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Seeking to better understand what it means to grow older in contemporary Britain from the perspective of older people themselves, this richly detailed ethnographic study engages in debates over selfhood and people’s relationships with time. Based on research conducted in an English former coal mining village, the book focuses on the everyday experiences of older people living there. It explores how the category of old age comes to be assigned and experienced in daily life through multiple registers of interaction. These include ‘memory work’ about people, places and webs of relations in a postindustrial setting that has undergone profound social transformation. Challenging both the notion of a homogenous relationship with time across generations and the idea of a universalised middle-aged self, the author argues that the complex interplay of social, cultural and physical attributes of ageing means that older people can come to occupy a different position in relation to time and to the self than younger people. This account provides fascinating insight into what is at stake for the ageing self in regards to how people come to know, experience and dwell in the world. It describes the ways in which these distinctive forms of temporality and narrativity also come to be used against older people, denigrated socially in some contexts as ‘less-than-fully adult’. This text will be of great interest to researchers and students in anthropology, sociology, human geography and social gerontology working on interests in selfhood, time, memory, the anthropology of Britain and the lived experience of social change.

This book proposes a framework in which ‘the classic’ figures less as an autonomous entity than as the result of the interplay between source text and translation practice. It discusses the consequences of this hypothesis for questioning established definitions of the classic: how does translation mediate the social, political, and national uses of ‘the classics’ in the contemporary global context of changing canons and traditions? The idea of the classic is invested in a particular model of history, one that allows for a perpetual tension between the enduring and the transient, and for the survival of the past in ways that are comprehensible even to a radically different present. This comprehensibility is not immediate or unmediated, but involves acts of translation by successive generations of readers. Classics in translation thus epitomise a peculiar mode of historicity which consists of the co-articulation of the timeless and the historical: each one of these categories both sustains and endangers the other. Such a condition has a political dimension that goes beyond the strict historicization of the classics. The call to translate is an ethical and political project for a post-Babel humanity. It has served as a vital means for constructing traditions that participate in the conflicts of the present, but also as the medium through which cultural works establish a certain solidarity between the struggles, polemics, visions, and experiences of different ages.

This book argues that analyzing emigration, immigration, and re-migration under the framework of contemporaneous migration directs attention to the citizenship formations that interconnect migration sites, shaping the lives of citizens in motion. It departs from conventional approaches that study migration sites in isolation or as snapshots in time. Taking Chinese emigration as the starting point, the analysis becomes deepened by incorporating insights from migrant-receiving countries, namely Canada and Singapore, which are facing new emigration or re-migration trends among their own citizens. By analyzing shifts in migration patterns over time, we also come to understand how China is becoming an immigration country. The arguments offer new insights for researchers studying Chinese migration and diaspora. As an analytical approach, contemporaneous migration contributes to our theorization of citizenship and territory, fraternity and alterity, ethnicity, and the co-constitution of time and space.

From the invention of the phonograph through contemporary sound art, field recording, and experimental film, artists have become attracted to those domains against which music has always defined itself: noise, silence, and environmental sound. Christoph Cox argues that these developments in the sonic arts are not only aesthetically but also philosophically significant, revealing sound to be a continuous material flow to which human expressions contribute but which precede and exceed those expressions. Cox shows how, over the past several centuries, philosophers and artists have explored this “sonic flux” and, in the process, contributed to a rethinking of ontology, temporality, and the relationships between sound and image. Through the philosophical analysis of works by John Cage, Maryanne Amacher, Max Neuhaus, Éliane Radigue, and others, Sonic Flux contributes to the development of a materialist metaphysics and challenges the prevailing positions in cultural theory, proposing a realist and materialist aesthetics able to account not only for sonic art but for artistic production in general.

Friending the Past asks if today's society, increasingly captivated by up-to-the-minute information media, can have a sense of history. What is the relation between past societies whose media forms fostered a communal or self-aware sense of history—for example, storytelling in prehistorical oral societies, or the great print works of historicism in the nineteenth century—and today's "instant" networked information society? How did the sense of history once balance between the feeling for the present and for the absent, the temporal and the social, the individual and the collective, and the static and the dynamic? And how do digital networks now change the balance? Blending the approaches of intellectual history, media studies, and digital humanities, the book proposes novel ways of thinking about the evolving sense of history. Topics include the relation between high-print historicism and social networking; narratives of "new media encounters" between societies; graphically visualized and conceptualized understandings of history; and "network archaeology" as the variant of media archaeology needed to grasp the networked texture of our contemporary feeling for history. At its close, the book asks the question: is there a sense of history in the digital, networked age? The book concludes with an example of what a digitally networked sense of history can be by examining (in a manner poised between "close reading" and "distant reading") the code of one of today's JavaScript "timelines" and comparing it to the experience of temporality encoded in William Wordsworth's poetry during the era of romanticism.

Old Futures traverses the history of imagined futures from the 1890s to the 2010s, interweaving speculative visions of gender, race, and sexuality from literature, film, and digital media. Centering works by women, queers, and people of color that are marginalized within most accounts of the genre, the book offers a new perspective on speculative fiction studies while reframing established theories of queer temporality by arguing that futures imagined in the past offer new ways to queer the present. Imagined futures have been central to the creation and maintenance of imperial domination and technological modernity; Old Futures rewrites the history of the future by gathering together works that counter such narratives even as they are part of them. Lothian explores how queer possibilities are constructed and deconstructed through extrapolative projections and affective engagements with alternative temporalities. The book is structured in three parts, each addressing one convergence of political economy, theoretical framework, and narrative form that has given rise to a formation of speculative futurity. Six main chapters focus on white feminist utopias and dystopias of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries; on Afrofuturist narratives that turn the dehumanization of black lives into feminist and queer visions of transformation; on futuristic landscapes in queer speculative cinema; and on fan creators’ digital interventions into televised futures. Two shorter chapters, named “Wormholes” in homage to the science fiction trope of a time-space distortion that connects distant locations, highlight current resonances of the old futures under discussion.

This book investigates the lives and stories of queer Maghrebi and Maghrebi French men who moved to or grew up in contemporary France. It combines original French language data from my ethnographic fieldwork in France with a wide array of recent narratives and cultural productions including performance art and photography, films, novels, autobiographies, published letters, and other first-person essays to investigate how these queer men living in France and the diaspora stake claims to time and space, construct kinship, and imagine their own future. By closely examining empirical evidence from the lived experiences of these queer Maghrebi French-speakers, this book presents a variety of paths available to these men who articulate and pioneer their own sexual difference within their families of origin and contemporary French society. These sexual minorities of North African origin may explain their homosexuality in terms of a “modern coming out” narrative when living in France. Nevertheless, they are able to negotiate cultural hybridity and flexible language, temporalities, and filiations, that combine elements from a variety of discourses on family, honor, face-saving, the symbolic order of gender differences, gender equality, as well as the western and largely neoliberal constructs of individualism and sexual autonomy.

From the Prime Meridian Conference of 1884 to the celebration of the millennium in 2000; from the fiction of Joseph Conrad and Virginia Woolf to the novels of William Gibson and W.G. Sebald, Reading the Times offers fresh insight into modern narrative. It shows how profoundly the structure and themes of the novel depend on attitudes to the clock and to the sense of history’s progress, tracing their origins in technologic, economic and social change. It offers a new and powerful way of understanding the relations of history with narrative form, outlining their development and demonstrating – through incisive analyses of a very wide range of texts from late C19th to early C21st – their key role in shaping fictional narrative throughout this period. The result is a highly innovative literary history of the twentieth-century fiction, based on an inventive, enabling method of understanding literature in relation to history – in terms, in every sense, of its reading of its times.

Is taste for beauty a quick, momentary experience in the individual mind? Or something durable, shaped by slow, historical processes, affecting groups of people at different times and places? British writers in the eighteenth century believed it is both, and the tension between these temporal poles shaped the meaning of taste in the period and set a course for aesthetics in following centuries. Focusing on writing in many genres—from the poetry of Alexander Pope to the historiography and philosophy of David Hume, from travel writing about Stowe Landscape Garden to essays by Hannah More and Anna Barbauld, and novels by Frances Burney and William Beckford—this book sees the divided temporality of taste, erupting in the moment and contained in habits and predilections, as an unpredictable force in British writing. The eighteenth century was the age of taste. Writers saw its intense effects on individual minds as especially characteristic of the collective present of British modernity. But they also recognized the disturbing tendency of taste’s immediacy and its historical roles to interrupt and foreclose on each other. While noting how taste’s two temporal flavours may be made to agree in the period’s writing to consolidate various national, social, and gendered identities, this book also demonstrates that taste’s dual temporality makes it more disruptive than scholars usually think. As such, taste models a kind of critical practice that this book itself endeavours to inherit: the insistent testing of the moment of discernment and on-going patterns of thinking and feeling against each other.