Reconstruction Vol. 14, No. 3
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Textual Geographies: The Real-and-Imagined Spaces of Literature, Criticism, and Theory / Robert T. Tally Jr.
<1> Spatial literary studies, the subject of this special issue of Reconstruction, is (or are) quite timely, it seems. Whether considered as a singular subfield within literary scholarship more generally or as diverse examples of multiple critical practices (hence, my reluctance to settle on a verb form), spatial literary studies has or have exploded in recent years, and the number of books and essays that might be legitimately listed on any comprehensive bibliography of spatial literary studies is almost beyond count. [1] The response to the call for papers for this special issue alone so exceeded my expectations, with respect both to quantity and to the quality of the submissions, that I decided to make this a somewhat larger than usual edition. The apparent limitlessness of virtual hyperspace available to online journals make things easier in some ways, while also placing a dangerous temptation before an overly enthusiastic editor. I found myself unable to limit myself to the fifteen pieces included in this issue, so several additional essays will appear in a special section of Reconstruction 14.4 devoted to the problem of place. All in all, the essays included here demonstrate the diversity, flexibility, and range of spatial literary studies in the twenty-first century.
<2> Before introducing the articles themselves, it may be useful to discuss what is meant by the label spatial literary studies, even if one must admit up front that such a discussion could never be complete or that such a definition could scarcely be definitive, at least not in a way that all practitioners would readily agree upon. For my own part, both here and in my other work, I have tried to err on the side of expansiveness and inclusiveness. I consider spatial literary studies—whether doing business as geocriticism, literary geography, the spatial humanities, or using some other moniker—as a multiform critical practice that would include almost any approach to the text that focuses attention on space, place, or mapping, whether within the confines of the text, in reference to the outside world, or some combination of the two. What Edward W. Soja has termed the real-and-imagined places of literature, criticism, history, and theory, as well as of our own abstract conceptions and lived experience, these constitute the practical domain for spatial literary studies.
<3> Similarly, in my use of the term geocriticism, I have tried to indicate something like a general comportment toward the text, rather than a discrete methodology with its own set of rules and conventions. As I have mentioned elsewhere, I first used the term as the reader's counterpart to a writer's literary cartography. That is, if a writer, through the act of writing, produces maps of the social spaces represented in the text, the geocritical reader, sensitive to the text's spatiality and its inherently cartographic project, is able to read these maps. [2] For others, perhaps, the practices associated with what are variously called geocriticism, literary cartography, or literary geography understandably entail something much more specific, such as the focus on a single recognizable topos or the connection to a geographic body of knowledge exterior to the text under consideration. But I have found that a looser definition serves to unite disparate critical practices under a meaningful, if also contested, changing, and maybe even aleatory, sign. Geocriticism, like the more general spatial literary studies, makes possible any number of interpretive, analytical approaches to textual geographies, themselves conceived broadly enough to include the real and imagined spaces of literature.
<4> In my writings on spatiality, literary cartography, and geocriticism, I have frequently discussed critics and theorists one might expect to see in these domains, including contemporary critics but also citing earlier examples from such forerunners as Walter Benjamin (whose unfinished Passagenwerk represents a major effort to write a spatial history of the present), Mikhail Bakhtin (whose conception of the chronotope alone merits his rightful place in spatial literary studies), or Edward W. Said (whose attention to geography in his inquiry into the historical experience reflected and repressed in cultural texts has proven so influential on so many critics). However, some might have questioned the appearance of Erich Auerbach or Georg Lukács in my survey of writers essential to a theory of literary cartography, yet I have found their analyses of narrative figuration necessary antecedents to Fredric Jameson's concept of cognitive mapping, which has itself played a large role in spatial criticism. [3] Hence, my working definition of spatial literary studies would have to include not only the sort of work done by critics employing geographical science or focused on a particular place, but also those working with spaces or places in a more metaphorical sense. I do acknowledge that my expansive view of what counts as a spatially oriented approach has sometimes meant that I have elided crucial differences among critical practices, allowing certain distinctions to remain relatively indistinct. After all, scholars using geographical information systems (G.I.S.) to chart a novel's character or plot trajectories along the physical topography of a given region are engaged in a rather different project than that of critics examining the concepts of deterritorialization and reterritorialization in theorizing matters of poststructuralist geophilosophy. The differences are real, and may have important consequences for future research and teaching. Nevertheless, I am far less interested in turf wars among various types of spatially oriented critics than in the prospects for richer, more innovative, and perhaps more useful ways of seeing and reading made possible by this renewed and heighten attention to spatiality, broadly conceived.
<5> Although such spatial or geographical considerations have no doubt always been a part of literary and critical practice, the recent resurgence of spatiality and the explosion in the number of spatially oriented books and articles in literary studies follows what has been referred to as the "spatial turn" in the humanities and social sciences. [4] The spatial turn has no particular date of inception, but one may perceive more and more critical attention being paid to matters of space in the 1970s and 1980s, with major philosophical contributions from the likes of Henri Lefebvre (whose La production de l'espace appeared in 1974), Michel Foucault (whose research into the birth of the prison led to some of the already spatially oriented thinker's most overtly spatial work), and Gilles Deleuze (who, especially in his collaborations with Félix Guattari, increasingly couched his arguments in spatial and geographical terms). At the same time, transformative research in the social sciences, such as that of Anthony Giddens and David Harvey, demonstrated the need to consider spatial relations and planning in order to comprehend facts and trends in social theory. Art and architecture, always attuned to spatial, seem to become more emphatically interested in spatiality, and the onset of a newly recognized postmodernism appeared to be characterized, at least in part, by what Jameson memorably called "that new spatiality implicit in the postmodern." [5] The subtitle of Soja's Postmodern Geographies (1989) announced "the reassertion of space in critical social theory," and it seemed to me, as an undergraduate student at the time, that the most important work being done in the humanities and social sciences was, in some way or another, tied to spatial criticism.
<6> Yet sometimes a trope only becomes noticeable after the turn, as it were. For example, a significant collection of essays designed to register the field-altering changes to literary studies in the aftermath of "theory," Frank Lentricchia and Thomas McLaughlin's Critical Terms for Literary Study (1990), contained no entries for space, place, mapping, or geography. Raymond Williams's Keywords (1975)—even though it was initially written alongside The Country and the City, perhaps Williams's most overtly spatial or geocritical study—also contained no entry for space or place; the second edition, published in 1983, included 21 additional entries, but space and place remained absent. Harvey himself felt the need to redress this omission in an essay titled "Space as a Key Word," which began by stating that "If Raymond Williams were contemplating the entries for his celebrated text on Keywords today, he would have surely have included the word 'space'." [6] Nigel Thrift, in a 2006 essay with the deceptively simple (and keyword-like) title of "Space," uses the rough span of "the last 20 years or so) to cover the "spatial turn in the humanities and social sciences," and he predicts that the relatively recent critical phenomenon will have lasting results on how we think about ourselves and the world. [7]
<7> None of this is intended to discount those critical practices that were, in one way or another, already attuned to matters of space, place, and geography well before this spatial turn, and which continue to produce valuable scholarship for student and critics interested in spatial studies today. To be sure, literature as a disciplinary field of study has a long history of examining such geographically based questions as the relation of an author or a text to its city, region, or nation. Entire subdisciplines have been based upon these sort of spatial demarcations, as at my own institution (Texas State University), where Southwestern Studies—that is, the study of the people, cultures, lands, and history of the southwestern portions of the United States—is a prominent part of the curriculum. Courses based in part on geographical or topographical features, such as "The City in Literature," "Border Narratives," or "Travel Writing," have also been common in university offerings. Although some have argued that such older methodologies or visions de-emphasized the distinctive spatiality implicit in their conceptualization, making space merely the backdrop or the "empty container" in which the more interest, noticeably temporal plots unfold, I do not think this has really been the case, at least not in the main. However, partially as a result of the spatial turn, these older practices have themselves recently become reinvigorated with in assertion of new models or frames of reference. For example, the fundamentally spatial or geographical question of mobile populations and border-crossing has opened up new areas for transnational perspectives, which has not only created different categories for understanding formerly homogenous literatures and cultures (say, diaspora studies, mestiza cultures, or the Black Atlantic), but also fashioned new lenses through which to view older fields, as may be seen in recent versions of hemispheric, transnational, or postcolonial American Studies. Indeed, in the aftermath of the spatial turn, a "planetary turn" has caused many of the traditional discourses within modern language and literary studies to make fascinating connections among the local, regional, national, and global circuits of cultural production. [8] One good turn deserves another.
<8> In this special issue, I believe that the wide range of critical practices implicit in my broad use of the term spatial literary studies is well represented. Just as some of the characteristic demarcations among different sorts of spatial literary studies may not ultimately hold, as certain distinctive approaches blend with others or as what had seemed clear boundaries between them suddenly shift or blur, so too the divisions I have employed must be viewed as artificial, provisional, and, if the reader does not find them especially helpful, disposable. For instance, one may speak of places represented in the text or of texts circulating in spaces, but the distinction quickly becomes untenable, as it is clear that the relations between the text and the place, between the paper and the stone (as Bertrand Westphal referred to it), are thoroughly bound up in each other. [9] Similarly, the old rivalry between theory and practice cannot long maintain its opposition, as even the most meta-theoretical essays must find their substance in literary critical practices, even as the most traditional close readings cannot function without an operative theoretical framework, and so on. Therefore, although I have established sections—labeled "Geocritical Theory and Practice," "Geographies of the Text," and Geographies in the Text"—that designate in a quite general way the different sorts of work being accomplished in the essays placed within them, I do not mean to suggest that such categories can really "contain" that work. The section-titles must be perceived as tentative and heuristic, labels whose value obtains only while needed, like the scaffolding that may be judiciously put away and forgotten when the edifice is completed, or, better, like the ladder one may choose to use or to ignore, depending on one's climbing strategy. The articles themselves certainly stand on their own as excellent examples of work being done in spatial literary studies today.
<9> Leading off this special issue is an excerpt from the German novelist Albrecht Selge's Wach (or, in English, Lucid), translated by Angela Flury. Selge's novel presents a fascinating mixture of the fantastic and the mundane, as it depicts an almost otherworldly image of contemporary Berlin as experienced by a compulsive walker, a nocturnal flâneur whose own itineraries disclose the vivid spatiality of the city in the grips of a ruthlessly commercial postmodernity. In her "Translator's Comments: Albrecht Selge's 'Losing Track'," Flury provides a brief introduction to the text which situates it in relation to contemporary literature and to the cultural conditions it attempts to map. Selge's inventive narrative cartography demonstrates the powerful effects of space and place on subjectivity, and vice versa, as the seemingly private observations and fantasies of an individual subject become intertwined with the geography it traverses.
<10> Then, opening the section on Geocritical Theory and Practice, Mariya Shymchyshyn offers a sweeping overview of geocriticism, broadly understood as including various examples of spatial literary studies in the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. In "Geocriticism at the Crossroads," she surveys the writings of a number of spatially oriented critics, theorists, and scholars at the cutting edge of the spatial turn, while also examining the foundations for such work to be found in influential precursors, including geographers, urbanists, and philosophers. Drawing upon the evocative chronotope analyzed by Bakhtin, Shymchyshyn argues that the geocritical theory and practice is presently at a "crossroad," in which multiple possibilities for future work present themselves to the scholar interested in literary spatiality.
<11> In "How to Do Narratives with Maps?: Cartography as a Performative Act in Gulliver's Travels and Through the Looking Glass," Emmanuelle Peraldo and Yann Calbérac interrogate the distinction between literary narratives and maps in order to question the specificities of both languages that the text embeds: that is, words and maps. To that end, they focus on two major masterpieces of British literature, Jonathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels and Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking-Glass. These imaginary maps enable readers to locate the plots in a discernible spatial framework, but Peraldo and Calbérac argue that, rather than merely anchoring the narratives in a given place, the maps have a performative function. Instead of stabilizing the characters and plots on in a homogenous graphic space, the maps trigger the action and redefine its place, in effect performing the functions commonly associated with narrative itself.
<12> Jessica Maucione's "Locating the Limits and Possibilities of Place" provides a different sort of overview of theoretical debates regarding space and place. Maucione discusses the pitfalls of various symbolic and metaphoric treatments of space and place, arguing against a binary opposition of space versus place. She ultimately finds most valuable those narratives of place that cohere according to an imagined or real interdependence among the inhabitants of a recognized place, such that they are inspired or required to live in relation to one another. Drawing from literary examples, the article contends that because narratives of place revalue "minor" locales and their "minority" inhabitants, while also presenting alternative modes of being, they have the potential to disrupt the grand, totalizing narratives associated with nationalism and globalism.
<13> The section titled Geographies of the Text includes essays that engage with the abstract spatiality or imaginary geography of the text. In "Mallarmé, Poet of the Earthly World: On Spatiality in L'Après midi d'une Faune," Rogério de Melo Franco observes that the concept of space has frequently been understood in Mallarmé's writing as either part of a meditation on how to fill the blank of the page or a vaguely conceived poetic notion related to the poet's highest aesthetical aspirations, such as the ambitiously imagined magnum opus known simply as "the Book." Melo Franco believes Mallarmé's reflection upon properly spatial, earthy, and territorial matters has not received the attention it deserves. Focusing on one of Mallarmé's most famous poems, "The Afternoon of a Fawn," he investigates its spatiality in connection with narration, myth, and memory. Melo Franco uses the conception of the "après-midi" to suggest a theoretical unity of time and space in the poem.
<14> Julia Kröger focuses on the construction of Parisian "lived space" in the work of nineteenth-century naturalist author Émile Zola in "Zola's Spatial Explorations of Second Empire Paris." Following Henri Lefebvre's triadic theory of space production, she begins by retracing the physical and conceptual appropriation of space by Zola documented in his notebooks, the dossiers préparatoires. The seemingly non-reflexive perceptions noted in the dossiers testify to an emotive and affective real-life encounter which, along with cognitive materials, such as maps, are translated into the lived space of the storyworld via Zola's various strategies of narrativization. Kröger argues that Zola thus helps us to understand the ways in which space is produced within the formal constraints of the novel and highlights the importance of real, material space in the understanding of lived space, a spatial facet that literary studies have often tended to ignore.
<15> In "Becoming Nomadic: The Radical 'Demonic' Geographies of M. NourbeSe Philip's Looking for Livingstone: An Odyssey of Silence," Kate Siklosi draws upon the work of feminist human geographer Katherine McKittrick in her innovative reading the the Tobagan-Canadian novelist's fascinating tale of memory and exploration. McKittrick had invoked the concept of the "demonic" in her groundbreaking critical text Demonic Grounds: Black Women and the Cartographies of Struggle (2006) in order to rethink "the complex linkages between history, blackness, race, and place" [10]. Siklosi argues that, by "opening a way to the interior" through her novella, M. NourbeSe Philip reappropriates a colonial expression of geographic domination while enacting a "demonic" respatialization of African cultural representation. The phrase, originally from Scottish missionary and explorer Dr. David Livingstone's travel diary, presents the colonial metaphor of Africa as the unknown "dark continent," with its embedded figuration of the eroticized black female body. This "opening of the interior," a central motif of Philip's text, thus announces the concomitant geographic and sexual violence of colonial imperialism, but it also articulates a transgressive space of resistance. In Siklosi's view, the protagonist's nomadic odyssey across time and space, undertaken without maps or guides, displaces the linear geographic "truths" of colonial exploration with a demonic spatiality.
<16> Michelle Dreiding, in "Rethinking the Beginning: Toni Morrison and the Dramatization of Liminality," observes that the beginnings in Morrison's novels enact an uncanny moment of disorientation. They are beginnings in medias res, and, more importantly, beginnings of spatial deictic uncertainties that leave a reader with the absence of a stable system of reference. They enact the predicament of a beginning that precludes the fantasy of an absolute point of origin. Morrison's beginnings self-consciously advocate an imperative to engage in a continual process of re-reading, of revisiting the initial disorientation so as to avoid a "conclusion to living" (as Nietzsche put it). Dreiding finds that, in these liminal moments, Morrison actualizes the particularly American discourse of the frontier, the privileged locus of "perennial rebirth." Within this discursive American space of potentiality and of a compulsive return to the border, Dreiding argues, Morrison rewrites the American myth of the frontier and thereby moves to the center a narrative that has been culturally marginalized. Reading the incipits of Morrison's novels Jazz (1992), Paradise (1997) and Love (2003), each of which dramatize a structural and geographical liminality. Dreiding discovers a spatial poetics necessary for the political project, which in turn opens up the dialogical possibility to "draw a map," as Morrison puts it, but "without the mandate for conquest."
<17> Moving into different but related media of theater and television, Elizabeth Robertson examines the work of the notable British writer-director Stephen Poliakoff in "'You've been here before?': Space and Memory in Stephen Poliakoff's Dramas." Poliakoff's work has centered upon an examination of memory, history and historical consciousness, and questions of space and place play important roles in the ways in which Poliakoff dramatizes his memory-narratives on stage and screen, occupying his dramas as physical and imaginative sites where past and present collide, and where memory can be recovered, reconstructed, and confronted. Through close reading of visual and written texts, focusing especially on scenes from the television dramas Perfect Strangers (2001) and Capturing Mary (2007), as well as the stage dramas Blinded by the Sun (1996) and My City (2011), Robertson examines how Poliakoff explores individual microhistories through the entrenchment of characters' memories in place and space, thus creating private sites of memory.
<18> Pivoting slightly from essays examining a more abstract sense of spatiality or geography arising from the texts under consideration to those that focus on the concrete spaces or places within texts—remembering, always, that such distinctions may not hold for long—the essays in next section, Geography in the Text, tend toward the explorations of the spaces and placed limned in the literary texts themselves, although the "outside" world is never distant from them. For example, in "Caves as Anti-Places: Robert Penn Warren's The Cave and Cormac McCarthy's Child of God," Ralph Crane and Lisa Fletcher explore the unique type of space in order to reveal the spatial alterity of caves. They argue that analyzing the literary representation of natural subterranean voids requires a careful re-theorisation of the dynamic relations of space and place. The difficult question of how meaning comes to be attached to a particular space, thus transforming it into place, is central to Robert Penn Warren's The Cave and Cormac McCarthy's Child of God, both of which depict male protagonists who retreat underground, albeit for quite different purposes. According to the standard definition, a cave is a natural cavity beneath the land large enough to admit a human body, but-as the novels selected for this essay show-caves fascinate and terrify us because they confound human assumptions about our role in assigning meaning to the earth's spaces.
<19> Sarah Ager looks at another unique space in "A Geocritical Approach to the Role of the Desert in Penelope Lively's Moon Tiger and Michael Ondaatje's The English Patient." Although critics have focused on the role of history in these novels, Ager urges the reader to address the complex relationships between characters and the spaces they occupy. Written between the late 1980s and the early 1990s, both novels look retrospectively at events of World War Two in the Western Sahara, showing how the desert space changes over time and how it is perceived during the lifetimes of the protagonists. Following Marc Augé's concept of "non-places," Ager asks whether the physical desert is represented as a merely transitory space, in contrast to Gaston Bachelard's geocritical conception of "home" as a mental space. Ager argues that the space of the desert both forms and challenges the characters' sense of identity and belonging.
<20> In "Isolated Spaces, Fragmented Places: Caryl Phillips's Ghettoes in The Nature of Blood and The European Tribe," Murat Öner and Mustafa Bal offer a geocritical reading of Caryl Phillips's deviant Othello character (in The Nature of Blood), examining his transformation in, and perception of, the ghettoized space of Venice; at the same time, they explore real-and-fictional space of Venice in The European Tribe (a non-fictional work), pointing out the ways that the St. Kitts-born writer depicts the singular space of the ghetto. Using the interdisciplinary methods of geocriticism to analyse the continuously changing spatial relations and unseen power relations in these texts, Öner and Bal explore the space of the "ghetto" in these works, disclosing an map of Venice in the explicit and implicit references, allusions, and connotations The Nature of Blood and The European Tribe.
<21> In his essay, "Eternal Return and the City/Country Dynamic in Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being," Adam McKee establishes an unlikely connection between the well-known Nietzschean themes present in the novel and the classic ideology-critique and historical examination urban and rural forms in Raymond Williams's The Country and the City. McKee argues that Kundera confronts the split between the country and the city from the standpoint of a Central European nation bound up in totalitarian, Soviet-communist rule, rather than through the standpoint of Williams's capitalist England, thus inverting or subverting the binary distinction. While many critics have responded to Kundera's somewhat flawed engagement with philosophical issues in the text, McKee notes, few have addressed the way in which the discourses contribute to the specific engagement the country/city divide in the novel, which describe the ideologically saturated geographies of the Czech countryside and Soviet Prague. In the end, McKee argues, Kundera and Williams deconstruct this country/city binary by showing the inherent instability in both categories and their most common conceptualizations.
<22> While noting the many shared concerns and overlapping territories of geocriticism and postcolonial theory, Dustin Crowley offers a critique of the ways that geocritical theory approaches postcolonial spaces. In "Transgression, Boundaries, and Power: Rethinking the Space of Postcolonial Literature," Crowley looks at works by Kenyan author Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o and Nigerian author Chris Abani, and he finds that their narratives represent a more complex understanding of boundedness and spatial freedom or transgression than that which is privileged in geocriticism. Drawing from this literature and the work of cultural geography and political ecology, Crowley argues that spatial literary studies should move away from the dichotomized categories it has adopted from its (predominantly postmodern) intellectual antecedents and move toward an understanding of borders and border-crossing as relational, dynamic, and equivocally available to the forces of power and resistance.
<23> Finally, this special issue on spatial literary studies concludes with Matt Hudson's "Literary Cartography in an Age of Interconnectedness," a review of my own Spatiality (2013), an introductory study of space, place, and mapping in contemporary criticism and theory. Hudson focuses especially on the characterization of literary cartography in the text, looking at the means by which writers and critics attempt to map social space through narrative. He concludes that the text helpfully introduces a number of spatial theories and practices, but that the spatiality studies, along with the contemporary social conditions, are still changing in unforeseeable ways. This likely means that any geocritical or spatial approaches will have to remain flexible, adapting to new situations as they arise.
<24> As noted above, the diversity of the essays included in this special issue of Reconstruction reflects the variety of work currently being done in geocriticism, literary geography, spatiality studies, and so on. The renewed or enhanced attention to space, place, and mapping in literary and cultural studies following the spatial turn has made possible a wide array of interesting readings. At the same time, the focus on spatial or geographical aspects of literature has serve to highlight the dynamic relations between the text and the geospaces represented in it, bridging the divide between the word and the world, enabling new perspectives on textual geographies. Drawing upon multiple literary, critical, and theoretical tradition, geocritical or spatial literary studies today present many different ways of approaching questions of space, place, or geography and literature. By engendering novel perspectives, spatial criticism has opened up alternative vistas, which in turn may help to create new spaces for critical inquiry in the future.
Notes
[1] Although a truly comprehensive list is probably impossible, the editors of a new journal, Literary Geographies, have compiled and regularly augment an impressive bibliography of relevant scholarship. The bibliography is available online at http://literarygeographies.wordpress.com/
[2] See my "Introduction: On Geocriticism," in Robert T. Tally, ed., Geocritical Explorations: Space, Place, and Mapping in Literary and Cultural Studies (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 1. See also my "Mapping Narratives," the introduction to Tally, ed., Literary Cartographies: Spatiality, Representation, and Narrative (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014), 1-12.
[3] See, e.g., my Spatiality (London: Routledge, 2013), especially 44-78.
[4] The term has been widely used for some time, but for an important collection that helped to characterize the "turn," see Barney Warf and Santa Arias, eds., The Spatial Turn: Interdisciplinary Perspectives (New York: Routledge, 2009). See also Michael Dear, Jim Ketchum, Sarah Luria, and Doug Richardson, eds., GeoHumanities: Art, History, and Text at the Edge of Place (New York: Routledge, 2011); David J. Bodenhamer, John Corrigan, Trevor M. Harris, eds., The Spatial Humanities: GIS and the Future of Humanities Scholarship (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2010). For a quick overview, see Jo Guldi's introductory essays for the Scholar's Lab site, Spatial Humanities: A Project of the Institute for Enabling Geospatial Scholarship: http://spatial.scholarslab.org/
[5] Fredric Jameson, Postmodernism, or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1991), 418.
[6] David Harvey, Spaces of Global Capitalism: Towards a Theory of Uneven Geographical Development (London: Verso, 2006), 119.
[7] Nigel Thrift, "Space," Theory, Culture, and Society 23.2-3 (2006), 139.
[8] See Amy J. Elias and Christian Moraru, The Planetary Turn: Relationality and Geoaesthetics in the Twenty-First Century (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 2015).
[9] Bertrand Westphal, Geocriticism: Real and Fictional Places, trans. Robert T. Tally Jr. (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), 158.
[10] Katherine McKittrick, Demonic Grounds: Black Women and the Cartographies of Struggle (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2006), 143.
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