“The red, red blood splatters the cities and plains,” cried the national anthem of Democratic Kampuchea. “The blood spills out into great indignation and a resolute urge to fight,” it “liberates us from slavery.” The image in the anthem was not simply symbolic. Upon taking power in April 1975, the Khmer Rouge emptied the cities and towns of Cambodia, initiating a three-year regime of terror that leveled the country economically, culturally, and physically. In this typhoon of tragedy, nearly two million people died, swept aside in a whirlwind of social upheaval.

Landscapes are culture before they are nature; constructs of the imagination projected onto wood and water and rock. … But once a certain idea of landscape, a myth, a vision, establishes itself in an actual place, it has a peculiar way of muddling categories, of making metaphors more real than their referents; of becoming, in fact, part of the scenery (Simon Schama 1995:61).

Recent writing on political development in Africa has shown a marked tendency to de-privilege the state. We might discern three broad, related, reasons for this trend. The first is the deepening political crisis involving what Crawford Young has described as “shrinkage in the competence, credibility and probity of the state.” The second is the growing dissatisfaction among scholars with the narrow analytical focus of state-centered scholarship on state structures and elites. The third is the re-emergence of civil society as an analytical concept (sparked by political crises in Eastern Europe) and a renewed emphasis on market institutions as appropriate arbiters of social provision.Many scholars, despairing of the political and economic decline of African countries and seeking more compelling explanations, have moved the state out of the explanatory spotlight. They have stressed the fragmentation of politics, processes of economic disengagement from the realm of state control, and expanding areas of social life that fall outside of the ambit of state authority. For some, the relationship between the state and civil society has offered a more appealing focus for analysis.2 Society-centered research has even suggested that the state is not (or is no longer) the main organising principle of politics in Africa.

In Italy during the Renaissance, an age that conjures up open systems of succession and ruthless dynastic struggle, the House of Este stood out for its singular succession practices. For almost one hundred and fifty years, illegitimately born Estense princes held office. Pope Pius II (r. 1458–64) marvelled:

It is an extraordinary thing about that family that within our fathers' memory no legitimate heir has ever inherited the principate; the sons of their mistresses have been so much more fortunate than those of their wives. It is a circumstance contrary not only to Christian custom but to the law of almost all nations.

Debates in constitutional conventions in the United States in 1787 and Australia in 1897 reveal similarities and differences that illuminate the process by which nations became increasingly meaningful forms of social organization. Although the tone of these debates tended to be technical and pragmatic, focusing on specific concerns about the machinery of “good government,” convention delegates showed in their assumptions, their omissions, and in the claims and comparisons they repeated, what they were coming to perceive as commonalities. Claims about what identified the new nations were part of the repertoire of debate used by delegates as they addressed their tasks. So the conventions distilled ideas available to political elites about what was taken to be distinctive about and shared by prospective citizens.

During the last two decades there has been intense debate over the causes of the domestic subordination of women within industrial-capitalist societies. A significant part of this discussion has involved attempts to understand the emergence of a form of family organisation in which the husband was expected to be the main, preferably the sole, bread-winner and his wife was to assume responsibility for running the household, preferably on a full-time basis. Established first among the middle classes, this pattern spread widely throughout the working class with increasing momentum from the middle decades of the nineteenth century. Although the outlines of this development, and the accompanying payment of a family wage to men, are now well-established, the factors responsible for its origins and expansion are still a matter of controversy. In this article I shall review some major explanations of the rise of this “male breadwinner” family and seek to identify a number of weaknesses in the debate as a whole.

Cross dressing is about deliberately traversing meaningful boundaries. The cultural critic, Marjorie Garber, argues that Western civilization has long been obsessed with transvestite behavior. Garber's wide-ranging analysis (from Shakespeare to Madonna) stresses the disruptive aspect of the phenomenon, which, she claims, precipitates a “category crisis” by exposing the futility of all binary oppositions, including those of gender. Could cross dressing ever have been a commonplace part of the notoriously cautious bourgeois culture of nineteenth-century France? The very idea seems implausible on the surface, but in fact the mainstream stage presented the opportunity to see an enormous amount of transvestite performance (travesti). It consisted not simply of plays within which characters disguise themselves as the other sex. In hundreds of French plays before and after the Revolution, actresses assumed male roles, and, to a more limited extent, actors took female parts. Playwrights and producers, more concerned with fame and success than with social commentary, turned out a stream of such transvestite spectacles.