mons builds meaningful relationships around non-coer- cive work in a context of self-government, all conspicu- ously absent from the nature of paid work in our culture. Against this model, paid work begins to look like the wage-slavery described by the YES MEN in their anti- globalization campaigns, a slavery that became neces- sary during the enclosure of the commons in Europe and North America, an enclosure that continues to be forced on indigenous and peasant people around the world in the name of progress and free trade.  So we have three kinds of pumpkins, each suggesting to us movements towards reclaiming the commons, not as an endangered preserve in a regime of property, but as complex economic, social, and political alternatives to that regime. These complex networks of relationships, resources, and practices are designed to perpetuate fer- tility and abundance in the communities that form them. The Eden that Europeans described when they reached North America was not a wilderness, but a well-man- aged resource, a complex combination of nature and culture, ecology and economy, a system so subtle and effective that it eluded the settlers who saw only natural wealth free for the taking. The result of this land grab in North America is that only 2% of the land is now wild, its major rivers are polluted, its lakes have caught fire, and its forests are dying from the top down. The tragedy of this commons was that it never really was a commons after colonization, but was surrendered to plunder, priva- tization, and exploitation in the name of Manifest
In the circumstances, how can one address questions concerning the relationship between nature and culture? For instance those, until now mostly unanswered, relating to climate change. For sure there have been exceptions. Paolo Portoghesi, the postmodern architect responsible for the Strada Novissima at the Venice Biennale, tried to answer some of them. In his book Nature and Architecture, he looks for archetypes with which to express, through symbols, the origin of archi- tectural forms in nature. Thus streets would have originated in canyons carved by rivers. “The house origins”, he writes, “lie in the tree, the cave and the nest of birds, but it also relates to the archetype of prenatal life in the womb” 3 . Need one continue?
Whatever the answer, these and similar questions inspired Ecozon@’s call for contributions to a special section on “Urban Ecologies.” The idea was also to give another push to the study of urbanity within ecocriticism, a mode of inquiry within literary and cultural studies that began to emerge in the mid-1990s, has since developed into a vibrant field within the humanities all over the world. For a long time Ecocriticism was fixated on the study of nature and wilderness as well as on the investigation of texts and genres devoted to what could be summarized as ecological, or environmental consciousness raising. Attempts to embrace the study of real and imagined urban environments as a legitimate ecocritical project are few and far between. The first milestone on ecocriticism’s path to the city was Michael Bennett and David W. Teague’s The Nature of Cities: Ecocriticism and Urban Environments (1999), a collection of essays that addressed issues such as “The Nature of Cities,” “Urban Nature Writing,” “City Parks” as well as conceptual intersections of race, gender, urbanity, and wilderness, and that closed with a section on “theorizing urban space.” As Bennett and Teague wrote in the introduction, the volume had two major purposes: 1) “to point to the self-limiting conceptualizations of nature, culture, and environment built into many ecocritical projects by their exclusion of urban places;” and 2) “to remind city dwellers of our placement within ecosystems and the importance of this fact for understanding urban life and culture” (4).
When I take the coastal steamer, Hurtigrute, down south along the Norwegian coast, I sometimes overhear the tourists’ conversations. Whereas some consider themselves to be in some northern Shangri-La, envying the simple lives of locals in their wooden houses, set between fjords and mountains, others wonder how anyone can live in such desolation. Although the landscape the tourists see is the same, and their cultural background may not be different, they reach divergent evaluations. The reason for this phenomenon is that a culture produces a variety of sometimes contradictory projections onto the land. With its low population density, low number of tourists (in comparison with the charter flight destinations in warmer regions), challenging infrastructure, and inhospitable climate, it is no surprise that the North is a region marked more by projection than by experience. The North is not alone in being a screen for cultural projection; the Palestinian author Raja Shehadeh has described the thicket of projections that make his homeland invisible:
Computer-assisted language learning (CALL) has more than fifty years of history as a sub-field of second language development research focussing on in-class or instructionally related uses of technology (for discussions, see Bax, 2003; Chapelle, 2009; Hubbard, 2009). Many useful and consistently corroborated findings have emerged from this literature (for reviews, see Chun, 2008; Thorne, 2008a; Couros, 2010; Ducate and Nike, 2011; Johnson, Smith, Willis, Levine, and Haywood, 2011; Warschauer, 2011). Communicating has stepped far ahead when massive communication by email and chat was complemented with the Voice over Internet protocol (VoIP) thus contributing with audio- and/or videoconferencing to FL pedagogy (Richards and Schmidt, 2002; Mullen, Appel, and Shanklin, 2008). Since then, calls can be made over the Internet across the world at no marginal cost, through free software such as Skype or GoogleTalk, even replacing landline technology (Graddol, 2006). Research has shown that online language exchange projects of this nature can contribute to the development of learner autonomy (O’Rourke, 2005; Schwienhorst, 2000; Newby et al. 2007), linguistic accuracy (Kinginger and Belz, 2005; O’Rourke, 2005; Ware and O’Dowd, 2008), intercultural awareness (Müller-Hartmann, 2000; O’Dowd and Ritter, 2006; Ware, 2005), intercultural skills (Belz and Müller-Hartmann, 2003; Thorne, 2010), electronic literacies (Hauck, 2010), and task development (Appel and Gilabert, 2002; Furstenberg, Levet, English, and Maillet, 2001; Müller-Hartmann, 2000; O’Dowd and Waire, 2008, 2009).
All this is not to say that there is nothing real ‘out there’; there is another ‘nature’ of which this is a mere fragment. It is to claim that the real is always an inextricable mixture of culture and that ultimate nature. Changing scale for the purposes of illustration from the level of landscape to that of a tree, there are real trees ‘out there’ that we cannot walk through, and some in Britain have recently been termed ‘veteran trees.’ These are ancient trees that are also valuable as a habitat to saproxylic insects. Such trees are real, but they are only in particular places because people have allowed them to grow there. Also the shape of these veteran trees will owe much to the ways people have pruned them and to adjacent land uses. In this sense these trees are creations of human will. A tree on the ground that is this mixture of culture and nature can be termed a ‘somatic tree’ (Cooper 2004). In a way it is a bit like a piece of behavior that provides evidence of the hidden thinking of an animal, evidence of the ‘nature’ that is the figment of human minds. This ‘nature’, when specifically focused on veteran trees, may be termed the ‘ideological tree.’ It is ideological in the sense of the definition in Blackburn (1994): “Any wide ranging system of beliefs, ways of thought, and categories that provide the foundation of programmes of political and social action: an ideology is a conceptual scheme with a practical application.” This gives greater precision to the notion that ‘nature’ is cultural, it is, specifically, ideological.
‘I can remember being called a “nature writer” for the first time, and flinching at the implication that this was different from simply being a writer’, wrote the longest established contemporary British nature writer, Richard Mabey in 1984 (Mabey, Clifford and King xi). Mabey’s writing has always been concerned to engage with nature as both embedded throughout culture and materially challenging cultural forms and representations, so a category that marginalised his work on one side of an assumed binary seemed to defuse its cultural and political power. Although Jos Smith traces the earliest British usage of ‘Nature-writing’ to 1922, its contemporary sense is probably an import from the US. A newer generation of British writers, who are now aware of the American tradition of nature writing, retain Mabey’s unease whilst recognising that they are part of a long Anglo-American tradition (Smith 6). “Nature writing is an unsatisfactory term,” admits Cambridge academic and nature writer, Robert Macfarlane, “for this diverse, passionate, pluriform, reviving tradition—but it is the best there is, and it serves as a banner to march beneath” (Macfarlane, “Call of the Wild” n.p.). Here is a voice that seeks to shake off the escapist associations with a self-indulgent pastoral tradition carried by the term ‘nature writing’ in England (Gaelic and Celtic traditions are more complex) to revive a tradition with a new passion and with new, diverse, forms. This is a voice that has come to be characterised in Britain as ‘new nature writing’ that would include, for example, archipelagic literature, psychogeography, narrative scholarship and radical landscape poetry.
another problem was how many katakana to use as in Japanese, with loanwords, the choice is either to translate the foreign loanword, or to transcribe it into katakana. He felt that using a mixture of these would be best, as exclusively using either would be strange, since ‘mixing things up’ was more common in written Japanese. He cautioned that translators should be aware of the slight semantic differences between loan words represented as loan translations or katakana, and gave as examples the Source Text words ‘tropical’ and ‘peach’. In addition, he felt that maintaining some of the near synonym repetitions in the ST (e.g. ‘winning and keeping’, ‘good health and vitality’, ‘preventing and combatting’) would sound unnatural in the TT. He advocated using an adverbial phrase where the ST had an inanimate subject as in ‘taking a moment to savour the pleasure of…’ adding that such constructions were seldom used in Japanese. A considerable number of students identified the use of the word ‘cocktail’ in the phrase ‘a cocktail of tropical flavours’ as a challenge, with a majority choosing to translate ‘cocktail’ as ‘mixture’ or ‘combination’, to avoid the undesirable association with alcoholic beverage. This again showed some appropriate reflection on both the nature of the text, the culture specific issues identified, and the need to take into account the perceived target audience when producing a culturally appropriate translation.
From the point of view of trees—a symbolic observation post—artists open breaches between plant, animal and human worlds, engaging with processes of acculturation. Ecomorphism—from oikos as habitat and morphe as form—is the result of a species’ adaptation to its environment. At the edge of worlds, the museum is not a closed place; it is a “perch”, an essential observatory for viewing social evolution. As a contemporary avatar of the human urban world, the museum cultivates symbolic forests to disorient the visitor and create links between worlds. Beyond a nature in crisis, a double ecopoetic of artistic and literary works emerges in the museum. Perched on a tree, levitating in the middle of a forest, or like a giant spruce laying horizontally, artists forge singular points of view and symbiotic bonds with living organisms that exemplify movement through and across worlds. Applied to the recurrence of artistic works, scenographies and exhibition narratives, ecomorphism is this process of adaptation that pushes our perceptions and ecological consciousness towards a culture of the living. Let us follow the path of ecomorphism that leads through a silent (r)evolution or artistic invasion of wild nature forms, like so many possibly transformative encounters with the living world.
I conclude with three core ideas for ecocriticism in terms of boundaries and boxes. First, by juxtaposing Goethe’s Werther with his Triumph of Sentimentality, we better understand Goethe as more than a sentimental nature poet. He documents and authors many complex polarities, including his sentimental and his “ironic” Werther. When armed with this irony, one can see Werther’s inclination to become an insect and have a bug-eye’s view as emblematic for modern entanglements within nature and culture as inseparable aspects of our environment. Goethe’s two texts contest in differing ways our boundaries, so that an active polarity emerges that we most productively read with the multi-pronged perspective of ironic aesthetics. Second, it is highly relevant for ecocriticism to assess the material boundaries of bodies in terms of local and global ecosystems, the political and ideological contestation of all such borders, and also their contagious subjectivities. We follow Morton’s plea to acknowledge how bodies, ecologies, and subjects are radically open, but we should also embrace and maintain the health and stability of our porous yet enclosed intestines, upon which we depend during our lifetime (and other ecosystems on which we are reliant). Third, understanding unbalanced nature means seeing how all boundaries fade in the long-term, cosmic view; yet short-term boundaries allow a steady-state existence far from equilibrium, in other words, they allow, with some significance, biological life to exist. Straddling these two sides of porous boundaries and stable boundaries allows another polarity to emerge, this one also embracing the human body as part of unbalanced nature (rather than in opposition to it). To think the juxtaposition is to contend meaningfully with the manifold arguments regarding our bodily, environmental, and subjective bounds.
La Biología sufrió una transformación en la déca - da de los cincuenta con la publicación del trabajo de Watson y Crick en Nature sobre la estructura del ADN, que marcó el nacimiento de la biología molecu - lar. En la década de los sesenta, apareció en esta revis - ta el descubrimiento de las placas tectónicas, produ - ciendo una revolución en las ciencias que estudian la Tierra. En la década de los setenta publicó la des - cripción original de la producción de anticuerpos mo- noclonales. En los años ochenta informó de los mayo - res descubrimiento sobre el Sida, cáncer, supercon - ductores y enfermedades genéticas. En la década de los noventa publicó la primera secuencia del genoma humano, la estructura química de los fullerenos y su consagración actual: el impactante anuncio de la ob - tención de Dolly, la oveja que fue clonada a partir de una célula adulta. En los años 2000 y 2001 publicó (junto a Science ) los resultados de la decodificación del genoma humano, tanto la versión del consorcio in - ternacional, liderado por Francis Collin, como los re - sultados de la empresa privada Celera Genomics cuyo máximo responsable científico es Craig Venter.
Although the idea that technology has an impact on differ- ent aspects of our culture may seem oversimplified and highly deterministic, the premise is not entirely incorrect. Technology does not affect society in a linear way; rather, in combination with many other elements, it creates conditions of possibility that suggest rather than determine possible futures (Hawk et al., 2008). It could be said that all technologies intervene in the human environment and modify it to some extent, thereby changing, more or less radically, the conditions of existence of different cultures and permitting certain practices to be rendered obsolete while placing other previously impossible practices within our reach. The changes that have occurred in modern societies are partly related to the introduction of ICTs in our lives. We live entirely in a digital environment and digital technologies are present in all aspects of our lives. We use digital technologies, in fact, almost unconsciously. They are present in all areas of business and underlie financial transactions. They are also present in the media and cultural production, often distributed digitally. Charlie Gere suggests that the sheer extent of the presence of digital technology in our lives indicates the existence of a digital culture. Gere states that digitization can be considered a marker of culture because it includes artifacts and systems of meaning and communication which clearly demarcate contemporary lifestyles (Gere, 2002, p.12). This would indicate that technology is not on the margins of an analysis of culture but is, in fact, central. Increasingly complex technological environments are beginning to shape a dialogue with all cultural production actors. The complex technologies that we use today cannot be considered as mere
En cuanto a la organización, la empresa NATURE LIPS CACAO S.A., pretende organizarse de forma lineal permitiéndonos tener una estructura formal de comunicación, centralizando todas las decisiones de tal manera que se logre facilitar la estabilidad comunicativa y la implantación de las decisiones tomadas en la empresa. De esta manera se tiene una mejor preparación para cualquier tipo de obstáculo que se le presente a la empresa. Esto es particularmente importante para la producción del bálsamo y su distribución en los distintos puntos estratégicos de venta. Una organización lineal ―resaltamos― mejora el flujo comunicativo y el sistema de toma de decisiones que refleja los objetivos de NATURE LIPS CACAO S.A.
Let me begin my sketch of the field by tracing the origins of the bleak view of Dutch nature as non-existent. It can be seen as springing from a much broader cultural critique, that in many western nations first manifested itself in Romanticism. Apart from those who found the sublime in colonial nature (Beekman), however, Dutch writers were attracted by the idyllic, rather than the sublime; and the only small movement that could be called Romanticist in the Byronesque sense of the term was short-lived (1830 to 1840). 3 One of the reasons is that industrialization occurred relatively late, only in the last quarter of the 19 th century. In this less excessive social and political climate, the need for a cultural critique, and for escape, was less urgent. Thus, the respectable Dutch bourgeois elite frowned upon their fellow countrymen‟s early nineteenth-century Romantic passion for nature, as they associated it with the misplaced French inclination towards revolutions (van Zonneveld). When, towards the end of the nineteenth century, a late form of Romanticism came into its own in the Dutch literary movement of the “Tachtigers” (around 1880), these young writers sought in nature an individualist retreat from oppressive morality. But their imagination of nature was not unambivalently positive: it was complicated by the new evolutionary approach that theorized life as subject to the harsh laws of the struggle for life, natural selection, heredity, and possibly degeneration. Though in the Netherlands Darwinism was widely accepted as a moral discourse, one that could well be reconciled with Christian norms and values, its reception also led to a widely shared cultural pessimism (Kemperink 43-44). That the utopian promises of a return to nature were hard to realize without facing the problems inherent in human nature became clear in a social experiment by Frederik van Eeden, the least individualistic, and the most outspoken environmentalist advocate of the “Tachtigers” movement. Inspired by the American Henry David Thoreau to create his own Dutch
The Ramsar Convention was the first international agreement to promote the idea that human societies are an inextricable part of nature, and that human use of ecosystems, on a sustainable basis, is entirely compatible with the conservation of biodiversity and natural resources. The wise use principle encourages integration of human factors into landscape management schemes, instead of simply and ineffectively attempting to protect the environment from human influences. This integrated approach is vital to ensuring that ecosystems can continue fully to deliver their vital role in supporting the maintenance of biological diversity and human wellbeing. In other words, the wise use principle indicates that no efficient conservation policy can be based on the separation of ecological aspects and human, social, institutional, economic and cultural factors. The principle thus is based on establishing or, as said at the start, re-linking people and nature.
However, although in the market for 26 years now, DFNS are not as common as one could expect. Their practical application can be a quite complicated process involving as many as twelve steps. It starts with a common interest from the creditor and the debtor, followed up by serious negotiations, the draft of a formal debt conversion agreement and finally executes the conservation program. On the other hand, nature is starting to be scarce resource and more valuable every day. Therefore, I believe DFNS have a lot of potential and can become more widely utilized if properly structured and understood by all parties.
Future research is needed to investigate the role of external institutions by implementing sustainability standards in the hotel sector in the BRS. Therefore, it might be important to assess if policies have had effects on the hotel industry until now and if there are alternatives to regulate the future path of the hotels in direction of sustainability. Hence, a transdisciplinary method could be used to involve not only the hotels but also other actors in the research process to enhance participation as well. Last but not least, a reserve-wide program or campaign could lead to improvements by induct the hotels and the tourists into the singularity of the environment and the local culture.
relation to sexual and gender identity. In the second century, Artemidorus, known for an extensive five-volume Greek work Oneirocritica, translated as The Interpretation of Dreams in English, considered that the sexual dream is favourable if a woman dreams of being with a man it is good as it is in accordance with her natural and social roles. If a man dreams of another man it is only considered favourable if his partner is of higher status and age than him. His interpretation could be re-formulated within the constraits of British-Asian teenagers of an Indian upbringing. Therefore if a British-Asian woman was known to dream of a white man it would be considered unfavourable and bring shame to the family. As I will analyse in section 18.104.22.168, in spite of the female characters awareness of their cultural and social repression they cannot but let their feelings and impulses show themselves (Naina in Chapatti or Chips, Marina in Passion and Poppadoms, Bindis and Brides). It can be summarised, as a mode of example, with the first meeting between Aaron, a white sport instructor, and Jeena, the female protagonist, in charge of a weekly column devoted to Asian topics in the Asian Delight newspaper in The Marriage Market (2006). During her interview on sport she meets Aaron. The mutual attraction and desire on first sight and the fact of him giving her his phone number takes the form of a dilemma between instinct, that is, moving away from him as it corresponds to improper conduct in her culture and, inquisitiveness, that is, keeping the number. Thus, what would be regarded as a natural reaction of acceptance is translated in the dichotomy between expected and desired behaviour in British-Asian female girls. Therefore in the Indian case desire is not only determined by a member of the opposite sex as maintained above but also in terms of race and ethnicity and, within the latter, the man chosen to become the husband-to-be. In the most radical of the cases, it may be regarded as a preservation of the purity of the race and morals as part of the mantainance of the dominant ideology and power hierarchy. As the writer observes,
System (from Greek word “systema” - composed of parts, connected) is a set of elements that are in relationships, connections and links among themselves and form certain integrity or unity. A system is characterized not only by the availability of connections and relations between its constituent elements (a certain organization) but also by an inseparable unity with the environment, in relations with which the system manifests its integrity [4, p.329]. From our point of view, there are no methodological, theoretical and practical grounds for abandoning the system, systematicity, and systematic approach in the study of legal phenomena. Moreover, it is the systemic nature that gives institutional properties to the law as is an integral institution which is relatively separate from the social environment. A society in which law is intended to establish strong social discipline is also a system.
Lars is a dedicated biologist and has worked on biodiversity conservation and use for the last 20 years. He is the Ramsar STRP National Focal Point in the Danish Ministry of Environment. Lars participated in Ramsar COP7, 8 and 11 in Danish and Tanzanian delegations, and he has also been to five CBD COPs since 1997. He works with the implementation of EU Bird and Habitat Directives (Natura 2000), nature assessment and reporting obligations. Lars worked over three years in Tanzania (2000-2004), support- ing Ramsar ratification and implementation in the country, including designation of four large-sized Ramsar sites, and he is proud to have found in Tanzania, 10 years earlier, a bird genus new to science. He has worked with wetland (and forest) management planning and monitoring in Europe, including Russia since 1990, and in a few countries in South East Asia. He has dealt with Ramsar site designations in Denmark, the Faroe Islands and in high arctic Greenland.