Course Blog

An underlying assumption in the first book of Underneath the Bough is that Love adheres to the ancient Greek conception of it. To the Greeks, Eros (or Cupid) is an outside force that acts upon a person; love is inescapable and imposed upon a person, not something you choose. This theory of love is central to the way the poems approach Cupid as a character and the love of the speakers. 

Most ancient Greeks thought of emotions in general as an outside force that acts upon a person, rather than coming from within (as we think of it today). Aristotle sees emotions as responses to external stimuli acting upon an individual. This is clearly explained by how the Greeks saw their gods – Ares brings anger, Aphrodite brings love, the Furies physically attack those who are guilty. Ancient deities were often seen as transferring XYZ emotion to a person; your emotions were not always your fault. This is clearly evident in stories of Love and Desire – so many myths follow the stories of people struck with lust/love for something perverse or unattainable, yet unable to stop themselves from feeling because it was brought on by an outside force. Think of Poseidon cursing Pasiphaë to fall in love with a bull to create the Minotaur, Phaedra falling for her stepson Hippolytus, or Cupid cursing Apollo to fall for the nymph Daphne. So many stories have Cupid striking down people with his arrows of uncontrollable desire, symbolizing love as an outside force thrust upon a person.

With the context of knowing Katherine Bradley and Edith Cooper were classically trained and pagan themselves, it is not a stretch to assume they knew of these stories. Furthermore, it can be assumed that they understood Cupid, and therefore Love, as an external force, uncontrollable and unescapable. They put this version of Cupid in their poems. 

 

Let us swell the praise of him

Who is tyrant of the heart,

Cupid with his flaming dart!

 

Pride before his face is bowed,

Strength and heedless beauty cowed;

Underneath his fatal wings

Bend discrowned the heads of kings;

Maidens blanch beneath his eye

And its laughing mastery;

Through each land his arrows sound,

By his fetters all are bound. 

 

With this underlying assumption about Love, the rendering of this character in Michael Field’s poems becomes all the more sinister. While the speaker is giving praise to him, the threat of his power is emphasized. Cupid is a being that conquers all, kings and maidens alike. “Pride” must bow before him, as he is able to overcome and hijack all sense of self and identity. His arrows ‘bound’ individuals in an inescapable trap – reason cannot overcome it. In this section of the poem, Cupid seems almost like a wicked, corrupt figure, one who laughs at the misfortune he causes. This is pretty in line with many classical stories we have about Cupid, who wields immense power with little responsibility. In contrast, the poems make the figure of Death, or Thanatos, into a more benevolent figure, deeply in contrast to how we see Love and Death today.

The speaker in the poem knows to be weary of Cupid, to stay on his good side. They also seem to be announcing that we are all equally humble at the hands of Cupid. Love is an equalizer. In this way, one could argue that homosexual love is just as inescapable as heterosexual love. This could connect to the relationship between Katherine and Edith, as they almost seem to be saying that homosexual love is not a choice. 

For a long time, I have been interested in how horror and thriller films have evolved through the lens of gender studies, especially the concept of the “final girl” introduced by Carol J. Clover. I want to focus on films from the 70s to the 90s, as well as those from the 2010s to today. I’m particularly drawn to the Alien (1979) franchise featuring Sigourney Weaver and the  Scream (1996) series, known for its meta moments and references to older films. l’ve also recently noticed a large amount of remakes and legacy sequels like Alien, Halloween (1978), and Scream. I find it fascinating to compare how technology and character perspectives have changed over the generations. I’m eager to explore these interests further and see what insights I can develop from them.

When I made this reading list, I prioritized texts that would create a balance of historical perspective, contemporary theory, and in-depth analysis of gender, particularly as it connecte to horror. My hopes are to focus on how generational shifts in horror cinema reframe classic tropes like the “final girl” and explore the evolution of gender representation. Clover’s work Men, Women, and Chainsaws and her essay “Her Body, Himself” are important to grounding my research in gender studies within the slasher genre. Clover’s insights into the “final girl” trope will be invaluable for analyzing Ellen Ripley’s place in the Alien franchise, which is central to my project.

I also think Stephen Scobie’s What’s the Story, Mother? specifically examines Ripley’s maternal role and the Alien franchise’s exploration of grief, gender, and trauma-topics that connect well with my focus on generational themes and horror’s capacity to engage with feminist discourse.

Balanzategui, Jessica. “The Child and Adult Trauma in American Horror of the 1980s.” The Uncanny Child in Transnational Cinema: Ghosts of Futurity at the Turn of the Twenty-First Century, Amsterdam University Press, 2018, pp. 35–66.

Clover, Carol J. “Her Body, Himself: Gender in the Slasher Film.” Representations, no. 20, 1987, pp. 187–228.

Clover, Carol J. Men, Women, and Chain Saws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film – Updated Edition. REV-Revised, Princeton University Press, 1992.

Craven, Wes. Scream. Dimension Films, 1996.

Gillet, Tyler. Scream. Paramount Pictures, 2022.

Pinedo, Isabel. “RECREATIONAL TERROR: POSTMODERN ELEMENTS OF THE CONTEMPORARY HORROR FILM.” Journal of Film and Video, vol. 48, no. 1/2, 1996, pp. 17–31.

Terms:

• Postmodern
• Final girl
• Generational

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson was first published in 1959 as a novel. This novel was a staple for its time, discussing concepts of grief, trauma, and even queerness– all things that already had a limited amount of publicly accepted works in the 50’s– through the lens of horror. In the novel, there is a very distinct ambiguity in whether the supernatural aspects are real or just a product of an unstable mental state. However, throughout the decades, the story re-tellers of this piece have manipulated this ambiguity to fit the period in which the story is being told. This is reflected in the public reviews of these adaptations. 

In a 1959 review of this novel, Edmund Fuller praises the mind of Shirley Jackson, detailing the intricate ways that Jackson writes with ambiguity. At one point, Fuller questions whether the main character, Eleanor is even at Hill House or not. He states, “If this perplexes you, it is by intent. The story must not be told here” (Fuller 4). With the context of the rest of the review, it is clear the perception that Fuller frames about this novel aims to tell readers that it is an ongoing ghost story. It is not limited to what is written in the novel. This review foreshadows the future adaptations of The Haunting of Hill House. This story’s themes are ever-changing because society’s perception of these themes is ever-changing. 

This is proven in 1963, when The Haunting of Hill House was adapted into a film called The Haunting directed by Robert Wise. This film followed the same storyline as the novel, undergoing minor changes in the plot. However, these changes are significant because they were made to accommodate a visual audience and also a more experimental audience. These changes were applied to different themes of the original book. This adaptation chose to expand its theme of queerness rather than expanding the themes of grief and trauma. 

This adaptation was critiqued by the New York Times’ Bosley Crowther as focusing more on scaring an audience than it did on the plot and original themes of grief and trauma (Crowther 4). This review was limited by the period it was released in. In the 60’s, there was much less public knowledge and even open-mindedness about symptoms of grief and trauma, which takes away from the symbolism that was implanted into the horror scenes.

What is different about the 2018 adaptation is that the storyline completely changed. The series followed a family – with the same names and themes as the original characters, but a different story nonetheless. Flanagan’s choice of using a family to tell the story notes the period’s current issues that reflect familial grief and trauma. The New York Times review of this series by Jason Zinoman praises it’s ability to show the house as alive with the same ambiguity as before, yet a clearer focus on the family’s trauma individually and collectively, while still allowing ambiguity for the supernatural (Zinoman). This review reflects how the stigma around grief and trauma has shifted extensively since the 1959 release of the original story. The ambiguity of supernatural vs psyche is reflective of this shift, allowing the public perception to navigate this ambiguity better with more knowledge on grief and trauma. 

I think that a big part of it is that the ambiguity of whether the horror is real or just a reflection of the character’s psyche is a universal question that is present in real life. In a way, it also kind of reflects spirituality and the concept of belief systems of things you cannot physically see or feel, yet you can feel the presence with you. The question of whether the lingering presence is a ghost or a religious being or the darkness of your depression looming over, preparing for an episode, like Nellie Crain (2018). 

 

Zinoman, Jason. “‘The Haunting of Hill House,’ on Netflix, Is a Family Drama With Scares.” The New York Times, 11 Oct. 2018. https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/11/arts/television/netflix-the-haunting-of-hill-house-review.html 

 

Crowther, Bosley. “The Screen: An Old-Fashioned Chiller: Julie Harris and Claire Bloom in ‘Haunting’.” The New York Times, 19 Sept. 1963. https://www.nytimes.com/1959/10/18/archives/terror-lived-there-too-the-haunting-of-hill-house-by-shirley.html 

 

Fuller, Edmund. “Terror Lived There, Too.” The New York Times, 18 Oct. 1959, p. 153. https://timesmachine.nytimes.com/timesmachine/1959/10/18/91425298.html?pageNumber=153 

 

As I began to research the role of queerness in gothic literature for my senior thesis, I noticed one name that kept coming up: Eve Sedgwick. Although I had read some of Sedgwick’s work before and knew of her important contributions to queer studies, I was surprised to find that she had also written about the gothic.  

Eve Sedwick was a scholar who became best known as one of the founders of queer theory. Sedgwick received a bachelor’s degree in English literature from Cornell University in 1971, and a Ph.D. in English from Yale in 1975. Her doctoral thesis, which focused on gothic literature, was titled The Coherence of Gothic Conventions. She later expanded upon her thesis to create a book of the same name, which analyzed the intersection of the gothic with modern understandings of gender and homophobia. Following her graduate studies, Sedgwick struggled for nearly ten years to find a teaching position before finally becoming a professor at Amherst College. Once there, she made considerable efforts in establishing a curriculum for gender and sexuality studies. It was at this time that she began to gain academic recognition following the publication of Between Men: English Literature and Male Homosocial Desire in 1985, and Epistemology of the Closet in 1990. These books are her most widely known publications and are also considered foundational texts to the field of queer studies. Sedgwick, writing during the height of the AIDS epidemic, was deeply influenced by her experience of the crisis. She wrote about the role sexuality plays in creating social meanings, as well as the dangers of homophobia and ignorance. I believe her writing on both queer studies and the gothic will be a valuable place to start my research for my senior thesis.  

 

Works Cited 

“Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick.” Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick | Life of Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, evekosofskysedgwick.net/biography/biography#:~:text=Sedgwick%20concentrated%20on%20English%20literature,and%20became%20a%20lifelong%20friend. Accessed 7 Oct. 2024. 

            Giovanni’s Room was published in 1958 by Dial Press in New York and was Baldwin’s second novel, the first being Go Tell It on the Mountain. After the successful and critically acclaimed publication of his first book, Baldwin claimed that he was now stuck in a trap, “[N]ow I was a writer, a Negro writer, and I was expected to write diminishing versions of Go Tell It on the Mountain forever.  Which I refused to do.” (Wiggins, 2019). Thus, Baldwin wrote Giovanni’s Room. A work which is concerned with a love affair between two men set in Paris. This, one might note, is very different from Go Tell It on the Mountain which is based on Baldwin’s own life, and set in Harlem. One should also note that while Baldwin’s first novel is concerned with issues facing the African American community Giovanni’s Room features an all-white cast of characters as well. (Wiggins, 2019).

Upon receiving the book Baldwin’s publisher told him he should burn it. Though upon release the novel was generally well received. Long term, however, the book came to be viewed as weak and without depth. (Wiggins, 2019). This opinion has changed over time, and the novel has now become a focus of scholarly work as more people work with Queer Literature.

This evolution of the way people think about Giovanni’s Room is a critically important example of the power of Queer literary studies and its restorative abilities. Part of this area of study is proving that queer stories have always existed and that explicitly queer characters and narratives already exist. It is the restorative ability of the field which has led to the increased popularity of Giovanni’s Room, or rather, the growth of the work’s popularity. As such, the reader should consider that when scholars work specifically with Queer Stories and Queer Literature there is an element of restoration. It is as if to say, “We’ve always been here.”

Given that my primary text for my thesis is an entire TV series, I had trouble figuring out which prompt to select and what to write about. Ultimately, I decided that prompt #2 would make the most sense for me and set out to find primary sources contemporaneous to the run  of Avatar: The Last Airbender on Nickelodeon from 2005 to 2008. The most obvious place to start was to look for reviews, and while results on Jumpstart and in film databases were not bountiful, I was able to find two of interest. 

The first was a short review from Video Librarian, a resource that essentially contains reviews of tens of thousands of films and TV shows. It caught my eye because it reads like those succinct, to the point book reviews of academic monographs that sum up the work and then give a judgment on whether it’s worth the reader’s time. This review by T. Keogh was in the same fashion, giving a rating of 3.5 stars out of 4 (in between “good” and “excellent”), and ending with the glowing endorsement: “Highly recommended.” The review only covers the first DVD set of season 1, which is just a few episodes, but I found it interesting how Keogh chose to summarize the series. They focused on the fact that Aang, the protagonist, had been in an iceberg for 100 years and was tasked with restoring balance to humanity. 

There is no mention of the fact that Aang is, as the title of the show suggests, the last Airbender—the last of his people after a brutal genocide that Aang escaped by pure chance. The premise of Aang being the last of his kind is central to the show’s theme and plot—he’s not only the last airbender alive, but as the series takes place 100 years after the genocide of his people, the Air Nomads, he’s the only person alive with knowledge of their culture and customs. Since the Video Librarian is used as an academic resource as well and is not necessarily geared towards children, I found it a bit surprising that this element of the show was ignored entirely. The violence underscoring Avatar feels obvious to me, but this review makes me question how much attention people paid to the colonialist violence and genocide rather than focusing on the beautiful animation, the character arcs, or the concept of elemental bending.

The second review, from the New York Times, appeared ahead of the release of the series finale. It seems to get closer to the heart of Avatar, focusing specifically on Aang’s struggle as a pacifist who has to stop the genocidal Fire Lord. Everyone expects him to kill the Fire Lord and sees it as the only possible end to the Fire Nation’s colonial rule, but Aang was raised to be a non-violent pacifist and only uses violence in self-defense. It’s a tenet he adheres to throughout the series, but the reason why it’s so salient is that it is in direct relation with his Air Nomad culture. As the last Air Nomad and Airbender, he feels a responsibility to preserve the culture as best as possible. He refuses to let go of the teachings of the monks who raised him, a lingering connection to the life he was robbed of. 

This review, by Susan Stewart, touches on that to some degree, recognizing the complexity of balancing Aang’s religious and cultural practices with his duty and the expectation of violence. But, Stewart says, it’s a hard topic to broach that is “beautifully rendered” in the series finale. I’m inclined to agree. But more importantly, it seems that by the end of Avatar’s run, viewers and reviewers seemed to form a better sense of the heart of the show and the difficult, often tangentially violent topics it deals with. For me, this exercise proved to be a fascinating way of seeing not only what people thought of Avatar on a base level, but how they thought about it. Everyone consumes and analyzes media differently, so to see which themes reviewers wrote about, some of their takeaways, and interpretations of the story was helpful for me. It’s a reminder that not everyone is going to be consuming media through the same lens.

Works Cited:

Keogh, T. “Avatar: The Last Airbender–Book 1: Water, Volume 1.” Video Librarian, vol. 21, no. 3, May 2006, p. 57. EBSCOhost, research.ebsco.com/linkprocessor/plink?id=da6a1d18-cd43-39c4-a4f6-dda3698624f1.

Stewart, Susan. “Though raised by pacifists, destined to battle for peace.” New York Times, 19 July 2008, p. B15(L). Gale Academic OneFile, link.gale.com/apps/doc/A181561704/AONE?u=carl22017&sid=bookmark-AONE&xid=4e027d18.

As I am interested in studying the concepts of ekphrasis and the sublime particularly in romantic poetry, I will certainly be including works of famous romantic poet William Wordsworth in my research.

Wordsworth had started his poetic career early, getting into writing at a young age in grammar school in Cockermouth, England, where he recalled his education in several of his poems. He later attended Hawkshead Grammar School, where he began composing verse and his love of nature and senses become integrated into his poetry. Wordsworth also held a great appreciation for the ‘common’ man and what it meant to politically represent people of multiple social statuses through literature. To this, Wordsworth poetry famously utilized simple verse that could be of value to people with a more casual appreciation to poetry and average literacy,

The poet also adopted some strong political beliefs that stemmed from this empathy and passion towards the ‘common’ man. Wordsworth spent time on trips in Switzerland and France, adopting ideas supportive of democracy and anti-tyrannical. Particularly in France, exposure to revolutionary ardor and beautiful natural scenes of the countryside simultaneously formed a personality for Wordsworth as a poet and literary figure.

Though, the poet’s identity would change throughout the years. After having a child with a woman he was not married to, he was ultimately barred from joining any churches in his local area, mainly to save the embarrassment from his relatives in the churches. Ironically, Wordsworth had gotten into the works of atheist William Godwin anyway and had become strongly influenced by the piece.

This biographical context of Wordsworth is essential to fully understanding the poet’s use of ekphrasis and exploration of the sublime. With a love of nature, particularly scenes and images of nature, the poet transformed this love to his poetry through ekphrasis. With background on the poet’s religious beliefs, this context contributes to discourse surrounding Wordsworth’s infatuation with the sublime, given the strong atheist influence in his life.

 

Citations:

“William Wordsworth: 1170-1850”, The Poetry Foundation. Accessed October 7th, 2024. William Wordsworth | The Poetry Foundation

While combing through potential sources, I found an issue of The New York Times, featuring a review on my focal text, The Princess Bride. After reading the review I decided to page through the issue for any articles that could shed light on what was going on around the novel’s publication. For a little context, this issue was published on December 23, 1973, the same year The Princess Bride was published, and consequentially it was filled with advertisements for various Christmas gifts and holiday sales. One advertisement that caught my attention was for a Bonwit Teller swimsuit on page 5. This advertisement takes up almost the entire page and consists of a small paragraph and illustration displaying the product. The tagline of the ad reads, “The Bonwit Tank: Ready to Move Boldly into the Sun Life” (5). What stood out to me about this advertisement was that it was promoting a summer swimsuit in the middle of December, a month when it is too cold for swimming in most places. The winter solstice, which is the day that has the least amount of sunlight hours, also occurs in December. I think these aspects help encourage readers to not only buy the swimsuit, but also hint at a need to travel in order to enjoy their product and escape the cold weather. 

Another thing I noticed was the plethora of pieces on various crises overseas, and on the fuel crisis in the US. One piece in particular was a message from Roots. The message starts with “Winter 1973 hasn’t been all bad” (39) and then continues to list various current issues and good aspects of them, including an “energy crisis,” “foreign conflicts,” “our uncertain economy,” and “Disturbing political incidents have caused us to individually examine our own motives and actions, which can only result in good.” The list created by the message depicts various problems taking place at the time, and consequently, the effect these have on the population. I had wondered why Goldman decided to not only write a fairytale aimed at all ages, but also to interact with the text with his personal perspective and notes; now I think I have a theory. At the time of this New Yorker issue there is a lot happening; people are stressed and struggling and in need of an escape. Maybe The Princess Bride was an escape for Goldman, and by interacting with the text, he felt like he was more of a part of the story.

Works Cited

“Display Ad 11 — no Title.” New York Times (1923-), Dec 23, 1973, pp. 5. ProQuest, https://dickinson.idm.oclc.org/login?url=https://www.proquest.com/newspapers/display-ad-11-no-title/docview/119732018/se-2. 

“Display Ad 86 — no Title.” New York Times (1923-), Dec 23, 1973, pp. 39. ProQuest, https://dickinson.idm.oclc.org/login?url=https://www.proquest.com/newspapers/display-ad-86-no-title/docview/119733760/se-2. 

Though I have a series of focal texts on my reading list—and all tie back to the central issue of Partition—I don’t think I’ve ever taken a moment to look at the primary evidence that announced the division of the British Raj.

I’ve chosen a brief article from The Times titled “Broadcast by Viceroy.” It’s simply a printing of Lord Mountbatten’s radio broadcast made the day before announcing the plans for Partition (the broadcast aired on June 3rd, 1947 and the speech was reprinted on June 4th, 1947). This is likely one of the first times this announcement appeared in print, so I’m counting it as a primary source. Lord Mountbatten, Viceroy of India, planned the Partition of India and Pakistan; in this speech, he explains the original plans, the final decision, and how he hopes the Indian people will react to the news of the transfer of power.

It is this final section, here subtitled “Indian States,” that is of particular interest to me. Lord Mountbatten consistently stresses the need for this transfer of power to occur “in a peaceful and orderly manner,” and he states that “every single one of us must bend all his efforts to the task;” these choices of wording suggest that the responsibility for the prevention of violence is a communal task passed onto the now-citizens of the newborn nation. Though Mountbatten is attempting to generate a sense of responsibility, it comes off as a transfer of blame.

In the rest of the speech, his tone is extremely patronizing: “This is no time for bickering, much less for the continuation in any shape or form of the disorders and lawlessness of the past few months” (“Broadcast by Viceroy”). “Bickering” carries connotations of petulant schoolchildren, and his references to “the disorders and lawlessness of the past few months” carefully covers up British complicity in inciting said lawlessness.

It’s the last three lines that feels especially condescending: “Do not forget what a narrow margin of food we are all working on. We cannot afford any toleration of violence. All of us are agreed on that” (“Broadcast by Viceroy”). Lord Mountbatten, from his position of food security, likely refers to the Bengal Famine of 1943. It’s essential to note that famines are engineered—it’s not the absence of available food, it’s a withholding of available food.

If anything, looking into colonial documents makes me question tone and word choice—it’s also important to note that these declarations are first broadcast in English, a language only accessible to the colonial elite and a South Asian ruling class with an Anglophone education. These are the kinds of official documents women writers are responding to, and this inherently accusatory tone fits with the same kinds of “victim-blaming” enacted upon fictional women by the men in their lives.

Works Cited

Mountbatten, Lord Louis. “Broadcast by Viceroy.” The Times, London, 4 June 1947, https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/indian-independence/mountbatten-radio-broadcast/.

(***After writing all of this, I realize now that the blog post prompt is not nearly as limiting as I first perceived—but I hope that this contains enough substance regardless!)

Author and professor Peter Dendle has produced a high volume of works surrounding the zombie and its history, including a chapter of Monsters and the Monstrous titled “The zombie as barometer of cultural anxiety.” It considers the varied significance of the zombie in media, depending on location and time: and depending on what widespread cultural fears are present. Dendle possesses an extensive body of work on the zombie beyond this individual chapter, however, and demonstrates such variety that NPR has featured his work on zombies. I recently read it, so it was on the brain as a portion of my reading list I wanted to explore; though I struggled to find reviews on the author’s work or biographies of the author, I wanted to evaluate some of the range of his work and how his previous writings form a sort of “biography” of his study of the zombie.

Included in his works is “The Zombie Movie Encyclopedia,” an overview and analysis of over 200 zombie movies from 16 countries—Amazon’s description lists the book as the “first exhaustive historical overview of zombie films” (“Amazon”). Some similar material from this book is (rightfully) included in “The zombie as a barometer of cultural anxiety,” including in-depth analyses of a number of Western zombie films. The film “White Zombie,” for instance, is discussed in detail as not only the first “zombie movie,” but for its connections to the West African folklore that majorly shaped the composing of our contemporary concept of the zombie. Dendle highlights the use of the zombie as a laborer forcibly robbed of their soul and free will, specifically to work in a sugar cane factory (46). He moves in chronological order, additionally exploring Depression-era, wartime, Cold War, consumerist, and even September 11th 2001-adjacent zombie films. He does not assign solely one metaphor or symbol that the zombie stands for to each time period, instead exploring (as the films have) multiple avenues by which the zombie stands in for relevant cultural anxieties: for example, the movie Ouanga contains themes of labor as well as themes of race and slavery, both of which are explored by Dendle (47).

Considering Dendle cites his book The Zombie Movie Encyclopedia within “The zombie as a barometer of cultural anxiety,” their structural similarities make perfect sense. In both, Dendle uses chronological order of historical events, and his respective analyses of prominent anxieties that incorporate a number of secondary sources, to explain the popularity of selected zombie films and argue for the zombie as a method of exploring forms of dehumanization and the loss of individuality. In “The zombie as a barometer for cultural anxiety,” he instead narrows his focus to Western zombie films, especially those that became particularly popular, explaining their popularity by relating “cultural anxiety” to the films’ times of composition and release. The Zombie Movie Encyclopedia features a compilation of movies with objective information, such as the director, cast, and release date, then followed by Dendle’s impressions and review of the film. His book chapter seems to condense the summary portion of these films, and perhaps expand upon the review and analysis portion—a fitting choice in getting across his claim of the zombie as reflective of societal fears, for which an author must expand upon a multitude of analyses of a film.

Peter Dendle’s book and article even focus on similar time frames: around 1930 to 2000. The main difference in terms of chronology is that “barometer of cultural anxiety” goes beyond the year 2000 into the most recent resurgences of zombie media, even briefly mentioning videogame franchises and their prominent role in the larger collection of zombie media. Reviews of The Zombie Movie Encyclopedia mention confusion regarding the exclusion of these more recent films or franchises from the book (“Goodreads”), leading me to wonder if there is some sort of connection between that exclusion and the following inclusion of 2000s-era zombie films in “Zombies as a barometer of cultural anxiety.” This “outdatedness” is the most common complaint among reviewers, while the most common compliment is in favor of Dendle’s personal analyses of each film, and his lengthy introductory criticism and overview of zombie-history. This strength is what forms the basis of “a barometer of cultural anxiety,” allowing Dendle to expand upon selected films. 

I don’t want to reduce the book chapter to simply an offshoot of or response to the book, considering their multitude of differences and Dendle’s extensive experience writing about zombies (and a large number of other popular “monsters”). I am interested in the connections between these two works and how these connections speak to what each work aims to do: the book as a general overview linked closer with film-specific study, and the book chapter as a direct argument for the importance of the evolution of the “zombie.”

“Amazon.Com: Peter Dendle: Books.” Amazon.Com, www.amazon.com/Books-Peter-Dendle/s?rh=n:283155,p_27:Peter+Dendle. 

Dendle, Peter. “The zombie as barometer of cultural anxiety.” Monsters and the Monstrous. Brill, 2007. 45-557.

Dendle, Peter. The Zombie Movie Encyclopedia. McFarland & Co., 2001.

“The Zombie Movie Encyclopedia.” Goodreads.Com, Goodreads, www.goodreads.com/book/show/903305.The_Zombie_Movie_Encyclopedia.