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Asia General


UNWANTED VISIONARIES: The Soviet Failure in Asia at the End of the Cold War. Oxford Studies in International History. By Sergey Radchenko. New York: Oxford University Press, 2014. xi, 383 pp. US$34.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-19-993877-3.

In this remarkable book, Sergey Radchenko, a native of Sakhalin Island who now teaches in the UK, presents an even-handed and richly detailed account of Soviet policy in Asia from 1982 to 1991. His concern is the rise and fall of Mikhail Gorbachev’s vision for Asia. He argues that while the last Soviet leader is known for the rapprochement with the West that brought a peaceful end to the Cold War, Gorbachev initially focused on the East. His aim was to improve relations with India and China and maintain relations with longtime clients like Vietnam and North Korea in order to strengthen the Soviet position in the global struggle with the United States. His vision failed for lack of followers, as the leaders he believed he could woo were not, in the end, enticed by what Moscow had to offer. Nonetheless, Radchenko argues, Gorbachev’s unrealized dreams have lived on in the imaginations of post-1991 Russian leaders, nurturing visions of a grand comeback.

Radchenko bases this account on prodigious research. His main source is Russian archives, particularly the Gorbachev Foundation, the State Archive of the Russian Federation, the Sakhalin State Archive, and Soviet documents held in the Hoover Institution of Stanford University, the Library of Congress, and the National Security Archive in Washington, DC. He supplements these records with holdings of East German, Hungarian and Mongolian archives, the Shanghai Municipal Archive, the Archive of the International Olympic Committee (for South Korea), the Nehru Memorial Library and Museum, and the Archive of the United Nations. He skillfully integrates this broad documentary base with newspaper and memoir accounts, as well as numerous interviews with policymakers. Balancing detail with the larger context, writing with wit and grace, Radchenko provides by far the most detailed and insightful account yet published of the Soviet Union’s involvement in Asia during the Gorbachev years.

He begins with China policy, charting how despite deep mutual mistrust, the small steps Moscow and Beijing took between 1982 and 1985—exchange of visits and increased trade—“helped to build up a certain reserve of trust that made further movement toward normalization possible”(50). He moves next to Japan, recounting how between 1982 and 1987, important players on both sides seriously considered coming to a compromise on the territorial issue. Despite moments of real opportunity, however, Moscow and Tokyo backed out of agreements because of the higher priority they placed on relations with the United States.

Turning to South Asia, Radchenko discusses the key role India played in Gorbachev’s vision for a new global order. As Sino-Soviet relations improved, Gorbachev hoped to create a strategic triangle that would unite the three Asian powers under his leadership. However, to pursue this goal Moscow had to withdraw from Afghanistan, which necessitated greater cooperation from Pakistan just as Rajiv Gandhi sought greater Soviet aid to prevail over Islamabad. Moreover, as Gorbachev increasingly turned to the West beginning in 1989, he lost interest in India while domestic chaos within the Soviet Union left Moscow unable to capitalize on the anti-American sentiment brought by the 1991 Gulf War.

A chapter on Southeast Asia recounts how Gorbachev sought to secure Vietnam’s withdrawal from Cambodia, a precondition of improved Sino-Soviet relations. Radchenko then examines, in particularly rich detail, the single lasting success of Gorbachev’s Asia policy: normalization of relations with China. He argues that the key factor in this success was the view held by Gorbachev and his inner circle that relations with Beijing would have to be on the basis of equality and respect for China’s place as a great power. By the time of the August 1991 coup against Gorbachev, Chinese leaders sympathized with Soviet hardliners. The gains of the previous years could have been lost had Yeltsin turned against Beijing for its suppression of democracy. However, “Beijing and Moscow jointly set out on a road toward strategic partnership informed by a shared sense of resentment of the United States, which, in Gorbachev’s words, had wished them both ill” (197).

Radchenko’s account of the tortured process of establishing diplomatic relations with Seoul is particularly groundbreaking, presenting much more evidence of the policy debates and confusion in Moscow than previously seen. He argues that Gorbachev was reluctant to sacrifice Soviet ties with North Korea, for fear of loss of credibility in the Third World, and therefore failed to respond quickly enough to overtures from Seoul. It was only the collapse of his grand strategic vision in the late 1980s coupled with Moscow’s acute need for money that prompted the Soviet leader finally to jettison Pyongyang in favour of Seoul. In Radchenko’s view, Gorbachev’s foot-dragging on the issue cost the Soviet Union a profitable economic relationship with South Korea and left Moscow with little leverage in Seoul, even as tensions on the Korean Peninsula remained high.

Radchenko concludes with two chapters examining Soviet-Japanese relations from 1988-1991. Even though Moscow entertained grand hopes of foreign investment in the Soviet Far East, Gorbachev was offended by Tokyo’s blatant attempts to use economic leverage to force a favourable settlement on the “northern territories.” Moreover, as Radchenko documents, decentralization of political power in the Soviet Union brought a new factor: the strong opposition to concessions by nationalists in Sakhalin and elsewhere. Thus, as Japan floated proposals in 1990 and 1991 to buy the islands for a considerable sum of money, Gorbachev was unable politically to accept such a resolution.

With the depth and breadth of evidence Radchenko presents and the subtlety and balance of his analysis, this book is a milestone in scholarship on the international history of Asia in the last years of the Cold War. It will be essential reading for political scientists, area studies specialists, historians of foreign relations, and policy analysts seeking to understand the antecedents of the region’s contemporary international affairs.

Kathryn Weathersby, The Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, USA                                

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CONSTRUCTING EAST ASIA: Technology, Ideology, and Empire in Japan’s Wartime Era, 1931-1945. By Aaron Stephen Moore. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2013. xii, 314 pp. US$55.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8047-8539-6.

There was, until not too long ago, a curious gap in the conventional narrative of technology in Japan’s modern era. While we were often told that technological developments were central to both Japan’s emergence as an imperial power in the Meiji period and its rise as an economic giant in the postwar years, we tended to hear much less about the role that technology played in the intervening decades. Aaron Stephen Moore’s Constructing East Asia is one of several recent important studies that offer a corrective by revealing just how fundamental technology was to the shaping of interwar and wartime Japan.

Specific to Moore’s analysis is his concept of the “technological imaginary”—a discursive framework in which this one term “technology” (gijutsu) came to represent various key social and political ideas for different groups of people. Moore demonstrates that Japanese elites across the spectrum, from leftist intellectuals to state planners, saw in technology and its associated ideals of rationality and efficiency foundational principles for the remaking of society in the midst of the tumultuous 1930s and 1940s. His examination extends, however, beyond just the ideological. In following the construction of a number of large-scale infrastructural projects across the Japanese empire, Moore also shows how the technological imaginary was realized on the ground—a process not without contestation or compromise. The result is a wide-ranging account that invites us to rethink the workings of technology and power in imperial Japan.

Moore begins by exploring how technology was conceptualized by two contrasting groups: leftist intellectuals, represented by Marxist theorist Aikawa Haruki, and state engineers, represented by technology bureaucrat Miyamoto Takenosuke. He traces how Aikawa’s understanding of technology shifted from a materialist manifestation of the means of production to an integrated assemblage of political, economic and cultural parts geared towards not only revolutionary transformation but also wartime mobilization. If leftists like Aikawa came to see technology as encompassing all areas of life, engineers, in Moore’s telling, viewed it as a social and technical field in which they claimed exclusive expertise. Both these groups would be implicated in Japan’s imperial enterprise. Aikawa’s theoretical realignment coincided with the outbreak of the war with China in 1937. Moore suggests that Aikawa may have been motivated by the idea that this conflict would help sweep away the feudal remnants holding Japan back from a socialist revolution. He ended up producing a handful of studies on technology and the management of colonial industry that resonated with the goals of the expansionist state. Similarly, engineers such as Miyamoto too perceived potential in empire and war. Continental expansion provided them with opportunities to introduce “comprehensive technology”—large technological systems serving multiple functions—that would in turn generate employment for the beleaguered engineering class. Drawn into planning agencies within the colonial administration, engineers became embroiled in pan-Asianist developmentalist visions and the exploitation they engendered.

The manifold efforts to turn the technological imaginary into material reality form the next part of the book. Moore takes us to different parts of the Japanese empire to survey an array of infrastructural projects, from river conservancy and urban redevelopment to port construction and, most notably, dam building. While many scholars have pointed out that empire often served as a laboratory for the social and economic experiments of technocratic planners, Moore goes a step further by looking at how exactly some of these experts formulated and implemented their plans. The picture he presents is not one of neat, mechanistic efficacy so frequently attributed to technocracy, but of contingency and messiness arising from the many competing interests within the colonial context. This is, in my opinion, the strongest contribution of the book. The examples of the Fengman and Sup’ung Dams illustrate the complex constellation of factors—including land ownership, labour management, and the forces of nature—that technocrats struggled to master in their bid to build. If they met with any success, this was not merely a product of well-crafted plans, but just as much—if not more—a result of the mobilized might of the colonial state.

In the last part of the book, Moore turns to the reform bureaucrats who promoted the establishment of a “managed economy”—an integrated economic system characterized by a high degree of state intervention—in order to save Japan from the crisis of capitalism and prepare it for total war. Focusing on their chief ideologue Mōri Hideoto, he describes how technology entered the thought and ideology of this group of policy makers. It was not only about industrial development and the production of advanced armaments, but also about an elaborate and extensive mechanism of social control that Moore identifies as a new mode of fascist power. He ends with an epilogue that suggests that the wartime technological imaginary and its undemocratic impulses have persisted into Japan’s postwar era, reflecting and reinforcing contradictions underlying efforts at national reconstruction at home and at development assistance abroad.

Moore goes to great lengths to argue that technology constituted a kind of power that was just as much about the mobilization of human creativity and freedom as it was about the exercise of technocratic repression and violence. What is to be gained by emphasizing the former, though, when it was, even in his account, the latter that ultimately defined the colonial encounter? To what extent did articulations about technology serve rhetorical as opposed to purely ideological functions? In what ways did the large-scale infrastructural projects in the colonies shape the contours of technological development back in the metropole? This book raises as many questions as it sets out to answer. However, it is among the few truly innovative studies on the Japanese empire to come out in recent years. It is, for one, an excellent example of how one might integrate intellectual history with histories of empire, technology and political economy. Constructing East Asia should be of much interest not only to historians of modern Japan and East Asia, but also to those interested in the politics of technology and the intellectual foundations of sociotechnical regimes.

Victor Seow, Cornell University, Ithaca, USA

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EAST ASIAN DEVELOPMENT: Foundations and Strategies. The Edwin O. Reischauer Lectures. By Dwight H. Perkins. Cambridge, MA : Harvard University Press, 2013. 213 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$35.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0674-72530-0.

Expanded from the Edwin O. Reischauer Lectures given in 2009 at Harvard, the book offers a comprehensive overview of policies and institutions that have contributed to national economic growth and income inequality in postwar Northeast and Southeast Asia. Continuing in the best traditions of development economics and comparative institutional analysis, Perkins takes aggregate output growth as the top priority of development, intrinsically beneficial for the society, and responsive to appropriate national policies and institutions that improve the productivity of key factors of capital, labour and natural resources. One might point out that the notion of development in this traditional sense does not adequately account for major externalities such as environmental costs and human development and social justice trends. Furthermore, it does not venture to discuss how political-institutional development (e.g., democratic transition or intra-regime reforms in authoritarian states) and approaches to social justice (e.g., redistribution and anti-corruption) may condition economic growth except in a general, cross-country comparison of political commitment to effective government interventions. It would also be easy to criticize the book as being dated given the strong doubts of development economics by mainstream economists, advances in data analysis and the ever increasing sophistication of various measures of efficiency, market integration and innovation, and an expanding literature of local and non-Western diagnoses of economic problems in these countries.

I would urge readers to set aside these facile prejudices, and instead reflect on the book’s overarching analytical framework that offers an open architecture to build deeper, country- and issue-specific understandings. Within his clearly defined parameters, Perkins is eclectic and liberal in his perspective, constantly showing attention to new and updated interdisciplinary explanations—such as in his pointed critique of the influential book Why Nations Fail, by Darin Acemoglu and James Robinson (55).

The book is structured around country case studies (chapters 3 and 4) and economic systemic transitions (chapters 5 and 6). The general argument is that strategic government interventions, building on monopolistic resources of select state-owned enterprises and national resources in entrepreneurial culture and the educational system, have brought about high growth rates in Northeast Asia. Southeast Asia, hampered by the colonial legacy as well as weaker initial human resource and organizational endowments, has struggled with reform policies that could transcend the rent-seeking demands of powerful social interests. As Perkins has argued elsewhere, there is no common Asian model of growth, but there is a fundamental logic of growth that underpins both success and failure. In the following analysis, I discuss five issues emerging from his causal reasoning.

Perkins adopts Alwyn Young’s focus on total factor productivity (TFP) in assessing Asia’s growth rates. However, he departs from Young and Paul Krugman—who famously critiqued the East Asian miracle as “based on perspiration rather than inspiration” (Krugman, “The Myth of Asia’s Miracle,” Foreign Affairs, Nov/Dec 1994)—in three insightful ways. First, while Young and Krugman point to low and stagnant TFP in Asian tigers’ heydays of rapid growth as a result of the national developmental policies, Perkins argues that variations in the TFP of Asian countries, in particular in terms of human capital, have stemmed from deep cultural legacies and historical political choices made in postcolonial nation-building. These factors have supported sustained household investment in higher education in Korea and Taiwan, and inflicted discriminatory and inefficient social welfare allocative decisions in Malaysia and Indonesia. These differences in turn shape the effectiveness of national development policies.

Second, Perkins makes a key distinction within the “extensive” growth of the Asian countries: between those implementing rational, disciplined and limited industrial policies, and those trapped in private rent-seeking industrial favouritism and trade protectionism. The distinction contributes to the earlier theories of the critical transition from import-substitution industrialization to export-oriented development, but is not limited to that linear viewpoint. Perkins sees national politics in Thailand, the Philippines and Indonesia as pernicious to any sustained effort at industrial policy making, regardless of specific policy choices made to accommodate local endowments and legacies.

Third, Perkins makes a strong case for the inevitable deceleration after the high-growth periods. While he is mainly concerned with anticipating reforms to help usher in China’s “soft landing,” it would be additionally instructive to consider the current difficulties in structural reform of the previously successful Northeast Asian economies. While South Korea has been characterized as a successful example of IMF intervention in 1998, Japan and Taiwan have witnessed a further decline of manufacturing sectors, structural unemployment as university graduates could only find basic service jobs, service sectors lacking in international competitiveness, and asset bubbles. Overall, Asian growth since the late 1990s has neither resolved weak domestic consumption and widening income gaps and digital divides, nor sustained innovation and industrial upgrading. Consequently, Asia has suffered lower capital productivity leading up to the Asian Financial Crisis in 1997, and since the global financial crisis in 2007.

Generally speaking, Perkins is flexible in relating key explanatory variables in his case studies. In addressing Robert J. Barro’s growth equation in chapter 2, he is quick to point out that crucial political institutional and policy variables are inadequately represented and related in conventional econometrics analyses (53). It would be useful to incorporate theoretical developments in the literature on Varieties of Capitalism (Peter A. Hall and David Soskice, 2001), and its emphasis on “system coordination” and the idea of “institutional complementarities.” This perspective could build on Perkins’ basic diagnosis to critically evaluate how Beijing has propped up the profitability of oligopolistic state-controlled corporations, provided liquidity for the housing construction boom and transport network expansion, and debated the path toward Renminbi internationalization—three current issues that necessitate major reforms of domestic financial institutions. Credit misallocation is arguably the greatest source of inefficiency and inequality in China.

Lastly, one is tempted to ask the author: “Is output growth going to be the big question in ten years?” It is possible to argue that the current interest in the more developed countries in Asia is not growth per se, but the quality of growth and the prospect for more sustainable and equitable engines of growth. The middle-income trap argument has often come up, as well as new growth accounting methods that take externalities into consideration. How would the initial advantages of the Northeast Asian population and governments contribute to facing the new challenges of the protracted downturn in Western markets? Can Asian leaders maintain the flexibility to engage in reform, given the prevalent political crisis and stagnation in most countries?

This accessible volume of distilled personal and scholarly knowledge from Professor Perkins is highly recommended to undergraduates, postgraduates and the informed general public seeking an enduring perspective on the vast changes in Asia over the past half century.

Kun-chin Lin, University of Cambridge, Cambridge, United Kingdom

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NEW CHALLENGES FOR MATURING DEMOCRACIES IN KOREA AND TAIWAN. Studies of the Walter H. Shorenstein Asia-Pacific Research Center. Edited by Larry Diamond and Gi-Wook Shin. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2014. xxii, 383 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$27.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8047-8918-9.

Many transitologists tell us that the establishment of a new democratic regime through a free and fair election is only the beginning of democratization. Democratization is a long journey. Many obstacles have to be overcome for the “consolidation” and “deepening” of new democracies to take effect. New Challenges for Maturing Democracies in Korea and Taiwan, edited by Diamond and Shin, deals with various obstacles that new democracies are encountering after their democratic transitions, especially in the era of globalization. This volume highlights that Korea and Taiwan, new democracies in East Asia well known for their successful democratic consolidation, have maintained high economic growth and human well-being after democratization, but have experienced notable socio-economic, cultural and political challenges. It is certain that such challenges are not peculiar to Korea and Taiwan, but pervasive in most new democracies. That is why this book may help to identify problems and solutions for maturing democracies not only in these two East Asian countries, but also in most new democracies around the world.

This volume consists of 11 chapters. Chapter 1 examines the changes in the public support for democracy in Korea and Taiwan in terms of values, norms and institutions, following David Easton and Pippa Norris who have articulated multiple dimensions of regime support. It argues that citizens in those two countries are less supportive of the liberal idea of limited government, and that they have very low trust in representative institutions of democracy. It also shows that their preference for democracy and their trust in democratic institutions were eroded by economic crises.

Chapter 2 explains how the identity politics has emerged after the initial dominance of party politics based on regional animosities in Korea. It claims that the “Sunshine Policy” during the Kim Dae-jung administration initiated a new “identity politics” by drawing a line between the progressives advocating pro-North Korean policies with anti-American sentiments and conservatives supporting the pro-United States policies with strong animosity toward North Korea. It also claims that identity politics was a main cause of Roh Moo-hyun’s victory in the 2002 presidential election and remains a powerful determinant of party affiliation in Korea. Chapter 3 shows that party politics in Taiwan has also been strongly influenced by identity politics. The Kuomintang (KMT) and the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) advocated reunification with the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and independence, respectively. Although the unification/independence issue became a valence issue in the middle of the 1990s, electoral competition between them is still dominated by the issue of engagement and integration with the PRC (129-130). Similar to Korea, the national identity cleavage and the identity politics made it difficult to resolve domestic problems by shifting “pragmatic policy decisions” into “ideological battles” (131).

Chapters 4 and 5 examine how digital media has transformed politics in those two East Asian countries. Digital media not only enabled the emergence of alternative sources of political information, a new kind of political participation, and public deliberation, but also increased online censorship by the government in Korea (chapter 4). The way digital media reshaped politics in Taiwan was very similar to that in Korea. The Internet was widely utilized by political parties and social movements, and facilitated the “daily-life campaign” by exposing every part of a politician’s personal life to the masses, and the “professionalization of campaigns and the weakening of political parties” due to the increasing role of experts, including film producers and music composers, portraying candidates attractively online. In addition, the Internet allows those who spend much time for the creation of postings on line to have more influence in an election campaign and in social movements, and makes it easy to delegitimize political figures in cyberspace in Taiwan(181-183).

Chapters 6 and 7 examine the socioeconomic transformation that took place after democratization in Korea and Taiwan. In Korea, large corporations successfully adapted to the global market, but Korean workers had to face critical polarization, and electoral competition around social welfare policies was intensified after the economic crisis of 1997 (chapter 6). In Taiwan, economic liberalization and economic integration with China has been successful in achieving continuous growth and moderate unemployment since the late 1980s (chapter 7). Similar to the situation in Korea, however, the neoliberal reform intensified income disparities and raised the distributional issue. Chapters 8 and 9 investigate changes in healthcare policies in Korea and social welfare policies for the elderly in Taiwan. Chapter 10 examines China’s intention toward the two Koreas with a focus on the issue of repatriating North Korean defectors back to the DPRK and suggests China take the “balancing act” of providing political and economic support for North Korea and unequivocal chastisement of its aggressive actions, and of protecting China’s north east border and the safety of North Korean border crossers for maintaining peace in the Korean Peninsula. Chapter 11 discusses the growth in China’s power and domestic conditions for the success of Taiwan’s mixed strategy, including the “engagement and reassurance” of “rewarding the PRC for what it assumes are limited goals and doing nothing that might lead Beijing to take risks” and “external balancing” of “reliance on the United States to its aid in the event that engagement fails” (345). It also evaluates the idea of Finlandization and presents its implications for Taiwan.

This book is an excellent reference for those who are eager to understand what Korea and Taiwan are struggling with as they “deepen” of their democratic regimes in the era of globalization. A number of prior studies have utilized the cases of Korea and Taiwan due to their similar experiences, including their rapid economic growth under authoritarian regimes and their paths toward democratic regimes. This volume successfully extends the temporal scope of the research strand to the era of democratic consolidation and of globalization. Although this book does not provide sufficient solutions to every issue discussed here, it is certain that, at least, it may provide important clues to the distinctive post-democratization politics with neoliberal reforms in new democracies.

Byong-Kuen Jhee, Chosun University, Gwangju, South Korea   

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THE POLITICS OF MARKETISING ASIA. Studies in the Political Economy of Public Policy. Edited by Toby Carroll and Darryl S.L. Jarvis. Basingstoke, UK; New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014. xx, 313 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$105, cloth. ISBN 978-1-137-00166-5.

The role of the state in economic development and industrial adjustment has been an ongoing debate since the early twentieth century. On one hand, the idea that the state should play a leading role in economic development was central to early development economics. The neoliberal idea of the state, on the other hand, focused on promoting economic liberalization and minimizing the state’s role in regulating and securing freedom for capital. This edited volume contributes to this debate by analyzing cases of the politics and risks of marketization in Asia, and how it transformed the state’s reach, form and function in recent years.

Several factors in Asia have combined to make it an interesting case to study. Scholars have long argued that government interventions have been the most divisive factors contributing to dynamic economic growth across the region (Alice Amsden, Asia’s Next Giant: South Korea and Late Industrialization, Oxford University Press, 1989; Chang Ha-Joon, The Political Economy of Industrial Policy, St. Martin’s Press, 1994; Robert Wade, Governing the Market: Economic Theory and the Role of Government in East Asian Industrialization, Princeton University Press, 1990). Meanwhile, economic and institutional circumstances have evolved rapidly and rising inequality in incomes and access to social opportunities have started to threaten social stability and challenge economic growth in the region. This leads us back, then, to the question of the role of the state.

Carroll and Jarvis’s edited volume provides a timely examination of the developmental policies and state-society relations in contemporary Asia, in particular by dealing with the impacts of neoliberalism. They look at how policies now being adopted to promote private sector participation, restructure state entities, and reduce the presence of the state in the provision of public goods and services, are tied to transformations in the notions of state and development in Asia. The global cast of contributors—from the diverse fields of political economy, international relations, sociology and public policy—offer 12 academic chapters illustrating how neoliberalism has transformed the role of the state and created new forms of socioeconomic risk and vulnerability in Asia.

The book is organized into three parts. Part 1 rationalizes the political economy approach used by the contributors to this volume by bringing back politics into understandings of the economic realities in Asia. From an historical context, Carroll and Jarvis revisit Asia’s developmental narratives and juxtapose neoliberal and statist perspectives on the region’s era of rapid growth. What’s more important, Carroll and Jarvis caution that a deepening of neoliberalism has gained greater momentum across a spate of sectors in Asia and highlight the challenges brought by its ideational evolution. They present a vigorous argument for the need to understand the growing intersection between the globalization of neoliberalism and the region in the post 1997–1998 crisis era.

Part 2 (chapters 2 through 7) takes a deeper view of the current form of neoliberalism and potential forms of risks associated with it. In chapter 2, Cammack starts by identifying key trends within the shifting neoliberal development agenda, including redefining the state’s role as regulatory, emphasizing market building and risk management, and the attempt to construct a global market economy. Drawing on a diverse selection of case studies, ranging from the World Bank’s mining regimes in Laos, the Philippines and Papua New Guinea to AusAid’s policies and procedures for managing risks, this part consists of detailed analyses of the latest manifestations of increasingly dominant neoliberal development agendas that aim to roll back the state in the name of market building. Despite their differences in focus, all the authors believe that these neoliberal agendas have detracted from a genuine focus on development, while potentially fostering conflicting social relations and vulnerability.

The third part of the book (chapters 8 to 12) presents an assorted collection of articles, which take slightly different angles and offer somewhat contradictory views to the previous chapters — they assume that neoliberal reforms could be preferable and beneficial in promoting growth and development in some circumstances. In chapter 8, for example, Simpson argues that for countries such as Myanmar, the added value of a neoliberal agenda, particularly in the form of social and environmental safeguards and alternative sources of capital, is preferable to its absence. Chapter 10 presents a quantitative analysis of the benefits of market building in Asia. It proves that the total number and values of M&A deals are positively related to features of the institutional environment promoted by neoliberal agendas, including protection of property rights, the enforcement of contracts and the stability of governance structures.

Overall, this book represents a valuable addition to the expanding literature on the dynamics of neoliberalism and its impact on state society relations in Asia. It draws attention to the increasingly dominant neoliberal agenda and illustrates how it has threatened the “developmental state” that has historically driven Asia’s rapid economic growth.

However, the book might have benefitted from bringing out the highly uneven and complex nature of institutional circumstances and industrialization stages in the region that, to a certain extent, predetermine the range of options faced by the governments and the role that the state should play in the economy. In other words, the neoliberal approach towards the forms and function of the state should not be regarded as a universally proper role for the state. Rather, there is a need to match the capacities and functions of the state to the tasks posed by specific problems of a particular era. MITI’s evolving role in Japan’s economy, for example, is not just a response to pressures from external neoliberal agendas, but also the result of structure changes in Japan’s domestic institutional circumstances. Likewise, certain governmental industrial policies in China, which historically enabled the development of particular sectors, have now become a hindrance for achieving further efficiency and equity, leading to readjustment of the role of government and its policies.

In addition, the book focuses predominately on the state’s influence from the top-down. The huge capability building at the grassroots level and the coordination between the top and grassroots levels in Asian countries should be taken into account. The small and medium enterprises in Taiwan, for instance, played an essential role in driving economic growth through investment in fixed assets, generating exports, and promoting technology assimilation. Undoubtedly, together with a coordinating state, these enterprises have contributed to the success of the Asian stories.

Wei Li, The University of Sydney, Sydney, Australia                                                                           

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MAKERS OF MODERN ASIA. Edited by Ramachandra Guha. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2014. 385 pp. US$29.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-36541-4.

This 11-essay collection is testimony to the remarkable industry of Ramachandra Guha, one of India’s most spirited and widely read writers. The book grows out of Guha’s long interest in biography and his quiet campaign to redress the fact that “for many years, the biographical method was disparaged by academic historians” (10). One aim of the book is to highlight the value of “biography as history” and the “superb showcase” that twentieth-century Asia provides to demonstrate such potential (10).

People love lists, and the book invites browsers to think about who ranks as a “maker of modern Asia.” Here is Guha’s line-up (with the name of each essay’s author in parentheses):

  • K. Gandhi (Ramachandra Guha)
  • Chiang Kai-shek (Jay Taylor)
  • Ho Chi Minh (Sophie Quinn-Judge)
  • Mao Zedong (Rana Mitter)
  • Jawaharlal Nehru (Ramachandra Guha)
  • Zhou En-lai (Chen Jian)
  • Sukarno (James R. Rush)
  • Deng Xiaoping (Odd Arne Westad)
  • Indira Gandhi (Srinath Raghavan)
  • Lee Kuan Yew (Michael D. Barr)
  • A. Bhutto (Farzana Shaikh)

That means four from China, four from South Asia and three from Southeast Asia. The absence of a Japanese figure is explained by the argument that “it is hard, if not impossible, to name even one major Japanese politician who has provided an autonomously developed idea of his country’s place in the world” (13). But what about Emperor Hirohito? Not a politician or thinker, but what a symbol and survivor! How did such a life unfold in the tortured times of modern Japan? “Modern Asia” cannot be imagined without Japan. The office of emperor, which Hirohito occupied from 1926 to 1989, provided the symbolic glue that enabled Japan to carve its remarkable path—industrializing, terrorizing, crumbling, rebuilding.

I would have had two others on my list. Jose Rizal of the Philippines probably missed out because he died in 1896, executed by the Spanish. But Rizal was a forerunner of all the others in attacking European imperialism with intellectual weapons of Europe combined with deep connection to his own culture. The other figure who would be on my list is Bhim Rao Ambedkar, activist, writer and today, patron saint of 180 million “ex”-untouchables in India. An “untouchable” himself, Ambedkar contended with appalling prejudice, yet left a legacy that inspires, and is fought over, throughout India today.

Guha begins the book with Mahatma Gandhi—Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi—and calls the essay “Gandhi, India and the World.” Implicit in the positioning as the first essay, and explicit in the title, is the fact that of the eleven leaders in the book, only Gandhi advanced a program that claimed global applicability and that still attracts millions of sympathizers. (To be sure, there are “Maoists” to be found elsewhere, not least in India, but admiration for Mao is small in comparison to the global esteem of the Gandhi legend).

Guha is writing a big biography of Gandhi, the first volume of which was published in 2013 (Gandhi before India). As an admirable archival historian, he is able to draw on details that knit this short essay to the “Asian” fabric of the book. He points out that during Gandhi’s first major civil disobedience campaign in South Africa, some of his most ardent backers were more than a thousand Chinese, who also suffered from the discrimination of the British regime. And he points out that Liu Xiabao, the imprisoned Chinese Nobel Laureate, has often referred to Gandhi in his writing.

The longest essay in the book deals with the leader of least significance: Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, the disastrous Pakistani prime minister and president of the 1970s, who was executed by the general he had appointed commander-in-chief. Farzana Shaikh makes an able and engaging attempt to convince readers that Bhutto was a political visionary “in pursuit of an Asian Pakistan.” But Bhutto comes across more as a well-heeled dilettante capable of picking up catchwords and repeating them resoundingly. His legacy appears to have been to leave Pakistan with both an entrenched military dictatorship and a family political dynasty of the kind common in South Asia (not to say elsewhere).

Three other representatives of dynasties are treated in the book: Jawaharlal Nehru, who didn’t mean to leave a dynasty (Guha assures readers); his daughter, Indira Gandhi, who did; and Lee Kuan Yew, who certainly did (given the ideas about genetics and race attributed to him by author Michael Barr) (246-7, 249, 262). For me, Barr’s essay on LKY and Srinath Raghavan’s on Indira Gandhi are two highlights of the book. Barr’s provocative essay profits from the fact that Lee Kuan Yew and the city-state of Singapore are bound together uniquely. Because Singapore is so small and the People’s Action Party so all-pervasive, there is no part of the Singapore pie in which LKY has not had a finger. Barr is not impressed: “I realize that Singaporeans could have done much worse, but personally, I think they deserved better” (266).

Raghavan’s essay surprised me. I expected to be a bit bored by a story I thought I knew well. But Raghavan, like Guha, works in the archives like a beaver in a forest. And he too writes well. He provides as insightful and fast-moving account of India from the 1960s to the 1980s as one will find.

The other essay that especially appealed to me was the shortest: Deng Xiaoping by Odd Arne Westad. Deng’s Hakka/southern China background (like Lee Kuan Yew), the seven years in France from the age of 16 and the long experience as a guerrilla and administrator from the 1930s (plus the ups and downs experienced in Mao’s China) make the life of Deng worthy of a soap opera.

This book will appeal to varied audiences. Curious travellers in Asia will find it a friendly and invaluable introduction to countries they visit and names they encounter. Scholars will relish the invitation to measure their judgements against those of Guha’s expert authors and to muse over Guha’s arguments about the importance of biography as “history.” And teachers will find tight, well-written essays that may entice students into questions about what “making modern Asia” may mean.

Robin Jeffrey, Institute of South Asian Studies, Singapore                                                     

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CATCH UP: Developing Countries in the World Economy. By Deepak Nayyar. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. xiv, 221 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$52.50, cloth. ISBN 978-0-19-965298-3.

Since the last fifty years, first with the rise of East Asia, and now the emerging economies of Brazil, Russia, India and China, economic power is gradually shifting to the South, as living standards of some of the developing world slowly but steadily catch up with those of the advanced market economies. But were countries in the South always behind the countries in the North in living standards? If not, when did the divergence between the North and the South begin? How extended is the convergence of the South with the North in recent years—which countries have caught up and which countries still lag behind? What explains the catch up of developing countries with the richer countries of the West? Is it trade, capital flows or migration?

In an ambitious and far-reaching book, Deepak Nayyar puts together a fascinating treatise of economic history that is painstakingly researched and elegantly argued. Starting with the onset of the second millennium, in chapter 2, Nayyar notes the overwhelming significance of the South in world incomes and populations, with Asia, Africa and South America taken together accounting for 82 percent of world population and 83 percent of world income in the year 1000. The relative importance of the South remained more or less unchanged for the next five hundred years. Then, beginning in 1500, and then more sharply, after 1820, the relative importance of what Nayyar calls the Rest, comprising Asia, Africa and Latin America, fell steadily. In 1820, the Rest’s share in world income was 63 percent. By 1950, it was a mere 27 percent. The drop in relative income was particularly sharp for Asia: its average GDP per capita was 48 percent of Western Europe and Western Offshoots (which includes the USSR and Eastern Europe) in 1820, and had declined to 10 percent in 1950. What explains this phenomenon, which Nayyar calls the Great Divergence? In chapter 3, Nayyar argues that this was primarily due to colonial policies and the politics of imperialism, and the mercantile expansion of trade, underpinned by the state and naval powers of the colonizers, that hastened the process of de-industrialization in Asia.

However, in chapter 4, Nayyar documents a reversal of fortunes “from 1950 onwards, and especially from 1980, when the share of developing countries in world GDP stopped its relative decline in 1962 when it was one-fourth, to increase rapidly after 1980, so that it was almost half by 2008” (73). In chapter 5, Nayyar documents a similar upsurge in the engagement of developing countries with the world economy. Since 1980, their share in world trade also increased rapidly, and so did their shares in stocks and flows of inward and outward foreign direct investment in the world economy. There was also a significant increase in international migration flows from developing to developed countries, with new forms of mobility driven by markets and globalization. Similarly, in chapter 6, Nayyar observes a sharp increase in the share of developing countries in world industrial production.

However, in chapters 7 and 8, Nayyar notes that the process of catch up of developing countries with developed countries has not been even among regions and also between countries in the same region. Among emerging economies, Nayyar finds that Asian countries had brought an end to divergence and saw a convergence. On the other hand, the Latin American emerging economies stayed roughly where they were, while the two African countries that Nayyar looks at—Egypt and South Africa—experienced a continuing divergence. Nayyar attributes this to initial conditions, enabling institutions and the role of governments as catalysts or leaders. Nayyar also finds that there was an exclusion of regions within the emerging economies in the catch-up process, that inequality between countries persists, and that the increase in standards of living in the developing world has not done away with extreme poverty in many developing countries. Nayyar concludes in chapter 9 with some reflections on the “prospects, in terms of possibilities and constraints, for countries that have led this process of catch-up so far and for those that might follow in their footsteps” (173).

A weakness of the book is that the explanations that Nayyar offers for both the initial divergence and the more recent convergence of developing countries are not compelling. Nayyar argues that the initial divergence was due to the mercantilist policies followed by European colonizers and that the later catch up was due to the specific set of import-substituting policies followed by East Asian countries that enabled them to industrialize rapidly, in spite of being late-comers to industrialization. While these explanations have some weight, it is surprising that Nayyar does not give sufficient consideration to the role of institutions in explaining the process of divergence in the nineteenth century (Daron Acemoglu and James Robinson, Why Nations Fail: The Origins of Power, Prosperity and Poverty, Profile Books, 2012) and the positive effect of “re-globalization” in the catch-up of Asia with the developed countries in the late twentieth century (Ronald Findlay and Kevin O’Rourke, Power and Plenty: Trade, War and the World Economy in the Second Milennium, Princeton University Press, 2007). In spite of this limitation, Catch Up is an important contribution to world economic history and to development studies. It is provocative and illuminating at the same time, and should become essential reading for those interested in understanding the process of economic development in historical terms.

Kunal Sen, University of Manchester, Manchester, UK  

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OUT OF THE SHADOWS: The Global Intensification of Supplementary Education. International Perspectives on Education and Society, v. 22. Edited by Janice Aurini, Scott Davies, Julian Dierkes. Bingley, UK: Emerald Books, 2013. xxiv, 263 pp. (Tables, figures.) £62.95, cloth. ISBN 978-1-78190-816-7.

Supplementary or “shadow” education has generally been associated with education in the Asian region. The buxiban in China and the juku in Japan come to mind, as do their counterparts in Korea, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Singapore and much of Southeast and South Asia. However, Aurini, Davies and Dierkes, in their highly informative edited book Out of the Shadows, remind us that this extra educational effort is a global phenomenon. Their book does include chapters on Japan, China, Vietnam and Korea, but there are also chapters on Turkey, Brazil, Canada, Australia, the United States and Germany as well as an interesting concluding chapter utilizing data from a 17-nation study on variations in family capital and how it impacts the use of supplementary education.

The editors organize what they call “this monster of an industry” around an interesting typology of: countries with high-intensity forms of supplementary education (Japan, Turkey, China, Brazil and Vietnam); countries with low-intensity forms of supplementary education (Canada, Australia, the United States and Germany); and a comparison of high- and low-intensity forms of supplementary education (the United States and Korea; and a 17-nation study focused on family capital). Much of the justification for this organizational model has to do with their broad definition of what constitutes supplementary education: “academic instruction that takes place during nonschool time including after school, on the weekends or during summer vacation” (xv). This allows the editors and the authors of the individual chapters to roam around the variety of settings of this industry, which includes such diverse locales as conventional schools, business office buildings, individual homes, libraries, religious organizations and so on.

The authors are further guided by a set of “key questions” that the editors pose and which are related to the typology and focus on intensity, impact and pedagogical authority of supplementary education. Finally, it is important to note the methodological diversity of the chapters, which includes both qualitative and quantitative, as well as mixed methods.

The richness of the data and arguments in the individual chapters varies but in general it is possible to say that they all contribute to the literature on supplementary education. In part 1, (high-intensity forms of supplementary education), the chapter on Japan makes the important point that despite the general negative impression of juku and yobiko they have often contributed to and complemented the formal school system, and have been in some respects engines of innovation. As the further corporatization of Japanese education proceeds, these alternative educational institutions will likely gain more acceptability as smaller “shadow schools” disappear.

It is surprising to learn that Turkey has a fifty-year tradition of supplementary schools but it is not surprising to learn that the primary motivation for this is the presence of high-stakes national and central examinations. That, along with the increased demand for tertiary education, has fueled this industry. There is also great diversity in supplementary education, ranging from one-on-one individualized teaching models to those that resemble formal schools. The latter are gradually being transformed into “learning centres.” Although the private sector plays a predominant role in supplementary schools, national regulatory policies include equity requirements for low-income families.

In the China and Vietnam chapters we learn much about “how” to do supplementary research in those particular settings. In these mixed methods studies the authors place the data collection process in the cultural, social and political contexts. This is an uncommon approach and one that tells us a great deal about not only the process of researching sensitive areas such as supplementary education (buxiban in China) but about the schools themselves. Unlike the case of Turkey, China’s growth and increase in income attract mainstream teachers to these schools. And the Vietnam chapter is rich in data and highlights the tutoring function of supplementary education.

The rapidly growing supplementary market of Brazil is the last chapter in the high-intensity section. The data provided by the authors raise serious and interesting questions about the implications of supplementary education on learning and instruction as well as social equity. Given that little has been published about supplementary education in that nation this chapter marks a significant contribution to the literature.

In part 2, low-intensity forms of supplementary education are captured in Canada, Australia, the United States and Germany. What seems to link them together with the possible exception of Germany, is the peripheral nature of supplementary education vis-à-vis the formal system. While the practice is growing in Canada and the US, it appears to fail to penetrate the formal system in the manner detailed in the part 1 countries. And in Australia, the data show that attending such schools does not necessarily enhance the main goal of supplementary education, that is, increased access to higher education. However, in Germany, a perceived insecurity among parents and students has produced a strong push factor toward attendance in these schools such that about 30 percent of students in the cohort attend with the primary goal of compensating for what is perceived as a weak formal school system. Nevertheless, supplementary education has found a market even in the low-intensity systems and has adapted to changing motivation factors.

Part 3 concludes with two chapters that are comparative in scope and provide useful data on the distinctions between the formal and nonformal educational sectors, the power of the market even in vastly different contexts, and the process of social reproduction as one important outcome of supplementary education (a 17-nation comparative study).

The book is clearly a strong addition to the literature on this “shadowy” educational phenomenon and will likely spur others to broaden the research base for an increasingly important force in education and national development.

John N. Hawkins, University of California, Los Angeles, USA  

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SLANTING I, IMAGINING WE: Asian Canadian Literary Production in the 1980s and 1990s. TransCanada Series. By Larissa Lai. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2014. xii, 260 pp. C$42.99, paper. ISBN 978-1-77112-041-8.

Larissa Lai is a still-all-too-rare being: an Asian Canadian artist, activist and academic. The author of two novels and several poetry collections, a committed long-time activist, particularly for anti-racist, feminist and queer causes, and an academic whose first critical book, Slanting I, Imagining We, has recently been published, Lai occupies a fairly unique position from which to assess Asian Canadian literary production of the 1980s and 1990s. As she states in the introduction, “the purpose of this book is to interrogate the ways in which the term ‘Asian Canadian’ has been imagined, produced and put to work between approximately 1985 and 2000, and to consider its implications and possibilities in the new millennium” (24). With the success of the Japanese Canadian Redress Movement and the passage of the Canadian Multiculturalism Act in 1988, along with the emergence of writers and artists of colour and Indigenous writers and artists during this period, there was an optimism about belonging to the Canadian nation, sustained debate about the possibilities and terms of such belonging at events like The Appropriate Voice conference of 1992 and the Writing Thru Race conference of 1994, and a growing pessimism with the triumphant rise of the neoliberal state. Lai, who lived through, participated in, and helped to shape much of this cultural history, is especially well placed to write about and assess it. She joins a fairly exclusive group that includes the likes of Roy Miki, Fred Wah and Richard Fung.

In the course of examining the meanings, parameters, usefulness and history of “Asian Canadian,” Lai provides one of the richest, most nuanced discussions of this umbrella term to date, entering into close conversation with Roy Miki’s recent In Flux: Transnational Shifts in Asian Canadian Writing (NeWest Press, 2011). Her depth of knowledge and detailed consideration of multiple sides of various issues, ranging from the role of autobiography as a liberatory genre through the value of special journal issues and “ethnic” anthologies to the politics of avant garde poetry, make for compelling arguments. In a move reminiscent of Kandice Chuh’s claim that the term “Asian American” must be approached as a subjectless discourse, a “conceptual tool [that] points to the need to manufacture ‘Asian American’ situationally” (Imagine Otherwise: On Asian Americanist Critique, Duke UP, 2003, 10), Lai states boldly that “the designation ‘Asian Canadian’ is a porous one. It is genealogically produced [in the Foucauldian sense] and deeply relational. The power of the term comes not from a particular essence as such, but from the coalitional work it does” (5). Emphasizing the relational and coalitional dimensions of “Asian Canadian” allows Lai to track the changing valances of this emergent “identity,” and its complex imbrication with other “identities,” especially Indigeneity, queerness and feminism. Her treatment of Asian Canadian in relation to Indigeneity is especially innovative and illuminating. Her candour in revealing her doubts and uncertainties, her revisions to earlier commitments, is refreshing and still quite rare in academic scholarship.

Lai raises the very important question—one that has plagued academic activists for quite some time—of whether texts that reside under terms like “Asian Canadian” can “retain their liberatory possibility” when they leave the racialized communities in which they were formed and enter the academy, where they may “become a new type of ethnography” (59). She worries that these texts become legitimized because their writers are considered native informants who are mobilized as proof of the arrival of the multicultural nation. This route leads to commodification via institutionalization. Throughout this discussion, however, Lai tends to treat racialized/minoritized communities as if they are always in alignment or agreement with the artists and activists who emerge from them and often speak on their behalf. A binary emerges between supportive racialized/minoritized communities and incorporating institutions (especially universities, but also government agencies) that act on behalf of state multiculturalism. Despite sharing Lai’s concerns, I consider this division to be less clear: as Viet Nguyen observes in Race and Resistance: Literature and Politics in Asian America (Oxford UP, 2002), racialized communities can harbour significant reactionary views that are often opposed to those of their artists, while universities have often championed the work of racialized writers and activists, bringing it to wider audiences, as problematic as that incorporation may be.

One of the great strengths of the study is to draw out texts that do not focus primarily on traumatic pasts which induce perpetually melancholic presents, but rather gesture to possible, different futures that can assist in reinterpreting the past and the present. Lai explores different ways of carving out a positive future, questioning the obsessive focus on trauma as well as interrogating the issue of poststructuralist approaches to language as they affect identity politics, and insisting that “There is imaginative possibility here—if we can read the past for that which is hopeful, then we can produce the present in terms that allow for those productivities that Roy Miki has called ‘asiancy’ or ‘ethics’” (211). Writing in “the contemporary context of global capital and unjust war” (210) that mark the ascendancy of neoliberalism, Lai still manages to find idealist hope in the feminist, anti-racist, queer work of such writers as Hiromi Goto, jam ismail, Rita Wong and Dionne Brand. Her readings of individual texts by these writers are always informative and often brilliant.

For all her stress on critiquing nationalist belonging and valorizing relationality as a way of understanding “Asian Canadian,” Lai surprisingly limits herself primarily to a nationalist paradigm and to globalization as nationalism’s other. She doesn’t consider in a truly sustained way how “Asian Canadian” relates to “Asian American” (reciprocal? imperializing?) or to “Asian North American” or to continental American (as in “the Americas”). Nor does she give full consideration to a diasporic or transpacific paradigm, even though diasporas are themselves always already imbricated with the national in complicated ways. This is even more surprising given that Lai the novelist has consciously taken diasporic and continental positions in her fiction, to great effect. She certainly attempts to revisit and revise concepts of the nation, but she is reluctant to imagine outside or beyond it here, perhaps because neoliberal global capitalism sets such a horrific example of what is possible “beyond.” In the end, Lai refrains from offering a plan of action on which to pin the hope she has carefully nourished so that, despite her admirable ability to straddle the positions of academic, activist and artist, the book as a whole stops short of sustaining this balancing act, rather cleaving more to the academic than the other perspectives. Despite this, Slanting I, Imagining We is a compelling and challenging study, certainly among the best to date on Asian Canadian literature.

 Donald C. Goellnicht, McMaster University, Hamilton, Canada

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COMPARING INSTITUTION-BUILDING IN EAST ASIA: Power Politics, Governance, and Critical Junctures. Critical Studies of the Asia-Pacific Series. By Hidetaka Yoshimatsu. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014. xi, 231 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$100.00. cloth. ISBN 978-1-137-37054-9.

This is a well-designed, well-organized and well-written scholarly work, which provides a systematic and comprehensive analysis of regional institution-building in East Asia, an interesting and important topic in the study of East Asian regionalism. The book clearly makes a useful contribution to the study on regionalism in East Asia.

In pursuing this important topic of regionalism in East Asia, the author thoughtfully proposes a comprehensive analytical framework, which combines some important factors at all of Kenneth Waltz’s three levels of analysis, including power politics, nation-states’ pursuit of national interests, policymakers’ preferences, the role of non-state actors and historical juncture. A major theme of the work is that while regional relations among nation-states are in the first place defined by power politics and a nation-state’s pursuit of national interests, specific policies are largely influenced by various domestic factors, including political institutions, interests groups and others.

From the power politics perspective, the author argues that regional cooperation and institution-building in specific policy areas in East Asia is primarily dominated, influenced and determined by two regional powers, China and Japan. While the regional institutions were mostly initiated by Japan as the old regional power in East Asia, they are now increasingly relying on China for their further development as a result of the rise of Chinese power and influence and the decline of Japanese power and influence.

Within the neorealist parameters of power politics at the systemic level, the author then focuses on how regional cooperation and institution-building in East Asia in specific policy areas are influenced by policymakers’ preferences, non-state actors and historical juncture. According to the author, in the East Asian domestic political context, policymakers’ perceptions and preferences have significant influence on a nation-state’s foreign policy in general and policy toward regional cooperation and institution-building in East Asia in particular. This is because policymakers of East Asian states, due to the history of statism and cultural tradition in East Asia, have long been able to independently pursue policies that would best promote national interests without being subjected to the influence of various domestic social interest groups. Of non-state actors, the author focuses on research institutes as crucial actors influencing regional institution-building in East Asia, as policymakers have to rely heavily on their research, knowledge and expertise for decision making in specific policy areas. The critical juncture is a pivotal turning point in history, as reflected in a crisis or a critical event, which the author argues would significantly influence the path of regional institution-building in East Asia (for example, the Asian financial crisis of 1997–98). The author then applies this synthetic framework to the explanation of regional institution-building in East Asia in five important policy areas, i.e., trade, finance, food security, energy and environment.

This synthetic approach seems to work quite well in explaining regional cooperation and institution-building in East Asia and helping readers acquire a better understanding of East Asian regional institution-building in the five policy areas in question.

While the strengths of this scholarly work are most evident, however, there are several issues for which the author fails to provide a clear explanation. The first such issue is whether some of the regional cooperative projects and institutions that involve countries that are beyond East Asia (for example, the East Asian Summit) can still be called “East Asian regional institution.” This issue is particularly important because, as the author is aware, Japan is trying to bring more non-East Asian powers into various regional institution-building initiatives, while China insists that regional cooperation and institution-building in East Asia should be confined to East Asian states only.

A second issue that needs some clearer clarification is the role of ASEAN in regional cooperation and institution-building in East Asia. As the author aptly notes, ASEAN has been playing a leading role in many of the regional initiatives and institutions (for example, ARF, ASEM, ASEAN+3, ASEAN+1, etc.). But the author provides no explanation of why ASEAN can play such a leading role that is not in proportion to its true power. The conventional wisdom is that regional cooperation and institution-building has to be led by a major regional power or powers, as is true with the European Union. Such a leading role for ASEAN in regional institution-building in East Asia is also in conflict with the major theme of the work, which, based on the neorealist power politics perspective, argues that regional cooperation and institution-building in East Asia is dominated, influenced and determined by two regional powers, China and Japan. Obviously, there must be some important factors that allow ASEAN to play such a “leading” role, which is supposed to be taken by regional powers. These important factors are clearly related to geopolitics in East Asia, which is particularly reflected in the rivalry between two regional powers, China and Japan. This reveals a third issue of the work, that is, weak discussion of geopolitical competition between two regional powers, China and Japan, as a crucial factor behind the process of regional institution-building in East Asia.

On the whole, this is an informative and insightful work, which makes an important contribution to the literature on regionalism in East Asia in general and regional institution-building in East Asia in particular.

Kevin G. Cai, University of Waterloo, Waterloo, Canada   

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ARCHITECTURALIZED ASIA: Mapping a Continent through History. Spatial Habitus. Edited by Vimalin Rujivacharakul, H. Hazel Hahn, Ken Tadashi Oshima, Peter Christensen. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press; Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2014, c2013. xv, 301 pp., [24 pp.] col. plates (Figures.) US$55.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3952-9.

Architecturalized Asia is an ambitious volume of visionary scholarship that both demonstrates architectural history’s important place in the study of Asia and makes it accessible as a method of analysis to those of us outside the discipline. “Architecturalized,” which Yuming He handily describes as to be “designed, codified, and structured” (67), is a productive motif that underscores the making of “Asia” through thought and practice, and that seeks to interrogate that process of construction. It also refers to the object of study: “Asia” is to be examined through its “architecture”—here writ large to encompass not only individual buildings, but also the built environment and its representations in cartography. Underscoring the particular power that physical structures and their representations possess, the essays in this volume use them as lenses to investigate how Asia has taken shape over time.

This collection is motivated by a desire to emancipate the study of architecture in Asia from its domination by “a dialectical relationship between Europe and Asia” (8). While each of the essays gives due credit to the important role that Europe and European regimes of knowledge have played in the emergence and study of Asian architecture, they also identify a need to give an account of Asian architecture that neither reduces it to that relationship, nor always returns to it in the final analytical instance. The essays successfully offer different ways out of this bind, whether by demonstrating how, as Caroline Herbelin does, architects both local and foreign actively broke away from Orientalist conceptualizations of Asia to pursue architectural styles more appropriate to local conditions, or when Ken Tadashi Oshima shows that imaginations of Asia outside of Asia offered refreshing new ways to think about the region that departed from Orientalism’s desire to exoticize and subjugate. The emancipatory impulse is also at work in more elemental ways, as in David Efurd’s contribution, which offers a correction to misunderstandings that have resulted from reading South Asian Buddhist architecture through the lens of European religious architecture.

The attempt to interrogate the dominance of the nation state and national styles as frames for examining Asian architecture is another theme that runs through the volume, and is especially marked in its first section on the medieval and early modern period. Vimalin Rujivacharakul’s examination of how architecture became linked to geographical and geopolitical space within the field of world architecture (Rujivacharakul identifies the emergence of “architectural narration” as a key moment in this process) sets the tone for the volume as a whole. By emphasizing a dynamic exchange of ideas, influences and practices that transcended national borders, many of the essays not only illustrate the limitations of national frames for understanding the emergence of “Asian architecture” historically, they also—as in Imran bin Tajudeen’s essay on the inability of extant categories of Asian architecture to adequately account for Javanese architectural forms—highlight how national frames are in some cases unable even to produce accurate knowledge. At the same time, these interrogations of national frameworks stands in interesting tension with essays in the last section of the volume that examine architecture’s contribution to regional identity formation, which suggests that despite their limits as ways of ordering knowledge, architectural styles as representations of group identity are still politically powerful and useful.

The volume’s emphasis on the dynamic transmission of ideas across cultural, geographical and temporal (as Seng Kuan demonstrates in his essay on the continuities between Japanese plans for their prewar colony in Manchuria and postwar Tokyo Bay) space prompts rethinking about the relationship between knowledge regimes, especially if the transmission takes places within asymmetrical power relations. Many of the essays illustrate the permeability between dualities like colonizer/colonized, West/non-West, or Asia/non-Asia and ask us to consider the multiple directionalities through which power and knowledge flowed. In so doing, an important question emerges: what happens to the political valences that accompanied these ideas in their “original” form—the Orientalist dimensions of imaginations of Asia formed during the age of high imperialism; the centralized power of the Soviet state implicit in Soviet-style functionalism; the colonial dimensions of Japan’s urban planning in Manchuria—when they are transmitted across space and time? Do these political significances, so crucial to their emergence, continue to inhere in the ideas or are they neutralized or transformed in some way through their transmission?

Among this volume’s successes is its offer of a refreshingly inclusive idea of “Asia” in time (from the medieval period to the present) and space (encompassing East, Southeast and South Asia, but also the Pacific Rim, Central Asia and Iran). This not only decentres the region away from its conventional geographical centres and raises the question of where Asia “is,” it also opens up the possibility of imagining other configurations of and within Asia itself. Peter Christensen’s tracing of Eurasia’s short-lived career as a “hitherto unimagined cultural contiguity” (105) illustrates this expansive geographical imagination especially powerfully. The fact that a region was—even if only for a moment—conceptualized in such a way that transcended national boundaries and national agendas is an intriguing prospect for our own, highly fragmented present in which political issues between individual countries threaten to exacerbate the fragmentation of Asia even further.

Tze M. Loo, University of Richmond, Richmond, USA                  

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BRIDGING TROUBLED WATERS: China, Japan, and Maritime Order in the East China Sea. By James Manicom. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2014. xii, 266 pp. (Figures, tables, maps.) US$54.95, cloth, 978-1-62616-102-3; US$32.95, paper, 978-1-62616-035-4; US$32.95, ebook, 978-1-62616-036-1.

The Sino-Japanese relationship has become increasingly tense in recent years, and some even worry that war is looming. Disputes over historical memory, disputed territory and maritime space are sometimes interpreted as mere flashpoints in an ongoing power shift, but they are also crucial in their own right. Bridging Troubled Waters by James Manicom contributes a fresh perspective on the latter two bones of contention. In a nutshell, the book establishes its raison d´être by asking why and how Sino-Japanese cooperation has been achieved, and how can it be achieved in the future, despite lingering tensions. Manicom rightly argues that the East China Sea dispute should be considered a “least likely” case study in bilateral cooperation, and that it might “shed light on similar disputes” (5).

To address his research problem, Manicom stipulates that the value of disputed space has an impact on cooperative efforts between rival states. He constructs a 2X2 “Maritime Value Matrix” (MVM), where one axis represents the alleged dichotomy between “tangible” and “intangible” values, whereas the other one embodies a distinction between mutually salient issues and those that are salient only to one actor. Manicom hypothesizes that cooperation will be most reciprocal, enforceable and lasting over tangible issues that concern both parties, while cooperation over issues that are important to just one party—tangible and intangible—will be weaker and more short-lived. However, he hypothesizes that intangible issues will be pursued reciprocally and tangible ones coercively.

These hypotheses are then confirmed in four cases: the islands conflict per se (since the 1970s), fishery cooperation (1997–2000), marine research activities (2000–2001), and resource development (2005–2008). Manicom finds that cooperation is easier and more durable over tangible matters that both parties have an interest in—fisheries is the case in point. In contrast, as soon as tangible issues are more important to just one party—for example maritime research—cooperation becomes more coercive, informal and short-lived. And when issues are intangible but concerns are shared, as with the territorial dispute, cooperation is reciprocal and informal, but also fragile. Resource development, finally, is a mixed case. Since only China would be able to use the resources effectively the issue has been more crucial to China in material terms. For Japan, in contrast, the issue becomes enmeshed in the allegedly more symbolic islands dispute.

The book not only contributes by demonstrating that Japan and China have been able to cooperate regarding the disputed islands and adjacent maritime space. Based on this understanding it also presents a roadmap for how to break up vicious circles and how to forge more virtuous ones. Manicom asserts that “cooperation will endure” (5), at least “[a]s long as states continue to reciprocate” (26). More concretely, he suggests that Japan could agree to abrogate the consensus on resource exploration from June 2008 “in exchange for an agreement on sharing jurisdiction in the contested area of the East China Sea” (188).

While this book makes significant theoretical, empirical and even policy contributions, I think some matters might be further discussed. First, the MVM distinguishes between tangible and intangible issues, but Manicom later concludes that the two are “nearly impossible to separate, in a political sense” (185). I agree with the afterthought, because even seemingly pure material matters acquire their meaning through symbols, ideas and discourses. Fisheries and fish, for instance, surely mean different things to a country where fish is an important part of the food culture, such as Japan, and a country where meat or vegetables are more prevalent. Likewise, the territorial dispute is classified here as an intangible issue, although, ironically, territory is often treated as the single-most material aspect of nation-states. Manicom argues that the conflation between symbolic and material aspects of contested space “militates against cooperation” in these particular cases (167), but such conflation is arguably inevitable.

Second, symbolic matters recur as a separate variable in the notion that leaders can reason and operate outside of the nationalist discourses and practices, which repeatedly aggravate the Sino-Japanese relationship over contested maritime space. Indeed, although Manicom provides a largely constructivist understanding of identity and refers to the “‘social construction’ of the world oceans” (7), his analysis is framed in the language of rational choice theory, where only costs and benefits seem to motivate the important actors: the strategizing leaders. This is not only inconsistent with social construction, but also quite unrealistic.

Third, Manicom’s belief in the possibility of Sino-Japanese cooperation is firm, but the picture that emerges from his own analysis is actually quite contradictory. He writes both that “the recent phase of tensions in the East China Sea seems to belie the cooperative track record presented in this book” (185), and that “[t]he cooperative track record between China and Japan in the East China Sea belies the expectation that the two countries are teetering on the brink of war over their disputed maritime space” (200). Yet one cannot have it both ways. Although the book demonstrates that cooperation is possible, it also shows that it is often fragile and short-lived. Indeed, this seems to be the gist of two of the hypotheses. Moreover, with the alleged importance of “coercive cooperation,” one needs to consider that coercion for the sake of cooperation is just as likely to have pacific outcomes as war for the sake of peace. Hence, with increasing confrontations at sea, and with mutually more exclusionary and antagonistic identity discourses in both countries, the prospects for cooperation actually seem quite dim.

These small objections notwithstanding, Manicom’s timely book contributes greatly to the understanding of one of the most pressing issues in Sino-Japanese relations, and is a must-read for serious students of East Asian international politics and maritime security alike.

Linus Hagström, Swedish Institute of International Affairs, Stockholm, Sweden            

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HOW FINANCE IS SHAPING THE ECONOMIES OF CHINA, JAPAN, AND KOREA. Edited by Yung Chul Park and Hugh Patrick with Larry Meissner. New York: Columbia Business School Publishing (an imprint of Columbia University Press), 2013. xii, 364 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$60.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-16526-6.

This book consists of 4 chapters written by scholars from China, South Korea (Korea hereafter) and the US on the recent developments of financial and other institutional changes and implications in China, Japan and Korea. The book also contains an editors’ introduction. The three contributing chapters each discuss the economies of China, Japan and Korea and the last chapter discusses the role of banks in these countries. The five chapters of the book are as follows: chapter 1, “An introductory overview,” by Hugh Patrick”; chapter 2, “Financial reform in China: progress and challenges,” by Yiping Huang, Xun Wang, Bijun Wang and Nian Lin; chapter 3, “Ongoing financial deregulation, structural change, and performance, 1990-2010,” by Edward J. Lincoln; chapter 4, “Financial development and liberalization in Korea: 1980-2011,” by Yung Chul Park; and chapter 5, “Banking, capital flows, and financial cycles: Common threads in the 2007-2009 crisis,” by Young-Hwa Scok and Hyun Song Shin.

While China, Japan and Korea are all part of Asia, their economies are at different stages of development. Furthermore, these countries have distinct histories, institutions, political systems and societal characteristics. This gives an interesting setting in which to study how differently these countries have reacted to international economic shocks of a financial nature, such as the Asian financial crisis of 1997-1998, and the United States-generated global financial crisis of 2007-2009, called the “Lehman shock of September 2008.” Another financial shock that only Japan experienced is its financial bubble of the late 1980s which burst in December 1990. The Asian financial crisis prompted serious financial reforms in Korea, while Japan’s financial bubble burst forced Japan to introduce many reform measures in its financial and corporate governance systems. The Lehman shock adversely affected the economies of these three countries as well as many others in the world.

Specific country chapters discuss how each of the three countries responded to these and other economic shocks using their financial policies. In chapter 2, Yiping Huang et al. emphasize the Chinese government’s insistence on retaining substantial financial repression instead of implementing full liberalization in dealing with the shocks during China’s reform period. In particular, low (depressed) interests and exchange rates are used by the Chinese government, essentially, as subsidies to investors and exporters. These repressive policies have also allowed the government to use the financial sector as a means for supporting economic policy (120). The authors show that the impact of such financial repression policies on economic growth was positive until the 1990s but became negative in the 2000s. The authors suggest the government undertake some level of liberalization in their financial policies to mitigate the negative effects of the current repressive policies.

Chapter 3 by Lincoln discusses Japan’s financial deregulation activities during the 1990-2010 period. Given Japan’s significant financial reforms (called the Big Bang reform) and their stated objectives in the 1990s after the bubble burst, expectations then were that the Japanese economy moved away from their bank-centred system to adopt a more market-oriented financial system and that Tokyo would become an active international financial centre. Neither has happened fully. While financially strong firms are able to issue bonds and other market-oriented debt instruments, weak firms continue to depend on bank finance. Japanese banks, many of which were nationalized in the 1990s, went through many mergers and acquisitions. Large banks were consolidated into three bank-holding companies, with significantly more monopoly power than before.

At the same time return on assets and return on equity remain considerably lower than in the United States. Corporate governance practices in Japan are not necessarily set up to facilitate corporations to maximize their profit either. For these and other reasons international firms may gradually shift activities away from Tokyo (Japan). Lincoln explains Japan’s somewhat inward-looking financial sector using Japanese financial firms’ poor English-language ability, high expat living costs in Tokyo, risk aversion, and group decision-making dynamics. This chapter also discusses the comparative advantages of a bank-centred system versus a market-based system which relies, for example, more on bonds and equity. It concludes that Japan will continue relying on the current bank-centred system for the near future.

Chapter 4, by Park, provides details of the four waves of financial reforms, 1980-2007, and their implications in Korea. Termed as one of the most repressive financial systems, many aspects of Korea’s financial system were strictly controlled by the government (e.g., regulations on banks, non-bank financial institutions, interest rates, foreign exchange rates). The most serious external shock was the 1997 Asian crisis, which in the end forced Korea with no foreign reserve left to accept the liberalization measures required by the International Monetary Fund in return for their rescue funding.

The IMF-originated liberalization measures, combined with further liberalization measures introduced by the Korean government in 2007 as well as the 2009 Capital Market Consolidation Act, prompted Korea’s financial system to become one of the more liberalized, open regimes in the emerging world (231). Korea’s experiences of these financial-system reform measures are summarized in chapter 4 as follows: benefits including economic efficiency gains arising from the financial liberalization are hard to find, so far. Park attributes this to the fact that there is a limit to which a small emerging economy could open its financial sector. Once opened, the financial market can become a playground for international investors, international banks and non-banks. One possible reason for this might be that Korea was not properly equipped to accept foreign investors at the time of financial liberalization periods. But now Korea cannot go back to the pre-liberalization model.

The main theme of chapter 5 by Seok and Shin is the role of financial intermediaries (particularly banks) in the 2007 Lehman crisis in China, Japan, Korea, the EU, and also the US. They conclude that, during the 2007 Lehman crisis, the mechanics of the boom-bust cycle played out even more potently in the capital markets of the advanced countries than in the emerging countries. How about the benefits of financial globalization and the belief that capital inflows from overseas supplement domestic savings in financing investment, lowering the cost of capital, and boosting growth? The evidence seems mixed at best. Capital inflows may fuel permissive domestic liquidity conditions that fuel housing booms and consumption. Asset bubbles may be attributed to the excessive growth of assets funded with short-term debt, with substantial part being denominated in a foreign currency.

The editors’ preface states that the purpose of this book is to make definitive contributions to the financial histories of China, Japan and Korea available to a wide audience. The editors have succeeded in their task.

Masao Nakamura, The University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada

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China and Inner Asia


XINJIANG AND THE EXPANSION OF CHINESE COMMUNIST POWER: Kashgar in the Early Twentieth Century. Routledge Studies in the Modern History of Asia (2005), 98. By Michael Dillon. New York: Routledge, 2014. xxxiii, 252 pp. (Figures, maps.) US$160.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-415-58443-2.

An array of foreigners played vital roles in Xinjiang, which is often portrayed as a remote and isolated region in the period from 1911 to 1949. Although it lay in the interior of Asia and was far from the sea, it attracted diverse groups, despite its relative inaccessibility. The Turkic group, which became identified as the Uyghurs in the twentieth century, constituted the largest segment of the population, but Han Chinese, Dungans (also known as Hui or Chinese Muslims), British, Russians, Swedes, Hindus and Afghans reached or settled in the region. Han Chinese leaders governed the region from 1911 to 1949, and Xinjiang was frequently independent and not responsive to the central Chinese or any other government. Xinjiang’s geographic location adjacent to the USSR’s Central Asian republics offered the Soviet Union considerable leverage in the economy and politics of the region. The British had a consulate general (known as the Chinibagh) in Kashgar that gathered information and intelligence about Xinjiang and attempted to promote British India’s trade with Xinjiang, and a few Indian merchants reached the area. Afghans smuggled opium into Kashgar; the Swedes had the only religious mission in western Xinjiang and, like other Christian missionaries in China, started schools and provided modern medical care. The local inhabitants, in addition to the Uyghurs, consisted of small but diverse communities of Hui, Kyrgyz, Kazakhs and even Mongols.

Dillon writes about the political and economic history of Xinjiang during this era and supplements Andrew Forbes’ Warlords and Muslims in Chinese Central Asia: A Political History of Republican Sinkiang 1911-1949 (published in 1986), which he praises as a “key text,” but which did not have access to currently available Chinese and English sources. He focuses on the city of Kashgar, the point of intersection of the northern and southern routes around the Taklamakan Desert. His brief description of the city’s history is generally accurate except for a slip about the dates of the Mongolian Empire. In relation to dates, the author jumps around, leading the average reader to be confused about chronology. Part of the reason is that he focuses on biographical sketches and identifies specific individuals with important developments, including education, journalism and officialdom. The narrative sometimes shifts from the 1930s to 2010. For example, he writes that “Kashgar is no longer medieval” (27), referring to a period 65 years after the purported conclusion of the book.

Nonetheless, Dillon presents new information and insights, especially based on the reports of British subjects associated with the consulate general in Kashgar. He has mined the British accounts and writings to provide a vivid portrayal not only of the British community but also of its perception of the Chinese and Turkic rulers. He also contributes to knowledge of pre-1949 developments in Xinjiang. Other studies have described the policies of Yang Zengxin, Jin Shuren and Sheng Shicai, the three autocratic rulers during the three decades from 1911 on, but Dillon presents additional notes based upon the 12 volumes of the Kashi wenshi ziliao (Cultural and Historical Materials on Kashgar City) and other sources issued by the present Chinese government.

An interesting by-product of Dillon’s research is a generally positive view of Mao Zedong’s brother Mao Zemin and other communists who collaborated with Sheng Shicai in Xinjiang before he turned against the USSR and subsequently imprisoned and executed the communists who had worked for him. Dillon praises Mao Zemin for initiating reforms that “were modern and rational, and were designed to eliminate corruption and the worst excesses of exploitation” (104) and writes that Mao “refused to stay away from work when he was ill and often had to be sent home by his colleagues” (122). In 1943, Sheng had Mao executed, turning him into a martyr and providing the communists with an ideal model of a Han Chinese who had sacrificed himself for the benefit of the Uyghurs. After the communist victory in 1949, Mao’s remains were moved to the Revolutionary Martyrs Memorial Cemetery in Urumchi in a transparent attempt to indicate the dedication and selflessness of the communist Chinese in Xinjiang.

Dillon’s book is also useful for its front matter and its visuals. It provides a compact chronology of major events in Kashgar and southern Xinjiang from 1911 to 1953, a valuable source for the non-specialist educated reader. As important, it includes a generous selection of photographs from the Höök collection. Ivar and Elisabeth Höök, Swedish missionaries in Xinjiang, took their own photographs and collected others from friends and acquaintances. Their daughter gave Dillon permission to use these black-and-white photos of a mosque, a market, a hospital and a school, as well as images of the local inhabitants at work, the religious leaders, and the soldiers guarding the Swedish compound. There are also photographs of the natural environment, which complement Dillon’s descriptions of Xinjiang.

Morris Rossabi, City University of New York, Queens, USA

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VISIONS OF DYSTOPIA IN CHINA’S NEW HISTORICAL NOVELS. By Jeffrey C. Kinkley. New York: Columbia University Press, 2014. xvi, 285 pp. US$45.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-16768-0.

There is a generation of Chinese novelists, now in their fifties and sixties, whose careers began in the early years of reform and opening after the death of Mao, and who have enjoyed uninterrupted literary careers of three decades, a span denied to almost all their predecessors in China’s tempestuous twentieth century. Members of this group, which includes Mo Yan, Su Tong, Yu Hua, Ge Fei and Han Shaogong, and has Wang Anyi as its only female representative, rode the wave of “high-culture fever” in the 1980s, and transitioned in subsequent decades from the “avant-garde Boom to post-avant-garde Post-Boom” (29). In recent years, their works have been extensively translated and honoured with international awards, most notably Mo Yan’s 2012 Nobel Prize, even as younger and less earnest writers have begun to outsell them at home.

In Visions of Dystopia, Jeffrey C. Kinkley introduces an extensive selection of the fiction of this generation of writers; the works combine to present a history of modern China which contradicts previous state narratives of triumph and human perfectibility. For these authors, “[h]unger, desire, gangsters, and prostitutes are universals in Chinese history” (42), and their novels are replete with violence, tyranny, betrayal, absurdity and collective madness. Rather than a steady march towards enlightenment and liberation, the reader is presented with stories that generally end badly for the characters that populate them. Writing of Mo Yan’s Life and Death are Wearing Me Out, Kinkley concludes that “the overall direction of history … is one of decadence, decline, and injustice” (90).

In his reading of these new historical novels, Kinkley acknowledges, but does not allow himself to be directed by, two established ways of reading modern Chinese fiction: C.T. Hsia’s proposal that writers share an “obsession with China” and Frederic Jameson’s generalization that third-world literatures can be read as “national allegories” on themes such as liberation from colonialism and nation-building. Rather, the novels are seen here as dystopian, and compared to a global literature of grand visions gone terribly wrong for those who have to live them, a list that includes Anglo-American works such as George Orwell’s Animal Farm and Nineteen Eighty-four, William Golding’s Lord of the Flies, Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, and Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. A reading of these works offers valuable insights into the writing of this generation of Chinese writers, but for literary influence, Kinkley rightly ascribes greater importance to Latin American authors, most notably Gabriel García Márquez, whose masterpiece One Hundred Years of Solitude was widely circulated and much admired by young writers emerging from the confines of socialist realism in the 1980s. That novel’s vision of an unpredictable world seen through the microcosm of a locality, and its blending of the realistic and the fantastic, appealed to writers searching for the elemental and the primitive in the Chinese soul rather than charting progress towards communist utopia. A further reason to emulate Márquez in the late twentieth century was his 1982 Nobel Prize, at a time when Chinese authors were convinced that their long wait for the honour would soon be over; the “hallucinatory realism” cited in the announcement of Mo Yan’s award recalls the “magic realism” for which Márquez is celebrated.

The post-Mao generation of authors did not only look for inspiration in translated fiction: Kinkley draws attention to their veneration of Dream of the Red Chamber/ Story of the Stone; Cao Xueqin’s Qing dynasty masterwork records the decline of a great family through the microcosm of a complex of residences contained in a large compound, with periodic visits from supernatural realms into the world of official intrigue and family discord. In many of the new historical novels, family is likewise the microcosm for twentieth-century China: Su Tong’s Wives and Concubines (filmed by Zhang Yimou as Raise the Red Lantern) is set in the toxic environment of a rich man’s compound, and dysfunctional families people Yu Hua’s sagas of late twentieth and early twenty-first century China.

Yu Hua’s Brothers is a recent example of the new historical novel: the lives of two utterly dissimilar men rendered brothers by their parents’ marriage are charted from the unspeakable cruelty of the revolutionary past to the unspeakable vulgarity of the mercenary present. Kinkley writes of the novel that “the relationship of the brothers is perpetually symbiotic and mutually self-destructive” (152); he also sees in it the signs that the genre itself may be in decline, becoming “over-the-top, slapdash, and repetitious” (200), and predicts that readers may lose enthusiasm for dystopian critiques of their consumerist goals.

This is a masterful study of a major genre in recent Chinese literature; it is erudite but readable, strongly comparative, and with both historical and literary perspective. A relish for the material is evident throughout, and the book is studded with passages of translation that convey the flavour of the originals.

Richard King, University of Victoria, Victoria, Canada

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LA FRANCE EN CHINE DE SUN YAT-SEN À MAO ZEDONG 1918–1953. Collection Histoire”(Rennes, France). By Nicole Bensacq-Tixier. Rennes, FR: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2014. 751 pp. (Figures, maps.) €28.00, paper. ISBN 978-2-7535-2925-0.

Diplomats usually serve as transmitters of orders and directives received from their home country to the governments of nations where they are posted. They also act as brokers for their own citizens and national companies in those foreign countries and provide valuable information to their respective governments. However, the warlord period and World War II in China provided environments not as clearly delimited as during normal times. Because China had multiple governments during the 1918–1949 period (warlord-controlled areas, the Japanese-occupied area, and Nationalist China), and France had also suffered the fate of occupation during World War II, the normal state of bilateral relations was upset, which fostered initiatives from diplomats that did not necessarily reflect home policy. On top of this, France had to secure its interests in Indochina at a time when the Japanese threat complicated the situation. Bensacq-Tixier’s impressive work on French diplomatic history during this period exposes these difficulties.

The book is divided into three parts that reflect specific periods of Chinese modern history: warlord China, China at war, and Communist China. The first part aims to detail how China’s warlords dealt with foreign diplomats. In the case of France, whose sphere of influence was primarily in Yunnan province and Shanghai, the book takes an interesting view on the complex regional Chinese histories of this period. The reader can clearly understand why China could not be governed by a single government at that time and more importantly, the multiple governments emerging in warlord China had the effect of dividing state power in international relations. France recognized Beijing as the capital of China (as did most Western nations) while it shared in the Republican ideals of Sun Yat-sen. Developing their interests in Yunnan, the French were willingly contributing to the weakening of China. Meanwhile, France’s protection of the missionary Catholic network reflected the incapacity of the Chinese state to provide social services, crippled as it was by outsiders who controlled vital elements of national strengthening, such as railways, extraterritoriality, customs, and trade.

The second part of the book, by far the most interesting and insightful, tackles the role of French diplomats in China when their own country was occupied by Germany and the Axis powers, which included Japan. Divided between the Vichy government and the resistance led by de Gaulle, French diplomacy faced an internal revolt by those French wishing to join the resistance against Germany and Japan, and thereby exposing Indochina to Japanese occupation and indisposing their own diplomatic comrades posted in occupied China (in Harbin, Shenyang, Qingdao, Yantai, Dalian, Beijing, Tianjin, Wuhan, Nanjing, Xiamen, Fuzhou, Shantou, Beihai, Haikou, Longzhou, Guangzhou, Hong Kong and notably Shanghai, where a sizable French population resided) and Free China (Chongqing, Chengdu, Kunming and Mengzi, established to protect the Haiphong-Kunming railway). Furthermore, French diplomatic recognition of China’s government posed a great dilemma, which turned out to be a catch-22 situation. France’s recognition of Wang Jingwei’s regime enraged Chiang Kai-shek, who recognized that the French were in a dire position and hoping to protect their colonial estate. An important and interesting point here was the posting of junior and senior diplomats who joined secret movements aimed at liberating French overseas territories (such as Japanese-occupied Indochina). Almost all of them spoke Chinese and had spent many years posted in China. They had a deep knowledge of the country and wrangled over the political influence of the French foreign service and the policies France should adopt towards China.

The third part details how the French had few friends remaining in the postwar period. Americans were not interested in helping de Gaulle regain a foothold in Southeast Asia, Chiang Kai-shek occupied Northern Vietnam with his troops, and Ho Chi Minh had proclaimed national independence. France’s weak position entailed the loss of extraterritoriality and the end of the French quarter of Shanghai. The Yunnan Railway was ceded to the Chinese as the French made efforts to maintain their presence by seeking treaties permitting French nationals to remain in China and conduct business. However, the situation in Indochina over the next eight years (1946–1954) and Mao’s victory (1949) definitely ushered in a new era and the departure of all French nationals from China. Although some French diplomats proposed the recognition of the new communist regime, Paris instead sought to save Indochina with American help.

The secondary weaknesses of the book do not undermine the scope of the study. However, it would have been appreciated if Chinese sources had been consulted to explain how the Chinese saw French diplomats. Unfortunately, the author uses only French sources, thus offering a one-sided narrative that portrays only how the French diplomats saw their own work in China. Also, a more theoretical framing of the study would have been welcomed because it would have provided some explanation on the limits of diplomatic action when a country is basically divided between multiple governments and non-state actors. This asymmetry could have been explored to demonstrate how under such conditions even the most able diplomats cannot efficiently implement their home country’s policies. Finally, the substantial amount of information on the lives of senior and junior diplomats could have been reduced to allow a tighter focus on French policy in China. Bensacq-Tixier published Dictionnaire du corps diplomatique et consulaire français en Chine (1840–1912) in 2004 and Dictionnaire biographique des diplomates et consuls en Chine (1918–1953) in 2013, which relate the lives of French diplomats in China with substantive biographical details. Overall, this book is quite entertaining and informative but it could have been a masterpiece had the author chosen to cut some of the biographical details in favour of more more political science.

Serge Granger, Université de Sherbrooke, Sherbrooke, Canada

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MODERNITY WITH A COLD WAR FACE: Reimagining the Nation in Chinese Literature across the 1949 Divide. Harvard East Asian Monographs, 360. By Xiaojue Wang. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center; Harvard University Press [distributor], 2013. xiii, 359 pp. US$39.95, cloth . ISBN 978-0-674-72672-7.

Wang Xiaojue presents six chapters in this book, each devoted to a modern writer in Chinese whose life illustrates the various courses that vocation brought during the Cold War. They are Shen Congwen (1902-1988), who gave up literature for museum work after political denunciation, and died in Beijing before he could receive the widely expected Nobel Prize; Ding Ling (1904-1986), the electrifying feminist writer of the pre-1949 period and then winner of the second Stalin Prize for literature in 1951, after which she suffered brutal torture at the hands of the Communist authorities, being rehabilitated, a shadow of her former self, only in 1978; Wu Zhuoliu (1900-1976), a leading Taiwanese novelist, in particular of the period of Japanese rule; Feng Zhi (1905-1993), greatly influenced by German literature, on which he was an expert, who navigated the political tides of his times with considerable success; and finally Eileen Chang (1920-1965), a great writer but also a tragic expatriate, who spent her life after 1949 dividing her time between Hong Kong and the United States.

The essays are largely successful and informative, though unlike much writing on the subject, they say little about the role of official compulsion in the careers of the three who lived their lives in China. The book’s subtitle, “Reimagining the Nation in Chinese Literature across the 1949 Divide,” however, suggests greater ambition than simply a well-chosen set of biographical vignettes. By attempting to de-emphasize the Cold War, Wang seeks to unify her subjects under a national rubric that somehow transcends ideology. Neither her introduction nor conclusion, which present her larger arguments pointing to “a De-Cold War Criticism,” quite achieve the evidently hoped-for purpose of making the book more than the sum of its parts.

For one thing, the Cold War has effectively been over since the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991—twelve years before the publication of the book. Since then the strange confrontation has not so much been re-evaluated as disappeared: a visit to Moscow discloses few symbolic traces of the Communist past, while even in China, vestiges of the period of Maoism (1949-1976) are increasingly difficult to find. It is as if the very different waters of pre-Communist and now effectively post-Communist (but still authoritarian) China are closing over the 24 years of Mao’s rule which, it turns out, did not so much transform the nation’s development as delay it until the great man was dead. Furthermore, like it or not, while it lasted the Cold War did split the Chinese-language world into fragments, some of which communicated a bit, others not at all. So the whole premise of the book seems a bit archaic: that we must somehow wrestle with a once-real “divide” now largely forgotten and well on the way to closing.

A never-resolved ambiguity about the actual history of the period plagues the book. Thus, an ordinary observer might think that Ding Ling, having been a daring and untrammeled author until Communism, subsequently encountered (after a brief celebrity) exile, mental torture, and so forth that effectively broke her spirit. She was, after all, an emotionally delicate woman of literary genius, but so traumatized that at the end of her life, visiting America, she had scarcely anything of interest to say. We know, after all, from a plethora of sources, how brutal were the Chinese Communist authorities, how many great talents were killed or died or broke down. Like Ding Ling they had no choice: they could not opt out of the then pervasive and coercive politicization of art and all else in China. It was obligatory and forcibly imposed

We also know that the whole process of harnessing art to political goals began with Mao Zedong’s “Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art” (1942) which had the full support of the new (since 1935) secret police of Kang Sheng, trained by the KGB in the USSR. Only in a footnote does Wang acknowledge that “Mao’s notion of spiritual and physical hygiene was implemented during various political campaigns targeted at intellectuals, of which the 1942 rectification campaign was only the beginning” (118, note 20). Yet rather than exploring what Mao said (and did) to Ding Ling, Wang devotes effectively all of her attention to a putative “self-transformation” by which Ding Ling attempted to change herself into a new kind of writer, as indeed she may have, before perhaps crumbling.

Likewise striking is the ease with which Wang slides over the terrible tragedy of Shen Congwen’s turn away from literary brilliance to museum curatorship. Even her lack of curiosity about Feng Zhi’s passage into Communism “without a strenuous process of assimilation” (242) is puzzling. Perhaps his ability to write in 1958, no less, that only under socialism would “freedom and law, the individual and the collective” be realized, suggests something about his gift for overlooking the obvious oppression in China (243)? As for Wu and Chang, they would fit only if the topic and structure of the book were more intellectually rigorous and better articulated.

One simply cannot erase at will divisions within a world of writing which, in China, saw the final manuscript of Ding Ling’s Sun Shines Over the Sangan River (1948) delayed a year until approved by Mao himself (114), while in contemporaneous Taiwan creative writing was certainly restricted, though Chiang Kai-shek, a far less ambitious dictator than Mao, had little desire to transform human souls, and finally the free world of Hong Kong and beyond. Instead of attempting the impossible by placing the Chinese police state in the background while seeking to rub away hard boundaries, Wang’s deep scholarship might have been better used confronting the indubitable realities of the rapidly receding world of which she writes.

Arthur Waldron, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, USA

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ON THE FRINGES OF THE HARMONIOUS SOCIETY: Tibetans and Uyghurs in Socialist China. NIAS Studies in Asian Topics. Edited by Trine Brox, Ildikó Bellér-Hann. Copenhagen: NIAS Press; Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press [distributor], 2014. xvi, 320 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$32.00, paper. ISBN 978-87-7694-142-0.                 

“On the Fringes of the Harmonious Society” is a collection of papers from a workshop held at the University of Copenhagen. The editors have drawn together academics working on Tibet and Xinjiang, situating their works in the context of China’s development strategy. The title “harmonious society” is drawn from Hu Jintao’s motto during his presidency. Hu was intimately connected to Tibet as the CCP’s first secretary. During his presidency of China, he launched the “Western Development Program,” which sought to promote an aggressive development strategy for the poor regions on the periphery within the mainstream of China’s economy. In the introduction, the editors hope to “make better sense, of the complex interconnectedness between culture, ethnic, and development policies in China” (1). The introduction also quotes Steven Harrell’s description of the regions as the “most resistant to the Centre’s civilizing efforts”(3). Despite similarities, the two regions are treated as separate regions with differing milieus, Buddhist Tibet and Islam in Xinjiang.

The collection consists of twelve contributions, with six papers dealing with Tibet and five papers devoted to Uighurs. Only the paper by Andrew Fischer (29-68) provides systemic comparative studies of the two regions. Fischer’s paper looks at the “structural foundations” of governance and economic strategies. Fischer places two regions within the context of state-led economic and developmental models. The paper shows economic growth rates in Tibet and Xinjiang exceed the national average between 2000 and 2010 (35). The rapid growth was seen as a success from the government’s point of view, but, as Fischer’s paper shows, it was not without its problems. Both Tibet and Xinjiang saw the growth generated by the expansion of state administration and infrastructure construction. Fischer’s paper focuses primarily on the labour transition resulting from the state’s development strategies. Both regions saw the privileging of the urban sector over the rural economy; economic development also led to the exclusion and marginalization of Tibetans and Uighurs from major sources of employment. Fischer makes extensive use of official statistics compiled by provincial governments and by the central government. These provide fruitful data for comparative studies of the regions; the data demonstrates growing marginalization of “minorities” in the labour market (65-66).

The rest of the contributions focus on region-specific issues; however, there are thematic similarities both in subject matter and issues highlighted in the papers. The contributions from Henryk Szadziewski (69-97), Tashi Nyima (127-158) and Elisa Cenecetti (159-182) all deal with the effects of the “Open the West Campaign” (xibu da kaifa) in differing ways. All the papers present similar findings in the development campaign that is aimed at closing the economic disparity between Western regions, which make up 71 percent percent of China’s landmass, yet it accounts for less than 28 percent of GDP (72). As noted in Fischer’s contribution the emphasis was on promoted material development without taking into account ethnic disparities in employment and income disparities. An interesting comparative point made in the book is that economic transformation was more disruptive in Tibetan areas, as the changes involved the destruction of a pastoral economy.

Chris Hann (183-208) and Francoise Robin’s (209-234) contributions look at language issues in Tibet and Xinjiang. Language issues facing the Tibetans and Uighurs are similar to the extent that the promotion of Chinese as the national language through state administration and education has disadvantaged indigenous languages. Both languages are seen as markers of identity and religion, and any decline in the use of the languages is associated with the stripping away of identity. The chapter by Emily Yeh (235-262) deals with of the environmental movement in China and points out that the Tibetan areas were the “point of origin” of China’s environmental activism (237). This would have presented a possibility of convergence of interested parties, beyond ethnicity and locality. Yeh shows that the Green Movement brought Tibet from the periphery to the mainstream of the Chinese nation. However, this presented a problem since it meant mobilizing the local Tibetans, and the Han environmentalists were far more sympathetic to local practices and mobilizing religious leaders to their sides. This led to the emergence of Tibetan environmentalists to create “a space for cultural assertion” (258) viewed by the authorities as detrimental to the state-led campaign of ethnic harmony by accentuating ethnic identity.

The papers by Joanne Finley (263-292), Rachael Harris (293-217) and Eric Schluessel (318-346) deal with social and cultural contestation in Xinjiang. Finley’s paper focuses on the reception of a popular television soap opera (Xinjiang Girl) and the debates it generated regarding inter-ethnic marriage. However, as the paper shows, inter-ethnic marriage remains taboo and marriage is seen as a site of maintaining Uyghur identity and resisting assimilation. Rachael Harris’s paper is the only one dealing with religion and gender issues, a subject that has received little to no attention in the context of Tibet or Xinjiang. The women’s ritual practices are seen as outside Uyghur Islamic society and the state views these practices as “discordant” with the state modernization goal, resulting in the double marginalization of Uyghur women. Eric Schluessel examines the positions and articulations by Uyghur public intellectuals. The situation described by Schuessel is very similar to the position of Tibetan intellectuals. Uyghur and Tibetan intellectuals face the problem of critiquing internal social problems without seeming to endorse the colonial power’s accusations of backwardness.

The book makes valuable contributions to the study of Tibetans and Ugyhurs in contemporary China. By providing well-researched and ethnographically rich details of Tibet and Xinjiang, the book moves the subject beyond treating the people merely as “minorities” who are recipients of state benevolence.

Tsering Shakya, The University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada                  

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CHINA FROM EMPIRE TO NATION-STATE. By Wang Hui; translated by Michael Gibbs Hill. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014. xiv, 179 pp. US$29.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-04695-5.

This book is the translation of the introduction to Wang Hui’s four-volume Rise of Modern Chinese Thought, published in Chinese in 2004 and as yet not translated. Wang is a preeminent new-left public intellectual in China, well known for his political and scholarly writings as well as for his editing of Dushu, one of China’s best-known intellectual journals. More of his work is available in English translation than is the case for most contemporary Chinese intellectuals, and this volume is a welcome addition to those interested in Wang in particular and in current intellectual trends in China in general.

Wang’s ambitious goal is to rethink the meanings of “China,” “modernity” and “modern China.” The context for his inquiry is essentially sinological and historical discourse on China as practiced in Japan, the United States and Europe over the past few decades (the introduction suggests that Wang pays less attention to his Chinese colleagues, which may be one reason that he is not universally appreciated there). His discipline is intellectual history, meaning both that he has read broadly and deeply in the writings of Chinese thinkers since the Song dynasty, and that he understands sinological and historical writing as a part of intellectual history. Wang’s approach is post-modern; it could hardly be otherwise, given the nature of his project. Happily, he avoids the sneering “holier than thou” tone of some post-modern writings. He also avoids “bashing the West” and “valourizing China,” although he does want us to rethink many of the central narratives of Chinese historical studies, both in China and elsewhere.

As the title of the volume suggests, most of these central narratives are related to notions concerning “empire” and “nation-state” in China and elsewhere. Relentlessly iconoclastic, Wang attempts to illustrate the extent to which these concepts, central to various narratives of modernity, are in fact much more complex than one might think from reading textbook accounts of Chinese history (or history elsewhere). In the first section of the book, “Two Narratives of China and Their Derivative Forms,” Wang argues that the common binary employed in most historical studies which discuss China’s evolution from premodern empire to modern nation are more teleological than fact-based, and ignore much of the complexity of the historical interactions between capitalism, imperialism and colonialism. In the second section, “The Empire/Nation-State Binary and European ‘World History,'” Wang similarly argues that much of the complexity—and intelligence —of policy discussion and implementation under the Qing has been swept under the rug by dismissive Western images of the Manchus as incompetent Keystone Kops (or by Chinese nationalist images of the Qing as racial enemies). In the third section, “Heavenly Principle/Universal Principle and History,” Wang examines the neo-Confucian notion of heavenly principle, its unfolding over the late dynastic period, and its confrontation with “universal principle” (broadly, science and rationality as introduced by the West in the late nineteenth century). Unlike Joseph Levenson, Wang does not see these two principles as mutually exclusive. Although based on a reading of China’s ancient civilization (rites and music), heavenly principle as conceived by Zhu Xi and others in the Song also contained an understanding of history and flexibility, and remains a resource for present-day Chinese intellectuals. In section 4, “China’s Modern Identity and the Transformation of Empire,” Wang seems to argue against the impact of print capitalism and Benedict Anderson’s idea of an “imagined community” in the rise of China’s modern identity, and for greater attention to the idea of economic empire under globalization.

As this brief summary suggests, this is heady stuff. Wang is clearly serious, erudite and, I think, judicious in what he is trying to do. It is a pleasure to read a Chinese scholar who takes Western and Japanese sinology seriously on its own terms, and who seeks to bend postmodernism to his own ends. At the very least, Wang asks interesting questions in interesting ways, and illustrates helpfully just how silly the (already much decried) notion of “changeless China” really is. At the same time, it is hard to tell the extent to which Wang is “successful.” The project exists at a very high level of abstraction, and given that Wang is hoping to interrogate just what we mean by “China” and “modern,” much of what he says is necessarily highly tentative. It does not help that Wang’s prose is rather dense; a typical paragraph might be a page long, and many are much longer (kudos to the translator, however, who seems to have done a marvelous job). Some passages were fascinating, and made me want to check out the larger four-volume work. Others were nothing short of exasperating, and made me put the book down. I suppose that in a study like this, much of the artistry consists in just getting the balls in the air. Juggling is appreciated for its own sake and there is no immediate larger goal.

Wang wants to do more than juggle, though, and I wish that he had tried harder to communicate his insights in declarative sentences. The final sentence of the volume reads: “Because the process of writing this book stretched out over ten years, I am already unable to sketch out the complete context of my theoretical considerations and how they have changed—this is something that still needs to be addressed” (145). I admire the honesty, but would still have appreciated a few morsels now.

David Ownby, Université de Montréal, Montréal, Canada

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BORN OUT OF PLACE: Migrant Mothers and the Politics of International Labor. By Nicole Constable. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014. xvii, 259 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$29.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-520-28202-5.

Nicole Constable has produced another compelling ethnography about gender and migration. Her 1997 classic Maid to Order in Hong Kong explores domination and resistance of foreign domestic workers (FDW). Romance on a Global Stage (2003) examines the landscape of desire and power in women’s and men’s pursuit of cross-border marriage. Born Out of Place is a sequel that weaves the critical threads of her previous studies to look into the experience of Filipina and Indonesian FDWs who became pregnant, gave birth and struggled to mother in Hong Kong.

FDWs in Hong Kong are granted local residency on the condition of a labour contract, and are deprived of the right to family unification. Although they may stay in Hong Kong for as long as decades, they are not entitled to permanent residency, and their Hong Kong-born babies are rarely given the right of abode, either.

Born Out of Place demonstrates a range of experiences: some women chose abortion or gave the baby away for adoption, while others struggled to raise the child by themselves or with their partners. Their migratory status and tactics of survival also vary, from those who sought legal residency through marriage or employment, to those on the less privileged spectrum who filed refugee or torture claims but mostly failed in their applications eventually. During their extended period of stay in Hong Kong, they made ends meet by locating low-paying illegal work, including camping in line for the release of iPhones.

The thousands of migrant babies are numerically limited, compared to the total number of FDWs in Hong Kong (about 300,000 in 2012). Some activists have therefore dismissed this as a “tiny little problem.” And yet, Constable has successfully argued that this small problem can speak to large theoretical questions and reveal wider structural paradoxes.

First, this book poignantly reveals the human costs and social injustice of temporary labour migration. The “guest worker” regime places migrant workers in a condition of what Agamben calls “bare life”: they are denied the needs to fulfill their sexual lives and union with family members. Some migrant women desire children to gain some stability in their transitional life, but their pregnancy paradoxically pushes them into a more precarious condition. Although they are legally entitled to maternal leave, their employers tend to terminate the contract, leaving many jobless and undocumented.

Second, Constable vividly demonstrates that the intimate life hidden in the glamorous global city is shadowed by power inequality and moral ambivalence. Although the book focuses on the experiences of migrant women, Constable made a concerted effort to hear the voice of men. Hong Kong is a meeting place for Western tourists, African traders, and South Asian asylum seekers and undocumented workers. Many of these men, as well as local Chinese residents, become “boyfriends” to the FDWs, a term blurring into “a sort of customer, client, or benefactor relationship” (129). Migrant women seek what they call “Hong Kong happy” to escape the patriarchal constraints at home, but they still aspire to the moral legitimacy of marriage. Some bear the consequence of pregnancy because “not using contraception is associated with trust, hope and intimacy” (133).

Finally, the book shows the bitter reality of family alienation and circular migration as an unfortunate and unexpected consequence of labour migration. Constable revisited these women in Indonesia and found that many had become alienated from their natal family and left their children to work overseas again. She coins the concept “the migratory cycle of atonement” to describe how the moral stigma associated with single motherhood and foreign-born children, coupled with the difficulty of earning sufficient wages back home, tends to push women to reenter the migratory cycle. They hope to redeem themselves by converting their earlier moral failure to a steady flow of remittance, which is nevertheless earned in the face of bare, stripped-down lives.

Constable made a conscious decision to write in an accessible, story-telling manner. She is not shy about her passion and sympathy for these migrant women, or her position as a politically engaged feminist-ethnographer-activist. This helps her to delve into migrant women’s underground lives and unsettled feelings, and also enriches this book with touching life stories with telling details. Such a format, however, leaves academic readers like me hungry for further theoretical analysis. Perhaps the expansion of a concluding chapter can tease out issues such as the circuit between paid and unpaid reproductive labour across multiple spheres, the intersecting inequalities of race, gender and class in multiracial intimacy, and the research implications for policy and activism.

This book is an ideal assignment for courses about gender, migration, citizenship or globalization in anthropology, sociology and Asian studies. It would also interest lay readers who are concerned about the vulnerability of disposable labour and the persistence of humanistic values in an era of global migration.

Pei-chia Lan, National Taiwan University, Taipei, Taiwan

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A LANDSCAPE OF TRAVEL: The Work of Tourism in Rural Ethnic China. Studies on Ethnic Groups in China. By Jenny Chio. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2014. xxxi, 294 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$30.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-295-99366-9.

Over hundreds of years, the mountains of Guangxi have been transformed into terraced rice paddies famous the world over, a textbook example of the human transformation of China’s natural environment. Since the 1980s, Ping’an has become a major tourism destination, though its famous fields are increasingly sown by outside hands hired to keep up appearances. The local labour that maintained these terraces is now devoted to tourism work, including guesthouse management, village beautification, and new ethnic displays created specifically for tourism.

The situation in Ping’an village makes up one of the two comparative cases that Jenny Chio presents in A Landscape of Travel. The other is the village of Upper Jidao, a nine-hour drive across the border into Guizhou, provided you make the right turns. Upper Jidao has no famous landscapes, but like Ping’an it is caught up in a national push to economically and socially develop the countryside. In the 2000s, Upper Jidao village became a provincial target for tourism development. Despite being marginalized by more popular and accessible Miao villages in eastern Guizhou, Upper Jidao carved a piece of the tourism market by playing up its rural ethnicity with ethnic costumes and performances, and disguising modern brickwork behind wooden plank facades.

Chio’s book is an ethnographic account of the mobilities and subjectivities of rural ethnic villagers in China working to become visible, attractive and relevant in a competitive new tourism economy. Chio finds that in both villages, “doing” tourism (gao lüyou, in Mandarin) is not something tourists do, but is a process undertaken by villagers learning how to be ethnic and rural (210). This is not an altogether new insight, yet the book makes an important contribution in covering the intensified pressure placed on rural areas over the past decade to more actively contribute to national economic and social goals. In highlighting the role of migrant subjectivities and labor, Chio has at the same time helped clarify the relationship between migration and tourism in China. The rediscovery of rural and remote China by urban Chinese has been a significant social and political change over the past two decades in China. This is a question that I have pursued in my own work. But mobilities of leisure and labour don’t map cleanly onto the schematic movement of urban tourists to rural China and rural labourers to urban China, and A Landscape of Travel is a valuable study of how closely related these mobilities are.

Stories of Ping’an and Upper Jidao are woven through each chapter, each contributing to Chio’s focus on a broad set of theoretical issues. The introduction explains that instead of focusing on the mobility and the visuality of tourists, the book concentrates on the concrete work rural ethnic villagers do in order to be mobile and be seen. Chapter 1 surveys literature on ethnicity and tourism in China, and provides historical overviews of tourism development in Ping’an and Upper Jidao. Chapter 2 frames tourism in these villages as part of the central state’s New Socialist Countryside campaign, and as commodified through the trope of the nongjiale, the “happy farmer home.” The middle chapters go into more detail regarding the mobilities, appearances and subjectivities behind the work of tourism. Tourist subjectivities sneak into the book in chapter 3, which covers the uneven mobilities generated through tourism development—how rural tourism requires that someone remain in the role of the peasant, and how residents come to see their village and themselves through tourism. Chapter 4 probes the politics of the visual work required for tourism, how villagers make themselves and their landscapes appear rural and ethnic. Chapter 5 covers the local politics of tourism—between residents, developers, and local governments—and the requirement to create distance and difference between rural ethnic villages. The conclusion reprises the major themes of the book through an account of a tour to Ping’an organized by Chio for Upper Jidao officials.

Chio demonstrates sensitivity to the complex relationships and politics of tourism development in these villages. In her close focus on specific villages in a specific period of time, Chio does not slip into making generalizations about all tourism in China. However, there is no explicit discussion about how this might relate to other parts of China: to “non-ethnic” rural villages, for example, to more urbanized (or more remote) ethnic areas, or to China’s “greening,” “ruralizing” cities. And while the book establishes its place in past literature, it makes only tentative steps into new theoretical territory. The central idea of “landscape,” for example, is framed in terms of the visual and phenomenological, rather than the material and political. Geographer Don Mitchell’s book The Lie of the Land, with its take on landscape as labour history, came to mind as I read Chio’s account of how these villages came to appear both rural and ethnic.

A Landscape of Travel is a valuable contribution to the study of tourism and ethnic minorities in contemporary China. It is unique in its attention to the role of rural-to-rural and returnee migrant subjectivities in the making of rural tourism destinations. Chio’s work echoes a number of important book-length studies on ethnicity in southwestern China going back to the 1990s. It provides an updated account of dynamics detailed in the work of scholars such as Tim Oakes, Margaret Swain and Louisa Schein, and it stands out among more recent but less rounded ethnographic books on tourism in China.

Travis Klingberg, University of Colorado Boulder, Boulder, USA

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BREAKING WITH THE PAST: The Maritime Customs Service and the Global Origins of Modernity in China. By Hans van de Ven. New York: Columbia University Press, 2014. xiv, 396 pp. (Figures, tables, graphs.) US$50.00, cloth . ISBN 978-0-231-13738-6.

Breaking with the Past: The Maritime Customs Service and the Global Origins of Modernity in China by Hans van de Ven does indeed break with the past. It breaks with past approaches to modern Chinese history. It breaks with scholarship that neatly compartmentalizes Chinese, British Imperial and Treaty Port history. Instead, it offers an interconnected narrative that addresses the big present-day questions about the origins of China’s new position as a global power. This is answered through a long overdue reinterpretation of the significance of the often overlooked foreign-led state agency, the Chinese Maritime Customs Service (1854-1949).

The book comprises seven chapters, together with an introduction and an epilogue. The introduction explains the significance of the Customs Service as a middle house for Chinese and foreign contact. The author states that the “aim of this study is to write the Customs Service back into the history of modern China and modern globalisation and so, more generally, to bring the foreign back” (5). Its approach to modernity attempts to be alert to its patchwork nature, to its improvisational aspects, and to the fact that what we might see as typically European or Chinese, in reality came about as the two met. He states his argument that the Customs Service was a chameleon because of the hybrid quality personnel it employed. As a “frontier regime” it gave commercial opportunities for advancement not just to reputable merchants, but also to adventurers, arms dealers, speculators, mercenaries and sailors.

This book does really break with the past. This break is most noticeable in the author’s treatment of John King Fairbank’s notion of “synarchy.” While acknowledging Fairbank’s status in the historiography of this period, van de Ven does nonetheless revise the overly Orientalist and imperialist perspective that Fairbank had on Chinese history. He writes, “Fairbank was naïve about the political context in which the Customs Service operated and did not do what is an imperative for historians: follow the money. He failed to pay sufficient attention to conflicts among foreigners as well as between Chinese officials and Manchu aristocrats. Nor was he sufficiently alert to China’s long history of commercialisation and overseas trade, or of the fact that its officials and merchants often collaborated or that the weak, too, often have some sort of power” (8).

Chapter 1 assesses Prince Gong and his cosmopolitan efforts to use the British and French as a counterweight to the Taiping. It combines that assessment with a study of the activities of Horatio Lay as first inspector general, whose more forceful approach tested Prince Gong’s willingness to accommodate British demands. Lay’s dismissal and the appointment of Robert Hart signalled a clear change in philosophy for the Customs Service, from being an instrument of British informal empire to one that was “more a Chinese institution” (63). This separation between trade and governance is today regarded as one of the modern principles of free trade. Chapter 2 discusses the contribution of Robert Hart to the consolidation of the Customs Service, not least by the construction of a network of lighthouses. Hart’s “panopticon,” then, was built as a centralized and disciplined administration that inhabited a space between the Qing and Western powers that was to become a modern and established bureaucracy on the Chinese coast. That space was, perhaps more accurately, a locum for interdependence, that is, the mutual need, commercial and otherwise, of the foreign for China and China for the foreign. This moment marks the start of economic globalization as we now know it and the place of China in the world economy.

Chapter 3 examines the ever-difficult relationship between China and Japan through the lens of the London office of the Maritime Customs Service. In the period between the Taiping Rebellion and the First Sino-Japanese War, China went from being the leading East Asian naval power to second fiddle to Japan as the terms of trade changed in the bilateral relationship: China exported agricultural and other primary goods to Japan while it imported industrial goods from Japan. Despite the best efforts of the London office to revitalize the Customs Service, the Japanese pressure proved too much and led to the collapse of Chinese rule in the seas and markets of East Asia.

Chapter 4 provides insight into the involvement of the Customs Service in the fiscal affairs of the country. As a lender of last resort, it underwrote loan bonds to pay dues to Japan after the First Sino-Japanese War and guaranteed the Boxer Indemnity. Chapter 5 examines the role played by Francis Aglen at the helm of the Customs Service. His commitment to fiscal prudence ultimately paved the way for the Nationalist takeover of the country and his replacement by Frederick Maze. The Nationalists, in turn, used the Customs Service as a cash cow, a raiser of revenue with which to fund their revolutionary activities.

Chapter 6 traces the formation of the modern Chinese state through the development of a consistent tariff policy under the direction of the Customs Service. This administration provided a ready template for accountability, which would later prove useful for the governance of the Chinese polity. Chapter 7 outlines the collapse of the Customs Service under pressure from the horrors of the Second Sino-Japanese War and the Communist revolution. This was a time of great confusion that even saw the parallel appointment of two rival inspectors general, the Japanese-backed Kishimoto Hirokichi and the American Lester K. Little. The Korean War and the paranoia of “enemies within” was the final nail in the coffin for the Customs Service.

Once again, van de Ven wants—indeed, he needs—to write “about the Service largely as a way to bring the foreign back into China’s modern history” (309). He succeeds. He does so with the support of a relentless archival study that took him all over China and beyond, from Nanjing and its Second Historical Archives to Kew and the British National Archives. His admirable focus on the big picture combined with detailed archival analysis is underwritten with rigour, in telling the broader narratives from Old China to Young China to Nationalist China to Communist China to China today as the largest economy of the world. And out of this narrative, the colour green of Customs Service flags and ensigns triumphantly appears in postal services everywhere in Greater China as a visual reminder of the historical legacy of this great agency of the Chinese state, fittingly, in the green of Hart’s Ireland, not the vermilion red of China.

Stephanie Villalta Puig, Technological and Higher Education Institute of Hong Kong, Hong Kong, China

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SEEING TRANSNATIONALLY: How Chinese Migrants Make Their Dreams Come True. Global Migration and China. By Li Minghuan. Leuven (Belgium): Leuven University Press; HangZhou (China): Zhejiang University Press; Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press [distributor], 2013. xiii, 317 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$79.50, cloth. ISBN 978-90-5867-901-7.

This book consists of a collection of papers that were all previously published in English during the author’s more than twenty years of studying transnational migration from China since1986. Not all the original publications, particularly those consisting of conference papers or research reports, are easily accessible and a pulling together of a lifetime’s work on the theme is perhaps warranted. Several of the papers have been lightly edited since their original publication or updated through return visits to the field. The book is divided into three main parts, together with a short introduction and concluding remarks.

Part 1, with six chapters, covers empirical studies in places of origin of migration. These focus on the author’s main areas of fieldwork in Wenzhou in Zhejiang Province, and in several parts of Fujian Province. However, in two chapters, the author also examines the evolution of the relatively recent migration to Israel and the process of labour recruiting in southern China. This section concludes with a discussion of an agricultural village established in Fujian Province to settle Chinese migrants from Southeast Asia from the 1950s. Part 2, also comprised of six chapters, deals with destinations of migration, and focuses primarily on Europe, concentrating heavily on the Netherlands. Migrant associations, the evolution of migration to Europe, and students and scholars are the specific themes examined. Somewhat out-of-place is a short chapter on refugee determination in British Columbia, Canada. The third part consists of three chapters, two of which are based upon cemetery archives from nineteenth-century Batavia, which are today held in the Netherlands and which generate much useful information on the Chinese in Indonesia. The first chapter in this third part consists of reflections on the Dutch language, landscape painting and the nature of Dutch culture to argue the case that the Dutch are the Chinese of Europe based upon a common entrepreneurial capability.

Such a wide range of topics certainly provides insight into the great diversity of Chinese transnational migration. However, it also leads to two weaknesses. First, there are no common themes running through the chapters of the book that might hold the book together, and one might have wished for a greater degree of editorial attention and updating to try to bring about a greater consistency. For example, chapter 8, a short entry that reviews Chinese migration to Europe, could very easily have been incorporated into chapter 12, where the same issues are introduced using more recent data (183-185). At the very least, cross-referencing between the two chapters to try to reconcile the different estimates given for the numbers of Chinese in Europe would have helped the reader. The author gives an estimate of some 2.5 million Chinese in Europe around 2008 (183), whereas recent United Nations estimates place the number of migrants from China in Europe at just over one million in 2013, although many of the one million other migrants from Southeast Asia would also have been ethnic Chinese. Readers would have benefited from a much fuller discussion of the differences between numbers of migrants from China and numbers of people of Chinese ethnicity. One might also have expected the revisions to the papers to have incorporated information from an important source such as Lynn Pann’s The Encyclopedia of the Chinese Overseas (Singapore, Archipelago Press, 1998, second edition, 2006). Unfortunately, the author could not have had access to Elizabeth Sinn’s recent meticulous work on labour recruitment and migration from southern China, in Pacific Crossing (Hong Kong, Hong Kong University Press, 2013).

The second weakness inherent in the breadth and range of topics in the chapters is that it has led to a lack of depth of analysis on particular topics. For example, one wondered whether there was any relationship between the emigrant villages (qiaoxiang) in Wenzhou and the some two million (9) immigrants from other rural parts of China who appeared to have moved into Wenzhou. The village of Lishan seemed to be depopulating but was this typical of qiaoxiang areas, of which there were many? What was happening to vacant housing and unused land? Was there evidence of land consolidation? Or of houses being rented out to immigrants, elsewhere if not in Lishan? We are never told. Again, in the case of Songping, the village created for migrants from Southeast Asia is presented as typical. However, how do we know that it is representative? Much more information needed to be presented to justify the case. A third example is that it is never made clear upon which basis asylum seekers were awarded refugee status in Canada. That is, what would seem to be interesting follow-up questions are never examined in the various chapters.

The strength of this book is also its weakness: the great range of topics covered. Some of these topics have received relatively little attention in the literature, such as the Chinese migration to Israel or the villages established for ethnic migrants from Indonesia. However, once introduced, the reader is often left frustrated that the research was never pushed to a greater depth. Li Minghuan has done great service over almost a quarter of a century in pioneering different approaches to the topic of Chinese transnational migration. It is a pity that a greater effort was not made in the editing and updating of the papers presented in this book to take into account both more recent research and a fuller interpretation of her own empirical data.

Ronald Skeldon, University of Sussex, Brighton, United Kingdom

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GUANGDONG AND CHINESE DIASPORA: The Changing Landscape of Qiaoxiang. Routledge Contemporary China Series, 94. By Yow Cheun Hoe. London; New York: Routledge, 2013. xxi, 231 pp. (Maps, tables, illus.) US$135.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-415-64222-4.

This book sets out to challenge what author Yow Cheun Hoe describes as an enduring “myth that the Chinese diaspora’s relations with China is something natural and primordial, and that regardless of their base outside China and their generation of migration, the Chinese diaspora are inclined to participate enthusiastically in China’s social and economic agendas” (1). On the contrary, Chinese overseas have in general been distancing themselves from their ancestral homeland for more than six decades since the establishment of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, the rise of postcolonial nation-states in Southeast Asia, and the abrogation of anti-Chinese exclusionary policies in the former white settler colonies of North America and Australasia. Moreover, Yow argues, “not all Chinese diasporic communities are the same in terms of mentality and orientation” (1) and the degree of their attachment and connections to China often varies greatly from one community to another. In fact, Yow maintains, affective ties as a whole are less important than other considerations when it comes to determining diasporic investments in today’s China. During the reform era in China since 1978, emigrants’ ties to their ancestral villages, primordial sentiments and feelings of patriotism toward China “have not necessarily enhanced the degree of involvement of the Chinese diaspora in the economic arena of China” (2). Instead, Yow argues, it is primarily “business calculation and economic rationale” that has determined the “destination and magnitude of diasporic engagement” (2). In order to prove his thesis, the author has painstakingly assembled evidence from a wide array of written and oral sources, including local newspapers and magazines, government documents, personal interviews, questionnaires and extended periods of fieldwork in China and Southeast Asia.

The core of the book consists of a series of detailed case studies that examine the shifting familial, cultural and economic ties between two major qiaoxiang (emigrant districts) in China’s Guangdong province (Panyu and Xinyi) and Chinese communities in Singapore and Malaysia, Hong Kong and North America. These case studies are further augmented by the research findings of scholars who have studied diasporic ties in Guangdong’s other qiaoxiang. The result is an empirically rich and evidence-driven analysis that also makes a significant theoretical contribution. Yow shows that the current economic disparity among Guangdong’s qiaoxiang is something that has emerged most clearly in the past three decades since the onset of the reform period. Qiaoxiang that have been successful in attracting diasporic donations and foreign investment have been transformed and revitalized, while those that have not have become quiet backwaters and relics of an earlier time. The author demonstrates convincingly that the key determinant of qiaoxiang success in attracting investment capital is not diasporic connections per se, but rather economic location and, specifically, proximity to Hong Kong. The only partial exceptions to this pattern are qiaoxiang such as Kaiping and Taishan. As a result of their relatively remote location outside the main Pearl River Delta region, Kaiping and Taishan have received far less in the way of diasporic business investments in recent decades. However, both have managed to compensate for their disadvantaged economic location by becoming the recipients of considerable charitable donations and social welfare investments, thanks to their historic links with Chinese in North America.

The short summary above does not do justice to the breadth and depth of topics explored by Yow. The book is comprised of eight chapters including an introduction and conclusion. After setting the stage with a broad overview of the Chinese diaspora and a critical review of recent literature on qiaoxiang ties and transnational business networks, chapter 2 provides a detailed and nuanced discussion of historic patterns of out-migration from Guangdong and the formation and subsequent development of the province’s distinctive qiaoxiang areas from the early part of the twentieth century to the present. Chapter 3 describes the “waning ancestral ties” (38) of Singaporean and Malaysian Chinese with their ancestral villages in Panyu and Xinyi and their “deepening commitment” to their countries of residence over the past half century. The next four chapters, which constitute the heart of the book, examine the fluctuating fortunes of Panyu and Xinyi before and after 1978. The former profited handsomely from its strategic location in the Pearl River Delta, becoming a major magnate for Hong Kong investment capital, while the latter, located in the mountainous interior of the province, continued to languish economically as it had for much of the twentieth century.

Yow’s book is written in the same spirit as earlier studies by Madeline Hsu and Adam McKeown that challenge migration scholars to rethink entrenched assumptions and basic categories of conceptualization and approach, in the process leading us toward new avenues of research and understanding. Guangdong and Chinese Diaspora provides a useful corrective to a clutch of earlier studies that rushed to proclaim and celebrate the reinvigoration of diasporic ties to China after 1978 without engaging in very much research to support their effusive claims. Empirically rich and theoretically engaged, this book will be of interest not only for historians and social scientists who specialize in Chinese migration, but for all scholars who are interested in human diasporas and how they change and evolve over time.

Glen Peterson, The University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada                       

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A CONTINUOUS REVOLUTION: Making Sense of Cultural Revolution Culture. Harvard East Asian Monographs, 343. By Barbara Mittler. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center; Harvard University Press [distributor], 2012. xvi, 486 pp. (Illus.) US$59.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-06581-9.

A Continuous Revolution is a strongly argued book and given its sweeping nature is bound to be the subject of controversy in the field. Continuity is the theme that Mittler hammers away at repeatedly. Her subject is cultural production during the Chinese Cultural Revolution over the officially defined time period of 1966-76. By continuity, Mittler means cultural continuity from the late Qing period to the present day. In every chapter she places the output of the Cultural Revolution period in music, visual arts and literature into the continuum of modern Chinese cultural history.

The book is carefully organized to bring out this central argument. The introduction deals with broad questions defining cultural production as propaganda, education and form of art. She ties the roots of modern Chinese culture to the May 4th Movement of 1919 as the first Cultural Revolution. The two revolutions must not be analyzed strictly in terms of their place in the art or literary history of China. A broader lens is necessary to understand fully the Cultural Revolution of 1966-76 and its impact on the targeted audience, i.e., the Chinese masses. Mittler’s assertions about the Cultural Revolution are based on a comprehensive reading, listening and viewing of the material products of the period from Mao buttons, to poster art, to well-known revolutionary operas and ballets, to editions of the Little Red Book, and the mass singing of revolutionary classics like the Internationale. Examples of the above are housed in special collections at Heidelberg University where Mittler is the senior China scholar. Besides these primary sources, she draws heavily upon interviews (names kept anonymous) with countless individuals who experienced the Cultural Revolution and its cultural production as adults (the majority are intellectuals).

Mittler then proceeds to show in chapter 1, from “ Mozart to Mao to Mozart,” how music of the period fit into a long tradition, rooted in this case in the popular music of the 1920s and 1930s. She argues that Cultural Revolution operas, ballets and the efforts of Mei Lanfang in particular were neither xenophobic nor a negation of tradition. They had in fact strong connections to various Western styles and traditions while echoing Chinese traditional musical forms. Chapter 2 dwells on music, orchestrations and songs sung in mass or individually. She goes to quite some length to examine the work of the popular rock star Cui Jian and the connection of his music to the Cultural Revolution (even when he is mocking it). Chapter 3 is an analysis of the written words or scriptures of the Cultural Revolution period, boldly refuting as a myth the idea that the Cultural Revolution attacked and destroyed traditional philosophical and canonical works (like that of Confucius). To demonstrate this point in chapters 3 and 4, she provides an elaborate analysis of the divergent versions of the Sanzijing or three-character classics that were produced between 1966-76. She also argues that the story of the Foolish Old Man Who Moves Mountains and the Little Red Book have deep roots in China’s past (and survive today in post-1979 PRC). Chapters 5 and 6 examine the visual arts: paintings (especially portraiture), posters, comic strips. Here she emphasizes the variety of cultural production and the difference between the earlier period from 1966 to 1972 and the later period from 1972 to 1976.

Throughout the book, Mittler takes issue with most established scholars who have written on the culture of the Cultural Revolution: Julia Andrews, Paul Clark, Colin MacKerras, Orville Schell and Mary Ann Farquhar. In the conclusion she insists that the Cultural Revolution was not a period of cultural stagnation and shallow propaganda models, out of step with the rest of modern Chinese cultural history. Cultural production of the period was neither xenophobic nor iconoclastic. Like the products of the May 4th period, the art, music and literary output of the 1966-76 period represent a tapestry, rich in its diversity and connections to both earlier Chinese traditions and foreign influences. She ends the book by calling for a reevaluation of the Cultural Revolution period as a complicated, contradictory time culturally speaking that has been overly stereotyped and dismissed as unworthy of serious scholarly examination.

Mittler’s book is bold in its insistence on the continuity and relevance of Cultural Revolution art to understanding present-day China. To achieve this, she avoids the politics of the Cultural Revolution. Hardly mentioned is Jiang Qing, who is usually thought of as a sort of cultural czar before her downfall in 1976. In other words, Mittler explores the context and precedents for the art and forms of Cultural Revolution propaganda without discussing their political purposes or relevance to the power and ideological struggles of the period. Is it possible understand the cultural production of the 1966-76 period devoid of its political context? Although Soviet influences are mentioned, comparisons are not pursued vis-à-vis Chinese cultural production as part of the communist cultural industry that dominated Eastern-bloc countries during the Cold War.

In contemporary China, the legacy of the Cultural Revolution period in cultural terms is contradictory. On the one hand there is a rejection of Mao-era cultural production by many intellectuals and artists (Wang Hui for example) in favour of returning to traditional norms from the nineteenth and early twentieth century. The reverse reaction is also present: the revival of old Maoist slogans and revolutionary songs at mass meetings, led by political figures like Bo Xilai and muscularly nationalist intellectuals. The legacy is clearly complicated and how it fits into Mittler’s argument of continuity is not clear.

Stephen R. MacKinnon, Arizona State University, Tempe, USA

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WALKING A TIGHTROPE: Defending Human Rights in China. Asian Insights, no. 6. By Gert Holmgaard Nielsen. Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2014. xxxii, 277 pp. (B&W photos.) £18.99, paper. ISBN 978-87-7694-131-4.

Faced with evidence of human rights abuse, victims and activists typically have two choices. They can shout loud, call out the abusers and demand retribution and redemption. Or, they can work with the system in which the abusers operate to try to persuade, cajole or even force them to repair the wrongs they have committed. The specifics of any one situation dictate which is likely to be the most effective approach, though in reality it is nearly always a combination of the two that yields results. The headlines are usually grabbed by protestors pursuing the first option precisely because they shout loudest, but this cannot be allowed to overshadow, still less diminish, the contributions to change that the latter group make.

It is with the actions and attitudes of a collection of low-key human rights defenders working inside China, and with the Chinese legal system, that this book is concerned. Its documentary style of delivery—comprising extended interview notes and some reflective commentary—makes for captivating reading. There are ten interviewees. They work across a range of human rights matters: migrant workers; women; unregistered (i.e., non-citizen) children; free speech; democracy; the police and court systems. All are refreshingly frank and, with the exception of two lawyers working for a district prosecution service, happy to be named. It is no surprise that the prosecutors use pseudonyms as they have much to lose by speaking out (or laughing nervously, as was their telling response when asked whether they have faith in the Chinese legal system).

It is clear that the reformatory-minded interviewees in the book are as committed to exposing abuse and seeking justice as are those of a more revolutionary bent. It is just that their methods, and often physical locations, differ. Demonstrative revolutionary critics tend to be outsiders—that is, neither Chinese, nor living in China—while these reformers are both. It is they who must walk the tightrope of the book’s title: maintaining the delicate balance between being active, critical and visible, and overdoing it such that they are knocked off their perch (and into jail). It requires tact as well as guile, and a large dollop of bravery.

Gert Holmgaard Nielsen, a journalist who has lived and worked in China for many years (and is fluent in Chinese), is masterful in the way he collects, arranges and presents the material. He clearly empathizes with his subjects, but that said he is no patsy. One of the best features of the book is how he presses interviewees on their motivations and reasoning. When labour activist Wang Kan takes a job with the very government think-tank he had previously criticized, Nielsen pushes him to explain his reasoning (basically, he is playing a long game, gaining experience from both sides), and when Yang Songcai expresses some optimism regarding the situation of defense lawyers, Nielsen repeatedly challenges him in light of apparent evidence to the contrary.

There are two intellectual themes running through the book. One is the determination of the interviewees to promote the rule of law over the rule of man (or guanxi, as politician Wu Quing puts it). Each works through the existing legal system, insisting that laws be enforced as stated rather than at the discretion of those in power (especially the police, the judiciary and government officials), and where the stated law is inadequate, pushing reforms—such as the new Criminal Procedure Law 2012 in which “human rights” are now expressly mentioned, or the successful registration of a school for the children of migrant workers in Beijing. An important feature of many legal cases explored in the book is not that they succeeded (most did not), but that they excited media and public attention that led eventually (and often quietly) to desirable outcomes. Public interest lawyer He Hairen’s exposure of a hidden insurance tax on train travel, (thereby permitting claims to be made where previously they were not thought possible), and the raising of domestic violence as a matter for public debate and policy reform noted by activist Li Yang, are two results achieved in this way.

The second theme concerns claims of Chinese exceptionalism. Many interviewees highlight the differences between China and the West, and stress the importance of the gradual, indirect route towards change. Li Ying refers to the “long, slow haul” towards women’s equality, while Wu Qing says much the same about China’s road to democracy. Scholar Li Buyun accepts that when he protests about the human rights abuses of convicts he must couch the discussion as one about their “legal status” if his voice is to be heard, while lawyer Yang Songcai recognizes that the most persuasive way to teach human rights to the police, prosecutors and judges is to present them as contributing to the achievement of such officially sanctioned goals as a “harmonious” and “inclusive” society.

A number of interviewees gently chide Western critics for being too impatient or unrealistic in their expectations regarding human rights reforms in China, or being blind to the achievements that have been made. Some are also ambivalent (if not a little resentful) of Chinese dissidents feted in the West, referring to AIDS activist Hu Jia, Falun Gong defender Gao Zhisheng, Nobel laureate Liu Xiabo, and blind lawyer Chen Guangcheng, among others, as “lone wolves,” or pointing out the broad shoulders of others upon which they have been able to stand. This, of course, is a common (and not unfounded) lament of the unsung about the sung, though the diffidence of the interviewees here might also be a direct result of these individuals’ status as persona non grata in China.

But all that said, rhetorical value is seen in measuring Chinese standards against those of international human rights law. Children’s rights activist Liu Huawen, for example, challenges skeptics to “read the Convention [on the Rights of the Child] and tell me which articles contradict our culture,” and the ingrained culture of police torture, as noted by various interviewees, is not only contrary to Chinese criminal law and the Chinese Constitution, it also violates China’s obligations under the Convention Against Torture.

The insights this book offers into how human rights advocacy is practiced on the ground and on a daily basis in China are both profound and compelling. These are stories that need to be listened to by those outside China as much as those inside, and so, to that end, we should be very grateful to Nielsen and his subjects for telling them in such an attractive and accessible manner. To reach out and enlighten in this way can only help to build human rights bridges within China, and between China and the rest of the world.

David Kinley, The University of Sydney, Sydney, Australia

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CONSUMPTION IN CHINA: How China’s New Consumer Ideology is Shaping the Nation. China Today Series. By LiAnne Yu. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press; Hoboken, NJ: Wiley [distributor], 2014. xi, 207 pp. (Map.) US$22.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-7456-6971-7.

China’s sustained prosperity over the decades has considerably raised household income, and accordingly, improved the amounts, varieties and qualities of consumer goods. However, the World Bank reports that China’s household consumption expenditures only represent 35 percent of GDP in 2012, far below the world’s average of 60 percent. As China is engaged in transforming itself into a more consumption-based economy, LiAnne Yu’s new book Consumption in China: How China’s New Consumer Ideology is Shaping the Nation provides a timely guide to explore the consumerism in contemporary China.

The book aims to unveil “what is global and what is unique about China’s consumer revolution” (27). Yu collected the first-hand information including real-life cases and individual interviews in Beijing and Shanghai from 1990 to 2013 and connected her empirical observations with academic theories. Yu, who received a PhD in anthropology from UC San Diego, is an independent consultant specializing in consumer cultures in emerging markets. She has twenty-year experience in ethnographic research on behalf of global businesses seeking expertise on consumer habits.

The book covers three themes: the transformation of Chinese society, the influence of the one-child policy, and the activism against adverse consequences of consumption. The first theme discusses what modernization is bringing to China: public propaganda areas are giving way to malls and hypermarkets; consumers move seamlessly between virtual and real spaces with the aid of the Internet and digital devices; and social distinctions reemerge as people pursue social superiority through conspicuous consumption. In Chinese society, with keen interests in material possessions, relations with potential spouses and child rearing are increasingly commoditized, which fits in with Fan’s viewpoint that social status is the key in both male-female and intergenerational relationships (C. Simon Fan, Vanity Economics: An Economic Exploration of Sex, Marriage and Family, Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar, 2014). The second theme addresses how the one-child policy is shaping China’s consumption landscape: while elder generations save every penny to give their kids the very best, young singletons focus on a lifestyle that is self-indulgent and self-fulfilling. The final theme is about how Chinese people express their consumption freedom, with topics spanning from a boycott of Japanese brands, media censorship, moral decay, and environmental degradation to the lack of food safety standards.

Yu’s work contributed to the literature by emphasizing the role of the “state” in Chinese consumerism. In the planned economy era, China’s centralized economic and trade policy led to surly services in state-owned stores, shoddy products and a scarcity of imported commodities. Despite its recent transformation into market economy, the state still employs a heavy hand in restricting foreign corporate access and Internet freedom. More importantly, China’s one-child policy, which has been implemented for over thirty years, has been shaping the consumption experiences of several generations.

One interesting aspect of this book is the identification of some consumption patterns with Chinese characteristics: for example, reusing branded shopping bags to carry lunches and phones, traveling abroad for shopping instead of sightseeing, and sitting in MacDonald’s for leisure time rather than eating fast food. Yu also argued that “consumers in China seek to display their hard work, entrepreneurialism, and potential for upward mobility” (82), which is against the idea of Thorstein Veblen (a 19th century American economist and sociologist) that being idle and wealthy is the most desirable status.

We also find a couple of limitations in this book. First, Yu seemed to attribute the prevailing consumerism to China’s political ideology while ignoring the contributions of market liberalization, technological advances, and cultural traditions. For example, Yu found that “China has overtaken the US to become the world’s largest market for luxury goods” (4) but did not probe deeply into the motivation of the massive purchases. In fact, many Chinese buy luxury goods for families and friends, instead of for themselves, probably because the Chinese culture values collectivism more than individualism.

Our other concern is regarding the author’s research methodology. Yu conducted research based on her personal conversations with upper-middle-class residents of Beijing and Shanghai, yet overlooked the huge population (over billions!) in the less rich cities and rural areas. Recording the lifestyles of the elites but not of the ordinary people makes the book’s title appear misleading. Besides, as Kiminori Matsuyama notes, the development of mass consumption societies follows the Flying Geese pattern: as productivity improves, each consumer good becomes affordable to a continually growing number of households (“The Rise of Mass Consumption Societies,” Journal of Political Economy 110[5], 2002: 1035-1070). It is therefore worth investigating the entire spectrum of the Chinese market.

Weaving the vivid human stories and representative voices into a theoretical framework, LiAnne Yu offers us a general understanding of consumerism in China’s cosmopolitan hubs from her perspective as an ethnographic professional. The book also gives a detailed portrait that depicts the universalities and particularities of China’s consumption practices through the eyes of a non-native. Overall, it is an easy-to-understand, up-to-date work which can be recommended to businesspeople who are exploring Chinese consumer behaviors and those who are new to, yet interested in China.

C. Simon Fan, Lingnan University, Hong Kong, China
Yu Pang, Hong Kong Polytechnic University, Hong Kong  China

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CHINA’S FOREIGN POLICY. China Today Series. By Stuart Harris. Cambridge, UK: Polity Press; Hoboken: Wiley [distributor], 2014. xvii, 236 pp. (Maps.) US$22.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-7456-6247-3.

This fine introduction to contemporary China’s foreign policy stands out for its fairness and honesty. Debates outside China about Communist China and the world have ordinarily focused on the concerns of the American-led international community. Written by Stuart Harris, a former Australian government official who has dealt with China and other countries in foreign affairs and trade, the book would disappoint expectations of kindred inclinations, for it explains not only criticisms of Chinese foreign policy but also China’s own diplomatic objectives and the changing methods that the Communist Party and government have chosen to pursue those objectives. Neither China nor America bashers would be pleased.

Among the total eight chapters of the book, chapter 1 is the only one devoted to the impact of history and culture on China’s foreign policy and the main aspects of the Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping eras up to what Harris terms the 1989 Tiananmen Square tragedy. Instead of privileging Chinese nativism (nationalism)—popular in academic discussion and media communications on post-Deng Chinese foreign relations—Harris pays homage to the many other traditions and cultures, such as cosmopolitanism, quasi-imperialism, Sinocentrism and victimhood, that have played an important and changing role in foreign policy. Chapter 2 looks at who makes foreign policy decisions in China during the last thirty years within formal government organizations and through informal processes. More diffused than ever, both formal power structure and informal dynamics involve a growing degree of collectivism, coalitions, compromises and coordination among a myriad of government offices and other stake-holders.

Chapter 3 turns to the question of how global actors and the international system have shaped Chinese foreign policy. Synthesizing works by other scholars, Harris notes that, apart from the issue of human rights, the People’s Republic of China’s contributions to international law have, on balance, been constructive and sympathetic. However, since its integration with the world order commencing in the 1970s, China has not aligned well with the new directions of international norms and values especially in the fields of human rights, humanitarian intervention, popular representation and intellectual property rights now perceived as key to responsible statehood and the global common good. Sovereignty and non-interference, to which China adheres, represent the traditional norms of the Westphalian system. Five sets of Chinese vulnerability and insecurity are discussed in chapters 4 and 5, i.e., vulnerability of the Communist regime, China’s historical vulnerability about national unity, insecurity on geographic frontiers, and vulnerabilities to the United States and to international military threats. Harris does not resort to the usual quick condemnation of China in the South and East China Seas and on its continental frontiers such as Tibet and Xinjiang. While pointing out China’s legitimate rights under international law, Harris suggests that the increase in China’s attempts to deter other claimants in the South China Sea was a response “to other claimants’ increased activity in fishing and resource exploration,” and that US officials and some Chinese military agencies shared responsibility for stoking the tensions in the region (76-85). Between the lines, readers will find that Harris interjects his judgment with care. For instance, he observes that although “the presence of US nuclear-armed submarines patrolling the Pacific waters, is a persistent affront and a security vulnerability to China” (91), China has not attempted to counter the American military capabilities except in relation to Taiwan. Hence, one still needs to ask “what would motivate a change to expansionist and aggressive Chinese policies” (103-104 and 119).

Chapter 6 examines China’s economic foreign policy through the lens of currency exchange rates, the World Trade Organization, outward direct investment and the use of economic power. Despite their successes and the recognition of their contribution to developing countries, Chinese “going out” policies in Africa and Latin and South Americas have been the subject of complaints, some valid and some not, for their disregard for human rights, local labour conditions and environmental standards. As China under the influence of developed countries adopted many Western norms and values, Harris posits that in the wake of economic interdependence there may have been an influence in the other direction as well, on Western norms and values, although he does not spell out what this may involve. Chapter 7 shifts to China’s complex relationships with its neighbours and beyond, including ASEAN, the Trans-Pacific Partnership, North Korea, South Korea, Vietnam, the Shanghai Cooperation Organization, Russia, India, Pakistan, Myanmar, Japan and the European Union. Again, these wide-ranging topics are treated with both brevity and sophistication. In the concluding chapter, Harris implies that the US pivot has not made easier the Northeast Asian security situation: the potential for inadvertent clashes between the United States and China at the local level is more immediately worrying than the China “threat.” In the end, what is needed to approach the sovereignty issues in the Asia Pacific is not more military force, but political leadership and diplomatic compromises on all sides.

Readers will find the author’s writing and analysis readable and skillfully effortless. Although one would desire to see more directness and originality as well as coverage of China’s reputation challenge and cultural diplomacy, this book is very much valued as a reliable source of expertise.

Dong Wang, University of Duisburg-Essen, Duisburg, Germany

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MOBILE HORIZONS: Dynamics Across the Taiwan Strait. China Research Monographs, 69. Edited by Wen-hsin Yeh. Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, 2013. viii, 335 pp. (Maps, figures, tables.) US$25.00, paper. ISBN 978-1-55729-106-6.

The rise of China and the increasing economic interactions between Mainland China (PRC) and Taiwan (ROC) since the 1980s have raised a profound question: Will closer economic relations across the Strait eventually lead to the reunification of the two sides? This is exactly the question posed by this book under review, and its answer is “no.”

In the work’s introduction, editor Wen-hsin Yeh clearly lays out the main themes and arguments of the book: despite enhanced communications and intensified activities and economic interactions across the Strait, there has been no promising sign of political integration, but rather growing cultural and identity divergence between the two sides. To be accurate, the subject of cross-Strait relations should not be one of international relations, yet it has largely been treated as such. Cross-Strait relations have become more sophisticated than normal international relations and they call for an interdisciplinary approach in dealing them.

As the title Mobile Horizons indicates, and taking an interdisciplinary approach, this book has gone far beyond the conventional way of studying international relations, which has mainly focused on the role of state and political, military and economic actors, and sets out to explore other structural factors at work along a much broader spectrum, such as immigration, smuggling, investment, media, religion, marriage, identity, education, and historiography. With the exception of chapter one by Yu-shan Wu and Lowell Dittmer, which offers an overview of cross-Strait political relations since the 1990s with a conclusion that “the economy in command” mentality can work both ways—either for or against political integration, and chapter two by Shelley Rigger, which examines the evolution of the defining of “China,” which has shifted from a Taiwanese understanding of China as primarily a domestic issue in the early period to the current notion of China as primarily an external matter, the rest of the book’s chapters are mostly thematic discussions and analyses of nonpolitical issues in cross-Strait relations.

Michael Szonyi analyzes different identity claims that people of Kinmen deployed during different historical phases in order to gain preferential treatment, arguing that the positions regarding the cross-Strait activities and projects “are largely produced locally by people’s perception of their immediate interests” (93), which are not necessarily for or against political integration. Micah S. Muscolino studies the illicit maritime trade across the Strait from the 1970s to the 1990s. Similarly, he finds that the development and consequences of economic activities across the Strait did not parallel with the anticipation and dynamics of political interaction. Although the common culture shared by the Fujian-Taiwanese people and the cessation of hostilities across the Strait and the policy of the PRC in the 1970s–1980s encouraged the revival of direct commerce in the region, the ban by the ROC of all direct exchanges with the mainland, at odds with its political ideology that claims ROC sovereignty over all of China, was manipulated by smugglers for lucrative underground commerce, who also viewed a full-scale integration against their interests.

Robert P. Weller traces the development of religion on both sides of the Strait, from secularization of the early twentieth century to the political intervention and restriction during the Cold War era and then the relaxation of government control since the 1970s. Along with rapidly increased commercialization and wealth after the 1970s, there has been the growth and expansion of Chinese temple religion as well as an increase of religious similarities and contact across the Strait. However, the shared religious heritage and a convergence of religious practice in both places shows no indications of moving toward any sort of unity.

Sara L. Friedman presents an empirical study of the recent wave of cross-Strait marriages. She finds that Taiwan’s gendered policies on marital immigration and citizenship have undergirded feminized domesticity and dependency, which were in direct conflict with the gender ideology embedded in the mind of mainland spouses. The intimate intermingling brought about by marital unions may have hardened perceptions of cross-Strait difference and incompatibility. In the words of Friedman, “Marital unions do not necessarily portend other kinds of unification” (151).

William C. Kirby presents another case study, this of the Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company Limited (TSMC), coming to a similar conclusion that there has been no automatic connection between cross-Strait economic integration and political partnership. Instead, “the lack of formal political ties and (until recently) direct transportation links have been ‘push’ factors for Taiwan industries to relocate to the mainland, to be nearer their customers and workforces…” (195), while normalization may convince Taiwan’s marquee firms of the need to stay at home enjoying every advantage.

Timothy B. Weston tells the story of Taiwan’s leading newspapers from 1945 to the present and the evolution of the newspaper discourse on the mainland from being censored, propagandistic, and highly negative to being free and commercialized but of a highly partisan nature, despite the fact that Taiwan media enterprises are all busy seeking local business opportunities in the PRC. Thomas B. Gold analyzes the reasons that the Inter-University Fellowship Program for Chinese Language Studies (IUP) moved from Taiwan to Tsinghua University in Beijing, as well as the significance of “the Taiwan Familiarization Program.” Finally, Wen-hsin Yeh describes the interesting history of writing Taiwan’s history, the means through which to “assert Taiwan’s right place in the world” and construct Taiwan’s “authentic identity,” and how the history of Taiwan was “represented and integrated into the various contesting positions” over the past two decades. Culturally, Yeh concludes, “The two Chinese-speaking societies across the Strait have much to share” (286), but the new historical writings affirm their differences more than their congruities.

In short, this book exposes the role of non-state actors in, and the intercrossed, interwoven, multifaceted and evolving aspects of, cross-Strait relations. It will be a very useful work to graduate students, scholars, diplomats and businessmen studying or engaged in international relations, especially involving cross-Strait relations.

C.X. George Wei, University of Macau, Macau, China

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STRATEGIC REASSURANCE AND RESOLVE: U.S.-China Relations in the Twenty-First Century. By James Steinberg, Michael E. O’Hanlon. Princeton; Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2014. ix, 260 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$29.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-691-15951-5.

In an increasingly interdependent and globalized world, relations between the existing and the rising dominant power are of material interest to nations and regions throughout the world. Strategic Reassurance and Resolve not only tackles in sustained depth the contemporary security challenges that the United States and China face, particularly vis-à-vis one another, but also presents a general security framework that is applicable across other bilateral or multilateral international relations debates. Acknowledging but ultimately eschewing the role of economic and political relations in the determination of security, Steinberg and O’Hanlon present a sustained, informed and practical study of military and strategic issues and their potential resolution for the United States and China.

The core intervention by the authors is the concept of strategic reassurance between the United States and China as the only solution in a new world where the United States can no longer maintain its dominant role and China increasingly is an economic, political and military presence. While acknowledging the national security concerns, historical context and strategic culture of each nation, the concept of strategic reassurance requires both countries to compromise. For the US, that means accepting the rise of China as a benign superpower with which it will share the responsibility for global public goods—such as the security of shipping lanes, counterterrorism, counternarcotics, responding to international disasters and cyber theft. For China, it means showing that China’s national security does not come at the expense of others including, but not limited to, allies of the United States. For realists in a zero-sum game, this is a loss for the US and a win for China. For Steinberg and O’Hanlon, this is an opportunity to enhance global peace and security.

There are various means by which strategic reassurance is achieved. Most apparent is the need to avoid “hedging.” When military planners and policy makers envision military buildups on the other side as reducing their own security, the only response is to devote more resources to counteract the effect. This leads to competition and military arms races that produce less security overall. Instead, strategic reassurance serves to communicate the types and goals of military and security deployments. Underlying this is strategic resolve encompassing the clear statement of “red lines” that cannot be crossed without a response, as well as agreeing on global, regional and national order. How much the United States and China can agree on public goods and the status quo in the realm of security is the challenge of contemporary and future eras.

The authors explore the way security scenarios may lead to conflict. They first state in no equivocal terms that “in a major war between the United States and China there would be no winners… [hence] de-escalation and conflict termination should be as high as, if not higher than, the priority for victory” (121). They proceed to examine North Korea, Taiwan and the East and South China Seas as areas of strategic concern for China and in terms of security and open access for the US and its allies. Using the overall framework of global interdependence and multilateralism, North Korea presents the biggest security challenge in its economic and political isolation. Steinberg and O’Hanlon suggest a US-China dialogue—secret, to forestall North Korean paranoia—to discuss how regime change and military occupation by US and Chinese forces will proceed following regime overthrow, though they acknowledge Beijing may be unwilling to explicitly discuss the possibility. While Taiwan, Diaoyu/Senkaku Islands and the range of islands claimed by China within the so-called “nine-dash line” are emotional and contentious issues, they involve countries that are all increasingly integrated in the global economy and regional security organizations, such as ASEAN, and so escalation seems less likely, though the scenarios sketched present a chilling picture of what American or Chinese intransigence may entail.

The biggest challenge to future global security, particularly between the United States and China, is cyber. The authors examine nuclear, missile, operations and space threats to mutual or global security and outline measures such as the United States not targeting or contemplating invasion of the Chinese mainland, China continuing to limit warhead development and both banning space weapons. But it is cyber that remains fraught with the most unknowns. It is difficult to argue that intellectual property and trade secrets are national security interests and Beijing does not prioritize ensuring profits to Western multinationals through measures to counter cyber theft. Opposition to companies such as Huawei and Lenovo in Washington does not provide assurance, either, that the United States is committed to an open playing field in cyber terms. Yet by broaching this topic, Steinberg and O’Hanlon have brought the issue to the fore, underscoring how this realm increasingly touches on national and global security.

In the appendix (209-211), there is a list of some 24 concrete measures that both countries should take to achieve strategic reassurance. For a practitioner, this may provide a useful “crib sheet” to think through what specific steps might be palatable in advancing strategic interdependence. Of greater significance, however, is the overall framework that the book presents. While not stated as such, it is a revolution in how the United States and China can collaborate rather than compete to provide global security and public goods. This is a new paradigm for thinking about US-China strategic interactions that will guide policy, inform decision makers, train international relations and foreign policy scholars and even help business leaders. China is a player. Its rise is inevitable. How the US copes with this new reality and how China takes up its leadership role will determine whether or not the next 40 years will continue the mostly harmonious relationship of the past 40 years between the world’s richest and its most populous countries.

Tyler Rooker, University of Nottingham, Nottingham, United Kingdom                  

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REGULATING PROSTITUTION IN CHINA: Gender and Local Statebuilding, 1900-1937. By Elizabeth J. Remick. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2014. xv, 270 pp. (Tables, figures, maps.) US$45.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8047-8836-6.

Elizabeth Remick’s Regulating Prostitution in China is a welcome contribution to the growing literature on modern Chinese state building. Similar to the best scholarship in this subfield of study, it offers a complex portrait of state-building initiatives that were developed over the course of the tumultuous first decades of the twentieth century. Building on her earlier work on taxation, public finance and local state building in Republican China, Remick deftly outlines three regulatory models deployed by Chinese cities beginning in the early 1900s, showing how local political histories gave rise to distinct trajectories in the bureaucratic management and regulation of prostitution. Remick’s most important contribution, however, lies in her attention to the ways in which local state building was composed of highly gendered processes with important consequences, as she argues, for the size, function and reach of the local state itself.

The impetus to regulate prostitution initially came from international pressure to address what was perceived to be the low status of Chinese women. But even if it was European powers that pressured the Qing government to do away with “white slavery,” it was not, ultimately, European models of regulation that were implemented. Instead, late Qing and Republican city administrators adapted from Japan’s approach to police reform in three distinct ways as a means of obtaining better public health and social control. Specifically, Remick discusses the emergence of three reform models as they developed locally: the “light” approach, the “revenue intensive” approach, and the “coercive-intensive approach.” The light approach, in which prostitution was lightly taxed and monitored, was adopted by most Chinese provincial capitals in the late 1920s and early 1930s. Focusing on Hangzhou, Remick offers a fascinating portrayal of failed police attempts to crack down on unlicensed prostitution during the mid-1920s, attempts that were followed by an even less successful intervention to phase out prostitution altogether. Remick’s description of the lively and well-attended protests that followed the city’s initiative to ban prostitution via lottery is a compelling account of how “‘big picture’ political commitments ran into trouble when local officials tried to implement them on the ground.”

Prostitutes working in Guangzhou would prove equally unwilling to conform to new forms of regulation. Remick opens her discussion of the revenue-intensive model as it was developed in Guangzhou with a vignette focused on prostitutes instigating a strike. Unlike in Hangzhou, however, where city officials made little off of the services of sex workers, the city of Guangzhou became so dependent on the tax revenue generated by prostitution that it willingly modified the new regulations in order to get the prostitutes back to work. Indeed, Guangzhou’s extraordinary dependence upon the 500,000 yuan that came in annually during the late 1920s and early 1930s exceeded the entire budget for social welfare expenditures. As Remick points out, these funds were not just an important component of the city’s budget but were, in fact, indispensable—a major factor in the resistance of local Guangzhou officials to the abolition movement

The regulation of prostitution in Kunming, where the most extensive development of the “coercion-intensive” model was implemented, would prove to be far more intrusive in the lives of sex workers than it was in much of the rest of China. As managers of a “frontier town” in the late Qing and early Republican era, Kunming’s officials prioritized social order above all else. As a consequence, the highly militarized local government chose to segregate brothels from the rest of society by locating them within walled compounds, or jiyuan. Although the jiyuan system was subject to sharp societal critique and was even shut down for several years during the mid nineteen-teens, the police not only returned to this system but over the decades expanded their bureaucratic and physical control of the lives of sex workers through the implementation of extremely invasive health inspections. As the jiyuan system continued to evolve, prostitutes essentially became state employees complete with personnel files. The surplus revenues made by the jiyuan after 1923, in turn, were used to support social welfare projects, including a women’s social reformatory.

Explicit throughout Remick’s analysis of the local institutionalization of prostitution regulation during the late Qing, Warlord and Republican eras is the centrality of gender to these processes. The shifting political terrain and rapidly changing norms regarding the management of society in general, and the morality of women in particular, therefore not only influenced the regulation of prostitution, but also produced unique institutions such as the jiliangsuo, or prostitute rescue institutions, described by Remick in chapter 5. Indeed, central and local elites, police administrators, social reformers and Confucian scholars debated vigorously over how to best regulate prostitution or, in the case of a number of vocal opponents, to do away with prostitution altogether. As Remick makes clear, these debates were fueled as much by panic over the perceived immorality and public health threat of sex work, as they were about upholding an idealized version of the married, virtuous woman during a time of rapid change. At the same time, the defiance of women sex workers and brothel owners suggests the real limitations of the reform models as they were conceived and implemented. For although local approaches to prostitution regulation and reform engendered new and unexpected forms of state building, these approaches ultimately failed to meet many of their goals (other than generating enormous local revenues, in the case of Guangzhou).

In conclusion, Regulating Prostitution in China offers a unique contribution to the Chinese state-building literature and an important addition to the study of gender in late Qing and Republican China, and will enliven undergraduate and graduate courses focused on early twentieth-century Chinese history and gender and modern China

Kimberley Ens Manning, Concordia University, Montréal, Canada

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CONVERTS TO CIVIL SOCIETY: Christianity and Political Culture in Contemporary Hong Kong. Studies in World Christianity. By Lida V. Nedilsky. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2014. xii, 227 pp. (Tables, B&W photos.) US$49.95, cloth. ISBN 978-1-4813-0032-2.

In August 2014, the National People’s Congress in Beijing determined that Hong Kong could have universal suffrage in electing its chief executive in 2017, provided that the candidates were first nominated by an election committee and, after popular vote, appointed by the central government. Needless to say, many Hong Kong citizens were outraged by these limitations on universal suffrage. In what would become known as the Umbrella Movement, citizens joined in several months of protests in front of the Hong Kong government headquarters. As time progressed, a number of news media outlets reported that many of the leaders of the protests were Christians, and that the ranks of protesters included a large percentage of Christians, Buddhists and practitioners of Chinese popular religion.

Hence, the publication of Converts to Civil Society in July 2014 that looks at the relationship between the Christian faith and civil engagement in contemporary Hong Kong is very timely. It focuses on the years 1997 to 2008, immediately following Hong Kong’s reintegration into Chinese sovereignty, and provides rich ethnographic research into the lives of several Hong Kong citizens as they express their Christian faiths through NGOs.

After some introductory material, two chapters engage a key motif discussed throughout this book: conversion. Chapter 2 looks at how conversion to Christianity sets the initial groundwork for engagement with civil society. For many Hong Kong Christians, conversion often runs against one’s parents’ wishes and brings about conflicts in fulfilling one’s filial duties. The choice of conversion is a step away from collectivism and towards individualism. Such a decision is a break from one community (the family unit) to join another community (the local church). Moreover, this choice of conversion can occur multiple times, from one Christian community to another. Chapter 3 continues this theme and looks at how the conversion to Christianity facilitates the conversion to civil society. Events like the 1989 Tiananmen Square democracy protests and the 1997 return of Hong Kong to Chinese rule challenged Hong Kong Christians to consider how to respond to sociopolitical uncertainty. The perceived political apathy of many Christian churches led interviewees to rethink their personal faiths. Christian NGOs were new institutions which addressed the failings of the old institutions of the churches, and provided the Christian with a new expression of individualism.

After these two key chapters, the book follows with three more general discussions about civil society. Chapter 4 provides a survey of the variety of concerns addressed by Christian and non-Christian NGOs in Hong Kong, from economic development and environmental issues, to working with migrant workers and youth. Despite this breadth, the present study focuses on four Christian NGOs that have a primary concern in human rights. Chapter 5 moves on to discuss the longevity of these NGOs and how to pass the fervour of Christian civil engagement to younger generations. The final major chapter, chapter 6, takes the stories and lessons from this single city of Hong Kong and casts an eye upon the much bigger nation of the People’s Republic of China. While post-Mao China’s pursuit of a socialist market economy has resulted in a rising civil society, this is constantly tempered by the heavy hand of the state. Though the chapter speaks of the significant growth of Christianity in mainland China, the author concludes that the potential for Christians on the mainland to engage in the civil society is still quite preliminary and not yet realized.

Two criticisms can be raised against this volume due to its scope. Firstly, while the book focuses on the significance of NGOs in contrast with socially “complacent” institutional churches (76-84, 91), it has a tendency to downplay the important public role that religion has historically played in Hong Kong society. While the Umbrella Movement has brought this point to mind for the broader public, it is worth noting that, in contrast with fledgling NGOs, the long legacy of many Christian denominations has resulted in theological understandings of social engagement (e.g., Catholic social teaching, Anglican social theology, etc.). How has the theological legacy of particular denominations helped to bring shape to Christian NGOs? What about the stories of converts to civil society who engage from within the structures of institutional churches? Recognizing the narrow focus of the book on Hong Kong NGOs, a second criticism can be raised with regards to the widening of focus to include mainland China in chapter 6. Since the 1990s, there has been a vast amount of scholarly literature that has come out debating the notion of a civil society in mainland China. Moreover, there are a large number of faith-based NGOs that exist in China, such as the Protestant Amity Foundation and the Catholic Jinde Charities, as well as the growing number of urban intellectual churches which act like NGOs in their involvement in human rights activism and social concern. This chapter could have been enriched by engaging these topics.

With these quibbles in mind, one must remember that any monograph should be necessarily narrow in its concern in order to be a manageable research project. Lida Nedilsky’s timely and well-written book provides a rich view into the journeys of select individuals as they convert to civil society, expressing their Christian faiths through Hong Kong NGOs. Converts to Civil Society is a focused treatment on an important segment of Hong Kong that cannot be ignored by researchers interested in the public role of religion.

Alexander Chow, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh, United Kingdom

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CHINA’S BATTLE FOR KOREA: The 1951 Spring Offensive. Twentieth-Century Battles. By Xiaobing Li. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2014. xxxviii, 385 pp. (Charts, figures, maps.) US$45.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-253-01157-2.

Xiaobing Li’s latest book examines the Chinese People’s Volunteer Force (CPVF) in the fifth and final campaign of the Korean War, asking why the Chinese lost this battle and what consequences followed. While there are a number of excellent books on China and the Korean War, most deal with the decision to enter the conflict or the overall conduct of the war. This work is unique in that it concentrates on the Chinese operational experience in what Li sees as the most important campaign of the war, revealing the 1951 “Spring Offensive” as a decisive battle that not only changed the course of the war, but also helped reshape the Chinese military in the years after the Korean War.

The first two chapters offer background on China’s entry to the war and the first four campaigns against United Nations Forces (UNF). In the remaining six chapters, Li analyzes the planning, conduct and aftermath of the fifth campaign. A veteran of the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) and the author of several works on the Korean War and the modern Chinese military, Xiaobing Li draws heavily on government documents, military papers, official histories and the memoirs and recollections of numerous participants. One of the strengths of this book is the way he blends discussion of larger strategic and tactical concerns with the experiences of combat commanders on the ground. His interviews with more than 200 Korean War veterans and close reading of the oral histories of many others yield valuable insights from individuals who commanded troops at multiple levels of the CPVF.

From late April to early June 1951, Chinese and North Korean People’s Army (NKPA) forces totaling more than 700,000 fought against 340,000 UNF soldiers in a battle that some predicted would determine the outcome of the war. Chinese leaders outlined three major goals for the campaign: to prevent the enemy from making an amphibious landing to the north behind Chinese lines, to destroy at least three American divisions and three Republic of Korea (ROK) divisions, and to regain the initiative for a decisive victory and avoid a prolonged conflict. After suffering costly defeats on both the eastern and western fronts, Chinese commanders ordered a withdrawal of all of CPVF forces to the north of the thirty-eighth parallel in what Li calls the “disastrous withdrawal to the north” (181). This final phase of the fifth campaign saw a UNF counter-attack which inflicted 45,000 to 60,000 casualties on the CPVF, the heaviest totals since the start of the war. In the wake of this defeat, Chinese leaders switched to a strategy of positional warfare, defending frontal positions until the armistice agreement in 1953. This featured smaller-scale attacks designed to chip away at UNF strength, which Mao described as “eating sticky candy bit by bit” (216). Rather than deal a decisive blow to the enemy and end the conflict, the CPVF’s fifth campaign ushered in a prolonged period of low-intensity conflict.

In analyzing the defeat, Li points to several factors that limited the effectiveness of the CPVF in the fifth campaign. First, chronic problems of supply made life difficult for Chinese soldiers throughout the campaign. Due to both weaknesses in the logistical system and the effectiveness of American bombing, the lack of adequate food, winter clothing, and ammunition prevented Chinese soldiers from achieving their objectives. Li points out that the logistical system actually improved during the fifth campaign, but it still left many units without necessary arms and materials. Second, the CPVF did not have enough experienced officers and enlisted men to conduct a successful campaign against the UNF. CPVF commander-in-chief Peng Dehuai and his generals rushed to prepare for the attack and pushed their troops into action before they were ready. Many of the soldiers had only recently arrived in Korea, lacked combat experience, and had only a few days to prepare. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, Li argues that Chinese commanders proved “excessively inflexible” (110) when it came to tactics, clinging stubbornly to attempts to divide, encircle and annihilate UNF units even as it became clear that while they might divide and encircle, the CPVF could not annihilate enemy units that had such superior firepower. Failure to change tactics contributed to the defeat in the fifth campaign.

As Li clearly demonstrates, the fifth offensive did more than convince Mao Zedong, Peng and the Chinese leadership that they must abandon attempts to destroy the UNF forces and accept a negotiated settlement. It also helped transform the long-term strategy, tactics and military culture of the PLA. The experience of the fifth campaign in particular demonstrated the limits of Chinese military power and influenced Chinese leaders to use their forces more cautiously and realistically. In the next few decades, they restricted them to border conflicts with limited objectives. It also forced them to address the glaring weaknesses in their logistical systems and lack of technology. Increased military budgets after the war allowed for improved training of officers and weapons purchases from the Soviet Union.

China’s Battle for Korea provides a detailed and thorough analysis of the CPVF’s fifth campaign, the reasons for its failure, and the consequences for the Korean War and the Chinese military. It joins Harold Tanner’s The Battle for Manchuria: Siping 1946 (2103), as two recent additions on Chinese military history from the University of Indiana Press’s Twentieth-Century Battles series. This is an encouraging trend as works such as Xiaobing Li’s have much to tell us about the Chinese side of the Korean War.

Peter Worthing, Texas Christian University, Fort Worth, USA

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THE COMPELLING IDEAL: Thought Reform and the Prison in China, 1901-1956. By Jan Kiely. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014. x, 403 pp. (Maps.) US$65.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-300-18594-2.

As an historian who has published extensively on Buddhist print culture in late imperial and modern China, Jan Kiely offers an interesting and archive-informed perspective on various Republican Chinese prison wardens’ attempts to rehabilitate or ganhua 感化their inmates with Buddhist or Confucian moral suasion. At the local level, morally rehabilitated or converted inmates would thereby be less likely to reoffend as recidivists, and at the national level Republican China would prove to the treaty-port foreign powers that they should abolish extraterritoriality in light of China’s modernized and rehabilitative criminal justice system. Part of what made the moral suasion of prisoners such a “compelling ideal” to elites in both China and Japan was that this Western-style emphasis upon rehabilitation instead of old-fashioned corporal punishment apparently contributed to the formal abolition of foreign powers’ extraterritorial privileges in Japan by 1899 and in China by 1943.

However, the reader might well raise some questions about how compelling these ideas about prisoner rehabilitation have truly been—and to whom they may or may not have been compelling. Ganhua is a notoriously slippery term that Kiely variously translates as “reform,” “convert” or “reformation” (40–41). Although the official government accounts that dominate many archival sources may portray rehabilitative “reformation” as effective for prison inmates, would most ex-inmates have necessarily agreed that ganhua was truly compelling to them if asked about it in private after their release from prison surveillance and control? Moreover, by translating ganhua’s supposed Maoist substitute of gaizao 改造identically as “reform” instead of with a more precise rendering such as “remold” or “remake,” Kiely elides the more thoroughly transformational connotations of Maoist gaizao as opposed to Republican-era ganhua (276). Within this sort of terminological blur, ganhua, gaizao and gaige 改革all come to be confusingly lumped together under the identical English label of “reform” in spite of significant distinctions between rehabilitative “conversion” (ganhua), heavy-handed “remolding” (gaizao), and institutional “reform” (gaige), respectively.

One of the most convincing lines of argument in the book can be found in Kiely’s characterization of official pressure on prisoners in many 1930s Guomindang “Self-Examination Institutes” to confess their behavioural and ideological failings as “coercive voluntarism” (201). This imperative of obligatory self-criticism would be ratcheted up higher than ever during the Mao era to require a great many PRC prison inmates to write lengthy life stories accentuating their numerous misdeeds and supposed crimes—and culminating with vows to throw themselves on the mercy of the infallible Communist Party and remold themselves into “New Socialist Persons.” Within civilian life outside of prison, single-party Leninist authoritarian regimes have helped retain their firm control over the public narrative through analogous devices described by political scientists as “administered mass organizations”: nationwide “mass” outfits like the PRC Women’s Federation that appear to represent popular voluntarism while actually being kept firmly in line by a Party committee at their administrative centre.

The book’s scholarly apparatus contains a brief three-page glossary of selected Chinese terms, but sadly no glossary entries for any authors or other key Chinese personages mentioned in the text or endnotes. Furthermore, The Compelling Ideal lacks a proper bibliography or works-cited list of the sort one expects from a scholarly monograph. Instead, Kiely has appended a list of cumbersome source-based abbreviations such as “SXXSGFNSS” (319), in which key information about these sources such as page numbers for journal articles has often been omitted. In order to check a source citation, the reader must constantly flip back and forth between the text, the endnotes section, and the aforementioned list of source-based acronyms, thereby making the book far less accessible to non-specialist readers than the topic warrants. Moreover, Kiely’s presentation of the theory and practice of Maoist thought remolding and remolding through labour is less persuasive and informative than that of some major monographs on the subject that his book ignores, such as Jean-Luc Domenach’s L’archipelago oublié (Paris, 1992) and Hu Ping’s Ren de xunhua, duobi, yu fanpan (Hong Kong, 1999; translated into English in 2012 as The Thought Remolding Campaign of the Chinese Communist Party-state). I would thus recommend The Compelling Ideal with reservations—and only to specialists in either the history of politics or penology in modern China.

Philip F. Williams, Montana State University, Bozeman, USA    

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EXHIBITING THE PAST: Historical Memory and the Politics of Museums in Postsocialist China. By Kirk A. Denton. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2014. viii, 350 pp. (Figures.) US$59.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3687-0.

In Exhibiting the Past, Kirk Denton, a scholar of Chinese Studies, covers a broad swath of issues relating to how people, events and sites are remembered and commemorated in contemporary China. Denton emphasizes the role of the Chinese state, most notably during the post-Mao era, in the creation and maintenance of these remembrances and commemorations. Chapters are devoted to history, literary, ethnographic and military museums as well as monuments, memorials and red tourism. Themes relating to “exhibitionary culture,” in Denton’s words, and the development of post-Mao narrative histories are clearly articulated. The writing is smooth, and the research effort that went into this book is impressive. There are extensive discussions of the secondary literature, especially as it pertains to remembrance and nationalism in contemporary China.

Denton points to a set of complex cleavages that are managed, in most cases with apparent success, by those who have official responsibility for remembrance in China. The conflicts and accommodations between national and local narratives and between forces of commercial entertainment and high-minded commemorative history making are central to his analysis. Denton argues that the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) exerts a profound influence over China’s “memoryscape … and to dismiss this state presence as nothing but propaganda is to fail to understand the complexity of the state/people relationship” (4).

Relying on his own research and the research of others, Denton carefully describes exhibits and memorials while skillfully connecting these descriptions to his main themes. The book contains discussions of China’s premier history museums, official remembrance sites devoted to Lu Xun and the Nanjing massacre, and memorials to Mao Zedong, Liu Shaoqi and Peng Dehuai. In chapter 2, Denton traces the history of post-Mao exhibits at the Museum of the Chinese Revolution in Beijing, later combined with the Museum of Chinese History to form the National Museum of China, which opened in 2011. In a 1996 exhibit at the then Museum of the Chinese Revolution, Denton finds a new emphasis on China as a nation, although the historical inevitability of CCP success and the socialist path that China followed continued to be prominently displayed. Here, as in so many cases, Denton describes changes in tone or emphasis vis-à-vis earlier exhibits, but the narrative of party dominance, inevitability and success remains front and centre.

In the run-up to the Beijing Olympics, the creation of the National Museum of China, overseen by the Ministry of Culture, involved a complete transformation of the original building and revised exhibits. In the new museum, which Chinese officials hoped would rival storied institutions like the British Museum and the Louvre, exhibits trace Chinese history “from imperial glory to decline in the face of Western imperialism” leading ultimately to present renewal. Denton points to a decidedly more fluid and less disruptive treatment of Chinese history in which “present revival” is “built on ideals from the classical past” (71-2). We should not be surprised, as Denton was not, to find traumas such as the Cultural Revolution and the Great Leap Famine ignored or glossed over. This neglect is fully consistent with past museum representations.

Red tourism, which has been avidly promoted in China, is a mix of commerce, rural development, history lesson and patriotic education. Local and national historical narratives often meld at these sites and impose, as Denton notes, “a revolutionary memory on the landscape of China” (215). In his discussion of red tourism and the Hunan memorials to Liu Shaoqi and Peng Dehuai, Denton calls attention to what he describes as the “Confucianization” of Liu and Peng, who were both purged by Mao. Both the Liu and Peng sites were extensively developed in the post-Mao era, and reflect, in Denton’s view, the “neo-traditionalism that has crept into party discourse” (234). The theme of a persistently developing neo-traditionalism, linking Confucian and socialist morality, is a recurrent theme throughout Exhibiting the Past.

On occasion Denton gives us insights into how Chinese visitors view what they are seeing. While travelling with a group of fellow tourists to Liu’s and Peng’s memorials, Denton refers to the irony that the older visitors expressed in the glorification of the once disgraced officials (230). This is a very good book, but readers might wish to see more discussion of audience: who visits and what messages do visitors take away from the memorials and museum exhibits that are at the heart of this book. Studies of museum audiences are notoriously difficult, but one suspects that Denton has more information on his fellow visitors than he has shared in this book. But this is a minor point; scholars of China, museums, and nationalism, will be happy to have this book. Denton offers a richly researched and thoughtful analysis of how officially sanctioned history making and commemoration have fared in post-Mao China.

Rubie S. Watson, Harvard University, Cambridge, USA

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WIVES, HUSBANDS, AND LOVERS: Marriage and Sexuality in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Urban China. Edited by Deborah S. Davis and Sara L. Friedman. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2014. xii, 326 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$24.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8047-9184-7.

This book opens the Pandora’s box of marriage issues in China, offering readers a view of the growing anomalies of familial, sexual and marital mores and the complexities engendered by deviancies in the three Chinese societies of Hong Kong, Taiwan and the PRC. These “hidden” by-products, evolved throughout history and transformed by modernity, are disrupting and restructuring the conventional orders of marriage and family relationships in contemporary China. It is at this historical moment that they are captured by this book and presented as an important topic for discussion and debate: the “deinstitutionalization” of marriage in China (3).

The book incorporates multiple perspectives (legal, socio-demographic, gender and culture) of scholars who approached the topic in both qualitative and quantitative ways. It is divided into three parts. Part 1 focuses on the PRC. Davis interprets the revised marriage laws/regulations in the PRC and the driving factors and social implications beyond legal amendments. She argues that the paradoxical role of the state as a “legal referee” that increasingly legitimizes marriage freedom (sexual intimacy and conjugal property) and as a Maoist-style “social engineer” that unwaveringly dictates marital fertility and reproduction constitutes a unique feature of marriage deinstitutionalization in China (54-55).

Farrer examines the changing sexual cultures in China, demonstrated by a growing disjuncture between premarital intimacy and marriage/childbearing. He complicates the notion of (modern) love by deconstructing the “feeling rules” in contexts of commitment, intimacy and passion whereby disloyalty, casual sex and ambiguous relationships are justifiably entangled. It is worth thinking whether that represents a sexual revolution which allows the Chinese to cultivate new cultures of intimacy or is it a demonstration of a moral vacuum among contemporary youths in the PRC?

Yong and Wang explore the underlying forces of the (re)emergence of late marriages in Shanghai. They argue that marriage reinstitution is more of an evolutionary than revolutionary phenomenon because marriage practices, i.e., marital age and birth planning, feature an increasing degree of individual choices and reduced legislative enforcement (107). Their data analysis adds credit to the inference that China will likely follow a similar trajectory to that in its neighbouring countries in East Asia where the conventional marriage institution has been disrupted and remodelled by the younger generation.

Zhang and Sun capture an interesting phenomenon in Shanghai People’s Park, where parents negotiate a marriage suitor for their daughters. They attribute the highlighted anxieties of parents to three main factors: first, the growing economic pressure; second, demographic changes, such as the implementation of the One-Child Policy; and third, parents’ ideological connections to the socialist past. The discussion of shifting intimacy from the private to the public thus exposes essential issues of China in transition.

Part 2 centres on Hong Kong. Ting outlines the continuities and changes in Hong Kong people’s marital experiences from the 1960s to 2010. He analyzes the correlation between marriage quality and demographics, i.e., gender, age and educational level. The data analysis, however, doesn’t closely support the conclusion, which emphasizes the “robust institution” of marriage in Hong Kong in spite of the occurrence of new forms of marital and sexual practice in the society (158). Yet this poses a new question: how do we determine if marriage remains a social institution or is deinstitutionalized in a society?

Ho studies Hong Kong males’ rhetoric on their sexual and marital experiences with local and PRC women. He finds conventional masculinities have been overthrown and redefined by modern Hong Kong men who offer multiple interpretations of being “good” and “responsible”: a self-justified definition which simultaneously reflects their insecurities, pride, desires for recognition, and aspirations for romance and sexual relationships outside of marriage. This echoes the broader sociocultural changes of postcolonial Hong Kong.

Erni examines Hong Kong’s first transgender marriage case, which highlights the prevailing social prejudice against people in the new gender categories and the legal resistance to challenging the marriage institution in the local society. His analysis of the cultural and legal discourses (e.g., the court’s statement) stimulates discussions of the meanings of gender/sex and marriage and the legal rights of people “on the edge.”

Part 3 focuses on Taiwan. Kuo analyzes the transformations of Taiwanese family law in response to the emergence of new types of marriage in recent decades. His discussion of Taiwan’s legal reform in response to the private life “reordering” not only demonstrates the increasing trend of deinstitutionalization of marriage in Taiwan but also alarms governments in other societies to initiate legal actions to manage similar challenges.

Yu and Liu’s survey on the determinants of housework division between husbands and wives shows that patriarchal marriage values persist in Taiwan. They argue that the co-existence of the changes and continuities is an incomplete breakdown of the traditional norms instead of a linear process of reinstitutionalization of marriage in Taiwan. This conclusion adds weight to (re)conceptualizing the “deinstitutionalization of marriage” in the Chinese context.

Shen argues that “split marriages” connected through a gendered division of labour can reinforce conjugal ties. This is because geographic separation enables both husbands and wives to cultivate new spaces of their own. Taiwanese (business)men enjoy the freedom of casual sexual liaisons in China whereas their wives gain autonomy and explore their social circles outside home. Her work taps into the counter-force of deinstitutionalization of marriage as it shows that unconventional marriage practices can strengthen the existing institution of marriage.

In analyzing the relationships between gender, population and sovereignty in cross-Strait marriages, Friedman argues that the regulatory regime in Taiwan, based on a “dependency model” of immigration (290), enhances the unequal status of Chinese marital immigrants as evidenced by their legal and financial reliance on their Taiwanese spouses. She also finds that the state asserts and undergirds its sovereign power through the bureaucratic scrutiny of marriages, a practice that is inseparable from the political contestations across the Strait.

Overall, the chapters are neatly integrated under the theme of “deinstitutionalization of marriage” in China. The book injects new blood to scholarship on the topic of marriage and sexuality and offers alternative ways of thinking and questioning institutions—as symbolized by the cover of the book.

Wang Pan, University of Technology Sydney, Ultimo, Australia

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MY FIGHT FOR A NEW TAIWAN: One Woman’s Journey from Prison to Power. By Lu Hsiu-Lien and Ashley Esarey; foreword by Jerome A. Cohen. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2014. xiii, 314 pp. (Illustrations.) US$34.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-295-99364-5.

Lü Hsiu-lien is East Asia’s first female vice president as well as Taiwan’s grassroots feminist activist. My Fight for a New Taiwan: One Woman’s Journey from Prison to Power is her English-language autobiographical book. with Ashley Esarey’s introduction and epilogue as well as Jerome A. Cohen’s preface.

An American reporter with Taiwanese experience, Ashley Esarey begins with what Taiwan is and how Taiwan changed from the ancient Chinese feudalist era to the twenty-first century. His epilogue reports almost all the crises Lü Hsiu-lien and Chen Shui-bien faced after they were elected as vice president and president, as well as Lü Hsiu-lien’s life after her retirement. Jerome A. Cohen is not merely Lü Hsiu-lien’s Harvard University law school professor, but also one of the Americans who helped release her from prison. In his foreword, he highlights Lü Hsiu-lien’s exceptional experience moving from prison to Presidential Palace.

This book covers Lü Hsiu-lien’s childhood, teenage years, adulthood, college life, legal training, overseas graduate studies, early career, feminist and political social movements, prison life, political jobs and retirement. In the first chapter, “Dreams Come True,” Lü Hsiu-lien accentuates the ironic contrasts between her experience as a defendant in the courtroom on March 18, 1980 and her status as Taiwan’s vice president on March 18, 2000. Chapters 2 to 10 are Lü Hsiu-lien’s chronological memory of her life stories. Chapter 2, “Taiwanese Daughter,” mentions Lü Hsiu-lien’s Taiwanese self-identity, family and educational background, especially college-level legal training. Chapter 3, “Lifting Half the Sky,” includes Lü Hsiu-lien’s American post-graduate studies of comparative law at the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign, her cancer, and her Taiwanese women’s movement to promote gender egalitarianism. Chapter 4, “A Moth Flying toward Flame,” delineates Lü Hsiu-lien’s Harvard experience, her friendship with Jerome Cohen, and her return from Harvard University to Taiwanese political movements. The US government’s discontinuation of its official friendship with Taiwan indirectly resulted in the cancellation of the election, in which Lü Hsiu-lien was supposed to participate, and paved the way for her involvement in the Dangwai activists’ Formosa Incident. Chapter 5, “Human Rights Riot,” touches upon how and why Lü Hsiu-lien was arrested. Chapter 6, “Patriotism Imprisoned,” describes Lü Hsiu-lien’s prison experience. Chapter 7, “In Search of Destiny,” shows how Lü Hsiu-lien restarted her political movements after she was released from prison. Chapter 8, “Knocking at the Gate of the UN,” demonstrates Lü Hsiu-lien’s efforts to help Taiwan reenter the United Nations. Lee Tung-hui valued her hard work and invited her to serve as a presidential advisor after his presidential inauguration. Chapter 9, “Political Trash,” starts with Chungli’s trash issues when Lü Hsiu-lien was the Taoyuan County chief executive, and ends with her acceptance of Chen Shui-bien’s offer to run for vice president. Chapter 10, “The Glorious Revolution,” records Lü Hsiu-lien’s triumph in the presidential election as Taiwan’s first female vice president.

Throughout Chinese history, it seems to be a pattern that the male elite felt free to single out women, as if women’s gender issues were their easy scapegoat whenever their political or military failure created crises for the nation-state. For instance, Tang Dynasty women’s second or third marriages were acceptable and frequently seen in princesses’ life stories, but Chinese women’s chastity was singled out and highly emphasized in the Song Dynasty after the male ruling class faced foreign invaders.

Lü Hsiu-lien was one of Taiwan’s local feminist pioneers to overthrow this thousands-year-old pattern. Her women’s and political movements demonstrate that the male elite’s use of women as their easy scapegoat should be terminated. She proved that women like her can do as much as the male elite can to do to help their homeland tackle national crises when foreign countries threaten the nation-state.

Although some non-academic people in English-speaking or other non-Asian areas mistake Taiwan for Thailand, Taiwan’s self-identity is discussed in various English-language academic books, such as William Campbell’s Formosa under the Dutch, Tonio Andrade’s How Taiwan Became Chinese, Melissa Brown’s Is Taiwan Chinese?, Alan M. Watchman’s Taiwan: National Identity and Democratization, Denny Roy’s Taiwan: A Political History, Bruce Herschensohn’s Taiwan: The Threatened Democracy, John Franklin Copper’s Taiwan: Nation-State or Province?, and Murray A. Rubinstein’s Taiwan: A New History. However, English-language academic books focusing on Taiwanese gender issues could probably be counted on one’s fingers. The most influential reason lies in most English-speaking feminists or gender scholars; although they do not mistake Taiwanese gender issues for Thai gender issues, they frequently place Taiwanese gender issues under the huge umbrella of Communist Chinese or PRC women’s studies. In other words, most of them are China-centred and lack Taiwan-oriented feminist voices. This inadvertent “big China bias” hinders a more complete understanding of Taiwanese women’s past, present and future. Shanshan Du, for instance, was so afraid of threats from the PRC government that she requested Murray A. Rubinstein’s chapter about Lü Hsiu-lien be replaced by a chapter about Li Ang and asked me to add my paragraphs about Xie Xuehong, a Taiwanese communist feminist, to it when she and I coedited Women and Gender in Modern Chinese Society: Beyond Han Patriarchy. Exceptions in Harvard University Library’s current online catalogues include Cal Clark, Janet Clark and Bih-er Chou’s Women in Taiwan Politics, Catherine Farris, Murray A. Rubinstein and Anru Lee’s Women in the New Taiwan, Chen Pei-ying’s Acting “Otherwise,” Doris Chang’s Women’s Movements in Twentieth-Century Taiwan, Lydia Kung’s Factory Women in Taiwan, Hans Tao-ming Huang’s Queer Politics and Sexuality Modernity in Taiwan, and some of Ya-chen Chen’s books. However, most English-language academic books that touch upon Taiwanese gender issues do so because they unconsciously regard Taiwanese aspects as nothing but a byproduct when talking about the giant vista of Communist Chinese women’s, gender and queer studies—not because Taiwanese gender issues are their only key points.

While most English-language academic books about Chinese-heritage women sound like an orchestra featuring the “big China,” Lü Hsiu-lien’s English-language autobiographical book adds one more valuable Taiwanese volume to English-language publications.

Ya-chen Chen, Columbia University, New York, USA

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FOLLOWING THE LEADER: Ruling China, from Deng Xiaoping to Xi Jinping. A Philip E. Lilienthal Book in Asian Studies. By David M. Lampton. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014. xiii, 293 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$31.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-520-28121-9.

Following the Leader probes the dreams and nightmares of the PRC’s leadership after Mao, from Deng Xiaoping to Xi Jinping. Lampton, who appreciates the fragility of the PRC’s success and the enormous challenges lying ahead, attempts to “humanize” China’s extraordinary course of development since Deng Xiaoping’s return to power in 1977. His selective history of PRC challenges reveals the frustrations China’s leaders feel, the sheer scale of the challenges they face and, most illuminatingly, “the nightmares disturbing their sleep.” Lampton’s book emerges at a pivotal point in China’s modern history—we still do not know if China’s rapid-paced development is the basis for a more stable and responsive PRC government or if it signals the appearance of a more unmanageable, pluralized polity and society.

Lampton’s book is based on 558 interviews and group meetings with Chinese leaders between 1971-2013, on “innumerable” documents, and is illustrated with case studies. His inside-out or inductive approach helps us understand and anticipate the behaviour of the PRC. The book moves from macro to micro, first narrating the evolution of the Chinese communist revolution, proceeding to a “wide-angle” view, then to an analysis of leaders’ nightmares from an up-close perspective, and finally to forecasting the implications of China’s supersonic development.

Following the Leaderis beautifully written and dotted with poetic passages unexpected in a book of political analysis. Describing the dilemma hyper growth has brought to the PRC since Deng Xiaoping’s rise, Lampton illuminates the following nightmare:

Like an automobile driving at high speed on a moonless night in the desert, China is undergoing a rate of domestic change so rapid that the country’s forward momentum cannot be stopped or the direction adequately adjusted in the existing zone of illumination—the PRC is driving too fast for the headlights to reveal what dangers lurk ahead . . . and at any moment China might hit a stationary object that was diffuse and unrecognized in the obscurity of the night. (222)

There are many more PRC nightmares for us to contemplate. In fact, China’s nightmares are so numerous Lampton finds the most appropriate simile for PRC governance to be the “whack a mole” arcade game in which one uses a mallet to try to bash multiple pop-up moles back into their holes. China’s nightmare is that one mallet is not and never will be enough to protect its people from harmful consequences such as severe environmental pollution or water problems that could explode into significant instability. It is clear that China’s economic power is key to China’s future and to its national power. Such economic power, however, can also lead to the greatest nightmare of all: that a government unable to protect its people from such deleterious conditions will soon need protection itself.

Unlike American leaders whose nightmares mainly focus on individuals or small groups, the nightmares of Chinese leaders concern huge social groups, some numbering over 800 million people. Lampton reminds us that at the end of 2011, for the first time in China’s history the rural population fell below half of the total population. China is now an urban nation. A PRC official states the nightmare this situation has produced by asking American officials how they would like to have 800 million farmers when the country only needs 200 million? China also needs upwards of 300 million jobs, equal to the entire population of the United States, to solve its periodically erupting unemployment problem. Worker discontent as a result of terrible factory working and pay conditions is frequently expressed in “mass incidents” as well as worker suicides and other violence.

Lampton considers PRC alternative futures that inspire some of the most traumatic nightmares for Chinese leaders. Perhaps the most frightening involves the fate of the People’s Liberation Army (PLA). For several years now there has been a “simmering” argument in the Communist Party about whether the PLA should become a “national army” or remain an instrument of a single political party. Some party thinkers have proposed dividing the Communist Party in two by forming one conservative Communist party and one more liberal Communist party. China would thus become a “democratic” multi-party state with the PLA beholden to the PRC government but not to either party. Such a move would avert a 1989 Tiananmen situation in which a domestic conflict or succession struggle leading to a split within the party could result in a PLA alignment with one side or, even worse, both. Some ask the haunting question: might a PLA beholden to the government and not to one particular party choose to take the government into its own hands?

What is in store for China’s long-range international future seems to be much more the stuff of nightmares for United States’ leaders than for China’s. China’s future destiny has never been more closely connected with that of the international community. Unfortunately for Washington, Lampton stresses, China perceives the United States to be the greatest threat to its security future. The United States struggles to develop a shared vision of international security with the PRC and others. Beijing is clearly uncomfortable with a US-led security order founded on bilateral and multilateral alliances that do not include China. This has led to a struggle for the soul of Chinese foreign policy, between the realities of interdependence and impulses of assertive nationalism. China’s still powerful fear of being bullied, its victim mentality, continues to foster its aversion to being drawn into international obligations. While China’s leaders and people feel empowered to be full and equal participants in regional and world affairs, China still, as a rule, strives for balance while maintaining few or no permanent enemies or friends. What is ominous for those who have spent most their lives engaged with the PRC is not a nightmare but a stark, present reality: for several years now, every time China gets into trouble with its neighbours, the United States is always on the other side.

Justin Jon (Ben-Adam) Rudelson, Southern Methodist University, Dallas, USA

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SPYING FOR THE PEOPLE: Mao’s Secret Agents, 1949-1967. By Michael Schoenhals. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013. ix, 266 pp. (Figures.) US$29.99, paper. ISBN 978-1-107-60344-8.

Michael Schoenhals’ newest work offers a rich and elegant examination of the surveillance and control apparatus of the People’s Republic of China in the two decades after revolution. Through the compilation of operational training manuals, archival accounts and never-before-seen “garbage materials”—grassroots, gray-market archival materials bought and sold by private peddlers—Schoenhals reconstructs the quotidian texture and day-to-day realities of China’s early surveillance operations. As the functional equivalent of the Soviet KGB, the Central Ministry of Public Security (CMPS) of the Central People’s Government was formally ratified on October 19, 1949, vested with exclusive authority to recruit and deploy agents for domestic operational purposes. How were they identified, trained, deployed and dismissed? How did the scope and influence of this organization change over time? What was the extent of its power and influence in the mid-1950s, at a time when China’s national railroad network alone saw more than ten thousand public security agents serving in a variety of capacities? What ensued in the wake of the Sino-Soviet split, when CCP authorities established their own surveillance textbooks and operational protocols based upon “Chinese characteristics?” What was the system’s fate at the outset of the Cultural Revolution, when Mao Zedong emphasized what Schoenhals somewhat euphemistically describes as the “widespread outsourcing of investigation, interrogation, and similar tasks to organizations of the revolutionary masses” (71-2). Schoenhals addresses these and many other questions, helping his readers gain a much fuller account of Chinese politics and society in the critical first two decades of the People’s Republic.

Schoenhals’ account is peppered throughout with concise, evocative case studies—too abundant to synthesize here—that humanize and enrich the story. One exemplary line of inquiry in the study pertains to the selection and recruitment of operatives at a time of great sociopolitical flux in the immediate post-revolutionary period. The CMPS was committed from its inception to developing what Schoenhals describes as “specialized and entirely covert operational resources” (52), with recruitment of operatives divided between three pools of candidates: the bad guys, the good guys, and those whose political and socioeconomic statuses were still very much in question at the time. The first group, also referred to as the “black masses,” encompassed those socioeconomic classes deemed hostile to the cause of socialism, and in particular, former Guomindang enemy combatants and surveillance operatives. Like many state-builders before and after it, the CCP was determined to leverage rather than eliminate those enemies who could render intelligence services deemed essential for the state’s protection. One prime recruitment area was within the country’s prison system, wherein detained individuals might be offered probationary status provided they were willing to collaborate. Mass mobilization campaigns constituted another prime recruiting ground, as in the October 1950 Suppression of Counterrevolutionaries campaign wherein service to the new regime was sometimes provided as an “exit strategy” to those who had been corralled. Former enemy combatants with known ties to enemy intelligence services were so valuable to the Communist regime, indeed, that they were at times specifically identified as “off limits” during political mass movements, and “de facto enjoyed protection in the course of every political campaign since 1949” (91).

The second group, or the red masses, encompassed members of the Party itself, as well as the Communist Youth League. Ideologically versed and politically committed to the cause, these individuals were in many ways the ideal candidates. In practical ways, however, they often proved less useful than their “black element” counterparts, standing out conspicuously within precisely those questionable contexts and communities they were charged with infiltrating.

The third group, or “gray masses,” was one of the most promising recruitment grounds for the state. Protestant “elements,” for example, could be utilized to infiltrate the Christian communities, themselves already under suspicion and close watch by the nascent regime. Similarly, those with longstanding connections to China’s foreign and embassy communities could be drawn upon to keep close watch on expatriates and foreign diplomats. There was an acute concern with finding operatives from non-Han Chinese backgrounds, as well, particularly in the southwest where Guomindang cells continued to operate between and along the Sino-Burmese border.

The development of surveillance operations involved not only organizational and logistical challenges, but also political and ideological debates. Was the employment of a covert force compatible with the Party’s self-fashioned identity as a revolutionary force of the people—particularly the use of the “black classes” and questionable elements? Was there a place for this form of covert organization within New China? The answer was a resounding yes, and what is more, the CCP proved unwilling to entrust its security solely with this formal surveillance infrastructure. By as early as 1953, the Party had developed its own parallel operation: the “specialized ideological policing unit,” or the Political Department of the CMPS. Among the most surveilled were CMPS agents themselves.

Spying for the People builds upon, and will undoubtedly contribute greatly to, Schoenhals’ deservedly towering reputation as a penetrating and precise analyst of the People’s Republic.

Thomas S. Mullaney, Stanford University, Stanford, USA

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THE MAKING OF MODERN CHINESE MEDICINE, 1850-1960. Contemporary Chinese Studies. By Bridie Andrews. Vancouver: UBC Press, 2014. xvi, 294 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$35.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-7748-2433-0.

Chinese medicine may not be what you think it is. Americans may be forgiven for thinking acupuncture the most important part of China’s medical culture, yet in 1820 a popular slogan in China stated that acupuncture was “absolutely inappropriate to all gentlemen.” How then did needling become the representative practice for Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM)? What happened, Bridie Andrews reveals, is that Chinese medicine became modern even as the conspicuous word “traditional” was added to its name.

In this long-awaited synthetic study examining the transformation of Chinese medical culture from a pluralistic and private affair in the mid-nineteenth century to a standardized and state-sponsored dual system by the mid-twentieth, Andrews offers the best account to date of how “Western” medicine (xiyi) and “Chinese” medicine (zhongyi)encountered each other and both became modern. The genius of this study is that it keeps its eye fully on both forms of medicine, rather than one or the other. In nine lean chapters, Andrews examines the transformation of the medical field in China that ranged from herbalists, shamans, bone-setters, midwives, priests and a few medical missionaries, to one in which two forms of medicine competed. There was an increasingly power-hungry xiyi that sought to dominate the medical field, and an increasingly rationalized Chinese medicine that (re-)incorporated acupuncture from Japan. Like other recent works on Chinese medicine, Andrews skewers the nationalist narrative of a TCM that was always, already complete. Likewise, xiyi was also in constant transformation. But this is no Whig history—neither form of medicine progressed according to an inevitable logic of progress—and so the end result is messy: a Chinese health-care field that promoted one form of medicine over another because it was sometimes popular, sometimes effective, and always subject to the politics of nationalism.

Following the introduction, Andrews establishes a baseline for a conversation about medicine and modernity in China. So we discover the complex field of health care in nineteenth-century China when on the street a foreign observer might witness Daoist medical peddlers, exorcists and kung-fu masters, but an astute Chinese writer would observe that many health issues were handled within the household through religious practices and herbal medical prescriptions, but may also consult itinerant “river-and-lake” doctors, street healers, tiger-skin merchants or various female practitioners. There were also official and semi-official physicians, a category that might include military doctors, opium office doctors, and school and Red Cross doctors. But all of the above, for Qiu Jisheng in 1915 Shaoxing, were a separate category from Chinese-style doctors (zhongyi). The knowledge and practice of these specialists in wound treatment, eye and throat diseases, smallpox variolation, childbirth and pediatrics, internal and external medicine was in a discrete class. For the poor, home and religious remedies were usually the only forms of medicine that were affordable, while the wealthy might get second and third opinions from established specialists.

We also see the birth of missionary medicine in China as hundreds of British and Americans physicians attempted to practice medicine as an aid to conversion. But rather than emphasize how different their medicine was, Andrews demonstrates how missionaries tried to reduce the “perception of alterity” by using Chinese drugs, making their clinics and hospitals accommodating to Chinese sensibilities, and taking the pulse at both wrists, as was common practice (55-61). In a fourth chapter, Japan becomes the focus as we see this nation as key to transforming both major forms of medicine. Japan had absorbed anatomically-based Western medicine along with other reforms well before China, and became a model for many modernizers from China due to its geographical and cultural proximity. In Japan, kanpō (Andrews calls this “Sino-Japanese medicine”) was regulated and starved while the government encouraged a vigorously expanding system of domestic medical education promoting anatomically-based medicine. A Chinese physician named Yu Yan, trained in the Japanese system, returned to China and tried to demolish Chinese medical theory through public debate, and then abolish its practice through legislation. But both kanpō in Japan and its counterpart in China survived and experienced resurgence in the 1930s.

Subsequent chapters focus on public health as a key component of state building, examples of medical lives in the unofficial hybrid field of medicine that emerged in the twentieth century, new medical institutions that changed both forms of medicine, and the development of new theories and new practices even as nationalism emphasized the “traditional” aspect of medicine. To illustrate these themes, I focus on acupuncture.

Andrews reveals how acupuncture was transformed into the marquee practice of modern Chinese medicine from its degraded position in the late Qing. The key was the Japanese grafting of acupuncture onto a Western view of the anatomical body. Modern filiform needles replaced previously much larger acupuncture tools. Acupuncture points were reduced and relocated by subsequent Chinese scholars like Cheng Dan’an, who studied both forms of medicine, and argued, “[e]ach acupoint must be elucidated anatomically,” to avoid blood vessels and arteries. And so it is ironic, the author argues, that Westerners now see this Japanese-influenced, anatomically reformed acupuncture as the symbol of a more holistic and ancient form of health now called Traditional Chinese Medicine (197-205).

The author ends her roughly chronological narrative of a long century of modern medicine in China with the official establishment of TCM in the 1950s. Although the analysis is often at its best in the final chapter of conclusions, the narrative becomes thin during the crucial war and early PRC years (1937-1960) as Andrews relies on recent secondary literature. Other readers may find the episodic nature of the chapter on three medical lives to be instructing, if not completely satisfying as the best examples of the trends she describes elsewhere. Yet these can hardly be major critiques of what was designed to be a century-long narrative history arguing that, against received understandings, modern Chinese medicine includes both xiyi practiced in China, and standardized and anatomized Traditional Chinese Medicine.

David Luesink, University of Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh, USA

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ENGAGING CHINA: Myth, Aspiration, and Strategy in Canadian Policy from Trudeau to Harper. UTP Insights. By Paul M. Evans. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2014. xix, 122 pp. US$19.95, paper. ISBN 978-1-4426-1448-2.

Paul Evans has long been a distinguished student of the Canada-China relationship, and his new Engaging China is probably the most important book published about it since Reluctant Adversaries: Canada and the People’s Republic of China, 1949-1970 (University of Toronto Press, 1991), a conference volume he and B. Michael Frolic edited. This brief book is based entirely on English-language materials, but in relating the Canadian side of the relationship Evans makes fairly extensive use of original archival sources.

Most historians will probably come away from this book somewhat disappointed that Evans does not cover in any detail Trudeau’s trip to China in the late 1940s, his subsequent second trip to China in 1960 along with Jacques Hébert during the height of the Great Leap Forward famine (he would later visit China once again in 1973, this time as PM), Trudeau’s lifelong fixation on China, Diefenbaker’s decision to sell wheat to China, and especially Canada’s innovative and influential “takes note” formula regarding the territorial disposition of Taiwan in establishing diplomatic relations with the People’s Republic of China in 1970.

“Aspirations and tactics from the past offer lessons and cautionary tales,” he writes on page 84, but he does not really elaborate on these lessons and tales very much other than to make the sound observation that “the Canadian approach historically has been the idea that China is not a long-term threat.” This is somewhat disappointing, especially since Evans clearly believes that knowing the past in order to understand the present better is a sound reason for studying history. But Evans is primarily a political scientist, and it would be unfair to criticize his book for being something it is not and does not pretend to be: a full-orbed monograph on the history of Canada-China relations, one drawn from both Canadian and Chinese sources. Indeed, according to Evans, “What we still need are a full-gauged history of Canadian policy making and a systematic account of the Chinese side of the equation” (xix). He draws attention to the ongoing preparation of the long-awaited full treatment of Canada-China relations by B. Michael Frolic (Bernie Frolic).

Engaging China is a brief survey of Canadian China policy since 1970 and, more importantly, a broad policy recommendation or prescription for the terms of the future relationship. The meat of the book is chapter 5, “Engagement Recalibrated,” in which Evans argues that correcting Canada’s somewhat deficient and evolving China policies can be achieved through understanding and acting on four main points: 1) since 1978 and Deng Xiaoping’s reforms, China has changed immensely and continues to do so, and that this is good news for “engagers,” or people who believe that long-term engagement of the West with China will lead to positive change there; 2) the current dispensation of a multicentric world order has changed China’s international behaviour and will continue to do so, and fears of competing visions of world order (Westphalian vs. Sinocentric) are overstated; 3) while Australia, South Korea and the United States have formulated long-term strategic visions for their overall engagement with China, Canada has so far largely failed to think in long-term geopolitical and strategic terms and needs to transcend narrowly “transactional and mercantilist” concerns; and 4) national leaders should take the lead in formulating a coherent long-term vision for China policy.

Evans argues that Canadian trade and investment with China can, if “carefully implemented” (87), eventually improve China’s human rights, social and economic rights, although possibly in ways not readily foreseen today. He suggests that Canadian leaders can gently prod China to abide by the provisions of its own constitution, which explicitly guarantees freedoms of press, speech and assembly, among other things. He has faith in the long-term transformative power of “the traditional Canadian formula of direct criticism and expressions of concern at the highest political level, quiet diplomacy in cases involving individuals, and an incessant effort at two-way dialogue, academic exchange, and capacity building” (88), and he wants as many levels and varieties of exchange and contact with China as possible.

He clearly admires Australia’s comprehensive geostrategic blueprint for future engagement with China and observes that “Australia, Canada’s most natural Asia Pacific comparator, is wrestling with the dilemma of having China as its largest trading partner and the United States as its principal security partner” (96). Although Canada’s largest trading and security partners are one and the same country, his argument that Canada ought to have some sort of coherent vision of China policy is sound, as is his contention that Canada should not focus on trade while largely leaving defence matters to the US and its Pacific allies.

Evans is not content to see Canada-China relations develop on an ad hoc basis, as if Canada were travelling through thick fog and could see what lies ahead only as it is closely approached. Evans insists that the fog can and should be penetrated and a way through it found. This important book, which no student of Canada-China relations should neglect and which belongs in all serious academic libraries, ultimately highlights the inadequacy of the ossified Laurentian and Continentalist duality in Canada’s foreign relations. While Canada’s major foreign relationship will very likely always be with the United States, Canada is now more of a Pacific state than an Atlantic one, even though much of Canada has yet to awaken fully to this adamantine fact. Evans’ book is a clarion call for the awakening, one that will hopefully help make unnecessary a future firebell in the night.

David Curtis Wright, University of Calgary, Calgary, Canada                                                   

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THE CHINA PATH TO ECONOMIC TRANSITION AND DEVELOPMENT. By Hong Yinxing; translated by Xiao-huang Yin. Beijing: Higher Education Press, 2014. 520 pp. RMB ¥89.00, paper. ISBN 978-7-04-039235-7.

The take-off of the Chinese economy beginning at the end of the twentieth century surprised many experts within China and without. It also represents the most serious challenge to the geo-economic order in the Pacific region and beyond since the mid-nineteenth century. Unprecedented in world history in terms of scope and speed, China’s economic transformation from an impoverished country to the world’s second largest economy in a short period of time also challenges the existing theoretical paradigms. As Hong Yinxing points out in the introduction to his The China Path to Economic Transition and Development, old theories about economic development and transition can no longer sufficiently explain the recent changes in China’s economy. Nor could these theories provide guidance for its future growth.

Hong divides his book into two parts. In part 1 (the first six chapters) of the book, he provides the theoretical basis for understanding the “China model” of economic reform and opening. In chapter 1, he notes that China’s pattern of economic development is different from the models prescribed by Western theories of economic transition. In other words, what characterizes China’s transition is its focus on marketization, rather than privatization. He also notes that in conducting its market reform, China sets itself apart from countries like the former Soviet Union, whose goal was to transform itself into a capitalist economy. By comparison, China’s goal is more gradual and more focused on social stability. In chapter 2, he points out that this pattern of development remains socialist in essence and is uniquely Chinese. Hong argues that China’s economic success in the past three decades convincingly shows that the “China model” is a successful one. In chapter 3, he analyzes the deliberate efforts that China made to revamp its economy gradually. Those efforts include non-state elements in the economy and reforming the ownership structure of state-owned enterprises. In the next chapter, Hong discusses the steps that China took in establishing a new market-economy order. He demonstrates the complexities of the creation of this new order by noting that it cannot take place simultaneously with the destruction of the old planned economy system. In chapter 5 he looks into non-economic sectors such as public transportation, education and public health, confronting issues like social security, unemployment and social justice that became more prominent as the economy grew. In the last chapter of the first part of the book, the author reminds us that the two driving forces of the Chinese economy, namely FDI (foreign direct investment) and labour, can no longer give China the competitive advantage that it needs to sustain and continue its economic growth.

In the second part (the last 8 chapters) of the book, Hong explores the “China path” to economic development. China’s rapid economic growth, he notes in chapter 7, is seldom seen in the world. It became the second-largest economy in the world in 2010, the largest country in terms of foreign currency reserves, and the second-largest import country. Now China needs to find a “new driving force” and reorient its economic development. This is because old factors that supported China’s economic take-off are losing steam. For instance, labour is becoming increasingly expensive and scarce. China can no longer rely on investments and exports to sustain its economic development; rather, it must expand domestic consumption and technological and scientific innovation. In other words, China must shift from extensive economic growth to intensive growth, which is the subject of chapter 8. The latter, as Hong notes in chapter 9, will lead to a “new economy,” which is based on knowledge, information, the Internet and digitization. In chapter 10, he explores how China can develop innovation as a way to sustain its economic development. Chapter 11 examines another challenge that the Chinese economy faces: how to obliterate the urban-rural divide, which has become worse in recent decades. The solution, he argues in chapter 12, is the modernization of agriculture, which requires, among other things, the introduction of science and technology to agricultural production. Chapter 13 explores how to use expanded consumption to stimulate economic growth. The last chapter of the book returns to a topic he touched upon earlier: why China’s economic pattern is uniquely Chinese. To answer this question, the author looks at the economic ideas and policies of the Chinese Communist Party.

This is an extremely thoughtful and well-researched book, which demonstrates the author’s profound familiarity not only with the modern theories of economic development and transition but also with China’s recent economic growth. The book is coherently organized around two fundamental and inter-related questions: whether China’s rapid economic take-off in recent decades represents a pattern that is uniquely Chinese and whether China could sustain its growth in the future. He tackles these questions by looking at different aspects of the rapidly expanding Chinese economy and the subsequent socioeconomic issues that accompany China’s economic expansion. His convincing argument that China’s development challenges existing theories of economic development and transition embodies a theoretical innovation. Through his extensive data and nuanced analysis, Hong provides valuable insights into the past, present and future of the Chinese economy, which will benefit economists, policy makers and researchers and students of the Chinese economy. These insights are now made accessible to English readers as well thanks to the faithful and effective translation by Professor Xiao-huang Yin.

Yong Chen, University of California, Irvine, USA

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Northeast Asia


WORKING SKIN: Making Leather, Making a Multicultural Japan. Asia Pacific Modern, 13. By Joseph D. Hankins. Oakland, CA: University of California Press, 2014. xxii, 277 pp. (Figures.) US$29.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-520-28329-9.

Working Skin is a highly original treatise which explores one of the primary tensions pertaining to the contemporary Buraku problem in Japan: “that multicultural forms of political argument that authorize labor as a category of Buraku marginalization are gaining traction at the precise moment the labor that renders people stigmatized as Buraku is disappearing” (240). Based on the author’s extensive engagement in broad-ranging fieldwork activities including working in the Buraku-affiliated NGO International Movement Against All Forms of Discrimination and Racism (IMADR) and a Tokyo leather tannery, the book offers perhaps the most theoretically sophisticated and ethnographically reflexive attempt by any scholar to date to wrestle with issues of contemporary Buraku liberation within the broader context of liberal multiculturalism and globalization.

As the introduction makes plain, multiculturalism is viewed as a liberal discourse employed by both Burakumin and non-Burakumin alike in recent decades to construct and manage issues pertaining to difference. Working Skin offers a study of what is termed “the labor of multiculturalism,” making sense of the differing, gendered conditions under which such multicultural signification takes place, the kinds of labour employed in the constitutive process, the bodies of content entailed in the production process, and the transformative power of that labour. Multiculturalism in the book is interpreted as a discourse that “disciplines and dominates the lives of people both at the margins and at the center of the nation-state” (17).

Chapter 1 analyzes and contrasts the different kinds of labour engaged in by employees in both the IMADR and a leather processing plant in Tokyo. The chapter shows how the different labour undertaken in both settings, which is both gendered and shaped historically by divergent practices of economic production, works to produce different bodies of Buraku subjects ultimately brought together under the same label. Chapter 2 focuses on the problem of the “non-production of signs of being Buraku” and the question of “how this non-production troubles the Buraku political movement” (62). Defining the desire of people not to want to identify as Burakumin “Ushimatsu” (based on the leading protagonist in Shimazaki Tōson’s novel Hakai), and identifying this tendency at various scales including both the individual and the geographical collective level, Hankins demonstrates the tensions this kind of ideology has for the Buraku Liberation League in its search for “complete liberation” (69), and establishes via a historical argument the ways in which such an idea has emerged in conjunction with a (neo)liberal politics that advocates multiculturalism.

Chapter 3 marks the commencement of a new section which shifts the focus of the book away from the production and non-production of Buraku signs to the kinds of content produced and the forms of labour undertaken to draw public attention to this difference. Here the focus is first on understanding the transformations in the criteria that have physically and conceptually determined Buraku identity (occupation, residence, and kinship), an analysis that is conducted through (among other things) the intriguing lenses of environmental critique and private detective investigations. Chapter 4 then moves on to introduce how attention to the signs of Buraku difference is constituted in two public settings important for the Buraku liberation movement: human rights seminars and denunciation campaigns. By focusing on the figure of the “sleeper” within a human rights seminar setting (members of the public allegedly in attendance of their own volition), and contrasting these figures alongside a public that needs to be forced to admit to both direct and indirect acts of Buraku discrimination, the chapter convincingly shows that rather than seeing both figures as mutually opposed or chronologically consecutive moments in a process of liberation, they can be productively understood as twin processes designed to constitute and discipline a Buraku public.

Chapter 5 marks the beginning of a third section in the book dealing with the transnational aspects of Buraku liberation and the attempts to create a basis for international solidarity. The chapter specifically focuses on the attempt by the Buraku Liberation League to develop international partnerships with various overseas groups by fostering a sense of the corresponding nature of their experiences of discrimination. The chapter offers an analysis of “Discrimination Based on Work and Descent,” a now officially recognized category of discrimination which emerged as the result of the political collaborations of various international partner groups including the Buraku Liberation League, and examines the kinds of labour undertaken in this project to create a universally recognizable subject suffering a unique form of discrimination. The chapter further explores the interpretative problems such a project poses, and the ways in which such an undertaking is both connected to and generated by broader liberal concerns.

Chapter 6 deals with a particular instance of what Hankins terms the “transnational solidarity project” (200) wherein a group with Buraku ties in Tokyo, through the English language tutelage and then interpreting efforts of the author, prepared for and embarked upon a journey to Tamil Nadu to strengthen ties with Dalit organizations experiencing what was projected by participants to be similar forms of discrimination. This chapter also looks to examine the kinds of labour undertaken to articulate a particular form of “wounded” subjecthood transnationally, the different forms such labour takes and the tensions they produce, as well as the work engaged in to forge solidarity between groups whose experiences of discrimination and movements towards liberation are at times jarringly different. The conclusion then seeks to tie the various sections of the book together by addressing important questions about why the labour of multiculturalism has gained traction and support from funding bodies in recent times and how it has worked to transform the Buraku subjects who engage in it.

Working Skin offers powerful insights into the nature of the contemporary Buraku liberation movement as well as addressing broader issues pertaining to constructing and managing difference in Japan. By asking original questions and then developing investigative methods and interpretative strategies that permit highly suggestive answers, the book sets a new gold standard for both studies of Burakumin and multiculturalism in Japan. The work’s exciting theoretical underpinnings and powerful conclusions suggest that it will also have a much broader appeal for scholars and students working further afield both in the disciplines of anthropology and history as well as in the various locations where they intersect.

Timothy D. Amos, National University of Singapore, Singapore                                                 

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WHEN THE FUTURE DISAPPEARS: The Modernist Imagination in Late Colonial Korea. Studies of the Weatherhead East Asian Institute, Columbia University. By Janet Poole. New York: Columbia University Press, 2014. xi, 286 pp. (Figures, maps.) US$60.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-16518-1.

When the Future Disappears: The Modernist Imagination in Late Colonial Korea by Janet Poole is a contemplative and immersive piece of scholarship. In it, Poole demands that we approach the fiction of the late colonial period with eyes and ears that are attuned to the shifts in language policies and concepts of time, and that we remain mindful of the dramatic changes in the social and political fabric that structured late colonial narratives. Her book urges us to better attend to and appreciate the kind of choices writers faced as Korea became increasingly implicated in Japan’s oppressive mobilization policies of the 1930s and 1940s.

As the title indicates, the interrogative impulse in each chapter is driven by Poole’s main argument: that late 1930s modernist fiction and philosophical writing was shaped by the sense of a disappearing future, borne out of the disheartening conviction that Japan’s imperialization, war mobilization and language policies had sealed the fate of the Korean language and nation. Her purpose, then, is to map out the varied responses of writers to this crisis, and to better understand the significance of their work—not with the advantage of hindsight but on their own terms, as heartfelt responses to what would have been a profound apprehension of a foreclosed future.

According to Poole, this sense of a disappearing future originates partly in the reordering of temporal concepts. She finds that the idea of progressive time, so endemic to modernity, to be one of the more egregious symptoms of the late colonial period. In her reading, the walls of time were closing in; Korea was being launched forward, but was facing a future that was at best unclear, at worst an unambiguous finale marked by Korea’s full absorption into Japan, not just territorially but also culturally and linguistically. She identifies two main responses to this crisis in fiction: a focus on the “unruly detail” of the everyday (Ch’oe Myŏngik, Kim Namchŏn); and the turn toward a private sphere or liminal space (Yi T’aejun, Sŏ Insik, Pak T’aewŏn, Ch’oe Chaesŏ) whose in-between nature produced an effect of “double exposure” that, by capturing multiple temporal layers, also challenged the seemingly inevitable momentum underwritten by colonial fascism.

This engrossing monograph is all the more fascinating when put in conversation with recent publications in the field of colonial literature by Chris Hanscom and Sunyoung Park. These scholars have written about the same time frame and authors, and each has come up with a different explanation for the responses of colonial fiction and non-fiction to the crises of assimilation, wartime mobilization and censorship. Productive questions arise from reading them side-by-side, such as: can modernist writing be best explained through the understanding of the period as a crisis of representation symbolized by the colonial “double bind” (Chris Hanscom, The Real Modern : Literary Modernism and the Crisis of Representation in Colonial Korea, Harvard University Asia Center, 2013) or by a disappearing future (Poole)? Was Kim Namch’ŏn’s focus on the mundane objects and routines of the everyday driven by his desire to “resist the excesses of dogmatic socialism and the utopian visions of the pan-Asianist ideology” (863) with the purpose of illuminating the totality of the everyday (Sunyoung Park, “Everyday Life as Critique in Late Colonial Korea: Kim Namch’ŏn’s Literary Experiments, 1934–43,” The Journal of Asian Studies 68.03, 2009: 861–893)? Or was Kim Namch’ŏn and Ch’oe Myŏngik’s focus on the everyday an impulse that served to privilege a scientific, objective gaze that could give unmediated access to the world and thus intervene in the “contentious realm of colonial representation” (29) and conjure up a heterogeneous time that allowed for a personal negotiation of the experiences of modernity?

Poole’s overriding argument—that the sense of a foreclosed future is what shaped the fiction and non-fiction of the wartime mobilization period—is compelling, all the more because it demands that the contemporary reader consider the choices that writers who wished to continue their creative lives faced in this period. She pleads that we bear in mind that these writers did not have the privilege of knowing that everything would change after August 15, 1945, and that we remember that “what was believed possible at one moment also matters” (207). Yet while the idea that the future was disappearing is captivating, one wonders if the sense of a disappearing future was the only driving force of creative writing in this period. For example, Hyŏn Tŏk (1909-?) published a series of linked stories in 1938-39 in the Sonyǒn Chosǒn Ilbo that explores the way a society of children navigate the world around them, first by imitating adults and then by inventing creative solutions to issues of economic inequality and gender discrimination in a delightful and optimistic manner. Indeed, the very persistence of children’s fiction written in Korean up until 1940 suggests that not all writers had given up on the impulse to reflect, anticipate and shape the experience of the future generation with what was a decidedly forward-looking gaze.

Ultimately, however, Poole’s book is arresting and deeply thought-provoking. She crafts her narrative in a lyrical style that is very moving, and she offers a model of close reading with an attentiveness to language, content and form that serves as a reminder that the ultimate satisfaction from reading can only emerge with painstaking re-reading. Another strength of Poole’s lies in the manner in which she finds sympathetic resonance to her argument in a range of scholarship on colonial literatures and modernities; she invites the reader familiar with Korea to consider the ways in which the conundrum of the colonized as been worked out in other contexts. Lastly, her inclusion of Korean literature in the Japanese language revisits the perennial question of collaboration, and her ability to discuss these works sheds light in the darkest corners of the canon and begs a consideration of how literary histories of Korean may expand through a consideration of Korea’s excised and excluded voices.

Dafna Zur, Stanford University, Stanford, USA                                                                            

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ENERGY SECURITY IN JAPAN: Challenges After Fukushima. Transforming Environmental Politics and Policy. By Vlado Vivoda. Farnham, Surrey, Eng.; Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing Ltd., 2014. xv, 231 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$119.95, cloth. ISBN 978-1-4094-5530-1.

Assessing the past, present and future of Japanese energy policy has become a boom industry. In Energy Security in Japan, Vlado Vivoda joins the fray with the objective of assessing the challenges posed by the March 2011 nuclear disaster (“3.11”) for energy security, defined as “the availability of energy at all times in various forms, in sufficient quantities and at affordable prices, without unacceptable or irreversible impact on the economy and the environment” (5). As a consequence of 3.11, Japanese citizens and businesses are paying more for energy (resulting in the country’s first annual trade deficit since 1980), the supply of which is less secure owing to increased reliance on imported fossil fuels, a preponderance of which originates in politically unstable regions. In addition to stoking regional competition for energy imports and inducing higher world prices, burning more fossil fuels increases emissions and works at cross purposes with Japan’s professed aim of contributing to the global campaign to combat climate change.

Vivoda’s central argument is that Japan’s energy future is embedded in a historically rooted political, economic and social context, that is further constrained by sunk investment in the existing energy system and affected by changes in the global energy system. The chief sources of this “path dependency” are institutions, interests and ideas. Vivoda argues that energy policy is dominated by “a genuine iron triangle of politics, bureaucracy, and industry” (18). In this arrangement—which has remained remarkably stable for nearly four decades—the Ministry of Economy, Trade and Industry (METI) is the “energy policy-making hub,” while ten regional utility monopolies along with their nuclear- and fossil fuel-friendly corporate allies speak for the private sector (13). The almost perpetually ruling Liberal Democratic Party (LDP), which is linked by ties of mutual self-interest to METI and the private-sector powerbrokers, completes the triadic elite. With a vice-like grip on the levers of power, these “vested interests” that lord over Japan’s energy policy making are in a position to deny anything more than a sidelines role to citizens’ groups, experts, local governments and the mass media. In response to those who believe that 3.11 will dictate dramatic changes in policy, Vivoda maintains that energy transitions are protracted affairs that represent another source of path dependency (13). Yet, just a few pages later, he leaves readers scratching their heads in observing that “the discovery of superior sources of energy has sometimes resulted in a relatively rapid transition to a new energy source, as in the case of coal and oil” (21).

The book’s greatest contribution is found in six core chapters that trace the historical evolution, current challenges and future prospects of oil, natural gas, coal, nuclear, renewables and electricity generation in the country’s energy supply. For empirical support, Vivoda draws upon the scholarly secondary literature, media reports and interviews with policy experts, most of which seem to have been conducted during a 12-day Japan Foundation-sponsored study tour during May 2011. These case studies are full of information. For example, readers are reminded that Japan ranks in the top three of the world’s largest importers of liquefied natural gas, coal and oil. And, despite increased reliance on LNG and nuclear energy following the 1973 OPEC embargo, continued reliance on petroleum has led policy makers to repeatedly try—but fail—to achieve targets for increasing the supply of self-developed “equity oil.” Although Vivoda is keen to point out that Japan’s hefty thirst for imported fossil fuels is at the heart of an expanding resource rivalry with China, he neglects to factor in South Korea, another regional competitor with a similar addiction to energy imports. He explains how Japanese policy makers have portrayed nuclear power as a carbon-neutral, semi-indigenous form of energy supply, and predicts that the “revitalization of Japan’s nuclear power industry is likely once public sensitivities over the Fukushima crisis have died down” (142). Even though renewables represent a potentially sustainable, disaster-proof energy source, Vivoda is convinced that, barring a technological breakthrough that drastically reduces the cost of renewable energy, this option will continue to play a marginal role in the energy mix.

Energy Security in Japan aims to enhance our understanding of the country’s energy security, energy policy and mode of crisis response. While Vivoda invokes “neo-institutionalist” concepts (e.g., Douglass North’s approach to institutions), he does not devote much effort to vanquishing rival theories, testing hypotheses or solving a central “puzzle.” It would be useful to know, for example, how Vivoda’s argument squares with those of other major contributors such as Richard Samuels, Kent Calder, Laura Hein and Raymond Vernon. Also, in employing a broad-mouthed analytic framework that seeks to discern the path dependence-inducing effects of institutions and interests and ideas—each of which derive from an expansive literature—Vivoda runs the risk of violating Occam’s razor. Vivoda’s thesis would be clearer and more compelling had he chosen to access the shaping effect of whichever one of this triad of elements would appear to offer the greatest analytic yield. Furthermore, while Vivoda argues for the primary importance of domestic factors, he concedes that the global energy system also plays a role. Yet he does not seize the opportunity to explain when, why and how domestic and international forces interact to shape Japanese energy policy. Finally, despite arguing that Japanese policy makers must restart the country’s idled nuclear reactors to avert economic crisis, Vivoda suggests that the “control of public discourse and policy and regulatory processes” by an iron triangle of bureaucrats, business leaders, and politicians “suggests that Japan is not a true liberal democracy” (190). This is a rather apocalyptic conclusion to draw from a narrowly focused study of Japan’s post-3.11 energy challenges.

Despite some blemishes, Energy Security in Japan is worthwhile reading for those interested in an assessment of the country’s changing energy mix. While the book is generally well written, readers should be forewarned of a number of misspelled words, grammatical errors and at least one fugitive bibliographic reference. Nevertheless, it could serve as a textbook in a course on comparative energy policy or as a primer on Japanese energy security.

Brian Woodall, Georgia Institute of Technology, Atlanta, USA
Tokyo Institute of Technology, Tokyo, Japan

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JAPANESE EDUCATION IN AN ERA OF GLOBALIZATION: Culture, Politics, and Equity. Edited by Gary DeCoker, Christopher Bjork; foreword by James J. Shields. New York: Teachers College Press, 2013. xiv, 206 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$49.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8077-5423-8.

Nearly 40 years ago the world began taking notice of the Japanese education system, asking questions about its role in the spectacular success of the Japanese economy, which at the time was poised to take over the world. Or so it seemed. We all know now in retrospect that this was an incomplete picture, missing key elements at work in both Japanese society, which was far more complex than the characterizations of the 1980s, and the world economy, on the verge then of what we have loosely come to call “globalization.” The latter of course ironically replaced Japan as a target of fear-mongering after the 1980s. The reality for both the Japanese education system and for globalization has turned out to be something more prosaic. And, in fact, more interesting.

Gary DeCoker and Christopher Bjork, long scholars of Japanese society and Japanese education, have been among a range of contributors to our understanding of the intricate workings of a system that makes a good deal of sense on its own terms and that has had its ups and downs but, in the end, is still consistently one of the highest achieving educational societies in the world. They have assembled a stellar cast of 16 scholars of Japanese education for this volume: Japanese, American, women and men. All are critical researchers with long histories of engagement with Japan and its educational system. Many of them are provocative, original thinkers whom policy makers would do well to listen to during their deliberations on this key institution for global societies.

The book is divided into four sections, revealing an important agenda for the editors and their authors: progressive education and equality/inequality in a global context. As such, the book can be a mirror for researchers working with other national school systems. This is critical in an era of parochialism and an ever-narrowing trend toward metrics, which threaten to undermine the deeply complex value of comparative education for all of us: the discovery and understanding of how others do education well or badly, the promises and possibilities from other educational efforts as examples for our own educational system, and the question of which ideas and practices might best be adopted or avoided.

A short but hard-hitting volume of 206 pages, the book begins with a dedication to Thomas Rohlen, followed by a foreword by James J. Shields titled “Genesis and Goals,” which touches on Herbert Passin, Isaac Kandel, and John Dewey, all influential early comparative educators, and an eloquent testimonial to a passing of the torch. The first section of the book frames the discussion, as the section title announces, with Gary DeCoker arguing for enduring historical issues in new contexts, and Diane Hoffman speaking in counterpoint for enduring tensions and emerging challenges. DeCoker speaks of five themes that emerged from the work of the team of authors and editors: global interactions, changing societal context, the diminishing role of the Ministry of Education and grassroots change, equity, and minorities. Hoffman brings her anthropological expertise to a series of binary observations on cultural versus structural effects, the individual versus the collective, education for belonging or transformation, and homogeneity/diversity, all reflections of “culture, power, and difference in reading Japanese education” (26).

There have been many descriptions of Japanese education “on-the-ground” over the years, but the three chapters in the second section of the book shed new light on preschools (Akiko Hayashi and Joseph Tobin), school guidance in middle schools (Christopher Bjork and Rebecca Erwin Fukuzawa), and student-teacher relationships in the context of ijime, bullying (Motoko Akiba and Kazuhiko Shimizu). The subtitle of this section alludes to context, change and global perceptions, although I am not sure the last was really covered and wondered about this description.

In the third section of the book, Kaori Okano, Christopher Frey and June Gordon concern themselves with stories that have largely been invisible, at least to mainstream Japanese, North Americans, Europeans, and others. Okano shares observations on ethnic schools, with a larger comment on multiculturalism in Japan. Christopher Frey examines an unusual topic, Ainu schooling, and its relation to what he terms “self-determination and globalization.” June Gordon discusses Japan’s “enduring cultural inequalities” through the lens of the Nikkei, those Brazilians who came to Japan from the 1990s, many of them of ethnic Japanese origin. Gordon draws on a strong research base, which enhances her presentation.

The fourth section, “The Outcome of Educational Reform,” might have been titled in the plural, yet the subtitle, “Evaluating policies introduced to mitigate inequality and expand opportunity,” puts a hopeful gloss on what is certainly read differently by sociologists of Japan, notably in the substantive reviews of Kariya Takehiko. The four authors make a case, as has Kariya in other contexts, for the increase of both inequality and privilege. It is not a pretty picture. Hyunjoon Park and Yeon-Jin Lee argue for the increase of educational inequality, a front-page topic in Japanese media in the 2000s, while Tomoaki Nomi gives us a clearer picture of the relationship of government spending and socioeconomic background to academic achievement in the capital city, Tokyo, where much of what is best and worst about the system appears most clearly. Finally, Ryoko Tsuneyoshi, an incisive commentator on Japan in comparative perspective, caustically evaluates “the advantages and cost of privilege” through the examination system.

The book closes with the remarks of one of the deans of Japanese education, Victor Kobayashi, in his afterword, “Change upon Change: Whither Japan, Whither Japanese Education?” In his closing remarks, Kobayashi provides not only an insightful review of each previous chapter but a thoughtful meditation on the state of Japan following the horrific disasters of 3-11. He ends on a note of hope, emphasizing Japan’s resiliency and how education conserves and advances “the best of world traditions.” A strong text for Japan Studies and Comparative Education classrooms, DeCoker and Bjork’s Japanese Education in an Era of Globalization addresses critical cultural, national and international issues for Japan and indeed for the world.

David Blake Willis, Fielding Graduate University, Santa Barbara, USA
Soai University, Osaka, Japan                                                                       

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LOST AND FOUND: Recovering Regional Identity in Imperial Japan. Harvard East Asian Monographs, no. 364. By Hiraku Shimoda. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center; Harvard University Press [distributor], 2014. viii, 159 pp. (Illustration, map.) US$39.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-49201-1.

The cover photograph on the jacket of Lost and Found: Recovering Regional Identity in Imperial Japan is of Tsuruga Castle, headquarters of Aizu domain and daimyō Matsudaira Katamori, soon after the “pro-imperial” forces of Satsuma and Choshu defeated the rebellious domain that stubbornly refused to surrender even after the Tokugawa regime capitulated. Tsuruga Castle was torn down soon afterwards. Ninety years later, a concrete replica of the main structure of the castle was built on the site and serves as a museum to Aizu’s proud warrior tradition. Hiraku Shimoda’s monograph demonstrates that it did not take as long to rebuild, revise and incorporate a replica of Aizu’s historical identity in Japan’s national consciousness.

The connection between Aizu domain and the Tokugawa regime began in the early seventeenth century when Tokugawa Iemitsu, the third shogun, appointed his half-brother Hoshina Masayuki as daimyō of Aizu in 1643. Hoshina proved to be a very capable leader of the domain and was later appointed guardian to the youthful shogun Ietsuna upon Iemitsu’s death. When serious difficulties, both internal and foreign, weakened the Tokugawa shogunate in the 1850s and early 1860s, there was little doubt that Matsudaira Katamori and his Aizu warriors would support their ally in the battles against the “pro-imperial” forces led by Choshu, soon to be joined by Satsuma. But when Satsuma, Choshu and their allies defeated the Tokugawa regime and then defeated Aizu in the Boshin War, Matsudaira Katamori and Aizu lost their identity as loyal servants of shogun and became rebels and traitors to the new imperial Meiji government.

Using government documents, memoirs and local histories, Shimoda narrates and analyzes a gradual progression of Aizu leaders convincing officials of the Meiji government to understand and have respect for Aizu, starting with the handling and burial of Aizu’s warriors who died on the field of battle. Aizu warriors and families who were sent to begin an agricultural community in Tonami, which proved to be a disaster and led to many deaths due to starvation and malnutrition, were allowed to return to Aizu. Moreover, Aizu’s people convinced themselves they had fought the Boshin War not against the Emperor and not necessarily for the Tokugawa regime, but for the defense of their lord and their land. They exemplified the loyal and dutiful qualities of Aizuppo, or “sons of Aizu,” combined with the psychic unity of martial valour and historical traditions of “the Aizu spirit.” The tragic and melodramatic story of sixteen, then nineteen teenage boys of the Byakkotai (White Tiger) Brigade committing suicide by seppuku on Mount Iimori during the Boshin War became emblematic of this refashioned “Aizu spirit.” In this way, Aizu revised and recovered its distinct regional identity, while the Meiji government simultaneously sought to incorporate the provinces and domains into one united country of Imperial Japan. Aizu’s recovery and revision of its regional identity and incorporation into the imperial polity was completed even before Matsudaira Katamori’s granddaughter, Setsuko, married Prince Chichibu, Emperor Meiji’s grandson and younger brother of Emperor Showa, in 1928.

Lost and Found: Recovering Regional Identity in Imperial Japan is a well-written and well-researched study of how Aizu, a major “loser” of the overthrow of the Tokugawa regime, recovered its identity and became incorporated into the national polity during the Meiji era. Nevertheless, I believe there are a couple of topics that should have been included in this study. Although the discovery of letters from Emperor Komei (Emperor Meiji’s father) thanking Matsudaira Katamori played a role in Aizu’s incorporation into the national polity, the author could have included more description and analysis of the years Matsudaira and some of his Aizu warriors served as the Tokugawa regime’s handpicked police force in the imperial capital of Kyoto. While Shimoda discusses the issue of proper burial for Aizu’s warriors in Aizu, there is no mention of the Aizu warriors who died at the Battle of Toba-Fushimi and are buried on the grounds of Kurodani Temple in Kyoto. Did the burials of these Aizu (and Kuwana) warriors become an issue that was negotiated by the new Meiji leaders, as did the burials of the warriors who died fighting a few months later in Aizu? Saigo Takamori’s pardon and rehabilitation into the imperial polity after his battles against the new Meiji government in 1876-77 is noted in Lost and Found, but it seems to this reviewer there is more potential comparison and connection to Aizu’s rehabilitation than is indicated in this study. Finally, neither the title nor subtitle of the book indicates that this informative and, again, well-researched study is specifically about Aizu.

Despite the concerns about omissions in the previous paragraph, Hiraku Shimoda’s Lost and Found: Recovering Regional Identity in Imperial Japan is an important study of a major region of Japan that suffered the indignity of being known as “rebellious” with the defeat of the Tokugawa regime, but gradually recovered and revised its identity to fit with the new polity of imperial Japan. Scholars of Meiji-era Japan will find Lost and Found especially useful, while scholars of regional and national identity formation will find this to be a valuable case study.

John E. Van Sant, The University of Alabama at Birmingham, Birmingham, USA

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CAPTURING CONTEMPORARY JAPAN: Differentiation and Uncertainty. Edited by Satsuki Kawano, Glenda S. Roberts, Susan Orpett Long. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2014. viii, 360 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$25.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-8248-3869-0.

“Capturing Contemporary Japan” consists of thirteen papers by prominent anthropologists of Japan. While fully “capturing” any contemporary society as a whole may be an improbable task, the volume comes close by offering a range of distinct ethnographic studies of contemporary life. The volume wrestles with the social ramifications of a host of destabilizing forces that Japan encountered as it entered the new millennium. Some of these dynamics include a slow recovery from the economic recession in the 1990s, the Lehman shock of 2008, the triple disaster in 2011, growing economic inequalities, a restructured labour market, and demographic decline. The editors suggest that these influences have had the effect of creating “differentiation” and “uncertainty.” They have organized the chapters into a remarkably coherent narrative that speaks to many of the key challenges facing the nation.

The volume has five sections. The first part has two articles that explore long-term changes. In the first, Glenda Roberts presents an extended case study of a blue-collar family’s working experiences over three decades. She contrasts the experiences of the parents, who benefitted by coming of age in a period of strong economic growth, with the challenges their children face in seeking financial independence. The second chapter, by Gordon Matthews, investigates how masculinities have transformed through the experiences of a group of middle-aged and retired men. Men who once fulfilled their gender roles by contributing financially to their families now feel pressure to contribute emotionally, in part because they have lost their sole breadwinner role as their primary means of constructing their identities within the family.

The second section consists of three articles that focus on the conditions and experiences of work in the 2000s. Sawa Kurotani provides a chapter describing some of the pressures on full-time female workers who entered the workforce during the bubble economy. Nancy Rosenberger addresses alternative lifestyles through organic farmers. Gavin Hamilton Whitelaw delves into the challenges convenience-store franchise owners face in relation to waste and low profit margins.

The third section investigates roles and identities that have received minimal attention in Japan. Lynne Nakano recounts how single women adapt to the pressures of competing in marriage and employment markets. Susan Orpett Long examines how the meaning of grandchildren has changed for grandparents, given longer lifespans and lower birthrates. Karen Nakamura’s article draws attention to public debates and different forms of advocacy around the recognition of the sexual rights of the disabled.

The fourth section provides two examples of the reinforcement of social ties. Satsuki Kawano offers a study of children’s drop-in play centres in Tokyo as a space for mothers with small children to build relationships and share information with other women in their urban neighbourhoods. Laura Miller studies the popularity of the divination arts among schoolgirls and women as a means of both entertainment and social bonding.

The fifth section surveys some enduring patterns that have persisted despite pressures to transform. Peter Cave addresses efforts to reform public education over the last quarter century as a means to enhance “internationalization” and foster autonomous and creative learning. Joshua Hotaka Roth scrutinizes the enduring gender discrepancies evident in the marketing and consumption practices of small compact “K-cars” aimed at women drivers. Satsuki Kawano investigates changing mortuary customs.

Each anthropologist included in the volume provides a solid ethnographic study, taking the reader into a wide variety of contemporary areas of Japanese life. They all situate their individual studies vis-à-vis the anthropology of Japan and the more broadly defined area of Japanese Studies. Each highlights how historical, social and cultural influences intersect within their field sites. Japan specialists will find this volume rich in ethnographic depth and detail.

If the volume has a deficiency, it’s that it lacks anchoring in broader theoretical debates animating the field of anthropology at large. The subtitle refers to“differentiation” and “uncertainty”: these two terms pervade the volume and accurately capture the mood of contemporary Japan, providing an effective through line for the volume. But they are more descriptive than theoretical, here. Non-Japan specialists will lack a shared theoretical language with which to engage with the book.

Nonetheless, the volume is an excellence resource and significant contribution to the anthropology of Japan. I am using the collection in my undergraduate seminar in Japanese society with great success. Instructors might assign chapters individually in conjunction with any number of thematic topics to undergraduate and graduate-level students. In fact, the editors provide a list of key terms for each chapter for precisely this purpose (19-20). Instructors will find the collection’s broad selection of fresh ethnographic examples particularly valuable for courses on contemporary Japanese society and culture. Moreover, the ethnographic depth of each chapter will certainly spark lively debate and discussion among more senior graduate students and scholars as we all grapple with how best to interpret and explain the differentiation and uncertainty we all encounter in our own research.

Robin O’Day, University of Tsukuba, Tsukuba, Japan                                                         

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MOBILE SUBJECTS: Boundaries and Identities in the Modern Korean Diaspora. Korean Research Monograph, 36. Edited by Wen-hsin Yeh. Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, 2013. 231 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$25.00, paper. ISBN 978-1-55729-104-2

The research articles published in Mobile Subjects present historically grounded and theoretically sophisticated accounts of transnational mobility in modern Korea over the long twentieth century. This collection demonstrates how Korean encounters with people, laws and institutions of other nations within and beyond the Korean Peninsula shaped modern ideas of nation and identity. While recognizing the centrality of discourses of Korean ethnic nationalism, the essays detail how ideas of national belonging have been shaped and contested in the context of movement, migration and hierarchies of power between nations. The forces of global capitalism and the managerial state are ever present in detailed accounts of Koreans negotiating Japanese colonialism, maneuvering within United States occupation, and migrating to China for economic opportunities. Koreans are presented as central agents in the radical changes that transformed the nation through accounts that reveal the strategic and at times contradictory actions that took place in borderlands of language, ideology and behaviour.

Koreans were “the most mobile subjects in East Asia” at the beginning of the twentieth century (4) notes editor Wen-hsin Yeh. Yeh situates Korean mobility within the context of modern foreign encounters and the construction of a powerful territorial ideology of ethnic nationalism based on the myth that the Korean Peninsula was the place of origin and natural homeland for a homogenous race of people. While many scholars have examined the strategic uses of territoriality, the essays in this volume foreground the processes of cultural interaction, dislocation and dispossession as critically important to understanding the actual experiences of Koreans and to shaping understandings of the modern nation. The text sets itself apart from other collections on the Korean diaspora by refusing to define diaspora against nation as a solid reference point, but rather demonstrates how Korean modernity itself has been shaped by experiences of transnational movement and foreign encounter.

The individual research articles focus on migrations and engagements between Korea and China, Japan and the United States. The chapters regarding relations with China are primarily concerned with the Korean economic migration within the Sino-Korean border region. Kwangmin Kim’s chapter on Korean migration to Manchuria in the nineteenth century offers a rich account of the negotiated, contentious and shifting relationship between Korean agricultural labourers with local and regional Chinese officials. While Kim’s work focuses on the political contexts that enabled Korean labourers to eventually settle on a long-term basis, Yishi Liu traces the lives of Korean workers in the Yanbian region and their position vis-à-vis the Chinese state through detailed analyses of Korean vernacular architecture. Liu’s descriptions span over a century of vernacular architecture detailing how Korean homes in the region reveal the lifestyles and the status of the Korean population. The border region received a great number of North Korean economic refugees after the fall of the Soviet Union and a series of natural disasters. While many predicted that the regime would fall given its economic collapse and the subsequent mass emigration, Ivo Pilsek explains that the government retained its power through the crisis as refugees functioned as a kind of safety valve for the regime.

Rather than focus strictly on experiences of colonial displacement and dispossession, the essays on Korean experiences of Japanese colonialism highlight the contradictory and differential experiences shaped within colonial institutions and ideologies. As Yeh states, the essays “draw attention to disparities in the hierarchical spatial positions of Korea in nationalistic and colonial discourses” (6). In an essay on Japan’s lucrative opium economy, Miriam Kingsburg details the role of Koreans in distributing and selling opium to Chinese people in Manchuria. Koreans acted as imperial agents who enabled Japanese authorities to avoid the cultural contamination associated with Chinese opium users while enriching themselves through their presumed racial proximity to the Japanese. On the Korean Peninsula, the institution of Japanese family law radically altered the legal interpretations of household claims to inheritance, creating new opportunities for women to claim their rights to divorce and inheritance. Sungyun Lim notes that the figure of the “moving woman” who left her married family to selfishly pursue her own desires became a symbol of anxieties around changing family dynamics and the increased power of some women.

Taejin Hwang and Jane Cho bring rich archival detail to accounts of the United States occupation, revealing how the presence of the United States in Korea shaped Korean institutions, cultural practices and ideologies. Hwang presents American military camptowns as “‘borderlands’ between two sovereign states” that shaped South Korean modernity in the postwar era of the 1950s and 1960s (88). The essay details the essential role of camptowns in shaping economic policy, domestic laws, foreign policy and immigration patterns between South Korea and the United States. Cho focuses on how study abroad in the United States defined an elite class by tracking the institutional and ideological support for such studies. In the postwar years, cultural discourses considered an American education the pinnacle of academic achievement and praised those who succeeded in obtaining advanced degrees in the United States as national heroes.

This collection operates as a source book for those looking to engage in research on cross-border movements, colonial modernities and diaspora in Korea and the Northeast Asian region. As the product of a multi-year project at the University of California Berkeley, this volume demonstrates the generative potential of intensive and extended engagement on a central research question. The essays present a number of approaches to the question of mobility and offer important methodological insights into effective inter-disciplinary engagement. Given the quality of original research presented in this volume, it is clear that the authors will have a lasting impact in the field of Korean Studies.

Rachael M. Joo, Middlebury College, Middlebury, USA

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MEIJI RESTORATION LOSERS: Memory and Tokugawa Supporters in Modern Japan. Harvard East Asian Monographs, 358. By Michael Wert. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center; Harvard University Press [distributor], 2013. viii, 225 pp. (Maps, figures.) US$39.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-72670-3.

In his 1951 farewell address to Congress, Douglas MacArthur famously remarked that “old soldiers never die; they just fade away.” As Michael Wert’s Meiji Restoration Losers: Memory and Tokugawa Supporters in Modern Japan shows, the same could not be said of many of the men who fought on the side of the doomed Tokugawa shogunate during the 1868 Meiji Restoration. Like Oguri Tadamasa, the shogunal official at the centre of this study, many Tokugawa loyalists both died—often quite brutally—and faded from popular attention. Whether and on what terms the resurrection of their memories took place often depended on the interplay of politics, historical writing and local activism particular to each case.

Wert’s book follows the narrative fortunes of “Meiji Restoration losers” from the earliest accounts of the Restoration, written in the 1870s, through to twenty-first-century manga. Although Wert touches upon the tumultuous legacies of several of the erstwhile villains of Bakumatsu history, including Ii Naosuke, the Shinsengumi and the northeastern domain of Aizu, the primary focus of this study is the “tortured posthumous history” (1) of Oguri. By choosing a lesser-known figure than Katsu Kaishū or Ii Naosuke, Wert is able to turn Oguri’s relative obscurity into an advantage by using him as the point of entry for a new appraisal of the commemoration of the Meiji Restoration.

Meiji Restoration Losers argues that “local commemorative efforts by memory activists have, over time, changed regional … and national interpretations of the Meiji Restoration” (4). Wert is not merely aiming at the reclamation of a particular silenced memory, but rather at the middle ground of memory, where national narratives and local efforts to commemorate the past shape one another. The analysis is carefully grounded in both scholarship on the Restoration era as well as the wider scholarly literature on memory studies. Wert’s treatment of his primary sources is also impressive, drawing on a wide range of materials that includes documentary sources, histories and biographies, local publications and popular media. His close readings of both the historical and fictionalized narratives of Oguri’s life—such as Ibuse Masuji’s The Priest of Fumon’in Temple (114-118)—are among the book’s highlights.

Wert’s first chapter provides historical background on Oguri’s life, with two main aims: to underline the moments in his career that became reference points for later commentators; and to elucidate Oguri’s relationship with the villagers on his lands, some of whom—inhabitants of Gonda village and their descendants—would go on to become the memory activists behind efforts to rehabilitate his legacy. Chapter 2 explores the treatment of Oguri in the years immediately following the Restoration. Here, Wert focuses on two levels of memory: the national historical discourse, in which critics of the new regime challenged official narratives of the Restoration that painted Oguri as a villain; and in rural Gunma, where Oguri existed primarily in the realm of rumour, and not at all as an object of veneration. The next chapter, which examines commemorations of Oguri between the 1890s and 1940s, is the strongest in the book. Here, Wert shows how efforts to rehabilitate Oguri and other Tokugawa loyalists (particularly Ii Naosuke) required the coordination of a variety of actors. He focuses his analysis on two commemorations: the erection of a bust of Oguri at the Yokosuka Naval Yard—which he had helped build—and the ultimately failed effort to elevate Oguri to court rank. Both of these efforts involved the combined intervention of local activists, local and national politicians, and senior military officers. It is in the detailed accounts of these initiatives that one gets the clearest sense of Wert’s argument in action. Chapter 4 shows how the changed political environment of postwar Japan created new possibilities for the makers of memory to shape narratives of the Meiji Restoration. Here, Wert’s analysis of Marxist historiography, historical fiction (especially the novels of Shiba Ryōtarō), and period films (jidaigeki) is of tremendous value in understanding the roots of many enduring popular narratives of the Restoration era. The final chapter focuses on Oguri’s modest apotheosis in the Heisei (1989–present) era, when he and other Tokugawa loyalists gained a measure of rehabilitation.

Meiji Restoration Losers achieves its aim of revealing the complex processes of commemoration behind the enduring narratives of the Restoration era. Wert makes good use of his primary sources and his analysis is firmly grounded in the relevant scholarship. One minor shortcoming stems from Wert’s decision to structure his analysis around Oguri and incorporate the cases of other Tokugawa loyalists—such as Ii, the Shinsengumi, and the warriors of Aizu—in supplementary fashion. Although this scalpel-sharp focus on a single figure leads to penetrating insights into the way that the processes of commemoration work on the ground, a more sustained treatment of the other “losers” might have given readers a better sense of whether the trajectory of Oguri’s legacy was representative or exceptional. But this rather minor issue does nothing to detract from an otherwise excellent book. Meiji Restoration Losers is essential reading for historians of the Bakumatsu or Restoration eras, and highly recommended for any scholars with an interest in modern Japanese historiography.

D. Colin Jaundrill, Providence College, Providence, USA

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THE GREAT KANTŌ EARTHQUAKE AND THE CHIMERA OF NATIONAL RECONSTRUCTION IN JAPAN. Contemporary Asia in the World. By J. Charles Schencking. New York: Columbia University Press, 2013. xxii, 374 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$50.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-16218-0.

Do putatively natural catastrophes, like the 2011 tsunami that devastated northeastern Japan or the Great Kantō Earthquake of 1923, possess the power to spur a fundamental transformation of the societies that experience them? Or do disasters simply reveal–without necessarily altering–the underlying structures of these affected communities? These are overarching questions raised by Charles Schencking’s new book about the 1923 earthquake and the discourses it activated. The Great Kantō Earthquake, which claimed six times as many lives as 3.11 and struck the very heart of a nation, was at the time accorded the status of a civilization up-ending, epoch-making event. Attempting to engage with the fractured terrain of interwar Japan without grappling with this singular seismic calamity might be likened to discussing Europe in the same period but not mentioning the Great War. Yet, it seems that the Kantō quake is only now receiving the sustained critical attention outside of Japan that it deserves, in the form of groundbreaking work including Gennifer Weisenfeld’s recent Imaging Disaster: Tokyo and the Visual Culture of Japan’s Great Earthquake of 1923 (University of California Press, 2012) and Alex Bates’ forthcoming The Culture of the Quake: The Great Kantō Earthquake and Taishō Japan (University of Michigan Center for Japanese Studies Press, 2015). Remarkably, Schencking’s study represents the first comprehensive, monograph-length historical examination of the Great Kantō Earthquake and post-quake reconstruction in English. This is an important and necessary book that was well worth the wait.

A central theme of Schencking’s book is that while the earthquake and fires of September 1923 were unquestionably calamitous for the region and its inhabitants, the Great Kantō Earthquake first had to be constructed (interpreted, packaged and communicated) as a national catastrophe and turning point, through the mediated process of imbuing the event with meaning and making it serve grander national purposes. The key players in this process were those political, bureaucratic and cultural elites whom the author dubs “disaster opportunists” (7), who saw the earthquake as a “golden opportunity” to rebuild a truly modern Tokyo and reconstruct the nation according to their preferred visions. Despite their high hopes that the earthquake could serve as an animating force to unite the country and compel the people to change suspect social behaviours, however, Schencking emphasizes that progress toward physical reconstruction and spiritual regeneration was limited by contestation and resistance among elites with competing visions and from a populace hoping to quickly return to pre-quake normalcy.

Yet, before prescriptions for the physical and moral reconstruction of the nation, there was the cataclysm itself. The author begins by synthesizing an extraordinarily vivid and compelling account of the earthquake and fires, which shifts smoothly between bird’s-eye overview of the disaster, complete with hard numbers for casualties and damages, and street-level views of “hell on earth,” reflecting the lived, human experience of those days. Although focused primarily on elite perspectives on the earthquake and aftermath, in documenting how the event was experienced and constructed Schencking assembles a veritable orchestra of disparate voices including government officials, religious leaders, novelists and pop song writers, progressive social reformers, and the ordinary residents affected by the disaster and land readjustment. Horror and mourning quickly gave way to opportunism-tinged optimism for the future that would be built atop the rubble, but what is truly striking is how many of Schencking’s earthquake commentators found common ground in identifying a pernicious rot at the heart of Japanese modernity. Reflections on the disaster can read like a catalogue of largely negative national self-images: the Japanese people are varyingly characterized by commentators as undisciplined, easily panicked (a “national defect” exposed by the murderous, rumour-driven Korean panic of early September), weak, corrupt, materialistic and hedonistic. It may be surprising that the earthquake inspired so few of the kind of comforting affirmations of national strength and resilience seen after 3.11, but the author suggests that “the seismic waves of destruction amplified the sense of anxiety, foreboding, and dislocation” (11) that long predated the quake. Anxieties about the national condition come through most powerfully in the chapter “Admonishment,” which examines the emerging consensus among both religious and non-religious observers that the disaster was “divine punishment” sent as a moral wake-up call for the people to change their decadent ways. Schencking teases out the divide between ideologues who selectively argued that the root sin of 1920s Japan was greed and materialism—and looked approvingly to the destruction of the high-class Ginza neighbourhood as proof—and those who insisted that the problem was the hedonism and frivolity embodied by the decimated Asakusa entertainment district. What might be missing from this discussion are the perspectives of interlocutors who, like satirist Miyatake Gaikotsu, contested the heavenly punishment rhetoric entirely as insulting to the tragedy’s actual victims, or even voices willing to speak in defense of “hedonism.”

One of this book’s key points of interest is the fraught saga of Tokyo’s reconstruction, from 1923 to 1930. Schencking demonstrates how former colonial official Gotō Shinpei’s grandiose and expensive plans to remake the capital along authoritarian high modernist lines were pared down to practical size through the fractious process of determining the national budget. It is significant that the first serious challenges to the very premise that the earthquake represented a “national” (rather than merely regional) disaster emerged amidst competition for finite resources that would demand actual sacrifice. Other cabinet ministers and Imperial Diet representatives were quick to remind the earthquake opportunists that there was more to the nation than its capital—and sectors such as rural Japan and the military also required resources and attention. Earthquake visionaries may, as the author suggests, have been “blinded by desolation” (184-86) to see a blank slate upon which they could project their dreams, where in fact there remained deeply rooted, very local constellations of interests and behaviours resisting radical change. In the end, the transformations attributable to the disaster were modest. Overall, this meticulously researched monograph not only provides a rare picture of how Taishō Japan worked and saw itself, but also casts a sobering light on contemporary expectations that 3.11 will necessarily transform Japan into a stronger, greener and denuclearized country.

Andre Haag, University of New Mexico, Albuquerque, USA          

ASSIMILATING SEOUL: Japanese Rule and the Politics of Public Space in Colonial Korea, 1910-1945. Asia Pacific Modern, 12. By Todd A. Henry. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2014. xviii, 299 pp. (Figures.) US$49.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-520-27655-0.

Assimilating Seoul is an example of what Prasenjit Duara called “rescuing history from the nation.” Instead of the commonplace story of Korea under Japanese colonialism—the original annexation, the cruelties of military rule, the 1919 uprising, and the emergence of the Korean left and right—Todd Henry gives us a cityscape full of interactions between residents of neighbourhoods, varieties of acceptance of Japanese influence, and arenas in which ambitious Japanese programs met, and were altered by, Korean resistance. What emerges is a detailed study of Korean and Japanese identity and adaptability in the colonial setting between 1910 and 1945, followed by an insightful epilogue about the long-term influence of the experience on the city and its people ever since.

In Assimilating Seoul, Henry offers studies of different types of engagement: spiritual, civic, and material. He discusses “contact zones,” areas of the city where Koreans and Japanese mixed and affected each other. Always in the background is the hypocrisy of the Japanese intention to assimilate Koreans by declaring them Japanese subjects without ever actually allowing them status as full citizens. Their program in Seoul enables Henry to show how this was done in civic life: for example, via the conversion of Korean palaces into public spaces—a zoo, assorted museums, exhibition halls and fairgrounds—and the invitation to Koreans to interact with Japanese spirits at Shintō shrines.

The effects of Japan’s geographical reorganization of Seoul—the major streets, the imposing new buildings, the transportation system and much else—remain visible today. They were permanent changes, and Henry’s epilogue will delight anyone familiar with what has happened, for example, to the Kyŏngbok Palace, City Hall and the main railroad station. It is still visible in Seoul’s “north-town” (Pukch’on, the district housing Korea’s former elites) and the still-extant landmarks of what once was Japantown (around Honmachi, now renamed Ch’ungmuro), Koganemachi (Ŭlchiro), Meijimachi (Myŏngdong), and Nandaimondori (now the Bank of Korea and Shinsegye, originally the Mitsukoshi Department Store). Beginning with the Japanese planners, the main north-south avenue was widened and straightened from the colonial headquarters/Kyŏngbok Palace all the way past City Hall, South Gate, and up to the Korea Shrine, the headquarters of Japanese spirituality in Korea. This avenue has been enlarged many times and now encompasses a space reminiscent of Tiananmen Square or the Washington Mall. In this way the Japanese purpose of creating great spaces for civic engagement continues as a goal of successive South Korean governments.

Though the details in Assimilating Seoul are fascinating for anyone who knows the city, Todd Henry is interested in mapping the overlapping lives of Koreans and Japanese. He emphasizes the role of Japanese settlers, a population easily neglected in favour of studies about the Japanese regime. Many common Japanese were living in Korea before it became a colony in 1910, and the character of Seoul was much affected by their conflicts and accommodations with Koreans at all levels of colonial society, in markets, schools, the police force, neighbourhoods and even intermarriages.

One of Henry’s major discussions is of Shintō in Korea, namely the construction of the Korea Shrine (Chōsen Jinja) on the slope of Namsan (South Mountain) in 1925. This was a symbol of state Shintō across the city’s central valley from the massive Government-General building, the colonial headquarters occupying the front precincts of the Kyŏngbok Palace. Since 1898 there had been a smaller “Seoul Shrine” for the use of Japanese residents. The opening of the “Korea Shrine” on higher ground created a controversy within the Japanese resident community, since its purpose was to bring in and include Koreans who, as imperial subjects, were now meant to worship there. Analyses of the critical problem of Shintō in Korea have always turned on how it affected Koreans and on the distinction between “sect Shintō,” which was religious, and “state Shintō.” The colonial authorities tried to sell Koreans on the idea that paying respects at Shintō shrines was a civil, not religious, rite: a civic duty. Henry’s point is an interesting one: that Japanese in Korea themselves were conflicted about whether Koreans belonged, or could possibly participate in, Shintō. His chapter on this problem is an important addition to our understanding of the shrine controversy as a political problem in the colony.

The epilogue brings the Shintō problem forward into the postwar era by detailing the near-instantaneous disestablishment of the Seoul and Korea Shrines by both Japanese (seeking to remove them before they could be desecrated by Koreans) and Koreans who then tried to re-sacralize their locations by erecting statues of patriotic Korean figures including An Chung-gŭn and even Syngman Rhee. The main shrine buildings on Namsan, for example, were used by Presbyterians for their theological seminary in the 1950s, and there were massive outdoor Easter sunrise services on the site for several years.

Civic reorganization of Koreans by Japanese included public health measures aimed at reducing the amount of disease rampant in Seoul’s back alleyways and neighbourhoods. Henry refers to the myriad narrow passages that still honeycomb the blocks of the old central city of Seoul as “capillaries,” noting the failure of Japanese efforts to develop the city in the inner neighbourhoods. Hygiene was a laudable goal for the regime as it tried to “civilize” the Koreans. However, apart from the force majeure employed by the government to appropriate private land as it cut fine new thoroughfares through Seoul’s huge city blocks, the effects of Japanese planning were scarcely felt in the back alleys.

Todd Henry’s Assimilating Seoul will be required reading for anyone studying the Japanese colonial period in Korea, for scholars of colonialism in general, and for students wanting to look beyond purely nationalist narratives for understandings of the past.

Donald N. Clark, Trinity University, San Antonio, USA

EMBRACING DIFFERENCES: Transnational Cultural Flows between Japan and the United States. Culture & Theory. By Iris-Aya Laemmerhirt. Bielefeld, Germany: Transcript Verlag; New York: Columbia University Press [distributor], 2013. 261 pp. US$50.00, paper. ISBN 978-3-8376-2600-1.

On January 5, 2015, the American film production company DreamWorks announced that it had cast Scarlett Johansson in the leading role of a live-action blockbuster adaptation of Ghost in the Shell. The movie is slated for release in 2017. Ghost in the Shell, a globally recognized multimedia franchise originating with a Japanese manga series of the same name by Masamune Shirow, focuses on the action-packed adventures of Motoko Kusanagi, cyborg member of a counterterrorist government agency in a futuristic, alternate-universe Japan. Although rumours of a Hollywood remake have been circulating since 2008, the revelation that a white, fair-haired American woman would be playing the part of a notionally Japanese-ethnic protagonist was, unsurprisingly, controversial. Indeed, it could easily be taken as but the latest in a long history of complicated—and potentially troubling—transnational cultural flows between Japan and the United States.

Enter Iris-Aya Laemmerhirt, currently a lecturer in American Studies and British Studies at Technische Universität Dortmund in Germany. According to her university’s staff profile, she is interested in researching literary and popular culture and transnational cultural flows between Japan and the United States and Japan and Germany. Embracing Differences: Transnational Cultural Flows between Japan and the United States is her first monograph, based upon a PhD thesis completed in 2008 at Ruhr-Universität Bochum and published, in English, by the German academic press Transcript Verlag in 2013.

In Embracing Differences, Laemmerhirt challenges the view that cases such as Scarlett Johansson’s forthcoming star turn as Ghost in the Shell’s Motoko Kusanagi ought to be interpreted as the latest example of American cultural imperialism and argues instead for a more measured, transnational approach: “while globalizing processes may lead to the availability of cultural products outside their original national spheres, a homogenization of cultures is not necessarily implied by these processes. Instead differences can be emphasized and/or goods can be localized in their new surroundings and through these processes new versions of an original are developed” (29-30). Furthermore, she writes, “different cultures should be granted agency in the way they deal with cultural imports” (30). In other words, cultural export does not necessarily imply cultural power of, or domination by, the sending country, and ultimately, consumers have the authority to accept, reject or demand modification of cultural goods.

Drawing upon anthropologist Arjun Appadurai’s theory of “scapes” in Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization (University of Minnesota Press, 1996), the book analyzes cultural flows between Japan and the United States across the fantasyscape, the foodscape and the mediascape. After an overview chapter of the history of cultural contact and exchange between the two countries, one chapter is devoted to case studies for each of these scapes in turn. The first is a cultural analysis of Tokyo Disneyland and Tokyo DisneySea; the second explores the development and popularization of sushi in America. The third and final empirical chapter provides close readings of three recent Hollywood films set in Japan, The Last Samurai, Lost in Translation and Letters from Iwo Jima.

As implied by the range of cultural content analyzed, the great strength of this book is its thoroughness and breadth. One of the requirements of any PhD is to demonstrate mastery of previously published literature in one’s field of expertise, and Embracing Differences provides an excellent overview of relevant theoretical frameworks related to cultural imperialism, Orientalism, globalization and hybridity, along with careful, exhaustive reviews of the literature on Japanese-US cultural exchange, particularly as these relate to Disney products, food and film. I was particularly impressed by the chapter on Disney in Japan; in the acknowledgements Laemmerhirt confesses to dragging her Japanese aunts on numerous occasions to Tokyo Disneyland and DisneySea, and this extensive fieldwork shows in the vivid richness of her description of the parks.

Unfortunately, this impressive descriptive detail is not paired with any new major finding or theoretical contribution. The book’s method is to read culture and its attendant practices as if it were a text, but it would be a logical fallacy for researchers to infer from their own personal cultural readings about the lived meanings and practices collectively experienced by others. Arguing against the durable power of cultural producers and for the authority and autonomy of cultural consumers cannot work without studying the people themselves, and that this book does not do. The overarching thesis is not, therefore, particularly convincing. After all, just because a Japanese person eats at McDonalds does not mean that people who choose to eat there have complete freedom to choose any one cuisine over another; sometimes McDonalds may just be the least-worst option.

In sum, then, Embracing Differences cannot be considered a particularly good research monograph. It is, however, a superb introductory textbook to its subject, and I would not hesitate to recommend it to undergraduate students and any other scholars seeking a comprehensive overview of the considerable body of literature on transnational cultural flows between the United States and Japan.

Casey Brienza, City University London, London, United Kingdom

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NORTH KOREA-US RELATIONS UNDER KIM JONG II: The Quest for Normalization? By Ramon Pacheco Pardo. London; New York: Routledge, 2014. ix, 162 pp. (Tables.) US$140.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-415-75039-4.

North Korea remains somewhat of an enigma in international relations, and observers of its foreign policy often try to make sense of its decision-making process. Some view North Korea’s foreign policy making as a mystery, in which Pyongyang’s motivations are inscrutable and its behaviour unpredictable. Others argue that North Korea’s foreign policy is in fact guided by rationality and its actions are geared towards achieving specific objectives that the regime deems important for its survival. While these two perspectives are not mutually exclusive, North Korea-US Relations under Kim Jong Il could arguably fall within the category of the latter group. Using organizational learning theory, author Ramon Pacheco Pardo provides a fresh perspective and a comprehensive account of North Korea’s considerations in its bargaining with the United States under the leadership of Kim Jong Il. This time period spans the US administrations of presidents Bill Clinton, George W. Bush and the first term of Barack Obama.

Pardo establishes the context for his study succinctly in the first chapter. Despite being a nuclear state and possessing one of the biggest armies in the world, North Korea is justifiably a weak power—in both military and economic terms—when compared to its Northeast Asian neighbours and the United States. Given North Korea’s status as a weak state, Pardo identifies three tactics it could use in bargaining with stronger powers: alignment, brinkmanship and participation in international regimes. North Korea selects its tactics based on its learning, which Pardo (7-8) defines as “an active process whereby an actor analyzes its experiences and reconceptualizes its understanding of the world accordingly.” He addresses two types of learning in the book: simple and complex. The former reflects no change in the state’s goals, but an adjustment of the tactics used to achieve the goals. The latter, on the other hand, indicates changes in both the goals and tactics of the state.

North Korea’s fundamental objective in its relations with the United States is to normalize bilateral ties. Pardo highlights that this goal has generally remained constant under the Kim regime, with North Korea adjusting its bargaining tactics based on its understanding of international developments, its past experiences, as well as the actions of other states. Pyongyang’s simple learning is reflected in its decisions on whether or not to align with its Northeast Asian neighbours; whether or not to carry out brinkmanship; and whether or not to participate in international regimes such as the Agreed Framework, the Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons (NPT) and the Six-Party Talks. Following its nuclear test in October 2006, however, North Korea turned its attention to interim goals such as peaceful coexistence with the United States and, subsequently, the conclusion of a peace treaty and the possession of a nuclear deterrent against the United States. The emergence of such interim goals and the consequent change in tactics, Pardo contends, are proof of Pyongyang’s complex learning.

The book’s structure helps to reinforce the clarity of Pardo’s argument. The discussion is organized according to consecutive time periods, in which the start/end point of each time period is marked by a significant event in North Korea-US relations. Within each section, Pardo assesses Pyongyang’s objective(s) and examines in relative detail its employment of the three tactics mentioned above. Overall, Pardo has presented a convincing argument. It is indeed conceivable that North Korea’s bargaining with the United States is affected by what it has learnt from past experiences, and Pardo presents credible evidence for his case.

Two clarifications might help to enhance the book’s strengths. First, in discussing North Korea’s brinkmanship during the Clinton, Bush and Obama administrations, Pardo on occasion mentions different types of brinkmanship, such as verbal, diplomatic or nuclear. At least one account of verbal brinkmanship was considered by the author \ “routine” (115) and thus of little importance in the study of North Korea’s foreign policy. It would be good if these different types of brinkmanship and their significance had been briefly explained at the beginning of the book. This would help readers to understand what Pardo considers brinkmanship by North Korea, as well as which types he views as significant for North Korea-US relations. Second, Pardo identifies two instances where North Korea failed to learn from experience—from January 2001 to March 2003, and from January to May 2009—resulting in its employment of unsuitable tactics. In both cases, North Korea’s learning was said to be limited by the leadership’s “cognitive structures” and “competency traps” (122). However, it could also be argued that in these two instances North Korea was acting in a way that reflected learning from past experience—for example, its brinkmanship in late 2002/early 2003 could be due to the fact that past brinkmanship had eventually led to engagement with the United States. Perhaps, then, one could consider the distinction between the intentions and outcomes of the bargaining tactics.

Nevertheless, the book undoubtedly makes an important contribution to the literature on North Korea-US relations. Pardo’s utilization of organizational learning theory offers a unique analytical lens through which to understand Pyongyang’s foreign policy making with regard to the United States. Significantly, the book has helped to shed light on the considerations of North Korea in its bargaining with the United States. The book’s rich content and the insights it provides into the North Korean and American decision-making processes makes it valuable to anyone seeking to understand the drivers in North Korea-US relations during Kim Jong Il’s leadership. Pardo’s approach could also suggest useful implications for North Korea’s policy towards the United States following Kim’s passing. Ultimately, North Korea wants to normalize bilateral diplomatic relations. It remains to be seen if Kim’s successor, Kim Jong Un, will be able to achieve this goal.

Sarah Teo, Nanyang Technological University, Singapore

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DMZ CROSSING: Performing Emotional Citizenship Along the Korean Border. By Suk-Young Kim. New York: Columbia University Press, 2014. xiv, 205 pp. (Figures.) US$50.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-16482-5.

The Korean demilitarized zone is one of the most heavily armed borders in the world and the most well-known vestige of a war that never officially ended. Despite this (hyper)visibility, as well as a number of popular explorations of its status as a “dangerous” tourist destination and “accidental paradise” teeming with rare species, the DMZ has largely evaded a focused and comprehensive scholarly inquiry. When mentioned, the Korean borderland is usually reduced to a dramatic hook for historical or political investigations of the peninsula that it divides, as if the DMZ were not a dynamic microcosm of these same historical and political forces. Indeed, these blurbs reinforce the popular Cold War imaginary of the DMZ as an impassable borderland frozen in time, obscuring the DMZ’s complexity as a fluid, permeable and multifaceted border that not only exists in its designated location near the thirty-eighth parallel, but also extends into the hearts, minds and bodies of both Koreas as an interpellative force. This idea of the DMZ as both a contained physical space and an uncontainable imaginary lies at the centre of Suk-Youg Kim’s necessary, illuminating and moving interdisciplinary book, DMZ Crossing: Performing Emotional Citizenship Along the Korean Border. By reframing the DMZ as a discursive constellation of separations, reunions, prohibitions, longings, warnings, remembrances, erasures, pain, pleasure, boundary-making and boundary-undoing, Kim expands and deepens the significance of what it means to cross a border that is not meant to be crossed.

Kim, a professor of theater and East Asian studies at the UC Santa Barbara and a noted expert on North Korean cultural production, draws on an impressive range of sources from both Koreas, including documentary and narrative films, theatrical productions, and museum exhibitions to trace the ideological heft, mis/alignments, and effects of such mis/alignments in the crosser and audiences for the crossing. What these multiple border-crossings produce, suggests Kim in her introduction, is “an alternative type of citizenship based on emotional affiliation rather than a constitutional delineation” (4), or “emotional citizenship.” As a transgressive and intimate form of belonging, emotional citizenship “resists the state’s conventional right to define citizenship”—significant since both states have long mobilized their respective citizens’ bodies and emotions to see each other as a perpetual enemy—by articulating an unwieldy and embodied affective grammar. Thus, emotional citizenship carries the potential to dislodge Cold War ideological conditioning and foster shared, rather than segregated, historical and cultural affinities.

Indeed, Kim’s close reading of cultural productions seems to follow a kind of methodology of reunification, of “sameness and difference” (3). Kim threads these principles throughout the following chapters, often comparing cultural productions of the same genre from both Koreas, and noting differences in context and content while emphasizing their similar emotional registers. For example, in the first chapter, Kim offers a close reading of two plays written in 1958—Thus Flows the Han River by South Korean playwright Yu Chi-jin and Ten Years by North Korean playwright Sin Go-song—that stresses the ways in which both plays, despite the oppositional ideological contexts of their emergence, stage similar feelings of danger and frustration of crossing, or the inability to cross, physical and imaginary borders. The second chapter compares two feature films—South Korea’s The DMZ (1965) and North Korea’s The Fates of Geumhui and Eunhui (1975)—in which Kim emphasizes their shared narrative trajectory of familial sameness over a warring difference. The third chapter compares two documentaries, North Korea’s Hail to Lim Su-kyung, the Flower of Unification (1989) and South Korea’s Repatriation (2003). In the former, Kim offers a sharp gendered analysis of the ways in which the documentary, through its elevation of South Korean college student Lim Su-kyung to the status of a revolutionary hero for daring to cross into the North, rendered visible both her Christian identity and her “uninhibited” gender presentation that countered dominant North Korean notions of the ideal body. In the latter, Kim notes the film’s humble tone and first-person perspective of the director, creating an intimate relationship of kinship between himself and the viewer, and between himself and his subjects—long-time unconverted North Korean political prisoners. The fourth chapter compares the 2010 DMZ Special Exhibition at the Korean War Memorial in Seoul and the Victorious Fatherland Liberation War Museum in Pyongyang. Kim argues that both employ new technologies of seeing that enhance performative embodiments of memory that forge an emotional affiliation with objects on display, and thus, a transcendent kinesthetic empathy. The last chapter focuses on the odd co-existence of recreational activities, consumptive practices and indelible reminders of national trauma at Imjingak Pavilion Peace Park. Kim convincingly argues that leisure, pleasure and consumption can be understood as meaningful emotional transactions that index a history of loss within a space of limited mobility and seeing.

While impressive in its interdisciplinary acumen, archival scope and analytical depth, certain analytical moments did not go as far as they could have, and certain claims were not as convincing as others. For example, Kim’s claim that the use of a religious framework to immortalize Lim Su-Kyung “backfired” on the North Korean government because it elicited a rethinking of South Korea, disrupted the North Korean government’s grip on its people, and inspired North Koreans to defect to the South lacks substantial supporting evidence and is thus an overreach. The book also could have benefited from a thorough historicization of the DMZ’s establishment and development, which was largely absent. I wonder how a deeper consideration of the DMZ’s materiality could have enriched its cultural analyses. I also felt like the book missed an opportunity to more thoroughly think through the relationships between neoliberalism, war and tourism in her chapter on DMZ tourism. Despite these momentary gaps and generalizations, the book’s nuanced readings of a multitude of cultural productions from both Koreas, interviews with a number of officials and activists, and moving autoethnographic passages sheds enormous insight into a divided peninsula. Hopefully the book will encourage more scholars to consider the DMZ as a worthy object of analysis in its own right.

 Terry K. Park, Miami University, Oxford, USA        

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KOREAN POLITICAL AND ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT: Crisis, Security, and Institutional Rebalancing. Harvard East Asian Monographs, 362. By Jongryn Mo and Barry R. Weingast. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center; Harvard University Press [distributor], 2013. xi, 218 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$39.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-72674-1.

In this fascinating and engaging book, the authors, Jongryn Mo and Barry Weingast, seek to explain the transitional process of Korean political and economic development by utilizing main concepts such as limited access order, open access order and double balance. This book offers a new perspective on the development by shedding light on the problem of violence. The authors argue that even Max Weber, not to mention theorists backed by standard economic approaches, tends to ignore the effect of violence on the process of development. Many theorists are under the wrong assumption that the state naturally has monopoly on violence. But the reality is much closer to the fact that the satisfaction of the Weberian monopoly-of-violence is fulfilled at the ending stage of the development process. Thus, previous development studies, whether they attend to the problem of violence or not, cannot offer a comprehensive explanation on the origins of the state and its role in the developing countries, where monopoly of violence is understood as a given rather than something that can be formed in a process.

Based upon this insight, the authors divide social orders into limited access and open access order. In the limited access order, where violence potential is distributed and the state’s monopoly on violence does not hold practice, the problem of violence is solved through limited access to rights, privileges, and organization in politics, economics, and society. The limited access and privileges given to specific groups with violence potential tend to motivate them into cooperation while also deterring them from violence through provision of valuable rents. That is, in the limited access order, the rents and privileges solve the problem of distributive violence. On the other hand, the open access order is a social order where the problem of violence is completely eradicated, fostering competition and impersonal exchange with the widely accessible form of rights and rule of law. They are critical components in achieving economic and political development.

It is important to note that the transitional process from limited access to open access order may be explained by the mechanism of double balance. A stable society demonstrates a balance between economic and political openness. An imbalance between them ignites a natural tendency to seek equilibrium. A higher degree of political openness relative to economic openness may lead either to increased economic openness or reduced political openness. Conversely, too much economic openness in relation to political openness could lead to either greater political openness or to a reaction that limits economic openness.

This reexamination of the theoretical framework and concepts is immensely important in correctly analyzing the Korean development process. Among late-developed countries, the development of South Korea is viewed as a successful case demonstrating a process of transformation from a limited access to an open access order. The authors detail three significant turning points experienced in South Korea. First, Korea’s authoritarian government, which took power during the 1961 military coup, expanded economic access and gave big business groups, known as chaebol, excessive privileges and rents as a way of arranging the problem of violence. However, direct opposition to the limited access order, by both the persistent communists and the threatening Americans holding the power to withdraw economic and political support, led to Korea’s decision to provide political officials with incentives to trade off short-term rents for long-term economic growth. Second, with this tradeoff, economic growth accompanied by political repression gave rise to an imbalance between economic and political openness. Thus, together with the democratization in 1987, the second turning point, the political openness had to be heightened to provide balance. However, at the time, a newly introduced democracy had changed the outlook on incentives for political officials; that is, in order to win an election, politicians sought out campaign funds usually offered by the chaebol and this cozy relationship between politicians and conglomerates debased the government’s ability to monitor and discipline the chaebol. In the end, the failure to accomplish double balance and open access order triggered the financial crisis of 1997. Third, the financial crisis in 1997 was critical to the progress towards an open access order both economically and politically, setting off a series of economic and political reforms. However, whether these reforms have succeeded in creating a stable double balance or were sufficient to counterbalance the chaebol remains to be discussed.

During the 1960 and 1970s, the modernization or political development theory struggled to identify general grounds for political development, but failed to give explanation for diverging paths of development in the real world. Since the 1980s, many researchers have focused their research on East Asian development. For instance, the economist approach implemented by the World Bank succeeded in uncovering policies that enabled long-term economic growth in East Asia. The developmental state study was advantageous in explaining why and how political officials in East Asia could choose and sustain those policies. However, previous studies did not provide any insight to the transitional dynamics behind the development process. This book by Mo and Weingast is exceptional in that it provides valuable complexity to this discussion, explaining how the transitional process from limited access to open access order was able to take place and why the dominant coalition had incentives to successfully introduce open access order incrementally in South Korea.

Although the argument is appealing and persuasive, there still remain unclear points that may need development. As shown in the Korean case, the single most important factor to explain the development seems to rest on whether a country can effectively sacrifice short-term natural rents to seek out long-term economic gains. But the theoretical framework in this book implies that the provision of rents and privileges is central to overcoming the problem of violence and open access order is fundamentally free from this issue. It still remains unclear whether a developing country should provide rents and privileges to the groups with violence potential or whether it should bypass this stage for the sake of economic development. Despite this weakness, however, this book with its timely and profound analysis must be included as essential reading for researchers who are interested either in the development issue in general or in the Korean case in particular.

Hyun-Chin Lim, Seoul National University, Seoul, South Korea

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EASTERN LEARNING AND THE HEAVENLY WAY: The Tonghak and Ch’ŏndogyo Movements and the Twilight of Korean Independence. Hawai‘i Studies on Korea. By Carl F. Young. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2014. xxiii, 271 pp. (Figures, Table, B&W photos), US$ 49.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3888-1.

The 1894 Tonghak Rebellion and the 1919 March First Movement are widely recognized as significant moments in Korea’s modern history. Carl Young’s Eastern Learning and the Heavenly Way seeks to fill in some gaps between these two events by tracing the organizational and ideological changes that transformed the Tonghak (Eastern Learning) movement into Ch’ŏndogyo (Teaching of the Heavenly Way), a group whose members were significant leaders of the March First Movement.

The story that Young tells is one of change and transformation. There is change in leadership: from the founder of the Tonghak religion, the “Great Divine Teacher” Ch’oe Che-u (1824-1864), to the “Divine Teacher” Ch’oe Si-hyŏng (1827-1898), to the “Leader of the Great Way” Son Pyŏng-hŭi (1861-1922). Son functions as the chief protagonist in Young’s story.

There is change in geography. Tonghak began in the southeast, the home of its founder. Later, a greater number of adherents were found in central and southwestern Korea, which led to the Chŏlla region being the locus for the 1894 Tonghak Rebellion. Still later, the greatest number of adherents were located in the northern provinces of Hwanghae and P’yŏngan.

There is change in doctrinal emphasis and organizational structure. The folk traditions and “superstitions” of Ch’oe Che-u gradually gave way to more codified and sophisticated doctrines and liturgical practices designed to appeal to a more “modern” audience. It was only in this later period that the doctrine of in nae ch’ŏn (humans are heaven) was fully articulated despite the claims of some that it originated with Ch’oe Che-u, if not earlier.

Most remarkable is the change in core focus and political orientation of the group. What began as an amalgamation of Korean folk tradition and Confucian, Buddhist and even Christian elements took on political and social overtones as Tonghak rebels fought against local corruption and foreign, particularly Japanese, imperialism in Korea. However, when Son Pyŏng-hŭi fled Korea for Japan in 1901, he began to refocus Tonghak away from Korean exclusivism and toward a universal religion with worldwide application. Moreover, as Son mingled with other Korean exiles, he also began to adopt what can only be called a pro-Japanese orientation. Not only did he see Japan as an exemplar of “reform and progress,” but he openly supported Japan in the Russo-Japanese War (going so far as to donate ten thousand yen to the war effort in 1904).

This dramatic shift led to Tonghak becoming increasingly enmeshed in Korean politics, first with the sponsorship of the Chinbohoe (Progress Society) in 1904 and then with the merger of the Chinbohoe with the pro-Japanese Ilchinhoe (Advancement Society) later that same year. However, when the Ilchinhoe supported a Japanese protectorate, Son broke with the group, renamed Tonghak Ch’ŏndogyo, and sought to distance his organization from political affairs. This cost the group in resources and membership but ultimately proved vital for Ch’ŏndogyo’s continued existence, as any organization deemed political in nature (including the pro-Japanese Ilchinhoe) was abolished by the Japanese, but religious groups were allowed to continue.

Ch’ŏndogyo generally steered clear of politics from that time forward although some leading figures in the organization participated in educational and political activities. But it was this general focus on religion and the decision of Son and other Ch’ŏndogyo leaders to eschew advocacy of revolution or independence that allowed the organization to continue. Paradoxically this is why Ch’ŏndogyo still existed in 1919 when its leaders changed course once again and openly advocated independence from the Japanese.

Those interested in late-Chosŏn religious and political movements have much to learn from Eastern Learning and the Heavenly Way. Young definitely succeeds in his stated goal of filling in large gaps in our knowledge and understanding of the period between 1894 and 1919. Unfortunately, Young’s account ends in 1910, leaving the reader wondering what additional shifts and transformations might have taken place between 1910 and 1919.

In addition, Young’s seeming reluctance to fully utilize primary and secondary sources above and beyond those directly related to Tonghak/Ch’ŏndogyo makes for some frustrating omissions. For example, Young mentions meetings between Tonghak leaders and a “General Tamura” in which they plotted to jointly overthrow the Korean government. But Young seems remarkably uncurious regarding who this “General Tamura” really was (mostly likely, he was Lieutenant General Tamura Iyozo; 田村怡与造 ), how serious these plans were, etc.

More generally, Young does an excellent job of bringing in secondary literature from further afield, such as his invocation of Benedict Anderson’s “imagined communities,” Timothy Brook’s notion of “collaborationist nationalism,” or the idea of “Protestant Buddhism” in Sri Lanka. These help illuminate themes and trends that Young sees taking place in Korea. However, the book might have benefitted from engaging with a host of secondary literature a bit closer to home. Acknowledging the sizable and growing body of literature on Kwangmu-era Korea (1897-1907) would have probably resulted in a more nuanced depiction of the Korean government rather than Young’s repeated characterization of it simply as “conservative.” “The Japanese,” too, generally come across as static and monolithic, a view that even a cursory examination of classics in the field such as Hilary Conroy’s The Japanese Seizure of Korea (University of Pennsylvania Press, 1960) and Peter Duus’s The Abacus and the Sword (University of California Press, 1995) would serve to dispel.

Perhaps even more unfortunate is the fact that the timing of the book’s publication means that it was likely in the final stages of production when two other works that have much to say about Young’s chosen topic were published: George Kallander’s Salvation Through Dissent (University of Hawaii Press, 2013) and Yumi Moon’s Populist Collaborators (Cornell University Press, 2013). Young does mention both authors’ dissertations but a more robust engagement with the actual monographs, their arguments and sources would likely have greatly enhanced the persuasive power and significance of Young’s work. But Young can hardly be faulted for waiting for these other works to see the light of day. Those interested in late-Chosŏn religion and politics will likely be discussing all three works for some time to come.

Kirk W. Larsen, Brigham Young University, Provo, USA                                                        

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K-POP: Popular Music, Cultural Amnesia, and Economic Innovation in South Korea. By John Lie. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2015. 241 pp. US$34.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-520-28312-1.

The rapid growth of Korean cultural industries and their exports of cultural products are not new developments in the Asian markets. From television dramas to films and online games, Korea has become one of the most significant local forces in producing and disseminating its own cultural products to not only Asia but also North America and Western Europe. In the 2010s, one particular cultural form, known as K-pop (Korea’s contemporary popular music), has contributed to the global penetration of Korea’s popular culture. Slightly before Psy’s Gangnam Style in 2012, which became a global hit with the help of social media, the Korean music industry had been identified as one of the most successful youth cultures, both nationally and globally. K-Pop: popular music, cultural amnesia, and economic innovation provides a timely and valuable confirmation of this new trend by using storytelling to examine the emergence of K-pop in the context of broader political, economic and cultural milieus. It aptly historicizes and documents the evolution of K-pop, including its origin, the symptoms of cultural amnesia, and the convoluted reasons for the rise of K-pop.

This book consists of six chapters, and it primarily raises and answers three questions. By historicizing the origin of K-pop, the first chapter grounds the reader in the past: traditional Korean music, colonial and postcolonial Japanese influence, and the growing impact of US popular music. The chapter carefully argues that K-pop constitutes a break not just with the traditional Korean music of the past but also with earlier Korean popular music. After discussing several significant historical music genres, it explains how popular music entered people’s everyday life in urban Korea in the mid-1920s as yuhaengga (popular songs). The chapter also tactfully analyzes trot, which many Koreans have enjoyed as Korean popular music since the 1960s, followed by a discussion of the ways in which So Tae-ji wa Aidul (So Tae-ji and the Boys) challenged and ultimately destroyed many conventions of Korean popular music, while introducing American soundscapes in the mid-1990s.

The second chapter, “Interlude,” stresses the etiology and symptoms of cultural amnesia. It identifies several sociocultural changes that have swept through South Korea, which has resulted in the rise of K-pop, such as the decline of Confucian ethics, the South Korean elite’s embrace of American culture, the shift of Korean main culture from the tears of departure and the tacit expressions of han to dynamic urban youth culture and the 1997 financial crisis, which have deepened Korea’s penchant for growth and innovation. It also emphasizes K-pop’s dependence on its external orientation, which embodies South Korea’s innovative spirit.

The third chapter, “Seoul Calling,” discusses how K-pop became popular by analyzing K-pop’s aesthetic appeal. The main topics are the confluence of social change, economic culture, and industrial transformation that sustains the export imperative, and its production and consumption inside and outside South Korea. It classifies K-pop as a conceptual invention that substituted a “K” for the “J” in the term “J-pop,” which in turn was coined in 1998 to identify a new style of music. Therefore, it argues that K-pop is not only chronologically but also musically a post-So Tae-ji wa Aidul phenomenon. The chapter continues to explore the extramusical realm of political economy and global culture in order to explain how K-pop came to be produced for export and why non-Koreans began to consume it.

This book is easily accessible, with rich information and solid discussions. While there are many significant contributions, a few elements highlight the value in understanding the emergence of K-pop in the global soundscape. On the one hand, it is unique in its writing style because the author selects a narrative storytelling technique instead of a formal academic analysis, although it eventually provides some analysis. Due to the large amount of information involved, such as the names of Korean musicians, traditional music genres, and several historical events, the author addresses several key findings in the broader socio-cultural context based on his personal experience and studies, which makes the book readable. On the other hand, the book’s structure deserves readers’ appreciation. This book avoids a formal chapter order by following the form of an orchestral piece, which starts with the prelude and ends with the coda. This stylish structure not only proves the author’s mastery of popular music, but also his dexterity in delving into K-pop—one of the most significant local cultural forms.

While admiring the book’s extensive musical discourse, I also admit to noting a few shortfalls, which perhaps occurred in the process of the generalization and/or the shortage of enough space. The most significant issue is the lack of discussion on the Korean wave, given that the current boom of K-pop is a consequence of the growth of the Korean wave itself. For example, while the book briefly notes that K-pop is a part of the Korean Wave 2.0 it does not analyze the new factors driving the rise of K-pop in the context of Hallyu 2.0, such as the roles of global fans, transnational production, and social media.

In addition, the author makes a hugely controversial argument by identifying the rise of K-pop with the post-So Tae-ji revolution. So Tae-ji wa Aidul certainly symbolizes the change in Korean popular music; however, the group itself is a primary actor in developing contemporary Korean popular music. K-pop technically began ahead of the Korean wave phenomenon that started in 1997 with the surge of American popular music, and therefore, we cannot separate K-pop from previous musicians who contributed to the emergence of K-pop in the mid-1990s.

In general, this book investigates one of the most compelling issues in current transnational cultural flow and production driven by domestic factors. It provides insights into global pop culture by offering rich empirical detail and useful historical milieus surrounding the emergence of K-pop. It is presented as a convincing contribution to a growing body of literature on popular music, the Korean cultural industries and cultural politics. It is highly recommended for a wide range of readers who are interested in K-pop, the Korean wave and popular culture.

Dal Yong Jin, Simon Fraser University, Vancouver, Canada

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DEATH, MOURNING, AND THE AFTERLIFE IN KOREA: From Ancient to Contemporary Times. Hawai‘i Studies on Korea. Edited by Charlotte Horlyck and Michael J. Pettid. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press; Center for Korean Studies, University of Hawai‘i, 2014. xi, 265 pp. (Figures.) US$48.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3968-0.

Although it may not be a topic we prefer to dwell on, death is an integral part of human life; beliefs and practices related to death and the dead are an important part of any culture. Consequently a rounded view of a culture is impossible if views of mortality and the afterlife are ignored. Yet in spite of this, the editors of this volume note, for Korea there has been no focused treatment of the matter in English, even if the subject inevitably comes up in accounts of Korea’s religions. They aim to rectify this situation and “provide insight into how death was dealt with on the peninsula” and to “offer a comparative platform from which East Asian approaches to death and disposal [of the dead] can be viewed” (2) by presenting nine chapters that deal with historical, anthropological, archaeological and literary aspects of mortuary culture from the seventh century to the present.

The book is not organized by period, but thematically, in four parts. The first part is entitled “The Body” and contains two chapters, “Death and Burial in Medieval Korea, The Buddhist Legacy” by Sem Vermeersch and “Making Death ‘Modern’” by John DiMoia. Vermeersch concludes, unexpectedly, that the introduction of Buddhism did not necessarily result in cremation instead of burial for Buddhist monks. DiMoia examines how in the 1950s American doctors working in Korea contributed to a reappraisal of the body “as a valuable tool for medical learning”(63). He also devotes attention to the emergence in the 1960s of mortuaries at hospitals, which mourners would come to visit, a modernized form of an older tradition. The second part, which might very well have included the chapter by Vermeersch, is about the disposal of the dead body. Here Charlotte Horlyck, on the basis of archeological discoveries, surveys the amazingly varied ways to dispose of a body between the tenth and fourteenth centuries. A completely different approach characterizes the following chapter by Guy Podoler, who analyzes a narrative about the nation in the National Cemetery in present-day Seoul, which by its inclusion of some persons and exclusion of others presents a thinly veiled political statement. In part 3, Michael Pettid examines shamanic rituals in the Chosŏn period (1392-1910), a time when these rituals, which arguably represent the indigenous religion of the peninsula, were heavily criticized by the Confucian elite. Nevertheless they continued to play a role even in the lives of the ruling class, particularly when premature or violent death needed to be dealt with. In a chapter that is rather brief but full of curious detail from Chosŏn sources like a sixteenth-century diary or the obituary of a noble lady, Milan Hejtmanek shows how the Confucian demand that descendants of the elite yangban class perform frequent and laborious rituals for the ancestors of up to four generations and ideally spend three years at the graveside of their parents substantially changed the lives of the yangban. He also points out, however, that enforced idleness during periods of mourning, when men had to withdraw from all official positions, offered opportunities for affirming social ties. Part 4 deals in three chapters with conceptions of the afterlife. The first chapter in this section, again by Michael Pettid, examines representations of ghosts in the Koryŏ (918-1392) and Chosŏn periods, drawing from a variety of sources, including works of fiction. Pettid makes the valid point that the existence of ghosts was recognized by Confucians and Buddhists as well as shamans, but is less attentive to differences in the views that various groups had of those who resided on the other side, with Confucians, for instance, less inclined to believe in a permanent existence after death. Some attention to the theories of Korean Neo-Confucians about the unstable nature of ghosts would have been welcome here. The next chapter, by Gregory Evon, examines Buddhist ideas about death and rebirth in the novel Kuunmong (The Nine Cloud Dream) by Kim Manjung (1637-1692), who as a proper yangban had enjoyed a sound Confucian education, which might have predisposed him negatively toward Buddhism. Recent research has made clear that Kim’s interest in Buddhism was somewhat less unusual among yangban than Evon suggests, but the chapter is an excellent reminder that where attitudes to death in the actual practice of Korean life were concerned one should not strictly compartmentalize Confucianism, Buddhism and shamanism. The final chapter by Franklin Rausch addresses a newcomer on the religious scene, Catholicism, introduced in the Chosŏn period through contacts with missionaries in Beijing, and examines views on heaven and martyrdom of late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century converts. Rausch concludes that a “distinctly Catholic vision of the afterlife” emerged that inspired believers to choose to die rather than deny their faith when the government tried to suppress the new religion. (227)

The contributions to the volume are all of high quality and it presents several new insights. As it is the first work in English on the topic, covers a vast time span, and also is rather short, it should not come as a surprise that certain aspects may seem underrepresented. In its totality the book is biased toward the pre-modern period, with only two chapters about the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, offering two radically different approaches and a rather narrow focus. Podoler’s chapter, for instance, might have been accompanied by a chapter on self-immolation as a gesture of protest, of which the most famous example is Chŏn T’aeil’s setting fire to himself in 1970 to draw attention to the miserable conditions in the sweatshops of the Seoul garment industry, a gesture that galvanized an entire generation of dissidents. For the pre-modern period, the extremely popular belief in the Buddhist paradise of Amitābha (which may have facilitated belief in a Christian paradise) is mentioned only tangentially (and the words “rebirth” and “reincarnation” are missing from the index). But that does not detract from the value of the book as a stimulating investigation of an area of human life that is of undeniable salience.

Boudewijn Walraven, Sungkyunkwan University, Seoul, South Korea         

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INEQUALITY IN THE WORKPLACE: Labor Market Reform in Japan and Korea. By Jiyeoun Song. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2014. xvi, 229 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$49.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8014-5215-4.

The economic and social institutions in Japan and Korea seem more similar to each other than to institutions in Europe or the U.S. In this book, however, the author reveals that the two countries respond in different ways to similar pressures of labour market reform. This is because of differences in the formation and arrangement of institutions in Japan and Korea.

The author argues that the “two variables of employment protection systems and industrial relations determine the diverging pathways of labour market reform. The institutional features of employment protection shape the pattern of reform-selective reform for outsiders versus comprehensive reform for all workers by constraining the available range of reform options, especially for employers and policy makers, and the configurations of industrial relations affect the consequences of reform on the workforce by exacerbating or alleviating insider-outsider differences in reform implementation through the mechanism of compensation. The lack of compensation policies for those affected by labour market reform accelerates labour market inequality and dualism” (8). As a result, in Japan what emerged was liberalization for outsider workers and protection for insider workers, and in Korea, the liberalization of all workers, with the exception of those working for family-owned and managed business conglomerates (i.e., Chaebol).

The major accomplishments of this book include its revealing the emergence of different paths from the same pressures, especially the divergence of the internal labour markets in Japan and Korea even though we might have expected similar outcomes in those two countries. It would have been better to mention in terms of the different functions of employment the substantial institutions and the role of employers in Japan and Korea in order to improve the book’s achievements.

First, as the author mentions for figures 1.1 (22) and 1.2 (23), the grade of employment protection legislation for regular workers is nearly the same in Japan and Korea and for temporary workers the difference is not great. It is worth noting here that in figure 2.2 (59) the author notes the length of tenured years for regular Japanese workers in 1995 as higher than that of regular Korean workers. The author explains this as having to do with “a high degree of the institutionalization of employment protection in Japan versus a low degree of the institutionalization of employment protection in Korea” (59). According to Botero et al. (“The Regulation of Labour,” The Quarterly Journal of Economics (2004) 119 (4): 1339-1382) the labour market regulation index, which is a measurement of employment law, industrial relations law and social security law, indicates that the grade of employment legislation is almost same in Japan and Korea—with Japan ranking 34th and Korea 35th in terms of labour market regulation among the 60 developed and developing countries in the index. However, in the substantial regulation index (i.e., the employment adjustment speed), Korea (9th) ranks much higher than Japan (41st) among the 59 countries indexed. Here we can see the gap between Korea and Japan in terms of legislation and substantial regulation.

Secondly, how can we explain this gap? We can find one clue from the role of the employer in labour management relations because the employer is not only a partner but also the final arbiter in the substantial forming of labour management relations. A Japanese employer is required to protect employee jobs even though retrenched in a recession that has continued for two years, as during the oil shock period of the 1970s (Kazuo Koike, “Kaiko kara mita gendai nihon no rōshi kankei” [Contemporary Japan’s labour-management in perspective from dismissal], in Moriguchi C., Aoki M. and Sawa T. (eds.), Nihon keizai no kōzo bunseki [Constructional analysis of the Japanese economy], Tokyo: Sobunsha, 1983). We might better term it “long-term stable employment” rather than lifetime employment because Japanese companies have reduced employees during recessions. Nevertheless, Japanese employers make efforts to retain their workers, the reason we recognize job security in Japan as stronger than in other countries. We also need to investigate retroactively in order to distinguish the origin of the differences between employer behaviour regarding labour relations in Japan and Korea, particularly at large-scale companies. Korean employers had little experience in labour management relations at large-scale companies during the first colonial industrialization period because Japanese companies advanced into Korea and sent in Japanese top and middle managers. After the 1960s, during the second industrialization period in South Korea, Korean employers did not have enough to develop meaningful labour management relations.

This book is the first to reveal the distinctions between the labour markets of Japan and Korea through a focus on large-scale companies and Chaebol. This accomplishment would be much improved if the author had focused on the function of substantial institutions for social protection and the differences of the employer’s role in labour management relations.

Jae Won Sun, Pyongtaek University, Pyongtaek, South Korea

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GROWING DEMOCRACY IN JAPAN: The Parliamentary Cabinet System since 1868. Asia in the New Milllennium. By Brian Woodall. Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 2014. xi, 284 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$50.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8131-4501-3.

In this book Woodall makes a valuable contribution to the study of Japanese politics by carefully examining the historical development of the cabinet system, literally the centre of the Japanese government. Starting with the tragedy of the 2011 Eastern Japan Great Earthquake and the then government’s flawed response, the book questions: “Why did Prime Minister Kan and his cabinet ministers fail to use their powers to galvanize and reassure the nation following the catastrophic sequence of events?” (2). More generally, the book attempts to answer why cabinet government failed to set root in Japan and how Japan’s cabinet system came about, in a comparative perspective—especially in contrast to the Westminster system. In answering these puzzles, Woodall draws theoretical concepts from works by Huntington, North, and Mahoney and Thelen on institutionalism and institutional change to show that Japan’s cabinet system evolved in a gradual process against a backdrop of historical change.

Utilizing a wealth of both Japanese and English documents, Woodall chronologically traces the evolution of Japan’s cabinet system by focusing on major political actors, their interactions, and political structures at different times, or “critical junctures.” Such actors include bureaucrats and party politicians, with the first half of the book—whether intentionally or not—focusing on the former. In building up a modern state, oligarchs from Satsuma and Chōshū avoided implanting a constitutional monarchy as in the UK, but rather chose the Prussian system whereby political powers were centred on a sovereign emperor and the central bureaucracy (chapter 1). This quasi-cabinet pseudo-democracy was followed by bureaucratic dominance after the war, when Prime Minister Yoshida appointed cadres of bureaucrats and utilized core state organs for the cabinet (e.g., the Cabinet Legislation Bureau), in the political vacuum created by the US occupation’s demilitarization and democratization reform measures (chapter 2). Bureaucrats-turned-politicians such as Kishi, Ikeda and Satō kept dominating politics after the birth of the Liberal Democratic Party’s one-party dominance in 1955 (chapter 3).

The second half of the book, in turn, explains how party politicians and opposition parties make the cabinet system obsolete. The long-term LDP dominance allowed veteran MPs acting as zoku giin (policy specialists) to demand particularistic benefits for their home districts through the LDP’s policy-making organ, to the extent that such demands eroded the cabinet’s own policy initiatives (chapter 4). This fragmented policy-making process did not disappear after a series of administrative measures in the 1990s and the 2000s. Rather, as the 2005 postal privatization tumult suggests, Prime Minister Koizumi needed to go through intraparty disunity and revolts (chapter 5). After 2007, divided parliament or “Twisted Diets” have become the norm, as the opposition controls the equally powerful law-making body, the House of Councillors, to stop the government’s important legislation (chapter 6).

All in all, as the first comprehensive analysis in English providing an in-depth account of the historical development of Japan’s cabinet system since the Meiji period, this book is a welcome addition to the literature on Japanese politics.

That said, there are several problems that could have been better addressed. Most notably, empirical evidence is offered in a somewhat ad hoc manner, making the arguments a bit unconvincing. This is mainly because the Westminster model is (a little unrealistically) depicted as an omnipotent cabinet filled with senior, skillful MPs that can adequately respond to a (somewhat daunting) list of issues: economic downturns, government deficits, public health concerns, environmental problems, demographic changes, natural disasters, foreign relations, territorial conflicts, major corruption scandals, and others (15-17). Whenever Japan’s cabinet showed an inadequate response to any of these issues or was filled with junior MPs, the book argues it was dysfunctional.

Let’s take the example of ministerial appointment: Woodall argues that a stylized Westminster cabinet should have senior politicians who can effectively monitor bureaucrats. Based on this thesis, Woodall attempts to show that Japan’s ruling party in the early postwar period only formed figurehead cabinets—and therefore they were inefficient agenda setters—because of the shortage of career politicians. But one could argue that Prime Minister Yoshida and the subsequent LDP leaders were able to circumvent this information asymmetry problem by actively utilizing the bureaucracy as a potential pool of candidates to train future political leaders. In fact, according to some claims made in this book, this is the case: the bureaucratic dominance disappeared by the 1970s as “the influence of the government bureaucracy declined” (165), because the ruling party was indeed able to nurture career politicians skilled at dealing with the bureaucracy and specializing in some policy areas. This point further implies that there seem to be multiple different causal pathways leading to the dysfunctional cabinet system, and that the “institutions, structures, personnel, and norms from an authoritarian prewar order” (217) may not be necessarily important, as opposed to the thesis presented in the first half of the book.

More generally, the Westminster system is just one of the different parliamentary models out there. It can inadequately respond to a corruption scandal, as the British Tories could not recover their brand name after the party was tarnished in the 1961-63 Profumo Affair. It can make a policy mistake, as evinced when the market liberalization policy of the 1984-90 Labour government in New Zealand was unable to meet its core supporters’ expectations. It can have a factional struggle over leadership, as anti-mainstream factions in the Australian Labour Party demonstrated when they staged intraparty coups to oust the incumbent prime ministers in 2010 and 2013. In each of these cases, the result was electoral defeat. And while Japan’s cabinet system may not be working like that of the UK, New Zealand or Australia, perhaps it can be conceived of as just another parliamentary democracy model, under which the country was able to recover from the ruins of war to become an affluent, safe, well-organized society.

Kuniaki Nemoto, Waseda University, Tokyo, Japan

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NORTH KOREAN NUCLEAR OPERATIONALITY: Regional Security & Nonproliferation. Edited by Gregory J. Moore; foreword by Graham T. Allison. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2014. x, 302 pp. (Figures.) US$49.95, cloth. ISBN 978-1-4214-1094-4.

Based on this book’s title, its contents would seem to be an argument on the degree of operationality of North Korean nuclear weapons, but since, as the editor clearly writes in the introduction, North Korea “has not achieved nuclear operationality,” the focal point is in fact not the degree of operationality. Rather, the primary question the book poses is: What is at stake for Northeast Asian regional security and for the international nuclear nonproliferation regime if North Korea were to successfully develop nuclear weapons capability and marry this to its missile technology or another potential delivery system, thus achieving nuclear operationality? To this, the authors try to provide answers from political, security, economic and international relations perspectives.

This book consists of an Introduction and three parts, each comprising several chapters, and a conclusion. In the Introduction, the editor addresses North Korea’s present operational status, provides an overview of U.S. policy toward North Korea and describes the path Pyongyang has taken toward nuclear weaponization.

Part 1 is titled “The North Korean Nuclear Dilemma.” In Chapter 1, “Translating North Korea’s Nuclear Threats into Constrained Operational Reality,” Peter Hayes and Scott Bruce point out that North Korea has a number of strategic uses for the nuclear capabilities it already possesses, and they further propose establishing a regional nuclear-free-zone.

In Chapter 2, “North Korean Nuclear Weaponization: A U.S. Policy Failure,” Gregory J. Moore (who is also the volume’s editor) states that the U.S. policy since the first North Korean nuclear crisis in 1994 has been a failure, and suggests that the only way to a solution is preemptive recognition and better relations between the two countries.

Part 2, “What’s at Stake for Northeast Asia?” consists of surveys on the reactions of North Korea’s neighbours—South Korea, China, Japan, and Russia—to the potential of North Korean nuclear operationality and its regional security implications.

In Chapter 3, “The Implications for Seoul of an Operationally Nuclear North Korea,” Jong Kun Choi and Jong-yun Bae argue that since the threat from North Korea’s conventional weapons statically exists for Seoul, North Korean nuclear operationality has limited influence on Seoul as seen in public opinion poll and the South Korean stock price index. They also suggest that if North Korea were to move to operationalize its nuclear capabilities the only option for South Korea would be to engage with North Korea while following a policy of containment.

In Chapter 4, “Beijing’s Problem with an Operationally Nuclear North Korea,” Gregory J. Moore points out that though China is clearly against North Korea’s nuclear policy, it supports the country economically to prevent its collapse, because the collapse would affect China both politically and economically.

In Chapter 5, “Japan’s Response to North Korea’s Nuclear and Missile Tests,” Katsuhisa Furukawa and Hajime Izumi explain why North Korea’s nuclear programs have not pushed Japan toward acquiring its own nuclear weapons, and state that the abduction issue is more important for the Japanese than the nuclear one.

In Chapter 6, “Russia’s De Facto Nuclear Neighbor,” Georgy Toloraya argues that Russia is concerned about its security in the case North Korean nuclear know-how or weapons were to make their way into the hands of terrorists or separatists, and so expects the U.S. to start a new approach rooted in engagement with economic incentives.

In Chapter 7, “Washington’s Response to an Operationally Nuclear North Korea,” David Kang suggests that since China will not put further pressure on Pyongyang, and the military option is not realistic, Washington should pursue economic engagement with Pyongyang.

In Chapter 8, “North Korea’s Nuclear Blackmail,” Andrei Lankov concludes that North Korea will not give up its nuclear program, for it is necessary not only to blackmail the outside world, but also to demonstrate the legitimacy of the “Kim Family Regime” to both the military and civilian population of North Korea. Thus, the world will have to learn how to live with a nuclear North Korea.

Part 3 is titled, “What’s at Stake for the Nuclear Nonproliferation Regime?” and deals with the implications of an operationally nuclear North Korea for the nuclear nonproliferation regime.

In Chapter 9, “India’s Nuclear Exceptionalism and the North Korean Nuclear Case,” Daniel Twining explains why the U.S. gave its blessing to India’s nuclear operationality in contrast to the North Korean case, and points out two reasons: India never signed the Non-Proliferation Treaty, and India has acceded to the key parts of the nuclear nonproliferation regime.

In Chapter 10, “Global Consequences of an Operationally Nuclear North Korea,” Maria Rost Rublee points out that since different standards are applied to India and Israel, North Korea and Iran do not take nuclear norms seriously, and warns that if North Korea achieves nuclear operationalization without paying any cost for its transgressions, the nuclear nonproliferation regime will be devastated.

In Chapter 11, “DPRK Nuclear Challenges and the Politics of Nonproliferation,” Jing-dong Yuan also warns that the unchallenged operationalization of North Korea’s nuclear capability would seriously harm the Nonproliferation regime, while pointing out North Korea is the first country to have acceded to and then withdrawn from the NPT.

In Conclusion, the editor summarizes the findings of the book and their implications for the security and the nonproliferation regime, and discusses international relations theory, its implications for the North Korean nuclear issue, and insights into the North Korean nuclear issue that international relations theory offers.

This book was published in early 2014, so it covers the period up until the third North Korean nuclear test of February 13, 2013. There have been no notable developments in the North Korean nuclear issue since then, so the circumstances described in this book have not changed much.

As the editor writes in the book’s Conclusion, this study aids at a better understanding of the seriousness of the issue of a nuclear operational North Korea, and offers some fresh thinking on methods for its resolution.

Tomohiko Kawaguchi, Nihon University, Tokyo, Japan                    

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THE JOY OF NOH: Embodied Learning and Discipline in Urban Japan. By Katrina L. Moore. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2014. xv, 124 pp. (Figures.) US$75.00 cloth. ISBN 978-1-4384-5059-9.

By the end of 2014, 26 percent of Japan’s population was sixty-five or older, making it the oldest of any country in the world. Japanese women have had the unique distinction of holding the record for longest life expectancy for nearly thirty consecutive years; on average a Japanese woman who reaches sixty will live an additional thirty years. This is not the longevity once found in the countryside, where physical work, close social ties, and traditional diet were keys to long life. Today, longevity in Japan is increasingly urban, middle-class, and marked by a life course break between retirement and pursuits of leisure. Anthropologist Katrina Moore’s ethnography of leisure and learning in Tokyo beautifully captures the rich life stories and “serious play” (7) of older Japanese women engaged in what Thomas Rohlen referred to as the “promise of adulthood” found in creativity, personal growth and acceptance (“The Promise of Adulthood in Japanese Spiritualism,” in ed. Erik H. Erikson, W.W. Norton and Company, 1978). By approaching questions of what it means to grow older in Japan from the perspective of this relatively new leisure life stage, Moore’s book moves us beyond simple descriptions (or prescriptions) for “successful aging,” and provides a fresh look at some perennial topics in anthropology (gender, embodiment, community and generation) as well as broader questions of existential meaning, well-being and identity. We have a lot to learn from the women in Moore’s book.

In the first two chapters, Moore introduces us to the setting, including a very brief introduction to the history, aesthetics and pedagogical traditions of Noh. Noh, an ancient form of Japanese theatre revitalized in the early twentieth century through its popularization among women, is the perfect vehicle for drawing together themes of aging, embodiment and identity. Moore’s central argument is that women who take up Noh in their later leisure years are cultivating a new self-awareness, a new sense of the possibilities of the body and of personhood in old age. While John W. Traphagan’s ethnography of gateball clubs in rural Japan examined similar dynamics (Taming Oblivion: Aging Bodies and the Fear of Senility in Japan, State University of New York Press, 2000), Moore’s work is the first ethnography to focus on leisure activities among urban Japanese women (certainly a very large and growing section of the aging population and worthy of attention in their own right). By focusing in on a small group of older amateur Noh practitioners, Moore takes readers inside the processes of dissolution and transformation of selfhood that these women refer to as polishing one’s gei, or “art,” (103) into old age.

Chapters 3 and 4 focus on embodiment, discipline and the transformation of the self. As Moore practices alongside the other novices, the reader acquires a deep sense of the tense, warm, vibrating body as it is shaped and reshaped in the able command of the formidable instructor. Like Liza Dalby’s (University of California Press, 2008) descriptions of intense arts training in Geisha, Moore illustrates the cultural complexity of Noh practice: novices are embodying tradition and transcending it; cultivating femininity and transgressing norms; achieving a means of individual expression; and performing bonds between cohorts and generations. Sometimes these women were more like monks than geisha, describing Noh as a means of achieving “no-mind,” or a non-attached, selfless connection to a deeper sense of being that Moore compares to psychologist Csikszentmihalyi’s concept of “flow” (77).

It is notable here that Moore focuses throughout on the specificity of the ethnographic setting, keeping her phenomenological and psychological discussions grounded in her empirical observations and extensive interviews. The stories of the performers become interwoven with those of the plays themselves. These are often stories of other kinds of transformations, of lifting up into a spiritual layer of experience, one full of emotion and aspiration. Just as these women have played several roles during their lifetimes, they are not reducible to those roles. There is power in this ability to put on and take off these identities, a power shared in the group like a kind of effervescence (63), and Moore treats this with sensitivity and grace.

Although Moore develops her argument about women’s self-development in later life in contrast to theories of leisure as politics (6,104), a thread of empowerment and even resistance runs throughout the book. This empowerment is less about individual agency and self-reliance than it is relational, constituted in the interactions between teacher and novice and the comradery felt between fellow novices. Older women’s dedication to this community and to the traditions it maintains, forms the basis for reassessing wider circles of relationships, especially in the family. Moore beautifully describes both the dissolution of former identities as mothers and housewives, and aspirations for independence, self-satisfaction and even joy. This process of developing transformational relationships is one that takes time, something these older women were keenly aware of. While some conflict (internal and social) was not absent from the narratives, most women seemed to embrace change with determination and grace. Fittingly, the book ends with a sublime, reflective chapter on acceptance, maturity and the capacity to “be with” others; these are poignant lessons not only about age, or fieldwork, but about the tone and texture of the spirit.

The Joy of Noh is an ideal text for instructors looking for a case study exploring aging, selfhood and the arts in contemporary Japan. The book itself is slim, and the chapters are relatively short, clearly written, well-organized and full of memorable ethnographic vignettes well suited to further discussion. Moore avoids burdening the reader with lengthy theoretical discussions or specialist jargon, making this accessible to a variety of readers.

 Jason Danely, Oxford Brookes University, Oxford, UK

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NEW POLICIES FOR NEW RESIDENTS: Immigrants, Advocacy, and Governance in Japan and Beyond. By Deborah J. Milly. Ithaca, NY; London: Cornell University Press, 2014. xvi, 260 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$45.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8014-5222-2.

Daily headlines from around the world highlight tension and misunderstanding between immigrants and their host communities. Clearly, the challenges faced by the addition of linguistic, cultural, ethnic and religious “others” call for policy responses that at least facilitate peaceful coexistence between groups and at best foster meaningful inclusion of immigrants. Deboraah J. Milly’s New Policies for New Residents: Immigrants, Advocacy, and Governance in Japan and Beyond is an important contribution to the literature on immigrant integration, providing a new framework for considering the interplay between civil society groups and different levels of government in responding to the challenges created by the reality of immigrant communities.

While the book is focused on the particular case of Japan, it uses a comparative framework to highlight the processes at work in the making of immigrant policy. Milly compares the cases of Japan, Korea, Spain and Italy to examine how multilevel governance affects the pathways to achieving immigrant policies. The choice of these four cases is inspired; all four countries have relatively recently switched from being emigration countries to “countries of immigration” while experiencing decentralizing trends in governance. In another refreshing departure from much of the work in this field, Milly breaks free from the regional limitations that characterize much of the comparative work on immigration.

Milly is interested in the interaction between advocacy and governance, allowing her to look at the issue from a different perspective than is normally seen in the literature. She categorizes Spain and Japan as examples of “advocacy-promoting governance” models, while considering Italy and Korea as characteristic of “advocacy-reinforcing governance” and “advocacy-integrated governance,” respectively. This conceptual framework, though interesting and instructive, is also a bit unwieldy; is there a more elegant way to conceptualize the role of civil society groups in setting and shaping policy?

While chapter 1 focuses on setting up this conceptual framework, Milly quickly moves on to the meat of the book: the comparative examination of immigrant advocacy and policy making in these four countries. Chapters 2 through 6 offer an in-depth look at how immigrant policy is made in light of different governance models, various stages of devolution, and different strategies used by civil society groups. For example, in Spain, regional governments, like Catalonia’s, have been the primary locus for immigrant support programs and policies in areas like education and housing, generating policy ideas while securing the input of civil society advocates. Milly’s primary case of Japan highlights the ways that local governments in immigrant-receiving regions worked around the significant challenges of national party division, bureaucratic segmentation and lack of comprehensive immigration reform to respond to housing, education and health care challenges in their communities. Italy and Korea prove to follow a different path due in part to the existence of national frameworks that include the possibility for lower levels of government (and civil society groups) to play a role in immigrant integration solutions. In areas like housing and healthcare, Italian localities have responded to local challenges of immigrant integration with creative and collaborative solutions that operate within the parameters set by national policy. Likewise, in Korea, the interaction between new laws facilitating collaboration between non-governmental organizations and local governments to respond to immigrant integration needs led to the emergence of support services for foreign workers run by NGOs with government funding. The case studies are the key to illustrating the argument of the book, bringing to life the complex interplay between governance and advocacy that make up the crux of this book’s argument.

The last two chapters of the book contain Milly’s analysis and conclusions about the impact of economic crises on the creation of immigrant policy in these four cases and the implications of these findings for immigrant-receiving communities and countries around the globe. Milly finds that in Japan, as in the other three cases, a downturn in economic conditions does not significantly affect immigrant integration policy, though shifts in public opinion about immigrants may occur. Spain and Japan, the advocacy-reinforcing governance models in Milly’s framework, continued with pre-crisis plans for immigrant support programs while also instituting “assisted return” policies for newly unemployed immigrants. The economic crisis did not result in “assisted return” programs in the Korea and Italy, but was less of a factor than the political changes that had preceded the crisis in those countries.

The implications of this research are interesting for immigrants, immigrant advocacy groups and local governments in immigrant-receiving communities, suggesting that there are ways to use the tools of democracy at both the national and local level to promote inclusion of immigrants in local decision making. While this research demonstrates that there is an opening for civil society groups to play a role in (especially) local government decision making on immigrant policies, one area that is not explored fully here is the possibility that anti-immigrant groups could exploit the same governance structures and pathways to craft policies that move in the opposite direction.

The conclusions presented in this book have potentially far-reaching implications that can help civil society groups to best craft their strategies for promoting conflict-reducing policies and paths for foreign residents’ meaningful inclusion in national communities.

Betsy Brody, Collin College, Plano, USA                                                                 

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THE POLITICS OF WAR MEMORY IN JAPAN: Progressive Civil Society Groups and the Contestation of Memory of the Asia- Pacific war. Sheffield Centre for Japanese Studies/Routledge Series, 49. By Kamila Szczepanska. London; New York: Routledge, 2014. xvi, 233 pp. US$140.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-415-70771-8.

Who are the main grass-root champions of progressive memory politics in Japan today? How are they organized? What are their goals? What is their relationship with the public, the state and overseas actors? And finally how effective have they been in influencing the Japanese national memory landscape? This book offers answers to these questions. It is original in that it covers five civil society groups that have not yet been examined. It is also timely. It focuses on the latest period of 1990 to 2012 and updates the thus far published literature on this subject.

The five organizations under study—The Center of Research and Documentation on Japan’s War Responsibility, Children and Textbooks Japan Network 21, Violence Against Women in War Network Japan, Women’s Active Museum on War and Peace and POW Research Network Japan—are highly diverse in their structure, size and focus area. What they share, however, is a desire to educate the public and push the Japanese state to assume greater responsibility for the Japanese wartime past. How successful have they been? Not too successful. As the author acknowledges, they have neither been able to stop the conservative onslaught on the positive policies of the early 1990s, nor have they brought any changes to Japan’s redress practices. Nevertheless the author’s overall evaluation seems to be positive. The existence of the groups and their activities are a proof to Szczepanska that Japanese civil society is neither bereft of “civil advocates,” nor politically apathetic or dominated by historical revisionism.

Reading the book, however, one might reach a different conclusion. As is shown, the combined membership of the five associations reaches 7,750. Rival organizations such as the Nihon Izokukai list 1 million members and the Japanese radical right lists approximately 100,000. Anticipating this charge, Szczepanska stresses twice that not numbers but political clout matters in civil activism. Yet, later we learn that none of the five groups have had regular access to Japanese mainstream media or influential political elites (whereas their right-wing opponents do). Moreover, some of the greatest accomplishments of these groups—such as the staging of the Women’s International War Crimes Tribunal or the pressure put on the Japanese government through the UN to address the issue of comfort women—were largely ignored in Japan. The same applies to the establishment of the WAM museum, which has so far attracted 2,000 visitors per year (hardly comparable to its rivals such as the Yasukuni’s Yūshūkan Museum with 250,000 visitors annually). In short, more than a vigorous progressive civil society, the evidence presented in this book points to a trend many have been observing since the mid-1990s: a drastic decline in the strength, organizational capability and political relevance of the Japanese Left and its progressive movement.

The book also documents another problem that is often discussed in the literature on Japan: the relative amateurishness with which its civil society actors approach political activism. Here it especially applies to the use of the Internet. The five groups’ websites are inexpert and fragmentary; updates are irregular and mostly in Japanese; English content is limited and Korean and Chinese translations non-existent. Szczepanska explains that this is mainly due to the age of the organizations’ members and their lack of funding and staff. But, it is precisely for this reason that the Internet needs to be their priority. A relatively little effort can significantly improve the groups’ communicative capabilities and help them reach critical target audiences that have thus far eluded them: the Japanese youth and overseas actors. In fact, the Chinese and Koreans (also great potential sources for funding) have shown considerable interest in such contacts in the past but were hampered by a lack of appropriate communication channels. Szczepanska does not discuss this in the book.

Neither is she too critical of the five groups’ unwillingness (or inability?) to seek greater support from Japanese policy makers. In her chapter on the relationship between the two, the scholar mostly analyzes their antagonistic relationship with the Liberal Democratic Party. As for potential partners—the Democratic Party of Japan, Social Democratic Party or the Japanese Communist Party—the activists seem to prefer interdependence over closer endorsement by these parties. They do not display a strong will to spread their message or expand their membership, either. Introduction by existing members is necessary for entry into some of these associations. And much of the groups’ communications remain internal while their publications are for sale only. As such, the citizen groups appear to operate as self-contained units within the limits of what is comfortable. Or, as Szczepanska seems to argue, they are civil advocates doing their best in an increasingly difficult conservative environment. Such a lenient evaluation, however, fails to explain why they have attracted so little attention from the Japanese public—a public which largely agrees with their message as the author herself suggests.

The lack of a more critical analysis of the groups’ activities and achievements is a major shortcoming of this work. It is likely linked to the Szczepanska’s over-reliance on the main sources of this research: the organizations’ publications and interviews with their members. Too often the book simply reads as a report based on the self-reporting of the groups themselves. Moreover, there are many passages, such as chapter 2, that add very little to the overall argument and should have been left out. The book’s coherence and utility would have also greatly improved if each group received a separate chapter treatment rather than being treated in a lump. Last but not least, the author explores civil society activism without ever properly introducing its main protagonists. This is a serious flaw as the reader is not allowed to fully understand the many personal linkages that exist between the groups’ leaders and the fact that their circle is fairly limited. One can also not assess their social position in the larger Japanese society and hence the import of the organizations they represent.

In sum, this is the most up-to-date research on Japanese progressive activism in the area of memory politics in the last decade. Those who are seriously interested in this subject might find useful information in this book. Overall, though, the publication leaves much room for improvement.

 Ivo Plsek, University of California, Berkeley, USA        

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GOVERNING INSECURITY IN JAPAN: The Domestic Discourse and Policy Response. Sheffield Centre for Japanese Studies/Routledge Series, 50. Edited by Wilhelm Vosse, Reinhard Drifte and Verena Blechinger-Talcott. London; New York: Routledge, 2014. xvii, 180 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$145.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-415-81130-9.

JAPAN’S CIVIL-MILITARY DIPLOMACY: The Banks of the Rubicon. Politics in Asia Series. By Dennis T. Yasutomo. London; New York: Routledge, 2014. xviii, 192 pp. US$145.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-415-71129-6.

There is growing interest in Japan’s security policies due to Japan’s rising tensions with China (the world’s number two military spender), revisionist claims regarding Japan’s Second World War experience by Japanese cabinet members, including Prime Minister Abe and his supporters, and due to several high-profile changes in Japan’s security policies themselves in the past several years. Readers of these two volumes will be exposed to a more nuanced and broader conceptualization of Japanese security than seen in mainstream news coverage and also treated to a rich panoply of empirical data and insider stories regarding Japan’s contemporary security practices and security concerns. Both volumes are recommended, but are directed to different audiences: Japan’s Civil-Military Diplomacy is especially suited for those seeking a detailed account of the Japan Self Defense Forces (JSDF) recent deployments overseas (especially to Iraq, 2004–2006) and of the changes to Japan’s civil-military relations this has required; Governing Insecurity in Japan is for those seeking a broader overview of the security challenges Japanese perceive themselves to be facing in the twenty-first century, from nuclear weapons and missile attack to crime from undocumented immigrants and dangers of contaminated food.

Yasutomo (Smith College) makes a more important contribution to our understanding of Japan’s contemporary security practices (and also Japan’s foreign aid policies) than his somewhat obtuse book title suggests. This book provides the definitive English-language account of the most significant JSDF overseas deployment since their creation in 1954, to Iraq from January 2004–July 2006, in two chapters of this five-chapter book. In addition, the book recounts Japan’s important contribution to the reconstruction of Afghanistan from 2001–2013, which did not involve deployment of the JSDF but nevertheless required new civil-military cooperation in Japan’s overseas development assistance (ODA) policies. In addition, the opening chapter provides a concise history of Japan’s civil-military relations as well as a primer on the evolution of Japan’s ODA policy (the subject of a book Yasutomo published in 1986). A concluding chapter focuses on the extent to which Japan has “crossed the Rubicon” in its security policies in the cases examined. Yasutomo argues throughout the volume (to a somewhat tedious degree): “Japan has not crossed the Rubicon in the traditional sense, and is not likely to anytime soon” (16). He does argue, however, that “a new civil-military security culture is replacing the old merchant state culture of pacifism and antimilitarism” (opening summary).

Much of the first chapter of Japan’s Civil-Military Diplomacy is devoted to an examination of the concept of a “civilian power,” contrasting the use of the term in Europe, the United States and Japan—a comparative context that is informative and germane to a broad readership beyond those who focus on Japan. He concludes this first chapter with these words: “For Japan, civilian power diplomacy, with its enlarged civil-military component, is the new normal” (22). The chapters on Afghanistan and Iraq make this case persuasively and are laden with rich empirical detail from a wide range of published sources and interviews. Many readers may not be aware of the extent of Japan’s contribution to the reconstruction of Afghanistan (the number two financial contributor after the United States) after the US toppling of the Taliban. Japan’s ODA coordination with military efforts and objectives may not have “crossed the Rubicon” but they were unprecedented in Japanese ODA policy and in many ways laid the groundwork for Japan’s later engagement with Iraq, including by the JSDF. Japanese Prime Minister Koizumi would later describe Japanese ODA and the JSDF as an “inseparable pair” in Japan’s Iraq policy (77). The detailed discussion of the JSDF deployment to Samawah in terms of logistics, strategy, lessons learned and the positive reception by the local Iraqis should be of broad interest to readers beyond just “Japan hands,” since, as Yasutomo wryly notes, “In the end, the SDF rather than U.S. troops were the ones who received sweets and flowers from Iraqis upon their arrival in Iraq” (105).

It is a shame that Yasutomo did not seek to engage with broader works on Japanese security policy that have been published in the past decade, seeking to enhance or disconfirm those arguments based on the excellent casework he presents on Japan’s Afghanistan and Iraq experiences. There is a notable absence of such works in his bibliography. By contrast, the bibliography includes an impressive number of Japanese-language sources germane to the narrower sub-set of issues he does seek to address: about the evolution of the concept of a civilian power, civil-military relations, and the cases of Afghanistan and Iraq.

Governing Insecurity in Japan provides, by contrast, a great breadth of consideration of how Japanese in the 21st century view their and Japan’s security. The three editors of the volume deserve kudos for assembling such a broad overview, rooted in the concept of “securitization” in vogue among especially European-educated scholars (who constitute the majority of the contributors to this volume). Each of the eight chapters is clearly written and carefully edited, well-argued with research questions stressed at the outset, methods discussed, and central findings summarized in a concluding section. Each chapter also provides a concise historical overview of the specific topic that will be useful to those new to the subject matter. This historical context and framing of the central issues is important since the data presented in most chapters ends around 2010, and sometimes earlier, which is unfortunate given the quickly evolving security environment in East Asia. Nevertheless, the volume collectively makes an important and lasting contribution which future researchers can update with more recent data and in general the time-lag does not appear to undermine the central conclusions of each chapter.

The volume introduction begins rightly by noting the paradox that a country that objectively enjoys so much security in comparison to most other states perceives so much insecurity. The first two empirical chapters of the volume build on this theme, focusing on Japanese public perception of threats to themselves and to Japan. Vosse (International Christian University of Japan) draws on evidence from an innovative cross-national survey that he and colleagues conducted in 2004 that shows that Japanese express a much higher concern about crime than Americans despite an objectively much lower crime rate; and, moreover, that Japanese express a greater fear of the outbreak of a major war and use of weapons of mass destruction, and also of an impending economic crisis. Vosse then draws on other survey data to illustrate an increasing threat perception among Japanese from 2000 to 2006. What is striking in his findings, however, is the divergence in policy prescriptions between Japanese and Americans based on this sense of threat: to a large degree, Japanese are still from Venus and Americans from Mars. Midford (Norwegian University for Science and Technology) follows on the issue of policy prescriptions by examining in-depth survey data and exit polling from the 2007 House of Councillors election, which pitted the nationalist incumbent Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) Prime Minister Abe against the more economic policy-focused challengers from the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ); the DPJ win was a major upset for Abe’s party. Midford argues that it is notable that at a time of an objectively escalating external threat from North Korea, Japanese voters chose to focus on economic security issues, rooting his argument in the post-classical realist school.

Three chapters of Governing Insecurity in Japan address the security aspects of immigration to Japan. The most accessible and useful chapter is by Chiavacci (University of Zurich), which situates the immigration question in the context of Japan’s shrinking population (since 2010) and aging demographic profile. He argues that the two dominant and conflicting “frames” of the present immigration debate—that immigrant workers should be imported to address the demographic challenge and that immigrants commit more domestic crime—are both mistaken, and that a more realistic and pragmatic discussion over immigration should take place. Quite striking is a table (121) that shows the number of immigrants that would be needed each year just to maintain Japan’s currently challenging demographic profile—which would lead to a total population for Japan of over 800 million by 2050 (compared to about 128 million today)! His discussion of the methodological flaws in reporting on crime statistics and coverage of the ugly nationalist discourse on immigration will be informative to a broad audience. His characterization of the debate differs somewhat from the chapter by Vogt (University of Hamburg), who purports to focus on the “discourse” over immigration in Japan, a contrast which is unacknowledged by either author. Vogt is strong on the comparative perspective (contrasting Japan with Singapore, Taiwan and South Korea) and in examining the institutional actors involved in the debate within Japan. Kibe (International Christian University of Japan) contributes to the issue by examining the debate over the Japanese version of multiculturalism, tabunka kyōsei. Like many of the contributors to the volume as a whole, he argues that the current approach to managing this perceived security challenge is not working but that in a shifting political environment with frequent leadership turnover and a wide range of bureaucratic actors with overlapping responsibilities, how to go about crafting a new set of policies is unclear. Collectively the three chapters suggest that a significant change in the immigration status quo in the near-term is unlikely.

The remaining chapters in Governing Insecurity in Japan address the issue of food security, the recent growth of Chinese investment in Japan, and Japan’s experience with overseas peacekeeping and related activities since 1992. Takeda (University of Tokyo) addresses the issue of food security, beginning with a broad overview of the history of this concern back to the pre-war period and situating the concerns more recently in a global context. The chapter concludes, however, with a strong condemnation of “neoliberal political reform” that accelerated under Prime Minister Koizumi (2001-06) and continues despite what she argues are obvious shortcomings in the wake of the March 11, 2011 nuclear meltdown at Fukushima that left the Japanese people to manage food risks of radioactive contamination with little effective government assistance. Drifte (formerly of Newcastle University) sketches out the contours of recent Japanese concerns about rapidly growing Chinese investment in Japan, framing it in the context of recent growth of Chinese foreign investment globally, but is not able to offer much by way of analysis in only seven and a half pages. Still, his contribution adds to the breadth of the volume in illustrating the range of security concerns contemporary Japanese perceive, and also links to concerns expressed in the Takeda chapter regarding imports of contaminated food from China. Mulloy (Daito Bunka University) returns to themes developed in greater depth in Yasumoto’s Japan’s Civil-Military Diplomacy. It is surprising how little attention Mulloy pays to the significant departure from previous red-lines in overseas deployment of the JSDF that the Iraq mission heralded. Rather, this chapter categorizes the five civilian and nine JSDF overseas deployments under the 1992 International Peace Cooperation Law and subsequent legislation into four different types of missions and then evaluates each category, with common themes of risk aversion, bureaucratic stove-piping, and narrow missions emerging, despite writing in his conclusion that “the JSDF have usually performed above expectation, professionally, and have contributed to local human security” (169).

Taken together, these two volumes illustrate the many challenges the Japanese government faces in addressing new and continuing threats to Japan’s security at a time of frequent political leadership transitions, continuing economic stagnation and a rapidly evolving regional and global security environment. They usefully guide readers beyond persistently conveyed images of Japan as an unimportant or unevolving global security actor.

Andrew L. Oros, Washington College, Chestertown, USA        

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BEYOND AINU STUDIES: Changing Academic and Public Perspectives. Edited by Mark J. Hudson, Ann-Elise Lewallen, and Mark K. Watson. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2014. xi, 257 pp. (Figures.) US$52.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3697-9.

Published in 2014 by the University of Hawai‘i Press, Beyond Ainu Studies: Changing Academic and Public Perspectives consists of 13 chapters of arguments and discussions in research paper, analytical essay and other styles. It is one of the world’s most comprehensive non-Japanese-language publications of its kind about studies based on the latest research results.

As the title indicates, the book is a critical re-assessment of Ainu studies conventionally conducted by scholars in Japan and elsewhere, and seeks to clarify how such studies will ideally be implemented in the future. In light of the need for a fundamental change in the people, targets and methods involved in achieving the aims at hand, authors other than recognized experts on Ainu studies contributed; the 13 chapters based on 4 themes were written by 12 authors representing the attributes of Ainu, wajin (majority Japanese) and non-Japanese people, and include scholars as well as Ainu culture practitioners. Theme One: Representation/Objectification deals with the history of Ainu studies, which stemmed from relations between the nation-state and anthropology during the period of their establishment in Japan. Thus, Theme One focuses on the history of the Ainu people’s objectification. Theme Two: New Critical Responses is based on the objectification history described in Theme One, highlighting initiatives to redefine the scope of present-day Ainu society and culture beyond geographical boundaries. The authors of the chapters for Theme Three: Academic Disciplines and Understandings of Ainu question the authoritative nature of academic disciplines (particularly those of archaeology and history) on which images of Ainu people are based, and suggest the possibility of changing this in the future. Theme Four: The Discourse of Culturalism shows a new direction for Ainu studies toward the reassessment of connections between cultural practice and identity from the perspectives of museology, gender, linguistics and law.

One of the threads running through the book involves clarification of the relations linking Ainu studies, the formation of Ainu social images and the political movement for the restoration of the Ainu as an indigenous people. Based on this, efforts are made to open up new horizons by removing limitations that have been placed on Ainu studies in the past; here lies the significance of this book, which is written for English-speaking readers. The section below outlines new attempts presented by the individual authors and highlights challenges added by the reviewers based on new developments concerning recent Ainu policy and research trends.

The authors of the book seek to tackle the theme Beyond Ainu Studies from four perspectives: (1) reinterpretation of the history of Ainu studies by Western scholars; (2) reinterpretation of the history of Ainu studies by Japanese scholars; (3) a look at the present-day Ainu community by Ainu people; and (4) background to the establishment of Ainu social/legal positions and related analysis. Although each chapter may initially appear to approach conventional Ainu studies from an individual perspective, those who read the book through will recognize a loose connection among the threads and realize that they lay the foundations for future Ainu studies. Hans Dieter Ӧlschleger, Tessa Morris-Suzuki and Kristen Refsing address Ainu studies conducted by Western scholars, discussing the Ainu culture described in Western thought and its impact on subsequent Ainu studies conducted in Japan. In contrast, David L. Howell, Mark J. Hudson and Deriha Koji reconsider Ainu history as interpreted by Japanese historians and archaeologists. Based on their research experiences in Japan and elsewhere, these three authors underline the importance of understanding Ainu culture with consideration of the multiple perspectives required among historians and archaeologists in order to conduct new Ainu studies in light of the multi-faceted nature of historical events. One of the book’s characteristics is its content expressing the opinions of scholars who engaged in Ainu studies in Japan and elsewhere in the past as well as those of others involved in Ainu research domestically and internationally today. Another characteristic is its inclusion of descriptions of the Ainu community by Ainu people. Mark K. Watson, Uzawa Kanako, Sunazawa Kayo, Tsuda Nobuko and Ann-Elise Lewallen address the Ainu community in Hokkaido and elsewhere, and especially Uzawa, Sunazawa and Tsuda contribute to the book in their roles as Ainu authors. Tsuda and Lewallen cover research on embroidery and clothing as handicrafts of Ainu women, pointing out how related techniques passed down for generations play an important role in ensuring cultural inheritance and meeting Ainu ethnic requirements despite a lack of detailed written records. These handicrafts stand apart from the traditional Ainu cultural elements of hunting/gathering and language as discussed in chapters 8, 9 and 12, and represent a new perspective in which focus is placed on another aspect of traditional culture that has been passed down in the private domain of women’s handiwork. In chapter 13, Georgina Stevens discusses the significance of practicing Ainu culture and exercising self-determination as an indigenous people within the legal system of Japan. The chapter describes the movement to restore the rights of indigenous peoples within the international community as well as the process behind the restoration of Ainu rights that has taken place since the 1980s against a background of legal resistance to Ainu discrimination in Japan.

Since the book’s publication, rapid and diverse developments have continued in research on Ainu culture and various policy measures. As mentioned in chapter 13, the Council for Ainu Policy Promotion proposed the concept of the Symbolic Space for Ethnic Harmony in July 2009. Scheduled to open in 2020, the space will act as a national centre for the revitalization of Ainu culture. It will be a base for new initiatives toward the preservation and revitalization of the Ainu language and other aspects of the culture, with efforts including the designation of Ainu as an official language of the facility. These goals are worthy of attention as new developments in the restoration of Ainu culture.

The author of chapter 10, Tsuda, earned a doctoral degree in traditional Ainu attire and related culture in 2014 from the Graduate University for Advanced Studies in Japan. Her work on Ainu cultural studies as an Ainu woman has earned academic acclaim, thereby creating promise for new future developments in Ainu cultural studies.

Meanwhile, a number of issues in Ainu studies remain unresolved. By way of example, as discussed in the book’s introduction, the question over repatriation of Ainu human remains collected for scientific study has yet to be concluded. Despite its certain limitations, the book’s juxtaposition of perspectives in Japan and elsewhere is expected to provide a strong stimulus for consideration regarding efforts to resolve such issues, and the effectiveness of its methodological framework will be revealed in future Ainu studies.

Mayumi Okada, Hokkaido University Center for Ainu and Indigenous Studies, Sapporo, Japan

Rina Shiroishi, Hokkaido University Center for Ainu and Indigenous Studies, Sapporo, Japan

Yasushige Takahashi, Hokkaido University Center for Ainu and Indigenous Studies, Sapporo, Japan

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DISCOURSES OF DISCIPLINE: An Anthropology of Corporal Punishment in Japan’s Schools and Sports. Japan Research Monograph, 17. By Aaron L. Miller. Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, 2013. xiii, 245 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$25.00, paper. ISBN 978-1-55729-105-9.

At the beginning of 2013 two separate stories regarding corporal punishment (taibatsu) in sport led the Japanese media headlines. The first involved the suicide of a high school student and captain of the basketball team, allegedly in response to being subjected to relentless and excessive physical punishment at the hands of the team’s 47-year-old coach, who was also a teacher at the school. The second involved 15 female judoka or judo athletes, including competitors from the London Olympics, who filed a collective letter of complaint to the Japanese Olympic committee against two coaches for using excessive physical violence and power harassment. The minister for Education, Culture, Sport, Science and Technology, Shimomura Hakubun, described the situation around these scandals as the “biggest crisis in Japan’s sport history,” stating that it was “necessary for Japan to clearly demonstrate it has eliminated violence from the sports world with its own self-cleansing functions” (Yomiuri, Feb 6, 2013).

The case of corporal punishment in Japanese sport is rendered even more unusual by the fact that it has been banned from educational settings first in 1879, and continuously since 1941. So how and why does corporal punishment persist in schools and sports clubs across Japan? This is the question Aaron Miller sets out to answer in his excellent book Discourses of Discipline. Based on long-term participant observation fieldwork in a university basketball club, grounded further in his experiences of teaching in Japanese schools and working in higher education, and drawing on extensive historical data, Miller has produced a rich and informative analysis of the practices and meanings of corporal punishment in the Japanese context. With a good degree of critical reflexivity, and adopting an anthropological approach to the question, Miller offers an interpretation, rather than an explanation, of corporal punishment, and in so doing avoids the traps of essentialism and cultural comparison.

As the book develops it is clear that the more one tries to understand and define taibatsu the more ambiguous and slippery it becomes. Indeed its origins appear to be a Japanese response to the modernization and engagement with foreign education systems rather than an indigenous concept. Prior to the Meiji Restoration taibatsu was not part of the educational vocabulary and, whilst there were forms of physical punishments in both temple and samurai schools during the Edo period, it is argued that the preference in these settings was for non-violent forms of sanction. Considering the central role of the samurai class in Meiji educational reform, and especially in the establishment of sports clubs in education, it seems likely that corporal punishment would have been absent from educational practice.

From this point onwards Miller provides an extensive historical and ethical contextualization of the practice of corporal punishment in education. He positions corporal punishment within a broader language of disciplining techniques and in doing so highlights the diversity of pedagogical styles at work in Japanese sports, from authoritarian (“bushido”) to liberal (“scientific”) coaches. It is here that the real strength of this book comes through as Miller considers the various cultural explanations for the use of corporal punishment. He addresses the scope of “uniquely” Japanese (samurai ethos, groupism, ascetic practice, character building, etc.) reasons for the continuing practice of corporal punishment and then proceeds to expose such approaches as limited in empirical evidence, being generalizations, and indeed characteristics of sports in many other cultural contexts.

In countering the various nihonjinron explanations of corporal punishment Miller utilizes the work of Michel Foucault to pose an alternative point of view. Corporal punishment is a discourse: linguistic, legal, symbolic and physical. As such it is a power relation that works through the subjectification of the individual bodies it interacts with. Understanding corporal punishment as a form of “bio-power” is effective in explaining, for example, why those who are victims of corporal punishment often do not recognize that they are victims (and may even come to be grateful for their beatings), or how others come to internalize the demands of coaches and adapt their behaviour accordingly.

As promised in the beginning, this book does not pose a solution for the corporal punishment problem. What it does is present a thorough contextualization and rethinking of the issue and in doing so paves the way for others to find the answers. In this sense the book offers policy makers, educators and coaches a way to reconsider corporal punishment and perhaps, as the minister suggests, facilitate Japanese sports’ “self-cleansing functions.” It would be essential reading for anyone interested in Japanese sport and, considering other issues and problems (bullying, school refusal, and drop-out) faced in Japanese education, a way of examining various problematic relationships of power. Finally this book exposes the culturalist shortcomings in explaining violence in a given society. One would contend that this approach could be adapted to other settings and situations where violence becomes institutionalized.

Brent McDonald, Victoria University, Melbourne, Australia

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A FAMILY OF NO PROMINENCE: The Descendants of Pak Tŏkhwa and the Birth of Modern Korea. By Eugene Y. Park. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2014. xvii, 239 pp. (Figures, tables, maps.) US$60.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8047-8876-2.

At the beginning of this short but insightful book on status and social mobility in early modern and modern Korea Eugene Park makes the interesting observation that while many contemporary South Koreans are proud of their lineage background, in fact very few know much about their actual ancestors. This remark is not only indicative of how the social status system has transmuted itself in twentieth-century Korea, it also points out a blind spot in historical memory. Through the reconstruction and study of his own family’s lineage and its history in this book, Park successfully shows that such personal micro-history in fact has the potential of being a hitherto largely untapped source of information about social change and the emergence of modern Korea.

While the approach is original and in many ways path-breaking, the fact that the author’s ancestors were chungin (technical specialists and others of social status below aristocracy but above commoners) means that the subject of this book corresponds with a recent major research trend in the study of Korean history: secondary social status groups and the fuzzy demarcation lines of what was once considered to be a clearly delineated social status system. The previously prevalent monolithic understanding of social status can be explained by master narratives on ancestry in twentieth-century Korea. As Park argues, “The descent group narratives that crystallized in early modern Korea have framed popular discussions of ancestry in a way that allows little room for real family stories” (4). In terms of English-language scholarship on Korean history, it can also partly be explained by the fact that the first generation of Koreanists in the West focussed primarily on the yangban elite and their lineages.

The first four chapters offer fascinating insight into status and social mobility in Chosŏn Korea through the narration of the Pak lineage’s ascent from commoner status to specialist chungin, and finally the insertion of its progenitor into the genealogy of a yangban branch of Miryang Pak. Chapter 1, tellingly titled “From the Mists of Time,” discusses descent and kinship in medieval and early modern Korea and provides a general picture of the social status group defined as chungin before attempting to trace the earliest origins of this Pak lineage in the seventeenth century. Through a detailed study of genealogical records of the lineage and its in-laws, in conjunction with a wide range of other sources, the author comes to the conclusion that the earliest traceable ancestors probably were commoner military officers. The second chapter is set in the eighteenth century and argues that the “expanding commerce and urbanization of Seoul allowed social upstarts to accumulate wealth and join the society’s middle ranks” (28). The section on the Pak lineage details how the Paks relocated to such a Seoul—while maintaining an economic presence in their home region—and advanced within the military.

In chapter 3, dealing with the nineteenth century, the Pak lineage has more firmly established themselves as chungin. In a period when this status group came to the fore in the capital with prominent and affluent families pursuing “various forms of cultural activity, ranging from artistic connoisseur to erudite antiquarian to versatile literatus to social critic” (50), the Pak lineage finally established themselves as specialist chungin, the highest stratum within this social status group. The lineage having achieved specialist chungin status, the fourth chapter, dealing with the late nineteenth century, describes how the Paks, like many other lineages in the period, performed a “genealogical maneuver” to make themselves descendents of a yangban branch of Miryang Pak by having the progenitor, Pak Tŏkhwa, inserted as a son in their genealogy. After this the book slightly changes focus. Chapter 5 describes some prominent in-laws of the Pak lineage and their activities in the early twentieth century, and chapter 6, while returning to the Paks, offers vignettes into the lives of its members during the colonial period rather than discussing the vicissitudes of their social status.

To trace the lives of the members of the Pak lineage and their in-laws, Eugene Pak has mobilized an impressive range of sources. Bringing these texts to the fore of his narration the reader can follow the detective work involved and obtains a good understanding of both the difficulties in using such sources and the potential they possess. As the book is tracing the life of people “of no prominence,” sometimes the link between people found in the sources and the Pak lineage is tenuous and the analysis has to be somewhat speculative. However, even if it can’t be confirmed that all of the people found in the sources actually belonged to this branch of the Pak lineage, the narration still corroborates the overall picture provided of the life and social mobility of this social status group in Chosŏn Korea.

As mentioned earlier, secondary social status groups have recently received increasing academic attention. This book stands out for two reasons, though. Firstly, whereas previous studies have focussed on more well-known chungin, this study with its path-breaking methodology is a both minute and long-term analysis of the social mobility of a “family of no prominence.” Secondly, as argued by the author, this approach also facilitates a more variegated understanding of this social status group, in particular in the colonial period, when many prominent members of the chungin have been described as collaborators. This book is therefore indeed a valuable contribution to the field and should be read by all interested in the social status system of Chosŏn and its transition into modern Korea.

Anders Karlsson, University of London, London, United Kingdom

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THE GREAT TRANSFORMATION OF JAPANESE CAPITALISM. Nissan Institute/Routledge Japanese Studies. Edited by Sébastien Lechevalier; translated by J.A.A. Stockwin. London; New York: Routledge, 2014. xxxv, 198 pp. (Figures.) US$140.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-415-71766-3.

This highly stimulating book takes up a wide range of core themes and debates in studies of Japanese capitalism, and of comparative political economy (CPE) more broadly. Sébastien Lechevalier’s goal in the original French version of 2011 was to pull together and make accessible to a non-specialist audience the results of his research on Japanese and comparative capitalism, and J.A.A. Stockwin’s admirably clear translation has made that effort available to an English-speaking audience. Lechevalier makes the case that Japanese capitalism has, since the early 1980s, gone through a “great transformation” (his use of this term seems not to have any Polanyian overtones), one so significant that the country’s political economy must now be seen as fundamentally different from the “classic” Japanese model that prevailed in the decades after World War II. One of his core goals is to explore the central role of neo-liberal policies in instigating this transformation. He argues that such policies (which were put into place largely in the mid-1980s and between 1996 and 2006) have had significant negative consequences for Japan, most notably through their contribution to the disastrous economic bubble of the late 1980s and the ways in which they have dismantled Japan’s classic system of political economy without putting a coherent new system in its place. Lechevalier thus finds that the “neo-liberal transition” has transformed Japanese capitalism, but that these changes have not added up to “convergence towards the liberal model” (21). The peculiarities of Japanese neo-liberalism mean that the country continues to occupy a distinctive place within the CPE literature.

The Great Transformation of Japanese Capitalism has an unusual structure. After an extended foreword by the great régulation school political economist Robert Boyer, the book is comprised of an introduction and a series of empirical chapters by Lechevalier (chapter 5 is co-authored with Arnaud Nanta). The one exception is chapter 1, in which University of British Columbia political scientist Yves Tiberghien seeks to periodize, explain and evaluate Japan’s structural reform process since the early 1980s. This inclusion of a single chapter by a different author as an integrated part of Lechevalier’s argument works very well, and Tiberghien’s contribution can profitably be read both as a stand-alone piece and as a component of the whole. The chapter (which was written in mid-2013) also extends the book’s argument to the political implications of the 3/11 disaster and the return to power of Abe Shinzō in December 2012, with Tiberghien arguing that “Abenomics” should not be seen as driven by neo-liberal ideas. Lechevalier’s chapters also allude to these events from time to time, and his extensive references to works published in 2012 suggest that they may have been updated somewhat from the 2011 French version (though his empirical coverage ends for the most part in 2010).

While Lechevalier’s analysis has more moving parts than can be summarized in a short review, his introductory chapter does an excellent job of highlighting the core elements of his research and their implications for broader debates. At the heart of the book is a theoretical framework in which different capitalisms are distinguished and analyzed along three dimensions: the micro-level dimension of the nature of firms, and the macro-level dimensions of forms of co-ordination (both market and non-market) and of the social compromises that underpin and help to constitute particular capitalisms. Chapters 2-4 cover these three aspects of Japanese capitalism in turn, with each first outlining the “classic” Japanese system in the relevant area before exploring how and why it has been transformed since the early 1980s. Chapter 2 emphasizes above all the increasing heterogeneity of firm types in Japan, chapter 3 the decline of the old forms of co-ordination (including keiretsu networks and industrial policy) and the rise of new ones, and chapter 4 the rapid rise in socio-economic inequality (the development that Lechevalier sees as the “most visible” aspect of the “real rupture in contemporary Japanese capitalism” (86). Chapters 5 through 7 then take up three other central features of Japan’s changing capitalism, the education and innovation systems and Japan’s place in the global and regional political economies.

The Great Transformation of Japanese Capitalism covers a remarkable range of material in a relatively small number of pages. While the presentation is sometimes dense (though almost never difficult to follow) and readers with some background in Japanese political economy will get the most benefit from the book, Lechevalier succeeds admirably in giving an accessible, analytically driven account of the multifaceted restructuring of the Japanese political economy over the last three decades. The emphasis on brevity and accessibility detracts from the book’s effectiveness, however, when arguments are presented without the detailed engagement with data required to make them stick. This is the case, for instance, in the coverage of statistics on inequality (92). In some instances, Lechevalier deals with this problem by providing citations to his own or other researchers’ work on the topic at hand, but in others key arguments come across as assertions. Chapters 2 through 4, too, are not organized as clearly as they might be around demonstrating the impact of neo-liberal reforms, specifically on firm diversity, forms of co-ordination, and the social compromise. Chapters 5 and 6 make this argument much more effectively with respect to the education and innovation systems. Overall, however, the book is an impressive achievement, and anyone with an interest in Japanese and comparative political economy will benefit from reading it.

Derek Hall, Wilfrid Laurier University, Waterloo, Canada                                               

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MABIKI: Infanticide and Population Growth in Eastern Japan, 1660-1950. Asia: Local Studies/Global Themes, 25. By Fabian Drixler. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2013. xvii, 417 pp. (Maps, illustrations.) US$75.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-520-27243-9.

Historians have long known that parents in early modern Japan sometimes killed their newborns, a practice euphemistically called thinning the shoots (mabiki). Fabian Drixler’s ambitious book skillfully blends statistical and textual analysis to explain how the culture of infanticide evolved over three centuries, shedding light on the intellectual, cultural and institutional history of early modern Japan and offering a fascinating, and at times harrowing, case study of population control.

Drixler’s methodology is rich and complex. In the introduction he explains that a “feedback loop between demography and discourse goes through several cycles in this book” (21), a simple statement that belies the complexity of his argument. Until recently historical studies of the demography of early modern Japan relied on structuralist assumptions that viewed social, political or economic relationships as static. Drixler sets aside these static assumptions and argues instead that the practices and demographic consequences of infanticide evolved through dynamic processes of social change that were influenced by widespread debate about infanticide. While he uses discourse analysis he cites no post-structuralist sources in the notes or bibliography. His approach is neither structuralist nor post-structuralist, but rather bears an affinity with the new interactive structuralism. The result is an insightful, dynamic view of the culture of infanticide backed up by a sophisticated quantitative analysis.

The quantitative analysis is audacious in scope. Where most demographic studies of early modern Japan examine a single village, Drixler analyzes data from ten provinces in eastern Japan, a region that stretches from north of what is now Tokyo to the northern tip of the main island of Honshū. Most of his quantitative conclusions appertain to that region but he provides context by explaining population change, sex ratios and fertility levels throughout all of Japan based on data compiled from secondary sources. For the main statistical analysis he collected roughly 780,000 observations from 3,300 population registers coming from over one thousand villages in eastern Japan and compiled the data into thousands of spreadsheets. To this data he applied the “Own Children Method” (OCM) that estimates fertility based on a snapshot of the surviving children in a family. By analyzing many thousands of entries from population registers Drixler generated an estimate of where and how often infanticide took place. His results show that infanticide was common in eastern Japan, sometimes shockingly so, that it was only sometimes sex-selective, that it was not practiced uniformly throughout the region and that rates of infanticide changed over time, rising to high levels in the eighteenth century before decreasing in the nineteenth (he uses different data to show it ended in the middle of the twentieth century). Many tables, maps and charts make the quantitative results more accessible.

The book is quite readable because Drixler has placed most of the technical explanation in appendices and endnotes, but readers who venture into the end matter will have a better view of the scope and complexity of the analysis. To organize the data for analysis Drixler had to make what must have been a staggering number of adjustments to the hundreds of thousands of observations he used. To use the OCM he also had to make assumptions about a number of values that are difficult to estimate, such as mortality rates. He explains how he made these adjustments and assumptions but for reasons of space cannot provide details. The estimates and assumptions look plausible, however, and the adjustments to the data look reasonable so his results are probably correct. In at least one case, however, his explanation lacks adequate transparency. He uses a Monte Carlo simulation to examine the comparative frequency of infanticides and abortions, referring readers who want a fuller description of the method to an article he has not yet published. Readers may want to withhold judgment about the results of the simulation until he publishes the supporting article.

His analysis of the discourse on infanticide is fascinating and shows that commentators in early modern Japan had diverse attitudes about the practice. He argues that infanticide became widely accepted in eastern Japan in part because priests in some Buddhist sects began to promise they “could transform a dead soul into a divine ancestral spirit” through the ongoing performance of rituals (62), and limiting family size through infanticide helped to stabilize households and secure heirs who could ensure the future performance of the rituals. Cultural practices such as costly reciprocal gift giving at the birth of a child and the belief that having a large family would lead to poverty provided further justification for infanticide by shaping social expectations about the need to limit family size. The diverse discourse also included criticism of infanticide based on Confucian ideology and Buddhist theology. Drixler argues that such discursive attacks, backed up by domain policies to monitor pregnancies, to exert moral pressure on villagers and to subsidize child-rearing, led to lower levels of infanticide in the nineteenth century.

The dynamic development of the discourse on infanticide came to an end with a radical political rupture at the beginning of the modern period, and this is the most problematic part of Drixler’s analysis. To some extent early modern debates about infanticide had to take into account the hereditary patrimonial authority of the domain lords, especially after domains began to implement countermeasures to curtail infanticide. When the Meiji Restoration (1868) swept away the old system of domain-based political authority it also swept away the underpinnings of that discourse. Drixler describes insightfully how the discourse died out, but he underestimates the extent of the discursive rupture that took place. As a result he conflates incommensurate understandings of civilization (Chinese and Western) and pays insufficient attention to how meanings of civilization changed during the process of reshaping state power after the Restoration. Drixler’s explanation of how the culture of infanticide ended in the twentieth century is first rate, however, and his analysis of discourse in the early modern period is on firm ground. On the whole the book is packed with interesting insights that will appeal to a wide range of readers.

Robert Eskildsen, International Christian University, Tokyo, Japan

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FAILED DEMOCRATIZATION IN PREWAR JAPAN: Breakdown of a Hybrid Regime. Studies of the Walter H. Shorenstein Asia-Pacific Research Center. By Harukata Takenaka. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2014. xii, 241 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$55.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8047-6341-7.

Deeply rooted in the Enlightenment past, the social sciences struggle with the enormous complexity of a twenty-first-century world. As Stanford-trained Harutaka Takenaka reveals, political scientists have concocted innumerable labels to capture the political complexity of our times: traditional democracy, semi-democracy, pseudo democracy, illiberal democracy, delegative democracy, near polyarchy, competitive oligarchy, inclusive hegemony, tutelary regime, competitive authoritarianism, electoral authoritarianism, classical authoritarianism, autocracy, despotism, etc. Takenaka himself leans toward the increasingly popular study of “hybrid regimes,” polities with democratic and authoritarian attributes.

In probing an overlooked subgenre of hybridity, the “semi-democratic” regime, Takenaka hints to the potential of social science research on Japan. Compared to other models of hybridity (competitive authoritarianism, electoral authoritarianism), “semi-democracy” suggests the permeability of invented political categories. Takenaka applies the term, after all, to a nation typically considered democratic, Great Britain. Although blessed with the fundamental conditions of democracy—regular elections, accountability and mass political participation—nineteenth-century Britain, Takenaka explains, suffered from bribery and coercion, the unaccountability of the House of Lords and military, and limited suffrage. By the late 1920s, however, legal reform transformed Britain into a model democracy.

Similarly, Takenaka finds Japan wanting between 1918 and 1932 and, like Britain, suggests this “semi-democratic” polity could have transitioned to democracy. Echoing recent historical analyses, Takenaka appropriately distinguishes 1920s Japan from the “competitive oligarchy” of the latter nineteenth century. Whereas latter nineteenth-century Japan witnessed battles among the oligarchs and one political party (the Seiyūkai), by the 1920s, political competition shifted to two major political parties (the Seiyūkai and Kenseikai, later Minseitō). While electoral control in the nineteenth century extended only to the Lower House, by the interwar era, both the Lower House and government became beholden to the people through the strong place of political parties in both. Finally, although only 4.8 percent of the adult population could vote before 1919, by 1924, universal male suffrage enfranchised 37.3 percent of Japanese adults.

Despite these impressive gains, democratic reform did not, of course, continue in 1930s Japan. Takenaka’s broadest aim is to explain how such “semi-democratic” regimes fail. The experience of Japan reveals, first, the importance of civil-military relations. Interwar Japan saw the gradual rise of military over civilian authority. The shift was facilitated by a failure of electoral control over institutions such as the Privy Council, House of Peers and the military, and by the “semi-loyalty” of some party politicians vis-à-vis the civilian government. The lack of loyalty derived from an erosion of civilian legitimacy in the face of economic crisis, political scandal, even political party betrayal of democratic principles.

Takenaka’s strength lies in locating specific points where alternative actions might have facilitated a smooth Japanese transition to democracy. Had the Hara Takashi cabinet (1918–21) introduced universal male suffrage, he argues, the Katō Takaaki cabinet (1924–26) could have curbed the power of the House of Peers and Privy Council. Had the first Wakatsuki cabinet (1926–27) stood up to the Privy Council, the Seiyūkai might not have objected to the London Naval Treaty and thus politicized the military. Had the Tanaka Giichi cabinet (1927–29) punished the army assassins of Chinese warlord Chang Tso-lin, military politicization again could have been checked. Had the second Wakatsuki cabinet (1931) abandoned Hamaguchi’s economic austerity, it could have retained popular legitimacy. It might also have worked harder to control the military after the Manchurian Incident. Following the May Fifteenth Incident, the Seiyūkai and Minseitō parties could have turned to public support against the military.

Takenaka thus offers an important corrective to the determinist vision of a prewar Japanese political culture adverse to democracy. At the same time, his analysis reveals the limitations of social science research on non-Western societies. Codified with the nineteenth-century rise of the Western world, modern political science continues to privilege Western polities (particularly, Britain and the US) as ideal models against which non-Western societies invariably pale. Although Takenaka effectively counters the cultural determinism of political science research from the 1980s (Lucian Pye), his discussion of “semi-democratic” Japan and early 1920s roots of failure echoes early post-1945 Japanese Marxist and revisionist American (Robert Scalapino, Barrington Moore) emphases on the structural origins of Japanese militarism.

A less Anglo-American-centric reading might recognize that, while legal mechanisms for civilian control did not match those in contemporaneous Britain or the United States, democratic procedures in 1920s Japan were fully, if more informally, established. The Japanese parliament adopted universal male suffrage in 1925, just seven years after Britain. And as Mitani Taichirō, Murai Ryōta and Itō Yukio have argued, the Lower House gained ascendancy over the Upper House; party cabinets neutralized the power of the elder statesmen, the Privy Council, and the military; the selection process for prime minister became regularized; and the civilian cabinet expanded its authority over the imperial house. As Kawada Minoru has observed, in deliberations over the London Naval Treaty, Prime Minister Hamaguchi Osachi (1929–31) unified the Imperial Army, Navy, parliament and Privy Council under political party command.

Trapped by his own “semi-democratic” label, Takenaka cannot interpret the ultimate rise of militarism as anything but the product of weak Japanese democracy. Yet contemporary sources reveal nothing if not the extraordinary power of party government under Hamaguchi and an inordinate fear of that power among Japan’s non-elected elites. It seems likely that Japan’s political transformation of the 1930s derived from a problem of legitimacy not of Japan’s political parties but of her non-elected elites. Rather than focus on a brewing storm from 1920, one might note that the 1930 ratification of the London Naval Treaty marked the pinnacle of prewar Japanese party government, demonstrating to all the overwhelming power of the Hamaguchi cabinet. Unable to surmount party politics by legal means, members of the Imperial Army resolved to do so by a campaign of violence at home and abroad. Unfortunately, no amount of political accountability in interwar Japan could control armed soldiers determined to recover their waning authority through political assassination and foreign conquest.

Frederick R. Dickinson, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, USA

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RISE OF A JAPANESE CHINATOWN: Yokohama, 1894–1972. Harvard East Asian Monographs, 367; Studies of the Weatherhead East Asian Institute, Columbia University. By Eric C. Han. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center; distributed by Harvard University Press, 2014. xvi, 250pp. (Maps, figures.) US$39.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-49198-4.

Solid scholarship and fresh research findings make Eric C. Han’s book a significant contribution to Asian Studies, expanding our knowledge on Chinese immigration to Japan and a history of Yokohama Chinatown in the context of tension and warfare between China and Japan from 1894 to 1972. A first in English, this book provides historical evidence of the Yokohama Chinatown, now the most popular tourist destination in Japan for tasting imagined and exotic Chinese culture. This research also contributes to social sciences discourses on the theory of ethnicity and national identity, adding vivid testimony to the flexible, paradoxical and plural existence of a global Chinese diaspora. Drawing on rich Japanese literature, archival records and local newspaper articles since the 1880s, Han convincingly argues how the Yokohama Chinese enacted multiple roles of patriotic overseas Chinese (huaqiao), cooperative local sons or “Yokohama-ite” (hamakko), to eventually become a Japanese ethnic minority. This study provides useful demographic data of the Chinese in Japan over 80 years, while old photographic copies illuminate the physical transitions in Yokohama Chinatown’s residents’ daily lives.

Consisting of five major chapters, the “introduction” spells out research goals and methods; what global diaspora means; and the chapters’ main points, with each chapter covering a landmark historical period or key warfare between China and Japan.

Chapter 1, “The Sino-Japanese War and Ethnic Unity, 1894–95,” first accounts for the arrival of the Chinese in Yokohama, predominantly Cantonese compradors and merchants who accompanied Western traders in the 1880s. Assigned to the Chinese quarter of the Nankinmachi in this emerging port town of international trade, they were welcomed as prestigious foreign merchants. Following China’s first major defeat by the Japanese in the 1894–95 war, although anti-Chinese sentiment grew, it did not stop friendships and intermarriages between the Chinese and local Japanese, and thus commenced an emerging local identity for Chinese sojourners.

Chapter 2, “Expatriate Nationalists and the Politics of Mixed Residence, 1895–1911,” examines the in-fighting amongst Chinese centred at the Chinese organizations such as guilds and schools, because of revolution and other political movements in China and overseas. Vivid anecdotes highlight the fight for control of Chinese institutions between cliques adhering to conflicting political ideologies as well as different hometown origins.

Chapter 3, “Cooperation, Conflict, and Modern Life in an International Port, 1912-32,” tells how the Chinese citizens of the new Republic of China (founded in 1912) achieved commercial success and cultural acceptance in Yokohama. Two interesting activities won the hearts of the Japanese. They popularized exotic Chinese cuisine (Cantonese shumai in particular) in luxurious Chinese restaurants; whereas Chinese schools built modern “Chinese” baseball teams (they had a Chinese coach from Hawaii) that defeated all other local and regional Japanese school teams in this budding American sport in Japan. Also discussed is the direct intervention of China’s new government in Chinatown’s schools by importing teachers and official Chinese textbooks in order to indoctrinate overseas Chinese children to become patriotic Chinese citizens. Then the Chinese faced harder times when Japan invaded Manchuria in 1931.

Chapter 4, “Sino-Japanese War, Sino-Japanese Friendship, and the Yokohama-ite (native son) Identity, 1933-45,” portrays the Chinese enduring eight long years of hardship under police abuse, general distrust and being coerced into openly supporting the cause of the Japanese invasion and occupation of their homeland. To survive in this enemy country, some Yokohama Chinese leaders compromised by openly demonstrating loyalty to the Japanese puppet region in Nanking, China. The long war period also saw the Yokohama Chinese cultural integration into the mainstream Japanese society, thereby adopting a stronger and paradoxical local Japanese identity. Along with other major cities in Japan at the conclusion of the Pacific War, air raids in Yokohama Chinatown turned it to ruins.

Chapter 5, “A Town Divided: The Cold War in Yokohama Chinatown, 1945-72,” describes the postwar period when the Chinese status in Japan was suddenly elevated to the citizens of the “victorious nation” of China. Many Chinese took advantage of their new status by engaging in black market trading, prospered and reconstructed a new Chinatown. Then the Cold War and Korean War periods also witnessed a positive transition of Yokohama Chinatown into a major tourist attraction when the majority of the residents received Japanese citizenship. However, the political split in China into ROC and PRC induced fierce fighting between rival supporters, when each faction sought control of Chinese schools and associations. Han tells of dramatic stories, for instance, of how at Chinatown schools’ board meetings, thugs were hired and Japanese police summoned to physically remove members of opposite political factions.

Han in his “conclusion” reminds us that Yokohama Chinatown is now dominated by Japanese nationals of Chinese ancestry who join the “Minorities in a Monoethnic State,” as his study shows a marked assimilation and identity change among Chinese in the “Micropolitics of Everyday Life.” He emphasizes, once again, the flexibility of ethnic and national identity, as being a historical and social process, not fixed essential markers. By the end of the twentieth century Yokohama Chinatown had become a plural community: a Japanese town engaged in the business of commodified Chinese culture. After the 1980s enormous numbers of new immigrants arrived from China, and they gradually took over old restaurants and souvenir shops. That, of course, is a subject for another book.

This book may serve as a timely reference for opinion leaders and specialists of East Asian international politics, given the current intensified conflicts between China and Japan, such as the almost daily skirmishes on the high seas surrounding the Diaoyutai (Chinese name) or Senkaku (Japanese name) Islands of Japan. Although Han’s book focuses on the “Rise of a Japanese Chinatown,” it actually provides condensed background information on a century of international rivalry between Japan and China. In sum, while interesting for general readers, this book is a must read for students of diaspora Chinese and East Asian Studies.

David Y.H. Wu, East-West Center, Honolulu, USA

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JAPAN: The Paradox of Harmony. By Keiko Hirata and Mark Warschauer. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014. viii, 295 pp. US$32.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-300-18607-9.

Since Ruth Benedict’s The Chrysanthemum and the Sword was published in 1946, many scholars have studied Japanese senses of self and patterns of behaviour with a holistic approach to Japanese culture. Every decade has seen important books published on the theme of Japanese cultural uniqueness, or Nihonjinron. JAPAN: The Paradox of Harmony follows in this line of works analyzing what wa, meaning harmony, is and its implications in Japanese society. Three decades ago, during Japan’s economic burgeoning, books analyzing the concept of harmony as an element of Japanese cultural uniqueness also flourished. Many praised this Japanese uniqueness, stressing harmony as a driving force of the country’s economic success, while others pointed to the same characteristic as a major source of the discrimination against out-groups, the inflexibility of the system, the overwhelming pressure of individual responsibility, and so on. The way in which this book analyzes Japanese society through the concept of harmony might not seem new at all for many people who pay attention to Japanese society and related research. What is new in this book is the broad range of current issues it analyzes, from recent territorial disputes with neighbouring countries to the popularity of K-pop culture and from the disaster of the earthquake and tsunami on March 11, 2011 to changing portraits of men and women, along with its engaging manner of incorporating anecdotal materials.

Arguing that the harmony that once led Japan to achieve its remarkable economic success and social solidarity in the postwar era might cause harm in the future, the authors present various cases to show the rigidity of the Japanese system and intensified conflicts in Japan. Chapters like “The Whistleblower” and “Meltdown,” for instance, clearly reveal the authors’ main point that strict hierarchy and excessive loyalty to superiors prevent the discussion of critical problems among the public and keep society from finding the most effective ways to fix the problems. Linking their discussion to another aspect of wa, which creates sharp boundaries between in-group and out-group, the authors present well-balanced critiques of both in- and out-groups in the chapters “Getting Along with the Neighbors” and “Graying and Shrinking.” In the chapter “Grass-Eating Girly Men,” they also discuss an interesting contrast in that modern portraits of men and women in Japan have diversified, while old gender roles still persist. In contrast to the traditionally masculine and achievement-oriented “salaryman” images, increasing numbers of gentle and sensitive herbivores are changing the patterns of men’s lives as well as their relations with women in Japan.

Many previous studies on Japanese culture and its uniqueness focus on either Westerners’ perceptions of Japanese-ness or Japanese people’s own perceptions of it. Such studies pay attention to one dimension only, and their analyses often reveal only fragmentary truths or a distorted knowledge of Japan. Keiko Hirata and Mark Warschauer, on the other hand, enlighten readers about Japan and Japanese-ness through their treatment of various dimensions of current issues that involve different actors and changing environments. For instance, their discussion weaves together diverse strands of social life in Japan, including the fever for K-wave culture, memories of the Second World War, the changing stances of political leadership, and ethnic education of Chongryon (the General Association of North Korean Residents in Japan) schools, to explain conflicts between Japan and neighbouring countries. The authors present that diverse actors including China, America and South and North Korea have a strong influence on making Japanese shape and reshape views about themselves. And the chapter “Grass-Eating Girly Men” explains diverse male-female relations and family life through the cases of Otaku men (people who “have a hobby to passionate extremes”), Herbivore and Konkatsu (marriage-hunting), revealing that the existence of diverse relations can be understood best in the broad context of Japan’s changing socio-economic circumstances.

The book also has some shortcomings. First of all, not surprisingly, the authors stress American solutions of efficiency and rationality over more Japanese social norms. They write, for instance, that reconstructing small and dangerous coastal communities populated largely by the elderly rather than supporting towns that could offer more opportunities for the young is disrupting rational efforts to rebuild the region damaged by the 3.11 tsunami. Regarding Japan’s decreasing birth rates, they argue that Japan needs to accept more immigrants. Considering only economic efficiency and development per se, these might be the quickest and most effective solutions. However, it is possible that the Japanese would prefer to pay greater economic and social costs, if by doing so they could recover their community solidarity. Cultures may not be etched in stone, but Japanese culture has evolved for hundreds and thousands of years. Secondly, although the authors make a strong effort to reveal different dimensions of the issues and take a broad perspective on the Japanese paradox, the prevailing view in their book still seems to see the Japanese as a single unit of analysis. They do not fully consider the dynamics among all the different actors in Japanese society. Recent conflicts over memories of the Second World War, for example, reveal huge variation in the different voices of Japanese citizens. It is common to see even the groups roughly considered right-wing nationalists positioning themselves as different from each other. Finally, the conclusion of the book is somewhat vague. After pointing out all the negative aspects of Japanese ways of harmony, the authors hurriedly conclude that “Japan need not abandon such admirable cultural traits as honesty, hard work, service, self-sacrifice, respect, and commitment to education” – many of which can also be considered central characteristics of wa and also cause problems in Japanese society.

Despite these shortcomings, by covering so many recent issues the authors have made a strong attempt to create a comprehensive road map of current Japanese society. This book will be valuable for students and others who might be interested in better understanding Japanese society after the devastating 3.11 earthquake and tsunami.

Hye Won Um, University of Hawai‘i at Manoa, Honolulu, USA

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FROM CULTURES OF WAR TO CULTURES OF PEACE: War and Peace Museums in Japan, China, and South Korea. Studies of the Weatherhead East Asian Institute, Columbia University. By Takashi Yoshida. Portland, ME: MerwinAsia; Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press [distributor], 2014. xix, 308 pp. (Illustrations.) US$75.00, cloth, ISBN 978-1-937385-44-6; US$35.00, paper, ISBN 978-1-937385-43-9.

Memories of the past have always mattered in international politics, and it may not be an exaggeration to say that the East Asian region currently serves as one of the strongest reminders of this truism. At the time of writing, Japanese Prime Minster Abe Shinzō and Chinese President Xi Jinping had held the first Sino-Japanese summit since 2012, following territorial disputes over the Senkaku/Diaoyu Islands. Japan’s announcement to nationalize the islands had prompted emotional, large-scale anti-Japanese demonstrations in China, as well as a suspension of all high-level contact between the two states’ leaders. Such reactions were undoubtedly fuelled by memories (partly kept alive by the Communist regime to boost their legitimacy) of Japan’s invasion of China and its seizure of Chinese territory. Meanwhile, relations between Japan and South Korea remain in a deep “freeze,” with South Korean President Park Gyun-he continuing to refuse to meet Abe unless he alters his attitude towards “history issues,” including Korean “Comfort Women” and visits to the controversial Yasukuni Shrine. It is clear that how Japanese imperialism is “remembered” has tremendous implications for the international relations of East Asia.

Given this context, the publication of Takashi Yoshida’s new monograph on war and peace museums in East Asia is guaranteed to be of interest to observers of the region’s politics and history. The book, which consists of seven chapters, is organized in a broadly thematic fashion. After providing a chronological survey of war museums in Imperial Japan and the rise of multiple voices of pacifism in the aftermath of Japan’s defeat in 1945, the author provides a broad survey of various Japanese war and peace museums. In doing so, Yoshida’s work makes a number of contributions. First, it serves as a valuable “museum guide” for researchers and students of East Asian history and politics. Yoshida provides us with detailed descriptions of the museums’ exhibits and the political messages behind them, as well as analysis on the socio-political context in which each museum emerged.

Second, through his detailed examinations of these museums, Yoshida is able to trace the gradual evolution of Japanese attitudes towards the Asia-Pacific War of 1931–45, as well as the politics of “remembering and forgetting.” Thus, while many Japanese war and peace museums are subjected to pressure from both conservative and progressive camps to adopt the “correct” attitude to history (chapter 6), Yoshida shows there has been a gradual acknowledgement of Japan both as a victim and perpetuator of war. Even museums that were founded primarily to remember events in which Japanese citizens suffered (such as the Himeyuri Peace Museum, the Voiceless Museum or the Centre on the Tokyo Raids and War Damages) examine Japanese aggression in their exhibits, distinguishing them from others that continue to stick to glorifying the heroism of the Japanese war dead (such as the Chiran-Town Peace Museum for Kamikaze Pilots). The overall picture of Japanese war memories that emerges from Yoshida’s careful empirical analysis is one of complexity, where competing narratives coexist uneasily with each other, vying for mainstream acceptance.

Yoshida’s third contribution is to put Japanese war and peace museums in a regional context by comparing them to Chinese and South Korean war and peace museums (chapter 7). In contrast to Japan, the author finds less scope for diversity in what is “remembered and forgotten” in terms of each state’s darker episodes of history. The museums examined remain (to different degrees) within the framework of state-led nationalism, leading the author to conclude that “[m]useums in China and South Korea seem more perpetuating a notion of ‘innocent-us’ and ‘savage-them’—and thereby inciting a divisive brand of patriotism (i.e., nationalism)—than on exposing the pervasive horrors of war and promoting peace” (236). In both countries, the emphasis remains firmly on highlighting Japanese atrocities, glorifying the heroic anti-Japan struggles by Chinese and Korean citizens, while frequently ignoring any historical wrongdoing committed by native regimes after Japan’s defeat (Park Chung-hee’s political repression, as well as Mao Zedong’s Cultural Revolution are cases in point).

This book provides a rich empirical account of the politics of memory in East Asia, and the author’s question of whether or not “patriotism contribute[s] to promoting peace in Northeast Asia” (231) provides us with much food for thought. There are nevertheless a number of points that could have made this already useful book even more valuable. First, on a somewhat technical point, given that the book serves as a “guide” to war and peace museums in Japan, a list of their addresses and other details would have been extremely beneficial in assisting researchers wishing to build on Yoshida’s work and conduct additional fieldwork to these sites of “remembering.” Second, while I am fully appreciative of the fact that the author’s strength lies in Japanese history, as well as the inherent difficulties in conducting multi-lingual research, given the title I would have liked to see more analysis on the Chinese and South Korean cases. In particular, it would have been interesting (and useful) to more detailed analysis on the politics of memory in South Korea, which is a liberal democracy that tolerates—at least in theory—much more diverse historical narratives than an authoritarian one-party state like China. What are the political dynamics that seem to produce a much more homogenous “remembering” of the past? In what way does South Korean society differ from Japanese society in this regard? These points aside, Yoshida’s book will prove to be highly valuable for scholars and students of all levels and disciplines, particularly history and political science. It is a timely and a valuable addition to the literature.

Shogo Suzuki, University of Manchester, Manchester, United Kingdom

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BREWED IN JAPAN: The Evolution of the Japanese Beer Industry. By Jeffrey W. Alexander. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2014, c2013. xii, 303 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$30.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-8248-3953-6.

The history of beer in Japan dovetails perfectly with the history of Japan’s “modern” period, as the first cases were brewed just before the Meiji Restoration and as the history of the industry’s major players cuts through the Fifteen-Year War into the historical present. Beer as both a consumer product and an industrial enterprise thus intersects a wide range of historical moments: the installation of industrial capitalism, Japanese imperial expansion, the economic and social effects of total war, post-war economic recovery, and the rise and transformation(s) of a consumer culture in both the pre- and post-war social landscapes. Jeffrey Alexander’s industry history of beer in Japan surveys the entire width of this expanse while remaining focused on the development of beer as a manufactured product and a consumer good. Despite the breadth of this study, it is both rich and highly detailed. Drawing heavily on the self-generated company histories of several major brewers, Alexander explicates the microscopic details of the creation, expansion and transformation of Japan’s major beer companies.

His central narrative traces beer’s evolution from an expensive, “European” product to the radical shifts in the composition of both the product and industry during the Second World War, resulting in the subsequent, total domestication of it in the post-war years (2, 87, 109, 170). It is this history of domestication that forms the core of his argument. Early chapters deal with the difficulties encountered by brewers within the process of industrialization, and explore beer’s expansion as a consumer product domestically and within Japan’s colonial possessions. With Japan’s invasion of China, the initiation of the wartime economy also fundamentally altered the nature of Japanese beer itself. Until then, beer in Japan was generally brewed in a heavy German style and thus thought of as a European product. However, wartime restrictions on imports and ingredients brought about a lighter beer that would become the mainstay of the post-war years. Through advertising and the rise in beer consumption, it was radically recast as a “Japanese” product, completing the domestication of beer as it eclipsed sake as the staple of bars and homes alike.

Beyond this broader narrative of industry growth and development, Alexander’s work touches upon a number of important themes in Japanese modernity. For example, his first two chapters interweave the early history of the brewing industry with the development of industrial capitalism within Japan. The particularity of the brewing industry, which experienced a number of different setbacks and difficulties related to lack of experience and infrastructure, qualifies narratives that see Japan’s industrialization as “rapid” and smooth as the early brewers often times utilized non-industrial techniques in brewing or transportation, and were only able to reach a limited base of consumers due to geography and the price of the product (53-54, 104-106). Over the last thirty years, traditional narratives of the Meiji era as a smooth and efficient period of “industrialization” or “modernization” have been shown to be too reductive and moreover, ignorant of the unevenness and contingency involved in the shift to industrial capitalism and a nation-state. As a very recent example of this, Robert Stolz’s Bad Water (Duke, 2014) looks at the pollution surrounding the Ashio Copper mine during the late Meiji shift to industrial capitalism circa the 1890s and early 1900s. He shows how the logic of the state and the process of industrialization allowed for “national sacrifice zones,” whereby the population and natural environment of places like Ashio were destroyed for the greater common good seen in industrialization. Rather than a smooth development, the attempt to reterritorialize both land and worker to the needs of industry was difficult, violent and often a destructive process (Robert Stolz, Bad Water). While Alexander in some sense adds to the critique of Meiji industrialization, it may be more productive to think about the relation of the beer industry to the uneven and variable process of industrial development in terms starker than simply “qualifying” the narrative of smooth development.

It is precisely when Brewed in Japan touches upon issues like the above that one wishes that Alexander would push past the narrowness of an industrial history and dig deeper into some of these important themes. This was particularly the case with his discussion of imperialism. Some of Japan’s first brewers were deeply connected to the colonization of Hokkaidō where the government tried to engineer a “second little Japan” by converting local inhabitants into Japanese subjects. As Alexander shows, the brewing industry was part of both the industrial development and the institution of agriculture in Hokkaidō, which were essential to converting the local population into wage labourers and agricultural workers (32). Here would be a perfect opportunity to explore how an industry like beer was interconnected to this colonization process and how the particularities of the colonization process may or may not have been an important part of the history of the industry. His discussion of Japanese imperial expansion in the thirties and forties warrants a similar call for more analysis. While he historicizes the spread of breweries to Japan’s colonies, one is left wondering about the interconnection of the industry with colonial policy and exploitation (132-137). For example he discusses how the post-war industry suffered from the loss of Japanese employees due to conscription in the war, but the issue of colonial labour—did they employ local Korean and Manchuria factor workers and how did that process work?—is left under-addressed (163). That is not to say that Alexander should have forced a long discussion of imperialism or a colonial critique, but rather that his gesturing to the connection to imperialism leaves a number of questions and concerns unanswered.

Overall, as an industry history, Brewed in Japan is well done and bursting with excellent details and well-researched scholarship. For anyone interested in a history of beer in Japan this is an excellent and comprehensive account of it.

Kevin Richardson, University of California, Los Angeles, USA

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IN TRANSIT: The Formation of the Colonial East Asian Cultural Sphere. The World of East Asia. By Faye Yuan Kleeman. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2014. viii, 295 pp. (Illustrations.) US$52.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3860-7.

Faye Yuan Kleeman’s In Transit: The Formation of the Colonial East Asian Cultural Sphere provides a fascinating description of Japan’s empire and the cultural exchanges that flowed within it through the life stories of ten of its subjects and citizens. As Kleeman points out, even though the Japanese empire might not have been as large as that of Britain or France, its compact nature allowed for the relatively easy internal flow of people, cultural knowledge, ideology, art and material culture. Through her biographical approach, Kleeman shifts the discussion of such movements away from larger entities, such as particular colonies or ethnic groups, to individuals so as to “illustrate the intertwined and multifarious relationship between the personal and the national, the private and the public, in the grand scheme of the Japanese colonial enterprise” (7). She consequently argues:

[I]t was not through the ideologies championed by the state apparatuses that people were persuaded to participate in the imperial enterprise; rather, it was through the lure of desire and pleasure, through their romantic imaginations that everyday people came to be engaged in the seemingly abstract concept of empire. Simple drives to see the outside world, to better one’s social and financial standing in society, and to experience the vicarious pleasure of information about new and exotic places drew individuals into the narrative of the empire. (9)

Thus, while acknowledging its use for exploitation, Kleeman contends that the “Great East Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere” was not simply a government construct for the purpose of propaganda but something based at least in part on the realities of colonial cultural exchange, which, while problematic, were to some degree a response to the demands of individual subjects.

In Transit begins with its only male biography, that of Miyazaki Tōten, a nationalist and Pan-Asianist who participated in China’s 1911 revolution and subsequent nation building. Kleeman next examines in chapter 2 the life of Kawahara Misako, the daughter of a samurai Confucian scholar. As a “new woman,” Kawahara dedicated herself to bringing modern education to the people of China and Mongolia and then as a “good wife, wise mother,” devoted herself to her husband and household. In chapter 3, Kleeman explores how the Japanese empire’s marriage politics shaped the family lives of Nashimoto Masako, whose marriage to Yi Eun linked her with the Korean imperial family, and Saga Hiroko, whose union with Pu Jie, the brother of Pu Yi, tied her to the imperial house of the old Qing dynasty. Kawashima Yoshiko, the cross-dressing Manchu princess and spy executed as a Japanese traitor to China and Ri Kōran, the Japanese actress who played Chinese parts in films and passed as a Chinese during significant parts of her life, serve as the subjects of chapter 4. In chapter 5, Kleeman examines the lives and writings of Masugi Shizue and Sakaguchi Reiko, both of whom made literary careers in colonial Taiwan and wrote sympathetically about the aboriginal peoples there. The lives of Choi Seunghee and Tsai Juiyueh, Korean and Taiwanese dancers respectively, provide the concluding chapter to In Transit.

I found much of In Transit to be gripping. In particular, chapters 3 and 4 were hard to put down. Kleeman has a knack for revealing the pathos of her subjects through her exploration of the conflicts and tensions within their lives, providing a humanistic perspective that helps us to make better sense of issues of “collaboration” with empire. While I believe she may have understated the impact of imperial ideology on the subjects of empire, her point that there were other, more individual, factors at work is well taken, and amply proved through her biographies. Likewise, her argument that there was a prior reality of cultural exchange that the co-prosperity sphere built on is significant and demonstrated throughout her book.

Despite its strengths, In Transit also has its flaws. At times the text has a disjointed feel and interesting questions are raised without being fully answered. For example, in seeking to answer the question of whether Ri Kōran was a “propaganda tool of the Japanese empire,” Kleeman provides a summary of an article by Tanikawa Kenji entitled “The Reproduction and Sustainability of the Ri Kōran Myth,” in which he compares her to the anti-Nazi movie star Marlene Dietrich, and the maker of Nazi propaganda, Leni Riefenstahl (145-146). The section then ends without Kleeman directly answering the question she raised. Considering her sensitive treatment of Ri, I think it would have been edifying had Kleeman gone on to situate her between Dietrich and Riefenstahl. In Transit itself ends in essentially the same way, without a conclusion, which considering Kleeman’s deep knowledge of her subject and excellent powers of analysis, is unfortunate. There are many common themes that arise throughout her book that could have been examined more fruitfully. For instance, Kleeman argues that since men are often the centre of works of this period, she has chosen to focus on the lives of women. However, men constantly appear in the lives of the women she studies, particularly as fathers (adopted or biological), as lovers, and as husbands, shaping the women Kleeman studies and their own histories. Perhaps then a reflection in her conclusion on how relationships influenced the lives of the people her book featured would have been interesting, particularly as a focus on “modern” relationships would have resonated with the reformed Confucianism of such figures as Miyazaki Tōten and Kawahara Misako.

Despite these flaws, Kleeman has made a significant contribution to the study of Japan’s empire through her sensitive exploration of the lives of individuals who made up the Japanese colonial cultural sphere. I recommend In Transit to anyone interested in this subject matter and time period, particularly those who focus on history, literature and the arts. Moreover, this work would also serve well in a graduate seminar dedicated to any of those fields.

Franklin Rausch, Lander University, Greenwood, USA            

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TREACHEROUS TRANSLATION: Culture, Nationalism, and Colonialism in Korea and Japan from the 1910s to the 1960s. Seoul-California Series in Korean Studies, 6. By Serk-Bae Suh. Berkeley: Global, Area and International Archive, University of California Press, 2013. xxx, 222 pp. US$34.95, paper. ISBN 978-1-938169-06-9.

Scholars of literature who are conducting research in a transnational context often find themselves working with a vocabulary that declines toward essentialism. It is difficult to discuss a text without situating it within a (putatively self-evident) national literature, itself founded upon a circular logic in which the nation, often an imagined ethno-nation of implied common biological descent, both explains and is explained by the text. This is not surprising; during the modern period many of the authors and readers in question would have embraced such a paradigm. Similarly, many scholars who have taken on the interplay of texts that traverse these categories have merely reproduced them with little concern for their historicity or instability. By contrast, Serk-Bae Suh’s study on the role of translation in the colonial context avoids the reification of national categories without losing sight of the tremendous influence those categories exerted and continue to exert, as he examines asymmetrical power relations involved in specific instances of translation.

The first of these is the work of Hosoi Hajime (細井肇, 1886-1934), a writer, editor and translator who considered it his life’s mission to “bring Japan and Korea together into genuine unity” (18) under Japanese imperial rule. Suh argues that Hosoi’s project, which advocated the unification of knowledge and empathy (in Hosoi’s terminology, “love” [愛]) was doomed from the beginning, as it never confronted the political conflict (stemming from the violence of colonization) which necessitated that unification (44-45).

Next is the 1938 Japanese translation (by Chang Hyŏkchu장혁주 [張赫宙], 1905-97) of a traditional opera Ch’unghyangjŏn (춘향전 [春香傳], The Tale of Spring Fragrance), staged in both Japan and Korea. The translation met with resistance by intellectuals, such as Yi T’aejun (이태준[李泰俊], 1904-70?), who were concerned with both “misrepresentation of Korean culture and customs” and ultimately “the total assimilation of Korean culture into Japanese” (59). Suh, however, points out that rather than a form of resistance against Japanese imperialism, the cultural nationalist response of these critics, premised as it was on a symmetrical relationship between two putatively autonomous cultures, only “served to compensate for the political asymmetry between the colonized and the colonizer” (66).

In chapter 3, Suh takes up the career of Ch’oe Chaesŏ (최재서 [崔載瑞], 1908-64), a scholar turned journalist who became an editor of the Japanese-language journal Kokumin bungaku (『国民文学』, 1941-45), published in Korea. According to Suh, Ch’oe represented a different approach to culture in the colonial context: he wished to position “Korean literature and culture within the literature and culture of Japan” (84). As Suh describes, this schema was Ch’oe’s attempt to preserve the autonomy of culture without resisting the politics of his day; as a result his attempts were anything but autonomous, and in fact “colluded with the politics of colonial domination” (103).

Moving into the period following liberation, Suh discusses the historian Tōma Seita (藤間生大, 1913- ) and the poet/translator Kim Soun (김소운 [金素雲], 1907-81). In 1956, two years after a series of his translations of literary works into Japanese had been republished with commentary by Tōma, Kim published an article that attacked the historian’s “ostensibly sympathetic” (104) readings. Kim attacked Tōma for readings that he thought were plagued by “wild speculation and dogma” made worse by being “shrouded in good will” (104). Kim’s criticism focused on questioning why “colonial experience should be the ultimate hermeneutical horizon” (126); for Suh, however, the greater problem lay in equating Japanese under the U.S. Occupation with past forms of imperialism, which allowed them to “escape accountability for Japan’s own colonial expansion” (113).

Finally, Suh discusses the poet Kim Suyŏng (김수영[金洙暎], 1921-68) as a representative of a generation of bilingual intellectuals in postcolonial Korea who were forced to negotiate the politics and pragmatics of their differential language abilities amid a “nationalist imperative […] to favor Korean as the sole national language” (145). As Suh points out, however, such a project “indicated aspirations to a unified Korea that was not only absent in the present but had also never existed in the past” (148). As such, these intellectuals posed a challenge to an ideology that “erases the alterity of language and reinforces monolingualism as the normative linguistic situation” (157).

Suh’s study is a concrete example of the difficulty in historicizing essentialized peoplehood constructs while preserving collective accountability in the face of a history of colonial violence. In focusing on “translation in the colonial context” (xiii), he scrupulously maintains the contingency and complexity of the subject positions of the individuals involved. The result, to this reader, was a historically specific critical theorization that could nonetheless contribute to understanding translation outside of this colonial context, where other forms of alterity and asymmetry would inevitably be operative. The only moment of hesitation I felt was near the end of the book, in his reflections on representation, when he concedes the existence of communities formed upon “epistemological substrata” comprised of shared conventions and norms (130). It soon becomes clear that Suh has conceded this only to then undermine it, first noting that no such community will lack its own internal alterity or be entirely homogeneous (131), and then clarifying that colonial alterity “need not involve any essentialist identification” (134). My fear, though, is that the initial concession implies the existence of a privileged form of alterity between ahistorical “peoples,” qualitatively different from that between other collectivities or between individuals, which could be read to justify a belief in essentialist notions of ethno-nations by a reader inclined to do so. Suh cannot, of course, be held accountable for all possible (mis-)interpretations of his text; I raise this point only to say that addressing this issue more directly would have made a strong study even stronger.

Edward Mack, University of Washington, Seattle, USA         

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SPLIT SCREEN KOREA: Shin Sang-ok and Postwar Cinema. By Steven Chung. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2014. 262 pp. (Figures.) US$75.00, cloth, ISBN: 978-0-8166-9133-3; US$25.00, paper, ISBN: 978-0-8166-9134-0.

Shin Sang-ok’s (1926-2006) incredible career might have been rejected as “too improbable” by the executive types had someone pitched a screenplay detailing the events of his life. As one of the most commercially successful Golden Age producer-directors, Shin was responsible for such landmark films as Hellflower (1958), Romance Papa (1960), Sŏng Ch’unhyang (1960) and Red Muffler (1964). In 1978, Shin was allegedly kidnapped by the North Korean dictator Kim Jong-il, just as his glory days as the head of Shin Films were winding down in South Korea. After making a series of high-profile films such as the musical Oh My Love (1984) and the monster film Pulgasari (1985) in the North, Shin “defected back” to the South, wherein he struggled but largely failed to re-establish himself as a relevant film artist.

I am going to “cut to the chase” and state that Steven Chung’s monograph on the entire career span of Shin Sang-ok, the businessman-auteurpar excellence, is one of the best English-language books on Korean cinema I have read: it is also one of the most ambitious, perhaps deceptively so. Shin’s oeuvre, in Chung’s view, can neither be reduced to products of the “culture industry,” the contents and forms of which are over-determined by the structure and dynamics of global capitalism, nor to simplistic representations of the hegemonic ideologies, be they North Korea’s particular brand of communism or the Park Chung-hee regime’s aggressive developmentalism.

Chung’s innovative interpretive stance is anchored on the primacy he gives to the “enlightenment” (kyemong) mode of cultural expression, as opposed to the conventional narratives of Korean cultural history centred on the rise and fall of (nationalist and/or socialist) realism. Despite the persistently derogatory and dismissive treatment doled out to the works in enlightenment mode by Korean (in particular left-wing) critics, the author proceeds to characterize the enlightenment cinema as the “basic vernacular” of postwar Korean cinema, conveying
“the predicament of a cinema caught between an intensely politicized cultural field and the need to remain publicly visible through commercial success or state sponsorship” (27). Realigning cultural expressions of colonial modernity, North Korean (nationalist) socialism and South Korean capitalist developmentalism into a single continuum, Chung shows how Shin Sang-ok masterfully practiced filmmaking in this mode. He was able to create the works of massive and enduring popularity, that also articulated social responsibility and political meaning through the heightened legibility of its “themes,” embodied in the melodramatically suffering figures of women.

Interspersed with the analysis of the modalities and mechanics of Shin’s work are provocative yet nuanced dissections of the select motion pictures. Chung, for instance, discusses Shin’s paradoxical yet brilliant manipulation of the realist style and form to foreground the fantasy of “refined” femininity and sexuality in the star personality of Ch’oe Ŭn-hŭi, in Hellflower (73-81): He also shows what appears to be explicitly pro-Park Chung-hee-regime didacticism found in the exemplary “enlightenment” film Rice is complicated by Shin’s own orchestration of “melodrama of development” that partakes of the visual imagery even redolent of socialist realism, as seen in the movie’s mass pan shots and labour montage (141-157). More intriguingly, Chung analyzes how Shin expanded upon Kim Jong-il’s mandate for “nonmimetic measurement of affective timing” in the dictator’s Juche film theory—“[the] strength of the emotions must be built up and there has to be a motive for their coming to a head,” as Kim memorably puts it (171-172)—yet managed to subvert the ideological imperatives of socialist realism, the results of which were welcomed by the Northern movie-goers as “movies that were really like movies”(185-203). By no means resistant to or critical of the dominant ideologies, Shin’s most notable works nonetheless manage to exceed the bounds of the ideological and create moments of “excess,” “surplus” or even “superfluousness,” that nonetheless endowed them with vitality, beauty and an affective power of their own: therein lies, Chung argues, their most significant cinematic raison d’être as well as their enduring appeal.

The “cultural history” component of Chung’s research is so well done that it actually raises many interesting new questions that we might not have come up with, had it not been for his suggestions. For instance, what about the question of plagiarism of the Japanese cinema? Shin was no exception among the early postwar Korean cultural producers in terms of the close attention he paid to the works of his Japanese contemporaries: couldn’t Cruel Stories of Yi Dynasty Woman, to name just one example, be explicitly modelled after a similarly themed Japanese work, for instance, Imai Tadashi’s Bushido: The Cruel Code of the Samurai (Bushidō zangoku monogatari, 1963)? He does not really advance a convincing explanation about why Shin was unable to make meaningful films after 1986 either. This is a pertinent question in that the director-producer was alive and well throughout South Korea’s transition into the so-called New Korean Cinema: what structural and historical factors (aside from personal reasons) prevented Shin from producing a “Hollywood-style blockbuster” like the comedian-auteur-con artist Shim Hyung-rae’s D-War (2007)?

Finally, while I find Chung’s juggling of various theoretical and social-scientific concepts and heuristic terms very impressive, there are a few questionable usages, such as his choice to translate the terms kŏgukjŏk (“nationwide,” with a strong connotation of state-directed mobilization) and kojŭng (an act of making sure historical details are “authentic” or “accurate”) as “national-political” and “historical materiality,” respectively. I would hesitate to take the author to task for these rather minor questions and problems, as Chung’s effort to bring together rich textual analyses of individual cinematic works and the detail-attentive cultural history of postwar Korea into a coherent project is more Herculean than it might appear to a casual reader.

Written in clear, jargon-free prose and gently persuasive and accommodating in its engagement with the existing scholarship, Steven Chung’s Split Screen mounts a compelling case for re-examination and re-evaluation of the commercial Korean films produced between 1953 and 1979, which he aptly calls “a rich, irreducibly cinematic testament to the complexities of Korean modernity” (212). Chung throws a gauntlet of challenge to any ambitious scholar of the Golden Age Korean cinema to outdo his impressive research, with the likes of Yu Hyŏn-mok, Yi Man-hŭi [Lee Man-hee] [The same director better known for the name inside parenthesis], Kim Ki-yŏng and other contemporaries of Shin Sang-ok. The book is a must-read for any serious student of Korean cinema and strongly recommended to any general reader interested in the modern history of Korea as expressed through its mass media.

Kyu Hyun Kim, University of California, Davis, USA

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LIVING ON YOUR OWN: Single Women, Rental Housing, and Post-Revolutionary Affect in Contemporary South Korea. By Jesook Song. Albany, NY: SUNY Press, 2014. xi, 152 pp. (B&W photo.) US$70.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-4384-5013-1.

When I read Jesook Song’s acknowledgement of the 16 women whose experiences form the core of her study I knew that this would not be a happy story. Song describes the women as “so strong, genuine, and grounded, despite the ruptures they have experienced between their social consciousness and their individual happiness, between their ideal of autonomy and the realities of financial and moral pressures, and between their loss of social networks and their hope to create new kinds of social support” (ix). She presents the life circumstances of 35 South Korean women, all in their late twenties to late thirties at the time of her study, all living on their own, and all of whom describe themselves as “pihonyŏsŏng,” “unassociated with marriage,” in effect single by choice. Most had been student activists in their college days and carried a sense of social commitment into subsequent involvement with the women’s movement or poorly remunerated work for NGOs. They also experienced, with a great deal of ambivalence, a liberal market ideology of consumerism and self-improvement. Although all of the women were college educated, their own earned income relegates them to the category of “new poor.” With limited personal resources, they precariously inhabit a self-defining “room of one’s own” in a real estate market that is skewed against single women. Many are haunted by the prospect of an impoverished and lonely old age.

Well-educated and precariously employed young South Koreans are part of a national and global trend where neoliberal economics favour flexible irregular or part-time employment with only a minimum of social support. In South Korea women are more likely to fall into this pattern than men. Song attributes her subjects’ thirst for independent living to the popularization of liberal ideas, desires and practices, including feminist consciousness-raising and expanded exposure to Western media in the 1990s. Many women describe solitary living as an escape from family pressure, in particular pressure to marry, and yet, Song notes, most of the women in her study could not sustain an independent lifestyle without the help of their families. Parents, some women claim, are actually relieved to have a fractious or embarrassingly unwed daughter leave home.

South Korean real estate arrangements, combined with irregular or poorly remunerated employment, are at the crux of the problem. Most rental space in South Korea requires an up- front lump sum cash payment, unmarried people under the age of 35 cannot apply for bank loans, and even when they reach the requisite age, single women are required to provide guarantors where unmarried men might not be so asked. Many single women are further hampered by their inability to show a consistent employment record, a consequence of gendered employment patterns in South Korea where women are more likely than men to be partially employed. Song sees the lump-sum deposit system as discriminatory against women and the poor but she recognizes that it is so engrained in South Korean practice that most of her interviewees attribute their own difficulties to personal or generational failure rather than systemic constraints.

Reading of their struggles, I found myself wondering what had attracted these women to their singular lives in the first instance and caused them to persist. Song sees her subjects as caught in a paradox. They have been influenced by a liberal ethos that encourages them to seek happiness in the pursuit of individual freedom, including social experimentation, salsa dancing, aerobics and foreign travel. At the same time, they are limited by the economic constraints of flexible employment that works in tandem with their idealized flexible lifestyles. In brief, the women seem far from happy. Song describes them as caught between the weighty sense of duty that they carried in the 1980s and the new imperative to enjoy life that they embraced in the 1990s, initially as an escape from doctrinaire and ultimately patriarchal anti-state activism. Politically left and socially liberal, these women are anxious for a new politics which they can engage as individuals, the sort of mellow political expression found in the candlelight vigils and in the public mourning for former president No Mu-hyeon. But the women find little traction in the contemporary moment; even those who work for NGOs devoted to women’s issues are not able to articulate their own needs as single women, possibly because the dominant South Korean social ethos views them as selfish. Song leaves her subjects in a “place of suspicion and suspension” (95).

This is an account of some members of a pivotal generation of South Korean women and it gains poignancy from the author’s own deep identification with her subjects. Song has a clear sense of her terrain and tells her story concisely and effectively. She offers a reasoned argument about life under neoliberalism in South Korea, a project Song initiated with her first book, South Korea in the Debt Crisis: The Creation of a Neoliberal Welfare Society (Duke University Press, 2009). She also contributes a fresh chapterto the unfolding story of South Korean women and begs reflection on the global phenomenon of under-employed educated young adults. What I missed was ethnography. The women’s voices were present but I never felt that I had a clear picture of any one of them, how they lived day-to-day, or why, apart from the few admitted lesbians in the sample, they had so adamantly rejected marriage. Some had recoiled from the “patriarchal” ethos of anti-state activism and from the familial pressures to embark upon a season of arranged meetings leading to possible matrimony, but a more sustained discussion would have been appreciated. Even so, Song made me care—even worry—about her subjects and this is a measure of the ultimate success of her project, requisite reading for anyone interested in the current state of South Korean society and the place of women within it.

Laurel Kendall, American Museum of Natural History, New York, USA        

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THE MAKING OF THE FIRST KOREAN PRESIDENT: Syngman Rhee’s Quest for Independence 1875–1948. By Young Ick Lew. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2014. xxv, 444 pp. (Figures.) US$68.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3168-4.

When South Korean President Syngman Rhee left office to begin a life of exile in 1960, it brought an abrupt close to his storied career as a political and public figure in modern Korea, one spanning the late Chosŏn, the colonial period, and the formation of an independent nation-state, albeit one marked by contestation and division. Little did he suspect, however, that his legacy would continue to be debated by historians and scholars well into the early twenty-first century, with a recent historiography just now beginning to explore the complex economic and social circumstances dating to his period of rule (1948–1960), especially given sufficient time to reflect and re-evaluate. Park Tae-gyun of Seoul National University, for example, has sought to outline the careful economic planning and bureaucratic work done by a small group of Korean social scientists and intellectuals from the late 1950s, and into the early 1960s. If Park’s intent is clearly not to exonerate Rhee, the effect of such a gesture suggests at least a more nuanced reading, especially in contrast to an earlier caricature in which the president simply waited on stage for Park Chung Hee to emerge with his ambitious visions for the future.

In keeping with this theme, Young Ick Lew’s timely study, The Making of the First Korean President (2014), offers a rich biographical portrait of the first ROK president in his multiple guises, beginning as a “Christian reformer,” and spanning the last quarter of the nineteenth century until the beginning of his presidency (1876–1948). Well-known as a senior figure and in particular, as a scholar of the Korean independence movement at the end of the nineteenth century, Lew offers here a deeply researched vision of Rhee as a flawed, complex individual capable of great achievement and ambition, as well as someone equally skilled at becoming mired in controversy, engaging with factions and intrigue. Drawing on a wide range of sources across several different languages, and holding access to Rhee’s personal documents, Lew presents his newest and perhaps most vital insights when he covers the period between Rhee’s departure from Korea in the early twentieth century and his re-emergence nearly four decades later, following liberation in 1945. While the broad contours of this career may be familiar to some readers—the time he spent in Hawaii, and his engagement with the Shanghai provisional government—the details provided here offer a potentially greater depth, and an argument actively promoting Rhee’s long-term motivation as a major figure behind the ideals of Korean independence, even characterizing him as a “freedom fighter” (281).

With his chosen periodization, Lew offers numerous links between the late Chosŏn and the early Republic of Korea, a choice that might remind some of the Cold War narrative conflict between the two Koreas, with both nations struggling to achieve legitimacy in the eyes of the external world. Still, Lew’s version of events takes place less at the scale of the nation-state than via an individual, and he seeks to explain that individual over the long-term, countering the facile dismissal typical of some of the previous English-language scholarship. Equally interesting, Lew acknowledges his engagement with Robert Oliver’s famous (and deeply problematic) biography, a hagiographic account composed with access only to the English-language portion of Rhee’s personal papers. In this sense, the task that Lew sets for himself is extremely difficult from the outset, calling for an account drawing upon Rhee’s composition abilities in several languages; and moreover, one that must be far more critical than its predecessors. To a great extent, Lew succeeds in his chosen task of defamiliarizing this prominent figure, and equally, seeks to engage Rhee’s personal conflicts and failed efforts at diplomacy, actions earning him criticism from any number of quarters.

If in the end Lew’s major task is to convince the reader of the value of re-engaging with Rhee as a serious figure worthy of attention, he succeeds, providing shades of gray sufficient to complicate the existing picture. His careful documentation of Rhee’s travels and diplomatic work in a variety of contexts adds to his own previous work on the president, and makes extensive use of the papers obtained in the late 1990s, and now housed at Yonsei Unversity. In brief, the book works well as a vehicle designed to showcase a specific set of emerging sources, and in this respect, meets the terms it has set for itself. At the same time, his contention that Rhee was the individual best suited for the presidency as of the mid-1940s is bound to cause some controversy (281–293), particularly among those sympathetic to exploring alternative or counterfactual possibilities. Still, much like the major biography of Kim Il-Sung offered by Dae Sook Suh in the mid-1990s, the present work takes up a deeply familiar subject, or at least apparently so, before presenting it in revised form, asking new questions of a contentious, complicated figure.

John P. DiMoia, National University of Singapore, Singapore                                      

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THE “GREATEST PROBLEM”: Religion and State Formation in Meiji Japan. Harvard East Asian Monographs, 365. By Trent E. Maxey. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center; Harvard University Press [distributor], 2014. xiii, 330 pp. (Figures.) US$49.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-49199-1.

Maxey’s book is a well-presented investigation into the “problem” of religion during the Meiji period. Following a number of other studies that examine the uncertainties surrounding the early Meiji state, Maxey’s research contributes to this theme by examining how religion was not simply a given category to be easily manipulated, even by the imperial institution. Rather it was shaped by a number of actors, both domestic and international, who sought to transform the definition and contents of the term religion largely to further the project of nation-building. Thus the main focus of the book is to trace the shifting boundaries between the state and religion. To assist in this quest Maxey introduces his term “grammar of religion” in order to describe how the state carefully crafted policies regarding religion so as to not undermine its own position.

The first half of the book provides a history of state policies towards Christianity from the Edo period into Meiji and in some ways is what forms the original problem regarding religion in Japan. Balancing the potential for Christianity to produce local agitation and the imposition of Christianity by Western nations and their unequal treaties throughout the nineteenth century, the Japanese state had to quickly formulate a response to the question of religion despite it not being high on the agenda for many Restoration bureaucrats. The Iwakura Mission helped shape the state’s response to Christianity but, as Maxey argues, it also opened up the question of religion in regards to domestic practices. The second half of the book deals with the state’s response to religion as something that needs to be managed domestically. Treating religion “as an object of policy” (180) the Meiji state sought to neutralize the debate through secularizing public institutions and even cutting off their support of Shinto. Nonetheless, the problem of religion continued to haunt both the secular authorities as well as the project of modernity, as scholars like Gerald Figal and Marilyn Ivy have already observed.

Perhaps Maxey’s greatest contribution to the study of religion in the Meiji period is to show how the restoration of the imperial institution “produced as many problems as solutions” (243) regarding the question of political power in Japan. The discussion on how to differentiate between what was private or public religious belief is a good example of how the state produced a problem by not wanting to unravel the contradiction that constituted its own authority. The solution was found in Article 28 of the Imperial Constitution, which enshrined the ideals of freedom of religion but situated that freedom within the boundaries of upholding the imperial authority. The “grammar of religion” was thus simply a means to navigate the politics of building a nation-state without having to confront the material problems that modernization presented to the everyday life of the masses.

It was this materiality of ritual and everyday life and its connection to the overall nation-building project of the Meiji state that was lacking from Maxey’s analysis of the state and religion in Meiji Japan. While this might fall outside of the author’s intended project, at times the focus on policy and the rhetoric of national integration limits religion to belief (as public/private or its absence) without understanding the place of ritual in grounding religion within the everyday. For example, Yasukuni Shrine through the majority of the Meiji period would best be understood not through the lens of religion and state power but rather through ritual. The majority of people who visited the shrine grounds knew very little if anything regarding the state ideology of enshrining the war dead and yet their participation in festivals and the consumption of entertainment on the shrine grounds tied them to the modernizing aims of the state which, in many ways, Yasukuni symbolized. Without understanding the place of ritual (and its many manifestations) within the bounds of the secular state, religion will always be a category that produces problems and anxieties similar to that experienced by the political leaders of Meiji Japan.

Nonetheless, Maxey’s book offers the reader a wealth of primary sources, from state documents and journals to newspapers, which are carefully organized so as to produce a dialogue with each other. In particular the focus on state policy and debates on the issue of religion will be of use to students of the Meiji period.

Joshua Baxter, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada

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CONTENTIOUS ACTIVISM & INTER-KOREAN RELATIONS. Contemporary Asia in the World. By Danielle L. Chubb. New York: Columbia University Press, 2014. xvi, 272 pp. US$55.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-16136-7.

This book discusses how sets of beliefs, which the author specifies as “arguments” or ‘‘discourses” (19) around the political priority of “unification, human rights, and democracy” have, according to the author, provided a focus for three “distinct activist movements” in South Korea. These distinct sets of beliefs, the author argues, “continue to influence debate around inter-Korean relations” (19) as the political activists of yesterday have become the politicians, diplomats and officials of today. The aim of the book is to understand better inter-Korean relations through “examining the nature of South Korean domestic political debate” (5).

Chapter 1 reviews various theoretical perspectives to conclude that “an agency-driven conceptualization of discursive power” provides a helpful explanatory device that is best employed via “a wider, historical view of politics” (30). To this end, chapters 2, 3, 4 and 5, provide a historical summary of the relations between South Korean governments and political activists from the years of the Park Chung Hee military dictatorship (1961 to 1979) through to and including the period of democratization from the late 1980s, and the “decade of progressive rule” (195) of the late 1990s and early 2000s that concluded with the election in 2007 of the conservative president, Lee Myung Bak. The fairly short concluding chapter summarizes the contribution of the book as demonstrating that political activism is not spontaneous but has ‘deep-seated social, cultural, and political roots’ and that “the relationship between dominant (state) and dissident (political activist) discourses is multifaceted” (98).

Critical analysis, in the scholarly sense, of human rights movements is very sparse, given the fear of analysts of being portrayed as sympathetic to human rights abuses and the understandable reluctance of scholars to have their work misinterpreted by one side or another in politically charged debates. In South Korea, those fears are compounded by the continued existence of the National Security Law that is used to penalize those judged to be sympathetic to North Korea with sanctions that include imprisonment. This book, therefore, addresses a number of potentially productive debates. Chapter 5 provides interesting new empirical material in the short section on the “new right” and the “new left” of the human rights movement in South Korea, in terms of the division between them as to how much to involve United States regime change advocates in domestic human rights campaigns (168-195). The author also touches on the story of how some South Korean activists saw North Korea as a society to be emulated, how most were disillusioned but some remained faithful to what for most observers is at best an outdated society ruled over by a repressive government and at worst a vision of hell in which crimes of humanity are committed against the entire population on an everyday basis; this is another untold story that would bear further investigation.

Overall, however, the book is handicapped by insufficient specification of the research question such that the narrative is forced into an over-high level of generality. The consequent lack of a defined central thesis results in the absence of cohesive analytical structure that makes it hard to identify the key points that the author wants to make. In the absence of a clear analytical framework, the historical chapters end up with a lot of descriptive material that the book struggles to integrate into narrative cohesion. That is not to say that the book does not abound with ideas and possibilities but the trick here would have been to develop these ideas so as to provide the foundations for a disciplined framing of the historical material.

The book clearly started as a doctoral thesis and there is nothing intrinsically wrong in that. It does, however, suffer from the absence of a really good editing job that could have eradicated what read as quite descriptive summaries between chapters, repetition, odd locutions, and references to theoretical work that are not integrated or developed as part of the analytical frame for the book. More substantively, there is a “levels-of-analysis” issue that need to be resolved. The author is centrally concerned with the issue of “norm negotiation” and this is a potentially important way of thinking about who or what achieves hegemonic dominance in any society; the issue in this book is that there is an elision between the level of individual, non-state actor, society, government and state. In the context of a book that is intending to explain inter-Korean (state and society?) relations by evaluating the activities of individuals and non-state actors, we need, at minimum, to have these different levels analytically specified so that the questions of who is negotiating, how, why and what are the outcomes, in terms of the relationships between these different analytical levels, can be asked in the first place.

Nevertheless, at the heart of this book is a commendable approach to scholarship. It is committed to the idea of explaining important things—in this case what political activists do and how we understand what they do—and it also tries hard to avoid naïve empirical exposition as a substitute for careful analytical investigation.

Hazel Smith, University of Central Lancashire, Lancashire, United Kingdom

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South Asia


BIRTH IN THE AGE OF AIDS: Women, Reproduction, and HIV/AIDS in India. By Cecilia Van Hollen. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2013. xii, 274 pp. (Illustrations.) US$24.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8047-8423-8.

This book is a ground-breaking investigation into the reproductive lives of HIV-positive women. The ethnographic setting, the South Indian state of Tamil Nadu, is moreover a very illuminating one for global health. In terms of numbers of people living with HIV, India is second only to South Africa and Nigeria. In Tamil Nadu, the epidemic seems to have escaped its confinement within “high risk groups” and been transmitted to the general population. When Van Hollen began her research in 2004, HIV prevalence in Tamil Nadu was estimated to be 1.1 percent, but in four districts of the state HIV prevalence was at or above 3 percent. Responding quickly to the epidemic, Tamil Nadu became a pioneer state for HIV/AIDS prevention and care, and was reputedly successful in bringing the epidemic down by 50 percent between 2003 and 2007. As part of its battery of interventions, in 2000, Tamil Nadu initiated India’s national program of PPTCT (Prevention of Parent To Child Transmission), offering prenatal testing and a dose of nevirapine at the time of delivery to reduce HIV transmission to the child, from 15 to 40 percent to 8 to 10 percent. Van Hollen’s fieldwork, between 2004 and 2008, was embedded within this PPTCT program. It involved interviews with 70 HIV-positive women whom she recruited through HIV care networks, as well as interviews and ethnographic fieldwork within the hospitals involved in the program. Each chapter of the book tells an important story about the ways in which global health standards and practices are refracted by the state, kinship and gender in Tamil Nadu.

Chapter 3 investigates the institutionalization of prenatal HIV testing and the ways in which the global standards of informed consent and confidentiality were put into place. Pretest counselling was not uniform; many of the women Van Hollen interviewed had been tested unaware. To satisfy health funders’ demands for increased uptake of testing, counsellors tried to make the test more palatable by describing it as “like an immunization,” emphasizing the positive effects on conjugal trust in the event of a negative result, but failing to explore the devastation of a positive result. Chapter 4 shows that the counsellors’ emphasis on married women as the “innocent” victims of the sexual transgressions of their husbands was accepted by the women in the study. Interestingly, the counsellors’ encouragement that the women discuss the test with their husbands, part of an attempt to increase testing among spouses, was interpreted as a request for their husbands’ “permission”—which the women asserted that they did not need. In accepting the HIV test without their husbands’ permission, then, Van Hollen argues that the women were exerting agency. Yet ironically, this led them to being tested before their husbands, allowing their husbands and in-laws to scapegoat them. In chapter 5, she discusses the devastation of a positive HIV test result and the stigma that became the defining characteristic of their lives. Against the anthropological consensus about sexual double standards leading to a greater stigmatization of HIV-positive women than men, Van Hollen shows that gendered processes of stigmatization are highly differentiated. In public discourse, men are condemned more than women, who are cast as the “innocent” victims. In private negotiations, the women narrate being outcast by their in-laws, gossiped about or accused of sexual immorality, whilst their husbands were quietly condoned. Yet Van Hollen unpicks these responses, showing that they derive not only from sexist ideology but also, crucially, stem from economic motivations. The blame was most intense after the death of the husband, when the in-laws were faced with the combined tragedy of losing a son and the thorny question of inheritance to the widow and her children. Further complicating matters are cultural understandings of the female reproductive body, which cast women as harbours of the HIV “worm” (kirumi). Chapter 6 examines women’s decision to keep or abort the pregnancy after a positive HIV test result. Van Hollen stresses here the centrality of motherhood within Tamil constructions of femininity, but within patrilineal and patriarchal kinship structures that pressured women to keep the babies to meet the expectations of their husband or his family. Chapter 7 highlights economic constraints and appalling stigmatization in determining where the women could give birth. Chapter 8 discusses the counselling the women receive about infant feeding, showing it to be highly situational, depending on the counsellors’ understandings of whether the women would be financially capable of replacement feeding with formula milk. She explores the women’s positive understandings of the “immune strength” (ethirppu sakti) carried in their breastmilk and the benefits for their children. From this they derive a related term, “resistance strength” (resistance sakti), to talk about their own empowerment as HIV-positive mothers. Finally, in chapter 9, she shows that HIV activist networks have succeeded in empowering HIV-positive women in two key respects: encouraging them to overcome the taboo against widow remarriage, and encouraging them to claim their inheritance.

The book shows convincingly that HIV in Tamil Nadu “runs along the grooves of kinship and marriage relations that serve at times to protect the dignity and health of these women, and at other times to expose them to public indignities” (168). Van Hollen contributes significantly to debates about the authoritarianism of reproductive medicine and the state in South Asia, and women’s gendered agency in negotiating these structures, as well as the ambivalence and destructive guises of kinship. I would have liked to know more about the caste dynamics involved, given that the majority of her informants were lower-class Dalit women. Were there any interactions between the interpretation of HIV through the lens of sexual immorality, and local discourses about the sexual availability of Dalit women’s bodies? But this is an important and accessible book, and an essential teaching resource for reading lists in medical anthropology and sociology, and global health.

Kaveri Qureshi, University of Oxford, Oxford, United Kingdom                                                 

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PROSTITUTION AND THE ENDS OF EMPIRE: Scale, Governmentalities, and Interwar India. By Stephen Legg. Durham; London: Duke University Press, 2014. xi, 281 pp. (Figures, maps, tables.) US$25.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8223-5773-5.

Stephen Legg’s book, Prostitution and the Ends of Empire: Scale, Governmentalities, and Interwar India, is a smart and original contribution to the expansive literature on colonialism and prostitution. Focused on Delhi, Legg seeks to explain why the regulation of prostitution shifted from segregation to suppression between the two world wars. The innovation of his book lies in its methodological orientations, particularly his emphasis on scale. Centering scale allows Legg to foreground the inter-spatial politics of prostitution as it unfolded at the local, national, imperial and global levels and through the struggles of state/ non-state actors and international organizations. Placing scale at the “heart of its methodology,” the book reveals “how the most intimate spaces of desire and intercourse were forever enframed in broader scales of politics, terminology, and movement” (3).

As a geographer interested in scale, Legg is concerned with near and distant geographies and their concatenation. “Rather than taking a body or event and moving back through time” he begins with “a place (Delhi) and moves out through space” (7). In so doing, he considers the effects of forces outside of the city on the governance of prostitution within it. The regulation of prostitution in Delhi, he argues, was shaped by developments in India and elsewhere. The enactment of the Suppression of Moral Traffic Acts (SITAs) in Rangoon, Bombay and Bengal were especially important, as were the activities of imperial feminists, including Meliscent Shephard.

It is in his discussion of SITAs that Legg’s aptitude to read across scales—the local and the national, the specificities of India and the weight of the global—becomes apparent. “Swathed in the patriarchal language of protection and guardianship,” the SITAs “reinforced the state’s powers over women who chose to satisfy the sexual desires of men and to craft their own space within a masculine, political economy” (95). At the surface, this seems no different than what was occurring in other cities in the British Empire. While the SITAs were directly influenced by efforts to regulate prostitution internationally, Legg shows that in India they drew additional potency through Hindu mythology, most notably the Ramayana. The “acronym ‘SITA’ also presented a gift to legislators and campaigners,” Legg argues. “Sita is one of the most revered Hindu goddesses, abducted by the demon King Ravan, and rescued by Ram, an incarnation of Vishnu. Her rescue thus represents the ideal of the anti-traffickers: the passive and victimized woman, returned to the safety of male trusteeship” (96). Legg reads Sita’s exile in the forest as mirroring “the civil abandonment of prostitutes to an urban existence beyond the center of towns, beyond medical care, and beyond social understanding on the basis of a normative judgment regarding their sexuality” (96). Though SITAs were part of a longer global history of legislative interventions aimed at suppressing the trafficking of women and girls and restricting the sexual desires of women, Legg shows how they gained local and national traction through dominant religious and gendered meanings of sexual chastity and purity.

Legg’s book draws effectively on scale as methodology. He also uses scale to organize the book and to introduce its theoretical stakes and engagements. First, each of the three chapters focuses on the brothel, demonstrating how it became a site of intervention that centered on the body, the city, and the empire. Second, Legg draws from an array of archival sources from Delhi, London and Cambridge, producing a detailed and nuanced account of the politics of prostitution. Finally, the book presents a lively theoretical engagement with Michel Foucault on governmentality and Giorgio Agamben on abandonment. But it is here that his archival and historical narrative begins to separate from the intellectual discussion he introduces at the outset.

Building from his previous book and aware of the critiques made by postcolonial scholars, Legg’s interest is in evaluating “the applicability of Foucault’s concepts and observations to the colonial world” (5). He seeks to expand the governmentality literature in two ways: by focusing on scale and the social and by fusing apparatus and assemblage. For Legg apparatuses are “those governing networks with a strategic function and ordering intent.” Assemblages are “their gatherings, heterogeneous groupings, and emergences” (6). He combines the two skillfully, revealing how the shift from segregation to abolition was influenced by the ongoing political dynamics in the city, the Raj, and the empire. A reevaluation of governmentality, Legg argues, continues “the critical dialogue with Foucault and his Eurocentric blind spots” (4).

Legg’s efforts to interweave archival and theoretical insights—to write across scales—makes Prostitution and the Ends of Empire a bold, exciting and ambitious project. But as I read his book, I wanted to hear more on the significance of Foucault and Agamben for the work at hand. I was left wondering how a study such as this—on the colonial state and the suppression of prostitution in interwar India—might encourage a rethinking and reworking of Foucault and Agamben, not for colonial contexts but through colonial contexts. In other words, how might we revise and extend their respective insights on governmentality and abandonment through the specific dynamics of the Indian colonial rule in India, including the governance of prostitution? As I approached the end of the book, I anticipated a return to these larger theoretical questions. Instead, Legg concludes with the methodological promise of scale, the “new ways of thinking” it generates in the study of “late colonialism, early internationalism, and the persistent civil abandonment of women who work with sex” (246). These are important considerations. Foucault and Agamben will just have to wait.

Renisa Mawani, The University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada               

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THE POLITICS OF RECONSTRUCTION AND DEVELOPMENT IN SRI LANKA: Transnational Commitments to Social Change. Routledge/Edinburgh South Asian Studies Series. By Eva Gerharz. London; New York: Routledge, 2014. xi, 188 pp. US$145.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-415-58229-2.

The politics of reconstruction and development in Sri Lanka provides a perceptive and astute insight into the fascinating universe of Jaffna peninsula during the 2002 to 2006 interlude of the island’s ethno-separatist war. The ceasefire between the Sri Lankan government and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) opened up the long-besieged and isolated peninsula, and cleared the way for some innovative development brokerage. It is indeed a well-chosen site for studying the politics of development.

Gerharz uses the German government aid agency GTZ as an initial vantage point. This is in itself worthwhile, given that this significant and somewhat atypical development actor is largely invisible in the English-language literature. I hasten to add, though, that Gerharz’ book is not the umpteenth upgraded policy report that managed to turn itself into a book. The author managed to release herself from the institutional and discursive trappings of the aid industry. Her interviews, observations and anecdotes will provide readers unfamiliar with war-time Sri Lanka with a well-illustrated insight into the absurdities and normalities of everyday life during crisis. Those with first-hand experience will probably nod, sigh or chuckle in recognition of some of Gerharz’s observations.

Following two contextual chapters—one on the ethno-political conflict, the other specifically on Jaffna—the empirical core of the book comprises four loosely structured chapters. Chapter 4 discusses the intended and unintended outcomes of GTZ’s repositioning after the 2002 ceasefire. Gerharz places these in the context of the convoluted political order, where Sri Lankan state institutions and the LTTE’s attempt at de facto sovereign rule elbow for legitimacy. She carefully navigates the ambivalent stance of her respondents with regard to insurgent governance. Coercion, brutality and forced recruitment stand side by side with the preservation of order and public morale: low crime and corruption, efficient coordination, and honouring of traditions. This then sets the stage for some of the later contentions around development, order, change and moral anxiety.

Chapter 5 introduces the red thread in Gerharz’s scholarship: transnationalism, more specifically the Tamil diaspora and their role in development efforts. She discusses diaspora projects and contrasts them with Jaffna-based religious initiatives, resulting in some critical reflections around local knowledge, ownership and progress. Diaspora Tamils make a particularly useful contribution through their computer skills and their mastery of English-language development paradigms, we learn in chapter 6. This not only benefits Jaffna’s somewhat archaic NGO scene, but the LTTE as well. Gerharz sheds light on the conundrums around the Tamil Rehabilitation Organisation (TRO), a registered international NGO, but effectively an LTTE outreach mechanism. Chapter 7 engages with some of the cultural clashes and moral panic associated with diaspora return to Jaffna. Grandmothers find themselves astounded at the life style of their family members from Western countries, the girls in particular. The book usefully juxtaposes contentions around governance and development with wider anxieties about cultural purity and tradition. This yields a nuanced multi-layered analysis of community, moral order, gender and othering in a society undergoing rapid transition.

The final two chapters seek to transform this fascinating narrative into some conclusions about the politics of development and reconstruction. The author introduces four conceptual takes on development (external service delivery, spirituality and secularism, social (in)equality and autonomy) and discusses knowledge struggles over development. The final chapter comprises a postwar epilogue, with a nutshell overview of the resumption of war, the defeat of the LTTE, and the militarized postwar developments. Gerharz concludes that the international peace-building agenda disintegrated as Sri Lanka’s new government embraced the war on terror and “home-grown solutions.”

The book’s strengths do not lie in the overall argument. Gerharz aspires to unravel how development is negotiated between local communities, aid workers, state agencies, rebels and diaspora groups. And she does so quite well. But her observations do not result in a larger conceptual move or theoretical claim, other than underlining the complicated, multi-layered, contextualized nature of development. Gerharz adopts an actor-oriented approach to take issue with simplistic policy paradigms: overly instrumental perspectives on the migration-development nexus (diaspora are not one homogeneous actor that can be deployed), the so-called “global peace-building consensus” (peace and development do not simply go hand in hand) and its Sri Lankan variant, the “Kilinochchi consensus” (the idea that development efforts and peace dividends will transform the LTTE is ill-founded). In itself, these are valid points, but they are well established and could have been better embedded in existing scholarship. Engagement with authors such as Mark Duffield, Oliver Richmond, Rajesh Venugopal and Benedikt Korf, to name some authors that remain uncited, would have made sense.

Moreover, the book’s criticism of wider policy agendas lacks the nuance and insight that characterizes the empirical parts of the book. The eye for detail and multiple perspectives, which allows us to see the many layers and dimensions of Jaffna society, seems to fail Gerharz when she reviews the policy landscape. After all, it is highly doubtful that there ever was much of a real consensus in Sri Lanka (or globally) about development and peace-building. Donors struggled all along to close ranks around the peace process: views, interest and positions were rather divergent and this became abundantly clear when the going got tough. Capturing the diversity of actors and perspectives under the label of a global peace-building consensus, only to argue that this outlook is too simplistic, leaves readers with a straw-man argument.

The book’s nuanced empirical chapters deserve better, and it is these chapters that make the book worth the read. Gerharz skilfully weaves together a wide variety of interesting characters into a coherent and readable narrative without forcing them into pre-conceived roles: Christian priests, Australian Tamil idealists and tourists, insurgent bureaucrats, puritan grandmothers, German administrators and innovative refugees. And in doing so, she gives us a skilful glimpse of how development is brokered in the globalized socio-cultural market place that Jaffna is.

Bart Klem, University of Melbourne, Melbourne, Australia

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TRANSFORMING INDIA: Challenges to the World’s Largest Democracy. By Sumantra Bose. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013. 337 pp. (Illustrations, maps.) US$35.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-05066-2.

There is an old adage that “a week is a long time in politics,” and scholars are understandably rather cautious about predicting future political trends. At the time that this book was written, however, the strong statement made by Sumantra Bose, that “Coalition governments in New Delhi are a certainty for the foreseeable future” (109), would have seemed unexceptional to most observers of Indian politics. The Congress Party-led United Progressive Alliance government was mired in corruption scandals, and seemed to lack decisive leadership, but the principal alternative party at the national level, the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), with leadership problems of its own, had failed to offer convincing opposition. So, looking forward from early-mid 2013 to the general elections of the following year, it appeared more or less certain that the post-election alignments of strongly supported regional political parties would determine the character of the next central government of India, as they had done since the mid-1990s. Bose and others could not have anticipated the dramatic consequences of the BJP’s decision in September 2013 that Narendra Modi would be its candidate for the position of prime minister. Modi led an extraordinary, presidential-style campaign, backed with massive financial resources, and the BJP won an absolute majority in May 2014. Bose’s further strong statement, that “the era of nationwide leaders is definitively in the past” (293) has also been falsified, for Modi continues to dominate Indian national politics in a way matched by no other leader since the assassination of Indira Gandhi in 1984. The general election that followed her death was also the last time that the electorate delivered an absolute majority to a single party.

But does the apparent falsification of his analysis of the political trends that are shaping India today, mean that Bose’s book is now of little value? Almost certainly not, because the regionally based political parties that he believes to underlie the transformation of India’s democracy—the subject of the book—have not gone away as a result of Modi’s great victory. It is not at all unlikely that regional political leaders will once again hold the balance of power at the national level. Bose’s central argument, which draws some inspiration, explicitly and implicitly, from the work of Susanne and Lloyd Rudolph, is that India has become a “decentred democracy.” In his words: “The bottom-up federalization of India’s politics in the post-Congress era—an evolution rooted in the nation’s diversity and driven by the will of its people [through their support for regional parties]—means that the lives of the vast majority of Indians will be shaped by the dominant feature of India’s decentred democracy in the early twenty-first century: regionalization and regionalisms” (109). The argument is developed through an engagingly written account, in the first two chapters of the book, of the history of Indian politics since Independence, focusing especially on the significance of what was going on at the state level. This is followed by three chapters, each one of which stands more or less on its own, taking up specific themes: the history of democracy in the state of West Bengal; the story of the challenge posed to Indian democracy by the Maoists, who are organized in “a loose, possibly unstable federation of regional movements” (222) across a swathe of territory in the centre and east of the country; and finally a chapter on the “Kashmir Question” (on which Bose wrote a fine earlier book, Kashmir: Roots of Conflict, Paths to Peace [Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2003]). A short conclusion looks to the future of India’s democracy as a “full-blooded federation of state-based polities” (296), in which much will depend on how regional leaders perform. Can they provide competent governance? Can they adopt a national perspective when it is needed? Can they together forge consensual decision making (or in a term familiar from Spain and Latin America, realize concertacion)? These are indeed critically important questions for India’s future. The auguries are decidedly mixed. Regional leaders have not so far shown much inclination for concertacion or for taking a national perspective. On the other hand, as Bose says, “the most intelligent of the state-based elected leaders” (293), like Mr. Modi in his earlier avatar as the long-term chief minister of Gujarat, have shown an increasing concern for demonstrating their performance in implementing strategic programs, instead of ruling through patronage.

Transforming India is neither a contemporary history comparable with Ramachandra Guha’s India After Gandhi (London: Pan Macmillan, 2007), nor a thorough-going work of political science such as Atul Kohli’s Poverty Amid Plenty in the New India (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012). It runs the risk, therefore, of falling between two stools. The core argument is an important one, though it seems to this reader, at least, to be somewhat one-sided, paying too little attention to questions of political economy. In this regard Indian federalism remains quite strongly centralized. The “federation of state-based polities” that India is becoming is perhaps less “full-blooded” than Bose suggests. His book is, nonetheless, a stimulating and distinctive addition to the wave of publications about the “new India.”

John Harriss, Simon Fraser University, Vancouver, Canada

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THE ALL-INDIA MUSLIM LEAGUE, 1906-1947: A Study of Leadership in the Evolution of a Nation. By Mary Louise Becker. Karachi, Pakistan: Oxford University Press, 2013. xlii, 295 pp. US$27.95, cloth . ISBN 978-0-19-906014-6.

Marie Louise Becker was an American scholar-diplomat who, it appears, dedicated much of her life, and a vast amount of intellectual energy, to enhancing the understanding of what Pakistan was, or indeed is, about. Her interest in what has at times been called “the most bizarre country in the world” led her to an intense examination of the concepts of nationalism and of leadership, and how these interacted with each other, finding fruition in the creation of one of the world’s largest nation-states. The book is actually meant to be a study of the Muslim League, in the first four decades of its existence, but this leads naturally into an analysis of the leadership of the Quaid-e-Azam (meaning “the great leader”) Mohammed Ali Jinnah, the intensity of whose ideas, the depth of whose commitments, and the persistence of whose unrelenting endeavours changed the map and the politics of the region and the world. By 1940, when the Muslim League adopted what is called the Pakistan Resolution in Lahore, Jinnah was the party’s undisputed leader.

Born Mahomedali Jinnahbhai in Karachi in 1876, he changed it to a simpler and more anglicized Mohammed Ali Jinnah while in England. Jinnah lived just over seven decades, and died in 1948, not far from where he was born, in Pakistan, in a country he did more than most others to create. Discussing his life, Becker quotes Professor Stanley Wolpert’s slightly hagiographic summary: “Few individuals significantly alter the course of history. Fewer still modify the map of the world. Hardly anyone can be credited with creating a nation state. Mohammed Ali Jinnah did all three”(xxii). Intensely secular in lifestyle, habits and behaviour, and deeply fond of most things English, Jinnah used the Western political idiom of the nation-state, and carried forward with incredible passion and against great odds, that the Muslims of India were a separate nation. He gave ideological battle to towering personalities like Mahatma Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru, shrugged off the unfriendliness of the British Viceroy Lord Mountbatten, often rode roughshod over opposition in his own camp, and managed to carve out a new country, one for his co-religionists, the Muslims of India. Becker attributes “incorruptibility” and “bravery” to him, and writes that he was an a “lone figure,” he also had “an air of mystery around him”(192). In her words, he was also a “superb showman,” a quality essential to moving masses.

But Jinnah also made mistakes, serious ones, which came to light only two and a half decades following his death; their seeds, however, were sown in his lifetime. One of those was his failure to gauge the sentiments of a large segment of the subcontinental Muslim population, the East Bengali Muslims, who ironically were the great champions of his goal of the creation of Pakistan. Jinnah was unable to foresee the power of language, in addition to religion, as a force of nationalism, and his preference for Urdu over Bengali as the national lingua franca of Pakistan deeply offended the Bengalis, who constituted the majority of the nation’s citizenry. Secondly, his tendency to concentrate all powers in himself failed to lay the foundations of a democratic tradition in Pakistan, which not only led to the bloody separation of Bangladesh in 1971, but to a huge political instability that marks that country’s politics today. These fall outside the purview of the scope of Becker’s work, but nonetheless merit mention, as the causes of these upheavals were to be found in the time-period that the author covered, ie, 1906 to 1947.

The book is an interesting study of nationalism, which Becker describes as “an infinitely complex, dynamic and emotional phenomenon most accurately considered by subjective rather than objective criteria”(xiv). She goes on to define a nation as being “not based upon what outsiders determine, but upon what a specific group of people feels and believes itself to be”(xiv). The author also discusses how three principal and necessary ingredients were present during the rise of Pakistan: “an integrated community possessing distinctive and group characteristics; a particular set of circumstances under which the community would respond to the call of nationalism; and the national leadership which has coordinated the first two to produce a self-conscious nation seeking an independent political existence in a national state”(vii). The book tells the story of how all these conditions were brought together.

The author narrates the tale in a manner reflecting deep research. Becker recounts the gradual rise in Muslim consciousness through the “Muslim Renaissance in India” (leading personalities were Nawab Abdul Latif, Sir Syed Ahmed Khan of the Aligarh Movement fame, Chirag Ali, Nawab Mohsinul Mulk, and the poet Shibli Nomani); the establishment of the All India Muslim League on 30 December 1906 in Dhaka (present-day Bangladesh) under the stewardship of Nawab Sir Salimullah, the Aga Khan et al.; the conflict between the League and the Indian National Congress; Jinnah’s shift in role from the “Ambassador of Hindu-Muslim unity” to being the champion of Muslim separatism, cheered on by the philosopher Sir Mohammed Iqbal and leading to the nascence of the “promised land” (Pakistan) for the Muslims. Certain minor errors, however, seem to have crept into the volume. On page 41 for instance, Pherozeshah Mehta, a Congress leader, is described as a “moderate Hindu,” when in reality he was a Parsi, a distinctly different religious persuasion. Another issue that editorial tightening should have addressed is the confusing impression an unwary reader may face in thinking that “the Honourable Syed Amir Ali” (69) and Amir Ali (53) are two different persons, when actually, they are the same (author of The Spirit of Islam).

In contemporary times, great interest should be expected in a work such as this, for the following reason: The creation of Pakistan was the product of the Westphalian logic of  sovereign states for separate nations, albeit in a non-Western milieu; this can be perceived as an acceptable counter-narrative to the current Islamist notion , espoused by the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS) of a single Islamic ‘caliphate’ spanning across many nation-states with Muslim-majority populations.The author, Marie Louise Becker is sadly no longer with us, having passed on in 2012 at the age of 84, but her scholarship marks an important and still relevant contribution to the literature on nationalism.

Iftekhar Ahmed Chowdhury, National University of Singapore, Singapore

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MEDIATING THE GLOBAL: Expatria’s Forms and Consequences in Kathmandu. By Heather Hindman. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2013. viii, 277 pp. (Map, B&W photos.) US$40.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8047-8651-5

Who mediates neoliberalism, and how are those individuals’ own lives transformed in the process? Heather Hindman’s Mediating the Global: Expatria’s Forms and Consequences in Kathmandu is a poignant investigation of this question through an ethnography of expatriate lives in Nepal’s capital city in the 1990s and 2000s. In this important contribution to the anthropologies of development and work—as well as to development studies, international business, human resources and South Asian studies—Hindman offers an incisive yet sympathetic account of the intimate challenges that “global middlemen” face in their daily lives.

The book is not a kneejerk critique of international aid or global capitalism, but rather a view into the family dramas, consumption practices and subjectivities of those who are “asked to be implementers of neoliberalism and also find themselves its objects” (217). Hindman asks us to consider how those tasked with implementing such agendas, through both governmental and non-governmental agencies, often suffer the negative consequences of their own policies at a personal level. This perspective takes us beyond the “dyad of originating site and destination site” (219) in studies of globalization to explore the crucial role of mediation and mediators.

The location of the study in Kathmandu is in some ways incidental to the author’s portrayal of “Expatria” as a deterritorialized polity that “shared many of the characteristics of a small town” (9). Expatria’s inhabitants are linked through “postings” across the globe, from Mali to Peru, Indonesia to Oman. But Hindman is clear that this is not a book written in the “simple language of flows and exchange” (219) between disparate locations. Rather, it is a sited, historically contextualized ethnography that tells us much about Nepal’s position in the current global conjuncture. Through the experiences of its expatriate inhabitants, we come to understand how Nepal has been shaped by the economic and geopolitical forces that have deposited these often unlikely residents in Kathmandu. In this way, although the book is not about Nepalis themselves—except in cameo appearances as household help or elite international women’s group members—it begins to suggest how Nepali lives are increasingly mediated by the global.

With an introduction, six chapters and a conclusion, the book explores expatriate life from several angles. Chapter 1 considers whether contemporary expatriates in Nepal can be compared with British colonials elsewhere. The answer is “not really.” This is both because Nepal was never formally colonized and so the postcolonial optic that shapes much scholarship on South Asia does not fully apply, but perhaps more importantly because “the widespread aspiration to the status of ‘being global’” (40) is a recent phenomenon, dating to the late twentieth century.

Chapters 2 and 3, “Families that Fail” and “Market Basket Economics,” constitute the ethnographic heart of the book. Here we meet several expat couples and families in the 1990s, whose experiences either exemplify corporate and governmental expectations of “success,” or illustrate the embarrassment of failure. Hindman shows how a heteronormative family with children that relies upon the uncompensated labour of a (usually female) spouse was long the unquestioned kinship model at the heart of expatriate “packages” used to compensate international employees. Of course many real families deviated in some way, but the pressure to conform could tear them apart.

In one of the book’s most poignant ethnographic moments, Hindman describes how a group of expat women forego serving rice at a planned party because the foreigner-oriented supermarket is out of boxed Uncle Ben’s rice, without even considering the possibility of buying rice in bulk from a local shop (100). This example shows how expats must negotiate between consumption practices intended to replicate “home,” as dictated by idealized compensation categories promoted by their home governments and companies, and the reality of Nepali markets and their fluctuations. For Hindman, this day-to-day “labor of producing normalcy” (79) is an often misrecognized element of expat livelihoods that demands better analysis—rather than derision—from anthropologists.

The remaining three chapters take us further behind the scenes to show how structural transformations began to render the “package expatriates” described in chapters 2 and 3 obsolete by the early 2000s. Corporate investment in “cross-cultural training” (chapter 5) gave way to new communication technologies (chapter 6) and an emergent ideal of the flexible, unattached single worker (chapter 4). These changes were driven by economic downturns in the “Global North” as well as new corporate paradigms of “flexibility” that transformed “displacement from a source of concern to a job benefit” (134). At the same time, Nepal’s Maoist-state civil conflict (1996-2006) accelerated, making it seem a less than ideal posting for families with children. Single, short-term contractors began to take their place, in turn shaping the commodities and services—and therefore employment—available in Kathmandu.

This confluence between global labour paradigms and national political scenarios takes us to the heart of Kathmandu’s ongoing transformation. The scaling back of expatriate consumption has been paralleled by the entry of ever greater numbers of Nepalis onto the city’s increasingly conspicuous landscape of consumption. Fuelled by remittances earned by the approximately 25 percent of Nepal’s workforce employed outside the country—many of whom left directly or indirectly due to the conflict—it is now primarily Nepalis who populate the restaurants and supermarkets that Hindman describes as the province of expatriates in decades past. The iconic landmark that was once Mike’s Breakfast—the restaurant pictured on the Hindman’s cover—has now become a bar catering to young Nepalis. Their experiences as construction workers in the Gulf, university students in North America, or hotel receptionists in Korea, and the ways their earnings and shifts in consciousness are changing Kathmandu demand new research. Heather Hindman is already ahead of the curve, with recent articles focusing on Nepali experiences of the language exam required to work in Korea, and the political views of city youth returned from abroad. Understanding these eminently Nepali experiences of global mediation is a welcome next step that nicely complements Hindman’s excellent first monograph.

Sara Shneiderman, The University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada                     

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THE RIGHT SPOUSE: Preferential Marriages in Tamil Nadu. By Isabelle Clark-Decès. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2014. x, 204 pp. (Figures.) US$24.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8047-9049-9.

This wonderfully written book is about changing marriage practices in Tamilnadu, South India. Dravidian Kinship has been characterized as a mammoth “system” in the study of kinship in India/South Asia, and in general, in anthropology. This book provides an update by taking us back into the world of Kallars, made famous by Louis Dumont. The author looks at the “rights” (murai) that some kin have over others when it comes to marriage. Such a concept of entitlement could have “moral and emotional consequences when matrimonial rights are denied” (2). For consequences there are, and quite traumatic and exacting ones at that. The subject of kinship is made real and “visible” in this ethnography. The author convincingly argues that ignoring kinship (“demotion,” as the author puts it) would deprive anthropology of some remarkable practices which may soon “disappear” (3).

Clark-Decès starts with a detailed discussion of the various theories of kinship delineated for Tamilnadu by Dumont and Good. The excessive attention paid to kinship terminology meant that the “logic of marriage rules” was overlooked (6), and for a long time Dumont’s structuralist model of marriage alliances was the governing paradigm. This was refuted by Good when he started looking at marriage “at the level of practice” (8). His assertion that “uncle-niece marriage” was the most preferred in Tamilnadu/South India changed the understanding of kinship and marriage (9).

The author presents her case with three main arguments. The first is that instead of focusing on kinship terminologies, the emphasis should be on murai, rights of marriage endowed on some individuals over others. But this right can be challenged and subverted, thus giving rise to violence, vanmurai. The case studies in the later chapters establish that “when a ‘right’ marriage does not take place, the missed opportunity can deeply, and negatively, affect one’s sense of self” (16). Clark-Deces next calls for an examination of the mother-daughter duo as the “atom” of Tamil kinship, not brother-sister (16). These two women, and other sisters, are heavily invested in arranging (or de-arranging) matrimonial alliances. The final point is about exploring why close-kin marriages are no longer preferred, from the perspective of young people and their experience of close kin relationships (20).

Why is the mother’s brother “inherently different” (37)? Clark-Deces demonstrates in chapter 1 how a once criminalized group has now become economically and politically powerful by looking at the significance of gift-giving as evidence. The mother’s brother bears nearly or more than half of the expenditure of a girl’s wedding, even if that share of burden is undocumented. The small sums of rupees given, now run into several hundred thousands, most of which is entered into further circulation of capital through investments in real estate and trade. This “ritual cooperative” (32) has not only helped the Kallars become dominant, but has also ensured that gift-giving remains important, especially from the mother’s brother(s).

Probing Tamil terms like contam (mine) and anniyam (other), the author argues in chapter 2 that “entitlement rather than exchange” is the organizing principle of Tamil kinship relations (38). To suggest that “I own my kin and whatever they have” is to affirm not only “right” but also to give back in the same way. This practice then leads to “doing the right thing,” (43) such as a man marrying his mother’s brother’s daughter. Murai not only means “right” but also “order.” Murai ensures democracy in that everyone has the possibility to receive the right gift or the right woman. But when this right does not play out as it should, then it begets violence (53-56).

But marriages are as much about power play, in the sense defined by Bourdieu (58-59). Chapter 3 illustrates in great detail two marriages that were not “right” because the persons concerned were not in control of things themselves; the same “right” rules of kinship did them in. Kallar ideas of what applies to elder siblings and those in the lower order ends up becoming an ordeal in some lives. “Marriages missed” (74) extract a heavy toll.

On the “mother’s brother,” Clark-Deces argues in chapter 4 that in uncle-niece marriages, the uncle is the sacrificial being. The women around him—his mother and his (elder) sister—are the primary movers and shakers, forming the “most critical bond” (90). In such marriages, money transactions from the bride’s family are considerably reduced. Uncle-niece marriages are also preferred by most castes in Tamilnadu because it brings familiar kin together, especially a woman and her natal kin, and reduces chances for conflict.

Critiquing Trawick’s (1990) Oedipal take on brother-sister relationships among Tamils, Clark-Deces proclaims in chapter 5 that it is “entitlement,” rather than any sexual longing, which results in cross-kin marriage (103). But this close “chain of kinship” can also become “unbearable,” as is demonstrated in one “wrong” marriage, with devastating consequences for those involved.

Clark-Deces discusses change in the Tamil marriage system in chapter 6. While uncle-niece marriages are fast disappearing, cross-cousin marriages are also less favoured. A decreasing birth rate, and widespread belief that close kin marriages result in genetic defects in children, or “medicalisation of spouse selection” as she puts it (124), have resulted in the decreasing popularity of the “right” kin as spouse. Instead, young people imagine their future to be more about social mobility and less about family ties.

The last chapter is about young Tamils’ understanding of love, particularly the unrequited kind. The changing socio-economic landscape of the state has left many young people in rural areas with neither the qualifications to compete in the neoliberal economy nor the desire to engage in agriculture. They find themselves in a conundrum when it comes to pursuing their love interests. Through the lives of two people, Clark-Deces illustrates the hopeless situation they are placed in, unable to marry the ones they love, and being rejected by “right” kin for having lost out in the race.

This beautifully written study on the “emotional cosmology” of Tamil kinship (165) is an important contribution to the anthropology of kinship. It will be of interest to scholars in anthropology, South Asian studies, gender, and to anyone interested in what’s going on in the marriage scene in India.

Haripriya Narasimhan, Indian Institute of Technology Hyderabad, Hyderabad, India

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THE PARIAH PROBLEM: Caste, Religion, and the Social in Modern India. Cultures of History. By Rupa Viswanath. New York: Columbia University Press, 2014. xviii, 396 pp. (Maps.) US$60.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-16306-4.

Rupa Viswanath’s The Pariah Problem is a study of Dalits in the Madras Presidency, south India, between the 1890s and 1920s. It is an outstanding work of historical scholarship, based on innovative, assiduous archival research and a through reading of relevant literature, which carefully examines the data and relevant theoretical problems, and advances original conclusions about the position of Dalits in India today, as well as in the past.

Dalits in south India have been known by various terms, but their miserable condition was first publicly identified as a problem that afflicted “Pariahs,” an anglicization of “Paraiyar,” the name of the largest Dalit caste in Tamil Nadu (formerly part of Madras). The Pariahs’ condition, Viswanath insists, was a function of both class and caste, because they were unfree landless labourers or slaves, and also degraded because they were excluded from society proper, as constituted by the higher castes. In the late nineteenth century, an alliance developed between Pariahs and Protestant missionaries, mainly because Pariahs actively sought out missionaries, rather than the other way around. The alliance gave Pariahs new resources to combat local, village oppressors and the missionaries’ interventions eventually forced British officials to recognize the reality of the Pariah problem, an event Viswanath dates to a government report in 1892.

Officials, however, were reluctant to tackle the Pariah problem vigorously, because they did not want to alienate the landed elite groups whose support was vital for imperial rule, and they feared that interfering with traditional customs would be dangerously provocative, especially if the customs were religious ones. The missionaries viewed the Pariahs’ degraded, untouchable status as essentially linked to the Hindu religion, and their understanding became part of how the colonial government and rural elites conceptualized the problem. Hence any attempt to truly ameliorate the Pariahs’ condition could be deemed offensive to the rights and sentiments of all other Hindus. Moreover, the notion that relations between high-caste masters and untouchable servants were mutually harmonious, rather than exploitative, was pervasive in government circles, among both British officials and their numerous Indian colleagues and subordinates.

In the early twentieth century, the government, partly influenced by new liberal ideas of social welfare in England, cooperated with missionaries in granting new house sites to Panchamas (as Pariahs came to be called). Such initiatives provoked serious opposition from higher-caste landlords, however, and officials were unwilling to confront them. Starting in 1918, the government nominated several Dalits to the reformed Madras Legislative Council and some became vocal members of it, demanding equal rights of access to public space and facilities. But high-caste council members and British officials responded by insisting that because the untouchables’ problems were social, not political, peoples’ minds had to change before reform could be effective. Hence even progressive nationalists evaded the reality of the Pariah problem by defining political and legal problems as social problems, primarily within Hindu society. That definition and the outlook it entails, Viswanath argues, remain “deeply embedded in political, scholarly, and legislative responses to the plight of Dalits in the present day” (241).

Viswanath writes well and presents her arguments clearly in the main text of 258 pages. The 84 pages of endnotes, however, are burdensome. Unfortunately, too, bibliographic references in them are sometimes inadequate; for instance, citations never indicate whether the voluminous proceedings of the Madras Board of Revenue were consulted in the Tamil Nadu State Archives or British Library, although the two sets are not identical. Furthermore, the endnotes contain too much digressive material, probably surviving from her PhD thesis. A lot of this content deserves to be in the main text and checking this is tedious, especially because no footers cross-referencing page numbers are printed in the endnotes.

One significant issue mentioned only briefly is the difference between Paraiyars, Pallars and Chakkiliyars (3). The first two “specific caste terms” were practically synonymous with terms for agrestic servants or “slaves,” and “to be a Pariah was to be a laboring servant” (28), but an endnote confirms this does not mean that “all laborers were Pariahs, although virtually all Pariahs were laborers” (n. 19, 273). If I understand Viswanath correctly, “Pariah” primarily denoted someone belonging both to the servile labouring class and an untouchable caste. The populous Paraiyars gave their name to the whole untouchable category; nonetheless, the less numerous Pallars were and are a different caste group, often said to rank above Paraiyars, and the Chakkiliyars are a third, still smaller caste group normally ranked lowest. Even in modern Dalit political organizations, the three groups are not always united, and their social divisions persist in many localities (Robert Deliège, The Untouchables of India, Berg, 1999, 58-62; Hugo Gorringe, Untouchable Citizens, Sage, 2005, 55-64). Viswanath says hardly anything about these divisions during the period she discusses and sometimes I was unclear whether her book’s “Pariahs” belonged to all untouchable castes or were Paraiyars only.

The book’s virtues greatly outweigh its flaws, however. One important research innovation is Viswanath’s combined use of the separate missionary and government records, which has contributed to her original finding that Pariahs actively sought out missionaries, rather than passively waiting for them to proselytize. She also shows that Dalits—not just Brahmans and non-Brahmans—mattered in south Indian colonial history and that, too, is a major step forward. Other historians and anthropologists have previously argued that servitude or slavery, as well as ritual pollution and status inferiority, define untouchability, but none has done so more effectively than Viswanath. Her explanation of how the Pariah problem in Madras became social-cum-religious, instead of political and legal, is consistent with modern ethnographic evidence, although her claim that “hurt Hindu sentiments,” rather than undermined privileges, “became central to the discussion of the Pariah” (131) sounds anachronistically contemporary. Finally, though not everyone will agree with her extrapolations to the current state of Dalit affairs in India, Viswanath makes a persuasive case and her book deserves a wide readership.

C. J. Fuller, London School of Economics and Political Science, London, United Kingdom

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RIGHTEOUS REPUBLIC: The Political Foundations of Modern India. By Ananya Vajpeyi. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2012. xxiv, 342 pp. (Map, illus.) C$157.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-04895-9.

The Righteous Republic is an ambitious book. Through an exploration of the category of swaraj (commonly translated as self-rule), it seeks to understand what constitutes the “self” for five “founders” of India. That four of the five founders are Mohandas Gandhi, Rabindranath Tagore, Jawaharlal Nehru and Bhim Rao Ambedkar is not surprising. The fifth—artist Abanindranath Tagore—is a somewhat surprising inclusion. Vajpeyi argues that each of the founders experienced a “crisis in the self” (xiv) and that each of them turned to Indian or Indic traditions to overcome it. Vajpeyi’s aim is to tell the story of the “quest of the five founders for an Indian selfhood hitherto obscured by foreign domination” (10). She also refers to “Muslim traditions of inquiry into self and sovereignty in the making of India” (33), but admits that she does not have the wherewithal to understand the intellectual antecedents of thinkers like Sayyid Ahmed Khan, Mohammed Iqbal, Mohammad Ali Jinnah and Maulana Azad.

While swaraj is the “master category” of the book, Vajpeyi’s major innovation is to isolate one category to frame the thoughts of each of the five founders. So for Gandhi the relevant category is ahimsa (non-violence), for Rabindranath viraha (longing), for Abanindranath samvega (shock), for Nehru dharma (law/order) and for Ambedkar duhkha (suffering). She explicates each category by interrogating the relationship between the founders and key texts in their lives. While no one can doubt that ahimsa defined Gandhi’s thinking and action, the other categories do not have the same kind of resonance for the other founders. It then becomes a box in which Vajpeyi is forced to categorize each founder’s thinking. It also seems that the founders, except for Gandhi, themselves rarely used the categories employed by Vajpeyi.

This is particularly true for Ambedkar and the category of duhkha. Vajpeyi points out in the chapter on Ambedkar that he repudiated the “Four Noble Truths” of the Buddha, which included duhkha, duhkha samudaya, duhkha nirodha and nirvana. The centrepiece of the chapter is an interesting analysis of Amebdkar’s conversion to Buddhism along with nearly 400,000 of his followers in 1956, which remains a bit of a puzzle to this day. But the analysis—which among other things rightly says that Ambedkar “attempted to disassociate himself and his people from the humiliating roles assigned to them in the narratives so dear to the Hindus” (225)—does not convincingly establish the centrality of duhkha in Ambedkar’s thought.

The analysis of Tagore’s thought through his engagement with the fifth century Sanskrit poet Kalidasa’s long poem, Meghaduta (The Cloud Messenger), is unusual. While it could plausibly be argued that Rabindranath develops the category of viraha in his Meghaduta corpus (five poems written over fifty years), whether viraha defines the entire body of his work could be contested. The same could be said for the centrality of samvega in Abanindranath’s paintings. But Vajpeyi is right when she says, “The Tagores sought more than India’s liberation from British rule. They sought self-knowledge in the harness of poetry, in the protocols of painting, in the strains of music, in the intimations of a tradition that for thousands of years had pursued nothing if not to know that, the very One that knows” (167).

Vajpeyi is on surer ground in her analysis of Gandhi, partly because Gandhi himself had much to say on ahimsa. Vajpeyi makes the Bhagavad Gita central to Gandhi’s conception of ahimsa. She argues that Gandhi understood the Gita very differently from his contemporaries, reading it as a “text of ahimsa.” She writes that for Gandhi, “the Gita was the best possible guide to self-knowledge, ethical action, psychic discipline, and transcendental freedom in any circumstance, every single day throughout one’s life, and not just a dramatization of moral crisis and its resolution within a political framework” (75-76).

In her chapter on Nehru, Vajpeyi captures the inherent tensions in Nehru’s thought through the binary of dharma and artha. She does this by examining Nehru’s TheDiscovery of India, his adoption of Buddhist symbols for the Indian state and, as India’s first prime minister, his Letters to Chief Ministers. She describes Nehru’s dilemma eloquently: “The Janus-faced modern state provides a key to the split between Nehru’s dharma-oriented and artha-oriented tendencies: one the one hand, a massively popular freedom writer—passionate, ardent, eloquent, and principled—and on the other, a beleaguered elected administrator—scientific, systematic, deliberative, and compromising” (172).

The Righteous Republic is an impressive intellectual history of modern India. Vajpeyi seeks to correct the neglect of Indian intellectual traditions in constructing the lives and ideologies of India’s founders. As Vajpeyi points out the founders drew their understandings of selfhood from “Hindu and Buddhist texts, from Buddhist and Mughal artifacts, from traditions that were classical and vernacular, living and dying, ancient and recent” (xxiii). She successfully excavates some of these intellectual traditions though at the cost of positing what seems too rigid a dichotomy between Indian and Western traditions and the imposition of one category to frame the thought of each of her five founders of India.

Ronojoy Sen, National University of Singapore, Singapore                                                 

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1971: A Global History of the Creation of Bangladesh. By Srinath Raghavan. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013. 358 pp. (Maps, illus.) US$29.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-72864-6.

This book deftly and intricately shows the various hesitations, strategies, machinations, contexts, geopolitical interests, complex mixture of motives, strategic interactions and unintended consequences that went into understanding the events of East Pakistan and the subsequent independence of Bangladesh during the nine months from March 1971. The book outlines the games of chess that were being played by various actors and countries in determining their support, hesitation and encouragement to the movements in East Pakistan or to the activities of the West Pakistani government. Based on exhaustive archival research in various countries, this book brings out the intricate details and behind-the-scenes manoeuvres of the big stories that are intertwined with the known and lesser-known political narratives of 1971.

The prologue and the first two chapters map the situation in 1971 leading to the chilling events of Operation Searchlight on March 25 by the Pakistani army in Bangladesh. The subsequent chapters outline the role of the Indian government and the varied reasons for its support and scepticism of the movements and struggles in Bangladesh; the Kissinger-Nixon and US government machinations over its support for Pakistan in order to seek an alliance with China; and the reluctance of the Russians in supporting Bangladesh. The chapter titled “Poster Child and Pariah” shows how “Bangladesh distilling the hopes and fears of the swinging sixties” (147) and the atrocities relating to the war catches international attention. The next chapter outlines the different diplomatic manoeuvres undertaken by varied countries; the complicated strategies that determined China’s concerns; and increased support by the Indian government followed by the victory of the Indian army over the Pakistani military strength. The epilogue maps the impact of 1971 on the Bangladeshi political trajectory.

The book is fantastic in locating the war of 1971 within varied sets of local and international contexts: namely public opinion, globalization, humanitarian politics, and sixties counterculture, especially music, the global and Pakistani student revolts of 1968, and diasporas. The events of Biafra, the Vietnam War, international and internal dynamics within the White House and its need to align with China, communal politics in India, the dynamics of Congress politics and Indira Gandhi’s advisors—all of these factors impinged on the course of events in 1971 and its consequences thereafter. The book shows how the Russian government did not want Pakistan to break up and rather than Cold War realpolitik (which was the main reason for USA’s involvement with the 1971 war), it was concerned about Chinese influence in East Pakistan. Similarly India’s scepticism and support for Bangladesh liberation waxed and waned in the early months of the liberation struggle and only gained momentum in the last few months of 1971. Overall, the book brings out the central role of refugees as political tools and shows that relationships with China were pivotal to the diplomatic manoeuvres relating to 1971.

The book makes a substantial contribution to the disciplines of international relations and diplomacy. However one of the conspicuous absences in this book is the lack of reference to the extensive history of rape during 1971 and how it became a tool for international relations. The issue of rape is mentioned once in the epilogue when referring to collaborators who are being tried by the current Bangladesh war crimes tribunal. There is no dearth of images, photographs and press reports on rapes during 1971 and the raped woman emerged as a mobilizing figure for various national and international actors. In the documentary Dateline Bangladesh (1972), Indira Gandhi, in making a case for India’s humanitarian and military intervention in the Bangladesh war said: “Shall we sit and watch their women get raped?” On The Frost Programme (1972), Sheikh Mujib agonized over how Muslim men could rape Muslim women. In fact Raghavan, when referring to the existing scholarship on 1971 relating to memory, violence and identity (5), seems to suggest, disdainfully, that “these themes detracted from a serious engagement with the staid but ineluctable questions on the causes, course and consequences of the conflict.” In fact the global history of Bangladesh is not confined to the diplomatic games of chess described in this book. The history of rape during 1971 is intrinsically a global one given the intricacies of abortion and adoption, and the images and photographs – all of which involved individuals from across the world and a global audience (Nayanika Mookherjee, The Spectral Wound: Sexual Violence, Public Memories and the Bangladesh War of 1971, Duke University Press, 2015).

There is a brief reference to the East Pakistanis being “animal cunning” (46) but the Bengali Muslim discourse is not further expanded. However this point is raised in the case of the Pakistani army’s perception of themselves with regard to the Indian army. Following from the British martial policy one Muslim soldier is deemed to be equal to ten Hindu soldiers. However that this policy itself is deemed to be a reason for the instances of rape in the case of 1971 is lost on the author. According to Bangadeshi accounts, the Pakistani army perpetrated the rapes so as to make better Muslims of the ‘half Muslim’ Hinduized Bengalis of East Pakistan. (Nayanika Mookherjee, “The absent piece of skin: Sexual violence in the Bangladesh war and its gendered and racialised inscriptions,” in Modern Asian Studies 46, no. 6 [2012]: 1572-1601). The book also remains uncritical of Khandaker Mushtaque (218), needs to elaborate more on the Militant leaders of March 1971 (mentioned throughout chapter 2) and there is inadequate (76-77) reference to the Indian government’s position on 1971 vis-à-vis the Naxalite movement occurring at the same time in West Bengal.

One of the notable arguments that the book makes is that if India had intervened earlier it would have helped avoid such hardship in Bangladesh. At the same time the book contends that the emergence of independent Bangladesh is not a given but the result of historical chance and conjunctures that went beyond South Asia (265). More controversially, the book argues that the tensions that existed between various actors in independent Bangladesh emerged during those nine months. According to Raghavan, this in turn made it inevitable that the liberation war created the groundwork for the failure of democracy in Bangladesh (272). This argument attributes a minimal role to Bangladeshis in their own liberation struggle. Overall, it is the human stories of the diplomatic decisions taken and the nature of the unintended consequences emerging out of this humanitarian crisis of 1971 that come through most strongly in this book.

Nayanika Mookherjee, Durham University, Durham, United Kingdom

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NATION AND FAMILY: Personal Law, Cultural Pluralism, and Gendered Citizenship in India. By Narendra Subramanian. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2014. xvii, 377 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$65.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8047-8878-6.

The making of modern India has been defined by a tension between a vision of a secular Indian republic based on the equal rights of individuals as citizens, and claims for recognition of group rights based on custom, tradition and religion. Key sites of contestation have been personal law, family, and gender. This has been the case since the early nineteenth century, which marked not just the beginnings of modern ideas of nationhood, individual rights and development, but also that of reinvented tradition and recasting of women. This contestation continues into the second decade of the twenty-first century India, visible in the 2014 General Elections and their aftermath. Personal law remains a contentious issue and is seen as a marker dividing religious communities rather than being about women’s rights. This has been grounds for misunderstandings between different social groups in India and between the state and community leaders, as is clearly seen in the Shah Bano and Deorala Sati cases in the 1980s, or more recently in the Khap Panchayats’ statements regarding honour killings and demands for change in the Hindu law. Personal laws are often posited as necessarily backward vis a vis more liberal codified laws. The Hindus are likewise deemed as more modern than the Muslims. The history of codification of law and reforms within communities is more complex.

Narendra Subramanian’s book is important in such a context. It is a scholarly, painstakingly researched work that delves into the complex ways that state-society relations and discourses of community have developed through interaction leading to a particular kind of nation formation, recognition and family law (46). The six chapters that constitute the book begin with a focus on Indian personal law in chapter 1, but importantly with a comparative perspective that provides an excellent overview of the varied experiences of many colonial states in Asia, Africa, the Middle East, the Americas and the Pacific Islands in negotiating the tension between recognition, equality and liberty. The focus on diverse state policies in such countries as Tunisia and Turkey, which prioritized “the promotion of their visions of modernity,” the pursuit of traditions that “upheld lineage authority” in Lebanon, Algeria and Syria and a mix of the modern and traditional in South Asia where “ruling elites were allied with modernist urban elites, as well as with traditionalist religious, ethnic and kin leaders,” allows the reader to locate the Indian story in a broader framework. Chapter 2 develops the comparison forward within a theoretical framework that looks at the way nations are imagined and at approaches to family life. The analysis breaks from the dominant postcolonial understanding in western academia of the persistence of colonial forms of knowledge and poststructuralist emphasis on how discursive practices shape state projects. As someone whose early work was on a related area, I am in complete agreement that such conclusions are based on lack of empirical investigation coupled with a theoretical failure to pay attention to the dynamics of state strategies and social movements that did offer and push alternative models (Chaudhuri Maitrayee, The Indian Women’s Movement: Reform and Revival, Radiant, Delhi, 1993)

Chapter 3, with its focus on official nationalism and majoritarian citizen-making, explores the changes in Hindu law since the 1960s. These are further detailed in chapter 4 on recasting the normative national family, while chapter 5 discusses the experiences pertaining to the laws governing India’s two largest religious minorities, the Muslims and Christians before moving on to the concluding chapter 6 which returns to the core theme of nationalism, multiculturalism and personal law.

A comparative perspective allows the author to push an important argument that the traditions of many cultural and religious groups provide for extensive reforms that enhance women’s rights and individual liberties (286). But states have used this to a very limited extent. An important comparison that the book draws upon here is that between reforms in India and Indonesia. Many religious scholars and policy elites in Indonesia incorporated in their construction of indigenous Islam certain customs that were shared by the members of different religious communities. Unlike in India, personal laws of minorities in Indonesia therefore saw greater reforms. For India this is a significant point. The decline of syncretic tradition and consolidation of what is deemed ‘pure’ Hindu’ and ‘classical’ Islam has been extensively documented. Importantly, this was in part linked to colonial state policy. The book concludes with the important observation that although culturally grounded initiatives for personal reform were present among both Muslims and Hindus, the focus after independence shifted to Hindu law. In the author’s words, the story may have been different “if governing elites had operated with different understandings of the nation and its traditions” (275). A curious absence in the book is the tragic and violent outcome of Partition that may have had long-term implications for postcolonial legal reform of personal law.

This book stands out for a couple of reasons. For one, its scholarship and empirical details and the body of literature and archival sources that it marshals which would be of immense use to students; second, its historical perspective and comparative analysis opens up the issue in a very different manner than has played out in India’s dominant public discourse; third, it deploys key social science categories such as institutions, ideas, interests and social movements to understand the detours that personal law debates take. In doing so, this study breaks from the theoretical trend that has dominated academia in the last two decades or more, namely one that has paid disproportionate attention to textual analysis with a focus on specific texts and discourses to the neglect of empirical study of how groups of people act in resistance or domination, negotiation and alliance.

Maitrayee Chaudhuri, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India

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PAKISTAN’S NUCLEAR POLICY: A Minimum Credible Deterrence. Routledge Contemporary South Asia Series, 84. By Zafar Khan. London; New York: Routledge, 2015. xix, 178 pp. (Figures, tables.), US$125.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-13-877879-5.

This book gives an overview of the conceptual logic presumed to underlie Pakistan’s military nuclear doctrines, though it has less to say about a possible logic of deployment and practice. It has little to say about how the nuclear program is embedded in the dominant Pakistan army.

Zafar Khan based this book on his PhD dissertation at the University of Hull, UK. If this book is to add to the substantial writing on this subject by H. Nizamani (2000 and onward), B. Chakma (2009), Z.I. Cheema (2010), H.F. Khan (2012), M.V. Ramana (2013), P. Hoodbhoy (2013) and others, then Zafar Khan has to penetrate the nuke-speak and logic of people who populate the agencies and ministries to which he had access. He accomplished this, collegially enough, through numerous strategic studies institutes in Pakistan and he was enabled by the government’s own Strategic Plans Division in Rawalpindi.

Khan provides a short review of the standard Pakistan narrative going back to Bhutto’s 1965 signal remark about a nuclear bomb “even if we have to eat grass,” and the famed nuclear meeting in Multan, attended by noted physicist Abdus Salam, after the collapse of the Pakistan forces in Bangladesh in 1971. He describes briefly the notorious metallurgist A.Q. Khan’s activities in quietly transferring nuclear technologies to other countries, mentioning how foreign payments for those technologies and services were used to supplement the budgets of the nuclear agencies in Pakistan. What is new is Khan’s account of interviews during 2012–13 (and before) with a number of very well-placed nuclear experts both within and outside government circles.

What is the use-value of nuclear weapons to a divided state like Pakistan? No neighbour has ever really threatened it since 1971, though India and Pakistan have occasionally fought for weeks on their highland borders. Pakistan has basically been a military-guided system since 1947, punctuated occasionally by the outbreak of party-politics and elections. In contrast to India, Pakistan’s nuclear program has usually been supervised by senior military officers.

This book charts a shift in official nuclear posture after the 1998 bomb tests by India and Pakistan from an objective of “minimum deterrence” to “minimum credible deterrence.” These nuclear experts in Pakistan can only guess at how credible their opponents think the deterrence is. Behind these questions lie accountants who have been asking “what amount can we spend which will be just sufficient to deter India, and not a rupee more than necessary?” Pakistan’s public answer has always been “we don’t really know [what the amount is], but we have to build up our costly systems, and watch our opponent like a hawk.” So there are perhaps two senses of “minimum,” one of which is minimum cost.

Pakistan must try to determine whether its assertion of the right to a first strike (which Khan says is now well-established) is having an impact in India. Is the projection of a nuclear force profile the right one for the opponent? As one Pakistani analyst told Khan in a classic understatement, the nuclear posture “is not very static.” How could it be?

This work has a careful tone, as if the text was to be read not just read by a publisher’s editor, but also by someone else with an official eye. It should be essential reading for advanced administrative staff, as it describes in an orderly fashion the structures and flows of command and control. What such trainees might make of the uncertainty at the heart of Pakistan’s language of “strategic ambiguity” Khan does not say. He does however repeat that ambiguity is at the heart of the posture, and that perhaps saves him from examining what a “credible” deterrent really means.

But we the readers long for Khan’s evidence of disagreements among these experts and decision makers, revealing who in Pakistan interprets what ambiguity means, and when do those interpretations really matter. Such disagreements might explain why a small weapons state like Pakistan thinks it nevertheless needs a number of interpretations by closely available officials in agencies and experts in institutes, all focused on the same question: is Pakistan maintaining a minimum deterrence that is credible? And how do we measure credibility?

Pakistan’s nuclear posture and the use of the first strike option is a very important subject for Pakistan and all its neighbours, although Iran is not even mentioned here. Pakistan wanted to appear more modern in the 1970s, to resemble other militarizing states, and to enjoy a prestigious counter-balance to its otherwise growing yet unfortunately dysfunctional reputation. It also had the advantage of occupying a location for which more powerful states were prepared to pay heavily over the decades, in order to have a strong ally at that very location, and with the same strategic goals.

Khan makes no reference to nuclear energy and reactors, and none to the technologies which must be assembled and well-operated if weapons are to be built, maintained and continuously upgraded for readiness to delivery. But he also explains that a number of positive agreements have been negotiated which are intended to build confidence between Pakistan and India, such as agreement to forewarn each other of military exercises, not to attack each other’s nuclear facilities, etc. The nuclear establishment would be worried if the top leaders found a less expensive method by which to minimize the risk of a nuclear attack in South Asia. Without this risk-perception it is hard to see why the cost is sustained, unless it is also essential for prestige and self-confidence. But so far no less expensive method, except these limited types of agreement, has appeared.

This interesting book thus unintentionally gives a rather good picture of the slightly sealed-off quality of nuclear strategy thinking in Pakistan. It is left to the reader to fit this secluded enclave into the military organization and wider socio-economic structure.

Robert Anderson, Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, Canada                                      

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BORDERLAND LIVES IN NORTHERN SOUTH ASIA. Edited by David N. Gellner with an afterword by Willem van Schendel. Durham: Duke University Press, 2013. 310 pp. (Figures, maps.) US$89.95, cloth, ISBN 978-0-8223-5542-7; US$24.95, paper, ISBN 978-0-8223-5556-4.

India’s anxiety with its border regions has received much attention in the media, and scholars of international relations and political scientists have been engaged with them in ways that do not consider their inhabitants as central. The dominant state response to the border regions of Northern South Asia is that they are to be secured, mainly as a preserve of security agencies. What this has also meant is that research has been difficult to conduct in these regions spanning over 10,000 kilometres, where India borders with Pakistan, Nepal, Bhutan, Myanmar and Bangladesh. Further, while the field of borderland studies has gained traction elsewhere, the relatively new border regions of South Asia have neither been studied as much nor understood in depth. This insightful collection of essays attempts to fill that gap and provide a detailed understanding of the nuances and dynamics of life in South Asia’s borderlands.

The book, which is organized to move from the west to east, takes readers through the northern parts of the South Asian international borders even as, collectively, the chapters largely engage with three bodies of literature: new writings that focus on how ordinary people interact with, engage with and experience the state in South Asia; recent work on the dynamic relationship between upland and lowland peoples (see James Scott’s The Art of Not Being Governed); and, work on borderlands.

Throughout the book, the borderlands of Northern South Asia are variously depicted as “a place of interaction, meeting, struggle, exchange, belonging, and transition, sometimes despite vigorous attempts at state interdiction” (afterword by van Schendel). However, these broad themes manifest themselves in hugely different ways, where cultural practices and even difference in geographies (such as shifting enclaves) determine the manner in which people across the border have come to interact with each other, with the state on both sides and with the different “nodes of control” (chapter 8).

The chapters reveal multiple agencies that control life in the border regions and these range from local officials (chapter 1), nongovernmental organizations (chapter 4), the army (chapters 6 and 7) to insurgent groups (chapter 7), which in turn interact with the state. Often, people living in the borderlands face the brunt of the distrust (on both sides) that is pervasive in the regions. Sometimes, systems that have been put in place to safeguard people at the border region actually achieve the opposite. Hausner and Sharma’s (chapter 4) account of the India-Nepal border reveals a couple facing difficulty and suspicion in crossing the border together, due to lack of documents. The porous borders present easy access to the other side as much as they allow for personal humiliations and difficulties on a daily basis.

The narratives also depict the border regions as places that straddle the zone between neglect and control by their states and the governments which rule them. While border regions in Northern South Asia share traits of underdevelopment, arguably due to neglect, the developmental discourse uneasily intertwines with security concerns. India’s frosty relationship with its neighbours provides the canvass that determines the scale of deployment of security forces and the intensity with which they exercise control, with political situations playing out in faraway capitals often determining if and when borders are to be opened.

For some of the people who inhabit the borderland regions, who were not consulted at the time of the creation of these borders, there is a seeming resignation and acceptance of authority that is exercised from far away. But for others, this authority is contested (in the case of Nagaland) while some of them find themselves in a situation where they need to prove allegiance and loyalty (Kargil). The fate that such public policy decisions have brought on the people at the borderlands is depicted through struggles for claims to “national belonging and citizenship” (chapters 2 and 9) as well as “struggles over local and national narratives of the past” (chapters 9 and 10).

Yet, the book starts with a proposition of a new sub region: Northern South Asia. Despite the common themes of anxiety, tension, interaction, hope as well as apprehension in the border regions, there are differences in historical particulars and peculiarities that underpin each region. Then there are different agents of state, “nodes of control,” geography and terrain, and economic imperatives. Furthermore, the regions’ relations with the state vary vastly. While the organization of the book from west towards the east provides a flow to indicate continuity and change, the evidence presented as a whole in the book is one of difference, diversity and complexity. The book makes a solid contribution to the understanding of the borderlands and lays the ground for further work to allow for the imagining of a new sub region. While the task is made easier for future scholarship on the complexity of the proposed sub region, the challenge will be to find discourses and narratives that bring together these complexities.

Laldinkima Sailo, National University of Singapore, Singapore

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THE ARMY AND DEMOCRACY: Military Politics in Pakistan. By Aqil Shah. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014. xiii, 399 pp. (Tables.) US$35.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-72893-6.

Given the paucity of good scholarly material on civil-military relations in Pakistan, The Army and Democracy must be welcomed as an important contribution to the field. This very digestible and readable book has made a cogent and strong case for civilian rule and democratic principles without in any way being opinionated or preachy. It mercifully avoids the typically laboured attempts to force data to fit a theory merely to prove the author’s theoretical expertise and instead confidently asserts its case by stating the essential bare-bones facts of civil-military relations in the history of Pakistan.

The book is divided into an introduction that is a brief literature review, seven main chapters, and a lengthy and very finely written conclusion. Shah begins with a brief mention of the principal theories that have been utilized to explain civil-military relations. These include the Lasswellian garrison-state argument that contends that an external enemy strengthens the men in uniform (see for instance, Ishtiaq Ahmed, Garrison State, Oxford University Press, 2013); the contention that military dominance in Pakistan is a product of the country’s decision to align with the United States during the Cold War (see for instance, Hamza Alavi, “The State in Post-Colonial Societies: Pakistan and Bangladesh,” The New Left Review I/74, July-August 1972; Selected Writings of Eqbal Ahmad, edited by Carollee Bengelsdorf, Margaret Cerullo and Yogesh Chandrani, Columbia University Press, 2006); and the view that the financial interests of the military-industrial complex create the necessary push-pull factors to keep the military involved in the politics of Pakistan (see for instance, Ayesha Siddiqa, Military Inc., Pluto Press, 2007).

While Shah’s book concedes that these factors play a role, he wishes to examine civil-military relations from the perspective of the internal institutional values and norms of the Pakistan military itself. In this regard, he considers his work to be a continuation of Stephen P. Cohen’s earlier work (The Pakistan Army, University of California Press, 1984). In other words, Shah wants to ask how and why the military’s own perception of its role in society has changed in the course of the history of Pakistan.

Having laid out its fundamental theoretical premises, the book proceeds into a chronological examination of civil-military relations in Pakistan. The next seven chapters illustrate how the military’s institutional thinking was shaped and reshaped by conflict with India, Cold War imperatives, safeguarding perceived interests against encroaching civilian authority, the war on terror and so on. In a word, he portrays how the British-trained army slowly morphed from considering itself an “apolitical professional military” into the sole guardian of the very reason for existence of the state. These chapters, which follow the now fairly standardized periodization of Pakistan’s high politics (that is, Pre-Ayub, Ayub, Bhutto, Zia, the return of democracy, and finally Musharraf) remain fairly close to the most important facts even when the book does not directly support or give any particular insight into the institutional norms of the military. Hence, the book is a tour de force of the last 70 years of civil-military relations in Pakistan.

However, those who study and write on Pakistan may legitimately ask, “What’s new in this book?” In theoretical terms the book does not necessarily present any new ideas. And the supporting evidence may not be extraordinarily new to other scholars in the field. Although, in addition to accurate and detailed accounts of the issues causing tension between civil and military institutions, the author has conducted a number of interviews with army personnel, some would argue that all this information was already in the public domain.

On the other hand, one can argue with equal merit that given that the military is well-guarded with respect to the information about itself, and that what it is willing to share is already accessible in the public domain, any researcher would really have to work extraordinarily hard, even ruffle some feathers, to break new ground. In fact, this is, arguably, a very risky business. For instance, it is alleged by the Human Rights Watch that Saleem Shahzad was tortured and murdered as a consequence of his criticism of the role of intelligence agencies in Pakistan (Saleem Shehzad, Inside Al-Qaeda and the Taliban: Beyond Bin Laden and 9/11, Pluto Press, 2011).

In my view, however, the book does succeed in breaking new ground. While the book may not present a new theory or even any new information that is not already available in the public domain, its strength lies in bringing the two together to form an orderly, succinct and cogent presentation of the central political conflicts and contradictions that have shaped civil-military relations in the country. Hence, its most important contribution is that Shah has sifted through the mass of data and emphasized in a concise manner the crux of the problem. This synthesis of theory and public information and the resulting clear presentation of the problem help to bring into clear focus the essential elements of civil-military relations in Pakistan.

In the final analysis this extremely readable book will be enjoyed by the general public and will inform university students. It is an important contribution to the debate and would be my first recommendation to anyone who wishes for a succinct introduction to civil-military relations through the history of Pakistan.

Taimur Rahman, Lahore University of Management Sciences, Lahore, Pakistan

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INDIA’S OCEAN: The Story of India’s Bid for Regional Leadership. Routledge Security in Asia Pacific Series, 26. By David Brewster. London; New York: Routledge, 2014. xiv, 228 pp. (Maps.) US$145.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-415-52059-1.

The peninsular character of India, with its extensive and open coast line and with a littoral that is extremely fertile and rich in resources, makes India dependent on the Indian Ocean. Hence, a secure and safe Indian Ocean, along with the vast Indian shoreline, is insurance for India’s industrial development, commercial growth and stable political structure. India’s Ocean, written by David Brewster, aims to enlighten readers on India’s strategic ambitions in the Indian Ocean and asks whether India has the wherewithal to become the leading power in the Indian Ocean. At the outset, the author claims that “a lack of clear strategic direction” makes India’s future role uncertain.

To tell the story of India’s bid for regional leadership, the author outlines the development of Indian thinking on its role in the Indian Ocean and examines its relations with the Indian Ocean littoral states and major powers. The book is divided into eleven chapters with interesting insights. The first two chapters underline transforming the balance of power in the Indian Ocean, Indian strategic thoughts about the Indian Ocean and their likely impact on India’s strategic activities. The author points out that many in New Delhi believe that the Indian Ocean must be, and must be seen to be, “India’s Ocean.” Further, he elaborates on three key features of this idea. First, domination of the Indian Ocean is part of India’s “manifest destiny.” Second, to preclude the possibility of extra-regional intervention in the subcontinent India must establish a defence perimeter as deep into the Indian Ocean as possible. And finally, the author visualizes the development of a sphere of influence in the Indian Ocean as a necessary step towards India’s status as a global power. While the author admits gaps in India’s potentials and capabilities, he underlines that should India succeed in maximizing its power, it would be for the first time in history that a local Indian Ocean player will be the most predominant one.

Subsequently, the book examines India’s strategic role in the Indian Ocean by dividing into five geopolitical spheres: Maritime South Asia (primarily Sri Lanka and the Maldives), Southwest Indian Ocean (comprising Mauritius, Seychelles and the Mozambique Channel), East and Southern Africa, Northwest Indian Ocean (comprising states in and around the Persian Gulf) and Northeast Indian Ocean (comprising the ASEAN nation-states). While the author describes India’s peacekeeping force in Sri Lanka as India’s ‘regional military adventures,’ he also underscores the Indian navy’s evolution as a benign provider of public goods. Indeed, the Indian navy has sought to institutionalize itself as the leading Indian Ocean navy through such initiatives as sponsoring the biennial Indian Ocean Naval Symposium, to which the navies of all Indian Ocean littoral states are invited. The author asserts that India’s intervention in the Maldives was a model for the benign security role that India could play in the Indian Ocean. He stresses that India’s intervention in the Maldives to procure political stability might be used further afield in the Indian Ocean.

The book provides a comprehensive account of India’s security relationships in the Southwest Indian Ocean, demonstrating India’s exemplary approach to this region, and examples of the flexibility that India will need to demonstrate in the future as it extends its influence throughout the Indian Ocean.

Australia, the United States and China are discussed in separate chapters. The author underlines that other than as a potential energy supplier, Australia will find it difficult to make itself an indispensable partner to India. He adds that Australia has had no desire to sponsor the establishment of a local security order, and has worked assiduously for decades to draw the US further into the Indian Ocean region and keep it there. The author asserts that New Delhi has been successful in developing security relationships with smaller countries such as Singapore, but has been slow to develop cooperative relations with larger or more powerful states such as Australia. He, however, keeps readers guessing on what he means by more powerful states. Elsewhere, he makes a claim that if strategic autonomy is part of India’s DNA, then collaboration is part of Australia’s. This makes clear why India has been slow to develop relations with more powerful states.

The author asserts that the US military sees India as a capable partner. India also sees limited cooperation with the US as a useful means of achieving its long-term goals in the Indian Ocean, and New Delhi wishes to be regarded as a global power that deals directly with Washington. Indeed, India could take on more responsibility in Asia such as in peacekeeping, search and rescue, disaster relief and providing high-value cargo escort. Nonetheless, the author underlines that “the US is still perceived by the Indian elite as a potentially unreliable strategic partner that may ultimately seek to dominate India” (177). It is not clear, however, on who is being referred to as “the Indian elite” and how much influence they have had on India-US security relations.

The book contains some concepts like “Anti-Access Area Denial (A2AD) capabilities” or “Five Power Defence Arrangement (FPDA)” without offering any detail. Some information on such concepts could have added value for readers. Similarly, the author mentions in the first chapter that the Indian Ocean was first opened to European naval power in 1498 by Vasco da Gama. Recent archaeological and historical research, however, indicate that by virtue of India’s geo-strategic location, the Kushan rulers gained access to ancient maritime routes that led from India to the Persian Gulf, the southern shores of the Arabian Peninsula, and the Red Sea. The Asian ships were a major force in early history, carrying both commerce and culture to new heights and the maritime branch of the silk roads had reached its maximum extent by the first century CE. More importantly, the analysis in the last chapter seems biased, as the author describes India as “Hindu India.” While the book tells a fascinating story of the increasing centrality of the Indian Ocean and India’s growing role throughout the region, it leaves readers craving for more of an assessment of India’s capability to become a leading power in the Indian Ocean.

Nevertheless, the author presents his experience and knowledge in a clear and candid manner. The book is handsomely produced, with an index, endnote references, and sourced from the most relevant documents on the subject. India’s Ocean is an excellent contribution to understanding the geopolitics in the Indian Ocean and will be welcomed by both policy makers and scholars alike.

Rajeev Ranjan Chaturvedy, National University of Singapore, Singapore

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INDIA’S HUMAN SECURITY: Lost Debates, Forgotten People, Intractable Challenges. Routledge Studies in South Asian Politics, 4. Edited by Jason Miklian and Åshild Kolås. London; New York: Routledge, 2014. xvi, 243 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$155.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-415-83068-3.

Over the last three decades, security studies has expanded its scope from focussing on state-level security issues to understanding how individuals are subjected to different kinds of insecurity. The establishment of the UN Commission on Human Security in 2001 is indicative of this shift to what are seen as “soft” security concerns. This volume covers this expanded terrain, by offering a collection of papers on different dimensions of the new frontiers of security studies in the context of India. The case of India, the editors explain, is significant given its size and the fact that it continues to have a strong democratic tradition. Further, the Indian state and sections of civil society have sought to project India as an emerging superpower on the back of relatively high levels of economic growth for nearly 15 years. This claim to a  status of power fails to take on board India’s poor record in human development. Its health and nutrition parameters, for example, are lower than those of even some of the poorest countries in the world. Along with the growing income inequality in the country since the onset of economic reforms, such issues of human “illfare” pose a serious threat to individual security despite India’s economic performance. Further, the process of growth itself generates new risks and insecurities as demands made on energy and land resources can undermine the basis of livelihoods for many of its citizens.

While the editors do point to the dangers of securitizing socio-economic issues, they believe that non-securitization of some issues such as inequality, environmental degradation or rural dispossession may prevent policy making from devoting sufficient attention to these aspects. A basic premise of a security-based framework is that if left unattended, these issues may lead to potential situations of conflict in the future. Apart from academics working within the field of security studies, contributors include scholars working in other domains such as health and environment and also journalists covering issues of internal insurgency and illegal cross-border migration. The collection is organized under three sections: resource management, governance and development. Papers in the section on resource management address insecurities emerging from poor management of what is referred to as the food-energy-water complex. Two chapters cover aspects of sustainable access to water ranging from insecurities arising from over-exploitation of ground water to how water interdependencies between the south Asian countries and China pave the way for an emerging hydropolitics in the region. Significantly, the section points to an important lacuna in collective action against depletion of water resources. While protests against contamination and extraction of groundwater by MNCs like Coca Cola are relatively visible, there are hardly any protests against everyday illegal mining of water by a large number of actors which pose more serious risks for depletion of water resources. The need to look beyond productivity in agriculture to understand food insecurity and the need to link food policy with agricultural policy is stressed in another chapter. The need for power to propel growth and how that has led to destruction of land and livelihoods through setting up of thermal power plants in central India is the focus of the other chapter in this section. Though not explicitly stated, the chapters in this section clearly question the paradigm of development that generates these conflicts.

The section on governance deals with security risks posed by poor governance of internal insurgence in central and north-east India, risks posed by politicization of immigrations from Bangladesh and the state’s fragile efforts to work with Myanmar to secure certain geopolitical interests. While this section covers familiar territory for the most part, the paper on recent attempts to improve governance by developing a universal biometrics program makes an interesting point. The security risks of centrally pooling and coding such large quantities of information about individuals may actually pose far greater risks to national security than the advantages that it is supposed to have in terms of monitoring and tracking security threats. The last section, on development, addresses threats posed by insecurities generated by the pattern of development processes such as urbanization. The paper on urban stress makes a useful call to pay more attention to the small and medium towns where environmental degradation is acute and regulatory capacities are poor. Other papers look at insecurities arising from the reform process such as competition among state governments to attract private investments and rising income inequality in post-reform India. The incentive to compete among states to attract investments may be a race to the bottom as poorer states tend to offer more incentives to attract private capital.

Approaching issues of inequality and lack of human well-being from the perspective of security may well work to enhance policy attention on these dimensions. However, I am not too sure how securitizing issues of fundamental rights as citizens and studying the relationship between environmental degradation and economic growth from this angle provides new insights on the processes that generate them. Given the large-scale gender and caste-based violence and insecurity in the country, one is also left wondering how a framework of this kind can contribute to addressing such social violence.

M. Vijayabaskar, Madras Institute of Development Studies, Chennai, India

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CROSSING THE BAY OF BENGAL: The Furies of Nature and the Fortunes of Migrants. By Sunil S. Amrith. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2013. 353 pp. (Maps, figures.) US$29.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-72483-9.

The name, the Bay of Bengal, referring to the eastern wing of the Indian Ocean, is not one that resonates very strongly these days. But as Sunil Amrith explains in this beautifully written, elegiac book, the idea of “the Bay” was once a meaningful one amongst colonial administrators, mariners and the many common people who moved across it as coolies and traders, soldiers and slaves. Over more than a millennium the territories of the littoral of the Bay were bound together by culture, holy relics and movements of people and goods. It was “once a region at the heart of global history” (1), the maritime highway between India and China, where, in the European Middle Ages, great regional states of Asia encountered one another, and where later, from the end of the fifteenth century, the expansive European powers fought each other for supremacy. Then, over the century from about 1840 to 1940, when connectedness across the Bay of Bengal changed quite dramatically in scale with the arrival of steamships and railways, it was the site of one of the greatest movements of people of modern history. Amrith calculates that about 28 million crossed the Bay, in both directions, in this period, a figure that compares closely with the numbers of migrants (26 million) who arrived in the United States between 1870 and 1930, and which exceeds the numbers (19 million) of Chinese who moved into Southeast Asia over the same period. Very many of those, especially from south India, who moved into Ceylon, Malaya and Burma at this time, cleared forests in their sparsely settled frontiers for the benefit of capital, and so brought about both great wealth for the British empire (in which Malaya became the most valuable tropical colony), and enormous environmental change. Yet then, rather suddenly, from the 1930s, and especially with the Second World War and with the decolonization that followed it, this distinct world, with its own social imaginary involving expectations of mobility, broke apart. The Bay of Bengal was forgotten in the later twentieth century, carved up as it was by the boundaries of nation states, within which the citizenship of many of those who had moved across the sea—now treated as minorities—was contested. First in military strategy during the War, and then in academic area studies, it was split apart by the definitions of South Asia on the one hand, and of Southeast Asia on the other. Only in the present, when the Bay has become once again an arena of competition between rising powers—this time the Asian powers, China and India—has it come to be seen again as having some sort of an integrity as a region. Environmentally, too, the pollution of the sea and the over-exploitation of the resources of the Bay that has followed from its “enclosure” by being treated as “an extension of national territory” (260), is bringing about some awareness that it must be seen as a region.

This, in outline, is the story that Amrith tells: that of “The sea’s role in human history—and the consequences of that history for the sea” (31). Though he ranges widely his focus is on the history of movements of labour, of their cultural and political implications, and of their consequences for the environment (though, if I have a criticism of the book it is that its environmental history sometimes seems a little bit of an add-on, nowhere near as well developed as the history of labour). Of course the book treats of trade, and of the commodities that have so much shaped the history of the Bay: spices and rice, Indian textiles, American silver and more recently coffee, tea, sugar, tobacco and especially rubber (of which Malaya produced 70-80 per cent of global supply early in the twentieth century). But this is not primarily an economic history. Relatively little is said, as well, about the role of Chettiar capital—perhaps because this is a subject that has been well documented by other scholars.

The book starts with a short account of the monsoons and of their implications for navigation. It then touches briefly on ancient and medieval history—though those who might look to the book for an account of how Hinduism reached Southeast Asia will be disappointed—and proceeds fairly briskly to the role of the Tamil Muslim merchants in binding the Coromandel coast of south India with Southeast Asia, and then to that of the Portuguese and of the Dutch in the sixteenth, seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. But the focus is really on the rise of English power in the Bay, and on the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. These take up almost two-thirds of the text, and for many readers of this journal, the book will probably be important mainly for its accounts of labour migration and of its implications, including especially in struggles over citizenship. Scholars interested in the idea of Asia, too, will appreciate what it says about the division between South and Southeast Asia, and Amrith’s reminder of the brief moment towards the end of the colonial period when some nationalist leaders—Subhas Chandra Bose, Nehru and Aung San—had ideas about the possibilities of Asian federalism, smothered though they were by the tide of nationalism.

The book draws on impressive scholarship, combining archival research in the different nation states of the region, oral history and the author’s own observations and experience. His photographs of buildings in different port cities around the Bay help to document his own vision of “what the region does possess, richly, [which] is a practical ethic of coexistence” (284). His wider purpose is to show how the history of the Bay of Bengal constitutes “an archive of cultural resources that might help us to reimagine solidarity across distance” (5). Amen to that, in this age of continuing national and ethnic conflict. Altogether, this is a very fine contribution to the great corpus of “ocean studies,” inspired initially by Braudel’s Mediterranean.

John Harriss, Simon Fraser University, Vancouver, Canada

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Southeast Asia


LIVING WITH RISK: Precarity & Bangkok’s Urban Poor. Kyoto CSEAS Series on Asian Studies, 10. By Tamaki Endo. Singapore: NUS Press; Kyoto: Kyoto University Press, 2014. xiv, 333 pp. (Figures, tables, photos.) US$32.00, paper. ISBN 978-9971-69-782-2.

This book focuses on the informal economy of Bangkok with respect to upward mobility and management of risk, which disproportionately affects the urban poor. The central argument is that risk response is a useful lens through which to understand the life-course of individuals and class stratification in low-income communities. A reworking and translation of the author’s Ph.D. dissertation and a subsequent previous edition published in Japanese in 2011, the monograph describes and analyzes two case studies in depth but also provides copious contextual information and a theoretical framework. The first case study is of women who became self-employed after losing factory jobs in the late 1990s and the second is of a community displaced by a devastating fire, which took place during author Tamaki Endo’s doctoral studies. Fieldwork for Endo’s dissertation was completed from 2003 to 2006 and she includes a thorough literature review drawing from Japanese, English and Thai sources. The booked is organized into 10 chapters, plus an introduction and includes numerous colour photos, maps, diagrams and statistical tables.

This work is a useful contribution to a number of fields including development economics, urban geography and sociology, urban planning, policy studies and anyone with an interest in the “informal sector.” The focus on risk analysis and management adds significant value to the literature in this area and the author makes several recommendations not only for further research but for policy makers as well. The fact that Endo draws upon literature produced in three languages is extremely useful for those who do not read Thai or Japanese and her use of multiple qualitative and quantitative data sources including statistics, maps, structured and informal interviews and surveys makes it a robust analytical resource. She has also made what is a fairly long and complex text easy to navigate by including a list of abbreviations, clarifications on Thai terminology and measurements, as well as an index.

From a theoretical perspective, the author not only has a strong grasp of the classic literature related to Asian urbanization and the informal sector but also gives due credit to the work being done in the areas of gender relations and globalization and effectively bridges high-level concepts to the vast empirical corpus she has put forward. She also brings together the often disparate approaches of focusing on the micro versus macro levels. This is difficult to do successfully.

A few sections of the book that I found particularly compelling were entitled “People I have met in the field,” where the rhetorical style becomes far more personalized and the texture of the author’s experience in Bangkok comes to life. There are four of these entries all dealing with different topics ranging from the fluidity of gender identification in Thailand in an entry entitled “Is this Person a He or a She” on page 101, through living as a community hairdresser to the aspirations of university students.

Policy analysts and policy makers will also find this book extremely useful. Not only does the author do a great job summarizing academic literature, but she also synthesizes policy-related literature from international, regional, national and Bangkok-based organizations (for example, the United Nation’s International Labour Organisation and Economic and Social Commission for Asia and the Pacific as well as the Thai National Economic and Social Development Board and Bangkok Metropolitan Administration). In chapter 2, she summarizes the important policy moments and draws out the mismatch between policy goals and intent and what exactly emerged as a result on the ground.

My only constructive criticism is the fact that the text is somewhat dry and sometimes loses the attention of the reader. This may be related to the fact that this is a translation and English is not the author’s mother tongue. In addition, I would have appreciated more sections such as “People I have met in the field,” as described above, in order to draw in the reader. Fortunately, the case studies also provide the kind of texture needed to engage the reader in what is, at times, a very heavy and abstract text. There are also some small stylistic issues that might have drawn in the reader more effectively, such as providing false names for some of the individuals profiled in the two case studies rather than simply using initials. This would have made it easier to follow the life courses of the individuals studied as it’s hard to remember and understand someone referred to as “K.”

Overall, in terms of the quality of the literature review, theoretical and empirical analysis and presentation, I highly recommend this book and am very impressed with the breadth and depth of knowledge demonstrated by the author. Tamaki Endo is obviously deserving of the 28th Masayoshi Ohira Memorial Prize for the 2012 Japanese edition and 6th Iue Asia Pacific Research Prize for her Ph.D. dissertation in 2007.

Gisèle Yasmeen, The University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada

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REGIONAL DYNAMICS IN A DECENTRALIZED INDONESIA. Indonesia Update Series. Edited by Hal Hill. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2014. xxvii, 536 pp. (Illustrations, maps.) US$39.90, paper. ISBN 978-981-4459-84-6.

When the prodemocratic movement had successfully forced Soeharto to step down and ended the New Order regime (1967-1998) in 1998, Indonesians soon faced a daunting challenge: to come to terms with the violent legacy of the regime and to institute post-New Order political, economic and legal reforms. Thirty-two years of an authoritarian and militaristic regime left unresolved cases of gross human rights violations and established a hegemonic, inefficient and centralized state system. Structural reforms carried out by post-New Order governments have addressed these legacies with various degrees of success, from total failure to partial success. Among the efforts, bringing human rights violators to court has been the most difficult initiative to realize. On the other hand, reforming the governance sector has been more or less successful and has led to the creation of various state commissions and institutions to anticipate the diminishing power of the state and the emerging aspirations for more political openness and financial accountability.

This book discusses the different dynamics of institutional reform and how the reform needs to manage a shift in political authority, from a tightly controlled bureaucratic structure to a more democratic form of state governance and less influence of the military in national and local politics. Drawing on the long-term engagement by the Australian National University to study Indonesian politics and economy, the book presents a very detailed picture of the opportunities and problems encountered when Indonesia launched a broad initiative to decentralize its political system, financial accountability, legal structure and norms, and social policies. In examining the process that the Indonesian state has followed to reform the political, economic and legal sectors, the essays in this book identify the centralized system of state governance as the main target of institutional reform in post-New Order Indonesia. In so doing, they locate the threshold that separates the authoritarian from the decentralized form of political, social and economic control in the 1998 political crisis and the ensuing collapse of the New Order regime. As Anne Booth indicates in her contribution to the edited volume, the 1998 crisis is a political “big bang” that has released a plethora of productive and unproductive responses. The essays in this book analyze the tensions and interminglings of the productive and unproductive forces that have framed the discourses and practices of decentralization in the national and local contexts since the New Order regime collapsed.

Apart from Anne Booth’s essay, which traces the historical development of the decentralization debate prior to 1999, the essays in this volume focus more attention on the period after the 1998 political reform. The topics covered in this volume are diverse: the relationship of central and local government, fiscal decentralization, urban planning, special autonomy region (Papua and Aceh), public service, migration and urbanization, human rights politics and environmental management. Hal Hill in his introduction correctly emphasizes that the complex decentralization process has touched upon almost every dimension of state governance and sociocultural life that the edited volume wants to address.

Such a diverse topic has made this edited book an indispensable and important reference to the study of decentralization in Indonesia. In fact the book’s important contribution goes beyond the study of Indonesian politics and economy. It stands as a critical comparative contribution to the literatures on similar processes of decentralization and centre-local relationships taking place in other countries in Asia, such as in the Philippines, Malaysia, Thailand or India. While some of the features of the social and political dynamics of migration, election, regional development, human rights trial or forestry policy may exhibit local concerns and specific power negotiations among local actors, some features also demonstrate similar trends and tendencies that have emerged from related colonial policies on the regional level.

Despite the important contribution it makes in terms of mapping out and analyzing the complexity of decentralization, the book lacks a long-term historical framework that could explain the emergence of a specific economic or political pattern or the interactions among stakeholders. However, Anne Booth’s essay and a few scattered remarks in Blane D. Lewis’s essay and in those by Cilian Nolan, Sidney Jones and Solahudin provide all-too-rare examples of the contributors’ attempts to touch upon the historical development of the dynamics of decentralization. For a book dedicated to the late Thee Kian Wie, a leading Indonesian economic historian, the lack of such historical analysis that goes back to the period before the New Order is regrettable.

When this book was published in 2014, sixteen years after the New Order regime collapsed, four presidents had appeared on the Indonesian political stage. A very different political climate has emerged, in contrast to the thirty-two years of New Order rule, when Soeharto was re-elected every five years to be the president. Despite the change, the essays in the book also demonstrate that almost two decades of democratic government has hardly brought the legacy of the New Order to rest. Even though the decentralization initiative introduced in the early 2000s was expected to replace the New Order’s system of centralized government, it has failed to escape the legacy of proliferated corruption, political brokerage and extrajudicial violence. The creation of new state bodies to fight corruption has not discouraged corrupt bureaucrats, and the establishment of a human rights commission has not resolved past human rights violations. Therefore, reading between the lines, the essays in this edited volume highlight a less optimistic, albeit realistic, fact: that no political transformation can offer a radical break with the past. What will take place after the political “big bang” is instead a complex dynamics of power negotiation which incorporate and at the same time abandon the structural elements or normative values of the previous political regime. This book has done a good job of portraying and examining this process in post-New Order Indonesia.

Fadjar I. Thufail, Indonesian Institute of Sciences, Jakarta, Indonesia

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LIEM SIOE LIONG’S SALIM GROUP: The Business Pillar of Suharto’s Indonesia. By Richard Borsuk, Nancy Ching. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 2014. xiv, 573 pp., [20] pp. of plates (Illustrations.) US$52.90, paper. ISBN 978-981-4459-57-0.

Numerous academics and journalists have written about Liem Sioe Liong. This is because it is not possible to discuss or to understand the political and economic history of modern Indonesia without dealing with this pivotal figure. But in this book, Borsuk and Ching have drilled down deeper than others, producing an analysis that is not only forensic in its detail but rich in its picture of the life and times of Liem.

It moves from Liem’s early years in Java and then in Jakarta, tracking his beginnings as a trader and small entrepreneur and looks at how his business life was transformed in the revolution. These early chapters are evocative and read easily as we are taken into the relationships he began to develop with various generals and politicians and within the intriguing and complex world of business in Indonesia and Southeast Asia more generally. The authors paint a picture, not only of the wheeling and dealing that underpinned the rise of Liem and other Chinese Indonesian capitalists in the chaotic days following the ending of Dutch colonialism, but also of how military and political patronage and relationships with regional capitalists, including Chin Sophonpanich and Robert Kuok, became the factors of commercial success.

We are then introduced to the diverse individuals who drove Liem’s business juggernaut through the 1970s and 1980s. It is interesting that these individuals included both political and business figures and also breached the usual divisions between Chinese Indonesian and indigenous, Pribumi, business groups. And we are given the first insights of how the group began to grow beyond its early dependence on generals and politicians to a group operating more globally and which spread its wings into banking and finance, manufacturing, property and agribusiness. The transition from a personalized operation to a more international, business-like and complex stage is well captured by the authors in their portraits of Liem and his son, Anthony Salim.

From here, the book attempts two ambitious tasks. One is to provide a forensic analysis of the rise of Liem’s business empire. The second is to take us on a journey through the broader political and economic environment in which Liem operated. These two aspects are not only treated thoroughly but in a way that brings us close to the people, the deals and the relationships that drove the Liem story. Even though I am familiar with this terrain, the rich vein of interviews and primary sources used meant there was a lot that was new.

But the ambitious scope of the book also has its costs. On the one hand, chapters 8 to 14 are very intensive analyses of the way different companies of the group were established and run. Moving in great detail across Liem’s expanding interests in flour milling, commodity importing, cement, banking, real estate, petrochemicals and manufacturing, the authors show how political influence, state-allocated monopolies and credit as well as financing from international players fitted into the rise of each of the big companies.

This is an excellent assembly of data and insights that brings together an array of primary sources, interviews and other secondary material not matched elsewhere. It is a resource par excellence for researchers seeking to understand the processes of capital accumulation by Southeast Asian Chinese capitalists or for those who are familiar with the people and business groups involved. But even for someone who knows this area well, I must admit the level of detail proved exhausting.

On the other hand, the book also provides an extensive overview of the broader political and economic environment in which Liem operated. This approach is a welcome change from studies that often come out of business schools or are written by economists, where the analysis is offered in technical terms and abstracted from its broader contexts.

Borsuck and Ching show us how Liem fitted into the broader structural architecture of Indonesia’s political economy and how he had to weave his way through the crises that struck periodically, sometimes with devastating effect. We are shown how the fortunes of Liem were affected by the internal political struggles of the New Order and how he had to adjust to these. We are introduced to the threats that arose from a growing resentment of corruption and the concentration of wealth in the hands of conglomerates, which spilled over into anti-Chinese sentiment. Finally, we look at the Liem story through the devastating impact of the financial crisis and the struggle to rebuild the business and through the ultimate fall of Soeharto.

This aspect of the book brings some challenges that are the reverse of those mentioned earlier, with regard to too much detail. Here, the story often wanders away from the Liem story into a more general history. We look in much detail at Soeharto and his family and at some of the other Chinese business tycoons of the period. The financial crisis, the fall of Soeharto and the politics of the post-Soeharto era bring with them the critical insights needed to explain the Liem story but at times tend to become stories in their own right and we sometimes lose sight of Liem.

Nevertheless, the chapters dealing with how Liem was undone by the financial crisis and how he reconstructed his empire through the complex web of asset seizures and buybacks that followed are immensely insightful. The descriptions of the chaos and violence in Jakarta and the flight of Chinese business to Singapore brought the reader into the drama.

In a sense, two books are offered here. One is a detailed explanation of the rise and transformation of a business empire. The other is a sometimes evocative story of the times of Liem.

In the latter parts of the book, the authors raise, directly or indirectly, some of the critical questions of the future that should now be the focus of scholars. To what extent has the fall of centralized authoritarian rule meant that capitalism and the capitalists of Indonesia have moved into a different phase? Is Indonesian capitalism now more thoroughly defined by the rules of global markets or have the conglomerates of modern Indonesia simply become tied into new political networks? Is the Liem experience a thing of the past?

Richard Robison, Murdoch University, Perth, Australia


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EXPLORATION AND IRONY IN STUDIES OF SIAM OVER FORTY YEARS. Southeast Asia Program Series, no. 63. By Benedict R. O’G. Anderson. Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia Program Publications, Southeast Asia Program, Cornell University, 2014. viii, 166 pp. (Illustrations.) US$23.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-87727-763-7.

This book by renowned scholar Benedict Anderson hardly needs a review. It has an insightful introduction (by Tamara Loos) which can pass as an excellent review. It consists of essays that remain influential and three of them had been published in Anderson’s critically acclaimed Spectre of Comparison. Essays in Exploration and Irony were perhaps not intended to become a book-length study of Siam, as every chapter can stand alone, unique and engaging. Of course, the decision to not meddle with the original text produces some inconsistency, such as Chulalangkorn in one chapter is Julalongkon in another, and there is a missing reference in a piece designed for an edited book, which appears only as “see Chalida Uabumrungjit’s essay” (144). Also, the year of Andreas Bonifacio’s revolution is given incorrectly. Aside from this, the organization of the chapters is well conceived, with the most recent essays at the end and postscripts added for some older essays.

The collection of essays shows that Benedict Anderson responded to the call of time by writing piece by piece following a sense of endless crises in Thailand, a country he has come to love (which he would rather call Siam for a good reason) after his long passionate engagement with Indonesia. How he builds up his new love relation after the first one is perhaps what makes the book a must-read for students of Southeast Asia, especially Indonesia. Another attraction is that his work is characteristically iconoclastic. He would show the newness of what one would think of as something that is very old, and he could show the continuity of the old (the difficulty in overcoming tradition) in the assumption of the new. He can also deconstruct his own thinking while persuasively defending the validity of his long-standing argument. It is a work that is authoritative enough to see the ups and downs of a generation of Thai intellectuals (whom he personally knew), how they rose up against domination and how they (thirty years later) were co-opted by power. There is a quality of human drama in what is after all a biography of a nation.

For me Exploration and Irony is a haunting text for it releases the ghost of Indonesia, represented by Language and Power: Exploring Political Cultures in Indonesia, a book that consists of Anderson’s most influential essays on Indonesia over two decades. He could have made his Indonesia essays a study of the country over forty years had he not been banned from Indonesia from 1972 until the fall of Suharto in 1998. The ban was a blessing in disguise for Thailand, for it now has a study almost equal (as first love can’t be replaced) to Language and Power. Exploration and Irony thus seems to carry a “spectre of comparison” with Language and Power. It is a “spectre” because one can better understand Indonesia through Siam and vice versa even though these two countries are very different. There is a chapter (“Radicalism after Communism”) that makes an explicit connection with Indonesia while showing how different they are, but there are many spectral moments in other chapters. For instance, the insights in the painfully argued chapter “Withdrawal Symptoms” (with footnotes as lengthy as the text), could be productively read by students of Indonesia to better understand the dynamics of the Suharto era. The tormented Thai middle class who demonstrated in Bangkok in 1973 brings to mind the relatively modest (though not less significant) students’ demonstration in Jakarta in 1974, both of which point to the impact of new class formation as a result of collaboration between American and Japanese power and national dictatorship in advancing capitalist modernization in the region. Meanwhile the revival of royal rituals (under Marshal Sarit) recalls the invention of Javanese tradition in Suharto’s Indonesia as both countries sought to build a cultural foundation to stabilize the contradiction of “development.”

To continue, like Indonesia’s incomplete revolution under Javanese rulers (due in large measure to the power of “Javanese tradition”) the roots of Thailand’s “instability” lie in a “stunted and incomplete transition from kingdom to modern nation-state” (34). The modern Thai army resembles the Indonesian army under General Suharto, which never fought external forces. Instead it was mobilized against its own people, for internal order and stability. Thus was the state’s creation of the nation’s internal “others” through categories such as “Chinese,” “communists,” “the masses” and so on. There are episodes of killing in the spirit of public relations in both modern Siam and Indonesia. Meanwhile, “crises,” the key theme of this book on Siam, recalls Anderson’s depiction of the series of “internal” crises Java encountered since the late nineteenth century.

Exploration and Irony is a great country study much like Language and Power, though Anderson seems less tormented by Thailand. Exploration seems more distant as Thailand is analyzed through a series of “objective” historical conditions against other countries, which serves to make the country seem less unique. One gains great comparable knowledge of Siam on a variety of issues, but what makes all those issues matter is the theoretical framework that underlies the study. This theoretical framework stems from what Anderson sees as the difference between the nation and the state, and for those who have been influenced by his Imagined Communities (first version published only in 1983), you immediately get a sense that Southeast Asia has long been the ground for his private reflections on nationalism. His study on Siam has offered him great material to think about “official nationalism” and the state invention of tradition, and his work on Indonesia (and the Philippines) has allowed him to appreciate the power of “popular nationalism,” and its subsequent death in the hands of an authoritarian state. One can already see the seeds of Imagined Communities in the series of early essays on Indonesia and Thailand.

The last part of Exploration and Irony consists of three essays and one set of “two Unsendable letters” which basically say that a true nationalist should be able to feel shame for his or her country’s misconducts. The last three essays, inspired perhaps by his earlier writing on “political communication” of New Order Indonesia, offer his most recent thoughts, with discursive materials from the media and visual environment. His meditation on films teases out a range of subjects (from gender and sexuality to class and ethnicity) that are hard to imagine by the fossilized Bangkok middle class. This cultural production, while (not always) beyond the reach of the state, offers hope for a counternarrative and different consciousness. The title of the last chapter, “Mundane History,” indicates just how much mundane materials from everyday life, which are often looked down on by the big data of the political science discipline and the regime of archival truth in history, can constitute a politically engaging scholarship. This is also a country study with a comparative dimension, as one can learn more about Indonesia through a reading of Thailand.

Abidin Kusno, The University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada                                          

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CIVILIAN STRATEGY IN CIVIL WAR: Insights from Indonesia, Thailand, and the Philippines. Politics, Economics, and Inclusive Development. By Shane Joshua Barter. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014. xii, 245 pp. (Tables, Figures.) US$100.00. ISBN 978-1-137-40298-1.

The public perception of civilians in civil wars is, commonly, that they are passive victims. The proportion of civilian as opposed to combatant casualties tends to confirm this general understanding. Yet as Shane Barter points out in Civilian Strategies in Civil War, civilians are not always or even often passive in the face of civil war, but have active responses to the environment that confronts them.

Barter seeks to explore civilian responses to civil wars by examining three case studies: Indonesia’s Aceh province, Pattani/Patani in southern Thailand and Mindanao in the Philippines. Within the context of these case studies, he puts forth a categorization for civilian responses to civil war that can be broadly grouped into three, sometimes overlapping, categories. They are that civilians may flee civil war, they may speak out about it, or they may support one or other of the combatants.

Although not stated explicitly, each of these categories can be understood to exist on a sliding scale, from little activity to high activity. One category not addressed by the author, however, is that point at which “civilian support” actually morphs into, and back from, active participation in aspects of the conflict.

A case study of Timor-Leste shows that the underground resistance appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be comprised of civilians, but who in fact were actually members of the ‘Clandestine Front’, as part of the formal FALINTIL command structure. So too in Aceh, where the number of formal Free Aceh Movement combatants was stated in the Helsinki peace talks as only those in formed, mobile units but who, after the peace agreement was signed, were identified as including “civilians,” expanding GAM forces by perhaps 300 percent.

In one sense, the set of categories identified is fairly obvious, as anyone who has experienced such conflict will have experienced one or more of the identified responses. Yet because most people, at least among the audience this book is aimed at, have not experienced such war first hand, they might not be aware of these almost instinctive responses.

From the beginning of the book the author has experience in the three research sites, each located in Southeast Asia and within Muslim communities. This is a useful case study, but would need to be recalibrated if the lessons drawn here were to be applied elsewhere.

It is also worth noting that, while this is a fairly comprehensive account of civilian responses to conflict, it is structured and reads like a PhD thesis, from which it appears to be drawn. Like some PhD theses, it over-reaches a little in the introduction, saying that its approach “promises to lead to new understandings.” Perhaps “contribute” to new understandings might have been more appropriate.

The author acknowledges that his main experience is in Aceh, Indonesia, which, since 2005, has not been the site of civil war. As the author notes, Patani and Mindanao are more difficult sites for research, because of the continuing conflict. He also notes that as being a reason why so little work has been done on the subject, including limitations upon his own research.

The potted histories of each of the conflicts provide some of the most interesting and readable parts of the book. They are succinct and, largely, accurate accounts. However, like all histories that involve conflict, aspects of the accounts presented are contested. Barter relies heavily on Aspinall’s understanding of the Aceh conflict which, while academically respected, is not agreed on by many Acehnese. Similarly, he suggests that there was a lack of continuity in Aceh’s separatist movement, a view that has been rejected by former GAM members themselves.

Barter also argues that the proportion of the Indonesian army that were ethnic Acehnese was higher than for other regions in Indonesia. This reflects a lack of understanding of the territorial organization of the Indonesian armed forces (TNI) and the establishment of the regional Acehnese command (Kodam), Iskandar Muda, named after the former Acehnese sultan and, in theory, being entirely comprised of Acehnese (it was not). So, too, the TNI used such a tactic in Timor-Leste, where they recruited Battalions 744 and 745 from the local community, as well as for proxy militias.

In relation to “ethnic cleansing” (52), Barter appears not to acknowledge that, as noted above, “civilians” can segue into combatants and that ethnic minorities in Aceh were regularly recruited into TNI proxy militias.

One other surprising observation of the author, taken from a secondary source, was that “secessionism is not part of the MILF vocabulary” (165). This is factually incorrect, given that the MILF was formed in 1977 with the explicit intention of forming a separate Islamic state.

While no such study can be entirely comprehensive, it is also odd that there is no mention of the communist insurgency in Mindanao. Focusing on civil wars involving Islamic groups is topical and coherent, but seems geographically inconsistent.

In all, however, this is an interesting book and a useful resource for those wishing to understand why civilians in conflict zones do not always, or often, conform to stereotypical patterns of behaviour. Civilians always exercise some degree of agency, if sometimes within constrained parameters, and their responses reveal much about the nature of the conflicts with which they are engaged.

Damien Kingsbury, Deakin University, Burwood, Australia                    

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IDENTITY AND PLEASURE: The Politics of Indonesian Screen Culture. Kyoto CSEAS Series on Asian Studies, 13. By Ariel Heryanto. Singapore: NUS Press; Kyoto: Kyoto University Press, 2014. xiv, 246 pp. (Col. illus.) US$32.99, paper. ISBN 978-9971-69-821-8.

In this fascinating study, Ariel Heryanto continues the line of investigation developed in one of his previous books, the edited collection, Popular Culture in Indonesia: Fluid Identities in Post-Authoritarian Politics (2008). That is, Heryanto sets out to examine the complex ways in which popular culture, especially “screen culture” (films, television, Internet), is intertwined with the production of identity and the politics connected to identity. In this case, Heryanto is most centrally concerned with Indonesian urban middle-class youth in a context of progressive “Islamization” and against a historical background of a rich and extremely varied diversity of peoples, cultures, and continuing creative ideas.

Identity and Pleasure is divided into roughly three broad sections. Following its introductory opening chapter, Heryanto devotes chapters 2 and 3 to an examination of what he, modifying Asef Bayat’s concept, terms Indonesian “post-Islamism”—both a condition and project in which some Indonesian Muslims seeking to correct the exclusions and repressions of the secularist New Order regime of President Suharto, attempt to combine Islam with individual rights, freedom, democracy and modernity. He notes the growth of this strain of Islamic piety together with an industry devoted to Islamic women’s fashion, and dedicates much of chapter 3 to demonstrating the diversity of Islamic positions on faith and identity as represented in several Islamic-themed films, such as Hanung Bramantyo’s 2008 film version of Habiburrahman El-Shirazy’s Ayat-Ayat Cinta (Verses of Love), and the popular reactions to them. Heryanto sees the hero of Ayat-Ayat Cinta—devout, hard-working, well-educated in matters pertaining to Islam, conversant with Western culture, and economically comfortable—as a new icon of urban middle-class “post-Islamism.” Most striking, and complementing work by Daromir Rudnyckyj and others, Heryanto sees this hero as combining pious religious faith and practice with the ability to live a comfortable modern consumerist lifestyle. Heryanto also notes the irony of the creeping authority of political Islamism within the Indonesian political elite at the same time that the relatively more relaxed form of “post-Islamism” has taken root among young urban professionals.

A second section comes to grips with the “losers” in the pre-New Order struggle to define Indonesia’s modern national identity: those accused of being communists or communist sympathizers, many thousands of whom were massacred or imprisoned after the events of September 30, 1965. Chapters 4 and 5 are thus given over to elucidating the continuing tensions arising from this history, and describing the various attempts to give filmic voice to the victims and, in some remarkable cases, the perpetrators of some of the mass slaughters. Certainly, Joshua Oppenheimer’s The Act of Killing (2012) is one of the key films discussed, but it is only one of several, some of which were made possible by the increased availability and low costs of using new digital technologies. Heryanto points out continued resistance to reopening these old wounds and sees this resistance as a key historical evasion that has made it difficult for Indonesians to understand in a more nuanced and meaningful way current social and political conflicts.

In its final section, Identity and Pleasure explores two topics. The first is the immense popularity of Korean and Northeast Asian popular culture (music, television serials, etc.) in Indonesia, including the attraction of Korean pop music idols for many young women, not a few of whom wear the Islamic jilbab (body and hair-covering garments). He views this phenomenon as empowerment for (mainly) middle-class segments of Indonesia’s female population in so far as they are able to consume and express their pleasure in dance and displays of attraction to handsome Northeast Asian male film and music idols, activities which demonstrate a desire similar to that of fans of Ayat-Ayat Cinta—to be Islamic and modern at one and the same time. Enjoyment of Taiwanese and Korean television serials, Heryanto argues, also demonstrates an appreciation for hard work as a moral good in itself, rather than as a strategy to gain material reward as in most Hollywood films. All of this also displays a somewhat mitigated feeling towards “Chinese-looking” people that would have been hard to imagine in Indonesia (where anti-Chinese feeling has run deeply at times) less than two decades ago.

The second topic, to which the book’s last chapter is devoted, is an examination of lower-class participation in Indonesian electoral politics and that group’s current fragmentation and disempowerment as elections have turned towards media-savvy entertainment-oriented styles. Ironically, the lower-class participation in elections may well have been more subversive and powerful, Heryanto concludes, when they were allowed to engage in New Order “Festival of Democracy” parades which often turned quite disorderly in an almost carnivalesque fashion.

Heryanto’s arguments are theoretically careful, nuanced and innovative, always seeking more detailed understandings and explanations for the popularity (or lack of it) of his subjects; Islamic lifestyles and films, films about the tragic events of 1965-66, K-pop, and increasingly entertainment-oriented political campaigns. Throughout, Heryanto continues to explore the production of diverse and often conflicting identities within the Indonesian polity and its varied cultures. A key theme to which he returns several times is that cultural production of identities in what is now Indonesia has long been hybrid and international—from at least the late colonial period when cross-racial groups within Indonesia produced theatre, film, fiction and other products that constituted the forerunners of national culture. Furthermore, Heryanto argues, much of this history and creativity has been consciously erased from memory by Indonesian elites seeking to redefine and control Indonesian identity as a more exclusive preserve of non-Chinese Indonesians with minimal influence from the West.

Taken altogether, and considering the range and depth of the discussions it contains, this is a very rich and stimulating work of cultural anthropology. Identity and Pleasure deserves serious attention from both those interested in contemporary Indonesian culture and politics, and those engaging with theoretical issues of identity production.

Michael Bodden, University of Victoria, Victoria, Canada

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ARCHIVING THE UNSPEAKABLE: Silence, Memory, and the Photographic Record in Cambodia. Critical Human Rights. By Michelle Caswell. Madison, WI: The University of Wisconsin Press, 2014. xii, 231 pp. (Figures.) US$29.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-299-29754-1.

Michelle Caswell’s Archiving the Unspeakable traces the social life of a profoundly haunting set of photographs. Upon entering Tuol Sleng, the infamous Khmer Rouge torture, interrogation and killing center (also known as S21), prisoners were systematically photographed. Whereas almost none of the estimated 16,000 prisoners lived to tell their story, over 5,000 mug shots and other photographs from the prison have survived. The mug shots have since taken on iconic status, giving individual faces to the almost unfathomable scale of suffering and loss of life perpetrated by that brutal regime.

Caswell takes her readers on a meticulously researched and compellingly narrated journey through the making, archiving and contemporary circulation of these photographs. In the introduction to the book she provides theoretical framing, bringing theories generated within the field of archival studies into dialogue with anthropological scholarship on material objects, archives and the production of history. The first chapter examines the making of the photographs and their prehistory in colonial-era police photography. The bureaucratic process of taking photographs served two functions, Caswell argues, performatively transforming men, women and children into “enemies” of the regime and enabling those working at the prison to act as mere cogs in a relentless machine of death. The book’s second chapter details the process of gathering the images into archives. It recounts the often heroic efforts of profoundly committed individuals to preserve the images and make them accessible in the face of local hostility, international indifference, technical and financial limitations, and the ravages of tropical climate and neglect. The third chapter traces how the archived images have been used as prompts for stories, becoming “active agents in the performance of human rights” in the Khmer Rouge Tribunal, and in documentary films, NGO publications, and photographs showing survivors, descendants and tourists looking at or holding the photographs. Narrative-making and the visual act of bearing witness are intimately entwined here, and the images serve as both documentary evidence and affectively charged proxies for the dead that demand to be given a voice by the living. The fourth chapter addresses the commodification of the images within Cambodia’s emerging tourism industry. Against negative assessments of “atrocity tourism,” Caswell argues that visiting sites like the Tuol Sleng museum can transform tourists into engaged witnesses; the act of photographing themselves with mug shots and survivors—and circulating these images via social media—facilitates this transformation. In the conclusion, Caswell revisits debates about the ethics of looking at atrocity photographs, concluding that the Tuol Sleng images play a vital role in acts of bearing witness and remembering the dead.

Tracing the photographs’ historical trajectories, Caswell approaches them as agentive participants in political processes. She is sensitive to the play of absence and presence that animates them, and she attends carefully to the ways that they take on different potentialities and potencies as they shift formats and contexts. Throughout, Caswell draws on Michel-Rolph Trouillot’s analysis of the “silencing of the past” as it occurs at distinct moments in the production of history, reminding us of the multiple ways in which the images at once testify to and participate in the silencing of victims of the Khmer Rouge. The chapters are replete with fascinating, often poignant moments in the social life of the photographs.

Yet the book’s greatest strength—Caswell’s tenacious focus on the images—will also be a weakness for some readers. At times one wishes for a broader view of the historical and political processes at work in Cambodian society as it grapples with its past. And the question of how the making of the images or their current mobilizations might be inflected by Cambodian or regional approaches to photography, death and memory also goes largely unexplored. Clearly, a purely culturalist reading of the mug shots would have been profoundly misguided, and Caswell is right to situate the images within technologies of modern bureaucracy and surveillance and contemporary human rights campaigns. But what would have emerged from a more ethnographic reading of the Tuol Sleng images along the lines of Alan Klima’s analysis of images of political violence in Thailand (The Funeral Casino: Meditation, Massacre, and Exchange with the Dead in Thailand, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002)? What if the instances of mug shots apparently imbued with the spirits of the dead (briefly noted in several places in the text) had received more sustained attention? (I think here of Heonik Kwon’s Ghosts of War in Vietnam [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013] about the role of ghosts in contemporary Vietnamese memories of the American war.)

Finally, the book’s engagement with the photographs as “records” leaves their visual status less deeply engaged than one might expect. Despite reference to W.J.T. Mitchell’s provocative question in his book What Do Pictures Want? The Lives and Loves of Images (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), we learn more about what has happened to the images than about why and how they make such powerful claims on viewers. Atrocity photographs typically show acts of violence enacted on human bodies, or the traces of such acts after they have occurred. How does the peculiar anticipatory temporality of these photographs—images of people “who are dead and who are going to die,” to paraphrase Roland Barthes (Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography, translated by Richard Howard, New York: Hill and Wang, 1981)—act upon the viewer? What is the effect of being looked at by the people in these photographs? Why have some mug shots—particularly those showing attractive young women and children with resigned, even serene, expressions—circulated more widely than others?

If such questions suggest that more remains to be said about the Tuol Sleng photographs, the book is nevertheless a welcome contribution to scholarship on photography, human rights and the making of historical memory in Cambodia and beyond. In Caswell’s account, the archive, its material contents and history itself are revealed to be open-ended processes rather than fixed contents. Like the struggle to hold perpetrators accountable, remember the victims, and rebuild a devastated country, the photographs of Tuol Sleng remain unfinished.

Karen Strassler, Queens College, City University of New York, Flushing, USA

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ADVANCING SINGAPORE-CHINA ECONOMIC RELATIONS. Edited by Saw Swee-Hock and John Wong. Singapore: co-publication between ISEAS and East Asian Institute, 2014. xix, 309 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$39.90, paper. ISBN 978-981-4519-18-2.

This well-edited book consists of nine chapters focusing on Singapore-China economic relations since the October 1990 establishment of formal diplomatic recognition between the two countries until 2013.

Chapter 1 by Saw Swee-Hock provides a comprehensive background of the changes to Singapore-China economic ties since the 1970s, covering the areas of trade, investment, services, tourism and education. The writer highlights the historic landmark visit of China’s supreme leader Deng Xiaoping to Singapore in November 1978 (2) which subsequently paved the foundation for symbiotic Singapore-China economic collaboration. Saw’s paper also analyzes the roles Singapore’s top political leadership and governmental institutions played in sharing the city-state’s developmental experience with China (8) in Singapore’s flagship Singapore-Suzhou Industrial Park (SIP) project.

In chapter 2, the authors John Wong and Catherine Chong claim that the Singapore-China economic relationship is “special and unique” (31). They maintain that Singapore-China economic relations are broad-based, substantive and complementary to each other (31). They convincingly argue that China has emerged as “the center of global and regional production networks” and as “an integrator of regional and global manufacturing activities” (47).

In chapter 3, Lye Liang Fook considers the SIP as a useful developmental model to transfer economic management and public administration “software” to China (63). Thus the SIP can serve as “a reference for China” (66), since the SIP project clearly delineated industrial, commercial, educational, residential and greenbelt zones (71). Lye’s paper provides a sound argument regarding the confluence of political and economic factors that contributed to the successful establishment of the SIP by the two governments.

In chapter 4, Chen Gang and Zhao Litao analyze the Sino-Singapore Tianjin Eco-City (TEC) project, which was the second major joint infrastructure development project by Singapore and China after the SIP, and served as a litmus test of whether Singapore could still be relevant to the future development of China. The TEC’s aim—to build a new environmentally friendly and socially harmonious city with long-term economic sustainability (113)—is new for China. The paper highlights the social dimension as an important component in the TEC project (119).

In chapter 5, Yao Jielu argues that Singapore is not as important a destination for China’s outbound investments as other resource-based ASEAN economies like Myanmar and Indonesia. China for instance has invested extensively in resource energy and infrastructure development in Myanmar since 2011 (129, 144).

In chapter 6, Fan Ying and Huang Yanjie highlight the following points: first, Singapore’s Foreign Direct Investments (FDIs) in China had a head start in the 1980s (155) even though Singapore had yet to formally diplomatically recognize China. Prior to the 1990s, most of the FDIs were from ethnic Chinese Singapore businessmen, traders and investors. Second, Singapore’s FDIs in China are broad-based, ranging across trade, services, commerce, industrial parks, financial services, real estate, education and health care.

Chen Wen and Zhai Baiquan’s chapter 7 focuses on the structural features of Singapore-China trade and assesses the effects of the China-Singapore Free Trade Agreement (CSFTA) on bilateral trade between the two countries. The chapter highlights the asymmetrical interdependence of bilateral trade in which Singapore constitutes a small portion of China’s total global trade. The authors claim that China is more important to Singapore in trade than vice-versa. The writers analyze the competitiveness and complementarities of Singapore-China trade. China has the comparative advantage over Singapore in labour intensive products but is complementary in electronic and electrical products (210-211).

Chiang Min Hua, author of chapter 8, argues that Singapore has an advantage in tourism because of its strategic location as a business hub, mature tourism management skills and market strategies (217). In order to secure a slice of China’s huge tourism market, the writer suggests that Singapore should adopt strategies to promote gambling tourism, education tourism, health-care tourism and finally medical tourism, in descending order of importance (245-246).

The final chapter by Saw Swee-Hock and Ge-Yun analyzes the complementarity of Singapore-China educational collaboration. Singapore is attractive for China because of its cultural similarity, safe environment and ability to provide top-class university education. The paper shows that Singapore has been instrumental in China’s human capital development through the employment of various programs such as the one for leadership training conducted by the National University of Singapore and the Nanyang Technological University. The chapter concludes by arguing that education collaboration has played an integral part in enhancing overall bilateral relations between the two countries (284).

In conclusion, the edited book in the context of economic regionalism contributes to the knowledge of the nexus between states, the economy and markets. In the case of Singapore-China economic relations, the three actors are: first, the top political leaders; second, the bureaucrats in the inter-governmental institutions; and third, the enterprising private businessmen and entrepreneurs who provide inputs to cement the symbiotic economic ties between China and Singapore.

In terms of the structure of the book, the nine chapters are well organized and systematically presented, with the first chapter providing a solid background in understanding the evolution and development of economic ties between the two countries. Subsequent chapters touch on trade, infrastructure development, investment and tourism, before finally concluding with education. There are however two minor shortcomings: overlapping discussions on trade, investment and infrastructure projects such as the SIP project in chapters 1, 2 and 3 and some repetition of data in the different chapters regarding trade and investment (39, 40, 164, 165).

In short, the book is highly recommended reading for its balanced and objective analyses written by specialists on Singapore-China economic relations.

Shee Poon Khim, Tamkang University, Lanyang Campus, Yilan, Taiwan                     

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THE KHMER LANDS OF VIETNAM: Environment, Cosmology and Sovereignty. ASAA Southeast Asia Publications Series. By Philip Taylor. Singapore: NUS Press; Copenhagen: NIAS Press, in association with Asian Studies Association of Australia, 2014. xvii, 316 pp. (Illustrations, maps.) US$32.00, paper. ISBN 978-9971-69-778-5.

Kampuchea Krom has served for centuries as a much-contested middle-space that occupies the rich Mekong Delta area of southern Vietnam. The Khmer Krom people, who comprise a large demographic in the region, are an ethnic Khmer minority who have called this area home for centuries. Due in large part to centuries of regional rivalry, Kampuchea Krom, which is under Vietnamese territorial domain, has taken on a legendary character. Most famously, a Cambodian story told of an early seventeenth-century betrayal of Khmers by Vietnamese, one which the Communist Party of Kampuchea (CPK) under Pol Pot revived to foment hatred among his people toward the country’s ethnic minority Vietnamese population. As the story goes, despite a treaty between the Khmer and Vietnamese parties that was bound by the marriage of Khmer prince Chey Chetha II (1618-1628) to the daughter of the King of Annam, the Vietnamese occupied the region via mass migration, thereby forcing the local Khmer peoples out as primary inhabitants and rulers. Centuries later, the CPK regarded the Khmer Krom as “Khmer bodies with Vietnamese minds” who might turn their allegiance against Cambodia due to their connections to “stolen” Khmer lands. While oral history and nationalistic narratives about the region are widespread, few scholarly efforts have been made to examine the Khmer Krom people and how they interpret and interact with their environments.

The Khmer Lands of Vietnam by Philip Taylor sheds much overdue light on the livelihoods of the Khmer Krom outside of the nationalist frameworks of Cambodia and Vietnam by exploring “locally contextualized questions about the Khmer Krom … to generate a set of comparable criteria” (6). The book consists of seven readable chapters in between a comprehensive introduction and conclusion. Taylor’s thesis argues that the Khmer Krom are “the rightful subjects of two different nations, neither of which fully accepts them as its own,” and through “recasting Buddhist and folk cosmologies and [by] improvising stories… they have imbued their diverse local ecologies, circumstances and histories with universal significance” (252-253). Each of Kampuchea Krom’s seven main sub-regions receives chapter-length attention. The first two chapters discuss the northern and southern halves of the region complex, respectively, and explore how inhabitants adapt to the ecological setting in which they live. The third chapter employs oral history interviews as well as stories about the region to cast into light various histories of displacement, settlement and flight along the central Mekong Delta. Taylor then draws from stories told by residents to frame a history of the Khmer river basin. He asserts that such tales “embody a unique form of historical consciousness and bring into view conceptions of place, morality, and authority that remain salient for the Khmers of this region of saltwater rivers” (129). He concludes that although the Vietnamese have unquestioned military power over this region, “Khmer sovereignty over the peninsula remains potent, and is made manifest in miraculous events and the telling of stories” (161).

Subsequent chapters also highlight Kampuchea Krom as a locus between two nations, shedding light on the survival, modernity and identity of the Khmer Krom. Chapter 5 examines the lives of Khmer Krom between the mountains and floodplains of the area, which the author describes as “incorporated yet distinct” (189), while the sixth chapter analyzes the inhabitants of the northwest shoreline—their livelihoods, transformations and threats to their security in this unique locality. The final chapter discusses the uplands region, which, the author states, “is considered by Khmers in the Mekong Delta to be the oldest site of Khmer settlement in Kampuchea Krom and is said to remain home to Khmer daem, the original Khmers” (219). In the conclusion, Taylor summarizes his findings and identifies some common threads as well as some contrasts.

Taylor’s study of Kampuchea Krom places needed attention on the Khmer-speaking minority in southern Vietnam, and it satisfies as an introduction to the region, its people, and the ways in which they eke out their survival as a nation between nations. However, the book could have benefited from the inclusion of a theory, or theories, in which to locate the phenomena under analysis. The absence of any engagement with James Scott’s The Art of Not Being Governed seems to me an opportunity that the author missed, since Scott’s study examines statelessness and resistance in an area in Southeast Asia that he terms as Zomia. I also would have liked to see Taylor situate his analysis of the Khmer Krom within the scholarly polemics on ethnicity and nation. For instance, Rogers Brubaker’s assertion that groupness is a contextually fluctuating conceptual variable, and Thongchai Winnichakul’s notion of the geo-body and his discussion of lost territories, are both salient theoretical lenses through which one can grasp the complexities that undergird Khmer Krom conceptions of identity as well as their weltanschauung. Although the author succeeds in placing primacy on ecology and cosmology as alternative scopes through which to analyze the Khmer Krom, the absence of any dialogue with these major theories leaves the reader having to navigate through the book and approach loaded terms such as nation, ethnicity and modernity without a theoretical heading.

The Khmer Lands of Vietnam is nevertheless a thoughtful analysis of an important yet oft-overlooked ethnic group that inhabits the rich Mekong Delta. As Taylor makes clear, nationalistic narratives of the region occupy the collective consciousness of Vietnam and Cambodia, and politicians and revolutionaries alike have mobilized its loss and acquisition as a rallying cry for expansion and national legitimacy. Often lost in these narratives, however, are the inhabitants themselves, who, with a dual identity and varied livelihoods in a geographically diverse terrain, remain resilient and somewhat defiant in the faces of both ruling bodies to this very day.

Matt Galway, The University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada

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THE ROOTS OF TERRORISM IN INDONESIA: From Darul Islam to Jema’ah Islamiyah. By Solahudin; translated by Dave McRae; foreword by Greg Fealy. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2013. xx, 236 pp. (Map.) US$26.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8014-7938-0.

The Roots of Terrorism in Indonesia is a bestseller in Southeast Asia, stirring interest and even controversy. Solahudin, an award-winning journalist, explores the origins and ideology of violent Islamists in the archipelago and beyond. Thanks to translation by Dave McRae, English-speaking audiences are now able to access this influential book and gain a better understanding of the groups responsible for a range of brutal attacks, including the 2002 Bali bombings.

The book’s primary strength is its ability to piece together a coherent narrative from a murky history plagued by misinformation. It unfolds chronologically, from early Islamist rebellions during the Dutch colonial era, to the Darul Islam (DI) rebellion, and through to more recent groups such as Jema’ah Islamiyah (JI). This highly informative account uses primary documents and interviews with militants in order to illuminate how radicals formed and maintained their networks. Particularly interesting is the book’s discussion of the Suharto era, a time we previously knew little about. Solahudin shows the different directions that DI leaders went under the New Order, with some co-opted by Golkar and state intelligence networks, while others vowed to fight on, all the while maintaining links to former comrades now aligned with the state. Above all, we learn how the jihadist movement responded to a variety of setbacks and political changes, only to emerge again. The ability of this network to regroup, recruit and adapt in their continued efforts to utilize violence to further their religious agenda is as impressive as it is disturbing, and Solahudin deserves high praise for documenting how this has played out.

The picture painted of jihadist networks is a mixture of threat and ineptitude. Along with planning deadly attacks, these networks are also fragile, prone to factionalism, petty disputes and delusion. For example, when DI planned to assassinate Suharto in the early 1980s, they did not just conceptualize how to kill the president, but also dreamed of an immediate victory rally and an aftermath in which the country would flock to them in celebration. They forged a letter from a state Islamic group organizing a rally which would take place as news of the killing would be announced, and when the plot failed, did not really know how to respond. In the deadly Christmas Eve Bombings in 2000, many bombs failed to detonate or killed their handlers as they drove over speed bumps on the way to sites. The network has reached out to international actors such as Libya and Osama bin Laden, volunteering in Afghanistan and creating bases in Mindanao, but at no point has it seemed to be in full control of these exchanges. Solahudin portrays a network that is deadly and resilient, but also weak and delusional, prone to daydreaming and in constant need of recruits and funding.

The strength of this book is clearly its engaging description of the lives of Indonesian jihadist networks. The reader will find it to be more journalistic than academic, unsurprising given that the author is a journalist, but unique for an academic press. This is top-notch, unrivalled journalism, surpassing many academic studies in the quality of its data. Still, the academic reader may long for conceptual development, especially since the book promises to delve into jihadist ideology. The author tries to tie the story together with the concept of “Salafi Jihadism,” which he claims is the core belief motivating these groups. In defining the term, Solahudin suggests that “Salafi Jihadism should not be confused with Salafism per se. What distinguishes the two is the former’s overwhelming emphasis on the important of jihad” (12). Later, the author notes similar views and strategies among traditionalists, Sufis, and even Shi’a groups, making the Salafi elements seem secondary. While it is true that jihadist networks were shaped by Salafi writers who interpreted the broad concept of jihad in strictly military terms, it seems that these were actors in search of an ideology post-hoc, making it difficult to see how this muddy concept motivates violence.

A second shortcoming of this excellent book relates to aspirations versus reality. There is a tendency in the literature on terrorism and armed conflict to privilege primary accounts, and for good reason. However authors rarely intervene and put grandiose plans and organizational schemes in perspective, as elaborate concepts bear little resemblance to reality. The Roots of Terrorism in Indonesia clearly suffers from this shortcoming. In one of many examples, we are told that JI wrote a constitution in 1995, designating members with military and political titles, creating fatwa councils, and dividing Southeast Asia into distinct regions (including Australia!), each with their own councils. For all the rich descriptions of these plans, at no point does Solahudin remind us that these were imagined. They were never really implemented, but were instead created to sound authoritative to internal audiences. It is crucial to move past the acronyms and charts to examine the actual capacity wielded by such groups. Similarly, we are repeatedly provided estimates from terrorists regarding the number of recruits. Besides the fact that these may be exaggerations, it is not clear what membership meant—did an individual simply attend a meeting, or did he help carry out attacks? Without a critical discussion, this method necessarily exaggerates threats and misrepresents reality.

Solahudin and Dave McRae have provided audiences with a uniquely accessible, authoritative account of jihadist networks in Indonesia and beyond. It will be enjoyed by a range of readers, from the general public to experts, as it is both readable and empirically rich. The book provides intimate accounts of how these groups work and how their leaders think, providing a valuable contribution to the study of terrorism, armed conflicts and Islamic politics.

Shane J. Barter, Soka University of America, Aliso Viejo, USA

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DEBATING DEMOCRATIZATION IN MYANMAR. Myanmar Update Series. Edited by Nick Cheesman, Nicholas Farrelly, Trevor Wilson. Singapore: ISEAS Pub., 2014. xiv, 381 pp. (Maps, tables.) US$29.90, paper. ISBN 978-981-4519-13-7.

Debating Democratization in Myanmar is the latest edited volume from the Myanmar/Burma Update conference held at Australia National University. This volume is evidence that not only is the quality of scholarly work on Myanmar advancing overall, the conference is establishing itself as a premiere academic event for the study of Myanmar. One of the most promising aspects of the work is the significant number of Burmese contributors, something that will hopefully become a trend in other scholarly compilations.

The risk of putting out a volume like this on a country in the midst of a transition is that some of the research that may have seemed innovative a year ago is more commonplace in current analysis. While this is true of a few of the contributions (for example, Thomas Kean’s solid chapter on the surprisingly active parliament), even those pieces that seem dated provide an important record of how actions were perceived at key moments in the transition. Given the mercurial nature of Myanmar analysis (witness the country’s rapid swing from being a prematurely anointed success story to a stalled and disappointing failure), these time-bounded essays are crucial in reminding us just how nascent, fragile and context-dependent this transition process is.

The book opens with an essay by Winston Set Aung, deputy governor of the Central Bank of Myanmar; like other government officials who have participated in academic conferences, he isn’t really free to offer insight beyond acknowledging that the reforms continue to face challenges. A long chapter by Morten Pedersen sets up the overall reform context and includes a useful consideration of a number of different explanations of why the reforms have occurred.

From there, the rest of the book is divided into three sections: Encouraging Signs, Anticipating Reforms and Enduring Concerns. The first section contains some of the most interesting work of the whole book. A chapter by Tamas Wells and Kyaw Thu Aung on the role of village networks engaged in land-related activism reflects the increasingly prominent role of Burmese civil society groups in conducting research and empowering local communities. It also contests the common claim that rural communities are mere objects of policy, showing their (albeit still limited) role in democratization “from below” and revealing intriguing alternate understandings of democracy that ought to be further explored. Politician Daw Than Than Nu relates a more personal story of her life in exile (she is a daughter of Burma’s first prime minister U Nu) and her subsequent return to contest the 2010 elections, with reminders of the important role that exiled Burmese have played in maintaining connections between communities. Kerstin Duell’s chapter on the participation of former exiles in Myanmar’s current politics attempts to compress too much of her rich dissertation research into too small a space, but effectively highlights an important potential fault line. Kyaw Soe Lwin’s excellent study of labour protests and related violence argues that, while an increase in political space and support from activist groups has contributed to an increase in labour protests, an additional key determining factor was the concentration of workers, which “produced a feeling of solidarity” (152).

In the second section, a chapter by Anders Engvall and Soe Nandar Lynn on economic reforms is thorough in the subjects it covers yet frustratingly includes no critical perspective on the economic development paradigm that is being unquestioningly pursued in Myanmar. Sean Turnell’s piece is much more sensitive to the political context within which economic reforms are debated. Andrew Selth’s detailed chapter on police reform is similar to his contributions on the subject to other recent edited volumes, but, given the critical role that the police will play in managing conflict and promoting rule of law, the topic deserves to be discussed regularly. A chapter by multiple authors on electoral system changes was likely more impactful in 2013, whereas today the substance of those discussions has largely been lost in political maneuvering.

Renaud Egreteau’s chapter on the continuing political salience of the military ought to be re-read on a regular basis by anyone inclined to put too much faith in the ability of the quasi-civilian government to press reforms. The hard lines taken in recent months by military leaders and MPs on the ceasefire process and constitutional reform remind us that they are not likely to easily give up their constitutionally protected role in politics. It is a discouraging marker of how peripheral ethnic concerns have remained to the reform process that Seng Maw Laphai’s powerful indictment of both the Myanmar military-government complex and the international community seems almost out of place in the volume. Given the Tatmadaw’s recent attack on a Kachin cadet school, her discussion of “institutionalized state terrorism” compels a re-examination of the assumption that the military could be a credible negotiating partner in peace. Dealing with another perennially marginalized population, Khin Mar Mar Kyi looks at the daily struggles of women, demonstrating that developmental weaknesses such as lack of infrastructure or education affect women disproportionately or in unique ways.

While these primarily empirical accounts are a valuable contribution to understanding Myanmar’s reforms, more engagement with broader theoretical paradigms could help extend the utility of the volume. Not only can Myanmar’s transition be better understood by moving beyond empirical descriptions, but studies of the country could also contribute to developing or refining theories of transitions, democracy, military rule and economic sequencing, to name just a few areas. Two notable examples here are Egreteau’s contribution and the thought-provoking concluding chapter by editor Nick Cheesman on democratization and political violence. Framed as a corrective to the fact that none of the chapters address communal or religious violence, the conclusion effectively reviews the book’s essays through this lens, demonstrating the deep interconnectedness between different manifestations of violence. Cheesman ends with the worrying yet timely warning that violence “has the capacity to insinuate itself into whatever nominally-democratic institutions emerge over the next few years” (342). Clearly, what democracy means and how it should be enacted in Myanmar will remain central elements of the debate over its transition.

Matthew J Walton, St Antony’s College, University of Oxford, Oxford, United Kingdom

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GHOSTS OF THE NEW CITY: Spirits, Urbanity, and the Ruins of Progress in Chiang Mai. Southeast Asia: Politics, Meaning and Memory. By Andrew Alan Johnson. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2014. x, 190 pp. (Figures.) US$27.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-8248-3971-0. 

A spectre is haunting Chiang Mai: the spectre of progress. Andrew A. Johnson has entered into a project to call forth this spectre, to make it visible amidst the ruins of economic uncertainty and in the thoughts and actions of people of the city. Johnson’s book is about ghosts and spirits (both phi in Thai), but ghosts and spirits broadly construed. The book is as much about the ghosts of bad deaths that haunt high-rise apartment blocks and lordly spirits channeled by otherwise marginalized mediums as it is about the ghosts and spirits of culture (watthanatham) and above all progress (chareon) that inhabit modern subjects of the Thai “educated classes.”

Focusing mainly on the past two decades and based on fieldwork conducted in 2006–2007, Johnson’s account of the “ruins of progress” may not satisfy those looking for a more materialist or political-economic explanation for the fate that Chiang Mai suffered in the post-crisis period from 1997 and post-coup period from 2006. He makes only passing reference to issues such as corruption, cronyism, real estate speculation and the like. In fact, like a medium himself, Johnson does not seek to “explain” progress, so much as channel it: to call forth the spirit of progress, such that his audience, the reader, can sense its presence in many, often surprising, places. For those interested in a cultural, discursive, ideational and ethnographically grounded discussion of how diverse residents of Chiang Mai have experienced the haunting, elusive spirit of progress, the book has a lot to offer.

Johnson effectively, if often implicitly, organizes his arguments around various dichotomies drawn from the social and cultural context of his fieldwork. The most prominent is the dichotomy between phatthana (development) and chareon (progress), which maps onto an engagement Johnson takes up with questions over the importance of surfaces versus substances within Thai society and culture. As Johnson demonstrates at several points, drawing on specific cases from his fieldwork, his interlocutors critique numerous things—from Europe in general to specific newly built gated communities around Chiang Mai’s suburbs—as having the outward appearance of “phatthana” but lacking the (more important) substance of “chareon.” Here and elsewhere, Johnson critiques a range of scholarship on Thailand and readings of Thai society and culture, which will give specialists much to engage with in the text.

A more sociological dichotomy around which the book is organized is that of the “educated classes,” embodied primarily in architects and urban planners, and the socially marginalized, embodied primarily in spirit mediums but also undocumented (Burmese or Shan) migrant workers and others. Another unstated, but obvious, argument of the book is to critique the idea that the educated, professional classes are “modern” and “rational” and the marginalized classes are “superstitious” and “irrational.” Both, Johnson demonstrates, are haunted, possessed and driven by invisible spirits; and both (though this is a more muted point in the book) are occupied with practical, “rational,” material concerns. The master spirit haunting all these subjects (akin to a “master narrative” in other theoretical writing) is that of chareon.

The book is organized into five chapters, bracketed by a very brief introduction and conclusion. Chapter 1, “Progress and Its Ruins,” lays out the general themes and briefly introduces the main protagonists of the book (i.e., the “educated classes” and spirit mediums). It also introduces several theoretical issues, such as Freud’s “uncanny,” though with a light touch. In general, the book is written in a way that is theoretically informed but not overly jargon-filled. Chapter 2, “Foundations,” provides historical and broadly ethnographic information about Chiang Mai, in reference to the issues of progress, development, urbanity, spirit mediums and other topics upon which the work dwells. Chapter 3 provides an intimate and rich, if somewhat brief, account of Johnson’s encounters with spirit mediums, particularly a woman named Kham who channels three distinct spirits. Chapters 4 and 5 turn to a more extended discussion of charoen and the spirit of watthanatham (culture) amongst academics, architects and urban planners, who seek to bring progress and prosperity to Chiang Mai by reproducing an authentic, if “edited” version of Lanna (Northern Thai) culture.

General readers are likely to find the book engaging, as Johnson provides many vivid vignettes and stories drawn mainly from his field work, though they may also find it at times mystifying. Johnson states numerous explicit arguments here and there throughout the text, but in the end his overall argument remains more implied than stated—if indeed the book is meant as an argument rather than a mere description of Chiang Mai during a particular period. Johnson concludes by telling us that Chiang Mai is “haunted, not by its past, but by its present” (156). The spectre of chareon in the end would seem to be something of a trickster, offering substance beneath the veneer of phatthana but revealed here as more an apparition than an essence. In terms of a metaphor Johnson employs in several places in the text, chareon is a phantom pulling Chiang Mai’s subjects down the ladder of advancement rather than an enlightened spirit hoisting them up. For readers interested in the complex uncanny of (post)modern subjectivity, and certainly for specialists of Thai scholarship, the book is a rich contribution on contemporary Thailand from a closely attentive ethnographer.

Eric C. Thompson, National University of Singapore, Singapore            

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THE POLITICS OF ACCOUNTABILITY IN SOUTHEAST ASIA: The Dominance of Moral Ideologies. Oxford Studies in Democratization. By Garry Rodan and Caroline Hughes. New York: Oxford University Press, 2014. xiii, 230 pp. US$99.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-19-870353-2.

This important study offers a constructive appraisal of ideologies informing accountability politics in Southeast Asia, with the authors asserting the primacy of morally conservative notions over liberalism and democracy in shaping demands for responsible governance. While the authors acknowledge that their principal concern is determining whose authority is advanced by accountability practices, they stress a crucial point: neoliberalism and democracy have reached a compromise, a reason for the rise of moral ideologies.

The authors further argue that both democratic and authoritarian Southeast Asian states resort to an exploitation of moral ideologies to contain burgeoning pressures for accountability. Powerful state institutions and actors are able to dictate the form and propagation of these moral ideologies because the middle class is deeply fragmented. State leaders aspire to direct this discourse in order to shape business-state relations that have taken a variety of directions in Southeast Asia and which have, in turn, precipitated differing degrees of elite fracture.

This nexus between neoliberalism and democracy, and how compromise is reached between the two functions is, unfortunately, a fundamental matter that did not secure the multifaceted analysis it merits. An interesting fact about this neoliberalism-democracy nexus is its simultaneous emergence in Southeast Asia in the mid-1980s. Meanwhile, authoritarian states, in response to flourishing democracy in the region, began to expound the idea of an Asian democracy—and values—to offset criticisms of their reluctance to liberalize their political systems.

Having broached this topic about neoliberalism and governance, the authors should have broadened their assessment of different manifestations of neoliberal rule, its effects, and state response to demands for accountable employment of authority. Neoliberal rule touts not merely the importance of freedom but also accountability, and increasingly regulation, a point the authors note. Regulation, however, stifles neoliberal market restructurings such as privatization, practiced by all Southeast Asian governments. These state claims about accountability go on to champion the idea of a belief in civil society and its greater participation in defining political processes. The recognition of accountability under the context of neoliberal governance can thus, paradoxically, enmesh social activists within structures of power, while simultaneously empowering the state to confine accountability to manageable categories, establish the ground for re-inscribing non-accountable rent-seeking practices, and reinforce unjust local power structures that were supposed to have been dismantled with the consolidation of democracy.

Another issue in discourses about moral accountability is respect of private property, a core dimension of neoliberalism. However, private property debates serve as a mechanism to justify the securing of rents. Notions of accountability become new processes of capital accumulation. Crucially therefore, moral accountability has to be presented as a state-social formation, grounded in religion and values. The regime of governance that then emerges melds both neoliberal and democratic concerns, and in the process produces and shapes the conduct of accountability. This is imperative as new state-business alliances inform how rents are created and distributed. In the context of moral accountability, government leaders intensify political and economic pressures on state agencies to consider their interests when determining the particular parameters that accountability should take. Such pressure on the state to serve vested interests is a primary factor for growing intra-elite contestations.

While these ideas run through the book, the key problem is this: the authors provide insufficient insights into their primary query, namely where does authority lie given this compromise between neoliberalism and democracy? Answers are suggested, but not in terms of how neoliberalism works and what this means for society and the economy. Powerful states in Singapore and Cambodia can control how neoliberalism functions. The situation in authoritarian Malaysia is more complex because the government and the opposition advocate neoliberal policies while espousing Islamic-based morality to deal with the repercussions of this economic agenda. Thailand’s business elites promote neoliberalism but are deeply split and at loggerheads with each other over access to state rents, a situation that also prevails in the Philippines. Indonesia is an anomaly as business elites have failed to consolidate control over the state, partly due to the influence of (anti-corruption-based) NGOs.

Clearly, accountability-based claims rooted in morals constitute an unpredictable terrain of politics as they offer the ground not simply for empowerment but also disempowerment, as social groupings navigate through reconstituted rent-seeking-based governance systems. In spite of enabling expressions of aspirations for accountable governance, the empowerment that often accompanies the recognition of accountability has not helped transform the conduct of politics in progressive ways. The most pernicious outcome, despite these accountability debates, is the mounting monetization of politics coupled with weak political institutions. In Thailand, Indonesia and the Philippines, party hopping is rampant and personality-based politics predominates, issues not expected in countries that are in the process of consolidating democracy. In these countries, strong, well-managed parties driven by ideologies or policies struggle to emerge. It is difficult to consolidate well-functioning political institutions because new oligarchs have captured power. Parties are mere tools to obtain the authority to determine forms of rent creation and distribution. Inevitably, one consequence is growing contestations between society and neoliberals using parties to capture the state, though disputes among neoliberals also disrupt the political system.

Accountability discourses are thus a response to serious and mounting state-society hostilities, with institutions incorporated ostensibly to respond to growing crises of corruption and monetized politics. But society is not convinced by these forms of accountability rhetoric. Deeply divisive protests have emerged all over Southeast Asia, most clearly manifested in recent elections.

In Malaysia, Cambodia and Indonesia, the electorate is equally split. Thailand is severely fractured, spatially, and with clear fissures over the value of elections. Dominant parties in Singapore and Vietnam, though responsible for rapid industrialization, are losing support. The fundamental point about all elections is their extreme monetization, even in exceptionally poor Cambodia, though not as much in enormously wealthy Singapore, a difference that is not discussed. The question remains: Is this democracy-neoliberalism compromise the reason why a segment of this divided middle class has created alliances with neoliberal oligarchs who have deftly deflected attention from pressures for democratic accountability reforms?

Edmund Terence Gomez, University of Malaya, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia                                     

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A KINGDOM IN CRISIS: Thailand’s Struggle for Democracy in the Twenty-First Century. Asian Arguments. By Andrew MacGregor Marshall. London: Zed Books, 2014. 238 pp. (Map.) US$24.95, paper. ISBN 978-1-78360-057-1.

The publication of Andrew MacGregor Marshall’s A Kingdom in Crisis has been a much-awaited event among Thai scholars. Marshall, a Scottish journalist who used to work for Reuters, has been releasing large pieces of this study for a number of years now, at his “#thaistory” blog. The book adds something to this material but will not be a huge surprise to those who have read his work at the blog site.

Marshall began writing about the royalist dimensions of contemporary Thai politics in the context of the country’s devolution into military dictatorship since 2006, offering interpretations of Wikileaks cables that exposed unsavoury aspects of the coup plotters’ ideas and machinations—including those of royalist, Democrat Party and Yellow Shirt leaders. Unable to continue working at Reuters, and unwilling to risk imprisonment under Thailand’s harsh lèse majesté laws should he return to Thailand, Marshall settled in to write a book that frames contemporary political struggles through the lens of long-standing struggles surrounding the Thai monarchy.

The take-home message of Marshall’s book is delivered early on, in four parts (3-4). First, he claims that at the elite level, “Thailand’s conflict is essentially a succession struggle over who will become monarch when King Bhumibol dies.” Second, he claims that the political upheaval elites have feared will result from the King’s passing has already begun. Third, the intensity of this upheaval “does not imply that the monarch has significant political power as an independent actor,” since Thai elites have typically used the monarchy to their own benefit. And fourth, most Thais are not so much pro-royalist as loyal supporters of the current King. He then presents an analysis designed to back these claims, including both a survey of current events and a number of historical chapters meant to place the current reign in broader perspective.

Given the relative paucity of accessible and critical English-language writing about the Thai monarchy, and the risks that such writing entails, A Kingdom in Crisis should be considered a significant accomplishment, and Zed Books should be given credit for being willing to publish it. For the many Westerners who continue to repeat outmoded and Orientalist slogans about the Kingdom, the book should prove to be a real eye-opener—not least in its discussion of the events that led to the current King taking the throne and expanding the social and political significance of the monarchy (132 ff.).

For many scholars and people fairly familiar with Thai politics, some of Marshall’s analysis will nonetheless prove fairly thin gruel. It is not only that there has actually been a string of books in recent history that raise telling issues about the monarchy and challenges of succession—for example, the works by Benedict Anderson, Paul Handley, Soren Ivarsson and Lotte Isager, William Stevenson, David Streckfuss and Thongchai Winichakul which the author cites, as well as works by Kevin Hewison, Rayne Kruger and Somsak Jeamteerasakul which he doesn’t cite—but Marshall’s explanation of the current crisis is somewhat one-sided.

Marshall is surely right that succession issues are significant, a claim that he backs with the Wikileaks cables and other sources. But if his own assertion that the monarchy is not independently powerful and is used by elites for their own purposes is correct, as I would say it is, then the succession issue ought to be used as a window onto the larger social struggles that consume the elites. These clearly include not only their obsessive concerns about who controls the wealth and institutional power of the Royal household and its various properties after King Bhumibol dies, but how they can continue to maintain an elite-dominated political and social order without the legitimizing imagery that has been built up around the current monarch. In many ways, it is this elite struggle against rising popular demands, poignantly expressed in various ways by the now suppressed Red Shirt movement, which is at the centre of the present political struggle. Marshall’s book unfortunately provides scant insight into this aspect of the struggle, including the transformations of rural society enabling it, or the ways it is interconnected with the intra-elite machinations around succession. Moreover, this failure to analyze popular struggles is not merely an empirical lacuna in the work since it contributes to one of the rather strained prognostications Marshall forwards when he anticipates that after Bhumibol’s death and some brief upheaval Thailand may evolve toward greater stability, the succession issue having been resolved (214).

This seems to me a highly unlikely scenario, given the intensity of popular struggle against elitist forms of rule, and the intransigence of Thai elites in trying to maintain them. I should note that the version of Marshall’s book I have read was finished before the 2014 coup, an event which has announced in no uncertain terms the will of the military leadership to expunge all popular forces except those that support them, and to rule by out-and-out dictatorial or fascist means if necessary. Perhaps Marshall can be excused for not having written such acts of deep repression into his analysis, or for drawing the conclusion that such acts make near-term reconciliation seem hopeless. Yet an analysis of the popular struggle in Thailand—rather than just the intra-elite succession struggle—might have already commended such an interpretation, independently of the 2014 coup. (Strangely, the book lacks any analysis of the 2008 Yellow Shirt airport blockades, which also attest to the intransigence of elite forces and might have warned against any hopes for short-term reconciliation.)

Despite these shortcomings, A Kingdom in Crisis is a useful read, particularly for those unfamiliar with the roles of royalist-military elites (and their international allies) in shaping Thailand’s ongoing struggles for democracy. It will certainly find its place on the bookshelves of Thai democracy activists—provided they do not live in Thailand.

Jim Glassman, The University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada

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ENERGY, GOVERNANCE AND SECURITY IN THAILAND AND MYANMAR (BURMA): A Critical Approach to Environmental Politics in the South. Transforming Environmental Politics and Policy. By Adam Simpson. Farnham, UK; Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2014. xii, 260 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$119.95, cloth. ISBN 978-1-4094-2993-7.

Mainland Southeast Asian governments have often relied upon a conventional development paradigm to justify the widespread exploitation of finite natural resources, much of which are used to satiate growing regional energy demands. In Energy, Governance and Security, Adam Simpson tackles a series of important questions concerning the politics of energy security and governance in Thailand and Myanmar. With both countries serving as major sites of controversial energy projects, this ambitious book takes as its departure point the “paradox” that surfaces when the pursuit of “improved energy security” comes at the expense of the “environmental security of local communities” (5).

In interrogating the question of “how environmental politics is played out in both the states and transnational spaces of the less affluent South” (5), a key argument advanced here is that “a distinctive relationship [exists] between the level of authoritarian governance and the predominance of local or transnational activism under hybrid or authoritarian regimes” (186). Focusing on four large-scale projects—the Shwe Gas Pipeline and Salween Dams in Myanmar, and the Yadana Gas Pipeline and Thai-Malaysian Gas Pipeline in Thailand—Simpson provides a detailed, comparative study of how local and transnational activism have contributed to raising public scrutiny over these “high-impact” schemes and, in so doing, to filling governance gaps.

The book is comprised of six chapters. Chapter 2 lays out the book’s conceptual underpinnings, which centre on the notion of “activist environmental governance” (28). While a promising idea in some ways, it is not a particularly novel one. Engagement with existing scholarship on, for example, “rightful resistance,” “embedded advocacy” and “civil regulation” would have strengthened this chapter, or at least made clearer the specific theoretical contributions afforded by this model. That said, the book’s typology of the different actors involved in activist environmental governance—namely, emancipatory governance groups (EGG), compromise governance groups (CGG) and environmental governance state (EGS)—is helpful and well-presented.

Chapters 3 to 6 make up the empirical foundations of the study. Chapter 3 offers an overview of the Thai and Myanmar political situations, directing attention to how varying levels of authoritarianism and political competition at different points in time (i.e., the Thaksin period in Thailand and post-1990s Myanmar) have contributed to environmental insecurity. Although containing a meticulous account of environmental politics in these two countries, the chapter could be rendered more succinct, given how the bulk of it is comprised of background information that does not always have a direct bearing on the book’s arguments.

Chapter 4 examines the dynamics of local activism surrounding the aforementioned four energy projects to unpack the role and effectiveness of grassroots actors in engendering “emancipatory” governance. Pointing out how local activism in Myanmar was “extremely limited” (94) in contrast to the Thai case where “bottom-up” activism drove issue creation, Simpson draws upon an impressive array of primary source materials gained from interviews in the region. Indeed, it is in this respect that Energy, Governance and Security stands out. Given the political sensitivity surrounding energy issues in Myanmar and, to a lesser degree, Thailand, the novel perspectives distilled from these interviews are highly valuable, adding empirical substance to the discussion of contentious energy schemes on which reliable information does not readily exist.

Chapter 5 is, in a way, a peculiar contribution to the book. It explores the “central case study” of EarthRights International (ERI), a prominent transnational non-governmental organizations in the region. Simpson justifies this focus by arguing that ERI as an organization “straddling North and South … provide[s] a compelling case study of an [EGG] engaging in activism against environmental insecurity in the South” (124). To be sure, there is truth to this claim; yet, inclusion of the ERI case also creates a slight disjuncture in the book’s narrative flow. Moreover, considering how there is no cross-sectional study of the other organizations active in contesting the energy projects examined, this becomes problematic in methodological terms as well. Other EGGs or, even better, examples of CGGs and EGS ought to have been analyzed to reveal how they assisted or impeded activist environmental governance in comparison. That said, this chapter does reflect the extensive fieldwork that undergirds the book, providing an in-depth account of ERI’s “nuts and bolts” and broader contributions to environmental governance.

The focus of chapter 6 is on the nature and implications of transnational activism in Myanmar and Thailand. Here, Simpson suggests an interesting point: whereas local activism featured more prominently in the Thai cases, transnational activism proved to be a stronger dynamic in the Myanmar examples. Part of the explanation lies with the limitations faced by local NGOs. Due to the country’s restricted socio-political space, the activist diaspora based outside of Myanmar enjoyed greater freedom to maneuver and were thus capable of playing a bigger role.

The volume’s contribution to the burgeoning literature on environmental governance in Southeast Asia lies primarily with its interviews, which yield fascinating insights into the state of environmental activism in the region. The author is also to be commended on his clear enthusiasm for the subject (9-10), though there is sometimes the risk of sounding “too” enthusiastic, such that the analysis appears skewed toward extolling the virtues of activist environmental governance. A more upfront discussion of the potential problems posed by civil society activism is needed. Also noticeably missing is a consideration of how the concept of human security fits in with the book’s overarching framework.

In short, while empirically satisfying, Energy, Governance and Security falls a bit short theoretically. Burdened by a convoluted analytical framework, the book struggles at times to convincingly relate its framework to its cases and arguments. This is evident in the conclusion, where the proposed “critical environmental security framework” (191) ends up obfuscating more than it reveals. Yet, its shortcomings notwithstanding, this book remains a thought-provoking contribution to existing scholarship. The insights and questions presented therein will be of certain interest to students of Southeast Asia and environmental politics.

Pichamon May Yeophantong, Princeton University, Princeton, USA                                            

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BEING MALAY IN INDONESIA: Histories, Hopes and Citizenship in the Riau Archipelago. Asian Studies Association of Australia Southeast Asia Publications Series. By Nicholas J. Long. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2013. xii, 288 pp. (Figures, maps, tables.) US$30.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-8248-3865-2.

In Being Malay in Indonesia, Nicholas J. Long discusses numerous discourses and behaviours that contribute to a feeling of unsettledness among citizens and officials of the newly created Indonesian province, Riau Archipelago.

To understand the book’s subject and method, it is best to compare its subject – the lives of Malays in Indonesia – with the lives of Malays in Malaysia. In Malaysia, the Constitution defines who are Malays, and together with other indigenous ethnic groups, gives them privileges as sons of the country’s soil, thus constituting a Malay-dominated multiculturalism. However, in Indonesia, the official understanding of nation-building decries the domination of any ethnicity. Upon implementation of regional autonomy in 1999, however the concentration of an ethnic group in a particular territory became regarded, though unofficially, as the basis for redefining the boundaries of that territory or even splitting it into multiple territories. Thus, the creation of the province of Riau Archipelago in 2004 was the birth of a province “for Malays,” although Indonesia is a country where the superiority of any specific ethnicity is not officially acknowledged.

If the definition and privileges of an ethnic group are officially defined, as in Malaysia, it can be a topic for an official discussion (although such public discussion on the definition and the privileges of Malays is restricted in Malaysia). On the other hand, it is difficult to discuss the definition or privileges (if any) of Malays in Indonesia in an official forum, as this ethnic category is ambiguous. However, this does not mean that being Malay has no significance; rather, the issue of being Malay is often raised, and sometimes has a certain influence on determining social status, as the book demonstrates. The author carefully avoids falling into the endless search for a flexible definition of Malayness, instead successfully outlining the stage and performance of Malayness in Riau social life.

The introduction examines the literature of Malayness, and discusses a theoretical framework based on the work of Jean-Paul Sartre, Sigmund Freud and Slavoj Žižek, followed by a chapter introducing the autonomy-era province of Riau Archipelago. The following chapters spotlight historical consciousness, economy, multiethnic neighbourhoods and otherworldly forces. The book further focuses on achieving mindset and cultural contests.

Each chapter presents two or more differing opinions on its topic. Chapter 2 details different views on the history and make-up of the population, in regard to the understanding of Riau Archipelago as Malay. Tanjung Pinang, the provincial capital of Riau Archipelago, was founded by the Chinese, while the Indonesian rupiah was not used in Tanjung Pinang until 1965, the point at which Singaporean dollars ceased to be used. While the region is understood as having a multi-racial composition, Malays only account for about 30 percent of the population in the whole province and in Tanjung Pinang.

Chapter 3 addresses the issue of who is allowed to discuss the meaning of Malay identity among Riau Malays. A housewife’s offer of a document which had been passed down in her family for generations to the government as a historical resource is rejected by a government official because she’s not aristocratic. The official advises the author who accompanied her to associate with aristocrats if he wants to write a dissertation on Riau Malays. Herein lies an unofficial understanding of who is permitted to discuss Malaynesss: clearly, the housewife is not. Curiously enough, the same housewife criticizes the Bugis people who make a presentation on Malays in a seminar on Malay history.

Tensions are also found in the marketplace in Tanjung Pinang, where the stereotype of lazy Malays, formulated during colonial times, is considered to be true (chapter 4). The author finds that those who are successful in the market tend to be called Keling, or Indian, while those who are not successful are called Malay. Interestingly, the Malays who work at the market tend to claim Indonesian identity.

The uneasiness of living with people of different cultures is expressed in terms of ethnicity and religion (chapter 5). A Chinese newcomer is expelled after being accused of homosexuality when he invites another man to his room during the evening and closes the door, then dims the light.

The boundary between Malays and non-Malays is turbid even in cosmology (chapter 6). When a young Chinese man is possessed after escaping the 1998 Jakarta riot and returns to Riau, the family requests treatment from both Malay and Chinese dukun, as they are unsure if their son is tormented by a Malay or Chinese ghost.

Batam, supposedly influenced by the colonial, foreign atmosphere of Singapore, is regarded as a rival of Tanjung Pinang, in regard to physical and human resource development (chapter 7).

The author plays the lead in chapter 8, in which he is asked to be on the jury of a beauty contest organized by the Tourism Board. He is surprised, through his involvement in the dramatic decision on the male winner, that the judging is not only based on performance on stage, but also participation in previous contests. Selecting the female winner is unproblematic, until she is found to be of Chinese origin the following day, mirroring an episode in the introduction wherein a newspaper reporter claimed the mayor of Tanjung Pinang was Chinese, born of Chinese parents and brought up by Malay parents. The mayor (also a poet) objected to this account, and wrote a poem saying she was raised in Malay culture as a Malay, and so she is a Malay no matter her DNA.

A remarkable feature of this book is in the cinematic style of the description. The author vividly presents the voices of people of various standing and from various places within Riau. Informants appear in the beginning of each chapter as though they are cinematic characters. They talk with officials, bandy about with others, and participate in events such as beauty contests. The author observes and sometimes participates, listening to informants and others, guided by his analysis as voice-over narration. Reading the book, I was given the impression I was “reading” cinema.

By repeatedly exposing the contradictory allegations, the author shows the polyphonic reality of being Malay in Indonesia. The book is a product of extensive research and the author’s theoretical insight into Riau islanders, and should be a valuable resource for students and scholars interested in ethnicity and development in the Malay archipelago and beyond.

Hiroyuki Yamamoto, Kyoto University, Kyoto, Japan

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THE GOVERNMENT OF MISTRUST: Illegibility and Bureaucratic Power in Socialist Vietnam. New Perspectives in Southeast Asian Studies. By Ken MacLean. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 2013. xx, 278 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$39.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-299-29594-3.

Ken MacLean is interested in the mistrust that has pervaded relations between decision makers in Hanoi and lower-level cadres and peasants since the 1920s. In The Government of Mistrust he interweaves archival material, secondary sources, his own ethnographic research and his experiences working for an international NGO to describe the accretion of bureaucratic processes of documentation and control over time. With a focus on the Red River Delta, he traces the unsuccessful efforts of the architects of Socialist Vietnam to achieve reliable insight into the political, economic and social practices of villages, agricultural collectives and communes. This is a balanced study that is attentive to national and provincial actors that occupy the upper reaches of the party hierarchy, as well as lower-level cadres and rural rice farmers.

The book’s central argument is that bureaucratic processes that were intended to dispel mistrust and facilitate central state authorities’ insight into local political and economic practices, actually produced an opposite effect. They created more mistrust and made local practices less legible for leaders of the Vietnamese Communist Party. These enduring and layered illegibilities buffered interactions between national leaders and local actors. While the socialist state was able to extract resources from the countryside and thereby guarantee its own durability over time and space, its partial blindness impeded it from exercising the power that would be necessary to fundamentally reform local political and economic practices. One result is an unintended (at least from Hanoi’s perspective) flexibility in centre-periphery relations that has persisted through independence and until the present. In this context, key national economic policies (including decollectivization and Đổi mớireforms) are shown to be the outcomes of the protracted and complex interplay of the actions and interests of Party leaders, local-level cadres and peasants. Here, change neither arises suddenly in response to crisis, nor as the result of a single group’s agency.

The Government of Mistrust is organized as six chapters grouped into three historical periods (pre-collectivization, collectivization, post-decollectivization). Each chapter offers a genealogy of a particular bureaucratic process, or legibility device, and analyzes its role in the exercise of power and the obscuring of reality from the view of Party leaders. Chapter 1 examines call and response dialogues as they were deployed from the late 1920s through the 1950s. Vietnamese Communist Party members used these techniques to engage with peasants, identify potential local leaders and (unsuccessfully) nurture new class-based subjectivities. Chapter 2 describes the use of field reports during the 1950s to convey information about the commune upwards in the Party hierarchy and to define exemplary and deviant practices. The next three chapters follow the bureaucratic processes that accompanied the establishment, consolidation and scaling-up of agricultural collectives. During early phases of collectivization the Vietnamese government sought to increase legibility by standardizing the format of field reports using administrative templates (chapter 3). The 1960s brought the consolidation of village collectives into larger-scale collectives with the assistance of labour contracts (chapter 4) that organized and rewarded individuals for specific contributions of labour and material. Chapter 5 follows the implementation of the performance audits that sought to track inputs to and outputs from the Soviet-style collectives of the late 1970s. Chapter 6 addresses the revival of village conventions, a legibility device with pre-colonial origins, to cultivate socialist morality and ideology in decollectivized post-Đổi mớivillages. Throughout the chapters, MacLean offers rich historical and contemporary illustrations of how the state’s accumulation of legibility devices has resulted in “a disorganized assemblage of conflicting policies, plans, and projects” (207).

The main arguments of The Government of Mistrust appear credible. Nevertheless, the details supporting them could be more precisely organized and explained. An example of this is the treatment of facts about collectivization. In some instances MacLean deconstructs the facts produced by Vietnamese legibility devices in order to reveal them as official fictions/paperealities. In other instances, facts that were presumably produced by the same kinds of legibility devices are used to arrive at objective descriptions of the historical performance of agricultural collectives. Missing here is a discussion of how the author is able to discern objective facts from official fictions. For instance, when sources indicate that Vũ Thắng Commune made investments and production changes resulting in 10 tons of paddy per hectare per season in the late 1970s (143), how is MacLean able to determine that this is an accurate and objective fact, and not just another papereality? Taken alone the uncertainty about the status of this fact is a minor detail. But as similar instances accumulate in the text, they call for a more fundamental discussion of the author’s own theoretical and methodological basis for conceptualizing fact, fiction and papereality in his empirical material. The reader is left to wonder whether MacLean is influenced by science and technology studies (STS) approaches to understanding the social/natural construction of facts (as the use of John Law’s work in the introduction seems to suggest), or if he is more committed to a theoretical position where facts and truths exist independently of their social and political contexts (as a brief discussion of the work of Michel-Rolph Trouillot in the conclusion seems to suggest)? One would like to see more clarity about MacLean’s own theoretical standpoint, and how he in turn operationalizes that position in his analysis of his empirical material.

The Government of Mistrust is an ambitious text, both for its creative use of mixed methodologies and its temporal thematic and range. Despite its occasional ambiguities, the richly descriptive text will be of value for graduate students and other scholars who are interested in the dynamic power relations that infuse the innovation and accumulation of state bureaucratic processes, as well as for Vietnam specialists interested in the history of Vietnamese governance, agricultural collectivization and economic policy since independence.

Eren Zink, Uppsala University, Uppsala, Sweden          

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MOBILIZING PIETY: Islam and Feminism in Indonesia. By Rachel Rinaldo. New York: Oxford University Press, 2013. ix, 254 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$27.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-19-994812-3.

In a moment of both increased global anxiety about Islam and arguably decreased awareness of misogyny and violence against women generally, scholarship on the intersection of feminist activism and Islamic piety is welcome. Rachel Rinaldo’s book Mobilizing Piety: Islam and Feminism in Indonesia analyzes this intersection through sociological fieldwork with four feminist organizations in Jakarta, Indonesia, each of which position themselves vis-à-vis Islam in arguing for women’s rights in the public and private spheres. While these activists do not argue for the same rights that Western feminist activists might, and even reject activism that “smells of America” (77), Rinaldo shows they maintain their own visions of feminism and the future. In the process, Rinaldo depicts activists who are creative, courageous and determined. Rinaldo suggests that feminist activists around the world could do worse than take inspiration from Muslim Indonesian feminists. Rinaldo’s book will be of highest value for scholars and teachers of women’s studies and feminist sociology.

As is often stated yet nearly as often forgotten, Indonesia is the world’s largest majority Muslim country. Because of its geographic and ethnic position outside of the Arab world, non-Indonesian Muslims and non-Muslims alike often perceive Indonesian Muslims as inauthentic examples of piety. Yet since the 1980s, Islamic practices and identity have become important sites of Indonesian political and public culture. Rinaldo builds on this history to suggest that the turn to Islamic piety has had an unlikely outcome: it inspired and mediated gendered activism in the face of the Suharto New Order regime’s authoritarian celebration of housewifery for female citizens (1965-98).

Rinaldo’s research is based on fieldwork in Jakarta in 2005 and 2008 with four women’s organizations, and is in closest theoretical conversation with the sociological literature on agency and Islamic gender politics. She proposes three types of agentive action that the four organizations articulate: pious critical agency, pious activating agency and feminist agency.

Rinaldo’s concepts most closely engage intellectual debates of the past decade about pious agency, particularly in the work of anthropologist Saba Mahmood (Politics of Piety: The Islamic Revival and the Feminist Subject, Princeton University Press, 2004). Mahmood argues that liberal feminist conceptions of agency foreclose alternative visions of agency that may look docile or repressive, yet are nonetheless choices for pious Muslim women in the mosque movement in Cairo. Rinaldo argues that this is a useful insight, but worries that defining pious agency as docility and submission (to Allah and/or to men), may reflect a narrowly Cairene context, and may over-represent other modes of pious agency that are less docile and more collective. For example, she describes how Indonesian Islamic activists used Islamic law and theology to lobby with the Indonesian Ministry of Religion and Ministry of Manpower over issues they framed as moral justice, not just secular human rights, such as managing polygamy, outlawing pornography or identifying the extraction of usurious fees for transnational female migrants. This strategy involves selective, but not necessarily strategic, embodiment of pious comportment, appearance and language, even as it has concrete policy goals for groups of citizens in the public sphere. As a result, religious morals are not simply a matter of individual self-fashioning but are linked to national progress or regress.

Rinaldo identifies three types of agency with the four organizations she studied. First, she describes two organizations that practice what she calls pious critical agency, Fatayat NU and Rahima. Pious critical agency focuses on religious textual interpretation (itjihad) and women’s religious authority. Fatayat is the women’s branch of the largest Islamic organization in Indonesia, Nahdalatul Ulama, while Rahima describes itself as a Muslim women’s rights NGO. Starting from textually religious foundations, activists in both organizations then borrow from global gender rights language to articulate an explicitly pious language of gender equality, including, perhaps surprisingly, sexual education and the right for wives to expect sexual satisfaction in a marriage.

A second type of agency is what Rinaldo calls pious activating agency, which she describes as dominant in the offices of the women’s branch of the Partai Keadilan Sejahtera (PKS) or Prosperous Justice Party. PKS is a relatively new but influential political party born of the post-Suharto era. As a political party competing for elected office, its official aims are to bring Islamic theology into the political sphere as the ideal solution for corruption and social decay. Its members consider the disconnection in secular societies between public politics and private faith destructive. Women activists within PKS have become publicly active in lobbying for national policies that protect women, but which focus on domesticity and morality campaigns (such as protecting women within polygamous marriages, rather than outlawing polygamy, and outlawing pornography). Rinaldo shows that, ironically, the women who worked to achieve these goals themselves enjoy active, public, professional careers with PKS even as they wish to introduce Islamic ideas of domesticity into national law.

Finally, Rinaldo studied an NGO that might feel most familiar to Western feminists, Solidaritas Perempuan. SP makes no formal religious claims, instead focusing on women’s rights as human rights. The activists focus on protecting transnational migrants who are often vulnerable to agency fees, corrupt Indonesian officials as well as harsh working conditions abroad. These activists directly engage feminist terms, and consider themselves critics of neoliberal political and economic conditions in ways very different from the activists of the other three organizations. In this sense, they may seem secular, in that they appear to treat religion as a matter of personal choice. Yet in practice, Rinaldo offers detailed descriptions of how SP activists carefully and intentionally use Islamic history, Islamic terminology and especially Islamic comportment in their official meetings with government officials and in their training sessions with regional activists. Their blended use of Islamic style and content relays to potentially skeptical Indonesians that feminism and Islam are compatible.

Carla Jones, University of Colorado, Boulder, USA

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SQUATTERS INTO CITIZENS: The 1961 Bukit Ho Swee Fire and the Making of Modern Singapore. Southeast Asia Publications Series. By Loh Kah Seng. Honolulu: Asian Studies Association of Australia in association with University of Hawai‘i Press, 2013. xxvii, 315 pp. (Maps, illus.) US$32.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-8248-3946-8.

In May 1961 a huge fire ripped through the wooden houses in the urban kampong of Bukit Ho Swee, leaving 16,000 people homeless. Singapore, still a British colony, had two years earlier negotiated a form of self-government that brought the People’s Action Party (PAP) into power, led by Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew. Lee promised that all victims would be rehoused within nine months by the newly formed Housing Development Board (HDB). The story of how that was achieved has become part of the state-sanctioned historical narrative of Singapore and its extraordinary transformation into the ultramodern global city-state of today, and is the focus of Loh Kah Seng’s engaging book.

Loh, who grew up in the 1970s in the one-room flats built to house fire victims, has written an absorbing and detailed social history of the fire, based on oral histories, official records, photographs and media reports. The book is structured chronologically, moving through the complex neighbourhoods of the kampongs, the fire and the immediate response, to the subsequent rehousing of victims. In so doing, he presents a complex and nuanced analysis of the fire, its consequences and its place in the narration of the nation.

Wooden kampong settlements were common in Singapore at the time, as in many other parts of Southeast Asia, with over a quarter of the population living in what the authorities regarded as slums where disease and the potential for disorder were ever present. Loh turns the stereotype of the residents as backward “squatters” on its head, arguing instead that they usually paid rent, worked in formal and informal employment, were optimistic about the future, and increasingly engaged with politics. He argues that they constituted “an alternative modernity on the margin” (10).

The unplanned nature of the settlements meant that they were regarded by the authorities as an “ambivalent zone, where the state felt its control to be tenuous” (11). Here Loh argues that the government, like the British before them, sought to regularize the settlements and move to a planned, well-ordered urban society. The scale of the fire in Bukit Ho Swee gave the new government the opportunity to demonstrate that it could rehouse families quickly and efficiently. This was the beginning of Singapore’s massive public housing program.Today over 80 percent of Singaporeans live in HDB flats, and of these, over 90 percent own their flat. The housing program is hailed as an early success of the fledgling government and an ongoing and crucial part of nation-building after independence in 1965. In this scenario, the Bukit Ho Swee fire has been described as a “blessing in disguise,” since it cleared the slum and kickstarted the public housing program.

The continued hegemony of the People’s Action Party, which has held government since 1959, has been of ongoing interest to scholars of Singapore. Loh continues this in arguing that the fire enabled the government to remodel the kampong dwellers into disciplined citizens, in planned housing, with regular rental payments and as workers in the new industrial economy. In other words, it tamed the ambivalent zones of the kampongs and wedded the residents to the new Singapore, and in the process, to the government. The transformation effectively became a metaphor for the progress of Singapore under the PAP.

What adds particular interest to Loh’s analysis are his interviews with survivors of the disaster who describe their lives before and after the fire. They express a mixture of views, with some regretting the loss of their former lifestyle, and others grateful for the new housing provided. Perspectives have mellowed too over the years, with many residents now reconciled to the advantages of high-rise living. Their candour is engaging: one informant who prefers life in public housing to the hardship of the kampong, demonstrated an understanding of how the fire had helped the political legitimacy of the PAP, saying, with a laugh, “Now we Singaporeans are obedient like a dog to the government” (251).

Loh argues that the fire and the response have generated three myths that have come to define beliefs about modernity in Singapore. The first is the official celebratory depiction of the public housing miracle of modern Singapore rising out of the ashes of the Bukit Ho Swee fire, replacing the unsanitary and unregulated squatter settlement with a planned modernity. He criticizes this as a selective account which places culpability for the fire with the residents and which ignores the dissatisfaction of many fire victims with the emergency flats. Loh identifies the second myth, which coexists with the first, as the romance of the harmonious kampong. He asserts that the term “kampong spirit” has been used by the government to establish the success of public housing and to rally support for the HBD’s upgrading and en bloc development of older estates. In this way, it is used to showcase the resilience of the fire victims who overcame hardship through the kampong values of neighbourliness, thrift and hard work, values which the government seeks to encourage in young people.

Most interesting, though, is the third myth, or rather the “countermyth,” as he terms it. This is the unwritten and persistent rumour that the fire was an intentional act of arson by the government to clear the kampong and enable redevelopment of the site to occur. The rumour has persisted despite the reluctance of Singaporeans to discuss the possibility openly. Loh argues that its longevity “indicates the deep-seated tension between self and nation” (260), an example of the pragmatic and ambivalent relationship between the PAP and the people, where restrictions on freedoms are tolerated in exchange for continued economic progress.

Loh uses the story of the fire and its ensuing myths to tell a bigger story: one of housing the nation and of the contested nature of modernity. In shining a light on a historical moment at the intersection of the colonial and postcolonial, Loh reveals an important national story, and also one that speaks to the history of Southeast Asian urban redevelopment more broadly.

Sandra Hudd, University of Tasmania, Hobart, Australia                                                             

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RECOLLECTING RESONANCES: Indonesian-Dutch Musical Encounters. Southeast Asia Mediated, v.4. Edited by Bart Barendregt and Els Bogaerts. Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2014. xi, 353 pp. (Illus.) US$162.00, cloth. ISBN 978-90-04-25609-5.

Recollecting Resonances: Indonesian-Dutch Musical Encounters (2014) combines musicological, historical and anthropological approaches to productively explore an array of musical interactions between Indonesians and Dutch, tackling a legacy of Dutch colonialism by taking the reader, through its 14 chapters, to different parts of what is now Indonesia, the Netherlands and Suriname; examining an impressive variety of musical genres and other forms of performance; and exploring musical encounters that have spanned centuries. As the editors Bart Barendregt and Els Bogaerts write in the first chapter, “Recollecting Resonances: Listening to an Indonesian-Dutch Musical Heritage,” their aims include “broadening discussions on colonial and postcolonial migration and its legacies and the role culture, more specifically musical encounters have played in all of this” (26). They highlight the importance of studying music in this endeavour, and emphasize that in understanding colonial life “[m]usical practices cast a light on the customs of both colonizer and the colonized, and the very fabric of everyday life in those days; matters that otherwise might be difficult to untie” (1). They also recognize the unequal power relations that characterize many of the musical encounters explored in the volume (5).

Indeed, unequal power relations between Dutch and Indonesians underpin many of the issues addressed in the volume. In chapter 2, “Photographic Representations of the Performing Indonesian,” Liesbeth Ouwehand analyzes photographs of Indonesian musicians, instruments, and dancers “taken between 1870 and 1910” primarily by Europeans for scholarly or commercial purposes (31-32, 57), taking on issues of race, representation and authenticity. The next three chapters explore processes of localization and hybridization by examining the impact of Dutch music on Indonesian music as well as how and why Indonesians have made sense of Dutch music in their own ways, effectively both reinforcing and resisting Dutch power. Gerard A. Persoon considers the history of the Dutch national anthem in Indonesia in chapter 3, “‘Queen Wilhelmina, Mother of the Mentawaians’: The Dutch National Anthem in Indonesia and as Part of the Music Culture of Siberut” (an island off the coast of West Sumatra).In the fourth chapter, “Past and Present Issues of Javanese-European Musical Hybridity: Gendhing Mares and Other Hybrid Genres,” Sumarsam examines “‘marching’ gamelan pieces” (gendhing mares) in central Java, a genrethat incorporates European drums and brass instruments, and relates this type of music to other hybrid genres such as tanjidor and campursari (87). Miriam L. Brenner examines the impact of Dutch music on the island of Buton (off the coast of Southeast Sulawesi) in chapter 5, “Drummers of the Sultan of Buton: The Lasting Influence of the Dutch East India Company on Local Music Traditions,” starting in the 1600s with the arrival of the Dutch East India Company and the military music they brought (111-112).

Chapters 6 and 7 investigate hybridity in the realms of twentieth-century art music, discussing some of the ways Indonesian and Dutch composers synthesized elements of Western art and Indonesian musics. R. Franki S. Notosudirdjo analyzes the contributions of Indonesian composers—as well as their nationalist ambitions—and Dutch composers living in the Indies in the creation and development of Indonesian art music (musikseni) in chapter 6, “Musical Modernism in the Twentieth Century.” In chapter 7, “Constant van de Wall, a European-Javanese Composer,” Henk Mak van Dijk (translated by Wim Tigges) considers Indisch classical music, a type of music composed by Dutch composers who had lived in the Indies, focusing on the work of Constant van de Wall (1871-1945) (151, 153).

The next two chapters probe encounters between the Dutch ethnomusicologist Jaap Kunst (1891-1960) and Indonesian individuals. Chapter 8, “A Musical Friendship: The Correspondence between Mangkunegoro VII and the Ethnomusicologist Jaap Kunst, 1919 to 1940” by Madelon Djajadiningrat and Clara Brinkgreve (translated by Aletta Stevens-Djajadiningrat), centres on Kunst’s relationship with the Javanese prince Mangkunegoro VII through their letters to each other. Chapter 9, “Encounters in the Context of Inspiring Sundanese Music and Problematic Theories” by Wim van Zanten, explores Kunst’s relationship with “the Sundanese music teacher and scholar Machjar Kusumadinata (1902-1979)” (203). Together, these chapters demonstrate the different but intersecting social worlds that Kunst and his consultants inhabited, their shared concerns with musical preservation, and the impact that their work together has had upon subsequent specialists of Indonesian music.

The remaining chapters investigate a further assortment of artistic encounters, and continue to explore the cultural results of movement and migration related to a history of Dutch colonialism in Indonesia.In chapter 10, “Indonesian Performing Arts in the Netherlands, 1913-1944,” Matthew Isaac Cohen “surveys the Indonesian performing arts ‘scene’ in the Netherlands” and its social, cultural and political implications, examining a variety of activity and forms of performance, including “Javanese dance and music associations, Indies drama, kroncong [a form of Indonesian popular music] clubs, touring professionals and pan-Indonesian student groups” (232). Lutgard Mutsaers examines Dutch contributions to the development of kroncong in the next chapter, “‘Barat Ketemu Timur’: Cross-Cultural Encounters and the Making of Early Kroncong History.” Chapter 12, “Tradition and Creative Inspiration: Musical Encounters of the Moluccan Communities in the Netherlands,” by Rein Spoorman and chapter 14, “Kollektief Muziek Theater’s Repositioning of Moluccan Issues” by Fridus Steijlen, discuss the arts of Moluccan communities in the Netherlands. Annika Ockhorst analyzes theatre in Suriname in chapter 13, “Multicultural Encounters on Stage: The Use of Javanese Cultural Elements by the Surinamese Doe-Theatre Company.”

Recollecting Resonances is a worthy contribution to a number of fields, including Southeast Asian studies and ethnomusicology, for its subject matter, scope and interdisciplinarity. While it is likely to be of particular interest to specialists of Indonesian culture, it has much to offer others with interests in the affects of colonialism on expressive culture and how people use expressive culture in colonial and postcolonial contexts. The essays are clearly written and the photographs and other illustrations bring the material to life. I very much look forward to using this book in future research, in teaching, and in thinking more about the important issues and histories that the authors of the volume bring to the fore.

Christina Sunardi, University of Washington, Seattle, USA

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CAMBODIA: Entering a New Phase of Growth. Editor, Olaf Unteroberdoerster. Washington: International Monetary Fund, 2014. v, 154 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$25.00, paper. ISBN 978-1-47556-078-7.

This slim volume is a concise and quite accessible public document, produced by a team of IMF researchers led by Unteroberdoerster, deputy director for Asia Pacific at the IMF in Washington, who has specialized in linkages between financial systems and overall macroeconomic performance in developing economies. He was IMF Mission Chief for Cambodia during the preparation of the paper. Several analysts, most of them from South and Southeast Asia, have set out to justify the optimistic title. Given the fractious history of relations between Cambodia and the IMF through the early 2000s, that is a positive development.

The paper follows a standard format: it is divided into two sections, the first largely descriptive, the second offering prescriptive models, synthesized over several years based on IMF experience in a number of developing countries. The objective is to promote continuing and effective fiscal and monetary policies and practices. While correctly noting that Cambodia has enjoyed a decade of extraordinary economic growth—averaging close to nine percent a year—the study still raises a number of questions with regard to weak infrastructure and poor fiscal management, e.g., a failure to establish an adequate taxation system, and overdependence on a dollarized economy. As befits an official document produced by an intergovernmental body, it stops short of the kind of objective in-depth criticism that academic researchers have levelled at the country, e.g., Sophal Ear’s excellent Aid Dependence in Cambodia: How Foreign Assistance Undermines Democracy.

The prescriptive formulae suggested in order for Cambodia to pursue growth in a more stable and systematic way seem, therefore, to be somewhat theoretical. The 21 years since the new constitution was proclaimed in 1993 have assuredly seen positive growth in indigenous capacity, especially in business and financial services. The public service, however, still lacks professional skills and is seriously undercompensated. Education and health services are scarce in the countryside, where some 70 percent of Cambodians still work.

In order to deal with shortcomings in Cambodia’s economic governance, the authors suggest a number of measures for “creating and safeguarding fiscal space.” These include managing public debt more effectively and strengthening financial management, with the objective of “anchoring” macroeconomic stability. Near- and medium-term fiscal challenges are identified, crucially highlighting Cambodia’s failure to improve the collection of direct tax revenues and perhaps overly generous tax incentives to investors. De-dollarization is considered a priority for the medium term to shield Cambodia during periods of international economic instability. Specific recommendations to the Royal Government are prioritized into “achievable and well-sequenced measures.”

As unexceptionable as they are, the recommendations of the study underline just how far Cambodia still has to go to join the “tigers” of Southeast Asia. The most important are summarized in the opening chapter, and include (1) creating and safeguarding fiscal space, including letting the Cambodian riel play a greater part in the economy; (2) addressing financial stability challenges; and (3) modernizing the role of government by, inter alia, strengthening coordination among ministries and agencies. One might also add getting a stronger grip on anti-corruption measures countrywide, e.g., putting an end to massive deforestation. The question one must ask is just how capable is the Royal Government to implement any of the IMF’s proposals, even if it should accept them in their entirety.

And there remain other nagging issues: to begin with, in keeping with the requirement for international organizations to maintain a dispassionate face, the contributors have been reluctant to comment at any length on Cambodia’s political and social governance. Since the paper was prepared prior to the controversial National Assembly elections of 2013, it could obviously not take into account that, for the first time in 20 years, there is emerging, perhaps faster than one might have guessed, a genuine popular appetite for political change. In a country with Cambodia’s tragic history, in which the ruling party has been entrenched for 30 years, this has the potential to be extremely destabilizing, both in political and economic terms. After a full year of bitter confrontations, punctuated by an estimated 500 demonstrations, occasional violence and a half-dozen deaths, the recent agreement by the opposition party finally to take their seats in parliament is welcome, but is by no means the end of the story. The National Assembly has never been a major player in setting economic or social policy in Cambodia, but a large and feisty opposition may try to change that in due course, especially if Hun Sen should keep his promise to make policy making more “transparent.” No IMF paper is likely to affect the political process to any discernable degree; we can only wait and see how this quite practical, but, again, theoretical set of recommendations will play over time in the formation of policy by the current Royal Cambodian Government.

D. Gordon Longmuir, The University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada                 

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Australasia and the Pacific Islands


THE SHARK WARRIOR OF ALEWAI: A Phenomenology of Melanesian Identity. Anthropology Matters: Scholarship on Demand, v.6. By Deborah Van Heekeren. Wantage, UK: Sean Kingston Publishing, 2012. xi, 211 pp. (Maps, figures, illus.) US$110.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-907774-03-4.

The Vula’a (Hula) people are coastal fishers whose villages lie some 110 kilometres east of Papua New Guinea’s national capital, Port Moresby. The central topic around which this ethnography is organized is identity, conceived and analyzed in terms of Heidegger’s notion of Dasein (roughly, “being there” or existence) with a healthy dose of Lucien Lévy-Bruhl’s idea, via Maurice Leenhardt, of “mystical participation,” which conceptualizes a mode of thought in which people identify with other things in their environment to such an extent that the line between self and other fades or disappears (as in totemism).

Van Heekeren builds the case that Vula’a identity is an expression of being, considered an abstract Gestalt (my word choice) with its own perspective and action apparently beyond the merely human agent. At times the model seemed almost to attribute agency to this trans-human “being.” Doing so would, in my view, come a bit too close to adopting a sort of mystical participation as an etic theoretical stance, rather than using it as a model of certain kinds of emic experience. In this latter, appropriate usage, Van Heekeren convincingly argues that her Vula’a informants make and inhabit a life world in which they sense their being in participation.

Based on ethnographic fieldwork and ethnohistoric reports that enable an admirably diachronic portrait, Vula’a individuals are shown to experience themselves in terms of interconnections with one another through such media as genealogy, storytelling, exchange, intermarriage, feeding and singing. Their sense of existence interpenetrates and converges in people’s participation: in the wider world, through recognizing common substance with food and other living things; with ancestors, through common association with the places they established; and with contemporaries, through co-ownership of their historical and mythological stories, told to those with whom they are genealogically, though not necessarily biologically, connected. The shark warrior of the book’s title is an historical figure whose achievements are celebrated in this manner.

The introduction warns that the argument will not proceed in a linear manner; nevertheless, the topical foci of each of the eight chapters to follow provide admirable explorations of this phenomenological approach to identity in as many different areas. Chapter 1 introduces the people and their colourful history of migration and living in houses built over the sea and trading fish with land dwellers for vegetables. Chapter 2 provides an historical account of Kila Wari, the shark warrior, a nineteenth-century figure who distinguished himself in both fishing and battle. In this as in other chapters, past events are presented from multiple sources, in which the original versions are not smoothed into a composite, but rather the different perspectives remain discernable. This is fine historiography.

Chapter 3 concerns connections between genealogy and place, in which traced family relations, fictive as well as biological, are one means by which people identify as participating in a greater unitary being with putative ancestors, living relatives and village sites named for and traced to founding individuals. Taking a Schneiderian view that kinship does not exist since relations are not solely reckoned biologically, there is nevertheless a heavy use of genealogies and notions of primogeniture that imply that biological kinship is nevertheless a prototype on which the flexible business of feeling and justifying relatedness is carried on.

The fourth chapter considers history in a theoretical sense. Of value here is information on how Vula’a have adapted their own emic historical models in light of contact with Western emic ones inspired by the precepts of the academic discipline of history, focused on accuracy, dates and linearity. Van Heekeren finds that these intrusions have not diminished the primary theme of Vula’a historical sensibilities, which is to establish the being of the teller and recorder of historical narratives through identification with the figures and events they describe.

Chapter 5 provides an intriguing perspective on theoretical models of Melanesian exchange customs that goes beyond the Strathernian notion of “dividual” persons and relationality to argue that exchange is an expression of being in such contexts. It all feels more holistic. “So although great achievements are attributed to singular persons, they are not to be understood as the gains of individuals. They are negotiated as a matter of shifting relationships between the living and the non-living world” (112). In this light, Van Heekeren develops an account of contemporary Christian life that is impressively erudite and subtly analyzed.

The sixth chapter concerns how food and eating manifest a being identity that extends beyond humans to the substances of which their bodies are made and in which they physically participate. “There is no escape from the ontological fact that there is a consubstantiation between humans and food” (135). Chapter 7 discusses the role of sound and singing in relation to religion, particularly as a Christian ritual undertaking that, at the insistence of missionaries a century ago, replaced dancing. The sense of broader identity and participation beyond oneself, that anyone who has sung with others knows, is productively analyzed in the phenomenological theoretical terms of the book.

Chapter 8 considers myth, convincingly arguing that rather than being primarily an account of past events, it is an ontological statement of continuing relevance, in which the teller expresses his or her being and participation with the circumstances it describes in the now. “That there is no substantial difference between subject and object is crucial to the mythic mode of being” (171). Van Heekeren’s approach suggests that the physical transformations common in myths “are possible because beings are of the same substance and share certain essences” (188). Such insights as this are among the most valuable of this rich work. The conclusion succinctly summarizes the argument, which represents a significant advance in the anthropology of identity.

Roger Ivar Lohmann, Trent University, Oshawa, Canada

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DON’T EVER WHISPER: Darlene Keju, Pacific Health Pioneer, Champion for Nuclear Survivors. By Giff Johnson. North Charleston, SC: Create Space, 2014, c2013. 443 pp. (B&W photos.) US$13.99, paper. ISBN 978-1489509062.

Although “the best of both worlds” is a commonplace expression, I rarely encounter anyone or anything that truly encapsulates the best of two worlds. Darlene Keju, whose life and work this book chronicles, surely did. She embodied the best of both Marshall Islands and Western/European cultural life.

“Labour of love” is another cliché, but in this case, we really do find both terms of the equation in abundance. Ms. Keju’s life was shaped by hard, valuable labour overflowing with love, and her husband’s telling of her story is infused with warm, respectful and sorrowful love. At the same time, however, I sense an undercurrent of white-hot rage in a man who must have learned a great deal from his wife about masking his emotions. Keju won her spurs battling American attempts to cover up the effects of the radiation that spread across her homeland’s islands in the wake of the 67 atmospheric nuclear tests the US military conducted on Bikini and Eniwetok atolls. Years later, like so many of her family members and fellow islanders, she succumbed to cancer. Many people are brought down by cancer, to be sure, but given the incredible (and I employ that word quite literally) dosages she was exposed to as a child on her home atoll of Wotje, there is every reason to think that that radiation had a very direct impact on her.

Keju herself might have preferred me to dwell on the remarkable resiliency of the young people she worked with as a public health leader in the islands, but before I leave this matter of the Marshalls’ nuclear tragedy, I feel obliged to do more than merely allude to American attempts to paint her testimony as unbelievable. Fred Zeder, the American ambassador charged with finalizing the compacts of free association between the decolonizing Micronesian states and the US government, accused Keju of “the most nauseating example of bizarre propaganda I have ever seen” (372). Drawing on official reports finally declassified after more than a half century, however, Johnson documents American disregard for the Marshalls people that quite clearly amounts to crimes against humanity, and confirms every charge that Keju levelled. Adding insult to injury is of course another cliché, but Keju refused to be silenced by the American’s gratuitous insults.

What is more remarkable, though, was her ability to couple a tenacious insistence that the US provide properly for its victims with the gentle respect typical of her own culture as she promoted health awareness and education to the people of the Marshalls. She drew on years of schooling in Hawai’i and on the Hawai’ian sovereignty movement’s example. “After Darlene’s pride as a Pacific islanders was awakened in the late 1970s, she used her island cultural skills in combination with her modern school-learned knowledge as a force for change in her home islands” (381).

Her early childhood on Wotje Atoll and her young adult experiences in Honolulu were bridged by years living in a third setting, Ebeye, the speck of coral that Kwajalein Atoll’s people were exiled to when their island was converted into a missile testing range. The US Army practiced an extreme form of the segregation common in postwar America on Kwajalein, and Ebeye in those days could be likened to a township under South African apartheid. Keju’s outspokenness—“Don’t ever whisper,” she exhorted the young people she trained—was put to work trying to improve the rapidly deteriorating quality of life on Kwajalein and Majuro, combining her experiences in American schools with the low-key, deeply respectful social relations characteristic of her people. Using song and drama and working especially with young people, she used methods she learned at the University of Hawai’i public health school with great success to redirect their energies. In the Youth to Youth in Health program she created, the people she trained promoted family planning and producers’ cooperatives and battled substance abuse and sexually transmitted diseases.

Keju liked to insist that people Tuak bwe elimajno (literally, walk through the rough currents to get from one island to the next, but also translated as “face your challenges”) (9). On Pohnpei, a Micronesian island lying to the west of the Marshalls, people sometimes exhort one another to Alu nan nta (which literally translates as “Walk in blood,” and refers to walking across coral reefs till one’s feet are bloodied). I have heard this misunderstood to mean the same as the English phrase “Wade in blood,” but Keju’s translation expresses the sentiment in a much more effective tone.

This is not meant to be a scholarly work, but Johnson is a journalist, and his understanding of what we call human interest reflects, I think, the best of what C.W. Mills termed the “sociological imagination,” that is, the intersection of individual human stories with the larger sweep of social history. It is effective, compelling, moving and absolutely honest.

One of the more remarkable facets of life in these islands is the way in which local cultures emphasize kindness, generosity and quiet respect. Survival there demands the highest degree of resilience, and over millennia islanders have learned that these qualities allow them to get the best out of their underlying toughness. I have known many Micronesians who possess this combination of character traits, but Darlene Keju possessed them to a degree matched in my personal acquaintance only by Tosiwo Nakayama, the Federated States of Micronesia’s first president. Each showed how the ability to face challenges could bring about huge changes, while drawing on a rock-like commitment to gentle persuasion, as the Quakers have been known to call it. The best of both worlds, indeed.

Glenn Petersen, City University of New York, New York, USA

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GENDER ON THE EDGE: Transgender, Gay, and other Pacific Islanders. Edited by Niko Besnier and Kalissa Alexeyeff. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2014. vi, 378 pp. (Figures.) US$35.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-8248-3883-6.

The fourteen essays in Gender on the Edge bring us into the lifeworlds of Pacific Islander “gender outlaws” (K. Bornstein, Gender Outlaw, London, Routledge, 1994), who co-editors Besnier and Alexeyeff refer to collectively as “non-heteronormative”: persons that transgress and resist the binary sex/gender model. Anthropologist Besnier established the “on the edge” metaphor in previous publications from his project, now in its second decade, on the mediation of local and global notions and practices of transgender and sexuality in the Pacific. This volume expands on his project by gathering scholars from many disciplines: anthropology, cultural and media studies, sociology, law, political sciences, gender/sexuality studies, and more. In the introductory chapter, the editors reiterate the anti-essentialist argument for a shift in attention from “‘who people are’ to ‘what people do’, to what effect, with what intentions, and according to whom” (9) and this focus on categories and identities as emerging in everyday relational practice brings to the fore the themes for the book’s three parts.

In part 1, “Historical Transformations,” Elliston explores how historical transformations in Tahiti continue to shape identity narratives of raerae (male-bodied, femininity-performing, men-desiring persons) and how this sexualized category has increasingly taken on meaning in contrast to the long-standing and sexually ambivalent gender category of māhū (“half-man, half-woman”). The other two essays in part 1 concern Samoan fa’afāfine. Dolgoy’s mostly descriptive essay brings to life personalities and urban spaces shaping a fa’afāfine social movement from the 1960s. Strangely, he never explains what fa’afafine refers to (translates as “in the way of a woman” and is used for boys by birth who are seen to act in effeminate ways and who are thereafter raised more like girls). It becomes clearer in Schoeffel’s critique of anthropological representations of fa’afafine as a social institution that functions to reinforce masculine psychosexual development, as a gender surrogate in households with a shortage of girls, or as a sexual surrogate in a society where girls should not engage in pre-marital sex. Schoeffel argues, unconvincingly and partly contradicting Dolgoy’s descriptions, that fa’afāfine “are not primarily identified by their sexuality or their roles, but by their demeanor” (86).

A more careful understanding of fa’afāfine is provided by Tcherkézoff in part 2, titled “Performing Gender.” Exploring the category in relation to “tomboys,” the Western category for girls who are viewed as acting in the way of men, his essay becomes a rich theoretical and ethnographic discussion of the socialization of gendered inequalities and sexuality in Samoa. Kuwahara’s similarly strong essay illuminates the divergent local effects of global and neocolonial forces, most notably tourism and the French military, in a comparative investigation of the different ways māhū and raerae are used and understood in Tahiti and Bora Bora, two islands in the same nation. In a rather weak analysis, Ikeda sets out to question sensationalized accounts of transgender persons and explores how her informants in Honolulu, Hawai’i, construct new forms of families underpinned by long-standing local values. Presterudstuen instead sets out to question homogenous understandings of non-heteronormative urban Fijians by highlighting the diversity of gendered self-identification among transvestites, qauri (or “queens”), and homosexuals. In one of only two essays from the non-Polynesian Pacific, Dvorak closes the section with a well-crafted personal and scholarly conversation about local and global notions of intimate and sacred male-to-male relationships in the Marshall Islands.

In part 3, “Politics of the Global,” the strongest and most original analysis emerges from Pearson’s investigation of New Zealand television comedy through the lens of Pacific gender. Teasing out mutually transformative effects of long-running Pacific-influenced comedy shows featuring transgendered personalities and the locally famous white and lesbian sketch characters the Topp Twins sisters, Pearson reverses the dominant center-to-margin approach to global influences. She shows how public indifference to transgender in New Zealand popular culture may owe a partial debt to Pacific conceptions of identity where “gendered social roles, performances, and kinship relations are foregrounded” (257), rather than sexuality. Another carefully contextualized essay is George’s outline of changing discourses underpinning gay rights advocacy in Fiji. Gaining traction alongside local women’s rights activists who drew on global human rights agendas, the narrowing of political space under the military regime has seen gay activism become more closely associated with global and local sexual health advocacy, making them easy targets for pathological stigmatizing by conservative agents. In the second essay from outside Polynesia, Stewart importantly draws attention to the glaring lack of research about non-heteronormative lives in Papua New Guinea which she explains by the challenges presented by the rich cultural diversity and the absence of clearly identified non-heteronormative categories or self-identifying communities in PNG. In a conceptually disparate essay, Good suggests that marginalized youth in the hyper-sexualized Tongan categories fakaleitī (men who dress and act similar to women) and fokisi (women who breach local moral standards of modest femininity) can claim some local social authority through work with transnational NGOs in HIV/AIDS awareness programs. Teaiwa’s essay mainly provides reflections over gaps in research on Fiji’s sexual minorities in military services, and Farran closes the book with an examination of the domestic legal status of transgendered people in Samoa and Tonga. Asking what effects global legal developments, such as same-sex marriage, could have, Farran rightly cautions against any transplants of legal reforms. Claiming some form of legal status will not necessarily improve all lives in the highly heterogeneous transgendered community, and may instead isolate some people, as well as exclude others from transnational groups with whom they share some concerns and characteristics.

Like many edited volumes, the quality of analysis and originality of arguments thus vary from one essay to the next, and the editors’ alignment in the introductory chapter with well-established, anti-essentialist theoretical stances in gender and sexuality studies is hardly “edgy” or new. Gender on the Edge nevertheless becomes an important reminder of the centrality of gender and sexuality studies in analytical developments in the human sciences, and the collection can moreover be a useful contemporary addition to the teaching of area studies.

Åse Ottosson, University of Sydney, Sydney, Australia

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LEVIATHANS AT THE GOLD MINE: Creating Indigenous and Corporate Actors in Papua New Guinea. By Alex Golub. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2014. xiv, 247 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$23.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8223-5508-3.

Leviathans at the Gold Mine is an important contribution to anthropological discussions of mining, corporate social responsibility and indigenous identity. The book is based on Golub’s PhD research at the Porgera gold mine in Papua New Guinea (PNG). Its value lies not so much in its originality, although it is indeed an original contribution to these debates. Rather, I am struck by Golub’s ability to follow long-running and complex discussions (both in anthropology and at Porgera) and to distil them into an elegantly simple analytical framework based on the theme of leviathans. Drawing out the resonances from the Hebrew Bible and Hobbes, Golub plays with the definition of “leviathan” as “the power of bureaucracy incarnate” and leviathan as a cosmological order. This allows him to show how both Porgera mine and the Ipili come into existence, and indeed co-produce each other, as leviathans. These entities are much less stable than they at first appear, as Golub puts it: “Both ‘the mine’ and ‘the Ipili’ then, share a common feature: at a distance they appear to be unproblematically existing actors, but the closer you come to them, the more their coherence and integrity begins to falter” (12).

The book’s first chapter describes the negotiations over a waste dump in order to “unpack the black box” of corporate entities such as the state, landowners or the mine. Golub reveals the conflicting internal dynamics and political interests that lie within these ostensibly cohesive leviathans. From this example, Golub also demonstrates how issues can come to be discussed in terms of the personalities of these “personated” leviathans and how individuals (community affairs officers, landowners) can effectively become the leviathans that they represent. Indeed, they must be able to do so in order to be feasible actors.

The second chapter provides historical background that contextualizes the development of the mine and the reshaping of the land-owning communities. This discussion is developed further in the third chapter, which offers a satisfying account of “being Ipili in Porgera.” This is a useful discussion of kinship and landownership amongst a fluid and dynamic people whose lived reality does not readily conform to the bureaucratic expectations of settled indigenous communities with stable boundaries based on descent.

The fourth chapter draws out the implications of Golub’s analysis for understanding PNG as a nation, particularly moral debates about the development of the country that are grounded in ideas of an “innocent population” of “grassroots” villagers. Golub seeks to open up a dialogue that brings the many scholarly insights about Papua New Guinea into conversation with the contemporary moral imagination of the nation. His intention is to create more space for grassroots people to depart from expectations of primordial subsistence indigeneity and for urban Papua New Guineans to embrace more options for themselves as modern Melanesians. This is a project that I strongly support. Golub’s first step in it is to attempt a scholarly articulation of this Papua New Guinean moral imagination. He begins by sketching the developmental background to Papua New Guinea’s independence and the response of elite thinkers, such as the influential Bernard Narokobi. He then points to some of the deeper roots in Melanesian culture that he believes foreground contemporary ideologies of the grassroots and shape the strategies that Ipili and groups like them must deploy in order to be recognized as feasible development actors.

In a useful schema, Golub traces the moral imagination of PNG by examining the positive and negative valuations of five themes that are used to evaluate village and town life: Christianity, wantoks, law and order, culture and development. Strangely absent here is any mention of gender, despite this being a focus of much contemporary moral debate in PNG. While there are many alternative ways of framing these issues, for the most part, Golub provides a satisfying account of the modern social imaginary of PNG and explains how grassroots can fail to be feasible if their representation falls on the wrong side of the moral ledger.

Golub introduces his book with an apology for his focus on men’s lives, claiming that this is the result of the situation described, namely the male-dominated Yakatabari waste dump negotiations. However, as the book progresses, it becomes clear that women will not be discussed at all, nor is there any investigation of the “pervasive sexual inequality in Porgera” (124). I have not worked in a masculinist setting such as Porgera myself but I am aware of several (female) anthropologists who have written about the plight of women there. Perhaps this was not an option available to Golub himself. However, for a book that covers complex discussions of kinship, identity and resource development so deftly, the absence of women’s voices from Golub’s account and the neglect of gender as a tool of enquiry is puzzling and disappointing. I am sure that I am not the only reader left wanting to hear more from Golub on how and why the practices of personation and the making of leviathans are gendered. Despite this significant omission, Leviathans at the Gold Mine is a very good book that is both succinct and fresh in addressing complex and long-debated issues of identity, cultural change and resource development; and doing so from a solid ethnographic grounding. For these reasons the book will be a very useful teaching resource and its arguments about the creation of various corporate actors will be central to further debates about (and within) PNG.

John Cox, Australian National University, Canberra, Australia

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GREED AND GRIEVANCE: Ex-Militants’ Perspectives on the Conflict in Solomon Islands, 1998–2003. Topics in the Contemporary Pacific. By Matthew G. Allen. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2013. xv, 243 pp. (Maps, figures.) US$55.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3854-6.

Greed and Grievance is an important contribution to continuing reflection on the so-called Ethnic Tension crisis which devastated Solomon Islands between 1998 and 2003. The author concentrates on the perspectives of the two principal protagonists, the Isatabu Freedom Movement (IFM), bitter at historic Malaitan occupation of rural Guadalcanal, and the Malaita Eagle Force (MEF), a response to the IFM’s violent expulsion of Malaitans from the island. Allen interviews ex-militants from both groups, placing their perspectives in the context of current historical, political and socio-economic analyses of the causes of the conflict, as well as (often inaccurate) media and popular explanations. The greatest strength of the book is Allen’s empathy for all the ex-militants interviewed and his even-handedness in putting forward their views.

Fresh from conflict in the Balkans, the international media portrayed the conflict as primarily ethnic, using terms such as “ethnic cleansing” and describing the country as in a state of “civil war.” Allan’s ex-militant protagonists make it clear that the conflict was primarily ethnic only at the beginning and that each side had legitimate grievances. The author traces the historic roots of Guadalcanal underdevelopment and marginalization (for want of better words) as well as Malaitan initiatives in resisting British colonialism and building Solomon Islands as a nation-state, including in Honiara and its environs, such that Malaitans resisted their expulsion through the formation of the MEF.

However, with the MEF-organized June 2000 raid on the national armoury in Honiara and the coup that placed the prime minister, Bartholomew Ulafa’lu, under house arrest and forced his resignation, the MEF gained the upper hand militarily and politically. Crowds of unemployed youth flocked from Malaita to the MEF camps in Honiara hoping for spoils of war (for example, prizes from the vehicle dealerships in Honiara) and some MEF leaders began to raid the national treasury through compensation claims and extortion. The IFM splintered and a militant Guadalcanal Liberation Front (GLF) led by Harold Keke emerged on the west Weather Coast of Guadalcanal.

When Keke and the GLF refused to sign the Townsville Peace Agreement of October 15, 2000, the conflict continued on the Weather Coast with a government-organized Joint Operation comprised of police and ex-militants of both sides, resulting in massive human rights abuses all around. Allan documents these post-ethnic phases of the conflict, critiquing well popular tendencies to read the post-coup MEF criminal activities back into the original conflict and to disregard non-ethnic causes of the conflict. The 2013 report of the government’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC), unfortunately available only as Allen’s book was going to press, documents that the majority of deaths and human rights abuses in the conflict were intra-ethnic and intra-island rather than Guadalcanal vs. Malaita. Allen’s interviews and analyses are consistent with this finding.

As tensions between rural Guadalcanal and the national government increase again today over issues unaddressed after the conflict, such as the expansion of Honiara, resource extraction not benefiting the local population and lack of employment and infrastructure, Greedand Grievance would be useful reading for Solomon Islands politicians and the general public. Indeed, most Solomon Islands politicians and/or prominent ex-militants prefer historical amnesia for this period, exemplified by the prime minister’s refusal to table the final TRC Report in Parliament, as required by the TRC Act. Allan’s volume is accessible and would be of considerable interest in the Solomons.

If I have one reservation about Greed and Grievance it is that it seems to lack a certain freedom at times, in that it is shaped by an academic tradition that requires the historical precedents of political, militant or even religious movements be identified, explored and connected, through academic analyses (historical and current), even if these movements and analyses are not especially relevant or even known to the contemporary protagonists being discussed.

In the case of the IFM/GRA, Allen’s exploration of the ex-militants’ relationship with the Gwaina’alu Movement (formerly the Moro Movement) is entirely appropriate, as it was widely perceived, with some accuracy, that there was a relationship between the IFM and Moro. Indeed, Allen explains the split between the IFM and the GRA in terms of their different views of Moro and Christianity. The relationship between the Guadalcanal militants and the Gwaina’alu Movement deserves further detailed treatment.

However, I am not so sure the same can be said for the MEF and the postwar anti-colonial Maasina Rule movement, which Allen discusses in much detail, citing David Akin’s new definitive history, Colonialism, Maasina Rule, and the Origins of MalaitanKastom (2013). Akin emphasizes the passive-resistance qualities of that movement and there is little indication that the MEF saw themselves as somehow in the tradition of Maasina Rule. Rambo movies and Israel were sometime more immediate models. A better historical case might be made for Malaita Provincial Government as the true heir of Maasina Rule, not the MEF. A similar argument might be made whether the 1980s concept of the Honiara “Masta Liu” (unemployed youth walking about town doing nothing) is so relevant now that education is more universal, aspirations are higher but massive unemployment still exists.

I see only a few small errors in the book. Allen maintains that civil society was excluded from the TPA talks. That is not entirely accurate, as the Anglican Archbishop of Melanesia, Sir Ellison Pogo, was included representing the Solomon Islands Christian Association. And the Honiara suburb of Ngossi lacks its proper nasalized spelling.

Greed and Grievance is an important addition to Jon Frankel’s The Manipulation of Custom (2004) and Clive Moore’s Happy Isles in Crisis (2004) as studies of the crisis. The passage of years gives Allan the advantage of more direct protagonist accounts. However, still overshadowing all three are the five volumes of the Final Report of the Truth Reconciliation Commission, available on the internet. Read together, the four works go a long way to understanding the Solomons conflict and preventing it from recurring.

Terry M. Brown, Trinity College, Toronto, Canada

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DRINKING SMOKE: The Tobacco Syndemic in Oceania. By Mac Marshall. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2013. xix, 292pp. (Figures, maps, table.) US$54.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3685-6.

“Tobacco is the drug about which Islanders should really be concerned—not marijuana, alcohol or methamphetamines, that is the legacy of Drinking Smoke” (222). With this statement, renowned medical anthropologist Mac Marshall concludes his magnificent new book Drinking Smoke: The Tobacco Syndemic in Oceania. As with Marshall’s other books on alcohol and drug studies, this volume is an impressive contribution to a topic not yet extensively explored by anthropologists.

Marshall’s solemn and powerful warning is a fitting place with which to begin, as it speaks to the aims of the book: not only to demonstrate the enormous impact tobacco has on Pacific Islanders’ social and economic worlds and health, but to also argue for an approach to tobacco that views tobacco as the connector between all the major causes of mortality in the region. Marshall writes that tobacco lies at the core of a complex set of disorders and diseases, not just cancer, but tuberculosis, obesity, diabetes, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and cardiovascular disease as well. He employs the term the “tobacco syndemic” to explain that these “smoking diseases” are interrelated. It is a term conceptualized by medical anthropologist Merill Singer to account for the way in which diseases cluster as they are exacerbated by social context. Drinking Smoke recounts, in fascinating detail, how this has come to be.

The book is divided into two parts. The first part, comprised of five chapters, draws on historical research and ethnography to document the spread of tobacco throughout Oceania by seventeenth- and eighteenth-century colonial explorers and traders. A self-proclaimed amateur historian, Marshall shows how this exotic (not to mention addictive) new substance became a much sought-after object in the region. One of the reasons tobacco was quickly incorporated into Pacific culture was because people classified it as a comestible, as something to be eaten or drunk. Marshall explains that before tobacco became part of mainstream culture in Europe no word existed to describe its consumption. It was compared with drinking and so people spoke of “drinking smoke.” As food gifts are seen as a token of sociality used to create and sustain relationships, giving and receiving gifts of tobacco fit into already established cultural norms in Oceania. Marshall notes a mother who gave her baby a puff of tobacco whilst breastfeeding. Until recently children in Oceania consumed tobacco as it was given to them in the same manner as other food items.

As tobacco became incorporated into Oceanic societies it developed as an important exchange commodity between islanders and foreigners. Marshall shows how prices became standardized (one chicken could be traded for one stick of tobacco) and tobacco became the first globally traded luxury item. Interestingly, Marshall notes how anthropologists have also used tobacco in exchange. Malinowski spent 20 percent of his fieldwork budget on tobacco for trading purposes, and a poll of anthropologists shows that many have given, traded or shared tobacco with the people with whom they work.

Marshall also surveys transformations in the ways Pacific Islanders consumed tobacco. Tobacco was first smoked in its loose-leaf form in clay, coral and stone pipes, or in loosely wrapped little cigars (sometimes wrapped in banana leaf or in pages of the Sydney Morning Herald). He notes how when ear ornaments went out of style, some Islanders carried their tobacco and pipes in their stretched perforated ear lobes. Pacific Islanders began replacing their loose tobacco for industrially manufactured cigarettes in the early twentieth century; an act that Marshall writes changed tobacco consumption forever as the nicotine content in industrially manufactured cigarettes is stronger and more dangerous. Both World Wars were instrumental in the spread of cigarettes as soldiers were given cigarettes in their rations and shared them freely. Marshall shows how this uptake of cigarette smoking has resulted in enormous health and economic costs, and notes the efforts by national governments, NGOs and churches to control it. Success has been moderate, but a “non-smoking” Fijian village stands out as an effective example of public health intervention at the community level.

Part 2 examines the impact of tobacco on people’s health. It draws on a vast amount of health-related sources from medicine, environmental health, public health, maternal and child health, medical anthropology and regional health statistics. Most of the material in part 2 is presented in three case studies: Maori and Pacific Islanders in New Zealand, US associated Micronesians and native Hawaiians in Hawaii. Marshall shows how the relative mortality risk for each of these groups is much higher than that of other ethnic groups in these countries. He argues that the high prevalence of tobacco-related diseases among these populations is not because of any ethnic or genetic reason, but rather because of the impact on peoples’ health of imperialism, intrusion, loss, dispossession, colonization, trauma, chronic stress, racism, poverty and unequal access to medical care. Marshall writes that such histories have created a climate of poverty, and statistics reveal that lower-income populations have higher rates of smoking and other diseases. Marshall uses these case studies to demonstrate how human social environment influences tobacco-caused diseases. The tobacco syndemic is one of the legacies of invasion, colonization and globalization. Marshall writes that to combat this legacy, Pacific Islanders must stop viewing tobacco in a positive light. Instead, Pacific Islanders must “de-normalize” tobacco and start thinking about tobacco as an addictive poison.

That tobacco smoke is the single greatest cause of preventable death worldwide makes anthropological lack of attention to it astounding. With Drinking Smoke, Mac Marshall fills this gap in our knowledge. It is a meticulously supported and well-argued text that is an important contribution not only to academia focused on Oceania but to a broader readership interested in the effects of tobacco on global health and the rise of the dominant tobacco industry as well. Full of anecdotes, historical episodes, statistics and medical claims that demonstrate the power of this significant commodity, Drinking Smoke makes for compelling and informative reading and I highly recommend it.

 Daniela Kraemer, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada

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RITUAL TEXTUALITY: Pattern and Motion in Performance. Oxford Ritual Studies. By Matt Tomlinson. New York: Oxford University Press, 2014. xii, 169 pp. (Figures.) US$35.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-19-934114-6.

In Ritual Textuality, Matt Tomlinson presents a provocative study of varieties of ritual performance in contemporary Fiji, one that resonates with seminal anthropological works that have explored how ritual patterns establish and reproduce religious authority. In terms of analysis, he draws on semiotic and linguistic theory in an approach that is text-based and focuses on entextualization—a process whereby discourse is made into signs and texts that are arranged in patterns that can be separated and then replicated through performance. His goal in studying rituals as texts is to understand their efficacy; not merely in terms of how they affect participants, but also their contribution to the formation of language ideologies. In this he addresses what can be termed the cultural work that ritual communication does at a meta-level; the “micro-macro problem” that explores the use of language in relation to “larger social structures, particularly the structures of power and value that constitute the political economy of a society” (Richard Bauman and Charles Briggs, “Poetics and Performance as Critical Perspectives on Language and Social Life,” Annu. Rev. Anthropol. 1990, 19: 79).

Ethnographic research for this work was carried out over nearly two decades in several settings in Fiji, and analyses of four ritual performances are presented: a Pentecostal sermon; a Methodist sermon and ceremonial speeches delivered during Fijian kava ceremonies; testimonies of the Methodist belief in the “happy deaths” of religious converts; and recent post-coup political discourse circulated by Fijian government and military spokespersons.

Tomlinson grounds his analysis of ritual textuality in a review of literature relating to religion and communication which includes an ambitious summary of the complex lexis developed for linguistic and semiotic approaches to religious performance. From this theory he delineates four communicative patterns of entextualization: sequence, conjunction, contrast, and substitution, which are then analyzed in relation to ritual efficacy. One pattern is explored in each of the chapters that follows as each is constitutive to the efficacy of one of these performances.

The first type of entextualization, sequencing, Tomlinson identifies in the American preacher’s sermon delivered at an outdoor Pentecostal rally in Suva where ecstatic participants wait to receive the Holy Ghost. Sequence is evidenced by the numerous examples of a linked looping pattern involving repetition and parallelism. Continually repeating the sequence of declaration-promise-action establishes this text’s ritual efficacy, as repetition confirms the missionary’s performative authority.

In the following two chapters, entextualization in this preacher’s speech is compared to a Fijian Methodist minister’s sermon and an excerpt from traditional Fijian oratory. Significant amongst their differences is the Methodist sermon’s almost exclusive use of declaratives, while in Fijian speeches delivered during kava rituals the performative sequence declarative-promise-action is prevalent. This difference can be accounted for, Tomlinson argues, because the Methodist sermon follows a communicative path that unifies, and repeated declarative statements reaffirm the unity of the congregation that prays, sings and makes offerings in unison.

Tomlinson then considers the Christian communion ritual and focuses on conjunction as a form of entextualization which is evident in patterns of chiasmus, a verbal or literacy device that sees an inverted order reflected in text. Here he presents a detailed comparison of Christian rituals of communion, which use wine and bread to represent the blood and body of Christ, with Fijian kava rituals, both of which demonstrate a chiasmic X-shaped pattern reflected in a ritual crossing over of substances. For Christians, consuming consecrated bread and wine incorporates Christ’s body and blood into one’s being, which simultaneously incorporates oneself into the wider church of Christ, a chiasmic process; while in Fijian ceremonies, kava or the “water of the land or vanua” is presented to the chief so that he can symbolically appropriate it. Yet in taking control, it will turn and destroy him. An interesting aspect of Tomlinson’s discussion is whether kava might replace wine in the communion ritual. Though conceivable for Tomlinson since from a Western perspective kava and consecrated wine are both seen as sacred, transformative substances, it can be argued that as “blood and water” in Fijian culture, these markedly different ritual substances are symbolically too deeply opposed to allow substitution.

Nineteenth-century Methodist reports record the “happy deaths” of converts who joyously await the opening of the gates of heaven, in contrast to Fijian beliefs in a bleak afterlife that offered a series of struggles with other-worldly creatures. Tomlinson argues that the emerging contrast between life and death in these texts established a fractally recursive pattern of entextualization that reinforced a public-private distinction over time, continually pushing Fijian beliefs aside towards a less public space. Incidents he recounts reveal Fijians’ anxiety and negative attitudes towards death and the demonic, which furthered the consolidation of Christian belief. While it cannot be disputed that missionaries encouraged conversion or that Fijians express fear towards their afterlife, it can be argued that this public/private distinction represents a Western ontology, whereas in Fijian culture the significant distinction is between what is hidden versus open or clearly visible. On Viti Levu, villagers are extremely wary of secrets, particularly when anyone closes their doors or goes to a remote location to hide their activities. Secrecy arouses the suspicion that in this hidden space a person may be performing sorcery aimed at harming others.

Tomlinson’s final analysis examines linguistic coercion used by the Fijian state as it attempts to limit criticism and legitimize their seizure of government through force. The monologic discourse it generates explains away violence, claims to speak in a single ethno-nationalist voice shared by all Fijians, and deploys intimidation, imprisonment, expulsion and censorship as tactics of linguistic repression. Substitution as a textual strategy does not only replace public discourse, however; circulation of a People’s Charter for Change that maps out a “shared utopian vision” for the future also erases it.

In his analysis, Matt Tomlinson provides an ethnographically detailed, well-argued account of entextualization and ritual efficacy in Fiji. His insightful analysis reveals a method of locating language ideology in several contexts, and demonstrates for the Fijian case how ritual performance articulates with structures of power.

Pauline McKenzie Aucoin, Concordia University, Montreal, Canada

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