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Until the recent emergence of women composers from the shadows, the name Schumann coupled with that of Bach in the context of compositional influence would have been taken to indicate Robert Schumann. However, their marriage diaries reveal that Robert and Clara Schumann were involved in studying together the music of Johann Sebastian Bach, specifically the two books of his ‘Forty-Eight’ Preludes and Fugues. This chapter first explores some implications of the documentary evidence of Robert and Clara Schumann’s engagement with J. S. Bach’s music, as well as Clara Schumann’s perception of her compositional efforts. The case studies that follow consider the impact of Bach on Clara Schumann as a composer, focusing on her Three Preludes and Fugues, Op. 16 (especially No. 1 in G minor) and her Piano Trio in G minor, Op. 17 (with particular reference to the first movement and finale), and ranging from direct connections to broader compositional traits. Comparison with Robert Schumann’s fugal writing proves revealing with reference to the finale of his Piano Quintet in E flat major, Op. 44, and the finale of Clara’s Piano Trio. Concluding remarks explore the nature of intertextuality, and the wider context of nineteenth-century Bach culture in relation to the work of women composers.
Katz and Lazarsfeld’s Personal Influence introduced the world to the impact of networks on the dissemination of mass media. Their “two-step flow” model showed that broadcast signals reached most of the public by being filtered through well-connected people – “opinion leaders” – who were the primary receivers of media messages, and the primary vehicles through which those messages were then disseminated to everyone else. Scientific and industry attention soon shifted to the task of identifying who the opinion leaders were, and how they could be targeted to spread new content. I trace these intellectual developments through to the arrival of social media, which brought greater attention to the idea of “central” players – or “influencers” – in the social network, as the key leverage points for disseminating products, ideas, and political messages. I show how this scientific search for the sources of social influence eventually led to a paradox: the unlikely finding that many social contagions do not spread from the central players to the periphery, but rather from the network periphery to the center. To explain these startling findings, the distinction between simple contagions, like information and viruses, and complex contagions, like social innovations and political movements, shows how the spread of new ideas through social networks depends in counterintuitive ways on the complexity of the contagion and the structure of the social network.
Chapter 4 introduces the rules and importance of theory, then derives a Unified War Theory (UWT) that leverages insights from earlier chapters to define key aspects and relationships pertaining to politics, strategy, and combat. The chapter also establishes theory’s relevance to strategy, historical analysis, warfighting, and doctrine, then relates politics, power, influence, and ideology to war, including how autocratic and democratic governance reduces but cannot eliminate the potential for conflict. The chapter defines the nature and character of war, outlines the levels of war and strategy, and explains that cause, capacity, and will to fight comprise the “engine of war.” Additional analysis includes war’s fractal nature, warfighting domains, chance, chaos, and momentum. Next, the chapter presents a “fluidic” metaphor and defines force “viscosity,” a property based on directness, acceleration, restriction, cohesion, and concentration that reconciles war’s regular and irregular forms. The chapter offers a “war-viscosity algorithm” that illustrates the dynamics of viscosity, including how and why war’s forms change, and it concludes by examining the UWT’s value and implications vis-à-vis historical analysis, domain theory, terrorism, nuclear weapons, and ethics.
The essay argues that Bishop sees poems as a series of possibilities to be revisited gratefully, shrewdly, critically, neither agonistically as precursors to battle or displace, nor polemically in the spirit of a literary politics championing a school or movement. It canvasses her relation to a range of nineteenth-century poets, focusing first from the Romantic period on Blake, to whose visionary poetics she adds a skeptical element, and Wordsworth. The essay finds Wordsworthian elements in her use of the word “something,” her intuition that crucial moments combine negativity and revelation, and her central insistence on the provisionality of vision. It then suggests that Bishop was prompted creatively by two Victorian genres: first, the dramatic monologue, with speakers liberated from accuracy and articulate in their egotism; second, nonsense poetry, with its minor-key version of transcendent magic and its frequent link of the “awful but cheerful.” The other abiding Victorian influence was Hopkins, along with Wordsworth and Baudelaire an exemplar dynamically observing his own process of observation.
‘I have always sought to stand by myself’ Arnold announced in 1865.1 The remark is the more intriguing for its appearance in the first series of Essays in Criticism, a collection which, with its consideration of cultural tradition and the intricate relationality of writers, both affirms and denies autonomy. A poet-critic deeply interested in the legacy of the past and the influence of previous generations of writers, Arnold was very conscious of the particular challenges of pursuing a literary voice of one’s own in an age when the place and purpose of the arts was being questioned (not least by him), and with the Romantics still in living memory. The irony of Arnold’s wish ‘to stand by myself’ is that its registering of distinctness carries Byronic airs. With one eye on his present fame and one on posterity Byron had declared ‘I stood and stand alone’, sounding more sure of it than Arnold.2 Whether it was his powerful individualism and desire to go his own way, his defence of personal liberties and resistance to authority, or his estranged and egoistic heroes, Byron was the embodiment of self-determination for contemporaries and subsequent generations. Arnold admired Byron’s independent streak, and, ironically, found in it means of self-recognition as well as self-evaluation with which to carve out his own career. He sets up Byron as an example of what he wanted to be, as well as – more negatively – what he was prone to being, what he could not quite manage to live up to, or wanted to avoid becoming. Regard for Byron also enabled him to evaluate the legacy of different strands of English Romanticism and put his finger on what he felt was lacking in Victorian life and culture.
The polarisation of Byron and Wordsworth takes on a cartoonish tinge in the light of their poetic enmity. Byron’s bombastic lines, ‘Thou shalt believe in Milton, Dryden, Pope; / Thou shalt not set up Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey’, claim to reject Wordsworth’s circle in favour of an earlier triumvirate.1 Readers are, only half-mockingly, asked to choose between one school and another. This stark choice often sets the tone for critical debates.2 Yet the gulf between Byron and Wordsworth, as Jane Stabler and Philip Shaw have shown, is less wide than either poet cared to admit.3 Wordsworth and Byron converge upon and diverge from markedly similar points. The epic genre, Milton and his influence, and the shaping of poetic tastes become key areas of dispute for both poets. Both claim Milton in particular for very different reasons. Milton, for Byron, is an ethical and political figure used to sponsor his own self-image, where Wordsworth’s ‘reverence for his great original’ colours both his blank verse epic and his introspective mode.4 Despite their significant similarities, however, the sense remains that the two poets set themselves up in opposition to one another, shaping and defining themselves oppositionally in their political allegiances and formal choices. While Byron dealt in public sallies against Wordsworth and the Lake School, Wordsworth’s animus against the younger poet led him to participate in and encourage what Jerome McGann has called a ‘campaign of vilification’ against Byron.5 Poetic enmity proved to be a more potent and vital form of influence than alliance as Byron and Wordsworth fought to set the taste of a nation.
W. H. Auden made it clear in his ‘Letter to Lord Byron’ and various prose writings on Byron that what counted for him was the poet’s ‘voice’: ‘I like your muse because she’s gay and witty / […] / I like her voice that does not make me jump’.1 ‘Voice’ was no small matter for Auden, since as he famously declared in ‘September 1, 1939’ it was all he had ‘[t]o undo the folded lie’.2 Addressing Byron in the form of a verse-letter allowed him to find a new voice for himself. Within the context of Letters from Iceland, the format permitted him to talk on public matters while adopting the tone of a private communication; and, in addition, it allowed him to develop a broader conception of poetry’s scope, by finding in it a place for the non-earnest – something, as he saw it, that had been lost along the way in the development of poetry since Byron’s time. It gave a new direction to his own writing, preparing the way for the longer poems of the second half of his career.
In his social context, ‘peasant poet’ John Clare was not odd in being a constant reader of the ‘aristocrat poet’ Lord Byron. Even after the latter’s attacks in English Bards and Scotch Reviewers on ‘cobbler’ poets, along with all ‘sons of needless trade’ who might rhyme (‘weavers’, ‘taylors’, labourers with ‘plough’ or ‘spade’), Byron remained a leading influence on labouring-class poets’ work.1 Introducing his volume of labouring-class poetry of the first thirty years of the nineteenth century, Scott McEathron argues that along with Burns and Bloomfield, Byron loomed large for poor poets, including Clare:
perhaps partly because of his avowed hostility, he served several of these figures as a force to grapple with, to imitate, and sometimes to impersonate. Further, the aggressive self-indulgence of his verse, especially Don Juan but including Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, seems to have suggested a new avenue of artistic empowerment, and his influence is clear (and often announced) in the vein of wit, satire, and iconoclasm.2
Duncan Wu, meanwhile, gets fired up by the notion that Byron was taken up as a liberal hero3 – making a mistake as he does so, in assuming that myths and fantasies, public relations and public desire for heroes, are any less important than mere facts. To an extent, fine-grained decades-long reader of Byron though he was, Clare was caught up in that same mythology and idol-worship, as we shall see.
At first glance, Byron and Keats make an unlikely pair. Keats dismissed Byron as being merely interested in cutting a figure and pinned his literary success to the advantages of being six feet tall and a lord, while Byron disdained ‘that little dirty blackguard KEATES’ and snobbishly suggested he was spoiled by ‘Cockneyfying & Suburbing’ (BLJ, VII. 229; VIII. 102). The one was a middle-class poet who died young with little fanfare and a relatively slim output of published work. The other was a nobleman, a world-famous celebrity, with a prolific output of bestselling poems. But what might we learn about each poet by thinking about them together? And what might their pairing tell us about Romanticism more broadly?
Early in Canto IV of Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, written when Byron’s wanderings had led him at last to a more settled residence in Italy, he balances all that he has acquired in exile with a new wistfulness about England
There are numerous records of Byron and Shelley’s discussions, including, perhaps above all, Shelley’s brilliant conversation poem, Julian and Maddalo, in which Shelley’s ‘Byron’ is Count Maddalo and Shelley’s ‘Shelley’ is Julian. Like the conversation of Julian and Maddalo, the conversation with which I want to begin this consideration of the overlapping poetries and poetics of Byron and Shelley may or may not have happened quite as reported. ‘Byron and Shelley on the Character of Hamlet’ appeared in the New Monthly Magazine and Literary Journal eight years after Shelley’s death and six after Byron’s.
Starting from Wallace Stevens’s own reflections on newness and its dynamic interchange with what comes before, the introduction explains how The New Wallace Stevens Studies is different from and complementary with previous edited volumes on the poet. After accounting for the selection of topics and contributors, it offers individual chapter summaries that simultaneously elucidate the volume’s tripartite rationale. The first group of essays explores concepts that have begun to emerge in Stevens criticism, from imperialism and colonialism to the poet’s utopian politics, his ideas about community-building and audience, his secularism, and his transnationalism. In the second part, contributors apply recent methodological and theoretical advances that have left a prominent mark on literary studies but not yet on Stevens scholarship. These include world literature, ecocriticism, urban studies, queer studies, intersectional thinking, and cognitive literary studies. Contributions to the final part reassess and deepen our understanding of issues that have long inspired critics. Here investigations include Stevens’s reception by later poets, his attitude toward modern fiction, different modes of his poetic thinking, aspects of his rhetoric and style, and his lyrical ethics.
Epstein’s chapter challenges the tendency to overlook the significance of Wallace Stevens—and his characteristic idiom, poetics, and philosophical concerns—to the postwar avant-garde movement known as the New York School of poets. This neglect of Stevens as an important precursor causes problems in both directions: it unnecessarily limits our sense of New York School poetry, which can too easily be reduced to a chatty, pop-culture-infused poetry of urban daily life, while simultaneously reinforcing the distorted image of Stevens as a stuffy, backward-looking aesthete, devoted solely to abstraction and imagination. Epstein suggests that, for all their differences, Stevens and the New York School poets share a great deal: an obsession with painting and a passion for all things French; a delight in wordplay and the sensuous surfaces of language; an anti-foundational skepticism toward fixity in self, language, or idea; and, perhaps most of all, an embrace of the imagination and deep attraction to the surreal combined with a devotion to the ordinary and everyday.
What happens when, with the knowledge and insights gained from queer studies and relevant biographical and historical scholarship, one tries to resituate Stevens not only within the aesthetic circles that may be drawn around his work but also and especially within the social circles in which he moved during his lifetime, and the poetic circles of those who have been attracted to his writings? To diversify the types of scholarship presented in The New Wallace Stevens Studies, Eeckhout’s chapter tilts more toward the biographical than other chapters do. From the new modernist studies, its investigation derives an interest in social networks at the expense of a narrow focus on self-reliant individuals; from queer studies, it borrows a fundamentally querying spirit about sexual identities and desires. Eeckhout offers a bird’s-eye survey of Stevens’s most significant queer precursors, contemporaries, and heirs, paying particular attention to the latter two groups. As case studies, he singles out Stevens’s friendships with George Santayana and José Rodríguez Feo, in which not-knowing played a central role, and the attractiveness of his licensing the fictive imagination to poets such as James Merrill and Richard Howard.
The New Wallace Stevens Studies introduces a range of fresh voices and promising topics to the study of this great American poet. It is organized into three sections. The first explores concepts that have begun to emerge in Stevens criticism: imperialism and colonialism, his politics of utopia, his ideas about community-building and audience, his secularism, and his transnationalism. The second section applies recent methodological and theoretical advances that have left a prominent mark on literary studies - from world literature and ecocriticism to urban studies, queer studies, intersectional thinking, and cognitive literary studies. Essays in the third section reassess issues that have long inspired critics. Here investigations include Stevens's reception by later poets, his attitude toward modern fiction, different modes of his poetic thinking, aspects of his rhetoric and style, and his lyrical ethics. This volume captures a cross-section of the most striking recent developments in Stevens criticism.
Many scholars argue that the media can influence policymakers – determining the policy agenda, framing issues, prioritising issues and, on occasion, setting the policy as well. It could be, however, that skilled policymakers exploit the media, so that the media in fact reflects the issues that policymakers want debated. This then poses an important question of whether the media does indeed influence the public policy process. The topic of media influence is widely studied in consolidated democracies but there has been limited research in consolidating democracies. This paper addresses both of these gaps – through exploring the extent to which the media influences policymakers in Kenya, a country perceived to have a moderately free press and one in which a range of interest groups vie to influence government and thus with a media likely to carry a range of competing opinions.
We aimed to understand practice nurses’ perceptions about how they engage with parents during consultations concerning the measles, mumps and rubella (MMR) vaccine.
The incidence of measles is increasing globally. Immunisation is recognised as the most significant intervention to influence global health in modern times, although many factors are known to adversely affect immunisation uptake. Practice nurses are a key member of the primary care team responsible for delivering immunisation. However, little is known how practice nurses perceive this role.
Semi-structured interviews were undertaken with 15 practice nurses in England using a qualitative descriptive approach. Diversity in terms of years of experience and range of geographical practice settings were sought. These interviews were recorded, transcribed verbatim and open-coded using qualitative content analysis to manage, analyse and identify themes.
Three themes were derived from the data: engaging with parents, the informed practice nurse and dealing with parental concerns: strategies to promote MMR uptake. During their consultations, practice nurses encountered parents who held strong opinions about the MMR vaccine and perceived this to be related to the parents’ socio-demographic background. Practice nurses sought to provide parents with tailored and accurate sources of information to apprise their immunisation decision-making about the MMR vaccine.
William Wordsworth, Second-Generation Romantic provides a truly comprehensive reading of 'late' Wordsworth and the full arc of his career from (1814–1840) revealing that his major poems after Waterloo contest poetic and political issues with his younger contemporaries: Keats, Shelley and Byron. Refuting conventional models of influence, where Wordsworth 'fathers' the younger poets, Cox demonstrates how Wordsworth's later writing evolved in response to 'second generation' romanticism. After exploring the ways in which his younger contemporaries rewrote his 'Excursion', this volume examines how Wordsworth's 'Thanksgiving Ode' enters into a complex conversation with Leigh Hunt and Byron; how the delayed publication of 'Peter Bell' could be read as a reaction to the Byronic hero; how the older poet's River Duddon sonnets respond to Shelley's 'Mont Blanc'; and how his later volumes, particularly 'Memorials of a Tour in Italy, 1837', engage in a complicated erasure of poets who both followed and predeceased him.
The “Introduction” first challenges conventional notions of influence which construct Wordsworth as a “father” to the younger poets, Keats, Shelley, and Byron. It lays out a model of mutual influence, in which Wordsworth’s post-Waterloo poetry is found to develop in a conversation with his younger contemporaries. It then establishes the intricate personal and poetic ties between Wordsworth and the “second-generation” romantics, recreating Wordsworth’s place in the post-Waterloo literary scene and how it was shaped by the developing struggle between the Lake and Cockney Schools. Our failure to understand how Wordsworth connects with “second-generation” romanticism has distorted models of his later career and created the critical commonplace of the aesthetic failure of “late” Wordsworth. The “Introduction” also supplies an overview of scholarship to date on the later Wordsworth.