Translation is stigmatized as a form of writing, discouraged by copyright law, deprecated by the academy, exploited by publishers and corporations, governments and religious organizations.
Lawrence Venuti exposes what he refers to as the 'scandals of translation' by looking at the relationship between translation and those bodies - corporations, governments, religious organizations, publishers - who need the work of the translator yet marginalize it when it threatens their cultural values.
Venuti illustrates his arguments with a wealth of translations from The Bible, the works of Homer, Plato and Wittgenstein, Japanese and West African novels, advertisements and business journalism.
Translation is stigmatized as a form of writing, discouraged by copyright law, deprecated by the academy, exploited by publishers and corporations, governments and religious organizations.
Lawrence Venuti exposes what he refers to as the 'scandals of translation' by looking at the relationship between translation and those bodies - corporations, governments, religious organizations, publishers - who need the work of the translator yet marginalize it when it threatens their cultural values.
Venuti illustrates his arguments with a wealth of translations from The Bible, the works of Homer, Plato and Wittgenstein, Japanese and West African novels, advertisements and business journalism.
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Overview
Translation is stigmatized as a form of writing, discouraged by copyright law, deprecated by the academy, exploited by publishers and corporations, governments and religious organizations.
Lawrence Venuti exposes what he refers to as the 'scandals of translation' by looking at the relationship between translation and those bodies - corporations, governments, religious organizations, publishers - who need the work of the translator yet marginalize it when it threatens their cultural values.
Venuti illustrates his arguments with a wealth of translations from The Bible, the works of Homer, Plato and Wittgenstein, Japanese and West African novels, advertisements and business journalism.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781134740635 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Taylor & Francis |
| Publication date: | 09/11/2002 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 224 |
| File size: | 463 KB |
About the Author
Lawrence Venuti, Professor Emeritus of English at Temple University, USA, is a translation theorist and historian as well as a translator from Italian, French, and Catalan. He is the author of The Translator’s Invisibility (Translation Classics edition, 2018), The Scandals of Translation (1998), and Translation Changes Everything (2013) as well as the editor of Teaching Translation: Programs, Courses, Pedagogies (2017), all published by Routledge.
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Chapter One
HETEROGENEITY
Although the growth of the discipline called "translation studies" has been described as "a success story of the 1980s" (Bassnett and Lefevere 1992: xi), the study of the history and theory of translation remains a backwater in the academy. Among the English-speaking countries, this is perhaps most true of the United States, where only a handful of graduate programs in translator training and translation research have been instituted, and foreign-language departments continue to assign greater priority to the study of literature (literary history, theory, and criticism) than to translating, whether literary or technical (see Park 1993). Yet elsewhere as well, despite the recent proliferation of centers and programs throughout the world (see Caminade and Pym 1995), translation studies can only be described as emergent, not quite a discipline in its own right, more an interdiscipline that straddles a range of fields depending on its particular institutional setting: linguistics, foreign languages, comparative literature, anthropology, among others.
This fragmentation might suggest that translation research is pursued with a great deal of scholarly openness and resistance against rigidly compartmentalized thinking. But it has produced just the opposite effect. Indeed, translation hasn't become an academic success because it is beset by a fragmentary array of theories, methodologies, and pedagogies, which, far from being commensurate, still submit to the institutional compartments of intellectual labor (now adjusted to admit translation). The prevalent approaches can be divided -- loosely but without too much conceptual violence -- into a linguistics-based orientation, aiming to construct an empirical science, and an aesthetics-based orientation that emphasizes the cultural and political values informing translation practice and research (see Baker 1996; cf. Robyns 1994: 424-425).
This theoretical division is reflected, for example, in Routledge's recent publishing in translation studies. In the early 1990s, these books were published in two different areas, each with its own commissioning editor, catalogue, and audience: "linguistics and language studies" and "literary and cultural studies." The potential market seemed so divided that Routledge cut back its translation studies series (whose general editors then left to initiate a similar series with Multilingual Matters Ltd). Currently, Routledge shrewdly aims to counter the fragmentation of the field by assigning the commissioning responsibilities to the linguistics editor, who is pursuing more interdisciplinary projects. Yet this international publisher, at once academic and commercial, remains unique. In English, and no doubt in other languages, translation studies tend to be published by small presses, whether trade or university, for a limited, primarily academic readership, with most sales made to research libraries. Splintered into narrow constituencies by disciplinary boundaries, translation is hardly starting new trends in scholarly publishing or setting agendas in scholarly debate.
This current predicament embarrasses translation studies by suggesting that it is suffering, to some extent, from a self-inflicted marginality. With rare exceptions, scholars have been reluctant to negotiate areas of agreement and to engage more deeply with the cultural, political, and institutional problems posed by translation (for an exception see Hatim and Mason 1997). And so a critical assessment of the competing theoretical orientations, an account of their advances and limitations, seems in order. As a translator and student of translation, I can evaluate them only as an interested party, one who has found cultural studies a most productive approach, but who remains unwilling to abandon the archive and the collection of empirical data (how could studies be cultural without them?). My main interest in the theories lies in their impact on the methodological fragmentation that characterizes translation research and keeps translation in the margins of cultural discourse, both in and out of the academy. The question that most concerns me is whether theorists are capable of bringing translation to the attention of a larger audience -- larger, that is, than the relatively limited ones to which the competing theories seem addressed. This question of audience in fact guides my own theory and practice of translation, which are premised on the irreducible heterogeneity of linguistic and cultural situations. To assess the current state of the discipline, then, and to make intelligible my assessment, I must begin with a manifesto of sorts, a statement of why and how I translate.
Writing a minor literature
As an American translator of literary texts I devise and execute my projects with a distinctive set of theoretical assumptions about language and textuality. Perhaps the most crucial is that language is never simply an instrument of communication employed by an individual according to a system of rules -- even if communication is undoubtedly among the functions that language can perform. Following Deleuze and Guattari (1987), I rather see language as a collective force, an assemblage of forms that constitute a semiotic regime. Circulating among diverse cultural constituencies and social institutions, these forms are positioned hierarchically, with the standard dialect in dominance but subject to constant variation from regional or group dialects, jargons, clichés and slogans, stylistic innovations, nonce words, and the sheer accumulation of previous uses. Any language use is thus a site of power relationships because a language, at any historical moment, is a specific conjuncture of a major form holding sway over minor variables. Lecercle (1990) calls them the "remainder." The linguistic variations released by the remainder do not merely exceed any communicative act, but frustrate any effort to formulate systematic rules. The remainder subverts the major form by revealing it to be socially and historically situated, by staging "the return within language of the contradictions and struggles that make up the social" and by containing as well "the anticipation of future ones" (Lecercle 1990: 182).
A literary text, then, can never simply express the author's intended meaning in a personal style. It rather puts to work collective forms in which the author may indeed have a psychological investment, but which by their very nature depersonalize and destabilize meaning. Although literature can be defined as writing created especially to release the remainder, it is the stylistically innovative text that makes the most striking intervention into a linguistic conjuncture by exposing the contradictory conditions of the standard dialect, the literary canon, the dominant culture, the major language. Because ordinary language is always a multiplicity of past and present forms, a "diachrony-within-synchrony" (Lecercle 1990: 201-208), a text can be no more than "a synchronic unity of structurally contradictory or heterogeneous elements, generic patterns and discourses" (Jameson 1981: 141). Certain literary texts increase this radical heterogeneity by submitting the major language to constant variation, forcing it to become minor, delegitimizing, deterritorializing, alienating it. For Deleuze and Guattari such texts compose a minor literature, whose "authors are foreigners in their own tongue" (1987: 105). In releasing the remainder, a minor literature indicates where the major language is foreign to itself.
It is this evocation of the foreign that attracts me to minor literatures in my translation projects. I prefer to translate foreign texts that possess minority status in their cultures, a marginal position in their native canons -- or that, in translation, can be useful in minoritizing the standard dialect and dominant cultural forms in American English. This preference stems partly from a political agenda that is broadly democratic: an opposition to the global hegemony of English. The economic and political ascendancy of the United States has reduced foreign languages and cultures to minorities in relation to its language and culture. English is the most translated language worldwide, but one of the least translated into (Venuti 1995a: 12-14), a situation that identifies translating as a potential site of variation.
To shake the regime of English, a translator must be strategic both in selecting foreign texts and in developing discourses to translate them. Foreign texts can be chosen to redress patterns of unequal cultural exchange and to restore foreign literatures excluded by the standard dialect, by literary canons, or by ethnic stereotypes in the United States (or in the other major English-speaking country, the United Kingdom). At the same time, translation discourses can be developed to exploit the multiplicity and polychrony of American English, "conquer[ing] the major language in order to delineate in it as yet unknown minor languages" (Deleuze and Guattari 1987: 105). Foreign texts that are stylistically innovative invite the English-language translator to create sociolects striated with various dialects, registers and styles, inventing a collective assemblage that questions the seeming unity of standard English. The aim of minoritizing translation is "never to acquire the majority," never to erect a new standard or to establish a new canon, but rather to promote cultural innovation as well as the understanding of cultural difference by proliferating the variables within English: "the minority is the becoming of everybody" (ibid.: 106, 105).
My preference for minoritizing translation also issues from an ethical stance that recognizes the asymmetrical relations in any translation project. Translating can never simply be communication between equals because it is fundamentally ethnocentric. Most literary projects are initiated in the domestic culture, where a foreign text is selected to satisfy different tastes from those that motivated its composition and reception in its native culture. And the very function of translating is assimilation, the inscription of a foreign text with domestic intelligibilities and interests. I follow Berman (1992: 4-5; cf. his revision in 1995: 93-94) in suspecting any literary translation that mystifies this inevitable domestication as an untroubled communicative act. Good translation is demystifying: it manifests in its own language the foreignness of the foreign text (Berman 1985: 89).
This manifestation can occur through the selection of a text whose form and theme deviate from domestic literary canons. But its most decisive occurrence depends on introducing variations that alienate the domestic language and, since they are domestic, reveal the translation to be in fact a translation, distinct from the text it replaces. Good translation is minoritizing: it releases the remainder by cultivating a heterogeneous discourse, opening up the standard dialect and literary canons to what is foreign to themselves, to the substandard and the marginal. This does not mean conceiving of a minor language as merely a dialect, which might wind up regionalizing or ghettoizing the foreign text, identifying it too narrowly with a specific cultural constituency -- even though certain foreign texts and domestic conjunctures might well call for a narrow social focus (e.g. Québec during the 1960s and 1970s, when canonical European drama was translated into joual, the working-class dialect, to create a national Québecois theater: see Brisset 1990). The point is rather to use a number of minority elements whereby "one invents a specific, unforeseen, autonomous becoming" (Deleuze and Guattari 1987: 106). This translation ethics does not so much prevent the assimilation of the foreign text as aim to signify the autonomous existence of that text behind (yet by means of) the assimilative process of the translation.
Insofar as minoritizing translation relies on discursive hetereogeneity, it pursues an experimentalism that would seem to narrow its audience and contradict the democratic agenda I have sketched. Experimental form demands a high aesthetic mode of appreciation, the critical detachment and educated competence associated with the cultural elite, whereas the communicative function of language is emphasized by the popular aesthetic, which demands that literary form be not only immediately intelligible, needing no special cultural expertise, but also transparent, sufficiently realistic to invite vicarious participation (Bourdieu 1984: 4-5, 32-33; cf. Cawelti 1976, Radway 1984, Dudovitz 1990).
Yet translation that takes a popular approach to the foreign text isn't necessarily democratic. The popular aesthetic requires fluent translations that produce the illusory effect of transparency, and this means adhering to the current standard dialect while avoiding any dialect, register, or style that calls attention to words as words and therefore preempts the reader's identification. As a result, fluent translation may enable a foreign text to engage a mass readership, even a text from an excluded foreign literature, and thereby initiate a significant canon reformation. But such a translation simultaneously reinforces the major language and its many other linguistic and cultural exclusions while masking the inscription of domestic values. Fluency is assimilationist, presenting to domestic readers a realistic representation inflected with their own codes and ideologies as if it were an immediate encounter with a foreign text and culture.
The heterogeneous discourse of minoritizing translation resists this assimilationist ethic by signifying the linguistic and cultural differences of the text -- within the major language. The heterogeneity needn't be so alienating as to frustrate a popular approach completely; if the remainder is released at significant points in a translation that is generally readable, the reader's participation will be disrupted only momentarily. Moreover, a strategic use of minority elements can remain intelligible to a wide range of readers and so increase the possibility that the translation will cross the boundaries between cultural constituencies, even if it comes to signify different meanings in different groups. A minoritizing translator can draw on the conventionalized language of popular culture, "the patter of comedians, of radio announcers, of disc jockeys" (Lecercle 1988: 37), to render a foreign text that might be regarded as elite literature in a seamlessly fluent translation. This strategy would address both popular and elite readerships by defamiliarizing the domestic mass media as well as the domestic canon for the foreign literature. Minoritizing translation can thus be considered an intervention into the contemporary public sphere, in which electronic forms of communication driven by economic interest have fragmented cultural consumption and debate. If "the public is split apart into minorities of specialists who put their reason to use non-publicly and the great mass of consumers whose receptiveness is public but uncritical" (Habermas 1989: 175), then translating should seek to invent a minor language that cuts across cultural divisions and hierarchies. The goal is ultimately to alter reading patterns, compelling a not unpleasurable recognition of translation among constituencies who, while possessing different cultural values, nonetheless share a long-standing unwillingness to recognize it.
A minoritizing project
I was able to explore and test these theoretical assumptions in recent translations involving the nineteenth-century Italian writer I.U. Tarchetti (1839-69). From the start the attraction was his minority status, both in his own time and now. A member of a Milanese bohemian subculture called the "scapigliatura" (from "scapigliato," meaning "dishevelled"), Tarchetti sought to unsettle the standard Tuscan dialect by using it to write in marginal literary genres: whereas the dominant fictional discourse in Italy was the sentimental realism of Alessandro Manzoni's historical novel, I promessi sposi (The Betrothed), Tarchetti favored the Gothic tale and the experimental realism of French novelists like Flaubert and Zola (Venuti 1995a: 160-161). The Italian standards against which Tarchetti revolted were not just linguistic and literary, but moral and political as well: whereas Manzoni posited a Christian providentialism, recommending conjugal love and resigned submission before the status quo, Tarchetti aimed to shock the Italian bourgeoisie, rejecting good sense and decency to explore dream and insanity, violence and aberrant sexuality, flouting social convention and imagining fantastic worlds where social inequity was exposed and challenged. He was admired by his contemporaries and, amid the cultural nationalism that characterized newly unified Italy, was soon admitted to the canon of the national literature. Yet even if canonical he has remained a minor figure: he receives abbreviated, sometimes dismissive treatment in the standard manuals of literary history, and his work fails to resurface in the most provocative debates in Italian writing today.
A translation project involving Tarchetti, I realized, would have a minoritizing impact in English. His writing was capable of unsettling reigning domestic values by moving between cultural constituencies. In Fantastic Tales (1992) I chose to translate a selection of his work in the Gothic, a genre that has both elite and popular traditions. Initially a middlebrow literature in Britain (Ann Radcliffe), the Gothic was adopted by many canonical writers (E.T.A. Hoffmann, Edgar Allan Poe, Théophile Gautier) and has since undergone various revivals, some satisfying a highbrow interest in formal refinement (Eudora Welty, Patrick McGrath), others offering the popular pleasure of sympathetic identification (Anne Rice, Stephen King). Importing Tarchetti would cast these traditions and trends in a new light. It would also challenge the canon of nineteenth-century Italian fiction in English, long dominated by Manzoni and Giuseppe Verga, the two major realists. Although Italy is a recurrent motif in the Gothic, Fantastic Tales was the first appearance in English of the first Gothic writer in Italian.
Tarchetti wrote other texts that were equally flexible in their potential appeal. Under the title Passion (1994) I translated his novel Fosca, which mixes romantic melodrama with realism in an experiment variously suggestive of Madame Bovary and Thérèse Raquin. In English Fosca promised to straddle readerships as a rediscovered classic and as a historical romance, a foreign wrinkle on the bodice ripper. Yet as I was translating the Italian text I also learned that Tarchetti's novel had metamorphosed into a "tie-in," the source of an adaptation in a popular form: Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine's Broadway musical Passion (1994). Suddenly, a canonical Italian text, which in English might be expected to interest mainly an elite audience, was destined to have a much wider circulation.
What especially attracted me to Tarchetti's writing was its impact on the very act of translating: it invited the development of a translation discourse that submitted the standard dialect of English to continual variation. From the beginning I determined that archaism would be useful in indicating the temporal remoteness of the Italian texts, their emergence in a different cultural situation at a different historical moment. Yet any archaism had of course to be drawn from the history of English, had to signify in a current English-language situation, and would therefore release a distinctive literary remainder. With Fantastic Tales I assimilated the Italian texts to the Gothic tradition in British and American literature, modeling my syntax and lexicon on the prose of such writers as Mary Shelley and Poe, ransacking their works for words and phrases that might be incorporated in the translation. This is not to say that accuracy was sacrificed for readability and literary effect, but that insofar as any translating produces a domestic remainder, adding effects that work only in the domestic language and literature, I made an effort to focus them on a specific genre in English literary history. In minoritizing translation, the choice of strategies depends on the period, genre, and style of the foreign text in relation to the domestic literature and the domestic readerships for which the translation is written (cf. the translation ethic of "respect" in Berman 1995: 92-94).
My version in fact follows the Italian quite closely, often resorting to calque renderings to secure a suitably archaic form of English. This excerpt from Tarchetti's tale, "Un osso di morto" ("A Dead Man's Bone"), is typical:
Nel 1855, domiciliatomi a Pavia, m'era allo studio del disegno inuna scuola privata di quella città; e dopo alcuni mesi di soggiorno aveva stretto relazione con certo Federico M. che era professore di patologia e di clinica per l'insegnamento universitario, e che morì di apoplessia fulminante pochi mesi dopo che lo aveva conosciuto. Era un uomo amantissimo delle scienze, della sua in particolare -- aveva virtù e doti di mente non comuni -- senonché come tutti gli anatomisti ed i clinici in genere, era scettico profondamente e inguaribilmente -- lo era per convinzione, né io potei mai indurlo alle mie credenze, per quanto mi vi adoprassi nelle discussioni appassionate e calorose che avevamo ogni giorno a questo riguardo.
(Tarchetti 1977: 65)
In 1855, having taken up residence at Pavia, I devoted myself to the study of drawing at a private school in that city; and several months into my sojourn, I developed a close friendship with a certain Federico M., a professor of pathology and clinical medicine who taught at the university and died of severe apoplexy a few months after I became acquainted with him. He was very fond of the sciences and of his own in particular -- he was gifted with extraordinary mental powers -- except that, like all anatomists and doctors generally, he was profoundly and incurably skeptical. He was so by conviction, nor could I ever induce him to accept my beliefs, no matter how much I endeavored in the impassioned, heated discussions we had every day on this point.
(Venuti 1992: 79)
The archaism in the English passage is partly a result of its close adherence to the Italian, to Tarchetti's suspended sentence construction and his period diction ("soggiorno," "apoplessia," "indurlo" are calqued: "sojourn," "apoplexy," "induce him"). In other cases, when a choice presented itself I took the archaism over current usage: for "né io potei mai," I used the inverted construction "nor could I ever" instead of the more fluent "and I could never"; for "per quanto mi vi adoprassi," I preferred the slightly antique formality of "no matter how much I endeavored" instead of a modern colloquialism, "no matter how hard I tried."
The translation discourse of Fantastic Tales deviates noticeably from current standard English, yet not so much as to be incomprehensible to most contemporary readers. This was evident in the reception. I tried to shape readers' responses in an introductory essay that alerted them to the minoritizing strategy. The reviews made clear, however, that the archaism also registered in the reading experience, and not only by situating Tarchetti's tales in the remote past, but by implicitly comparing them to English-language Gothic and thus establishing their uniqueness. Most importantly, the archaism called attention to the translation as a translation without unpleasurably disrupting the reading experience. The Village Voice noticed the "atmospheric wording of the translations" (Shulman 1992), while The New Yorker remarked that the "translation distills a gothic style never heard before, a mixture of Northern shadows and Southern shimmer" (1992: 119).
Such reviews suggest that the formal experiment in the translation was most keenly appreciated by the cultural elite, readers with a literary education, if not academics with a specialist's interest. Yet Fantastic Tales also appealed to other constituencies, including fans of horror writing who are widely read in the Gothic tradition. A reviewer for the popular Gothic magazine, Necrofile, concluded that the book "is not so very esoteric that it has nothing to offer the casual reader," adding that "the connoisseur will undoubtedly be grateful for `Bouvard' and `The Fated,'" two tales that he felt distinguished Tarchetti as a "contributor to the rich tradition of nineteenth-century fantasy" (Stableford 1993: 6).
Tarchetti's Fosca encouraged a more heterogeneous translation discourse because he pushed his peculiar romanticism to an alienating extreme, making the novel at once serious and parodic, participatory and subversive. The plot hinges on a triangle of erotic intrigue: the narrator Giorgio, a military officer engaged in an adulterous affair with the robust Clara, develops a pathological obsession with his commander's cousin, the repulsively emaciated Fosca, a hysteric who falls desperately in love with him. The themes of illicit love, disease, female beauty and ugliness, the pairing of the bourgeois ideal of domesticated femininity with the vampire-like femme fatale -- these familiar conventions of the romantic macabre again prompted me to assimilate the Italian text to nineteenth-century British literature, and I fashioned an English style from related novels like Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights (1847) and Bram Stoker's Dracula (1897). Yet to match the emotional extravagance of Tarchetti's novel, I made the strain of archaism more extensive and denser, still comprehensible to a wide spectrum of contemporary American readers yet undoubtedly enhancing the strangeness of the translation. The theoretical point here is that the strategies developed in minoritizing translation depend fundamentally on the translator's interpretation of the foreign text. And this interpretation always looks in two directions, since it is both attuned to the specifically literary qualities of that text and constrained by an assessment of the domestic readerships the translator hopes to reach, a sense of their expectations and knowledge (of linguistic forms, literary traditions, cultural references).
I imagined my readership as primarily American, so the effect of strangeness could also be obtained through Britishisms. I used British spellings ("demeanour," "enamoured," "apologised," "offence," "ensure"), even a British pronunciation: "a herb" instead of the American "an herb," a choice that provoked an exasperated query from the publisher's copyeditor, "What can you mean by this?" (Venuti 1994: 33, 95, 108, 157, 188, 22). Some archaisms resulted from calque renderings: "in tal guisa" became "in such guise"; "voler far le beffe della mia sconfitta," which in modern English might be translated as "wanting to make fun of my defeat," became "wanting to jest at my discomfiture"; "addio" became "adieu" instead of "goodbye"; and where Tarchetti's Rousseau-influenced thinking led him to write "amor proprio," I reverted to the French: "amour propre" (Tarchetti 1971: 140, 151, 148, 60; Venuti 1994: 146, 157, 154, 60). I adopted syntactical inversions characteristic of nineteenth-century English: "Mi basta di segnare qui alcune epoche" ("It was enough for me to note down a few periods [of my life] here") became "Suffice it for me to record a few episodes" (Tarchetti 1971: 122; Venuti 1994: 128). And I seized every opportunity to insert an antique word or phrase: "abbandonato" ("abandoned") became "forsaken"; "da cui" ("from which") became "whence"; "dirò quasi" ("I should almost say") became "I daresay"; "fingere" ("deceive") became "dissemble"; "fu indarno" ("it was useless") became "my efforts were unavailing," a sentence lifted directly from Stoker's Dracula (Tarchetti 1971: 31, 90, 108, 134; Venuti 1994: 31, 92, 109, 140).
The more excessive archaism worked to historicize the translation, signaling the nineteenth-century origins of the Italian text. Yet to indicate the element of near-parody in Tarchetti's romanticism, I increased the heterogeneity of the translation discourse by mixing more recent usages, both standard and colloquial, some distinctly American. Occasionally, the various lexicons appeared in the same sentence. I translated "Egli non è altro che un barattiere, un cavaliere d'industria, una cattivo soggetto" ("He is nothing more than a swindler, an adventurer, a bad person") as "He is nothing but an embezzler, a con artist, a scapegrace," combining a modern American colloquialism ("con artist") with a British archaism ("scapegrace") that was used in novels by Sir Walter Scott, William Thackeray, George Meredith (Tarchetti 1971: 106; Venuti 1994: 110; OED). This technique immerses the reader in a world that is noticeably distant in time, but nonetheless affecting in contemporary terms -- and without losing the awareness that the prose is over the top.
(Continues…)
Table of Contents
Introduction 1. Heterogeneity 2. Authorship 3. Copyright 4. The Formation of Cultural Identites 5. The Pedagogy of Literature 6. Philosophy 7. The Bestseller 8. Globalization Bibliography. Index.