(i) A Closet within a Closet

The Twofold Vibration must be understood in relation to The Voice in the Closet/La voix dans le cabinet de débarras. Federman claims he originally intended to publish the 20 pages (in English) of The Voice in the Closet “in the middle” of The Twofold Vibration. A closet within a closet, Federman's bilingual, hermetic text is referred to throughout. Most importantly, it is gestured to in his alter ego's “confession” as he comes close to exposing his secret, the reason why his name is on the list of deportees. I say Federman only claims he wanted the full text reprinted because The Voice in the Closet is all the more conspicuous by its absence. The void at the center of Federman's oeuvre, X-X-X-X, is recreated by the absence of what should be at the core of his text (and his work), the creature's cry. In the final novel of Federman's early cycle, a character known as “the old man” or “the old guy” repeats his narrative of survival. The Twofold Vibration, published in 1982, is set in the year 2000. In what is now “The United States of Planet Earth (USPE),” peace and prosperity are maintained by a benevolent computer, “Onselacouledouce” (4). Part of this involves a purging of undesirables every year on New Year's Eve, who are deported to the space colonies (or to their deaths). The computer's cute name, which could be translated as “Wetakeiteasy,” masks the threatening allusion to “Death's Calculator,” the IBM Hollerith machine used by the Nazis. The list of deportees includes “Ramon Hombre della Pluma,” Erica Hubscher (Federman's wife), scholars Larry McCaffery, Ihab Hassan and Jacques Ehrmann. The list also includes Federman's uncle David Naimark (who brought him to America) and what seems to be his old lover from Double or Nothing, Loulou Jacobson (169). The old guy, like the actual Federman, will inexplicably be spared.

In the year 2000 there are no wars, no famines or natural catastrophes.

Time Out of Mind is more thoroughly embedded in dreams than any other Dylan work. The outtakes are most explicit in acknowledging the dream framework. “Dreamin’ of You” derives entirely from the singer's dreams, and the other outtakes all refer directly to dreaming or to the restless borderland between waking and sleep. In “Marchin’ to the City” the singer reflects, “I was hopin’ we could dream life's pleasant dreams.” In “Red River Shore” he laments, “Well the dream dried up a long time ago / Don't know where it is anymore.” And in the radically different alternate take of “Can't Wait” he asks, “Do you ever lay awake at night, your face turned toward the wall / Drownin’ in your thoughtlessness and cut off from it all?” Dylan is a bit cagier in the songs released on the album. There are certain unequivocal dream references, as in “Tryin’ to Get to Heaven” where the singer vows, “Gonna sleep down in the parlor and relive my dreams / I’ll close my eyes and I wonder / If everything is as hollow as it seems.” In “Highlands” the singer reports, “Windows were shakin’ all night in my dreams.” And “Make You Feel My Love” contends, “I could make you happy, make your dreams come true.” Other allusions only imply dreaming without announcing it specifically. In “Love Sick” the singer claims, “I spoke like a child, you destroyed me with a smile / While I was sleeping.” In “Million Miles” he seemingly refers to dreams in declaring, “Well, there's voices in the night trying to be heard / I’m sitting here listening to every mind-polluting word.” Elsewhere, however, he complains of insomnia, as in “Not Dark Yet”: “Shadows are falling and I’ve been here all day / It's too hot to sleep, time is running away.” And at one point in “Million Miles” he admits to sleeping but denies dreaming: “I’m drifting in and out of dreamless sleep / Throwing all my memories in a ditch so deep.” [But doesn't that ditch-work sound just like dream-work?

On the one hand, there is the ‘classic’ Maurice Halbwachs, the author of ‘On Collective Memory’ who linked collective psychology to past representations. And then there's the Halbwachs who merely touched the surface of some themes, opening them up, breezing over them and then moving on, or at least apparently. However, it seems to me that I can say, with sufficient certainty, that this is an altogether hasty interpretation and that it does not give full credit to the skills of this author and to the depth of his thought, having dug deep into some of the most innovative themes of early twentieth-century sociology, reaching hidden depths to subsequently re-emerge. This is the case, for example, for studies on consumer behaviour and social classes, a theme which goes hand in hand with this author's roots, cropping up several times throughout the course of his intellectual life and speaking, more so than others, of the peculiar awareness of the man combined with the finesse of the social analyst.

Maurice Halbwachs's interest in the issues of inequality, injustice, social exclusion and class stratification in industrial modernity was rooted in the socialist milieux of his civil and intellectual education (Marcel 2002) and traversed much of his intellectual pathway. The years (1898– 1901) he spent at the Ecole Normale Supérieure, where he achieved an agrégation in philosophy, were crucial in forming Halbwachs's social awareness and defining his subsequent research interests. The Dreyfus affair was raging across France: Émile Zola sent his j’accuse…! (J’accuse) letter; the retrial for the captain of the French1 army was celebrated in Rennes; at the École Normale, politics burst onto the scene and young students had to choose a side. Maurice Halbwachs, from Alsace, just like Dreyfus (whose story also played a part in the long history of German annexation of that region), admirer of Jean Jaurès (whose famous Preuves appeared in that very year of 1898), a methodical and scrupulous reader, became a socialist. Halbwachs never became a politician, but neither did he ever cease his political activity.

We have inherited a fractured system of global economic governance. Multilateral commitments at the WTO are undermined by preferential commitments in bilateral, regional and mega-regional free trade agreements that have broader and deeper commitments for treaty parties. Many of those treaties grant special privileges and rights to multinational corporations without demanding anything in return. Even commitments in nontrade areas of governance, such as public health and energy, are backed by trade rule enforcement mechanisms.

Narrower and Shallower: A Call to Scale Back International Trade and Investment Commitments

If we are to reform the system we must pull in the opposite direction. First, as has been noted in various parts of this volume: words matter. More specifically, treaty texts matter. The exact text of a treaty may make the difference between whether an exception applies or whether the tribunal finds jurisdiction over the case at all. Knowing what the existing texts say and, even more importantly, how they may be interpreted before an international tribunal is the first step toward making a change in the system.

The second, much more challenging, step is to guide the trajectory of new treaty texts toward a coherent and consistent goal—to resolve the tension in favor of individual state interests in making public policy. In order to meet that goal, new treaty texts must preserve and expand existing policy flexibilities. Negotiations should take place at a multilateral level where the playing field is more balanced. Treaties should give deference to state regulators and prefer domestic judicial processes and diplomatic methods of dispute settlement. New commitments should focus on supporting “developing and least developed countries’ integration into the global economy” through capacity building and reinforcing special and differential treatment.

This volume acknowledges that not every national government has the altruistic aim to protect and preserve their citizens. In fact, in some cases, development and economic diversification goals can conflict with environmental or social sustainability. Policies that benefit producers or consumers in one country may be bad for their trading partners or foreign investors. Debt restructuring, while good for the economic stability of a country's constituents, necessarily involves losses for bondholders, both domestic and foreign.

Hatāgala Ṭӓmpiṭavihāra, Hambantoṭa District

This ṭämpiṭavihāra is located ½ km off from Hatāgala junction on Tangalla-Hambantoṭa road. The temple premises were given to Vagēgoḍa Indasāra Thērō by Kīrti Śrī Rājasiṅghe and the ṭämpiṭavihāra was constructed later in 1795 during the reign of Rājādhirājasiṅghe (1780– 1798) (Abeyawardana 2001). The square-shaped image-chamber is raised just two feet above the ground by eight short pillars and the ambulatory is placed on the ground level. There is no additional maṇḍapa in the front of the structure. Because of this very low-rise and compact arrangement, the ṭämpiṭavihāra looks almost like a plinth-type image-house. The shrine contains three Buddha images, one seated and two standing, and images of gods Vishnu and Skandha.

Māboṭuwana Ṭӓmpiṭavihāra, Gālle District

Located 4 km west of Waňduramba junction on Waňduramba-Imadūwa road in Baddēgama, the history of the temple and the ṭämpiṭavihāra dates to the Dambadeṇi period. It is believed to be built by Dēvapatirāja, a minister of Parākaramabāhu II (1236– 1270), in 1240. This is one of the most exquisitely ornamented ṭämpiṭavihāra in the country, especially its sanctum, which still retains its original architectural details. The walls of the cella are thicker than usual and are ornamented with mouldings at the four corners, base, and the ceiling, with an elaborated makara-toraṇa on the front entry and murals on both exterior and interior surfaces. The cella is also unusually tall and provides enough space to have a standing image of the Buddha as the main icon in addition to two more standing images on the sides, which is an exception to the ṭämpiṭavihāra tradition. If the history of the ṭämpiṭavihāra truly dates to the Dambadeṇi period, having a standing image as the main icon could be an influence carried over from the Polonnaruva period in which several paṭimāghara had standing Buddha colossi as the primary image. Images of gods Vishnu and Skanda are sculpted as standing images on the sides, and images of gods Saman and Ganeṣ are painted on the walls. The ṭämpiṭavihāra is constructed on a high plinth and stone boulders, making a grand appearance. A set of concrete beams and props has been built recently along the perimeter of the ambulatory for additional support.

Maurice Halbwachs occupies a prominent place in the work of the recently deceased geographer Marcel Roncayolo (1926– 2018). In order to verify it, it is possible, as a first step, to rely on two “reference works,” which are among the main works by Marcel Roncayolo: La Ville et ses territoires (1990) and L’Abécédaire (2011).

Although very different in their nature and in their format, they are very convergent in their content, in the references they mobilize, and in the facts of urban history which are reported there. Also very different in their way of writing, their composition and their goals, written at times quite distant during the author's scientific career, they both have, however, the value of synthetic texts. They allow, if not to cover all of his scientific reflection, at least to identify the favorite themes.

Written in a classic way, La Ville et ses territoires is entirely a kind of essay. His different chapters browse a set of classic issues in urban studies: beginnings of the city; urban population, urban functions, and cultures; morphology and city map; social and functional divisions of urban space; political dimension of the city; urban representations and ideologies. For the most part (first eight chapters), this book is a French version of two series of articles previously published in Italian: “Città,” in Romano Ruggiero (dir.), Enciclopedia Einaudi, III. (1978), and La Città, stoia e problemi della dimensione urbana (1988).

L’Abécédaire comes from a totally different form. Transcription of a series of interviews with the philosopher Isabelle Chesneau, it seems, at first glance, like any work of this type, ruled in a certain arbitrary concerning the choice of themes chosen and the sequence of chapters and ideas, highly random and discontinuous because subject to the order of the letters of the alphabet. Although the author denies it, this is an authentic scientific work. At the beginning of the “Warning” intended for the reader (Roncayolo 2011, 6), he warned, with modesty, that he had refrained from delivering “[neither] a treaty, nor a current state of knowledge.”

Baladora Ṭӓmpiṭavihāra, Kuruṇǟgala District

Located in the Pahaḷa Baladora village, this ṭämpiṭavihāra could be reached via Pahaḷa Baladora road 2.3 km east from Halmillakoṭuva junction, which is 4 km north on Kaḍawalagedara-Witikuliya road from Nugawela junction on Puttalama-Vāriyapola road. The Baladora village consists of two communities – Pahaḷa (lower) Baldora and Ihala (upper) Baladora. According to folklore, the temple was established specifically for the community of Pahaḷa Baladora as they did not want to depend on the temple of the upper village for religious worship. The ṭämpiṭavihāra is built as a twostorey structure on relatively tall stone pillars to create a usable ground-level floor. The cella-cum-ambulatory is placed on the upper floor, accessed via a wooden stairway set on the left side of the structure. Both the cella and the ambulatory are fully enclosed with walls, and five small windows bring light into the ambulatory. The beam framework that holds the upper floor is extended over the stone pillars to support a lowerlevel roof eave that runs on all sides of the structure. This lower eave highlights the distinct two-storey appearance of the ṭämpiṭavihāra. There are seven images in the ätulgäba, two of which depict Kīrti Śrī Rājasiṅghe and Väliviṭa Saraṇṃkara Thērō, indicating that the ṭämpiṭavihāra was likely built in the mideighteenth century. Scholars believe that the stone pillars were brought from the ruins of the historic citadel of Paňḍuvasnuvara, just 3 km west of Nugawela junction. The image-house was renovated in 1995 by the Archaeological Department of Sri Lanka.

Bihalpola Ṭӓmpiṭavihāra, Kuruṇǟgala District

Placed atop a rock outcrop that rises about 100 m above the plain, the ṭämpiṭavihāra has a commanding panoramic view of the surrounding paddy fields, coconut groves, hillocks, and hamlets. It is located 100 m off Kuliyāpiṭiya-Nārammala road, 9 km west of Nārammala town. The tämpitavihāra is a part of an ensemble of buildings that include a dhātu mandiraya (relic-house) and two plinth-style image-houses. While the temple dates to the Kuruṇǟgala period, this group of buildings belongs to the Kandyan period.

Bob Dylan creates in threes. In the mid-sixties he revolutionized popular music and dismayed folk purists by “going electric” in a trilogy of legendary rock albums: Bringing It All Back Home (1965), Highway 61 Revisited (1965) and Blonde on Blonde (1966). Following his surprising conversion to Christianity in the late-seventies, he astounded most followers and alienated many fans with a trilogy of religious albums: Slow Train Coming (1979), Saved (1980) and Shot of Love (1981). Tired of being ripped off by pirated versions of his studio outtakes, Dylan launched The Bootleg Series in the nineties with a three-disc set of previously unreleased gems spanning the first three decades of his career (1961– 1991). Confounding audiences again in the twenty-first century, he released a series of three albums covering pop standards, from Shadows in the Night (2015) to Fallen Angels (2016) and culminating in the triple-album Triplicate (2017). In his memoir Chronicles, Volume One (2004), Dylan reflects upon a difficult stretch in the eighties when he worried that his playing days were over. He claims to have rejuvenated his guitar work by adopting an unusual technique based upon triplets: “It's a highly controlled system of playing and relates to the notes of a scale, how they combine numerically, how they form melodies out of triplets and are axiomatic to the rhythm and the chord changes. […] I realized that this way of playing would revitalize my world.” He goes on to declare, “I’m not that good at math, but I do know that the universe is formed with mathematical principles whether I understand them or not, and I was going to let that guide me.” According to this theory, Dylan asserts, the number three reigns supreme: “I’m not a numerologist. I don't know why the number 3 is more metaphysically powerful than the number 2, but it is.”

Trusting that threes are a charm when it comes to Dylan, this study of Time Out of Mind (1997) begins with a triptych, a three-paneled display of interconnected and revealing public declarations from the latter part of his career.