The whip

Every since I started my English studies my white professors usually tend to lash their structure whip at my writing. Here in Sweden, both at Stockholm University and Karlstad University I have come across the critique that my writing is erratic. I lack focus, there is no structure and they generally nag once they finally approve my writing that they do it out of some sort of mercy. I don’t like it one bit and I don’t understand why university professors in these universities have resort to humiliating students so they can learn.

I have always wondered why isn’t there more pedagogy in the language courses at the university level here in Sweden. Or maybe its just my luck that my professors are dirt cheap professional assholes. No really, I could name a few names here to lay out the sort of assholes they are. I am so tired of their bullshit and I know am not alone in this complaint. They claim to be professionals and they might just be good at what they do but when it comes to dish this out to the common student they guard themselves in the power vested upon them. It is all silly really. You know it is a misuse of power and I really don’t don’t care that the university professors are overworked. At least in Sweden they seem to be so.

A piece of work should not be left to the whims of the professor. And I know I am supposed to do the job. But fuck, can’t they just tell me wtf I did wrong? And I know they are terrible assessors when they bitch and complain about how this or that is done in a terrible way. They actually manage to bring several notches down the self esteem. It is as if my self esteem was the target. Because that is what they actually bull’s eye every time.

Pricks, I really don’t like the methods my professors use to inculcate knowledge, it sucks and its denigrating to the students:

argh.

traces

It is 6 pm in this Nordic land.

I saw the sun rays today.

Them beasts come out at night here.

And their shine on the spider’s silk

play with the wind.

I ventured a look, at the distance.

To give my fixed eyes on the computer a rest.

Tis was then I saw the rainbow of colors

resisting the force of the Nordic winds.

A spiders trajectory

right across my view.

***

And

I recalled

from a stint

a squimy being

crossing my path

the earth worm slithering

made it through

on the asphalt

That’s when I knew

no car has passed here before.

***

I peer through the window

and the common landscapes

are robbed its given attention

A spider has drawn

the sight

before me.

She is fat with the land

this early spring.

Scattered cumulus

bright grey blue

new shoots about

steal

the moment furthermore.

Afuera: outside the county’s light prepares itself for the night. I remember those oranges in Tijuana at first sight. City gradual light. Its intensity oranges minutely.

As well, the remains of an autumn that refuses to let go, smears the horizon with grey blue metalic orange like 9-ish a now now bygone.

I see them spiders still. Smack before me. They 69 on the 4 squares that make my window.

One looks down, the other up.

Now they have synchronized.

And my sight is caught in a web.

Charlie: real stories del Dandy del Sur

Aquí­ en este blog y en el otro hemos hecho alarde de la negligencia que existe en la cultura tijuanense por nuestro lado anglo. En otras partes hemos escrito raudales por ese lado gringo nuestro. Atreverze a cruzar la lí­nea, Was heisst Aufklí¤rung?, Impasse, Culture Shifters and Tack Federico en donde Federico Campbell hace mención de este bloguero tijuanense en Suecia en un artí­culo de él en Letras Libres.

Y este post va para aquellos que frecuentan el Dandy del Sur y todos esos que se dicen alabar el antro de mala muerte que tanto frecuentan sin nunca percatarse de la comunidad gringa que ese antro frecuenta.

Fue en el Dandy del Sur que conocí­ en persona al autor del blog Refried Gringo. Este vato es un cronista de la ciudad pero narra lo que vive en Tijuana bajo el idioma del inglés. A mí­ siempre me ha caido bien el vato, jode, sé inglés y me identifico mucho con lo que dice, chingao, soy tijuanense bilingíüe después del todo. Una vez que andaba allá en Tijuas se lo presente al PGBeas, pero ya saben cómo es el nortequiano, swallows loads of attention y lleva otro ritmo de vida, así­ que me sentí­ uncomfortable esa noche que le disparé al PGBeas unas carnes de esas que el Dandy del Sur tiene como botana después de atender su llamado: ¡sueco!. Estaba sentado en la barra, al lado del gringo. Me hallaba en medio de dos mundos. Me jale a David, antes habí­a mencionado que ahí­ estaba sentado el vato que describió en uno de sus posts. Esa noche disfrutaba el PGBeas la buena compañí­a de su amiga la Karinusha. Pero las personalidades tení­an otros pendientes que atender. Me imagino cómo reaccionarí­a mi amistad gringa tijuanense ante este espontaneo actuar de parte de la K y el PGBeas pero no logro ponerle palabras al hecho.

At seven, I left the Dandy Del Sur and wandered down Calle Sexta to El Fuente, expecting to take in the Padres game. Charlie was already there, his portable radio pressed to his ear

Es curioso, en realidad, cómo todas las muertes que Tijuana sufre una vino a caer aquí­ en mi rincón sueco. David dice que se tuvo que tomar mucho tiempo para poder escribir la muerte de uno de los protagonistas más frecuentes en los posts que publica, Charlie. Le dolió mucho la muerte de Charlie. David me lo presentó una vez, quizá dos veces o más. Y con esa memoria que me cargo lo tengo presente, un sujeto que inspiraba a no cruzarlo como un cerco invita a respetar una propiedad. Para mí­ era un viejito más, quizá un tanto excéntrico porque se sentaba en una esquina del Dandy del Sur, cerca de los baños, los gringos tienen esa esquina como suya y las meseras saben quienes son los clientes de planta: ellos. Solí­a tener un radio pegado al oí­do, escuchando los partidos de beisbol. Era gente del centro pues en mis caminatas durante mis estancias en Tijuana solí­a verlo caminar por las calles. Tení­a un paso determinado pero nunca lo procuré, ni quize entablar alguna conversación más allá de un saludo, a estas alturas de mi vida, sé de antemano que hacer una amistad requiere mucho tiempo y mucho más quizá si somos de dos razas diferentes.

En fin, Charlie is dead now. Un habitante que nunca más podrá beber en el Dandy del Sur.

Si saben inglés y quieren leer historias del Dandy del Sur no hay mejor crónista que David, así­ que léanlo, mientras dure, el blog, no sean morbosos.

state of chicano research in Sweden

Update: For those of you that know Swedish Eva Zetterman has placed on the web a little bit on art and media related to chicanos: Att skapa ett vi – gatukonst i Kalifornien

She has also done it in English, so there is no need to panic: Signs of Identity Processes – Street Art in California Eva Zetterman. And get aload of the title of the pdf file: haina_6_zetterman.pdf

First published: December 31, 2006 @ 21:36

Finally. I found this paper I knew was cooking because I spoke several times to the researcher myself. I managed to ask her once, right smack in the middle of her research if it was possible to see her work but that proved be a no-no and ever since then I have been out of touch from the lovely gal. Either way here is an excerpt of her work and if it interests you one can download the frigging thang here.

Author: Jonsson, Carla
Title: Code-switching in Chicano Theater: Power, Identity and Style in Three Plays by Cherrí­e Moraga

Keywords: code-switching, Chicano theater, Chicano, Chicano discourse, power, identity, language ideology, third space, style, hybridity, code-mixing

The thesis examines local and global functions of code-switching and code-mixing in Chicano theater, i.e. in writing intended for performance. The data of this study consists of three published plays by Chicana playwright Cherrí­e Moraga.

Another proyect on the go is by an old professor of mine at Stockholm University, she herself is mexican and has lived many years in Aztlán.

‘Food and Identity in Late Twentieth-Century Chicano Literature’

Even though the importance of food in the individual and collective identity of a group of people already has been studied in detail by the social sciences, literary criticism has paid little attention to the presence of food and drink in literature in general, and, much less, in Mexican and Chicano literature. Still, the presence of these everyday elements in literature in not arbitrary, it is an important part of the literary work; by the use of factors related to food (such as the preparation of dishes, the ingredients used, and the very act of eating), the texts attempt to help the reader understand the association with the Chicano identity discourse.

Mexican identity shows itself in various ways in a great deal of Chicano literature. The Aztlan myth is a fundamental element that both Mexicans and Chicanos have in common. Both groups can be considered as one, since the search for the Aztlan of the Aztecs has been and still is an important factor for all descendants of Mexicans. Aztlan, a mythological place that occupies an important part of the collective consciousness of all Mexicans (including Chicanos) cannot be placed geographically. Thus, what is ‘Mexican’ cannot be defined as something that only exists south of the border, but something that all descendants of Mexicans have.

Sounds rather interesting to me and I can wait to get my hands on this one. I never really gave much thought to food issues in Aztlán so this paper ought to wake ones appetite quite exquisitely.

Lastly, I want to mention a few other goodies. Firstly, Chicano culture is making headlines overhere and in proper Aztlán too!

Gregory Rodriguez: Swedish Mexican Food, Straight From the U.S. Sweden indulges in American culture by going on a taco binge.

You see, here — as in other parts of Europe — Mexican food was not brought over by Mexicans at all. Rather, it was introduced by American TV shows and movies. That explains why there’s a ”Gringo Special” on the menu at the Taco Bar, a Swedish fast-food chain, and why nearly all the Mexican products in the grocery stores — ”Taco Sauce,” ”Taco Spice Mix” and ”Guacamole Dip” — are labeled in English.

Beleive it or not a swedish blog got mentioned in the article so it made the rounds quite nicely.

Lastly, this blog is linked in a wiki paper! No kidding joe

Somos más

En una de esas conversaciones relució que eramos más que lo que uno creirí­a …

Me quedé con el ojo cuadrado. Escuchar eso de la mente de ella me trastornó la realidad unos minutos. Y es que uno en estos lares se haya hundido en la miseria humana; ahí­ no reina el mundo de Chuy.

Me acordé de él: ese que indirectamente me hizo sentir culpable porque cometí­ un error en tiempos de cólera: tj burns was an understament.

Que borracho anda compa, me dijo, al decir esa joya en medio del estupor en que me dí­.

El angst no dejo de hacer presencia; una estafeta más a pasar: day after day.

Y es que querer convencer, en está era mediática, de que somos más de los que realmente creemos, es una tesis que busca extraviar la vista.

Le dí­ un abrazo de esos que solo una buena porción de alcohol puede dar.

L

English. Every time I look at this blog am embarrassed by the amount of posts. 450 with this one. In Spanish I have about a thousand more plus that. I guess that explains a few things.

When there is nothing to tell in English the flow stops. I believe that. I have failed to use English as a means to display the everyday. Therein layeth the problemática, I believe. I have entertained thoughts about the feasibility of English in my writing. I have waited patiently for the beast to take over again but it doesn’t. Once I discovered Spanish as a medium I became more inclined to write in that wretched language I hate so. It is curios in fact, that my loathing for the Spanish language has sucked so much writing time though I hate it so. Irony at some level I suppose.

Aliento mentir

Mentí­.
Siento aún el lento helor de la mentira.
Fui
ni cuarto de hora atrás que mentí­.
Menos de lustro que dementí­:
Y el opérculo del eucalipto la mente abre.
¡qué fresco!
aquello fue
lo último que alcancé a escuchar de mí­
una vez
prof/h/erida
la mentada
que recibí­.

Borges

He escuchado varios audios. Entre ellos el del Jorge Luis Borges. Aquí­ el link para aquellos que quieran torturar su cerebro para las í­nfulas del ego. Hace unos años atrás leí­ 20 Poemas de Amor y Una Canción Desesperada de él [corrección, el autor es Pablo Neruda] y no recuerdo nada de ello más allá de haberlo leí­do porque un curso en la universidad de Estocolmo así­ lo pedí­a, un libro canonizado, que a estas alturas, es casi maldición caer en esos alambres de púas. Decidí­ tomarme la molestia de bajarlo para ver cuál es tanto el argíüende en que mis paisanos se regodean cada vez que sus labios prietos sueltan su nombre como si uno soltará los espí­ritus del bienestar para la humanidad así­ como Pandora soltó el mal para Uno. Uta mano, qué desperdicio de tiempo, como la buen Logovo dice: habrá que lavarme los oí­dos tras haber escuchado el alarde de unos cuantos a los cuales bien hubiere nunca haber escuchado los lores que le tiran al Gaucho del reino del Argen. No valió la pena.

Y es que Borges pertenece a esa lacra de la humanidad hispana que le da por realzar lo hispano a costa de Uno. Es el prí­ncipe de vuestra merced, o sea, para Borges, lo que vale es la cultura gacha del perro asesino que rinde tributos a la corona española, siervo fiel pues del pronombre en tercera persona y nunca amigo del tuismo.

En la poesí­a de Borges no hay campo para el tú.

La distancia entre los unos y los otros es latente. Por lo menos en este CD. Y no es que no tenga méritos el poema o los poemas que ahí­ se dictan, por el amor de Dios, méritos hay para mucho pero lo chocante es esa insistencia por conservar la separación de la gente entre gente de razón y gente bruta, de existir hoy Borges no pudiere aguantar el tuismo que cunde por toda la galaxia cibernética. En este caos no existe respeto para viejos chochos que se dejan llevar por sus propias í­nfulas de grandeza. No, aquí­, en esta galaxia, nada está expuesto a la soledad, como quizá algún dí­a lo estuvo B.

Crime and Punishment PRI and PAN

La semi y la Ocho, Tijuana

Recuerdo que la primera vez que escuché la palabra chiquitiar fue en los patios de la semi allá por los early 1980’s. Fue un sayo de playas quien en un momento de apantallarnos se jactó de haber chiquitiado a su morra, así­ de paso, como si nada. Fue ahí­ mismo que también descubrí­ que si uno le saca las tiras de fibra a las cascaras de los plátanos y las pone uno a secar, puede uno obtener una droga cuyo éxtasis se obtiene mediante su inhalación, o sea, fumandole, pero, según las voces aquellas, el viaje traí­a un dolor de cabeza insoportable amén de ser cachado secando las tiras de la fibra, llamados cientí­ficamente como floemas. Fue en la semi, también, que me encontré a merced de los cabezas rapadas, mi miedo más grande a mis escasos 14, los morros a rapa, se clachaban más felones, habrá que comprender pues que en aquellas decadas ser pelón era lo peorcito. La semi, aquella vieja institución para menores de edad de Tijuana era si tan sólo la primera escala en mi carrera de incarceraciones, mi billete al mundo del presidio mexicano de Tj. Recuerdo la primera rascazón que me dió por las chinches machines de la Ocho, esos bichos de los cuales la vida gozaba de alimentar a creces para el martirio de los que pernoctabamos ahí­ por eso de la vagancia. Ahí­ perdí­ un buen par de tenis Pony por dormir a pierna suelta y sentí­, por primera vez, cómo unas barras hacen de la libertad un deseo enorme. Sí­, la librerí­a esa, enfrente de esas rejas, esos ruidos, esas sirenas, hací­an del resta chino una ansiedad insoportable. Mas a la vez descubrí­ el poder del dinero, si habí­a algo que ver, aprender, era ver como el dinero lo compraba todo. Esos eran los tiempos del PRI, el crimen gozaba de su poder mediante la feria, y todo mundo feliz. Las celdas eran unos departamentos para criminales cuyo poder era poder meter lo que les metí­a en gana a los susodichos presos.

Ahora con el PAN, ni quiera Dios pise una celda de las suyas, me cae si no. La placa de los panistas son culeras. Como dirí­a mi buen amigo José, los del PRI roban y dejan robar. Los del PAN roban pero para ellos nada mas. He ahí­ la diferencia. No sé cómo mis amigos intelectuales se dejan llevar por la ola moral del PAN, en su retórica alegan que no está bien el crimen, concuerdo. Pero lo que ellos no cuentan o no quieren saber es que el crimen que hoy sufren se debe mucho a que el PAN, en Baja California, hace del crimen una lana para sí­ y sólo para sí­. El crimen era controlable bajo el PRI. No que eso fuere bueno ni nada.

No que uno quiera el viejo PRI en el poder otra vez, sino solo para marcar las diferencias. El PAN es facista, utiliza el crimen para sostenerse en el poder mientras que el PRI utilizó la ilusión de la democracia para sostenerse en el poder. El PAN utiliza la democracia para dar la ilusión de que ellos pueden contra el crimen siendo que ellos son los que se benefician más del status quo que cunde por la Baja. El PAN a la vez utilizó la democracia para darnos gato por liebre y ahora ni cómo deshacernos de la lacra que representa la sociedad de razón que representa el mugroso PAN. Ojala y todos sus miembros se pudran en el infierno, por engañarnos y creerse más que los demás.

The secret life of Francis Cornish

In this essay I will use New Historicist Literary Criticism to try and understand a little better Robertson Davies What’s Bred in the Bone. This particular school of criticism lends itself quite nicely to this book because the milieu, embedded history and social components give enough material to see it through the lens of New Historicism. I will apply some of the concepts that are explained in New Historicist Literary Criticism as outlined in the book by Keith Booker. I hope to gain insight in some of the social attitudes that are drawn in What’s Bred in the Bone by Robertson Davies, in particular how respectability influences the main character of the novel, Francis Cornish.

There are a few concepts from this school of thought that I would like to delineate first. I will be referring to them in my observations I gather from the text in question. I am particularly drawn to the idea of shaping identities. I recur to the following citation to better understand Francis Cornish:

Greenblatt ultimately concludes that most of these writers shape their identities for themselves within the context of submission to some authority: ”God, a sacred book, an institution such as church, court, colonial or military administration” (9). (p.139) Booker.

Although Greenblatt is talking about writers I believe that this can also be applicable to the novel’s main character. Hence, I intend to remark on some of the social forces that shaped Francis Cornish identity during the course of this essay. I will also be recurring to the following citation as well

New historicists believe that it makes no sense to separate literary texts from the social context around them because such texts are the product of complex social ”exchanges” or ”negotiations”. Booker (138)

This last citation demands outside help for the text to support my observations. Lastly the word respectability will appear quite often so I should define that word as well. The best approach is to use the sense within the text. Respectability is then an act of keeping up with appearances. In the novel, the best example of keeping up with appearances is presented by Arthur Cornish. He absolutely abhors the idea that his uncle, Francis Cornish, might be associated with criminal activity as Arthur’s wife Maria points it out: ”Anything that challenges the perfect respectability of Cornishes stirs him up.”

I will also like to add to the definition by including what respectability has meant for this period of time. This is a synchronic view of the term taken out of The Journal of British Studies.

[Geoffrey] Best calls respectability ”the great Victorian shibboleth and criterion,” a means by which to judge strangers on the basis of their appearance and behavior. Provided a person was sober, conventionally dressed, clean, and polite on Sundays, he could attain respectability and with it the sanction of society. (Cordery 1995 p.37)

Although the book’s geography is Canada, Canada has had great influence by Britain and is part of the British Commonwealth. Hence the definition applies aptly to Canada because of the long traditional and historical ties Canada has had with Great Britain.

What’s bred in the Bone

In What’s bred in the Bone by Robertson Davies we are introduced to a set of divergent issues dealing with Francis’ Cornish respectability. This can be observed right off from the start. We have a threesome discussing research for a biography of the main character of the novel, Francis Cornish. There is an impasse because the biographer, Reverend Simon Darcourt, can’t seem to get enough information about the subject at hand and worst yet there seems to be some shady background behind the man that is being researched. This shady background cannot and should not be allowed to be published because it might damage the Cornish name. Upon threatening to cancel the project, the biographer then suggests to go public by his own means and curiosity about the subject is the only thing holding the respectability of Frank Cornish untarnished. This is a curious set of events because even after Francis Cornish death the issue of respectability haunts his deceased ens. It is also curious to observe that while it is perfectly acceptable to be eccentric (Davies p.5), miser (Davies p.6) and lonely, the idea that Frank Cornish might be homosexual, a thief and a conniving liar is not because this will certainly bring about problems, specially damaging the banking industry we are told (Davies p.4). Respectability, even in an era that prides itself in acknowledging that being a poofter is aceptable, is risqué. Respectability can make or brake fortunes we are understood.

How did Francis Cornish acquire his respectability? Well, Francis Cornish was born under a rather dark and unpure ambiance that bespeaks ill deeds. All to sustain an aura of respectability. All under a period in time that prides itself for being respectable. The logic is that respectability was to be maintained by all means necessary, the norm in Victorian times. It was in order to maintain a respectable appearance that before Francis Cornish was born, the death of his brother was simulated to cover up a stain of the past, something he discovers himself later on (Davies p.58;131). However this stain was not covered up sufficiently it seems because the school that Francis attends as a child everybody seems to know that something is being hidden in the family attic. We obtain this bit of information from the lips of the bully Alexander Dagg:

D’you know what I’am going to tell yu? There is something funny about your house. People see lights where a light’s got no right to be. My Maw says there is a looner in there somewheres. […] People wonder a lot about your house. (Davies. p.94)

Alexander Dagg speaks of Francis the First. Francis Cornish brother who is hidden from public view because he was conceived out of wedlock and suffers a physical ailment that renders him anormal. The act of conceiving out of wedlock was unthinkable in an era where Victorian values still held sway over people even during the relaxed reign of Edward VII. To admit fault betrayed appearances. In order to save face this meant hiding any stain that might tarnish the name of the Cornish family and this is how Francis comes to being, out of an effort to sustain an aura of respectability. Although there was a price to pay for keeping up with appearances. Respectability has a price after all.This entailed a series of complex social ”exchanges” or ”negotiations” (Booker p.138). In order to keep Mary-Jim McRory respectable, Francis Cornish mother, the Senator, Honourable James Ignatius McRory, had to strike a deal with another seemingly respectable person, in this case Major Francis Cornish whose respectability lies solely on the pins of his titles and past. Major Francis Cornish outlined a deal that profoundly astonished the Senator’s sensibilities because ”it hit him very hard in his Highland pride” (Davies p.42) yet he went along with it in order to keep respectability intact. The other paid price was that the whole town knew there were strange and odd things going on in Francis’ house. Though this seems to matter little for the Cornish family, so long as rumors are kept in check what the town knew was of little concern.

”Ah – for Francis the Looner was a lifelong reminder of the inadmissible primitive in the most cultivated life, a lifelong adjuration to pity, and a sign that disorder and abjection stand less than a hair’s breadth away from every human creature.” (Davies p. 207)

The first parts of the novel are the backbone of the title since the omniscient voices retelling Francis Cornish life argue that in order to narrate his life it is what is bred in the bone that matters. Respectability, then, is what is bred in the bones of Francis Cornish albeit a questionable sorts of respectability though very well in tune with what society prescribed as respectable in those times. This can be discernible when Francis Cornish decides to paint the myth of Francis Cornish. (Davies p.359) He decides to go ahead and paint a fake painting and he weighs in the consequences yet for the sake of respectability he chooses to do the wrong deed.

Although this should not come as a surprise since there are all sorts of outside social forces shaping Francis Cornish life. Both exterior and interior forces. For example, the first hundred pages of the book rob him of a say in an age were William James’ stream of consciousness is an almost du riguer technique. It is a curios aspect of the novel that in order to narrate Frank Cornish life the use of an omniscient voice, or voices in this case, are used to explain who Francis Cornish is. This in fact seems to add to the illusion of maintaining respectability. By not allowing Francis Cornish to have a stream of consciousness we keep the illusion of respectability intact. He is not responsible for his acts. Had the writer resorted to stream of consciousness god only knows what ideas had we formed about Francis Cornish. One can even question the choice of the omniscient narrators for Francis Cornish. They free him of all flaws, he is nearly immaculate. Frank Cornish is an exercise in immaculateness. Indeed, there is no real assertion of independent self because all the strings are being pulled for Francis Cornish. If the demigods aren’t tinkering with his self then there are the constraints placed before him by society. The nearly absent parents, the overzealous caretaker, Aunt Mary-Ben McRory, the school and even when there is a glimpse of assertion it is Dr. J.A Jerome who gives him the permission to fight back (Davies p.89).

However, being raised under the shadows of respectability radically determines Francis Cornish identity. He learns to keep secrets and learns the codes of respectability that seem to prevail in a society steeped in Victorian values. There is no doubt that respectability manages to shape Francis Cornish identity even to his own detriment. He is a secret agent for MI5 and manages to fake paintings although he can’t acknowledge that his is the author of them. He just fantasizes to tell the truth:

It was at this point that Francis, who had been suffering for two days and a half the torments of an inflamed conscience, […] felt that he should rise to his feet and make a speech in the manner of the late Letzpfenning: ”Gentlemen, I cannot tell a lie, I did it with my little paint box.” (Davies p.393)

He does tell a lie of course and he seems to pay for it dearly. He is after all considered eccentric, rumors fly about his integrity and remains a loner the remaining years of his life sharing almost a similar fate that his brother faced. The looner ended up secluded because he wasn’t respectable enough to be seen in public view. They both hide behind the illusion of respectability. Francis has many defects that need to be kept secluded as well, MI5 for example. Respectability was sown and he reaped a dark and secretive life for it.

All in all we have a set of authorities deeply shaping Francis Cornish identity. Dr. J.A, MI5, the elementary school via Alexander Dagg and other persons as well. When is Francis Cornish himself though? Oddly enough it seems almost curious to observe that the only time Francis Cornish ever is himself is through the mechanism of forgery. It is in the realm of deceit where we experience a real Francis Cornish with his own stream of consciousness. A place were Daimon Maimas and Lesser Zadkiel are tending the needs of Francis Cornish.

Bibliography

Booker, Keith M. A Practical Introduction to Literary Theory and Criticism. Longman
Publishers USA 1996.
Robertson, Davies. What’s Bred in the Bone. Viking Penguin. Elisabeth Sifton Books. 1985

Cordery, Simon. ”Friendly Societies and the Discourse of Respectability in Britain, 1825
1875” The Journal of British Studies 34 (1995): 35-58.