The Problem with Pleasure: Modernism and its Discontents

12. Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own, ed. Mark Hussey (New York: Mariner Books, 2005), 18. Similarly, when a writer such as Hemingway takes refuge in simple pleasures—“We ate well and cheaply and drank well and cheaply and slept well and warm together and loved each other”—his characters cling to these physical and emotional needs in the face of cultural crisis, particularly after the war. A Moveable Feast: The Restored Edition, ed. Seán Hemingway (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2009), 43.

13. For an unreservedly hedonic meal, by contrast, see Audre Lorde’s description of the buffet in Zami, with its sculpturally vulval roast beef. Zami: A New Spelling of My Name (Freedom, CA: The Crossing Press, 1982), 242.

14. James Joyce, Ulysses, ed. Hans Walter Gabler (New York: Vintage, 1986), 4:3–5. All subsequent references are to this edition.

15. Richard Poirier, “The Difficulties of Modernism and the Modernism of Difficulty,” in Critical Essays on American Modernism, ed. Michael J. Hoffman and Patrick D. Murphy (New York: Hall, 1992), 105.

16. Terry Eagleton, Literary Theory: An Introduction (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 25. See also Gerald Graff’s Professing Literature: An Institutional History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989).

17. Jeremy Bentham, An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation, in Utilitarianism and Other Essays, ed. Alan Ryder (New York and London: Penguin, 1987), 65.

18. For overviews of the psychology and neurobiology of pleasure, see Paul Bloom’s How Pleasure Works: The New Science of Why We Like What We Like (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010) and Morten Kringlebach’s The Pleasure Center: Trust Your Animal Instincts (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008).

19. Frank Kermode, Pleasure and Change: The Aesthetics of Canon, ed. Robert Alter (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 58.

20. James Olds and Peter Milner, “Positive Reinforcement Produced by Electrical Stimulation of the Septal Area and Other Regions of Rat Brain,” Journal of Comparative and Physiological Psychology 47 (1954): 419–427.

21. Diogenes Laertius, Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers, tr. R. D. Hicks (Cambridge: Loeb Classical Library, 1925).

22. Plato, Philebus, tr. Robin H. Waterfield (New York and London: Penguin Classics, 1983), 5.

23. Aristotle was more willing to acknowledge physical pleasure than Plato was, but he introduces a more complex classification scheme that includes features such as “softness” and “incontinence.” For example, in The Nicomachean Ethics: “The lover of amusement … is thought to be self-indulgent, but is really soft. For amusement is a relaxation, since it is a rest from work; and the lover of amusement is one of the people who go to excess in this”: self-indulgence is worse than incontinence. Aristotle, The Nicomachean Ethics, tr. David Ross and Lesley Brown (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 131.

24. Thomas Carlyle, Latter-Day Pamphlets (London: Chapman and Hall, 1870), 379–381.

25. Jeremy Bentham, The Rationale of Reward, in The Classical Utilitarians: Bentham and Mill, ed. John Troyer (Indianapolis: Hackett, 2003), 94.

26. John Stuart Mill, Utilitarianism and Other Essays, ed. Alan Ryder (New York and London: Penguin, 1987), 281.

27. Immanuel Kant, Critique of Judgment, tr. James Creed Meredith (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991).

28. Adorno, Aesthetic Theory, 14.

29. Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, tr. Richard Nice (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1987), 491.

30. G. E. Moore, Principia Ethica (New York: Barnes and Noble, 2005), 89. In chapter III, Moore mulls over the different theories of Hedonism offered by Aristippus, Epicurus, Bentham, Mill, Herbert Spencer, and Henry Sidgwick. Moore concludes that “the hedonistic principle, ‘Pleasure alone is good as an end,’” is not consistent with views such as Mill’s that “one pleasure may be of a better quality than another. We must choose between them: and if we choose the latter, then we must give up the principle of Hedonism” (83). See also Michael Levenson, A Genealogy of Modernism: A Study of English Doctrine 1908-1922 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 92.

31. Roger Fry quoted in Ann Banfield, The Phantom Table: Woolf, Fry, Russell and the Epistemology of Modernism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 364.

32. Quoted in Banfield, The Phantom Table, 262.

33. “Epilogue,” tr. Arthur Symons, Baudelaire, His Prose and Poetry, ed. T. R. Smith (New York: Boni and Liveright, 1919), 58.

34. Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray, ed. Joseph Bristow (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 67.

35. Roland Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text, tr. Richard Howard (New York: Hill and Wang, 1975), 34.

36. Frederic Jameson, “Pleasure: A Political Issue,” in Formations of Pleasure, ed. Frederic Jameson, Tony Bennett, et al. (London and Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1983), 1.

37. Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text, 57.

38. Peter Brooks’s narratological theory of “textual erotics,” for example, is largely focused on readerly desire rather than pleasure. Reading for the Plot: Design and Intention in Narrative (New York: Vintage, 1984), 37. Jonathan Culler too describes “the pleasure of narrative” as the function of desire. Literary Theory (New York: Sterling, 1997), 92. Tonya Krouse defines pleasure as “the opposite of desire” (3) and proposes that modernist novels “use representations of sex and sexuality as focal points of tension in narrative, and as such, the scene of sex operates as a locus for modernist aesthetics” (The Opposite of Desire: Sex and Pleasure in the Modernist Novel [Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2009], 3). This seems right, although I will argue that modernists construe a wider field of sensual phenomena, including but not limited to sexuality, as the basis of their argument about pleasure.

39. See, for example, Enjoy Your Symptom! Jacques Lacan in Hollywood and Out (New York and London: Routledge, 2001).

40. Gilles Deleuze, “Desire and Pleasure,” in Two Regimes of Madness: Texts and Interviews 1975–1995, tr. David Lapoujade (New York: Semiotext[e], 2006), 130-131.

41. Jacques Lacan, Feminine Sexuality: Jacques Lacan and the école freudienne, ed. Juliet Mitchell, tr. Jacqueline Rose (New York: Norton, 1985), 147, 146.

42. Huyssen, After the Great Divide, 221.

43. Robert Scholes, The Paradoxy of Modernism (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2006), xii.

44. Hansen writes, “I am referring to this kind of modernism as ‘vernacular’ (and avoiding the ideologically overdetermined term ‘popular’) because the term vernacular combines the dimension of the quotidian, of everyday usage, with connotations of discourse, idiom, and dialect, with circulation, promiscuity, and translatability.” “The Mass Production of the Senses: Classical Cinema as Vernacular Modernism,” Modernism/Modernity 6, no. 2 (April 1999): 59–77.

45. See, for example, David Chinitz’s T. S. Eliot and the Cultural Divide (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005); James Naremore and Patrick Brantlinger’s Modernity and Mass Culture (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991); Maria Di Battista and Lucy McDiarmid’s High and Low Moderns (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996); Michael North’s Around 1922: A Return to the Scene of the Modern (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); Barry J. Faulk’s “Modernism and the Popular: Eliot’s Music Halls,” Modernism/Modernity 8 (2001): 603–621; Jennifer Wicke’s Advertising Fictions: Literature, Advertisement, and Social Reading (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988) and “Joyce and Consumer Culture,” in Cambridge Companion to James Joyce, ed. Derek Attridge (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004); Allison Pease’s Modernism, Mass Culture, and the Aesthetics of Obscenity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000); and Karen Leick’s “Popular Modernism,” PLMA 123, no. 1 (January 2008): 125–139.

46. Q. D. Leavis, Fiction and the Reading Public (London: Pimlico, 2000), 3, 134, 221, 225.

47. Max Horkheimer and Theodor W. Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, tr. John Cumming (London: Verso, 1997), 137.

48. D. H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley’s Lover, ed. Michael Squires (London: Penguin, 1994), 259, 256.

49. Aldous Huxley, Brave New World (New York: Perennial/HarperCollins, 2006), 221.

50. Selected Prose of T. S. Eliot, ed. Frank Kermode (New York: Harvest Books, 1975), 103.

51. Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra in The Portable Nietzsche, tr. Walter Kaufman (New York: Penguin, 1982), 208.

52. C. E. M. Joad, Diogenes or the Future of Leisure (London: K. Paul, Trench, Trubne; New York: E. P. Dutton, 1928), 9, 25, 98–99. See also Henry Durant’s The Problem of Leisure (London: George Routledge & Sons, 1938).

53. Henry Thomas Moore, Pain and Pleasure (New York: Moffat, Yard and Company, 1917), 63.

54. Aldous Huxley, Complete Essays, vol. 1, ed. Robert S. Baker and James Sexton (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 2000), 355–356.

55. “Wanted, a New Pleasure,” Aldous Huxley: Complete Essays, Vol. 3, 1930–1935, ed. Robert S. Baker and James Sexton (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 2001), 264. Enda Duffy takes up this claim as the premise of The Speed Handbook: Velocity, Pleasure, Modernism (Durham: Duke University Press, 2009).

56. Q. D. Leavis, Fiction and the Reading Public, 165, 19.

57. Horkheimer and Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment, 140.

58. George Orwell, The Collected Essays, Journalism, and Letters of George Orwell, vol. 4, In Front of Your Nose, 1945–1950 (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 2000), 81.

59. George Steiner’s taxonomy includes contingent, modal, tactical, and ontological difficulty. On Difficulty and Other Essays (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978). See also John Guillory, Cultural Capital and the Problem of Literary Canon Formation (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993).

60. See also Cleanth Brooks’s comment that “The modern poet has, for better or worse, thrown the weight of the responsibility upon the reader. The reader must be on the alert for shifts of tone, for ironic statement, for suggestion rather than direct statement. He must be prepared to accept a mode of indirection.” The Well Wrought Urn: Studies in the Structure of Poetry (New York: Harcourt, 1970), 76.

61. T. S. Eliot, “The Metaphysical Poets,” Selected Prose of T. S. Eliot, 65.

62. Dorothy Richardson, Journey to Paradise: Short Stories and Autobiographical Sketches of Dorothy Richardson, ed. Trudi Tate (London: Virago, 1989), 139.

63. Quoted in Richard Ellmann, James Joyce (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1959), 703; James Joyce, Finnegans Wake (New York and London: Penguin, 1999), 120.

64. Leonard Diepeveen, The Difficulties of Modernism (New York: Routledge, 2002), 150.

65. George Orwell, Keep the Aspidistra Flying (New York: Harvest, 1956), 239, 34. Gordon’s poem strives, as Orwell wrote in “Inside the Whale” of poems such as Sweeney Agonistes, to “achieve the difficult feat of making modern life out to be worse than it is.” Collected Essays, vol. 1, 493–526: 507.

66. Graham Greene, Brighton Rock (New York: Vintage, 2004), 184.

67. George Orwell, “Good Bad Books,” in The Collected Essays, Journalism and Letters of George Orwell, vol. 4, ed. Sonia Orwell and Ian Angus (London: Penguin, 1968), 37–41.

68. Huyssen notes that, “The autonomy of the modernist art work, after all, is always the result of a resistance, an abstention, and a suppression—resistance to the seductive lure of mass culture, abstention from the pleasure of trying to please a larger audience, suppression of everything that might be threatening to the rigorous demands of being modern and at the edge of time” (After the Great Divide, 55).

69. Clement Greenberg, “Avant-Garde and Kitsch, Partisan Review 6, no. 5 (1939): 34–49. Robert Boyers extends Trilling’s argument to the realm of modern art, and how it was thought to “affor[d] pleasure by virtue of its affirming difficulty and a permanent state of tension.” “Pleasure Revisited,” Raritan 30, no. 1 (Summer 2010): 118–132.

70. Langer qtd. in Pierre Bourdieu’s Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste. Tr. Richard Nice (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984), 505.

71. Frank Kermode, introduction to Eliot, The Waste Land and Other Poems (New York and London: Penguin, 1998), xi, xiii. Kermode returned to this formulation in his 2001 Berkeley Tanner Lectures. Pleasure and Change, 58.

72. C. J. Hubback translates “Unlust” as “pain” (with inverted commas) and “Schmerz” as pain, with no commas. Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle (London, Vienna: International Psycho-analytical Press, 1922). Strachey translates “Unlust” as “Unpleasure” and “Schmerz” as “pain.” Beyond the Pleasure Principle, tr. James Strachey, ed. Peter Gay (New York and London: Norton, 1989).

73. Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle, 4.

74. Leo Bersani, The Freudian Body: Psychoanalysis and Art (New York: Columbia University Press, 1986), 38-39.

75. Laura Mulvey, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” Screen 16, no. 3 (Autumn 1975): 6–18.

76. Sianne Ngai, Ugly Feelings (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005), and Lauren Berlant, The Female Complaint: The Unfinished Business of Sentimentality in American Culture (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2008).

77. The Collected Stories of Katherine Mansfield (Hertfordshire, England: Wordsworth Editions, 2006), 69.

78. Wolfgang Iser, The Act of Reading: A Theory of Aesthetic Response (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978).

79. Walter Benjamin, “On Some Motifs in Baudelaire,” trans. Harry Zohn, in Illuminations: Essays and Reflections (New York: Schocken, 1968), 175.

80. “Surgery for the Novel—or a Bomb” (1923), in Phoenix: The Posthumous Papers of D. H. Lawrence, ed. Edward David McDonald (London and New York: Penguin, 1936), 517.

81. French modernism, for example, is generally different from contemporaneous British modernism in its approach to pleasure and is more connected to traditions of decadence. Many modernist American poets seem to be less conflicted about pleasure than British prose writers of the same period, for whom Americanness is itself shorthand for suspect pleasures. Wallace Stevens, for example, looks for a way to reconcile the concrete and sensual (“the greatest poverty / is not to live in a physical world, to feel that one’s desire / Is too difficult to tell from despair”) with abstraction and difficulty. Art, he specifies, “Must Give Pleasure,” even as it is demanding. The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens (New York: Vintage, 1990), 325.

82. See Deborah McDowell on how the history of slavery in America created myths about “black women’s libidinousness” that some later writers countered with “caution and reticence about black female sexuality” as an effort to emphasize racial “uplift” and social purity. Introduction to Nella Larsen, Quicksand and Passing (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1986), xii.

83. Joyce, Finnegans Wake, 219.

1. T. S. Eliot, T. S. Eliot: The Collected Poems, 1909–1962 (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1991), 5.

2. James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, ed. Chester G. Anderson (New York: Penguin, 1977), 86.

3. See, for example, Judith Brown’s Glamour in Six Dimensions: Modernism and the Radiance of Form (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2009) and Mary E. Davis, Classic Chic: Music, Fashion, and Modernism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008).

4. Jennifer Wicke, “Joyce and Consumer Culture,” in The Cambridge Companion to James Joyce, ed. Derek Attridge (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 234–253.

5. Jacques Derrida observes that Leopold Bloom thinks so much about perfume in Ulysses that he (Derrida) might have written “a treatise on perfumes—that is, on the pharmakon—and I could have called it On the Perfumative in Ulysses.” “Ulysses Gramophone: Here Say Yes in Joyce” in Acts of Literature, ed. Derek Attridge (New York: Routledge, 1991), 253–309. Bernard Benstock offers a catalog of odors in Joyce’s texts in “Olfactory Factor,” in Joycean Occasions: Essays from the Milwaukee James Joyce Conference, ed. Janet Egleson Dunleavy, Melvin J. Friedman, and Michael Patrick Gilles (Cranbury, NJ: Associated University Presses, 1991), 152.

6. Roland Barthes by Roland Barthes, tr. Richard Howard (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 135.

7. James Joyce, Selected Letters of James Joyce, ed. Richard Ellmann (New York: Viking, 1975), 359.

8. Jennifer Wicke, “Joyce and Consumer Culture,” in Cambridge Companion to James Joyce, ed. Derek Attridge (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 247.

9. Plato’s Timaeus is a major source for this classification scheme. See Carolyn Korsmeyer on how “the conventional ranking of two of the five senses as superior … accords with the elevation of mind over body; of reason over sense; of man over beast and culture over nature. It also lines up with another ranked pair of concepts … the elevation of male over female and with ‘masculine’ traits over those designated ‘feminine.’” Making Sense of Taste: Food and Philosophy (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1999), 30. It should be noted, however, that Plato places smell in the middle of the sense hierarchy in Republic and the Philebus.

10. Korsmeyer, Making Sense of Taste, 24. For Havelock Ellis, smell “remains close to touch in the vagueness of its messages,” and “the difficulty of classifying” and “controlling” such olfactory messages makes it impossible “as to found upon them any art.” Studies in the Psychology of Sex, vol. 1, part 3 (New York: Random House, 1942), 52.

11. Condillac quoted in Constance Classen, David Howes, and Anthony Synnot, eds., Aroma: The Cultural History of Smell (New York and London: Routledge, 1994), 89.

12. Immanuel Kant, Anthropology from a Pragmatic Point of View, tr. Robert B. Louden (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 50–51.

13. Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex, ed. James Moore and Adrian Desmond (New York and London: Penguin Classics, 2004).

14. See chapter IV in Freud’s Civilization and Its Discontents, tr. James Strachey (New York: Norton, 2005).

15. Sigmund Freud, Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality, tr. James Strachey (New York: Basic Books, 1996), 51.

16. This association continued into the twentieth century, including Patrick Süskind’s murderer-genius in Perfume: The Story of a Murderer (tr. John E. Woods [New York: Random House, 1985]) and Nabokov’s Humbert Humbert, who notes that he once worked in the perfume business and has “such wonderful taste in textures and perfumes” (The Annotated Lolita, ed. Alfred Appel, Jr. [New York: Vintage, 1970], 50).

17. Havelock Ellis, Studies in the Psychology of Sex, vol. 1, part 3, 82. Ivan Bloch also argues that “Like taste, to which it is closely allied, smell is an affective sense, which means that, necessarily, it is imbued with an obscurity of ideas. For logical thought to rely exclusively upon the presentation of smell or taste would be impossible.” Odoratus Sexualis: A Scientific and Literary Study of Sexual Scents and Erotic Perfumes (New York: American Anthropological Society, 1933), 12.

18. Ellis, Studies in the Psychology of Sex, vol. 1, part 3, 55.

19. Piet Vroon, Smell: The Secret Seducer, tr. Paul Vincent (New York: Farrar, Straus, & Giroux, 1997), 13.

20. Aristippus is said to have steeped himself in perfumes; in Xenophon’s Symposium (chapter 2) Socrates casts doubt on the nobility of perfuming oneself. Xenophon: Memorabilia. Oeconomicus. Symposium. Apologia, tr. O. J. Todd (Cambridge: Loeb Classical Library, 1923).

21. See Classen, Howes, and Synnot, Aroma, chapter 2, “Following the Scent: From Middle Ages to Modernity.”

22. Richard Stamelman. Perfume: A Cultural History of Fragrance from 1750 to the Present (New York: Rizzoli, 2006), 97.

23. Luca Turin quoted in Chandler Burr, The Emperor of Scent: A True Story of Perfume and Obsession (New York: Random House, 2004), 206. See also Mary E. Davis on how Chanel No. 5’s “mix of over eighty synthetic aldehydes” produced “a smell so fresh and unusual that some contemporary critics resorted to describing it in terms customarily associated with avant-garde visual art, calling it ‘abstract’” (Classic Chic, 164).

24. Lilian Pizzichini, The Blue Hour: A Life of Jean Rhys (New York: Norton, 2009), 1. http://www.guerlain.com/int/en/base.html#/en/home-parfum/catalogue-parfums/women-fragrances/parfums-femme-lheurebleue/.

25. The class implications of the invention of synthetics are complicated. On the one hand, artificial substitutes brought the price of perfume down so that it was accessible to more people. According to Mandy Aftel, synthetics were “the decisive factor in making perfume an affordable luxury for the masses” (Essence and Alchemy: A Natural History of Perfume [Layton, UT: Gibbs Smith, 2004], 6). On the other hand, some of the abstract and complex synthetic effects were of limited appeal. “Until World War I,” Richard Stamelman asserts, “only a sophisticated elite was ready to accept synthetic scents. Only later, when perfumes began to vaunt the ‘art’ of their chemistry and flaunt their originality as creations ‘beyond nature,’ did they successfully project a seductive allure” (97). Synthetics, like other forms of artistic modernism, were an acquired taste.

26. See Chandler Burr’s “Meow Mix,” New York Times, October 21, 2007.

27. Classen, Howes, and Synnot, Aroma, 82–87.

28. Alain Corbin, The Foul and the Fragrant: Odor and the French Social Imagination, tr. Miriam Kochan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1988), 185.

29. Luca Turin, The Secret of Scent: Adventures in Perfume and the Science of Smell (New York: Ecco, 2006), 22.

30. Mary Douglas, Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (London: Routledge, 2003).

31. See Julia Kristeva, “Baudelaire, or Infinity, Perfume, and Punk,” in Tales of Love, tr. Leon S. Roudiez (New York: Columbia University Press, 1989).

32. Against the Grain/À Rebours, tr. John Howard (New York: Albert and Charles Boni, 1930), 170, 163.

33. Des Esseintes aims for perfumes that are not mimetic: “The artist who dared to borrow nature’s elements would only produce a bastard work which would have neither authenticity nor style, insasmuch as the essence obtained by the distillation of flowers would bear but a distant and vulgar relation to the odor of the living flower, wafting its fragrance into the air” (À Rebours, 169).

34. Augustin Galopin, Le parfum de la femme et le sens olfactif dans l’amour (Paris: E. Dentu, 1886).

35. One of Bayley’s more exotic scents was “The ‘Ess. Imperial,’” described as “a novelty, being distilled from flowers culled from each of our colonies.” Pharmaceutical Society of Great Britain’s Pharmaceutical Journal, December 6, 1902, 625.

36. Aldous Huxley, Brave New World (New York: Perennial/HarperCollins, 2006), 166–167.

37. D. H. Lawrence, “Surgery for the Novel—or a Bomb” (1923), in Phoenix: The Posthumous Papers of D. H. Lawrence, ed. Edward David McDonald (London and New York: Penguin, 1936), 517.

38. T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land in T. S. Eliot: The Collected Poems, 1909–1962 (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1991), 56.

39. Eliot, The Collected Poems, 17–18.

40. Eliot, The Collected Poems, 46.

41. Colleen Lamos, Deviant Modernism: Sexual and Textual Errancy in T. S. Eliot, James Joyce, and Marcel Proust (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 92–93.

42. Eliot, The Waste Land: A Facsimile and Transcript of the Original Drafts, ed. Valerie Eliot (New York: Harvest Books, 1971), 23, 27.

43. The Diary of Virginia Woolf vol. 1, 1915–1919, ed. Anne Olivier Bell and Quentin Bell (New York: Harvest Books, 1977), 58.

44. In Orwell’s 1984, Winston is writing in his diary and trying to recall a scene with a prostitute from three years earlier, which in turn leads to the memory of his wife. “He seemed to breathe again the warm stuffy odor of the basement kitchen, an odor compounded of bugs and dirty clothes and villainous cheap scent, but nevertheless alluring, because no woman of the Party ever used scent, or could be imagined as doing so. Only the proles used scent. In his mind the smell of it was inextricably mixed up with fornication.” 1984 (New York: Signet Classics, 1961), 64-65. The smell is “synthetic violets”—a formula invented in 1893, as part of the synthetic revolution (Stamelman, 96–97).

45. The Letters of Virginia Woolf, vol. 4, 1929–1931, ed. Nigel Nicolson and Joanne Trautmann (New York: Mariner, 1981), 366.

46. On Alpers’s response, see Lorna Sage, Moments of Truth: Twelve Twentieth-Century Writers (London: Fourth Estate, 2001), 54.

47. The Collected Stories of Katherine Mansfield (Hertfordshire, England: Wordsworth Editions, 2006), 153, 476, 262.

48. Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, 7.

49. Dante Alighieri, Inferno, tr. Allen Mandelbaum (New York: Bantam, 1982), 95.

50. James Joyce, Ulysses, ed. Hans Walter Gabler (New York:, 1986), 4:3–5. All subsequent references to this edition.

51. New York Times, May 22, 1922. http://www.nytimes.com/books/00/01/09/specials/joyce-ulysses.html.

52. Smell, Havelock Ellis argues, “is a primitive sense which had its flowering time before men arose; it is a comparatively unaesthetic sense; it is a somewhat obtuse sense.” Studies in the Psychology of Sex, 84.

53. Richard Brown writes that “there are a number of coincidences of information and terminology which suggest [that Joyce had a] deeper knowledge of Studies in the Psychology of Sex,” which includes a lengthy discussion of olfaction and sexuality. James Joyce and Sexuality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 83. See also Hugh Davis, “‘How Do You Sniff?’: Havelock Ellis and Olfactory Representation in ‘Nausicaa,’” James Joyce Quarterly 41, no. 3 (Spring 2004): 421–440.

54. Margot Norris reads “the language of perfume” and flowers in Joyce’s work, following the “redolent trail” of heliotrope as a means of avoiding overly schematic approaches to the work that come “at the price of missing the pleasure of the text.” “Joyce’s Heliotrope,” in Coping with Joyce: Essays from the Copenhagen Symposium, ed. Morris Beja and Shari Benstock (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1989), 5.

55. John Bishop, “A Metaphysics of Coitus in ‘Nausicaa,’” in James Joyce’s Ulysses: (En)gendered Perspectives, ed. Kimberly J. Devlin and Marilyn Reizbaum (Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1999), 198–99.

56. The second half of the chapter supports Mary Douglas’s provocative argument that “The importance of incense is not that it symbolizes the ascending smoke of sacrifice, but it is a means of making tolerable the smells of unwashed humanity” (Purity and Danger, 30).

57. Don Gifford and Robert J. Seidman, Ulysses Annotated: Notes for James Joyce’s Ulysses, 2nd ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1989), 396.

58. By contrast, one might consider George Orwell’s notorious statement in The Road to Wigan Pier that he was taught, in his “lower-upper-middle class” childhood, that “the lower classes smell.” His primary example of this is how “Race-hatred, religious hatred, differences of education, of temperament, of intellect, even differences of moral code, can be got over; but physical repulsion cannot. You can have an affection for a murderer or a sodomite, but you cannot have an affection for a man whose breath stinks—habitually stinks, I mean. However well you may wish him, however much you may admire his mind and character, if his breath stinks he is horrible and in your heart of hearts you will hate him.” The Road to Wigan Pier (New York: Harcourt, 1972), 128.

59. Bloom, Molly remarks, “thinks nothing can happen without him knowing he hadnt an idea about my mother till we were engaged otherwise hed never have got me so cheap as he did he was 10 times worse himself” (18:282–284); critics have debated if this means that Lunita Laredo was a prostitute.

60. See Celia Marshik’s discussion of Gerty’s combination of exhibitionism and declaredly high morality and how “Joyce’s text aligns her with the fallen woman she would reject.” British Modernism and Censorship (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 153.

61. See Carol Mavor’s “Odor di Femina: Though You May Not See Her, You Can Certainly Smell Her,” in The Smell Culture Reader, ed. Jim Drobnick (Oxford and New York: Berg, 2006), 277–288.

62. For example, when Blazes Boylan, fresh from “ploughing” Molly, holds his forefinger to Lenehan and proudly tells him to take a whiff of the “lobster and mayonnaise” (15:3753), this is a torturous turn-on for Bloom.

63. Gifford and Seidman note that costly musk was replaced by an artificial version in 1888. Ulysses Annotated, 398.

64. Arthur Power, Conversations with James Joyce (Dublin: Lilliput Press, 2000), 85-86.

65. Yaara Yeshurun, Hadas Lapid, Yadin Dudai, and Noam Sobel, “The Privileged Brain Representation of First Olfactory Associations,” Current Biology 19.21, no. 9 (November 2009): 1869–1874.

66. Djuna Barnes, Collected Poems: With Notes Toward the Memoirs, ed. Phillip Herring and Osias Stutman (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2005), 251.

67. See Gardeners’ Chronicle: A Weekly Illustrated Journal (London, vol. xli [January 19, 1907], 45) and Dottie Booth, Nature Calls: The History, Lore, and Charm of Outhouses (Berkeley: The Speed Press 1998).

68. Hugh Kenner, The Pound Era (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971), 42.

69. Quoted in Havelock Ellis, Affirmations (Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1915), 190.

70. Judith Harrington, “What Perfume Does Your Wife?” James Joyce Literary Supplement 16, no. 1 (Spring 2002): 1–7.

71. George William Septimus Piesse, The Art of Perfumery and the Methods of Obtaining the Odours of Plants (London: Longmans, Green, 1879), 169.

72. To-Day: A Weekly Magazine-Journal, ed. Jerome K. Jerome (London: 1893), vols 16–17, 197. See also Pauline Stevenson, who quotes a correspondence in The Queen from 1900 in which an inquiry about how to perfume handbags is answered that one could “obtain the necessary powder, either violet, Peau d’Espagne or any other scent she may choose from Atkinson, New Bond Street.” Edwardian Fashion (London: Ian Allen, 1980), 18.

73. Like Bloom, Molly spends a great deal of time pondering odors, including “the smell of those painted women” (18:57), dogs, incense, rainwater in tanks, old dishcloths, and “the smell of the sea,” which, she says, “excited me of course the sardines and the bream in Catalan bay” (18:973). Of Bloom, she thinks, “I wish hed even smoke a pipe like father to get the smell of a man” (18:508–509). She smells her own flatulence and recalls her fetishistic attachment to a handkerchief soiled with Mulvey’s semen (18:862–864).

74. Bishop argues that “Whether they repulsively deromanticize or merely familiarize, the range of minuscule and humanizing smells that Bloom recalls here has the effect of eroding with particularity the conventional portraits of lovemaking drawn in the first part of ‘Nausicaa’” (“Nausicaa,” 200).

75. Woolsey quoted in Elisabeth Ladenson, Dirt for Art’s Sake: Books on Trial from Madame Bovary to Lolita (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2007), 97–98.

76. Richard von Krafft-Ebing, Psychopathia Sexualis, tr. F. J. Rebman (Chicago: W. T. Keener, 1901), 178. For a broader discussion of masochistic impulses in Ulysses, see my discussion in “With This Ring I Thee Own: Masochism and Social Reform in Ulysses,” Genders 25: Sex Positives?: The Cultural Politics of Dissident Sexualities (New York: New York University Press, 1997), 225–264.

77. Wells cited in Joseph Brooker, Joyce’s Critics: Transitions in Reading and Culture (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1994), 17.

78. For Jennifer Wicke, Sweets is “an incredibly rich text as consumed by Bloom, who takes it up into his own psychosexual, class, and national orbit and gets extraordinary mileage from rearrangements of its fantasy components.” “Joyce and Consumer Culture,” Cambridge Companion to James Joyce, 251. Don Gifford and Robert J. Seidman suggest that Bloom’s reading of Sweets is an example of “sortes Biblicae (or Virgilianae or Homericae), divination by the Bible (or Virgil or Homer), in which a passage is selected at random and treated as revelatory or prophetic.” Ulysses Annotated, 272. William Stephenson argues that Sweets exemplifies “Barthesisan bliss.” “Eroticism and Lightness in ‘Wandering Rocks,’” Joyce’s “Wandering Rocks,” ed. Andrew Gibson and Steven Morrison, European Joyce Studies, 12 (Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi, 2002), 121–140.

79. Thomas Scott Matthew Henry and William Jenks, The Comprehensive Commentary on the Holy Bible (Brattleboro, VT: Brattleboro Typographic Company, 1837), 128.

80. Alison Shell, Catholicism, Controversy, and the English Literary Imagination, 1558–1660 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 44, 46.

81. The liturgical connection is underscored when Sweets of Sin resurfaces in “Circe” as part of the Daughters of Erin’s parody of the Litany of the Sacred Heart: “Kidney of Bloom, pray for us. Flower of the Bath, pray for us. … Wandering Soap, pray for us. Sweets of Sin, pray for us” (15.1941–52).

82. James Joyce, Giacomo Joyce, ed. Richard Ellmann (London: Faber and Faber, 1984), 12.

83. Allison Pease, Modernism, Mass Culture, and the Aesthetics of Obscenity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 89–90.

84. James Joyce Letters, vol. 2 (New York: Viking, 1966), 366.

1. Gertrude Stein, Tender Buttons, in Selected Writings of Gertrude Stein, ed. Carl Van Vechten (New York: Vintage, 1990), 480.

2. Gertrude Stein, Geography and Plays (Boston: The Four Seas Company, 1922), 181.

3. William James, The Principles of Psychology, vol. 1. (New York: Henry Holt, 1890), v.

4. Gertrude Stein, “The Making of the Making of Americans,” in Gertrude Stein, Selected Writings, 250.

5. William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience (New York: Longmans, Green, 1903), 136.

6. See also James’s generally critical review of Henry R. Marshall’s Pain, Pleasure, and Aesthetics (1894) that nevertheless credits the author with identifying “the essentially mutable and shifting character of our enjoyments and displeasures,” Essays, Comments, and Reviews, vol. 15 (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1987), 341, 492.

7. Ulla E. Dydo and William Rice, Gertrude Stein: The Language That Rises: 1923–1934 (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 2003), 63.

8. Richard Bridgman, Gertrude Stein in Pieces (New York: Oxford University Press, 1970), xiii.

9. David Lodge, Modes of Modern Writing: Metaphor, Metonymy, and the Typology of Literature (London: Edward Arnold, 1977), 154.

10. George Steiner, On Difficulty and Other Essays (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978).

11. See Karen Leick’s detailed examination of Stein’s reception in Gertrude Stein and the Making of an American Celebrity (New York: Routledge, 2009).

12. Charles Bernstein, for example, argues that his “primary and continuing response to Stein’s poetry is one of intense pleasure in the music of the language: of hearing a palpable, intense, I’m tempted to say absolute, sense-making: you can almost taste it; a great plenitude of meaning of possibility for language, in language. Reading a Stein poem I feel an enormous satisfaction in the words coming to mean in their moment of enfolding outward and a correlative falling away of my need to explain, to figure out.” “Professing Stein/Stein Professing,” in A Poetics (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992), 142–143.

13. Ann Douglas, Terrible Honesty: Mongrel Manhattan in the 1920s (New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1995), 127, 135.

14. Leisl Olson, “‘An invincible force meets an immovable object’: Gertrude Stein Comes to Chicago,” Modernism/modernity 17, no. 2 (April 2010): 331–361.

15. Wayne Koestenbaum, “Stein Is Nice,” in Cleavage: Essays on Sex, Stars, and Aesthetics (New York: Ballantine, 2000), 309–333, 71.

16. On the range of accounts of Stein’s reception, see Leick as well as Dana Cairns Watson in Gertrude Stein and the Essence of What Happens (Nashville: Vanderbilt University Press, 2005), 89–118.

17. Edmund Wilson, Axel’s Castle: A Study of the Imaginative Literature of 1870–1930 (New York: Scribner’s, 1931), 252.

18. Cyril Connolly, Enemies of Promise (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), 59.

19. Marianne DeKoven connects Stein’s writing to antipatriarchal French feminism and presymbolic logic in A Different Language: Gertrude Stein’s Experimental Writing (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1983) and Rich and Strange: Gender, History, Modernism (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991). Lisa Cole Ruddick asks “Why … when Stein comes forward as an embodied, sensual ‘teller,’ is her pleasure much (like) that of the bowel?” and speculates that Stein “is playfully discovering something about the link between (all?) literary repetition and the primitive pleasure people take in filling up with an excreting matter.” Reading Gertrude Stein: Body, Text, Gnosis (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1991), 81. Ellen E. Berry addresses the different kinds of pleasure and readerly response elicited by Stein in Curved Thought and Textual Wandering: Gertrude Stein’s Postmodernism (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1992).

20. See, for example, Robert R. Provine, “Laughing, Tickling, and the Evolution of Speech and Self,” Current Directions in Psychological Science 13, no. 6 (December 2004): 215–218.

21. Wyndham Lewis, “‘Time’ Children. Miss Gertrude Stein and Miss Anita Loos” and “The Prose-Song of Gertrude Stein” in Time and Western Man (Berkeley, CA: Gingko Press, 1993); Wayne Koestenbaum, Cleavage, 312.

22. Pamela Hadas says of Tender Buttons, “No certain criticism being possible in such a case, all we can do is try to translate into more common language, at least for the moment, a piece here and there (it is so all here and there).” “Spreading the Difference: One Way to Read Gertrude Stein’s Tender Buttons,” Twentieth Century Literature 24 (1978): 72. Marjorie Perloff asserts that “The meaning” of any given sequence in the piece, “like that of the title Tender Buttons, remains latent, impossible to translate into something else.” The Poetics of Indeterminacy: Rimbaud to Cage (Evanston, IL: North-western University Press, 1999), 107.

23. “Lifting Belly” (from Bee Time Vine), in The Yale Gertrude Stein, ed. Richard Kostelanetz (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1980): 41. All references to “Lifting Belly” are taken from this edition.

24. Susan Holbrook points out the “oddly contradictory critical responses” to “Lifting Belly,” which are divided between claims that the work is among Stein’s most explicit and erotic and claims that the work is “veiled and coded.” “Lifting Bellies, Filling Petunias, and Making Meanings Through the Trans-Poetic,” American Literature 71, no. 4 (December 1999): 751–771, 751.

25. The Virginia Woolf Reader, ed. Mitchell A. Leaska (New York: Mariner Books, 1984), 210.

26. Sianne Ngai, Ugly Feelings (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005), 248–297.

27. One passage of How to Write encapsulates all these possibilities: “Yes please. Why yes please. Why please. Why to please. Yes please, why yes please, why please, why to please. An authority in sentences. / Why please why not please why yes please why to please why as to a place to piece why it pleases.” How to Write, ed. Patricia Meyerowitz(Mineola, NY: Dover, 1975), 124.

28. Gertrude Stein, Writings 1932–1946 (New York: Library of America, 1998), 316–317.

29. By contrast, Dana Cairns Watson reads Stein’s “questions without answers” as demonstrations that she is “willing to be open-ended, inconclusive, and less authoritative.” She reminds us of Stein’s supposed last words, “What is the answer … in that case what is the question?” (Gertrude Stein and the Essence of What Happens, 116).

30. See Bridgman, Gertrude Stein in Pieces, and Koestenbaum, Cleavage, for example.

31. Janet Flanner remarks that Stein “wrote for no one but herself”; Mike Gold proposes that “In Gertrude Stein, art became a personal pleasure, a private hobby, a vice.” Quoted in Barbara Will, Gertrude Stein, Modernism, and the Problem of “Genius” (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2000), 81, 80.

32. Harriet Scott Chessman, The Public Is Invited to Dance: Representation, the Body, and Dialogue in Gertrude Stein (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1989), 3, 13.

33. For Susan Holbrook, “Bridgman’s assumption of a clear dialogic structure” is “a little facile; it is impossible to know who the two speakers are, or even if there are indeed two different speakers here” (“Lifting Bellies, Filling Petunias,” 765). Barbara Will asserts that “For Stein, language is … a site of discursive exchange,” but notes the “pronominal slippage” in Stein’s texts, and the ways in which “the text parodies and reverses its own hierarchical strategies” (Gertrude Stein, Modernism, 148).

34. Quoted in Olson, “‘An invincible force meets an immovable object,’” 343.

35. Stein, “Poetry and Grammar” in Writings: 1932–1946, 327.

36. DeKoven, Rich and Strange, 198.

37. Ruddick, Reading Gertrude Stein, 145.

38. Stein, A Long Gay Book in A Stein Reader, ed. Ulla E. Dydo (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1993), 246.

39. Stein, Saints and Singing, in A Stein Reader, 388.

40. Gertrude Stein, The Making of Americans: Being a History of a Family’s Progress (Normal, IL: Dalkey Archive Press, 1995), 514.

41. Charles Darwin, The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals (New York: Appleton and Company, 1873), 201.

42. For Freud, tickling illustrates the extent to which psychology is “still so much in the dark in questions of pleasure and unpleasure.” Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality, tr. James Strachey (New York: Basic Books, 1996), 49.

43. Havelock Ellis, Studies in the Psychology of Sex, vol. 1, part 3 (New York: Random House, 1942), 11.

44. Plato’s Examination of Pleasure: A Translation of the Philebus, ed. R. Hackworth (New York: Cambridge, 2001), 91.

45. “The Movies Are”: Carl Sandburg’s Film Reviews and Essays, 1920–1928, ed. Arnie Bernstein (Chicago: Claremont Press, 2000), 40.

46. See Christine Harris’s summary of various hypotheses about the purpose of tickling in “The Mystery of Ticklish Laughter,” American Scientist 87, no. 4 (1999): 344 ff.

47. Havelock Ellis, Studies in the Psychology of Sex, vol, 1, part 3 (New York: Random House, 1942), 14.

48. John Chamberlain quoted in Watson, Gertrude Stein and the Essence of What Happens, 102.

49. Quoted by Leick, Gertrude Stein and the Making of an American Celebrity, 44.

50. Adam Phillips, On Kissing, Tickling, and Being Bored: Psychoanalytic Essays on the Unexamined Life (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), 10-11.

51. Darwin, The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals, 202.

52. The Yale Gertrude Stein, ed. Richard Kostelanetz (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1980), 65.

53. Wyndham Lewis, Tarr: The 1918 Version (Santa Rosa, CA: Black Sparrow Press, 1990), 15.

54. Stein cites Hall’s article, “A Study of Fears,” in her “Cultivated Motor Automatism.”

55. G. S. Hall and A. Allin, “The Psychology of Tickling, Laughing and the Comic,” The American Journal of Psychology 9, no. 1 (October 1897): 1–41.

56. Christine R. Harris and Nicholas Christenfeld, “Can a Machine Tickle?” Psychonomic Bulletin & Review 6, no. 3 (1999): 504–510.

57. Gertrude Stein, “Cultivated Motor Automatism; A Study of Character in Its Relation to Attention,” Psychological Review 5, no. 3 (May 1898): 295–306; Leon M. Solomons and Gertrude Stein, “Normal Motor Automatism,” Psychological Review 3, no. 5 (September 1896): 492–512.

58. B. F. Skinner, “Has Gertrude Stein a Secret?” The Atlantic Monthly (January 1934): 50–57.

59. Barbara Will, Gertrude Stein, 27. See Tim Armstrong’s detailed discussion of Skinner’s view that Stein’s is “a writing predicated on the body rather than mind; and in particular … a de-somaticized body washed clean of ‘depth’ and acting as a language machine.” Modernism, Technology, and the Body: A Cultural Study (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 206.

60. Armstrong, Modernism, Technology, and the Body, 187–219.

61. “Portraits and Repetition,” in Stein, Writings 1932–1946, 292.

62. Perloff, The Poetics of Indeterminacy, 76.

63. Dana Cairns Watson, Gertrude Stein and the Essence of What Happens, 60.

64. Repetition was one of the many issues over which Stein parted ways with William James. Ruddick points out that “Nothing in James’s scheme would correspond to the sexualized inner pulsations Stein calls loving repeating. … James’s theory of the mind has no erotic axis” (Reading Gertrude Stein, 96).

65. Catharine R. Stimpson, “The Somagrams of Gertrude Stein,” Poetics Today 6, no. 1/2 (1985): 74.

66. Rebecca Scherr, “Tactile Erotics: Gertrude Stein and the Aesthetics of Touch,” LIT: Literature, Interpretation, Theory 18, no. 3 (July 2007): 193–212.

67. Matisse Picasso and Gertrude Stein with Two Shorter Stories (Charleston: Biblio-Bazaar, 2007), 274.

68. Carol Kaesuk Yun, “Anatomy of a Tickle is Serious Business at the Research Lab,” New York Times, June 3, 1997.

69. Charles Dickens, David Copperfield (Mineola, NY: Dover Thrift Editions, 2004), 274.

70. Quoted in Gertrude Stein: The Language That Rises, 36.

71. Gertrude Stein, Narration: Four Lectures (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010), xvii.

72. Robert Bartlett Haas, “Gertrude Stein Talking—A Translantic Interview,” quoted in Leick, Gertrude Stein and the Making of an American Celebrity, 43.

73. Stein writes “To begin with, I seem always to be doing the talking when I am anywhere but in spite of that I do listen. … I always as I admit seem to be talking but talking can be a way of listening” (“The Gradual Making of the Making of Americans,” Selected Writings, 270); and “it is necessary to be at once talking and listening, doing both things, not as if there were one thing, not as if they were two things, but doing them, well if you like, like the motor going inside and the car moving, they are part of the same thing.” Look at Me Now Here I Am: Writings and Lectures, 1911–1945, ed. Patricia Meyerowitz (London: Owen Peter Limited, 2005), 170.

74. Stein, Matisse Picasso and Gertrude Stein with Two Shorter Stories, 241.

75. Christine R. Harris and Nicholas Christenfeld, “Humour, Tickle, and the Darwin-Hecker Hypothesis,” Cognition and Emotion 11, no. 1 (1997): 103–110.

76. John Crawford, “Incitement to Riot,” New York Call (August 19, 1923). Quoted in Leick, Gertrude Stein and the Making of an American Celebrity, 81.

1. “Surgery for the Novel—or a Bomb” (1923), in Phoenix: The Posthumous Papers of D. H. Lawrence, ed. Edward David McDonald (London and New York: Penguin, 1936), 517–520.

2. F. R. Leavis, The Great Tradition (Harmondsworth: Peregrine, 1962), 36. Richard Poirier, by contrast, addresses how Lawrence is often not considered a modernist because his prose is “easy” to read. “Modernism and Its Difficulties,” in The Renewal of Literature (New York: Random House, 1987), 99.

3. Fernald remarks that “Since Lawrence values ideas as much as he values relationships, scenes of coercion and alienation emerge as signs of the struggle to change people’s minds; the importance of this struggle is matched by its difficulty.” “‘Out of It’: Alienation and Coercion in D. H. Lawrence,” Modern Fiction Studies 49, no. 2 (Summer 2003): 183–203.

4. Charles M. Burack, “Mortifying the Reader: The Assault on Verbal and Visual Consciousness in D. H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover,” Studies in the Novel (Winter 1997): 491–511.

5. A. S. Byatt, “The one bright book of life,” The New Statesman, 16 December, 2002. Byatt reviews Gary Adelman’s Reclaiming D. H. Lawrence: Contemporary Writers Speak Out (Lewisburg: Bucknell, 2002).

6. Introduction to Women in Love, ed. David Farmer, Lindeth Vasey, and John Worthen (London and New York: Penguin, 1995).

7. D. H. Lawrence, “A Propos of Lady Chatterley’s Lover,” Lady Chatterley’s Lover, ed. Michael Squires (London: Penguin, 1994), 327.

8. See Hilary Simpson’s discussion of Lawrence’s “abrupt espousal of male supremacy which coincides with the end of the war” in D. H. Lawrence and Feminism (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1993), 66, and also Carol Siegel’s Lawrence Among the Women: Wavering Boundaries in Women’s Literary Traditions (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 1991).

9. Irene Speller, “How I Was Loved by a Sheik!,” My Story Weekly, October 15, 22, 29; November 5, 1927: 3.

10. Ibid, November 5, 1927. Rudyard Kipling, “The Ballad of East and West” (1889), in The Collected Poems of Rudyard Kipling (Ware, Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Editions, 2001), 245–248.

11. The Sheik (London: Virago, 1996), 112.

12. David Trotter, The English Novel in History: 1895–1920 (London: Routledge, 1993), 185. Billie Melman estimates that “The first filmed version of The Sheik (1921) was seen by 125 million viewers, the majority of them—to judge from the contemporary press reports—women.” Women and the Popular Imagination in the Twenties: Flappers and Nymphs (London: Palgrave MacMillan, 1988), 90.

13. A 1926 review of desert romance films describes their psychogeography the same way as the novels: “the wide spaces, the moonlit nights, horseriding across glinting sands, for men the all-conquering male seizing in his strong arms the woman he loves, for women the thrill of capture (albeit willing and docile captivity with a little well designed camouflage to keep up appearances.” Winifred Horrabin, “The Sheik and The Son of the Sheik,” Lansbury’s Labour Weekly (London), October 16, 1926, reprinted in The Red Velvet Seat: Women’s Writing on the First Fifty Years of Cinema, ed. Antonia Lant and Ingrid Periz (London: Verso, 2006), 437–438. Melman argues that “the desert romance is one of the most consciously topographical and ethnological genres in popular fiction” (95) and describes the different styles of its main geographical areas.

14. For contemporary responses to desert romance and The Sheik, see Evelyn Bach, “Sheik Fantasies: Orientalism and Feminine Desire in the Desert Romance,” Hecate: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Women’s Liberation 23, no. 1 (1997): 9–40; Karen Chow, “Popular Sexual Knowledges and Women’s Agency in 1920s England: Marie Stopes’s Married Love and E. M. Hull’s The Sheik,” Feminist Review 63 (Autumn 1999): 64–87; and Elizabeth Gargano, “‘English Sheiks’ and Arab Stereotypes: E. M. Hull, T. E. Lawrence, and the Imperial Masquerade,” Texas Studies in Literature and Language 48, no. 2 (Summer 2006): 171–186. See also Tania Modleski, Loving with a Vengeance: Mass-Produced Fantasies for Women (Hamden, CT: Archon Books, 1982), for more general observations about fantasy and the romance genre.

15. Robert Graves and Alan Hodge, The Long Week End: A Social History of Great Britain, 1918–1939 (New York: Macmillan, 1941), 41.

16. “Sheik,” by Alys in 1921, and by Floral Products in 1925.

17. Most critics agree that the desert romance was largely an interwar genre. See, for example, Melman, Women and the Popular Imagination, 90; Osman Bencherif, The Image of Algeria in Anglo-American Writings, 1785–1962 [Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1997]; and Patricia Raub, “Issues of Passion and Power in The Sheik,” Women’s Studies 21 [1992]). However, its forerunners include novels by Ouida, Marie Corelli, Kathlyn Rhodes, and especially Robert Hichens’s 1904 novel, The Garden of Allah, which is often associated with The Sheik but is more complex, as it includes a strong theological narrative.

18. Although The Sheik and its film adaptation were immensely popular in America as well as Britain, according to Raub, “With the exception of The Sheik it appears these British-written [desert romances] were much more popular with British women readers than with American readers. None of these romances appeared on the American Booklist’s monthly lists of best-selling fiction during this period, much less upon the yearly best-seller lists” (“Issues of Passion and Power in The Sheik,” 128).

19. See Lee Horsley, Fictions of Power in English Literature: 1900–1950 (London: Longman, 1995). Billie Melman and Gaylyn Studlar, for example, read Diana as a “New Woman.”

20. Trotter, pointing out that a reader may identify with different elements of fantasy at different points in the narrative, argues that Diana “can do nothing; but the narrative can do what it wants with her, and for her. It all depends not so much on the reader’s identification with Diana Mayo as on her understanding of genre,” noting how the novel switches from a captivity romance to a “conventional romance” (English Novel, 186). I will argue that the identification Hull cultivates is a matter not just of genre (and that The Sheik draws on another, racier, genre) but of readerly affect.

21. See Reina Lewis, Gendering Orientalism: Race, Femininity and Representation (London: Routledge, 1996), and Meyda Yegenoglu, Colonial Fantasies: Towards a Feminist Reading of Orientalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), on gender and orientalism.

22. Times Literary Supplement, “The Sheik” (review), November 6, 1919, 633.

23. Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Crack-up, ed. Edmund Wilson (New York: New Directions, 1945).

24. Q. D. Leavis, Fiction and the Reading Public, xxxiv.

25. Siegfried Kracauer, “The Little Shopgirls Go to the Movies,” in The Mass Ornament: Weimar Essays, ed. and tr. Thomas Y. Levin (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995), 291–304: 292.

26. Selected Prose of T. S. Eliot, ed. Frank Kermode (New York: Harvest Books, 1975), 38.

27. Umberto Eco, “Innovation and Repetition: Between Modern and Postmodern Aesthetics,” Daedalus (Fall 2005):192, 200. See also Eco’s The Role of the Reader: Explorations in the Semiotics of Texts (London: Hutchinson, 1981).

28. Horrabin, “The Sheik and The Son of the Sheik,” The Red Velvet Seat, 437–438.

29. See, for example, the review of literature on “novelty, familiarity, and liking” in David J. Hargreaves, The Developmental Psychology of Music (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 111ff; and Karl Halvor Teigen, “Intrinsic Interest and the Novelty-Familiarity Interaction,” which asserts that “According to the interaction hypothesis of interest, the inherent interestingness of a communication or a situation will be maximal when novel and familiar elements are simultaneously present.” Scandinavian Journal of Psychology 28, no. 3 (September 1987): 199–210.

30. “Surgery for the Novel—or a Bomb,” 517-520: 517.

31. A couple of weeks earlier, Lawrence expressed the same sentiments in a letter to Aldous and Maria Huxley, complaining about Joyce’s “deliberate, journalistic dirty-mindedness—what old and hard-worked staleness, masquerading as the all-new!” but noting that Gertrude Stein “is more amusing.” The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, ed. Aldous Huxley (New York: Viking, 1932), 759, 750.

32. Women in Love, ed. David Farmer, Lindeth Vasey, and John Worthen (London and New York: Penguin, 1995), Appendix I, 486. David J. Gordon calls these patterns Lawrence’s “sexualization of style.” “Sex and Language in D. H. Lawrence,” Twentieth-Century Literature 27, no. 4 (Winter 1981): 362–375. Michael Squires describes the patterns of linguistic repetition and variation in Lawrence’s work as a series of “loops.” The Creation of Lady Chatterley’s Lover (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1983), 22. See also John M. Swift, “Repetition, Consummation, and “This Eternal Unrelief,’” in The Challenge of D. L. Lawrence, ed. Michael Squires and Keith Cushman (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1990), 121–128.

33. D. H. Lawrence, “Introduction to These Paintings,” in Phoenix: The Posthumous Papers of D. H. Lawrence, ed. Edward David McDonald (London and New York: Penguin, 1936), 576.

34. Miriam Hansen writes at length about Valentino’s unusual screen presence. She notes that “There are few Valentino films that do not display a whip, in whatever marginal function, and most of them feature seemingly insignificant subplots in which the spectator is offered a position that entails enjoying the tortures inflicted on Valentino or others.” Babel and Babylon (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 285, and “Pleasure, Ambivalence, Identification: Valentino and Female Spectatorship,” Cinema Journal 25, no. 4 (Summer 1986): 6–32. See also Gaylyn Studlar’s chapter on Valentino in This Mad Masquerade: Stardom and Masculinity in the Jazz Age (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996) and “‘Out-Salomeing Salome’: Dance, the New Woman, and Fan Magazine Orientalisms,” in Visions of the East: Orientalism in Film, ed. Matthew Bernstein and Gaylyn Studlar (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1998), 99–100.

35. Linda Ruth Williams, Sex in the Head: Visions of Femininity and Film in D. H. Lawrence (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1993), 6.

36. Lawrence, “Sex Versus Loveliness” in Phoenix II: Uncollected Writings, ed. Warren Roberts and Harry T. Moore (New York: Viking, 1970), 529. Lawrence also alludes to or explicitly names Valentino in his stories, including “In Love” and “Mother and Daughter.” Lawrence, The Complete Stories, vol. 3 (New York: Penguin, 1981), 647–660; 805–826.

37. D. H. Lawrence, Complete Poems, vol. 2, ed. Vivian de Sola Roberts and Warren Pinto (New York: Penguin, 1993), 538.

38. See Horsley and also David Trotter’s reading of Women in Love and The Sheik, “A Horse Is Being Beaten: Modernism and Popular Fiction,” in Rereading the New: A Backward Glance at Modernism, ed. Kevin Dettmar (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1992), 191–220.

39. The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, vol. v: 1924–1927, ed. James T. Boulton and Lindeth Vasey (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 574.

40. Anon., The Lustful Turk (Ware, Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Editions, 1995), 16. For a reading of The Lustful Turk in the context of orientalist art and fiction, see Ruth Bernard Yeazell, Harems of the Mind: Passages of Western Art and Literature (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000).

41. Steven Marcus, The Other Victorians (New York: Basic Books, 1966).

42. See, for example, Simpson, D. H. Lawrence and Feminism; Melman, Women and the Popular Imagination; Trotter, English Novel; and Horsley, Fictions of Power.

43. Hull, “Why I Wrote the Sheik,’” Movie Weekly, November 19, 1921, 3.

44. D. H. Lawrence, “The Woman Who Rode Away,” The Complete Short Stories vol. 2 (New York: Penguin, 1981), 547.

45. D. H. Lawrence, Aaron’s Rod, ed. Mara Kalnis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988); Kangaroo (New York: Penguin, 1980); The Plumed Serpent, ed. L. D. Clark (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1987).

46. Marianna Torgovnick, Gone Primitive: Savage Intellectuals, Modern Lives (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), 164.

47. D. H. Lawrence, “Morality and the Novel,” in Phoenix: The Posthumous Papers of D. H. Lawrence, ed. Edward David McDonald (London and New York: Penguin, 1936), 528.

48. F. R. Leavis, “The New Orthodoxy,” Spectator, February 17, 1961, 229.

49. John Worthen, D. H. Lawrence and the Idea of the Novel (Totowa, NJ: Rowman and Littlefield, 1979), 179. See also Squires, The Creation of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

50. Women in Love, 486.

51. Jeffrey Meyers, Homosexuality and Literature 1890–1930 (London: Athlone Press, 1977).

52. Frank Kermode, Colin Clarke, Mark Spilka, and George H. Ford, “On ‘Lawrence Up-Tight’: Four Tail-Pieces,” NOVEL: A Forum on Fiction 5, no. 1 (Autumn 1971): 54–70.

53. Charles Barack, “Revitalizing the Reader: Literary Technique and the Language of Sacred Experience in D. H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover,” Style (Spring 1998): 120.

1. Fredric Jameson, “Then You Are Them,” London Review of Books 31, no. 17 (September 2009): 7–8.

2. Complete Essays, vol. 2, ed. Robert S. Baker and James Sexton (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 2000), 19.

3. See the appendix on “Spectrum of Opinion, 1928–1929” in Harry M. Geduld, The Birth of the Talkies: From Edison to Jolson (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1975). For general discussions of the advent of sound cinema, see the essays in Rick Altman, Sound Theory/Sound Practice (London: Routledge, 1992); Donald Crafton, The Talkies: American Cinema’s Transition to Sound, 1926–1931 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999); and James Lastra, Sound Technology and the American Cinema: Perception, Representation, Modernity (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000). Lastra argues that hearing, as well as vision, was “transformed … dislocated, ‘mobilized,’ restructured, and mechanized” (3) during the modern period.

4. Huxley’s article undermines the argument that films were never silent, since music was always a part of the spectacle. See also Rick Altman, Silent Film Sound (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004), 193.

5. Bernard Shaw on Cinema, ed. Bernard F. Dukore (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1997), 9. Shaw’s thoughts on the cinema were not always out of step with Huxley’s. In a 1914 New Statesman interview, Shaw remarked that “the cinema tells its story to the illiterate as well as to the literate; and it keeps its victim (if you like to call him so) not only awake but fascinated as if by a serpent’s eye. And that is why the cinema is going to produce effects that all the cheap books in the world could never produce” (9).

6. Let’s Go to the Pictures (London: Chatto and Windus, 1926). Published later in America as Let’s Go to the Movies (New York: Arno Press, 1972).

7. “On Some Motifs in Baudelaire” and “The Work of Art in the Art of Mechanical Reproduction” (217–252). Illuminations: Essays and Reflections, ed. Hannah Arendt (New York: Schocken, 1968).

8. See, for example, Tom Gunning, “An Aesthetics of Astonishment: Early Film and the (In)credulous Spectator,” in Viewing Positions: Ways of Seeing Film, ed. Linda Williams (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1994), 114–133; Miriam Hansen, Babel and Babylon (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991) and “The Mass Production of the Senses: Classical Cinema as Vernacular Modernism” in Modernism/Modernity 6, no. 2 (April 1999): 59–77; Jonathan Crary, Techniques of the Observer: On Vision and Modernity in the Nineteenth Century (Cambridge: October Books, 1992) and Suspensions of Perception: Attention, Spectacle, and Modern Culture (Cambridge: October Books, 2001); Ben Singer, Melodrama and Modernity: Early Sensational Cinema and Its Contexts (New York: Columbia University Press, 2001); and Linda Williams, “Film Bodies: Gender, Genre, and Excess,” in Film Genre Reader 2, ed. Barry Keith Grant (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1995), 142.

9. See Martin Loiperdinger, “Lumière’s Arrival of the Train: Cinema’s Founding Myth,” The Moving Image 4, no. 1 (Spring 2004): 89–118.

10. Siegfried Kracauer, Theory of Film: The Redemption of Physical Reality (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1960), 158.

11. Susan Buck-Morss, “Prosthesis of Perception: A Historical Account,” in The Senses Still: Perception and Memory as Material Culture in Modernity, ed. C. Nadia Seremetakis (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 45–62, 48.

12. As David Trotter points out, “Experimental cinema—a cinema of ‘surprise juxtapositions’—only arrived in Britain with the founding of the London Film Society in 1925.” “T. S. Eliot and Cinema,” Modernism/modernity 13, no. 2 (April 2006): 237–265.

13. Virginia Woolf, “The Cinema,” in Collected Essays, vol. 2 (London: Hogarth, 1966), 268-272.

14. Cinema shares many of these features with theater, but critics typically maintained that there is a “striking difference between [the filmgoer] and the theatergoer” (Kracauer, Theory of Film, 159).

15. Qtd. in Jeffrey Richards, “Modernism and the People: The View from the Cinema Stalls,” in Rewriting the Thirties: Modernism and After, ed. K. Williams and S. Matthews (London: Longman, 1997), 199. In her generally enthusiastic Let’s Go to the Movies, Barry flatly states that “The cinema is a drug” (53). As Kracauer notes, “from the ‘twenties to the present day, the devotees of film and its opponents alike have compared the medium to a sort of drug and have drawn attention to its stupefying effects,” suggesting that “the cinema has its habitués who frequent it out of an all but physiological urge” (Theory of Film, 159).

16. See Tim Armstrong’s discussion of the “bodily effects” associated with the coming of sound in Modernism, Technology, and the Body: A Cultural Study (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 222–247.

17. Theatre Arts Monthly, November 1930. Qtd. in Donald Crafton, The Talkies, 374.

18. Michael North takes exception to this idea that “human perception was somehow changed in the later nineteenth and twentieth centuries.” Camera Works (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 30. The frequent insistence that sound film was initially difficult for people to take in suggests otherwise; Buck-Morss notes that “Viewers only gradually adapted to the cinema screen” (“Prostheses of Perception,” 48). The measurable alterations of attention spans and cognitive functions in response to digital technologies such as the Internet should caution us against dismissing out of hand the possibility of tangible historical shifts in perception and cognition.

19. Huxley, Complete Essays, vol. 3, ed. Robert S. Baker and James Sexton (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 2000), 188.

20. Eyeless in Gaza (New York and London: Harper & Brothers, 1936), 355. Jesting Pilate: Travels Through India, Burma, Malaya, Japan, China, and America (New York: Paragon House, 1991), 224–225.

21. That cinematic pleasures are the product of “interminable democracies” is an insight into Huxley’s politics of the 1930s. For an account of his conflicted feeling about democracy and his interest in eugenics, see David Bradshaw, The Hidden Huxley: Contempt and Compassion for the Masses, 1920–36 (London: Faber and Faber, 1994).

22. Aldous Huxley, “Utopias, Positive and Negative,” Aldous Huxley Annual 1 (2001): 1-5.

23. Brave New World (New York: Perennial/HarperCollins, 2006), 3.

24. The 1929 film Broadway Melody first used this slogan, which was mocked by Ernest Betts in 1930 as “All Singing, All Dancing, All Nothing.” Close Up: 1927–1933, ed. James Donald, Anne Friedberg, and Laura Marcus (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999), 312.

25. John Carey, The Intellectuals and the Masses: Pride and Prejudice Among the Literary Intelligentsia 1880–1939 (London: Faber and Faber, 1992), 86.

26. Theodor Adorno, “Aldous Huxley and Utopia,” in Prisms, tr. Samuel and Shierry Weber (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1967), 103–104.

27. See Jeffrey Richards’s description of the Alhambra in The Age of the Dream Palace: Cinema and Society in Britain, 1930–1939 (London: Keegan Paul, 1984).

28. T. S. Eliot, “Marie Lloyd” (1923), in Selected Prose of T. S. Eliot, ed. Frank Kermode (New York: Harvest Books, 1975), 174.

29. Max Nordau, Degeneration (New York: Appleton, 1895), 142.

30. Ernest Betts, Heraclitus or The Future of Film (London: Kegan Paul, 1928), 88.

31. Rick Altman, “The Evolution of Sound Technology” in Film Sound: Theory and Practice, ed. Elisabeth Weis and John Belton (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985), 51.

32. Rudolf Arnheim, Film as Art (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971), 199.

33. Chaplin quoted in Charlie Chaplin: Interviews, ed. Kevin J. Hayes (Jackson: University of Mississippi Press, 2005), 82.

34. Huxley, Complete Essays, vol. 1, 174–175.

35. Sergei Eisenstein, W. I. Pudovkin, and G. V. Alexandrov, “Statement on Sound,” in Close Up: 1927–1933, ed. James Donald, Anne Friedberg, and Laura Marcus (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999), 84.

36. Sergei Eisenstein, The Film Sense, tr. Jay Leyda (New York: Harcourt, Brace, 1947), 73, 77.

37. Siegfried Kracauer, “Cult of Distraction: On Berlin’s Picture Palaces,” in The Mass Ornament: Weimar Essays, ed. and trans. Thomas Y. Levin (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995), 324.

38. Huxley, “Writers and Readers” in Complete Essays, vol. 4, 25.

39. “Whispers of Immortality” in T. S. Eliot: The Collected Poems, 1909–1962 (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1991), 45.

40. Elinor Glyn, The Philosophy of Love (New York: Macaulay, 1923) and The Elinor Glyn System of Writing (Auburn: The Authors’ Press, 1922).

41. See Laura Horak, “‘Would you like to sin with Elinor Glyn?’: Film as a Vehicle of Sensual Education,” Camera Obscura 25 (2010): 85.

42. The Long Week End: A Social History of Great Britain, 1918–1939 (New York: Macmillan, 1941), 42.

43. Faulkner jokes about Glyn in a letter (James G. Watson, William Faulkner: Self-Presentation and Performance [Austin: University of Texas Press, 2000], 151). Nigel Brooks argues that Fitzgerald reworks Three Weeks in The Great Gatsby (“Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and Glyn’s Three Weeks,” The Explicator 54 [1996]: 233–236). Anita Loos compared Glyn to Lawrence: “In those days Elinor’s books were considered extremely ‘broad.’ Her best-seller, Three Weeks, was based on adultery, but she handled the subject in so dainty a manner as to make D. H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover, with its identical plot, a sewer of clinical realism” (A Girl Like I [New York: Viking, 1966], 118, 119).

44. The Diary of Virginia Woolf, vol. 1, ed. Anne Olivier Bell and Quentin Bell (New York: Harvest Books, 1977), 71.

45. Anne Morey, “Elinor Glyn as Hollywood Labourer,” in Film History: An International Journal 18, no. 2 (2006): 110–118.

46. Elinor Glyn, Three Weeks (London: Virago, 1996), 199.

47. For sociopolitical readings of Glyn’s novel, see David Trotter, The English Novel in History, 1895–1920 (London: Routledge, 1993); George Robb, “The Way of All Flesh: Degeneration, Eugenics, and the Gospel of Free Love” in The Journal of the History of Sexuality 6, no. 4 (April 1996): 589–603; and Chris Waters, “New Women and Eugenic Fictions” in History Workshop Journal 60 (Autumn 2005): 232–238. Frank Kermode considers Three Weeks as an exploration of national identity and masculinity typical of its time (“The English Novel, circa 1907” in Essays on Fiction [London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1983], 45–56).

48. According to Horak, there was “a 1914 US version, a 1915 British parody, and a 1917 Hungarian version” of Three Weeks as well as a 1924 adaptation, directed by Alan Crosland, that was supervised by Glyn. “‘Would you like to sin with Elinor Glyn?’: Film as a Vehicle of Sensual Education,” Camera Obscura 25 (2010): 94.

49. Rebecca West, The Young Rebecca: Selected Essays of Rebecca West, 1911–1917, ed. Jane Marcus (London: Virago, 1983), 73.

50. Letters of Aldous Huxley, ed. Grover Smith (London: Chatto & Windus, 1969), 85.

51. This slip—the “blackamoor” is the hero and not the villain?—is unexplained.

52. The film industry frequently turned to Shakespeare in an effort to elevate the medium’s status. The irony of “silent Shakespeare” led to vigorous debates about the relationship between cinema and theater (Altman, “Introduction,” 13). The competition became much more intense once sound film began to challenge what had previously been thought to be the stage’s advantage in language. In this discussion, Shake-speare is constantly invoked as the best that theater has to offer and the best that British culture offers against the onslaught of popular culture that was increasingly identified as American. Asked in a 1915 interview “What the Films May Do to the Drama,” Shaw replied that “When they can see and hear Forbes-Robertson’s Hamlet … well produced, it will be possible for our young people to grow up in healthy remoteness from the crowded masses and slums of big cities without also growing up as savages” (Shaw on Film, 18). This is a rare vision of cinema as harmonious rather than competitive with theater. For commentary on early adaptations of Shakespeare for the screen, see John Collick, Shakespeare, Cinema, and Society (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1989); John P. McCombe, “‘Suiting the Action to the Word’: The Clarendon Tempest and the Evolution of a Narrative Silent Shakespeare,” Literature Film Quarterly 33 (2005): 142–155; Roberta E. Pearson, “Shakespeare’s Country: The National Poet, English Identity, and British Silent Cinema,” in Young and Innocent? The Cinema in Britain 1896–1930, ed. Andrew Higson (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 2002), 176–190.

53. James Sexton has pointed out that the theme of sexual jealousy in the feely is central to Othello and to the Savage’s tormented relationship with Lenina Crowne. “Brave New World, the Feelies, and Elinor Glyn,” English Language Notes 35 (1997): 35–38.

54. Jane Gaines, Fire and Desire: Mixed-Race Movies in the Silent Era (Chicago: University Of Chicago Press, 2001), 1.

55. Hansen, “The Mass Production of the Senses,” 71.

56. For readings of ethnicity and race in The Jazz Singer, see Michael Rogin’s Blackface, White Noise: Jewish Immigrants in the Hollywood Melting Pot (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996) and Linda Williams’s Playing the Race Card: Melodramas of Black and White from Uncle Tom to O. J. Simpson (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001).

57. See, for example, Huxley’s 1926 letter to Smith (Letters, 266).

58. Shelley Stamp, Movie-Struck Girls: Women and Motion Picture Culture After the Nickelodeon (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2000), 47. See also Celia Marshik’s Modernism and Censorship (Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press, 2006).

59. See Susan Courtney, Hollywood Fantasies of Miscegenation: Spectacular Narratives of Gender and Race, 1903–1967 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2005). See also Lucy Bland, “White Women and Men of Colour: Miscegenation Fears in Britain After the Great War,” Gender History 17, no. 1: 29–61.

60. Rachael Low, The History of the British Film, vol. 4 (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1971), 130–131.

61. Huxley in Hollywood (New York: Harper and Row, 1989), 351.

62. Huxley, Essays, vol. 2, 20; The Doors of Perception and Heaven and Hell (New York: Perennial, 1990), 168.

63. Mary Field and Percy Smith, Secrets of Nature (London: Faber, 1933). See also Field’s “Can the Film Educate?” (1934) in The Red Velvet Seat: Women’s Writing on the First Fifty Years of Cinema, ed. Antonia Lant and Ingrid Periz (London: Verso, 2006), 28–334.

64. Shaw, 7. Rachel Low notes that in 1934, “the first group of classroom films to be issued in Britain, were Shakespeare, a one-reeler … about Shakespeare’s biographical and historical background, and three physiology one-reelers, Breathing, The Blood and Circulation” (vol. 5, 26). In Brave New World, Huxley constellates the feelies with both Shakespeare and educational documentary.

65. Allison Flood, “Brave New World Among Top 10 Books Americans Most Want Banned,” The Guardian (London), April 12, 2011.

66. Fredric Jameson, “Then You Are Them,” London Review of Books 31, no. 17 (September 2009): 7–8.

67. Aldous Huxley, After Many a Summer Dies the Swan (New York and London: Harper, 1939) and Ape and Essence (New York: Harper, 1948).

68. Alongside this transformation, Huxley’s views of recreational pleasures, and particularly drugs, changed radically. Not only did Huxley find value in the use of drugs such as LSD, he also proposed that drugs could serve socially useful purposes, expanding consciousness and creativity.

69. The project never got off the ground because RKO owned the dramatic rights to the novel and would not allow it to be produced. Virginia M. Clark, Aldous Huxley and Film (Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1987), 62.

70. Jerome Meckier, “Afterword” to Brave New World: A Musical Comedy (1956), ed. Bernfried Nugle, Aldous Huxley Annual 3 (2003): 106. Kracauer wrote enthusiastically about how musicals could be great “cinematic entertainment,” praising Fred Astaire’s dance films as “veritable landmarks” (Theory of Film, 147).

71. Aldous Huxley, Brave New World: A Musical Comedy (1956), 44–45.

1. Plato, Philebus, trans. Robin H. Waterfield (New York and London: Penguin Classics, 1983), 55.

2. Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground, The Double, and Other Stories, trans. Constance Garnett (New York: Barnes & Noble Classics, 2003), 243.

3. See P. J. Widdowson, “The Saloon Bar Society: Patrick Hamilton’s Fiction in the 1930s,” in The 1930s: A Challenge to Orthodoxy, ed. John Lucas (Hassocks, Sussex: Harvester Press, 1978), 117.

4. Jean Rhys, Voyage in the Dark, The Complete Novels (New York: Norton, 1985), 3. All subsequent references to this edition unless otherwise noted.

5. Widdowson, “The Saloon Bar Society,” 118.

6. Djuna Barnes, Nightwood (New York: New Directions, 1961), 113.

7. Lionel Trilling, “The Fate of Pleasure,” in The Moral Obligation to Be Intelligent: Selected Essays (New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2000), 439.

8. David Plante, Difficult Women: A Memoir of Three (New York: Atheneum 1983).

9. Rachel Bowlby has highlighted the impasse as a rhetorical figure in Rhys’s work. “The Impasse: Jean Rhys’s Good Morning, Midnight” in Still Crazy After All These Years: Women, Writing and Psychoanalysis (London and New York: Routledge, 1992).

10. Terry Eagleton, “First-Class Fellow Traveller,” London Review of Books 15, no. 23 (December 2, 1993): 12.

11. The Complete Works of George Orwell. Vol. 10: A Kind of Compulsion (London: Martin Secker & Warburg Ltd., 1998): 390–392, 390.

12. Gerard Barrett, “Hamilton and the Nets of Language,” Critical Engagements 1, no. 1 (2007): 226, 213. Widdowson calls Hamilton’s prose “‘interpretative’ or ‘synthetic’ realism” (“The Saloon Bar Society,” 122); John Lucas argues that Hamilton and writers such as Sylvia Townsend Warner and Henry Green “deliberately move outside the apparently solid realism in which their fiction seems to be housed in order to discover a radicalism which is at once technical and political.” “From Realism to Radicalism: Sylvia Townsend Warner, Patrick Hamilton and Henry Green in the 1920s,” in Outside Modernism: In Pursuit of the English Novel, 1900–30, ed. Lynne Hapgood and Nancy L. Paxton (Basingstoke, England; New York: Macmillan; St. Martin’s, 2000), 204.

13. Patrick Hamilton, Impromptu in Morbundia (London: Faber and Faber, 2011), 138, 162–163.

14. Patrick Hamilton, Hangover Square (New York: Europa Editions, 2006), 58.

15. Patrick Hamilton, The Midnight Bell, Twenty Thousand Streets Under the Sky (London: Vintage, 2004), 3. All subsequent references to the trilogy are from this edition.

16. Patrick Hamilton, The Plains of Cement, Twenty Thousand, 367.

17. Doris Lessing writes of “the grimy, graceless, bleak, ugly, dreadfulness of the England described by Orwell and by Patrick Hamilton” in Under My Skin (New York: HarperCollins, 1994), 149.

18. “Pulped Fictions” The Guardian, March 12, 2005.

19. John Bayley, “Falling in Love with the Traffic Warden,” London Review of Books, October 1, 1987, 6–8.

20. G. E. Moore, Principia Ethica (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 112.

21. Gilles Deleuze, Masochism: Coldness and Cruelty and Venus in Furs (New York: Zone Books, 1991), 71, 89.

22. Jonathan Brown, “The Lion, the Witch, and the Turkish Delight,” The Independent (London), December 5, 2005.

23. In C. S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (New York: HarperCollins, 2009), Edmund, enthralled by the White Witch’s offering, “thought only of trying to shovel down as much Turkish Delight as he could, and the more he ate the more he wanted to eat. … He still wanted to taste that Turkish Delight more than he wanted anything else” (39–40). In Dorothy Sayers’s Strong Poison (1930), a murderer is addicted to chocolate creams and Turkish Delight, described as a “nauseating mess” that “gluts the palate and glues the teeth, [and] also smothers the consumer in a floury cloud of white sugar” (New York: HarperPerennial, 1993), 241. See also Liesl Schillinger, “The Lion, the Witch, and the Really Foul Candy: In Pursuit of Turkish Delight,” Slate, Dec. 9, 2005, http://www.slate.com/articles/life/food/2005/12/the_lion_the_witch_and_the_really_foul_candy.html.

24 Jacques Lacan, The Other Side of Psychoanalysis: The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book XVII, tr. Russell Grigg (New York: Norton, 2007), 72.

25. Kermode, Pleasure and Change: The Aesthetics of Canon (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), 22. See Jane Gallop’s account of how American feminists have handled—or declined—the translation of jouissance. “Beyond the Jouissance Principle,” Representations 7 (Summer 1984): 110–115. In Barthes’s Pleasure of the Text, plaisir is contrasted with jouissance and yet, as Gallop observes, the terms are often used interchangeably.

26. Lawrence himself sent up orientalist romance in his short story “Mother and Daughter,” in which an aging, fat, and unattractive suitor, who has nevertheless “a strange potency” (819) and is “curiously virile” (820), and whose presence is referred to as serpentlike and “reptilian,” “patriarchal and tribal,” and “sheiky” (821)—all of which invokes Lawrence’s Hullian turn—but is also lampooned as “Turkish Delight” (818). Lawrence, The Complete Stories, vol. 3 (New York: Penguin Books, 1981): 805–826.

27. The Siege of Pleasure, 252; Midnight Bell, 81, 79.

28. Nigel Jones, Through a Glass Darkly: The Life of Patrick Hamilton (London: Abacus, 1991), 147.

29. In The Siege of Pleasure, which Hamilton called “my prostitute [book]” (Jones, Through a Glass Darkly, 142), he is even less empathetic toward Jenny than in the previous novel: “It is doubtful whether Jenny could be said to be the owner either of a character or conscience” (252). Although she begins as a meticulous servant (a “treasure,” her employers exclaim), the narrator describes her downward slide into crime as inevitable: “the pleasures and perils of drink” “unlocked her destiny” along with “her ignorance, her shallowness, her scheming self-absorption, her vanity, her callousness, her unscrupulousness” (Twenty Thousand, 336).

30. See A. D. Nuttall, Why Does Tragedy Give Pleasure? (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001).

31. Beyond the Pleasure Principle, tr. James Strachey, ed. Peter Gay (New York and London: Norton, 1989), 17.

32. Patrick Hamilton, Rope (New York: Samuel French, 2011), 3.

33. When Sasha gets a weekly stipend from a relative in Good Morning, Midnight, she remarks, “Well, that was the end of me, the real end. Two-pound-ten every Tuesday and a room off the Gray’s Inn Road. Saved, rescued and with my place to hide in—what more did I want? I crept in and hid. The lid of the coffin shut down with a bang. Now I no longer wish to be loved, beautiful, happy or successful.” Jean Rhys, The Complete Novels (New York: Norton, 1985), 369. All subsequent references to this edition unless otherwise noted.

34. Rachel Bowlby makes the case that “Good Morning, Midnight … is structured like a rhetorical impasse … since all its positive terms are already excluded with the force of impossibility (once there might have been hope for change, for a long time there has been none)” (57).

35. Jane Marcus, Hearts of Darkness: White Women Write Race (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2004), 4.

36. Shari Benstock, Women of the Left Bank: Paris, 1900–1940 (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1986), 424.

37. Veronica Gregg, Jean Rhys’s Historical Imagination: Reading and Writing the Creole (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1995), 169.

38. Maren Tova Linett, Modernism, Feminism, and Jewishness (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 172.

39. Mary Lou Emery suggests that Rhys’s masochism is a default position for women: “no cultural myth other than that of female masochism is available to [Rhys] as a means by which to transform the meaning of her degradation to renew her life.” Jean Rhys at World’s End: Novels of Colonial and Sexual Exile (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1990), 119. Cathleen Maslen also contends that “masochism is inextricably linked to ideological repression: it is the ‘choice’ one makes when there is no choice.” Ferocious Things: Jean Rhys and the Politics of Women’s Melancholia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 84. Sheila Kineke (“‘Like a Hook Fits an Eye’: Jean Rhys, Ford Madox Ford, and the Imperial Operations of Modernist Meaning,” Tulsa Studies in Women’s Literature 16, no. 2 [Autumn 1997]) and Leah Rosenberg (“‘The Rope, Of Course, Being Covered with Flowers’: Metropolitan Discourses and the Construction of Creole Identity in Jean Rhys’s ‘Black Exercise Book,’” Jean Rhys Review 11, no. 1 [1999]: 5–33) argue that masochism is a strategy of self-definition and critique. Patricia Moran proposes that Rhys develops a masochistic aesthetic of repetition, suspense, and confusion between fantasy and reality that has its origin in sexual trauma. Virginia Woolf, Jean Rhys, and the Aesthetics of Trauma (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007).

40. Katharine Streip identifies Rhys’s sense of comedy as “ressentiment humor” in which “an initial sense of injury and rage become transformed into comedy through self-laceration.” Streip connects Rhys to Beckett, as both implicate the audience in their humor. Citing Freud’s definition of humor, in Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious, as “a means of obtaining pleasure in spite of the distressing affects that interfere with it,” she argues that Rhys’s characters such as Sasha “turn wounds into occasions for pleasure” as “ressentiment humor aims for discomfort without catharsis” (122, 123, 128). “‘Just a Cérébrale’: Jean Rhys, Women’s Humour, and Ressentiment,” Representations 45 (Winter 1994): 118. See also Laura Wainwright, “‘Doesn’t that make you laugh?’: Modernist Comedy in Jean Rhys’s After Leaving Mr Mackenzie and Good Morning, Midnight,” Journal of International Women’s Studies 10, no. 3 (March 2009): 48–57.

41. Rhys told David Plante, “If you had an evening gown at that time, that was all you needed to get into the crowd scene of a film. I made a little money that way. But not enough, not enough for the landlord” (Difficult Women, 15).

42. Louis James, Jean Rhys (London: Longman, 1979), 27, 13.

43. Anna Snaith, “Jean Rhys and London” in Geographies of Modernism: Literatures, Cultures, Spaces, ed. Peter Brooker and Andrew Thacker (New York: Routledge, 2005), 81.

44. Laurie tells Anna, “you always look half-asleep and people don’t like that” (80) and complains about her getting too drunk. Ethel complains that Anna has “never a joke or a pleasant word” and is sick “all the time” (102–103).

45. Elizabeth Carolyn Miller, Framed: The New Woman Criminal in British Culture at the Fin de Siècle (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2008), 121.

46. Alex Marlow-Mann, “The Exploits of Three-Fingered Kate,” British Film Institute, http://www.screenonline.org.uk/film/id/727128/index.html.

47. Jean Rhys, Tigers Are Better-Looking: With a Selection from The Left Bank (London and New York: Penguin, 1972), 138.

48. James Allan Evans, The Empress Theodora (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2002).

49. Elaine Savory observes that “Sex in Rhys’s texts is always heterosexual, but mostly, for the female partner, a matter of absence, inertia, coldness or distraction, with the dramatic exception of Antoinette’s early passion for her husband” in Wide Sargasso Sea. Jean Rhys (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press 1998), 60.

50. Linda Williams, Hard Core: Power, Pleasure, and the “Frenzy of the Visible” (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 4.

51. For a variety of interpretations of Sasha’s “film-mind,” see Emery, Jean Rhys at World’s End; Sue Thomas, The Worlding of Jean Rhys (Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger, 1999); Maren Tova Linett, Modernism, Feminism, and Jewishness (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); and Judith Kegan Gardiner, “Good Morning, Midnight: Good Night, Modernism,” boundary 2 11, no. 1–2 (Autumn 1982): 233–251.

52. The Black Exercise Book is part of the Jean Rhys Archives (Collection number 1976–011, Department of Special Collections and University Archives, McFarlin Library, University of Tulsa). My thanks to the library for permission to use this material. Elaine Savory generously shared her copy of the notebook with me. On “Mr. Howard,” see Thomas, The Worlding of Jean Rhys; Teresa O’Connor, Jean Rhys: The West Indian Novels (New York: New York University Press, 1986); Gardiner; Moran; Carole Angier, Jean Rhys: Life and Work (New York: Little, Brown, 1991); Rosenberg, “‘The Rope, Of Course,’”; Coral Ann Howells, Jean Rhys (New York: Macmillan, 1991).

53. Thomas reads the Howard story as a traumatic paradigm of colonial and racial subjugation, arguing that Mr. Howard is a “turn-of-the-century sex tourist, exploiting differences in age of consent legislation” by imposing his “brothel fantasies” on a young girl (30). Rosenberg writes, “it is clear that Mr. Howard does not erotically arouse Rhys” (“‘The Rope, Of Course,’” 24) and proposes that Rhys deliberately writes sexual desire and pleasure out of the Howard scenario in order to contest both colonial English and Freudian discourse that cast women as promiscuous. “Rhys responds … by erasing sexual pleasure from her account entirely” (18).

54. The Howard story is reworked in “Good-bye Marcus, Good-bye Rose.” While the narrator bemoans Captain Cardew’s “ceaseless talk of love,” she listens “shocked and fascinated,” and ultimately rejects having children and a “normal” life as “The prospect before her might be difficult and uncertain but it was far more exciting.” Jean Rhys, The Collected Short Stories (New York: Norton, 1987), 287, 290.

55. According to Carole Angier, Rhys sat for the Oxford and Cambridge Higher Certificate in English Literature, but did unexpectedly poorly because “she’d chosen as her favourite book a ‘modern’ novel, The Garden of Allah, by Robert Hichens” (Jean Rhys, 43).

56. Of her youthful reading, Rhys remarks in Smile Please, “I liked books about prostitutes, there were a good many then, and vividly recollect a novel called The Sands of Pleasure written by a man named Filson Young.” Smile Please: An Unfinished Autobiography (New York: Harper & Row, 1979), 50–51. While this title sounds like a desert romance, it is in fact a 1905 novel set in bohemian Paris that details a young man’s exploration of the world of Montmartre cafés and clubs and his infatuation with a prostitute. See Betsy Draine’s “Chronotope and Intertext: The Case of Jean Rhys’s Quartet,” in Influence and Intertextuality in Literary History, ed. Jay Clayton and Eric Rothstein (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1991).

57. Smile Please: An Unfinished Autobiography (New York: Harper & Row, 1979), 97.

58. For example, Judith Kegan Gardiner, contrasting, the last scene in Good Morning, Midnight to the conclusion of Ulysses, writes, “When [Sasha] accepts the whiterobed fellow traveler, she does not abandon herself to Molly’s sensual oblivion or to Joyce’s artistic detachment. Instead, she accepts the burdens of a full humanity possessed of the ironies of having been incarnated female in a patriarchal society” (“Good Morning, Midnight,” 249).

59. A. D. Nuttall addresses the question of “tragic pleasure” in relation to modernist difficulty, arguing that both are tastes for “enjoyed discomfort.” Why Does Tragedy Give Pleasure? (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 2.

60. Frank Kermode, Pleasure and Change: The Aesthetics of Canon, ed. Robert Alter (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 72.

1. Anita Loos, Fate Keeps on Happening: Adventures of Lorelei Lee and Other Writings, ed. Ray Pierre Corsini (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1984), 59.

2. Anita Loos, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and But Gentlemen Marry Brunettes, intro. by Regina Barreca 1998 [1925 and 1928] (New York: Penguin,), 44, 4, 53, 51, 52, 54. Henceforth abbreviated B.

3. The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, vol. V: 1924–1927, ed. James T. Boulton and Lindeth Vasey (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 574.

4. Anita Loos, A Cast of Thousands (New York: Grosset and Dunlap, 1977), 205.

5. Stuart Gilbert, ed., Letters of James Joyce, vol. 1 (London: Faber and Faber: 1957), 246.

6. Susan Hegeman, “Taking Blondes Seriously,” American Literary History 7, no. 3 (1995): 525–554; Barbara Everett, “The New Style of ‘Sweeney Agonistes,’” The Yearbook of English Studies 14 (1984): 243–263; and Brooks E. Hefner, “‘Any Chance to Be Unrefined’: Film Narrative Modes in Anita Loos’s Fiction,” PMLA 125, no. 1 (January 2010): 107–120.

7. Faye Hammill, Women, Celebrity, and Literary Culture Between the Wars (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2007), 75. See also Sarah Churchwell, “‘Lost Among the Ads’: Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and the Politics of Imitation,” in Middlebrow Moderns, ed. Lisa Botshon and Meredith Goldsmith (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 2003), 135–166.

8. Cari Beauchamp and Mary Anita Loos, eds., Anita Loos Rediscovered (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003).

9. Q. D. Leavis, Fiction and the Reading Public (London: Pimlico, 2000), 218, 255, 76.

10. Wyndham Lewis, Time and Western Man (Berkeley, CA: Gingko Press, 1993), 55.

11. Robert Graves and Alan Hodge, The Long Week End: A Social History of Great Britain, 1918–1939 (New York: Macmillan, 1941), 135.

12. Lewis, Time and Western Man, Book One, “The Revolutionary Simpletons,” 3–125.

13. Cyril Connolly, Enemies of Promise (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), 62-65.

14. Rita Felski, The Gender of Modernity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995), 6.

15. See Rick Altman, Silent Film Sound (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004); William K. Everson, American Silent Film (New York: De Capo Press, 1998); and Tom Gunning, D. W. Griffith and the Origins of American Narrative Film: The Early Years at Biograph (Champaign: University of Illinois Press, 1991).

16. Hugo Münsterberg, The Photoplay: A Psychological Study (London: D. Appleton & Co., 1916), 79.

17. Joseph Berg Esenwein and Arthur Leeds, Writing the Photoplay (Springfield, MA: The Home Correspondence School, 1913, rev. ed., 1919), 221.

18. Elinor Glyn, The Elinor Glyn System of Writing, Book III (Auburn, NY: The Authors’ Press, 1922), 266–267.

19. Laura Marcus, The Tenth Muse: Writing About Cinema in the Modernist Period (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 290. See also Kamilla Elliot, Rethinking the Novel/Film Debate (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003).

20. Beauchamp and Loos, eds., Anita Loos Rediscovered: Film Treatments and Fiction by Anita Loos, 16.

21. Anita Loos, Kiss Hollywood Good-by (New York: Ballantine, 1975), 6 and A Girl Like I (New York: Viking, 1966), 98. Henceforth abbreviated K and GI.

22. Louella Parsons, “To Whom Hath Shall Be Given,” New York Telegraph, March 16, 1919.

23. Carl Schmidt, “The Handwriting on the Screen,” Everyman’s Magazine 36 (May 1917): 622–623.

24. Rachel Lindsay, The Art of the Moving Picture (1922; reprint, New York: Liveright, 1970), 14, 34.

25. Kristin Thompson, “The Formulation of the Classical Narrative,” in The Classical Hollywood Cinema: Film Style and Mode of Production to 1960, ed. David Bordwell, Janet Steiger, and Kristin Thompson (New York: Columbia University Press, 1985), 187.

26. Thompson, “The Formulation of the Classical Narrative,” 186–187.

27. Schmidt, “The Handwriting on the Screen,” 622.

28. Frank Woods, quoted in Miriam Hansen, Babel and Babylon (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 82.

29. See Hansen’s discussion of hieroglyphics in Babel and Babylon and also Michael North’s in Camera Work (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007).

30. Loos, Anita Loos Rediscovered, 110.

31. Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald, “Our Own Movie Queen,” The Red Velvet Seat, ed. Antonia Lant (London and New York: Verso, 2006), 607–623.

32. Sergei Eisenstein, “Dickens, Griffith, and the Film Today,” in Film Form: Essays in Film Theory, ed. Jay Leyda (New York: Harcourt, 1969), 195–256. See Hansen, Babel and Babylon, 129–140.

33. For a detailed analysis of Intolerance’s influences and production, see William M. Drew, D. W. Griffith’s Intolerance: Its Genesis and Its Vision (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1986).

34. Vachel Lindsay, “The Artistic Position of Douglas Fairbanks,” in The Progress and Poetry of the Movies (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 1995), 167.

35. Loos’s comment that Constance Talmadge’s role in Intolerance (The Mountain Girl) was that of a “Babylonian flapper” suggests that she was imagining ways to associate Intolerance with her own contemporary interests (GI, 93).

36. Hansen, Babel and Babylon, 122; Michael Rogin, “The Great Mother Domesticated: Sexual Difference and Sexual Indifference in D. W. Griffith’s Intolerance,” Critical Inquiry 15, no. 3 (Spring 1989): 518, 520.

37. See, for example, Kevin Brownlow, The Parade’s Gone By (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976), 64.

38. Everett, “The New Style,” 254; Barreca, B, xviii; Katharina Von Ankum, “Material Girls: Consumer Culture and the ‘New Woman’ in Anita Loos’s Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and Irmgard Keun’s Das Kunsteidene Mädchen,” Colloquia Germanica 27, no. 2 (1994): 159–172.

39. Iris Barry notes that the British “Typist” is equivalent to the American “Stenographer.” Let’s Go to the Movies (1926; reprint, New York: Arno Press, 1972), 277.

40. Christopher Keep, “The Cultural Work of the Type-Writer Girl,” Victorian Studies 40, no. 3 (Spring 1997): 418.

41. Lawrence Rainey, “Eliot Among the Typists: Writing The Waste Land,” Modernism/Modernity 12, no. 1 (January 2005): 55.

42. Loos, Kiss Hollywood Good-by, 42. This film opens with a self-referential joke by Loos. A lounging Harlow quips, “So gentlemen prefer blondes, do they?”

43. Fictional examples of this formulation include Ada Negri’s 1928 story “The Movies,” in which a friendless, orphaned typist whose only passion is film is run over after watching a movie. Antonia Lant, ed., The Red Velvet Seat (London and New York: Verso, 2006), 111–115.

44. Siegfried Kracauer, The Mass Ornament: Weimar Essays, ed. and tr. Thomas Y. Levin (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1995), 292.

45. Barry, Let’s Go to the Movies, 8.

46. Freidrich A. Kittler, Gramophone, Film, Typewriter, tr. Geoffrey Winthrop-Young and Michael Wutz (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1999), 174.

47. Walter Benjamin, “On Some Motifs in Baudelaire,” tr. Harry Zohn, in Illuminations: Essays and Reflections (New York: Schocken, 1968), 175.

48. Barry, Let’s Go to the Movies, 8, 5, 73.

49. Lant, ed., Red Velvet Seat, 574.

50. William Faulkner, cited in John T. Matthews’s “Gentlemen Defer Blondes: Faulkner, Anita Loos, and Mass Culture,” in Faulkner, His Contemporaries, and His Posterity, ed. Waldemar Zacharasiewicz (Tubingen: Francke, 1993), 207–221.

51. Letters of James Joyce, ed. Stuart Gilbert, vol. 1, 247.

52. James Joyce, Finnegans Wake (New York and London: Penguin Classics, 1999), 4.

53. Samuel Beckett, “Dante … Bruno … Vico … Joyce,” Our Examination Round His Factification for Incamination of Work in Progress in I Can’t Go On, I’ll Go On: A Samuel Beckett Reader, ed. Richard Seaver (New York: Grove Press, 2007), 117.

54. See Loos’s Harper’s Bazaar story, “Why Girls Go South,” which includes a fictional playwright, Hans Pfeffer, “the important exponent of modern German Explosionism” (Fate Keeps On Happening, 289), and “the great futurist painter Art D. Stroyer” in the scenario “Where Does Annie Belong?” (Anita Loos Rediscovered, 97–99).

55. Wyndham Lewis, Time and Western Man, 113.

56. See my article, “Not So Dirty Dancing,” Bookforum (April/May 2009), http://www.bookforum.com/inprint/016_01/3546.

57. Q. D. Leavis, Fiction and the Reading Public, 56.

58. See Warhol’s Marilyn Diptych (1962) and Sherman’s Untitled (As Marilyn Monroe) (1982).

1. Anaïs Nin, Fire: From A Journal of Love: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1934–1937 (New York: Harvest, 1993), 149.

2. “Bloomsday, 1904,” Opinion, New York Times, June 16, 2004, http://www.nytimes.com/2004/06/16/opinion/bloomsday-1904.html. “The Difficulty of Navigating Ulysses,” NPR, June 16, 2004; http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=1959559. Neil Smith, “Cheat’s Guide to Ulysses,” BBC, June 16, 2004, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/3810193.stm.

3. http://www.symphonyspace.org/series/167.

4. Richael Kimmelman, “Missionaries,” The New York Review of Books, April 26, 2012. It remains to be seen how Barbara Will’s alternate narrative of “collaborating and canoodling,” in Unlikely Collaboration: Gertrude Stein, Bernard Faÿ, and the Vichy Dilemma (New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), will shape Stein studies.