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The Commitment to Nation in Literary History

By Jason Ensor ⋅ January 11, 2010 ⋅ Post a comment

There is such a thing as an Australian literature; but we have achieved it only at the cost of not seeing ourselves as we are … I don’t mean that a history of the novel in Australia should modishly ‘move into that crucial space between the local, the national, and the global, therefore; simply, that that is where European Australian culture has always been. [1]

Applying Franco Moretti’s methods of statistical analysis to publication data drawn from the official Australian bibliographic record has been a particularly daunting process over the past two years, complicated by issues of technology, politics and logic. [2] One problem, which this post explores, is that embedded within any statistical analysis of Australian literature are definitional issues over the research sample, issues that reflect some of the basic problems in thinking about the commodity-text in a singular, postcolonial national context. [3] Critically, what exactly qualifies one book to be “Australian” and not another, projecting a link to what Raymond Williams or Edward Said might call the “knowable community” of Australians? [4] In what way are certain published works authorised to take on a density, an emotional value or, as Baudrillard would describe, a “presence” known and recognised as being Australian? More broadly, who does the authorising and who does the recognising?

For a postcolonial society like Australia, with a relatively short national history, these are important questions over how some books are appropriated and inherited by a group of readers as being meaningfully “Australian”. Bourdieu suggests that as historians we should not only examine these “imputations of spiritual inheritance” but question the correlation between a group and its modes of expression. [5]

Certainly, on the surface Australian books vary in expression, composition and texture but this is to describe their conventional material and aesthetic properties without reference to their symbolic production as “Australian”, which issues over definition challenge. Books are not, to paraphrase Fredric Jameson, free-floating objects which possess some autonomous force negating any context other than the facts of their physical presence. [6] A finished book is, to borrow a term from Adorno, an “after-image” of several prior mechanical processes – it is, to speak reductively, a printed product. [7] Yet, “no book was ever bound by its covers”. [8] As literature, it becomes consecrated with a dimension of textuality linked to the powerful “social project” of national “semantic space”, often in contradiction to conventional readings of the activity of production which might have brought the work about as a publication in the first place. [9]

To contextualise this, I make reference to the back cover of the 1990 Collins / Angus & Robertson edition of Stella Miles Franklin’s My Brilliant Career, which proudly claims: “In 1901, a book was published that, in the words of [literary historian] H M Green, struck Australians ‘with the force of a small bomb, taking readers and critics by storm’”. [10] Yet turning to the inside page where My Brilliant Career’s publication genealogy might be traced – bibliographic codes often overlooked by the average reader – this back cover amplification of the novel’s early national significance to Australia is challenged by two lines: “First published in 1901” and “First published in Australia by Angus & Robertson 1966” (my emphasis). I deliberately use the word “challenged” because we can read these lines as expressing the contradiction of a work and its manifestation as a printed object being “Australian” sixty-six years prior to actually ever being published in Australia.

On this contradiction, a now familiar history is to be found in Gingell’s and Nile’s studies. [11] After three Australian publishers turned away the manuscript, Franklin’s work was sent to William Blackwood in Edinburgh where it was eventually published in 1901. But Franklin’s experience of the book’s “uncongenial” reception in Australia prompted her to have the work subsequently suppressed and it was not reissued by the Australian company Angus & Robertson until eleven years after her death. This doesn’t really suggest a turn of the century “storm”, though it does support the thesis from another intellectual tradition that apparently stasis objects, like printed books, “continually … [pick] up new significances, connections and meanings” in a “mutual process of value creation between people and things”. [12] This would lead one to think that there is more in play than the Australian nationality of the writer versus the English place of production, particularly if a novel like My Brilliant Career can later be celebrated as an Australian classic when, as Richard Nile has shown, the author’s work can originally be “rejected at home” by both publishing houses and critics alike. [13]

To be precise, I am not talking about literary canonisation, though the canonisation of My Brilliant Career as a shared literary coordinate for the Australian community by a culturally empowered legitimating agent certainly influenced decisions to re-publish the novel in the mid-1960s. In drawing upon the theoretical work of Feltes [14] and St Clair, [15] the canonicity of novels has often been irrelevant to my study of their first edition production, though both canonical novels and popular novels figure in my research samples. Instead, I am concerned with the ongoing identification of works as “Australian” and the impact upon statistical analysis. After all, D H Lawrence is unambiguously recognised as a British writer yet two titles excerpted from his total creative output – Kangaroo (1923) and The Boy in the Bush (1924), both published first in London and New York – are classified as Australian novels by Australian literary historians and whose publication history thus becomes a component of my data analysis (Figure 1). It would seem there are some differences, conflicts even, in the kinds of criteria used to select both Franklin’s and Lawrence’s works as particularly “Australian”.

In a survey of Australian everyday cultures, Bennett, Emmison and Frow acknowledge these “difficulties in focussing on the country of origin” of authors when they sought insight into the reading tastes of their Australian respondents. [16] For them, many writers “are truly international in the sense that they reside in more than one country at different times of the year, or they may have moved permanently from their country of origin to reside elsewhere”. Though we might recognise this as the “paradox of authenticity in the age of postmodern travel” and multinational companies, [17] this is a view that Macmillan, the publisher of Alan Yates’ autobiography, would agree with. [18] Alan Yates, as the author behind the extraordinarily successful pulp literature alias “Carter Brown”, published extensively in Australia by the firm of Horwitz, is described as “Australia’s own and America’s own and Britain’s own” – any attempt to confine him as Australian only is a “vigorous assertion”. [19]

Yate’s designation as an Australian writer by the contemporary Australian literary community is of particular significance in any statistical approaches to Australian literature. London-born, Yates arrived in Australia at the age of twenty-three, after which he wrote detective fiction for nearly two decades before returning to England in 1967. Yates was still living in London when his autobiography was published in 1983 but the empirically vast Australian Literature Resource database (AustLit) records his death just two years later in New South Wales. [20] It is clear, to interpret his movement back to Australia and to quote from his autobiography, that Alan Yates retained a “great deal of affection for Australians”. [21] This statement by Yates is important because even in his fifties he remained fond of Australia but did not identify himself as Australian. Nonetheless, because Yates is co-opted as an Australian writer, his impact on any statistical analysis of Australian literature is substantial. For if his status changed, so too would any view of print history built upon new empiricism (Figure 2).

Granted, this might seem very slight regarding First Edition Australian novels but in an analysis of international reprints of Australian novels (Figure 3), …

… drawn from what data exists in AustLit on manifestations in May 2008, Alan Yates’ changed status would appear much more pronounced (Figure 4), dramatically altering any print culture findings.

Thus, though Macmillan’s dust-jacket comments are an instance of publishers amplifying a writer’s significance, in the market-hyped sense that the author proverbially “belongs to the world” rather than to any single group, their statements and Yate’s own again draw attention to the challenges of thinking about authors, novels and their relationships to groups of readers.

Alan Yates and Carter Brown do not figure in Bennett et al’s study of taste but the issue of linking authors to specific groups continues. What becomes important then to Bennett et al’s research is “the content of reading material rather than the nationality of authors”. [22] Though having reservations, Bennett et al claim it is “necessity” which pushes them to “pragmatically assign” the country-of-origin categorisation for some authors. Example reference is made to Peter Carey who is coded as Australian, though it is acknowledged he has been living in the US for some time, and through this the issue seems closed. But if D H Lawrence’s Kangaroo might be considered an Australian novel because of its “reading content” then the issue is actually further problematised by Bennett et al’s example. It would seem, as Andrew Hassam argues, that “[o]ne can be regarded as Australian despite one’s citizenship, place of birth or where one lives: the important factor is one’s association with Australia”. [23]

In a study of women authors, publishers and social change, Tuchman and Fortin conclude that “sampling problems often tell researchers about the topic they are studying”. [24] What then might these struggles over the situation of works in a specific national identity tell us about Australian literature? If a text can be considered an Australian novel because of its “reading content” and if an author’s country-of-origin has contradictory meanings to a postcolonial discipline, how might quantitative approaches to Australian literature retain the evidence of cultural diversity within an author’s identity and oeuvre – and signal the “difficulty of pinning down the truth of human sociality and communal practices”? [25]

One suggestion, to interrelate with John Frow’s thesis on simple and complex genres, might be to think of the application of “Australian” to published works as a “performance” of membership – or a performance of “family resemblances” [26] – rather than the strict “reproduction of a class” to which the work might otherwise conventionally be held to belong. [27] In this way, by also selectively drawing upon Bourdieu’s field of cultural production, we can study the criteria of membership and can theorise the edges and margins of this performance of membership – the periphery or boundary – “which may or may not be institutionalised”, and which may or may not be “protected by conditions of entry that are tacitly and practically required or explicitly codified and legally guaranteed”. [28] Additionally, we can read the struggles over situating works against criteria which is “sometimes precise, sometimes fuzzy, but always sharper at the core than at the edges” [29] as “conflicts between rival principles of legitimacy”. [30]

Now it may seem contentious to gather a signifier of nation-ness under the sign of genre. Conventionally, Australia like most other nations is often thought of as the identity object of a “People-as-One”; that is, as the “spatial fantasy of [a] modern cultural” community which appears regularly in the guise of a universalising political and geographical force. [31] But I would argue that the signifier “Australia” can also have genre-like features and functions and that this should not seem so strange to contemplate in a postmodern age increasingly organised by “investments of a more narrative kind”. [32]

To compare a few points with Frow’s analysis of genre, “Australia” is, by and large, “represented and enacted by pieces of text” like maps, magazines, newspapers, etc. [33] It is also a “discursive practice” which constructs certain kinds of relationships between people [34] and it is a “discourse community which is [regularly] invoked and renewed”. [35] It has “effects of truth and authority that are specific to it” [36] and that “activate certain possibilities of meaning and value rather than others”, [37] often through “hints that warn of boundaries”. [38] In these ways, the “structuring effects” of being marked “Australian” become “productive of meaning” [39] and so to speak of “Australian” literature then is to speak of a group of texts organised within a particular set of generic possibilities that are also linked with a “spatially determined imaginary”. [40]

For “genre is [also] a framework for processing information and for allowing us to move between knowledge given directly in a text and other sets of knowledge that are relevant to understanding it”. [41] At the same time, the relationship between texts and genre, or between literature and “Australia”, is dialogical. Texts correspond to the rules of their genre and yet, through adding their own distinctive voice, modify and change the meaning of the genre, “internalising and thereby transforming its rules” and its enunciative capacities. [42] In thinking therefore about Australian literature as a constantly metamorphosing site, where the addition or subtraction of works to the group both constitutes and complicates its totality, it becomes important to think about the conditions that sustain it.

Frow has also shown that “genre is not … a class but, rather, a classifying statement” and we might ask, in regards to Australian literature, “where do these statements come from”? [43] If Altman notes the importance of recognising “the extent to which genres appear to be initiated, stabilised and protected by a series of institutions essential to the very existence of genres”, then it follows that a book so marked as Australian is “not a property of the text but is a function of reading”. [44]

Being an Australian work then might conceivably be a genre “category that we impute to texts, and under different circumstances this imputation might change”. [45] In this view, rather than being phases in an evolutionary model of national literary historiography, works like those by H M Green, [46] Morris Miller [47] and the Bibliography of Australian Literature Project [48] can be understood as “snapshots at the time of production” of institutional forces seeking to govern – or impute – the application of “Australian” to works of fiction. [49] Therefore, as “temporary by-product[s] of an ongoing process” of shifting continuities and discontinuities – in a setting where volumes of The Bibliography of Australian Literature can appendix a list of names from previous bibliographic labours for exclusion from the contemporary literary disciplinary space – the classification of “Australian literature” for the researcher becomes a “function of reading”. [50] That is, a function of reading contemporary authorised sources which have assessed texts against generic possibilities and “frameworks of acceptance”. [51]

Another suggestion, to build on this use of genre, is to explore Australian literature “by way of the internal relations which compose it”. [52] By this I mean that if historians understand and interpret the field of literary production through their labours on archival documents, author biographies, works of fiction and so forth, then on the other side of such activity this discipline of Australian literature is made and shaped by the application of “frameworks of acceptance” or scope policies, the results of which find expression through authoritative bibliographic forms. That is, we make the very field or literary disciplinary space that we investigate. How then might we give greater analytic visibility within new empiricism to an “inside narrative” [53] that deals with Australian literature’s “frameworks of acceptance” and the “multiplicity of attachments” [54] writers, publishers and books have? How might new empiricism go beyond “the mere facts of things being known and … seen in … [the] immediate, collective gaze” of a problematic colourful line graph? [55]

To respond to this conceptual problem, I looked to anthropology and the social sciences for their experience in quantifying qualitative values. Through them I encountered a branch of mathematics called set theory. Of particular interest to me was the Venn Diagram (Figure 5).

Normally consisting of intersecting circles, Venn diagrams help show all the possible relationships between different sets or groups of things. The most familiar Venn diagram to us would be the red, green and blue or RGB representation of primary colours, where colours with different properties are generated through overlapping the primaries in different combinations. From LCD computer monitors to plasma television screens, each pixel in our contemporary age rests on technology that controls very precisely the overlapping (and weighting) of these three circles of primary colour. So the range and variety of possible relationships represented in a Venn diagram can be quite large and surprisingly complex. This led me to ponder whether some of the issues I have encountered in Australian literature might be better understood through a Venn diagram which consisted of Australian authors, Australian publishers and Australian novels, and which addressed the interpenetration of literary historical, print cultural and bibliographic frameworks of acceptance. I reasoned that with such a diagram I might be able to apply it to Australian publication data and in some way obtain a glimpse of the structure of Australian literature’s “inside narrative”.

So, to build up an “Australian Book History” Venn diagram one circle at a time, I began with the “Australian Writers” set (Figure 6).

In labelling this group, I might have used the term “agent” rather than “writer” but this would favour the primary meaning of agent – “a person authorised to act on another’s behalf” – whereas from a print cultures disciplinary angle I wanted to emphasize the writing that writers do, the actual labour of fiction-making, in addition to the socio-cultural acting they also do (be that consensual or otherwise). You might also note at the southern curve of this set an area that I have termed an “horizon”. Each circle in this Venn diagram has an horizon and I adapt the concept of horizon from Ashcroft where its function “lies in its engagement with conceptual boundaries as well as the boundaries of meaning”. [56] Here, “it is the principle by which both meaning and its open possibilities” might appear as “a way of conceiving home and with it, identity, which escapes the inevitability of the imperial boundary”. [57] In this “Australian Writers” set it is called the “literary historical horizon”.

If in the overall “Australian Writers” set we might find authors like Thea Astley or Gordon Bleeck, then in the literary historical horizon we would find writers who have emigrated to Australia and those with the “inheritance of two, or more, worlds”. That is, authors who live what David Malouf calls the “complex fate” of being an Australian. [58] We will also find expatriates in this horizon because, as Stephen Alomes argues, “the colonial rejection of expatriates as the pretentious or out-of-touch tall poppies who have forfeited their rights to comment on Australia or … their nationality” endures today, only occasionally forgiven when they produce “world class” literature. [59] Thus, at the literary historical horizon, here we acknowledge the “complicated entanglement” of identity and heritage and the “impossibility of essentialism” for many writers. [60] Example authors include: Alan Yates or Carter Brown, Peter Carey, Ruth Park, Frank Bruno, Henry Handel Richardson, Neville Shute and Arthur Upfield.

In the second set we have “Australian Publishers” (Figure 7).

The “horizon” here draws on print culture studies which helps unpack the history of companies that have produced books. This horizon emphasizes the importance of research that establishes a publisher located in Australia to have offshore economic and administrative loyalties, such as being owned or directed by a parent company based overseas. An immediate example would be Collins in Sydney 1874 or Angus and Robertson currently owned by HarperCollins. The opposite also remains valid, where research establishes an overseas-based publisher to be owned or directed by an Australian company; in this instance the London office of Angus & Robertson during the 1950s fits this designation. This also highlights the time-sensitivity of assessing the status of a publisher as it relates to any edition under examination, where a publisher like Angus & Robertson might start out as a wholly owned Australian endeavour and end as a branch office of a multinational company.

Finally we have the third set, “Australian Novels” (Figure 8).

Now I focus on “novels” rather than the more wider category “books” because my research begins with the Australian novel as recognised by AustLit and the problems of logic that I have encountered have been tethered to the initial question: “why might this edition or manifestation be considered an Australian novel?”. Like the other two sets, there is, in this instance, a “Bibliographic Horizon”, where bibliographic practice might be required to certify a particular manifestation or expression as an Australian novel. This is because there can be some disagreement over what word length defines the threshold between a novella and a novel. The Nebula Awards define the novella as having up to 40,000 words. Although not the case, this would almost certainly put The Flagellator by Carter Brown into the bibliographic horizon since it rests comfortably at 40,000 words across 120 pages.

In the remaining area, we would find manifestations and expressions of works that are unambiguously novels in format, such as, to continue this paper’s examples, the 1966 Angus & Robertson edition of My Brilliant Career. However, Derrida describes genre as a “sort of participation without belonging – a taking part in without being part of, without having membership of a set” [61] and so in the collection of objects named “Australian Novels”, we would also find works that participate in Australian literature without belonging to or overlapping with the “Australian Publishers” and “Australian Authors” sets. The London Martin Secker edition of D.H. Lawrence’s Kangaroo remains an easy example for this point.

If we bring all three sets together (Figure 9) we may begin to see how the shared characteristics of sections and horizons combine to create the diverse range of publications which make up the “genre” of Australian literature for book history research.

For example (Figure 10), the combined area between “Australian Writers” and “Australian Novels” is called a union and is denoted by the letter H.

This union refers to editions of Australian novels authored by Australian writers but which have not been produced by Australian publishers: the London William Blackwood publication of My Brilliant Career is representative of the kind of edition which inhabits this area. Union J indicates the Australian publication of Australian novels which have not been authored by members of the Australian writers set (such as Angus & Robertson’s publication of Gwyn Griffin’s The Occupying Power in 1956 or Cleveland’s publication of Don Haring’s Shadow World in 1955). And union I represents books produced by Australian publishers and Australian writers which are not Australian novels (such as, for example, publishing a volume of Banjo Paterson poetry).

Next, we add these unions to the Venn diagram and label the areas that do not overlap with any others (Figure 11).

Area K for example indicates books by Australian writers which are not considered Australian novels nor produced by Australian publishers. Area L is made up of Australian novels which are not authored by Australian writers nor produced by Australian publishers and for this I cite again the London Martin Secker edition of D.H. Lawrence’s Kangaroo. And area M holds works produced by Australian publishers which are not authored by Australian writers nor considered to be Australian novels. A local print run by an Australian publisher of the latest Harry Potter novel, for example, would dwell in this space.

Last, we assign labels to the remaining interstices formed by the unions between the horizons and the sets of Australian writers, publishers and novels (Figure 12).

This makes for a very complex finished Venn diagram but one in which I think virtually any edition of a work of fiction from the official Australian bibliographic record might be plotted and its relationship to Australian literature visually charted. As an experiment (Figure 13) I tagged 1,600 first edition novels according to this model for the period 1955-1960.

I chose this time-frame because it contains one of the largest spikes in publication history for the twentieth century and for its surge in pulp fiction titles. Although I’m unable to completely trace the biography of 27% of authors (Figure 14) beyond their basic reference in AustLit, already it is possible to obtain an early view of the structure of the field of Australian literature for these five years.

In conclusion, I should clarify that this Venn diagram is not a way of reverse-engineering the “stored labour” of bibliography which endows Australian literature with its power nor an audit of contemporary scope policies, AustLit or borderline crossings in the literary disciplinary space. Rather the “Australian Book History” Venn diagram is presented as a way of translating the “general spectrum of mixed-up differences”, the “vigorous assertions” and the “pragmatic assignments” that characterise Australian literature into a schema useful to contemporary methods of postcolonial new empiricism. Perhaps then, in addition to the view we already have of Australian literature in the world, by making the production of the field of Australian literature open to new forms of analysis and by using genre to enable such analysis without a commitment to nation, we might also obtain an empirical view of the world in Australian literature (Figure 15).

Creative Commons

  • This article by Jason Ensor is published for the first time online under a Creative Commons Licence (Attribution – No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported). This article draws on three years of independent consecutive data analysis conducted on a “pre-clean” version of the Australian Literature Resource (AustLit) database accessed through the Curtin University of Technology and Murdoch University.

Related Forthcoming Published Articles

  • ‘A Policy of Splendid Isolation: Angus & Robertson, George G Harrap and the politics of co-operation in the Australian book trade during the late 1930s’, Script & Print, Burwood, Victoria: Bibliographical Society of Australia and New Zealand (BSANZ), 2010.
  • ‘Is a Picture Worth 10,175 Australian Novels?’, in Katherine Bode and Robert Dixon (eds), Resourceful Reading: e-Research, the New Empiricism and Australian Literary Culture, Sydney: Sydney University Press, 2010.
  • ‘Still Waters Run Deep: Empirical Methods and the Migration Patterns of Regional Publishers’ Authors and Titles within Australian Literature’, Antipodes: A North American Journal of Australian Literature, Brooklyn, New York: American Association of Australian Literary Studies, 2010.

References

  1. Tim Dolin, “The Secret Reading Life of Us”, in Readers, Writers, Publishers: Essays and Poems, ed. Brian Matthew (Canberra: Australian Academy of the Humanities, 2004), 134.
  2. I am indebted to feedback from Richard Nile, Tim Dolin and Katherine Bode on an early draft of this paper which was presented at the Association for the Study of Australian Literature (ASAL) conference, “Australian Literature in a Global World”, July 2008. The presentation was made possible through funding support from the School of Media, Society and Culture (Curtin University of Technology) and via an ASAL Conference Postgraduate Scholarship, 2008.
  3. For more details, please see Jason Ensor, “Reprints, International Markets and Local Literary Taste: New Empiricism and Australian Literature”, in JASAL Special Issue: The Colonial Present, ed. Gillian Whitlock and Victoria Kuttainen (Association for the Study of Australian Literature, May 2008).
  4. Edward Said, Culture and Imperialism (London: Chatto and Windus, 1993), 85.
  5. Pierre Bourdieu, The Field of Cultural Production : Essays on Art and Literature (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1993), 13.
  6. Fredric Jameson, The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act (London: Routledge Classics, 2002), 23.
  7. Theodor Adorno, The Culture Industry (London and New York: Routledge, 2003).
  8. D. F. McKenzie, “Bibliography and the Sociology of Texts”, in The Book History Reader, ed. David Finkelstein and Alistair McCleery (London: Routledge, 2002), 207.
  9. G. Delanty and P. O. O’Mahony, Nationalism and Social Theory (London: Sage, 2002), 54.
  10. Stella Miles Franklin, My Brilliant Career (North Ryde: Collins / Angus and Robertson, 1990).
  11. Susan Gingell, “Delineating the Differences: An Approach to Miles Franklin’s My Brilliant Career”, in Australian and New Zealand Studies in Canada 3 (1990); Richard Nile, “The Rise of the Australian Novel” (PhD diss., University of New South Wales, 1987); Richard Nile, The Australian Legend and Its Discontents (St Lucia: University of Queensland Press, 2000); Richard Nile, The Making of the Australian Literary Imagination (St Lucia: University of Queensland Press, 2002).
  12. Chris Gosden and Yvonne Marshall, “The Cultural Biography of Objects”, World Archaeology, 31.2 (1999): 170.
  13. Nile, op. cit. (2002), 56.
  14. N. N. Feltes, Modes of Production of Victorian Novels (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986).
  15. William St Clair, The Reading Nation in the Romantic Period (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004).
  16. Tony Bennett, Michael Emmison and John Frow, Accounting for Tastes: Australian Everyday Cultures (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999).
  17. Inez Baranay, “Multiculturalism, Globalisation and Worldliness: Origin and Destination of the Text”, Journal of the Association for the Study of Australian Literature (JASAL) 3 (2004): 129.
  18. Alan Yates, Ready When You Are CB (London: Macmillan, 1983).
  19. ibid., dust jacket.
  20. For a background on the Australian Literature Resource (AustLit), please visit: http://www.austlit.edu.au:7777/presentations/index.html
  21. Yates, op. cit., 1.
  22. Bennet et al, op. cit.
  23. Andrew Hassam, “From Ned Kelly to Don Bradman: India, Australia and the Incongruities of Globalisation”, in New Bearings in English Studies: A Festschrift for C.T. Indra, ed. C. Vijayasree, R. Azhagarasan, Bruce Bennett, Mohan Ramanan, R. Palanivel and T. Sriraman (Hyderabad, Orient Longman, 2008).
  24. Quoted in Alexis Weedon, “The Uses of Quantification”, in A Companion to the History of the Book, ed. Simon Eliot and Jonathon Rose (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing), 40. See also G. Tuchman and N. E. Fortin, Edging Women Out: Victorian Women Novelists, Publishers and Social Change (London: Routledge, 1989).
  25. Gyanendra Pandey, “Notions of Community: Popular and Subaltern”, in Postcolonial Studies 8.4 (2005): 410.
  26. Delanty and O’Mahoney, op. cit.; Gingell, op. cit.
  27. John Frow, Genre (London: Routledge, 2005), 3.
  28. Bourdieu, op. cit., 43.
  29. Frow, op. cit., 128.
  30. Bourdieu, op. cit., 43.
  31. Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (New York: Routledge Classics, 2004), 358.
  32. ibid., 317.
  33. Frow, ibid., 45.
  34. ibid., 35.
  35. ibid., 7.
  36. ibid., 73.
  37. ibid., 72.
  38. ibid., 12.
  39. ibid., 10.
  40. Tina Mai Chen, “Thinking Through Embeddedness: Globalisation, Culture and the Popular”, Cultural Critique 58 (Autumn 2004): 17.
  41. Frow, op. cit., 80.
  42. ibid., 26.
  43. ibid., 102.
  44. ibid.
  45. ibid.
  46. H. M. Green, A History of Australian Literature: Pure and Applied: A Critical Review of All Forms of Literature Produced in Australia From the First Books Published After the Arrival of the First Fleet Until 1950, With Short Accounts of Later Publications up to 1960 (London: Angus and Robertson, 1984).
  47. E. Morris Miller, Australian Literature: From Its beginnings to 1935 (Sydney: Sydney University Press, 1973).
  48. John Arnold and John Hay, The Bibliography of Australian Literature: A-E (Victoria: Australian Scholarly Publishing Pty Ltd, 2001); John Arnold and John Hay, The Bibliography of Australian Literature: F-J (St Lucia: University of Queensland Press 2004); John Arnold and John Hay, The Bibliography of Australian Literature: K-O (St Lucia: University of Queensland Press, 2007).
  49. Diane Brown, “Cultural Production: Commissioning Books in Contemporary Australia”, Australian Literary Studies in the 21st Century: Proceedings of the 2000 ASAL Conference (2001), 27.
  50. Frow, op. cit., 138, 102.
  51. Burke in Said, op. cit., 367.
  52. Harvey quoted in Chen, op. cit., 8.
  53. H. P. Heseltine, “Towards an Inside Narrative”, Meanjin Quarterly 28.4 (Summer 1969): 542.
  54. Lisa Malkki, “National Geographic: The Rooting of Peoples and the Territorialisation of National Identity Among Scholars and Refugees”, Cultural Anthropology 7.1 (February 1992): 38.
  55. Bhabha, op. cit., 158.
  56. Bill Ashcroft, “Home and Horizon”, in Diaspora: The Australasian Experience, ed. Cynthia vanden Driesen and Ralph Crane (New Delhi: Prestige Books, 2006), 55.
  57. ibid.
  58. Stephen Alomes, “Colonial to Global: Paradoxes of Expatriation in Australia’s Diasporic Story”, in Diaspora: The Australasian Experience, ed. Cynthia vanden Driesen and Ralph Crane (New Delhi: Prestige Books, 2006), 133.
  59. ibid., 143.
  60. Ien Ang, “Together-in-Difference: Beyond Diaspora, into Hybridity”, Asian Studies Review 27.2 (June 2003): 150.
  61. Derrida in Frow, op. cit., 25.

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