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7. Narrative Structure and the Drum Major Headdress

Kerry M. Hull University Press of Colorado ePub



Classic period inscriptions refer to the accession of a lord into the office of king in a variety of ways. One accession statement refers to the fastening of a white headband on the new king (k’ahlaj “fasten, enclose, bind, or tie,” sak huun “white head-band”) (Grube, cited in Schele 1992: 39–40; Schele, Mathews, and Lounsbury 1990: 4–5; Stuart 1996: 155). Several scenes, such as the Palenque Temple XIX platform and Bonampak Sculptured Stone 1, show a sak huun headband being handed to the incoming ruler. This crown of kingship is illustrated as a flexible headband of bark cloth tied onto the head with a large knot in the back (Schele 1992: 22–24). Another headdress that appears on four monuments at Palenque has been nicknamed the drum major headdress for its visual similarity to headgear worn by the leader of a marching band. This headdress is composed of a tall base of jades capped with a short crop of feathers and long tail feathers. In some examples, the long feathers are tipped with jade beads. The drum major headdress has also been identified as a crown of kingship (Fields 1991: 167; Freidel 1990: 74; Schele 1978; Taube 1998: 454–460). By examining the narrative structure of these four monuments, we will argue in this chapter that the drum major headdress represented an office or function that was related to, but quite separate from, the office of king. We will also discuss the possibility that one of the duties of the secondary lords of Palenque, who carried the title yajawk’ahk’, may have been to maintain one particular drum major headdress and the buildings that housed it.

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36. Methods of Investigating the Constant of Space

Charles S. Peirce Indiana University Press PDF


Methods of Investigating the

Constant of Space

24 March 1891

Houghton Library

1. Find that component of the proper motion which is perpendicular to the direction in which the motion of the solar system tends to make the star appear to move. Call this the first part of the proper motion. The relative numbers of stars in which this is of different magnitudes depends on the constant of space. Calculate on supposition of equable distribution.

2. Find the component of proper motion in a great circle to the apex of motion of the solar system. Making this the hypotheneuse of a right triangle of which one leg is the first part of the proper motion, the other leg may be called the second part of the proper motion. The quadratic mean of many such should represent the parallactic motion of the mean star due to the motion of the solar system. The relative numbers of stars for which this has different values depend on the constant of space. Calculate for equable distribution.

3. The relative numbers of stars of different magnitudes depend on the constant of space. Calculate for equable distribution.

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11 Chiming the Hours: A Philip Glass Soundtrack

Adriana L. Varga Indiana University Press ePub

Roger Hillman and Deborah Crisp

MUSIC ACCOMPANYING THE PROCESS OF ARTISTIC CREATION IS to be found in many films, primarily, of course, in those whose stories concern the composition of music. This can most straightforwardly involve a great composer (Mozart in Milos Forman’s Amadeus);1 a fictitious composer figure whose work nonetheless has cultural resonances (the “Concerto for the Unification of Europe” in Krzysztof Kieslowski’s Three Colours: Blue [Hillman 325]); or a fusion of the two (Luchino Visconti’s character Aschenbach, based closely on Gustav Mahler, composing a contemplative section from the Third Symphony, very different from the lush Adagietto from the Fifth Symphony, which so dominates this film). In this last example, Visconti provides a musical parallel to the page and a half of perfect prose produced by the writer Aschenbach in Thomas Mann’s novella. The transposition of a writer into a composer is a wise choice in seeking cinematic equivalents for a literary text, and therein lies the rub. Via the convention of music accompanying the action, a given in all but the most experimental films, it is dramatically more convincing for a viewer to feel privy to the evolving of a musical creation rather than a literary one. The gestation process behind the written word is more akin to prose (unless exposed to the vagaries of voice-over in film) and hence more at home in prose. The soundtrack, by contrast, is unique to film and transcends direct equivalences in adapting a novel into a film. Films about leading composers can naturalistically feature their music and the formative stages of its composition. A comparable biopic subgenre of prominent writers and their creative processes is likely to be sparse, even with a director who uses rich soundtracks, such as Jane Campion (Sweetie, The Piano). When engaging with the biography of a writer (Janet Frame, in An Angel at My Table), she reduces the narrative presence of creative writing in favor of other details that are less related to the inner life and hence more readily realizable in a medium with images as concrete as those of film.

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4 The New Eldorado in Mediterranean Music

Hakim Abderrezak Indiana University Press ePub

Stuart tannock writes, “In the rhetoric of nostalgia, one invariably finds three key ideas: first, that of a prelapsarian world (the Golden Age, the childhood Home, the Country); second, that of a ‘lapse’ (a cut, a Catastrophe, a separation or sundering, the Fall); and third, that of the present, postlapsarian world (a world felt in some way to be lacking, deficient, or oppressive).”1 Many Beurs consider “the Golden Age, the childhood Home, the Country” to be located south of the Mediterranean. Within this particular vision, it is not surprising that French nationals of Maghrebi descent should be nostalgic of a past, from which migration acts as the “cut, Catastrophe, separation or sundering, the Fall,” which irremediably leads to “a world felt in some way to be lacking, deficient, or oppressive.” As Tannock adds, “the nostalgic subject turns to the past to find/construct sources of identity, agency, or community, that are felt to be lacking, blocked, subverted, or threatened in the present.”2 Nostalgia and exile have long played an important part in raï music, but in the context of French raï music (and raï made in France) they have recently become popular tropes.3 Recently, a series of Beur Raï n’b albums have positioned North Africa as a site of wealth and abundance. In this Maghrebi-French category, the Maghreb has replaced France as the gilded Eldorado. To combat negative depictions of the Maghreb and to advance the concept of a more welcoming and competitive North Africa, three DJS recently collaborated on a multivolume collection, which includes Raï n’b fever, Raï n’b fever 2, and Raï n’b fever 3. The reputation of the hybrid Raï n’b genre has enabled the labels to invite a great variety of artists to be part of this musical initiative. Some of the most famous names in raï, R&B, and hip-hop have participated in the project. Original songs even include tracks crafted especially for this musical style, as is evidenced by the dedication made to the DJS or the mentioning of the Raï n’b genre or even of a “Maghreb United”—a special rallying motto for the artists and for listeners in need of a sense of belonging south of the Mediterranean. Intended primarily for an audience based in the French metropole, the subject matter resonates with individuals disillusioned with France and nostalgic about an actual or imagined country of origin. Some of the songs partake in an obvious conceptualization of France as an ex-center, while others treat leavism as a worse evil and Europe-bound journeys as a dead end. For France-based listeners, the lived French experience is different from the Eldorado perceived by their North African counterparts. Instead, France is synonymous with the racism, alienation, and the towering, gray housing projects that outline the country’s urban peripheries.

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14. Victims, Executioners, and the Ethics of Political Violence: A Levinasian Reading of Dawn

Steven T Katz Indiana University Press ePub



I AM STRUCK BY THE coherence of Elie Wiesel's life and work over many decades, by his unwavering conviction that, in all human affairs, questions are more valuable to us than answers, especially in the matter of ethics. In the following pages, I will discuss Wiesel's first novel, Dawn, initially published in 1960 in France, which is about the ethical uncertainty entailed in any attempt to achieve political aims through terrorist violence, a theme that is as relevant today as it was over fifty years ago.1 I wish to show how Dawn uses a variety of literary techniques and imaginative devices to encounter the complex entwinement of ethics and politics. Furthermore, I will suggest that the novel explores ethical questions with imagery and ideas that often resemble those used by the French philosopher Emmanuel Levinas. If the Levinasian “face of the Other” offers a powerful key for reading Dawn, the novel also offers a means of illustrating what Levinasian ethics really mean. That is to say, the novel and Levinas's concept of the “face” shed light on each other. My discussion will also illustrate a broader point: that literature, in both content and style, helps us explore ethical questions in ways not open to traditional philosophical discourse.2

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