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This chapter examines the collective spaces invoked in James Joyce's career-long obsession with dramatic form—from the epiphanies he wrote as a teenager through his 1918 play Exiles to the closet drama of the Nighttown (or “Circe”) episode of Ulysses. Joyce's experiments with theatrical form constitute a running commentary on his interest in the “depths” of the psyche. The different conceptions of theatrical space embedded in the idea of epiphany lend a dual valence to this keystone of Joycean aesthetics. If, on the one hand, epiphany imagines a humiliating theater of psychic exposure, on the other it gestures toward a perverse collective space where such exposures would lose their policing force. These isolating and collectivist impulses are both visible in Joyce's play Exiles, which follows Ibsenesque naturalism in its representation of psychic motivation but allows its characters to mount a notable collective resistance to the diagnostic imperative structuring their stage existence.

English Catholics and Discourses of the Nation begins by situating the book within current work on early modern Catholic culture and in relation to ongoing debates about national identity-formation in the pre-industrial era. The chapter then takes up the vexed concept of a Catholic community and the relation between stay-at-home Catholics and their exiled brethren. Stay-at-home Catholics adhered tenaciously to an indigenous version of their faith that they saw as being threatened as much by imported forms of Catholicism as by Protestant innovations. The second part of the chapter turns looks at the reign of Mary and Philip as a time when some of the key concepts of English Catholic nationalism were formulated.

Art historian Lynette M. F. Bosch concentrates on the first generation of postrevolutionary exile artists, which she calls the “Cuban-American Exile Vanguardia,” who arrived in the United States between 1959 and 1980. Bosch emphasizes that many members of this diasporic generation explore “identity, hybridity, transnationalism, and the emotional and experiential territory of exile.” She also argues that these artists recast traditional notions of lo cubano (Cubanness) as lo cubanoamericano (Cuban-Americanness) through visual representations of “life on the hyphen,” that is, the blending of Cuban and American cultural practices. Examples of these hybrid exile artists include Humberto Calzada, Jake Fernandez, and Arturo Rodríguez.

This essay examines the apparent creative contradictions often noted in comparing Joyce's prose and poetry, asking why we find there such apparently traditional poetry, given the radical, experimental quality of Joyce's prose. An understanding of Joyce's “oscillating” perspectives--his ability to sustain often contrary concepts--is crucial to see not only his purposes in the Chamber Music poems but indeed to understand the meanings of Joyce's entire body of work. This oscillating “poetic perspective” has a determining effect on Joyce's subsequent writing: it appears, for example, in the tensions between idealism and cynicism in such Dubliners stories as “Araby” ; in the dialectic between the artistic and the erotic, the active and the passive in Pomes Penyeach and Portrait; in the crucial issues of parenthood in Pomes Penyeach and Exiles, and ultimately Ulysses); and in the multiple, often contrary expressions of sexuality in Pomes Penyeach and Finnegans Wake. By examining elements from Joyce's entire oeuvre, the essay claims that all of the poetry that Joyce produced during his lifetime can inform our understanding of the creative forces behind all his works.

This essay argues that the dominant poetic voice in Joyce's works is Orphic, characterized by a wistful sense of loss, lament, and sorrow. Joyce's Orphic poetic consciousness develops from his early juvenilia, into Stephen Hero, Portrait, Ulysses, and finally Finnegans Wake. The essay argues that from its outset Joyce's poetry emerges from the exigencies of the absence of love and foreshadows its loss. Through this oscillating reading of Joyce's early and later work, this mood and voice of lament, loss, and remorse continues throughout Joyce's career: the son's lament for his father in “Ecce Puer,” the lament for lost youth in “Bahnofstrasse,” the father mourning the loss of his son in Ulysses, the longing for youthful love in Exiles, and the multiple laments that dominate Dubliners, reaching a climax in Gabriel's Orphic lament at the close of “The Dead.” This Orphic voice of lament finds its full expression in Finnegans Wake in the voice of Shem; yet this is finally overcome by the apocalyptic anticipation of renewed hope that transforms the past through the different voice of ALP.

This chapter describes the body of James Joyce's work. Joyce' wrote Chamber Music as a protest against himself. One of the fundamental aesthetic principles ofDubliners is that the limits of a character's world-view are defined by the limits of their language. The real distinction between Stephen Hero and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man lies at the level of narrative style. Exiles presents his only excursion into drama and remained relatively neglected until its 1970 London revival. With Ulysses, Joyce realised his aesthetic ambition of composing a great epic statement about modern European civilisation. Finnegans Wake makes considerable use of the symbols of marriage, burial, religion and the family, it is a mistake simply to map Joyce's narrative onto Vico's tripartite structure. A significant strand of Wakecriticism concerns itself with the creative and compositional process that brought the text into being.

This chapter discusses Richard Wagner and Arthur Schopenhauer, two individuals (a writer and philosopher, respectively) whom Joyce was deeply attached to. It looks at one of Wagner's works, Tristan und Isolde, which figures in the composition of Exiles. The story features the consequences of an adulterous love that found fertile ground. The discussion then looks at the connection of the works of Wagner and Schopenhauer to that of “A Painful Case.”

This chapter expands on James Joyce's interest in cinema and discloses how the technological developments that enabled the compilation of discrete shot sequences radically altered the gestural language of early films. Movies now substituted the histrionic and exaggerated body movements of the melodramatic stage tradition with complex strings of closely observed small movements. This chapter documents the influence of numerous aspects of the cinematic medium on Ulysses, such as the use of peephole-style framing techniques. Above all, it convincingly argues that the minutely itemized gestural language of hand movements that peculiarly dominated the text of Exiles, as evidenced by its stage directions, was further elaborated on in Ulysses, especially in the “Circe” episode. The heightened readability of the body in silent film is turned to account by Joyce, who exploits the radical implications of the close-up and plays with the semiotics of gesture and the possibility that physical movements now can become a discrete part of a signifying system that operates irrespective of human agency or of the integrity of the body.

At the same time that Wolper was building his studio and staffing it with the producers Mel Stuart, Alan Landsburg, and Jack Haley Jr., film school graduates were looking for employment in the city. This chapter focuses on Kent Mackenzie, who, like other talented, university-trained filmmakers, worked for Wolper Productions, the USIA, and film firms that catered to the educational and business sectors. These jobs offered a rewarding alternative to studio fiction but also entailed ideological and formal constraints. During this period, Mackenzie drew on the resources of his day jobs, along with the pro bono efforts of his colleagues, to make The Exiles (1961). Examining the major thrust of Mackenzie’s career reveals the professional challenges and opportunities for young filmmakers interested in making socially engaged documentary.

Utell treats marriage laws to read Joyce's scenes of what she calls "criminal conversation"—legally risky discursive interactions of married characters (not with their spouses). Her analysis assesses the legal implications of marital disquiet in the major Joyce texts and also in Giacomo Joyce and Exiles, arguing that these works are essential to understanding Joyce's critique of the legal boundaries of wedlock.

An important environment for the performance and consumption of lieder in Manhattan continued to be clubs and societies, often hosted by luxury hotels (such as the Bagby Musical Mornings at the Waldorf Astoria). The London Lieder Club, founded by record producer Walter Legge, similarly used hotels as its venue. The influx of German and Austrian musicians arriving in London in the 1930s influenced performance practices and programming. A culture of specialist interpretation was cultivated through dedicated recitals and recording projects such as the Hugo Wolf Society. There was, inevitably, an explicitly political angle, for many of these musicians were refugees from the Nazi regime.

This chapter studies the German impact of and literary historical background to the world’s first staging ever of Joyce’s drama Exiles in German translation in Munich in 1919 and explores the reasons why German critics responded so harshly to the play. It reflects on the historical background surrounding the end of the First World War and the subsequent Munich revolutionary uprising as a possible reason why Joyce did not attend this first staging but also provides a contextual reading of Exiles against the backdrop of German drama of the period, in particular the plays of Frank Wedekind.

Gestures in Dubliners, which often resemble stage directions in naturalist drama, testify to Joyce’s reading of playscripts, but also to his prolific theatre-going, during which he developed an infatuation with the Italian actress Eleanora Duse. The chapter investigates strong parallels between the influence of naturalist performance on Joyce, and Henry James’ transformative encounter with Ibsen, his consequent failure as a playwright, and his writing’s thematised split process of reading and spectating. Joyce’s resistance to Yeats and Revivalism overturns the conventional distinctions between a politically progressive modernism and an ideologically conservative naturalism. The chapter situates Exiles within the performance culture of its time, and Joyce’s reading of Freud. The chapter then argues that the cross-pollination, in the ‘Circe’ chapter of Ulysses, of a language of performance with subjective focal points, unavailable in drama for the proscenium stage, is written both as an affront to the theatrical institutions which rejected him, and as a fulfillment of a long-held and keen awareness of cinema.

This chapter studies Raúl Ruiz's cinema in the period leading up to and during the Allende socialist government in Chile, in context of the new Latin American cinema. Concerning the magical or social realism, Ruiz's films of this period can be seen as a micropolitical cartography of social gestures and behaviors, in relation to but critical of surrounding political and cinematic movements. After the Pinochet coup, Ruiz, like most of those working in Chilean cinema, was forced into exile—a condition that was treated in his first major film project, Diálogos de exiliados (Dialogues of Exiles, 1974). However, Ruiz soon embarked on an exploration of different styles, genres, and formats, producing both films of varying lengths and experimental television work. This enabled experimentation with visual and narrative rhetorics, increasingly distant from and critical of normative conceptions of political cinema.

This chapter unpacks the socio-cultural world buried in Amy Woodforde-Finden’s ‘Kashmiri Song’ (1902), and its century-long cultural projections. The fervour it generated stemmed from delight in ‘Kashmiri romance’ dating back to Lalla Rookh, its erotic, interracial implications and their resonance with Richard Burton’s ‘Indo-Persian’ translations (Kama Sutra) and contemporary Anglo-Indian/women’s fiction, and, crucially, rumours surrounding its creation by a woman composer and a woman poet (the pseudonymous ‘Laurence Hope’), who each ‘knew’ India ‘intimately’. The singer’s ambiguous subject position (widely heard as autobiographical) is shown to allow for transgressive explorations of imperial fantasies (fuelled by its companion, ‘Less than the Dust’) at the Raj’s height and beyond. Ultimately, the changing resonance of ‘Kashmiri Song’, culminating in a postcolonial re-voicing by Agha Shahid Ali, opens up Indo-British history to its internal others (Muslims, exiles, women, lesbians), illuminating its significance for understanding the continuing reverberations of colonialism.