Human space is transformed into territory through multiple types of delineation, from closed limits materialised in the landscape (such as fortresses, barriers, etc.), to open and blurred limits forming transition areas, known and practised by actors. In the kind of territorial state which Egypt had been since its birth, it was essential for the rulers to spatially mark the limits of their sovereignty. During the New Kingdom, the economic and political integration of the border districts was made possible thanks to the khetem border posts and their administration. The aim was to ensure the integrity and security of the kingdom, by investing or even overinvesting in its periphery, in terms of political decision, discourse and representations. The king and his administration were well aware that the integrity of the state was at stake in these border zones. Yet, in spite of the uniformity of the discourse, and the fact that the same name was applied to all border posts around Egypt, as well as the same title to the person in charge of these settlements, it appears that the system adapted to and was intimately linked with the local situation and the specificities of each border region.

Ascertaining whether or not nations existed in the ancient Near East is not merely for the sake of determining historically when these territorial relations of social kinship appear.1 If the evidence, however complicated, suggests the existence of nations in the ancient Near East, a more accurate understanding of not only antiquity but also “modern times” should emerge, as the classification of the self and others on the basis of birth and residence in a territory would not have originated with the 1648 Treaty of Westphalia, and certainly would not be novel to the so-called “Age of Nationalism” of the nineteenth century.

In this chapter, we examine the nascent research on Latinx immigrant romantic relationships, with a particular focus on Central American undocumented and mixed-status immigrant partners rearing children in the United States. We use a socioculturally-attuned lens to reflect on the ways in which the context of illegality shapes romantic relationships between partners, where at least one person is undocumented. As we discuss, illegality is a term used to refer to the US immigration laws, policies, and practices that expose immigrants and their families to discrimination, exploitation, victimization, criminalization, detainment, deportation, and family separation based on liminal legal statuses. We argue in this chapter that illegality is a powerful structural force that transcends cultural explanations of Latinx immigrant romantic relationships. We draw upon a recent study of Central American immigrant women in romantic relationships to apply our socioculturally-attuned lens and underscore how illegality conditions and constrains their relational experiences and opportunities while residing in the United States. We conclude with considerations for family and relationship scholars of immigrant family life seeking to advance immigrant justice.

This chapter begins with a consideration of the importance to sovereignty of the right to deport. Beyond exploring what constitutes sovereignty and how such power is preserved and held, it examines why so little attention has been paid to life after expulsion. Expulsion (real or threatened) kidnaps time, creates unlimited forms of captivity, invigorates shame, normalizes violence, and stabilizes concepts such as citizenship and belonging. Showing the long buried links between colonial and US treatment of Indigenous peoples and contemporary deportation practices, the chapter reveals how knitted into the imaginary of belonging forced removal has become. While scholars have slowly begun exploring the experience of life after forced removal, writers of fiction have taken up the question as well and have begun offering portraits of the experience of navigating detention camps and rebuilding a life that might be sustainable after the violence of expulsion. Novels by Evangeline Parsons Yazzie, Lisa Ko, Helton Habila, Mohshin Hamid, and Jenny Erpenbeck are examined in detail because of their careful attention to living a deportable and deported life.

This chapter discusses Rushdie’s work in the context of processes of migration, the crossing of borders, and the question of identity formation. These themes are central to Rushdie’s work, which reflects his own journeys. His novels have featured prominently national and transnational migrants. Indeed, Saleem Sinai’s journeys in Midnight’s Children traverse the entire subcontinent. Focusing specifically on Shalimar the Clown and The Ground Beneath Her Feet, and with reference to The Satanic Verses, Shame, and a selection of short stories and essays from Imaginary Homelands, this chapter explores how Rushdie has approached the question of migration, identity formation, and the position of being in diaspora. The representations of community, home, and belonging and of the diaspora condition emerge in his works through border crossings, liminal spaces, and the sensory and somatic disorientation of the migrant.

This chapter focuses on recently published personal stories of migration, whether in the form of narratives of migrants asserting their autonomy of movement as they confront ever more abundant and perilous challenges, or of repatriated migrants unable to respond to a highly fortified border industrial complex that subordinates them with ever harsher callousness and cruelty. These stories – a travel narrative by a Haitian migrant, a series of children’s books written by deported mothers, and a digital storytelling project – reflect recent phenomena that have yet to be taken up meaningfully in more prestigious and widely distributed works. The chapter focuses on testimonial genres, with the aim of understanding their effectiveness in communicating lived experiences within and across the open wounds of contemporary borders in the Americas and in relating the emotional consequences of forced displacement, undocumented border crossing, migrant criminalization, xenophobic violence, and detention and deportation regimes. These stories were all published with a certain urgency from what for many migrants remains the deepest, most painful, and longest-festering lesion in the Americas, the USA–Mexico borderlands. These stories’ poignancy is achieved less through literariness than from raw experience, as they document new dynamics of human displacement in the Americas.

Christine Cusick argues in this chapter that “an ethics of environmental engagement [often] decenters a sense of nation,” revising our sense of identity honed within discourses of political modernity. She focuses on this crucial aspect of ecological dwelling, countering the rise of nationalist discourses in the twenty-first century. Irish literature, like many other postcolonial literary traditions, is in a bind here: Questions related to borders and border transgressions (central to the discourse of political modernity) need to be rethought in the present. Cusick notes that “Implicit in the question of border mapping is the familiar question about how a critical discourse might approach texts as locally embedded without denigrating global import.” The essay draws on the work of the geographer Nessa Cronin and the polymathic narratives of Tim Robinson but moves beyond them to center contemporary Irish writers.

Best known for her links to Italy, where she moved at eighteen, Vernon Lee was a Pan-European who viewed western Europe as a single entity unified by shared culture and history despite local languages and customs. Born into an expatriate family, she learned multiple languages as her family shifted residences during her youth, including stays in Germany and Switzerland. More important, Vernon Lee’s wonder and imagination were awakened by her German-speaking Bernese governess who taught her German fairy tales and legends as well as history and literature; the governess also imparted a profound experience of female love. This chapter posits Lee’s foundational German-related childhood experiences as key to her psychological, sexual, and imaginative formation; her supernatural and historical writing; and her sexuality. After demonstrating the Anglo–German conversation of Lee’s supernatural tales, especially ‘Prince Alberic and the Snake Woman’, with German lore and the romantic tales of E.T.A. Hoffmann, the chapter focuses on the novella Ottilie (1883) as a site of Lee’s conceptualisation of haunted historical narrative. It concludes with a feminist reading of Ottilie and proposes the novella’s suitability as an imagined history of Ottilie von Goethe.

What caused MCP strategy to radically change in October 1951, and to what effect? This chapter shows the MCP believed it had to change as geodemographic control tightened, and how it switched to a ‘long war’ strategy with lower force and incident levels but more determined subversion and greater use of the deep jungle. It then traces how that new strategy played out over 1951–4, until by the latter date the headquarters had retreated to south Thailand, numbers were falling slowly but inexorably and the MCP had started to contemplate negotiation. Above all, this chapter threads together the story from the communist perspective, both above with Chin Peng and colleagues, and from below in its struggles in the New Villages.

Mary Pat Brady’s chapter poses an alternative approach to hemispheric fiction by reading not according the scales of concentric geometries of space (local, regional, national, transnational), but instead reconceptualizing what she terms “pluriversal novels of the 21st century.” She argues for attending to the complexly mixed temporalities, perspectives, and languages of novels that reject the dualism of monoworlds (center/periphery) for the unpredictability of stories anchored in multiple space-times. While this is not an exclusively 21st-century phenomenon, she shows that pluriveral fiction has flourished recently, as works by Linda Hogan, Jennine Capó Crucet, Julia Alvarez, Gabby Rivera, Karen Tei Yamashita, Ana-Maurine Lara, and Evelina Zuni Lucero demonstrate.

This chapter uproots the border from the perimeter of the country, from the traditional dyad in which it is embedded and releases it in the urban landscape. The premise is that just as the category of space has been mobilized in the work of geographers such as Doreen Massey, it is possible to transfer this process of destabilization to the concept of the border and the shifting categories of crossers and gatekeepers. Borders are always in the process of being reconfigured, always in the midst of being drawn but also blurred. Through a selection of works by Latinx and Asian American writers the chapter looks at borders not only in their “ordering” dimension but also as sites that allow for reordering strategies of self-definition. These writers occupy a border in process and write from within the border. As a result, the places of resettlement where ethnoracialized and subaltern subjects have been traditionally relocated become repossessed to constitute a privileged standpoint and a self-fashioning from within. This double perspective of urban borders allows both to acknowledge the productivity of boundaries as well as their violation and subversion.

This chapter explores what border-crossing tells us about the linkage between citizenship and rights-claiming by examining the experiences of North Koreans who resettle in South Korea, focusing on the security screening process that occurs immediately after they arrive on South Korean soil. Although North Koreans are often described as having “automatic citizenship” in the South under both constitutional and communitarian conceptions of citizenship, that claim is only partially accurate. I show that North Koreans must exhibit considerable agency to claim citizen-standing, and their rights are heavily circumscribed and contingent on state recognition of their identity throughout the screening process. The chapter elucidates how marginalized citizens claim rights at a site of maximal state power (Korea’s deep and securitized border) and illuminates how the gap between legal recognition of rights and their instantiation in state practice can render the claims process extended and arduous even for individuals whose citizen-standing is already theoretically established.

The second chapter deals with the black page commemorating the death of parson Yorick, often perceived as the pre-eminent symbol of Stern’s experimentation. This chapter suggests that with the black page, Sterne references a longstanding tradition of woodcut ornaments and mourning typography in funeral publications from the seventeenth to the eighteenth centuries, but which had reached their peak in the 1612 commemorations of the death of Henry, Prince of Wales. But he comments on how far this form of typographic commemoration has become clichéd by drawing from two recent typesetting trends: the representation of major funeral processions in newspapers and gravestone-like pages in the mid-century novel, as evidenced in Tom Jones (1749), Peregrine Pickle (1751) and William Toldervy’s Two Orphans (1756). Through considering the rarely studied mourning borders around Yorick’s epitaph alongside the black page’s double-sided covering of black ink, this chapter sees Sterne engaging with past and contemporary clichés of mourning iconography while playing upon – and pushing to its limits – the novelistic epitaph’s self-conscious manipulation of the printed page.

The fourth chapter deals with the complicated history of public land in Brazil. Weak federal control of public land before the 1960s allowed the illegal settlement of hundreds of families inside the Brazilian Iguaçu National Park. In the 1970s, however, Brazilian park officials had decided to evict all the 2,500 settlers. The shift was partly a reaction to the same international discourse that had influenced Argentine park authorities, as discussed in Chapter 3. However, in Brazil, the early 1970s eviction coincided with the harshest years of the military dictatorship that ruled the country for two decades. The generals were obsessed with suppressing political dissent and feared the settlers living inside the Iguaçu national park could fall prey to left-wing radicalism. The Iguaçu evictions anticipated the authoritarian agrarian reform and population resettlement programs later implemented further north in Amazonia, designed by the military to remedy peasant unrest.