In Schönberg, halfway from Lübeck, I didn't find a carriage at the post office and had to change to a charabanc, in which I could not lean, sat as straight as a rail, and felt the jolt of every little pebble. With what pleasure did I ride into the bright, lively, boisterous Hamburg! “Where would you like me to take you?” asked the coachman. “To the Belvedere!” I said with impatience and counted the minutes. We drove up a hill. The view of the Alster, surrounded by magnificent buildings and greenery, opened in front of me. But even here, the leaves have not fully unfolded; it is still early spring. Along the way, I noticed several big, new buildings erected since my previous visit to Hamburg. In the Belvedere, I was met, like a long-awaited guest, but because friends are usually treated unceremoniously, I was given a very bad room with windows overlooking a narrow street instead of the Jungfernstieg. Planning to stay in town but for a short time, I agreed to take it. In an excellent restaurant of the Belvedere, set up in the Parisian manner, I broke my fast after eating only dry food on the ship, and I had oysters for the first time this year. At home in Petersburg, they hardly could be found yet. Having rested after dinner, I set out to a bookstore to get some books that I could not find in Petersburg and delivered several letters with my business cards. I intended to travel to London the very next day: wrote some important letters, mailed them, and went to the steamship office: but as soon as I got into one of the alleys, I happened upon Allut, a local merchant, who visited my domestic circle last year in Petersburg, knew each member of my family, and now expressed sincere condolences in my tragedy. He pleaded with me in a very persuasive manner to stay for one or two days, get some rest, meet his family, and let him repay the debt of hospitality.

Introduction

The 25th of May in 2001 was a watershed moment for queer rights in the Republic of Korea (known colloquially in the West as ‘South Korea’), when future Nobel Peace Prize laureate Kim Dae-jung signed the ratification of the National Human Rights Council Act, creating the first legislative protection for persons of all ‘sexual orientations’ (National Human Rights Commission of Korea 2010). The Supreme Court also legalized the changing of gender in the family registry for transgender persons in 2006, with the right being extended in certain regions to pre-op female-to-male transgender persons in March 2013 and pre-op male-to-female transgender persons in February 2017 (Kim 2017, n.p.). The queer rights movement has not been without setbacks; since 2007, the movement has tried and failed to pass an anti-discrimination act that would administer more effective measures against discrimination, and while the battle for human rights ordinances, including protection for queer people, continues to be waged region-by-region, universal recognition for the equal rights of queers remains elusive on the peninsula.

Korean literature, however, is a markedly different story. Even compared to other countries in East Asia that are several times its size in population, Korea boasts a rich queer tradition in modern and contemporary fiction. Korea’s first work of modern fiction is a queer narrative (the short story ‘Is It Love?’ by Yi Kwang-su, published in 1909), and there are at least 300 verified queer works published in Korea – more than twice that number counting translations (Hur 2018, n.p.). Compared to this richness, however, queer children’s and young adult books are only very recently beginning to find traction in Korean publishing. For the purposes of this chapter, I have only considered works originally written in Korean and published in Korea, while I fully acknowledge the important role translated literature has played in the shaping and enrichment of domestic literary discourse and production.

How are we to explain queerness to children, a group of readers who arguably do not understand sexuality as adults do? What constitutes sexuality and ‘being queer’ for children?

Volume 1 starts in St. Petersburg and follows Gretsch's sea voyages to Germany, across the English Channel to England, and then back across the channel into France. Gretsch had visited Germany previously, a fact that he mentions in his first letter, dated from Hamburg on May 8. Additionally, he had studied in France 20 years earlier. However, he had never before been to England. By this point in his life, Gretsch already was well traveled, so he had a certain worldly awareness of the types of people and places he might expect along the way. He knew the kinds of difficulties he might encounter while traveling, and he had prepared himself beforehand by reading about his destinations. However, despite his experience and profound reading knowledge, Gretsch still found a number of surprises along the way.

Gretsch's Preface

Gretsch inserts a short preface before the first letter in the first volume. In it, he defends an attitude with which some of his contemporary readers disagreed. He notes that since parts of the letters have appeared previously in The Northern Bee, he has had the benefit of learning some of the criticism of those sections before they have appeared in the present volumes and is thus able to respond to them. Primarily, readers objected that Gretsch had been too critical of the French and their representative form of government. In Gretsch's view, the French system was too liberal, a flaw that weakened the government, making it the mere puppet of demagogues. Gretsch stands by his conclusions, however, pointing out that other writers have made statements similar to his and inviting anyone who disagrees to travel to France and experience the French system first-hand—as he had done more than once at this point. “Have my critics been to France?” he asks, questioning their ability to make accurate judgments; “Have they been there in the last seven years?” To Gretsch, the conclusions he has formed about the French are the logical response of any truly intelligent person.

Gretsch's attitude toward the French makes more sense to readers when considered alongside the Official Nationality ideology introduced in Russia just four years prior to his voyage.

I have talked enough about important and serious subjects. Now let's go to the temple of fine arts that delight and beautify our earthly, laborious life. Politics and the sciences will take their usual course, but the arts transcend the mundane. It is possible to educate a civil servant, it is possible to teach a recruit proper conduct, it is possible to lacquer a fool with knowledge; but poets, artists, and musicians are born fortuitously like lilies of the field, like nightingales and birds of paradise! And when the poetry of Schiller, Lamartine, and Pushkin ceases to amaze me; and when I no longer stop with delight in front of a painting by Dominikin, in front of The Last Day of Pompeii; when I listen indifferently to melodies evoked from oblivion by Mozart and Rossini—then don't waste time and order the cards with a black rim from the print shop, of standard form: “The so and so, inform with great sadness, etc.” — Music—Italian music—has a different, higher meaning for me at present; it evokes a sweet memory in my soul of my dear one who only recently shared this delight with me, and, leaving this world for the better one, in the last minutes of his earthly life, nourished on this unearthly harmony … … …

I left Petersburg in the most sorrowful frame of mind. Confined on the steamer and suffering from seasickness, I found no pleasure in anything, could not clear my gloomy thoughts. Boisterous, pleasant, good old Hamburg somewhat distracted me. I even ventured to go to the theatre, to listen to music: in Petersburg I had not been to the theatre since the first performance of A Life for the Tsar. To my good fortune, as I have already mentioned, they were performing Mozart's Don Juan, in my opinion and taste, the most wonderful among all the operas I know, and they performed it very well. Amazing sounds transported me into the world above the stars. I will elaborate on this expression. Have you ever noticed the correlation of earthly music with the mysteries of the universe? Have you not stopped to ponder the expression: music of the celestial spheres?

Not far from Westminster Abbey rises an ancient building known as Westminster Hall. It was built in the year 1397 during the reign of Richard II. The hall itself, occupying the largest part of the building, measures 90 sazhens in length, more than 10 in width, and about 13 in height. The walls are plain white, but the ceiling is covered with carved woodwork: angels support the coats of arms of Richard II and Edward the Confessor. In the old days, the meetings of Parliament took place here. It is also here that the coronation banquets honoring English monarchs are held. The guide told me excitedly about the banquet given here at the coronation of George IV. The following was consumed in one day: 7442 lbs. of beef, 3133 lbs. of veal, 2474 lbs. of mutton, 270 lbs. of liver oil, 1730 lbs. of bacon, 1400 lbs. of lamb meat, 160 geese, 720 hens and capons, 1610 chickens, 520 other poultry, 8400 eggs, 160 cups of broth, 160 platters of greens, 80 wild game, 642 pâtés, 400 platters of cream and jelly, 160 platters of fish; drinks consumed: 1200 bottles of champagne, 300 of Burgundy wine, 240 of Claret, 600 of Rheinwein, 600 of Moselle wine, 600 of Madera, 4300 of Port wine and sherry, 400 servings of frozen punch, and 100 barrels of beer and porter!

At present the hall is empty. Along the sides are the courtrooms, the so-called new courts of law: their names are inscribed on the doors: Court of Chancery, Vice-Chancellor's Court, King’s-Bench, and others. I went inside some of these courtrooms, and not understanding the gibberish language of English bureaucracy, I occupied myself observing an external view of judicial power and its procedures. The judges—venerable, elderly, serious people—sit on elevated seats. They are dressed in red and black robes and huge, full-bottomed, powdered wigs. At first, this attire seems strange and amusing, but the eye gets used to it quickly.

Introduction

Homo Sapienne was the debut novel by Niviaq Korneliussen, a young Greenlandic woman, and was published in 2014. Homo Sapienne is an anomaly in Greenlandic literature, which hardly ever gets translated into other languages, because it has in fact been translated quite widely. So far it has been published in German, French (Canada and France), Swedish, and English in the United Kingdom. As I write this, it is due to be published in English in the USA, Norwegian, Finnish, Icelandic and Czech, and publishing houses in Spain, Italy and South Korea are interested. That amount of interest, translation and publication never happens for a Greenlandic book; nor are Greenlandic books generally covered in foreign media. So what makes Homo Sapienne special? To answer that question, it is necessary to first look at the history of Greenlandic literature and LGBTQ+ issues in Greenland. In this chapter, I will discuss what makes this book unique: not only the LGBTQ+ subject matter, but also the style in which it is written and the gap it filled in Greenland.

Some Background on Greenland and the Greenlandic Literary Tradition

Greenland is a former colony of Denmark. In 1979, Greenland received home rule and in 2009 self-government, but Greenland is not totally independent of Denmark. Denmark still rules over foreign affairs and the military, and Greenlandic and Danish are both recognized as official languages.

There are about 56,000 people in Greenland. In the capital and the biggest city, Nuuk, there are about 17,000 people. With so few Greenlanders, there is a need for a foreign workforce, since there are not enough Greenlanders with the right education to fill all the different jobs. As a result, there are a lot of Danes working in Greenland, especially in Nuuk.

For the purposes of this chapter, I differentiate between ‘books in Greenlandic’ and ‘Greenlandic books’. Books in Greenlandic are defined here as translations into Greenlandic, not originally written in Greenlandic, while Greenlandic books I see as books originally written in Greenlandic.

Reading and writing traditions in Greenland were established relatively recently compared to other countries.

I would have left Paris much earlier if strange fits of dizziness had not made me fear an attack of a serious illness. Not trusting unfamiliar doctors, I asked P. V. Poggenpohl to recommend someone, and he acquainted me with Doctor Kapeler, born in Vienna, former family doctor of Count Pozzo di Borgo. Mr. Kapeler set my mind at ease (I was afraid I might fall ill while on the road) and after several days of treatment, announced that I could continue my journey without any worry. I intended to go directly to Strasbourg through Chalons and Metz; but a week before my departure, my acquaintance, Drouanet (founder of the portable gas establishment in Petersburg) called on me and convinced me to visit him in Reims. S. M. Stroyev, having heard my plan, asked me to take him with me, and we reserved our seats in the diligence office for July 7th. The diligence was scheduled to depart at five o’clock in the afternoon. In the morning, I settled my bill at the hotel and bade farewell to all my fellow countrymen who made my stay so pleasant; I visited P. V. Poggenpohl and had breakfast at Sofia Ivanovna Conrad’s: thus I spent the last hours in Paris with the people whom I least wanted to leave. Anyone who has ever lived far from his home country among foreign, alien people who measure their services, courtesy, and affection according to the weight of his purse—that person knows the true value of the friendship and affability of his acquaintances from his own country. To my other acquaintances, I sent out, together with visiting cards, copies of my article: “Recollections,” published in Novoselye, and translated by Madame Conrad into French. I found it in the Revue du Nord and reprinted it to give out as a memento.

At half past four, I arrived at the diligence office, where kind Vattemare was waiting for me; he wanted to bid me farewell again. My fellow traveler arrived, we occupied our seats, and with sincere wishes for a safe trip, we left the new Babylon.

When I said good-bye to my friends before leaving Petersburg, I asked what I could bring them from abroad, what gift might delight them. Everyone answered on a momentary feeling or whim: everyone asked for some kind of gift and, in a word,

One friend was silent.— “Why are you not asking for anything?” I inquired. “You are a Frenchman—a Parisian; you know well what one can bring from France; having lived in Petersburg for seven years, you know what you have been missing.”— He interrupted the silence with a deep sigh: “If you truly want to bring me joy, to revive me, visit my poor mother, whom I have not seen for ten years and whom, maybe, I will not meet again in this life. Tell her that you saw me, that I love her, that I am sick at heart for her, that I …. No! don't promise. She might not be in Paris; she is most likely living in the country. No, don't make any promises!”— In fact, I did not promise anything definitive because I did not know if I would be able to keep my word, but in my soul, I decided to do everything possible.

Upon arrival in Paris, I hurried to one of my friend's relatives and found out that Madame Monneron had left for her daughter's estate near Blois on the eve of my arrival and will stay there until next year. What am I to do? I thought. Travel to Blois? Then I would lose several days designated for Paris in my itinerary. True, but, at the same time, what would I do in Paris for such a long time? Moreover, I would be able to see interesting French provinces. I deliberated in this way for some time but could not make a decision. Suddenly, one circumstance dispelled any doubts.

Introduction

In 2013, Swedish author and illustrator Elias S. Ericson published the graphic novel Åror (Oars), depicting the life of a transgender character in his late teens. When the Swedish Institute for Children's Books mentioned this book in its annual report on themes and tendencies in Swedish children's and young adult books, it was the first time that a transgender character was observed in literature for young readers in Swedish (Svenska barnboksinstitutet 2014, 8, 19). The reports, produced since 1993, show an increase in the number of depictions of transgender characters starting in 2015, which means that transgender characters have, with few exceptions, only been made visible in Swedish children's and young adult literature during the last few years. From an international point of view this can be considered rather late (cf. overviews in, for example, Butler 2020; Epstein 2013, 142–55; Jenkins and Cart 2018, 161–80). Anglo-American films and young adult novels about transgender experiences such as Boys Don't Cry (1999), directed by Kimberly Pierce, and Julie Anne Peters’ Luna (2004) show that, though usually progressive and attentive to norms, Swedish children's and young adult book authors had a late awakening when it comes to the portrayal of transgender characters. From 2013 and up until the time of writing, about 25 books for children and young adults with a transgender protagonist have been published in Swedish, translations and Swedish originals both included. To this can be added an equally large number of books where transgender characters are depicted as subsidiary characters (cf. Svenska barnboksinstitutet 2016, 13–14; 2017, 6; 2018, 8–9; 2020, 8; and Warnqvist 2017).

In this chapter, I wish to address the late appearance of transgender characters in Swedish children's and young adult literature. I will uncover possible reasons both for this late appearance and for the increased number of depictions following it. I begin by giving an overview of the legal situation for transgender people in Sweden, as necessary background for the discussion that follows.

Yesterday I was at the ball, one of a kind—boisterous, glamorous, closely packed, stuffy, charitable.

Spitalfields is a part of London inhabited by silk weavers, descendants and successors of French émigrés who found shelter in Protestant Europe after Louis XIV renounced the Edict of Nantes. Spitalfields weavers, engaging primarily in the production of velvet and colored silk fabric, often suffered losses and deprivation because of the high cost of food in London, of the whims of fashion that preferred cotton, wool, and linen fabric to silk, and, finally, of a considerable amount of smuggling. They suffered the most significant blow from the invention and implementation of mechanical looms which partially replaced human labor. At present, Manchester has seized a manufacturing monopoly, and the other factories in England suffer large losses as a result. The owners of factories, having lost their sales markets, dismiss their workers and make them, with their wives and children, victims to destitution and hunger. This calamity, however, is not immutable, but it changes, like the ebb and flow of the sea. The government is straining its forces to help the poverty-stricken; private individuals take a zealous part in these efforts by giving jobs to silk makers, buying their products, and providing monetary assistance to the most wretched. With this noble goal in mind, they throw magnificent public balls to which all the ladies come in outfits made of Spitalfields fabric, and the funds raised by the ball are given to the poor weavers. Such a ball was held yesterday.

The patronesses of the ball, under the auspices of the king, queen, princes, and princesses of the Royal Family, were ladies of the highest court and city society—the Duchesses of Somerset, Beaufort, Richmond, Northumberland, Sutherland, Marquises of Salisbury, Abercorn, Cornwallis, Londonderry, Countesses of Winchelsea, Chesterfield, Stanhope, Grey, Viscountess Stanley, Lady Peel, the spouse of the Lord-Mayor, and many others.

The second most notable London church is St. Paul's Cathedral, located in the City amid the noise of commercial and industrial life (see Figure 1.11, St. Paul's Cathedral). Need I repeat the well-known facts that this cathedral was built by Christopher Wren on the ruins of a church burned during the Great Fire in 1666, which was originally erected at the site of a pagan temple to Diana, later converted into a Christian church? At the front of this cathedral rises the once-famous Cross of St. Paul, i.e., a wooden pulpit, lined with lead, set on stone steps. Every Sunday, the most prominent theologians of London delivered enlightening words to the public from this pulpit. The court and the noblest citizens of the city gathered to listen to them. Moreover, it was at this site that allegiance was sworn, new laws were proclaimed, etc. The lovely Jane Shore, mistress of Edward IV, repented here in a white kirtle with a candle in her hand. It was here that, on the demand of the Catholics, the first English Bible was burned; and it was here that, by order of Henry VIII and Elizabeth, the speeches against the Pope were delivered. — The building itself is designed in the form of a cross, built from white Portland stone now covered with soot of different shades. The dome of St. Paul's Cathedral is visible from a great distance. The tolling of the great bell is heard for 20 miles (35 versts) in circumference. The bell tolls only on the occasion of the death of the king, the Bishop of London, the dean of St. Paul's Cathedral, or the Lord Mayor. The building is beautiful, majestic, but it stands amid cramped streets lined with tall houses, and as travelers who have been to Rome say, it cannot be compared to the Cathedral of St. Peter. It is surrounded by an iron fence, inside which, to the west of the church, stands a statue of Queen Anne.

The interior of the church is not so well decorated as the exterior: One transept of the cross formed by the building is allocated for worship services. The remaining space is mostly empty. It was decreed in 1790 that the church be decorated with monuments to famous people to fill the space.

Introduction

Paul van Seters

Philip Selznick's The Moral Commonwealth was published in 1992. In 1993, the yearly meetings of the American Sociological Association (ASA) took place in Miami Beach, Florida, from August 13 to 17. Seymour Martin Lipset was ASA President and Committee Chair at the time. On August 16, an “Author Meets Critics” session was devoted to Selznick's new book. James S. Coleman (University of Chicago) had organized this session and was its chair. The critics were Douglas Heckathorn (University of Connecticut), Alan Silver (Columbia University), George Steinmetz (University of Chicago), and Alan Wolfe (New School of Social Research).

In 1994, The Newsletter of PEGS published a symposium on The Moral Commonwealth, to which Steinmetz and Heckathorn contributed the reviews they had prepared for the ASA “Author Meets Critics” session of the year before; Charles W. Anderson (University of Wisconsin, Madison) added a review; and Selznick responded to these three reviews. The PEGS Newsletter was published from 1991 to 1995 by Penn State University (PSU) Press, on behalf of the Committee on the Political Economy of the Good Society. In 1996, the name of the journal was changed to The Good Society. It appears biannually, still published by PSU Press.

In this chapter, we present the reviews by Anderson, Steinmetz, and Heckathorn, and the response by Selznick—all as published in the PEGS Newsletter in 1994. The original texts are only adjusted for style consistency (as in the references) and to correct typos and errors.

Philip Selznick's Classic Humanism

Charles W. Anderson

The remarkable thesis of Philip Selznick's The Moral Commonwealth is that we have the materials to resolve our moral uneasiness ready at hand. From the most familiar ideas of our century, the books we have all read, the conventional teachings of the social sciences, we can derive a public philosophy that is consistent with the strongest, most enduring ideals of our civilization. Thus we need not renounce the spirit of the age to return to ancient virtue, nor deconstruct our fabric of thought to achieve authenticity, nor try to prove rightfulness by clever new moves in game theory, a more sublime calculus of self-interest, nor pursue any of the other drastic and implausible strategies now fashionable in academic circles.