Abstract
Memory, Trauma and World Politics is a fascinating and long overdue study of memory as a multidisciplinary phenomenon. The present volume widens the focus beyond the conventional study of ‘collective memory’ by situating it at the heart of the political project of modernity. As the authors argue, ‘memory and trauma have always been intertwined with global politics’ (p. 4). By insisting on the connection between trauma, memory and politics, the general aim throughout the chapters is to illuminate the essential need for international scholars and practitioners to embrace the study of such disciplines as history, anthropology, ethics and psychoanalysis, to enrich both the discipline of political science and our understanding of politics. By (re-) problematising the concept of memory, many of the authors delve deeper into the normative and political dimensions of the recent ‘obsession’ with memory that they believe is characteristic of postmodern society. Their goal is to ‘salvage’ memory from oversimplification and ambiguity by illustrating the infinite ways through which the study of memory can aid in disclosing multiple cultural and institutional practices, as well as revealing larger meta-theoretical and philosophical discourses.
The structure of the book reflects this broad intent by incorporating essays which range widely in theoretical scope and focus. At one end of the continuum is the study of trauma as ‘the central feature of modernity’ (p. 75) used as a theoretical and methodological tool to reveal the indispensability of the study of memory qua ethics. This group of essays is preoccupied with untangling the intimate link between the concepts of modern politics, sovereignty and trauma that defines the manner in which politics is thought of and remembered, particularly in the context of such twentieth-century tragedies as the Holocaust and the two world wars. At the other end of the spectrum is the empirical analysis of the ways in which ‘trauma’ translates into politics through both semantic and symbolic articulations of remembrance as forgiveness and retribution. At the same time, these essays clearly illustrate that forgetting is as fundamental to bracketing political possibilities as is remembrance.
Memory, Trauma and World Politics is a theoretically rich and imaginative volume that thoughtfully and convincingly navigates the reader through the multiple ways in which memory is proven to be indispensable for the understanding of modern politics. While the title of the book reveals the vastness of the subject matter, the present volume is a remarkable first step in the right direction.
Alla Mirzoyan
(Independent Scholar)
Moving between disciplines and back again is especially important in our post-disciplinary age, a time when either multidisciplinary or interdisciplinary work seems to command the greatest attention, from our institutions and from funding councils. Leaving aside the plausibility of establishing real interdisciplinarity, political scientists of all persuasions find themselves looking out from their disciplinary home, to seek useful insights from other fields. In this review I examine two texts that might (and I stress might) help someone think about the question of law and its role in (global) politics.
In Thinking about Law Oren Ben-Dor utilises Heidegger to examine the pervasiveness of the legal both as a mode of thought and a method of establishing a silence about certain elements of the political. The author starts by exploring how Heidegger's work on being may reveal the difficulty of thinking about the law's being, its ontology: the very act of thinking about law is captured by its being and hence the ability to think ontologically about law is compromised by the law's ability to define what it is to be law. The difficulty for Ben-Dor is that the essence of law must be more than, or different from, merely the legal, but this very essence is that about which he believes legal scholars have remained silent. To rectify this silence, he develops a close reading firstly of Heidegger through a dense series of numbered paragraphs, and then deploys a discussion of Levinas to establish the ethical other from which a discussion of the essence of law, that does not include the legal as its central aspect, can be constructed. Finally, returning to Heidegger, the author concludes in the coda that the problem of ethics, law and the legal can only be resolved by an appeal to the Divine as law's antecedent other.
Taking a very different approach, Brian Tamanaha's Law as a Means to an End continues his project looking at the rule of law as one of the key political ideals of modern society; here he is concerned with the clash of two competing ways of understanding legal processes. Tamanaha argues throughout the book that the instrumental view of law, that law serves social purposes defined outside its own realm, is opposed to a more natural law-like approach that sees the law as containing principles which should be adhered to whatever the outcome in any specific circumstance. This leads him to set out a history of the instrumental view of law, essentially a nineteenth-century notion which resonates in contemporary thinking about the law. This contemporary instrumentalism is laid out in some detail in the second part which explores instrumentalism in a number of legal realms, from academia to the legal profession, from its impact on litigation to its role in legislating. This leads Tamanaha to conclude that a means–end logic leads to the overreaching of law, perhaps best typified by the ‘torture memos', where legality disrupts previous legal mores. Although he is clear to point out that he is not a legal utopian hoping to return law to a previous moral age, nevertheless instrumentalism has itself the potential to undermine the widespread acquiescence in the rule of law. Concluding with a reading of E. P. Thompson's famous final section of Whigs and Hunters, Tamanaha does not lapse into political pessimism, but clearly wishes to sound an alarm.
The question is, how useful are these books for developing an engagement between politics and law in analytical, rather than empirical, terms? Ben-Dor's book, like many close readings by post-structuralists, is a difficult read for the non-adept, and given the frequent difficulty of establishing the common ground between disciplines on which the articulation of interdisciplinarity can prosper, this book is unlikely to appeal to those political scientists seeking a way into law. Whatever its other qualities, this is not a book that facilitates or encourages, to my mind, a discussion between law and politics, despite this implicitly being its subject. While seemingly intending to address this interface, in the end Ben-Dor's mode of argumentation denies the non-specialist reader the possibility of an approach that could be used to develop interdisciplinary insights. Tamanaha's book on the other hand, while an excellent and accessible discussion of the contemporary crisis of the rule of law, by (unsurprisingly) being so focused on the US legal system (and therefore a specific form of constitutionalism), delivers insights to non-US political science only in a form that requires further mediation. This is not necessarily a problem for those working at either a relatively general level of abstraction as regards the relationship between politics and law, or whose work is focused on the USA. However, for those seeking insights into the relationship between politics and law in the UK, or for that matter on the continent of Europe, sadly this book will be of little direct use, however interesting and readable it may be. Therefore, for budding interdisciplinarians working on politics and law neither of these books is a crucial read or purchase.
Christopher May
(University of Lancaster)
Under the heading of Identities, Affiliations, and Allegiances the Yale-based political scientists Seyla Benhabib, Ian Shapiro and Danilo Petranovic bring together sixteen scholars from American, European and Turkish universities to explore political identities in both theoretical and empirical contributions. The volume is concerned with ‘the political dimensions of human attachment, with why people identify and affiliate themselves with the political projects that they do, how and why these allegiances change, and how and why they should change – to the extent that they can be consciously influenced if not directed’ (p. 1). Following a substantial introduction by the editors, the volume covers four main issues: the emergence and limits of national political identities analysed by four theory-based contributions; multiple identities in practice with cases from Europe regarding institution building, soft borders and transnational nationalism; the process of decoupling citizenship from identity; and identity and historical injustice.
The chapters cover a wide range of topics and offer evidence, arguments and interpretations. They also stimulate further reflections. Some chapters are preoccupied with normative theories while others present and draw conclusions from empirical studies within the social sciences. Thus the book is relevant to readers interested in sociology, law, political science, international affairs and the humanities.
Although the contributions touch upon issues related to national minorities in several ways, they lack a general analysis of the multifarious and complex nature of identification processes immanent to well-integrated minority communities. Hence the question ‘Why do some people disassociate themselves from dominant groups and turn their loyalties in part or totally toward minority communities?’ is not addressed at all, although this aspect might have added deeper insight into the complexity and often surprising processes of imagination and construction of identities beyond and within the state. For instance, the concept of ‘fluid identities’ introduced by Julie Mostov in her fine chapter on soft borders and transnational citizens, drawing on evidence from South-Eastern Europe, could be applied to traditional minorities in Western Europe as well, adding further aspects to the dynamic, interactive and context-related character of identification. Finally, the core message of the volume, listing identities, affiliations and allegiances as key conceptsin the analysis and quest for understanding political and other identities, might be extended to include affinities as well. Thus some individual preferences for communities are based on affinities with a low intensity of identification but intertwined with multiple and mixed identities rather than affiliations or allegiances.
Jorgen Kuhl
(A. P. Moller School, Copenhagen)
In addition to being one of the twentieth century's most prominent sociologists, Pierre Bourdieu was one of its great academic controversialists and political provocateurs. Both aspects of the man, and the connections between them, are displayed in this extensive collection of his more explicitly ‘political’ interventions. The book spans the period from the war in Algeria in the early 1960s to the turn of the millennium, covering topics as varied as colonialism, education, global neoliberalism, journalism and television. Content ranges in form to include academic articles, newspaper editorials and public lectures, and the collection highlights the scope of Bourdieu's engagements, his understanding of the relationship between social science and political action and his vision of the role and responsibility of the social analyst today.
For Bourdieu, theoretical and empirical social inquiry could not be justified as an end in itself. It is only worth the effort if is has positive social and political impact. He is critical both of the facile relativism that he associates with some forms of postmodernism and of the technocratic policy-driven ethos of much social science. In their place, he proposed early in his career that ethno-sociologists become ‘a kind of organic intellectual of humanity’ (p. 24), who, by laying bare the multiple structures of power operating through society and individual subjects, might provide social actors with tools for overcoming domination and increasing democracy. Intellectuals, he argues, must pursue this mission while at the same time giving up traditional vanguardism, social manipulation or adopting the ‘rather exasperating’ role of ‘pure intellectuals [who] find themselves relegated to the grand moral prophesy that is characteristic of the media age’ (p. 71). Part of the often pessimistic (or perhaps just socially realistic) tone that exists side by side with the activism and commitment in these pages arises from his doubts about the ability of social science and scientists to play this role effectively in a world where he feels it is ever more necessary.
No doubt few will find themselves agreeing with everything in this book, either analytically or politically. There is also some repetition in the selection and themes that will be of interest only to some. But at his best, Bourdieu in these pages remains combative, incisive and challenging – a critical sociologist who continues to provide analytic insight and political provocation.
Michael C. Williams
(Aberystwyth University)
While there have been several books and numerous journal articles devoted to the use of metaphor in political language, any edited book of essays on the matter is assured to provide a useful resource. In the introduction to this volume, Carver and Pikalo claim a particular focus. To state this briefly, they insist that Political Language and Metaphor should not be seen as a series of case studies in how metaphor has come to be used in political discourse, but rather as a prolonged exploration of the usefulness and limitedness of metaphor in understanding political expression. So instead of snatching at a moment in the development of metaphorical language in politics, the book tries to set methodological standards for better organised and more informed studies in the future.
Certainly, the authors of a number of the chapters dedicate themselves to this task. Cienki outlines an approach based on a refined definition of metaphor, a corpus-based approach to establishing context and a willingness to explore language-user comprehension. Drulák examines the study of metaphor in international relations, proposing that work should first appraise the dominant terms in the target domain and use a qualitative rather than numbers-driven analysis of data. Thirdly, Mottier writes an enticing account of how the study of metaphor can make use of the Foucauldian notion of the political subject and its dynamic place within networks of power. These three are far from being the only chapters to make sophisticated points on methodology. In a chapter that sets cognition in rhetorical contrast with action, Yanow takes the book's subtitle at its word by demanding a greater focus on the purposes for which metaphors are employed: ‘changing’ rather than merely ‘interpreting’ the world.
Yet these chapters and many others in the collection combine regard for the book's methodological legacy with discussion of political metaphors as they presently operate: which is just how it should be. The chief attraction of metaphor to the political classes is adaptability. The metaphors of family, community and stability highlighted by Honohan can be and have been appropriated by politicians across the spectrum; a point that applies in different ways across many of the chapters. A pervasiveness ranging from the misuse of ‘freedom’ in ecological debates to the deployment of astrological terminology in US foreign policy is best illustrated by bringing such a divergent selection of examples together. Methodology remains central, but we should be grateful that Carver and Pikalo's volume shows the breadth of our task.
Michael Higgins
(University of Strathclyde)
The blurb on the cover of this book says you should read it because it discusses a wider range of topics than most health-policy books, and it will indeed be a rare student of health policy who knows so much that he or she does not learn from this volume.
However, there is an even better reason to read this book: its contributors think hard about concepts in practice. Health politics, and government, are full of concepts like ‘modernisation', ‘devolution’ and ‘choice'. Much of the thinking is of such poor quality that we can only speculate as to whether the ideas are the rhetorical instruments of policy makers with other motivations, or whether they are the true beliefs of policy makers with weak minds. This means that the writers about ideas tend to divide into two. Some take the concepts at the government's word and write, critically or uncritically, as if White Papers were real policy and serious philosophy. Others evaluate the policies hidden behind the words but do not question the words themselves or identify underlying changes.
The result is that major concepts which summarise and drive policy are little understood. What is decentralisation? What makes a modern government department? Why is everybody talking about consumerism? What is responsiveness? Whence the assumption that vaccines are always good?
This book's authors answer these questions and others. They work through the fate of modernisation in policy making, the actual meaning of decentralisation (with an important new interpretive framework), consumerism (with a document analysis), the theories of choice and voice in public services and the new public health in practice. In almost every case the chapters are short, informative and novel. Even where the ideas have been published elsewhere, these versions are shorter and more fun to read than the journal versions.
Health Policy and Politics is a good read, it brings the reader up to date on diverse topics, floats new ideas and would make an excellent teaching text. And it ought to be available in paperback at a much lower price.
Scott L. Greer
(University of Michigan)
This edited volume brings together a collection of papers which contribute to studies on terrorism, organised crime and corruption by focusing on these three themes individually and in their connections to one another. In the opening chapter, Holmes provides an introduction to the nexus between the phenomena, in which he argues that it has not been sufficiently understood by practitioners and academics, but needs to be examined in its linkages also to corporate crime. Bovenkerk and Chakra argue that organised crime and terrorism can be analysed in a comparative perspective, despite their academic separation by criminologists. Lentini provides a different argument in his case study on Muslims in both Europe and Australia. Focusing on the ways in which an ‘inclusion–exclusion’ logic – resulting in marginalisation and alienation – might be avoided and thus terrorism pre-empted, he argues for the concept of cultural citizenship. Davison focuses on the efficacy of soft-law regimes, such as the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), the European Union (EU) and the Council of Europe, which arguably have been relatively successful and encouraging in combating terrorism, corruption and organised crime. Holmes highlights the linkages between corruption and organised crime in Central and Eastern Europe; Tsyganov explores the re-emergence in Russia of pre-communist linkages between political, technocratic and economic power with crime and corruption; Czarnota examines corruption in Poland; Shearman analyses the role of Tony Blair in the ‘war on terror’ and Alleyne scrutinises the effect of corporate power and its indirect contribution to terrorism.
This book is multidisciplinary, as it contains contributions from criminology, politics and international relations scholars. It includes a wide variety of fascinating papers with a dominant focus on the conceptual broadening of security. This is a noteworthy research agenda which, hopefully, will be followed by many more scholars. Yet one might have expected stronger connections between the chapters in this edited volume, as well as a more substantial conclusion drawing together all the themes explored in the various chapters. Nonetheless, it remains a very stimulating book which will attract the interest of a large audience in different disciplines. It deals with a variety of cases around the globe and contributes to a range of intellectual debates across several disciplines. Consequently, it should be read by many scholars.
Christian Kaunert
(University of Salford)
Christopher Hood and Helen Margetts have written a small book on a big issue. They present a basic framework of the principal tools every government has at hand to influence society and collect information. They systematically distinguish between four classes of tools which together constitute the so-called ‘NATO’ frame. Within this scheme, ‘Nodality’ refers to government using its position as a nodal point in networks to detect information and affect society. ‘Authority’ is the capacity to use legal means for the same purposes. When buying or paying (e.g. welfare transfers) governments use what the authors call ‘Treasure'. Finally, ‘Organisation’ refers to everything government does or how it organises itself by using its human resources (social workers, soldiers, etc.). Politicians face fundamental dilemmas when selecting policy instruments. By using well-targeted tools governments can reduce negative externalities and, thus, minimise the burden on citizens. These are, however, costly and more difficult to implement. Therefore it is crucial to make an informed choice. The first half of the book introduces, on a general level, the nature and characteristics of such instruments. Hood and Margetts provide examples collected from different countries, periods and policies. The second half turns to more applied questions and places the approach very briefly into the context of related research.
The introductory claim, ‘whoever you are, this book is central to your concerns’ (p. xiii), might seem somewhat grand, but in fact the authors have a point. The book is thought provoking and offers an inspiring framework for scholars of politics. It can also be used as a different kind of introduction to government. The language is accessible and examples throughout the book underpin the argument. Surprisingly, after two decades of new public management (NPM) and debates on governance, there are no major structural changes compared with the original version Hood presented in 1983. Also, the digital age, now featured in the title, only adds somewhat to complexity without affecting the nature of the approach. The authors see some opportunities in the quickly developing digital media, but conclude rather sceptically that ‘governments will have to run even to stay still in the digital future’ (p. 203). The book presents a challenge for scholars to conduct more detailed theoretical investigation on the level of individual instruments and, not least, to turn to empirical application.
Peter Hilger
(University of Helsinki)
The functions and legitimacy of political parties are intensely debated in the literature, an agreement being reached with respect to their crucial role for democratic transition and consolidation. Starting from this consensus, Lawson and Merkl argue that parties are Janus-faced institutions that may serve as agencies of de-democratisation. The main question that guides their edited volume targeted at political scientists is whether parties prosper at the cost of democracy. In doing so, they use the method of comparative study for which fifteen contributions have been gathered – all but one of them single case studies – to which three introductory and concluding chapters authored by the editors are added. The book is structured in three parts (plus conclusions) on the basis of partisan identification: left parties, right parties and comparison between parties from both sides of the political spectrum.
The capacity of parties to endanger democracy is nuanced throughout the volume, and evidence from the regional and country chapters supports at three levels Lawson's argument that parties de-democratise. First, parties strengthen their leadership at the expense of membership and supporters. Second, by centring their programme parties increase their chances for electoral success, but severely decrease the potential for contestation and real political alternatives. Third, parties often abuse their government position and enact self-purposive legislation (used both to protect and to gain) that leads to corruption. These are valuable empirical explanations for the popular discontent about parties and their politics in many states. Besides this contribution, the book provides valuable theoretical and methodological insights. When dealing with ‘prosperity', the editors carefully conceptualise and differentiate between electoral, government and coalition successes, emphasising their various mechanisms and effects. Furthermore, every chapter is methodologically grounded, and provides in-depth analysis of parties and rich descriptions that enhance further research.
The findings would be stronger were it not for two shortcomings. On the one hand, the case selection is not explained. Although it appears to be designed around the most different systems, there is no reference to the criteria for including specific states within the research. On the other hand, as shown in the literature, left and right have different substantive meanings in the regions and countries observed and may limit the comparability of parties. In spite of these drawbacks, the clear and sharp style, good analytical tools and wealth of information make When Political Parties Prosper a valuable resource and framework for further analysis in party politics.
Sergiu Ghergina
(Leiden University)
Brynjar Lia's biography of al-Qa'eda strategist Abu Mus'ab al-Suri tells the story of this influential Salafist-Jihadist thinker and surveys the global movement of which he was an active member. Al-Suri, whose real name is Mustafa Setmarian Naser, was born in Syria in 1958. Lia traces his life from his early years in Syria, Jordan and Afghanistan to eventually gaining Spanish citizenship and finally his mysterious arrest in Pakistan in 2005.
This book is also a biography of the global Salafist-Jihadist movement, within which al-Qa'eda is only one player, albeit a significant one. For this reason, Lia's narrative draws the reader's attention to some key personalities who are often overlooked in the more sensational accounts of al-Qa'eda; men such as Abu Qatada, one of the most important spiritual leaders of the Salafist-Jihadist movement, and Abu Dahdah, al-Qa'eda's operational contact man in Europe until his arrest and imprisonment in Spain after 11 September 2001. Currently in custody, al-Suri's ideas and activities remain largely unknown beyond counter-terrorism and academic circles, but he plays a no less significant role than al-Qa'eda's better-known celebrities such as second-in-command Ayman al-Zawahiri.
Lia, a university professor and noted expert on radical Islamist movements, forgoes the kind of sensationalist reporting that characterised recent books by journalists, but still manages to tell a compelling story of a life lived without regret inside this violent, global movement. For this reason alone, Lia's book should be essential reading for anyone who seeks to understand the global Salafist-Jihadist movement, including academic researchers and policy makers. For added value, the book contains Lia's own translation of key excerpts from al-Suri's most important work, the 1,600-page Global Islamic Resistance Call, the only known English translation available to the general public.
Marisa Urgo
(Independent Scholar)
In her engaging treatise, Debbie Lisle shows why political scientists should not perceive popular travelogues such as the charming BBC series by Michael Palin as mere entertainment, but as a source for understanding global politics. By contrasting the writings of Bryson and Theroux she explains how the latter's colonial vision has been replaced by a cosmopolitan vision in travel writing, thereby referring to writers focusing on the harmonising effects of globalisation paired with a celebration of difference. Yet this seemingly superior approach is similarly apt at reproducing the logic of empire, hence Lisle's main argument ‘that the cosmopolitan vision embedded in contemporary travel writing … is not as emancipatory as it claims to be; rather, it is underscored by the remnants of Orientalism, colonialism and Empire’ (p. 5).
After a discussion of travel writing's ambiguous literary status, Lisle demonstrates how travel writers engage in the production of difference, revealing a Foucauldian logic of identity/difference. Moreover, travelogues often fail to overcome the home/away distinction, which to this day is often matched by the dichotomies of civilised/uncivilised or safe/dangerous without questioning the notions of territory and border. In these instances, Lisle tries to show how dominant conceptions of power can be transcended by travel writers. Simultaneously, however, she argues that potential transgressors often end up reproducing these traditional dichotomies and thus the logic of empire. In this regard, it is particularly worthwhile to study her analysis of authors who, due to their gender, sexuality or descent, had previously been excluded from the guild of travel writers and thus now occupy the role of both the coloniser and the colonised. Following Tété-Michael Kpomassie as An African in Greenland, Lisle retraces how even those writers bound to break the confines of the identity/difference framework do not escape it.
Appealing to researchers in both political science and literary studies, Lisle's book does not just succeed in unmasking the colonial heritage which guides the reasoning of cosmopolitan writers; she also shows how travelogues shape our perception of the state of affairs in a country, and may even co-determine the pursuant actions of decision makers. The famous example of former US President Clinton's reference to Kaplan's Balkan Ghosts as a justification for his non-intervention policy is proof enough that political scientists definitely cannot disregard travelogues as a pastime read – and Lisle provides the ideal start for serious study of the genre.
Claudia Franziska Brühwiler
(University of St Gallen, Switzerland)
The idea that all citizens have an unconditional right to a minimum income has gathered considerable momentum over the past 25 years. This book represents an accessible and thorough overview of the debates surrounding the basic-income proposal. Raventós examines the proposal in terms of its normative justifications and policy implications. In the first case, he considers the libertarian, real freedom and republican arguments for a guaranteed minimum income. While not rejecting the first two arguments, he places particular emphasis on the ability of a basic income to help ensure that individuals are not subject to the discretion of another. In the second case, Raventós considers the impact that a basic income will have on paid and unpaid work and the ability of a basic income to tackle poverty and, thereby, avert dependence and enhance self-respect. In addition, he devotes considerable attention to showing the advantages of an unconditional basic income over rival policy prescriptions such as means-tested subsidies, reduced working hours, a negative income tax or stakeholder grants.
One of the virtues of this book is that it does not shy away from responding to the charge that a basic income is not a viable proposition. Thus in one of the chapters we are presented with a careful analysis of the tax rates required to finance a basic income and the resulting effect on income distribution. Raventós concludes by responding to a number of objections to a guaranteed basic income, including the charge that it encourages some to free-ride in a way that increases the costs borne by others and the concern that it will accelerate immigration from poor to rich countries. It seems almost churlish to pick holes in this otherwise excellent book, but it should be pointed out that Raventós does not explicitly respond to the claim, made by Amartya Sen and others, that resources represent an impoverished metric of human well-being. If that claim is correct, then it should lead us to question the merits of evaluating the basic-income proposal solely in terms of its impact on income poverty and income distribution. That quibble aside, this book offers a powerful defence of the basic-income proposal and it should be of considerable interest to policy makers, academics and students alike.
Simon Wigley
(Bilkent University)
Both of the books under review here refer to the formative effects of mass media on politics; however, they differ greatly in scope, approach and their general ambition. Rosefielde and Mills offer an easily accessible agenda, where media criticism only serves the bigger argument. In essence they present a manifesto, an urgent call for a strategic recalibration of US foreign policy in the run-up to the 2008 presidential elections. The main strength of their thought-provoking, but ultimately flawed, ‘postneoconservative book’ (p. xix) is their scathing criticism of central aspects of the Bush administration's foreign policies which they think have been guided by the naïve assertion of global democratic convergence and the simplicity of state building.
To restore leadership, they argue, a profound ‘realist’ turn is needed, i.e. a fundamental break with the alleged belief in the harmony of interests of nations. Instead, the United States needs a strong leader who is capable of fighting a public culture based on such wishful thinking. For Europeans, it might seem odd to draw a line from the failure of Bush's policies to the lurking dangers of an eventual revival of multilateralism, but Rosefielde and Mills do just that. Their world view resembles the classical realist perspective on global politics guided by the age-old proverb si vis pacem, para bellum. Consequently, the concept of ‘strategic in dependence’ forms the core of their thinking, quite a surprise given the fact that the authors are economists and certainly know about the various inter dependencies that make up global politics these days. A focus on homeland defence, the enhancement of conventional military power, the affirmation of the right to strike pre-emptively and a very weak version of ‘multilateralism whenever possible': these are the pillars of their strategic blueprint. From the authors’ viewpoint this only makes sense because even allies are in principle unreliable and pursue their own agendas. Thus, next to China and Russia (the usual suspects) even the European Union might grow up to become a military-diplomatic contender, but (fortunately for us) nuclear war with Europe seems unlikely.
One may or may not follow this line for various reasons. It is, however, highly doubtful whether the basic assertion (of a public culture that underestimates the coming military-diplomatic threats and thus selects the wrong people to be national leaders) and the very idea of leadership (the ability to ‘see things as they are’ and change people's minds) present a really satisfying account of the present contours of US politics. Both aspects are grounded in the authors’ palaeo-realist world view which is simply (mis)taken as the reality and as such is nowhere questioned in the book. On the positive side, there are helpful key points sections at the end of each chapter. Thus the book makes for an extremely accessible and interesting read, but ultimately it fails to deliver a satisfying, viable and desirable alternative foreign policy. It still is and hopefully will remain a manifesto in search of a candidate.
In Media, War and Postmodernity Hammond presents his take on the complex relationship between Western military interventions abroad and their mediated realities. Starting with a discussion of the alleged vices and virtues of postmodernist thinking in the light of 9/11, he develops an argument concerning the postmodern conditions of current politics – national and international – while not deploying a postmodern perspective himself (p. 8). Thus, Hammond neither offers a media critique nor an analysis of postmodern warfare. He attempts, rather, to show the usefulness of postmodern thought and the very idea of postmodernity for an understanding of significant aspects of international relations nowadays. The main argument of Hammond's book is that the global military engagement of the West since the end of the Cold War has been motivated by a demise of ‘political purpose’ at home and, consequently, various attempts at restoring meaning through intervention abroad. This ‘crisis of meaning’ has also been paralleled by a changing mediatisation of wars: they have become increasingly ‘staged’ and humanitarian interventions have become events and spectacles. Arguably, such an ‘ethical foreign policy’ has failed as a substitute (as have the war on terror and the idea of a ‘risk society', discussed below), and coverage by the media has only led to a further depoliticisation of people at home.
It is not easy to evaluate this book since it provides brilliant depictions of interventions as media events, their societal embeddedness and (non-)consequences. Hammond's treatment of Baudrillard, the intervention in Somalia as the epitome of the change in the meaning of interventions and the growing cynicism towards mass media accounts of such wars are all particularly worth reading. The persuasiveness of the whole argument, however, largely depends on whether one buys into the ‘death of politics’ idea right from the start. Hammond is quite clear on that: ‘For a society that has grown sceptical of grand narratives, a society that has no vision of the future, politics is meaningless’ (p. 104). One can, however, certainly disagree with this conclusion, since scepticism by no means necessarily translates into a total loss of meaning and purpose.
How do both books treat the media? As has been said, Rosefielde and Mills blame a public culture corrupted by wishful thinking for the unhealthy state of US affairs. The media contribute to the ongoing reproduction of this wishful thinking (that is, a naïve belief in the mutuality of interests and democratisation around the globe). Of all media criticism I know this is perhaps the most surprising ever: the media reproduce a too-harmonious account of international relations, and they do so for commercial reasons! ‘Peace sells’ – an insight which easily contradicts libraries full of studies on negativism and the profitability of bad news. To be sure, there might be a lamentable degree of ‘flat-worldism’ in American media as well as simplification, ignorance and the tendency not to question a war administration. But that the media constantly reproduce a rather monolithic public culture defined by its overly harmonious world view is indeed a bit much. Surprising as it is, Hammond's argument exhibits some parallels to that. He also asserts that the mass media have contributed to the fabrication of certain world views, but not for the sake of profits. Instead, they have acted as yet another instance of a collective search for political purpose in Western societies. Of course, this does not preclude attempts at instrumentalising the media, but such efforts have become more obvious recently, leading to a distrust of the public and the media themselves.
This development, however, could also have been interpreted as a more positive sign of a growing ‘media literacy', because cynicism and criticism mean that media products and their production contexts do not go unchecked by interested people. In sum, both books present interesting and partly provocative accounts of the workings of the mass media. Their main strength is that both undoubtedly will spur further debate rather than answer all the questions.
Alexander Brand
(University of Dresden)
Ruggiero's stories of Renaissance culture and morality range from the hilarious to the tragic. Well-crafted accounts of transgressions, promiscuities and follies unpack complex discourses of body politics, sexual identity and social control. On the other hand, dramatic tales of love and heroism affirm the reign of virtù in all spheres of self-realisation. Ruggiero uses evidence from primary sources to show how Aretino, Boccaccio, Castiglione, Manetti and Machiavelli discussed issues of sex, self and power. In narrating the adventures of men who strive to cope with sexually insatiable females, manoeuvre to escape the ‘torments’ of married life or insist on their youthful ways against society's consensus reality of manliness, marriage and procreation, Ruggiero sheds new light on the concept of identity in the early modern period. He demonstrates that in the Italian Renaissance there was a clear sense of both individual and sexual identity, and argues that the proper type of self-presentation that society expected from its members was mediated via consensus realities of families, friends, neighbours and peer groups.
Chapter 1 focuses on Aretino's comedy Il marescalco, a play that celebrates male–male sexual relations as an alternative to matrimony and family. Marescalco, a courtier in Mantua, hears that the duke has promised to marry him to a beautiful and rich young woman, a prospect that Marescalco utterly resists. His insistence upon the homoeroticism and sexual ambiguity of gioventù and subsequent rejection of conventional life challenge the Renaissance consensus reality of adult male sexual identity. The tale ends with a surprise: the duke has for Marescalco a ‘boy bride', not a young wife. Ruggiero's reading of Marescalco's story highlights several issues: the contrast between the evolving male sexual identity and the less complex development of female sexuality; the interplay between conventional morality and the realities of life; and the social meaning of male–male sexual relations.
Chapter 5 is devoted to Machiavelli, the master strategist in love, war and politics. The Machiavelli–Vettori correspondence reveals how reflections on sex and lust are interwoven with more serious thoughts concerning Machiavelli's return to politics. The letters refer to the consensus realities that govern the moral ‘geopolitics’ of the public/private sphere, confirm the traditional identification of sexual potency and (political) power and warn of the dangers for one's reputation of illicit sex. Machiavelli's comedies La mandragola and La Clizia portray different aspects of lust: ageing foolish lovers meet with humiliation and ridicule; young love prevails; shame restores virtù. Machiavelli deploys self-parody to depict a kaleidoscope of alter egos. Tormented by his passion for Barbara Salutati, he presents aspects of himself in the personae of his fictional characters; his intention is to entertain and instruct. It is obvious that, in ‘heaven and hell', Machiavelli uses wit, humour and irony to get to the point.
Chapter 6 deals with virtù: the moral excellence of a person in private and civic affairs. Family relations, personal morality, court behaviour, the art of government, the self – all were evaluated in terms of virtù. Ruggiero identifies different manifestations of virtù in the tales of the noble deaths of Clearcus (the king of Crete who died to save his country), of Giulia da Gazuolo (the peasant girl who drowned to save her honour) and of Ghismonda and Guiscardo (the young lovers whose deaths confirmed the power of love and virtù against Tancredi's cruelty). Castiglione's The Book of the Courtier teaches that the role of the courtier is to lead the prince into the path of virtù, and refers to the virtues that both men and women in court should possess. Finally, the metamorphoses of the rude peasant Scopone (Prickly Pear) into the obedient Salcione (Willow), and of his young master into a good and respectable lord (Buonsignori) show that the virtù of good governance is to know one's place and its duties.
Other studies in this volume contain vivid descriptions of sexual adventures (and torments), and confirm the view that laughing did matter in the Renaissance. The stories abound in hermeneutic suggestions. The ‘devil', for instance, has multiple significations. ‘Putting the Devil back in hell’ was a euphemism for narrating the sexual intercourse between the hermit Rustico and the pagan Alibech in Boccaccio's tale. Suor Mansueta metamorphosed from bride of Christ to mistress of the devil, and reached the ultimate negative limit of sexual play as a consequence. In Machiavelli's Belfagor the devil runs back to hell, desperate to escape his wife. Facing other devils, Captain Fear and Abbot Ruis suffer at the hands of sexually voracious and power-hungry women. These stories reflect ‘stereotypical misogynistic visions’ of aggressive, evil, lustful and manipulative women who test the limits of male sexual performance and identity (p. 219). The classic case of moral preaching and hypocrisy is depicted in the tale of Giuliano Brancacci, an avowed enemy of sodomites who turned out to be a man seeking sex ‘with young boys in the illicit heart of Florence’ (p. 219).
Ruggiero provides challenging accounts of public ethics and private morality by analysing a selection of literary and archival material. Armed with humour and determination, he deciphers the subtle codes of Renaissance narratives, and comments on the various ways in which identity and sexuality were constructed, understood and politicised. However, the overall project needed a firmer direction in terms of systematising the research findings into a theory of Renaissance social culture. I enjoyed the ‘journey’ into the rich landscape of early modern Italy and expected to see in a concluding chapter all the strands of information, interpretation and critique integrated into a more comprehensive conceptual framework which would contextualise Ruggiero's analysis, and enable the reader to see the connections between particular cases and broader theorising. That said, Machiavelli in Love deals successfully with some rather ‘hot stuff’ in intellectual history, and commands scholarly attention.
Stamatoula Panagakou
(University of York)
A discussion between the authors of these two books would assuredly end in a dispute: Paul Sheeran closes Literature and International Relations with the strong claim that ‘Literature in International Relations is as valid as fact – stories invariably shape the science’ (p. 189). By contrast, Simon Stow's Republic of Readers? refutes Sheeran's underlying thesis, as the book elaborates on the problem of why ‘Literature cannot … serve as empirical evidence for claims about the unwritten world', meaning our empirical reality, ‘because the standards of justification demanded by literary analysis are lower than those required for analysis of the written world’ (p. 149), i.e. the world created by fiction. In other words, Sheeran's book is an example of what Stow calls the literary turn in political thought, designating the growing interest of political science in fiction and literary criticism as points of reference. Due to their diametrically opposed attitudes towards this literary turn, the books presented by the authors differ completely in structure, approach and target audience.
Sheeran develops his main claim by taking the reader on a journey through the vast landscape of topics either abandoned, disregarded or not yet sufficiently explored by scholars in international relations: casting a beam on issues as disparate as utopias and the practice of diplomats, Sheeran provides us with an overview of ‘hot topics’ in IR, and he simultaneously introduces us to literary works dealing with these particular issues. The literary corpus is equally vast and diverse, ranging from what have become the usual suspects in the field such as Shakespeare or H. G. Wells, to Chinese writers less known in Western countries. Sheeran on the one hand demonstrates how these different works of fiction illustrate pressing problems with more vigour than any scientific treatise could, and how they let readers take different viewpoints. On the other hand, he highlights the prophetic nature of literature, in that some writers have forecast controversies now at the top of the political agenda.
Considering that Sheeran's arguments span less than 200 pages for this ambitious endeavour, one cannot be surprised by the fast pace and succinct style used. While readers for whom Sheeran's book represents their first encounter with the ‘politics and literature’ movement might have appreciated at least one detailed political analysis of an exemplary novel, Stow's criticism would probably touch Sheeran's methodological approach. Instead of arguing the usefulness of literature for political science, he scrutinises how the philosophers Martha Nussbaum and Richard Rorty as well as the literary critic Terry Eagleton and philosopher Judith Butler answer the same question in their works. Of these, the first two have put forward arguments which are particularly challenging for political scientists, since both Nussbaum and Rorty regard literature as conducive to liberal democracy. In their eyes, reading will invite citizens to adopt other viewpoints and, eventually, have more empathy and solidarity. Hence, they both ascribe to literature more than an illustrative character or the potential to bear political ideas, as has often been done in political science. Instead, they place great importance on literature as a means to establish an ideal polity.
Or so it appears after a first reading. Stow on the other hand meticulously analyses the main claims of the authors and thereby provides us with a valuable companion to their works. Dissecting Rorty's claims, Stow concludes that literature remains in the philosopher's vision only ‘a tool of the theorist-intellectual rather than a direct source of moral insight for the citizenry’ (p. 74). Although this result also contradicts Rorty's initial assumptions to a certain extent, Stow criticises tensions in Nussbaum's argumentation even more harshly. For instance, Stow accuses Nussbaum of applying a “‘supply side” theory of the novel', meaning ‘a theory that suggests that the impact a text has on a reader derives from the text itself and not the reader, and that furthermore texts have a definite and ultimately discernible meaning’ (p. 51). In this context, Stow condemns the interpretations forwarded by Nussbaum as patronising and ‘illiberal'.
Although at times unnecessarily aggressive in its tone, Stow's criticism of the four scholars is hard to refute and allows one to hope for a response by those who are attacked. As suggested in the initial quote from Stow's book, one of the main problems he uncovers in the works associated with the literary turn in political thought constitutes the commingling of the written and the unwritten world. In particular, he stresses that literature is not to be taken as evidence in itself: it can ‘lead us to consider alternative possibilities, but it is not … itself evidence for the existence of these possibilities’ (p. 150). Stow's caveat is to be kept in mind if one sets out to explore the literary turn in political thought as it is mandated by scholars like Sheeran – it should, however, not hinder us from embarking upon this intellectual journey at all, as it has already proved enriching to political science.
Claudia Franziska
Brühwiler (University of St Gallen, Switzerland)
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