of the university and the new regime of telecommunications having on literary study and on the social role of literature itself?Jacques Derrida, in a striking passage written by one or another of the protagonists of La carte postale (The Post Card), says the following:... an entire epoch of so-called literature, if not all of it, cannot survive a certain technological regime of telecommunications (in this respect the political regime is secondary). Neither can philosophy, or psychoanalysis. Or love letters.... Refound here the American student with whom we had coffee last Saturday, the one who was looking for a thesis [End Page 57] subject (comparative literature), I suggested to her something on the telephone in the literature of the 20th century (and beyond), starting with, for example, the telephone lady in Proust or the figure of the American operator, and then asking the question of the effects of the most advanced telematics [la télématique la plus avancée] on whatever would still remain of literature. I spoke to her about microprocessors and computer terminals, she seemed somewhat disgusted [avait l'air un peu dégoutée]. She told me that she still loved literature (me too, I answered her, mais si, mais si). Curious to know what she understood by this. [Derrida, La carte postale 212, 219; Derrida Post Card 197, 204]What Derrida or rather his protagonist in La carte postale says in the citation I have made is truly frightening, at least to a lover of literature like me or like the protagonist's hapless interlocutor, the American graduate student in comparative literature who was looking for a dissertation topic... (shrink)

Music may have a strong influence on literature. Many novels have reflected this by thematizing music in many different ways. However, this engagement can also adopt the form of an imitation or a formal presence that does not actually require the text to say anything about music. This paper aims to explore some aspects of musical imitation in literature that have not been analyzed in depth. Departing from the approach developed by Werner Wolf, I propose a distinction between imitating and (...) imitated elements that applies to any case of study. Furthermore, at the core of this article, I advocate for a fourth dimension that the imitation of music in literature may have and that should be added to word music, formal and structural analogies, and imaginary content analogies. I call this fourth category “graphic analogies.” It implies an imitation whose imitating element is the graphic, written aspect of the linguistic signifier. Finally, this leads to the idea that, in the case of the imitation of music in literature, there is not a necessary correlation between imitating and imitated elements. (shrink)

With the innovation of computer, virtual clothing has also emerged. This research mainly discusses the real-time animation complex of interactive clothing design based on computer simulation. In the process of realizing virtual clothing, the sample interpolation synthesis method is used, and the human body sample library is constructed using the above two methods first, and then, the human body model is obtained by interpolation calculation according to the personalized parameters. Building a clothing model is particularly important for the (...) effect of trying on. The clothing that needs to be displayed can be scanned and then input into the computer to build the model. The model can be directly built in 3DMAX and other software and then its surface texture can be mapped, or the clothing model can be directly built. The 3D model in the 3ds file is loaded by the loop body nested switch branch selection structure. Correspondingly, the write-back operation of 3ds files is similar. Just follow the general structure of the 3ds file and write the root block, version information block, edit information block, key frame information block, etc. to a brand new file in sequence. The main reason for this article to perform the 3ds file write-back operation is that, after the clothing model is dynamically simulated through the dynamic principle, the deformed key animation frame needs to be saved as a 3ds file so that it can be further imported into the 3DSMAX software and generated by the renderer, form high-quality picture information, and finally get high-definition animation video. In the CPU-GPU hybrid method, modules such as force calculation, collision processing, and position update use the GPU method, while overstretching is processed by the CPU method, making the overall performance 10 times higher than the pure CPU method. This research helps to promote the development of 3D virtual clothing design. (shrink)

Radical empiricists at the turn of the twentieth century described organisms as experiencing the relations they maintain with their surroundings prior to any analytic separation from their environment. They notably avoided separating perception of the material environment from social life. This perspective on perceptual experience was to prove the inspiration for Gibson’s ecological approach to perceptual psychology. Gibson provided a theory of how the direct perception of the organism-environment relation is possible. Central to his account was the notion of (...) a medium for direct perception. However Gibson provided two mutually inconsistent accounts of the medium leading to problems for his radical empiricism. We develop an account of the medium that does justice to ecological psychology’s radical empiricist roots. To complement this account of the medium we detail a usage-based account of information. Together they allow us to propose a novel radical empiricist view of direct perception. We then return to the notion of medium and expand it to include sociomaterial practices. We show how direct perception happens in the midst of social life, and is made possible by an active achieving and maintaining of a pragmatic relation with the environment. (shrink)

The question of the unity of aesthetical experience and, consequently, experiencing—the experience that spans and permeates all human being—takes on a critical significance for post-Husserlian phenomenology. This question can no longer be posed in the former ego-centered (egological) paradigm of understanding the subject but presupposes its radical decentration taking into account the constitutive role of the instance of the other. The following question moves us towards the solution on such unity: which vital need the human selfness seeks to fulfil (...) when it exists its being, involves itself in the multiple area of various kinds of arts, on the one hand, and in the “not interested” relationship with nature, on the other? The proposed solution is that such is the need to be human and to derive pleasure (joy) from such being. The general formal sign of “pure” aesthetical experiencing is a meaningful (reflexive) involvement in some life process, which is subjectively experienced as an overcoming of the finitude of one’s existence. Onto-anthropological basis of such solution is the Dasein-analytical statement about the human’s “granted” awareness of the one’s finitude (temporariness or mortality), the process of overcoming which gives one joyful—and the same is aesthetic—sense of actually human life. In this approach, the process of transition from the organic enjoyment to the orgaistic one can be understanded as the initial form of the aesthetical experience. In supplementing the Dasein-analytical understanding of the human’s Being-in-the-world by the psycho-analytical one, we constate that the necessary basis of overcoming the anxiety of the awareness of the one’s finitude is the extimic, symbolically distanced instance of the Other, reflected in which and, at the same time, based on it, the Selfness is able to affirm its own subjectivity or the very facticity of its Presence. The actually aesthetical nature of laughter is revealed in this vein, including the possibility of its schaden-freude (damage-joy) form. As a result, the following (presumably universal) formula of aesthetical experience and experiencing can be proposed: it is a symbolically distanced being in-itself and for-itself in the other. An exemplary example of the subjectivity aesthetically affirming itself is the process of literary reading. In this process, its meaningfulness is revealed with the greatest phenomenological purity. (shrink)

What, exactly, is knowledge of music? And what does it tell us about humanistic knowledge in general? _The Thought of Music_ grapples directly with these fundamental questions—questions especially compelling at a time when humanistic knowledge is enmeshed in debates about its character and future. In this third volume in a trilogy on musical understanding that includes _Interpreting Music_ and _Expression and Truth_, Lawrence Kramer seeks answers in both thought _about_ music and thought _in_ music—thinking in tones. He skillfully (...) assesses musical scholarship in the aftermath of critical musicology and musical hermeneutics and in view of more recent concerns with embodiment, affect, and performance. This authoritative and timely work challenges the prevailing conceptions of every topic it addresses: language, context, and culture; pleasure and performance; and, through music, the foundations of understanding in the humanities. The publisher gratefully acknowledges the Joseph Kerman Endowment of the American Musicological Society, funded in part by the National Endowment for the Humanities and the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy and Literature 26.1 (2002) 125-142 [Access article in PDF] Hölderlin's Poetic Self-consciousness James H. Donelan Nur ihren Gesang sollt' ich vergessen, nur diese Seelentöne sollten nimmer wiederkehren in meinen unaufhörlichen Träumen. I should forget only her song, only these notes of the soul should never return in my unending dreams. Hölderlin, Hyperion I FOR MANY YEARS, Friedrich Hölderlin has occupied a crucial position in both literary and (...) philosophical history. Well-known literary theorists, such as Walter Benjamin, Peter Szondi, and Paul de Man, have described him as the poet who made the transition from German Classicism to Romanticism. Several major philosophers, including Dieter Henrich and Manfred Frank, claim that Hölderlin's insights into Kantian and Fichtean metaphysics were vital to Schelling's and Hegel's far more famous accounts of subjectivity. Either contribution alone would make Hölderlin an important figure in intellectual history; it is almost miraculous that he managed both, especially when one considers the brevity of his career, a span of only ten or twelve productive years.What accounts for this remarkable dual achievement? Historical accident and tremendous talent give us only a partial answer. Hölderlin was fortunate to have Hegel and Schelling as close friends at the Tübinger Stift, and to move to Jena precisely when it had become a center for new thinking in both literary and philosophical circles. He had enormous ability both for ancient Greek and poetic meter, allowing him to benefit from his predecessors and his contemporaries [End Page 125] in remarkable ways. However, his parallel accomplishments in philosophy and poetry are linked by more than just happenstance and genius. In my view, they represent the continuous development of a solution to a single problem, that of self-consciousness, realized in poetic form through an idea of music. For Hölderlin, making the transition from philosopher to poet required him to establish a connection between Idealist theories of self-consciousness and the material world. To meet this challenge, he constituted himself as a self-conscious poet through both theoretical and actual poetic creations, and constituted a musical-poetic voice, or Gesang, within his poetry as a means of joining the abstractions of philosophy with the concrete voice of the poet.The background of this transformation lies in the complex history of the idea of self-consciousness, or subjectivity. In the early Idealist accounts of self-consciousness of Kant and Fichte, the subject recognizes its existence by juxtaposing itself with an object. However, the nature of this object, and the connection between the abstract, theoretical construction of the subject and the actual, practical experience of the conscious self posed a problem that neither philosopher solved definitively. For Kant, self-consciousness emerges from a pre-reflective sense of the self's existence as the subject of different experiences of phenomena over time; self-consciousness therefore arises from a deduction of empirical experience. However, this formulation contains a surprisingly belated and unmotivated version of the self, with no clear account of its origin.Fichte answered the question about the origin of the self by stating that the self posits itself through its opposition to a material object, a non-self he calls the Nicht-ich, and becomes self-conscious by differentiating the Ich from the Nicht-ich and declaring "I am I." Fichte's explanation of self-consciousness as an act rather than an entity nevertheless relies on a kind of solipsism and still does not sufficiently address the ultimate cause of the process. The Ich that declares its own existence must distinguish itself from the Nicht-ich somehow; the relation between the two terms presupposes a subject that already possesses sensory apprehension to create the distinction between Ich and Nicht-ich necessary for the initial positing of the self.Either explicitly or implicitly, both Kant's and Fichte's versions of subjectivity rely on the category of the aesthetic, defined as the experience of precognitive sensation in general, to mediate the encounter between subject and object. Kant later expanded his inquiry [End Page 126] into... (shrink)

A compelling approach among works on temporality, phenomenology, and the ecologies of the new sound worlds, Enacting Musical Time argues that musical time is itself the site of the interaction between musical sounds and a situated, embodied listener, created by the moving bodies of participants engaged in musical activities.

In what sense is the direction of time a matter of convention? In 'The Direction of Time', Hans Reichenbach makes brief reference to parallels between his views about the status of time’s direction and his conventionalism about geometry. In this article, I: (1) provide a conventionalist account of time direction motivated by a number of Reichenbach’s claims in the book; (2) show how forwards and backwards time can give equivalent descriptions of the world despite the (...) former being the ‘natural’ direction of time; and (3) argue that this offers an important middle-ground position between existing realist and antirealist accounts of the direction of time. (shrink)

The history of Mexico in the first half of the 20th century is almost completely dominated by the Mexican Revolution (1910–1920/40). Revolutionary events continue to shape Mexican society up to the present day. Due to the unequal distribution of resources and land and political instability, persistent social tensions have developed, resulting primarily from a collective impoverishment accompanied by de facto lawlessness, violence, and oppression of the Mexican rural population, and a rising elite in the cities. Mexican author Juan Rulfo (1917–1986) (...) experienced violent clashes between social revolutionary and state actors in which around two million people died. These events fundamentally shaped Rulfo’s literary works, _El Llano en llamas_ (1953), an anthology of short stories, and the novel _Pedro Páramo_ (1955). This article focuses on _El Llano en llamas_, understanding the collection of short stories as an aestheticization of the structural grievances suffered by the Mexican rural population at the beginning of the 20th century and regards it as a form of literary protest. Showing that Rulfo’s stories are placed in a tension between ethics, aesthetics, and documentation, this article seeks to uncover the social agenda that Rulfo pursued as an author, giving voice to figures who can hardly articulate themselves outside of literature. Through literature, Rulfo appropriates, reshapes and reflects socially located power structures and socio-economic hierarchies. Finally, this article shows that the links between poverty, inequality of opportunity, structural discrimination, and spatial marginalization that Rulfo’s stories express remain virulent in the 21st century. (shrink)

The narratives studied by schema-based models or story grammars are generally simpler than those found in literary texts, such as short stones or novels. Literary narratives are indeterminate, exhibiting conflicts between schemata and frequent ambiguities in the status of narrative elements. An account of the process of comprehending such complex narratives is beyond the reach of purely cognitive models. It is argued that during comprehension response is controlled by affect, which directs the creation of schemata more adequate to (...) the text. Several properties of affect that make it appropriate for this model of narrative are discussed. A short story by Virginia Woolf is analysed in the light of the proposed model. A study with readers of the story is described, which illustrates the process of schema formation: Shifts in the relative importance of story phrases across the reading and the comments made by readers point to a process of schema creation under the control of affect. It is argued that affect may play a more productive role in cognitive processes than is generally acknowledged. (shrink)

Digital systems are reshaping how we engage with music as a sounding dimension of cultural life that is capable of being transformed into a commodity. At the same time, as we increasingly engage through digital media with each other and with virtual others, attributes of music that underpin our capacity to interact communicatively are disregarded or overlooked within those media. Even before the advent of technologies of music reproduction, music was susceptible to assimilation into economic acts of exchange. What (...) is new in the digital world is the way in which modes of engagement with music are themselves being absorbed into an economy built on the datafication of virtual acts and the digital shadows of casual preferences. But music is more than just sounds that are culturally sanctioned as musical. Music is manifested as behaviours, and in interactive behaviour. Music is participatory as well as presentational, and in the participatory mode—involving collective, non-specialist, interactive real-time music-making—has significant individual and social consequences. Yet music as real-time participation is largely absent from the virtual world, with potential social costs that remain to be understood. Moreover, our everyday, face-to-face communicative—conversational—interactions are imbued with patterns between interlocutors that are musical, in that they share features with what we are happy to describe as “music”. These features are presently lacking in digital systems designed to subserve communicative functions, and this paper will consider the significant implications for our interactions with machines to which their successful incorporation into voice–user interfaces would give rise. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy of Music Education Review 12.1 (2004) 60-63 [Access article in PDF] Response to Bennett Reimer, "Once More with Feeling: Reconciling Discrepant Accounts of Musical Affect" Constantijn Koopman University of Nijmegen and Royal Conservatory of the Hague, The Netherlands Bennett Reimer has pointed out the crucial distinction between intrinsic and extrinsic meaning or, in his terminology, between inherent and delineated meaning. He has eloquently described how feeling in music (...) can be both of the inherent type and of the delineated type and has argued that both types of meaning can coexist. There is no point in denying the validity of either of them; rather the challenge is to develop a view which allows us to combine both perspectives of musical meaning into a unified musical practice.As far as I am concerned, Reimer has succeeded in his reconciliatory approach. Therefore, rather than providing criticism, I would like further to elaborate on the subject. First, I shall examine the difference between the two types of meaning Reimer has illustrated in his examples: feeling as a part of inherent meaning and feeling as portrayed or represented. Then, I shall briefly discuss the problem of articulating these two types of meaning and its educational implications.When reflecting on inherent and delineated meaning, I find that the dichotomy [End Page 60] goes beyond the opposition between intrinsic and extrinsic. We are also dealing with different versions of the concept of meaning; different meanings of 'meaning' so to speak. In the case of feelings, actions, or objects portrayed in music we have a rather unproblematic use of the meaning concept-meaning as reference. Music functions as a meaning bearer that directs our attention to something beyond itself. Musical structure is used to represent something that exists independently of music. With Charles S. Peirce, we might say that it serves the function of an "icon." The iconic sign has a form which is similar to the thing it denotes.1 Similarity may have the form of direct resemblance but it may also may be based on analogy. I guess that both kinds of portrayal were present in the Chinese swamp battle piece. Battle sounds can easily be imitated by musical instruments and violent movement and feelings can be represented by analogous tonal movement.With inherent meaning, things are different. Feelings are not pointed to and represented by musical structure; instead they are experienced by the person who engages in music. This is in line, I suppose, with Reimer's exposition; not only does he say that feeling is contained and expressed in sounds but also that feeling is undergone by the performer and the listener. What precisely is the place of inherent feeling in music? Feelings are not contained in the sense that they require an act of decoding so that by interpreting the musical structure we can decipher its affective contents. Nor is it appropriate simply to declare that musical feelings are caused by musical perception. Such an explanation suggests that feelings are a secondary phenomenon in music, a sort of byproduct of musical cognition; first the music is conceived in a cognitive act, then feelings are released. But in fact feeling is much more directly and actively involved in musical experience; it is vital to the constitution of the musical object. For example, to appreciate the specific character and import of themes and motifs we have to sense their affective value. We realize the power of rhythms by feeling them in our body. Chords and chord progressions are perceived as subtle qualities of tension and release. Only by feeling the curve of tension and release can we appreciate how the work progresses-whether the music is moving forward or coming to closure, whether a climax is prepared or there is consolidation, whether a case of closure is partial or final. Likewise, the perception of contrasting musical episodes-like soft versus rough, supple versus stubborn, warm versus frigid-involves the participation of feeling. In short, the function of feeling contributes a major part to the constitution of the musical... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Philosophy of Music Education Review 12.1 (2004) 4-16 [Access article in PDF] Once More With Feeling Reconciling Discrepant Accounts of Musical Affect Bennett Reimer Northwestern University When I was sixteen, a junior in high school in Brooklyn, I auditioned for the All-City High School Band of New York and was placed as first chair clarinet. At the first rehearsal, a piece we played (I don't remember what it was (...) except that it was new to me) had a long, melodic clarinet solo, with accompaniment. When I finished playing it the director stopped the band and said, "Very nice, first clarinet. Let's do it again, this time with more feeling." Then he said, "Letter C," and we started again.I could not have known, then, that I was to spend much of my life in pursuit of some sort of clarification of what transpired in that episode, as in this paper, where I deal once more with feeling. I had no idea that his apparently simple instruction to me raised issues so complex that many of humankind's most important thinkers had struggled with them in search of a resolution, as I, infinitely more modestly, was also to do. I was unaware that philosophical blood, sweat, and tears had been spilled through the centuries in various contentions as to the relation, if any, of musical feeling to feeling outside musical experience. I knew nothing of metaphor, [End Page 4] of effability and ineffability, of embodiment and designation, of issues of authenticity of feeling, and semantic density, significant form, semiotics, the relation of feeling to emotion, to gender, to meaning, and on and on with seemingly endless and intractable debates centered on how and why and when music is related to feeling.Being unencumbered with any of this (how one longs, sometimes, to return to one's philosophical Garden of Eden), and having to play that solo again immediately, I did what my novice performer's instincts told me to do-the only thing I knew how to do-I placed more emphasis on what the notes of that melody seemed to want to do, where they seemed to want to go and how they got there. Feeling their melodic tendencies more concentratedly and making them more apparent by the way I sounded them, I felt in myself a deeper sense of union-of the music as part of my undergoing-than I had the first time. When I finished the director stopped the band again, looked at me for several seconds, and said, "Lovely, first clarinet. Very musical. Let's go on."I would not have been able at the time that event occurred to describe, as I just did, what I did and how I felt. I did not have the conceptual apparatus to do so, although I did have, luckily for me, enough intuitive musicianship to have survived that test. My description, or perhaps interpretation, of how I reacted and how I experienced it can only reflect who I am now, with the cognitive structure allowing me to understand what happened as I reflect about it. Nevertheless I believe that several important matters relating to musical feeling can be clarified in relation to how I now interpret what I experienced as a youth in that band.I am aware now that I did what I did in ignorance of the fact that I was not the first to have played that solo. If I had known about and studied previous performances by a variety of clarinetists I would have, without doubt, been influenced by their solutions to the challenge of expressive interpretation it presented. Especially if I had been guided by a sensitive teacher, I would have reflected those influences in my own sounding. Perhaps I would have imitated what seemed to me the most musical rendition. If I had done so, I am now aware, that would have been regarded, in my culture at any rate, as a sign of my novice status, a more mature stage of musicianship requiring that I both reflect... (shrink)

Streaming media server is the core system of audio and video application in the Internet; it has a wide range of applications in music recommendation. As song libraries and users of music websites and APPs continue to increase, user interaction data are generated at an increasingly fast rate, making the shortcomings of the original offline recommendation system and the advantages of the real-time streaming recommendation system more and more obvious. This paper describes in detail the working methods and (...) contents of each stage of the real-time streaming music recommendation system, including requirement analysis, overall design, implementation of each module of the system, and system testing and analysis, from a practical scenario. Moreover, this paper analyzes the current research status and deficiencies in the field of music recommendation by analyzing the user interaction data of real music websites. From the actual requirements of the system, the functional and performance goals of the system are proposed to address these deficiencies, and then the functional structure, general architecture, and database model of the system are designed, and how to interact with the server side and the client side is investigated. For the implementation of data collection and statistics module, this paper adopts Flume and Kafka to collect user behavior data and uses Spark Streaming and Redis to count music popularity trends and support efficient query. The recommendation engine module in this paper is designed and optimized using Spark to implement incremental matrix decomposition on data streams, online collaborative topic model, and improved item-based collaborative filtering algorithm. In the system testing section, the functionality and performance of the system are tested, and the recommendation engine is tested with real datasets to show the discovered music themes and analyze the test results in detail. (shrink)

Why do people read novels, go to the theater, or listen to beautiful music? Do we seek out aesthetic experiences simply because we enjoy them--or is there another, deeper, reason we spend our leisure time viewing or experiencing works of art? Aesthetics, the first short introduction to the contemporary philosophy of aesthetics, examines not just the nature of the aesthetic experience, but the definition of art, and its moral and intrinsic value in our lives. Anne Sheppard divides her (...) work into two parts: In the first, she summarizes the major theories defining art and beauty; in the second, she explores the nature of aesthetic evaluation and appreciation. As Sheppard explains, there are three main approaches to defining art, all focused on what art objects share. One proposes that all art imitates something in life, another that it expresses something (such as anger or ecstasy), still another suggests that all art has formal qualities. There is also a fourth which offers that all art shares the quality of beauty. In the second part, which concentrates on literary art, Sheppard explores such philosophic topics as critical judgment, meaning and truth in literature, and the relationship between art and morals. She raises such questions as whether there is one correct interpretation of a work of art and whether art has a moral effect on its audience and, citing specific examples, explores the views that have been put forth. A wide-ranging, intriguing book, which assumes no formal knowledge on the part of its readers, Aesthetics opens the door to a greater understanding and appreciation of art. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:The Know-How of Musical PerformanceStephen DaviesMusicians make music; that is, the performance of music involves applied knowledge or know-how. Can we attain a discursive understanding of what the musician does, and does the attempt to achieve this put at risk the very art it aims to capture? In other words, what can be said of the nature of performance and does what we say turn a living practice into (...) a dead object? In this discussion, I aim to clarify the issues in terms of which these questions can be developed.Consider acquired practical knowledge or'knowing how.'1 It involves a learned skill or capacity to do something-typically, to perform an action-as in "I know how to ride a unicycle."2 'Knowing how'can be subdivided into types. A first variety is always conscious. For most people, mental arithmetic is of this kind. It is not mental arithmetic they are doing if they do not follow an appropriate rule, algorithm, procedure, or principle, even if they fluke the right answer. Many practical skills are of this sort. I know how to fill in tax forms, immigration documents, and hire purchase agreements. In all these cases, the working of the skill and the steps through which it is exercised are held inevitably before my mind. A second type of 'knowing how' might be termed "retrievable." I know how to drive a car. Most of the time, I am not aware of the processes, judgments, and procedures that are [End Page 154] involved. I do not have to think about my driving as I drive. Nevertheless, if I reflect on what I do, I can describe the steps or routines I go through. A third type of 'knowing how' is cognitively impenetrable. Cognitively impenetrable processes are opaque to introspection. Some bit of neurological hardware receives an input, processes it, and outputs some result, but the nature of that processing is not retrievable by consciousness. The skill is learned but the many computational, muscular, kinaesthetic, or other activities involved in the skill's application or execution are not available to the agent's awareness. From my own case, typical examples are of knowing how to walk, how to pick up a glass, and how to speak English.3 When a person intends to perform an action of this kind, he aims at it directly, as it were. He intends to turn his skateboard to the left, say, not to flex this muscle here and so. He can intend to produce a certain action as output, but the intermediate steps and movements involved in this, to the extent that they are controlled in an irretrievable fashion, are not what he can intend. Similarly, where 'knowing how' is retrievable but automatic, the action is intended directly. The intermediary steps and movements are not what are intended so long as the action remains automatic.In what ways is practical knowledge acquired? In some cases it can be learned from verbal descriptions of the appropriate basic actions and their sequences-"put the left leg in and shake it all about"-or of the relevant rules or algorithms-"multiply by π r2." In others, learning is by example, copying, or experimenting. Some procedures work better for some skills than others. Generally speaking, when we encourage children and stroke victims to walk we do not provide them with examples. By contrast, language skills are often conveyed via paradigm instances. And while it is possible to learn to drive a plane from an instruction manual alone, one is more likely to be successful by following and being assisted by an instructor. Always conscious skills are often acquired by memorizing the procedure or rule that must be kept in mind, whereas automatic but retrievable skills, because their application is unconscious, are usually acquired through physical repetition until the routine becomes unthinking. Nevertheless, even cognitively impenetrable skills might be learned by first following written instructions. What makes the skill impenetrable is not the method by which it is acquired but the inability to recall or describe the relevant steps, rules, or procedures when the skill is entrenched.4A given skill might be cognitively impenetrable for... (shrink)