The garment industry is a good example of the relative autonomy of academic fields. Two histories of the industry are being written simultaneously but separately. One is a history of women; the other, a history of immigrants. Two types of workers have indeed come to the sweatshops, and each have had distinct reasons for doing so. The nineteenth century saw the shift from tailormade to ready-made garments, from the (hand-held) needle to the sewing machine, from tailors and dressmakers to garment workers, and from more to less skill in the making of clothing. The ready-to-wear revolution was also accompanied by a global shift in the sewing labor force, from men to women and from natives to immigrants. The story is a complicated one, yet one which has most often been told in parallel fashion.

The experience of modernity is one that cuts across national boundaries. Regardless of where it occurs, modernization—defined here as the nexus of changes that includes technological innovation, economic rationalization, demographic change, the bureaucratization of the state, and the triumph of science—has certain inevitable consequences. To live in a modern society means to live in a constantly changing world, in which the forces of modernity have dissolved old forms of community, altered traditional notions of work, undermined social hierarchies, produced new social spaces, and transformed the sights, sounds, and even smells of everyday life. Modernization also engenders its own response. Societies in the throes of rapid modernization inevitably have their critics: individuals who for a variety of reasons object to the myriad of changes that accompany this process. Recoiling from the present, these antimodernists take refuge in an often idealized past, longing for what they believe to be a simpler, purer way of life.

Reading Ivo Andric's colorful short story, “The Vezir's Elephant,” suggests a weakness in state rule consistent with a Eurocentric image of Ottoman backwardness. In the story, just as Bosnian peasants familiarized themselves with the habits of one Turkish official, he would be removed, transferred to another province and replaced by a new official with new whims and wishes. Throughout the sixteenth and a large part of the seventeenth centuries, a more or less firmly established rotation system was part of the Ottoman state mode of social control. Patrons and clients, and patrons among themselves remained foreign and unfamiliar. The resulting level of uncertainty in the provinces disrupted patron-client ties.

Mysteriously, some sense justice when others sense injustice. … The desire to sense justice in events may cause people to look to law as an instrument to control… events. Then justice has preceded law. Law is made a part of events and is itself then viewed as promoting or blocking justice, depending on the role it plays and also depending on the perceived self-interest of the participants in, or viewers of, the events [Hartzler 1976:4].

Landscapes are culture before they are nature; constructs of the imagination projected onto wood and water and rock. … But once a certain idea of landscape, a myth, a vision, establishes itself in an actual place, it has a peculiar way of muddling categories, of making metaphors more real than their referents; of becoming, in fact, part of the scenery (Simon Schama 1995:61).

In Italy during the Renaissance, an age that conjures up open systems of succession and ruthless dynastic struggle, the House of Este stood out for its singular succession practices. For almost one hundred and fifty years, illegitimately born Estense princes held office. Pope Pius II (r. 1458–64) marvelled:

It is an extraordinary thing about that family that within our fathers' memory no legitimate heir has ever inherited the principate; the sons of their mistresses have been so much more fortunate than those of their wives. It is a circumstance contrary not only to Christian custom but to the law of almost all nations.