Forthcoming Book Reviews

The following book reviews have been received at Pacific Affairs and will be published in the print edition within the next 12-18 months. Please note that minor textual changes may occur before final publication in our print and official online edition (hosted at IngentaConnect and here).
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Last updated 12 January 2017

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Asia General


CHINESE MIGRANT ENTREPRENEURSHIP IN AUSTRALIA FROM THE 1990s: Case Studies of Success in Sino-Australian Relations. Elsevier Asian Studies Series. By Jia Gao. Waltham, MA: Chandos Publishing (imprint of Elsevier), 2015. xx, 179 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$141.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-84334-784-2.

I want to say right up front that Jia Gao has written a very interesting and insightful book. Gao provides clear and concise details about the trials, tribulations, and triumphs experienced by generations of Chinese migrants who originally arrived to the Land Down Under in the 1850s. He also addresses how present-day and future Chinese migrants will benefit greatly from the hard work and great sacrifices made by prior generations who left China for the shores of Australia in the mid-nineteenth century.

From the very beginning, Gao informs his readers that he is attempting to “address the major gaps in the existing literature and knowledge” relating to the great achievements and contributions that Chinese migrants have accomplished and made within Australian society. However, he also notes that the Chinese-Australian community’s economic and educational gains in Australia since the late 1980s were not achieved without undue pain and disappointment for many. The original expectations for many Chinese migrants that Australia was going to be the “New Gold Mountain” were met with a much different reality.

Historic Turning Points

Gao writes that the bloody and violent crackdown on Chinese protestors at Tiananmen Square on 4 June 1989 badly shook up thousands of overseas Chinese nationals. In 1993, then Australian prime minister Paul Keating had decided to provide approximately 45,000 Chinese nationals in Australia with a new visa option. They could stay in Australia or return to China. Almost all decided to stay in Australia. Gao views Keating’s decision as being a critically important turning point for the Chinese-Australian community.

Gao, who moved to Australia in 1988, received his PhD in human geography at the University of Melbourne. In 1993, he decided to live and work permanently in Australia. Gao is an associate professor at the Asian Institute at the University of Melbourne. His PhD dissertation is believed to be the most comprehensive work on the largest acceptance of in-country Chinese asylum seekers in the history of Australian immigration.

Gao’s book briefly describes the historical stages that defined the Chinese presence in Australia. He points out that the first Chinese migration to Australia was due to the “gold rush era” in the 1850s. Shortly afterwards, an “establishing stage” ensued, followed by a period of “long consolidation” which evolved during the early decades of the “White Australia” policy (1901–1973).

However, Gao identifies the Colombo Plan, established in 1950, as a major initiative and as the first important turning point that eventually allowed tens of thousands of Asian students to attend Australian educational institutions. The Colombo Plan itself only allowed about 20,000 students to enter Australia from 1950 to the 1980s. But, the Plan also put forth a new idea of “privately funded Asian students” which was established during this period and its overall effect was huge in terms of the numbers (approximately 100,000) and the diversification of students at Australian schools.

Gao proudly identifies Dr. Victor Chang, a Chinese-Australian cardiac surgeon and a pioneer of modern heart transplantation, as one of those privately funded students. Chang came to Australia in 1953. By the time of his death in 1991, he had become an iconic figure in Australia. At the end of the twentieth century, Chang was named “the Australian of the Century” by the People’s Choice Awards. Chang’s brilliant contributions to Australian society, and the world, have alone justified the eventual dismantling of the “White Australia” policy in 1973. Two years later, the Racial Discrimination Act of 1975 would emphatically provide invaluable state support for multiculturalism as a new way of social existence for Australians.

Being an educator, the chapter I found most interesting had to do with the creation of the Xin Jinshan schools. These schools benefitted by getting quality teachers who had confronted the painful and uncomfortable realities that many educated and skilled Chinese migrants encountered upon their arrival to Australia. Quality jobs were very tough to obtain. These same individuals also discovered quickly that there was a cultural and language chasm between themselves and the older Chinese communities in Australia.

Gao provides great detail on how these schools played a key role in the lives of many Chinese migrants, many of whom had to revise their “New Gold Mountain” expectations that they held for Australia. Originally, many Chinese sought to obtain an ideal job and/or a formal education. However, sooner than expected, many had to recalibrate their version of the Australian Dream by instead seeking to buy a house and/or find the best schools possible for their children. This personal and psychological shift within the Chinese migrant community in Australia was quite profound.

Finally, I believe readers will be very interested in a couple of other topics addressed in Gao’s book. First, he tells how Chinese entrepreneurs revived the Australian sheepskin industry with the creation of the Yellow Earth company. A brilliant chapter. The key factors were the expanding marketplace in China for such products, and the excellent marketing strategies implemented to revive this iconic Australian industry.

Second, I want to draw attention to Gao’s discussion of the role that education has played in the rise of the Chinese-Australian community throughout Australia. In essence, Chinese-Australian students, first and second generations, began to set the standard for academic excellence in Australian schools and universities. As a consequence, educated and talented Chinese-Australian students increasingly became seen as national assets, and not as economic threats to Australian workers.

Put simply, the growing successes within the Chinese-Australian community are beginning to help this vibrant and hardworking segment of Australian society find its rightful place under the Australian sun. Producing wealth and creating jobs are increasingly the hallmark characteristics of the Chinese-Australian community. I greatly look forward to Gao’s next work on the growing role of the Chinese-Australian community in the twenty-first century.

Randall Doyle, Northeastern University, Shenyang, China

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JEWISH IDENTITIES IN EAST AND SOUTHEAST ASIA: Singapore, Manila, Taipei, Harbin, Shanghai, Rangoon, and Surabaya. New Perspectives on Modern Jewish History, v. 6. By Jonathan Goldstein. Berlin; Boston: De Gruyter Oldenbourg, 2015. xii, 242 pp. (Illustrations, map.) US$140.00, cloth. ISBN 978-3-11-035069-2.

Jewish Identities in East and Southeast Asia, by Jonathan Goldstein, is perhaps one of the most remarkable contributions to the already rich literature on Jewish experiences from the late twentieth to mid-twenty-first century. What makes this book unique, however, is its focus on the study of Jewish experiences in seven settings in East and Southeast Asia (namely, Singapore, Manila, Taipei, Harbin, Shanghai, Rangoon [Yangon], and Surabaya), a region rarely treated in the voluminous collections of essays in American and European libraries regarding the plight of Jewish people during this period. Thus, this work is a great contribution, offering a new, though less theoretical, perspective.

Of course, the author’s interpretation of historical experiences as narrated by individual Jews through various works of literature consulted herein can be subjective and other scholars may not buy into the same interpretations. What is important, however, is that the book itself has presented a unique collection of accounts to help us understand the formation of Jewish identities in East and Southeast Asia using five instruments or themes: colonialism/imperialism, memory, regional nationalism, socialism, and Zionism.

In this regard, the author writes that the various origins, political and  socio-cultural conditions, and experiences of assimilation, economic participation, and linguistics adoption by Jews in the seven different cities profiles led him to the conclusion that over time Jews have formed multiethnic, multinational, and transnational identities as they lived in their given region.

The book is divided into five parts focusing on the seven different geographical areas. Part 2 examines Singapore’s Baghdadi Jewish community; part 3 explains how the “bagel boys” of Manila lived and assimilated in the Philippines; part 4 deals with the Jewish “transient community”; part 5 illustrates how Jews in Harbin formed their transnational community; part 6 explains the experience of the dynamic economic participation of the Baghdadi Jews, including the presence of the Eurasian Jewish community; and lastly, part 7 compares and contrasts the experiences of Jews in Rangoon and Surabaya.

The presence of Jewish society in the region covered can be traced back to colonial times when some European Jews served their colonial masters, such as the English, Spanish, and Dutch, in the expansion of trade beyond Europe as these countries competed for overseas markets for their surplus and for sources of raw materials. This so-called “capitalism outside Europe” was the dominant point of reference among these competing European powers. This activity was facilitated by their colonies in the Far East, including those cities that were long established ports for commercial and trading activities. Thus, it can be argued that these maritime routes created great opportunities for these colonial and imperial powers to connect with local traders. In many of these activities, European Jews worked laboriously in connecting Europe with Asia through maritime trade.

The eastward movement of Jews from the Middle East to India complemented the formation of Jewish communities in these cities. Both Singapore and China have a rich history of Jewish involvement in trade and economic activities. Singapore and China have shown a great sense of hospitality towards their Jewish settlers. As the author notes, Singapore has the oldest historical presence of Jewish institutions, while Shanghai in 1945 alone hosted around 20,000 Jewish refugees. Although the Jewish community gradually dispersed from Shanghai in the 1950s, many cultural indicators, such as synagogues, remained. In addition, Hong Kong—a British colony—once had seven synagogues with various communal institutions. Russian Jewish refugees who eventually became citizens of Israel have organized trips back to Harbin to visit their loved ones who for various reasons and circumstances remained in the area until their deaths. Yangon and Surabaya also have unique histories of Jewish communities that  fitted themselves into the political structures of Burma and Indonesia.

With the rise of Nazism in Germany, many European Jews escaped to seek refuge in friendly environments as far away as Manila, albeit in a very “selective” process. The degree of humanitarian crisis was compounded with more hardship as Japan, an ally of Germany, embarked on dangerous militaristic adventurism in Asia and the Pacific in the name of the Greater Co-Prosperity Sphere. This resulted in the destruction of cities and displacement of their inhabitants, including Jews.

This development, however, was not without positive consequences. The Jews learned that the only way for them to survive and lead normal lives was to create a country that would guarantee their religious, political, economic, and socio-cultural preservation; Zionism was perceived as the only viable solution to the persecutions they had historically faced.

Multiple efforts were spearheaded to obtain assistance from the rich Jewish communities in various Southeast Asian and Pacific countries to help build the new Israel. In several instances, the author endeavors to demonstrate some sort of multiplicity in the practice and understanding of Judaism by these Jewish communities, that is, the various elements that helped define and sustain their identities, existence, and survival. In addition to Zionism as a political ideology, perhaps the most important element was the idea of “zikaron,” or the essence of “remembrance” or “memory,” which allowed them to connect to their historical origins and identify with their homeland Israel.

Henelito A. Sevilla, University of the Philippines Diliman, Quezon City, Phillipines

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RUSSIA’S FAR EAST: New Dynamics in Asia Pacific and Beyond. By Rensselaer Lee, Artyom Lukin. Boulder, CO; London: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2016. xi, 276 pp. (Tables, figures, maps.) US$68.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-62637-389-1.

Russia’s Far East by Rensselaer Lee and Artyom Lukin is a welcome contribution to the growing literature on international relations in the Asia Pacific, especially to the studies of international cooperation in the development of the Russian Far East (RFE) and Siberia that started to grow in quantity after Russia’s high-profile “turn to the East” in the aftermath of the Ukraine crisis. The authors call their work “a collaboration between a US and a Russian scholar” (ix) and “a stellar example of Russian-US cooperation” (x), carried out in a period of serious tensions in the countries’ bilateral relations.

As such, the book is distinguishable in that it attempts to bring the United States and its interests back into the complex picture of international politics surrounding the development of the RFE. The authors try to reinvigorate the importance of Russia-US relations for the creation of a more balanced and secure Asia. They argue that Russia and the United States have more interests in common in Asia Pacific than they do in Europe and that “the RFE could be one of the building blocks of a revitalized relationship, if other areas of contention can be deescalated or at least managed” (1). Both countries, according to the authors, will benefit from such development, predominantly because both have long-term interests in balancing against a rapidly rising China. By gaining a greater stake in the RFE, the United States will be able to offset China’s geopolitical dominance in Asia. Russia, in turn, will benefit from a more balanced representation of foreign stakeholders in the development of the RFE that will help reduce dependence on China and solidify its sovereignty over these territories. In today’s context of mutual antagonism between Russia and the United States, an attempt to draw attention to the potential of Russia-US cooperation in the region is undoubtedly commendable.

While the argument looks straightforward and concise, the actual analysis, organized in twelve chapters including the introduction, sweeps across a vast range of different issues, such as the RFE’s identity and natural endowments (chapter 2); the history of the region from Russia’s early colonization of Siberia in the mid-sixteenth century up until Putin’s years (chapter 3); the troubled period of the RFE’s socio-economic degradation in the 1990s and its consequences (chapter 4); and Moscow’s plan for the development of the region in the context of Russia’s reorientation to Asia (chapter 5). The ensuing five chapters deal with various aspects of China-Russia relations. Chapter 6 presents Russia’s changing perception of China. Chapter 7 discusses the likelihood of a full-fledged Russia-China alliance. Chapter 8 speculates on Russia’s potential dependence on China, whereas chapters 9 and 10 explore the increasing convergence of Chinese and Russian interests and policies in the region. Given the stated argument, the reader would expect to see in these five chapters the role of the United States and how it fares vis-à-vis China. But ironically only two chapters (11 and 12) deal with Russia-US relations and emphasize the long-standing special relationship of the United States with the RFE. The discussion in these chapters at times becomes critical of the US’s strategic miscalculations in the form of complete neglect by the US administration of the importance of good ties with the RFE for American interests.

Such a broad scope is both an advantage and disadvantage of the book. On the one hand, one will learn a lot from the rich and fairly up-to-date discussion of the RFE and Moscow’s policies toward it. The discussion of the China-Russia strategic partnership is also informative and reflects the most recent nuances of the strengthening Beijing-Moscow axis. On the other hand, however, meandering through such a multitude of high-profile issues in international politics, each of which deserves a monograph-length treatment, undermines the analytical coherence of this book and results in a situation wherein the originally clear and valuable message is not carried through the entire analysis but appears only episodically and fails to be substantiated by the relevant empirical data. Why and how exactly would the United States substitute or complement China’s role in the development of the RFE given that its economic interests in the region are minimal, whereas China is willing to invest heavily into technically difficult northern resource extraction projects? How would the RFE and its people benefit from the US’s more active participation that is driven not by economic considerations but by the need to balance against China so that the RFE may become a springboard for protecting America’s global strategic interests? Supporting the argument of the book would require answering these questions.

Another issue that mars the analysis is episodic attempts to reconstruct the pernicious “China threat” thinking. The bogeyman of “creeping yellow peril,” popular in the 1990s but largely debunked thanks to research efforts by some Russian scholars, reappears at multiple turns of the narration, even when the authors’ own empirical data does not support it. Thus, while it is shown that the shares of Japan, China, and South Korea in the RFE’s foreign trade are relatively equal (11, 49, 221) and Japan is far ahead of China in terms of investments in the region (18, 50), it is, for some reason, China, not Japan with its unequivocal territorial claims, that is likely to exploit the RFE’s resources and Russia’s relative weakness in Asia (11). Similarly, while it is stated that the number of Chinese migrants to the RFE has declined considerably compared to those from Central Asia and marriages between Russians and Chinese in the RFE “are virtually absent” (58), it is, again, China that continues to pose a demographic challenge and may become a cause of significant demographic change in the region (249). Such analytical inconsistencies undermine the intellectual integrity of the book and create an impression that the authors’ arms were twisted to land their analysis at anti-China conclusions.

Overall, supplemented by 7 tables and 3 figures, the book provides an updated presentation of the RFE from a very broad perspective of great power competition, and will likely become a valuable source of information for a wide readership, ranging from scholars and students in courses on Russian politics to analysts and policymakers.

Alexander Korolev, National University of Singapore, Singapore

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MIGRANT ENCOUNTERS: Intimate Labor, the State, and Mobility Across Asia. Edited by Sara L. Friedman and Pardis Mahdavi. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015. viii, 245 pp. (Figures.) US$55.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8122-4754-1.

Sex, when engaged transnationally, is not simply fantastically creative; it can also be surprisingly transformative. Sara Friedman and Pardis Mahdavi explain that this transformative experience occurs at two levels: at the personal level when each partner brings her/his sexual norms and expectations into the relationship, and at the national level when international marriages (especially with foreign women) have forced recipient countries to amend their membership rules. They write, “migrant intimacies create new possibilities for interpersonal relationships, sexual desires, and gender domesticity” (2). Building on previous sociological and anthropological studies on transnational intimate labour, the book adds a nuanced and comparative perspective to the topic.

Rich in ethnographic research across Asia, and including the Middle East and the Persian Gulf, this edited volume brings established immigration scholars (primarily anthropologists) of Asia to explore creative strategies of intimate labourers and how migratory labour, especially by female workers, has transformed intimate relationships. It is divided into three parts. Part 1 (The Intimate Lives of Intimate Laborers) addresses the transformative experience of migrants’ intimate lives through their own morality and values. Hyun Mee Kim describes how remittances by Vietnamese wives in South Korea to their families back home can significantly improve a couple’s marital intimacy. Kim explains that Korean men are well aware of their foreign partners’ motivation for marriage, and therefore understand that “remittances are a form of economic compensation offered in exchange for their contribution to the family through reproduction [i.e. giving birth to a child]” (38). Filippo Osella looks at the personal transformations of South Indian migrants to the Gulf. He has documented some of the “social ills” that these migrants have brought back to modern Kerala. For instance, Osella mentions a situation of “divorce where wives sought separation from their migrant husbands because these men had asked them to perform ‘lewd sexual acts’ learned from watching pornographic DVDs in the Gulf” (53). Meanwhile, “migrants’ wives are suspected of taking lovers to make up for their husbands’ long-term absences, leading to intense policing and control of their sexuality” (53).

Part 2 (Migration and the National Family) discusses how immigration and nationality laws can shape the types of national families and legal regimes for reproductive migrants. Pardis Mahdavi evaluates Kuwaiti laws that stipulate “a child born to an unmarried, noncitizen mother will be … defined as stateless” (76). There are at least 100,000 stateless people in Kuwait. Because pregnant, unmarried migrants seeking prenatal assistance or to report their pregnancies (including sexual assaults) can be sent to prison, some migrant women have decided to hide their pregnancies and abandon their child in order to continue working in the country. Moreover, the law allows for an abandoned child to gain Kuwaiti citizenship. Similarly, Nicole Constable details migrants’ creative use of existing laws in Hong Kong to file torture claims (even in the absence of torture) after becoming pregnant in order to temporarily extend their legal stay. In Japan, Nobue Suzuki shows, Filipina mothers have brought legal challenges against Japan’s Nationality Law, demanding that their children born out of wedlock to a Japanese father be allowed to obtain Japanese nationality even in instances when the father acknowledges paternity after birth.  Suzuki has found that despite their success, these children have grown up struggling to find a recognized existence for themselves in either/both side(s) of the family and parental society.

Part 3 (Negotiating the State) problematizes state actions and explores the creative responses of foreign migrants to their illegality and/or irregularity. Ironically, the state, which determines legality, sometimes produces the irregularity that it aims to prevent. For example, Mark Johnson and Christoph Wilcke discuss migrants’ decisions to become “freelancers” in the Middle East and the Gulf in order to circumvent gendered and restrictive laws on domestic worker employment. Hsiao-Chuan Hsia provocatively argues that the Taiwanese state promotes its competitiveness in the global economy by strategically using legality to lower the costs of production and reproduction. Similarly, Brenda Yeoh and Heng Leng Chee examine the Singapore government’s strict regulatory distinction between migrant wives and domestic workers, which has created a new form of illegality when foreign wives with a history of domestic work in the country seek employment. In the final chapter, Sara Friedman criticizes Taiwan’s strict and discriminatory laws on cross-Strait marriages, which have resulted in mainland Chinese wives pursuing legal strategies that are publicly deemed as “illegal” or “inauthentic” practices.

Overall, I found the book, in most parts, to be intellectually stimulating and plan to use it in my graduate seminar on “Transnationalism, Citizenship, and Migration in Asia.” I have only minor and, perhaps, unfair critiques. As a political scientist, I think the authors should have tried to engage intellectually with scholars beyond the disciplines of anthropology, sociology, and the law when discussing the role of state and state actors. Ideally they would also have engaged with the publications by scientists on the subject. Even if they deliberately elided this body of work for some reason, at the very least, the authors could have complemented their fieldwork among foreign migrants with interviews with policy makers and other political elites. In addition, a concluding chapter to bring the arguments advanced by various authors together would also be helpful for readers.

Apichai W. Shipper, Georgetown University, Washington DC, USA                                                   

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LEVERAGE OF THE WEAK: Labor and Environmental Movements in Taiwan and South Korea. Social Movements, Protest, and Contention, v. 42. By Hwa-Jen Liu. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2015. xv, 225 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$27.50, paper. ISBN 978-0-8166-8952-1.

Taiwan and South Korea, the two largest of the four East Asian Tigers, attracted global attention for the rapidity of their industrial development under authoritarian rule. The 1970s witnessed the beginning of popular protests calling attention to some of the negative consequences of this development, particularly as regarded labour exploitation and environmental degradation. The sequencing of labour and environmental movements in the two societies was reversed, with environmental protest coming first in Taiwan, and labour in Korea. The question of movement sequencing is at the core of this book, inspired largely by Karl Polanyi’s concept of the “double movement”: popular movements to protect aspects of society and nature that had been converted into fictitious commodities in the process of capitalist industrialization.

Taking movement power as her organizing concept and Mills’ “method of difference” as her approach, Hwa-Jen Liu analyzes the origins of the movement sequencing, the consequences of this sequencing for subsequent movements, and then the trajectory of the four central movements in the two societies.

She argues that movements derive power from different sources, such as the structural position of their main constituents (the labour case) or the power of ideas and ideology that are accepted by people who cut across class lines (the environment case). Of course, in practice, movements draw on both structural and ideological power. Turning to “movement emergence,” the author utilizes time series data to trace the escalation of protest activity. Key to this emergence is success at breaking out of institutional confines, which, in these two hard authoritarian states, were quite potent. But it is important to recognize the differences here, much of which can be traced to the different patterns of industrialization: Taiwan’s quasi-Leninist corporatist system, combined with large state-owned enterprises and small private firms, monitored and suppressed labour activism. On the other hand, the geographic dispersal of firms and their record of heavy pollution created the ground for popular awareness of the consequences of this development pattern, which then evolved into a protest movement. The political elites utilized the evolving electoral system to publicize environmental issues and bring them into public discourse. When the labour movement later emerged, it took the electoral route as well.

In Korea, by contrast, geographical concentration of large enterprises contributed to the formation of worker consciousness and labour’s ability to leverage this into a protest movement. Pollution was also more concentrated and its effects less dispersed among the population, stunting the rise of environmental consciousness. Politically, Korea had a series of often unstable military regimes without the kind of effective incorporationist party organization in Taiwan. This political structure created fertile ground for dramatic protest action for all causes.

Once these first movers had achieved some success, subsequent protesters were able to benefit from their experience, either utilizing the electoral system as labour did in Taiwan, or organizing aggressively as environmentalists did in Korea. The respective states took note, of course, changing their responses, resulting in a cat and mouse cycle where the movements also changed leadership and tactics.

While Polanyi’s ideas about the double movement served as initial inspiration, Antonio Gramsci hovers above and throughout the book—in particular, his thinking on the formation of collective actors. That involves the evolution from the economic-corporate level to that of class, and then to the hegemonic level of universal social interest. Liu’s two types of power are located at different levels in this schema: leverage at the economic-corporate and ideological at the hegemonic. Therefore, the labour and environmental movements had different points of departure, faced different challenges, and followed different trajectories. Basically, the leverage-based labour movement needed to develop ideological power as it attempted to move in the direction of hegemonic power, while the identity- and- ideologically-based environmental movement needed to garner leverage power at the economic-corporate level. This dynamic, interactive process, with learning, setbacks, and coalition making along the way, forms the basis of the book’s narrative.

Liu starts by exploring how to determine when a movement emerges. She argues that this involves the synchronization of escalating protest activities with the emergence of new consciousness: in other words, action and consciousness. It is not a matter of forming organizations. Utilizing interviews as well as documentary evidence, she traces the movements’ emergence in great and compelling detail. She demonstrates how the Korean state excluded and repressed the labour movement, resulting in a “desperate fighting spirit” (80), while Taiwan’s state incorporated the labour movement on the island.

Liu acknowledges the particular characteristics of labour and environmental protest movements as well as the special historical contexts of Taiwan and South Korea. But she succeeds in highlighting her contribution to social movement theory by drawing our attention to the importance of deconstructing the starting points and trajectories of all movements. She also strongly advocates movements speaking to each other, unabashedly wanting to see a labour-environmental alliance, where the strengths and experience of each can complement the other.

Stepping back from the particularities of the cases under examination here, readers and activists can certainly gain insights into the details of movement development. Although there are many quotes from interviews in the book, its approach is highly structural. I would have liked biographies of key figures and an attempt to understand their mindset as they analyzed challenges and developed strategies. I also think more attention should have been paid to the different roles Taiwan and Korea played in the Japanese imperial division of labour, which had consequences for the development of a large industrial working class and protest field more broadly in the latter than in the former. Finally, with undeniable evidence, the book lays much of the blame for labour repression and environmental degradation on capitalism, but we know that the actually existing socialist world committed probably worse atrocities in these and other realms, while repressing labour and environmental movements with more brutality and effectiveness than Taiwan, Korea, and other capitalist societies.

Thomas B. Gold, University of California, Berkeley, USA

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AT HOME AND IN THE FIELD: Ethnographic Encounters in Asia and the Pacific Islands. Edited by Suzanne S. Finney, Mary Mostafanezhad, Guido Carlo Pigliasco, Forrest Wade Young. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. xiii, 331 pp. (B&W illustrations.) US$28.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-8248-5379-2.

The editors of At Home and in the Field set themselves a daunting task with this anthology: to bring together nearly forty essays in order to coherently depict both the contemporary state of ethnographic research and of everyday life in a diverse and increasingly globalized Asia-Pacific. They envision the collection as an introductory text for those interested in Asia and the Pacific Islands, cultural geography, anthropology, or ethnic studies. As one might imagine, the scope of the essays, both in terms of geography and subject matter, is vast and varied, ranging from mobile phones and marriage in Vanuatu (Vaughan) to noodle shop etiquette in Tokyo (Fukutomi) to volunteer ecotourism in Thailand (Mostafanezhad). The essays are, quite simply, “stories of the ethnographic endeavour” (2), and most chapters, written with clarity and reader engagement in mind, are no more than six pages long. The essays are organized into nine thematic sections, each of which is preceded by a brief introduction. These themes reflect topics and ideas commonly found in introductory syllabi:

  • Real Encounters: Predicaments of Fieldwork
  • Meaningful Encounters: Learning, Representing, Engaging the Field
  • Language Encounters: Voices, Discourse, Digital Practice
  • Identity Encounters: Gender, Ethnicity, Nationality
  • Close Encounters: Marriage, Kinship, Social Networks
  • Economic Encounters: Class, Development, Inequality
  • Green Encounters: Environment, Sustainability, Restoration
  • Political Encounters: Power, Conflict, Resistance
  • Deep Encounters: Worldview, Religion, Spiritual Practices

Rounding out the collection are the preface and epilogue, by Christine R. Yano and Geoffrey White respectively, which situate the collection in terms of its contributions to two key areas of scholarship: understanding ethnography as methodology and thinking about Asia-Pacific as an object of analysis. Addressing either one of these topics on its own would be a significant achievement; addressing both, and doing so through the inclusion of so many perspectives, has the potential to be unwieldy. Fortunately, the editors and authors have achieved their goal with panache, creating a collection that is ambitious in scope and rich in detail, yet filled with clear, unassuming prose and compelling stories.

The book’s success results from the titular focus on the ethnographic encounter as its organizing principle. By focusing on encounter as the analytical starting point, rather than geographic or cultural location, the authors deftly avoid the question of what it is that defines Asia-Pacific as an area of study. Rather, a sense of Asia-Pacific-ness emerges from the juxtaposition of different ethnographic perspectives, stories, contexts, and encounters.

Similarly, the editors and authors acknowledge that contemporary fieldwork and ethnography, so central a methodology for social scientists interested in everyday life and local practices, has changed greatly since its inception in the last century, without offering up a too-tidy explanation of how it might be defined today. Rather, they include recent (post-2000) ethnographic updates in order to “highlight new forms of writing and research prevalent in twenty-first-century ethnography” (1). Again, it is by foregrounding the methodological significance of the encounter that these essays contribute to our understanding of fieldwork and ethnography. Some encounters are digital, some are urban, others are rural, but all are ethnographic. Importantly, the focus on encounter in At Home and in the Field demonstrates that home and field are not necessarily mutually exclusive, and many of the authors conduct fieldwork at home, either geographically or in terms of political solidarity or belonging.

By far the most compelling result of the focus on ethnographic encounter, and perhaps the greatest strength of the anthology, is that so many of these essays capture how doing ethnographic fieldwork feels, and how much of what we know as ethnographers is born of affect and embodiment. In several chapters, this focus is explicit: for instance, there are chapters on Tongan bodyscapes (Cottino), on negotiating sentiment in Fiji (Pigliasco), and on making sense of trauma in Indonesia (Samudra). Yet even in chapters where this focus remains implicit, it is made clear that the experience of ethnographic research often involves discomfort and dislocation (regardless of whether one does one’s fieldwork at home or away), and that it is through these very visceral experiences that ethnographic knowledge is produced. As an anthropologist who often teaches ethnographic research methods to undergraduates, I find that this fact of ethnography is often the most difficult to convey. Yet the authors in this collection manage to convey the experience of ethnographic fieldwork with great aplomb. As such, while the editors have, indeed, created a wonderful introductory text, I would further recommend this volume as an excellent teaching tool for instructors of fieldwork methods classes. Indeed, anyone, be it a student, a lay person, or a seasoned fieldworker, who has ever asked, “What is ethnography and how do we do it in a globalizing world?” would no doubt be greatly enriched through their reading of this vibrant collection.

Maggie Cummings, University of Toronto, Toronto, Canada                                                              

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THE CRISIS OF GLOBAL MODERNITY: Asian Traditions and a Sustainable Future. Asian Connections (Series). By Prasenjit Duara. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015. x, 328 pp. (Illustrations.) US$32.99, paper. ISBN 978-1-107-44285-6.

Prasenjit Duara will not be contained. He thinks both through the interstices and beyond the confines of our academic disciplines and our self-balkanized area studies to challenge conventional methodologies with a new one of his own making: historical sociology. In many ways, this new book for me is a summary, capturing as it does Duara’s advocacy of the interdisciplinary, empirical, and cutting-edge research that has distinguished the Asia Research Institute he directed at the National University of Singapore that for many years has been one of our academy’s most exciting intellectual forums.

Duara’s argument is both simple and intricate. The three pieces of it are captured in the title of his book: the crisis of global modernity, sustainability, and the Asian traditions. His first task is to unravel and identify the intertwined matrix of economic, political, and importantly, cultural forces that, with their depleting conquest of nature, have in our time converged in crisis as an unsustainable modernity. In a world in which the modern universalisms of high culture available to plot our way have been reduced to a wholly disenchanted nationalism and consumerism that now threaten our very physical survival, there is real urgency in finding a new compass to correct our course: a revisionist, post-Western modernity. As this global crisis—this perfect storm—continues to billow forth and darken on the horizon, the existing Western, Eurocentric system of competing sovereign “nation-states” in their various forms no longer has the possibility of tacking through the squalls of solvable problems. Indeed, the crisis is diffused, circulatory, and global in scale, and not reducible to problems at all. We have come face-to-face with a full-blown predicament the resolution of which is fundamentally religious and cultural, requiring of us nothing less than a change in our values, our intentions, and perhaps most pressing, our practices.

Four identifiable characteristics of this predicament of modernity that we can draw from the pages of Duara’s book are that it is organic, interpenetrating, and zero-sum: we cannot address any one “problem” effectively without striving to resolve them all. Second, this predicament respects no national, ethnic, or cultural boundaries. Indeed, it challenges the very idea of boundaries with complexity theory and “big history”—“pulsating global networks of exchange  . . .  of capital, of political systems, and of culture” (13). Third, the coterminous and interdependent nature of the various elements of the predicament means that no single actors on the world stage can address the malaise alone. As a species we either win together, or we all lose big time. And finally with the good news, we probably have the depth of cultural resources available to us to reshape our present conditions to produce a sustainable emergent and processual post-Western modernity. But in order to transition to this alternative modernity, we need to abandon the current mentality of sovereign nation-states contending at all costs to win, and to embrace a new dialogical vision of our complex and interdependent “circulatory histories.” As Duara insists, our destiny is either planetary, or not at all.

Duara looks for a path to sustainability by expanding our relevant cultural assets to take full advantage of the Asian traditions. He opens up, surveys, and inventories the full cornucopia of humanistic resources that can be drawn upon for the resolution of the looming predicament, with particular emphasis on resourcing the values of the antique and largely ignored Asian traditions that to date have been denied their proper place at the table. With the rise of Asia, and particularly China, in one generation we have witnessed a seismic sea change in the economic and political order of the world, a reconfiguration of power that is relatively easy to track. But what about the reach and influence of Asia on a newly emerging world cultural order? While Charles Taylor would appeal to the language of “hypergoods” as his description of the fundamental, architechtonic religio-ethical goods that serve as the basis of our moral frameworks, Duara wants to play with “transcendent authorities” as his alternative term of art. By appealing to a contrast between notions such as “radical transcendence,” associated with the symbol of an absolute and hegemonic Abrahamic God, and the “dialogical transcendence” that grounds more pluralistic religious practices, Duara attempts in a nuanced way to address the question: “How do movements founded on transcendence seek to control, shape, and authorize circulatory forms even as they themselves may be shaped by circulations?” (13). In the emergence of our local and changing idealities, reverence and reason are intertwined with networks of hope to provide these transcendent imperatives with their sacrality and a moral force that can inspire us to aspire to our highest human standards as a universal commons.

This book is dense and demanding of its readers, reporting as it does on a messy world with all of its existing complexities. And a short review of it at best can only be an invitation to readers to take it on. But the reward is more than worth it. While Duara abjures some easy answer to our pressing problems, he does provide a new framework for registering how the global predicament has arisen, and how we might move beyond it most effectively. At the end of the day, perhaps most reassuring is our confidence in the hopeful Duara who has, on thinking through this crisis of global modernity, recommended a way forward for us.

Roger T. Ames, Peking University, Beijing, China

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THE SAN FRANCISCO SYSTEM AND ITS LEGACIES: Continuation, Transformation and Historical Reconciliation in the Asia-Pacific. Asia’s Transformations, no. 45. Edited by Kimie Hara. London; New York: Routledge, 2015. xviii, 290 pp. US$145.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-13-879478-8.

It has become trendy to publish edited volumes on important anniversaries. This one—reflecting on the 60 years since the signing of the San Francisco Peace—explores the legacies that this treaty and associated agreements have bestowed upon East Asia. Probably the most problematic legacy—as emphasized throughout this book—are the lingering territorial disputes that plague the region. Indeed, more than half the essays are dedicated to this problem, including chapters on Takeshima/Dokdo, Senkaku/Diaoyu, the Kuriles, and the Spratly and Paracel Islands as well as on Okinawa and Taiwan. Other chapters look at “history issues” (such as ‘comfort women’) or evaluate the negative effects of the San Francisco Treaty system in a broader perspective. All these topics have been debated extensively in the past. Therefore, one will inevitably want to ask what new contributions this book brings to the debate. Despite the quality of the scholarly line-up, the answer is not too positive.

First, a seasoned reader of this literature will be familiar with many of the sources and arguments in this collection of essays. The editor’s own contributions are the most telling example. In her introduction, Professor Hara posits that the San Francisco Peace Treaty structured the Cold War conflict in Asia, that this conflict has not yet ended, and that the current territorial disputes are a product of ambiguities that the United States deliberately left in the treaty. All these points are well taken. But the scholar has been making identical arguments in many of her previous publications. Similarly, in her conclusion she proposes a multilateral solution akin to the Åland Islands settlement as a way forward. This would be interesting if Hara had not already edited an entirely different volume that explored this idea (Kimie Hara and Geoffrey Jukes, Northern territories, Asia-Pacific regional conflicts and the Åland experience: untying the Kurillian knot,  Routledge, 2009).

Those who do not necessarily seek original but rather a timely update on East Asian politics and the San Francisco System will not walk away satisfied either. Although published in 2015, the book is a product of a conference that took place in 2012. The content reflects this, as the governments of Koizumi (2001–2006) and Hatoyama (2009–2010) are the primary subjects of attention. The significant developments that have taken place since Xi Jinping’s accession to power and Abe’s return to it in late 2012 are not covered here. For these reasons this volume already appears a bit dated.

Readers might also at times be confused about the real target of this study. There are essays that keep their focus on the San Francisco Peace Treaty and its implications, or examine the US-Japan Security Treaty or the Taipei Treaty that together with the San Francisco Peace Treaty form the basis of the so-called San Francisco System. Other articles, however, refer to these agreements only very superficially. Given their content, they could have as easily been part of a different volume. This applies, for example, to Nong Hong’s discussion of the South China Sea disputes with regard to the UNCLOS framework. Or to Konstantin Sarkisov’s essay that offers an overview of the last sixty years of Russia-Japan relations from the perspective of the Northern Territories problem. Lee Seokwoo’s essay then reads more like a treatise in defense of South Korea’s claims to Dokdo than a sober analysis of the Treaty’s effects on this issue. And Scott Harrison’s contribution rather laboriously injects the San Francisco Treaty as a casual variable into the debate when in fact the scholar has in mind the larger processes of the Cold War. Not differentiating between these categories, and using terms such as Cold War, the San Francisco Treaty, and the San Francisco System almost interchangeably is presents serious problems for the proposed arguments. But this conceptual slippage also affects other chapters in the volume

To be sure, the book contains interesting pieces that are worthy of our attention. This is particularly true for chapters by John Dower, John Price, Unryu Suganuma, and Man-Houng Lin. But as is often the case with conference volumes, some of the other contributions that seem to require more fine-tuning before they can be recommended. For instance, in his chapter, Haruki Wada also suggests that multilateralism—in this case the Six-Party Talks—could be the key to solving territorial disputes in Asia. Notwithstanding the fact that the meetings have been discontinued since 2009, one wonders how realistic is this proposal? After all, the Six-Party Talks were not able to resolve even the one issue on which all its participants agreed. A multilateral approach that must include the U.S. is also a proposed solution at the end of Dong-Choon Kim’s chapter. This comes, however, after a degree of U.S./Japan bashing, since Kim appears to hold both states responsible for the problems that befell the Korean Peninsula and its relations with Japan. In many ways this chapter is symbolic of today’s discourse in Northeast Asia: here, too, calls for multilateralism are often accompanied by uncritical insistence on one’s own national positions.

The authors in this volume do not always agree with each other. They do, however, share a similar view on the overall effects of the San Francisco System. For them the alliance structure based on the treaties signed in 1950–1951 was designed to primarily serve U.S. interests with terrible consequences for East Asia (whether this includes problems of unresolved historical conflicts or national sovereignty/territorial issues). However, this is not the only way to assess the system’s long-term consequences. One could also, for example, consider the substantial economic and security advantages that this structure brought to various Asian countries. The authors–mostly progressive academics–downplay or avoid mentioning these benefits. Eventually, the reader will have to reach out to other works to obtain a fuller picture.

Ivo Plšek, University of California, Berkeley, USA                                                                              

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THINK TANKS AND NON-TRADITIONAL SECURITY: Governance Entrepreneurs in Asia. Critical Studies of the Asia-Pacific Series. By Erin Zimmerman. Basingstoke, Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. 214 pp. (Illustrations.) CAD$105.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-137-48824-4.

Regional security governance in Asia has become much more complex in recent years, since it involves both a growing variety of actors—state and non-state—and an increasing number of non-military and transnational threats to be managed. Zimmerman’s book covers both of these very salient themes in a singular effort.

The book explains how think tanks and their networks in Asia mobilize discourse to increase their influence despite being positioned at the margins of political power. The author focuses on the promotion of a “non-traditional security” (NTS) agenda by four networks: the ASEAN-Institutes of Strategic and International Studies (ASEAN-ISIS), the Council for Security Cooperation in the Asia Pacific (CSCAP), the IISS-sponsored Shangri-La Dialogue (SLD), and the MacArthur Foundation Asia Security Initiative (ASI). Zimmerman argues that by controlling both how NTS is framed and the space in which this discourse is performed, these networks have been able to position themselves as “governance entrepreneurs.” The “NTS agenda” that they promote, detailed in chapter 3, not only calls for the securitization of a growing number of non-military and transnational issues, but also privileges solutions that amount to institutional change in regional security governance. These solutions include giving up strongly held norms that have structured regional security governance in Asia, strengthening the regional security architecture, and further developing inter-state cooperation on transboundary issues. The author claims that since formal regional institutions, in failing to cope with NTS issues, are increasingly perceived as ineffective, think tanks have become a credible alternative.

Zimmerman sets out to make three contributions. First, she claims to update and go beyond the existing literature on think tanks and their networks in Asia. Second, she adds discursive institutionalism (DI) to the repertoire of theoretical approaches used to study the influence of non-state actors on security governance (see chapter 2). Third, she undertakes a comparative evaluation of think tanks influence on policy in Asia, throughout chapters 4 to 7.

The author convincingly demonstrates that think tanks in Asia have promoted the NTS agenda, and the problem/solution pairing it entails more specifically, as a way to gain enough political influence to push for institutional change. The complex portrayal of NTS as referring simultaneously to a set of objective issues, a series of ideas about how regional security governance is managed, and a particular agenda promoted through discourse for strategic motives, is as rare as it is valuable. The book also provides a much-needed appraisal of the current level of political influence exerted by the well-established ASEAN-ISIS and CSCAP. It also introduces newer initiatives such as the SLD and the ASI, which have been increasingly influential and yet remain understudied. Overall, this serves as a noteworthy empirical contribution and allows for a better understanding of the complex web of interactions that characterizes the relationship between actors involved in the official regional process and members of epistemic networks in Asia. At the theoretical level, the author contributes to the diversification of theoretical approaches in Asia Pacific IR, adding to a still modest but promising branch of recent scholarly work that sheds light on the role of discourse in the social construction of reality. While the core of the argument is convincing and the contributions significant, the book may still encounter a few objections, as a number of caveats prevent it from realizing its ambitions fully.

The argument would have benefited from better clarifying the meaning of NTS. Its meaning fluctuates throughout the book, at times including initiatives pushed by think tanks that have very little to do with the management of non-military and transnational issues. Moreover, a number of methodological limitations may have resulted in overstating the actual level of success of think tanks in bringing about institutional change. The comparative evaluation suffers from permeability between case studies, thus causing redundancy. The same individuals are typically involved simultaneously in multiple networks, which makes it difficult to isolate each network’s contribution. Also, the implication that the NTS agenda runs counter to state sovereignty and must lead to the relinquishment of traditionally upheld diplomatic norms, such as non-interference and soft institutionalism, has not materialized in practice, despite the successful mainstreaming of NTS in the agenda of regional organizations. The development of NTS cooperation among states even serves as a way for them to collectively extend their control over their national borders. The state remains the main—if no longer the sole—provider of, and referent to, security in the region.

Finally, since the role of discourse as a vehicle for ideas is widely implicit in constructivist scholarship, there is undoubtedly worth in the author’s effort to make it explicit. However, limiting its added value to the role of conduit for other factors amounts to underestimating its own productive power, which is situated in its ability to shape actors’ understanding of the world, and the benefits that come from using discourse-based approaches in IR. Portraying DI as a mere bridge-building enterprise between constructivism and institutionalism is not only reductive, but makes it hard to understand what it brings to the table in comparison to the rich scholarship on norm entrepreneurship, diffusion, and localization in the context of international institutions, to which the author only refers partially.

These quibbles notwithstanding, this book provides a very useful portrayal of the space where regional security governance is defined, and of the discursive strategies used by think tanks to increase their influence. The critical distance shown by the author when addressing the way NTS is being framed and its effects on regional security governance is commendable. This book certainly contributes to highlighting the inherent potential of discourse-based work on security regionalism in Asia. Therefore, it should be read by anyone interested in the evolution of regional security governance in Asia and in the role of non-state actors in this process.

Stéphanie Martel, Université de Montréal, Montreal, Canada

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BILATERAL LEGACIES IN EAST AND SOUTHEAST ASIA. Edited by N. Ganesan. Singapore: ISEAS Publishing, 2015. x, 208 pp. US$29.90, paper. ISBN 978-981-4620-41-3.

This book demonstrates clearly that memories of past events as well as the people who participated in creating them can impede current discussions aimed at improving contemporary relationships at the bilateral level. In order to do so the volume’s editor and contributors collectively develop the concepts of legacy and overhang and proceed to use them as tools of analysis as they explain their importance as impediments to successful bilateral interactions between sets of Asian nations. They begin their analysis by noting that interactions among and between nations take place at three levels: the global (or system), the regional (or subsystem) and the bilateral (or nation to nation). They concentrate on the latter, which involves past relationships within historical settings. After reviewing the methodological approaches to analyzing these interactions, they concentrate on bilateralism and the impediments raised by overhangs and legacies and proceed to account for them in five separate but integrated chapters. Each chapter is a case study of a set of interactions involving China-Japan, Japan-Korea, China-Vietnam, Myanmar-Thailand, and Thailand-Cambodia. The chapters “…discuss these bilateral relationships and narrate their importance both in history and the presence, paying special attention to…how these issues became embedded in bilateral discourse, what are the constituencies that invoke them and under what circumstances, and finally, what are the possibilities of such issues eventually fading into the back-ground” (19).

Bilateral legacies are enduring products of past financial and economic conflicts, territorial disputes, tensions, political posturing, security and military threats, armed conflicts, as well as ideological differences that previously arose between two nations. When these legacies fail to fade from memories, the results are hangovers that impede the maturation of amity between nations and over time can lead to enmity. As a result, “…one thing is certain—it is incumbent upon political elites to muster sufficient political will and resources to overcome overhangs or legacies…[and] since such overhangs and legacies obtain within the context of a bilateral relationship, such efforts must be pursued by both countries in the relationship simultaneously to achieve progress” (19).

The volume emphasizes emphatically the point that history matters because legacies and overhangs leave a “…negative perception that derives from historical interactions and subsequently becomes embedded in the psyche of the state, both at the level of the elites and the citizen body” (22). The primary emphases of the volume are to describe in detail how these perceptions came about and to explore ways for decision-makers (mainly political elites) to resolve them in order for effective and mutually beneficial bilateral interactions to take place.

The emphases are core to the chapters and in his concluding segment the editor summarizes their contents and highlights their implications while reaching this caution: “…negative images of neighboring states should not be played up by a state as part of responsible international behavior. It is certainly no way to accrue good will and soft power in the international arena. Consequently the state and its agencies should refrain from utilizing overhangs or legacies in their foreign policy output” (179). Ganesan goes on to add, “…such efforts among its own citizens and fringe groups trying to gain political mileage should be opposed…In order to preserve cordial ties with proximate neighbours” (170). It’s important to note that over time cordial ties are important because environments change, as in the case of China and Vietnam, which “…share a long history of relations market by extended periods of collaboration and shorter periods of military conflict” (95). Depending upon when in the course of historical ebbs and flows discussions take place, hangovers might or might not arise and this makes enduring ties essential.

In addition to the rigor exhibited throughout the volume, important attention is paid to key factors such as the importance of civility and mutual respect among leaders and decision-makers as they conduct foreign affairs. Not only is comity likely to bind neighboring personnel (thereby enhancing the likelihood of reaching mutually advantageous bilateral relationships) but it also could have important spillover effects when it comes to discussions about forming broader regional and subregional arrangements. Mutual cordiality among leaders could help to overcome remnants of hangovers involving the nations that they represent during formative deliberations about the future.

The book’s chapters are organized in a logical and linear fashion, are uniformly well-written, and exhibit an impressive level of scholarship, and while reading through the volume readers are likely to think about other bilateral and regional interactions where legacies and overhangs come to mind. The concepts are not simply academic abstractions. They influence outcomes in terms of how well Southeast Asian national leaders are able to form symbiotic interactions: for example, between Thailand and Malaysia in their cross-border development effort; or among four ASEAN members and Yunnan Province of the People’s Republic of China in their effort to take advantage of the natural economic territory contained in the Greater Mekong Subregion; or among the ten-nation participants in a joint effort to create an ASEAN Economic Community that would enable producers to take advantage of horizontal and vertical market linkages that result in long run efficiencies due to the creation of a larger and more integrated region.

The volume is both interesting and useful, and in the judgement of this reviewer it would provide excellent reading material in either advanced upper division courses or graduate level seminars in fields ranging from international economics to international relations. The chapters can serve as case studies in which an individual student or a student-group could either present analyses of specific chapters to fellow classmates or could discover and analyze bilateral relationships among other nations. In effect, the book’s contents accomplish two tasks: they contribute to the state of knowledge about what scholars and decision-makers know about bilateral relationships and they provide students and teachers with ideas worth pursuing within classroom settings.

Robert L. Curry, Jr., California State University (Emeritus), Sacramento, USA                                

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PARTY SYSTEM INSTITUTIONALIZATION IN ASIA: Democracies, Autocracies, and the Shadows of the Past. Edited by Allen Hicken, Erik Martinez Kuhonta. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015. xviii, 354 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$34.99, cloth. ISBN 978-1-107-61423-9.

In Party System Institutionalization in Asia, Allen Hicken and Erik Kuhonta assemble an impressive series of chapters with a quality and analytical coherence that is difficult to achieve in an edited volume. Drawing on Samuel Huntington’s concept of institutionalization, along with Scott Mainwaring and Timothy Scully’s later work on party system institutionalization, the authors set out to explain the existence—and non-existence—of institutionalized party systems in Asia.

Political parties, often maligned institutions, are viewed by the authors as central to the health of a democratic system. Party systems with a high degree institutionalization provide citizens with coherent electoral options capable of channeling interests. They act as a bridge between society and government, facilitating accountability. Party systems with a low degree of institutionalization, on the other hand, contain ever-changing partisan options, are often dominated by a leader’s personality, and contain vague platforms. Because they are disciplined and cohesive, institutionalized systems are in a better position to deliver public goods. They can also improve the quality of democracy. As one prominent contributor puts it, institutionalized party systems do not ensure good democratic outcomes, “but in the medium and long terms, it is difficult to have good outcomes under democracy without a reasonably institutionalized system” (344).

In a neatly written introductory chapter, the editors make several key empirical and theoretical contributions. Most obviously, they extend the analysis of party system institutionalization to Asian cases using a comparative approach. Theoretically, they underline the important relationship between authoritarian legacies and party system institutionalization. Those party systems with the highest degree of institutionalization—Malaysia, Singapore, Taiwan—all at some point relied on authoritarian rules to constrain competition. Only Taiwan ever made a transition to democracy. Hicken and Kuhonta note, “A highly institutionalized party system…may emerge from the shell of undemocratic politics” (16).

The twelve-country case study chapters are of an impressive quality. Meredith Weiss’s chapter on Malaysia compellingly argues that democratic change seems most plausible during periods of party system deinstitutionalization. The other chapters, focusing on semi-democratic and non-democratic parties, all tend to bring the issue of leadership succession to the fore. Netina Tan argues that routinized leadership recruitment mechanisms in Singapore’s People’s Action Party have entrenched the power of the hegemonic party and contributed to the stability of the regime. Tuong Vu examines temporal periods of institutionalization and deinstitutionalization of the Vietnamese Communist Party through an examination of leadership turnover and the shifting social bases of the party’s elite. Likewise, Yongnian Zheng’s chapter on the Chinese communist party examines intra-party processes and the party’s relationship with society and the state, finding that the party is capable of the adaptation necessary to prevent the rise of an organized opposition. In all these cases, party system institutionalization aids authoritarian survival.

There is little agreement on what, if any, effect electoral systems have on institutionalization. Tun-jen Cheng and Yung-ming Hsu’s chapter on Taiwan suggests single non-transferable voting rules aided party system institutionalization by forcing the nascent opposition to coordinate its electoral activities. Kenneth Mori McElwain thinks those same rules produced a clientelism and weak party identification in Japan, albeit in a stable, predictable pattern of interactions. Hicken’s chapter outlines all the institutional variables that keep the Philippines party system weakly institutionalized, while Csaba Nikolenyi finds that legislative rules against party defection have, to some degree, contributed to party system institutionalization. Institutions matter, but the particular institution and the direction of the effect appear to vary across contexts.

Several chapters present evidence to challenge the theoretical linkage between institutionalized, programmatic parties and desirable outcomes like democratization and the provision of public goods. On the one hand, Kuhonta finds that Thailand’s non-ideological, feckless party system has contributed to regime instability. Yet Paige Johnson Tan argues that the recent success of less-rooted parties in Indonesia may actually reduce potentially dangerous political polarization. Likewise, Joseph Wong’s examination of South Korea demonstrates the possibility of expanding public goods provision in the absence of a strongly institutionalized party system.

While Hicken and Kuhonta extend Mainwaring’s party system institutionalization concept to Asia, Mainwaring himself shows up at the end of the volume to provide his analysis and voice some concerns. Party system institutionalization should be sorted by regime type, insists Mainwaring, as the measures used to study institutionalization in competitive systems are inappropriately applied to hegemonic systems like Malaysia and Singapore. For example, does the Cambodian People’s Party steady collection of around 40 to 50 percent of the electoral vote indicate party system stability or simply the successful manipulation of polls and harassment of opposition? Sorpong Peou’s Cambodian chapter suggests the latter, finding electoral stability is likely “based more on coercion than consent” (232). Mainwaring raises methodological and empirical issues, and notes his skepticism that authoritarianism itself does much to bolster later party system institutionalization. The dialogue between the editors and Mainwaring helps situate the book’s contribution beyond Asia.

The book does not end up providing a clear path forward, both in terms of research agenda and practice. The authors find that existing theories provide minimal insight: democratic experience has not lead directly to party system institutionalization, and electoral engineering is likely to have unpredictable effects. Party system institutionalization may be the legacy of authoritarian policies, but most autocratic regimes in Asia have not arrived at this destination. In terms of democratic longevity, several non-institutionalized systems survive just fine, while Thailand’s recent experience with increasingly programmatic, rooted parties ended poorly. The emergence of institutionalized, programmatic party competition is certainly a worthwhile subject, but the Asian experience offers few lessons as to how a democracy transitions from a non-institutionalized to an institutionalized party system without triggering destabilizing polarization.

Although the empirical findings often challenge existing theories of party system institutionalization—and the editors’ key arguments—the shared analytical focus anchors the book and creates a productive dialogue among contributors. This is a worthwhile volume, containing chapters that can be assigned in class as standalone pieces while reaching a level of rigour that will inform future research.

Nathan Allen, Asia Pacific Foundation of Canada, Vancouver, Canada                                           

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TRANSNATIONAL MIGRATION AND ASIA: The Question of Return. Global Asia, 4. Edited by Michiel Baas. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, in close collaboration with the International Institute for Asian Studies (IIAS); Chicago: University of Chicago Press [distributor], 2015. 201 pp. US$99.00, cloth. ISBN 978-90-8964-658-3.

Putting together an edited volume has many challenges, the biggest of which is the issue of thematic and substantive coherence. This edited volume by Baas meets this challenge very effectively as all the chapters are well crafted essays that provide a rich body of ethnographic and historical data to show the diversity and dynamics of the “irrational, illogical, or even bipolar” meanings (19) attributed to the decisions, intentions, and actions of “returning home.” It is particularly exciting and refreshing to see several authors address the issue of non-return or resistance to return—the Japanese-Americans in the early twentieth century (Kaibara), the overseas Vietnamese students in France during the Franco-colonial period (Nguyen), and the Filipina dependent students in Ireland (Nititham). The decision to move is no less important than the decisions to stay, but policy emphasis has disproportionately focused on people on the move, thus creating, in my opinion, a biased academic focus on mobility and an unspoken dismissal or neglect of immobility. In a similar vein but for different reasons, studies of entrepreneurship and business focus almost singularly on success rather than failure, yet there is much to learn from business failure.

Using a “migrant-centred approach,” this volume addresses the question of “what does ‘return’ mean to migrants?” (9). While the notion of “home” is not problematized explicitly as an objective of this project, the data contained in this volume speak loudly of the migrants’ expressed contested understanding of what constitutes “home” and the rejection of the idea that home always refers to a primordial cultural and territorial destination. The younger Nikkei-Brazilian’s idea of “onward migration” mentioned by von Baeyer (37) is a prime example of this discourse and understanding. In all, this edited volume is built on the social analysis of transmigration practices and/or discourses in eight studies involving anthropologists (Baas, Koh, von Baeyer), sociologists/urban studies/feminist studies (Anwar, Bhatt, Nititham), and historians (Kaibara, Nguyen). The disciplinary diversity nicely complements the regional diversity covered by these studies: Japanese-Brazilians in Japan and Brazil (von Baeyer), Indian students in Australia (Baas), Indian IT returnees and their family from Seattle (Bhatt), Filipina dependent students in Ireland (Nititham), Japanese-Americans in the U.S. in early twentieth century (Kaibara), second generation overseas Vietnamese returnees in Ho Chi Minh city (Koh), Vietnamese students in France in the early twentieth century (Nguyen), and Burmese-Rohingya refugees and Bangladeshi illegal migrants in Pakistan (Anwar). With the exception of the three historical chapters by Kaibara, Koh and Nguyen, all the other chapters deal with contemporary situations and conditions.

A strength of this volume is the uniformly excellent job by each author in providing a full context of the many structural/historical legacies and conditions, social-cultural specificities, and other legacies that affect and are affected by the meanings and imaginings about mobility that is the subject focus. This holistic approach is indeed an important contribution of this book, because as Baas rightly points out, the notion of “return is imbued with meaning that goes well beyond what statistical models, structural approaches, or even a focus on the complexity of network can lay bare” (18). Human actions are always rooted in meanings and logics embedded in social and cultural contexts; our behaviour is an outcome of social construction that cannot be fully understood outside the personal and subjective. Yet it is imperative to avoid reducing our research focus and observation down to a single individual or a few individuals, thus removing our capability to answer broader questions about the human experience and the conditions of our existence. It is thus with a great deal of discomfort to note that several authors in this edited book referred to an extremely small sample of case studies for the evidence in their analysis: one Indian student out of a total of 120,490 in Australia (Baas, 42, 54), two young Filipina dependent students out of 20,000 in Ireland (Nitiham, 76), and four Indian female returnees from the United States in Bangalore among the many thousands of returnees in the IT sector in India (Bhatt, 60–61). While Bhatt and Nitiham mention that they spoke with many more people than the few case studies they included in their chapter, and I assume that Baas also had a larger number of case studies to draw from, it is still a concern that they chose to include only a very small number of case studies in their contribution to this volume. I thus recommend this book to any reader interested in the broader issue of transmigration with an emphasis on Asians and Asia, but readers are cautioned that some of the analyses presented in this volume should be considered exploratory in nature due to their limited body of evidence, and thus any conclusive statements or observations made in these chapters should best be viewed as tentative and preliminary.

Josephine Smart, University of Calgary, Alberta, Canada                                                    

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PACIFIC STRIFE: The Great Powers and their Political and Economic Rivalries in Asia and the Western Pacific 1870-1914. Global Asia, 5; IIAS Publications Series. By Kees van Dijk. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press; Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press [distributor], 2015. 523 pp. (Illustrations.) US$149.00, cloth. ISBN 978-90-8964-420-6.

This book by the Dutch historian Kees van Dijk is an historical review of global power struggles and negotiations in the Asia-Pacific region, boiling from the latter half of the nineteenth century until the onset of WWI. The global powers analyzed in this volume are Great Britain, France, Russia, as well as relatively recent ones such as the United States, Germany, and Japan. The Dutch mercantile empire, while also having a strong presence in Southeast Asia at this time, is only sporadically referenced (it was, however, the main subject of van Dijk’s earlier work The Netherlands Indies and the Great War 1914–1918 [KITLV Press, 2007]). In fact, as he states in the foreword, writing on the Netherlands Indies made him “realize how much international developments in the Pacific in the previous decades had shaped Dutch anxieties about the Netherlands being able to hold on to its colonies in the East” (9) and the data collected to sketch these anxieties forms the basis of this present work.

While the main title suggests that the primary focus is on the Pacific, including its islands (e.g., Fiji, Samoa, New Guinea, and Hawaii) and the Pacific Rim region (e.g., Taiwan, China, Indochina, and Thailand), the geographical areas examined in the book also involve Central Asia, Burma, and Tibet. The main point of van Dijk is that starting from the early 1870s, the Pacific Ocean gradually surpassed the Atlantic as the new traffic centre of world commerce. This was enabled by the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869, which drastically shortened the journey from Europe to India, the Far East, and the Pacific. Ports on the Persian Gulf, in India, China, Southeast Asia, Australia, and New Zealand began to serve as important commercial entry points, relay stations, or naval bases, which further affected the politics of these regions and adjacent territories. When one adds to this the advancement of various technologies at the time such as the replacement of sail with steam, construction of transcontinental railroads (e.g., the completion of America’s transcontinental railroad in 1869), and installations of submarine telegraph cables, the strategic position of the Pacific Islands became extremely important. For one thing, steamships needed coaling stations in the middle of their long ocean voyages (17). Cash cropping opportunities such as cotton and copra (54), as well as abundant land and sources of labour (52) to develop plantations, also attracted numerous settlers whose products could now be efficiently moved by these newly developed means of transportation. These settlers and their organizations had long been mingling in indigenous politics and swaying homeland colonial policies in favour of military backing or even total annexation (25). There were even cases where overseas colonies took the initiative to annex territories (e.g., Australia and British New Guinea, 132), or discussed the possibilities of forming an island federation themselves (New Zealand and Fiji, 412). Missionaries from different denominations also played influential roles in intervening in indigenous politics and extending the struggle of the global powers (49). As van Dijk concludes, “The South Pacific, which in the past had not attracted much attention, suddenly became a region of great expectations and dreams of unlimited economic prospects” (47).

While most of the historical events mentioned in this book have already been treated in various scholarly studies, this work’s greatest contribution is to put these events in the context of “rivalry” and to bring out the complex interactions involved. For example, in chapter 4, van Dijk analyzes the Anglo-German rivalry behind the annexation of Fiji. This is an interesting angle because previous studies have focused on either the Anglo-French rivalry reflected in the competition between the Roman Catholic Church and London Missionary Society (see Neil Gunson’s “Missionary Interest in British Expansion in the South Pacific in the Nineteenth Century,” Journal of Religious History 3, no. 4 [Dec. 1965]), or the Anglo-American rivalry in the Pacific (see William David McIntyre’s “Anglo-American Rivalry in the Pacific: The British Annexation of the Fiji Islands in 1874,” Pacific Historical Review 29, no. 4 [1960]). As van Dijk demonstrates, after the British annexation of Fiji in 1874 and the deployment of its subsequent land and labour policies, the interests of German settlers in Fiji were greatly affected, a situation he terms the “Fiji Crisis.” This made Germany aware that its settlers needed greater protection, which deeply influenced the development of future power struggles in the Pacific (74). In chapters 18 and 19, when discussing the involvement of the United States in the Pacific in the late nineteenth century, particularly the annexation of Hawaii, the author also brings in the ambitions of Japan (383) and that country’s early fears for its forces and emigrants in the face of American moves (471), issues that are generally neglected by studies of American activities in the Pacific in this period.

Given the grand scheme of van Dijk’s approach in this book, there are a few minor aspects regarding which I feel more details could have been provided. For example, on page 97 he mentions that in the late nineteenth century Germany would have acquired Taiwan (Formosa) from China. I find this very interesting, which is a lesser known fact in the history of Taiwan. I am nevertheless disappointed to find no reference attached to this statement, which could actually be found in Otto Pflanze’s work Bismarck and the Development of Germany, Volume III: The Period of Fortification, 1880–1898 (Princeton University Press 2014, 115). I also think that the British Admiral Lord George Paulet’s brief occupation of Hawaii in 1843 should have been mentioned in the chapter on the annexation of Hawaii, for it had great significance for Hawaiian sovereignty and Anglo-American rivalry in the Pacific. These points, however, do not diminish the value of this volume as an excellent historical review of the diplomatic, military, and economic activities in the pre-WWI Asia-Pacific region.

Hao-Li Lin, University of Pittsburgh, Pittsburgh, USA                                                                       

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THE GLOBAL COAL MARKET: Supplying the Major Fuel for Emerging Economies. Edited by Mark C. Thurber and Richard K. Morse. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015. xx, 702 pp. (Boxes, figures, tables.) US$155.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-107-09242-6.

This book assembles a dozen authors from around the globe, under the editorial hands of Richard Morse and Mark Thurber from Stanford University’s Program on Energy and Sustainable Development. It largely succeeds in its ambitious goal of providing a comprehensive overview of the evolution of the global coal industry and global coal trade, summarising the evolution of coal demand and supply in recent decades. It also highlights the essential contradiction inherent in coal use: coal will continue to be needed to meet the energy needs of rapidly expanding developing economies, chiefly in Asia. But such use seems incompatible with achieving climate goals, at least in the absence of large-scale deployment of mitigation technologies, whose prospects for commercialisation continue to recede.

The book focusses on steam or thermal coal, and unlike many previous publications on coal markets, has a very strong Asian focus, as the clear centre of emerging demand, given OECD coal demand is only just over one quarter of global coal use and declining. The two editors provide a concise overview of the recent evolution of coal markets, the rapid rise in Asian coal use, notably in China but also India, and the sharp increase in global coal trade. Informative and readable chapters chronicle the rise of coal production, export and use in China, India, South Africa, Australia, and Indonesia, now the world’s largest thermal coal exporter by a very large margin. These chapters highlight the challenges that each country has faced in expanding coal output, with emphasis on policy issues and how different countries have dealt with them (in some cases, work still in progress). The chapter on India, analysing the causes and implications of the (until recently) sharply slowing growth in coal production, provides a strong contrast with the chapters on China, which demonstrate how that country has successfully expanded output over the last three decades. The factors underpinning the acceleration of Indonesian exports are succinctly explained, with clear pointers to future production and export profiles, as Indonesia’s economy expands, and its own energy needs inevitably rise.

These country chapters set the scene for an informed discussion of key factors in world coal trade, with the dramatic and apparently paradoxical rise of China’s coal imports placed in a clear perspective, and the difficulties of expanding American coal exports neatly explained. This section concludes with an impressive effort to model world coal trade, with a strong summary of key results that, despite the turmoil in energy markets in 2014 and 2015, highlights important future directions. Further efforts in this area will need to be informed by updated data on capital and operating costs.

The final section overviews new coal technologies, including the fast emerging Australian LNG expansions based on coal bed methane, the much less mature and more complex underground coal gasification technologies, and the group of mitigation technologies, collectively known as carbon capture and storage (CCS). The latter discussion does not shy away from the problems of high cost, efficiency penalties, and generally slow progress, contrasting hope with reality. The potential role of China in CCS deployment is discussed separately, with key issues, such as additional strains on the coal supply chain and the difficulties of obtaining finance, either domestic or international, treated realistically.

A fine, succinct concluding chapter by the editors highlights the central dilemma of coal: the need for expanded coal use in some major developing countries because of its availability and price, but the obvious point that unmitigated coal use is incompatible with climate change goals, as reiterated and intensified at COP 21 in Paris at the end of 2015.

Any book on coal markets, written as this one was largely by the start of 2015, is likely to suffer from the changes wrought by dynamic energy markets, from which coal has not been immune. The slowdown and structural changes in the Chinese economy seen from mid-2014 have sharply changed coal use and trade patterns globally, and rapid diversification of that country’s power sector will further impact coal demand. As of the end of 2015, it appears that India has rapidly emerged as the largest thermal coal importer, but its efforts to boost its own coal production and diversify its power sources make it the wild card in global coal trade, as the authors clearly point out. Environmental policies, including those promised at COP 21, will inevitably slow coal use from the rapid growth rates seen since 2000. But given the recent and ongoing investments in coal-fired power plants, coal seems likely to remain the backbone of power production in those countries and others in Asia for some time.

The Global Coal Market offers a comprehensive, balanced and accessible treatment of these important developments, of use to anyone interested in the economic and environmental issues around coal.

Ian Cronshaw, Australian National University, Canberra, Australia

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China and Inner Asia


FAREWELL TO THE GOD OF PLAGUE: Chairman Mao’s Campaign to Deworm China. By Miriam Gross. Oakland, CA: University of California Press, 2016. xv, 357 pp. (Illustrations.) US$70.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-520-28883-6.

Beyond human travail, beyond societal disruption, beyond economic disaster, widespread disease, epidemic or endemic, has its uses. Medical science advances, careers are made, and political agendas rise and fall. This interesting book provides the first detailed examination of a well-known but until now poorly documented campaign to rid China of the blood fluke, Schistosoma japonicum. Human infection with this flatworm has been commonly known as snail fever in China because of the role of freshwater snails in its life cycle and transmission. As described in this carefully researched account by Miriam Gross, in the final phases of the war between the Chinese Communist forces under Mao Zedong and the Republican Army under Chiang Kai-shek, the dominant Communist army was thwarted by the lowly parasite which infected Mao’s army as it was learning to swim in preparation for the amphibious assault on Taiwan. The choice of snail fever as an early public health target of the new PRC leaders thus had both political as well as humanitarian resonances for the new government.

One of the first mass mobilization campaigns after Mao’s victory and the establishment of the People’s Republic of China in 1949 was aimed at the problem of snail fever. Mao’s poem, used as the title for this volume, views endemic snail fever as a plague upon the Chinese people, a plague to be banished by the new socialist order. As shown by Gross, this campaign, often viewed as one of the first successes of the new Communist government, was in reality, a contest between the populist ideas of Mao and the elitist ideas of the entrenched public health authorities. It was a campaign based on mass mobilization rather than research-based, top-down approaches. Even with Mao’s support, there was considerable tension between local leadership and the central PRC government. This tension was managed rather effectively by restraint on the part of the central authorities, trying to establish the new collective socialism of the PRC.

The mass mobilization campaign at the local level used diverse means to combat old ideas and traditional superstitions and to instill new scientific ways of thinking. This campaign used approaches similar to the earlier anti-hookworm campaign of the Republican Period, waged under the auspices of the Rockefeller Foundation: village dramas, local talks, small incentives, and so on. As Gross explains, the campaign’s main success was to introduce new scientific ideas to the rural populations, especially the youth. The main weakness of the campaign was lack of financial support; in today’s jargon, it was an unfunded mandate.

The campaign had two components, prevention by snail control, and treatment with newer medicines. The prevention program was particularly problematic because it involved capturing and killing snails, mostly by burial of the snails, a very labour-intensive process. Local economies, still struggling to increase food production, were unable to devote sufficient labour to the anti-snail program and since it was run by local cadres, they rarely were enthusiastic about implementation of the prevention arm of the program, which required massive water and feces management schemes. Hygiene was seen as an urban fixation, not something of concern to rural communities.

While the actual snail-killing campaign was not particularly successful, according to Gross, the campaign did have the valuable side effect of combating superstition and introducing new scientific methods. This was later to be important in the consolidation of the collectivization program of the central government as well as to provide effective leadership during the later Cultural Revolution.

Even though the prevention campaign is famous, it was of dubious effectiveness because of local resistance from the authorities charged with its implementation. However, the treatment part of the campaign, even though based on Western medical principles and medications, was quite successful in reducing the incidence of snail fever over the course of a few years. Although the government described the rural population as backward and superstitious, most accepted Western medicine even though they distrusted Western ideas generally, and medicine specifically. The medical treatments did work, however, and that was recognized. As China transitioned from an empire to a socialist state, people came to accept more intrusion into their personal lives, including centralized mass treatment campaigns.

While elimination of snail fever was happening partly due to the revolutionary zeal of doctors armed with improved treatment, soon there was back sliding and recurrence in many places. Even though the prevention part of the program was never a great success, Mao’s authority and example were powerful incentives to accept the new treatments and some prevention. Disease was controlled but not eradicated.

At the national level, this mass mobilization campaign served other goals. Party strategy was to use health campaigns in rural areas to help develop and consolidate Party control as it aimed toward general ideas of socialist collectivization. In addition, technical skills in the villages increased because of the health campaigns, and this led to a kind of grassroots science that was of great help generally, and specifically in strengthening scientific socialism. For better or worse, as Gross argues, this was well demonstrated in the role these local youth would later play as leaders in the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution (815).

Gross uses newly available archival sources to revise the common view that the campaign against snail fever was an unqualified success, a model of collective, grassroots hygiene that has been seen as leading to the 1978 WHO Alma Ata Declaration on Primary Health Care. As a needed antidote to this popular conception, she provides a balanced and clear-eyed analysis of an important milestone in global health and of the early days of the PRC.

William C. Summers, Yale University, New Haven, USA     

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CHINA’S MILITARY TRANSFORMATION: Politics and War Preparation. China Today Series. By You Ji. Cambridge, UK; Malden, MA: Polity Press, 2016. xix, 284 pp. (Tables, figures, map.) US$22.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-7456-7078-2.

The Chinese People’s Liberation Army (the PLA, as China’s army, air, naval, and strategic missile forces are collectively known) has experienced a wave of growth and change in the twenty-first century. The ongoing changes to China’s military forces and the inevitable implications for Asia-Pacific security have attracted great academic attention in the West, especially in the United States. As a leading scholar in the field, You Ji provides a timely research monograph on the PLA’s transformation into a professional and technical modern army in the years from 1990 to 2014. Based on the available Chinese sources, You, head of the department of government and public administration at the University of Macao, offers objective surveys and an insightful interpretation by analyzing the civil-military relations, security concerns, organizational change, and new defense strategy of the Chinese military. His historical approach, concise narratives, and many figures and tables throughout the volume are very helpful for readers’ understanding of the recent and complicated evolution of the PLA.

His book focuses on the key issues the PLA faces today such as CCP (Chinese Communist Party) control, the anti-corruption movement, combat readiness, and tensions with the US armed forces over the disputed islands in the South China Sea. He provides a “roadmap of how the PLA has modernized itself as a credible fighting force globally” (227) by pointing out that the PLA has transformed itself “from a tactical homeland defensive force to one that is capable of strategic offensive missions beyond national borders” (144). The book should be read by international strategy analysts, Chinese military experts, Asian studies specialists, military historians, and those who have an interest in contemporary China, the US-China relationship, and Asia-Pacific security.

The first chapter, titled “China’s Changing Civil-Military Relations,” examines the PLA’s evolution from the party’s-army or the “Party in uniform” (25), to its partial “autonomy” after Deng Xiaoping (leader from 1978 to 1989) (41–42). In the next chapter, “PLA Politics under Jiang and Hu,” the author continues to explore the changes to China’s civil-military relations from Jiang Zemin (1989–2002) to Hu Jintao (2002–2012), who had transferred power from the old-guard party/military leaders to postwar technocrats. “Institutionalizing civil-military interplay is a key attribute in this evolution,”  You writes (47). The third chapter discusses “the PLA and National Security” by detailing “the PLA’s directional leadership in China’s policy-making process concerning its national security and defense-related foreign affairs” (23–24). The fourth chapter analyzes the formation and function of the People’s Armed Police (PAP), including its organization (totalling 1.3 million troops, 100), chain of command, and operation. The author emphasizes that “[a]s China is experiencing rampant corruption, social injustice, and public disorder, increasingly more mass protests can be expected. … In sum, the PAP is a crucial armed force for PLA internal security missions” (115). His fifth chapter, “National Defense Strategy,” concentrates on the PLA’s primary functions—war fighting—to explain why and how the high command had made major changes five times in its national defense strategy, which as “practical and realistic” guided its force employment and war preparation (138). The next chapter, “Aerospace Power,” explores Beijing’s vision and preparation for air and space war in the near future on “how to combine air and space power in terms of building a joint command chain, a mutually supplementary force structure, and interconnected software and hardware weapons systems…” (145). In his last chapter, “China’s Deep Ocean Expansion,” You examines the PLA Navy (PLAN)’s transformation in the 2000s to 2010s when it was “extending its operations from coastal defense to far-seas power projection” (181). He, however, is critical of PLAN carrier-centric development, writing that “[t]he vulnerability of carriers to saturated air and undersea attack has been proven” (200). In his conclusion, the author believes that the PLA is still in the middle of its transformation since “[i]t is an ongoing process to catch up with the breakthroughs of global hi-tech technology, changing security environment, and evolution of military theory” (215).

The book offers a Chinese perspective with unique insights into the important facts which have shaped military reform and made unprecedented changes over the past thirty years. Some Western historians have overlooked the complex nature of the PLA transformation from one generation to the next. For example, You examines the institutional and ideological separations of the army from the party as part of the PLA’s modernization, while others look at the Chinese military modernization through “a process of normal equipment upgrade facilitated by natural technological progress” (225). And he concludes that the PLAN would not risk a naval war over the disputed islands in both the South China Sea and East China Sea since its “carrier-centric transformation” would not guarantee any victory in the conflict against the American and even Japanese navies around these areas (203–208). Currently, many American as well as Japanese strategists and naval analysts predict that there will be a naval clash sooner or later between their navies or air forces and the PLAN or PLA Air Force (PLAAF), both of which have become more and more aggressive over the disputed areas in the seas.

Although You has done an incredible amount of research on such a broad subject in one volume, his work could have provided more coverage on the military budget process, financial resources, weapons procurement, and defense industries as important topics in the study of the PLA. While having used 23 out of 33 pages to criticize Beijing’s carrier development, the chapter could have gone into more detail on China’s deep ocean expansion, as its title indicated. The PLAN has more than 600 warships, including nuclear submarines, 430 warplanes, and more than 300,000 sailors, soldiers, and marines, as the second-largest navy in the world, exceeded only by the US Navy, while it has only one aircraft carrier.

Xiaobing Li, University of Central Oklahoma, Edmond, USA

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THE RED GUARD GENERATION AND POLITICAL ACTIVISM IN CHINA. Studies of the Weatherhead East Asian Institute, Columbia University. By Guobin Yang. New York: Columbia University Press, 2016. xv, 262 pp. (Illustrations.) US$60.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-14964-8.

This is a very ambitious and thought-provoking book, which attempts nothing less than to solve three highly contentious issues in the study of the Cultural Revolution and its legacies in less than 200 pages. First, Guobin Yang offers a new perspective on how to explain the roots of factional violence in China’s Red Guard movement; second, he provides an intellectual portrait in the long durée of the “Red Guard generation,” referring to the age cohort born around 1949 who attended middle school by the mid-1960s and for whom the Red Guard movement was the formative experience of their lives. The size of this cohort is not precisely defined (10 to 120 million) (6), but rather depends on whether or not one also includes students in elementary schools and universities. Yang’s final aim is to reveal changes and continuities in Chinese political culture and patterns of popular protest. The arguments are presented in a very accessible style of writing that eases classroom usage, especially at the undergraduate level.

The book is divided into seven chapters, which by and large follow a chronological order. After presenting a case study of factional violence in Chongqing in 1967, the book then traces aspects of political culture that influenced the Red Guard generation and delves into Red Guard theory production during the Cultural Revolution. Chapters 4 and 5 deal with the sent-down period, looking at how the hardship of “ordinary life” transformed the Red Guard generation’s previous revolutionary ideals, and furthermore depict aspects of underground culture that led to new forms of community and a reconceptualization of identities. These newly constituted identities were crucial in turning away from the Cultural Revolution, and by the late 1970s ushering in a period referred to as a “new enlightenment.” The final chapter is closest to Yang’s previous work and traces factionalized memories from the early reform era to the present.

The author is less interested in presenting new materials than in offering new explanations based on theories of Victor Turner, Max Weber, and others. The basic argument may be summarized as follows: Chinese political culture in the 1950s and early 1960s predisposed the Red Guard generation to certain perceptions of reality, most importantly inscribing the sacred nature of the revolution. “Performance” assumes centre stage, as Red Guards tried to live up to or even reenact some of these features during the Cultural Revolution. It is thus “ideas” rather than social background or political circumstances that Yang privileges in his explanations of Red Guard behaviour. The sent-down period is seen as a liminal stage that resulted in a routinization of the revolutionary ideals, as the mundane aspects of everyday life in the countryside superseded abstract notions of class struggle.

The book is strongest in the sections linked to its second goal, the generational portrait. Based on a plethora of memoirs, interviews, and contemporary documents, Yang presents the changes in Red Guard world outlook and self-perception by way of intriguing quotes and interview excerpts. Some issues, such as how members of the Red Guard generation actually perceived the world (64-68), merit a more detailed account. Also of interest are the recurring symbolic repertoires of political protest and the personal continuities, in a process that Yang aptly describes as “funneling out” (156), with activists decreasing in number following the arrests in the wake of every major outbreak of protest.

The book’s brevity, while making for a pleasant read, hampers a full development of many of its arguments. Replacing current explanations of Red Guard factionalism by providing a chapter-length study on Chongqing, which Yang claims applies to most major Chinese cities, is ultimately unconvincing. While Chongqing clearly is one of the most remarkable places to study violent conflicts in the early Cultural Revolution, the involvement of a large number of workers from the military-industrial complex joining different groups does not lend itself easily to purely ideational explanations of Red Guard factionalism. To be sure, including notions of “performance,” “script,” or “enactment” in our understanding of Cultural Revolutionary factionalism (as other authors have done in the past) is crucial, but this “performative turn” does not replace detailed studies of specific social and political contexts.

In terms of theory, the book offers interesting connections but shies away from some of the most difficult questions, such as that of belief in what is quite problematically defined as Maoist “orthodoxy.” It was precisely the lack of a coherent set of “orthodox” guidelines that provided the political space for the politics of the performative, as both the “Sixteen Points” and the “May 16th Circular” contained numerous inconsistencies and self-contradictions, not to mention the citational nature of Mao’s “supreme instructions.” Moreover, Yang employs Lü Xiaobo’s characterization of the “sacredness” of the revolutionary project, without offering an explanation of how we should analytically define and understand these notions of “sacredness” or “sacrality.” The stimulating nature of the book is further hindered by the uneven quality of the chapters, thus chapter 3 on Red Guard theory production offers neither new cases nor a novel analysis beyond what Wu Yiching and others have already explored in much greater detail. There are a few factual errors that are always hard to avoid, such as stating that the Cultural Revolution ended fifty years ago instead of forty (164) or giving the print number of Mao’s Selected Works between 1966 and 1970 as 4.2 billion copies (127) instead of 744 million. The former number includes the Little Red Book and various other writings. Pinyin syllables are also left unorthodoxly unconnected throughout the text.

While the book does not provide a clavis Sinica, a hidden key to unravel the mysteries of the Chinese Cultural Revolution, it does offer a highly intelligent overview of the Red Guard generation that is especially helpful in viewing the long-term development of this age cohort, as well as providing new perspectives on how to analyze this generation’s self-perception during changing periods of the recent Chinese past.

Daniel Leese, University of Freiburg, Freiburg, Germany                                                                  

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WHITHER CHINA?: Restarting the Reform Agenda. By Wu Jinglian and Ma Guochuan. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016. xvii, 331 pp. US$39.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-19-022315-1.

This nicely translated Chinese publication presents a series of interviews with Wu Jinglian, one of the most influential Chinese economists, by Ma Guochun, the chief commentator of Caijing Magazine published in China. The book is full of insightful analyses of China’s economic reform and should help readers outside China gain a better understanding of the economic reform that has transformed China since the 1980s.

Ma’s main argument developed in this book, however, is that China needs to restart its economic reform and transform China’s semi-command and semi-market economy into a full-fledged market economy based on the rule of law (vii). Against the more popular notion of “Beijing Consensus” or “China Model,” which emphasizes the strong role of the state and strengthening of the state sector, Ma believes this approach is not the right prescription for China since it can only lead to state capitalism or so-called “crony capitalism” (viii). This opposing view presented by Wu and Ma is significant not only because of Wu’s personal influence in the national economic decision-making process, but also due to the fact that China is once again at a “new crossroads” (1). China’s economy is currently slowing down quite a bit. “Whether China can write another brilliant chapter in history,” according to Wu, “will depend on which path it takes” (15). In his mind, the danger of returning to a new-leftist path is of great concern.

The book is divided into twenty dialogues. In dialogue 1, an introduction, Wu offers an interesting summary of the various “stones” China touched in tapping into the uncharted waters of reforming the Stalinist economy. These “stones” include: “market socialism” (1982) based on former communist countries’ reform experiments; “socialist planned commodity economy” (1984) inspired by the success of a state-centered development of the “four little dragons”; and “socialist market economy” (1993). Although these experiments have led to sustained economic growth, they also resulted in widening income gaps and increasing popular resentment against corruption and the privileged group. This situation has in turn created some appeals to the neo-Leftist ideology. Wu argues that China needs to fight against state capitalism by restraining the administrative power of the government and gradually phasing out administrative interventions in macroeconomic activities, and by transforming the government to a service-oriented model.

Topics 2 to 15 present a historical review of serious steps taken during the prolonged economic reforms in the last three decades. It ranges from the reform of state sectors, the establishment of a rural household responsibility system, the reform of financial institutions, to the reform of the social security system. This section reads more like a series of mini lectures on various topics on the history of China’s reform. It feels like some of the content may be taken from Wu’s lecture notes. Some dialogues even contain tables. Dialogue 2, for instance, is a summary of socialist history and Soviet Russia’s experiments with socialist ideas. Dialogue 3 talks about the establishment of a command economy in China in the 1950s. It discusses the emergence and implementation of the market socialist system in China. This long narrative and review of the history of economic reform serves as a basis for understanding the current debate and for making arguments for further reforms as advocated by the authors. The narrative does have some merits. It provides extensive details on decision-making processes, such as those dealing with the “Huangpu Ping incident” in 1990 (138) and the internal criticism of Xue Muqiao in 1979 (212), both of which were previously less known to readers or researchers outside China.

Topics 16 to 19 deal with issues and problems with China’s reform. In dialogue 16 Wu characterizes the current economic system as a “preliminary market economy.” Some of its “serious defects” include: the state sector still controls vital “economic lifelines,” government agencies still have a lot of power in resource allocations, and the market is not yet governed fully by the rule of law (235–236). Dialogue 17 is devoted to the discussion of a sensitive topic, that is, the need for political reform. Here, Wu echoes Milton Freeman’s viewpoints that economic freedom should go hand-in-hand with political freedom. “If there is no reform of the superstructure so that it is compatible with the economic base,” according to Wu, “tensions and conflicts will arise between the two” (244). However, the resistance to changes comes primarily from those people who hold the orthodox Marxist views and those who are part of the privileged groups. The combination of state capital and political power, in Wu’s view, has helped produce a semi-command and semi-market economy which in turn may lead China to state capitalism, a warning Wu is consistently making throughout the book.

The final dialogue contains many of the highlights of the book. Wu denounces the so-called “China model” and associates the model with the semi-command and semi-market system. He believes that “a market economy based on the rule of law” will bring China into democracy. This liberal view bears many resemblances to the so-called “Washington Consensus.” However, if this is viewed as a silver bullet to solving all of China’s problems, it then can become equally problematic since a pure free market economy never truly existed. Kenneth S. Freedman points out in his book Myths of the Free Market (Algora Publishing, 2003) that despite the important role of the market, “pure free market economics have consistently underperformed well-focused mixed economies.”

Overall, this book is a very useful reference to our understanding of neo-liberal economics  in China. The irony is that China’s path towards modernity is full of contradictions, including many conflicting economic theories. The views presented in this book are nevertheless part of the intellectual forces that drive China forward. Only time will tell which approach serves as a better guide for China’s new round of reforms.

Baogang Guo, Dalton State College, Dalton, USA                                                                               

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QUEST FOR POWER: European Imperialism and the Making of Chinese Statecraft. By Stephen R. Halsey. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015. xi, 346 pp. (Illustrations, map.) US$49.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-42565-1.

The question of why China was not colonized by the Western powers during the second half of the nineteenth century has puzzled historians for some time. Stephen Halsey’s recent book, Quest for Power, is an attempt at providing the community of scholars specializing in late Qing and Republican China with new insights on the topic. After a brief preface, the book starts with an introduction, which sets the tone of the general argument made by the author throughout the book: the second half of the nineteenth century in China has been overwhelmingly observed by historians—on the mainland and elsewhere—through the lens of what can be termed as a “declinology” paradigm, strongly substantiated by the common understanding according to which that period, especially the late Qing, was marred by corruption and national humiliation. In line with an increasing number of other works which cast doubt on such an historical interpretation, Halsey contends that, as troubled and unstable as they might have been, the years leading to the demise of China’s imperial regime ought rather to be considered as the crucible in which were first cast the tools and institutions that were to serve as the foundations for the rise of contemporary China. This longue durée approach is certainly a most welcome methodological option. Unfortunately, the author does not live up to it, leaving it to the epilogue (a mere twenty pages) to describe the evolutions followed by the Chinese state during the Republican period and the second half of the twentieth century. The reader should thus be warned that even though Halsey’s aim is to consider China’s recent historical experience in a longue durée perspective, the core of the book, which is made up of seven chapters, mainly deals with the last decades of the Qing imperial regime.

Another interesting option adopted by Halsey in the book is to set the example of late Qing China in a global perspective, against the backdrop of the historical experiences of the regions of the world—more than 80 percent—which ended up effectively colonized by the European powers during the nineteenth century. Entitled “Europe’s global conquest,” chapter 1 is entirely devoted to a description of the advent of Europe’s global colonial enterprise, with the aim of highlighting some of its specificities in order to pinpoint how the case of China diverged from the general model. The author’s effort here is worthwhile, even though it is not anchored on any original research he might have undertaken. Rather, drawing on the ever larger body of secondary literature devoted to the European powers’ imperialist endeavour—in this case, first and foremost Great Britain—Halsey points to the West’s “invention” of the “military-fiscal state” in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries as a turning point which gave it a decisive advantage over the “weak states and porous economies” it ended up colonizing during the nineteenth century. If China did not count among the outright victims of this process, and Japan even less so, for that matter, it is mainly, as the author defends, because the country’s polity and its social elites, whether bureaucratic and political or economic, were strong enough to adapt in time to the challenges posed by the new international order forged by the Western powers in the late nineteenth century, and to draft adequate institutional and societal responses, thus paving the way for the forging of China’s own model of a military-fiscal state. The six remaining chapters of the book are devised to provide illustrations of this central thesis.

In chapter 2, Halsey dwells on the question of foreign trade, stressing the albeit relatively limited impact of the commercial clauses of the unequal treaties on the late Qing empire’s economy: foreign firms did gain access to parts of the empire’s markets, but, for reasons which range from the obstacle posed by the linguistic barrier to the low standards of living of the ordinary Chinese population at the time, not to mention outright obstruction by local authorities, they never were in a position to dislodge the indigenous actors and networks of trade, and even less to monopolize the profits thereof. Chapter 3 is centred on taxation, a decisive dimension of the drafting of the modern military-fiscal state. In this case, the author highlights the important shift in the Chinese state’s main sources of funding, from its original agrarian base to the revenues drawn from commercial taxation, in the wake of foreign encroachment and internal rebellion starting from the middle of the nineteenth century. Chapter 4 shifts the reader’s attention towards the administration, providing insights on how the mid-nineteenth-century crisis was a decisive factor in spurring a trend in state expansion, at the local, provincial, and central level. Here, like in chapter 3, Halsey mainly draws on the examples of the Imperial Maritime Custom Service and the administration of the lijin.

Chapter 5 deals with the question of the military, yet another important dimension of the forging of modern state institutions in China. In this instance, the author underlines the role played by the regional armies set up during the troubled years of the Taiping Rebellion, before turning to some considerations on the modernization of the country’s weapons industry. Chapters 6 and 7 conclude the book, discussing transportation and communications. In each case, the author chooses to analyze the creation and development of one of Li Hongzhang (1823-1901) and Sheng Xuanhuai’s (1844-1916) major modernization endeavours of the late nineteenth century, the China Merchants Steam Navigation Company for one, and the Imperial Telegraph Administration for the other. For both of these examples, which proved instrumental in providing China with tools to modernize and to assert its sovereignty, Halsey describes the foundations upon which they were erected and the way they evolved in time, until the last decade of the imperial regime.

Apart from some typos and awkward bibliographical references, Halsey’s book is a worthy achievement. Still, one can probably surmise that it will not be of much interest to specialists of the late Qing, for it relies more on data found in secondary literature in English and Chinese (as well as some in Japanese) rather than providing new evidence drawn from original research using previously untapped sources. But students of China’s waning imperial regime will find in it a useful summary of the country’s early modernization drive and of some of its successes. Even though the author’s approach to the period is not as objective as he claims—the present reviewer regrets, for example, the univocal nature of the documentary evidence Halsey puts to use, which does no justice to the polyphony characteristic of late Qing sources—parting from the paradigm of decline in the analysis of China’s reformist efforts of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, as the author does here, is certainly a welcome addition to the interpretative framework of the period.

Luca Gabbiani, École française d’Extrême-Orient, Paris, France                                                       

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CHINA’S CONTESTED INTERNET. Governance in Asia, no. 4. Edited by Guobin Yang. Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2015. xii, 310 pp. (Illustrations.) £18.99, paper. ISBN 978-87-7694-176-5.

This is an impressive volume that covers much new ground in the study of Chinese cyberspace and successfully reaches out to a broad audience interested in keeping up to date with contemporary developments.

When I began to conduct research on the newly emerging phenomenon of the Internet in China more than fifteen years ago, I was struck by the optimism shared by the media, academics, and politicians in the West. Despite different approaches, all agreed that the Internet would change China because of a putatively democratizing function arising from its ability to transfer free information to a theoretically unlimited audience. This way of thinking influenced the agenda of early Chinese internet studies so that academic inquiry mainly focused on the political environment surrounding this new technology, such as its usage to promote online activism, governmental efforts of control and suppression, and the ways citizens devised to circumvent and resist regulations and limits imposed by the government.

Even though this volume still focuses on the contested aspects of China’s Internet, it presents a much broader and more complex picture, signaling a departure from the old simplistic, politicized framework that has dominated study of the Chinese Internet from its inception. As the editor states in his introduction: “along with the changing forms of Internet governance in China, especially the growing use of propagandistic and ideological (as opposed to coercive) methods, critical analysis of the Chinese Internet must also be increasingly attentive to these subtleties of state power and not be confined to the old dichotomies of resistance and control” (4–5).

In fact, a number of authors have demonstrated the obsolete nature of the “old dichotomy” by addressing new phenomena arising from the Internet in the past several years. As I have pointed out in earlier research, the Internet is merely a new technology, and different people can use it for different purposes in different times and contexts (see Zhou Yongming, Historicizing Online Politics: Telegraphy, the Internet and Political Participation in China, Stanford University Press, 2006). The Internet can be used to help democratize China, but it can equally be used to reinforce government rule. Jesper Schlæger and Min Jiang illustrate this paradox by choosing the very revealing case of official microblogging by local governments in China. Using the phrase “social management” instead of government control, the authors show “an extension of sophisticated e-government efforts for managing social tensions and conflicts”, and thus go beyond the “overarching ‘confrontational’ framework.” (193)

Using a similar approach, Steven J. Balla examines the practice of the government using the Internet to solicit feedback on particular policy issues. By addressing often-neglected proactive government initiatives, he concludes that, “although the Internet is not a monolithic entity, overarching narratives of censorship and revolution are often ascribed to Chinese digital spaces. Neither of these narratives holds much explanatory power in the context of online consultation, which operates as an incremental innovation in facilitating communications between citizens and government officials” (94).

Indeed, the term “incremental” is very useful to describe the “contested” state of the digital space in China today. Ning Zhang’s article focuses on online activism by web-based backpacking communities. Even though these communities seem to be mostly related to leisure, consumerism, and individual choice, she uses these newly emerging groups to illustrate “a new trend of online activism that does not aim to cause cyberwar or social unrest, but rather to raise public awareness and bring about social change through peer sharing, volunteer work and online and offline charity” (108). This can be viewed as an “incremental” case of social improvement through both online and offline activities.

Silvia Lindtner is also keenly aware that “simple binaries of resistance versus system, citizen versus netizen, users and producers do not hold” (65). Her article on Chinese hackers (makers) stands out in its presentation of people as not merely users, but also co-producers of the Internet. As she claims: “[p]eople do not only access and use the Internet; they also make – to various degrees – their own devices, tools and software applications” (47). Her decision to add “industries” or “capital” to the discussion is particularly helpful. According to her, Chinese makers are not in constant conflict with the state, but in practice sometimes forge alliances with established industries and the government under the umbrella of promoting a creative society. The flexible relationships between the various internet players, such as the market, capital, industries, government, producers, and users is extremely complicated, and indeed the volume might have usefully paid more attention to a full exploration of these relationships.

Since authors of this volume are from multiple disciplines, ranging from literary criticism through communications studies to political science, anthropology, and sociology, they deploy a variety of methods to explore the Chinese Internet, including both quantitative and qualitative approaches. As an anthropologist, I was especially interested to note that a number of authors adopted ethnographic methodology in their studies. Although the quality of ethnographic practice might initially appear uneven, with papers ranging from long-term in-depth fieldwork to interviews of only a few subjects, I do think this is a welcome trend. The ethnographic method is especially well suited to conducting nuanced case studies, both online and offline.

Finally, several articles in the volume cover issues such as ethnic identity, racial contestation, the digital divide, self-identification, and online spectatorship, collectively reflecting the multiplicity of the seemingly unbounded area that we call Chinese cyberspace. By delving into the Chinese Internet’s “structure of feeling,” these articles raise issues that are derived from the rapid development of cyber technologies. I was earlier concerned about the over-politicized agenda of Chinese Internet studies that was deeply rooted in Western thinking. After reading this volume, I am much happier that a consensus has been forged to examine, to quote Lindtner in the volume, “other ways of theorizing the sociality of the Chinese internet . . . beyond the binary of the netizen versus the state” (48). In this sprit, I very much support the editor’s advocacy of “deep Internet studies” (14) that would explore the breadth and depth of an exciting, vibrant, and complex Chinese digital space, including, but reaching much further than its explicitly political areas.

Zhou Yongming, University of Wisconsin, Madison, USA

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CHINA’S ENVIRONMENTAL CHALLENGES. By Judith Shapiro. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Polity Press; Hoboken, NJ: Wiley [distributor], 2016. xxiv, 228 pp. US$22.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-7456-9864-9.

The first edition of Shapiro’s textbook was published in 2012 and received very good reviews. This volume updates the text and expands information in several areas, such as climate change.

A brief introductory chapter sets the themes—globalization, governance, national identity, civil society and environmental justice. Chapter 2 spells out the causes of environmental problems: population growth, very rapid economic change (including positive aspects—the rise of a middle class, along with the negative—increased urbanization and land pressures). The chapter also introduces climate change as consequence and cause of environmental change and then concludes with a discussion of pollution and food safety cases.

Chapter 3 explores the top-down nature of environmental policy-making. Shapiro discusses very generally the structure of government (its overlapping of functions and contradictions), and the unclear demarcation of policy and law. Her assessment of implementation is that problems (e.g., food safety, heavy metal contamination, bullet trains, etc.) result from the “confusing policy-making landscape in which actors sometimes work at cross purposes” (73). While she believes China’s pathway to sustainable development is blocked by political difficulties, she uses the next chapter (chapter 4) to consider historical and cultural factors. Here, she argues that China has an identity crisis, displaying a “superiority-inferiority” complex. Then in discursive and tangential sections on philosophical traditions, biodiversity, animal welfare, and Mao’s legacy, she states that the Chinese are conducting a cultural debate, which has moved “between jingoism, or pugnacious nationalism, and insecurity” (110).

The fifth chapter takes a different tack from the third by looking from the bottom up; also, it focuses on public participation in civil society. The review of environmental NGOs—domestic (including GONGOs) and foreign—is positive. Most consideration is given to the role that NGOs play in transmitting information, networking, attempting to hold officials accountable and engaging in symbolic politics. The chapter too briefly treats journalists and filmmakers, citizen and celebrity activists; and it explicates ways in which grassroots activists/NGO leaders attempt to change environmental outcomes through “naming and shaming,” including campaigns against polluting multinationals. The limited use of courts is also reviewed.

Chapter 6 considers environmental justice, emphasizing relations between urban and rural China and the dominant Han as compared to racial and ethnic minorities, most of whom live at the periphery of the nation-state. Shapiro discusses the new middle class of China and its vocal opposition to pollution in its backyards (the NIMBY-effect), while explaining that the effect of this activism is to displace pollution from urban to marginal and rural areas. She presents stories of horrible pollution effects, such as China’s many cancer villages. Most of the chapter compares the poorer environmental fortunes of rural people to city-dwellers (featuring Inner Mongolia and Tibet). She emphasizes that ethnic minorities in China’s periphery whose resources are exploited themselves suffer from environmental degradation. Also treated are China’s imports of polluted goods (such as computer waste) while it forages for resources globally and in the process contaminates foreign sites.

The final chapter is the most rhetorical, suggesting optimistically that China “is inching toward a greater alliance with the green movement, as part of an overall trend toward an expanded civil society and rule by law” (196) and that China has not “reached a point of no return in terms of environmental degradation” (200). Writers of other introductory texts on China’s environment, such as Joel Kassiola and Guo Sujian’s in China’s Environmental Crisis (Palgrave, 2010), are less sanguine.

This second edition remains a serviceable introduction to China’s environmental problems. Each chapter concludes with questions for research and discussion and a brief list of additional resources. Shapiro uses personal examples effectively; her exuberant language surely will engage students.

Two flaws mar the analysis. First, there are insufficient citations to sources, particularly when Shapiro is making global statements with which some readers may disagree (for example, “the Taiwanese mafia is also heavily involved” [97]; Chinese ENGOs have built in “spectacularly creative ways” [113–114], IPE staff work has “deeply empowered the Chinese people” [134], and China has “world class environmental regulations” [194]).

A second problem pertains to the treatment of implementation. Shapiro makes several references throughout the book to the implementation deficit, which she attributes variously to central-local tensions, conflicting objectives, and contradictions of policy. Many writers on the environmental problems of developing nations mention the implementation deficit, but it seems an incomplete explanation, especially in the case of a rising economic power like China. What is left out of Shapiro’s analysis is the incentive system for those who implement policy in China, as noted among others by Alex Wang’s study of the nomenklatura system and the evaluation of cadres for promotion (“The search for sustainable legitimacy: Environmental law and bureaucracy in China,” Harvard Environmental Law Review, vol. 37 [2013]). The simple point is that an authoritarian state has superior opportunities for implementing policy as compared to democratic states. Notwithstanding these flaws, this revised edition has much to offer students of China’s environment.

Jerry McBeath, University of Alaska, Fairbanks, USA

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THE CHINESE POLITICAL NOVEL: Migration of a World Genre. Harvard East Asian Monographs, 380. By Catherine Vance Yeh. Cambridge, MA; London: Harvard University Asia Center; Harvard University Press [distributor], 2015. xii, 429 pp. (Illustrations.) US$59.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-50435-6.

Perhaps because of its relatively short history, the political novel as a literary genre has rarely received attention from academia. Fortunately, Catherine Vance Yeh’s carefully crafted monograph, The Chinese Political Novel: Migration of a World Genre, sheds light on this long neglected yet unique literary form. Centred on its development in China in the waning Qing period (1890s–1911), Yeh’s meticulously detailed research explains why the political novel, despite its “foreign origins,” was able to thrive in the twilight years of the Chinese empire. Her thought-provoking analysis of the powerful impact of political novels on China’s “Reform of Governance” movement deepens our understanding of the close relationship between literature and its social, economic, and political environments, and the latter’s influence on literature within a transnational and transcultural context.

The book is thematically composed of two parts. The first part contains two chapters that cover the broad background of the political novel, especially its development as a “world genre.” It was works by Benjamin Disraeli (1804­–1881), who twice served as the British prime minister, and writers in Europe and North America that first formed the “core” of the genre with its distinctively political imprint in the mid-19th century. The dramatic increase in the spread of goods, ideas, and institutions across national borders facilitated the rapid migration of the political novel as a new form of literature to East Asia—first to Japan and then to China.

Part II, consisting of five chapters and titled “Bringing the World Home: The Political Novel in China,” elaborates the crucial role played by this literary genre in promoting political and socio-cultural progress in China as well as its successful adaptation in Chinese literature. In chapter 3, Yeh explores the meaning of the “Japanese model” and its influence on writers of political novels in China. Clearly, translation functioned as the key player in promoting the transcultural flow of the literary genre from Japan to China and helped build a bridge connecting Chinese writers with their counterparts in other countries. It was from the Japanese translation that most Chinese writers learned about Western political novels. Inspired by the Japanese model, Chinese reform-minded scholar-writers such as Kang Youwei (1858–1927) and Liang Qichao (1873–1929) first translated Western political novels from Japanese and then started creating their own brand of these works in Chinese. Even the Chinese term zhengzhi xiaoshuo (“political novel”) was directly “borrowed” from the Japanese kanji “seiji shosetsu” (56).

Chapter 4 examines the institutional environment that brought about the prosperity of the political novel in East Asia. The genre first settled and prospered in Japan after the Meiji Restoration (1868) as Japanese reformers sought to use political novels to “enlighten” the general public and to further Japan’s emergence as a modernized country in East Asia. Similarly, the new genre reached China at a time when Chinese intellectuals were in search of a new and popular literary form to advance their political agenda. The social and linguistic environments in China in the 1890s provided the genre with a “new public sphere” for its rapid growth. It in turn served as a peculiarly effective “tool” for Chinese writers to mobilize society at this critical moment to accomplish their mission of the “Reform of Governance.” As Yeh points out, it was the desire of Chinese reform-minded intellectuals to use political novels to win public support that led to the rising popularity in Chinese society of this Western form of writing.

Chapter 5 discusses the specific contributions made by political novels in advocating a wide range of Western-style political and socio-cultural reforms in China. The effort to improve the fate of women is a case in point. Having been influenced by the concept of female equality preached in Western political novels, Chinese reformers maintained that the fate of women reflected that of the nation—it was “a key marker of the degree to which a country lived up to the ‘standard of civilization’” (265). It was no accident that the notorious Chinese practice of foot binding was gradually abolished in the 1910s.

Chapter 6 examines the practice of casting Western-style heroic figures in Chinese political novels. Writers in China looked to the new literary form to introduce to the public Western leaders, from George Washington to Napoleon Bonaparte, along with scientists and police detectives, as icons of modernity and progress. The powerful influence of political novels in China thus also lies in the dramatic and exotic casting of fictional heroes, based on remodeling or adaptations of their counterparts in Western fiction. In Yeh’s words, a fervor among Chinese readers for fictional Western-style heroic figures in political novels, who represented new values and ideas, “brought the world home” (312).

The final chapter discusses the function of the “wedge chapter,” which was a distinctively popular feature in political novels in China. It was a literary device to attract readers, employed by traditional Chinese novelists at the beginning of their stories. Liang Qichao used the practice in writing his first political novel in 1902. This trope was followed by other Chinese writers, a clear demonstration that transcultural interactions were essential for the growth of this Western literary genre in China.

The Chinese Political Novel is a brilliant transcultural study and contextual analysis of the relationship between literature and society in a transnational environment. It expands the knowledge base, not only of scholars of Chinese literature, but also that of students interested in transcultural studies of literature throughout the world. By placing the development of political novels in China in a global context and employing a transnational and multilingual approach, Yeh answers a critical question: why and how the political novel became immensely popular in China and acted as an agent of change, bringing reforms to Chinese society. As she concludes, the transnational movement of political novels and their flourishing moment in China is more than the cultural spreading of the literary genre itself, but “the migration of ideas and social thought” (160), reflecting the influence of Western culture on the Chinese modernity movement. In this sense, the development of Chinese political novels was part of a global trend, and its prosperity in Wan Qing China can be viewed as “the beginning of the beginning of the modern Chinese novel” (315).

Xiao-huang Yin, Occidental College, Los Angeles, USA                                                                     

Rui Xue, Nanjing University, Nanjing, China

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FAKED IN CHINA: Nation Branding, Counterfeit Culture, and Globalization. Global Research Studies. By Fan Yang. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, c2016. xvi, 284 pp. (Figures.) US$30.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-253-01846-5.

Fan Yang has written a thoughtful and accessible study of the counterfeit culture of China, specifically probing intellectual property rights (IPR) in terms of regime, culture, and power. To explore the cultural impact of IPR on the nation-state in the context of the developing world, Yang situates the discourse of post-socialist development in the historical milieu of China’s entry into the World Trade Organization. Influenced by a material culture perspective, Yang focuses on brands and counterfeits operating as performative objects in the “cultures of circulation,” providing a different angle to delve into the implications of creativity, heritage, and globalization.

The book presents a number of paradoxical practices in different areas (i.e., the mobile phone industry, cinema, and marketplace) to illustrate the ways through which China and its citizens participate in the creation and negotiation of identities and symbols of their Chineseness as well as the definition of authenticity in the multidimensional processes of globalization. This work expands the growing body of knowledge on the dilemma of piracy by providing a novel dimension: the nation-branding campaigns of China.

The first and second chapters trace the recent origin of China’s brand project, “From Made in China to Created in China.” In these two chapters, Yang discusses the double role of the state as an arbiter of international relations and a regulator of the “Made in China” brand. On one hand, shanzhai (“fake culture”) assumes a performative mode to manifest an “alternative national identity” in advertising campaigns. On the other hand, the state media rework the shanzhai brand into a developmental force suitable for building China’s own brand. In an attempt to resist the state propaganda, Yang argues that the discourse of “Made in China” is a brand campaign that comes with a crisis of authenticity in the global-national imagery that destabilizes “the state’s claim to the nation.” (167). The state and the public create and consume different types of Chinese brand cultures, resulting in constant discordance and contestations.

In the third chapter, Yang uses literary criticism to examine a case study of the film Crazy Stone and its reception. By analyzing amateur comments and blogger responses, Yang juxtaposes the case study with the parallel development of the discourse of a national cinema brand. She argues that the making of the performative subject in the movie challenges state-sanctioned national imaginary by offering an alternative mode of being a nation.

The fourth chapter is a thorough documentation of the rise of Silk Street in Beijing, a once landmark-status bazaar then a plaza facing numerous IPR lawsuits from foreign companies, and the controversies surrounding its privatization. Most of the stories in this chapter focus on events during the 2008 Beijing Olympics to exemplify the ironies and contradictions of issues of justice, authenticity, and Chineseness in the multifaceted constructions of the image of Silk Street in media discourse vis-à-vis reality. Media introduce Silk Street as an urban heritage, an object of global tourist consumption, and a potential “incubator for China’s nation brands” (149). Yang suggests that Silk Street is an emblem of the cultural dilemma for post-socialist China, whose search for an alternative modernity remains subject to the unequal relations of power within contemporary globalization.

I appreciated Yang’s discussion of shanzhai as a discourse illustrating the interactive character of China’s new media landscape “mediated” across a multiplicity of digital media platforms. By returning the human agency to globalization studies, this study discusses the questions concerning national cultural formation in global contexts. In response to the cultural imperialism theory of John Tomlinson, Yang concludes that an alternative Chineseness, with regard to the colonization of the social imaginary by globalization, is shared by participants of shanzhai culture, the old vendors on Silk Street, and the rhetoric of the protagonist in the movie American Dreams in China. The book could be interesting for readers with a desire to think beyond the apparent conceptual framework of the IPR regime when looking at the contradictory representations of China (or some other country) in the news and in film.

Given that China has risen to be one of the leading economic powers in the world, the extent to which the Western-dominated cultural imperialism is a dominant force in cultural globalization deserves further scrutiny. The implications of the attempts of the Silk Street Market to build up local brands or other similar endeavors to “Created in China” also merit further attention by future studies. Since the concept of “intellectual property economy” has recently become a buzzword among content producers and media scholars of China’s burgeoning media and creative economies, the Chinese government has invested heavily in communications curriculum to foster an environment for talent that can contribute to the creation of original and creative media content for both local and global markets. Yang’s book is useful in media and cultural studies as well as Asian studies courses. This study also opens a dialogue between media and linguistic/cultural anthropology on the issue of counterfeit culture. In anthropology, ethnographies on counterfeit culture have burgeoned in recent years, discussing a range of topics from the translation team of pirated films in China to other creative attempts and their implications for youth culture/hack space across different regions.

Yi-Chieh Jessica Lin, National Chengchi University, Taipei, Taiwan                                                   

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MAO’S LOST CHILDREN: Stories of the Rusticated Youth of China’s Cultural Revolution. Edited by Ou Nianzhong and Liang Yongkang; translated by Laura Maynard. Portland, ME: MerwinAsia; Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press [distributor], 2015. xv, 364 pp. (Figures, maps.) US$28.00, paper. ISBN 978-1-937385-67-5.

Fifteen million young Chinese were sent to the countryside (or joined the military) between late 1968 and the end of the Cultural Revolution era in 1976. The experiences of these so-called sent-down youth or educated youth (zhiqing in the Chinese shorthand) shaped a generation. The recently published study by Guobin Yang (The Red Guard Generation and Political Activism in China, Columbia University Press, 2016) insightfully traces the political impact across the years since the death of Mao Zedong of this decade-long mass movement of young people. Yang and others who have explored this phenomenon have drawn on a considerable body of memoirs by former zhiqing. Published often with a regional or provincial focus, with an upsurge in 1998 around the thirtieth anniversary of the rural transfer’s beginnings, these memoirs offer a window into individual experiences. Put together, they amount to a group autobiography of a generation. The writing has not yet finished, even as these participants approach their seventies.

This present volume offers an English translation of the memories of about fifty Guangdong zhiqing who ended up on a state farm on Hainan Island, southwest of the province. The short recollections are organised around topics: leaving home, arriving, locals’ reactions, “Maoist propaganda stars,” hunger, visiting home, friendship and love, moving on and looking back, among others. The urban young people in this particular locality were organised in a semi-military way on the state farm which was separate from the established villages of the local population and on less developed land. A seven-page introduction (whether by the translator or the editors is unclear) starts the volume. This provides a sketch of essential historical background for a non-China readership in order to make the memoirs more comprehensible.

The 81 memoirs together construct a picture of zhiqing life that brings out several important themes seen also in other parts of China, particularly those regions that hosted the youth on state farms and in construction corps (bingtuan). Family background and connections continued to shape the experience of these young people, even when family was between 200 and 1000 kilometres away. Well connected zhiqing could receive more privileges or have access to resources beyond the reach of ordinary youth. Bad family backgrounds followed the zhiqing to their farms. The writing paints vivid pictures of relationships among the young people on the state farm and between them and local people, who included villagers from the Li ethnic minority. All over China sent-down youth expressed feelings about their treatment in quiet, collective, and individual acts of defiance or resistance. The youth on Hainan Island were no exception, as several of these memoirs show.

These memories are of course from one locality and from one kind of farming set-up. The question of typicality arises from reading this collection. How representative are the experiences described here? How do these stories differ from those of young people in construction corps in the Northeast, Inner Mongolia, or even next-door in Yunnan? One collection like this cannot of course answer these questions. Another issue is that this volume, like the vast majority of similar memoirs of the zhiqing phenomenon, is written by people who have generally been successful in their lives since the Cultural Revolution. These are the stories of people who can mostly be considered winners in the system that has developed in China since the Mao years. The brief biographies of the fifty or so writers at the end of the book indicate this nicely. Some memoirs mention youth who suffered in the sent-down years, but generally the tone of such recollections is positive. The zhiqing years made men and women of these writers. Brief statements at the end of most biographies typify this attitude: “After what we withstood on Hainan Island, there isn’t much we can’t overcome” (359). One of the most poignant parts of the collection is the final piece: a transcript written by a better educated classmate of the memories of a zhiqing who served as a caretaker for several decades on Hainan before finally being able to return to Guangzhou in 2010.

These recollections are an interesting, even entertaining read. They provide excellent material for undergraduate courses on modern China. The absence of any information on where they were first published in China can be overlooked.

Paul Clark, The University of Auckland, Auckland, New Zealand                                                      

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THE PRAGMATIC DRAGON: China’s Grand Strategy and Boundary Settlements. Contemporary Chinese Studies Series. By Eric Hyer. Vancouver: UBC Press, 2015. vii, 358 pp. (Maps.) US$95.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-7748-2635-8.

In July 2016, a controversial judgment by the Permanent Court of Arbitration at the Hague came down overwhelmingly in favor of the boundary claims advanced by the Philippines, and ruled that China’s claims have no legal or historical basis. As a result, China openly rejected the international tribunal’s ruling, and reaffirm that China would take all necessary efforts to protect its sovereignty over the South China Sea. In such a case, is it still possible for both parties to conclude any boundary agreements peacefully? Several issues need to be further clarified. For example, how is one to evaluate China’s behavior in dealing with its boundary disputes? How do we explain the rationale behind China’s boundary settlement in the past decades?

At this critical time, The Pragmatic Dragon by Eric Hyer (associate professor of political science and the coordinator for Asian Studies at Brigham Young University) succeeds in contextualizing how China’s interconnections with other great powers (e.g., India and Russia) and its larger strategic goals influenced its strategic concerns regarding its boundary settlements. The main argument of the book is straightforward: as Hyer highlights, China’s strategic behavior is “driven by larger strategic considerations that required compromise to achieve a settlement” (266).

This book is divided into twelve chapters. Based on case studies of China’s boundary settlements over the past decades, Hyer stresses the influences of the great powers (e.g., India and Russia) on China’s boundary settlements. Chapter 1 provides an overview of the strategic and historical context of China’s boundary disputes and settlements on the basis of “equality and mutual benefit” (82). The following pages (chapters 2–10) analyze China’s reactions to the boundary disputes with its neighbors in the Sino-Indian and Sino-Soviet/Russian dimensions, in which China’s boundary settlement with India and Russia will continue to be a key element in any future boundary change in China’s boundaries with other neighbors. In Chapters 11–12, Hyer turns to the contemporary boundary settlements with China’s Eurasian neighbors (i.e., Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan) and its Southeast Asian neighbors in the South China Sea. In his conclusion, Hyer addresses China’s historically sensitive territorial claims and boundary negotiations with several neighbors (e.g., India and Vietnam), which made little substantive progress, and involved resource-rich areas.

In the eyes of this reviewer, the most important contribution of the book lies in Hyer’s explanation of the three decisive factors promoting China’s strategic calculations in its boundary disputes and settlements. First, there is China’s reaction to the shift of the global balance of power. For example, the end of the Cold War and collapse of the Soviet Union compelled China to negotiate a new boundary treaty with Russia—the inheritor of the Soviet Union. Second, China has been prioritizing its overall security concerns. For instance, it “valued a stable boundary more than the return of territory that it considered China’s historically” (83). Third, China has been seeking long-term strategic allies, rather than drawing more stakeholders into the boundary disputes. Therefore, China shows flexibility in resolving its boundary disputes, “in order to realize more fundamental strategic and economic interests” (235).

However, this book shows less concern on three issues that may make China’s boundary settlements more complex and more difficult to resolve in the foreseeable future. First, it’s evident that the governments of China’s neighbors are still struggling with child soldiering on their borderlands with China, such as Myanmar, and Afghanistan. Second, thousands of private military/security contractors have been involved in the conflict-affected areas of China’s neighbors, especially India. This does not exclude the possibility that private military/security contractors may become involved in any potential disputes along the India-Sino boundary in the future. Third, if a wealth of untapped oil and gas reserves is discovered and explored along China’s borderlands, a boundary dispute similar with those in the South China Sea would probably occur.

To sum up, The Pragmatic Dragon significantly advances the reader’s knowledge of China’s reactions and counter-measures to its boundary disputes. Moreover, the case studies present an intriguing account of why and how China made compromises on its border disputes. It is a book worth reading for those with great curiosity and questions about China’s boundary settlements.  This book may also interest political economists, historians, and general readers concerned with China’s response to the shift of the global balance of power.

Kai Chen, Xiamen University, Xiamen, China                                                                                      

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CHINA’S URBAN CENTURY: Governance, Environment and Socio-Economic Imperatives. Edited by François Gipouloux. Cheltenham, UK; Northampton, MA: Edward Elgar Publishing, 2015. xxii, 287 pp. (Tables, illustrations.) US$135.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-78471-508-3.

In the field of urban China studies, most scholarship to date is produced by single authors or a small number of collaborators, and it is rare to see large-scale collaborations involving multiple universities and dozens of researchers. China’s Urban Century is an example of such collaboration. It is a collection of articles resulting from a collaborative research project “UrbaChina: Sustainable Urbanization in China,” funded by the European Union from 2011 to 2015. The research team included scholars, practitioners, and policy makers based both in China and Europe, and representing diverse fields such as sociology, geography, planning, design, architecture, and law. The project is collaborative in the true sense, as most chapters are coauthored by Chinese scholars and their European counterparts.

Four cities are featured in the book to examine key issues concerning urban governance: Shanghai, Chongqing, Kunming, and Huangshan. However, it is never explained why these four cities are chosen, especially in the case of Huangshan, a relatively little-known municipality in Anhui Province. To a certain extent, these cities can represent China’s top-tier, second-tier, and small cities, and can offer excellent cases for comparison. But no comparative analyses are attempted, and the selection of the cities seems to be based on convenience, reflecting the home bases of the Chinese contributors to the book.

The theme and organization of the book are a bit puzzling too. The book does not focus on any single theme, but covers a wide range of disparate topics—perhaps out of a concession to the research interests and professional expertise of individual contributors. These various topics— central-local relations, hukou reform, social housing, eco-cities, etc.—are loosely grouped into four sections, and chapters examining similar topics are placed in separate sections.

The book  is a commendable attempt to jointly investigate a wide range of issues on urban social change in China, but unfortunately this collaborative research effort does not go deep enough to generate new insights. Most chapters offer familiar accounts and confirm what we already know. For example, section 1, titled “institutional foundations,” examines the market reform in hukou, land, and housing sectors. Drawing upon secondary literature and policy documents, the discussion reveals that the dual-track land market has created problems for planning and property development (chapters 3 and 4), that the hukou reform lacks serious commitment to improve the social welfare of migrant workers (chapter 5), and that migrant workers have limited access to the formal housing market (chapter 6). Similarly, in section 2, titled “environmental and social infrastructure,” the contributors discuss the well-studied dilemmas faced by local governments in China, such as conflicts between environmental protection and economic growth, and between historical preservation and gentrification.

Chapter 10, on social housing programs, stands out in the book by offering a compelling story of how housing prices and the demographics of migration have shaped local policies on social housing in Shanghai and Chongqing. Elosua and Ni conducted fieldwork interviews and surveys in a number of social housing projects in the two cities. Chongqing has constructed more social housing units than any other Chinese city, and many of its social housing projects are well equipped with infrastructure and amenities, and have decent access to public transit. However, the interviews reveal that migrant tenants want to move out as soon as they can and purchase their own apartments. This is partly due to the relatively low housing prices in Chongqing—i.e., within the reach for skilled migrant workers—but also, the authors tell us that migrant workers resent living with their neighbours, many of whom are resettled local farmers. Compared to Chongqing, Shanghai’s social housing program is minimal. It has only a small number of projects completed and these are mostly reserved for young professional migrants. The social housing projects in Shanghai studied by the authors have few amenities and poor access to public transit. But most tenants expressed a strong desire to stay, as they can take advantage of the cheap rent and also they enjoy living with their neighbours—i.e., other young urban professionals. The study thus reveals the little-known emerging class divisions in China’s new social housing projects.

Instead of trying to be comprehensive, the book could have benefitted from focusing on a smaller number of topics and delving deeper into each of them, perhaps with comparative analyses. For example, it would be a good contribution to the field if the book could illuminate how the various urban planning experiments and policy reforms discussed, such as eco-cities, redevelopment of inner cities, and hukou reforms, are carried out and lead to different outcomes in top-tier, second-tier, medium and small cities.

Overall, this is an admirable group effort by Chinese and European scholars and institutions to jointly study Chinese urbanism. It offers useful narratives that map the macro trends of Chinese urbanization.

Xuefei Ren, Michigan State University, East Lansing, USA                                                                 

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CHINA’S STRATEGIC PRIORITIES. Routledge Contemporary China Series, 138. Edited by Jonathan H. Ping and Brett McCormick. London; New York: Routledge, 2016. xviii, 158 pp. US$140.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-415-70734-3.

Few areas of research in international policy studies pose more difficulties than China’s strategic thinking because of the political secrecy, irrational decision making, and unpredictable actions of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), which remains in control of the government, military, and media in the People’s Republic of China (PRC). Jonathan Ping and Brett McCormick have edited a collection of essays and provide a new perspective to understanding Chinese strategy by moving their focus away from the usual policy analysis approach and instead examining the relatively neglected topics of Chinese strategic background, military culture, and international environment. Based at prestigious universities and governments in China, the United States, Australia, Mexico, and Europe, the contributors to this volume open up new debates by applying alternate frameworks to theories in strategic studies so that specific policies can be viewed as part of a general pattern that can be tested with greater interpretative power in order to determine the consistent inner logic behind CCP strategic thinking. Their new perspectives offer a better understanding of Chinese strategic issues and operational behaviours, and identify some general trends among Chinese leaders, who face varied international crises and make different choices according to their individual backgrounds and worldviews.

In the first chapter, Andrew Wilson revisits Chinese military classics and challenges “the conventional wisdom” on Chinese strategic culture, such as a defensive tradition and civilian control over the military. He points out that these myths, “reductionist and misleading,” give “dangerously simplistic explanations of Chinese strategic intent and strategic behavior” (8). Su Hao and Cui Yue employ a geopolitical approach in the second chapter and state that the Sanjiangyuan area in China’s west is “the center of gravity” and a strategic priority. Sanjiangyuan is “the origin of the three ‘Mother Rivers’ for the Chinese people: the Yellow River, the Yangtze River, and the Lancang River” (26). In their co-authored chapter, Eric Hyer, Zhang Qingmin, and Jordan Hamzawi examine the influence and impact of domestic politics and public opinion on China’s foreign policy making. Their study indicates that “[m]ultiple international and diverse domestic factors are competing to shape China’s foreign policy acting to both create and prioritize” (57). Gaye Christoffersen exposes a crisis management system among China, Japan, and the United States in China’s regional seas. The chapter identifies “different configurations for [a] crisis management mechanism,” which could escalate tensions in the area (74). Ulises Granados continues the discussion on China’s dispute with Japan over the Senkaku (Diaoyu in Chinese) Islands in the fifth chapter. With an emphasis on the US factor, the essay states that “Washington has the responsibility and the power […] to help de-securitize the Diaoyu/Senkaku issues and lower tensions” (92), which neither Japan nor China is willing or able to do. The next chapter, by Jonathan H. Ping, explains China’s relations with India from a historical perspective, and identifies “the China-India border dispute as a strategic priority for China” (108). In the seventh chapter, Timothy D. Hoyt argues that “the current environment offers new strategic opportunities as well as challenges” for both China and Pakistan (114). After the death of Osama bin Laden, “China’s relationship with Pakistan has been much less volatile than U.S.-Pakistani ties” (116). In the last chapter, Alica Kizekova considers China’s regional leadership role in the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO), including Russia and other countries in Central Asia. She concludes that the SCO serves Beijing’s goal “as a mechanism for enhancing regional security, in order to protect and advance China’s economic cooperation and investments in Central Asia” (142).

According to the book’s editors, the inter-disciplinary research represented in this volume reflects ten years of continuous collaborative endeavour and academic exchanges between the East Asia Security Center at Bond University, the University of New Haven, and the China Foreign Affairs University. Their endeavours move beyond existing scholarly boundaries, seek to spark new debates, and propose to find solutions while reflecting on China’s foreign relations. Crucial to this volume is its assessment of empirical data that places major events in the context of national security, the China-US relationship, and international politics. The book’s comprehensive coverage presents a broad spectrum of knowledge of the on-going debates surrounding Chinese strategic studies. While factors of insecurity and instability remain, China does not enjoy a favourable security environment, a reality it has faced since the founding of the PRC. This volume prepares us for any major and unexpected event for a fairly long period of time into the future. Furthermore, this work does not reject legitimate issues in China’s foreign policy implementation.

Like most other essay collections, however, the volume could not cover all of China’s strategic priorities, such as the issues of the South China Sea, Taiwan, Tibet, Vietnam, and the modernization of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army (PLA). It did not have the opportunity to look into the CCP’s political culture, which is not only important but also necessary for an understanding China’s most complex and enigmatic strategic priorities. For the PRC, there are more opportunities and challenges, and more hopes and difficulties, ahead. Xi Jinping and his government (2012–2022) are seeking a growing role for China on the global political stage while assuring the international community that China is not pursuing a policy of military and political hegemony in a conventional sense. However, while China is repositioning itself by creating a new centre of gravity in the Asia-Pacific region, its demands will create potential problems. Possible sources of crisis are the highly sensitive and increasingly dangerous issues of the sovereignty of these disputed islands. This collection deserves a close reading, particularly in view of the current tensions in the South China Sea between the PLA and the US Navy.

Xiaobing Li, University of Central Oklahoma, Edmond, USA                                                             

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REVOLUTIONS AS ORGANIZATIONAL CHANGE: The Communist Party and Peasant Communities in South China, 1926–1934. By Baohui Zhang. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2015. 182 pp. (Tables, map.) US$50.00, cloth. ISBN 978-988-8208-39-5.

This book originates from a doctoral dissertation presented to the University of Texas at Austin in 1994. Composed of eight chapters, the book evaluates the symbiotic relationship between communal organizations and agrarian revolution in South China. By conceptualizing peasant revolutions as grassroots efforts to subvert and change the sociopolitical structure of communal politics, Zhang argues that the ecological and sociopolitical settings of rural organizations determined the processes, patterns, and outcomes of peasant uprisings. In particular, the institutional setup of communal organizations shaped how peasants acted politically and how they assessed the potential gains and losses from joining the Communist movement (72).

Delving into the theories of Chinese Marxism, moral economy, rational choice, and structural transformation, Zhang highlights the spatial variations of the Communist uprisings in Jiangxi and Hunan provinces. While the Communist cadres had little presence in rural Hunan, tuan-lian (local militias) showed a remarkable ability to organize themselves. They took advantage of the political vacuum created by the advancing Communist-Nationalist troops to launch “spontaneous and radical” revolts against landlords and powerholders in 1926–1927 (22). By comparison, the Communists had great difficulty enlisting the support of lineages in Jiangxi’s revolutionary upheavals of 1929–1934. Because lineage leaders and members were skeptical of the Communists’ vision and remained ideologically “passive and conservative” (2–4; 119), the socialist land reform in Jiangxi was a failure (32).

Much has been written about the diverse patterns of the Chinese Communist mobilization. Zhang’s study substantiates many of the existing scholarly interpretations. First is the localization of the Communist revolution. Along the same reasoning of Elizabeth Perry, Odoric Wou, and Stephen Averill, Zhang reveals the variations of peasant uprisings in Hunan and Jiangxi, places where Mao Zedong and other regional Communist leaders acquired, improved, and mastered the strategy of rural mobilization. Consulting the newly released party documents, Zhang critiques the hagiographic depiction of Mao in the conventional party history. What Zhang presents is a complicated picture of policy adjustments, crisis resolutions, and constant negotiations between Communist outsiders and rural communities. Field operatives, peasant recruiters, and military officials seldom interacted with peasant communities in a vacuum. Their interactions were affected by a range of exogenous and endogenous factors, and a web of human relations that had predated the arrival of the Communist Party. For example, in the interior of Jiangxi, with powerful communal organizations like lineages and bandits, the Communists had to be flexible and accommodative, adapting their revolutionary agendas under different political, socioeconomic, and military circumstances.

The second scholarly interpretation substantiated by Zhang is the crucial role played by extra-local activists. Lacking adequate resources in the initial stage of the revolution, the Communists needed to partner with communal groups. The personalities of the communal strongmen, their predatory and protective operations, and their negotiations with the Party often influenced the recruitment and retention of peasant rebels. When the extra-local cadres’ objectives conflicted with local expectations, tensions and conflicts would escalate into violent confrontations. Consequently, the Communists had to eliminate these communal leaders due to their local allegiances.

Equally important is the persistence of intra-party rivalries between native and extra-local revolutionaries. The multilayered disputes among local Communists, regional party cadres, and top party leaders greatly impacted the process of peasant uprisings. Similar to the communal organizations that they set out to coopt, these Communist tactical units embodied their unique political visions, vested interests, and policy expectations. Cadres of various levels debated about the management of the revolution, the construction of base areas, the advancement of struggle strategies and tactics, and the appropriation of student unions and peasant associations as revolution-building instruments.

Methodologically, Zhang is correct to emphasize the influences of communal contexts on the Communist mobilization. But the analysis remains largely a thematic study of revolutionary politics at the elite level. Though Zhang refers to some examples of co-opting lineages, bandits, and militias, he does not draw on the primary sources to elaborate these issues. Revolving around the Party’s revolutionary policies, his study would be more informative if he reconstructed the diverse patterns of peasant mobilization and consciousness-building efforts in Hunan and Jiangxi.

Furthermore, he has yet to problematize the term “peasant” in the investigation. Using “peasant” as an analytical category allows him to conceptualize an external-turned local agrarian movement. However, the official documents indicate that the peasant supporters came from both rural elites and commoners who often appropriated the Communist support to empower themselves in the local habitus of resource competition. The picture of party-and-community encounters exhibited different patterns and results, and it was filled with angst, violence, and confusion. At the end, the outcome of the revolution lay in the mutual negotiations and situational adaptations undertaken by individual cadres and communal leaders. This calls for a need to reassess the Chinese Communist activities in specific temporal and spatial settings.

Although the book breaks little new ground, non-specialist readers will still benefit from its tightly written summaries of the multiplicity of the Chinese Communist revolution.

Joseph Tse-Hei Lee, Pace University, New York, USA                                                                          

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CHINA’S SPATIAL (DIS)INTEGRATION: Political Economy of the Interethnic Unrest in Xinjiang. Elsevier Asian Studies Series. By Rongxing Guo. Waltham, MA: Chandos Publishing (an imprint of Elsevier), 2015. xxvii, 179 pp. (Illustrations, maps.) US$141.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-08-100387-9.

This study attempts to assess the causes and patterns of the surge in ethnic conflict between Uighur and Han in China over the past several years. The geographical backdrop is the far northwestern autonomous region of Xinjiang. The author, Rongxing Guo, head of the Regional Economics Committee at Peking University, also takes pains to draw linkages with the experiences and actions of Uighurs living in the inner provinces. Guo puts forth what he portrays as an innovative approach to analyzing the uptick in ethnic violence, one that combines the more familiar historical and social narrative with a less frequently attempted statistical analysis. The result is an often disjointed but occasionally bold study of the unique position of Xinjiang and its titular (though barely) majority Uighur ethnic group within China today.

Most readers are likely to be disappointed by the first half of the book, in which Guo provides a disparate collection of seemingly random anecdotes, summaries of published government reports, and chronologies of ethnic violence in Xinjiang over the past thirty years. It is not clear what the point of many of the author’s personal anecdotes are, other than to underscore the fact that the perception of the likelihood of imminent violence is assuming an ever larger profile in the daily consciousness of Han and Uighur residents in Xinjiang. Guo’s account of how he once learned from a Han friend of his how best to defend himself from a Uighur attack—punch him hard enough in the nose so as to draw blood, since “many Uyghurs are blood-sick” (xxvi)—may help to support a legitimate point in an anthropological report of ethnic relations in Xinjiang. In a study that concludes with policy proposals for how Beijing can best solve ethnic conflict in Xinjiang, however, it is irrelevant at best and offensive at worst.

Throughout his book, Guo evinces an uneasy mix of official government discourse and bold departures from the official line of the Chinese Communist Party. He routinely refers to Uighur “terrorists” without the use of quotation marks or any sort of linguistic qualification, and is prone to uncritical reproductions of official policy statements, such as a reference at one point to the state’s “massive, benevolent, and patriotic policy” (128) of encouraging wealthier coastal provinces to invest in poorer interior regions such as Xinjiang. And yet for a scholar currently affiliated with a Beijing policy outfit, Guo also frequently goes against the grain in his blunt acknowledgements that the PRC has since 1949 consistently failed to solve the problem of ethnic conflict in Xinjiang, and in many ways has adopted policies that have clearly exacerbated the root causes of Uighur discontent. If nothing else, the narrative portions of Guo’s study do effectively confirm what many media reports have increasingly suspected: since the 2013 Uighur car bombing incident at Tiananmen Square, the state has cracked down increasingly hard on areas of suspected Uighur dissent in Xinjiang, raising the specter of an ugly escalation in reciprocal reprisals and suppression.

For anyone lacking advanced training in mathematics, Guo’s statistical analysis in the second half of the book will likely be difficult if not impossible to follow. And yet, assuming his calculations are correct—a judgment this reviewer is unqualified to make—the conclusions he derives from this statistical analysis are far more interesting than those put forth in the narrative portion of his study. In short, Guo finds that among China’s officially recognized fifty-six ethnic groups, the Uighurs represent a rare statistical anomaly as one of the few minority groups whose residence in the inner provinces of the Han heartland does not contribute to a rise in interprovincial trade, in this case with Xinjiang. Guo explains this unexpected finding by reference to the controversial theory that conflict is more common within culturally, linguistically, and ethnically heterogeneous societies than it is within comparatively homogenous ones. Regardless of the validity of this theory, Guo takes it in an interesting direction. First, he claims that the Uighurs, as a Turkic-speaking, Muslim people of “Caucasoid” descent, are the most dissimilar of all China’s fifty-five minority groups when compared to the majority Han. Guo explicitly contrasts this with the Tibetans, who, as a Sino-Tibetan-speaking, Buddhist people of “Mongoloid” descent are supposedly much more similar to the Han, and thus able to better encourage economic exchange between Tibet and those inner provinces where Tibetans reside in large numbers.

Ultimately, Guo concludes that ethnic integration and mixing is not necessarily a good thing for China, especially between two population groups evincing such dramatic linguistic, religious, and cultural differences. The chief reason for this, according to Guo, is that the dramatic disparity in income equality seen among Uighur and Han communities in Xinjiang—blamed here on post-1949 economic investment strategies weighted heavily toward official state enterprises and the Han workers they employed—are likely to be interpreted by the less economically privileged group through an explicitly ethnic lens, thus giving rise to ethnic conflict and mutual economic distrust. Guo concludes his study with several policy recommendations. First, the state should attempt to reduce income inequality among Uighur and Han in Xinjiang, something that Guo doubts the state will be able to do. Failing that, Guo recommends that Beijing consider dividing Xinjiang into two smaller jurisdictional units, with the goal of providing the Uighurs with a relatively homogenous political unit of their own that could better reflect the “autonomous” moniker currently appended to the increasingly Han-dominated provincial-level unit of Xinjiang itself. As a final step, he even suggests granting this new autonomous Uighur jurisdiction—i.e., southern Xinjiang, or Altishahr—a political status akin to that which Hong Kong abides by.

Though Guo’s recommendations are unlikely to be adopted by Beijing, it is interesting to note the striking parallels they share with Chinese administrative strategies in Xinjiang from an earlier era. Like Yang Zengxin, the first Han governor of Xinjiang during the Republican era (1912–1949), Guo is advocating a policy of deliberate ethnic segregation as a means of lessening the likelihood of ethnic conflict. And like the Nationalist government of the 1940s, he is proposing the carving up of China’s largest provincial-level unit into various smaller jurisdictional units as a means of meeting demands for ethnic self-government. It seems that Xinjiang is still beset by the same problems, the same ever-present spectre of ethnic conflict, and the same policy proposals. Unfortunately, there is no reason to suspect that the Chinese central government will be any more successful in this endeavour today than it was in the last century.

Justin M. Jacobs, American University, Washington DC, USA                                                           

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MEETING CHINA HALFWAY: How to Defuse the Emerging US-China Rivalry. By Lyle J. Goldstein. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2015. vi, 389 pp. (Figures.) US$29.95, cloth. ISBN 978-1-62616-160-3.

Agreement is virtually unanimous in the United States, certainly within the foreign affairs establishment, that war with China must be avoided: that it would be disastrous for the United States, for China, and for the world. The issue for specialists, in and out of the government, is how best to serve US interests in the context of China’s rise. How can the “Thucydides’ trap”—of conflict triggered by the emergence of a new contender for world power—be avoided as tensions mount, especially in the South China Sea?

Early in his presidency, Barack Obama reached out to China in an attempt to improve relations. Beijing did not reciprocate. China became more assertive, most recently in its construction of military bases in the South China Sea. Then, in 2011, the Obama administration announced its “pivot” (later “rebalance”) to Asia, confirming Chinese suspicion of US intent to contain China, to hamper its rise.

The community of American policy makers and scholars concerned with US-China relations divides between those who would appease (not meant pejoratively) China and those who would confront China. The men and women who argue for appeasement insist that the Chinese threaten no vital American interest. Those demanding confrontation argue that the Chinese are hostile to the United States and all it stands for—that the enmity is indisputable—and it is essential to push back, to avoid being perceived as weak.

Lyle Goldstein is a superb analyst (albeit a less than superb historian), well read in the relevant Chinese literature. In this book he offers a carefully reasoned argument, reflected in the title. His argument is not to my taste. I confess to being more confrontational, less willing to put aside human rights issues (the Chinese government ceased perceiving me as a “friend of China” after my reaction to the Tiananmen massacres). I must acknowledge, however, that Goldstein offers a very well-conceived series of steps both sides can take to alleviate tension, and avoid conflict. He calls them “cooperation spirals” (confidence-building measures) that will allow the two states to cooperate in the twenty-first century. His proposals are comprehensive, with chapters on concerns over Taiwan, economic issues, the environment, activities in the developing world, the Middle East, Korea, Southeast Asia, and India.

My reservations begin with his contention that the United States should be more accommodating because of US participation in the multilateral imperialism in China during the “hundred years of humiliation.” His history of early Chinese-American relations is reasonably fair, but one-sided. He ignores the Chinese mistreatment of Westerners that led to American gunboats on the Yangtze. Whatever guilt Americans should have felt was surely mitigated by the aid (admittedly modest) to China in the 1930s and during World War II—and all that the United States has done since the 1980s to make China’s rise possible. And a student of Chinese history might wonder how much guilt the Chinese feel for what they’ve done to their neighbours in days gone by.

Similarly, his use of Secretary of State Dean Acheson’s willingness to abandon Taiwan in 1949–1950 neglects the context (see Nancy Bernkopf Tucker, Patterns in the Dust, Columbia, 1983). Acheson despised Chiang Kai-shek and saw no reason to allow a nasty dictator, hated by the people of the island, to stand in the way of his efforts to reach accommodation with the People’s Republic. Today we are dealing with a democratic state whose people have no interest in reunification with the Mainland. Goldstein’s contention that Ma Ying-jeou succeeded in building a consensus for his policies of accommodation with Beijing has been proven false since Goldstein wrote the book.

Like most of us, Goldstein finds persuasive writers whose work fits his argument—and others less so. I was amused by his praise for Henry Kissinger’s pathetic On China (Penguin, 2011). On Taiwan, one of the more blatant examples of gamesmanship occurs when he finds Charles Glaser’s argument for eliminating the Taiwan issue persuasive and dismisses the reply by Nancy Bernkopf Tucker (my late wife) and Bonnie Glaser. At a panel at the Center for Strategic and Internal Studies (CSIS), Tucker and Bonnie Glaser easily shredded Charles Glaser’s argument—an outcome he, an exceptionally thoughtful scholar, would readily concede. Goldstein is far too ready to have the United States push Taiwan toward reunification, a decision for which the people of Taiwan are entitled to a say.

Among his cooperation spirals, several seem laughable. Getting any Japanese prime minister—let alone Shinzo Abe—to go to Nanjing to apologize for the Nanjing massacre is surely a non-starter, as is imagining the US forcing Israel to surrender its nuclear weapons. Expecting Beijing to agree to allow labour unions independent of the Communist Party or to agree to allow strict and intrusive verification of a climate change agreement are surely fantasies. But Goldstein would be the first to acknowledge that not all of his proposals are practical and he calls for other suggestions. His key point is that a spiral of cooperation is essential to avoid a senseless war—and it would be absurd to disagree.

Given existing mistrust, how can you get this started? How can one trust a Chinese government that first denies transgressions—proliferation, cybersecurity, militarization of South China Sea “islands”—and only under pressure agrees to stop doing what it earlier claimed it wasn’t doing? Can a repressive, authoritarian dictatorship and a liberal democracy ever trust each other? But there is a consensus among foreign affairs specialists that policy has failed. Surely a modified Goldstein approach is worth a try.

Warren I. Cohen, Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, Washington, DC, USA                                                                                             

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CHINA’S FOREIGN AID AND INVESTMENT DIPLOMACY, VOLUME I: Nature, Scope, and Origins. By John F. Copper. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. xi, 282 pp. US$121.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-137-55181-8.

CHINA’S FOREIGN AID AND INVESTMENT DIPLOMACY, VOLUME II: History and Practice in Asia, 1950-Present. By John F. Copper. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. xii, 273 pp. US$121.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-137-55182-5.

CHINA’S FOREIGN AID AND INVESTMENT DIPLOMACY, VOLUME III: Strategy Beyond Asia and Challenges to the United States and the International Order. By John F. Copper. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. xii, 317 pp. US$121.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-137-55183-2.

This three-volume work by John Copper provides a comprehensive and detailed examination of China’s foreign aid and investment diplomacy from the tribute trade to the present. As the title suggests, the lens through which foreign aid and investment are viewed is that of diplomacy, an examination of the aims and purposes of what Copper frequently terms “China’s generosity.” The result of this examination is to illuminate how this generosity has been an important part of China’s strategy to win friends and influence others over a long historical period as well as having a strong moral basis in terms of assisting others. This in itself provides a contrasting starting point from other works which emphasize China’s dealings with dictators and a self-interested quest for resources in return for aid and investment. These latter topics are included and discussed in Copper’s book too but his different starting point leads him to be more sympathetic than many.

Volume 1 provides an introduction to the definitions and measurement of foreign aid and investment, setting out distinctions which are used throughout the book in regional case studies. Also included in this volume are chapters on China’s worldview (which introduces the moral basis for foreign aid and investment going back to the tribute system, and the system of international relations which underpinned it in which obligation played an important role), China’s economy and the role that foreign aid and investment diplomacy have played in it, and China’s foreign policy.

In volume 2, the four chapters focus on China’s foreign aid and investment diplomacy in Asia, the region that has received the majority of China’s aid and investment, from 1950 to the present. The chapters examine Southeast Asia, South Asia, and Northeast and Central Asia, with a fourth chapter analyzing the “special case” of Taiwan and the use of aid and investment diplomacy to isolate it.

The third volume, like the other two, also contains four chapters, with the first three expanding the regional theme to cover Africa, Europe, the Middle East, Latin America, and Oceania. Of these three chapters, Africa receives two to itself while the other regions share one chapter. The final chapter in the volume is a long concluding chapter which brings the various parts together.

Taken together, the volumes provide an invaluable source for scholars and students interested in the subject matter. The coverage is comprehensive and by providing a longer historical view they offer the reader a more nuanced understanding of contemporary “China’s rise” and “new colonialism” literature, which likes to draw upon some of the same examples and trends for its arguments, such as China’s massive projects building dams, pipelines, and economic zones around the world,. Each chapter is detailed, well researched, and well referenced.

The comprehensiveness of the regional studies and the historical span are obvious strengths and result, in part, from the luxury of a three-volume set rather than the standard-length monograph. The downside, as one might expect, is the exorbitant cost of the set. For those working closely in the field, though, it will be a worthwhile source for at least two reasons. The first is somewhat technical but nevertheless important. That is the discussion of the definition and measurement of foreign aid and investment. Copper lays out the data and interpretation problems very clearly and doesn’t hide his view that much of the data is either unavailable or very problematic. He reviews the Chinese and Western/international differences in the concept of foreign aid and the difficulties in creating comparable, reliable data for China. Having made his best guess, he concludes that China’s aid has, in fact, been significantly higher than most estimates put it. Topics such as whether and under what conditions central bank currency swaps, for example, constitute “foreign aid” may seem rather arcane but it is this type of careful scholarship which is needed to get a firmer grasp of the dimensions of China’s foreign aid and the problematic nature of the data that might be reported by international institutions. The blurred lines in practice as to what constitutes foreign aid and what constitutes foreign investment is also a salutary lesson, even more so when we learn that the conceptual differences are blurred too for many Chinese officials.

The second major contribution of the set is in its setting out of the different factors in play in China’s diplomacy with the various regions analyzed. Part of the volumes’ narrative shows how China’s motives changed over time and how foreign aid and investment diplomacy has been subject to various phases in line with its political upheavals and cycles. This will not come as a surprise to readers although here it is still useful to note the various shifts in the composition of aid over time, such as the role of military aid and medical aid in previous phases compared to the dominance of infrastructure in the current period. Copper effectively lays out the transition from aid giver under Mao to the world’s largest aid recipient in 1989 to being now potentially (or actually, depending on source) the largest global foreign aid provider and investor. These phases are accompanied by detailed analysis of the shifts in country focus and policy that went with them. Beyond this, the variation in experiences across the various regions even within the same phases constitutes an interesting contribution. By describing the ways in which China has used aid and investment in the different regions of the world, the book provides a rich analysis and a useful antidote to accounts which tend to treat China as one large, homogenous actor. As examples, we learn that China became actively involved in peacekeeping and, in 2006, “became the largest contributor of personnel to UN peacekeeping operations among the five permanent members of the UN Security Council” (volume 1, 25) in part because the People’s Liberation Army had changed its position on peacekeeping. Of course, the economic ministries have also been heavily involved in the provision of financial aid packages to countries experiencing crises.

There is, therefore, much detail in the regional chapters which scholars will find useful. This is Copper’s strong suit. When he moves to the larger topics of assessing whether China’s aid and investment is “good” or “bad” or is challenging “the West,” the analysis becomes less convincing. At times, Copper comes across as too much of a champion for Beijing in his contextualizing of China’s motives and in his relativism in judging their impacts. At others, however, he seems too keen to provide a contrast between China and other countries. For example, China, we are told, has been “very aggressive in using foreign assistance to help its own economy” whereas, apparently, the United States “has not promoted American business abroad as in the past because its critics find it distasteful if not morally wrong to do this” (volume 3, 192). There is certainly much that could be argued with here. Taken together the volumes do, however, provide us with a sound empirical basis on which to enter such arguments.

Paul Bowles, University of Northern British Columbia, Prince George, Canada                               

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ASSESSING CHINA’S POWER. Asian-Palgrave Macmillan Series. Edited by Jae Ho Chung. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. xiv, 299 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$38.00, paper. ISBN 978-1-137-53707-2.

In recent decades there has been a great deal of debate about China’s growing power, as scholars attempt to understand the implications of China’s “rise” for East Asia, the United States, and the larger international community. This book addresses important questions about China’s emergence as a regional and global power through an analysis of the topic from a variety of perspectives. Bringing together thirteen prominent China scholars from the United States, United Kingdom, France, Australia, the People’s Republic of China, and the Republic of Korea, this volume offers a comprehensive assessment of China’s national power that is notable for both its breadth and depth. Each chapter follows a similar pattern in identifying specific criteria for evaluating Chinese power, reviewing recent developments, comparing China’s power to that of the United States, and projecting future directions.

In his introductory chapter, editor Jae Ho Chung identifies three schools of thought with regard to China’s rise to global power: the “Confident School,” the “Pessimist School,” and the “Uncertain School.” The contributors to this volume tend to fall into the latter camp, which recognizes that China has the potential to become a great power or even a hegemon, but acknowledges that there is a great deal of uncertainty in this process and that China faces numerous challenges and problems along the way. As a result, Chung advocates “careful empirical investigations from multiple angles and perspectives” (3). That is exactly what Assessing China’s Power delivers to its readers.

The initial chapters examine domestic aspects of China’s rising power, such as economic growth and governance. Tony Saich, for example, explores how economic development has changed Chinese society, creating a large middle class that is both connected to the global economy and active on social media. Despite these changes, the Chinese Communist Party has maintained its “authoritarian resilience” and Saich finds that Chinese citizens have increasing confidence in the central government. Local officials, on the other hand, face significant criticism and protests, which remains a daunting challenge as Chinese leaders grapple with corruption and the changing expectations of the Chinese people.

Andrew Erickson, Michael S. Chase, and Kevin Pollpeter analyze recent PRC military developments in air, naval, nuclear, space, and cyber war capabilities. All argue that the Chinese military has made significant progress in recent decades, but China’s overall weapons systems and capabilities remain far behind those of the United States. Chinese officials have concentrated on quality, rather than quantity, seeking to develop a military force sufficient to deter foreign intervention along China’s periphery and coastal areas. Thus, rather than challenge the United States in numbers of ships, missiles, or nuclear warheads, the Chinese military hopes to maintain a zone of influence in the region using a strategy of “deterrence by denial” (86). Cyber warfare, as a way to offset the advantage of any high-tech opponent, plays a central role in this strategy and the People’s Liberation Army has devoted significant resources to this area.

Evaluating China’s normative or “soft” power poses special problems, but some of the volume’s contributors offer detailed analyses of China’s ability to influence other states. Hankwon Kim argues that while China has made great strides in developing its economic and military power, it lags behind in terms of “soft power.” Chinese leaders have attempted to present China as an appropriate model for developing states, but with minimal results. Ann Kent points out that China’s global influence has increased with its greater involvement in the international community, but China retains a deep-seated determination to uphold its traditional notions of national sovereignty. This limits China’s willingness to participate in collective interventions in other areas of the world and leads Chinese leaders to view with skepticism Western suggestions that China should be a “good citizen” and take on greater international responsibilities.

David Kang and Evelyn Goh see China’s relations with its neighbors as an important window on China’s role in the larger global community. While acknowledging that the South China Seas dispute is the most likely flashpoint for regional conflict, both see signs of stability despite China’s new military capabilities and growing assertiveness in regional affairs. Kang points to static or declining military budgets among Northeast Asian states, including Taiwan, as an indication that China’s neighbors do not feel the need to match China’s military spending. He finds little difference between those that have military ties to the United States and those that do not. Goh argues that while China has had a profound economic impact on Southeast Asia, most of these states desire a strong American presence in the region, which they hope will serve as a balance to growing Chinese power.

In the final section, Suisheng Zhao and Zhimin Chen explore Chinese perspectives on China’s rise as a global power, particularly in the wake of the 2008 global financial crisis. They conclude that Chinese elites now see themselves as global leaders and have adopted a more assertive and proactive foreign policy. As Chen puts it, there is a new sense of national strength among Chinese leaders who no longer see China as a “weaker member among the second-tier great powers of the world” (286). These leaders also have a keen interest in assessing China’s global influence and researchers in Chinese think tanks are hard at work seeking empirical data with which to better measure China’s normative power.

All of the authors contributing to this volume offer intelligent analysis of recent developments, ongoing challenges, and likely future directions as China continues its rise within the global community. The essays are remarkably coherent and complimentary, collectively providing a comprehensive assessment of China’s economic, military, normative, regional, and global power. As such, this is an important and useful book for anyone interested in contemporary Chinese affairs.

Peter Worthing, Texas Christian University, Fort Worth, USA                                                          

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TONGZHI LIVING: Men Attracted to Men in Postsocialist China. By Tiantian Zheng. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2015. 244 pp. US$27.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-8166-9200-2.

The anthropologist Tiantian Zheng has combined exhaustive fieldwork with a sophisticated theoretical framework to produce an informative ethnography of homosexual men in the city of Dalian in northeast China. Her incisive analysis lends this book significance far beyond the ostensible subject matter. By describing a despised minority subculture in such detail, the author provides a unique perspective on issues central to contemporary Chinese society and politics, including the construction and maintenance of hierarchy, mechanisms of social control, and the allocation of status.

The author avoids using the term gay, which implies the public affirmation of sexual orientation, political action, and a globalized sexuality based on Western norms. Instead she employs the terminology that her subjects use and calls them tongzhi (comrades). This appellation began as a mocking appropriation of communist jargon, which an oppressed group ironically redefined to stake out a nonconformist identity.

Unlike Western gay identity, tongzhi divide themselves into two discrete categories. They call men who take the insertive role in intercourse by the number 1, while sexually passive men are known as 0s. Identifying one another by sexual position replicates the heterosexual division between male and female roles. As with men and women in the straight world, tongzhi have different expectations for 1s and 0s. They assume that the 1 in a relationship will be the breadwinner and provide financial support for the 0.

Tongzhi have to cope with fierce prejudice from government functionaries, coworkers, and family members. Faced with intense hostility from key institutions, tongzhi rarely dare to come out of the closet or engage in activism. To the contrary, they actively collaborate with the state and strive to be accepted by the dominant culture, thus weakening their collective solidarity. Foreign mass media depict the globalized gay lifestyle in positive terms, making tongzhi acutely aware of their predicament. As a result, they find themselves trapped between their desires and circumstances. While tongzhi long to embrace a Westernized gay identity, they have no choice but to remain hidden. To deal with this contradiction, they outwardly pretend to conform to social norms. An estimated 90 percent enter into sham heterosexual marriages. But behind this protective façade, they construct a parallel secret life.

Unlike the West, where religious beliefs drive homophobia, in China this prejudice originates in secular society. Zheng accounts for the disdain toward tongzhi as an outgrowth of the national strengthening ideology that developed in the late Qing dynasty and early twentieth century. Ever since the May Fourth movement, Chinese have consciously manipulated gender roles to try to increase national strength. Because they associate homosexuality with decadence and effeminacy, they consider it a threat to the nation. Most Chinese regard tongzhi with contempt, seeing them as akin to traitors.

The title of this book emphasizes the importance of the postsocialist nature of Chinese society to understanding this minority. Extreme inequality permeates contemporary China, making class consciousness a major factor in the personal identity of individual tongzhi. Because they come from every stratum, their community is riven by inequalities of income, power, and status. Tongzhi tend to follow the example of mainstream society and define themselves through consumption. So despite the persecution they face, tongzhi end up adhering to the state’s official line by eschewing activism and devoting themselves to work and shopping.

Zheng explores relationships between men of different economic backgrounds, which often involve the exchange of gifts or money. Although tongzhi of various social stations interact to some degree in person and online, they exclude one group from their community. Tongzhi of all backgrounds are extremely hostile toward internal migrants. Lacking education, connections, and resources, migrant tongzhi often end up working as low-end male prostitutes. Because of their debased status, other tongzhi regard migrants as polluted and dangerous and treat them with disdain.

The author has previously done extensive fieldwork on HIV/AIDS in China, and this book includes a chapter describing tongzhi involvement in these organizations. Because almost all of the staff at Chinese HIV organizations are tongzhi, becoming involved in the cause is one of the only ways for them to interact directly with mainstream society and the state. HIV organizations serve as de facto tongzhi clubs, and men use them to socialize and find sex partners. Surprisingly, Zheng documents embezzlement at one of these organizations, where senior staff siphon off funds donated by the government and charities. But by succumbing to the dishonesty that pervades postsocialist society, tongzhi end up undermining the organizations that provide them refuge.

Although Tiantian Zheng’s professed subject matter is the ethnography of homosexual men in a single city, this book opens up unique perspectives on the current state of Chinese society as a whole. The oppression suffered by tongzhi provides a detailed case study of the mechanics of social and political control in contemporary China. Although tongzhi have been marginalized and forced underground, they nevertheless embrace the dominant values that underpin the postsocialist order. They avoid activism, and instead devote themselves to work and consumption. They replicate the general class hierarchy within their own community. And they present themselves to outsiders as complying with the norms that oppress them. The surprising conformity of this persecuted group goes a long way toward explaining how the Chinese Communist Party maintains power in the face of so many challenges.

Bret Hinsch, Fo Guang University, Jiaoxi, Taiwan                                                                             

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THE CHINA BOOM: Why China Will Not Rule the World. Contemporary Asia in the World. By Ho-fung Hung. New York: Columbia University Press, 2015, c2016. xxiv, 232 pp. (Illustrations, map.) US$35.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-16418-4.

In The China Boom: Why China Will Not Rule the World, John Hopkins-based sociologist Ho-fung Hung sets out to challenge the conventional view that China’s development path is unique and can offer an alternative growth model for emerging nations. Not only is Hung able to convincingly demonstrate that mainstream conceptions of so-called “Chinese capitalism” are wrong; rather, such views are creating intellectual blinders that fail to see the risk of China’s looming economic downfall. Drawing on socio-economic theorists such as Marx and Weber, the study offers a strong historical account of China’s turbulent development path towards an authoritarian capitalist state.

Hung’s thought-provoking analysis centres on what he sees as two dominant myths within the political economy literature. First, he rejects the notion that China has seen an ideological split from its Maoist beginnings that has brought about a radically unique pro-capitalist state. Rather, China’s development path has been continuous and the result of institutional foundations established under Maoist policy. Indeed, Hung argues that capitalism in China has developed through historical state-institution building, geo-political interests, and volatile state-society social relations.

Second, Hung contends that China’s ascent does not pose a subversive risk to the current Bretton Woods-centric economic system. Citing American economic and militaristic hegemony, he points to China’s dependency on the US consumer market with Beijing readily serving as a principle financier through US Treasury bonds to ensure its stability. As Hung writes, “the China boom relies on the global free-market instituted and warranted by the United States. It is thus far from China’s interest to undermine the global neoliberal status quo and U.S. leadership in it” (174). This leads to a convincing argument that China is not driving a radical restructuring of global power.

The book is divided into two parts, the first focusing on the emergence of the capitalist system in China, while the second discusses China’s impact on the global economic system. It is here that Hung lays out his argument for what he sees as the inevitable collapse of China’s growth success. Not only does Hung’s study present a rigorous yet concise account of China’s political economy, it does so within the important context of East Asia’s historical growth model.

The book begins with an account of imperial China’s development patterns within the constraints of the centralized paternalistic state. Hung notes how capitalism was constrained by the government, which saw wealth accumulation as a threat to social stability, and the “elites failure to build a coherent, strong state machinery necessary for surplus centralization and state-led industrialization in the nineteenth and early twentieth century” (33). The following two chapters discuss China’s mid-nineteenth century failed attempt to follow Europe’s industrialization path. It would not be until the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) took power that a successful model of primitive accumulation was introduced in an effort to re-direct wealth from the countryside to the cities. According to Hung, the result led to state-owned industrial capital and infrastructure that was then leveraged through post-Maoist market reform. This allowed Beijing to develop an export-oriented modernization program that benefited from the Cold War economic policies of the United States and the strengthening of East Asian capitalist markets.

It is not until chapter 4 where the book shifts attention towards Hung’s premise on the possible risk and rewards associated with China’s unsustainable growth. Although Hung sees China’s impact on global inequality as significant, he is skeptical if such a trend will continue, especially as China’s per-capita income rises higher than global averages. He also challenges the belief that the developing world will benefit from China’s growth. In chapters 5 and 6, Hung then rejects the view that China is challenging American hegemony. In building his case, he draws on the dominance of the US dollar and military power. He rightly argues that this “twin dominance” will continue shaping the world with China at best emerging as a “new power in an old order.” Indeed, Beijing is dependent on US market strength to support its export-oriented economy since its domestic market is weak. As evidence, Hung points to Beijing’s overinvestment through deficit spending, consumer under-consumption, and China’s general internal wealth imbalance.

While Hung’s assessment is convincing, it offers little in terms of solutions other than a vague commentary on the urgent need for social and political reform. While questioning if China’s authoritarian state can sustain itself without reform, he leaves the reader guessing what such a massive undertaking would look like in a country dominated by an entrenched communist party with over 80 million members. Furthermore, Hung’s position can present itself as overly alarmist. For example, Hung writes, “The imminent and inevitable readjustment of the Chinese economy is poised to create significant repercussions throughout the world” (176). The reader is again left grasping for more direction on what to expect if China is indeed leading the world towards global economic imbalance.

Despite these limitations, Hung’s work is important and will be of interest to those looking for an alternative account for understanding China’s capitalist rise. What’s more, the book should be mandatory reading for anyone concerned with transnational economic policy planning. The China boom is not to be underestimated.

Robert J. Hanlon, Thompson Rivers University, Kamloops, Canada                                                 

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MAOISM AT THE GRASSROOTS: Everyday Life in China’s Era of High Socialism. Edited by Jeremy Brown and Matthew D. Johnson. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015. vi, 468 pp. (Illustrations.) US$49.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-28720-4.

This humane book exposes “undercurrents” in China. The editors’ introduction identifies three main themes (2). First, it asserts a need for more “grassroots” and “subaltern” studies about everyday life among diverse populations within Chinese society, including youths, peasants, woman workers, gays, religious believers, ethnic minorities, and others. Second, it shows that “routine violence” affected many but not all Chinese people during “high socialism” “from the mid-1950s until 1980” (6). A third finding is that most social scientists’ emphasis on “campaign time” oversimplifies the varied experiences of the Chinese people. These authors are historians, interested in contingencies and complexities, not grand causations.

But not all the chapters confirm these three ideas monotonically. Campaigns were times for “making” “bad elements” (Yang Kuisong, 19), “creating rightists” (Cao Shuji, 77), and “revising political verdicts” (Daniel Leese, 102). Jeremy Brown writes about label revisions in rural Hebei, offering evidence that national movements were occasions for reinterpreting local “distant history and recent misdeeds” (57). Yet as Vivienne Shue suggests in her interpretive “epilogue” chapter, Maoist campaigns did not affect all urbanites, even in hyperpolitical Beijing (366-369).

Many chapters compile anecdotes of particular people and contexts. These complex stories are often based on interviewees who were wronged and want to be heard, or on archival documents whose writers judged cases of goodness or badness, bravery or timidity, luck or misfortune. Cao’s chapter about the “overt conspiracy” of the Hundred Flowers clarifies the mixed intentions among local cadres and critics in 1957 rural Henan. Many were determined to “keep their mouths shut,” even as officials urged them to express loyalty by finding faults in socialist consolidation. “Most people chose silence or evasion,” but “China … did indeed have ‘rightists’ who opposed the Party.” For most “who were labeled ‘rightists,’ speaking out against injustice and unfairness was second nature” (100-101). They knew they would be punished, but they were honest.

The Great Leap Forward exploited labour. It substituted women for men in arduous outdoor work growing cotton, as Jacob Eyferth shows in a chapter called “Liberation from the Loom?” Production rose, as did the independence of wives, but this liberation involved heavy costs (143). Work was more important to labourers than politics. For rural women in Shaanxi, “1966 was not a date of great significance.” None of Eyferth’s interviewees “mentioned the Cultural Revolution.” When asked, one woman said, “we simply did not take part” (151). Maoists exploited hopes that sent-down youths could use science to modernize agronomy (Sigrid Schmalzer, 152-178). Chaos and struggle meetings decimated offices that had earlier monitored rural leaders, who could then choose to ignore central orders in favour of their own local policies.

“What happened after the Leap is not simply that the state retreated … but also that state institutions followed a path of involution and corruption” (Matthew Johnson, 201). Even in Xinjiang, the Leap “had been a disaster politically as well as economically” (Wang Haiguang, 337). The Cultural Revolution then “crippled” police who had tried to monitor apocalyptic Buddhist societies (S.A. Smith, 348). Later campaigns failed to reverse Party decline. The historians in this book nowhere refer explicitly to dynastic cycles, but their findings are consistent with that Chinese trope.

Many chapters underline the importance of “class” labels in the lives of politically active Chinese. Some victims were driven insane when assigned bad labels. Depression, paranoia, and suicidal thoughts are quoted by Sha Qingqing and Jeremy Brown from a youth’s personal diary (190). Mental illness, fistfights, hunger, rock throwing, struggle meetings, bossy cadres, and anger at unfair labelling were frequent. This context of chaos was arguably intensified because of socialist consolidation policies in the 1950s and 1960s, but coercion was not all coordinated by the state.

One of the best-known chapter writers, Michael Schoenhals, boldly asserts that writers who “focus on violence and chaos” pay excessive attention to Mao, although “the Chairman himself is not the least to blame” (230). This proposition is in tension with Roderick MacFarquhar and Schoenhals’ Mao’s Last Revolution (Cambridge: Belknap Press, 2006). Mao could not monitor everything, but to reduce his role to zero is as misleading as to ignore his love of fighting and controlling and labelling people, all evident throughout his six-decade political career. His methods legitimated millions of others to use the same methods in their own interests.

Power was usually local. Cadres’ political difficulties with Guizhou and Xinjiang minorities are chronicled respectively by Wang Haiguang and Zhe Wu, who present newly detailed political histories of these provinces. Steve A. Smith writes similarly about redemptive sects such as the Yiguandao. The Party must admit that cultists, like ethnic minorities in their areas, have “mass” characteristics (343). Coercion alone is ineffective for monitoring them. Xiaoxuan Wang finds that ambiguous Party policy “lacks the support of local cadres” who are mandated to control religion near Wenzhou (261).

The main arguments of the book are not entirely new. It is refreshing for this reviewer to read a book that finds truth in detailed historical narratives (not just statistical regressions). China is so complex that many findings here are in tension with the book’s main themes. That is a virtue, not a fault. Other English-language authors have, in diverse ways, shown that everyday normal chaos, grassroots political economies, and personal attempts to avoid campaigns are long-term facts of life in China. This reviewer easily compiled a list of twenty prominent political and social scientists to whom none of these historians refer, but who have made such points in major publications. History is a social science. Social scientists neglect their topic when they are not humanists. Writers of either sort who ignore these links should reconsider. These chapters provide fine-grained evidence and reinvigorate scholarship on China in the first quarter-century of the People’s Republic. Everyone who is interested in socialist China must read this book.

Lynn T. White III, Princeton University, New Jersey, USA                                                                  

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SOUNDING THE MODERN WOMAN: The Songstress in Chinese Cinema. By Jean Ma. Durham; London: Duke University Press, 2015. ix, 282 pp. (Figures.) US$$25.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8223-5876-3.

Relatively few works in film studies devote attention to sound and music because a huge part of the movie-watching experience is about visual pleasure. Most viewers do not realize the emotional effects of sound and music, which play important roles in creating atmosphere and tension in the cinematic space. Film songs—especially the pop songs we have grown up with—whether they are adopted by films or popularized as original scores written for films, often dominate visuals by their strong emotional impact. They function differently since they also exist outside the cinema and are aired repeatedly in public and private spaces, thereby establishing a direct association with viewers apart from the discourse of a film. In her book, Jean Ma gives the example of Wong Kar-wai’s short music film The Blooming Years (2000), which is edited to Zhou Xuan’s song of the same title with clips from old films (3). This song is played on the soundtrack of Wong’s feature film In the Mood of Love (2000), which bears the same Chinese title as the song. Jean Ma’s book is more than a scholarly exploration of sound and music in Chinese cinema. Referring to existing studies on sound, music, and voice in cinematic traditions, while paying special attention to the configuration of the role of the songstress in Chinese cinema, her analysis also relates to theories in feminist film studies, effects of sound technology in filmmaking, complexity in the visual and/or vocal performance, and actual practices in Shanghai cinema before 1949 and Hong Kong’s Mandarin cinema after 1949.

Reading Ma’s book Sounding the Modern Woman, I found fascinating insights on films featuring Grace Chang: Mambo Girls (1957) and The Wild, Wild Rose (1960) in particular. Jean Ma states that she began research “with a vague notion of starting a book project about the films and songs of the postwar star Grace Chang” (3), and Grace Chang remains the most interesting subject of the book and occupies nearly two chapters of her discussions. Although at more than one point, Ma groups Zhou Xuan, Grace Chang, Chung Ching, Yao Lee, Linda Lin Dai, and Julie Yeh Feng as the major postwar singing actresses, her book does not include any case studies for Linda Lin Dai and Julie Yeh Feng. I can clearly see why Grace Chang’s The Wild, Wild Rose, which incorporates plots from both Bizet’s Carmen and Dumas filsCamellia in constructing a femme fatale figure and was written with the consideration of Grace Chang’s ability to sing with different voices corresponding to her multicultural personae, generates a very vigorous reading. Ma successfully makes a case that Grace Chang, who possessed an amazing star power yet was not studied more seriously as the cinema she belonged to—the Mandarin cinema of postwar Hong Kong—“has been largely sidelined by Chinese film historiography” (26).

Jean Ma sets off by taking “the songstress as a starting point for a remapping of Chinese film history against an international horizon” (23), which I do consider a very bold and creative attempt that, if fulfilled, may lead to a very interesting historiography. The book continues to highlight a number of films that are not often studied in detail in other works on Chinese cinema, including Songstress Red Peony (1931), Two Stars in the Milky Way (1931), An All-consuming Love (1947), Song of a Songstress (1948), Songs of the Peach Blossom River (1956), Mambo Girls, and The Wild, Wild Rose, which form a genealogy in their own right. Since, as Ma rightly points out, the image of the “singing women” was wiped out by the “fighting men” after 1970, when kungfu films were on the rise and wenyi (art and literature) films were in decline, the book needs to call on the songstress’s image and voice now only lingering in more recent films like The Rouge (1988), The Hole (1998), In the Mood for Love (2000), Lust, Caution (2007), and, not mentioned by Ma, Shanghai Triad (1999). After a wide survey, Ma decides to focus “on song performance in Mandarin films from the early sound era to postwar Hong Kong and on the performers who worked exclusively in this linguistic realm” (25); this choice marks a significant contribution to the study of Chinese cinema, but also needs further justification. Her chosen repertoire excludes songstresses in Cantonese language films paralleling Shanghai films from 1931 to 1948 and postwar Mandarin films from the 1950s to the 1960s made in Hong Kong, as well as all films adapting the forms of regional operas (including the most well-known Peking Opera, Cantonese Opera, and Huangmei Opera) and chanted storytelling forms (including Tianjin Drum Song and Suzhou Pingtan). Cantonese singer-actress Siu Yin Fei, for instance, plays songstress roles in films like The Blood-Soaked Tomb (血染斷腸碑, 1949), South Sea Songstress (天涯歌女, 1950), Songstress Red Rose (歌女紅玫瑰, 1952) and A Melancholy Melody (歌聲淚影, 1952), which all refer back or are in line with Shanghai musical films of the 1930s and 1940s. On the one hand, such exclusions keep Ma from remapping Chinese film history. On the other hand, the narrow focus results in a paradox in her study: as Andrew Stuckey summarizes in his review of this book, even though she does stress the differences between Chinese singing (and not always dancing) pictures and Hollywood musicals, her own “historical research consistently points to the ways the Shanghai or Hong Kong industries are responding to, adapting from, and negotiating between Hollywood films (including American music and dance styles) and local cultural and social concerns.” The representation of modernity in Chinese films has always involved the appropriation of Western enlightenment and traditional Chinese values and narratives; and these two traditions do share a conspiracy against women, as is evident in Ma’s analyses.

A major strength of this book is Jean Ma’s attempt to bridge the gap between the songstress persona and the urge to be a modern woman—free, independent, with her own agency and talent revealed. Throughout the book, I found several new contributions to feminist film studies. First, the roles of songstresses are not paralleled by male singer actors in postwar Mandarin films made in Hong Kong, which means that women’s film was not only just one of many genres but the dominant genre at the time. Second, in opera films (like Huangmei, Shaoxing Yue Opera, and Cantonese Opera), as noted by Ma and others, the omniscient narrator is often voiced by a female chorus and both male and female protagonists are played by actresses, and this form of feminine voices is unique in Chinese cinema. Third, with attention to the timbre, expression, and on-and-off screen collaboration of female voices, this book breaks through the practice of textual analysis and spectatorship studies. In this respect, I regard Ma’s book as a significant feminist historical intervention.

S. Louisa Wei, City University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong, China

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URBANIZING CHINA IN WAR AND PEACE: The Case of Wuxi County. By Toby Lincoln. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. ix, 268 pp. (Illustrations.) US$55.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-4100-3.

Jiangsu Province’s Wuxi County is about eighty miles northwest of Shanghai in the Lower Yangzi Delta, a region that since late imperial times has been among China’s most advanced in terms of commercial and urban development. This monograph details the even more remarkable urbanization witnessed in Wuxi during the first half of the twentieth century, when it became thoroughly integrated into networks of international trade. By the early 1930s, the city of Wuxi lagged behind only Shanghai and Guangzhou in industrial output, and the size of its industrial labour force ranked second to Shanghai’s, making Wuxi China’s largest manufacturing centre outside the treaty ports. Industrial development, agricultural commercialization, and urban expansion did as much to transform Wuxi county as any other part of China, leading to what Lincoln calls an “urbanization of the countryside” that made it increasingly difficult to distinguish between the urban and the rural.

This book makes a major contribution by taking modern Chinese urban history beyond the city limits, exploring how the same historical processes affected urban as well as rural spaces. Eschewing the “urban-rural gap thesis” that has informed much of the existing historiography, Lincoln argues that a decisive shift in the “urban-rural continuum” took place in Wuxi county throughout the Republican period, reorienting society as a whole towards the city. By employing this framework, Lincoln avoids the analytical pitfalls that come with a simplistic binary opposition between the “modern” city and the “traditional” countryside. Instead, his history draws attention to the far-reaching economic, physical, political, and administrative changes that occurred as urbanization reshaped cities, towns, and villages, as well as the new relationships that it forged among them.

In the early twentieth century, Wuxi’s commercial and industrial elites took the lead in establishing factories and investing in infrastructure that remade the city and the countryside. Wuxi grew in population and size as increasing numbers of people migrated to the city to find employment in silk mills and other industrial enterprises, giving rise to tighter connections between the urban core and its rural hinterland. Communities of Wuxi sojourners in Shanghai, Nanjing, and other cities linked their native place to the Lower Yangzi’s increasingly interconnected urban system, helping it weather crises caused by warfare and natural disasters. Lincoln maintains that Wuxi elites, in tandem with local officials, secured a degree of “municipal autonomy” in the 1920s that gave them greater leeway in shaping urban expansion, but acknowledges that this urban autonomy proved fleeting. Under the Guomindang’s Nanjing government in the early 1930s, the state’s bureaucratic and regulatory apparatus assumed a greater role in guiding and managing the process of urbanization to reflect its developmental priorities.

In addition to assessing the role of the state and local elites, fully comprehending urbanization and its effects requires examining “how the rapidly changing physical landscape formed the spaces that constituted the horizons of daily lived experience for farmers and workers” (3). Lincoln presents rich information on the experiences of the women and men who worked in Wuxi’s factories (32-34), the character of urban street life (34-37), and the transformation of daily life in rural villages (50-54). Inclusion of additional material on these topics throughout the book might have further enlivened its presentation. The multifaceted impact of urbanization on the natural environment, touched upon in a section on the emergence of Lake Tai as a tourist destination (44-45), also merits more comprehensive investigation.

In the book’s most fascinating chapters, Lincoln demonstrates that even during the Sino-Japanese War of 1937 to 1945, industrial development continued to drive the process of urbanization that he sees as an “unstoppable force” (145), albeit within the context of Japanese occupation. The initial trauma of Japanese invasion tore the “threads of silk that for decades had connected farming households to the international economy,” but “they were rapidly woven anew in the first few months of 1938 and once more linked Wuxi to Shanghai” (128) In the first few years under Japanese occupation, the revival of Wuxi’s silk industry enabled it to regain its status as one of China’s most important economic centres.

Lincoln’s nuanced account of Wuxi’s wartime travails clearly demonstrates the brutality of the Japanese presence as well as its limits. It was Chinese authorities who took responsibility for reviving silk production, thwarting Japanese efforts to establish a complete monopoly over the industry. Chinese officials oversaw wartime reconstruction, development, and management of urban and rural infrastructure, which gave them opportunities to implement prewar plans for expansion with little impediment from the Japanese. Lincoln asserts that “the speed with which the city recovered supports the argument that the Chinese collaborationist state was effective and legitimate” (148). Yet the assassination of Wuxi’s collaborationist county magistrate in 1940—and Japanese “village-clearance” campaigns that followed—underline the tenuousness of this wartime accommodation.

Lincoln has grounded his analysis firmly in exhaustive research conducted in the Wuxi Municipal Archives, the Shanghai Municipal Archives, the Jiangsu Provincial Archives, and at Academia Sinica in Taiwan, along with a wide array of local newspapers, guidebooks, official publications, and Japanese survey reports. His mastery of these sources establishes his credentials as a top-notch historian of modern China. Future research should reveal the extent to which shifts in the urban-rural continuum that occurred in other regions of China during the early twentieth century resembled the history urbanization in Wuxi, and Lincoln has provided a model for that line of inquiry.

This pioneering study is an absolute must-read for students of Chinese urban history, and will appeal to anyone interested in the historical roots of the massive urbanization that has taken place in tandem with contemporary China’s rapid economic development. The book would make a useful addition to reading lists for graduate seminars and advanced undergraduate courses on modern Chinese social and economic history, as well as classes on the history of World War II in East Asia.

Micah Muscolino, University of Oxford, Oxford, United Kingdom

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THE SAGE AND THE PEOPLE: The Confucian Revival in China. By Sébastien Billioud and Joël Thoraval. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2015. viii, 332 pp. (Figures.) US$29.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-19-025814-6.

Originally published in French in 2014 and based on eight years of fieldwork, this impressive book analyzes a variety of Confucianism-inspired rituals, practices, and activities that emerged during the 2000s in the People’s Republic of China. Focusing particularly on the upsurge of interest in Confucius and his teachings among non-elite ordinary people (minjian rujia), it joins a growing body of recent Western scholarship on mainland post-Mao Confucianism. Billioud and Thoraval consistently situate individual cases within larger social contexts and longer historical perspectives, as well as making comparisons with religious movements in Taiwan. Their multi-pronged approach offers the reader a nuanced and comprehensive understanding of rituals and other practices that otherwise have mainly drawn journalistic attention or narrower scholarly treatment.

The introduction stresses the novelty of contemporary popular Confucianism, which the authors distinguish from recent academic revivals or official reappropriations of Confucius for philosophical or ideological purposes. Moreover, unlike traditional institutions and practices revived or reconstructed after Maoist suppression, such as lineage organizations and ancestor worship, grassroots Confucian initiatives are new forms of association meant to engage ordinary people with the ancient sages and foster communitarian values, as an antidote to the post-Deng Xiaoping era’s amoral individualism. Operating outside the party-state apparatus, popular activists must maintain the acquiescence (or at least indifference) of local authorities, some of whom may privately become supporters. The government’s promotion of its own form of Confucian values has also created a space for popular initiatives perceived as compatible.

Billioud and Thoraval divide their main text into three sections organized around and titled by what they identify as three major “orientations” of popular Confucianism: its educative mission (jiaohua), religious functions (anshen liming), and ritual dimension (lijiao). Each section begins with a chapter that reviews relevant developments in the Republican period (1912-1949), which sometimes offers direct precedents for contemporary manifestations. Specific Confucian-related enterprises are examined in subsequent chapters, portions of which previously appeared in journal articles by one or both authors. The discussions draw upon recent scholarship in Chinese, English, and French to supplement field observations and interviews. More detailed background information about individual activists, groups, and schools sometimes appears in a sidebar, enabling the main text to focus on major themes. Methodological issues typically are treated in footnotes.

Part 1 surveys various forms of Confucian revival in education, ranging from state-run schools incorporating the study of classic texts to independent private academies, study halls, and extracurricular groups emphasizing Song-Ming Neo-Confucian modes of self-cultivation and master-disciple relationships. Within these otherwise diverse settings, the authors discern a common concern with promoting the attainment of wisdom (zhihui) and improving social morality, to counter standard education’s over-emphasis on mere accumulation of knowledge (zhishi) and exam preparation. In emphasizing “moral and behavioral rectitude” (93), contemporary Confucian education is paradoxically anti-intellectual, favouring embodied practices and eschewing scholarly theorizing. Elite academics accordingly have criticized the “vulgarization” of Confucianism, famously attacking Yu Dan’s popular 2006 lectures and subsequent book applying teachings from the Analects (Lunyu) to everyday life.

In part 2, the authors discuss religious elements within the popular Confucian revival, emphasizing that Western conceptions of “religion” (zongjiao) have created much confusion but also unique possibilities in the Chinese context. With considerable sophistication, they analyze attempts from the early 1900s onward to gain official institutional status for Confucianism, whether as the state religion, as an addition to the five recognized religions, as a kind of civil religion; or alternatively, to incorporate it within other syncretistic traditions. Reconstructing “the different phases of the confrontation between Confucian heritage and the new category of ‘religion'” (126), they trace the evolution of Confucian jiao (teaching) from an all-inclusive ritual, moral, and politico-cosmic system into a tradition of Chinese values, then its bifurcation into a “religion” imitating Protestantism and a “philosophy” of abstract ideas “disconnected from practices” (132). Observing that these attempts to modernize Confucianism were forgotten after 1949, the authors suggest that some of the same formulations and debates have reappeared in recent years. The socialist equation of “religion” with “superstition” leads some grassroots Confucian activists to deny that their rituals and practices are “religious.” Others support openly religious efforts, such as the Hong Kong Confucian Academy’s promotion of the Kongshengtang in Shenzhen as a Confucian “church.” Syncretic redemptive movements such as the (still underground) Way of Pervading Unity (Yiguan dao) blend Confucian self-cultivation with millennarian eschatology. A recurrent theme in the case studies is that Confucianism shares spiritual roots with Buddhism but differs in emphasizing the social here-and-now, rather than an individual’s future liberation.

Part 3 examines ritual, considering the political implications of the revived ceremonies and newly invented Confucian-inflected rites. Focusing on Qufu, the sage’s hometown, the authors review the evolution of his cult, traditionally the “theologico-political foundation of state power” (173). Originally a ceremony performed by officials, celebrating both “a vision of the universe permeating imperial ideology” and Confucius himself as representing “the mediating role of jiaohua” in its implementation, the ritual changed in the twentieth century into a school-based communal observance expressing “the cultural unity of the nation” (178). Variously called “sacrifice” (si) or “commemoration” (jinian), the ritual bolstered political authority but also stoked debates over religion. Abandoned under Mao, rites revived in the 2000s celebrate the state, but also the ancestral land (zuguo) and sacred realm (shenzhou), the latter to attract Taiwanese and overseas Chinese. The authors contrast official ceremonies “devoid of ritual spirit” (223) with rites that originate from ordinary peoples’ desires to experience Confucianism as a “living reality” (225). However, relations between party/state and unofficial groups can also be mutually supportive, given the shared cosmology of Confucianism. A chapter on state cults in Taiwan identifies alternative ways of connecting the religious and the political that are impossible in mainland China.

In view of ongoing developments and rapid changes, the authors end with an epilogue rather than a conclusion, reflecting on trends they observed over a decade and comparing conditions in the mainland and Taiwan. Their insightful book is an important contribution.

Julia K. Murray, University of Wisconsin, Madison, USA                                                                  

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UNKNOTTING THE HEART: Unemployment and Therapeutic Governance in China. By Jie Yang. Ithaca: ILR Press [an imprint of Cornell University Press], 2015. xxv, 255 pp. (Illustrations.) US$24.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8014-5660-2.

Jie Yang’s first book explores the long-term consequences of the massive layoffs in the late 1990s and early 2000s that affected tens of millions of workers in Chinese state-owned enterprises. The book is based on a decade-long ethnographic research in a community in Changping, a suburb of Beijing. Many of its residents are former employees of the now-privatized watch factory Beibiao. Through this case study, Yang reveals the suffering that laid-off workers and the unemployed experience today and examines the solutions that the state has employed to alleviate it.

Yang’s ethnography focuses on state interventions that are intended to tackle the “heart” through Western-style psychotherapy. In both the introduction and the conclusion, Yang presents an overarching argument that places these developments in the broader trend of “psychologization”—the rendering of socio-economic problems into psychological ones. Unemployment thus becomes part of the mental health crisis that is plaguing the rapidly developing society. Yang contends that the state’s promotion of psychotherapy signals a shift from coercive control to a more benevolent mode of governing. To characterize this shift, Yang coins the terms of “therapeutic governance” and “kindly power.” Yang further argues that, in doing this, the state aims to harness the positive potential (qianli) of the targeted populations and to contain the hidden threats or “negative potential” (yinhuan) they entail.

This ambitious thesis is supported by six ethnographic chapters. The first two bring readers to the centre of the said interventions: the residents’ committee that embodies the state/party’s presence at the grassroots level. Reemployment training, which frequently involves counselling, is offered by its staff who have recently received some training in psychotherapy. In chapter 1 Yang describes how these psychosocial workers endorse “self-reflexivity,” or more precisely reconsidering one’s situations and coming up with a positive mindset, as a crucial means to achieve “happiness.” This has become an index of “economic growth and governing efficiency” (36) in the official discourse. Chapter 2 turns to more closely examine the practitioners who, defining their mission as helping others to help themselves, must prompt their clients to relinquish their dependency on the state. Here Yang compares the Maoist ideology of self-reliance, which stresses the independence of the country, and the new emphasis on the individual self. In the end Yang also shows that the counselling is poorly received; local people often perceive it as “hoodwinking” (huyou).

Chapter 3 looks into the poverty-relief program known as “sending warmth” (song wennuan). At first glance this might seem like a digression as the program primarily involves giving material support to the poor and the unemployed. However, Yang discovers that local party staff who carry out these operations see the expression of compassion or “shared human feelings” (renqing) as an essential element. A broadly conceived notion of therapy, therefore, underpins these relief efforts. In chapter 4 Yang discusses the hybrid condition of the psychotherapeutic practices in the local community. The practitioners borrow bits and pieces from various schools or traditions, including rational emotive therapy, Carl Rogers’s client-centred approach, and narrative therapy. Since most of them are former or current party staff, they also tend to draw on thought work, the method of ideological education that was widely used during the socialist period.

In the second part of the book, chapters 5 and 6 investigate the role of gender in the experiences of the laid-off workers. While previous chapters discuss psychotherapy as a remedy, here psychotherapy training would become a strategy of reemployment. Chapter 5 introduces the new occupation of “housemaid counselors” (peiliao) —domestic workers who are equipped with basic counselling skills and could serve as companions to chat with. These jobs are mostly taken by women because of the link between the female gender and caregiving. Chapter 6 turns to taxi drivers, the most popular job for unemployed men. In a similar vein, it is not uncommon that taxi drivers receive basic psychotherapy training so that they become “counselors on wheels” (181). They counsel their customers during the trips and are capable of identifying those with suicidal intentions. Yang further describes the emotional distress prevalent among taxi drivers and attributes it to suppressed anger toward the state, whose abandoning of workers results in their current plight.

Despite the richness and depth of this study, a few questions remain. To begin with, what is the position of these psychotherapeutic interventions in the overall policy regarding the unemployed? Yang seems to ascribe a rather central role to them, but little is said about other social services and the relationships between them. Moreover, Yang repeatedly suggests that the training these local party staff receive is very limited, and that their counselling rarely achieves satisfactory outcomes: the attempt to instill a positive outlook in the unemployed is not only futile but often suspected of being a trick by recipients. These facts seem to undermine the claim that the state is taking a therapeutic shift; if that were true, why wouldn’t it invest more resources into training counsellors and monitoring the efficacy of these programs more cautiously? In fact, Changping should be an ideal place for such an experiment given its proximity to central Beijing, which is home to numerous leading psychology institutions and a flourishing “psycho-boom” among the middle class.

Unknotting the Heart offers invaluable information and insights into the lived experiences of laid-off workers and the state’s responses in China. Being the first book-length ethnography on the recent rise of Western psychotherapy in China, it will be of great interest to scholars in China studies, medical anthropology, and psychology.

Hsuan-Ying Huang, Chinese University of Hong Kong, Hong Kong, China                                      

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THE RISE OF CANTONESE OPERA. By Wing Chung Ng. Urbana; Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2015. xv, 266 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$60.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-252-03911-9.

This social history of Cantonese opera in late nineteenth-century and early twentieth-century China, Southeast Asia, and North America presents a wealth of data culled from archived documents that have recently become available for scholarly examination. Many details presented in the volume, such as the strategically delayed opening of the legendary Lee Theater in Hong Kong in early 1927 (59), are historical gems that Cantonese opera connoisseurs will savor. Academic readers will identify many suggestions for further studies, which range from technical analyses of Cantonese opera as artistic-commercial enterprises in the urbanized cities of Guangzhou and Hong Kong to specialized examinations of uniquely meaningful events, such as a disastrous engagement in Honolulu in 1923 (165 to 168), or the impact Ouyang Yuqian (1889­–1862), a noted performer of Peking opera and kunqu, asserted through his directing of the Guangdong Theater Research Institute (96–99) from 1929 through 1931.

Flanked by an introduction and a conclusion, the eight chapters of the volume are divided into three parts: chapters 1–3; chapters 4–5; and chapters 6–8. Chapter 1 tells not only the genre’s humble beginning as local and marginalized theatre, which had to compete with Peking opera and other “nationalized” genres from the north, but also its distinctive institution of itinerant actors, who performed on rural stages, but lived in, and travelled with, “red boats” floating along South China waterways. The chapter tells many fascinating details, such as living quarter arrangements and social hierarchy on the vessels (29). Chapter 2 traces the rise of commercialized Cantonese opera in the cities of Guangzhou and Hong Kong, showcasing the ways urbanization shaped the development of the genre’s theater houses and artistic-financial operations. This chapter features some insightful but not fully explained observations: the ways indoor and commercialized shows stimulated more singing with natural voices (36); the need to draw a fee-paying audience generated demands for performance novelties (37); contracts (shiyue) between mentors and disciples and “acceptance of engagement” (banling) reflected business attempts to secure “cheap” and “stable” labor (40­–41); that rural and regional disorder in early twentieth-century China prompted professional troupes to settle in Guangzhou and Hong Kong (43­–48), where stars and dramatists, such as Bai Jurong (1892–1974), Ma Shizeng (1900­1964), Xue Juexian (1904­–1956), and Mai Xiaoxia (1904–1941) (48–55), rose to fame. Chapter 3 constitutes a detailed account of the rise and decline of Cantonese opera as a form of public entertainment in the decades of the 1920s and 1930s. Convincingly, this chapter tells how “brotherhood troupes” (xiongdi ban) emerged as a way for owners to control expenses and insure against losses (63), underscoring their efforts to creatively deal with the vicissitudes of their operations.

Part 2 begins with chapter 4, which provides a revealing account of the ways political plays and women performers challenged early Cantonese opera dominated by male and professional performers, demonstrating how the genre interacted with external forces. Chapter 5 nuances conventional Cantonese opera history with sociological perspectives: urban theater as a site of chaos, lawlessness, and violence (109–113); struggles between antagonistic and hierarchical groups of participants, ranging from owners, managing elders, senior performers to struggling instrumentalists (113–118); and state control through taxation and censorship (121–127).

Part 3, comprising chapters 6 through 8, examines early Cantonese opera in transnational contexts. Chapter 6 contrasts the successes of energetic and known entrepreneurs, such as E Tong Sen (1877–1941) (142–145) of colonial Singapore, with the failures of nameless and struggling producer-performers in North American Chinatowns (145–151). Chapter 7 documents Cantonese opera development as a transnational phenomenon based in Vancouver, Canada. Chapter 8 describes Cantonese opera communities of patrons, entrepreneurs, performers, and audiences who artistically and socially interacted as immigrants in racialized North America. To conclude, the volume briefly reiterates major arguments made in the chapters, and analytically reports on Gui Mingyang’s (1909–1958) career as a case study of Cantonese opera developments in early twentieth-century China and North America.

The report makes a fitting ending to a scholarly volume that provides a wealth of data but also raises many unanswered questions. Like a prism, it reflects what the author has admirably achieved and what he has to do to produce a more comprehensive history of Cantonese opera in the future. The author is to be commended for having patiently combed through many archived documents to strategically identify a diversity of detailed facts, and for having weaved them into a broad narrative about early Cantonese opera, which transformed from a regional opera to a transnational performance of Chinese identities and urban realities in the early decades of the twentieth century. The author is to be thanked for raising many fundamental but unanswered questions on the ways acting, dancing, singing, speaking and other creative and performance practices of the multi-media genre might have transformed. A full discussion of the issues clearly demands not only a more lengthy volume but also a more interdisciplinary approach to the available data, which might not tell much about the genre’s early performance practices and/or expressive features.

As the author noted, much of early Cantonese opera was performed with merely synoptic scripts (tigang; 136–137), kind of short-hand notes for the performers, which hardly describe what was actually performed and which are quite opaque to non-performers. Whether and what the scripts and other related resources tell, however, cannot be ascertained until they are meticulously catalogued and thoroughly studied. Hopefully, the author would produce, in the near future, an annotated catalogue of the documents he has examined or has yet to examine. Such a catalogue would not only complement this substantive volume, but also prompt the writing, by the author or his associates, of a comprehensive history of Cantonese opera as a multi-media theatre of expressive bodily movements, colorful costumes and face-make-up, operatic sounds, and dramatic words. Only such a history would answer the fundamental questions raised but not answered in this substantive but still exploratory history on early Cantonese opera.

Joseph S.C. Lam, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, USA                                                    

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CHINA’S LITERARY COSMOPOLITANS: Qian Zhongshu, Yang Jiang, and the World of Letters. Sinica Leidensia, v.125. Edited by Christopher Rea. Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2015. x, 263 pp. US$142.00, cloth. ISBN 978-90-04-29996-2.

Qian Zhongshu, fiction writer, literary critic, and antiquarian, and his wife Yang Jiang, playwright, translator, memoirist and fiction writer, were the power couple of late republican Chinese intelligentsia. Both were born in the last months of empire; they married in their early twenties after meeting as students at Qinghua University in Beijing. They were grounded in Chinese scholarly traditions before leaving for Europe, studying in Oxford and Paris, and they became literary celebrities after their return to China in 1938, Yang first as a dramatist writing comedies in wartime Shanghai, and Qian with the success of his novel Weicheng (Fortress Besieged) in 1947. Declining opportunities to teach overseas, they remained in China following communist victory in 1949, suffering the strictures common to the established intellectuals in the Mao era, working in relative obscurity as translators, while Qian conducted his research on Chinese literature and philosophy. They returned to something like their former prominence after the Cultural Revolution, with Yang publishing a celebrated memoir of their “cadre school” incarceration in 1981 and her only novel, Xizao (Taking a Bath), in 1988. Following Qian Zhongshu’s death in 1998, Yang Jiang wrote extensively about their lives together and with their daughter, continuing her creative work well into her eleventh decade.

This collection of essays by a distinguished group of scholars has its origins in a 2010 symposium hosted by Christopher Rea to celebrate the lives of Qian Zhongshu and Yang Jiang. The book presents Qin and Yang as Chinese cosmopolitans, who wrote in China on Chinese subjects with a perspective informed by their sensitivity to the culture of Western Europe, particularly, as Judith Amory observes, that of the eighteenth-century novel. They were, like all intellectuals in the Mao-era People’s Republic, employed by the state, Qian working on the English version of Mao’s Selected Works and Yang translating European picaresque novels from English, French, and Spanish, but they managed to keep their distance from the turmoil of their times. Wendy Larson suggests that Yang Jiang’s later writings “present the ideal of a detached, cosmopolitan, and universal creative intellectual who imagines himself or herself not so much part of political society as floating in … the ‘autonomy of the aesthetic sphere.’” (135) References to the moment in their Mao-era works are private and oblique: Yugen Wang, in his chapter on Qian Zhongshu’s poetry, written in classical Chinese, quotes a poem written in 1957, on the eve of the Anti-rightist campaign and the Great Leap, which ends with elegantly haunting lines anticipating the trouble to come: “From distant skies comes the muffled roll of thunder./ Falling leaves tumble about in the air; the winds gusting every which way;/ Cooing mountain doves suddenly fall silent; the storm approaches” (47). Through much of the Cultural Revolution, Qian was as aloof as could be managed from the upheaval around him, writing critical essays on premodern Chinese literature and philosophy, the Guanshi bian (literally “Tube and Awl Collection,” also translated as “Limited Views”), analyzed here by Ronald Egan.

Their determined detachment from politics, even while they were undergoing (entirely unsuccessful) socialist re-education in their cadre-school, is recorded by Yang Jiang in her celebrated 1981 work Six Chapters of Life in a Cadre School (Ganxiao liu ji), The memoir is modelled on the Qing dynasty memoir Six Chapters of a Floating Life, whose author Shen Fu recorded his love for his wife in vignettes of their time together. Like Shen Fu’s, Yang’s memoir takes delight in small things—clandestine meetings with her husband, a relationship with a dog—and its restraint is remarkable, given that it was written at a time when other memoirists from the intellectual class, also returning from a decade and more of ostracism, were bitterly cataloguing the abuses they had suffered at the hands of red guards and opportunistic colleagues.

For all the variety of their literary output, Qian Zhongshu and Yang Jiang will likely be remembered most fondly for their single novels, Qian’s Fortress Besieged and Yang’s Taking a Bath, written forty years apart. Qian’s novel is set in the chaos of late republican China and Yang’s in the decade that followed it, the early years of the People’s Republic. Both concern the misadventures of intellectual classes in their natural habitats, the college and the research institute. In Qian’s novel, a returned student with a fraudulent degree finds a position in a dubious college in the interior, and in Yang’s, colleagues at a research institute connive and betray to maintain their status and employment. The influence of the European novel of manners is noted here, though surprisingly not that of the eighteenth-century Chinese comic masterwork Rulin waishsi (Unofficial history of the scholars), which covers much of the same terrain for the late imperial period. In his chapter on Qian Zhongshu, T.D. Huters finds possible inspiration for Fortress Besieged closer to hand, for its author at least, in the satirical novels of Evelyn Waugh, popular while Qian and Yang were at Oxford; Huters further notes a similarity to Kingsley Amis’ Lucky Jim, written a decade after Fortress Besieged, and similarly set amongst the lecturing fraternity. Qian and Yang’s novels share the territory of the contemporary Anglo-American university novel, of which Lucky Jim is an early example and the novels of David Lodge the best-known from the late twentieth century: Chinese and Western authors alike offer tales of inadequacy and pretention, shabby romance and petty jealousy, in a genre that veers from farce to black humour and always has time to expose the vaingloriousness of scholars.

Fortress Besieged and Taking a Bath are available in English; those wishing to read more of Yang Jiang in translation can refer to a special edition of Renditions (no. 76, 2011) released to coincide with the author’s hundredth birthday.

There is more to appreciate in this collection, including chapters on Yang Jiang’s plays and translations, and another on her family memoir We Three (Women sa). China’s Literary Cosmopolitans offers both a valuable introduction to two outstanding cultural figures, and innovative scholarship on aspects of their work which have previously received less scholarly attention.

Richard King, University of Victoria, Victoria, Canada

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DV-MADE CHINA: Digital Subjects and Social Transformations after Independent Film. Critical Interventions. Edited by Zhang Zhen and Angela Zito. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. ix, 397 pp. (Figures.) US$30.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-8248-4682-4.

Independent cinema in China constitutes one of the most exciting cultural scenes in the world today; the diversity of aesthetics and critical voices has generated immense social energy and attracted increasing attention at film festivals and in film scholarship. DV-Made China provides a rigorous and up-to-date treatment of the subject, making a unique contribution by its parallel inquiry of technological change and social transformation.

DV-Made China’s transnational and comparative perspective gives the book a unique edge: highly conversant with methodological innovations in film studies and new media studies, the book draws its attention more specifically to the implications of digital technology on film production and exhibition as well as on articulations of plural subjectivities and modes of social interaction, thus linking alternative film practice afforded by digital technology with social change. This sensitive reading of technological change, aesthetic experimentation, and social transformation is carried out by an interdisciplinary field of innovative and rigorous scholars from film studies, anthropology, comparative literature, and cultural studies, engaging their own experiences in filmmaking, curating, and exhibiting.

The book is divided into two main parts, each constituted by six essays. The first part, focusing on ethical and political stakes, sets the stage with a penetrating analysis by Abé Mark Nornes, who critiques the dominance of observational cinema in China as suppressing concerns of ethical responsibilities for filmmaking. The “visible hidden camera,” for Markus, registers the tension between the filmmaker’s claimed objectivity and the lack of contractual consent between the documentary filmmaker and the filmed subject. This lack of reflection and consent, Nornes argues, perpetuates the exploitation of film subjects’ marginality. Filmmaker and anthropologist J. P. Sniadecki, however, offers an opposite view. Zeroing in on Chinese filmmakers’ aesthetic commitment to xianchang, or “on the scene” realism, Sniadecki takes a phenomenological approach by highlighting the embodied nature of the documentary camera. The corporality of the camera and the rich heterogeneity of the profilmic scene, Sniadecki argues, register an intersubjective and interobjective encounter, enabling a reflexive dimension of observational cinema by its openness to contingency. Li Jie joins this debate by introducing the politics of seeing. Using Zhao Liang’s film Petition as a case study, she draws attention to a wide range of gazes involved in documentary filmmaking and viewing with different ethical implications. The film, in effect, provides “seeing lessons” for the audience to recognize the marginalized subject, to see through the official media’s deception, and to experience and reflect on the triangulated power dynamic between the filmmaker, the state, and the film’s spectators.

Other essays in this section address a variety of ethical and political concerns. Shen Shuang situates her inquiry in the history of “crowd” studies in the West in conversation with the configuration of the crowd in modern Chinese political and visual history. She asks how independent DV generates and empowers the crowd, thus giving her readers glimpses of emergent mass publics and imagined social action. In a richly nuanced study, Robert Barnett provides a rare look at the emergence of a regional cinema in Tibet through five different types of digital cinema and broaches the problem of representation and self-representation. The first part concludes with Gao Dan’s sensitive treatment of the ethics of DV distribution and exhibition, ranging from domestic online consumption to international film festivals and distribution. Gao considers these venues not as neutral sites but as regulating and delimiting, raising much needed attention to different agents involved in exhibition and distribution.

The second part of the book approaches aesthetic experimentation and activism from a variety of angles. Bérénice Reynaud draws on her extensive curatorial and exhibition experience to consider how DV in China has replaced celluloid in registering the tension between the documentary and the artistic impulse of cinema as manifested in a range of hybrid film aesthetics. Wang Qi draws insight from performance studies to provide a fascinating analysis of the tension between performance and documentary, as demonstrated differently in Li Ning’s highly avant-garde and self-reflexive documentary Tape in contrast to Jia Zhangke’s celebrated 24 Cities. Whereas Jia tries to smooth out the difference between nonfiction and fiction, Li’s varied aesthetic strategies open up the performance space for reality with all its contingency and in effect disrupts the power hierarchy between the filmmaker and the film subject by allowing the latter’s performance to range from collaboration to violent address.

Other essays in the section, including those by Luke Robinson and Angela Zito, examine alternative media and aesthetics in relation to the building of alternative communities. Robinson highlights the challenge and promise of “small media” in a new generation of queer cinema that mobilizes networking and incorporation beyond the performative paradigm in building LGBT communities. Zito turns to filmmaker Gan Xiao’er’s negotiation with a local Christian community between representation and self-representation. Whereas Gan prefers modernist aesthetics in creating an artistic object for global circulation, the Christian community pushes towards narrative affect, treating film as a community-building process rather than an object, ironically driving at a more avant-garde conception of film than Gao’s by integrating art in everyday praxis.

Paola Voci introduces an unusual subject in alternative cinema, “animateur” films—amateur animation shorts distributed online or through mobile media. Voci extends her discussion of “light” media from her own fascinating book on independent cinema and considers how the amateur mode of animation production and distribution embraces a liminal space of playfulness and participatory spectatorship. Voci connects animateur films to the exhibitionist film tradition in early cinema and invites a broader dialogue with film and digital media studies. The section culminates with Zhang Zhen’s powerful analysis of aesthetic affect in political activist DV. Zhang canvases a broad range of politically engaging documentary to consider the critical purchase of what she calls the “digital political mimesis,” which fashions the indexical possibility of digital media with melodrama, thus creating an updated “pathos of fact” in postsocialist media. Zhang concludes by noting the shift in documentary activism from pathos to everyday playfulness, leaving open creative possibilities for aesthetic and social engagement with independent digital video.

Rich, sober, innovative, and provocative, DV-Made China is a highly desirable addition to the literature of contemporary Chinese society, culture, and media.

Weihong Bao, University of California, Berkeley, USA                                                         

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Northeast Asia


THE CAPITALIST UNCONSCIOUS: From Korean Unification to Transnational Korea. ByHyun Ok Park. New York: Columbia University Press, 2015. xvii, 349 pp. (Illustrations.) US$60.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-17192-2.

Hyun Ok Park’s The Capitalist Unconscious commences with the provocative claim that “capital has already unified Korea in a transnational form” (1). The book proceeds to urge readers to depart from widely held perceptions that the border dividing North and South Korea is one of the most politicized, regulated, and rigid in the world. Instead, Park argues that the North Korean border has become increasingly permeable since the 1990s, heralding a new era whereby the Korean Peninsula has become unified through continuous flows of transnational labour and capital. The book relies, in particular, on ethnographic data and interviews, collected between 2001 and 2007, of Korean Chinese migrants and North Korean refugees. The empirical chapters primarily focus on how the lives and migratory patterns of these diasporic Koreans across the Manchurian border regions, North Korea, and South Korea demonstrate Park’s notion of a unified, transnational Korea.

Perhaps the main contribution of the book lies in its ability to provide a meta-theory for the study of Korean nationhood since its economic rise. By demonstrating how, in the aftermath of the Cold War, conflations of democracy and capitalism have in many ways perpetuated social malaise under the guise of social justice, Park challenges the notion that Korean unification necessitates a territorial union and the reconciliation of the opposing forces of socialism and capitalism. The book grapples with how the political is entangled in the economic, and in so doing, is one of the first of its kind to bridge two of the most important pools of scholarship on contemporary Korean society: the first, including labour politics and democratization from the postwar era to the late 1980s, and the second, trends of globalization and transnationalism in Korean society since the 1990s, following Kim Daejung’s segyehwa (globalization) campaign.

Park sets the stage for us to make these theoretical connections in chapter 2, “The Aesthetics of Democratic Politics: Labor, Violence, and Repetition,” where she links the minjung (the people’s) movements sparked by Chun Taeil’s self-immolation in the Seoul Peace Markets in the 1980s, with the activism of foreign migrant workers in more recent years. The empirical chapters that follow similarly carry out this theme, as Park analyzes how the experiences of North Korean refugees and Korean Chinese labour migrants can be understood within the context of South Korea’s rocky pathway to democratization and its tragic past under successive authoritarian regimes in the postwar era.

Ultimately, the book advocates for a “recognition of the capitalist unconscious” that departs from an illusory perception of South Koreans “as victors in the Cold War struggle and jettison their gazes toward North Koreans and Korean Chinese as objects of their humanitarianism and decolonization” (288). By divulging unexpected parallels in South Korea’s history of the oppressed, from the student activists fighting against the authoritarian regime to diasporic labour migrants in the country’s more recent past, Park allows scholars of Korea to reflect on how the seemingly tangentially related literatures of democratization and globalization are actually two sides of the same coin, and how historical events, even when suppressed, exhibit strong tendencies toward repetition.

For instance, philanthropic efforts to liberate North Korean refugees through human rights advocacy, or Korean Chinese migrants through reparation politics, Park argues, can ironically reify simplistic narratives of their oppression that help perpetuate their alienation—both physically and psychologically—from Korean society. The book thus shares with other scholars in the field of contemporary Korea a perspective of neoliberalism in which we are active participants in recreating the exploitation of our labour, such that even our own desires are coopted by the system to help legitimate structures of inequality. Along these lines, vivid descriptions from her interviews of Korean Chinese workers who willingly sacrificed their bodies in the name of this so-called market utopia in chapter 4, “Socialist Reparation: Living Labor,” were especially striking.

Although the book’s empirical and theoretical breadth are impressive, the ambitious scope of the volume often felt on the one hand overwhelming and disjointed, yet also, in other ways incomprehensive, particularly in its conspicuous exclusion of any mention of the Korean diaspora in Japan, otherwise known as the zainichi population. Given its zealous theoretical claims for conceptualizing a transnational Korean nationhood through an analysis of its diasporic populations, its neglect of the zainichi, the third-largest population of overseas Koreans, lead to questions of generalizability and selection bias.

The lack of mention of the Koreans in Japan is also conspicuous in light of Park’s interest in “the democratic politics of reparations, human rights advocacy and decolonization” (288) of diasporic Koreans, given the socio-political positionality of the zainichi relative to these issues. The Koreans in Japan are third- and fourth-generation postcolonial subjects who first migrated to Japan as labour migrants during colonization; descendants of victims who died as a result of the co-ethnic violence that erupted during the Jeju Uprising in 1948; and prisoners of conscience in the 1970s and 1980s due to the South Korean CIA’s suspicions over their roles as North Korean spies. Although increasing deregulation of the redistributive state in China, and to a lesser extent North Korea, has perhaps led to perceptions that Cold War politics are an issue of the past, the lives of the zainichi continue to be shaped by the political and ideological divisions between North and South in their everyday lives. Koreans in Japan continue to suffer the repercussions of sharp institutional divisions along North and South, critically affecting their ability to collectively mobilize political resources to overcome discrimination in Japan. Ethnic Koreans who have maintained their North Korean passports, which they were designated by default after World War II, continue to lack the proper legal documentation to visit their ancestral homeland in the South.

Has Korea become unified through transnational capital? While the liberalization of laws on migration and trade have indeed led to changing geopolitical notions of Korean nationhood in recent years, questions remain as to whether this shift from ideological politics to capitalist desires is one that by and large applies to Sino-Korean relations and the diasporic migrants that traverse these regions.

Sharon J. Yoon, Ewha Womans University, Seoul, South Korea

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ATARI TO ZELDA: Japan’s Videogames in Global Contexts. By Mia Consalvo. Cambridge, MA; London: The MIT Press, 2016. viii, 259 pp. (Illustrations.) US$32.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-262-03439-5.

Mia Consalvo’s Atari to Zelda: Japan’s Video Games in Global Contexts is a welcome examination of how Japanese games reach audiences in the United States, and the choices and challenges game developers and distributors face in seeking to make that translation a successful one. The strength of the book lies in the later chapters focusing on specific strategies game studios and localization companies in Japan and North America use to navigate the challenge of shaping Japanese games for American players.

Before delving further, a warning: the title of the book is misleading. The first paragraph opens with a vignette of the author playing Space Invaders on an Atari 2600 as a child, but quickly moves on to other topics and never returns to Atari. In a footnote Consalvo also admits both the book and her experience with video games largely skips over the platformer era, when the Zelda franchise was at its height. Instead, almost all of the text is dedicated to discussing games and studio activities of much more recent vintage. Similarly, the “global contexts” promised by the subtitle turn out to be almost entirely from the United States.

While the title was most likely a marketing decision, a similar tension between the core of the text and its outward packaging surfaces here and there throughout the book. Consalvo acknowledges her original research agenda was aimed more at figuring out what is “Japanese” about Japanese video games. Thankfully, the author seems to have noticed along the way how easily that approach can slip into forms of cultural essentialism, particularly as she is reliant on English-language sources to understand the Japanese gaming industry. The finished book makes a valiant effort to ward off this danger, engaging up front with the legacy of Japonisme and techno-orientalism and seeking to recognize the varying degrees of “corporate cosmopolitanism” found within any given studio. Nonetheless shades of this original impulse to pin down cultural difference occasionally slip through, usually in asides about what makes a particular game “distinctly Japanese” (54). The text occasionally feels like two different books stitched together: an earlier one that simply wanted to explore the many ways Japanese games have been appealing for US audiences, and a later one repackaging this initial impulse with a theoretical framework more palatable to current academic discourse on globalization and transnational media. The book has much of interest to say on both of these fronts, but the tension between the two is never quite resolved.

In building her theoretical framework, Consalvo draws extensively from John Urry’s work on media cosmopolitanism and from anthropological studies by Ian Condry and others on the transnational circulation of anime and its North American fan cultures. She rightfully notes how digital gaming has been curiously marginal in the latter discussions, despite the centrality of video games to the Japanese “media mix” and the circulation of its products abroad.

Addressing a game studies readership, the book makes a strong case for expanding the field to fully embrace the many different types of game studios and gaming experiences now on offer, a move Consalvo glosses as going “from the game industry to many game industries” (2). She attends to the diverse scales at which the video game industries now operate, from high-profile triple-A releases produced by large teams at well-known studios to small independent games originally sold or given away only at the Tokyo Comic Market. On the American side, she similarly describes a wide range of participants working to bring Japanese games to English-speaking audiences, from well-established North American companies working to translate or even produce international versions of games for Japanese studios, to a two-person localization start-up focusing on independent JRPGs, to ROM hackers putting in long hours to produce downloadable English-language versions of Japanese console games.

Along the way Consalvo highlights some noteworthy historical transformations in the culture of game localization. While the earlier community of volunteer ROM hackers has subsided, new opportunities for such “culture brokers” have emerged in an age of online indie game markets and marketing. Chapter 5, for example, tells the story of a two-person US-based localization start-up, Carpe Fulgur, which unexpectedly sold over 300,000 copies of their first localization project thanks to strategic online exposure. This more freelance approach makes for a compelling contrast with the lumbering long-term corporate strategies deployed by Square Enix in trying to sustain a global market for long-running series like Dragon Quest and Final Fantasy, the focus of chapter 4.

Two chapters at the end of the book return to the question of why exactly certain Japanese games have found favour with international audiences. Sometimes the reasons appear simply fortuitous: the convergence of design and consumer electronics know-how with console gaming in the 1980s, for example, or how the more colourful, anime-engaged style of some Japanese games works to distinguish them from the dominant trend towards photorealism in North American studios. Sometimes the cultural appeal is more intentional, with Japanese studios hiring localization teams to reconfigure or even remake a title, or with game developers outside of Japan influenced by particular Japanese series in their work on a game’s aesthetics or characterization. In the end, the book makes a convincing case that both these complex lines of influence and the diversifying paths to participation in a cosmopolitan video game culture are what has given rise to the contemporary moment, where the pertinent question isn’t simply what country a game is from, or what language it was originally in, but what corner of an ever-expanding game universe it seeks to stake out.

Paul Roquet, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge, USA                                              

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IMITATION AND CREATIVITY IN JAPANESE ARTS: From Kishida Ryūsei to Miyazaki Hayao. Asia Perspectives. By Michael Lucken; translated by Francesca Simkin. New York: Columbia University Press, 2016. vi, 248 pp. (Illustrations.) US$60.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-17292-9.

Michael Lucken’s Imitation and Creativity in Japanese Arts, translated from the French, concerns the period from the seventeenth century to recent times. It is, however, mostly a small number of twentieth-century arts that are his preoccupation as the preceding centuries are the counterpoint to his focal examples.

The first half, entitled “Historical Construction,” is divided into a number of thematic subsections that trace a narrative of imitation or lack of imagination (variously addressed as a strength, critical weakness, a defense against it, or indicative of some supposed national/geographical character) ascribed to Japan’s arts and other productive activities. These are marshalled from several centuries leading up to the early twentieth, from essays, novels, and travelogues by Europeans (English, French, and German).

It is a relatively conventional tale of an unacceptable standard maintaining that the West creates and the East imitates. When the West imitated the East, it was somehow alternatively creative rather than belated, indebted, or technically servile. Part of the interest here is how premodern European narratives about Japan (and Asia) alleged a lack of originality, dispersed by interlocutors who favoured the repetition of received ideas. As Lucken explains it, this was a case of a literary trope masquerading as an historical explanation of a distant people and country. This was subsequently internalized by the Japanese through into the 20th century, before it was partly decommissioned by late twentieth-century postcolonial studies. Lucken writes that “Complete imitation of the West, the blind and slavish kind that Westerners liked emphasizing and the Japanese even attributed to themselves, never existed” (50). Inarguably, however, some Japanese works could be incrementally close to their Western sources.

Part 1 is essentially a lengthy prelude to the writer’s more pertinent interests in his early twentieth-century and postmodern case studies that follow. Bridging the two parts are some reflections on the early- to mid-twentieth-century philosopher/cultural critic, Nakai Masakazu, cited through reference to Hasumi Shigehiko as being “the forerunner of all that is called in Japan contemporary thought” (59).

Four “masterpieces” are addressed in part 2 and these are said to represent contemporary influences and therefore muddy, even obviate, the un-nuanced creation/imitation binary in which imitation is not assigned a fixed position; the author calls this “the secret engine of twentieth-century Japanese art” (71). More specifically, Lucken’s idea is to consider how various modern and postmodern Japanese arts fit neither a progression from imitation, through individuation, then creation, nor a model moving from the rejection of imitation, followed by creation, then individuation.

His subjects are the “Western” oil painter Kishida Ryūsei’s portraits of his daughter, Reiko, done between 1914 and 1929, Kurosawa Akira’s black and white film Ikiru (1952), the photographic narrative Sentimental Journey–Winter (1991) by Araki Nobuyoshi that recorded the death of his wife in a succession of images that resulted in what might ultimately be called a kind of “still life,” and Miyazaki Hayao’s internationally acclaimed and popular animation, Spirited Away (2001).

The four topics are said by the author to in some sense cover the twentieth century, meaning that it can “be read as an aesthetic history of modern Japan” (6), but in fact, if we look at them together, the specific concern is with arts evincing either serial production or the unfolding of events in time, though the times in his examples are frequently complex rather than chronological. Furthermore, a suite of oil paintings, two films, and a photographic diary barely touch upon Japanese modernism’s diversity, yet alone the sheer range of a single artist’s oeuvre.

While these examples might reasonably be taken as “Japanese” masterpieces, it is their admixture of Western and Eastern references/influences that is of significant import, and what counts among Lucken’s interests are those art forms that are already considered under some form of Westernization rather than examples of Japanese arts that might seem more resistant. His examples erode simplistic distinctions of East and West until such ascriptions are largely themselves somewhat peripheral or perhaps perennially undecided. In his final study of Miyazaki, for example, he discerns “going beyond dialectical oppositions by a genuine openness to others” (206) that is part of his discussion of a larger perspectival metaphor inherent in the animation.

But it is also interesting to note that pushing his first early modern example further might yet yield the desired complexity escaping reduction to East and West. While Kishida was one artist introducing Fauvism to Japan (largely meaning postimpressionism in the Japanese modernist context), he subsequently turned to an increasingly myopic realism (as did many others) through an exploration of German Renaissance painting. Thus it appears he sought an alternative point of “rebirth” in painting that was distinct from the pivotal Italian one that formed the basis of the main Western art-historical narrative. This was not simply anachronism because while in Kishida’s time Western modernism was being introduced to Japan, so simultaneously was much of Western modernism’s earlier history. The images of his daughter, which number over a hundred, form a part of this exploration, but so do his numerous self-portraits, and his still-life paintings.

All of those subsequently underwent variant forms of sinification from at least since 1915 (the author’s explanatory route is through photography and early twentieth-century studies of the supernatural) in Kishida’s piecemeal adoption of aspects of Chinese literati painting that had been imported to Japan from the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, then indigenized. From 1918, Kishida frequently began inscribing the flanks of his portrait paintings with kanji scripts whereas four years earlier, they were dated and signed in English. And Kishida would later depict himself on several occasions as a Chinese hermit in the mountains, or Reiko in figural multiplication as part of a mandala, or as a Chinese immortal. Kishida’s multifaceted cultural references, in addition to works in oils, mineral pigments, watercolours, prints, sketches, his illustrations, ukiyo-e/kabuki imagery, and even a votive plaque, evidence the often manifold and frenetic character of early twentieth-century Japanese modernism. Early 20th century art practices can sometimes rival postmodernism’s alleged pluralism.

Matthew Larking, Independent Scholar, Kyoto, Japan

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THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF JAPANESE TRADE POLICY. Critical Studies of the Asia Pacific Series. Edited by Aurelia George Mulgan and Masayoshi Honma. Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire; New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. xi, 227 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$100.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-137-41455-7.

While Japan has often displayed a defensive stance on free trade, it has also been a major player in the postwar global economy. In late 2015, the Japanese government announced its intention to partake in the negotiations for the comprehensive Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP). A protracted, polarized public debate preceded this decision, and the debate is likely to remain heated for years to come. Aurelia George Mulgan and Masayoshi Honma have edited a volume that allows the reader to understand Japan’s participation in the TPP in the context of the country’s postwar trade policy.

In the introductory chapter, George Mulgan lays out a simple analytical framework for the political economy of postwar Japanese trade policy, which is followed by a series of contributions that pick up certain aspects in greater detail. George Mulgan argues that Japan’s postwar trade policy has been fundamentally shaped by the clash of interests between export-oriented industries and the internationally uncompetitive and highly defensive agricultural sector. This conflict is reflected in the nature, the scope, and not least the partners of Japan’s trade agreements, which have been “tailor-made for business” (10), but (mostly) excluding agriculture. “Sectoral interests” further interact with domestic and external “state interests” in George Mulgan’s framework, including economic development in general, resource security, or maintaining the crucial relations with the US. Recently, a more active stance toward trade agreements has emerged as a political tool for Japan to counterbalance the regional competitor China. In chapter 2, Urata provides a more detailed analysis of the historical arch of Japan’s postwar trade policy, from initial protectionism via bilateral economic partnerships excluding agriculture (for example, Japan’s first FTA with Singapore) to larger regional agreements.

Both initial chapters raise the question of how to explain the peculiar influence of agricultural interests on trade policy, which is tackled extensively in two consecutive (and to a certain extent overlapping) chapters. Yamashita (chapter 3) argues that a web of vested interests in a small-scale, subsidy-dependent production structure dominated by part-time rice farming has long prevented political commitment to free trade, even though more comprehensive trade liberalization would arguably have benefitted not only the Japanese economy as a whole, but also the crisis-ridden agricultural sector itself. For Yamashita and, to a slightly lesser degree, Honma (chapter 4), the spider in this web of vested interests is the organization of agricultural cooperatives (Japan Agriculture, JA). Once founded to help overcome postwar starvation, the cooperative organization has deployed its vast membership base of small-scale (rice) farm households to grow into a major economic player, and to build the political clout to defend support and protection measures for inefficient part-timers. Especially the longstanding party in power—the LDP—has been known to rely on rural votes organized by the cooperative organization, eventually preventing the transition to internationally competitive forms of agricultural production. Both authors share a surprisingly positive outlook for Japanese agriculture, a “sector with potential and flexibility” (119). For them, certain structural reforms—such as removing the policy measures for an artificially high rice price—could foster the development of an internationally competitive, export-oriented farm sector, and the TPP might serve as the catalyst for such reforms. Yet, this would constitute nothing less than an existential threat for JA. Thus, for Yamashita the “heart of the problem is not the TPP versus Japanese agriculture—it is the TPP versus JA” (89).

As George Mulgan shows in her detailed analysis of the interest group activities (chapter 5), the cooperative organization indeed spearheads the opposition against the TPP. More interestingly, however, the chapter also points to the character of the TPP as a “new generation” international agreement that goes far beyond trade issues and thus also transcends the traditional “farming versus business” cleavage in Japan. Instead, the TPP has generated “unprecedented levels of national consultation and discourse” (123), in which civil rights organizations and consumer groups find themselves—if somewhat involuntarily—side by side with conservative agricultural interests. The comprehensive nature of the TPP also corresponds with its role amidst a changing regional power constellation. As Kimura argues in chapter 7, the TPP marks the end of a phase during which the economic integration between Japan and the rest of Asia had grown regardless of political and ideological differences. Around 2010, rising tensions with China led Japanese manufacturers to lose confidence in what Kimura calls the “happy separation of politics and economics” (176), while the US displayed a renewed interest in the East Asian region, for which he sees the TPP as a major indicator. Japan’s decision to join the agreement thus reflects its commitment to a “new type” of economic integration, which not least aims at defining domestic political standards. For Yoshimatsu (chapter 8), Japan’s trade policy is both an independent and a dependent variable for regional integration. He argues that the current Abe administration’s proactive stance on the TPP has already shown “significant influence on South Korean and Chinese economic diplomacy” (214), eventually paving the way for a comprehensive Asian-Pacific free trade area.

Overall, the most valuable contribution of this edited volume is to demonstrate how Japan’s TPP participation is embedded in the countries’ postwar pattern of trade policy, while at the same time pointing out how the agreement may well represent a turning point for Japan and the Asia Pacific as a whole. The collection of articles—albeit at times repetitive—feeds into this broader narrative nicely. Yet, although the TPP is identified as an issue that “politicized and polarized” the Japanese public (123), the contributions in the volume rarely reflect this contestation, which is probably most obvious in the depiction of the TPP (and free trade in general) as the panacea for Japan’s crisis-ridden farm sector.

Hanno Jentzsch, German Institute for Japanese Studies, Tokyo, Japan

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EMBEDDED RACISM: Japan’s Visible Minorities and Racial Discrimination. By Debito Arudou. Lanham: Lexington Books, 2015. xxvi, 349 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$110.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-4985-1390-6.

Arudou’s book is a timely and important contribution to social and scholarly debates about racial discrimination in Japan. It comes on the heels of both the Japanese government’s 2014 official claim that an anti-racial discrimination law is not necessary (third combined report to the United Nations Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination [CERD]), and recent developments in Japan that have politicized the issues of dual nationality and hate speech, and even the Miss Universe Japan pageant.

Arudou draws on a quarter-century of research involving personal interviews, action research, and cataloguing, to highlight micro-level observations that illuminate the broader macro-level structural workings of the racialized dimensions of what it means to be “Japanese” in Japan. The contribution of this book is not only in its richness of information, but also in Arudou’s focus on a paradoxical blind spot in both the quotidian status quo understandings of and academic discourses on racialized social dynamics in Japan: the invisibility of visible minorities. Borrowing from Critical Race Theory (CRT), and applying its analytical paradigms present in Whiteness Studies to the case of Japan, Arudou argues that “the same dynamics can be seen in the Japanese example, by substituting ‘White’ with ‘Japanese’” (322-323). He introduces the concept of embedded racism to describe the deeply internalized understandings of “Japaneseness” that structurally permeate the psyche and sociolegal elements of Japanese society, resulting in systemic discriminatory treatments of individuals based on visible differences.

Instead of defining the Self/Other binary in oft-conceptualized terms of citizenship, he uses an original Wajin/non-Wajin heuristic. By original Wajin, he refers to visually identifiable “Japanese” who are members of Japan’s dominant and privileged majority, and for non-Wajin he refers to both invisible (e.g., ethnic minorities who can pass as “Japanese”) and visible (Gaijin, foreigners and naturalized Japanese citizens who do not “look Japanese”) minorities who are not members of Japan’s dominant and privileged majority. He uses this heuristic to parse out the nuanced sociolegal-structural logics that differentiate between not only citizens and non-citizens, but also non-citizens who can phenotypically pass as “Japanese” and citizens who cannot, in which the former is often given preferential sociolegal treatment, and the latter is often subject to overt racial discrimination.

More specifically, the book opens with a theoretical primer on race and the universal processes of racialization and nation-state formation. The author then critiques how studies on Japan often suffer from flawed conceptualizations of foreignness, viewing it as a function of either ethnic differences within the Asian-phenotype community or legal membership status, thereby overlooking overt discrimination against visible minorities that are racial in nature.

The first chapter contextualizes racial discrimination in Japan and explicates Arudou’s usage of the concept of visible minority and his theory of embedded racism in the context of Japan. The second chapter then addresses the historical roots of extant racialized understandings of “Japaneseness” by tracing national self-image narratives that Arudou argues undergird the dynamics of present-day treatments of foreigners in Japan. The next chapter surveys approximately 470 cases of establishments that have engaged in racialized refusals of entry and services and three civil court lawsuits, to demonstrate that “Japaneseness” is determined by racialized paradigms such as physical appearances (37–38).

In chapter 4, Arudou explains how Japanese nationality laws, family and resident registries, and policing regulations/practices constitute the legal underpinnings of the racialized “Japanese” identity, and asserts that Japan’s legal definition of a “Japanese citizen” is closely intertwined with “Japanese bloodlines” (11). The following chapter shifts the focus to how “Japaneseness” is enforced through exclusionary education laws, visa (residence status) regimes, and racial profiling in security policing. This chapter is supplemented with chapter 6, which highlights differential judicial treatments of those who are seen as “Japanese,” and those who are not. Chapter 7 details how media representations of “foreigners” and “Japanese” as well as the criminalization of “foreigners” popularize the racialized narratives of “Japaneseness” established by the processes discussed in chapters 4 to 6.

Chapter 8 shifts gears as Arudou turns his attention to domestic civil society and international criticisms of Japan’s embedded racism, and discusses the government’s passive reactions. Arudou traces the correspondence between the government and the (CERD) before and during its first two CERD report reviews in 2001 and 2010 (but not the most recent CERD review in 2014). Chapter 9 then takes two binaries that can be used to understand how sociolegal distinctions of “Japaneseness” are often made—by nationality (citizen/non-citizen) and by visual identification (Wajin/Gaijin)—and superimposes them to form a heuristic matrix of eleven categories of “Japanese” and “foreigner.” The author thus drives his point across that social privilege and power in Japan are drawn along lines that straddle conceptual understandings of and assumptions about both legal and phenotypical memberships. The book concludes with a final chapter on the implications of embedded racism for Japan’s future as an ageing society, and argues that Japan’s demographic predicament could be mitigated if Japan can begin eliminating its racism to create a more inclusive society for all.

The book does not touch on the voices and local/community advocacy initiatives among and on behalf of visible minorities, and stops short of systematically testing how the proposed heuristic matrix and its combinations of characteristics empirically lead to differential treatment. However, it does cover a lot of ground, and would be of interest to a wide audience, from the casual reader interested in learning about the racial dynamics in Japan, to researchers with area studies interests in Japan and/or substantive field interests in international migration, ethnic and race studies, citizenship and human rights, and advocacy politics at both the domestic and international levels. Arudou argues that Japan’s passive stance to addressing racial discrimination is “the canary in the coal mine” regarding its openness to “outsiders” (xxiii), and by starting this conversation, he addresses “the elephant in the room” that needs to be reckoned with for Japan to navigate its way through its impending demographic challenges.

Ralph Ittonen Hosoki, University of California, Irvine, USA

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JAPAN: The Precarious Future. Possible Futures Series. Edited by Frank Baldwin and Anne Allison. New York: New York University Press; Brooklyn: Social Science Research Council, 2015. viii, 352 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$35.00, paper. ISBN 978-1-4798-5145-4.

Japan: The Precarious Future explores the gloomier sides of contemporary Japan. It is part of a recent boom on precarity in Japan, a result of the almost complete omission, previously, of the topics of inequality, poverty, and diversity in discussions on Japan. In thirteen chapters sociologists, political scientists, and economists discuss the state of Japanese society after Fukushima. Each chapter ends with a future outlook. This constitutes a unique and welcome addition to the existing literature on post-Fukushima Japan. The chapters discuss issues seen to constitute problems and focus on the difficulties of solving them. From the outset the book takes a skeptical perspective on Japan based on the fact that Japan is experiencing a demographic crisis coupled with a long period of economic stagnation. Population decline, social ageing, economic stagnation, and institutional gridlock have become the norm for Heisei-period Japan. This may have been overlooked in some quarters due to talk of a “lost decade” or a widespread nostalgia for the Japan of the past, manifest in views such as “Japan is back” or “resurrect Japan.” This book addresses the need to move beyond such rhetoric and nostalgia.

The volume starts with a brief introduction which declares the objective of the book to be that of exploring “an array of systematic and structural issues that determine a country’s well-being” (2). The first chapter discusses the demographic crisis and its consequences on social attitudes, norms, behaviours, and public policies. An immigration policy would be important to mitigate the crisis, but many believe that Japanese society would not accept more immigration. The following chapter explores precarity and hope, discussing the many socio-economic consequences of the burst bubble of the 1990s. Supporting those who are part of the precariat requires not only incomes which allow for a sustainable life but also new norms on what counts as a normal life in Japan today. The third chapter discusses the consequences of deregulating the labour market in the second half of the 1990s. Reform of the labour market is widely seen to be the main trigger for the growth of social disparities in Japan. The chapter discusses the many consequences this move has had, with a welcome focus on women and youth. The following chapter focuses on gender policies and their effects. This chapter stands out from other contributions in that concrete proposals are made for future gender policy. It stresses that gender policies have to be accompanied by a more general shift of resources from the elderly to the young (100). The next chapter discusses Japanese nuclear policy and convincingly delineates how veto players have been stalling the emergence of a new energy policy in Japan, a situation which remained unchanged after the dramatic events in Fukushima. The following chapter reports positive developments, such as in crisis management, which has seen much improvement since the Kobe earthquake of 1995. A particularly gloomy chapter follows, which analyzes Japan’s fiscal situation and public debt. The author underlines that the fiscal problems will require thorough reforms in a not too distant future. Chapter 8 discusses manufacturing in Japan, in particular the opinion that manufacturing cannot survive in Japan, a view that the chapter authors do not share and see as unnecessarily weakening the Japanese economy. This is followed by a discussion on research and technology in Japan. Japan is in decline here, too. Neither outstanding Japanese nor foreign researchers consider Japan an attractive country for conducting research. The remainder of the book shifts to a political science perspective, discussing Japan’s security policy (chapter 10), strategic leadership in Asia (chapter 11), Japan’s political leadership (chapter 12), and an analysis of recent debates and proposals about constitutional reform (chapter 13).

The book has two major strengths. To start with, it discusses the future of Japan by including perspectives usually not prominently considered (such as manufacturing, research, and crisis management), and, second, all chapters have been written by leading scholars in these fields. The volume allows for studying contemporary Japan from a number of perspectives, and it does so with detailed knowledge and with much authority. The complex crisis of the Japanese state, civil society, and economy that the Fukushima crisis so unsparingly exposed requires substantial institutional reform. This is not happening, though. All authors project that Japan will continue to muddle through for some more years until real institutional reforms will become inevitable.

Reading through the entire book feels like reading through a newspaper from the first to the last page. It creates the idea of a nation living through a shared present. Stressing the simultaneity of “systematic and structural issues that determine a country’s well-being” (2) assumes that the people populating Japan are all equally affected. The first four chapters aside, it gives rise to a sense that these issues characterize all lives, attitudes, and behaviours, and determine what is typical and what is to be expected in Japan henceforth. This stance does not necessarily facilitate the imagination of a future Japan. Predictions could have been facilitated by taking the diversity of opinions, values, practices, and institutional change from the grassroots level purposefully into consideration. Urban and rural differences in perspective are absent, so is that of Okinawa, from new media, etc. The point of view presented is largely that of powerful political, economic, and cultural elites, who rather unsurprisingly are not major change agents.

Japan: The Precarious Future is a strong multi-perspective snapshot of Japan four years after Fukushima. It is the best book available on this topic for readers not specialized in the study of Japan. Specialists of Japanese studies will find individual chapters a very welcome and useful source of information for extending their own knowledge and for taking a more comprehensive view on where Japan stands today, and how it will fare in the near future.

Patrick Heinrich, Ca’ Foscari University, Venice, Italy                                                                        

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ACCIDENTAL ACTIVISTS: Victim Movements and Government Accountability in Japan and South Korea. Studies of the Weatherhead East Asian Institute, Columbia University. By Celeste L. Arrington. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2016. xiii, 234 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$39.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8014-5376-2.

This is an excellent book. In her study on victim movements in Japan and South Korea, Celeste Arrington searches for an answer to the question of why some victims and their supporters receive more redress and compensation from the state than others. Her well-thought-out and elaborate analysis delivers not only an innovative answer to this question, but she also contributes significantly to theory building by developing a dynamic and interactive model in her book. Her comparative study is carefully researched and is based on impressive fieldwork conducted in Japan and South Korea with over 200 interviews from 2007 to 2015, as well as written sources in both Japanese and Korean. Finally, it is well and clearly written, which makes it a pleasure to read.

Beyond the introduction and conclusion, the main part of the book is structured into five chapters. After explaining her research question and introducing her argument in the introduction, Arrington develops the theoretical framework in the first chapter by constructing a redress scale in order to capture the variation in redress outcome and she identifies different ideal types of sequence patterns in conflict expansion processes. In the second chapter, she discusses how victimhood and state accountability have been constructed over time in both Japan and South Korea. She also analyzes lawyers’ autonomy vis-à-vis the state, structures, and grassroots embeddedness of civil society, as well as the diversity of the mainstream media. In the subsequent three empirical chapters, the author traces victim redress movements related to Hansen’s disease, hepatitis C tainted blood products, and citizens abducted by North Korea in both Japan and South Korea. She discusses the interaction between these movements, mass media, and the state and shows how differences in these processes have led to great variation in the success of the movements in enacting official inquiries and institutional reforms as well as in the success of gaining an official apology and state compensation. While the Hansen’s disease movement and the hepatitis C movements achieved full redress in Japan, the Hansen’s disease movement in South Korea and the abductee movements in both countries gained only partial redress. Furthermore, the South Korean hepatitis C virus movement did not obtain any significant redress from the state. In the conclusion, the main argument is recapitulated and some further examples are introduced to demonstrate the validity of the theoretical model developed in the study.

The main contribution of this book is the new and dynamic model on the interaction between victim redress movements, which frames the victimization and politicians. This interactive model is an important step forward from the static theoretical models of state-society interaction that are still dominant in research on civil society and social movements. Arrington’s main argument is that “gaining an elite ally too early in the claims-making process can be detrimental, even if outsider groups ultimately need elite allies to affect policy. … [It] reduces incentives to mobilize fellow claimants and sympathetic citizens, leaving these allies with less leverage” (4-5). Moreover, her book is also an important contribution to our understanding of the state-society relationship in Japan and South Korea. In contrast to the state-of-the-art research on civil society in Japan and South Korea, and despite much more homogeneous mainstream media and weaker advocacy capabilities by civil society in Japan, her study shows that conditions in the public sphere for redress movements are more favourable, and that victim redress movements have achieved better outcomes in Japan than in South Korea.

Despite being an empirical and theoretically strong and compelling analysis, this reviewer also identifies some shortcomings in Arrington’s study. To begin with, despite a very clear argument, it becomes unclear regarding how early is “too early.” This is a fundamental problem of any dynamic theoretical models. Moreover, one starting point of Arrington’s argument is that the transition to democracy in South Korea, as well as the end of uninterrupted rule of the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) in Japan, resulted from the early 1990s onwards in more favuorable political conditions for outsider groups in both countries, which gave victim movements more collective leverage. While the end of authoritarian rule and democratization in South Korea surely fundamentally changed the political climate and institutions, I am not fully convinced that the same applies to Japan. As the author herself recognizes, victim redress movements related to the burakumin (an outcast group), as well as to Minamata disease, had already in earlier decades in Japan achieved favourable redress outcomes. The long (and nearly unique) stay in power of the LDP under a democratic system may in fact have much to do with its “creative conservatism” (T.J. Pempel), i.e., its flexibility in taking up new issues that made it to the public agenda, including the claims of victim movements. This also raises the question of whether the focus on politicians in the study is really reasonable, or if the role of state bureaucracies should not also have been incorporated in both countries. This would make the theoretical model much more complicated, but there is plenty of recent empirical evidence demonstrating that Japan and South Korea in many policy fields still exemplify strong states in which bureaucrats are not simple agents of politicians as their principals. Finally, as in nearly all comparative studies, one has to question if national political systems’ differences have been adequately taken into account. For example, South Korea’s president has, in general, more decision power and agenda-setting abilities than Japan’s prime minister. This, and other differences, might have a significant influence on the political processes, but are not included in the model and analysis.

Still, as stated at the beginning, this is, without a doubt, an excellent book. The comments in the paragraph above should not be regarded as a critique, but more as an illustration of how stimulating Arrington’s study is; one would like to immediately start a discussion with her. What more can we expect from an academic book? It can only be hoped that this book finds a large readership in the social sciences as well as in East Asian studies. The future is unwritten, but it can be assumed with high probability that this book will have a significant impact on the research on victim movements and on Japanese and South Korean politics.

David Chiavacci, University of Zurich, Zurich, Switzerland                                                                

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JAPANESE SOCIETY AND THE POLITICS OF THE NORTH KOREAN THREAT. Japan and Global Society. By Seung Hyok Lee. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2016. x, 182 pp. US$50.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-4426-3034-5.

On September 9, the Democratic Republic of North Korea carried out its largest nuclear test to date. This marks the second test this year, and the fifth in total since the first detonation ten years ago. The test indicates the country is steadily moving toward building a functional warhead, while its neighbours and the United States are left unable to find any viable measures to stop it. Seung Hyok Lee’s Japanese Society and the Politics of the North Korean Threat sheds light on the unique role this extremely secluded and increasingly troublesome country has played in Japanese domestic politics since the late 1990s.

The book diligently chronicles a series of events that took place between the two countries, starting from North Korea’s first ballistic missile test in 1998 to Japan’s eventual decision to impose, unilaterally, major economic sanctions against Pyongyang in 2006. Through its fluid narrative, readers will learn some interesting episodes little known outside Japan, including the 2001 arrest (and immediate deportation) by Japanese authorities of Kim Jong Nam, the eldest son of the then North Korean leader Kim Jong Il, who entered Japan with a forged Dominican Republic passport, to presumably visit Tokyo Disneyland. And more significantly, the book provides us with valuable details about decision-making processes, especially interactions between various political actors and the growing significance of public opinion in these processes, through which Japan’s new approaches and accompanied policy actions vis-à-vis North Korea were determined.

The book’s central focus is Tokyo’s decision in 2006 to impose the first-ever unilateral economic sanctions against North Korea, which is characterized in the book as a dramatic shift from its previously constrained attitude. It argues that this policy shift was “a direct consequence of a deeper shift in societal discourse in Japan” about its relations with North Korea; it was, therefore, not a strategic response (widely suggested by observers and commentators) to North Korea’s missile launch and nuclear tests that took place before Tokyo’s sanctions. The deeper shift in the security discourse was brought about primarily by the shocking revelation, in 2002, of North Korea’s past abductions of Japanese citizens, which led the Japanese public to consciously recognize the security vulnerability of their country and to reevaluate its historical relations with North Korea. It was, therefore, the increasingly hardened public opinion against North Korea, for which Japanese mass media, as well as some politicians and activists, functioned as a megaphone and echo chamber, that crucially shaped Japanese policy makers’ preference for unilateral economic sanctions in considering their policy options toward North Korea.

The above argument is, overall, well articulated and presented in a careful manner. The introductory discussion provides a useful definition of key concepts, such as public opinion and societal discourse, and specifies the study’s methodological approach to how to identify and observe these abstract, and often fuzzy, concepts in actual analysis. The detailed narrative on Japan-North Korea relations and Japanese domestic politics, between 1998 and 2006, which spreads over four chapters, consciously delineates the evolution of Japanese public opinion—and larger societal discourse—toward North Korea, as well as the factors behind that evolution. Although the theoretical discussion in support of its argument is rather limited (for those in the field of international relations, and its subfield of foreign policy analysis), the book nonetheless presents an original perspective about how, and under what conditions, public opinion and discourse shape a state foreign policy, which could be developed further in a full-fledged hypothesis and be tested comparatively by multiple cases.

To be sure, the book is by no means free from some common challenges associated with this type of interpretative historical analysis. When empirically discussing the presumed impact of public opinion on the thinking of a policy maker, for instance, the author’s interpretative inference often comes into play. This is especially the case with former Prime Minister Koizumi: Given that Koizumi is featured in the book as most consequential in terms of making the final call in the selected cases on decision making, the use of actual comments by Koizumi in interviews or his writings, which would have demonstrated the impact of public opinion on his decision making, would have crucially strengthened the book’s argument. Furthermore, the recent revelations by Tōru Hasuike, a brother of one of the former abductees, on the Japanese government’s surprise decision to refuse to repatriate the five abductees temporarily visiting Japan in the fall of 2002, is not consulted in the analysis. The publication timing of Hasuike’s book—December 2015—makes this omission inevitable, but this suggests that, with further new information likely becoming available in the future, the book’s argument and analysis are, by no means, conclusive.

This book is the first major study published in English that exclusively focuses on Japan’s foreign policy formulation toward North Korea between 1998 and 2006—the book’s important contribution to the field of Japanese studies. The author attributes the absence of prior works of this kind to a common tendency among Japan specialists to treat the issue of North Korea as “one” case among multiple cases to build a larger argument about an overall trend in post-Cold War Japan’s security or foreign policy. A little paradoxically, however, this book provides a set of valuable empirical data, on which those specialists can, indeed, build another larger argument on Japan’s political trend.

For instance, the author details early examples of the rightward, historical-revisionist trend in public discourse, which is worryingly visible in today’s Japanese society. It also delineates the first instance of Prime Minister Abe’s skillful use of public-inciting foreign policy issues for advancing his own political position, a novel (in the history of Japanese politics) tactic Abe has executed so successfully, to this day, that it may become standard practice for his successors. This may be seen as another important contribution that the author makes to the field of Japanese studies.

Kuniko Ashizawa, American University, Washington, DC, USA                                                         

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ALLEGORIES OF TIME AND SPACE: Japanese Identity in Photography and Architecture. By Jonathan M. Reynolds. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. xxix, 316 pp., [12] pp. of plates (Illustrations.) US$45.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3924-6.

This volume occupies an unusual niche in academic publishing, somewhere between coffee-table book and scholarly monograph. Rather than choose a single artist or medium to analyze, sketching in the supporting details around it, Reynolds deftly weaves together strands of art history, intellectual history, and visual culture. Each chapter narrates a distinct “allegory” constructed in response to the unique anxieties of its particular historical moment. This rich mixture contributes to a deeper understanding of how photography and architecture participated in (rather than merely illustrated) the construction of Japanese identity. Over its five chapters, Reynolds’ narrative traces a chronological progression of Japanese identity discourse from just prior to WWII to approximately 1990. Although each chapter could easily stand alone as a self-contained analysis of how the artist embodies a particular moment of identity construction, the broader arc of the five pieces together makes a more ambitious comment on the process of interplay between self and other, center and periphery, tradition and modernity in the making of contemporary Japanese selves.

Reynolds lays out his plan in the introduction, where he limits his ambit to the five different “case studies” which form the focus of each of the chapters. He takes as the starting point the moment of “historical free-fall” following WWII, when Japan’s artists and intellectuals sought new bases for Japanese identity in the relationship between past and present, between tradition and modernity. This moment foregrounds the first chapter, “Hamaya Hiroshi’s ‘Return to Japan,’ Documenting the Folk in Snow Country.” Hamaya’s disillusionment with the wartime efforts of the Japanese military to utilize his photography as a mode of imperialist discourse drove him from urban Tokyo to the rural periphery of the “Snow Country.” There he combined his experience in journalistic photography with a newfound interest in ethnography to document one of Japan’s disappearing rural cultures, finding an “ur-Japan” untainted by the more recent modern-Western-imperialist past. His dramatic black-and-white images of Snow Country people worked to re-enchant a culture at Japan’s periphery, finding in it an indigenous source of authentic Japaneseness.

In chapter two, “Okamoto Taro and the Search for Prehistoric Modernism,” the search for authentic Japaneseness shifts from folk culture to ancient objects: Jomon and Yayoi ceramics. In contrast to Hamaya’s search for cultural authenticity at the periphery, Taro’s dissatisfaction with Japan’s modern present drove his search for a new aesthetic into Japan’s ancient, pre-imperial past. Informed by his art training and interactions with Primitivists in 1930s Europe, Taro contrasted the bold ceramic forms of the hunter-gatherer Jomon (5000 BCE) peoples with the “aristocratic” and refined ones of early wet-rice cultivators of the Yayoi period (800 BCE), finding in them an “uncanny hyper-Japaneseness.” The Jomon “prehistoric modernism” resisted the elite aesthetic he traced to the Yayoi, which was to him implicated in Japan’s imperialist pathway to war. To Taro, this dynamism—which aligned with the precocious modernism of Europe’s recently discovered Lascaux Cave paintings—represented an authentic way forward for modern Japanese artists.

The Jomon-Yayoi thread continues in chapter three, “Ise Shrine and a Modernist Construction of Japanese Identity,” provides the first explicit linkage in the book thus far between architecture and photography in its analysis of Ise’s postwar rehabilitation as a symbol of Japaneseness. In the 1950s and 1960s, a new generation of Japanese artists and historians re-characterized Ise’s architectural aesthetic as a fusion of “dynamic, plebian” Jomon and “passive, aristocratic” Yayoi elements, a “prototype” of Japan’s precociously modern style. In tandem with Watanabe Yoshio’s photographs, this narrative of rehabilitated “traditional” style addressed a new, global audience for Japanese art and design, including both western occupation forces within Japan as well as consumers of international art and exhibitions around the world.

Occupiers and the international audience form a critical element of chapter four, “Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained: Tomatsu Shomei’s Photographic Engagement with Okinawa.” At once “…a repository of tradition and…a site of decay and of foreign exploitation” (143), Okinawa—another geographically peripheral locale—became emblematic of America’s military presence in Japan in the 1950s­–60s. Tomatsu’s “Chewing Gum and Chocolate” series (1960) and Okinawa, Okinawa, Okinawa (1969) in particular reflected the oppressive and exploitive aspects of occupation military bases, and their deleterious effects upon local communities. Tomatsu’s second Okinawan effort, Pencil of the Sun (1975), reveals a later softening of this view, utilizing saturated color and natural landscapes to depict Okinawa as a “paradise regained” where an authentically Japanese experience of time and landscape could be recovered.

The search for identity takes another geographic turn in chapter five, “Young Female Nomads of Tokyo,” which aligns less clearly with the trajectory traced by prior chapters. Here the search for contemporary urban identity in 1970s-80s Tokyo is effectively off-shored, as urban Japanese struggled to define identity in an era of global cosmopolitan consumption. During this era popular museum exhibitions and television miniseries romanticized the Silk Road as a conduit of free movement and productive cultural exchange, and designers, advertisers, and cultural critics tapped into Deleuze and Guattari’s views of the nomad as liberated by capitalism from the constraints of the state. Advertising utilized images of Berber and Masai tribal women to encourage female consumers to “find their roots” as they traversed the “urban desert” of Tokyo. With the bursting of Japan’s economic bubble in 1990, however, the fantasy of unlimited mobility came crashing down.

Photographic images play a major role here, providing a strong thread of visual narrative and underlining the visual expression of the discourses under examination in Reynolds’ text. While the text cannot be read as a comprehensive account of any one of the media or intellectual discourses it touches upon, it makes a unique argument about the interrelatedness of visual and spatial explorations of cultural identity in the decades following Japan’s devastating defeat in WWII. As such, this text provides readers with an ambitious examination of the interwoven threads of visual, architectural, photographic, and intellectual history. It makes a valuable contribution to the field, and a must for scholars and students of Japan’s visual culture and history.

Leslie A. Woodhouse, University of San Francisco, San Francisco, USA                                           

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MULTIETHNIC KOREA?: Multiculturalism, Migration, and Peoplehood Diversity in Contemporary South Korea. Transnational Korea 1. Edited by John Lie. Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, University of California, 2014. xiii, 344 pp. (Illustrations.) US$25.00, paper. ISBN 978-1-55729-110-3.

This book provides an in-depth analysis of a key number of conceptual and policy dilemmas, contradictions, and issues regarding multiethnic and multicultural debates in and of Korea. The book clearly sets out in the editor’s introductory chapter the above goals and expectations of the work. The book is organised into three parts. Part one consists of chapters focusing on whether Korea is an emergent multiethnic or multicultural society. Part two considers the myriad of issues faced and raised by migrants “and others,” whilst part three takes a more transformative approach, with chapters debating whether a diversifying Korea is a fact or merely a hope, and why this question is important both for Korea and wider regional cultural and geopolitical contexts. There is a Coda by Jack Jin Gary Lee and John D. Skrentny that ostensibly reflects upon and compares Korean multicultural issues with a wider geographical and geo-economic context. All the chapters are aware of two key interconnected issues. Firstly, that the academic debate is itself a part of multicultural dynamics and interpretations. Secondly, that the definitions and types of institutional “application” of multiculturalism are a product of cultural interpretations, boundaries, and contestations over what culture and ethnicity is or should be.

John Lie’s introduction is a logical chronology of the meanings and policies of multiculturalism and multiethnicity in Korea. As Nora Hui-Jung Kim crucially points out, it is “not enough to ask, therefore, whether Korea is becoming a multicultural and multiethnic society,” the more important issue is ascertaining “what kind of multicultural and multiethnic society is envisioned and proposed” (67). This is the issue of who has the legitimacy and political capital to do the envisioning, and as to how and why. Most chapters point to the 2006 “Grand Plan” as being a turning point in the debates and policies on multicultural Korea. The Grand Plan asked Koreans to overcome the “obsession with purity” (69), but whilst the obsession might certainly be dissipating, this does not necessarily mean that deep beliefs in ethnic homogeneity are also waning and, in fact, may even be reinforced by current multicultural policies.

In his chapter, Timothy Lim discusses in a concise and conceptual context the issues and tensions of (and relations between) diversity recognition, tolerance, assimilation, segregation, integration, and the setting of boundaries. One intriguing example Lim gives, which in my view sums up a lot of the difficulties with present multicultural policy, is of immigrant/foreign lecturers being called upon to teach “diversity.” Problematically, the government assumes, and demonstrating an extraordinary lack of imagination, that foreigners just by virtue of being foreign, know (or care) about multiculturalism and diversity. Nancy Abelmann et al. focus on the issue of education. Though I did wonder on occasions whether the authors were being fair in their judgements of particular individuals observed in their research, their methodology is sound, with results showing that educating the educators is fraught with tensions regarding resources, a constant emphasis by officials on “urgency” and of “being seen to be doing something.” Emphasis is placed on government terminologies and maybe a distinction could also be made between responses to the government sanctioned term damunhwa (multicultural family) which, for certain families, is viewed as derogatory, but for others is a form of identity allowing for state assistance. EuyRyung Jun’s chapter addressed the issue of tolerance, regarding which, it is argued, the “Korean discourse of tolerance is a narcissistic one” (83) to further the Korean sense of development and modernity. The chapter also importantly cites Wendy Brown’s work that tolerance de-politicises the reasons for cultural inequalities and problematically creates fake “level playing fields” of cultural diversity/relativism.

In part two, Hae Yeon Choo, Jin-Heon Jung, Eleana Kim, and Keiko Yamanaka address the migrant question, describing and evaluating current policies. What becomes very apparent in all the chapters is how diaspora identity itself is constantly being constructed by the diasporas themselves and as a response to government policies. This also brings in the issue of diaspora leadership and perhaps more could have been said regarding the power struggles within the diasporas and foreign communities. Eleana Kim’s chapter insightfully discusses multiculturalism and multiethnic Korea in the context of the experiences of overseas adoptees (174). The chapter also observes that a lot of policies and responses can be traced to underlying issues of the construction of a specific South Korean identity.

In part three, Sue-Je L. Gage discusses the issue of “Amerasians.” The chapter diagrammatically represents beliefs in Korean society that Amerasians are “missing a bit” of Korean-ness (261). On page 267 an interesting observation is made that English language is often used by Amerasians publicly when in the company of Koreans and seems to represent a “power” or resistance issue to real and perceived discrimination against Amerasians. Charles Taylor’s approach to the recognition question is rightly addressed, but perhaps a more critical assessment of Taylor might have been engaged with, and more said here about the issue of identifying who it is doing the recognising (and why). Indeed, might it not be the case that individuals or groups could conceivably refuse the “gaze” of state-led multicultural recognition as a power issue. The chapters by Minjeong Kim and Nadia Kim explicitly address the experiences of often-marginalised groups and the support networks available. The chapters take on a number of problematic assumptions that “foreigners” are, paradoxically, regarded as a “homogenous” group in themselves. Nadia Kim makes a crucial point that Korean multiculturalism often abstracts “Africa” and does not distinguish between Christian and Muslim Africans. The book rightly revels in the contradictions and inconsistencies in a lot of the current beliefs in, and policies of, multiculturalism. It is with this kind of well-researched and critical literature that barriers to a genuine multiethnicity and multiculturalism in Korea might be lifted.

Iain Watson, Ajou University, Suwon, South Korea                                                                              

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BERLIN KOREANS AND PICTURED KOREANS. Koreans and Central Europeans: Informal Contacts up to 1950, v. 1. By Frank Hoffmann. Vienna: Praesens, 2015. xi, 241 pp. (Illustrations.) €35.90, paper, ISBN 978-3-7069-0873-3; €24.90, ISBN 978-3-7069-3005-5, eBook.

This book represents the first publication in a three-volume series titled “Koreans and Central Europeans: Informal Contacts up to 1950.” Unlike the two subsequent publications in the series, which will focus on the Austro-Hungarian Empire, this book examines the complexity of the experiences of the “Berlin Koreans,” as well as the portrayal of the image and culture of Korea as the “noble savage” in German advertisements and artistic works in the first half of the twentieth century.

Research for this book is based on thorough examinations of an impressive range of materials, such as photos, letters, sound recordings, journal articles, newspapers, pamphlets, college documents, various certificates, and even U.S. Army intelligence reports. Also, every section of the book contains a useful overview of Germany’s cultural, social, and political context as well as the changing international environment. The result is a highly engaging account of the personal experiences of various Koreans in Berlin, their interactions with the politically tumultuous German society, and also with the remote but tremendously influential Japanese empire. The book thus represents a valuable and timely contribution to the currently sparse literature on Korea-German interaction in the first half of the twentieth century. Indeed, the experiences of the Koreans in Berlin during this time period are virtually a forgotten chapter in the field of Korean studies. Reflecting on the formative role of the Berlin Koreans in both South and North Korean societies, the biographies of these Berlin Koreans certainly represent a small but crucial piece to the jigsaw of Korean national history.

This book is organized into three sections: the first section analyses the experience of Koreans who lived or worked in Berlin in the first half of the twentieth century, while the subsequent two sections examine the portrayal of Korea in advertisements and artistic works in Germany.

The first section of the book, which accounts for two thirds of the publication, carefully explores the biographies of twelve Berlin Koreans who came to play crucial roles in various sectors in the new-born “republics” in both South and North Korea. These twelve Koreans and their biographies are allocated to three groups. The first group, referred to as the “Chosŏn  generation,” comprises An Pong-gŭn and Kim Chung-se. Next, “the twentieth generation,” who were very active in the socialist and nationalist movements in Berlin, comprises Yi Kŭng-no, Kim Chun-yŏn, Ko Il-ch’ŏng and Yi Kang-guk. The third group comprises Pae Un-sŏng, Ahn Eak-tai, Pak Yŏng-in (aka Kuni Masami), Chang Kŭk, and Kim Paek-p’yŏng. It is noteworthy that this third group is also referred to as the “Nazi honors” in this book, not least because these Berlin Koreans owe their successful international careers to their collaboration with the Nazi regime, not to mention with the Japanese empire.

The second section of the book explores the image of Korea as portrayed in a highly popular card series produced by Liebig’s Extract of Meat Company between 1870 and 1940. These cards were issued on the occasion of the Russo-Japanese War in 1904, at a time when the European media showed unusually keen interest in the Korean Peninsula. The third section discusses the image of changsŭng (“village guardian pole”), as reflected in the famous painting titled “The Missionary,” one of the most famous works of the renowned German expressionist painter, Emil Nolde. Taken together, these chapters examine a similar message delivered through different media: the image of the Koreans and traditional Korean culture as the “exotic Other,” “noble savage,” or “primitive originality” that Western societies leveraged as their source of inspiration. The point is Korean culture must be portrayed as strange as possible and this intention necessarily led to the distortion of the image of Korea.

This book offers original and provoking insights from careful analysis of the above biographies, with two key points particularly deserving of our attention. First, this book argues for the significance of Berlin in the history of the Korean nationalist movements. As the centre of the international socialist movement as well as of period artistic work and academic research, Berlin attracted many Korean nationalists and provided them not only the stage for their artistic and scholastic talents, but also the necessary political connections to international socialists and Korean nationalist networks. According to Hoffmann’ analysis, Berlin provided the generation who were in their twenties in particular with the enabling environment to establish multi-faceted relations with various socialists. That international connection must have been very crucial to enhancing our understanding about the roots of the division of Korea.

Next, Hoffmann argues that the Koreans who lived in Berlin in the late 1930s and early 1940s were active participants in both the Japanese empire and the Nazi regime. Based on clues from various archival materials, the author contends that the successful careers of some of the Berlin Koreans in various fields such as music, dance, science, and engineering cannot be fully understood without reference to their “Nazi honors.” To complicate matters, these Berlin Koreans were not isolated individuals, but played crucial roles in the new-born Republic of Korea. The connection is dramatically illustrated in the author’s discussion of the case of Kang Se-hyŏng: the author alludes that ultra-right politics in Korea after World War II can be ascribed, at least partly, to “Korean fascists” such as Kang who introduced Nazi ideology to the Korean Peninsula during Japanese imperial rule, a quite interesting, and completely neglected, explanation for the formation of ideology and strategies that buttressed military dictatorship in Korea.

These two key insights, although derived from the unusual and exceptional biographies, allow us to venture beyond the dominant framework of nation-centred historical scholarship in Korea and to explore historical contingencies and international connections of the era. By capturing moments of the intersection between individual Korean biographies and changing historical circumstances in Berlin, the author highlights the international dimension and simultaneity, both of which have been neglected in existing scholarship, to Korea’s colonial history. Overall, this book will be welcomed by not just historians or scholars but also by readers interested in the complexities of the formation of modern Korea.

Soo-Hyun Mun, Hanyang University, Seoul, South Korea
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MODERN KOREA AND ITS OTHERS: Perceptions of the Neighbouring Countries and Korean Modernity. Routledge Advances in Korean Studies, 33. By Vladimir Tikhonov. London; New York: Routledge, 2016. xiv, 228 pp. US$160.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-138-85552-6.

Vladimir Tikhonov, the Russian-Korean historian better known in South Korea as Bak No-ja, has published an engaging analysis of Korean perspectives on the country’s bordering countries in the roughly half-century before its 1945 liberation from Japanese colonial rule. This is ultimately a study of Korean nationalism, a topic endowed with plentiful scholarship, although not as much recently in English. Tikhonov’s work adds new insights by focusing on views on other nationalities and by drawing extensively from literary sources.

The book devotes two chapters each, in order, to Russia, China, and Japan, with the first chapter providing a general overview of often divergent perceptions that emerged at the turn of the twentieth century, and the second chapter mining mostly novels for evidence of how such views developed in the colonial period. What results is a symmetrical argument: For each country, there emerged an initial “othering” process of establishing what Koreans, in developing their own sense of collective self, were not. This discursive formation was largely driven by concerns over imperialism, but was eventually joined by countervailing sentiments that regarded the neighboring civilization in question as a model of (alternative) modernity, particularly as anti-colonial or anti-imperialist revolutionary movements came to prevail in Russia and China. Such fluid ambiguity, plurality, and variety, which the author characterizes as a mixture of “fears and desires” (182–183), are explained through plentiful historical contextualization, such as Koreans’ interaction with Russian emigres in Manchuria, or the disdain for Chinese migrants within Korea.

The second chapter then proceeds to examine certain themes in literary works, such as the problem of Korean-Japanese intermarriage during the wartime mobilization years of the late 1930s and early 1940s, or the sexualized demonization of Chinese merchants. In conjunction with the opening chapters in each couplet that draw considerably from non-fictional accounts like newspaper articles, these chapters present a rich tapestry of cultural and intellectual expression in this era and advance the book’s core argument that Korean nationalism, which reflected the striving for a “subaltern, peripheral modernity” (4) given the political circumstances, resulted not only from internal traditions, realities, and constructs, but also from the formulation of a collective identity in relation to external groups. This is certainly not new, but Tikhonov draws from novel sources and suggests that these ideological formations regarding Korea’s neighbors had a much more substantial and enduring impact than what is commonly acknowledged. Both of these strengths, however, can also present pitfalls, or at least further questioning and concerns.

First, this book’s ample analysis of literature does not constitute literary analysis. The stories are mined by a historian for historical purposes, so there is no interpretive deconstruction, and little coverage of characters, narrative devices, symbolic gestures, etc. within the works’ internal dynamics. To be sure, Tikhonov’s overriding goal is to demonstrate how fictionalized depictions reflected and helped to construct Korean perspectives on neighboring peoples and societies. The challenge remains, though, of providing more than a survey of various expressions, but to demonstrate prevailing or common sentiments that reflected the historical circumstances of the time. It is uncertain how well the author follows his own caveats about literature’s limitations as historical sources (153), and it would take a specialist to provide a more definitive evaluation of the representativeness of the works that Tikhonov examines.

More manageable is to locate Tikhonov’s study in the historiography of Korea’s ideological and cultural history of this period. As noted above, Korean nationalism, in regard to the outside world, has enjoyed plentiful scholarly attention, but most of this has focused, understandably, on Japan, as well as on China, particularly the ideological and political interactions with the Chinese republican and communist movements. Tikhonov, however, emphasizes the impact of Chinese migrant communities on Koreans’ views. For Japan, this book does not add significantly to the proliferation of studies on colonial intellectual and cultural history, even on the theme of ethnic intermarriage. One can also suggest that, given the realities of colonial rule, it is nearly impossible to treat views on Japan as a comparable topic to those of China and Russia.

When it comes to Russia, however, this book’s contributions are on very solid ground, at least in the English-language scholarship. The author’s access to Russian sources, including influential literary works, provide a revelatory analysis of Russia’s wide-ranging cultural impact in Korea at the time—as a source and model for a semi-western, albeit alternative, path to modernity, and as a target of phobias for communism that gradually enveloped the state-dominated colonial cultural sphere, an ideological construct that very well could have fueled enmity, in some quarters, toward the Soviet Union in the post-liberation period.

Indeed a consciousness of the post-colonial developments looms over the book. The problem is that the accumulated Korean perspectives on the neighboring “other,” given their variety, could just as well have worked against the particular manifestations of nationalism that came to prevail in the two Koreas—from Juche, the anti-Japanese backlash, and anti-Chinese chauvinism to pro-Russian and pro-Chinese revolutionism, racist opposition to intermarriage, or sexual subservience under imperialism. In other words, an inescapable but justifiable teleology pervades the author’s coverage, though this appears explicitly in only the final sentences of chapters and in the book’s Conclusion, when Tikhonov considers historical legacies all the way to the end of the twentieth century.

In any case, despite the proliferation of parenthetical notes (ostensibly a mixture of the social science and history styles, with minimal footnotes), which to some readers will be distracting, this book is highly readable, providing a thorough and textured intellectual history, with due consideration of historical context always at the forefront of the author’s concerns. It also offers an enlightening introduction to both well-known and more obscure authors and their works. These are some of the many qualities that make this book highly recommended.

Kyung Moon Hwang, University of Southern California, Los Angeles, USA                                       

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ART, LITERATURE, AND THE JAPANESE AMERICAN INTERNMENT: On John Okada’s No-No Boy. American Culture (Frankfurt am Main, Germany), Bd. 12. By Thomas Girst. New York: Peter Lang, 2015. 261 pp. (Figures.) US$64.95, cloth. ISBN 978-3-631-65937-3.

Before approaching Thomas Girst’s erudite study of Art, Literature and the Japanese American Internment, one should read John Okada’s No-No Boy (Seattle and London: University of Washington Press, 2014 ed. [originally published in 1957]). No-No Boy is an eminently readable novel about the inner turmoil and self-doubt of a young, sensitive Japanese American war resister who returns home to Seattle after his release from prison following the Second World War (see book review of an earlier edition by Gordon Hirobayashi, Pacific Affairs 53, no. 1 [Spring 1980]: 176-177). Okada in No-No Boy uses fiction to reveal the diversity of opinion within the Japanese American community about the war, internment, military service, citizenship, and the United States. In his study, Thomas Girst analyzes the broad significance of Okada’s novel to the developing canon of Asian American literature as well as No-No Boy’s place within a wider world literature. Focusing on the cultural trajectory of Japanese American internment, both during and after the Second World War, Girst also investigates how art, prose, and poetry emerged despite the restraints of manipulation, propaganda, and censorship.

Art, Literature and the Japanese American Internment begins with an introduction: “Japanese American Internment and the Holocaust.” One of the questions that Girst raises is “how scholarship on the arts and the Holocaust can be applied or be of use while examining artistic forms of expression revolving around the Japanese American internment camp experience” (14). He argues that artists caught in the unspeakable tragedy of the German concentration camps in the Second World War were still able to demonstrate the incredible ability of people to retain their humanity. It was this basic approach, derived from the horrors of Nazi Germany, which provided guidance for Girst’s analysis of the Japanese American internment experience.

Chapter 1 is the longest, fifty-eight pages, dealing with “Artistic Expression and Internment,” and it is divided into four subsections, two of which deal with two specific artists, Isamu Noguchi and Miné Okubo, while the other two investigate “camp photography” and “prose and poetry.” Girst points out that “[a]rt in the camps was about creating harmony and aesthetic reprieve from the harsh camp environment” (36). He stresses that art “could also become a retainer for remembrance—constructed as private and individual or collective and cultural” (42). Ruth Ozeki, in her foreword to the 2014 edition of No-No Boy, quotes Okada as writing that “only in fiction can the hopes and fears and joys and sorrows of people be adequately recorded” (No-No Boy 2014 edition, Ozeki foreword, xvii).

Chapter 2 investigates “No–No Boys, Draft Resisters, and the Origins of Asian American Studies.” This provides helpful information concerning the history of No-No Boys and the resistance to the draft among Japanese American internees. It also looks at the postwar history of the struggle to establish Asian American studies at American universities. Girst contends that “it is only with this background in mind that the discovery, early reception and institutionalization of Okada’s No-No Boy can be fully comprehended” (113).

Chapter 3 looks at “John Okada, Writer and World War II Veteran.” Here, Girst provides biographical details of Okada’s life. While Okada was interned for a short time in 1942 in Minidoka camp in Idaho, he did (in sharp contrast to the protagonist in his novel) volunteer for the armed forces and saw service with the United States Air Force in the Pacific theatre and later as an interpreter for a few months with the US Occupation Forces in Japan. Returning to Seattle in 1946, he went to university, graduating in English and dramatic writing from Washington University, receiving an MA in teaching English from Columbia University, and finally a second BA in library science from Washington University. Married with children, Okada made his living in the business world. Although he wrote a second book, it was never published and the manuscript was lost amidst the changes in family fortunes resulting from his sudden death in 1971 at the early age of forty-seven.

Chapter 4 analyzes “Reading No-No Boy as World Literature.” Girst’s close reading of No-No Boy reveals that Okada’s educational background allowed him to use a wide spectrum of European literary techniques in creating a complex multi-layered novel. Girst also draws heavily on the aesthetic values espoused by the Italian writer, Italo Calvino, and the views of Milan Kundera in regards to world literature to prove definitively that Okada’s book transcends the nationalistic and belongs to the realm of Weltliteratur.

Chapter 5 draws attention to the “Publication History, Reception and Teaching of John Okada’s No-No Boy.” Girst makes it clear that No-No Boy the book was well received when it first came out, but it just was not a commercial success. It took the emergence of Asian American studies in the years after Okada’s death before the book was widely read and appreciated. Girst follows the text with a useful selection of images that includes examples of official photographs, drawings, and cartoons that depict the Japanese American internment experience. Other photographs are related to John Okada’s life.

In his concluding chapter, Thomas Girst advocates the teaching of Asian American studies in Germany because he hopes “German thought and understanding of a future speedily headed toward a heterogeneous, globe-spanning and fragmented culture could greatly benefit and gradually begin to thrive” (210). In that respect, Art, Literature and the Japanese American Internment provides a valuable teaching tool in a university course in Asian American studies. For the general reader, Girst has written a thoughtful and informative study which helps to illuminate the complexity of No-No Boy as a novel as well as the diversity of the Japanese American response to internment.

Hamish Ion, Royal Military College of Canada, Kingston, Canada

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THE EVOLUTION OF THE US-JAPAN ALLIANCE: The Eagle and the Chrysanthemum. Chandos Asian Studies Series. By Matteo Dian. Oxford: Chandos Publishing, 2014. xxviii, 247 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$141.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-84334-766-8.

At the core of Matteo Dian’s The Evolution of the US-Japan Alliance is a question central to the study of alliance management. How do alliances evolve over time, especially those where there is an asymmetry of power? Dian’s work traces the evolution of the US-Japan alliance, breaking the partnership into four stages. These might be described as a creation phase lasting from 1960 until 1969 (27–67), a détente phase from 1969 until 1978 (69–106), a renewal phase from 1997 until 2008 (107–149), and a pivot phase from 2009 until 2013 (151–197). The book is located within alliance management theory and focuses especially on which factors shape the “internal cohesion” (7) of alliances as they develop. By making use of such concepts as balance-of-threat, security dilemma, and second-image constructivism, the book draws out several key factors to explain different possible alliance outcomes: their origin, evolution, and “possible demise” (1). These factors include the level of external threat, shared threat perceptions, interests and commitments, and security identity limits.

The main chapters of The Evolution of the US-Japan Alliance, which cover these four stages of the US-Japan relationship, offer readers a broad study of the alliance’s progress from the 1960 revision of the original security treaty through to the current period of American “pivot” and Japanese security “normalization.” The book covers some of the key historical developments in the alliance’s management, such as Japan’s shifting approach to the alliance during the Vietnam War (51–54) and Japan’s strategic reorientation following the Nixon shocks and the subsequent deepening of the alliance during the late 1970s (80–89). More contemporaneously, it provides a detailed examination of vital current issues reshaping the alliance, including ballistic missile defense cooperation (133–137) and Japan’s attempts to normalize its security role since 2009 (171–183).

If the book’s aim was to fully trace the alliance’s evolution from its origin to today as a study of internal cohesion, some of the choices over which periods of evolution to exclude might seem contentious. Beginning the alliance story in 1960, rather than 1951, is justified on the basis that the “previous treaty did not represent an actual alliance treaty” (22), that the treaty was uneven, and that it did not oblige the US to defend Japan. Yet, in international relations theory, the concept of alliance is more contested, and arguably broader, than this approach would suggest. Similarly, excluding this period because the relationship was uneven appears at odds with the book’s focus on asymmetry. Further, the US-Japan alliance was not alone in terms of the ambiguities of the “obligation” involved: this was also characteristic of America’s alliance with Australia and New Zealand, signed at the same time.

Similar exclusions later in the book are also puzzling. By not covering the 1980s, the book misses some crucial alliance developments and important shifts in external threats, threat perceptions, and interests. Examples include the 1981 agreement for Japan to play a greater role in protecting sea lanes, as well as the two sides’ subsequent close diplomatic cooperation over the Soviet Union’s ballistic missile threat. Likewise, the choice of 1997 as the beginning of the fourth chapter would appear to exclude some major external changes to the alliance prior to this date, such as the Korean Peninsula and Taiwan Strait crises, although these are in fact discussed. Important intra-alliance controversies from the mid-1990s relating to the alliance’s changing commitments, interests, and identities, such as over America’s military presence in the Japanese prefecture of Okinawa, also receive little attention.

The use of a single case study to make an argument on the evolution and internal cohesion of alliances generally is ambitious. Identifying factors that could contribute to the demise of alliances, for instance, is impossible here, given that the US-Japan partnership is still strong after sixty-five years. The book also sets itself a difficult task of establishing causal relationships between multiple (perhaps too many) independent and dependent variables or “multi-dimensional intra-allied interactions” (208). Disentangling these becomes an almost overwhelming task for the conclusion. Norms “cannot be excluded” (201), while similar preferences produce different “behaviours” in different situations. Shared threat perceptions cannot explain the evolution of alliances—the book is highly critical of Stephen Walt’s balance-of-threat theory. Commitment plays a crucial role by creating in the junior ally a “freedom of irresponsibility” (204), but this seems less applicable to the post-Cold War period.

The book’s central conclusion focuses on a mixture of these variables under the heading of the “sharing/control dilemma and the paradox of self-reliance” (208). Put simply, the alliance has evolved as the US has pressured Japan to take up a greater burden, creating a dilemma for the US as it struggles to accept ceding influence. For Japan, this greater role has made it more susceptible to US demands but also more able to resist US pressure. If these pressures are in fact crucial, internal cohesion in the US-Japan partnership may become more difficult in the future as the alliance becomes less asymmetrical. Alternatively, both sides may simply adapt as the alliance becomes more equitable.

Overall, The Evolution of the US-Japan Alliance provides an in-depth examination of some of the most significant issues of the US-Japan alliance since the two nations revised their Mutual Security Treaty more than fifty years ago. The final text would have benefitted from greater copyediting scrutiny from the publisher, as occasional misspellings (e.g., “Yunichiro” Koizumi, xxviii) and inconsistencies can be distracting. Nonetheless, the book should be of interest to students and scholars working both on the important US-Japan alliance and on alliances in general.

H.D.P. Envall, The Australian National University, Canberra, Australia

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MAKING WE THE PEOPLE: Democratic Constitutional Founding in Postwar Japan and South Korea. Comparative Constitutional Law and Policy. By Chaihark Hahm and Sung Ho Kim. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2015. xii, 316 pp. US$110.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-107-01882-2.

To what extent do an identifiable and sovereign People “establish and ordain” democratic constitutions? In Making We the People, Hahm and Kim debunk three common assumptions about popular sovereignty through a comparison of constitutional founding in Japan and South Korea. They advocate jettisoning the ideal of “an all-powerful and ever-living people” (58) who craft a constitution without being influenced by external forces or the past. Instead, they argue that the very identity of “We the People” is formed by constitution making, which is always a process situated in a particular time and place.

Japan and the Republic of Korea (ROK) are apt cases with which to develop this theory. Both countries’ constitutional founding in the 1940s involved external influences, fraught histories and institutions, and significant transformations of the people’s relationship to the state. Despite the well-known parallels and interconnections between these processes in Japan and Korea, they have not been subject to as systematic a comparison as this book offers. Herein lies the primary merit of this book. Things taken for granted in one context come into sharper relief through comparison. Although Making We the People recaps an article—which is not cited in the book—that Hahm and Kim published in the International Journal of Constitution Law in 2010 (“To Make ‘We the People’: Constitutional Founding in Postwar Japan and South Korea,” 8, no. 4: 800–848), their extensive analysis is better suited to book-length treatment.

The book is logically structured and eloquent. In chapter 1, Hahm and Kim weave together prior scholars’ critiques of the ideal of popular sovereignty to elaborate a theory about the mutually constitutive relationship between a body politic and its constitution. Somewhat Western-centric, chapter 1 would have benefitted from the incorporation of Japanese and Korean scholarship on questions of popular sovereignty and self-determination. Although their theory is relevant outside East Asia, it also illuminates themes that reverberate through contemporary debates in Japan and Korea about constitutional revision, the separation of powers, freedom of expression, and the expansion of the electorate. The authors acknowledge this briefly (1–3, 280), but more explicit engagement with current debates would have widened the book’s appeal.

Making We the People joins landmark works like Richard Samuels’ Machiavelli’s Children (Cornell University Press, 2003) in using carefully paired comparisons to generate theoretical insights. More than just the institutional structures and rights enumerated in two constitutions, the processes of constitutional founding are Hahm and Kim’s focus as they scrutinize the origins and initial implementation of key provisions in the Japanese and Korean constitutions. Each empirical chapter highlights one of the three common assumptions about popular sovereignty, and the chapters build on each other.

Chapter 2 analyzes the extent to which external influences (i.e., US occupiers, nascent competition with the communists, international society) shaped the war-renouncing Article 9 in Japan’s constitution and the quasi-socialist economic provisions in the ROK constitution. It also shows how emerging Cold War exigencies twisted these portions of both constitutions. Yet their evidence for “Japanese people’s embrace of peace” (96) despite reinterpretation of Article 9 and Korean people’s embrace of socioeconomic equality as central to their constitutional identity is thin.

Chapter 3 examines how Japanese and Korean actors creatively used, embellished, or rejected aspects of the past to legitimate actions. It compares how Japan’s emperor was reinvented as a symbol and how the ROK invented a democratic republican pedigree while seeking to punish collaborators (Articles 1 and 101). In line with other scholars, they identify continuities across the 1945 line of defeat/liberation and agents’ bricolage with fragments of the past.

The third and final empirical chapter integrates their points about the importance of existing institutions, the recent past, and external forces in analyzing the mutual constitution of a body politic and its constitution. It traces multiple redefinitions of Japanese and Korean peoplehood through the lens of the household registries (a prewar institution that rendered people “legible” to the state) and election and nationality laws.

The empirical chapters are well researched and the narrative rich, but some weaknesses remain. First, the fascinating discussion of Japanese and US occupation authorities’ debates over jinmin vs. kokumin (232–239) suffers from the absence of an analogous analysis of Korean debates over what to call the people. In their 2010 article, Hahm and Kim proffer such an analysis (842–847), but not in the book. Condensing the book’s section on prewar household registries (199–223) would have given the authors space to unpack the implications of adopting the kokumin/kukmin term for the evolving boundaries of each country’s body politic and ongoing debates about, for example, multicultural families, foreigners’ voting rights, and (in Japan) married women’s surnames. Without such discussion, the authors risk leaving readers with the impression that each people’s identity was constituted in stone with these founding constitutions.

Moreover, Hahm and Kim don’t address the fact that the Korean constitution has been repeatedly amended or revised while Japan’s constitution is the oldest unamended one in the world. While this reality doesn’t invalidate the comparison, it certainly begs questions, especially since the authors warn against analyzing constitutions as frozen in time or apart from their context. The authors’ analysis of constitutional amendment in Korea and reinterpretation in Japan in the 1950s is strong, but they verge on equating amendment or revision with reinterpretation (57 n. 122, or 285). Arguably, these processes’ differences signal distinctions in how each polity relates to its constitution that may help explain the phenomenon in Korean authoritarianism of “rule by law.” The authors could have effectively addressed these differences in the introduction rather than belatedly dismissing it as beyond the book’s scope (280–281). Considering current Japanese debates about revising Articles 9 and 96 and Korean debates about authoritarian creep, which are mentioned in opening anecdotes, this omission seems like a missed opportunity.

Nevertheless, Hahm and Kim persuasively argue that we can only discover who “We the People” named in a constitution are by adopting a broader spatial and temporal lens (61) that considers external influences, creative uses of the past, and shifting definitions of peoplehood. Making We the People thus contributes significantly to comparative constitutional studies, East Asian studies, and scholarship on nation building and democratic theory.

Celeste L. Arrington, The George Washington University, Washington, DC, USA                           

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DISASTERS AND SOCIAL CRISIS IN CONTEMPORARY JAPAN: Political, Religious, and Sociocultural Responses. Edited by Mark R. Mullins, Koichi Nakano. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. xii, 318 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$105.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-137-52131-6.

The essays that form this book analyze the responses to the natural and man-made disasters of 1995—the Kobe earthquake and the Tokyo sarin gas attacks—and the 2011 Great East Japan Earthquake, tsunami, and Fukushima nuclear catastrophe. The book’s overarching question is: What insights can be learned from considering the various responses to these two critical historical junctures? The result is an original contribution featuring engaged, authoritative voices from authors with hands-on experience with post-disaster issues.

The book starts with an introduction and is divided into political, religious, social, and cultural responses. In the opening chapter, Koichi Nakano critically discusses the recent sharp shift to the right in Japanese politics. The argument is that rather than reflect citizens’ views, this shift has been unilaterally driven by the political elites. Nakano observes that each time the country has tilted to the right, the shift has been preceded by a crisis that gave the ruling elites a chance to push forward their own controversial agendas.

Rikki Kersten’s second chapter assesses whether there actually was a strengthening of the Japan-US alliance in 2011 following the participation of Self Defense Forces and American military troops in disaster relief missions, the so-called “Operation Tomodachi”. The author also ponders whether the results of these joint missions are likely to modify the pacifism that has characterized contemporary Japan.

Chapter 3 by Jeff Kingston presents a powerful analysis of the issues affecting the outcome of the Fukushima nuclear disaster. He explains why 3.11 was not a game changer, and sheds light on how the “nuclear village” has been resilient in the face of never ending scandals surrounding Tokyo Electric Power Company (TEPCO) and its ineptitude when dealing with the crippled nuclear reactors.

In chapter 4, Ria Shibata discusses the resurgence of nationalist discourse in Japan in connection with the country’s identity crisis and deteriorating relations with China. As Japan’s collective self-esteem was damaged due to economic stagnation and natural disasters, Japan’s ruling elite has committed itself to revamping national identity with a sense of purpose that links the present to a glorified (wartime) past.

Chapter 5 by Mark Mullins skillfully articulates the connections between organized religions and neonationalism in post-disaster Japan. His detailed analysis of the activities of neonationalist movements sheds light on the controversial transformations that have been taking place within Japanese society and the clash between global values and those championed by neonationalist leaders.

In chapter 6, Barbara Ambros investigates the response of a religious group called Tenrikyo to the Great East Japan Earthquake. She traces the group’s shifting reasons for its sustained participation in volunteer work to the history of Tenrikyo and its involvement in relief efforts during the 1995 earthquake.

Richly ethnographic, Tim Graf’s chapter 7 deals with the Buddhist responses to the 3.11 disasters and discusses processes of clinicization and psychologization of religion.

Simon Avenell’ s essay on volunteering (chapter 8) and the 1995 Kobe earthquake discusses how volunteer groups supported vulnerable communities of non-Japanese and ethnic minorities. He argues that although conceptions of citizenship broadened after this crisis, leaders in the volunteer efforts later joined national disaster relief structures, ironically becoming part of those very organizations that failed badly in 1995.

Chapter 9 by David Slater, Love Kindstrand, and Keiko Nishimura offers a compelling argument backed by extensive anthropological fieldwork that explains the importance of constitutive and instrumental functions of the spread of social media in a context of disaster. Their essay discusses strengths and weaknesses of this type of political mobilization, and the novel ways in which citizens become loosely associated in movements that respond to and challenge the inefficacy of the state.

In chapter 10, Phoebe Holdgrün and Barbara Holthus analyze the importance of gender roles when mothers become active participants in movements that seek to protect children from radiation. The authors posit that, to effectively negotiate with local authorities, concerned mothers pursue a strategy of “small steps” but in a long-term approach.

Chapter 11 by Rumi Sakamoto examines the neonationalist responses to the 1995 and 2011 disasters expressed in the works of manga artist Kobayashi Yoshinori. Sakamoto unpacks how Yoshinori maintains antinuclear views that might appear inconsistent with the discourse of the right, thus challenging traditional stereotypes of both the right and the left.

Chapter 12 by Rebecca Suter sheds light on Haruki Murakami’s literary responses to the 1995 and 2011 disasters. She explains how, despite being portrayed as apolitical in his native country, Murakami has in fact shifted towards more outspokenly critical views of the Japanese government and nuclear power.

This book offers a strong collection of essays that will help readers understand more deeply Japan’s contemporary attitudes towards disaster. Perhaps a note of caution, however, should be made. The 1995 and 2011 disasters differ considerably in nature and scope. The Kobe earthquake resulted in some 5,000 deaths; in 2011 about 18,000 people lost their lives as a consequence of the tsunami—not the earthquake.

Moreover, “man-made” means very different things in the contexts of the sarin gas attacks and the Fukushima nuclear disaster. In the first event, a group of fanatics carried out gas attacks on the Tokyo metro system. In the case of the Fukushima disaster, blatant connivance among the nuclear regulators and the electric company, institutional complacency, and systematic cover-ups of nuclear mishaps were responsible for incubating a compound catastrophe that affects not only people in Fukushima but Japanese society at large: as of 2016, there are still more than 100,000 nuclear evacuees. Furthermore, the widespread health and environmental consequences of radioactive contamination confronts Japanese society with ethical, medical, and technological questions that differ ostensibly from the ones raised by the events of 1995. These qualitative differences should be kept in mind along with the common patterns and linkages.

That being said, these timely essays succeed in contextualizing and making sense of the recent political, religious, and sociocultural responses to catastrophe, and the collection is an important contribution to the multidisciplinary understanding of social struggle, crisis, and disaster in contemporary Japan.

Pablo Figueroa, Waseda University, Tokyo, Japan                                                                             

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THE FAILURE OF SOCIALISM IN SOUTH KOREA: 1945–2007. Routledge Advances in Korean Studies, 30. By Yunjong Kim. London; New York: Routledge, 2016. xvi, 190 pp. (Tables.) US$145.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-138-91405-6.

“Socialism” and “South Korea” seem incompatible categories from the perspective of conventional perceptions of the Cold War divide on the Korean peninsula. But Yunjong Kim connects them in his book by examining the reasons for the failure of socialism in South Korea. For this purpose, the author offers a comprehensive historical review of the political processes in South Korea, from the liberation and then division of Korea to recent times, with a focus on the parties of the Left, ranging from radical revolutionary parties (communist, socialist) to moderate or social democratic ones. Kim divides the factors contributing to the failure of socialism in Korea to structural, such as the Cold War divide and the military regimes in the South, and agency—leadership and strategies of the parties (2). The author combines the two groups of factors in studying the evolution of socialism in South Korea. While Kim agrees with the traditional view that in the pre-democracy period (1945–1987), structural factors played a crucial role in stifling socialism, he also pays attention to agency factors (6, 161). The author concludes that the failure of Marxism to convert to socialism, and radical socialism to reformism, in the era of democratization since 1987, is mostly due to outdated ideologies, problems of strategy, and “poor leadership in legal politics” (161).

Starting his narrative with national liberation, the author supports traditional interpretations of the division of Korea. For example, he points to Soviet expansionism and the establishment of a state in the North by Kim Il Sung in December 1945; the American occupational authority’s rejection of the Korean (Chosun) People’s Republic because it was “overwhelmingly communist”; the Korean War was started by communist attacks, etc. (51, 56). Kim acknowledges the importance of structural factors like American support for a right-wing government in the South, but also maintains that the communists made mistakes that cost them dearly, such as their “overly optimistic view of the revolutionary consciousness of the working class and the peasant class” (48­–49). The question remains, though, even if the leftist forces in the South had more realistic views and strategies, they could hardly have forced a different outcome.

The author outlines key structural barriers for socialism in the 1950s, such as the Korean War, during and after which the Left was thoroughly suppressed in the South; “conservative party cartel”; the lack of democracy; and the low-level of industrialization, which translated into insufficient working-class support (57, 59, 84). Despite the rise of the Progressive Party and electoral successes under the leadership of Cho Bongam, who was executed in 1958, “there was almost nothing the Left could do” within the Cold War setting (56). Similarly, the Left faced insurmountable obstacles during the period of military regimes (1962–1987), but it re-emerged in the form of the minjung undong (people’s movement), led by undonggwon—pro-democracy activist groups, or the “new Left,” and based on an alliance between students and labour organizations (87, 107).

In the 1980s, democratization allowed the reestablishment of the trade union movement. Hence the Democratic Labour Party (DLP) was established with the support of the major trade union—the Federation of Democratic Trade Unions (109). Nevertheless, Kim identifies “the new Left’s strategy based on a revolutionary underground party” and “revolutionary socialism” as the key reasons for its failure to develop into a moderate Left or social democratic force, despite the favorable conditions, such as democratization, a civil society, and prosperous economy (113, 137). Further, the DLP also failed to develop a social democratic strategy suitable to the electoral politics of the early 2000s due to its radical socialist agenda and factionalism. Two radical rival factions controlling the DLP—the nationalist pro-North Korea group called National Liberation and the radical socialist one called People’s Democracy—eventually led to a party split in 2008 (139, 143, 159).

The study of South Korean democratization since the 1980s is focused exclusively on the traditional left and its more radical forms. It is somewhat surprising that the author does not consider political forces like the parties led by Kim Dae-jung as social democratic phenomena, rather than sticking to the conventional definition of the dissident-turned-president as a “centrist.” Liberal and progressive parties in South Korea, including those of Kim Dae-jung and Roh Moo-hyun, have much in common with European social democratic parties. For instance, they all support small and medium businesses and have anti-monopoly economic agendas; promote social welfare; supported rapprochement and cooperation with socialist countries during the Cold War era (in South Korea this meant the “Sunshine Policy” toward the North), etc. Yunjong Kim’s analysis confines itself to orthodox terminology and misses important political trends of the democratization era in South Korea. For any reference to terms like “Left,” “social democratic,” “socialist,” let alone “communist,” in the South Korean context are inevitably drawn into the gravitational pull of the Cold War paradigm and the North-South ideological and political divide. With a few exceptions, North Korea’s impact on South Korean politics is another omission in the book. It is difficult to examine thoroughly the socialist trend in South Korea without taking into account the dichotomy on the Korean peninsula. The South Korean Constitutional Court’s ban of the Unified Progressive Party in 2014 for being pro-North Korean is a fresh example for this interconnectivity.

Yunjong Kim’s book provides a discussion of major communist and socialist trends in South Korea, engaging various interpretations in secondary sources. Yet the study offers little new evidence for scholarship, as its use of primary sources is limited. The author undertakes a comparative analysis of socialism in Western Europe and Latin America, which helps to elucidate the evolution of socialism in South Korea. Kim mentions the collapse of communist parties in Eastern Europe (15), but the democratization of the socialist countries could be a productive venue for comparative study, particularly the transformation of former communist parties into social democratic ones (similar to West European socialist parties in the post-war period), parties which managed to become political forces to be reckoned with and even won elections and formed governments in the post-communist era. Overall, the book presents a valuable review of the political processes in South Korea and contributes to the broader discussion of the evolution of socialism on the Korean peninsula as an important part of that country’s modern history.

Avram Agov, Langara College, Vancouver, Canada                                                                          

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NATURE IN TRANSLATION: Japanese Tourism Encounters the Canadian Rockies. By Shiho Satsuka. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2015. xii, 263 pp. (Maps.) US$24.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8223-5880-0.

Should we expect different cultures to appreciate and understand nature in the same way? Anthropologist Shiho Satsuka suggests—well, no! In a fascinating account of Japanese tour guides in the Canadian Rockies (this book is not really about Japanese tourism or Japanese tourists) she explores how Canadians think about and “do” nature, and how Japanese think about and “do” nature amid the same landscapes. She finds there are many differences.

The geographical setting of this study is certainly “big nature”—specifically, Banff National Park in the Canadian Rocky Mountains. Based upon her ethnographic research in the early years of the last decade (2000–2001), she recounts how, as a student fresh from Japan, she and a handful of Japanese young people that she met in the Park’s Banff township navigated not only their own appreciation of the Canadian Rockies, but made sense of the logic (and sometimes illogic) of heritage management of Banff National Park by Parks Canada.

The background to this research is, of course, the “boom” in Japanese mass tourism that took place in the 1980s and 1990s, and the popularity (at that time) of spectacular nature tours taken mainly in cross-country coaches of iconic Canadian sites such as Niagara Falls, the Rocky Mountains and the Columbia Ice Fields. This rapid growth in tourists, together with their lack of English language comprehension, and the special young people holiday working visa that Japanese could take advantage of in Canada, led to a relatively large number of young Japanese in Banff working as tour guides. Who were these guides and how did they find their way to Banff? Satsuka introduces them to us in her book. Essentially, they were “odd-balls” who did not fit into Japanese corporate culture—but they all loved to ski!

In effect, the skill of these “step-on” tour guides added value to the coach tour companies by making the Japanese tourists understand what they were seeing. Through their information and their stories, they helped to ensure that Japanese tourists, whether retirees who wanted an outstanding overseas experience or newlyweds who saw Canada as a “cool” honeymoon tour destination, took back to Japan the fondest memories. Basically, they interpreted the Rockies and its natural setting. But, as can be guessed by the book’s title, there was often something lost in translation, just as in the renowned film of that name, starring Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson (2003).

Before we get to the main act, however, Satsuka makes us aware of two important characters that also played a role in “translating” Canadian nature to the Japanese in previous eras. In the 1920s a certain Maki Yuko was a Japanese mountain climber who is feted in Banff as the first to climb Mount Alberta, in 1925. A generation or so later, Ohashi Kyosen (the Johnny Carson of Japanese late-night television) opened his first OK Gift Store in Banff in 1973. Satsuka calls him a “populist cosmopolitan” (67) and notes that he was responsible for popularizing the Rockies to Japanese audiences through his TV program. Beyond this, she argues that he also encouraged Japanese to live a middle-class life, and reassured them that going overseas on packaged holidays was also “OK.”

Chapters 5 and 6 provide the climactic twist of Satsuka’s story. In 2001, Parks Canada made it clear that a special guide’s certification would become a condition of any business licensing. Consequently, any Japanese tour or hiking guide working within the Banff Mountain Parks had to be certified. And, a special organization, the Mountain Parks Heritage Interpretation Association (known as MPHIA—or “mafia” to most of the guides) would be responsible for ensuring that guides working in the Rockies actually knew their stuff! So, beyond coping with their status as precariat seasonal workers in a transnational setting, and their rigorous training by a Japanese head guide—almost similar to that of a young Buddhist priest in a temple and with a similar amount of discipline—they also had to study the lessons of ecology and heritage planning promoted by the Park’s scientists. Central to Satsuka’s argument is that the environmental interpretation demanded by the MPHIA was “confusing” and “challenging,” especially the Western (Judeo-Christian) concept of environmental stewardship. In one telling passage (166) she notes that a high-ranking Japanese guide (Takagi-san), after taking the prescribed MPHIA courses, presented for his oral exam a narrative that was “filled with facts highlighting the immense scale of the glacier,” but contained nothing to indicate his position as an environmental steward (as mandated by the MPHIA and Parks Canada). In other words, his “translation” of nature left the “meaning of nature” to the Japanese tourists that he was addressing, rather than impose the desired ecological and environmental stewardship message of Parks Canada.

Satsuko is a good academic and so she then proceeds to reveal how the scientific approaches to “ecological integrity” are not merely neutral scientific concepts, as assumed by Parks Canada, but have “developed within specific philosophical and aesthetic traditions” in North American culture (194). Satsuko ends the book by suggesting that nature is an elusive concept whose interpretation is always changing, and that a more inclusive paradigm is required that “invites people who do not necessarily share the same epistemological traditions to participate in knowing nature” (220).

My final observation on this anthropological study is that since the early 2000s there has emerged a new type of Japanese tourist, the FIT or “free independent traveller,” who comes to Banff either alone or with a small number of friends carrying the Japanese equivalent of Lonely Planet and interpreting Canadian “big nature” in their own way. These new Japanese tourists are more English language-savvy, and more willing to strike out by themselves to various destinations; and so they are less comfortable in joining the limiting mass-tourist coach tours. The present book would provide an excellent start to expanding the theme of how nature is translated as Japanese society evolves.

David W. Edgington, The University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada                                  

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HIGH-STAKES SCHOOLING: What We Can Learn from Japan’s Experiences with Testing, Accountability, and Education Reform. By Christopher Bjork. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2016. 251 pp. (Tables.) US$30.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-226-30941-5.

Christopher Bjork has written an important book that reflects his long experience with fieldwork and Japanese education, as well as reporting on his most recent research. It is at once steeped in expertise as well as innovative. While I have read the book through the lens of someone who has long shared Bjork’s focus on Japanese education, the insights he draws from his research, as well as the broader implications he points to, make this a book that scholars who focus on the transformation of education systems more broadly will find very interesting. Bjork’s study also provides telling conclusions about the (in)ability of seemingly unitary and powerful states to effect change across a vast and varied number of organizations.

One of the bases for the contribution that Bjork makes here is his methodological choice to conduct research across stages of education, across school types. Scholarship on Japanese education has long noted, but not explained, the differences between the free-flowing, inquiry-based pedagogy of elementary schools, and the rigid, somewhat numbing teaching style that becomes the norm in middle schools and through high school (and university). Bjork deliberately selected both, elementary as well as middle schools to be able to examine these in the context of their location and social setting. This makes his research somewhat unique in the academic literature and thus a good candidate for assignment in courses where a discussion of school types might be compressed.

The introductory chapters discuss the ebb and flow of Japanese educational policy, particularly the arrival of yutori education in the early 2000s, and the reaction against these reforms in the 2010s, and thus provide essential context. The core of the book are the empirical chapters, and it is here that Bjork shines. Chapter 3 thus describes the synonymous Nishiyama City where he conducted his research in six schools. Chapters 4–8 examine different aspects of the implementation of education reforms in schools, from the involvement of teachers in reforms (chapter 4), a focus on teachers in elementary schools (chapter 5) and middle schools (chapter 6), to the impact that policy implementation has had on students’ learning (chapter 7) and a discussion of a transformation of the relationship between students and teachers (chapter 8). The final three chapters zoom out from Japan and discuss comparisons across Asia (chapter 9), US teachers’ reactions to Japanese reform efforts and teaching (chapter 10), and a summary of and reflections on the findings (chapter 11) of Bjork’s research.

One of the puzzles that arises from Bjork’s descriptions of schools is that his interviews with teachers suggest that yutori education changed relatively little in elementary schools. In many ways, they were teaching in the “more relaxed” fashion encouraged by yutori education reforms already before these reforms. So, the introduction of the general study period (intended for project-based, more holistic instruction with greater connections to students’ surroundings and experience), in some ways forces a more rigid structure on teachers than what they had been accustomed to. This structure did not come with much support or resources for teachers to adapt to it, so it has been a source of tension among teachers.

By contrast, yutori education was designed to change teaching practices quite a bit in middle schools, but Bjork observed only limited implementation. The lack of training for implementation is one factor, but another important factor is teachers’ professional ethos and obligations. Ultimately, teachers face students in the classroom and feel some accountability to students and their parents. These in situ challenges point to tensions between the overall desire by policy-makers to move away from some of the rigidity of education, and the lack of movement in other aspects of the education system (like the high-stakes tests that still determine students’ futures in significant ways) that teachers find themselves faced with. There is also a pronounced sense that some of the changes are undermining teachers’ professional autonomy at a time when broader social changes are also reducing the authority inherent in the sensei position.

The broader insight we gain from Bjork’s research is that even in a seemingly top-down, unitary education system like that of Japan, where the national bureaucracy seems to hold a lot of power, all implementation of educational policy is local. The extent to which teachers buy into reform efforts thus not only determines the implementation of a policy, but also the significant variability in implementation from school to school or even classroom to classroom.

However, a book about “high stakes schooling,” as the title suggests, this is not. While Bjork conducted his research in the context of Japanese educational reforms that have long embodied an emphasis on testing, but have also shifted along with global policy-making that marches to the drum of the accountability beat, the schools he researches seem primarily to be resisting national policy-making and caught between much more local fronts of parents, neighbourhoods, and professional concerns.

But despite my misgivings about the title of this book, it is a terrific update on teaching practice and its relationship to national policy in contemporary Japan presented by a skilled researcher and thoughtful scholar.

Julian Dierkes, The University of British Columbia, Vancouver, Canada                                          

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THE JAPAN-SOUTH KOREA IDENTITY CLASH: East Asian Security and the United States. Contemporary Asia in the World. By Brad Glosserman and Scott A. Snyder. New York: Columbia University Press, 2015. xi, 218 pp. US$35.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-17170-0.

For the US, the South Korea-Japan relationship is a difficult puzzle since it has been constructed outside the classical framework of international relations. Despite South Korea and Japan’s similar national interests, well-developed trade networks, shared fundamental values, and cultural affinities, their bilateral relations have often degenerated into a downward spiral of uncontrollable conflict. Meanwhile, the US has had to efficiently utilize its alliance structure with South Korea and Japan, which has functioned as a cornerstone of US interests in East Asia, in order to overcome both internal and external threats, posed by its own budgetary crisis and the rise of China, respectively. This volume aims to address these challenges.

The coexistence of conflict and cooperation is one of the most significant and enduring characteristics in the history of South Korea-Japan relations. Thus, their bilateral relationship has often been regarded as an exceptional case, sitting outside of mainstream international relations theories. Notwithstanding the two countries’ common interest in responding to the threats posed by North Korea and an ascendant China, their relationship experienced an unprecedented stalemate in 2015, the year that marked the fiftieth anniversary of diplomatic normalization between the two states. Thus, even the institutionalization of economic networks and the convergence of values and culture between the two countries could not prevent their relationship from deteriorating.

In light of this difficult history, the authors present a novel approach to policy prescription by focusing on the respective national identities of Korea and Japan. This book is their attempt to go beyond the explanations provided by conventional international relations theories, such as realism, liberalism, and constructivism; arguably, they attempt to establish national identity as an international relations theory with a concrete scientific methodology, supported by their abundance of data made possible by improvements in the research environment.

Glosserman and Snyder first investigate the two countries’ national identities and trace observable movements in the process of identity construction through opinion poll data and in-depth interviews with political elites. The authors argue that changes in the two countries’ national identities can be traced to their domestic politics, which have adapted to new realities since the end of the Cold War. The authors point out that such identity reconstruction has become a critical challenge to US efforts at alliance policy coordination. According to the authors, by treating a change to the national identity of each country as an independent variable, the US can choose its policy options from the following six scenarios: regionalization of alliances, de facto trilateral alliance, status quo or “passive delinking,” a focus on one alliance at the expense of the other, alliance commitments without troop presence, and dismantling of the US-led alliance structure. The authors then suggest that the best option for the US is a shift from the third option of “passive delinking”—the status quo—to the second scenario of a de facto trilateral alliance aimed at reinvigoration ROK-Japan-US trilateralism. They conclude that the most important task is to normalize and further develop South Korea-Japan relations, “the weakest link” in the trilateral framework, and thus the US should actively engage in solving the issues related to the identity clash between the two.

The ultimate goal of this volume is to offer a recommendation for US policy towards East Asia. Whereas the early chapters focus on an analysis of South Korea-Japan bilateral ties based on theories of national identity, the later chapters address ways to share and promote the national interests of South Korea, Japan, and the US given the realities influenced by South Korea and Japan’s respective national identities.

On December 28, 2015, in the year of the fiftieth anniversary of the diplomatic normalization between South Korea and Japan, the two countries dramatically settled the “sex slave” issue, which had been the biggest impediment to harmonious bilateral ties. The role of the US in facilitating the settlement process was crucial. It seems like the authors’ academically inspired recommendations had been borne out by US policy. Several days later, on January 6, 2016, North Korea carried out its fourth nuclear test, and then on February 7 that state announced the successful launch of a rocket carrying an “earth observation satellite.” South Korea regarded this action as the launch of a virtual ballistic missile. This behaviour led to enhanced security cooperation between South Korea, Japan, and the US, creating pressure on China to affect a solution to North Korea’s behavior. This cooperation can be considered as the realization of a “minilateral solution,” one of the scenarios suggested by the authors. However, reality suggests a different possibility than the six scenarios offered in this book. It appears that signs of a shift from the initial stage of a South Korea-Japan-US trilateral alliance pressing China to a new “grand bargain” platform between the US and China to control North Korea’s nuclear pursuits has emerged. Hence, the authors’ efforts are only half successful—they unfold a new reality yet leave uncertainty in their predictive ability.

The authors’ personal backgrounds possibly influence their predictive capacity. Their research has focused on current issues in East Asia, with their interests rooted mainly in the real world rather than in the academic sphere. Glosserman and Snyder are well-known specialists of US relations with East Asian countries—concentrating respectively on Japan and Korea—and have published extensive work aimed at advising US policy in East Asia. This book is a condensed version of the work and knowledge that they have accumulated through their careers as analysts in think tanks rather than as theorists in academic circles, providing identifiable empirical data and material to support their arguments. Despite such strength in practicality, readers may feel frustration at the book’s weaker theoretical grounding, as the authors attempt to establish a new theory of international relations rooted in the notion of national identity. Therefore, I think the reader will get more information and insight from this volume by treating it as a policy recommendation regarding US policy toward East Asia rather than as a monograph for theoretical discussions of South Korea-Japan relations. The incorrect romanization of some Korean and Japanese terms, such as kakkashugi (15, kokkashugi), kimeraru seiji (57, kimerareru seiji), and N-sidae (75, N-sedae), is a minor shortcoming in this outstanding work.

Kijeong Nam, Seoul National University, Seoul, South Korea                                                           

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ANTI-AMERICANISM IN DEMOCRATIZING SOUTH KOREA. By David Straub. Stanford, CA: Walter H. Shorenstein Asia-Pacific Research Center, Stanford University, 2015. xv, 246 pp. US$18.95, paper. ISBN 978-1-931368-38-4.

Many were astonished by the massive anti-American candlelight vigils that occurred in front of Seoul City Hall in the winter of 2002. This phenomenon triggered policy and scholarly research on anti-Americanism in Korea, and predictions of a perpetually strained ROK-US alliance. Although Korea soon returned to being among the world’s most pro-American countries, few researchers examined why their predictions turned out to be inaccurate.

In the midst of the current “better than ever” alliance, David Straub, a career diplomat who spent the tumultuous years of 1999 to 2002 as political section director at the American Embassy in Seoul, has revisited this question after fifteen years. His book offers a rich overview of the historical background of Korea-US relations, followed by vivid, specific, and well-documented narration of several cases, including the Nogun-ri killings; American use of Agent Orange and formaldehyde; Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) revision; policy fissures on North Korea; the Korean short-track speed skater’s disqualification for interfering with his American rival at the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City; and the Highway 56 tragedy, where two Korean school girls were accidentally run over and killed by a US military armored vehicle culminating in mass anti-American street protests.

The author expresses his enormous frustration as an American embassy official at seeing little room for his government to ease public unrest at the time. Straub identifies four major sources of this unrest: Korean nationalism coupled with feelings of victimization at the hands of major powers; fierce media competition leading to sensationalist reporting that galvanized such nationalism; criticism of the US by so-called “386 Generation” reporters and editors, due to their conviction of American complicity in the 1980 Gwangju incident; and the empowerment of progressives and the 386 Generation to express anti-American sentiments, something that had been censored during the pre-democratization period in Korea (the term 386 Generation refers to those who were in their 30s at the time the term was coined, were university students in 1980s, and were born in 1960s).

The book concludes with a discussion of three salient policy issues: North Korea’s nuclear program, the Korea-Japan conflict, and the rise of China. The author also suggests that “the risk to the alliance would be greater if progressives were in power in Seoul” (218), while not completely precluding such a risk under a conservative government.

Anyone interested in anti-Americanism in Korea and elsewhere will appreciate Straub’s tremendous efforts to produce a relatively objective documentation of events, worthwhile not only as a record but also as a basis for further research regardless of ideological perspective. Although valuable in itself, subjective narration is much enhanced when communicated alongside other interpretations to ensure inter-subjectivity. This book review grants a privileged opportunity for dialogue between observers using two different lenses.

As a former Blue House staff member under Korean President Roh Moo-hyun, I could not agree more with Straub on two things: the sensational media distortion carried out by both conservative and progressive camps, and the potential for a resurgence of anti-American sentiment under a progressive Korean government—although chances of this are quite limited. However, while our conclusions are similar, Straub and I employ different logic to reach them (Kisuk Cho, “The Rise and Decline of South Korean anti-American Sentiment,” Korea Observer vol. 46, no. 2 [2015]).

I personally believe that the US government could have better mitigated anti-American sentiment had it been aware of the rising public voice and consequent importance of public relations, even in new democracies. Nonetheless, the US government cannot be blamed as it was not ready to conduct successful public diplomacy until after the redirection of foreign policy following the 9-11 attacks.

We are witnessing a paradigm shift from professional to public diplomacy due to the widespread democratization of communications technology. However, the Bush Administration was unpopular around the world during the period covered by this book, when American diplomats and military personnel were unequipped to deal with angry publics, particularly in a low-trust society like Korea. Further, diplomats had never previously needed such skills because Korea had been predominantly pro-American regardless of American policy directions.

It was US Ambassador Christopher Hill who first started using social media to communicate directly with the Korean public, with subsequent ambassadors following suit. After the 2002 protests, Koreans felt heard by Washington even in appointments of American ambassadors to Korea, and polls showed an ever-increasing favourability toward  the US among Koreans.

Straub aptly identifies potential issues in the rise of anti-American sentiment in Korea, but an issue with even more detrimental potential could be THAAD (Terminal High-Altitude Area Defense), even under the current conservative Korean government and in the context of the North Korean sinking of the South Korean Navy corvette Cheonan. If a progressive Korean government were to take power, people would likely demand an investigation into the real cause behind the sinking of the Cheonan and the role of the US government, as they do not trust the South Korean government’s claim of North Korean culpability. This does not mean a progressive Korean government would provoke anti-American sentiment among Koreans, as the author implies. Rather, the progressive party would find it difficult to defy its principles of democracy and transparency in dealing with such issues.

It is regrettable that the author views former president Roh through the lens of the partisan Korean media, even after criticizing its vicious sensationalism, and makes two mistaken assertions regarding Roh. First, the claim that “the anti-American mood was a decisive factor in Roh’s narrow victory,” has been refuted by Byong-Kuen Jhee (“Anti-Americanism and Electoral Politics in Korea,” Political Science Quarterly vol. 123, no. 2 [2008]).

Second, his ascription of “the end of the anti-American eruption” to “President Roh’s weaknesses as a leader” (207) ignores the fact that protests abruptly died down after President Bush’s informal apology. He also states that “Roh was a ‘progressive,’ famous for being highly critical of the United States,” who “seemed to consider it a badge of honor that he had never set foot in the country” (4), but the truth is more nuanced. Critics insisted that candidate Roh was unqualified to be president because he was inexperienced in foreign relations as he had never set foot in the US, and thus Roh rebutted: “I will not visit the US to take a picture with high-ranking officials,” a statement meant to ridicule the critics, not the US. He stated that pro-Americanism and anti-Americanism were different sides of the same coin, stemming from a lack of self-confidence and toadyism.

As the author admits, “[i]ronically, however, Korean attitudes began to improve dramatically even as Presidents Bush and Roh were still in office” (5). President Roh always claimed the alliance should be based on mutual interests, in line with Straub’s position. This book triggers genuine dialogue between different viewpoints on the Korea-US alliance, which I am certain it will foster better understanding and mutual cooperation.

Kisuk Cho, Ewha Womans University, Seoul, Korea                                                                           

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THE LONG DEFEAT: Cultural Trauma, Memory, and Identity in Japan. By Akiko Hashimoto. New York: Oxford University Press, 2015. xii, 192 pp. US$24.50, paper. ISBN 978-0-19-023916-9.

In 2015 the world marked the seventieth anniversary of the end of World War II. This timely volume examines the complexity of Japanese war memories being handed down within contemporary Japan. The discussion comes completely up to date, even addressing early stages of the debates regarding collective self-defense that dominated domestic news in the summer of 2015. Japanese war memories are a topic that simply will not go away—academically, politically and personally—and Akiko Hashimoto’s book is an important addition to the burgeoning literature.

Hashimoto’s work is rooted in a sociological approach and revolves around a number of key concepts. The idea of cultural trauma permeates the work. Hashimoto argues (citing Jeffrey Alexander), that for Japanese the war was “a horrendous event that leaves indelible marks upon their group consciousness” (4). Within this context, divided narratives have emerged that focus on fallen national heroes, tragic victims of defeat and perpetrators (8). At the root of the fissures are two key questions: Why did we fight an unwinnable war? Why did they kill and die for a lost cause? (2) Employing a method of shadow comparisons (drawing on literature and concepts from other case studies of cultural trauma; 20), Hashimoto’s analysis works toward a final chapter in which she considers Japan’s three choices: nationalism, pacifism and reconciliationism (124). These are all key themes and concepts, and consciously placing Japan’s war experiences within an international comparative context on theoretical and empirical levels is an important contribution of the book.

These themes are explored in three case study chapters. Chapter 2 discusses personal narratives and family memories. Chapter 3 looks at representations of heroes, victims and perpetrators in the popular media. Chapter 4 considers school education, textbooks and educational manga.

I found the analysis to be quite uneven throughout these central chapters. In general, Hashimoto’s analysis was strongest in her nuanced textual analysis of particular works: the insights into testimonies of war experiences in chapter 2; the critical analysis in chapter 3 of debates among Japanese scholars on issues of war responsibility, particularly over “perpetrator-cum-victim” consciousness (79); and discussion of war education not simply as a matter of history education but within the broader curriculum, including civics education (98). These discussions contained many important insights discussed in the framework of culture trauma and broader international contexts.

The problems of unevenness in these chapters largely stem from methodological issues. The testimonies in chapter 2 were taken from letters to the Asahi newspaper and magazine Bungei Shunju (deemed to represent grassroots testimonies and elite testimonies, respectively; 28). Given the mass of testimony collected by many actors, focusing exclusively on testimonies published by two media sources with clear ideological stances seems limited, even though the individual testimonies, once selected, were sensitively analyzed thereafter. A similar problem exists in chapter 3. Various documentaries and two films (Last Operation Under the Orion and Eternal Zero) were presented, but why these particular works were selected was unclear.

However, my biggest concern relates to the analysis of newspapers. The problem seems to be encapsulated in an error relating to Yasukuni Shrine worship by Prime Minister Koizumi. Hashimoto writes: “On August 15, 2005, at the 60th anniversary of the end of the war when Koizumi visited the Yasukuni Shrine, all national newspaper editorials except the Sankei newspaper focused directly on the question of war responsibility” (63). Koizumi’s war-end anniversary visit to Yasukuni Shrine was in 2006, not 2005. The mistake in the date is not crucial in itself, but it raises questions about the rigor of the analysis of newspaper content. Scrutiny of the endnotes revealed a survey of war reporting that lacked any kind of systematic or comprehensive approach.

If chapter 3 was the weak link, then chapter 4 was the highlight. The survey of textbooks was on much more solid methodological ground. A large sample of textbooks was surveyed and the data was pulled together well. The analysis extended to museums, civics textbooks and educational manga, giving a holistic view of the types of materials Japanese children are exposed to during their education.

In the final chapter, Hashimoto assesses three approaches for “Japan to move forward”—nationalism, pacifism and reconciliationism—and situates them as “direct logical extensions of the three memory narratives” (123–124), namely Japanese as heroes, victims, and perpetrators. Tracing the implications of Japan’s war experiences into its contemporary relations in Asia and beyond is vital for understanding the politics of the region. But, the framing left me asking myself, “So if these are the approaches, which option is ‘Japan’ pursuing now?” The answer seems to be either “none,” or “a little bit of all of them.” Missing, therefore, is a coherent explanation of how the complex interactions between competing individual and collective narratives in society shape the official narrative, which ultimately is the single greatest factor determining how the world views Japan, and thereby the external pressures Japan faces on history issues that in turn contribute to the perpetuation of the cultural trauma.

In sum, this is an uneven book. Its greatest strengths are at the micro level in the sensitive readings of key texts and their situation within international discourses on cultural trauma. Its greatest weaknesses are its media analysis methodology and under-theorization of the big political picture. The result is a text that oscillates between moments of deep insight and vagueness or incompleteness. Part of me, however, felt that on occasions this juxtaposition was highly evocative of the nature of Japanese debates on the war, so that in atmosphere, if not always in argument, this book had captured the essence of its subject.

Philip Seaton, Hokkaido University, Sapporo, Japan

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IDENTITY CHANGE AND FOREIGN POLICY: Japan and its ‘others’. Edited by Linus Hagström. London; New York: Routledge, 2016. xi, 166 pp. (Graphs.) US$160.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-138-93160-2.

Since the end of WWII, Japan’s “abnormal” foreign policy has been a matter of continuing academic analysis and debate. Norm constructivists attempt to explain Japan’s international relations by employing the concept of identity. They claim that “pacifist” and “antimilitarist” standards, culture, and traditions have served to construct the country’s identity. However, this seemingly entrenched security policy has begun to evolve since the end of the Cold War despite norm constructivists maintaining that an established national identity is inherently stable. Given this observed policy change, one may begin to question the continuing validity of their claim. Linus Hagström’s edited volume, Identity Change and Foreign Policy: Japan and its ‘Others’, contributes to this debate by re-examining the claims made by norm constructivists. The volume aims to explain Japan’s changing policy in the post-Cold War period by employing an interpretation heavily dependent on a concept of “relational” identity.

As defined by the editor, this analytical framework employs a “process of differentiation vis-à-vis ‘Others’” (1). While norm constructivists perceive the change of Japan’s “pacifist” identity as deriving from an “external shock,” “relational” constructivists argue that the role played by material factors is indeterminate. It is because, they contend, “the meaning ascribed to material conditions does not necessarily follow from the ‘brute facts’” (16). Playing down the role and impact of material factors on policy change, the chapters of the book argue that identity entrepreneurs exploiting emotions such as anger, threat, and insult, create drivers precipitating identity change. This altered identity then produces the ensuing condition that promotes a policy change—in this case, strengthening Japan’s military. Hagström uses the volume’s introductory chapter to lay out a theoretical framework of identity. Ensuing chapters examine Japan’s relations with “other” Asian states to validate the employed theoretical framework by means of detailed case studies.

These empirical chapters explain the process of identity change by describing the distinction between a rational and democratic “self” versus competing emotional and unreasonable ‘others’. For instance, South Korea is conceived as an “other” that is inevitably “inferior” to Japan. However, South Korea’s economic development in the 2000s disturbed the existing balance of bilateral relations between Japan and South Korea. This disruption threatened Japan’s ontological security. China is similarly depicted as a “negative Other” that is persistently “bullying” Japan thus portrayed as a peaceful, innocent victim. This action gives rise to negative emotions such as feelings of shame and insult, which in turn contributes to identity change. North Korea in turn is described as a treacherous “other” that conducted acts of abduction. This betrayal provided the Japanese with the justification for shifting its identity from “aggressor” to “victim.” Forced to face such “difficult neighbors,” Japan’s post-war identity as a peaceful state is “more easily portrayed as mistaken and ‘abnormal’ and it might therefore have to be abandoned or at least altered” to deal with the difficulties (17). The alternation of identity then provided the grounds for a policy modification.

The book partly succeeds in illustrating the process of policy change in a manner that norm constructivists fail to achieve. The contributors accept the claim that Japan was “abnormal” and “pacifist.” They exclude, however, the impact of material factors, instead utilizing the role that emotions play in driving any requisite identity change. In turn, this alternation functions to precipitate Japan’s policy shifts. Based on their analysis, they contend that relational constructivism is “theoretically more sound than the identity concept espoused by the norm constructivists” (16). Ultimately, however, the argument is not fully convincing. The book does succeed in providing a detailed description allowing for an incisive interpretation of “others” in a variety of cases. Unfortunately, the volume fails to take into account any other factors. Therefore, readers may fail to be convinced that identity transformation is a crucial factor driving transformations in policy. An argument claiming that identity tends to be stable seems reasonable. However, in such a case, policy change would not happen frequently. Such an assertion though is contrary to any reliable observations. Japan’s security policy did change considerably in the 1990s.

The volume also fails to detail exactly how identity change yields policy change. For example, chapter 4 claims that abduction issues transformed Japan’s identity from a personal consciousness defined by an “aggressor” to that of a “peaceful victim.” The identity change then made physical “sanctions towards ‘dissenters’ seem both reasonable and justified” (87). However, there is no substantial evidence supplied linking identity change with the transformation in Japan’s policy. Rather, considering North Korea’s policy brinkmanship exemplified by its missile launch and continuing nuclear development program, the Japanese government’s tougher attitude towards North Korea appears to be a rational reaction seeking to bolster its national security. The rise of nationalist journalists and politicians may be merely a response to the changing environment and predicaments rather than a product of identity change. It may facilitate such a shift without being its origin. Likewise, while it is plausible to conclude that China’s “bullying” role was a trigger for Japan’s identity change, which precipitated a subsequent policy alteration, the transformation might be more simply described as a reasonable response to material factors such as China’s economic and military rise and its corresponding aggressiveness. The contributors employed a carefully culled set of statements to describe Japan’s interpretations of “others.” However, they tend to focus on a narrow selection by nationalists or right wing politicians and journalists. By employing what can be characterized as a biased sample, they consequently weaken the persuasiveness of their own argument.

Nevertheless, elucidating the role that charged emotions may play in modifying existing policy is a welcome addition to the literature. Hitherto, existing analysis has largely ignored any emotional factors. This study marks an advance in the ongoing identity debates. It succeeds in giving us a new perspective with which to analyze policy change in terms of identity.

Kyoko Hatakeyama, Kansai Gaidai University, Osaka, Japan                                                        

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CASUALTIES OF HISTORY: Wounded Japanese Servicemen and the Second World War. Studies of the Weatherhead East Asian Institute, Columbia University. By Lee K. Pennington. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2015. xviii, 282 pp., [8] pp. of colored plates (Figures, tables.) US$39.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8014-5257-4.

Studies focused on wounded soldiers and physically disabled veterans of the Imperial Japanese Army (IJA) have been largely absent from both Japanese mainstream narratives and English scholarship. Pennington’s work breaks through this silence. Placing these men in the historical shift of Japanese institutions and welfare services from the 1890s to 1952, the author illustrates how they became casualties of war and later “doubly casualties of history” (16). In particular, this project reveals two distinct dimensions of Japan’s war history: the institutions that existed to treat and rehabilitate these men, and the status of the men themselves, seen by the Japanese state as an integral component of the mobilization effort during the war. This research is a vital addition to studies of war and battlefield experiences from the perspective of the defeated.

The use of a rich set of materials widens the scope of the study, including first-hand accounts, medical-related materials, institutional resources, war memoirs, and popular media. For instance, Pennington integrates IJA Physician-Captain Kawahara Kaiichirō’s memoir The Fighting Artificial Arm (1941), which enables readers to perceive how soldiers came to be wounded, how they were treated on the battlefield and at the home front, and how they interacted on a day-to-day basis with other veterans and people in wider society.

The book is divided into three major periods: prewar (1890s-1937), total war (1937-1945), and the Allied Occupation (1945-1952). Although the main focus of this study is the period of total war, Pennington begins with an exploration of military support in the prewar period, arguing that significant progress was achieved during this time. The Japanese state had previously preferred private assistance, and relied on financial contributions and support from civic associations. Following the Russo-Japanese War in 1904-1905, military assistance became a state-driven concern, initiating the establishment of military pensions, the Crippled Soldiers Institute, and the Military Assistance Law. These foundations became an important part of the rise in extensive care for veterans during war.

Another vital element in this period is the state’s shifting perception of wounded and disabled veterans. Particularly, soldiers who fought during the Russo-Japanese War were called “crippled soldiers” and were considered passive recipients of welfare services, incapable of acting for the nation. However, the Japanese state officially re-labelled them as “disabled veterans” in the 1930s, thereby removing negative connotations. Such a change was derived from the state’s need to enlarge mobilization for the imminent total war.

The volume’s major contribution is found in the following two chapters: the first is concerned with the sophisticated medical system at overseas battlefronts and the second with the comprehensive care at home between 1937 and 1941. Pennington demonstrates how the military medical system, and its echelon IJA medical care facilities, were well established at the war front in China, enabling the wounded to be evacuated from the battle lines and receive treatment from field surgeons and medics. Integrating logistics and military medicine, his investigation overturns what Ruth Benedict represents in her well-known work, Chrysanthemum and the Sword—that the standard of the IJA’s medical treatment was wretched.

Similarly, Pennington examines the care services administered for amputees at Tokyo Number Three, a provisional army hospital described as similar to a military barrack. The amputees who were sent back from the theatre of war received physical, vocational, and spiritual rehabilitation at the hospital. The disabled men practiced a variety of exercise therapies from daily calisthenics to sports in order to strengthen their bodies. Functional artificial arms were developed and granted to these men, and vocational training using prostheses was also offered. Spiritual training involved creative activities such as ikebana and tanka, and entertainment from external performers. Such programs were intended to reframe these men as imperial subjects rather than relegating them to the periphery of society.

Focusing on the period between 1937 and 1945, the next two chapters elucidate the favourable treatment given to disabled men who sacrificed their limbs for the sake of the nation. Not only were fully fledged welfare services available to the wounded and disabled veterans, they were also presented as physically capable actors and heroic figures. Pennington employs the term “extraordinary treatment” (174) to characterize the response of the state and wider society. Depictions of these men were positive, affirming, and respectful.

The lives of the defeated soldiers after 1945 are the subject of the final chapter. War casualties, which until this point had been particular to military servicemen, became pervasive among Japanese civilians toward the end of the war. Against this backdrop, Pennington describes how the preferential wartime system for the wounded and disabled men was shattered by the Allied occupation’s introduction of equal welfare services for the needy under its demilitarization and democratization efforts. Additionally, the war-bereaved families became major political actors, as they were depicted as “acceptable icons of sacrifice” (198) after the defeat. These circumstances resulted in a decline in the special status granted to disabled veterans during wartime.

Pennington’s achievement fills a lacuna in studies on Japanese wounded soldiers and disabled veterans of World War II by examining the history of soldiers conscripted by the wartime state. With his fascinating insight into war history, he extensively examines the lives, experiences, and representation of these men in mass culture, and their institutional surroundings. His observations on wartime Japan fit within a broad study that illuminates contrasting aspects of the war in the dark valley. Furthermore, this book benefits Japanese scholarship as, to date, attention to this subject has been anything but voluminous and has been inclined to focus on rather short periods and restricted topics. With these reasons, Casualties of History should attract a large audience with an interest in war history and the history of casualties.

Aiko Otsuka, University of Cambridge, Cambridge, United Kingdom                                              

JAPANESE AND RUSSIAN POLITICS: Polar Opposites or Something in Common? Asia Today. Edited by Takashi Inoguchi. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. x, 224 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$100.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-137-48844-2.

This edited volume seeks to compare the domestic and foreign policies of the two countries. The volume is comprised of ten chapters written by Japanese and Russian scholars and is divided into five sections with two chapters in each.

The section titled Japanese Politics is concerned mostly with the processes that led to the defeat of the conservative Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) in 2009, the various domestic and international issues that the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ) faced during their three years’ rule and the return of the LDP to power in 2012. The section titled Russian Politics is devoted to examining the obstacles to President Medvedev’s project of modernizing Russia and analyzing the nature of Putin and Medvedev’s “tandemocracy” in 2008-2012.

The next section is titled Japan and Russia Economics. The first chapter in this section examines the causes of Japan’s economic recession in the 1990s and 2000s, and analyzes the so-called Abenomics: Prime Minister Abe’s plan to revitalize Japan’s economy. The second chapter revisits the question of Russia’s modernization and examines the various proposals and plans to modernize Russia’s economy during Medvedev’s presidency and the structural challenges these plans face.

Sections 5 and 6 focus on the foreign policies of Russia and Japan today. The first chapter in the Japan section mostly critiques DPJ’s foreign policy towards the US and China while the second chapter offers an overview of the Russian perceptions of Japan’s foreign policy in general and the US-Japan alliance in particular. Both of the chapters in the Russia section portray its foreign policy as reactive and, while offering a broad survey of post-Soviet Russian international relations, devote a special section to Russia’s relations with Japan.

As is often the case with edited volumes, the quality of the chapters varies greatly. Some, like Dmitry Streltsov’s chapter on political parties in Japan or Nobuo Shimotomai’s take on Putin and Medvedev’s “tandemocracy,” provide original and thought-provoking interpretations of the two countries’ domestic politics. Some of the other chapters are more polemic and prescriptive rather than analytical. The biggest problem of this edited volume however is that it is not driven by any coherent comparative framework, and thus lacks cohesion. Furthermore, each of the chapters focuses on one of the countries in question and none of the chapters attempt to engage in a comparative analysis between Japan and Russia. Thus the reader is left to wonder regarding the purpose of collecting scholarship on Japan and Russia in one volume, or, alternatively, to draw one’s own conclusions about the similarities and differences between the two.

No doubt, from a historical perspective the two countries share more commonalities than is usually assumed. Both were latecomers to modernity and started not only their political and economic reforms but also the process of nation building in the second half of the nineteenth century. Well into the twentieth century, both Japan and Russia were seen as outsiders by the Western powers and regardless of occasional alliances were not construed as equal members of the international society. In both cases national identity constructs were shaped to a large extent by the peripheral position attributed to their respective nations in the Western worldview. In the twentieth century, both Japan and Soviet Russia revolted against the West and, while the end of the Cold War can hardly be compared to the way Japan’s quest for the Greater Asia Co-prosperity Sphere has ended, both were defeated.

Some of these historical similarities are noted by the editor on pages 3 to 5. The focus of the volume however is on contemporary politics and economics and none of the chapters make any reference to the historical similarities mentioned above. It is probably possible to see certain ideological similarities between Prime Minister Abe and President Putin and the one-party rule of the LDP and United Russia. It is also possible to argue that both countries are facing serious economic challenges, as the chapters in section 4 suggest. It is also possible to argue that the foreign policies of both Japan and Russia are more reactive than proactive. The question, however, is whether these similarities offer a deeper understanding of the issues faced by both countries or are they merely superficial. In my view, the academic merit of exploring the similarities that can be discerned from this volume is negligible. After all, can we really compare the LDP to the United Russia: the former arguably created Abe while the latter was Putin’s creation? Can we draw parallels between the advanced economy of Japan, and Russia, which relies heavily on income from exporting oil and gas? Is there any meaningful semblance between Japan’s US-centred foreign policy and Russia’s attempts to position itself as a contender to US global hegemony? To the best of my understanding, the answer to all of these questions is negative. Thus while some chapters in this volume do offer certain valuable insights into Japan and Russia in the early 2010s, the question posed in the subtitle of the book is all but superfluous. Today’s Japan and Russia are not polar opposites but they also do not share any deep commonalities. They are simply too different to compare.

Alexander Bukh, Victoria University of Wellington, Wellington, New Zealand                          

South Asia and the Himalayas


FIGHTING TO THE END: The Pakistan Army’s Way of War. By C. Christine Fair. New York: Oxford University Press, 2014. x, 338 pp. (Illustrations, maps.) US$34.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-19-989270-9.

Security is a relational phenomenon; it involves the capabilities, desires, and fears of one state vis-à-vis its counterpart. The desire for security is a defensive and self-preserving response to the threat of external harm. However, some propose that there are states that will always pose a mutual threat. In this regard, Pakistan, born in a hostile environment, continues to face serious challenges to its security from its primary adversary, India. Most importantly, the “trust deficit” that exists between Pakistan and India will never be eradicated until the Kashmir issue is resolved. Thus, Pakistan is in the process of enhancing its military capabilities to boost its psychological confidence and national morale.

In this context, C. Christine Fair has written an interesting book and provided a comparative evaluation of Pakistan’s strategic culture and security complexes, but in a very aggressively anti-Pakistan style. The author has also disregarded India’s frustrated desire for domination, its history of invasions and annexation of Pakistani sovereign territory, and chosen instead to focus critically on Pakistan, creating an impression that Islamabad is hostile and arrogant. However, the book constitutes a unique study in terms of assisting the reader to understand the nature of Pakistan’s security dilemmas. The author presents the idea that Pakistan was born insecure and continues to experience a security deficit vis-à-vis India. The author narrates the idea of security and essentially endorses the Indian factor as a legitimate instrument of security by Pakistan’s security establishment, which beautifully furnished the conceptual parameters of using religion to form a relatively inexpensive fighting force to defend the country. The author seems antagonistic in her depiction of Pakistan’s security panorama though she comprehensively discusses the developments and self-perceived objectives of the state security apparatus.

This book consists of eleven chapters, excluding appendix, notes, references, and index. The author covers a wide range of issues and establishes linkages between history, politics, and domestic vulnerabilities. She critically analyses the connection between Pakistan’s security policies and its ideology under its conservative civil-military establishment, an ideology that has worked as an operational force for national defense and as a form of psychological warfare. According to the author, during the Cold War, Pakistan used its US partnership as an excellent opportunity to take advantage of Washington’s desperate need to contain communism. Under the pretext of partnership, Islamabad accessed US military capabilities and other vital facilities to expand its influence and strengthen its bargaining position vis-à-vis India, much as Israel has done. India has proven the beneficiary of US support in the post-Cold War era.

In the introduction, the author deals with the nature of Pakistan’s security perception, which dominates its political landscape. Here the country has adopted strategies of guerilla warfare, proxy warfare, and low-intensity warfare as instruments against India. From this perspective, Fair mentions that Pakistan’s policy remains to convey the message to New Delhi that Islamabad will not accept its domination, and India must treat Pakistan as an equal, and thus that India must settle the Kashmir issue either through a plebiscite or by mutual arrangement. In chapters two and three the author criticizes the Pakistan military’s revisionist policy that antagonizes India. The author also explores how Pakistan’s policy makers are prisoners of the past, and how the country’s strategic culture is a reflection of a colonial legacy and shambolic economy.

In chapters four and five the author broadly explains the role of religion (Islam) in the creation of Pakistan and how the Pakistan military later took on the responsibility of defending the country’s ideological boundaries. According to the author, the Pakistan military established links with religious militants they considered to be an effective third line of defense. The author also unconvincingly argues how the Pakistan military is locked in by a colonial strategic culture to defend the country and treats Afghanistan with “strategic depth” to counter the Indian threat.

In chapters six and seven the author elaborates on how India and Indians (Hindus) are portrayed negatively as aliens in Pakistan’s socio-cultural literature. According to the author, the anti-India/Hindu narratives are successfully disseminated through electronic media, books, radio, and newspapers and thoroughly integrated into Pakistan’s education system, thereby successfully indoctrinating the populace. The author further analyzes the US strategic relationship with Pakistan, arguing it is based purely on selfish interests, while China, by contrast, is described as an enduring and reliable friend of Pakistan.

In chapters eight and nine the author explores the role of nuclear weapons in Pakistan’s strategic culture and how they have strengthened Pakistan’s leadership in the Muslim world. The author optimistically admits that Pakistan’s nuclear arsenals reduce its foreign dependence, especially on the United States, while increasing its bargaining position with India and Afghanistan. The author explicitly argues how nuclear weapons have given tremendous psychological confidence to the country and how its security establishment uses militants as an operational strategic shield for Kashmir. In chapters ten and eleven the author elaborates on the circumstances behind Pakistani policy makers radically changing the philosophy of “revisionism” and their ultimate reliance on militants (Islamic proxies), which have served as strategic assets and helped Pakistan avoid direct confrontation with India.

This work is a thought provoking contribution to the study of Pakistan’s security dilemmas, providing interesting narratives, though partially selective in its arguments. Moreover, the book proves a cogent and well-referenced source of information on Pakistan’s strategic culture. It is a critical study on the history of the Pakistan-India confrontation and to be recommended to scholars, researchers, and students of politics, history, international relations, security, and war studies.

A. Z. Hilali, University of Peshawar, Peshawar, Pakistan


POVERTY AND THE QUEST FOR LIFE: Spiritual and Material Striving in Rural India. By Bhrigupati Singh. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015. xiii, 335 pp. (Illustrations, map.) US$27.50, paper. ISBN 978-0-22619-454-7.

Bhrigupati Singh’s ethnography of an impoverished region in Rajasthan is a rich and thought-provoking account of Shahabad, a remote area of disappearing forests in Rajasthan inhabited by former bonded labourers (Sahariyas), among other groups. Shahabad was known for a series of starvation deaths in 2001 to 2003 and Singh went there to understand life amidst deprivation and scarcity. But the account that he renders seeks to show the possibilities for abundant life even within such a bleak context, challenging standard definitions of poverty put forward by economists.

In a time where research is dominated by what Singh terms “new” India books, it is important to have accounts from rural India. I read the book as an interesting combination of the new and old, perhaps reflecting the current state of anthropology as a discipline. One the one hand, the book is structured like the older tradition of “village studies” in its holistic emphasis on the interrelation of very different domains, or “thresholds of life” as he puts it (“this book is a rhizome, growing in different directions” 3). The book moves from historical context—and a real strength of the book is a consistent historicizing of the domains studied—to spirit possession, from development efforts to asceticism, from dietary change, fashion, and erotic intimacies (affairs) to local deities and the question of poverty.

While ethnographically structured in the mode of village studies, much of the book is focused on engaging current theoretical concerns such as sovereignty, ethics, and the religious-secular divide. Its pervasive use of the first person and literary-philosophical writing style, drawing especially from Deleuze and Nietzsche, will be a point of diverging tastes among readers. The book is populated with concepts such as “political theologies,” “thresholds of life,” “intensities,” “potencies/potential” and a Nietzschian/Deleuzian conception of “life” (282-293). While written in an undeniably compelling and skillful manner, the frequent movement from the specific to the abstract and self-reflection—most pronounced in a conclusion written as a question and answer between himself and a Yaksa spirit (whose appearance in a dream apparently initiated the study)—will captivate and alienate readers respectively. One the one hand, the book makes the most consistent and comprehensive use of Deleuze in any ethnographic analysis I have read. But many readers may find this philosophical self-reflection unsettling, especially given the context of starvation deaths, hunger, and history (as well as apparently current practices) of bonded labour.

There is also a danger that such wide-ranging topics of study could gloss over important dynamics even if it does succeed in conveying a wider sense of the ways in which people conceptualize the quality of life. And Singh’s use of highly abstract concepts, while allowing new perspectives to emerge and not over-determining analysis, does risk concealing these dynamics. For example, in a fascinating account of the festival of Holi, an altercation started by alleged sexual harassment of Sahariya women by a government officer who was in the village to visit his lover, a village ration-shop dealer (ration-shops are tasked with providing highly subsidized food grains to poor households to prevent hunger), spirals into a near riot, police brutality, a protest movement, and court struggle. Singh describes this as reflecting a “circulation of agonistic intensities” (162). But especially given the context of hunger and what appears to be a dealer-bureaucrat-police nexus, it seems to me that this incident demands greater scrutiny. At the very least, this case suggests that the dynamics of the state and “sovereignty” are more complex than Singh’s concept of “Mitra-Varuna,” a paring drawn from Hindu mythology indicating the state’s dual nature of welfare and force (although such a distinction could be as easily taken from Machiavelli or even Gramsci). If as complex and multi-layered a “political theology” as that provided in the study of local deities were applied to this case, I suspect sovereignty would look rather different. Singh wants to move beyond the “dominance-resistance” dichotomy and his concept of “agonistic intimacy” does provide subtlety and complexity to overly simplistic activist accounts (although these conceptions are also part of the field). But although Singh lives at the offices of Sankalp, an activist NGO, and devotes an entire chapter to Kalli, an activist, the struggles and contestations that are taking place and appear to be a driving force of change in the region do not really figure into Singh’s conception of sovereignty and “agonistic intimacy.”

The end of the book contains what I found to be the most compelling chapters. These centre on in-depth and fascinating accounts of the lives of two exceptional people, Kalli, a Sahariya woman activist and Bansi, a con man/holy man. Singh portrays the lives of these individuals, and Bansi in particular, as embodying plentitude amidst scarcity. It is through Kalli and Bansi’s lives that Singh attempts to demonstrate his central argument, that there are diverse ways of living a “good life” that are ignored by mainstream development thinking. And with so much ground covered, both conceptually and in terms of topics studied, this book does succeed in compelling us to rethink how the quality of life is understood.

Jeffrey Witsoe, Union College, Schenectady, USA                                                                              


PLURALISM AND DEMOCRACY IN INDIA: Debating the Hindu Right. Edited by Wendy Doniger, Martha C. Nussbaum. New York: Oxford University Press, 2015. xiii, 384 pp. (Illustrations.) US$35.00, paper. ISBN 9780195395532.

Nineteen distinguished contributors assess the threat to Indian pluralism posed by majoritarian intolerance from the Hindu right which seeks to achieve hegemony. They mainly focus on public culture: ideas and imaginings. They argue that pluralistic values have not percolated down adequately to ordinary folk who are therefore vulnerable to a narrow, Hindu chauvinist homogenization of culture and society. They discuss history, religion, politics, civil society, minorities, the media, gender, and much else.

This collection was completed as Narendra Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) government took power in mid-2104 and, aided by affiliated organizations, set about recasting public culture. Subsequent events lend credence to the authors’ concerns, but they also indicate that the Hindu right faces obstacles that this book underemphasizes.

Contributors rightly worry that too little has been done, in Gurcharan Das’s words, to “combine our liberal modernity with our traditions” (209). “[M]odern, liberal Indians … may abdicate [their past] to the narrow, closed minds of the fanatical Hindu nationalists.” Rightists seek to impose a hierarchy on a “non-hierarchical pantheon” (211). They propagate a “shrunken, defensive, and inaccurate version of history” (208) and a diluted, simplified parody of India’s diverse culture.

Most contributors have a rather narrow focus, so that the overall assessment is strangely incomplete, often concentrating on “high” public culture and the concerns of the middle-class minority. What Tanika Sarkar calls the “capillaries” (285), the lowest reaches, of society are examined in only a few chapters. Sarkar stresses Hindu extremists’ very real impact at that level, but other things are also happening there which raise doubts about the right’s prospects.

The fate of India’s social and political pluralism will be determined not just at the level of “high” public culture, but—more crucially—at a more mundane level. In this society of unequalled complexity, diverse subcultures engage in multiple contestations that resist regimentation. Political and social institutions, and material realities, impede homogenization and intolerance. We get glimpses of these things here, but they deserve more attention. This society is not deeply imbued with liberal values, but pluralism and (for the most part) reasonably civilized social and political interactions are sustained by a formidable array of tangible realities which will not be easily subverted.

Consider what Hindu chauvinists’ drive for hegemony is up against. At the level of ideas and imaginings, they face a potent impediment: ironically, traditional Hinduism. A myriad of local gods and heterodoxies defy efforts by Hindu extremists to homogenize, and to impose an alien hierarchy on that “non-hierarchical” Hindu pantheon. As Wendy Doniger writes, this Hinduism “of the pluralistic, creative sort, remains in the majority” (311).

Rightists are also impeded by a strong, enduring tendency, firmly established by reliable opinion surveys, towards blessed inconstancy in Indians’ attitudes to their identities. They shift their preoccupations from one of their many identities to another, and then another, often and with great fluidity—bad news for Hindu nationalists who seek to fix their attention on their religious identity.

We must look beneath high—and high-minded—public culture. The subsoil in which India’s pluralistic socio-political order is rooted consists of things that are more mundane but more dependable: the tangible needs, realities and experiences of ordinary people, and their attendant perceptions and habits of mind, giving rise to another, less exalted public culture. This falls short of the “liberal religion and liberal spiritual culture” which Martha Nussbaum would like to see (53). But just as ordinary Indians need not be literates for pluralist democracy to survive, it is unnecessary that they be liberals.

Amrita Basu (91) quotes Charles Taylor’s argument, first, that “being citizens has to rate as an important component of who they [citizens] are,” and then for the need “to shift the balance within the identity of the modern citizen, so that being a citizen will take precedence over a host of other poles of identity.”

Plentiful evidence indicates that in India, the first of these things exists in strength. Voters have repeatedly punished ineffective or abusive governments that violated tacit understandings with citizens. Witness the post-Emergency landslide (1977) at the national level, and voters’ repeated humiliations of vile state governments.

But Taylor’s second requirement has not been fulfilled. Being citizens seldom takes precedence over “other poles of identity.” This may sound like a threat to democracy, but in practice, it is not, because of the fluidity with which they shift their preoccupations among various identities. Those shifts often occur not because ordinary people/voters are liberals, but because many governments fail to address their mundane concerns.

Winning control of governments is essential both in validating the Hindu right and in enabling its drive for hegemony. But it is a marginal force in 40 percent of India, and often fails to gain power elsewhere. When it wields executive power, it is unable to dominate key political institutions—the courts, the Election Commission, lower-level councils, etc.—which have gained great substance and backbone since 1989 and resist subjugation.

More seriously, the right is often unable to retain power, because of poor performance. At this writing in mid-2016, disappointing performances by the Modi government at the national level and by BJP governments in several states, threaten to alienate many of India’s discerning, impatient voters. To grasp this, we must understand what constitutes good “performance.” Sarkar notes that the only state where the BJP has held power for three successive terms is Gujarat, as a result of religious polarization after the 2002 pogrom. She argues that this “carries a dangerous lesson: excess and not moderation in violence may be its most effective weapon” (285). Since she wrote that, BJP governments in two other states have lasted three terms by downplaying Hindu extremism, and by concentrating on development and service delivery. Outside polarizable Gujarat, that sort of “performance” is the BJP’s best hope.

But several BJP state governments elected amid the initial Modi euphoria, and headed by hardline but inexperienced Hindu rightists, have poor records at delivery. The abundant new jobs that Modi promised have not materialized. His response is a further unrealistic promise: to double rural incomes by 2020. When that proves unfeasible, it will deepen discontent by the 2019 national election. Extreme over-centralization, with Modi making all key decisions, has weakened the BJP’s organization and increased administrative paralysis. These mundane things alienate voters.

Contradictions in the right’s attempt to change public culture add to BJP woes. They have sought to appropriate Gandhi’s legacy, but Hindu chauvinists are celebrating his assassin! Modi has striven to appropriate the legacy of the iconic Dalit (ex-untouchable) leader, B.R. Ambedkar. But cow protection vigilantes have committed atrocities in three states against Dalits for pursuing their traditional occupation, removing carcasses of dead cattle. A firestorm of protest ensued, leaving Modi struggling to revive his appeal to Dalits.

The BJP was thrashed in a state election in Bihar where Modi’s religious polarization backfired. Can it win the crucial state election in Uttar Pradesh in 2017 without support from Dalits (20.7 percent of the state population)? How will it win the national election in 2019 without votes from Dalits (16.6 percent of India’s population), in the teeth of disappointment over Modi’s unfulfilled promises and poor delivery by its national and several of its state governments? Defeats will discredit the party and its leader, and check or possibly thwart the drive for political and cultural hegemony.

James Manor, University of London, London, UK                                                                              

THE SPECTRAL WOUND: Sexual Violence, Public Memories, and the Bangladesh War of 1971. By Nayanika Mookherjee; foreword by Veena Das. Durham: Duke University Press, 2015. xxiv, 325 pp. (Figures.) US$26.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8223-5968-5.

I was enthusiastic about reviewing this publication. The subject is fascinating, convoluted, provocative; a challenging anthropological endeavour. But then as I began reading, I found that I had to put the book down from time to time to clear my thoughts. Not because of the poignant issues discussed (and they are poignant), but because of the overwhelming inaccessibility of the presentation style.

The book’s title references the shadowy, phantom-like memory of wartime sexual violence against women and the aftermath of that violence in terms of women’s lived experiences and familial, community, and government responses. The rape of as yet undetermined thousands of women during the Bangladesh War of Independence (1971), perpetuated not only by the enemy Pakistani military but also by resident Bangladeshi collaborators, is redolent of women’s experiences the world over, wherever armed aggression degenerates into sexual violence.

In Bangladesh, the rapes represent a mortification that the government has variously tried to conceal, suppress, and/or commemorate with varying degrees of success. Moreover, since the women have had little control over the ways in which they are acknowledged as Birangona (war heroines), and only limited understanding of the possible consequences of such disclosure, they have been thrust into public view and exposed to new forms of scrutiny and critique. Nevertheless, the ways in which these women respond, recover, and reconstruct their lives are not necessarily as might be expected.

The research approach encompasses anthropological fieldwork combined with activist interviews and analysis of available written and visual materials. Establishing rapport and being present in the village of Enayetpur to see, hear, and participate allows the author to offer intimate insights into the lived experiences of three war heroines, their husbands, children, and extended families. Contextualized in history, politics, and memories of Indian and Bangladeshi independence, the author considers public representations of the women, secrecy (and openness) surrounding sexual violence, and the ways in which the birangonas remember, reinterpret, represent, and normalize their experiences. At a book launch at Drik Picture Library in Bangladesh (YouTube, January 2016), the author described a triangulation of birangona narratives, activist discourse, and literary and visual accounts. And, indeed, the chapters of the volume present these perspectives. For example, an analysis of familial and community responses to the rapes and subsequent government maneuverings highlight the power of words (khota) to wound and denigrate individuals. Words used toward and in the presence of the women and their family members reinforce behavioural norms and expectations, purportedly punish transgressions (perceived or real) and critique disclosure of enigmatic secrets that are held to be appropriately “known,” yet “not known,” particularly when disclosure is perceived to benefit those who make the revelation. Nevertheless, women negotiate relationships with husbands, children, and others on an ongoing basis and the language used to secure their places in family and community reveal subtle perspectives on (dis)honour, responsibility, power(lessness), victimization and “failed masculinity.”

Visual and literary representations of war, sexual violence, and the birangonas themselves complement discussion of activism in pursuance of memorialization, transitional justice, restitution, and rehabilitation. The author writes:

Along with using the metaphor of “combing” to ethnographically examine the birangonas’ narration of the “testimonial culture,” I…deconstruct the visual and state narratives of the birangona as sites of enunciation or effaced invocation through the analytical tools of absent presence of the spectral war heroine…The frequency with which the birangona is evoked, brought into existence so that she can be effaced and exited, inscribes her with the logic of a specter. Thereby she can be subjected to a double sense of calling into presence in her absence and made safely available for the nation… various literary, visual, and testimonial representations…make the birangona disappear even while affectively invoking her, bringing into play at the same juncture both of the connotations of combing over—searching for and hiding. In the nation’s positive conceptual formulation of the raped woman, she can only be exemplified in the absence of her presence, through horrific enactment and representation as a wound, which ensures a greater invocation of her “trauma”…The emphasis on the wound of the war heroine creates a pathological public sphere whereby the raped woman can only be perceived as a horrific alterity. (25)

In rereading, I reconsider, could my concerns with readability be exaggerated? I think not. I can decipher the meaning but have to work far too hard to do so. Sitting in the sun, over cups of chai latte, discussing my enthusiasm for the research findings, concomitant with consternation regarding their presentation, my colleague and friend welcomed me to the fellowship of academic curmudgeons, an invented, yet probable, group of old-school academics who struggle with the machinations of contemporary scholarly rhetoric. After all, if at the heart of good anthropological research is an interesting story, well told, doesn’t the responsibility for telling that story lie with the teller? Thus, the onus is on the writer to convey information in a clear and comprehensible manner, not on the reader to decipher perplexing language that obscures the story and/or its significance. After all, what purpose does academic writing serve if not to elucidate and enlighten? Moreover, with whom are we communicating? If only ourselves, then what is the point?

I recognize the modus operandi of the academy customarily demands demonstration of scholarly talent. Publish or perish persists and specialized neologisms that obfuscate meanings are de rigueur in some academic domains. That being said, this story is complex enough; the nuanced interpretation sufficient to reflect the intricacy of memory and experience. On that basis, I would recommend Spectral Wound if issues of women’s history, resilience and narrative are of interest. It is a fascinating (if challenging) read that provides a discerning exploration of a convoluted, tragic, and largely unheeded episode in South Asian history.

Margot Wilson, University of Victoria, Victoria, Canada

PAKISTAN AT THE CROSSROADS: Domestic Dynamics and External Pressures. Religion, Culture, and Public Life. Christophe Jaffrelot, editor. New York: Columbia University Press, 2016. vii, 346 pp. (Tables.) US$60.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-17306-3.

Pakistan is facing many challenges, and as the title of this book aptly sum up, that country sit at a critical crossroads. At one end of the political spectrum, the country is facing an existential threat amid incessant tides of terrorism ready to override the country, while on the other end, the prospect of a nuclear state falling apart due to its rivalry with the regional hegemon India has caused many migraines with the international community.

In this context, Jaffrelot’s edited volume has brought together an exciting list of contributors writing on their specific areas of expertise regarding the domestic and international environment of Pakistan. The book’s central theme is to assess the current imbroglio of Pakistan at the junction of domestic and international constraints. In this, it adopts a descriptive, thematic, and analytical approach with an overarching argument of analyzing Pakistan problems at the intersection of internal and external factors. On the domestic or internal front, the discussion is centred on issues of civil-military relations, political parties in Pakistan, judicial activism, insurgency in the tribal areas, police reforms, and the state of the Pakistan economy, while the four chapters examining the external front look at Pakistan’s relations with Afghanistan, the United States, China, and the Muslim world—especially Saudi Arabia and Iran.

The section on external relations begins with a chapter on Pakistan-Afghan relations. It castigates Pakistan for creating Jehadi proxies in Afghanistan under the cloak of “strategic depth” to counteract a probable Indian attack on its eastern flank. Furthermore, these proxies were used as infiltrators in Indian held Kashmir to lessen the Indian threat through her military engagement with these proxies in Kashmir. There is scant discussion of the anarchical global Cold War structure that forced Pakistan to play a double game at the behest of the United States. The infidel relationship between Pakistan and the USA was premised upon missed opportunities by both states to forge ahead. The fact that all dictatorships in Pakistan received American blessings is not mentioned at all.

Similarly, two other chapters on the external front, those looking at Pakistan’s relations with China and the Muslim world, explain how the all-weather friendship with China helped Pakistan to develop and upgrade its nuclear missile technology despite American sanctions in the 1990s. The discussion on the role played by Saudi money to fund madrassas in Pakistan for the Afghan jihad during the 1980s requires a closer look as the propagation of indoctrinated ideology promoted Sunni-Shia violence in Pakistan, but again there is no discussion of the Cold War as a major geostrategic compulsion vying for such a discourse. Investments from the Muslim world, particularly Saudi Arabia, Iran, and the United Arab Emirates, helped to galvanize Pakistan’s nuclear program after being conveniently labeled as the Islamic bomb. This entire discussion of Pakistan’s external relations needs to bring in the role played by global politics, meaning a convergent discussion on domestic compulsions and external pressures.

As far as the domestic section is concerned, the book’s contributors discuss the significant sectors of Pakistan, but the weaving of a recurring common theme seems absent. For example, the chapter on civil-military relations explains Pakistan as a security state flanked by hostile neighbors to both east and west (India and Afghanistan respectively). This led to the rise of the military as a domineering institution and its largesse in political and economic spheres is taken for granted. In his discussion of Pakistan’s tribal insurgency, Mariam Abou Zahab writes in the chapter “Turmoil in the Frontier” that the country’s spate of terrorism is tied to the uprooting of the socio-economic fabric of tribal society due to the excessive involvement of religion in state politics as a counterpoise to centuries-old Pushtun nationalism, but there is scant discussion of how the external variable of containment of communism was instrumentally employed to reinvigorate political Islam for waging jihad against the godless communists. This narrative was established due to the then prevalent global structure of superpower rivalry, and the discussion here needs to blend the domestic and international discourses in order to strengthen the narrative. Similarly, Mohammad Waseem’s chapter, “The Operational Dynamics of Political Parties in Pakistan,” is primarily centred on personality cults. Although in Pakistan political parties are personalized, dancing to the tunes of its incumbents, the premises of the chapter need to involve a discussion of party manifestos, performances, and pledges of its leaders, promises whose un-fulfillment causes domestic pressures. Hassan Abbas’ contribution on the Pakistan police, “Internal Security Issues in Pakistan: Prospects of Police and Law Enforcement Reform,” is focused on the structural and functional aspects of Pakistan’s law enforcement agencies. His argument that inadequate resources and excessive political interference are the prime reasons for their dismal performance needs closer scrutiny. He rightly points out that corruption and the lack of counterinsurgency training in the police department led to the abuse of power by officials. The chapter on the theme of judicial activism is the most interesting as it is a new phenomenon in Pakistan, where the judiciary has assumed a pro-active guardianship role vis-à-vis the body politics. Here Philip Oldenburg adequately discusses the causes behind the rise of the judiciary led by former Chief Justice Iftikhar Muhammad in 2007. Oldenburg labels “juristocratic” democracy (89).

In conclusion, this volume, written by eminent scholars on Pakistan, is an interesting addition to the already burgeoning literature on Pakistan since 9/11. It brings to light various domestic and external aspects of Pakistan based on recent developments, though the main assertion of the book expressed by its editor that it studies the case of Pakistan’s tribulations at the junction of “domestic dynamics and external pressures” is clearly lacking, as these are all isolated in-depth analyses of various internal and external sectors of Pakistan.

Muhammad Shoaib Pervez, University of Management and Technology, Lahore, Pakistan          

REEL WORLD: An Anthropology of Creation. By Anand Pandian; with a foreword by Walter Murch. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2015. xv, 339 pp. (Illustrations.) US$26.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8223-6000-1.

This book turns an ethnographic light towards an unexplored terrain, the creative processes that go into the making of a contemporary Tamil film. Notwithstanding the dominant characteristic of any cinema, the “tyranny of repetition,” as Anand demonstrates this process is always a passionately absorbing moment with the unknown, producing something new and unforeseen. True, but what is the primary objective of this kind of study?

Describing our contemporary anthropocene epoch with its disturbing images of all encompassing catastrophe as the appearance of the gigantic everywhere in a Heideggerian fashion, Anand reminds us that when unmanageable chaos is knocking at our door, our only hope remains in generating new ways of seeing that could take us beyond the vanities of human agency and its disastrous effects. For that kind of shift to occur in our perspectives, it is necessary to cross the confines of our familiar sociocultural worlds and its modes of thought and perceptions.

Invoking Deleuze, he argues, therefore, that cinema can do this by rattling our unshakeable habits of thinking, by “carrying perception into things.” The primary objective of this book is then “to put the medium back into the world, back into the environment from which it arises, the web of relations through which it grows.” Towards this task, looking at “cinema as something more than an archive of finished forms and tales” (18) becomes a methodological requirement. Within this ecological frame, the moment of creation is then more a speculative confrontation with becoming than being; “a series of wagers made on the redemptive potential of the world at hand” (18) by cinematic means. Thus, this book is daring and vaster in its philosophical scope than any usual discussion of creativity.

It deploys a tangible strategy by following several film crews at different stages of filmmaking, instead of pursuing a sample from start to finish. Moving from the social experience of Tamil cinema, which often blurs the distinction between the reel world and the real world, Anand dives headlong into its manifold registers, abandoning any pretentions of being a detached observer. His American accent surprisingly turns him into a participant, as he is compelled to dub for Barack Obama in Tamil Padam, a hilarious spoof on the figuration of the mass hero. Simultaneously with his accounts of the medium, to pin point where he is coming from, he narrates his personal ethnography both as a diasporic viewer of Tamil Cinema and as a professional anthropologist engaged in the process of unraveling its magic. Chapter to chapter, the creative process in the cinematic world runs in tandem with the author’s moments of hope and anxiety in shaping this book, while his keen observations bring alive a wide range of people, with the distinct and varying atmospheres in which they labour.

With Reel World at its opening and An Anthropology of Creation at its conclusion, as an academic enterprise, this book is unconventional in its form and style; naming as it does the seventeen chapters that fall within these two extremes as Dreams, Hope, Space, Art, Love, Desire, Light, Color, Time, Imagination, Pleasure, Sound, Voice, Rhythm, Speed, Wonder, and Fate. Written in delectable prose, with a series of juxtapositions drawn from poets, philosophers, and film theorists, it captures the profound resonances at play in each of them. The most telling self-reflexive moment is the chapter on Pleasure where as an ethnographer he had to confront his own embarrassing voyeurism during the shoot of an item number, when a skimpily clothed female dancer had to perform her sexually provocative act for this song and dance routine, amidst a predominantly male crew. At the same time, Anand maintains a constant vigil from making any quick politically-correct judgments, but without eliminating critical remarks when necessary.

In the final analysis, the creative moment could be explained only in a retrospective manner after the act, when it brings forth something new that did not exist before. Anand, however, carefully notes in this context that such a process can never be ex nihilio. If that is the case, then the question arises what if we can describe this moment simply in prosaic theoretical terms as film practice. It may lack the poetic resonance of a word like “creative,” but would it be inaccurate? Is dealing with cinema as more than an “unfinished form” the sole virtue of an ethnographic framework? Surely, theoretical exercises which take history or shifts in mode of production as the ultimate horizon of film theory can identify generic mutations and the rupturing of a narrative regime that not only produces something new but indicate changes in film practice and film form that did not exist before; provided, the underlying conditions of production have changed. Can this not serve the same objectives and contribute to the creation of a better world?

Much has changed in Tamil Cinema with the advent of globalization. Although Anand describes its impact on a CGI outfit, his description of a producer like G. Dhananjayan does not register the very presence of this corporate agent as a novelty that could be accounted for only by the transformations that have taken place in the mode of production. His emergence is unlike that of any entrenched producer like A.V.M. Saravanan or Kalaipuli S. Dhanu in an industry that was until recent times an unorganized sector of the economy. Not contextualized thereby in large historical terms, this book is actually full of exciting data that can support a contrary thesis. However, Anand can still maintain within his ecological concerns that such novelties could be bracketed, as his attempt is delimited to what emerges during the creation of a film and the way it unfolds in the registers of the perception-image, action-image, affection-image, or time-image in the auditorium. In that sense, there is much that is redemptive in this book, making it a significant contribution towards the on-going debates in South Asian film studies.

Venkatesh Chakravarthy, L.V. Prasad Film & TV Academy, Chennai, India                                   

BRAC, GLOBAL POLICY LANGUAGE, AND WOMEN IN BANGLADESH: Transformation and Manipulation. By Manzurul Mannan. Albany, NY : SUNY Press, 2015. xiii, 379 pp. (Tables, maps, illustrations.) US$90.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-4384-5783-3.

This book makes a highly original contribution to the small but growing anthropological literature on non-governmental organizations (NGOs). The primary aim of the book is to move beyond “the well-intentioned work of NGOs” (2) to consider instead what a focus on NGOs can tell us about how ordinary people experience development processes, and how these NGOs contribute to the construction of what the author calls the “development-scape” within a particular historical setting. Its focus is on the ethnographic study of Bangladesh as a country that has for many years been on the front line of both international development and NGO worlds.

The author suggests here that we need to pay attention to NGOs in Bangladesh because they “are so closely intertwined with and involved in development that they are practically synonymous with the concept of development” (1). This leads Manzurul Mannan to develop a highly distinctive approach to the topic in which he seeks to highlight the hidden aspects of people’s lives that are affected and changed by NGO work. For example, he shows how NGO credit reduces women’s reliance on traditional social networks. Mannan is also concerned with investigating globalization and development through his analysis of the “development-scape” which seeks to show firstly how power operates through international development bureaucracies and encompasses local culture in developing countries, and secondly to highlight the role played by NGOs in translating and filtering narratives that produce projects and programs.

Across ten detailed chapters, the author takes the Bangladeshi organization known as BRAC (not an acronym, but simply the name of the world’s largest NGO) as his entry point to analyze a series of important and original questions. What does it mean for an NGO to pursue an agenda of trying to bring about societal change? What effect does NGO work have on Bangladesh’s societal values at the local level? How does the NGO translate, mediate, and diffuse external Western ideas about developmentalist social change at the local level and what are the social and cultural implications of this for local populations? How does an NGO manage the conflict of values that occurs within an organization that tries to balance its obligations to thirty million women with whom it works with its position within the global development system? The resulting narratives around women, patriarchy, and poverty in Bangladesh are the focus of the book.

Central to the book’s conceptual framework is the author’s suggestion that a “global policy language” has emerged that has created a universalizing discourse within NGO worlds as these take shape in local developing country contexts. This embodies six main elements: it builds consensus and equality among poor people; it promotes a positive view of economic growth as a solution to poverty, along with a set of “non-negotiable” values around human rights, gender, and governance that serve to underpin NGO work; it creates unintended “casualties” of the development process in the form of people who do not fit the intended outcomes; it generates organizational cultures of reflection and continuous improvement through processes of regular experimentation; and finally it operates to construct narratives of excluded and poor women that are essentially decontextualized.

The monograph covers a huge amount of ground. It presents a systematic analysis of the social and political context of Bangladesh, the history and evolution of the NGO sector in the country, and considers how local understandings of hierarchy and equality intersect with NGO work. This is situated within the ever-changing development policy and practice landscape which results in “every five to six years with the replacement of old agendas by new ones” (36). The NGO is carefully revealed as a complex hybrid of a local project and international relationships, such that it does not easily fit the conventional notion of a bounded organizational entity.

The idea of a shifting “global policy language” is central to the author’s analysis, which is a distinctive contribution of the book. There is also a valuable discussion of the research methodology used, the relationship between anthropology and development, and the role that “applied” NGO research plays in the life world of an NGO. The disjuncture between managerial and academic knowledge is usefully probed in the reflexive sections of the book, which are frequent and full of insight. A key strength is the way the author is constantly alive to the complexities raised by his earlier career as an NGO worker in a variety of settings and as a development consultant, and the difficult relationships that arise when NGOs position themselves as both commissioners and consumers of development research. The fifth chapter, which discusses the “cooperative antagonism” that arises between researchers and managers, was for this reader one of the genuine highlights of the book.

Bangladesh is a country that possesses an extensive NGO sector and where these organizations play important—but largely understudied—roles in the lives of large numbers of people. This book helps us to better understand why and how NGOs like BRAC have effects that go way beyond the stated aims of development projects and interventions.

David Lewis, London School of Economics and Political Science, London, United Kingdom                                                                                               

MILITARY AND DEMOCRACY IN NEPAL. By Indra Adhikari. New Delhi: Routledge, 2015. xviii, 364 pp. (Illustrations, map.) US$120.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-138-82125-5.

This book addresses an understudied subject: the evolution, socio-cultural orientation, and democratization of the Nepalese Army. This area of inquiry is important because few authors have analysed Nepal’s monarchy-military complex, which has inhibited the institutionalization of the country’s democracy. In addressing civil-military relations and democratization in South Asia, Adhikari first discusses the trend of military recruitment in Nepal. She then analyses the military-democracy and the monarchy-democracy interfaces. Finally, she offers an account of post-monarchy democratization efforts and outstanding challenges.

The book’s message is that Nepal’s rulers—from Rana oligarchs to former monarchs—have used the army as a tool to consolidate power. In this, the military has been submissive. Because of this relationship, defence reform remains incomplete even ten years into the peace agreement. The author uses interview notes and a literature review to establish her points. Therefore, primary data is the major strength of this volume. Adhikari is known for her strategic analyses and contributions to the security discourse. Her previous works on gender, inclusion, and the institutional aspects of the Nepalese Army also enrich this work as she is able to analyse the subject from multiple angles.

However, the book is not underpinned by a central theoretical question and does not provide a “research puzzle.” This does not mean the book has no theory and methodology, but it does not explicitly state them. It is difficult, therefore, to assess whether the claims have been substantiated or whether they are just the general beliefs of the author. The book is analytical-descriptive in nature because its content consists primarily of a factual recounting of events in a journalistic style. The author neatly examines concepts such as militarization or militarism in South Asia, but the concluding section lacks the contextualization of these concepts using the data presented in the book. A separate discussion chapter could have summarized key messages against the background of these conceptual discussions. The author’s arguments would be more rigorous if she had tried to offer thematic observations on the incidents discussed, rather than merely narrating them. All this makes for a weak concluding section because it remains unclear to which questions this chapter is responding.

Adhikari disagrees with some previous literature and castigates the cronyism of the so-called “reformist” military leader Bhimsen Thapa. However, much of her second chapter unquestioningly endorses existing literature, which inhibits her ability to critically engage with past scholarship. Several parts of this book read as very presumptive because the author jumps to establishing personal assumptions as conclusions, even as she starts a new chapter. The author tries to incorporate almost every historical phase and institutional aspect of the Nepalese Army and, in doing so, fails to concentrate on a timeframe and specific political events. Generalist discussions about Panchayat politics and post-2006 political horse-trading occupy space that could have been used to analyse information about the army and to critically engage with the primary data. For example, the author cites a Ministry of Finance source to claim that the Nepalese Army has comparatively good auditing practices, but a number of the auditor general’s reports, which disclose the army’s corrupt practices, are not mentioned.

Verbosity leads to awkward content. Lengthy footnotes sometimes occupy up to two-thirds of a page. The author re-uses several lines, even paragraphs, in multiple places with only minor changes. Typos are frequent, as are inconsistencies in the spelling of non-English words. Sometimes the typos lead to factual errors (like 9 September for 11 September, 214). A mistake is visible even in the author’s biographical note, in the name of her affiliated organization.

Memoirs and subjective accounts dominate strategic discourse in Nepal. Nevertheless, Adhikari’s piece is much richer than previous literature in terms of information and analytical balance. She has adequate evidence in the book to establish her arguments. It will prove useful for academic audiences as much as for those who seek in-depth knowledge about the organizational biography of the Nepalese Army. The introductory part consists of a good conceptual discourse and empirical evidence. The details on the evolution, institutional structures, recruitment trends, and orientation of the Nepalese Army are thought provoking. This section also broadens the reader’s insight because the author contextualizes the Nepalese case with other South Asian countries. The research process has covered a wide variety of informants, which reflects the author’s diligence. However, an explanation of the selection criteria for informants would have been useful.

Adhikari raises interesting questions about the inclusivity the Nepalese Army is claimed to have long practiced. She asks whether the socio-cultural orientation of the military allows for a free, fair, and just recruitment process. Another critical examination concerns the Nepali class structure and its fallout in the military. Equally insightful is the exploration of the nexus between land distribution and military power that characterizes Nepali militarism. The sections addressing the gender analysis of recruitment, the delegation of responsibility, and the establishment and transparency of the military welfare fund also deserve praise.

This reviewer seconds the author’s opinion that the monarchy-military complex doomed democracy because it frequently curtailed the rights of people and political parties. The book concludes that the Nepalese Army was also caught between rightist, leftist, and absolutist politics. Seen from her agency perspective, the Nepalese Army appears like an organization that has been fulfilling the orders of de facto powers. The democratic control of the armed forces does not mean that the military should be subservient in every situation. Rather, it should be treated as an equal partner with civilian authorities in the conceptualization, formulation, and implementation of defence policies. Worth mentioning here is that in Nepal, “democratic” leaders mostly prefer a more “loyal army” over a professional one, even now. Overall, this book does not stand out as a substantial theoretical contribution, but it can be considered important to Nepal’s military discourse. While the author has extensive knowledge of the issues involved, a bit more emphasis on theoretical and epistemological aspects, an analytically rich discussion section, and careful proofreading could have made it much better.

Safal Ghimire, University of New England, Armidale, Australia                                                        

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ENTANGLED URBANISM: Slum, Gated Community, and Shopping Mall in Delhi and Gurgaon. By Sanjay Srivastava. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2015. xliv, 317 pp. (Figures.) US$55.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-19-809914-7.

In the field of urban studies, single-city profiles tend to come in two varieties: a first offers arguments about a city as a whole, and thus invites comparative analysis with other, “similar” cities. A second takes an opposite tack, homing in on particularities—specific localities, identities, and meanings within a single city—then making arguments about these particular places and people. Sanjay Srivastava’s Entangled Urbanism: Slum, Gated Community and Shopping Mall in Delhi and Gurgaon, begins instead with the evocative claim that the city itself is “like an argument” (xviii). That is, rather than approach India’s National Capital Region as either a “totality” or as a collection of splintered spaces, Srivastava focuses on what he calls the “intimate entanglements” (27) by means of which seemingly separate places, people, and ideas (slums and gated communities; shopping malls and nationalist sentiment; temples and theme parks) are co-constituted in the city. The fruits of this approach are borne out in a richly ethnographic, deeply insightful, and at times wonderfully surprising portrait of urban contestation, transformation, and self-making in contemporary Delhi and Gurgaon.

The book is divided into three parts. The first takes place on the bank of the Yamuna River in the basti settlement of Nangla Matchi, where the ethnography narrates the lead-up to the neighbourhood’s demolition (as part of an urban “beautification” drive). Srivastava probes the processes and contestations that link the “formal city” to the “exertions and activities of the occupants of its putatively ‘informal’ spaces” (xli). Focusing on Nangla Matchi residents’ efforts to shore up individual claims to compensation in the event of demolition, the chapter follows the “life-stories” (6) of three characters: first we meet Chamkili, a neighbourhood leader who enlists the technical skills she acquired during an earlier career working for a power company to now (informally) supply electricity to neighbourhood residents at a tidy profit; next we meet Balkees, who puts “faux symbols of authority” (22) to work in producing passable versions of official government documents needed to claim post-demolition compensation; lastly we meet Rakesh, an auto-rickshaw-driver-turned-real-estate-broker, whose information-gathering skills honed over two decades spent chatting with passengers underpin a lucrative (if legally dubious) career buying and selling plots of land in a slum resettlement colony. This fascinating chapter demonstrates how the elusive power to access and deploy the authority of “the state” stems from the precarious world-making practices of urban marginality itself.

Chapter 2 introduces the assorted techniques of “mutually agreed upon fraud and deception” (32)  by means of which Nangla Matchi residents seek to prove eligibility for a compensatory allotment in a resettlement colony. At the heart of this chapter are the vagaries of documentary “proof”: the sociomaterial array of paper slips, signatures, and socialities that are assembled in a “great chain of documents” to make a case for eligibility. Thus we see how “entitlement” inheres not in the extent to which any particular chain of documents reflects or narrates any “true” history, but rather in the tricks, mimicries, and ruses through which “genuineness is established through fakeness.” “Faking,” Srivastava argues, is not only “crucial to the making of community life” (53) in Nangla Matchi, but relations between the urban poor and the state are produced and instantiated by means of these relations of deception and trickery. The bulldozers finally roll into Nangla Matchi, but not before the narrative has led us through a series of tortuous paper trails, gone-awry appeals to patronage, rumour-infused misinformation, and frantic efforts to establish “rights” to compensation—dynamics that unfold in sometimes triumphant and other times heartbreaking ways.

Part 1 concludes with a discussion of the state’s “arbitrariness”: “the state has no norms,” Srivastava writes, and in the context of this inscrutability, Nangla residents approach the state as they might a fickle lover: seeking to decipher its “moods” (68) and to match moods with correspondingly capricious tactics. A good ethnography might be said to be one in which the accounts not only impel readers to question received histories and taken-for-granted categories, but one in which the material can sometimes exceed the author’s own categories of explanation and analysis. Undoubtedly “the state” that Nangla Matchi’s residents encounter is not of the Weberian variety. But words like “moody,” “erratic,” and “arbitrary” do not quite do justice to Srivastava’s ethnography, which reveals not an arbitrary or unknowable state, but rather one that perhaps Nangla’s residents know entirely too well: one that is run through with power-infused, asymmetrical social relations of caste, class, and exclusionary ethno-religious nationalism. In this context, the ethnographies in part 1 raise pressing questions: What enables some people to take advantage of the porosities inhering in the social and semeiotic complexity of contemporary “urban entanglements,” and not others? What new forms of knowledge (social, spatial, technical) are re-valued in this context?

Part 2 leaves the rubble-strewn lanes of Nangla Matchi and the dusty offices of the lower-level bureaucracy, to turn towards the (air-conditioned) localities where “emerging cultures of market-citizenship” (110) animating “post-nationalist” Delhi come into view. The protagonist of part 2 is Delhi’s multifarious and elusive “middle class.” Chapter 5 outlines how a new form of nationalist citizen-consumerism has been spatialized through a combination of “consanguineal capitalism,” “corporatist ambition and state patronage” (130), fuelling a construction boom in gated residential complexes. Yet notwithstanding elite fantasies that gated “enclaves” like DLF City in Gurgaon might enable residents to secede from the surrounding city (and region and nation), the ethnographies show instead how “decrepitude” and “unruliness” (149) leak through the gates in pesky ways. When a “stream of sewage” (145) appears as an “unexpected water feature” in a swish Gurgaon colony (whose residents thus discover their colony has not been connected to the municipal sewage system), we learn that affluence does not enable a “clean break” from the materiality of the city and its infrastructures. And when caste-based agitations for expanded educational quotas elicit a frantic response among DLF City’s largely high-caste parents (who fear rising numbers of lower-caste students in their children’s classrooms), we see how this would-be “island of plentitude” (149) is decisively implanted in the region’s “larger restless geography” (147). Enclave residents respond to these sorts of looming “threats” with mismatched efforts to wall off their world with amped-up security—to sometimes unintended effect.

The unintended outcomes of the “urban entanglements” that Srivastava’s book presents militate against any easy vilification (or celebration) of “post-nationalist” consumer capitalism or market (neo)liberalism. The ethnographies show instead how particular versions of “history, heritage and contemporary and ancient religiosity” are bound up with the “theme-ing” (216) of Indian modernity in ways that enable a multitude of experiences and appropriations. For the upwardly mobile “service class,” we see how shopping malls are a stage for “personality development” (246), for the cultivation of middle-class comportments, and for achieving and performing “self improvement.” While cultures of consumer citizenship play out along gendered lines in uneven ways across the socioeconomic spectrum, malls are also where asymmetrical relations of power and hierarchy are reproduced (“you don’t want to be seen at the wrong mall!” [243]). Spaces of consumption emerge as sites where “multiple dramas of distinction” play out simultaneously.

Entangled Urbanism leaves us with the conclusion that the city is “no whole entity, but a series of connected realms, each of distinct character, linking varied lives and processes into an urban entanglement” (261). While it may indeed be true that the complexity of Delhi’s “entanglements” defies any tidy interpretation, Srivastava’s beautifully textured account suggests a more pointed proposition: that perhaps the socio-material complexity of contemporary urbanism invariably surpasses any singular effort to know the city, thereby exceeding the designs of those who would control the city and seek to circumscribe its possibilities.

Lisa Björkman, University of Louisville, Louisville, USA                                                                    

INDIAN FOREIGN POLICY. Oxford India Short Introductions. By Sumit Ganguly. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2015. 210 pp. (Figures.) US$14.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-19-808221-7.

India’s foreign policy can come across as enigmatic to those who are unfamiliar with the political context that underpins it. Apparent contradictions abound. The country of apostles of peace like Buddha and Gandhi, India is an unofficial member of the nuclear club. An impressive arsenal of conventional weapons complements India’s bombs and missiles, many of them indigenous in origin. However, despite the possession of this deadly stockpile, India does not have an explicit doctrine stating whom these weapons are aimed against. The Indian nuclear test of 1998, undertaken by a Hindu nationalist-led ruling coalition was not, as the subsequent events have shown, merely a flash in the pan. Despite the political bickering over details, a bi­partisan consensus has grown over the need for India to acquire nuclear weapons and delivery capacity by a range of indigenously developed missiles. Nevertheless, official Indian policy systematically downplays the ownership of these deadly weapons of mass destruction. A similar incoherence marks India’s use of “coercive diplomacy,” launched against Pakistan following the terrorist attack on the Indian Parliament in Operation Parakram of 2001–2002. It involved mobilizing a large number of troops who were then recalled, without any demonstrable goals having been achieved or explanations offered. This lack of clarity about broader goals affects the global perception of India’s foreign policy as a whole.

Sumit Ganguly’s compact and concise volume offers a guide through this labyrinth. The book is divided into five chapters. The first introduces the current debate on India’s foreign policy, focused on the issues of “the precise role that India hopes to play in global politics” (13). The second discusses core ideas that underpin India’s foreign policy consisting of anti-colonialism, non-alignment, a world free of nuclear weapons and a genuine search for a new world order. Ganguly discusses their pre-independence origin, evolution, and continuity during the post-independence years, leading up to India’s military debacle in the 1962 Sino-Indian war. At a time when it is fashionable to castigate Nehru, Ganguly stands by his admiration for him as the founder of modern India. That, however, does not stop him from criticising Nehru for failing “to undertake any measures to bolster the security of India’s northern borders despite Patel’s explicit sounding of the tocsin” (34). Nor does Ganguly overlook Nehru’s policy of “appeasing and accommodating the PRC [which] had, for all practical purposes, ended in a complete military debacle” (41). The third chapter focuses on the period during the disastrous 1962 war and the end of the Cold War, with the disappearance of the Soviet Union as India’s major global backer. Ganguly argues, Indian foreign policy straddled the contrary pulls of the “ideational” elements and the “recognition of the significance of and quest for material power” (4). “Incomplete acceptance of the importance of material capabilities” marked the fourth phase. The final section of the book discusses current trends and capabilities and the limitations of Indian foreign policy in meeting its stated objectives.

Ganguly’s analysis will provide much food for thought both to the general reader and the specialist. The former will benefit from the historical narrative that helps follow the unfolding of India’s foreign policy. For the latter, the real bonus lies in the cache of interviews conducted with the diplomatic corps and high-ranking military officers, who have been part of the story that he tells. One finds insights in these narratives that help us understand turns of events that normally remain shrouded in mystery.

With the robust clarity that marks his scholarship, Ganguly excoriates the government of India for keeping India’s diplomatic corps limited in size, causing in large part its inability to meet the challenges of a fast moving world. “In 2012 the Indian Foreign Service had a mere 600 odd officers, with 150 missions across the world. For the purpose of comparison, Belgium and Holland had similar size diplomatic corps” (18). He upbraids India’s numerous think tanks for their limited value in providing policy-relevant advice: “The vast majority of them lack a sufficient corpus of individuals who have adequate professional training in international affairs and strategic studies. Most, in fact, are autodidacts of varying quality and with differing levels of knowledge and expertise” (16). The consequences are to be seen in the “residual anti-Americanism in the foreign policy apparatus in New Delhi” (137), the Indian reaction, “at the arrest and apparent maltreatment of an Indian diplomat, Devyani Khobragade, in New York in December 2013…bordering on petulance and quite unbecoming of what one might reasonably expect of a strategic partner and an aspiring global power” (136), or India’s failure to develop a suitable strategy to cope with cross-border terrorism emanating from Pakistan in the face of the “nuclear overhang” (119).

The long shadow of Jawaharlal Nehru hangs heavily on Ganguly’s view of Indian foreign policy. His analysis stops with Manmohan Singh’s India. Prime Minister Modi has one entry in the book (19), but even this reference is to his time as Chief Minister of Gujarat. It is therefore not possible within this frame of analysis to situate Modi’s India and ask if India has reached a turning point, or whether one is still stuck with the famous aphorism of Stephen Cohen: “One is … tempted to ask whether India is destined always to be ‘emerging’ but never actually arriving” (India: Emerging Power [Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press, 2001], 2). By recent indications, particularly, the multiple trips of Prime Minister Modi to the centres of power, and the reciprocation of some of these visits by the high and mighty to India, it might be argued that the direction of India’s foreign policy has taken a radical turn. The two figures most closely identified with emerging India—Prime Minister Modi and Foreign Secretary S. Jaishankar—showcase a different profile of India. “A stage has come where no country can now think of treating India with contempt or condescension. Every country today is looking at us either with deference or as an equal” (Narendra Modi, 2014). Jaishankar adds: “India now aspires to be a leading power, rather than just a balancing power,” and carries with it “a willingness to shoulder greater global responsibilities” (Subrahmanyam Jaishankar, 20 July 2015, Readers of Ganguly’s elegant and incisive analysis will eagerly look forward to his evaluation of this new phase in the unfolding of India’s foreign policy.

Subrata K. Mitra, National University of Singapore, Singapore

DIVIDED WE GOVERN: Coalition Politics in Modern India. By Sanjay Ruparelia. New York: Oxford University Press, 2015. xxiv, 480 pp., [16] pp. of plates (B&W illustrations.) US$50.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-19-026491-8.

A succession of coalition governments held power in India between 1977 and 1979, 1989 and 1991, and 1996 and 2014. A coalition can be said to have governed since mid-2014 as well, although the Bharatiya Janata Party has a parliamentary majority that gives it a pre-eminence that no party in those earlier periods possessed. There is a very real chance that when that government’s term ends in 2019, yet another coalition will succeed it.

So to understand India’s recent political history—and the foreseeable future—we need a meticulous, nuanced analysis of power dynamics within those quite varied coalitions, and an objective assessment of their achievements and limitations. Sanjay Ruparelia has provided just that.

Crucially, he brings to his task a realistic understanding of how such episodes must be analysed. He makes it clear from the outset that these coalition governments faced tight constraints, but that despite this, opportunities existed to achieve certain important changes. Leaders within the coalitions grappled with impediments imposed by objective conditions. They undertook “gambles” in the knowledge that there is some limited “room for alternatives in history”—in the words (which Ruparelia quotes) of Fernando Henrique Cardoso who, after writing them, demonstrated the point during his eight years as Brazil’s president. The leaders of those coalitions sometimes miscalculated or bungled, or were thwarted by constraints and opponents. But they accomplished enough to leave their mark—on occasion for ill, but often for good. Rising regional parties were necessarily drawn into the coalitions, as were new social forces, and India’s democracy was deepened.

Politics and state-society relations in India are fiendishly complex topics at the best of times. But given the internal tensions that exist within any coalition, and the precarious hold on power of some of them, the complications that confront Ruparelia as he charts the tactical machinations of important actors are especially daunting. And yet he has managed to make these intelligible. His ability to avoid and correct misinterpretations, which are legion in the Indian media and some academic analyses, is impressive.

The stories that he tells are so byzantine that this text cannot be an easy read. Ruparelia tackles each episode with a fine-tooth comb, but he also provides accounts of considerable clarity—despite the often mind-boggling complexity of his material. His assessments are consistently judicious, so that this book will surely stand as the locus classicus, the essential source, for studies of coalition politics between 1977 and 2014. And if, as seems likely, coalitions re-emerge in the future, this volume will be essential for studies comparing the new with the old, even for those who challenge its arguments.

In one further respect, this book will never be surpassed. Ruparelia conducted an enormous number of interviews with key actors engaged with the coalition processes, and many of those witnesses will not survive for much longer. Indeed, a number have since passed away. So no successor study will have his rich array of sources available.

We often hear complaints that the long period of hung parliaments, and of either minority or coalition governments between 1989 and 2014, left India adrift without the decisive leadership that it needs. But those who hanker after the smack of firm government fail to recognise that this era produced two fundamentally important benefits for India’s democracy, which emerge from Ruparelia’s analysis.

First, it brought to an end the era under Indira and Rajiv Gandhi (for all but three of the years between 1971 and 1989) when abuses of prime ministerial power were rife. The subsequent period between 1989 and 2014 witnessed only a tiny number of such abuses, far fewer than India had suffered before 1989 or the United Kingdom suffered under either Margaret Thatcher or Tony Blair.

Second, and as a consequence, after 1989, institutions which had been gravely damaged by assaults in that earlier era, especially under Indira Gandhi, acquired considerable power, autonomy, and independence. They included (inter alia) the courts, the presidency, parliament and its committees, the Election Commission, regulatory agencies, and the Comptroller and Auditor-General, all at the national level—plus state governments, centre-state relations, the federal system, and elected local councils. Checks and balances acquired substance, hence the decline in abuses. Politics became more open and pluralistic, and more attentive and responsive to a wider and deeper array of interests. The political process became less tidy, but key institutions and Indian democracy underwent regeneration.

Ruparelia makes it vividly apparent that, as is so often the case with important political processes, his material does not lend itself to rigorous “proofs” to which some aspire. Instead, he offers arguments of high plausibility. He also argues that the episodes he examines are so complicated that “singular theoretical paradigms” fall short, and that “temporal contingencies and complex causal chains make theoretical generalization difficult” (329). Social scientists who crave such generalizations will bemoan this, and those who cling to such paradigms will attack his analysis, but he is surely right. He makes the most of various paradigms, and his engagement with coalition theory is especially valuable. But in demonstrating their limitations, he offers us a refreshingly realistic assessment of India’s baffling, ambiguous political reality.

James Manor, University of London, London, United Kingdom

UNSETTLING INDIA: Affect, Temporality, Transnationality. By Purnima Mankekar. Durham: Duke University Press, 2015. xiv, 301 pp. (Illustrations.) US$26.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8223-5836-7.

Feminist anthropologist Purnima Mankekar’s primary objective in this terrific book is to “explore how our assumptions about India and about cultural change are stirred up—unsettled—in contexts of neoliberalism and the circulation of transnational public cultures” (190). Though the result is not solely a critique of Hindutva, her interviews in New Delhi and in the United States demonstrate her conviction that “intellectual work and political solidarity must always go hand-in-hand” (x). Her fascinating study focuses on the upwardly mobile beneficiaries of globalization in Delhi—as does Rana Dasgupta’s popular Capital: The Eruption of Delhi (Penguin, 2014), to which this volume compares quite favorably—and to upwardly mobile South Asians in Silicon Valley. But equal time is devoted to the less successful aspirants in Delhi and Silicon Valley who seem inescapably emplaced in situations of desperate stasis—individuals who “navigate and inhabit parallel, often discrepant, social worlds” (224). The volume pays a great deal of attention to class distinctions, to race perceptions, and to gender roles, and to how these play out in the creation and maintenance of nationalistic affect. Although the study is written in accessible prose, recounting conversations with particular individuals in their local contexts before concluding with broad complex abstractions, Mankekar (who conducted much of the investigation while teaching at Stanford, and who now serves in the Departments of Gender Studies and Asian American Studies at UCLA) engages throughout with engrossing ongoing debates in social theory.

Earlier versions of large portions of the book’s chapters have appeared in journals over the years, going back as far as 1994, but they are effectively organized here to make a compelling and unified argument that builds on her earlier Screening Culture, Viewing Politics: An Ethnography of Television, Womanhood, and Nation (Duke UP, 1994). Mankekar does a close reading of several popular Bollywood classics and television programs, with particular attention given to Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge (1995), Bunty aur Babli (2005), and Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (2001). Such media serve to reconceptualize “Indianness,” building on the shifts in nationalist affect of the 1990s to portray a “New India” that is not tethered to territorial location. This is in contrast to earlier films like Purab aur Paschim (1970) that warned against the dangers of losing one’s Indianness by living abroad. More recent films, intent on yoking non-resident Indians to a resurgent India, portray protagonists who may adopt western appearance and swagger, but who seek occasions to reaffirm their cultural purity. These films affirm a masculinity that is affluent, cosmopolitan, modern, and militantly heterosexual. Viewers abroad get the message that one does not once-and-for-all leave home: they carry India in their hearts—and therefore must be true to what is “most” Indian and homogeneously Hindu. Her Sikh and Muslim informants protest that such exclusion reinscribes the marginalization that they have felt all their lives in India, a marginalization that many of them also find in the diasporic communities of Silicon Valley.

Mankekar’s chapter on the Indian grocery stores in Sunnyvale portrays them as sensoria of homely smells and sounds that reaffirm ties to India for some shoppers, but that underscore for some others the clean break they prefer to embrace. These are locations that remind some working-class immigrants that they are not, in fact, part of the wonderful success story of the middle- or upper-middle class entrepreneur and computer executive narrativized by the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). Mankekar is intent on reading these local stores as disrupters of the notion of the “real” India, demonstrating a complex range of affects that are held in productive tension: variously “spaces of surveillance, solidarity, ambivalence, and/or hostility” (105).

A chapter on transnational Hindi television, and especially on soap operas of the 1980s and 1990s, focuses on working-class informants in Delhi to discuss the affects generated by the commodities portrayed and the erotics intertwined in that portrayal, with some worried that earlier representations of “Indianness” prompted self-sacrifice, and newer ones seem to valorize helping oneself to these goods. As has been observed in many other regions of the world—see, for example, Carmela Garritano’s African Video Movies and Global Desires (Ohio UP, 2013)—such television and film productions open the eyes of all classes to the lifestyles of the wealthy, their mobility and acquisitions. This is seen as particularly unsettling by those who worry about overt expressions of women’s erotic desires in Indian society, especially with an increasing focus on self-expression rather than group identity.

These familiar observations lead to the book’s highly suggestive final chapters on global India and the production of moral subjects, and on the role of impersonation, mobility, emplacement, and aspiration in call centres in India. Mankekar analyzes the BJP’s appropriation of swadeshi (Gandhian self-rule) in its campaign for self-reliance, recording her informants’ protest against being “oppressed” in “their own lands” by the non-Hindus. Such individuals (in Delhi, but also in Silicon Valley) recommend a detoxification of India (the rejection as cultural contamination of celebrations in India of Valentine’s Day, and the valorization of the “new Hindu woman” who should be morally self-disciplined). By these lights, “tradition indexes futurity rather than the past” (172) by providing a blueprint for “how to live in the future as moral subjects of Global India” (172). This requires “the containment of erotic desire, deference to parental authority, and the reinscription of conventional gender roles” (180): goals, Mankekar shows, even for those who had never been to India itself.

Mankekar concludes this India-centred study with an analysis of the reaction in the United States to 9/11, suggesting that “regimes of affect and temporality enabled the creation of a national community. . . predicated on the marginalization and demonization of racial and cultural Others” (230), and thereby foregrounding the allegorical significance of her study for the “unsettling” of other patriotisms. The book is highly recommended.

John C. Hawley, Santa Clara University, Santa Clara, USA                                                               

LIFE SUPPORT: Biocapital and the New History of Outsourced Labor. By Kalindi Vora. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2015. 184 pp. US$22.50, paper. ISBN 978-0-8166-9396-2.

Life Support is an innovative attempt to grapple with the new forms and geographies of labour, production, and service provision that have emerged in the global economy. Drawing on insights from three sites in India’s outsourced economy—call centres, the IT industry, and surrogacy clinics—Kalinki Vora develops a theory of labour as “vital energy.” Building on the concept of biocapital, she argues that reproductive labour plays a central role in this new mode of transnational accumulation. Be it the affective labour of a call centre worker in Gurgaon dealing with an irate customer in New Jersey, or the work of gestation and mothering performed by a paid surrogate in Gujarat who creates a baby for a wealthy foreign couple, Vora argues that the production, circulation, and appropriation of vital energy stands at the centre of the production of value and processes of accumulation in these businesses.

Building on feminist and postcolonial theories, the author develops her conceptual approach in chapter 1. She argues that in order to understand these forms of work and how they generate value, we need to go beyond Marxist theories of labour and even the notion of biocapital, and instead centre attention on the “production and circulation of vital energy represented in the categories of affective and biological labor” (41). Her strategy is to juxtapose seemingly very different kinds of work in order to draw out their connections: “What call center work and commercial surrogacy have in common is the labor of producing and transferring human vital energy directly to a consumer, through the work of affect and the intentional or dedicated use of bodily organs and subjective processes. The work of producing vital energy … is distributed unequally at the level of international exchange, as are opportunities for consumption” (39). Vora suggests that the appropriation of vital energy from workers in India to fulfil the requirements of customers in the West echoes and replicates older, colonial modes of accumulation: “In performing this labor with its transnational transfer of value, racialized and gendered bodies or subjects become the bearers of colonial legacies and neoliberal restructurings that create an opportunity to expand as well as think outside of current ways of conceptualizing labor” (39).

To develop her argument, Vora draws not only on ethnographic research with call centre employees, IT professionals, and gestational surrogates, but also on literary sources. The style of writing and mode of argumentation falls more within cultural studies than anthropology, and as a result the book seems over-theorized: the “data” presented is somewhat too thin to support the heavy theoretical load that it is expected to carry. While one can understand the eclectic choice of source material given the stated aim of the book—to develop a novel theoretical framework through which to address the question of labour in the globalized service economy—I did wish for a richer presentation of ethnographic material collected from surrogacy clinics and other sites. For instance, the discussion of call centre workers’ experiences in chapter 2, which draws mainly on a play and a second-hand ethnographic account, is inadequate in view of the substantial anthropological literature that we now have on Indian call centres, exploring diverse aspects of work and workers’ experiences in these transnational workspaces. Similarly, the interpretation of the narratives of IT professionals in chapter 3 provides a rather one-dimensional picture, homogenizing the highly varied and conflicted aspirations and experiences of Indian software engineers, which cannot be simply reduced to the themes of marginality and temporariness. The fourth chapter on transnational surrogates is much fuller and nuanced, and here Vora does an excellent job of bringing out the complexities of subjectification and the social relationships that are forged in the context of such intimate labour. For instance, she shows that surrogates are carefully coached to think and speak of surrogacy as a simple contract in which their “empty” wombs are utilized to grow a child for someone else, but “another theory of value and sociality inhabits their narratives of surrogacy” (106). Although surrogates temper this extremely alienating form of labour with their own cultural expectations and notions of giving, the text poignantly brings out their powerlessness to enact the kinds of social relationships that they imagine could emerge from this contract, with the commissioning parents and even with the child that is produced through their reproductive labour.

The effort to encompass these various forms of work within an overarching theoretical framework often leads the author to gloss over their specificities. For example, Vora frames all three kinds of labour as “gendered” and “racialised,” yet does not adequately develop her argument about the gendering of labour in call centres (where at least half the workforce is male), much less in IT companies. Similarly, by collapsing all these instances into the idea of a racialized workforce providing outsourced labour for clients in the West, she overlooks the complexities of identity within the global IT industry, where the circulation of Indian software labour takes multiple forms and produces diverse subjectivities.

Despite these drawbacks, Life Support is an engaging and provocative read that makes a significant contribution to current debates on globalization and labour.

Carol Upadhya, National Institute of Advanced Studies, Bangalore, India                                         

INDIA’S MILITARY MODERNIZATION: Strategic Technologies and Weapons Systems. Oxford International Relations in South Asia. Edited by Rajesh Basrur, Bharath Gopalaswamy. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2015. xi, 264 pp. (Tables, figures.) US$79.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-19-945162-3.

In the aftermath of the disastrous Sino-Indian border war of 1962, India’s policy makers embarked on a massive program of military modernization. It entailed the creation of ten new mountain divisions prepared for high altitude warfare, the expansion of the air force to forty-five squadrons equipped with supersonic aircraft and an enlargement of the army to a million men under arms. There was also a modest program of naval modernization.

Over the next six decades, several, though not all, of these goals have been realized. In 2014, a parliamentary panel revealed that the Indian Air Force, despite having a sanctioned strength of forty-five squadrons, could only field twenty-five operational squadrons. This abject shortfall  can be attributed in considerable part to an extremely dilatory approach to weapons acquisition and one that has been marked with bureaucratic sloth, allegations of widespread corruption, and the failure of the indigenous weapons industry to meet stated targets.

The most egregious of these failures, of course, has been the attempt to build an indigenous Light Combat Aircraft (LCA). The project was formally commissioned in 1983. Multiple attempts at building an engine resulted in failure. Eventually the designers acquired a General Electric engine to power the aircraft. In 2015, over three decades after the decision to build the aircraft, the Indian Air Force is scheduled to receive two squadrons in 2017.

Several chapters in Basrur and Gopalaswamy’s edited volume touch upon some of these endemic problems that have dogged India’s attempts to build a domestic defense industrial base and to modernize its armed forces. The overall quality of the book, however, is quite uneven. Most importantly, it does not deal with perhaps the two most compelling failures of India’s efforts toward defense indigenization: the efforts to manufacture a main battle tank and field a light combat aircraft.

One of the better chapters in this volume is that of Bibhu Prasad Routray, who shows that the behemoth public-sector firms, which have dominated India’s defense industry, have abjectly failed to meet deadlines, global standards, and production targets. He correctly argues that the technical personnel who have dominated these entities have been able to successfully defend their turf. In considerable part their ability to maintain such autonomy has stemmed from early political decisions which privileged technocrats over the uniformed military. Furthermore, he also underscores how defense research and development organizations’ putative success in the realm of missile technology has enabled it to ward off compelling criticism of its myriad failures.

Another chapter that also merits mention is Gaurav Kampani’s analysis of the dysfunctional features of India’s operational nuclear policy. Kampani, who has written extensively on this subject elsewhere, makes a deft argument that organizational pathologies, more than any other factor, have hobbled India from adopting a viable operational policy for its nuclear weapons. In this chapter he also carefully outlines some of the doctrinal tensions that have undermined the quest for a successful operational strategy.

Other chapters in this volume, such as that of one of the two editors, Bharat Gopalaswamy, on India’s space policy, demonstrate a firm grasp of technical issues and questions. However, the principal drawback of his contribution is that it is mostly descriptive. Furthermore, instead of tracing the evolution of India’s space policy and the acquisition of various assets, it focuses disproportionately on the role of space technologies of other states and the role they played in various recent conflicts.

Other chapters further underscore the unevenness of this volume. For example, Probal Ghosh’s discussion of India’s quest for ballistic missile defense makes some theoretical as well as practical claims that are questionable if not untenable. At a theoretical level he argues that India’s acquisition and deployment of a BMD system would strengthen deterrence against Pakistan and the People’s Republic of China (PRC). Under ideal circumstances an Indian BMD system could contribute to a strategy of deterrence by denial. However, from Pakistan’s standpoint, India’s pursuit of a BMD system, combined with some of the more expansive claims that a number of Indian technocrats have made in the public domain, it appears that India is seeking a strategy of escalation dominance. Not surprisingly, Pakistan is now seeking to dramatically expand its nuclear arsenal and is resorting to strategies of concealment to thwart any advantage that India might derive from the successful deployment of a BMD system.

Ghosh’s chapter alone is not the sole problematic contribution to this volume. Despite much apparent theoretical sound and fury, Kartik Bommakanti’s chapter on innovation in strategic technologies lacks empirical substance. It fails to home in on specific technologies and cases and instead proceeds to discuss various technological developments and choices in a scattershot fashion. As a consequence it makes no significant contribution to either theoretical development or policy analysis.

Two final comments about this volume are in order. As with many edited books this one suffers from a familiar problem. There are individual chapters that are thoughtful, well argued, and cogently written. Others, obviously, are not. Additionally, another drawback of this volume is the lack of a clear organizing framework that would have made these contributions dovetail into one another. The absence thereof leaves the reader wondering about the analytical basis for the selection of the topics included and the exclusion of others.

Sumit Ganguly, Indiana University, Bloomington, USA                                                                      

CONFLICTING VISIONS: Canada and India in the Cold War World, 1946-76. By Ryan Touhey. Vancouver: UBC Press, 2015. xi, 304 pp. (Illustrations, maps.) US$37.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-7748-2901-4.

Beginning with an imaginative riff comparing Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh, and Lucknow, Ontario, Ryan Touhey establishes that the Raj administration of India and the British settlement of Upper Canada were well connected in the mid-nineteenth century. But for state-to-state relations Touhey wisely opens with the 1946 appointment of Canada’s first ambassador (high commissioner) to India and the opening of Prime Minister King’s and future Prime Minister Louis St-Laurent’s relations with Prime Minister Nehru himself. Ambassadors exchanged between countries in the Commonwealth have always retained the title “high commissioner” (and for readers outside the limited circle to whom this makes sense, I shall use the terms ambassadors and embassies here for simplicity).

This is a much-needed book in the field of Canada’s (and India’s) bilateral relations, and is based on a painstaking search through the vast (and often nonlinear) RG25 file group at the National Archives in Ottawa. In that Canada had no consulates in India, this book focuses largely on the life of an embassy and more particularly on the thinking of a number of ambassadors, usually in contest with their counterparts and supervisors in Ottawa. Touhey keeps up with the life and times of Indian high commissioners (ambassadors) living in Ottawa and reporting to Delhi. However, India did have consulates, including important ones like Vancouver, so the two structures were never quite comparable. Touhey does, however, refer to files in Delhi about Canada in the National Archives of India. He tries to keep a balance between the official Indian views of these relations and the Canadian views, but the sheer volume of Canadian documents and richness tilts him inevitably towards seeing more through a Canadian lens. And there is an occasional reference to US and UK files, showing that the British and Americans weren’t entirely ignoring what was going on.

There is little treatment of business, intellectual, cultural, migration, or military relations. The purchase and/or donation of wheat, or light aircraft with dual use, are given weight insofar as they affect the overall tone of the relationship. Canadian investment in India occurred only well after 1974, except for the renowned Bata Shoe Company, incorporated and manufacturing just outside Kolkata, since the late 1930s. The role of print media in framing and explaining the peculiar stresses and contradictions in the relationship is mentioned and sometimes quoted, but is not a major focus.

This is an excellent study of diplomatic access to the top, the role of ministers of external affairs (both countries used similar names for this activity), and the role of the powerful unelected officials who guarded the doors and crafted the language of policies. Up until 1964, when Chester Ronning was replaced as ambassador in Delhi and PM Nehru died, the relationship had rested in very few hands. Even after the May 1974 nuclear test in Rajasthan, Touhey shows how all the moving parts of the old relationships were intact and could soon go into negotiating action again, a short period after the Canadian denunciations of the test. Given the long Liberal Party hold on the PM’s office in Ottawa (from Pearson’s arrival in 1963 to Trudeau’s departure in 1979) an old boy’s network around foreign policy worked well in Ottawa.

Touhey has skillfully established the scope and depth of the number of ministry officials in Ottawa who had experience with Indian diplomats, largely after the Korean War and in the foundation and operation of the International Commission for Supervision and Control in Vietnam and Laos. Some of these officials, critical of India’s motives and irritated by Krishna Menon and some of his procedures and decisions (until his downfall and resignation in October 1962), rose steadily to high ranks in Ottawa “with sour memories,” right up to the 1974-1976 period.

In fact an important exception to the “diplomacy first” thrust of the book is the nuclear relationship which ran through the entire thirty years, right to the May 1976 Cabinet decision to terminate Canada’s commitment to help build another nuclear reactor near Chennai. From those important positions, their skeptical criticism was applied to nuclear cooperation between India and Canada (cooperation that was confirmed profitably when the CANDU reactor contract was signed in 1963), continuing through to the unsuccessful renegotiations in 1974-1976.

Through a study of the stresses and contradictions in this Cold War relationship, Touhey illuminates the power and complexity of Canada’s American and British relationship, and the indirect influence of the Soviet relationship; France, one of Canada’s rivals in the nuclear business in India, is only mentioned. But the Commonwealth donor relationship vs. the Commonwealth voting relationship, the independent CIDA donor relationship vs. the Vietnam Commission relationship, the lack-of-a-Security Council seat relationship for both countries, Indian resentment of Pakistan and China—all these added to the complexity of how India perceived Canadian positions and decisions, and vice versa. For instance, when many other countries in 1971 took positions on supporting either Pakistan or Bangladesh (read India), Canada took no official position, hoping the question would go away. Prime Minister Gandhi, however, had “gone out on a limb” for Bangladesh between September and December, and had a list of countries that had agreed with and supported her; surely she noted Canada’s silence?

This is a good and important contribution to diplomatic history in Asia, weaving in China, Vietnam, and Pakistan. It provides insight into the complicated relations of foreign affairs ministries and their numerous embassies and ambassadors. It adds also to an aspect of state-to-state negotiations which can be compared with US-India or Britain-India relations, particularly in the excellent chapter 10 on the unsuccessful 1974-1976 nuclear bargaining. Those studies scarcely mention Canada, although Touhey’s book cannot avoid having their involvement. In that sense, too, it is very Canadian.

Robert Anderson, Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, Canada                                                         

DEMOCRACY AND TRANSPARENCY IN THE INDIAN STATE: The Making of the Right to Information Act. Routledge/Edinburgh South Asian Studies Series. By Prashant Sharma. London; New York: Routledge, 2015. xx, 238 pp. (Tables.) US$145.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-13-880217-9.

The movements which supported the emergence and implementation of the Right to Information (RTI) Act in India under the United Progressive Alliance (UPA) governments of 2004–2015 have perhaps been overshadowed in public memory by more recent popular movements against corruption, and by the 2014 landslide election of the Bharatiya Janata Party. However, the existence of the law, only ten years old in 2015, has been hailed as a significant moment in the development of the relationship between Indian citizens and the state.

Prashant Sharma’s book provides the reader with a fresh perspective on the emergence of the RTI Act and on the different actors and locations involved in the process of drafting and enactment. Across six chapters, each with the useful addition of a bibliography and extensive endnotes, he reveals some of the history and social networks involved in the conception and enactment of the Right to Information. The main thrust of the book is to question what Sharma calls the “dominant narrative” concerning the emergence of the Right to Information in India, and in doing so reflect upon the relationship between the RTI Act and discourses of democratic deepening in India.

For Sharma the dominant narrative of the RTI in India holds that the demand for transparency and accountability, for a fundamental change in the relationship between the citizens and the state, emanated from a grassroots struggle which blossomed into a national campaign and gained sufficient traction to pressure political parties to include the Right to Information in their agendas; that the RTI Act was a response to local, and therefore particularly Indian, social and political circumstances; and, that bureaucratic and political resistance from those who felt their position threatened by increased transparency and accountability was overcome because of the strength, persistence, and simple justice of the demand from below. Locating the dominant narrative within a selection of academic, activist, policy, and media sources that he argues both celebrate and overemphasise the role of grassroots political action, Sharma proposes that if the narrative is correct then we would have evidence of a significant process of democratic deepening taking place in India.

However, Sharma problematizes the dominant narrative by identifying three significant “silences.” When these gaps in the narrative are filled in, Sharma argues, the emergence of the Right to Information in India might be understood to be more a product of elite interests and changes in the social and political character of the state under neo-liberalism than it was an example of deepening democracy.

These silences are addressed one by one through the three central chapters of the book. In the first of these, titled “Digging up the Grassroots,” Sharma traces the social histories of prominent movement activists. For Sharma a “small, intimate, dense network” (84) of urban, upper caste, upper middle class activists possessed the social and cultural capital necessary to gain access to, and be comfortable operating within, high level political, policy and media forums. The political access of this “elite fraction” of the middle class was crucial in promoting the idea of the RTI, and thus it could be argued that the RTI Act was not a response to pressure from below. Building on this theme, he goes on to argue that the RTI was acceptable to those in government precisely because it did not threaten the hegemony of the ruling elite, and thus was not as radical a law as the dominant narrative suggests.

The second silence is addressed in a chapter entitled “Opening up the Government.” Sharma argues that the account of bureaucratic resistance to the RTI in the dominant narrative is not borne out by his interviews with senior officials involved in the legislative process. He identifies the antecedents of the 2005 RTI in post-independence policymaking, legal precedent, and judicial activism and locates the law within wider processes of neo-liberal state reform. Sharma’s bureaucrat informants assert that rather than responding to demands from below for an information law the impetus came from within government itself. Ultimately it appears that the law emerged from a number of factors, both civil society activism and top down governance reform, which combined to produce a moment of possibility for the Right to Information.

The third silence is addressed in chapter 5, “The Foreign Hand.” Here, Sharma outlines the ways in which the Indian RTI Act emerged within the context of the global good governance zeitgeist of the 1990s and early 2000s and partly in response to pressure from international institutions such as the World Bank and the WTO. This period saw a huge growth in freedom of information laws, of which India’s was just one example. In turn, the drafting process of the Indian RTI Act itself drew upon existing clauses in the FOI laws of a range of countries. Thus, Sharma argues, the Indian RTI Act was not as much of a response to a specifically Indian set of circumstances as the dominant narrative would suggest.

Overall, Sharma sets out the argument of the book very clearly. There is a lot of detail, particularly in the chapters on the role of the state and the international context, which adds to our understanding of the emergence of the RTI in India. It is important that we understand the social and political processes through which legislation such as the RTI is produced and the role of class and power as key factors. However, in the construction of an elegant argument designed to refute the dominant narrative Sharma swings too far in the other direction. Sharma’s dominant narrative is a straw man. The narrative’s privileging of the grassroots and change from below is replaced by an account of elite interest and foreign influence that effectively erases subaltern voices and agency from the story of the RTI in India. Inevitably the result of research such as this will be a partial truth and thus this is a book that should be read against existing and forthcoming accounts of the RTI process in India. As such it contributes to an ongoing debate, particularly in light of the implications of its critique of the potential of grassroots movement politics, rather than acting as the last word.

Martin Webb, Goldsmiths, University of London, London, United Kingdom                              

REVOLUTIONARY LIVES IN SOUTH ASIA: Acts and Afterlives of Anticolonial Political Action. Edited by Kama Maclean and J. Daniel Elam. London; New York: Routledge, 2015. x, 125 pp. US$150.00, cloth . ISBN 978-1-13-879497-9.

The chapters in this book were originally published in Postcolonial Studies (16, no. 2 [June 2013]). The main objective of this edited volume, outlined by the editors in the first chapter, is to interrogate the moniker “revolutionary” within the specific academic, political, and cultural contexts of South Asia’s past and present. The editors outline the book’s loosely biographical approach to this question, hoping to reiterate the humanness of revolutionary politics. The time frame for this exercise is the overlapping global interwar and late colonial periods. Three chapters of the book are devoted to three Indian activists and their effects within and beyond the British Empire. These three are M.N. Roy, V.D. Savarkar and J.P. Narayan. The remaining four chapters of the book focus on the members of the Hindustan Socialist Revolutionary Army (HSRA). One glaring omission from this list is M.K. Gandhi. The reason for this omission, the editors point out, is the recent proliferation of works on him. Gandhi however does not disappear from this volume totally as as “he continually hovers in the imagination of many of the figures under analyses” (5).

A key issue related to interrogating the term “revolutionary” is the relationship of this term to violent action. As the editors perceptively point out, there has been much recent academic discussion around forms of violence and legitimate resistance. They are right to point out that the historiography of Indian nationalism continues to be wedded to the binary between “violence” and “nonviolence” with little systematic and rigorous scrutiny of the disarray of such terms in anticolonial texts. Such a binary, in effect, reproduces British colonial representations of revolutionary activity, “where ‘revolutionary’ and ‘terrorist’ were frequently interchangeable descriptions of anticolonial agitations” (6). The truth, as is usually the case, is more complex and the various chapters chart this complexity in relation to both specific individuals as well as to the HSRA.

The legacy and symbolism of Bhagat Singh has been aggressively appropriated in contemporary India and Pakistan across the political spectrum for various ends. Chris Moffat’s chapter on Bhagat Singh and the HSRA aims to move beyond a debate about what Bhagat Singh symbolises in the contemporary period and instead looks at Bhagat Singh in the context of his present, to understand better the politics of action and the contexts of action. A central point of this chapter is the need to understand Bhagat Singh as a key member of the HSRA, especially in the context of the HSRA’s slogan, Inqilab Zindabad (“Long Live Revolution”). Tracing the various influences on Bhagat Singh, from Lenin to the French anarchist, Auguste Vaillant to the Ghadar Party and Kartar Singh Sarabha, this chapter points to understanding Bhagat Singh’s notion of the immediacy of his present as a key driver of his politics of action. Moffat’s chapter is a key contribution to the literature on both Bhagat Singh and the HSRA as it subverts the cliché associated with him—what he would have been if he had not been hanged at the gallows. Moffat’s chapter is definitely required reading for anyone interested in the intricacies of the anticolonial movement in India.

The other interesting chapter in this book is by Aparna Vaidik on Hans Raj Vohra, a member of the HSRA who testified against Bhagat Singh, Rajguru and Sukhdev in the Lahore Conspiracy Case trial, 1929–1930. The author poses a key question: “is it possible to write a non-celebratory history of nationalism, which is sensitive to the instances when nationalist solidarity is fractured and betrayed?” (105). This is definitely a refreshing starting point especially in relation to understanding the specific contexts and motivations of revolutionaries who became informants against their revolutionary comrades. The key point Vaidik makes is that Hans Raj Vohra decided to testify against the HSRA trio not because of some pecuniary benefit to himself, nor due to torture or threat thereof from colonial authorities (both of which are usually cited as reasons for revolutionaries to become “approvers” against their previous comrades). Instead, Vohra decided to testify because he believed that Sukhdev, to whom he was related and through whom he came to be associated with the HSRA, had confessed to vital information about the HSRA’s activities once the latter was arrested by the colonial authorities. Despite its interesting starting point, however, the reader is left wondering if this explanation and Vohra’s documented guilt until his death in the 1980s could possibly be the self-serving justification of a young Vohra who wanted to escape the fate of rigorous colonial imprisonment or even the gallows. Vohra’s pardon from charges related to his involvement with the activities of the HSRA in return for his testimony could possibly be cited as proof of this motivation.

Overall, this is an important work for anyone interested in the history of the anticolonial movement in South Asia. It is also an important contribution to present-day discussions of “terrorism” and what constitutes contemporary legitimate resistance against various structures of imperialism and colonialism in our collective present.

Sinderpal Singh, National University of Singapore, Singapore

INDIA’S 2014 ELECTIONS: A Modi-led BJP Sweep. Edited by Paul Wallace. New Delhi: Sage Publications India, 2015. xxiv, 427 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$59.95, cloth. ISBN 978-93-515-0187-9.

The 2014 national election in India is seen as a seminal one. In fact, shortly after the results were announced a prominent journalist wrote a book called 2014: The Election That Changed India. One reason why many saw the election as a game changer was due to the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) becoming the first non-Congress party to win a clear majority on its own. It was also the first time since 1984 that a party had a majority on its own in the Lok Sabha (lower house of parliament). Moreover, many felt that under the leadership of Prime Minister Narendra Modi, who ran a presidential style campaign in 2014, the BJP, with its Hindu nationalist leanings, could redefine the idea of India.

The book under review is the fifth in a series—the first four were edited by Paul Wallace and Ramashray Roy—which analyses India’s national elections normally held every five years. The series has been of immense value for anyone interested in election data and its analysis. In recent times, the Election Commission of India’s website has been an invaluable storehouse of data on Indian elections, minimising the need for publications on electoral data. But the commission does not tell us about campaign strategies, how and why voters voted the way they did, and the impact of elections on national and state politics. This is where books like India’s 2014 Election, edited by Paul Wallace, are useful. The book is divided into two parts: the first treats broad themes, such as Modi’s role in the BJP victory, and the second is composed of state or provincial-level studies. Not all of India’s 29 states are covered, with Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh and Kerala being some of the notable exceptions.

Of the thematic chapters, Christophe Jaffrelot and Gilles Vernier’s essay gives a good overview of the elections and makes the argument that despite the clear majority won by the BJP, the “era of coalitions is far from over” (43). They note the “noticeable geographical concentration” (29) of the BJP’s vote, with the Party winning 190 of the 225 seats in the Hindi belt comprising Uttar Pradesh, Bihar, Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, Rajasthan Haryana, Himachal Pradesh, Delhi, and Jharkhand. They also note that whereas the BJP won 31 percent of the national vote, in the Hindi belt (plus Gujarat) it won 45 percent of the vote. They make the important point that the regional parties have held their own, winning 46.6 percent of the vote share, which was roughly the same as in the 2009 national elections. There were, of course, variations in the performance of the regional parties with parties in the east and south—the Trinamul Congress (TMC) in West Bengal, the Biju Janata Dal (BJD) in Orissa, and the All India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (AIADMK) in Tamil Nadu—doing exceedingly well while the parties in the northern states underperformed. Another important essay is that of Jyotirindra Dasgupta and Anshu Chatterjee on how civic associations in the run up to the 2014 elections have enriched democratic politics.

Of the states, Uttar Pradesh (UP) contributed a whopping 71 seats to the BJP’s tally. Sudha Pai and Avinash Kumar’s analysis of the UP results suggests that it was not so much a Modi wave but a combination of Hindutva and development that paid off for the BJP. They argue that the BJP followed a strategy of creating a “broad Hindu vote bank encompassing the upper castes, the backwards, and also the Dalits” (120). This was apparent in the vote swing in favour of the BJP, according to the National Election Study by Lokniti-CSDS, cutting across castes. Thus, in addition to a majority of the upper castes, 53 percent of the Kurmis/Koeris and 45 percent of Dalits (leaving aside the Jatavs) voted for the BJP. Pai and Kumar also credit Modi’s close aide and current BJP president Amit Shah for the way he ran Modi’s “hi-tech, US presidential style, plebiscitary campaign” (135).

Bihar was another Hindi heartland state where the BJP did very well winning 22 of the 40 seats. According to Maneesha Roy and Ravi Ranjan, the BJP was successful in stitching together a “collation of extremes” despite chief minister Nitish Kumar contesting on his own. Because of the BJP’s alliance with parties like the Lok Janashakti Party and Rashtriya Lok Samata Party, it won votes across castes. Conversely, Nitish Kumar, despite his considerable personal popularity, did not have the caste arithmetic on his side. However, the authors are prescient when they point out that an alliance between the Rashtriya Janata Dal, Janata Dal (United) and Congress would be a “robust social combination,” as was proved by the 2015 state assembly elections.

There are insightful essays on several other states. Andrew Wyatt, for instance, argues that the appeal of national parties in Tamil Nadu is limited and that they can “only win elections when they are integrated into alliances with regional parties” (335). Interestingly, he also argues that the Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam, which suffered a heavy loss in the 2014 elections, was reasonably well placed for the state assembly elections in 2016. However, some chapters, including the one on West Bengal, disappoint.

Wallace in his introduction notes a transition in 2014 from coalition politics to one-party majority rule under a strong leader, namely Modi. At the time of writing, however, the latter model seems to have hit road bumps as testified to by the state election results in 2015 and the impasse in national parliament.

Ronojoy Sen, National University of Singapore, Singapore                                                               

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IMAGINING MUSLIMS IN SOUTH ASIA AND THE DIASPORA: Secularism, Religion, Representations. Routledge Contemporary South Asia Series. Edited by Claire Chambers and Caroline Herbert. London; New York: Routledge, 2015. xvi, 222 pp. US$145.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-415-65930-7.

Imagining Muslims in South Asia and the Diaspora: Secularism, Religion, Representations is a collection of essays edited by Claire Chambers (Lecturer in Global Literature, University of York, UK) and Caroline Herbert (Senior Lecturer in Postcolonial Studies, Leeds Metropolitan University, UK). Claire Chambers and Caroline Herbert have previously worked on Muslim Women Writers (2011) and Postcolonial Cities (2013), respectively. This book is their concentrated theoretical contribution towards South Asian and Postcolonial Studies. It offers an interesting collection of essays focusing on the image and representations of Islam and Muslim identity and the complications surrounding both. The four sections of the book integrate responses from international academics who collectively present a thought-provoking analysis of the subject by observing discourses, reviewing historical facts, challenging theoretical approaches and analyzing contemporary South Asian literary genres.

The first section, “Surveying the field: comparative approaches,” is based on discussions by Tabish Khair, Anshuman A. Mondal and Lindsey Moore. Khair narrates his personal dilemma of growing up as a Muslim in India (chapter 1). When the responses in India shift towards associating him with “mullah religion,” he chooses to move abroad. Based on his earlier work, Young Muslim Voices, Mondal (chapter 2) critiques Rushdie and Kureshi, who either create foreign characters or make Muslim characters voiceless (Shalimar the Clown and Satanic Verses), continue to debate secularism vs fundamentalism (The Black Album), or criticize the ways the second generation fights the moral and cultural values imposed upon them by their parents. Lindsey Moore argues that South Asian (Attiya Hussain, Uzma Aslam Khan) and Maghrebi (Fatima Merrinsi) female writers share similar themes, including the conflict between cultural and religious values, public vs. personal space for women, the female body as problematic, the struggle to make women visible, audibility through textual presence, autobiographical accounts, and tracing historiography (chapter 3).

In the second section of the book, “Syncretism, Muslim cosmopolitanism, and secularism,” Muneeza Shamsie argues that Islam has continued to be a threat to Europe starting from the eighth century to the present day (chapter 4). She suggests that this is one of the reasons why many South Asian Muslim writers (Agha Shahid Ali, Shadab Zest Hashmi, Shahid Suharwardi and Imtiaz Dhraker and Rushdie) evoke Europe’s “suppressed narrative,” reminding their readers of a Euro-Arab culture that flourished in Spain as Al-Andalus. Rachel Farebrother and Peter Morey explore Kashmiri writers, Agha Shahid Ali and Mirza Waheed poetry and fiction, respectively. Farebrother has reviewed Agha Shahid Ali from a perspective of being detached from the violence in Kashmir (The Country Without a Post Office) (chapter 6). She finds his writings paradoxical because while experimenting with western genres like turning pastoral poetry into political expressions, he also uses cultural and religious symbols from Kashmir. Morey suggests The Collaborator (2011) reflects a kind of procrastination, rejecting the positions of both Indian and Pakistani sides in the dispute over Kashmir (chapter 7). Unlike the other chapters in this section, which focus on fiction or poetry, Caroline Herbert bridges music and fiction in order to understand the minoritization of Muslims and the shared Hindu Muslim history and offers a close analysis of Shahshi Deshpande’s Small Remedies (chapter 5).

In section 3 of the book, titled “Currents with South Asian Islam,” E. Rashid critiques Ed Husain’s The Islamist as a Bildungsroman creating confusion over Islamism and liberal Islam, which in his view problematizes the nature of British Islam (chapter 8). He contends that Muslim scholars have contributed towards these ambiguities by presenting plagiarized western political thought. Madeline Clements explores Rushdie’s idea of Islam and faith as expressed in Shalimar the Clown (2008) and The Enchantress of Florence (2009) (chapter 9). In her view, Rushdie’s anti-Islam responses towards Muslim practices, liberalism, and private vs. public space for practicing religion reflect a kind of identity crisis since Rushdie emphasizes his Indian Muslim and Kashmiri identity and yet remains bewildered about his association with the broader Muslim community. Following the theme of the problematized nature of defining a Muslim, Claire Chambers explores the politically desirable possibilities of a good Muslim through Tahmima Anam’s The Good Muslim, a novel that complicates these binaries and unsettles the boundaries between the good and bad Muslims (chapter 10).

The final section of the book, “Representations, stereotypes and Islamophobia,” begins with Cara Cilano’s discussion of Benazir Bhutto’s dual personality as representing both “Larkana Benazir” (Benazir from Sindh) and “Radcliffe Benazir” (Benazir from Radcliffe College, in Cambridge, Massachusetts), who was pro-democracy and supported gender equality (chapter 11). Her leadership reflected the war on terror discourse because she identifies the difference between the intra-Islamic debate within Pakistan and the gap between Islam and the West on the international scale, which further divide Muslims into “good” and “bad” categories. Cilano’s stance that Benazir represents American ideologies instead of just representing Pakistan as a leader is vaguely concluded. Aroosa Kanwal discusses post 9/11 interpretations of “Islam,” “Muslims,” and “Terrorism” through the example of Kamila Shamsie’s Burnt Shadows and Broken Verses. The author agrees with Shamsie that there is a pressure on the Muslim community to redefine Islam as a religion of peace. Like other authors in this book and Kamila Shamise, Kanwal agrees that there is a difference between being a “Muslim” and being an “Islamist” (chapter 13). On a different note, S.A. Meghani resists the stereotyping of Muslim identities and genders and discusses Straightening Ali, a work of fiction by Amjeed Kabil, and the film Touch of Pink by Ian Iqbal Rashid (chapter 12). The protagonists in both cases deal with their Muslim background and gayness as “incompatible identities” due to which they fear detachment from their families and community.

To conclude, this book deals primarily with the complications of defining the Muslim identity. It challenges the “hardening of definitions” and invisible “prejudices” between Hindu and Muslim identities, religions, personal spaces, and expectations (Tabish Khair and Mondal). The problems of identifying good vs. bad Muslims are an important concern (Cilano and Chambers). The question of differentiating between secular and extremist Islam remains problematic (Husain) but is addressed carefully by some authors. Despite all the pressures in the form of the “War on Terror” (Kanwal), works by Muslim and South Asian writers are observed as intentionally drawing Euro-Arab connections perhaps with the intention of drawing some positive conclusions and maintaining peace (Shamsie). Voicing female writers and queer South Asian Muslims significantly symbolizes dual oppression on the basis of religion and ethnicity (Moore and Meghani). In the process of interpreting Muslim identity, the stereotypes created by South Asian writers are challenged by some authors because in their view this means the misrepresentation of Muslim identity and Islam as ideology. This work emphasizes the responsible role of a creative writer as well as academics who can continue the dialogue and clarify the ambiguities surrounding the topic in focus. While some authors fairly believe that if literature or theory fails to deal with the complexities of issues, bridging discourses like art, fiction (Herbert) and film (Meghani) can address certain ambiguities.

Nukhbah Taj Langah, Forman Christian College, Lahore, Pakistan

FRONTIERS, INSURGENCIES AND COUNTER-INSURGENCIES IN SOUTH ASIA, 1820-2013. By Kaushik Roy. London; New York: Routledge, 2015. xix, 226 pp. (Illustrations, maps.). ISBN 978-1-138-89252-1.

A leading military historian, Kaushik Roy has produced a finely crafted work on the interrelationships between colonial making of frontiers, state formation, and small wars conducted by the British in South Asia. The book contributes substantially to writings on protracted armed conflicts in South Asia, drawing extensively on archival sources to analyze Small Wars and counter-insurgency operations (COIN) in South Asia. Roy argues that the origins of insurgencies and counterinsurgency operations of contemporary states in South Asia can be traced back to British policies of managing the border regions in the North-East of India, in the North West Frontier Province (NWFP), the Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA), and in Baluchistan, all of which have experienced long-standing insurgencies. Frontier management policies and COIN in South Asia are traced back to the politics of limited warfare “fought by the British with limited military assets for limited political aims” (159). The author writes, “the British Small Wars against the Nagas, Kukis, Lushais, and the Pathans were limited conflicts from imperial perspectives, but appeared as Total War for the stateless frontier societies” (161).

British policies in the NWFP (circa 1800-1913) and the North-East (1772-1913), as the author argues, were largely motivated by military-strategic interests, for example in the NWFP, where COIN operations were driven by the threat of possible attacks from Russia in Afghanistan. According to British ethnographic accounts, the NWFP was described as “the traditional highway of conquest of the sub-continent” (11). The tribesmen in this region, such as the Pathans, “existed in a state of ordered anarchy” (15). Further, he notes, “[t]he possession of firearms became a symbol of prestige and allowed individuals to engage in feuding” (15). British policy towards the NWFP was based on two different approaches, one that focused on economic concessions and diplomacy and the other mostly led by military officials, focused on “punitive actions against the recalcitrant tribes” (83). The latter approach prevailed. The British imposed fines and made inroads into Waziristan by constructing roads and stationing troops in the “troubled regions” as part of its Small War campaigns in the NWFP (87).

Small wars were also conducted to maintain peace in the North-East frontiers where the British encountered guerilla uprisings led by the Naga and Kuki tribes. Chapter 3 discusses how the British faced these encounters and how borders were managed during the two World Wars (1914-1945). In the North-East sector, four battalions of Assam Rifles, including a Gurkha regiment, were deployed to contain the Kuki rebellion in 1917. Similarly in the NWFP, as the author notes, “[i]n 1915, the British GOI deployed 22 infantry battalions, 21 cavalry squadrons, eight batteries of 48 guns and two sapper companies (equivalent to two divisions) in order to deter the North-West Frontier tribes and Afghanistan” (70).

What implications do these frontier management policies have for postcolonial state formation processes, and the integration and management of frontier lands into the “national mainstream?” Roy argues that frontier policies in postcolonial South Asia, particularly in India and Pakistan, were shaped by British policies of management and integration. Road building, used as an important COIN technique, allowed the postcolonial polities to “integrate the marginal borderlands within their national mainstream” (95). The author, however, rejects the views held by previous scholars that postcolonial states, particularly India, simply inherited the COIN of British India. Roy argues that unlike Pakistan, the Indian army adopted a “sophisticated COIN doctrine where military aspects are subordinate to political aspects. Minimum force remains the operative principle of post-1947 India’s COIN. Unlike Pakistan, India in its COIN operation never uses anti-personnel mines, artillery and airpower. This is partly due to democratic governance, vigorous public media and a strong middle class” (162).

Chapter 4 analyzes how the Indian army implemented its COIN operations during the India-Pakistan war in 1947-1948, and then how the continuation of conflict in the border region throughout the 1980s and 1990s, engaged the Indian army “along and across the LOC, involving exchanges of intense artillery, missile, mortar and automatic fire with the Pakistani army, along with almost daily clashes between border patrols and mujahideen attempting to infiltrate into the valley. The other war was the counter-insurgency and counter-terrorism in the hinterland of the valley against Islamic tanzeems and their overground organizations” (108). The COIN operations in Kashmir were characterized not only by “small scattered actions” but also by nation-building exercises, where the army functioned as a facilitator for the civil state machinery, especially in the post-Kargil war in the late 1990s. Chapter 5 continues the discussion on COIN operations in the Naga hills and in this context, the author reveals that besides armed operations, co-option of surrendered rebels into the Indian army, the Border Security Forces and the Nagaland state police was an important COIN technique used by India.

These COIN strategies are different from the methods of extreme repression used by the Pakistani army in Baluchistan and East Pakistan. Chapter 4 describes how the armed bands like Hemayat Bahini carried out guerilla operations against the Pakistani army. The latter used “aerial artillery against the insurgents” but was unable to crush the insurgency (119). The author argues that the absence of “nation-building” or the absence of “winning the hearts and minds” approach of the Pakistani army was one of the major drawbacks of the COIN operation of the Pakistani army, and shows how the Awami League gained in the form of support for independence not only from the local Bengali population but also from the Security Forces across the border on the Indian side.

Archival evidence that the author presents in the book provides a wealth of original information to the reader. Historical analysis in the book sheds interesting insights on the roots of the organized violence of the stateless communities in the borders and the Small Wars conducted to pacify these communities in the frontier regions of South Asia. Barring these contributions, the book is limited in its analysis of the origins of the insurgencies—for instance, the insurgencies in Northeast India analyzed in chapter 5. The author also adopts a reductionist view while claiming that the “Assamese insurgency is the product of the Assamese Hindu middle class antipathy towards Muslim immigration,” whereas the insurgency has roots in profound socio-economic grievances discussed elsewhere by scholars like Udayan Mishra in The Periphery Strikes Back: Challenges to the nation-state in Assam and Nagaland (IIAS, 2000). The author claims that “India’s COIN includes both military and non-military elements” (156). However it is not clear how this is applicable in the case of India’s Northeast and the frontiers in FATA region. Despite these lacunae, the book makes an important contribution to the existing literature on the disturbed “marginal” borderlands in South Asia.

Pahi Saikia, Indian Institute of Technology Guwahati, Guwahati, India                           

GLOBALISATION, DEMOCRACY AND CORRUPTION: An Indian Perspective. Critical Debates in History & Politics. By Pranab Bardhan. London; Kolkata: Frontpage, 2015. x, 250 pp. US$21.95, paper. ISBN 978-93-81043-17-2.

Pranab Bardhan is a highly regarded and prolific economist. He was the long-time chief editor of the Journal of Development Economics, the leading journal in its field, and much of his work is technically sophisticated, but he is also an outstanding public intellectual, who argues cogently for social justice. He states his credo in a recent interview with the Kolkata newspaper, The Telegraph, reproduced in Globalisation, Democracy and Corruption: “I do not really believe that Left and Right labels mean much. I think one has to be clear about one’s objectives. I would consider myself Left if by Left people mean a commitment to social justice. But if the meaning of Left implies necessarily favouring the state over markets, I am not Left” (208). He is impatient with dogma, regardless of its source, though his particular concern has been with what he sees as “the amazing capacity of the Left parties [in India] for self-deception … avoidance of the hard realities and resort to clichés and solace from sacred texts” (183). He is impatient, too, with the sort of lazy radicalism that makes market capitalism and its attendant globalization responsible for all the ills of developing countries. He is surely right that globalization (meaning for him the expansion of foreign trade and investment) is neither the main cause nor the solution to a developing country’s problems, and that its impact will depend upon local factors, notably the state of the country’s physical infrastructure and mass education. Though he is understandably chary of using the term social democracy, given the suspicion with which it is regarded by both Right and Left, not least in India, his writing is inspired by a social democratic sensibility. In only one of the essays, a piece from YaleGlobal in 2006, does he refer to the experience of social democracy in the Nordic countries, pursued in the context of integration into international markets. But it is clear that the way in which the Scandinavians succeeded in enhancing social equity without giving up on competitive efficiency commands his respect. The challenge of combining equity and efficiency, which is what the pursuit of social democracy must confront, is rarely far from his thinking.

Drawing extensively on his professional work as an economist, especially in regard to poverty and inequality, Bardhan’s Globalisation, Democracy and Corruption (an unfortunately nondescript title) brings together 38 articles published between 2006 and 2014, some in newspapers, including the Financial Times and the New York Times as well as top English-language newspapers and magazines published in India, several published in the Economic and Political Weekly, and others in such on-line publications as YaleGlobal and Ideas for India. They engage with a wide range of topics, including globalization, inequality and poverty, corruption, democracy, and comparisons of India and China, as well as with key questions concerning current policy debates in India. One article, published before the outcome of the 2014 Indian general election was known, contains an assessment of Narendra Modi, now the prime minister, which has proven prescient in regard to the rise of the banal Hindu nationalism that has become increasingly evident in the course of 2015. The final piece is “A Conversation with Amartya Sen,” from 2006, about Sen’s books The Argumentative Indian and Identity and Violence, and which in its emphasis on the importance of deliberative public argument stands as a testament to what Indian society seems now to be losing.

The subjects covered in the various articles are diverse; yet they come together around a core theme of the damage that is done to societies in general, and to Indian society in particular, by social and economic inequality. Bardhan especially emphasizes the extent of educational inequality in India, though he sees it as a serious problem in the United States as well. In this respect India is one of the worst cases in the world. An admittedly crude measure (a gini coefficient based on years of schooling in the adult population) shows that India (with a coefficient of 56) lags far behind both China (37) and Brazil (39), and most of the rest of Latin America. Were we to take into account the quality of education, which with the exception of a few private schools is truly lamentable in India, the problem of educational inequality would be recognized as being even more serious. Bardhan says much less in these essays about the state of health care in India, but he consistently emphasizes the importance of improving the quality of health services, as well as education and physical infrastructure, for the mass of the people in the interests both of equity and of efficiency. India suffers too—it is one of the reasons why economic growth has delivered much less poverty reduction in India than it has in China—from its historic failure to address the problem of inequity in the distribution of land, as well as from deep inequalities in social status. Greater equity would, Bardhan argues, make it less difficult than it has been to build consensus and organize collective action, and so to establish a virtuous dynamic of growth and social justice: “attempts to reduce the extreme inequities may increase trust in government and make it easier to persuade most people to make short-run sacrifices for the long-run benefits of all” (80).

As it is, however, trust in government is seriously wanting. Bardhan puzzles over why it is that in a vibrant electoral democracy Indian voters do not hold governments to account, much more than they do, for the failure of the state to address the poor quality of public services from which most suffer. Part of the problem is that the rich can afford to secede. Another is that in the context of deep inequality, widespread poverty, and extensive social fragmentation, short-term populist solutions have a strong electoral appeal, even if they do not serve the interests of the poor over the longer run. At the same time, for want of electoral reform, the sheer costs of fighting elections in India—as in the United States—encourage corruption. A further factor fostering corruption—rather ironically, given the precepts of economic liberalism that the state has supposedly embraced—is that the government exercises great discretion over access to key resources. But these structural causes are ignored, as “public rage is somehow directed away from the rich bribe givers and onto venal politicians” (74), thanks to the influence of figures such as Anna Hazare in India, who project authoritarian populism: they know best what is in the people’s interest. There is a syndrome of dysfunctional government that encourages distrust of democratic politics—a distrust that is fanned by the discourse and the actions of what may be in some ways progressive civil society organizations. Civil society activism can never finally replace the functions of political parties in negotiating and reconciling the inevitably conflicting priorities of different groups and interests. But this vitally important process is vitiated by the failings of democratic politics in India, and in the many other parts of the world in which representative electoral democracy has come into question. Bardhan argues that middle classes, never reliable friends of democracy, increasingly turn away to the “ultra-nationalism” that is becoming increasingly evident across Asia, and look to authoritarian leaders.

Pranab Bardhan is an unfailingly engaging commentator. These diverse writings offer valuable insights into all the topics with which they deal, and the book as a whole offers a strong case for social democracy. It is not really a criticism of it to say that where it falls down is that Bardhan has so little to say about the politics that would make such an approach a practical possibility, and reverse the vicious spiral in which democratic government is locked. His role as a public intellectual is to contest the hegemony of the Right in the realm of ideas, and his book makes a significant contribution to this task.

John Harriss, Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, Canada                                                   

“NATION-STATE” AND MINORITY RIGHTS IN INDIA: Comparative Perspectives on Muslim and Sikh Identities. Routledge Contemporary South Asia Series, 83. By Tanweer Fazal. London; New York: Routledge, 2015. vii, 222 pp. (Illustrations, map.) US$145.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-415-74775-2.

While the advent of the idea of majority/minority in Europe was essentially an outcome of the “Peace of Westphalia” and the French revolution, in South Asia it is principally traced to the late nineteenth-century conjuncture of colonial modernity and the projects and practices of rule. Conventionally it is understood that the enumerative and classificatory exercises undertaken by a colonial state imposed new uniformity to community identities, amended conceptions about their collective self-image, and reconfigured representational tropes. According to this view majorities and minorities as constructed entities were outcomes of these processes. An awareness of the intellectual history of nationalism in South Asia reveals how self-representations derived through identification with these categories shaped fraught national identities and ambivalent political subjectivities in the region.

Tanweer Fazal’s book historicizes this complex sociology of nationalism and the nation-state from the vantage point of minorities and the discourse of minority rights. It focuses on the Muslim and Sikh minorities in India, where, according to him, “the issue of minority rights … has far-reaching implications” and is not merely a “ceaseless academic exercise” (15). Given the acrimony over the “minority problematique” in contemporary India, this seems a reasonable justification for such a study.

Given its methodological inflection, the book juxtaposes historical moments, state practices, and discourses to expose, in the Foucaultian frame, the epistemic alteration of community identities. Fazal in the opening chapter advances the thesis that in addition to the disciplinary regimes of the colonial state, a significant rupture in the self-consciousness of communities was the inauguration of the idea of the “nation-state” and its organizing principles. By implication he considers the idea of the “nation” as the central “discontinuity” in the traditional self-perception and identity of communities and illustrates how the transit from being communities to becoming nations in due course shaped the framework for competitive “national” mobilizations. Following Lord Acton’s assessment (1), Fazal avers that as the nation-state necessitates a single “national” community, in poly-ethnic contexts “national minorities” became an inevitable consequence. He fittingly problematizes the “givenness” of the “nation” idea in India and goes on to critique the homogenization and exclusions that flow from an apparent unitary construction of ‘national’ identities; exclusions both between and within national groups. His broad inference is that the project of nation building in India implied submergence of the distinctiveness of minority groups (29).

In order to argue his case, Fazal maps three projected “constructs of Indian nationhood” (9) that he describes as essentialist, nationalist, and modernist. He claims that though “seemingly in opposition” (9) to one another these constructions instinctively rendered majoritarian symbols and impulses a default primacy. The cultural metaphors, the political symbols, and later even the constitutional clauses, were all reflective of a “deep-seated majoritarianism” (10). He attributes this predisposition to their existence “in a shared discursive sphere” (9) where the logic of “power differentials” (29) between communities perceptibly foregrounded majoritarian interests to the “exclusion of peripheral voices” (29).

Fazal’s engagement with the discursive/public sphere (28) makes chapter 2 analytically pivotal to his understanding and account of the definitive trajectory and nature of minority rights in postcolonial India. The need of the “national” state to defend its privileged relationship with a “skewed public domain” (189), he claims, obliges it to adopt a blinkered conception of minorities and their rights. Tracking the nuances of its development and the governing discourses that shaped this “shared space,” Fazal suggests that the constitutive features of the national “public” were expressively coded and dominated by majoritarian sentiments and standpoints. It resulted in a “deep-seated nationalist prejudice against the concept of minority per se” (48). Such an ethnically circumscribed “public” gave definitive shape to the public discourse on minorities and the later constitutional conception and legal interpretations regarding the rights of minorities. Fazal argues that the shared collective understanding, or “national commonsense,” being morally majoritarian, treats minority rights merely as a compensation for the subjugated (162).

In conclusion, Fazal critiques the language of minority rights in India for legally institutionalizing an essentialist conception of community identities. This, he claims, instrumentalizes community identities and triggers a politics of “minorityism” (195) that places immoderate power in the hands of minority elites. Against a picture of essentialist cohesion Fazal emphasizes the internal plurality of minority subjectivities and suggests the need for privileging the politics of redistribution to redress issues of minority group disadvantage.

As a historically conscious and comparative account of minority rights in India, this book is a remarkably valuable intervention in the field. But it has crucial limitations. Fazal is right in tracing the modernity of the minority condition and explaining the invention of majorities/minorities to the introduction of the nation-form. Yet a historical survey of the “trajectory of the discourse” is too reductionist a perspective. It fails to capture the contingent role and effect of electoral politics, political parties, and democratic institutions in shaping the nature of majority-minority relations, especially in post-independent India. Fazal refers to the “elective principle” but does not fully unpack the dynamics of this principle or their implications for the discourse of minority rights at different moments of India’s postcolonial political history.

As for insights into the idea of the public sphere, other than Habermas, Fazal could have examined works of Eisenstadt and Schluchter and the relevance of their conceptualization to his case study. More crucially Fazal forsakes engagement with the work of scholars like Amir Ali on the nature and evolution of the public sphere in India. Amir Ali’s work not only antedates but is also analogous to that of Fazal. Regrettably Ali finds no mention even in Fazal’s bibliography. These comments notwithstanding, Fazal’s book is an important analysis of the problematic discourse of minority rights in India. The book straddles a range of disciplines and methods and marks a notable interdisciplinary attempt to capture the dialectic between nation, nationalism, minority identities and rights in India.

Rajesh Dev, University of Delhi, Delhi, India                                                                                     

INDIAN FOREIGN POLICY IN TRANSITION: Relations with South Asia. Routledge Contemporary South Asia Series, 86. By Arijit Mazumdar. London; New York: Routledge, 2015. xix, 224 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$145.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-13-801911-9.

India’s foreign policy has been characterized more by continuity than change. Nevertheless, we are living in an interconnected web of interdependence, and being one of the fastest-growing economic powers, India is reaching out, and in recent years we have witnessed a remarkable transformation of India’s foreign policy. Indeed, India needs a peaceful periphery for sustained economic growth and the current Indian government has clearly indicated it prioritizes building stronger ties with its neighbourhood.

Indian Foreign Policy in Transition explores the political evolution of South Asia to study the forces shaping India’s relations with its South Asian neighbours. The author asserts that “[t]his book is not simply a study of India’s past and present foreign policy but also analyses ongoing political changes and developments in India’s neighbourhood” (1). The book identifies three key drivers: India’s growing economic profile, recent democratic transitions in several South Asian countries, and greater US engagement in the region. The author then examines the three-fold research question: the nature of the relationship between India and other South Asian countries, patterns in the historical interactions, and the impact of key drivers. The author writes that “enhanced US presence has provided opportunities for states to carry out fundamental changes to their foreign policies” and “US presence in the region can be leveraged by smaller states to check India’s regional aspirations” (17). The book does not reflect ground realities and several points articulated by the author are based on flawed assumptions.

The book underlines Nehru’s instrumental role in defining India’s external relations and identifies “non-alignment” and “Panchsheel” as the twin pillars of Indian foreign policy. Further, it highlights that “Indira Gandhi’s tenure as prime minister did not see any major departure from Nehru’s policies towards South Asia” (29). It does, however, note that Indira Gandhi became the first prime minister to articulate India’s version of the Monroe Doctrine. The author has rightly pointed out the increasing influence of regional parties and state governments on foreign policy matters. While there were consultations with state governments in the past, centralized foreign policy making is facing resistance from various state governments. Hence, federalization of foreign policy could be very helpful in advancing India’s national interest.

Discussing India’s relations with Pakistan, the author notes that each country feels the other is an existential threat. While the author identifies the Kashmir issue as the most sensitive, he surprisingly overlooks issues of terrorism, infiltrations, and cross-border firing. Mazumdar finds India’s policy towards Pakistan reactive in nature and ad hoc. Moreover, the author claims that “the Pakistani establishment (civilian and military) was quite disturbed by the events of 1947-1948. The initial trauma of Partition and the subsequent conflict over Jammu and Kashmir, gave rise to suspicions regarding India’s intentions” (43). He goes on further to suggest that India “should support US efforts to stabilize Pakistan and address its security concerns,” ignoring the crux of the matter.

Analyzing India and Afghanistan, the author underlines Pakistan’s rulers’ support to radical Islam and asserts that “the Taliban’s fall in November 2011 hurt Pakistan’s regional interests.” [66] He adds that “[m]ilitarily defeating the Taliban is not possible” (76) and argues that stability in Afghanistan and improvement of India-Afghanistan relations are interlinked to the success of India-Pakistan relations. He continues on to say that “the strong military presence of the US and other international actors in Afghanistan is somewhat of a concern for India. It does not want to see the US military footprint expanding across other countries of South Asia” (78). Then in the next paragraph he writes that “India is a major power and has a decisive role to play in regional security. The US presence in Afghanistan is considered crucial to stabilizing the country, while preventing both Pakistan and China from gaining influence there.” The author’s message is unclear here.

Explaining India and Bangladesh relations, the author provides a detailed historical overview and throws light on the complexity of domestic politics in Bangladesh. Nevertheless, he doesn’t talk about the massacre by the Pakistani military. Deciphering the issue of transit between India and Bangladesh the author writes that historically Bangladesh has been unwilling to grant transit rights to India. Bangladesh “feared that the Indian military could use these rights to move personnel and equipment to its northeastern region during peace-time as well as in the event of conflict with China. It did not want to be seen as a military ally of India and damage relations with China. It was also concerned about the possibility of Indian security and intelligence agencies utilizing transit rights to spy on Bangladesh” (93). However, it is not clear if these are the author’s opinions or views from Bangladesh. Suitable references provide credibility to such interpretations.

In the chapter on India and Sri Lanka, the author draws causal links between economic and political relations. “The weakening economic links between the two countries during the 1980s contributed to the strain in political relations” [118]and therefore, economic linkages are a crucial element in determining the nature of India’s involvement. Surprisingly, the author writes that “the ‘Tamil Question’ is a law and order/economic issue not a political problem.”[125] While he sees China’s “legitimate interests” in Sri Lanka and dismisses the apprehensions surrounding China’s growing power, he recommends that India and the US play the “good cop/bad cop” routine and take a “carrot-and-stick” approach towards Sri Lanka.

Analyzing Indian and Nepalese relations, the author writes that “increasing Chinese influence in recent times has raised fears within the Indian establishment.”[159] Likewise, he adds that “strategic rivalry between India and China” is stimulating tensions between India and Nepal. “Nepal has been uncomfortable with India’s influence over it, while India has attempted to restrict Nepal’s ability to pursue an independent foreign policy.”[160] The author considers that all is well with India’s relations with Bhutan and the Maldives, and so the focus on these two countries is inadequate.

The book concludes with eight policy prescriptions based on partial analysis of the political history and evolution of South Asian states. The author recommends that India be proactive in making “promotion of democracy” a core element of its foreign policy but ignores the likely implications. He also suggests appointing a “special envoy to the region” to supplement the role of India’s ambassadors to the South Asian countries and to advise “neighbouring governments on economic and security issues.”[172]

Overall, the book lacks meaningful research and insights, and presents a prejudiced and inadequate analysis of India’s South Asia policy. More importantly, it neglects several key issues and regional/sub-regional initiatives and fails to add value to the existing scholarship.

Rajeev Ranjan Chaturvedy, National University of Singapore, Singapore                                     

Southeast Asia


MOMENTUM AND THE EAST TIMOR INDEPENDENCE MOVEMENT: The Origins of America’s Debate on East Timor. By Shane Gunderson. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2015. xix, 159 pp. (Illustrations.) US$80.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-4985-0234-4.

How did East Timor (now the Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste) manage to win its independence after being annexed to neighbouring Indonesia? A number of writers have attempted to answer this question, with several stressing Timorese diplomatic efforts outside the country as a key factor alongside resistance within the territory.

Shane Gunderson asks a different and rather counter-factual question: “Why did it take so long for the independence movement to build momentum?” (131). Instead of a historical approach, he starts with the knowledge that Timor-Leste won its independence, initially declared in 1975, then restored in 2002. Why did it take 24 years (from the 1975 Indonesian invasion to the 1999 referendum in which Timorese voted strongly for independence) to achieve this goal? Gunderson’s book, adopted from his doctoral dissertation, assumes the end result and asks why independence came when it did, not sooner. He employs the concept of social movement momentum, defined as “a driving social force furthered by an emerging field of inevitability harnessed to achieve goals in such a way that it attracts broader public support” (1). It is in this interpretive framework, rather than in unearthing new knowledge, that this book makes its main contribution.

Momentum and the East Timor Independence Movement is not a study of events within Indonesian-ruled Timor-Leste. Instead, it studies what Timorese activists and their overseas supporters called the “international solidarity movement,” a diverse network spanning the globe. Gunderson’s lens zeroes in on the United States and the role of US activists, academics, and other intellectuals in supporting and sustaining an issue and finally building a “momentum sequence” during the second half of the 1990s. He argues that the solidarity movement was able to build increasing support in this period through a series of turning points and thereby help achieve a goal—self-determination for the Timorese—that had not been possible in the 1970s or 1980s.

Individuals within the US solidarity movement loom large, with intellectuals portrayed as entrepreneurs of ideas that activists could then pick up on and promote through US government and United Nations forums. Names like Noam Chomsky and Benedict Anderson are prominent among the figures interviewed for this book. Gunderson shows their importance in the early years of US campaigning by highlighting the role of Anderson’s former students at Cornell, including some scholars who remain prominent, from Geoffrey Robinson to Douglas Kammen to Richard Franke. Most central is Arnold Kohen, who worked closely with journalists, religious networks, and members of Congress as the only full-time US campaigner in the 1980s. In 1991, journalist-activists Amy Goodman and Allan Nairn added intellectual leadership, and key activists in the New York peace movement, including Charles Scheiner and John Miller, formed the first dedicated US solidarity group, the East Timor Action Network. Although Gunderson draws on ETAN’s archives, he pays less attention to the organization than it might warrant, due to the stress on individual rather than collective narratives. The US focus elides the role of others in the international solidarity movement, especially those who did not work in English: Timorese diplomatic leader Jose Ramos Horta appears, a New Zealand activist is among the interviews, and British-Indonesian activist Carmel Budiardjo makes an appearance (though in a way that suggests her prominence hampered Timorese momentum by linking it to her role in Indonesian left-wing politics). The focus remains, however, a case study of the American solidarity movement. This does not take away from its contribution in illustrating the role of US activists, until now a little-told story.

Gunderson stresses a series of “turning points” in the Timorese march towards independence. Chapter 1 introduces the concept of momentum in social movement theory. Chapter 2 provides a brief historical background before chapter 3 introduces the book’s main interest, pro-Timor activism in the United States. Chapter 4 discusses campaigns in the US in the 1970s. American anti-communism proved decisive as a source of “negative momentum” for East Timor’s campaign. Chapter 5 continues the story in the years from 1980 to 1992, downplaying the common depiction of the Santa Cruz massacre in 1991 as a watershed, even while admitting the massacre was one of five turning points in these years. Subsequent chapters each address about two years. Chapter 6 covers 1993 and 1994, with a focus on US Catholic solidarity with the majority-Catholic Timorese independence movement. Chapter 7 depicts a UN-sponsored Intra-East Timorese Dialogue process as the key development in 1995 and 1996, noting also the growth of US activism (ETAN’s budget had tripled and the group expected it to triple again within a year). In chapter 8, covering 1996 to 1998, turning points include the Nobel Peace Prize going to Timorese Bishop Carlos Belo and to Jose Ramos Horta. The Nobel award sparked “the chain of events that created the feeling of inevitability” (101), Gunderson writes, even while arguing that previous writers have missed crucial turning points before and after. From 1995 on, Gunderson argues, the momentum was with the challengers to Indonesian rule. Chapter 9 examines the year 1999, with the referendum on independence as the last of several turning points that year.

Some troubles stem from the author’s lack of engagement with existing literature on Timor-Leste, prompted by his decision to stress participant narratives. For instance he writes misleadingly that Timor was “acquired in 1859 by Portugal through a treaty with the Netherlands” and occasionally refers to “Timoran” rather than Timorese. The names of journalist Robert Domm and diplomat Ibrahim Fall are misspelled, as is the name of Indonesia’s National Human Rights Commission (Komnas-HAM). But the errors detract only slightly from the overall narrative and the theoretical contribution stressing social movement momentum building towards ultimate success. It may well be that studies on global activist movements should pay more attention to turning points that “give movement actors the feeling of turning the corner toward success represent[s] intermediate goals that can be plotted on a time line. Closely occurring turning points in a positive sense represent a momentum sequence” (136). The final “momentum sequence” seems to have been vital in reaching the movement’s goals. Here, Gunderson suggests, lie lessons for activists in other movements from the Timorese solidarity movement, which in the end proved remarkably effective.

David Webster, Bishop’s University, Sherbrooke, Canada                                                                 


THREE CENTURIES OF CONFLICT IN EAST TIMOR. Genocide, Political Violence, Human Rights Series. By Douglas Kammen. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2015. xv, 231 pp. (Maps, illustrations.) US$55.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8135-7410-3.

What is missing from the discussion of violence as one of the crucial problems in East Timor, as Douglas Kammen points out in his book, is the relationship between the recurrent mass violence over long periods, the local targets who are the object of this violence, and the perpetrators of it (4). A lack of attention to this relationship leads to the dominance of narratives of the colonial powers, i.e., the Portuguese, the Dutch, and Indonesia, and even the local elites after a series of national uprisings in 2002 and 2012. The relationship also leads to the quest for East Timorese nationalism that emerged in the early 1970s, particularly during the Indonesian occupation.

In order to provide a more balanced approach to understanding the violence in East Timor, Kammen focuses more on grassroots perspectives and experiences than have previous authors.

Through the Maubara case, Kammen brilliantly shows how local stories describing the lives and roles of certain figures who were highly contentious in their relations with the colonial power and their fellow villagers can be used to explain why a recurrence of conflict happened in three different contexts and times but in only one particular area.

In the first two chapters, Kammen explains the situation in Maubara, through its early history, political dynamics, and interaction with the external powers who became its rulers. The arrival of three strangers from Suai Loro, locally known as Loro Lio (Sun Lords) marked not only the onset of a local elite power struggle but also, and more importantly, the bringing of order to Maubara’s local conditions, which had for years been characterized by anarchy. The descendants of Loro Lio faced a potential rivalry with the local population, and this rivalry shaped the way they interacted with the newly arrived Portuguese and the Dutch, as either collaborators with or opponents of the colonial power (33).

There are two theories as to why mass violence became a recurring feature in Maubara. The narratives provided by the colonial powers in their historical records offer the first explanation. From the Portuguese perspective, the Portuguese made several attacks on Maubara following Dutch moves to exert influence in north-central Timor through collaboration with a local ruling family, the Doutels from Guguleur (48), and other rulers. These battles provided the historical background for Portuguese attempts to rule Maubara by treating its local rulers as unitary actors, rather than competing actors themselves involved in a power struggle. From the Dutch perspective, a series of agreements, such as one made in 1795 (58), failed because some leading families in Maubara had collaborated with the Portuguese. Even when there was no external involvement, some leading Maubara families were in conflict with one another, which led to violence at the expense of the local population.

In chapter 3, Kammen further explains how the Portuguese dealt with competing actors among Maubara’s local elites who were struggling for power. After the colonial powers signed a treaty handing over the kingdom of Maubara to Portuguese administration (75), the area became a source of long-standing conflict among several groups: ruling families and Hakka traders against the Portuguese; local inhabitants against Hakka interlopers; rival families of Guguleur and Vatuvou; and certain individuals. Kammen points out that the colonial power’s practice of indirect rule over Maubara’s population did not result in thorough obedience, but instead was a major factor in destabilization.

Chapter 4 discusses in greater depth the resistance that took place in Maubara when prominent families formed a short-term alliance with the Dutch against the Portuguese colonial administration in order to control trading networks. However, a fragmented effort and the different interests of the actors in this rebellion, such as the spiritual figure Maubete, Hakka merchants, and African soldiers who had deserted from the Portuguese army (93), resulted in an inability to stage a full-scale attack on the Portuguese military.

The rebellion in 1893 had several consequences, as discussed in the book’s chapter 5, such as providing a pretext for the Portuguese to exert their full armed control over Maubara, particularly under Governor Forja; the introduction of new colonial approaches to local administration and forms of direct taxation; and also local marginalization (105) through mandatory labour service and tributes.

Chapter 6 focuses on another critical juncture in East Timor’s history of recurrent mass violence. After the Indonesian army invaded East Timor in 1975, they began to manipulate the interests of competing parties, including those in Maubara. In addition, the history of various responses by the East Timorese to external powers and internal chaos led the Indonesian government to gradually reinforce its military capabilities to defeat the nationalist party Fretelin and to fully control the area from 1975 to 1998. In its colonial governance, Indonesia employed the same approach as had previous colonial powers—appointing individuals based on traditional authority, which in turn exacerbated a long-standing conflict between elite families in Maubara and other areas (141).

In chapter 7, Kammen discusses how violence served as a means for local and national actors to respond to local history and meaning­­ based on a national struggle for independence and reconstruction, including how local inhabitants position themselves in their newly formed country. Violence, which shaped the way locals interacted with states and others, was more severe in the waning days of the Indonesian administration. The roles of Indonesian militias and local supporters of independence in Maubara reflected long-standing local divisions. These divisions reinforced the previous limitations of fragmented actors—both elite and grassroots—in responding to the competing interests of the colonial powers and local actors (161).

By focusing on the role of certain actors, this study provides scant discussion of how institutional factors contributed to the recurrent mass violence in Maubara. The cultural values of the East Timorese in Maubara played merely a peripheral and complementary role in these actors’ behaviours. Instead, as violence was one characteristic in Maubara’s societal interaction, each ruling family and the locals had their own arrangements, norms, and values for dealing with communal violence, based on community principles. That these approaches were not consistent with competing interests led to violence.

Across the board, this book provides advanced insights into how to promote grassroots traditions as counter to national narratives of local history. This book is highly recommended for scholars with an interest in ethnic and mass violence in Southeast Asia, a region that to some extent still wrestles with post-conflict mass traumatic memory.

Hipolitus Yolisandry Ringgi Wangge, Marthinus Academy, Jakarta, Indonesia                               


THE MALAYSIAN ISLAMIC PARTY PAS 1951-2013: Islamism in a Mottled Nation. Religion and Society in Asia. By Farish A. Noor. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2014. 260 pp. US$99.00, cloth. ISBN 978-90-8964-576-0.

What is the role of Islam in Malaysian politics and society? To what extent can Malaysia continue to play the role of a moderate, pluralist, Western-friendly, Muslim nation in Southeast Asia? More ominously, is Malaysia still immune to the hard Islamist currents that have been entrenched in global politics post-9/11? These and other fascinating questions are covered in Farish A. Noor’s very timely The Malaysian Islamic Party PAS 1951-2013: Islamism in a Mottled Nation. Noor focuses on Malaysia’s Islamist opposition political party, Partai Islam Se-Malaysia (PAS), as a case study through which to demonstrate how Islamist politics are dynamic and flexible, adapting to the character of the local political and cultural context. According to Noor, Islamist politics under the banner of PAS have been integral to Malaysian politics and history, from pre-independence to modernist nation building. Noor first locates the founding of the party to then colonial Malaya as PAS struggled to reconcile its desire for a doctrinally pure Islamic state or accommodate itself with a secular and multi-ethnic Malaysian nation-state. Noor then covers the party’s transformation into a vehicle for Malay political identity as it flirted with expressively ethno-nationalist politics in the 1950s and 1960s. The impact of the 1979 Iranian Revolution and the global Islamist movement that it spawned dominates Noor’s examination of the party in the 1980s and 1990s. PAS’s recent co-operation post-2008 with other opposition parties to build a genuinely alternative multi-ethnic power sharing coalition, Pakatan Rakyat, comprises the final part of Noor’s sharp and incisive historical narrative of PAS. Finally, Noor argues that these attempts at political bridge building could translate into PAS developing its own model of “Islamist democracy,” as the party has evolved to meet the demands of Malaysia’s changing society in the era of “the war on terror.”

One of the major strengths of the volume is simply the huge amount of new information presented here about the historical origins of PAS, its important political leaders and personalities, and insider information regarding internal conflicts between moderates and hardliners. Noor as a local Malaysian scholar now based in Singapore has spent many years researching PAS and developing contacts with local cadres. This expertise with the subject matter is clearly demonstrated in his nuanced and careful analysis of PAS, as both an ideological Islamist movement striving for sharia and as a pragmatic political party seeking power by working with opposition secular Malay nationalist and minority non-Malay parties. In this respect, Noor takes PAS seriously on its own terms, and does not examine the party through the often awkward lenses of security and anti-terrorism studies.

One of the attributes of good scholarship is a work that often raises many questions that it cannot  answer. Noor concludes his work with optimism that PAS could continue to play a constructive role in the multi-ethnic opposition by working with its allies and toning down its more hard-lined Islamist policies. However, PAS’s abortive pivot towards an “Islamist democracy” remains one of the great “what ifs” of Malaysian politics. Writing in 2014, Noor could not directly foresee the splintering of PAS in early 2015 as party moderates walked away from the party to found their own competing Islamist political party, Amanah. The consequential fracturing of the Pakatan Rakyat alliance as the two parties began to compete for the Islamist constituency in Malaysian politics weakened Malaysia’s diverse and multi-faceted opposition. Noor’s great contribution is to provide context for this new intriguing political development in contemporary Malaysia, appreciating that Islamism in Malaysia is a dynamic movement, not monolithic or unchanging.

Trevor W. Preston, Centennial College, Toronto, Canada


CLAIMING PLACE: On the Agency of Hmong Women. Edited by Chia Youyee Vang, Faith Nibbs, Ma Vang. Minneapolis; London: University of Minnesota Press, 2016. xxviii, 348 pp. (Figures, B&W photos.) US$30.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-8166-9778-6.

In my opinion, the foremost achievement of this collection is to be amongst the first full-length volumes to tackle issues linked to gender within and around Hmong society. A good number of dissertations and articles have been addressing this field from a variety of angles, predominantly in the US, but this book takes the field to new heights. This is accomplished with the majority of authors being members of the Hmong community themselves. The locale for this quest is resolutely the US, where fourteen of the fifteen contributors are based and where the subjects of their research are primarily located. The volume also touches on Asia through a discussion of diasporic Hmong experiences from Laos to the US.

The book is structured into four parts that unfold after an introduction by the three editors who, among other matters, locate the volume firmly within the field of post-Vietnam War diasporic movements to the US. Part 1, “History and Knowledge,” involves Leena N. Her, Ma Vang, and Chia Youyee Vang proposing a reading of the nascent field of Hmong feminist perspectives, justly bringing to the fore seminal works by Patricia Symonds and Pranee Liamputtong Rice among others. Part 2, “Social Organization, Kinship and Politics,” with Mai Na M. Lee, Julie Keown-Bomar, Ka Vang, and Prasit Leepreecha, presents what should probably be termed case studies supporting the ethnographic project underlined in the section’s heading. Part 3, “Art and Media,” incorporating Faith Nibbs, Geraldine Craigh, and Aline No, discusses current forms of expression such as social media, textile production, and cinema. Part 4, “Gender and Sexuality,” with Louisa Schein, Bruce Thao, and Kong Pha, contains the most original contributions as sex, eroticism, and LGBTQ issues have not often been addressed in the scholarly literature on the Hmong. Closing the march, Cathy J. Schlund-Vials writes a short afterword emphasizing further the Asian-American studies backbone of the book.

Clearly, bringing together a majority of female authors (12) to denounce “patriarchal domination” as the “culprit of women’s subjugation” (back cover) is not a novel idea within feminist and gender studies. Doing it in the context of a lineage, acephalous society, however—even when seen from the eyes of a small portion of its subjects accidentally transplanted to a hyper-modern world—is definitely taking the discussion one step further. A strength of this book thus becomes visible in the combination of an established, mainly Western feminist literature, with non-Western traditions. On the flip side, well-known critiques from the subaltern studies viewpoint of drawing on Western approaches for such work—Chandra Mohanty being referred to only in passing—also open the door to critique.

Hmong society—around five million in all—is poorly known to most despite a rich scholarship made visible in hundreds of publications, and through the accomplishments of a thriving diaspora making waves in the United States (around 270,000). This new book will definitely help bridge this gap. Nonetheless, it is important to put things in perspective and keep in mind that the American Hmong account for only about 5 percent of this group’s total population. The remaining 95 percent are found in the highlands of the six contiguous Asian countries where they have spread over a few centuries (in decreasing demographic order: China, Vietnam, Laos, Thailand, Burma, and Cambodia), with Southwest China as its historical and demographic hub (three million). In this regard, Prasit Leepreecha’s chapter in this book is particularly welcome. One of Thailand’s 155,000 Hmong and a researcher from Chiang Mai University with a PhD degree from the University of Washington, he addresses the predicament of Hmong women going through divorce in Thailand. In doing so, Leepreecha nicely bridges the East/West divide and contributes to giving a voice to Hmong women in Asia.

Claiming Place, thus, reflects the fact that a relatively small number of representatives of this largely Asian and rural society—though this book tends to talk about this latter fact in the past tense—have been very successful in putting down new roots in a Western democracy and are now giving back to their community. These representatives have been able to achieve, within two or three generations, the educational skills and credentials needed to critically analyze “the Hmong.”

One, however, can foresee the caveats inevitably linked to such a historically specific gaze, which can easily drift, as it often does in this book, into speaking indiscriminately on behalf of all Hmong. Ironically, this inattention exposes a hegemonic process by which a powerful localized narrative is pushed onto a larger transnational ethnicity that cannot talk back, still missing the political recognition of their distinctiveness from their respective states, particularly under communist regimes in China, Vietnam, and Laos, and not yet holding the power leverage to convey and promote their homegrown life projects on the national and international stages.

Nonetheless, most importantly, this book should be hailed as a novel and welcome contribution to gender studies among Asian Americans, the disciplinary field to which most of the contributors belong, with a special and fruitful emphasis put on one particular segment of US immigration, the Hmong, coming in this case chiefly from Laos. Readers should acknowledge and welcome this collection meant to help us better understand the experiences of female and LGBTQ Hmong and Asian Americans faced with high degrees of pressure to conform to a largely male-dominated world, both their customary one and, though in a different guise, that of their host nation.

Jean Michaud, Université Laval, Québec, Canada

THE FEMALE VOICE OF MYANMAR: Khin Myo Chit to Aung San Suu Kyi. By Nilanjana Sengupta. Delhi: Cambridge University Press, 2015. xxvii, 383 pp. (Figures.) US$120.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-107-11786-0.

Readers may not be familiar with three of the four remarkable women who are not Aung San Suu Kyi but who are profiled along with her in this excellent new book by Nilanjana Sengupta: Khin Myo Chit, Ludu Daw Amar, and Dr. Ma Thida. Aung San Suu Kyi’s story is quite well known, but Sengupta shows how some of the choices she made in the past foreshadow those she is making today as the de facto head of state in Myanmar. The personal stories and writings of the other three notable women depicted in this volume may be less familiar, but make just as compelling reading.

The four women featured get more or less equal billing in this 383-page book, of which 65 pages are devoted to a very useful and detailed glossary, endnotes, bibliography, chronology of publications, and index. There are also photos, both familiar and rare. Sengupta is an intrepid and resourceful scholar who did not let her relative newness to Myanmar studies lead her to secondary sources; rather she deployed a team of Burmese researchers to translate and help her analyze Burmese primary source material including letters, journals, books, and articles by her protagonists. This book is a welcome contribution to Myanmar scholarship in many disciplines, but more importantly it is an enticement for any researcher interested in Myanmar to do more work on the status of women, the politics of sexuality, and the power dynamics between men and women.

Myanmar’s modern history comes alive through the carefully crafted personal narratives of the four extraordinary women. Ludu Daw Amar is the Mandalay-based publisher-editor of the anti-establishment leftist Ludu Press who championed critical thinking and progressive learning institutions as well as students advocating for social justice. Khin Myo Chit was prolific as a journalist, translator, and an early feminist commentator who questioned the cultural acceptance of male supremacy and the innate gender bias in Buddhism—this in a conservative and devoutly Buddhist country. We follow Ma Thida’s journey from a surgeon and writer, to prison, where she finds refuge and peace in practicing “mindfulness” meditation, and where her jailer whispered sadly to her, “Thamee [daughter], you are free but we are not.” The most prominent “voice,” of course, is that of Aung San Suu Kyi, whose trajectory from academic spouse to democracy icon to de facto leader of Myanmar is not as accidental as it appears. Sengupta points out how Suu Kyi’s earlier writings and speeches always espoused individual choice, the power of non-violent resistance, and pragmatism, as they do today.

The lives of the featured four often intertwined: Ma Thida once took a Shakespeare class with Khin Myo Chit years before she worked as a close aide to Daw Aung Suu Kyi, who admired and attended Daw Amar’s birthday parties. All four escaped their oppressive surroundings at difficult times in their lives (usually prison or house arrest) through the practice of meditation.

However, these four women of Myanmar do not represent the average female in a Burmese Buddhist patriarchy where the burden of being female in is not inconsiderable. Through the subtly feminist writings of Khin Myo Chit, we are reminded of the myriad ways women’s sexuality threatens the debasement or loss in a man of what the Burmese call “hpon,” an innately superior aura of which men are believed to possess more than women. Even today in Myanmar, the fear in Burmese society of the capacity of women to pollute or lessen men’s hpon relegates women’s htameins, or sarongs, to be dried on separate (lower) clothes lines, lest a distracted male inadvertently bump into it and endanger his precious hpon.

Khin Myo Chit focused a considerable part of her writing on Burmese society’s deeply rooted belief in women’s biological inferiority. The universal fear of woman as pollutant explains the extremes the Burmese Tatmadaw, or armed forces, went through to sabotage the perceived power of its main antagonist, Suu Kyi. Another under-studied research topic is the widespread belief in Myanmar of performing yedaya, a proscribed set of actions that is believed to pre-empt or deflect a feared or predicted negative occurrence. During the 2015 national election campaign, an example of a political yedaya appeared on the front pages of many Burmese language newspapers to much amusement. The photo of a green gourd-like vegetable on a small wooden stand perched on the roof of a local market depicted, in the eyes of Burmese society, a performance of yedaya by the military to evoke victory in the election. The Burmese acronym for the ruling party (headed by men in green military garb), rhymes with the word for this particular type of gourd, which lies on top of a market whose name sounds like “Suu Kyi.”

Ludu Daw Amar spent her long life (to age 93) focusing her writing on three major struggles for freedom: from British colonialists, Japanese occupiers, and the home grown dictatorship of General Ne Win and his successors. Daw Amar’s contemporary, Khin Myo Chit, born the same year (1915), also machinated her way around General Ne Win’s censors. Revisiting this period through the gaze of these two patriots we are reminded of the unpredictability of Burmese politics. In 1987, a year before the nationwide uprising, the famously ruthless General Ne Win gave up on a Burmese socialist utopia and offered to retire, even suggesting a public referendum on whether the country preferred a multi-party democracy. He preceded by almost 30 years a top-down opening of the country initiated by one of his successors in 2010.

In the last chapter, Sengupta uses Aung San Suu Kyi’s writings to explain her evolution from idealist to pragmatist and suggests how this may be playing out in her approach to the transition in Myanmar. Many characters from the earlier days of struggle led by Suu Kyi are now helping her, unofficially at least, run Myanmar. One of the many poignant photos in Sengupta’s book includes an iconic shot of a very young Htin Kyaw, now President Htin Kyaw, sitting locked arms with a phalanx of other student leaders “guarding” Aung San Suu Kyi at her momentous speech at the Shwedagon Pagoda on August 26, 1988.

Maureen Aung-Thwin, Open Society Foundations, New York, USA                                                   

NOTHING EVER DIES: Vietnam and the Memory of War. By Viet Thanh Nguyen. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2016. viii, 374 pp. (Illustrations.) US$27.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-674-66034-2.

Decades ago, at the end of a devastating conflict, a flow of humanity, braving all dangers while paying a deadly price, fled Indochina to asylum countries where they resettled into new lives, their homelands branded into their memories. Their experiences— seldom directly recounted by themselves but more so by their children, a generation further removed from the conflict—became a barely discernible genre within a voluminous stream of works known in the English language as the Vietnam War literature. This genere involves not only the written word but also a filmography churned out by Hollywood, which has been viewed globally and implicitly accepted as expressing the wartime realities, whether rendered coarsely as in the Rambo series or artistically as in Apocalypse Now.

These works tend to be Manichean in their interpretations, predominantly concerned with explaining how the United States, the most powerful nation in the world, lost to an underdeveloped, formerly colonized country, Vietnam. None went beyond this dualistic approach which opposed the (American) Self/perpetrator and the (non-American) Other/victim, ignoring the fact that the victim could also be the perpetrator. None, that is, until Viet Thanh Nguyen’s Nothing Ever Dies.

Nguyen’s work is a multidimensional reflection on conflicts in general and on the Second Indochina War in particular, from the further removed location of memories; it is about how the Vietnam or American War—the names are “false choices” (7)—is remembered, reflected, produced, and disseminated, and by whom. The author explores memories grouped under three headings—“Ethics,” “Industries,” and “Aesthetics”— canvassing a vast literary, artistic, and cinematographic array produced in the English language. Employing Marxist dialectics and influenced by the school of memory and forgetting, from Halbwachs to Ricoeur, Nguyen argues that remembrances, themselves part of a thriving industry of memory, are reflections of a dualistic imbalance of power, the powerful versus the weak, the rich versus the poor, the developed versus the underdeveloped, as “memories are signs and products of power, and in turn, they service power” (15).

Nguyen strives to be as inclusive as possible, including not only the voices of Americans and   Vietnamese but also of Cambodians, Laotians, Hmong, and others. He advocates “just memory” to be approached “by recalling the weak, the subjugated, the different” (17). Nothing and no one escapes his scrutiny, from the hallowed Vietnam War Wall in Washington, DC, to the revered Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum in Hanoi, as he examines the underpinnings of consecrated symbols, and shines light on the victims to show that they can be equally perpetrators, “human and inhuman.” The author extends such metaphorical analysis to present-day “others” such as the Muslim, the Arab, or the terrorist, who are supposedly treated in some circles “in the same idealized fashion as the antiwar movement treated the Vietnamese” (74).

Nguyen’s work is a reflection not just on the Vietnam War but also on other conflicts fought by the United States (e.g., Korea, the Philippines, Afghanistan, Iraq), explaining that “historically intractable conflicts continue” because both sides see themselves as victims but refuse to acknowledge that they are also perpetrators (73). It ponders racial relations in America between the predominant English-speaking white majority and the varied ethnicities that have also settled the land, and the problematics of writing from an ethnic point of view—be the perspective that of the Vietnamese American or another ethnicity. Nguyen confronts the paradox of Vietnamese American and, by extension, all ethnically based literature bound to a defining trauma as “minority writers know they are most easily heard in America when they speak about the historical events that defined their populations” (201).

Nothing Ever Dies’ strength lies in the voice he gives to the disenfranchised via a lyrical, impassioned style, fuelled by a considerable scholarship and coloured by numerous trips to Asia. He demands that we, the readers, always remember “ethically.” While having “Vietnam” in its title and a Vietnamese author’s name may limit its readership to those eternally seeking an answer to the conflict, this work is very much of the moment—and beyond—in its examination of current issues that are at the forefront of American society such as racial relations, identity politics, war, and memories. While the work by itself may read as a philosophical discourse on “just forgetting,” on Asian Americans and their fates in “the land of the free,” it conveys a touch of tenderness and relatable fragile humanity via a filigree of a voice, that of the refugee child that the author used to be before his metamorphosis into a full-fledged, Pulitzer Prize-winning American writer. His trajectory of exodus, resettlement, and return to his roots make him palpably one of “them,” in search of his “self” in his ancestral as well as adopted land.

Throughout the work, the author strives to be inclusive by refusing to accept the dominant memories of the “patronizing, guilt-ridden” majority (196). This drive, while necessary and commendable, is weakened by his attempt to step into cultures and lands with which by ethnic membership and scholarly training, the author is unfamiliar. Thus his examination of the Cambodian Genocide through visits to the killing fields reads as simplistic and reductive in its interpretation of such a complex phenomenon, just like his desire to include the Lao experience is limited by the scarcity of English-language works about such a little-known nation. Equally it is sometimes plagued by facile, jargonistic phrases such as “the American industry of memory is on a par with the American arms industry just as Hollywood is the equal of the American armed forces” (108).

Overall, Nothing Ever Dies affects us all, whether we are students of the Vietnam/American War or simply concerned by questions of “identity politics,” whether we are part of the first or second generation of exiles adapting to a new homeland or whether we are curious about the “other.” It will affect all readers who are musing about present-day conflicts, and above all, those of us who try to remember justly.

NGUYỄN Thị Điểu, Temple University, Philadelphia, USA

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JAVAPHILIA: American Love Affairs with Javanese Music and Dance. Music and Performing Arts of Asia and the Pacific. By Henry Spiller. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. xii, 266 pp. (Figures.) US$42.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-4094-5.

Javaphilia is a smartly researched, historical account of four influential individuals’ engagement with Javanese music and dance in the American cultural imagination. The biographical data is sandwiched between two expositions, the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, which featured the Java Village, and the 1986 Exposition in Vancouver, where the First International Gamelan Festival and Symposium was held. Culminating in several performative moments throughout the decades, Spiller provides critical perspectives on four influential “javaphiles,” or “those who love Java” (vii): artist Hubert Stowitts (1892–1953), singer Eva Gauthier (1885–1958), ethnomusicologist Mantle Hood (1918–2005), and composer Lou Harrison (1917–2003). Henry Spiller shows that artists and scholars alike have participated in a subcultural affinity for Javanese expression since 1893, leaving perennial waves in the contemporary American cultural imagination.

By utilizing a microhistorical approach, Spiller explores “the minute details of small events or individuals’ lives to illuminate larger cultural patterns and narratives” (17). More specifically, the purpose of the book is to illuminate and critique the ways in which Americans have imagined Java through an analytical lens that explores “self-understanding and self-fashioning, orientalisms, and microhistory” (25). Four of the book’s seven chapters are devoted to specific individuals, those mentioned above, illustrating how each used Java for their own careers and “self-fashioning” (25), while contributing to a wider cultural affinity for Javanese arts. He argues that for Stowitts, Gauthier, Hood, and Harrison, Javanese arts provided more individually suitable ways to negotiate aesthetic sensibilities and identity formations where mainstream American artistic practices could not. Spiller also reflexively includes himself in his nuanced critique of javaphilia in America by providing his own, albeit brief, microhistory in the form of an autobiographical account.

The central theme of the book revolves around the notion that American mainstream values and sensibilities left each individual javaphile feeling marginalized, pushing them to pursue new ways of forming identities through the idea of Java. Gauthier was not well received as a singer before traveling to Java, Stowitts felt alienated by homophobia at home, Hood was frustrated with Cold War values, and Harrison shied away from the “anxious expressions” of the American music establishment (5). Each of these javaphiles was disenchanted by their place in American culture; as Spiller notes, “[n]one of the conventional subject positions available to them was quite suitable” (5).

While focusing primarily on biography and microhistory as method, Spiller also weaves in musical analysis that illustrates the ways in which individuals have imagined Java, Indonesia, and the East through orientalizing and decidedly American filters. These analyses are interesting given that, as Spiller argues, many javaphiles looked to Java as an alternative site through which to express their artistic, sexual, and political identities and desires. As revealed throughout the book, these desires are often expressed through misrepresentations and exaggerations of Javanese culture. Notably, as Spiller demonstrates, many of the musical features associated with Java remain consistent from the time of the 1893 World’s Fair, throughout each of the aforementioned javaphile’s lives, and remain salient for affinity groups today.

The primary musical characteristics that came to represent Java in American performances included “complex timbres, stratified polyphonic textures, and formulaic repetitiveness of the music that stuck in people’s ears” (27). While these features stood out and remained consistent in American conceptions of Javanese music, other biases in musical transmission included practices such as conforming transcriptions to Western musical preconceptions (37), or gravitating towards Western harmonic conventions in Javanese song arrangements (73). These and other tendencies are traced throughout the book, from transcriptions by visitors to the World’s Fair to Lou Harrison’s tuning and stylistic adaptations in what he called the American gamelan.

In concluding the book, Spiller notes that individuals no longer dominate the arena of javaphilia but have influenced a wider subcultural affinity for Javanese culture, most notably in university settings. Citing what ethnomusicologists have called “ethnodrag” in university gamelan performances, where students and teachers play the part of Indonesia through often awkwardly fitting costumes and musical adaptations, he suggests that the American gamelan musician is a “double-Other” who, in part because of his or her own feelings of alienation and need to identify outside of the American cultural mainstream, reinterprets Javanese culture in order to construct an identity for him- or herself (199).

Though critical in his examination of American javaphilia, a critique that includes himself, Spiller is charitable in his assessment of Americans’ love of Javanese culture. Noting that “assimilation is different from intimate familiarization, and that the former is impossible in an American setting,” he provides an ultimately supportive and positive interpretation of the cross-cultural bridges that are built upon an initial platform of individual self-fulfillment (199). In addition to self-fulfillment, the author cites ethnomusicologist Mark Slobin’s two-pronged approach as a way of understanding affinity groups: self-fulfillment and communitas (199). Spiller argues that it is through these motivations that javaphilia continues in American settings today.

Spiller’s work contributes to a lesser-covered topic in ethnomusicology: gamelan and Javanese arts in American settings. Along with works such as Judith Becker’s “One Perspective on Gamelan in America” (Asian Music 15, no.1 [1983]: 81–89), or Leta Miller and Fredric Lieberman’s “Lou Harrison and the American Gamelan” (American Music 17, no. 2 [summer 1999]: 146–178), where ethnomusicologists have examined the impact of gamelan in North America, Javaphilia is a significant contribution. Relevant to a wide range of cultural scholars, but especially ethnomusicologists, those studying Javanese arts will appreciate the many insights into their field through Spiller’s careful historical research. Beyond interest to specialists, the book is relevant for all those working and studying in American—and wider—academic institutions where ethnomusicology and world music is taught and performed. Alongside works such as Performing Ethnomusicology: Teaching and Representation in World Music Ensembles, edited by Ted Solís (University of California Press, 2004), which examines the performative aspects of ethnomusicology as a discipline, or Ethnomusicology and Modern Music History, edited by Stephen Blum, Philip Bohlman, and Daniel Neuman (University of Illinois Press, 1991), which discusses ways that ethnomusicology fits into historical music research, Henry Spiller fills in a major portion of the performative history of ethnomusicology, a portion significantly and influentially bound up with javaphilia.

Jᴏᴇ Kɪɴᴢᴇʀ, University of Washington, Seattle, USA

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ROMANCING HUMAN RIGHTS: Gender, Intimacy, and Power between Burma and the West. Intersections: Asian and Pacific American Transcultural Studies Series. By Tamara C. Ho. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press in association with UCLA Asian American Studies Center, Los Angeles, 2015. xxvi, 184 pp. US$49.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3925-3.

One of the benefits of Myanmar’s ongoing transformation after decades of military rule is that the scope of academic reflection is broadening, and broadening quickly. In the past, scholars were generally content to grapple with the familiar binaries: generals and democrats, minorities and majorities, war and peace. In Tamara C. Ho’s densely composed and passionately argued Romancing Human Rights, we get an entirely new set of critical dispatches. These emerge from the close reading of a motley collection of source materials and authors, everything from George Orwell to Aung San Suu Kyi, and Rambo to Zoya Phan. The interpretations are bold, often grasping at a single paragraph to make punchy postcolonial assertions about the deeper priorities and prejudices of the authors.

The basis for Ho’s re-reading of “the hegemonic influence of Western heteropatriarchy” (xi) is “Asian/American” (xvi), meaning there is a “slash” in the identity matrix. In her words, Ho presents a “queer/feminist genealogy [that] tracks displaced Burmese women as real and fictional author-translators across the twentieth century in various geopolitical spaces” (xvii). Her advantage for this type of scholarship is historical and personal: Ho is a “doubly diasporic feminist critic, a tayoke (Chinese) immigrant from Burma with the privileges of US citizenship and education” (xviii).

Given the genre, there is no escaping the barrage of concepts and theory, unleashed with gusto in chapter 1’s survey of “interracial affiliations and transnational antagonisms.” Ho’s “analysis highlights how the political power of ‘the West’ (the United States in particular) operates in neo-Orientalist, messianic discourses about ‘saving’ the abjected, minoritized, and postcolonial Other” (5). The whole point of her re-reading of the literary materials is to challenge “heteropatriarchical normativity” (15), which at one stage morphs into “an overdetermined and homophobically Orientalist trope” (22).

In this case, the literary homophobe is the scripting of Rambo, a 2008 film that sees the classic Hollywood brawler take to a Myanmar army battalion with a heavy machine gun. It is hardly high art, but Ho gives Sylvester Stallone’s notorious character the full critical treatment. In her view, “Rambo perpetuates a heterosexist, individualistic ethos and unchecked collateral damage while reinforcing U.S. exceptionalism and Christian spiritual redemption” (23). Later, in chapter 2’s discussion of “possessive investments in masculinity,” we learn “how Western imperialism and patriarchal hegemony worked to obliterate feminized and minoritized discourses” (26). Later, on the same theme, we get the interpretation of a “phallic needle” (50).

However, when it comes to the grim and often violent politics of Myanmar, Ho is curiously imprecise. She lumps together a “series of brutally repressive military governments since 1962 (i.e., General Ne Win and the BSPP, SLORC, SPDC, USDA, and USDP)” (67). The fact that the USDA was never the government, and that the USDP (which ruled from 2011 to 2016) implemented wide-ranging political and economic reforms, does not fit Ho’s story of uninterrupted and unrelenting brutality.

Instead, Romancing Human Rights goes back to broadcasting unflattering appraisals of other writers. One unlucky biographer is admonished for a “passage [that] illustrates enduring voyeuristic and Orientalist fantasies about Burma” (81). In this style, Ho ends up criticizing those with whom she more-or-less agrees, arguing that one otherwise useful analyst “falls prey to the imperialist (Western) tendency to sexualize and eroticize Burmese bodies” (81). In Ho’s sharp assessments, nothing can ever be taken for granted or accepted at face value. Apparently “the authors of Burmese descent examined in Romancing Human Rights are a few examples of minoritized voices that are too often ignored or repackaged for exploitation/profit by the publishing marketplace and consumption by mainstream audiences of the global North and One-Third World” (110). In another section, Ho scornfully writes of Myanmar’s “reforms” (115). Myanmar today remains imperfect, of course. The fact that this book does not appear to mention Naypyitaw, not even once, is an indication of a curious disconnect from the harsh realities of power and ideas.

The book’s 498 footnotes are also fascinating artifacts of Ho’s literary method. Footnote 3, on page 121, presents another phallic reference, this time about sixteenth-century reports of penile enhancement. Later, on page 158, in footnote 25, Ho admits that her “study does not extensively engage literature or journalism written in Burmese” (158). Given her immense effort to reclaim a more authentic and politically acceptable vision of Myanmar culture, it is surprising that we do not learn more from the pluralized vernaculars of the people themselves.

Colonialisms and their postcolonial rebuttals are certainly worthy subjects of scholarly labour and Ho is to be commended for her thorough and radical approach. Yet, when it comes to today’s geopolitics, if there is a serious colonial element to life in Myanmar it rarely emanates from Ho’s reviled West. It is big Chinese players—ably abetted by Singaporeans, Koreans, Thais, and Malaysians—who are doing their utmost to reshape the economy, exploit national and human resources, and stamp an entirely new set of values on society. In most cases, these implacably illiberal influences are the ones deserving our sustained critical scrutiny. In this respect, Ho’s literary interpretations may prove anachronistic when put side-by-side with the foundational battles for livelihood that matter so much to millions of people across Myanmar today.

Nicholas Farrelly, The Australian National University, Canberra, Australia                                   

THE MAKING OF MIDDLE INDONESIA: Middle Classes in Kupang Town, 1930s–1980s. Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde, v. 293; Power and Place in Southeast Asia, v. 5. By Gerry van Klinken. Leiden, Netherlands: Brill, 2014. xviii, 300 pp. (Figures, map, table.) US$148.00, cloth. ISBN 978-90-04-26508-0.

Political scientists tend to focus on capital cities, and anthropologists on the village, but few scholars pay much attention to what is in between, despite the fact that smaller cities house the bulk of the world’s urban residents and represent underappreciated political power. Gerry van Klinken’s The Making of Middle Indonesia: Middle Classes in Kupang Town, 1930s-1980s shines a light on the administrative class of one such middle city. Kupang serves as the backdrop to a careful historical study of local politics, charting the rise of administrative classes and detailing their connections to the central government. Van Klinken paints a picture of local administrators as synaptic figures, mediating between metropolis and village, centre and periphery. He argues that administrative elites represent the lifeblood of Indonesian politics, the glue holding the sprawling archipelago together.

Van Klinken has penned some of the most interesting, in-depth work on Indonesian politics, and this book is no exception. A companion to his co-edited volume, In Search of Middle Indonesia (KITLV Press, 2014), The Making of Middle Indonesia is an explicitly historical study, one with many implications for today. Organizationally, early chapters provide an introduction, assess the literature, and discuss fieldwork, and are then arranged chronologically, from Dutch colonialism, to the Japanese invasion and independence struggle, the Sukarno era, the ascent of the Indonesian Communist Party, the rise of the bureaucratic class, and the violent purge of Kupang’s leftists in 1965. The core of the book is a thoroughly researched local history of Kupang. Van Klinken has browsed archives, conducted interviews, and examined personal collections to construct a history that has not really been told. One of the book’s many highlights is the range of images and figures included, such as local maps and even labels from local manufacturing, providing some local flavour.

The book’s core contention is that “Middle Indonesia,” the country’s administrative classes, constitute Indonesian politics. As Indonesia survived the chaos of reformasi, scholars wondered what holds this massive, diverse country together. Some saw strong leaders, pluralism, or perhaps anti-colonial experiences as playing this role. Van Klinken’s response is that the country is bound together by state patronage and the personal networks of the thousands of bureaucrats across various levels of the state. For those who have conducted research in remote parts of the country, this explanation is entirely convincing. The state dominates regional political economies, keeping notables within Jakarta’s orbit. Here we see an evolution in van Klinken’s work, as he previously explained post-Suharto violence in terms of competition for control of local bureaucracy. The role of the subnational state is illustrated nicely by an example in the late 1960s, when 60 percent of East Nusa Tenggara’s provincial budget expenses were marked “other,” and 85 percent of this funding came from Jakarta (201). This illustrates both the local patronage and national resources that make subnational administrative classes such an important area of study.

“Middle Indonesia” refers to both a class of administrators as well as the towns they inhabit. In a sense, this is a different type of middle class; instead of the educated cosmopolitans of capital cities that dominate the democratization literature, these are the somewhat corrupt town leaders. If globalized middle classes in capital cities are forces for political change, provincial middle classes appear as vanguards of political stability. The provincial and township administrative classes are important because they are connected to rural Indonesia in ways that Jakarta’s middle classes are not, and indeed this is where Middle Indonesia draws its power.

For all of the book’s great strengths, I perceived a couple of shortcomings. Although the concept and empirics are exceptional, I found references to other studies to be awkward. Chapters 1 and 2 appear at first glance to provide a literature review and some broader historical context (chapter 2 is titled “Historical Synthesis”). However, both chapters fluctuate between academic theories and Indonesian events. There are dozens of times where the author alludes to academic theories, but not in a sustained, coherent manner. For instance, on page 11 there is a focused discussion of John Allen’s concept of Associational Power. Despite appearing as a touchstone for the book, it is not really returned to. Later chapters provide sporadic references to other studies, mentions that seem not entirely fleshed out.

Another potential criticism is that the book stops suddenly in the late 1960s. This was especially surprising since the introduction alludes to post-Suharto politics, the title suggests a focus through the 1980s, and early on notes the centrality of the 1970s oil boom in making Middle Indonesia. The book’s primary focus is, surprisingly, the 1965–1966 massacre of leftists and its immediate aftermath, with only a few pages devoted to the 1970s or 1980s, and none for events after this. Given extensive decentralization, subnational bureaucratic politics seem more important now than ever; the discussion of the creation of Nusa Tenggara Timor Province to reward local elites has clear parallels for the recent blossoming of district governments. Although more contemporary content is provided in the companion edited volume, this omission nevertheless makes this book feel incomplete.

Overall, though, this is an exceptional study. The author is to be commended, providing a convincing account of what makes Indonesia tick. It will be appreciated by anyone studying subnational politics and outer Indonesia, and it will provide an important lesson for those who study national politics or village life. Even though this detailed study is aimed mostly at Indonesia experts, it is a rewarding read for those interested in the places between metropolis and village in any country. As Indonesia has decentralized, it is reassuring that the keenest observers of the country have followed suit, providing a new appreciation for the vibrant middle.

Shane J. Barter, Soka University of America, Aliso Viejo, USA                                                          

DEATHPOWER: Buddhism’s Ritual Imagination in Cambodia. By Erik W. Davis. New York: Columbia University Press, 2016. xii, 303 pp. (Illustrations.) US$60.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-231-16918-9.

Interest in the study of Buddhism in Cambodia has grown among scholars in recent years. Historian Ian Harris provided us with Cambodian Buddhism: History and Practice (2005) and Buddhism in a Dark Age: Cambodian Monks under Pol Pot (2013), which provide comprehensive analyses of Buddhism and its role in Cambodian society. Anna Ruth Hansen’s How to Behave: Buddhism and Modernity in Colonial Cambodia, 1860–1930 (2007) explored Buddhist modernism in the French protectorate of Cambodge in the first half of the twentieth century. While these studies broke new ground, certain aspects of Cambodian Buddhism, such as the death ritual practice and its connection to present-day Cambodian culture and society, remained unexamined. This is why Deathpower: Buddhism’s Ritual Imagination in Cambodia by Erik W. Davis, an associate professor in the Department of Religious Studies at Macalester College, is especially felicitous. Davis’ book is the most intensive ethnographic study of contemporary Buddhist death rituals in Cambodia to date.

The book contains eight highly readable chapters that combine Davis’ observations, interviews, and theoretical regressions to highlight the nature and form of Buddhist death practices in Cambodia. It is an expansion of his dissertation and fieldwork, which focused primarily on two temples in Phnom Penh (Wat Koḥ Yakkha and Wat Trī Loka) from 2003 to 2006. Davis draws from Michel Foucault’s notion of “biopower” for his concept of deathpower, which he calls a “domain of death over which human power has taken control” (134). More specifically, it refers to the relationships between the living and the dead as mirrored in the interactions on how Buddhist monks care for the dead. Davis also acknowledges in his introduction that Cornelius Castoriadis’ concept of the “magma of social significations” influenced his work considerably, and credits Clifford Geertz and Catherine Bell for their performance-oriented ethnography.

The first three chapters discuss types of burials, ritual personnel, technical details on the preparation of the body for cremation, and activities conducted after the cremation. Davis describes his fieldwork in two crematoriums where Buddhist monks and lay-ritual specialists physically bind the corpse of the dead to a location. This section includes an insightful discussion of the interconnections between rice agriculture and religious concepts. Chapter four explores funerary practices and two types of power held by the king who controls life and the Buddhist sangha (community of monks) that controls death. Davis introduces the boundary (sīmā) ritual, which he suggests “mimics and replaces the historical decapitation of a human head” (119). Davis then examines the connection between Buddhist ritualistic imagery and agricultural activities, including the role of paṃsukūla (rag robe) and its ties to the burial shroud. Here, he seeks out “agricultural resonances” (153) to link death rituals to agricultural imagery. Chapter six examines Bhjum Pinda (lit. “gathering the rice balls”), which Cambodians perform annually in the autumn and in which the Buddhist monks play a vital role, noting that a “monk serves as a conduit to the dead ancestors, whose blessings are the prerequisite for wealth, health, and happiness for their descendants” (168). The next chapter moves its attention to the ritual use of “physical remains of a human being to the remnants of another’s meal” (189) to show the differences between Buddhist monks, spirits mediums, and witches. Davis turns to the central question of his work in the book’s final chapter: what is, after all, Cambodian Buddhism? The title of the chapter, “Buddhism Makes Brahmanism” is somewhat misleading, since by “Brahmanism” the author does not mean the religion that existed in India or Cambodia prior to the advent of Buddhism. Instead, the author refers to all non-Buddhist spiritual entities and practices other than Cambodian Buddhism.

Davis argues that Buddhist ritual practice creates the “non-Buddhist category of spirits through its domination of them” (22) and “it needs non-Buddhist spirits to treat, tame, instrumentalize, or transform into beneficent ancestors” (241). This gives the sense that the sangha has certain control over non-Buddhist religious practice in Cambodia. How common is it for a non-Buddhist to ask Buddhist monks to perform funeral rituals for their family member? What might ethnic minority peoples in Cambodia who also believe in the spiritual world think of this “lumped” category? Moreover, Davis seems to disagree with the concept of syncretism or hybridity in relation to Southeast Asian Buddhism, suggesting an integration of them into a common Cambodian cultural imagination in which “Buddhism is a moral and ritual offense against a world essentially composed of wild, amoral spirits, including those that constitute us as human beings” (22). But this process is dialectical since Buddhism adopted religious aspects of other local religions and incorporated them. A Buddhist/non-Buddhist binary opposition may occur within the sangha imagination in an urban setting, but this is a questionable assumption in rural communities where everyday interaction and practice are often not as static. Davis acknowledges that Buddhism “embrace[s] as many types of spirits as it can, as long as they are willing to submit to the ultimate moral authority of Buddhism and its power over them” (242). How then can we determine what is Buddhist and “non-Buddhist”? What type of moral authority and power of the “non-Buddhist” submits to the Buddhist? In addition, Davis explains that he focuses more on lay ritual specialists rather than monks, but I wonder if Buddhism as portrayed by monks in general is the same Buddhism as practiced by lay followers?

Deathpower is insightful reading that provides sound scholarly analysis of complex phenomena at play within Cambodian Buddhist practice. This book is a long overdue contribution to the field of Buddhist studies in general and Cambodian Buddhism in particular. Davis’ ethnographic approach to his topic throws into sharp relief new and engaging aspects of the nature of Southeast Asian Buddhism’s encounters with local practices and performances. His work is persuasive and well researched, and should be compulsory reading for any scholar who is interested in both Cambodian studies and contemporary Buddhism in Southeast Asia.

Mai Bui Dieu Linh, Concordia University, Montréal, Canada                                                             

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FRONTIER LIVELIHOODS: Hmong in the Sino-Vietnamese Borderlands. By Sarah Turner, Christine Bonnin, Jean Michaud. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2015. xii, 223 pp. (Illustrations, maps.) US$50.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-295-99466-6.

Frontier Livelihoods: Hmong in the Sino-Vietnamese Borderlands, is a compelling, interdisciplinary examination of the livelihood decisions of the Hmong in the mountainous regions along the Sino-Vietnamese border. Methodologically, the study draws from geography, history, and anthropology, with a significant reliance on interviews and participant observation, in order to provide nuanced answers to its guiding question of how the Hmong “make and negotiate their livelihood decisions” (4).

The Hmong population is estimated to be approximately 4 million, yet is spread across at least five different Asian countries, with the largest populations found in southern China and northern Vietnam. The Hmong communities in both countries share several important characteristics, such as their marginality; their official status as a minority group; their residence in mountainous regions on the peripheries of the two nations; and their embrace of an economic system in which they “are mainly rural, semi-subsistence farmers practicing a mixture of permanent and temporary agriculture, with production centered on household needs” (22). The combination of these characteristics is vital because it has historically marked them as a group that national governments seek to “develop,” particularly through modernization and integration into the market economy.

The volume’s broader theoretical goal is to demonstrate that the successful study of livelihood choices requires attention to culturally informed local agency, especially as this applies to the choices that people make to accept, ignore, modify, or resist the policies or agendas being imposed upon them by others who are more powerful. In order to demonstrate their theoretical arguments, the authors provide four primary cases that illustrate the cautious and complex manner in which the Hmong engage with the development projects designed and implemented by the Vietnamese and Chinese governments and the recent push toward the market economy: buffalo (chapter 4), alcohol (chapter 5), cardamom (chapter 6), and textiles (chapter 7). All four of these cases involve items that were historically part of the Hmong economy. Buffalo were important farm animals as well as symbols of wealth; locally produced alcohol was central in various ceremonial and social contexts; cardamom grew naturally in the region and was used medicinally; and locally woven and embroidered textiles were markers of Hmong identity as well as funerary clothing. One strength of the authors’ approach in all of these chapters is that they treat these items with cultural and historical sensitivity, especially the fact that in recent decades, with the transition to market economies in Vietnam and China, all have become commodities that have created new possibilities for cash income, but that at the same time bring new risks.

It is on the issue of managing risk that the volume makes some of its most interesting contributions. The authors demonstrate that the Hmong are neither tradition-bound nor “inept at trading and lack[ing] economic entrepreneurship” as often depicted in China and Vietnam (147), but instead are ready to embark upon what the authors fittingly describe as “measured engagements” (169) with new opportunities. Two representative examples of this are the utilization of new, hybrid rice forms and the commodification of Hmong textiles. Both the Chinese and Vietnamese governments have aggressively advocated hybrid seeds because of their higher yields. Hmong farmers in Vietnam recognize that while the so-called “Chinese rice” (53) can have advantages, it can also bring with it a variety of problems related to the timing of seed availability, input costs, labor and draft animal supply, and an unappealing taste. Thus, instead of either fully embracing or rejecting hybrid seeds, many farmers have taken a more cautious approach in which traditional rice varieties, though particularly sticky rice, are grown for personal or ceremonial use (53), while hybrid rice is used in alcohol production (89). Regarding Hmong textiles, which are distinctively patterned and produced by women, a vibrant market has emerged, especially for tourists. Hmong women have become actively engaged in this trade, which as the authors point out has created a new source of cash for them (132), but have done so in a careful manner. They have cleverly used it as an opportunity to repurpose used clothing they no longer need, but have not abandoned agriculture completely (133), and in instances when dealing with non-Hmong strangers, have preferred to rely on either kin or other Hmong to receive a fair price (136–137). The Hmong do not, as the authors argue, unrestrainedly seek to maximize profits, but instead, “using culturally rooted judgments, they resist becoming involved in the market beyond what seems relevant to them” (169).

Another virtue of the analyses is their careful articulation of the commodity chains associated with these products, some of which extend not just to lowland Chinese or Vietnamese society, but to other Southeast Asian nations and even the Hmong diaspora, which provides a fascinating vision of the global market forces that now affect Hmong communities. Unfortunately in all of the cases examined the Hmong are “economically subordinate” (145) and receive the smallest profits of the various parties involved in these trades. Still, as the authors convincingly demonstrate, the Hmong are open to innovation in their livelihood choices and employ a “productive bricolage” (62) of the new and old in order to survive in challenging circumstances. Instead of being passive recipients of development policies or modernizing directives, the Hmong employ their culturally informed agency to carefully negotiate their relationship to market integration and construct their own combinatory “indigenized” modernity (9). This highly readable and empirically rich study will be of interest to scholars of highland Southeast Asia and China as well as to anthropologists, geographers, and those who seek to understand how societies in peripheral regions negotiate development, modernization, and existence on the margins of a powerful nation-state.

Shaun Kingsley Malarney, International Christian University, Tokyo, Japan                                   

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FORGOTTEN PEOPLE: Poverty, Risk and Social Security in Indonesia: The Case of the Madurese. Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde, v. 296; Power and Place in Southeast Asia, v. 6. By Gerben Nooteboom. Leiden; Boston: Brill, 2015. x, 314 pp. (Illustrations.) US$163.00, cloth. ISBN 978-90-04-28250-6.

In general, this book will be of interest to two groups of readers: those who are interested in issues related to poverty and those who seek to understand the Madurese, an ethnic group that originally resided on Madura Island in East Java Province in Indonesia but has now spread all over the country. The contents of the book are derived from decade-long ethnographic research on Madurese migrants residing in mainland East Java and in East Kalimantan Province.

The book is divided into two parts, with the first part covering various aspects of the livelihoods of descendants of Madurese migrants in a rural village in mainland East Java, while the second part focuses on an urban setting, studying more recently arrived Madurese migrants in the city of Samarinda in East Kalimantan. For those who are looking to understand the contents of the book quickly, the concluding chapter provides a succinct yet comprehensive summary of the main issues discussed in the book.

Meanwhile, the introductory chapter sets the stage and defines terms used throughout the book, some of which are specific and may be different from the definitions understood generally. First of all, why the Madurese? In Indonesia, the Madurese officially constitute the fourth-largest ethnic group, after the Javanese, Sundanese, and Malays (29). However, they are relatively neglected and marginalized in terms of both popular daily life discourse as well as academic works, hence the book title “Forgotten People.” Ironically, the Madurese were once the centre of attention when they suffered from violent ethnic conflicts in the West and Central Kalimantan provinces during the late 1990s and early 2000s, which further marginalized their position. Even then, hardly any study looked at the conflicts from the Madurese point of view.

Notwithstanding that the subject is exclusively the Madurese, the research findings included in the book provide a general understanding on the poor’s livelihood, various shocks that they have to face, and insufficient protection that they have.   There are three central ideas in the book. First, when faced with difficulties in their lives, people follow diverse trajectories guided by individual and cultural preferences that are shaped by their cultural boundaries. Second, reciprocal social security based on a patron-client relationship is alive and well in rural areas. However, it is important to note that these social security arrangements are often insufficient and unreliable as a means of protection when a shock occurs. Third, in an ethnically heterogeneous urban setting, such locally organized social security arrangements are largely absent, with kinship and ethnic-based protection filling in.

In addition, the book also dispels a few myths about rural life and the poor, which are prevalent in development circles. First, the book shows that there is no evidence of the much romanticized harmonious rural life. On the contrary, rural life is full of contestations among various groups, classes, and individuals. The author argues that the false view of harmonious rural life has contributed to incorrect targeting in government programs aimed at the poor, possibly because they ignore the local political economy. Second, the book also provides evidence that the view that the poor are inherently risk averse is unfounded. For various reasons, ranging from simply looking to add excitement to a dull life to taking a chance in order to open up a possibility of progress, the poor often take quite large risks, which sometimes endanger their livelihoods.

One strength of the book is that it is based on research spanning a long period of time. This makes it possible for the author to observe changes both at individual and community levels. Based on these observations, for example, the author concludes that poverty is not static but dynamic. Some households can fall from an affluent position to the bottom of the social strata, while some originally poor households are able to move up the ladder to become part of the rich group of villagers. This conclusion, while strong, is not new. Studies of poverty dynamics have long come to the same conclusion. Hence, it is surprising that the book does not make a reference to the relatively abundant literature on poverty dynamics, which is mostly based on quantitative analysis of panel data. The book complements this literature by providing qualitative evidence on the dynamics of poverty.

The book also makes some observations regarding the role of gender in household livelihood and its protection. For example, it concludes that women are much more concerned with food security and livelihood protection than are their husbands. In explaining why some poor people seem to take excessive risks that endanger their livelihood, it argues that gender structure in the household and social relations in the society offer a minimal safety net. However, the treatment of gender in this book lacks rigour. In general, the views and perspectives offered in the book are those of an adult male.

To conclude, the book provides a fresh perspective on both the life of the Madurese and livelihood dynamics and protection among the poor. The many life stories told in the book make it an attractive and enjoyable read. Furthermore, by contrasting the first and second parts of the book, one can learn about the differences between rural and urban poverty. As poverty in Indonesia and the world is becoming more urbanized over time, understanding these differences will be very useful for both development academics and practitioners alike.

Asep Suryahadi, The SMERU Research Institute, Jakarta, Indonesia                 

EMBODIED NATION: Sport, Masculinity, and the Making of Modern Laos. Southeast Asia: Politics, Meaning, and Memory. By Simon Creak. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. xiv, 327 pp. (Figures, map.) US$54.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3889-8.

Ferocious fighting erupted between Lao spectators and visiting Vietnamese team members at the end of a 1936 soccer match in Vientiane. No fighting marred the 2009 Southeast Asia Games held in Vientiane; instead Laos received an International Olympic Committee award for the nation’s “outstanding effort in the promotion of sport in Laos … [and] for fulfilling … Olympic ideals” (230). These two events respectively introduce and conclude Creak’s argument. However, the intervening pages are about much more than sporting progress in Laos.

Embodied Nation argues that sport and physical culture have been used by a series of Lao governments in attempts to inspire the populace to support and enact the political vision of its leaders. Or, as Creak writes: “Successive regimes have called on sport and physical culture as modes of subject formation with the ultimate objective of constituting, performing, and reinforcing state power” (240). The arguments of Embodied Nation are convincingly supported by an impressive array of archival and secondary sources in three languages: English, French, and Lao, and by data from the author’s field work in Laos.

Laos is a particularly good place to observe the relationship between physicality and the body politic. In little more than a century, Laotians experienced four different political systems with differing ideologies: colonialism, royalist /nationalism, socialist revolution, and post-socialism. Creak illustrates his thesis with carefully detailed examples from each. In each example, the sporting subjects are primarily male. It was the male body and a robust masculinity that these governments summoned to reinforce state unity and power.

Examples of the relationship between physicality and politics begin with tikhi, a pre-colonial Lao ritual game, and continue respectively with the Vichy French colonial emphasis on physical training, sport as political theater in the Kingdom of Laos, controversy over representation of a divided Laos at regional sports events, socialist culture of physicality to mobilize the revolution, and, finally, the 2009 Southeast Asian Games. Tikhi was interpreted by early French colonizers as the national sport of Laos as the French sought to develop a distinct cultural identity for this newly constituted unit of French Indochina. Western sport arrived in Laos during the Vichy French period of World War II (1941–1945) with ideas about the body derived from Nazi sources. These ideas are well summarized by the chapter title: “Renovating the body, restoring the nation/race” (52). The Lao Nhay cultural renovation movement and French officials implemented these ideas by establishing sporting clubs, leagues, and events and by promulgating a new cultural view of masculinity illustrated in published drawings and photographs of muscular and diligent young men. Building on these new physical culture ideas, Laos moved toward nationhood under French tutelage emphasizing militarization and military masculinity.

The 1961 and 1964 National Games in the Kingdom of Laos under the Royal Lao Government (RLG) illustrate the use of sport to showcase national unity in the stadium at a time when political power was highly contested. Creak notes that “ideas and practices linking the athletic body to national destiny were evidence of major changes in political culture” (139). The growing Cold War-related conflict in Laos was manifested in its attendance at the 1966 non-aligned nations Games of the New Emerging Forces (GANEFO). The RLG team represented Laos in the 1963 GANEFO games (Laos was still officially neutral at that time), but refused the invitation to attend in 1966 (the RLG was closely allied with the U.S. by then), so a communist Neo Lao Hak Sat team represented Laos there, arousing the ire of royalist editors in Vientiane. Therefore, the Cold War played out in regional sporting events as well as in other venues (166).

The Lao People’s Revolutionary Party (LPRP) came to power in 1975 determined to create the “new socialist person.” A “mass sport and physical culture movement” could create these healthy, strong, resolute, and politically knowledgeable persons who could then build and strengthen the “national body politic” (167–168). Official reports on this project were mostly of the failure to build such a movement among the masses. The LPRP had better success in “mobilizing the revolution” through elite-level spectator sports (195). Spectator sporting events sponsored by the state reinforced the idea of Lao People’s Democratic Republic (Lao PDR) unity under the Party. Friendship competitions with other socialist countries fostered a sense of membership in the socialist family of nations, and, with participation in the 1980 Moscow Olympics, of visibility on the world stage. The accomplishments of outstanding women athletes and teams were well publicized internally, promoting the official ideology of equality between the sexes. But the revolutionary period did not endure. The Party retained its political power, but, beginning in 1986, began planning for capitalist economic development. Leaping quickly over the early post-socialist period to the final chapter, Creak focuses on the 2009 Southeast Asian Games, the Lao PDR’s “latest and undoubtedly greatest performance of the link between physical contests, ideas, and practices, on the one hand, and politics and culture, on the other” (231). The unprecedented cheering, flag-waving, excitement, and joyful expression of national pride during and immediately after the Games were genuine, but the ultimate beneficiary was the secretive LPRP and the authoritarian state it remorselessly directs.

Creak’s work extends and specifies theory and scholarship about sport culture and politics with this detailed case study. Embodied Nation addresses aspects of Lao society (sport and physical culture, masculinity) that have not yet been explored, at least in English language scholarly work. Creak’s extensive referencing of official Lao and French language documents may guide other researchers to similar useful sources. Advanced students, scholars, and practitioners in the following fields will be interested in this well-written and scholarly work: history, culture, and politics of Laos and Southeast Asia; sport and culture; and gender studies, especially masculinity.

Carol Ireson-Doolittle, Willamette University, Salem, USA                                                          

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SAVING BUDDHISM: The Impermanence of Religion in Colonial Burma. Southeast Asia: Politics, Meaning, and Memory. By Alicia Turner. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2014. xi, 221 pp. US$54.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3937-6.

Alicia Turner examines the ways in which Burmese responded to colonial conditions and, in the process, developed new ways of envisioning themselves through their activities in newly created Buddhist associations. Turner seeks to locate the discourses on Buddhism during the British colonial period in their own terms, separate from issues of nationalism and modernism. Her interest is in how local Burmese understood what was happening to Buddhism in Burma and the ways in which these Burmese used their understandings to preserve Burmese Buddhism and in the process transformed both Buddhism and themselves.

The introduction begins this argument by describing discourses on sasana (often glossed as “Buddhist religion”), identity, and religion as they were understood in the West. Sasana is a broader term that encompasses Buddhist texts, practices, monks, and rituals as locally understood. When the British took control of Burma the king was sent into exile, and so laypeople began to step in and fulfill the kingly role of protecting and purifying the sasana, founding Buddhist associations to do so. These associations led to a sense of community among their members and a shift in their identities. The third discourse, that of religion, played British and Western ideas against and through the Burmese understandings creating an arena for Burmese Buddhists to contest and resist British colonial practices.

The second chapter focuses on sasana and the history of Buddhist reforms in Burma to argue that these reforms, while meant to preserve and purify Buddhism in practice, transformed it, recreating a Buddhism that fit current ideas and contexts. The Buddhist religion, like everything else, is impermanent and declines through time. The first aspect of Buddhism to disappear would be the Buddhist teachings. Earlier rulers sought to stem the decline by preserving the texts and rewarding monastic learning. Now laypeople sought to preserve Buddhism by forming organizations to raise money for the monks and monasteries and to preserve texts by encouraging their memorization. The Buddhist associations drew on Western technologies for organizing groups, complete with membership lists, journals, and membership fees. The post-colonial changes in Burmese Buddhism, then, are not a result of radically different processes but rather another series of changes that seek to preserve Buddhism, and Buddhist practices, but that in fact reshape it.

Education and the different ways in which the Burmese and the British understood it is the focus of the second chapter. Monastic education was a way for boys to make merit for their parents and to learn and preserve the Buddhist Pali texts, thus staying the decline of Buddhism. The British, seeing the monastery schools, imagined an education system they could use to train Burmese students in modern subjects. These two notions of education were antithetical and the British did not succeed in having secular subjects taught in monastic schools. Lay lead schools that provided an education in modern subjects that prepared the students for jobs in the colonial bureaucracy began replacing monastic education. People saw schoolboys becoming increasingly disrespectful to parents and other authorities and Burmese saw this as another sign of the decline of Buddhism. The solution was to teach Buddhism in these schools, often for no more than half an hour a day; this meant a radical change in what constituted a Buddhist education.

Besides joining associations to preserve Buddhism, Burmese began to consider what else they needed to do to prevent Buddhism’s further decline. Although generosity remained an important Burmese virtue, they started to emphasize personal morality as central to preserving Buddhism. Morality and asceticism became individualized as Burmese signed pledges not to drink alcohol or eat meat. As with the Buddhist associations, the temperance movement drew on Western notions for organization, including the signing of temperance pledges. Individuals’ behaviour becomes a means to preserve Buddhism as morality becomes internalized, a part of their self-identity. Individuals become agents whose actions can save Buddhism.

The ambiguity of the term “religion” opened up spaces for the Burmese to resist British modernist universalist understandings of religion and to assert the particularity of Burmese Buddhism. Turner explores this with her analysis of the “shoe question,” where Europeans removed their hats as a sign of respect at pagodas rather than removing their shoes as a Burmese would and the issue of the Shikho, where Burmese would prostrate themselves before monks who were their teachers, something the British wanted school boys to do to their secular teachers. The Burmese argued that both of these were important particular aspects of their Buddhism and school boys should not have to bow down to secular teachers and that Europeans should remove their shoes. And the British, eventually, had to acquiesce to the Burmese demands.

The conclusion takes us back to how we should understand the processes involved in the saving of Buddhism. Turner argues that we should not simply see these processes as nascent forms of nationalist movements or the inevitable effects of modernization on traditional religions but rather as specific adaptations in the particular Burmese place and time. This book is an important corrective to those views and ably demonstrates that the Burmese were the actors and agents of the changes in Buddhism, although the range of their actions and agency is limited to colonial context.

It is a rare treat to read a book that explores an old topic—the impact of colonialism on Buddhism in Burma—and find a new, intriguing approach to the issue. The book would be useful in courses where colonial and global processes are being examined as well as courses that focus on the complexity of analyzing lived religions. It is accessible to middle-level undergraduates and above.

Nicola Tannenbaum, Lehigh University, Bethlehem, USA

THE LOST TERRITORIES: Thailand’s History of National Humiliation. Southeast Asia—Politics, Meaning, Memory. By Shane Strate. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. xi, 245 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$52.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3891-1.

Two central tropes dominate the official royal-nationalist historiography in Thailand. The first trope celebrates how Thailand has never been colonized by a foreign power. Following the official rendering of the country’s history it is the diplomatic skills of Thai kings and their success with modernizing the Thai state along the lines of a modern nation-state at the turn of the twentieth century that secured Thailand’s independence. The second trope laments the territorial losses inflicted on Thailand by foreign colonial powers. Here the Franco-Siamese crisis of 1893—when France sent gunboats towards Bangkok and subsequently established control over the territories later to become Laos—looms large as the embodiment of foreign colonial aggression. An ever-growing corpus of revisionist scholarship has challenged this official perception of Thailand’s history. While a foreign power never formally colonized Thailand, this revisionist reading of Thailand’s past shows how colonialism nonetheless conditioned Thailand’s path to modernity. Breaking with the binary conception of colony versus non-colony, revisionist readings characterize early twentieth-century Thailand as a crypto- or semi-colony. At the same time, scholars have also taken the idea of the lost territories to task, highlighting how it represents an ahistorical depiction of the modern boundaries of a nation-state back in a distant past.

In his book Strate brings the topic of lost territories on to a new ground as he examines how the Thai state over time has made use of what he calls a national humiliation discourse—or a discourse of victimization—to prop up an anti-Western nationalism. As the title of the book indicates, he links the idea of how Thailand lost territories to European colonial powers at the turn of the twentieth century with this humiliation discourse. Strate traces central elements in the genealogy of this discourse through an analysis of a series of well-chosen cases that organizes the book. First, he explores the roots of the humiliation discourse, outlining the historical events that later became a cornerstone in the discourse: unequal treaties, extraterritoriality, and the Franco-Siamese crisis of 1893. The following four chapters deal with the period from the early 1930s to 1946. In these, Strate traces the emergence and proliferation of this discourse of national humiliation in which 1893 becomes what he calls a “chosen trauma.” Strate shows how border negotiations with the French in 1940 were pivotal in the creation of this discourse and how it underscores the military regime’s commitment to a pan-Asian rhetoric during the Second World War. Strate also turns his attention to an anti-Catholicism campaign of the early 1940s and argues that the state rationalized this extreme nationalism as an attempt to confront the country’s history of victimization. Finally, Strate also deals with the international court case concerning the temple Preah Vihear in the early 1960s. In Thai official discourse this temple is synonymous with the lost territories and an integral part of the national humiliation historiography.

With this analysis, Strate demonstrates how a militant anti-Western nationalism linked with the notion of lost territories existed in contrast and in a complex relationship with the well-known and well-researched royalist-nationalist ideology. While the latter stresses the heroism of past kings in securing Thailand’s independence, the former emphasizes the humiliation Thailand has suffered over time from foreign powers. The idea of the lost territories encapsulates the overall sense of the injustice, dishonour, and humiliation that resulted from Western intervention and thereby communicates the extent of past injuries sustained by the body of the nation. Hereby, the nation emerges as both hero and victim—independent but humiliated by Western powers—and the state has replaced the monarchy as the guarantor for independence and the vindication of past injuries. With this analysis, Strate follows in the footsteps of, for example, Matthew Copeland (Contested Nationalism and the 1932 Overthrow of the Absolute Monarchy in Siam, PhD dissertation, Australian National University, 1993), in highlighting the existence of an alternative nationalism in Thailand, which the official historiography seeks to silence. Strate also documents the existence of a significant anti-Western discourse in Thailand and brings forward a more nuanced picture of the West’s role in Thailand’s history than is generally acknowledged. The book is well researched, empirically rich and based on an impressive amount of source material collected in Thailand, France, and the US. It sheds new light on questions that are central to the historiographical debate and contributes to the current revisionist historiography.

Søren Ivarsson, University of Copenhagen, Copenhagen, Denmark                                     

“GETTING BY”: Class and State Formation among Chinese in Malaysia. By Donald M. Nonini. Ithaca (NY): Cornell University Press, 2015. x, 348 pp. (Illustrations.) US$27.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8014-7908-3.

This is a study of the Chinese community in the city of Bukit Mertajam in the Penang state of Malaysia over a thirty-year period from 1978 to 2007, undertaken by deploying the two different but complementary investigative optics of history and ethnography. At the most basic level, it is a triangulation of the three processes of class, ethnicity, and state formation. The attractive central argument is that the working-class ethnic Chinese in this township were put in a disadvantaged, subjugated position vis-à-vis the racially discriminative state policies and, while accepting state sovereignty and second-class citizenship, they had developed in their daily survivalist practices the art of deception and disputation. Their unfavourable entanglement with state formation on the basis of everyday experiences has thus been framed between the larger nation-state rubric of “making of citizens” and the vague, deceptive community mantra of “Getting By,” which thus serves as the monograph title.

The book begins with an introduction and a historical background before plunging into six chapters under “Part I Development, 1969-85” and another three chapters under “Part II Globalization, 1985-97,” with an epilogue on the decade from 1997 to 2007. This bifurcated structure works reasonably well because of an appropriate insertion of additional prefaces to explain the two respective major partitions. One map is included about a temple management committee’s dialect groupings in China’s southeastern coast (191) and another on a religious procession route (257). But strangely and sorely lacking for the general readers is a locational map showing visually where Bukit Mertajam is situated vis-à-vis the entire length and breadth of Malaysia. In terms of content, there is a neat balance between discussing theoretical or conceptual issues and the presentation of empirical ethnographic materials. There is also general fluency and clarity throughout the volume.

Although there are forays of exploration into the angle of gender (for example, through family labour of male proprietors and female garment factory workers), the study remains anchored on class. The key class segment under scrutiny is the community of male truck drivers which the author had spent much time with during his fieldwork. But the study touches upon all three major Chinese social classes: the small cluster of prominent mercantile capitalists, the group of petty businessmen and professionals, as well as the majority working-class people. Instead of violent class struggles and ethnic conflicts under adverse state discriminative policies, the societal outcome was far from revolutionary—it had merely produced an ethnic Chinese survivalist mantra of “getting by.” This chanting was often followed by an elaboration of how hard business or life had been under predatory governing logics of the Malaysian state, especially about the corrupt exactions as embedded within the pervasive tributary relations between government functionaries and Chinese petty capitalists. Reflective of the generally placid social scene are nineteen plates of inserted photographs on everyday town lives, religious ceremonies, and city development (150-164). Only the first photograph on police headquarters and barracks hints at heightened social tension, but even this is marked clearly as a residue of past counterinsurgency years, from 1948 to 1960. This reinforces the book’s starting point that it is the early history of violence, fragmentation, disorder, and chaos in the pre-1969 period that had produced the silences about the history of class inequality in Malaysia and the forgetting among Chinese Malaysians.

In trying to claim originality and high contribution, the study has perhaps overstated its repeatedly harsh critique of the extant scholarly and journalistic literature on Overseas Chinese communities as being Sino-centric and overly focused on the Chinese mercantile elite (2, 5-7, 9-10, 125-126, 166, 202, 210, 282, 284, 300-301). It is indeed inaccurate to portray extant Overseas Chinese studies as almost exclusively focused upon the rich and famous with their self-governing segmentary hierarchical Chinese society, to the total neglect of the ordinary working class with their everyday lives. It has already been widely recognized that the waves of mass migration out of China in the post-Opium War era were overwhelmingly loaded with poor labourers and peasants, with a scattering of petty property owners. There are numerous extant writings about Chinese coolies, tin miners, rickshaw pullers, squatters, prostitutes, etc. Also, this field of study has for most recent years been vigorously engaged with interrogating the term “Chinese diaspora,” de-centering “Sino-centrism,” questioning “unchanging, essentialized Chinese culture,” examining “localized pluralism,” and exploring “re-migrations.” It is not viable for a 2015 book to ignore or dismiss this body of writings.

One other notable feature of this monograph is its confession that it has been “so long in the making,” with a “long and circuitous route to publication” (viii, x). The journey began with Professor G. William Skinner dispatching the author to northern West Malaysia in 1978 to explore its regional, hierarchical, central-place economic system and ethnic Chinese traders (ix, 57). When practical ethnographical difficulties in this line of inquiry proved too daunting, the author switched to a more general approach and eventually submitted a PhD thesis in 1983 on “the political economy” of the Chinese community of a West Malaysian market town (332). Although he regards it as a “failed project” and he points out that “the dissertation was never revised or published,” the author states that “my faltering efforts at a regional analysis” and the “positivist impulse” behind it nonetheless provided him with a grasp of the economic profile and everyday life in the township (57-58). Hence, he picked up the project again years later to rethink and reformulate it into this present volume, with brief follow-up fieldtrips in 1990-1993, 2002, 2004, and 2007. The additional research work is primarily presented in part 2 on globalization from 1985 to 1997 and in the epilogue addressing the years from 1997 to 2007, thus positioning the monograph as a longue durée thirty-year study. Therefore, this arduous journey on the one hand reflects the difficulties and limits in dusting off and reinvigorating old research projects. On the other hand, it demonstrates how important it is not to discard preciously collected ethnographic data. The relatively unknown township of Bukit Mertajam has this handsome volume to thank for capturing the history and ethnographical profile of its Chinese community for posterity.

Huang Jianli, National University of Singapore, Singapore

Australasia and the Pacific Islands


HEARING THE FUTURE: The Music and Magic of the Sanguma Band. Music and Performing Arts of Asia and the Pacific. By Denis Crowdy. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2016. xiii, 183 pp. (Illustrations.) US$52.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-5156-9.

Reading Denis Crowdy’s book, Hearing the Future: The Music and Magic of the Sanguma Band about the internationally acclaimed Papua New Guinea band popular during the 1980s, led me to dig out my copy of their first cassette, the eponymously titled Sanguma, that I had bought when I first arrived in PNG in 1978. I then had to find a cassette player, buried away in the garage, on which to play it. Listening to the ethereal sounds of Sepik bamboo flutes alternating with jazz riffs played on trumpet and keyboard transported me back to my first visit to Port Moresby, the University of Papua New Guinea (UPNG), and the National Arts School (NAS), where I had purchased the cassette en route to fieldwork on Manam Island. I was also transported “back to the future”—1975, when Papua New Guinea achieved independence and the nation’s future as it was envisioned in the late 1970s and early 1980s, the historical period that Crowdy analyzes in Hearing the Future. The band Sanguma and its distinctive fusion style were very much products of that post-independence moment that gave birth to the young nation’s hopes for a new pan-Papua New Guinea national identity. That idea provides the thesis for Crowdy’s book as well as his argument for the role music can play in national identity, a concept prevalent in ethnomusicology today (think of the role of reggae in Jamaica or calypso in Trinidad). Crowdy’s historical and musical analysis of Sanguma provides a welcome and compelling case study from a Pacific nation of this concept. So too does his analysis of the factors—most significantly, local forms of neoliberal capitalism— that contributed to the band’s eventual demise.

The broadest importance of the book is its evocation of that nascent period in the country’s history and the role Sanguma—and the National Arts School—played in it. The members of the original band were students at the newly established NAS and came from many different regions across PNG, facts that were important to both the band’s musical style and its ethos. How the music of Sanguma— based on a fusion of traditional PNG musical forms and progressive jazz performed on both traditional and Western instruments by musicians in traditional PNG bilas (feather headdresses and pig’s tusk ornaments)—encapsulated those hopes and created a style that reflected that ethos is the subject of Crowdy’s book. The very name of the band—Sanguma—the Tok Pisin word for supernatural “poison” or magic, evoked both ancestral power and the potency of music to transport the listener to another reality.

The author, an Australian musician who taught in the Faculty of Arts (FAC) at UPNG (the successor of the original NAS) from 1992 until 2000, interviewed members of the original band, including Tony Subum and Thomas Komboi, as well as former NAS faculty member Les McLaren and others who had taught them. Crowdy is in an ideal position to describe the historical and musical legacy of Sanguma as he was distant enough from its originary scene to be objective, but familiar enough with PNG, the PNG music scene, and the institutional context in which the band arose to astutely and convincingly analyze it. He begins with a discussion of how the band sought to engender what he calls “a musical Melanesian Way”—a reference to ideas about what should constitute an indigenous post-independence Melanesian ethos articulated by Melanesian intellectuals such as PNG’s Bernard Narokobi and New Caledonia’s J-M Tijbaou. Their doctrines set out the goal of incorporating important elements of Melanesian cultures—such as respect for the ancestors, local traditions, etc.—while embracing modern forms of government, economics, and technology and blending them to form something distinctly Melanesian. Crowdy describes Sanguma’s decade of international fame during the 1980s and its performances abroad. Ironically, the band was more popular abroad than it ever was at home, a fact Crowdy attributes to the urban, art school-educated background of the band members and the influence of their expatriate instructors, who conveyed their admiration for the musical sophistication of jazz to their students. In contrast to the Western music the Sanguma musicians were learning at NAS, the most popular music in PNG at the time was Western rock or country. Outside of Port Moresby and other urban centres in PNG, there was little interest in the sophisticated syncretic music Sanguma was playing. By far the longest, and most technical, chapter of the book is “The Sound of Sanguma.” Readers not familiar with Sanguma’s music or without access to one of the band’s nine recordings, or without an in-depth interest in the musical structure of Sanguma’s sound, will find this chapter slow going. Importantly, however, Crowdy also discusses how Sanguma’s music was a precursor to the new genre of World Music that arose in the West and elsewhere in the 1990s. He also attributes the band’s brief reformation in the early 1990s as a result of the emergence of World Music’s popularity. In the chapter “From Heard Future to Sounding Present” and a coda he describes the disappointments the band faced in the late 1990s and early twenty-first century as the PNG music industry became more commodified. Despite its technical core chapter, Crowdy’s book should be of interest not just to ethnomusicologists, but to historians, anthropologists, geographers (for example, Crowdy discusses the concept of “ecomusicology” with regard to Sanguma’s reception in PNG), cultural studies scholars, and students of global studies and development studies. Not only is the thesis of the book—the relevance of music to the creation of national identity—of broad import, but Crowdy’s analysis of the parallel trajectories of the demise of Sanguma and the difficulties PNG has experienced as the result of local and international inflections of neoliberal capitalism provides a fascinating, if sobering, look at an important moment in the history of Papua New Guinea.

Nancy C. Lutkehaus, University of Southern California, Los Angeles, USA


ALCHEMY IN THE RAIN FOREST: Politics, Ecology, and Resilience in a New Guinea Mining Area. New Ecologies for the Twenty-First Century. By Jerry K. Jacka. Durham: Duke University Press, 2015. xii, 283 pp. (Tables, figures, maps.) US$25.95, paper. ISBN 978-0-8223-6011-7.

Social studies of mining in Papua New Guinea must invariably deal with the existence of insiders and outsiders. Despite Porgera mine, a world-class gold mine, being situated within the cultural landscape of the Ipili of Porgera Valley, the mining wealth is narrowly distributed to specific clans, and promised development has failed to materialize. Environmental anthropologist Jerry K. Jacka’s book Alchemy in the Rainforest charts the Porgeran community’s methods of grappling with the results of the inside-outside divide. The particular Porgeran community Jacka developed a relationship with sits outside the landowning elite of the Porgera mine’s Special Mining Lease, and thus is excluded from the main benefit streams of the mine. These people, while seeing the immense wealth come out of the mountain of their ancestors, are on the periphery. The book focusses on their ontologies, political ecology, resilience, and the concept of alchemy.

Jacka’s book is essentially about how the Porgeran communities show resilience in two respects relating to resource development and land. All things in the Porgera Valley come back to these two elements. Mining resource development has transformed the communities in the hinterland of the mine significantly and possibly irretrievably. The first section examines the creation of the resource frontier through the colonial intrusion into the Porgera Valley, initially by Australian gold explorers and missionaries and the localised responses to this resource frontier. In the case of the Ipili speakers of the Porgera Valley, they situated the white colonists in their cosmology, as tawe wandikali or sky people. This absorbing was a critical resilience mechanism, as it slowed the pace of cultural and societal change for the Porgerans. Similarly, Porgerans situated the presence of the exploited resource—gold—within their creation myths.

The second section locates the resource frontier within the three aspects of Ipili/Porgeran social and cultural landscape: Land, Yu; People, Wandakali; and Spirits, Yama. These chapters are the ethnographic heart of the book. Jacka’s exploration of the cultural importance of altitude and land use in the Porgera Valley context provides the backbone for the book. Three altitudinal spheres divide the valley: below 1600 metres are the lowland forests, wapi, where malevolent spirits and malaria prevent settlement; between 1600 and 2200 metres we find the andakama, the domestic settlement sphere; and above 2200 metres is the aiyandaka, a place of benevolent spirits. Traditional rituals and myths contribute to a system of land management and soil fertility centred on the concept of ipane (grease) that lubricates the land, spirits, and community relationships. The topographical divisions are breached by roadside settlements built up on the traditionally sparsely populated customary hunting lands in aiyandaka, overexploiting the fragile high-altitude ecosystem. Jacka studies the exploited ecosystems in chapter 6 through analysis of economic trees and resources in both primary and secondary forests. Jacka discloses that restrictions imposed by customary landowners on forest resource usage and violence have seen an increase in forest cover between 2002 and 2013 despite increasing population.

Woven throughout the book is personal commentary and stories of Jacka’s experience of Porgeran culture, spirits, and politics. Jacka’s relationships with Porgerans are at times cut short prematurely by the widespread tribal violence that now seems intractable. Where previously tribal wars were a method of maintaining the wider social order through longer-term redistribution of wealth via compensation payments and clan intermarriage, war is now used to generate short-term wealth as a response to exclusion from mining benefit streams.

The book sits within a recent renaissance of research on resource-affected communities in PNG, including Jacka’s contemporary Alex Golub’s Leviathans at the Gold Mine (Duke University Press, 2014). Jacka’s analysis sits firmly with the community, and from that position examines the complexities of Porgera mine’s impact. The book only briefly situates Porgera in its national context. Possibly drawing out the comparison with local responses to mining at Ok Tedi and Lihir would have created a richer contrast and highlighted the volatile political and community situation in the Porgera Valley. However, the narrow focus allows for more space to examine at length the fascinating resource management practices, community resilience, and spirit world of the Porgera Valley.

Phillipa Jenkins, Australian National University, Canberra, Australia                                               


IN THE ABSENCE OF THE GIFT: New Forms of Value and Personhood in a Papua New Guinea Community. Pacific Perspectives, v. 5. By Anders Emil Rasmussen. New York; Oxford: Berghahn Books, 2015. x, 199 pp. (Figures, tables, map.) US$90.00, cloth. ISBN 978-1-78238-781-7.

Some 1,500 Papua New Guineans hail from Mbuke, an eleven-island archipelago lying just south of Manus, an island Margaret Mead made famous through her book New Lives for Old. Forty percent of Mbuke Islanders live elsewhere, many of whom have well-paying jobs in PNG urban centres and who remit a portion of their income to kinspeople living on the islands. In the past, seven exogamous patrilineal descent groups would exchange gifts upon intermarriage, the birth of children, and death. But nowadays such exchanges are rare, a change Rasmussen dates to the post-World War II period. Today, in fact, some, perhaps most, Mbuke Islanders consider such exchanges “‘a waste of resources'” (27) because acquiring money for commodity consumption has become the new way of life. Rasmussen’s purpose is to chronicle the “new forms of value and personhood” (the book’s subtitle) emerging under these circumstances.

Rasmussen is at pains to argue that money is not necessarily a corrupting force, that when deployed toward moral and social ends, money helps make, sustain, and cause to “appear” social relationships. The clearest case for this is made with respect to something Mbuke Islanders call singaut (“sing out”), a Melanesian pidgin term that means to “sing out” in the sense of addressing and in this case beseeching assistance from someone. In singaut a person in need requests assistance from a person of means, who gives support out of pity and without any expectation of a return. Singaut transactions are therefore a matter of sharing, not of reciprocity. Today remittances comprise the most economically consequential mode of sharing, allowing homeland Mbuke Islanders to live in material comfort through the generosity of relatives living (typically) in urban centres and who have an income.

Singaut occurs within a relatively narrow social orbit. The motive for rendering assistance to someone who sings out is “the emotional and/or kinship bond between giver and receiver” (111), and “[t]here is a sense in which singaut operates in the domestic sphere more than the public sphere because it takes place between people who have at some point been part of the same household (parents, children and siblings)” (48). Singaut may well mark a contraction of the scope of sociality, therefore, from interlineage to intralineage and/or from interhousehold to intrahousehold. Still, singaut does perpetuate the relational personhood and the ethos of relationality so often commented upon by Papua New Guinea researchers. In this it contrasts sharply with “the person alone,” as Mbuke Islanders refer to anyone who fails to honour kinship obligations and respond to singaut requests (126). Such individuals are rare, despite pervasive monetization, because they fear being branded as “greedy” and “selfish.”

One of the most interesting aspects of Rasmussen’s sociology is his insistence that relationships are necessarily forged in and through the optics of sharing. In this he argues, along with Robbins and Rumsey (“Cultural and Linguistic Anthropology and the Opacity of Other Minds,” Anthropological Quarterly 81[2]: 407–420) that, insofar as a person’s mind and thus commitment cannot be known directly but must be revealed to others through actual transactions, relationships are also constituted, negotiated, and revised through sharing (56 and passim). Transactions are ways of “making appear” or rendering visible “the nature of social relations in dialectical (or reciprocal) negotiation with others. In this latter sense, social action makes visible one’s view (feelings or thoughts) . . .” (56 and passim ).

Rasmussen deploys the same argument with respect to a new level or arena of sociality, one that has yet to be lexicalized locally but that Rasmussen calls “community.” “Community” opposes both individualism and relationalism (as manifested today in singaut). The historical roots of this level lie in the Paliau Movement, which was begun after World War II and whose initiator and prophet hoped to unify villages, leaving behind the parochialisms of kinship and descent (127–128). “Mbuke was (and still is) one of the movement’s strongholds” (34), and the goal of unifying social wholes beyond the level of the lineage persists to the present day, when communities are “made to appear” through projects and activities such as building a communal canoe that are truly collective in their organization and spirit. Community-forging activities and events involve “a degree of totalization of social relations” (178), “a totalization of perspectives and relations” (178) of all participants in, and all observers of, an event or activity. Here Rasmussen returns to his theme of the ontological powers inherent in the optics of action and transaction. Communities exist only if they are seen to exist in the unified purpose of collective action. Thus produced, a community is not (as “society” is thought to be) an objective, “bounded totality” (179) but contingent and subject to disputes.

Rasmussen implies that singaut is a replacement for the ceremonial exchange of the past, indeed a “new” form of value and personhood. Yet much of Rasmussen’s reporting, especially regarding singaut, is reminiscent of the emphasis on mutual aid and exchange in New Guinea ethnographies written in the colonial era, raising the question of just how new singaut really is. Another interpretation might be that singaut constitutes a monetized perpetuation of the obligation to share with needy kith and kin, remissions being the mode of sharing that is most consistent with an economy predicated on migration and commodity consumption. In contrast to singaut, community and the anti-particularistic ethos that undergirds it do seem new but also quite fragile. No matter the interpretation, Rasmussen’s book is a valuable contribution to the burgeoning literature on personhood, sociality, and transaction in contemporary Papua New Guinea as this postcolonial nation experiences monetization, urbanization, migration, and mounting economic inequalities.

Aletta Biersack, University of Oregon, Eugene, USA                                                            


NIUE 1774-1974: 200 Years of Contact and Change. By Margaret Pointer. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. 376 pp. (Illustrations, maps.) US$45.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-8248-5586-4.

As the title promises, the book delivers. Margaret Pointer presents a clearly structured history of two hundred years of this relatively small island. Though it experienced a series of processes of intensifying contact, common to many parts of the Pacific world, the island is also here in its unique features of geology, cultural expression, and politics. The book does not dwell long on the times before the coming of Westerners, though peppered throughout we get glimpses of an older conceptual world in narratives from oral tradition as well as recorded through the eyes of explorers, whalers, missionaries, traders, and commanders of British warships. Islanders’ interactions with these groups of foreigners comprise the first part of the four-part organization of the book, to be followed by sections on empire, New Zealand administration, and finally, the road to self-government.

In part B we see why this island became initially under British protection. The depredations of the Peruvian slavers seeking workers in 1863 were devastating here, as on many other small islands in the region, though it did not discourage mobile islanders from seeking subsequent overseas work on contract. Add to that London Missionary Society missionaries who were not only effective as church people but also actively concerned with the future of the people. To them and representatives of all the settlements on the island, Britain seemed a likely protector. But wider colonial interests prevailed with a British deal with Germany in 1886 to keep areas of the Pacific neutral and open to all traders, so Britain declined the Niuean petitions. The Niueans, then with an elected king, persisted. Britain’s eventual change of heart, stimulated by the agreement in 1899 to split Samoa between the Germans and Americans with Britain to have small pieces of the islands elsewhere, finally gave the Niueans the protectorate it sought in 1900. Britain soon gratefully handed Niue and the Cook Islands over to empire-aspiring New Zealand, much to the disappointment of the Niueans who knew the relative power of the respective states.

So Niue, encircled by Tonga, Samoa, and the Cooks, with an ocean between it and New Zealand, became the last carriage on New Zealand’s short colonial train after the Cook Islands, placed even further from the engine by the addition of yet another forward carriage, the mandate of Western Samoa as a result of World War One and Germany’s loss of its colonies. As the writer shows so well in part C, New Zealand, while no colonial exploiter, certainly gave the island short shift when it came to effective administration in the interwar years, not aided by the economic depression of the 1930s. World War II, an awakening in New Zealand of a realistic sense of itself and its place in the region under Peter Fraser, along with the influence of the United Nations saw a quickening of all levels of development and welfare support in education, health, and infra-structure.

The island and New Zealand’s department of Island Territories reeled in 1953 under the gruesome murder of the commissioner, Larsen, and severe injuries to his wife as they slept one night. This was no heroic nationalistic revolt but the bitterness of a couple of prisoners who escaped to get revenge for the rough manners of Larsen. It did incline New Zealand to pay even more attention to the island, however.

The book’s final part D addresses the detailed and careful steps to self-government in free association with New Zealand. Leaders, such as Robert Rex and Young Vivian, feature in negotiations. What impresses is the care that both parties displayed in this slow and difficult process, made more complex in that the United Nations delegates seemed to believe that Niue, along with the entire colonial Pacific, wanted to be rid of all hints of colonial association.

The book has many appealing features. The narrative has several one- to four-page inserts that highlight particular people or events, often with ample quotations from the actors. The illustrations are many, well chosen, and enlivening. The maps are clear and orient the reader. It is a beautiful book and a credit to its creator and the University of Otago Press.

While the history is naturally island-centred, it also discusses Niueans abroad: as migrant workers, as soldiers in World War One, and as more permanent migrants to New Zealand, an accelerating flow from the 1960s. In fact, the expanding diaspora believed by the 1970s that it had a major part to play in the island’s political destiny, an opinion not necessarily shared by those who decided to stay and live on Niue. This difference features in the discussions leading to self-government in free association with New Zealand in 1974.

Besides these positives, we are presented with a very readable, clear narrative. The author is even-handed throughout; there is no great Manichean struggle posited with evil colonialism and virtuous and vulnerable islanders cast against each other. She digs behind actions to show us what often-distant factors shaped people on Niue, especially the mental and physical distance between the New Zealand government and the island’s administration until post-World War Two. The tenor of the lives, and the behaviour and motivations of the island’s people and the outsiders involved are all there, with their strengths and weaknesses. The moral failings of a couple of administrators are mentioned but not excessively dwelt on, no more than the shame of the Niuean families of Larsen’s murderers. While not afraid to discuss the reasons why, say, a particular person was respected and another not, Margaret Pointer remains a compassionate historian, well acquainted with the human condition, as well indeed as she is with the island, its robust people, and her myriad sources. Her work is a valuable and accessible contribution to the history of the Pacific region.

Judith A. Bennett, University of Otago, Dunedin, New Zealand                                                         


STATE CRIME ON THE MARGINS OF EMPIRE: Rio Tinto, the War on Bougainville and Resistance to Mining. State Crime Series. By Kristian Lasslett. London: Pluto Press, 2014. x, 246 pp. US$40.00, paper. ISBN 978-0-7453-3504-9.

Few events have rocked the Southwest Pacific like the brutal civil war on Bougainville Island in Papua New Guinea (PNG). When the Panguna copper mine opened in central Bougainville in 1972, existing processes of social change were soon amplified by the social impacts of the mine. This gave rise to a local resistance movement that eventually forced the closure of the mine in 1989. Combined with a heavy state response these events sparked a conflict that lasted for nearly ten years and claimed up to 20,000 lives from a population of approximately 180,000 people.

Given the volumes of literature on the origins and aftermath of the conflict, the successes of the peace process, and the lessons for the mining industry, I was admittedly sceptical whether Kristian Lasslett could offer any fresh perspectives in his new book State Crime on the Margins of Empire. But as I made my way through the dense thicket of highly original material these misgivings were soon allayed.

State Crime on the Margins of Empire marks the beginning of a new series in state crimes studies launched by the International State Crime Initiative. Lasslett is a scholar in the burgeoning branch of state crime studies that is concerned with the interaction and collusion between states and corporations. Lasslett sheds new light on the forms of collaboration between the developer, Bougainville Copper Limited (BCL), and the PNG and Australian governments, and how these actors contributed to the escalation and perpetuation of the crisis. The bulk of his work charts in exceptional detail the series of events leading up to the closure of the mine and the start of the conflict. His insights stem from access to the case file compiled for the class action against Rio Tinto as the parent company of BCL—a case which has since failed on jurisdictional grounds. These primary sources, which include BCL memos, meeting minutes, and correspondence between BCL and the PNG government, and various affidavits, enabled Lasslett to pursue more penetrating and specific lines of enquiry. It was a happy coincidence that he undertook his research at a time when many ex-BCL executives and government officials involved in the crisis were less encumbered by socio-legal constraints and more prepared to provide Lasslett with candid perspectives.

State Crime on the Margins of Empire is not an anthropological study, but it sits comfortably with the growing list of ethnographies on specific mine sites in PNG. As several of these recent studies show, getting a handle on the complexity of these social environments requires recognition of the multitude of individual actors with their multiple interests who come to stand for various collective actors like “the state,” “the landowners,” or “the company.” Lasslett is generally more concerned with exposing the crimes of the powerful, but the inclusion of frank comments from his interlocutors and his use of primary evidence helps to put a face on these actors and reveal the pivotal roles played by certain individuals, the effects of different managerial temperaments, and the organizational dynamics which contributed to the outcome of events.

Lasslett makes a convincing argument for the careful application of Marxist concepts to illuminate important political and economic processes that in turn deepen our understanding of state and corporate crimes. Rejecting the common empiricist tendencies that supposedly prevail in state crime studies, Lasslett deploys a dialectical framework to bridge the divide between appearance and reality and orient the consciousness towards those capitalist forces that shape history. This also provides the basis to chart new agendas for future state crime studies. However, I am less convinced by his proposition that only Marx can provide the theoretical tools to understand what is going on here, and there are moments when Lasslett reads less like a classical Marxist and more like a structural determinist. Lasslett is highly critical of existing narratives and orthodoxies on the origins of the conflict and the role of powerful actors. Lasslett takes no prisoners, and in his final afterword he is especially scathing of some analysis offered by Anthony Regan, the preeminent scholar of Bougainville and legal advisor to the Bougainville government, and others who present themselves as the bipartisan voice on the conflict.

This book assumes a lot of pre-existing knowledge on the peculiarities of PNG politics and resource development and the accompanying scholarly debates. There is a case to be made for a more popular version of this book for non-specialists, and this has been achieved in part through the development of an online repository of the primary documents referenced in this work. Despite unveiling the shroud of secrecy around BCL’s involvement in the crisis—from petitioning the government to directly intervene, to the provision of material assistance for armed forces stationed in Bougainville—Lasslett laments a distinct lack of media interest in these materials.

At the time of writing this review, Rio Tinto announced that it would relinquish its majority shareholding in BCL, signalling their intention to step away from the troubled project for good. Predictably this has sparked local and international outrage over the apparent impunity of Rio Tinto and intensified debates over the future role of resource development in Bougainville. Perhaps this latest twist might provide the impetus for more journalists to review the materials Lasslett has made available. But not all Bougainvilleans appreciate Lasslett’s forensic investigation into BCL’s complicity in the civil war and his dogged efforts to bring Rio Tinto to justice. As Bougainville edges towards a referendum on independence, some Bougainvillean leaders clearly envision a role for BCL in this new future. In the end these differences reinforce the complexity of the relational space between different players, and there is no reason to assume that this cast of actors, with their diverse range of interests, should perform according to predetermined scripts.

Not least of all, this book is a fascinating case study of engaged social research and could be read in conjunction with Stuart Kirsch’s Mining Capitalism: The Relationship Between Corporations and their Critics (University of California Press, 2014) which documents the legal proceedings launched by landowners against BHP as the operator of the Ok Tedi mine located on the opposite side of PNG. Both authors are uncompromising activist-critics and their works raise important ethical and methodological questions on the positionality of social researchers critiquing the global mining industry. Lasslett may feel dismayed by the apparent political divisions between some Bougainvillean leaders that impede efforts to hold state and corporate actors to account. But similar to Kirsch, Lasslett’s broader project has helped to spark the conscience of allies in civil society and government and may well contribute towards the eventual delivery of remedies for those who have suffered.

Nicholas A. Bainton, The University of Queensland, St Lucia, Australia                                           

THE BATTLE OVER PELELIU: Islander, Japanese, and American Memories of War. War, Memory, and Culture. By Stephen C. Murray. Tuscaloosa: The University of Alabama Press, 2016. xii, 278 pp. (Maps, illustrations.) US$59.95, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8173-1884-0.

Back in the 1960s, one of my undergraduate anthropology professors, Robert McKnight, liked to speak of what he called anthropological “triangulation.” Specifically, he wanted to see work that would include Palauan, Japanese, and American viewpoints on Palauan social and cultural life, and I still recall diagrams he chalked on the board, illustrating what this process might look like. I have no reason to think Stephen Murray ever knew McKnight, but he fully realizes my teacher’s vision in this book.

The 1944 American invasion of Peleliu, the southernmost island in the Palauan archipelago, was an unmitigated disaster for everyone involved. It’s among World War II’s least-known major actions, but it remains etched in the consciousness of everyone involved in the battle, and their descendants. Its public obscurity notwithstanding, a good deal about the battle has been written by Americans and Japanese, both historians’ accounts and combatants’ memoirs. I have distinct recollections of watching the US Navy’s “Victory at Sea” television documentary series (1952–1953) as a child, and the scenes which lodged most deeply in my mind were undoubtedly those of marines with flame-throwers torching Japanese troops out of caves. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was Peleliu.

What’s been missing in all this outpouring is any consideration of what happened to the people of Peleliu itself. Murray, who first encountered Palau as a Peace Corps volunteer in the 1960s and who subsequently wrote an anthropology PhD dissertation on this topic, has done an outstanding job of rectifying this. While his primary focus is on the islanders’ displacement during the battle, their subsequent return, and the complete devastation they found when they got home, he has managed to interweave analysis of not only of how Americans and Japanese, respectively, view the battle but of how entirely absent the Peleliu people have been in all these accounts. He has returned them.

I recall reading E.B. Sledge’s celebrated first-person account of the battle, With the Old Breed (New York: Random House, 1981), which he fought as a young marine, and wondering where the Palauans were while all this action was taking place, how they survived, and how they managed to re-establish their way of life following the war. Now I know that they had been removed to islands in the north, and that when they were finally able to return home they encountered conditions not unlike Gertrude Stein’s summary of returning to her hometown, “There’s no there there.”

Murray establishes all the many ways in which the island’s landscape and seascape were woven into the fabric of people’s lives. Because the lives of these individuals, families, and clan groups were all rooted in their natural world, it wasn’t merely that their history had been demolished, but that all the articulation points for ongoing social relations were erased. The Japanese and American veterans who wanted to commemorate their own losses on the island had virtually no interest in recognizing what they had done to the Palauans. They’ve visited the island and built monuments to celebrate their own sacrifices and remained oblivious to the disaster they wrought upon the islanders.

Lawrence Carucci, Lin Poyer, and Suzanne Falgout (The Typhoon of War, Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2000; Memories of War, Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2007) have reported on Micronesians’ accounts of what World War II did to them and their islands, and Geoffrey White and Lamont Lindstrom edited two volumes analyzing islanders’ stories about the war from throughout the island Pacific (Island Theater: Island Representations of World War II, Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 1989; Island Encounters: Black and White Memories of the Pacific War, Washington, DC: Smithsonian, 1990). The literature on the war in the Pacific, as the combatants understand it, is almost infinite. But this book is to the best of my knowledge one of the very few works that gives us a full picture of how the decisions made by the warring parties played out in the continuing lives of the noncombatants. Documentaries about the devastation of war in Europe and Asia commonly portray streams of refugees driven from their homes, and the rubble that is all that is left of those homes. In this book we finally get something comparable for the island Pacific.

There is another very compelling aspect of this book that deserves mention. It is clear in retrospect that there was little if any need for US forces to take Peleliu. It could have been bypassed in the way that so many other spots were during the island-hopping campaign that drove toward the Japanese homeland. This was recognized by many at the time. But because so many lives were lost in the battle, officials believed they had to emphasize the victory’s strategic importance. Much the same can be said about the invasion of Iwo Jima, one of the most iconic battles of the Pacific War (Robert Burrell, The Ghosts of Iwo Jima, College Station: Texas A&M Press, 2006). The refusal of military and political leaders to acknowledge their vast mistakes, for fear of offending those who made the sacrifices and the families of their survivors is, I suppose, understandable. As Murray notes, “Knowledge that their lives were cut short elicits the need to believe they did not die in vain” (155). But it has the disastrous consequence of preserving the preposterous notion that a victorious military makes few mistakes, and this in turn conditions people to attribute much greater wisdom to leaders than they’ve truly earned. As one marine veteran Murray quotes put it, “That sort of thing does disservice to the men” (199). Each disaster, covered up, begets a series of newer disasters.

Everybody lost at Peleliu, and Murray does a remarkable job of making us understand why.

Glenn Petersen, City University of New York, New York, USA

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ISLES OF AMNESIA: The History, Geography, and Restoration of America’s Forgotten Pacific Islands. By Mark J. Rauzon. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2016. x, 271 pp. (Maps, illustrations.) US$24.99, paper. ISBN 978-0-8248-4679-4.

Rauzon’s book offers an exclusive, intimate tour of some of the most remote Pacific islands that have eventually become American insular areas. As a federal biologist, Rauzon is tasked with the unglamorous responsibility of eradicating invasive species from the islands and atolls of Amerikan Sāmoa, Baker, Guam, Howland, Jarvis, Johnston, Kiritimati, the Northern Marianas, Palmyra, and Wake. Each chapter embarks on an adventure to one of these floating ecological systems and the reader accompanies Rauzon, much like a nature enthusiast guided by an expert park ranger, to the national parks and wildlife refuges he strives to restore. With him, we hike up a waterfall to the steep, verdant, avian-rich cliffs of Lata Mountain in Amerikan Sāmoa to trap predatory rodents, and meditate with Thai Buddhists on Wake Island when taking respite from the savage business of killing elusive wild cats. We learn the fascinating fact of how the coconut palm tree, which is iconic of island life in the popular imagination, was actually introduced to Palmyra Atoll by Polynesians, and has since eclipsed the native pisonia tree. The scope of the book is impressive: ranging geographically from Polynesia to Micronesia; historically, from early European sea voyagers, such as, Ferdinand Magellan in 1521, to the ultramodern submersible that lowered famed film-maker James Cameron to the plunging depths of the Mariana Trench in 2012; and, in scale, from the contained world of the hermit crab crawling out from under a log to global concerns, such as, climate change. Moreover, Rauzon’s allusions to conservation efforts in New Zealand and Alaska create a relevant context that broadens our understanding of environmental issues in general.

One of the most compelling aspects of his book is his explication of the ethical dilemmas that are faced in the work of exterminating introduced life forms calamitous to vulnerable endemic species and fragile ecosystems. Island restoration is a double-edged sword in that ensuring the survival of some species necessarily depends on the elimination of others that may have an unfair genetic advantage. In an isolated ecosystem, the absence of threats from land predators may sometimes lead to the evolution of flightlessness in volant birds, such as rails. Introduce a feline to the mix and extinction of ground-dwelling avifauna becomes an all too real probability. The cats on Jarvis had already exterminated six species of seabirds when Rauzon and fellow conservationist, David Woodside, set out to hunt them down. This “inherently violent” (183) job is fraught with moral conundrums, especially for a cat-owner like Rauzon, who is acutely aware of his personal “cognitive dissonance” (181), which is further compounded by the disapproving eyes of the Buddhist Thais residing on Wake Island. Every cat, especially the last one, must be annihilated or else the others would have been killed in vain. Therefore, this line of work demands extraordinary degrees of determination, stoicism, and resourcefulness while living on limited supplies under the relentless sun, disconnected from the rest of the world for extended periods of time.

Despite the agonizing challenges endured, this occupation is not without its rewards. Thanks to the painstaking efforts of Rauzon and Woodside, Jarvis made a complete recovery, abounding with previously endangered bird species. At times, conservation endeavors may inspire ingenious solutions, as in the case of Guam and the Northern Marianas, where various invasive species, including the brown tree snake, water buffalo, goat, pig, and rhinoceros beetle, among others, have wreaked havoc on the ecology. Control and eradication methods have sometimes been fairly innovative, elaborate and expensive, involving aerial and ground shooting, trapping, building snake-proof fences, using biocontrol agents, chemical deterrents injected in baits distributed through helicopters, and so on. Simultaneously, captive breeding programs for birds on the brink of extinction are also undertaken. Although copious amounts of research and substantial funds are invested, the cascading effects of human intervention, labeled “unintended consequences,” are inevitable and success is not always ensured.

Conservation does not occur in a vacuum; indeed, Rauzon meticulously contextualizes his activities within the larger social, political, and historical landscapes of each island. We are privy to the chance landings and premeditated conquests and transactions that have rendered these isles into colonies and commodities over the last few centuries, transforming them first into guano mining camps and then relatively recently into nuclear testing sites. Notably, Johnston Atoll was the launching ground for the Pacific Project that entailed biological and chemical weapons tests and Operation Magic Sword that engaged in “entolomological warfare” (155) in the form of a chilling experiment on the deliberate use of mosquitoes for disease transmission. The strategic location of some Pacific islands has made them particularly attractive possessions (also called “picket-fence islands” [171]) for the United States, especially during different wars. The Marshallese island of Wake, for instance, has served “as portal to the Orient” (158), where an “amphibious airport” was once established (166) and the island was gradually fortified in preparation for World War II. Rauzon sensitively captures the personal experiences of prisoners of war in the Battle of Wake and delves into the often-overlooked ecological consequences of war on an island.

On the other hand, and, on a far more positive note, one of the most beneficial and hopefully enduring contributions of the United States has been the establishment of national parks and marine sanctuaries and monuments in the Pacific region. Undoubtedly, these play a critical role in protecting and preserving the natural habitats that sustain the biodiversity that Rauzon educates us about. However, loss of habitat is a pressing concern for human beings as well. As rising water levels threaten the residents of Tarawa, many migrate to Kiritimati, where overpopulation is increasingly problematic.

Understanding the challenging nature of island restoration encourages an appreciation for the stringent rules and regulations governing the admittance of foreign flora and fauna into unique ecosystems, for instance, in Hawai‘i. It also provokes further thought about environmentally responsible tourism. Rauzon’s passion for the islands and the life they harbor is evident. His humorous anecdotes and accessible writing style make his book a pleasurable read, one in which these “isles of amnesia” are vividly remembered. His book would appeal to environmentalists, biologists, conservationists, ecologists, Pacific historians and anthropologists, scholars of island studies, and readers interested in nature, wildlife, and American national parks.

Rachana Agarwal, Independent scholar, Cambridge, USA

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POSTCARDS FROM OCEANIA: Port Towns, Portraits and the Picturesque during the Colonial Era. By Max Quanchi, Max Shekleton. Suva, Fiji: University of the South Pacific Press, 2015. 202 pp. (B&W and some coloured photos.) US$60.00, paper. ISBN 978-982-01-0941-4.

There is a wealth of scholarly literature about Oceania and colonialism but very little exists that focuses specifically on postcards and their important link to colonialism. This accessible volume by Max Quanchi (a scholar of Pacific history and the history of photography) and Max Shekleton (the owner of the 60,000-plus postcard collection used for the book) is a welcome addition to the literature. The authors’ goal is to mine the images from the “postcard craze” period (1890s through 1930s) to explore the interrelated histories of photography, anthropology, and colonialism. They underscore the contrary and complex readings of the images, and shed light on the convoluted production processes in which Euro-American photographers often stage images, and printers often twist captions and incorporate faulty information. The book combines textual information alongside more than two hundred images of postcards as examples of the variety of images, colouring techniques, and styles employed.

The first chapter introduces the key ideas. One is that postcards relied on images and captions that portrayed people and settings in generalized and distant ways. Individuals were rarely named and were referred to as “native,” “warrior,” “chief,” etc. For example, a club-wielding Kanak man has the label “Kanak warrior, New Caledonia.” A cluster of houses under coconut palms captioned “Scene along Agana River, Guam” becomes the idyllic “South Seas” village. A second idea is that postcard images were open to multiple interpretations. “Readers in the early 20th century may have thought postcards were an authentic record of empire, proven by the stamp, scribbled message, and origin out in the colonies, but we argue in the following chapters that postcards offered selective, mediated and multiple meanings” (14). Many things—captions, cropping, colour, format, style of publication, and manner of distribution—all affected the audience’s interpretations. Was the Kanak warrior made to pose with his club or did he choose to proudly display his identity in that way? Does the romantic image of the village indicate an unchanged world? Or do depictions of wharves, schools, roads, and ships indicate unwanted change? Third, and most important for the authors, there is the persistent theme of colonialism. “Colonial propaganda underpins nearly every photograph and postcard” (27). For example, a posed photo of uniformed men in formation conveys colonial order, European authority, and loyal subjects.

The second chapter describes the postcard craze that began soon after the first postcard was produced in 1861. The authors outline the history and details of postcard production, where German suppliers were the main manufacturers. They describe how identical images were recycled, with slight changes to the way they were cropped, tinted, given new codes and captions, or reversed on the page. These changes make it difficult to correctly attribute the cards and images today.

Following the two introductory chapters, the remainder of the text is organized sensibly into six chapters that focus on various topics that the authors have extracted from studying the images: the picturesque, portraits, village life, traditional culture, town life, and colonialism. “The Picturesque” category includes romantic scenes of mountain peaks, lush valleys, and cascading waterfalls, all formulaic images indicating European penetration of the wild interior. In terms of numbers of postcards this was the least popular category. “Portraits” comprises posed unnamed individuals that indicate a Western “scientific” interest in the expression of faces and the shapes of heads and noses. These images usually include markers of “South Sea” islanders, such as tattoos, scarification, and bodily adornment. Many were staged with a portable backdrop. Not surprisingly, the majority were images of women, thus satisfying Western interest in exotic female bodies. “Village Life” includes postcards of houses, which were easy to photograph and were seen as symbols of primitive life. House-building techniques that illustrated pandanus weaving, post erecting, and roof thatching appealed to Western interest in indigenous technology. Ironically, everything was labelled “village” even though the local inhabitants usually used this term to refer only to the European-dominated administrative centre, and not to the hamlets where they lived.

Postcards in the category of “Traditional Culture”—showing pottery, tapa making, fishing, gardening, food preparation, dancing, kava ceremonies, and men climbing coconut trees—exemplify the abundance of errors that can occur when staging and labelling. Although customs were changing, as seen in images of ox-carts and European clothing, a search for authenticity seems to lie behind many of these images. The “Town Life” category includes streets, wharves, stores, banks, hotels, schools, and churches, as well as tidy streets lined with businesses and houses with verandas, all communicating messages about the success of empire, Christianity, and modernization. This category comprises about half of all images produced, although 95 percent of indigenous people did not live in towns. The chapter on “Colonialism,” with its images of busy natives and bustling activity, best illustrates the mixed messages of the postcards. Is the behaviour benign and beneficial or exploitative and oppressive? Postcards, of course, tended to depict only the benign side of colonialism through pictures of schools, churches, parades, monuments, women in Mother Hubbard dresses, and the clearing and replanting of land for plantations. There are no portrayals of patrol officers collecting taxes or inspecting latrines. One would have to read beyond the margins of the postcard to understand a more accurate portrayal of colonialism.

Postcards from Oceania is a clear and concise text that is highly descriptive in nature. The book could have been even more engaging had the authors pushed further and presented some analytical ideas about such broad topics as visual imagery, authenticity, authority, or impact. In the introduction they say that interpreting these visual images can complement interpretations based solely on textual documents, yet they never actually pursue this intriguing notion. Also, more information about the photographers and manufacturers would have been welcome. These minor quibbles aside, the book is definitely a worthwhile contribution to the literature.

Miriam Kahn, University of Washington, Seattle, USA

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IDYLLIC NO MORE: Pacific Island Climate, Corruption and Development Dilemmas. By Giff Johnson. North Charleston, SC: CreateSpace, 2015. 153 pp. (Illustrations.) US$7.50, paper. ISBN 978-1512235586.

In his second book, Giff Johnson provides a well-versed historical and intimate look at the most challenging issues of great relevance to the sovereign identity and development of the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM), Republic of Palau, and the Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI), although the focus is definitively on the latter, where Johnson has resided for several decades. This self-published work is a compilation of essays originally scribed as blog entries between 2013 and 2015 for the Pacific Institute of Public Policy. As the editor and major contributor for the RMI’s only newspaper, The Marshall Islands Journal, Johnson’s finger is undeniably and authoritatively on the pulse of the country’s state of affairs, and these pieces immediately bear that signature. The great advantage, and notable difference, between his contributions to the weekly news editions and these essays, is the freedom afforded him in the latter to provide more personal contemplation, analysis, and commentary not afforded to him in his professional role. This distinction is an extraordinarily valuable one, and Johnson’s best work is here in his critical examination of the many underlying political and cultural motivations behind high-level historical and contemporary decisions.

The book is divided into chapters that organize his essays into topics, such as the ongoing strained relationship between the US and the RMI thanks to its nuclear legacy, teen pregnancy, and the disincentives complicating healthy lifestyle choices. In the first three chapters, Johnson addresses the linked themes of corruption, development, and governance, offering the most valuable insights of the work. Pointing to the financial corruption scandals increasingly surfacing in the Marshall Islands, he identifies a “long-term, ingrained” problem of the failed nature of donor funding, western-style development plans, and local engagement. He provides several examples depicting a culture of active disengagement that he identifies as another (albeit subtler) “flavor” of corruption on par with direct theft or misuse of money. Quoting FSM’s former Yap Governor John Mangefel, he gets to the core of a viral incentive problem plaguing the young nations: “If you work, you eat. If you don’t work, you still eat.” In terms of societal and economic development, notably exemplified by the failure of many Pacific Island countries to meet even half of the Millennium Development Goals, funding continues to pour in and plans develop on paper regardless of visible evidence of effective results.

Johnson is not afraid to place a fair helping of blame on the failures of a local leadership that spends more than half their time abroad at conferences, and rarely suffers the consequences of poor decisions that unduly affect the larger community. It is not hard to empathize with local frustrations when leadership flexes its sovereignty muscles demanding more control (and less transparency) over its allocation of received donor funding, while dismissing and chastising local citizenry’s criticisms of the lack of reform or improvements in livelihood.

In a rare positive note, Johnson’s attention to fisheries in chapter four commends the great strides and advances undertaken by synergistic multinational efforts, notably the Parties to the Nauru Agreement (PNA) regional fisheries entity, and the Micronesia Challenge conservation consortium. Revenues in fisheries have more than tripled under the PNA initiatives, and regulation and conservation efforts have increased in both scope and effectiveness, trickling further down to an increase in sustainable business ventures. Where Johnson sees a remaining challenge is the application of these more successful strategies in other arenas of governance, and the struggle for respectful buy-in by the international community.

Climate change is the most discussed topic of the day for many Pacific Island countries, and no work on challenges to the region would be complete without addressing it, which Johnson does in chapter five. His most notable contribution questions the relative worth of the aggressive international campaign for global climate change action, as well as calling out the so-called hypocrisy of the Marshall Islands’ economic profit from the fossil fuel industry (as the world’s third largest ship registry of drilling rigs and oil tankers), while simultaneously demanding the international community reduce dependency on said fossil fuels. Johnson’s suggestions include reducing local government employees’ attendance at all-too-frequent international meetings, and focusing human and monetary resources on scientifically supported local studies and focused mitigation projects.

The book’s slim final chapter begins to confront the double-edged dilemma of out-migration and the “local” challenges citizens of the Freely Associated States (those of FSM, Palau, and RMI) face abroad, an increasing trend that very well may be the future of a majority, if not the entirety, of the region’s population. While relocation in relation to climate change displacement or nuclear contamination is described in terms of loss and pain, it is clear that thousands of islanders are actively electing, often permanently, to relocate. In their selected homes in the United States, they face another set of challenges amidst a leadership regime full of inadequacies of its own.

While Johnson laments that many of the addressed dilemmas are unlikely to change in the immediate future, his repeated call for both an abandonment of the blind implementation of western-style development plans, and the rampant negligence and complacency by leadership, is sorely needed. It is unfortunate that there is no concluding essay or chapter tying all of these linked challenges he so carefully and passionately explores into a more broadly reflective and historical context.

The book’s essays appear to be minimally edited from their original versions, and are lacking dates of authorship or revised considerations, with relevant updates limited to asterisked sentences. As standalone pieces they are astute and timely reflections, yet some readers may find the oft repeated facts and sentences in back-to-back essays tiresome. Zealous academics too will find themselves yearning for citations for the splendid examples and statistics, or additional supporting evidence for many of the statements.

These additions and revisions would certainly improve the value of the collection’s shelf life, although their absence does not hinder the primary value of this work as a fresh, but historically deep and well-grounded reflections on witnessed and lived dilemmas in the North Pacific region. Johnson’s “calling it like it is” approach is rarely heard so sensitively yet unabashedly expressed outside of beer and kava sessions with trusted peers. Those familiar with the region will find a solemn salience to Johnson’s remarks, and perhaps even be challenged to address those less-than-idyllic accusations, but it remains to be seen who that readership will be. And will it fall on deaf ears?

Ingrid Ahlgren, The Australian National University, Canberra, Australia                                         

THE PACIFIC FESTIVALS OF AOTEAROA NEW ZEALAND: Negotiating Place and Identity in a New Homeland. By Jared Mackley-Crump. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. x, 216 pp. (Tables.) US$58.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-3871-3.

Jared Mackley-Crump draws on his academic background of ethnomusicology to investigate how Pacific festivals are used as sites where diasporic Pacific communities negotiate personal and communal identities, and further perpetuate cultural inclinations that are representative of wider cultural changes in Aotearoa New Zealand (AO, NZ). Beginning with a historical account of Pacific festivals, the book describes how these festivals have emerged and continue to develop alongside the “coming of age” (51) of Pacific peoples in AO, NZ. Mackley-Crump relates these socio-cultural and political processes to the concept of “festivalization.” The second half of the book discusses findings drawn from the author’s PhD fieldwork at two major festivals in AO, NZ: Pasifika festival in West Auckland and the Positively Pasifika Festival in Wellington. The book portrays Mackley-Crump’s ability to weave together several narratives, including interviews with a range of participants, historical records, and theoretical ideas. The topics and perspectives, as a result, are relatively accessible and have a capacity to reach wider audiences beyond academia.

This book is located within established theoretical debates on authenticity, tradition, cultural change, place and identity. Beyond these key themes, the book is also situated within Pacific Studies and is pertinent to the research of diasporic communities in Pacific Rim cities. I commend Mackley-Crump for his significant contribution to this field by linking together critical academic works by Pasifika researchers (dispersed in various fields like education, social sciences, and anthropology, to name a few) and to frame a discussion of diasporic Pacific peoples in AO, NZ. The author, for example, employs the notion of “edgewalking,” as discussed in Anne Marie Tupuola’s work, “Pacific Edgewalkers: Complicating the Achieved Identity Status in Youth Research” (Journal of Intercultural Studies, 25, no. 1 [2004]), to theorise cultural agency operating between cosmopolitan and Pacific identities in AO, NZ. He also applies ‘Epeli Hau‘ofa’s profound ideas from the eminent work “Our Sea of Islands” (The Contemporary Pacific, 6, no. 1 [1994]), to frame the fluidity of the diasporic situation. Moreover, Karlo Mila-Schaaf’s concept of “polycultural capital,” presented in “Polycultural Capital and the Pasifika Second Generation: Negotiating Identities in Diasporic Spaces” (PhD diss., Massey University, 2010) encapsulates the diverse resources Pacific people draw on to generate festivals. This book illustrates how Pacific theories can frame, as well as provide depth of meaning to, studies of Pacific communities.

Mackley-Crump does not try to define Pacific culture and identity, but presents the multivalent views of how participants perceive themselves. Mackley-Crump argues these definitions are neither static nor conclusive as binary forms of contemporary and traditional identities. He asserts that the idea of “mooring posts” better represents the fluid and “multilocal” references to Island and new homeland identities (170). Through Mackley-Crump’s objective approach, we gain insight into the multifaceted Pacific diasporic identities manifested through festivalization in AO, NZ.

Mackley-Crump contributes to an important discussion about the relationship between Pacific and Māori communities in New Zealand. He reinforces the varied views held by his Pacific participants about their relationships to Tāngata whenua (the Indigenous people of the land), and moreover, how these relationships are acknowledged spatially and ceremonially in the festival space.

A key argument of this book is that festivals provide a space for Pacific communities to define themselves, and reciprocally festivals define these communities. This transactional quality of Pacific festivals and communities in AO, NZ underlines the relationship between place and identity—a complex theme that is alluded to throughout the book, but not fully discussed until the end.

Although it is hard to fault this book, I have some minor criticisms, which raises further queries. Firstly, the book’s structure is reminiscent of a PhD thesis. While this is an inevitable structure of a published thesis, it does tend to delay the critical synthesis of theory and data until later in the book. This can be theoretically disorientating for a reader in the first instance. To his credit however, Mackley-Crump’s syntheses in each chapter’s concluding paragraphs does help to propel and maintain common themes across each chapter.

For a discussion of festivalization, place and identity, the book does miss images and maps to show readers who are not familiar with AO, NZ or the Pacific region, the cultural materiality and spatial qualities raised in this discussion. Such visualisation would only improve the accessibility of this book.

One other shortcoming I present as an issue for wider debate is the use of certain cultural ideas in a generic or Pan-Pacific way. For instance, Mackley-Crump uses “palagi” (125), which is a Sāmoan Polynesian word referring to a Caucasian, and more recently a foreigner, in the account of a Fijian participant, where the correct word in this context is “kaivalangi.” Furthermore, Mackley-Crump applies the Tongan idea of “tauhi vā” (as presented in the commonly referenced research of Tēvita O. Ka‘ili titled, “Tauhi Vā: Nurturing Tongan Sociospatial Ties in Maui and Beyond” (The Contemporary Pacific, 17, no. 1 [2005]) to theorise kinship relations in the Pacific diaspora (166). Similar Pacific ideas are presented in wider literature, such as the notion of “teu le va” in the Sāmoan context. Although Mackley-Crump does carefully apply these ideas, what is implied is an assumption that any Pacific group’s concepts are relevant to other Pacific groups, and the tendency of existing scholarship to generalise certain Pacific groups’ notions of self, others, and kinship as universal for all Pacific peoples. This calls for comparative research to understand the appropriate extent to apply one cultural group’s ideas beyond its boundaries.

The book displays such comprehensive and well-crafted research that, regardless of the few shortcomings mentioned, I recommend this book as one of the first sources to read for all students of Pacific diasporic cultures. As a Tongan, born and raised in South Auckland by Tongan parents who migrated to New Zealand in the 1970s, I can trace my life and the lives of others through this book. Mackley-Crump has written a book that is rigorously academic, but as a personal reflection, he has respectfully acknowledged the challenges of my community and how far we have come along this journey of self-realisation in Aotearoa, New Zealand.

Charmaine ‘Ilaiū Talei, University of Queensland, St. Lucia, Australia                                              

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THINKING LIKE AN ISLAND: Navigating a Sustainable Future in Hawai‘i. Edited by Jennifer Chirico and Gregory S. Farley. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. ix, 274 pp. (Figures, tables.) US$45.00, cloth . ISBN 978-0-8248-4761-6.

What can islands—the Hawaiian Islands in particular—teach the world about sustainability? The eleven chapters in this book all provide answers to this question from a variety of disciplines and perspectives, which despite their eclecticism, share an attention to culture and an emphasis on collaborative, systems-based approaches.

Islands in general provide powerful models for theorizing and developing sustainable approaches to resource use, simply by the nature of their geographic boundedness, isolation, and finite resources. As the book’s editors point out in their Introduction, the problems of sustainability of island communities can be imagined as a parable for the sustainability of the island earth. The Hawaiian Islands bear an especially important message for sustainability advocates; traditional Hawaiian ecological knowledge sustained an abundance of resources for a sizable, self-sufficient, and healthy native population prior to European contact; today the modern State of Hawai‘i imports over 90 percent of its food, and the island state’s requirements for imported food and energy raise the stakes for the sustainability movement. Responding to the challenge of its island geography, Hawai‘i “is becoming a sustainability showcase: a model for sustainable living that is also applicable to isolated communities worldwide” (1).

Three chapters pay particular attention to Hawaiian culture and to the preeminent role of water in Hawaiian cultural ecology and customary moral-legal understandings. The first chapter, written by Scott Fisher, director of conservation for the Hawaiian Islands Land Trust, outlines the conceptual foundations of sustainability in Hawaiian culture: an island worldview, a religious connection to the natural world, and a sense of communal interdependence between social classes and between the people and the land that supported them. Fisher briefly chronicles some of the post-contact transformations that disrupted established patterns of resource use—the sandalwood trade, the demographic shifts through depopulation and the growth of harbor towns, and the introduction of a western religious paradigm of “human’s intrinsic right of domination over the natural world” (17). Fischer notes the Hawaiian renaissance and recent reassertion of Hawaiian culture: the Protect Koho‘olawe ‘Ohana direct action movement and the “attempt to retrieve traditional Hawaiian values” (19), including Hawaiian language immersion schools, the revival of hula, and the recovery of celestial navigation knowledge. Fisher describes one successful case study for sustainability: the Waihe‘e Coastal Dunes and Wetlands Refuge in Maui, which resulted in restoring more than 55 acres of coastal strand and wetlands habitat, including numerous historical and cultural sites.

Penny Levin, founder and project coordinator of E kūpaku ka ‘āina (The Hawai‘i Land Restoration Institute), contributed two admirable chapters, both focused on kalo (taro) farming, “the first, oldest, and culturally most significant food crop in the state” (46). She explains how the resurgence of kalo farming is redefining and restoring the concept of sustainable agriculture in Hawai‘i, and she lays out “lessons from the taro patch” (79) in terms of five axiomatic “foundations” and their constituent elements that form the Hawaiian traditions of growing kalo. Both Fisher and Levin discuss aspects of the Hawaiian ahupua‘a, an integrated system of habitats and watercourses from montane zones to reef flats, which emphasized whole systems thinking and management.

Political scientist George Kent, in a chapter on food security, faults the state government of Hawai‘i for giving inadequate attention to overall food supply and related disaster planning.

Discussion of sustainability-related issues throughout the book are grounded in recent case studies and provide practical insights and lessons. Two chapters focus on island water systems. Lauren C. Roth Venu, the founder and president of Roth Ecological Design, explains the Pilot Living Machine, an ecologically engineered wetland technology and one of the state’s first bioremediation projects for treatment of wastewater. Steve Parabicoli, the water recycling program coordinator for Maui County, reviews successes and challenges of the county’s Wastewater Reclamation Division. Luis Vega and Reza Ghorbani, both at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa, discuss the potentials and impediments of wave energy converters and estimate they could provide up to 90 percent of energy needs of some Hawaiian communities. Green-building specialist John Bendon and architect Matthew Goyke write about the Kumuhao Development in Waimanalo, a case study in sustainable design of residential housing. Linda Cox and John Cusick, both at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa, discuss sustainability efforts within Hawai‘i’s tourism sector, particularly the mixed success of attempts to develop a certification program for ecotourism. Educator-consultant Shanah Trevenna describes a case study of a student-led movement at the University of Hawai‘i to reduce campus energy use. And a case study of a Maui elementary school’s successful development of a school garden project was contributed by landscape designer Susan Wyche and the school garden project coordinator, Kirk Surry.

This book will be of interest to a wide range of students and practitioners of sustainable resource use, cultural ecology, Hawaiian Studies, and urban planning. The authors bring a great deal of knowledge and expertise, hands-on experience, and celebratory optimism to their contributions. L.C. Roth Venu captures this tone in the concluding lines of her chapter: “In the end, humanity has the ability to collectively decide as a society how to forge forward. Fortunately, a global renaissance is upon us, and fortunately all the solutions are abundant in nature—all we need to do is look around” (140).

Donald H. Rubinstein, University of Guam, Mangilao, Guam                                                            

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SAVAGE HARVEST: A Tale of Cannibals, Colonialism, and Michael Rockefeller’s Tragic Quest for Primitive Art. By Carl Hoffman. New York: William Morrow [an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers], 2014. 322 pp. (B&W photos, maps.) US$26.99, cloth. ISBN 978-0-06-211615-4.

A gripping blend of fiction and meticulous journalism, this book is the latest attempt to solve the “mystery” surrounding the disappearance of Michael Rockefeller. Hoffman weaves an intriguing tale of revenge, murder, cannibalism, and conspiracy, interspersed with some insightful observations about the colonial and historical contexts in which the young Rockefeller disappeared.

In November 1961, the son of one of the most powerful families in the United States vanished while attempting to swim ashore in remote western New Guinea after his disabled catamaran became waterlogged. Speculation concerning the young Rockefeller’s fate has given rise to several scenarios, despite the official declaration that he drowned while attempting to swim to shore. However, the possibility that he was met by Asmat “cannibals” and dispatched in a way that horrifies, yet intrigues Western sensibilities remains the popular conclusion. There seems to be an unrelenting penchant for factoring cannibalism into Rockefeller’s demise and the opening chapters in this book leave no doubt as to the author’s position on this.

Savage Harvest begins with the scene unfolding on Michael’s last day. Full of youthful confidence, he strips to his underpants and slips into the warm, muddied waters of the Arafura Sea off the Casuarina Coast, and into Asmat country. With two emptied petrol cans attached for flotation, he swims towards a horizon that dimly marks the estuarine swamps inhabited by the Asmat, renowned headhunters. These opening chapters are purely fictional. There is no way we can know what Michael’s thoughts were during his long swim to shore, no way of knowing that he even made it to shore, let alone that he was speared, beheaded, ritually dismembered, and eaten by Asmat warriors. It is puzzling that a work of non-fiction should open with such a speculative dramatization, delivering a forgone conclusion to what has never been established in fact. Nevertheless, the author proceeds to unravel the circumstances that lead him to the inevitable conclusion that Michael Rockefeller was killed and eaten by “a pre-Stone Age culture just fifty years ago” (234; how they can be a “pre-stone age culture” is another issue!).

Despite the obvious sensationalism encountered throughout, what follows is a careful and seemingly meticulous disentangling of the available documents and interviews. Hoffman gives an interesting background account of what may have motivated the young Rockefeller’s journey to New Guinea, weaving together facts gleaned from examined documents and his own interpretations of the material. Reading between the lines, Hoffman constructs intentions and motivations from Rockefeller’s conversations with school friends, exposure to New York high society, the opening of the Museum of Primitive Art in 1957 and, what is assumed, Rockefeller’s desire to fulfil a destiny embedded in his DNA. The narrative takes its reader with Michael Rockefeller and his first encounters with the “primitive” peoples of Dutch New Guinea. The author sets up a compelling case for Asmat revenge on a white man by recalling a 1957 incident wherein Dutch military and local police kill several village men. Hoffman explores what is known about Asmat culture and their worldview, requiring human heads to avenge deceased ancestors. The political backdrop of an emerging new Indonesia, finally free from the yoke of Dutch colonialism, and their dual claims over the more remote western half of New Guinea provide a compelling argument as to the reasons for Asmat taking the life of Rockefeller and for Dutch secrecy surrounding rumours of Rockefeller’s more distasteful fate.

Throughout the unfolding narrative Hoffman moves back and forth between the events leading up to and immediately after Rockefeller’s disappearance and his own journey to the Asmat in search of the “truth.” Hoffman divulges his own need to connect in some strange way with his humanity and what he sees as a personal melding between himself and the assumed motivation of Rockefeller to “discover” himself in the “wilds” of New Guinea. It is a personal journey of discovery tied into reconstructing the ghost of Rockefeller.

Curiously, Hoffman develops the notion that he is predestined to set Rockefeller’s spirit free, that he alone has the tenacity to avenge the stricken Rockefeller and free his soul, enabling it to move to the Asmat afterworld of Safan: “The more I knew about Asmat, the more I couldn’t stop imagining Michael in the Asmat cosmos: that he was like one of those men whose spirits his people had not done enough to push on to Safan… . All the speculation continued because his family had failed to fully seek closure and no one else had managed to gather the essential information” (347).

While there is much to commend the author, particularly the investigative journalism he conducts with a research assistant in Holland, there is much to complain about. For example, to assume that one is able to achieve a “deeper understanding” (349) of a people and their culture by living with them for only a month is ludicrous. Furthermore, there is an underlying reification of “primitivism,” a romanticizing of the exotic, notwithstanding attempts to “understand” the Asmat in a contemporary world. Despite overtly distancing himself from the warping effects of ethnocentrism, Hoffman can’t help but reinforce the “otherness” of Asmat while simultaneously finding elements of our shared humanity, elevating the “wonder” that is Asmat culture while at the same time recoiling from the horrors of their cannibalistic practices. Although the book is about the disappearance of Michael Rockefeller and the author’s conviction that it was Asmat cannibals who were responsible, there is an uneasy obsession with this aspect of Asmat culture. Hoffman tries to put this into its cultural context, explaining its rationality from an Asmat perspective. However, the reader is relentlessly reminded of this part of Asmat life. The practice’s horrifying appeal to civilized, Western sentiments pervades the book so that one is left with the feeling that the Asmat continue to hunt for heads and consume their victims!

Depicting the Asmat as living in a “drowned Eden” (84) is juxtaposed with Hoffman’s search for the truth of what occurred in November 1961. There is a tension between the Asmat, as a primitive reflection of us, and a civilizing culture’s worldview that eschews that most heinous behaviour: head hunting and cannibalism. It is the remote Asmat who deliver a most unnatural death for the son of one of the world’s richest dynasties.

Shirley Campbell, Australian National University, Canberra, Australia

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FROM KING CANE TO THE LAST SUGAR MILL: Agricultural Technology and the Making of Hawai‘i’s Premier Crop. By C. Allan Jones & Robert V. Osgood. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. xvi, 266 pp. (Illustrations, map.) US$45.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-4000-6.

The authors of From King Cane to the Last Sugar Mill, C. Allan Jones and Robert V. Osgood, are agricultural scientists who have worked for the Experiment Station of the Hawaiian Sugar Planters’ Association and have firsthand experience of Hawai‘i’s technological and scientific advances in the sugar industry. Tracing a direct genealogy from John Vandercook’s classic King Cane, the Story of Sugar in Hawaii (1939), From King Cane to the Last Sugar Mill sets out to give a balanced view of Hawai‘i’s sugarcane industry through the complex intersections of scientific, technological, economic, environmental, and ethnic forces that have helped to shape it. Jones and Osgood discuss how world events and developments in agricultural technology shaped the sugar industry in Hawai‘i from its origins in the 1820s, with a focus on the sugar industry of Maui, the island that as of 2016 is home to the last sugar company still operating in Hawai‘i today: the Hawaiian Commercial & Sugar Company (HC&S).

To structure this history, the authors lay out the history of sugarcane chronologically, organized into five chapters. The first chapter (500 CE to 1875) spans from when Native Hawaiian voyagers brought (sugarcane) to the islands, to sugarcane’s development as an industry in the mid-1800s as Hawai‘i’s population, land, and industries were affected by the Great Māhele (land division), the California gold rush, and the American Civil War. Chapter 2 (1876 to 1897) explains the effects of the Reciprocity Treaty between the Kingdom of Hawai‘i and the United States that eliminated import duties, making sugar readily available to the U.S. market. The need for imported labor and labor unrest affected the sugar economy, but agricultural developments in harvesting systems and cultivation kept the industry profitable.

The sugar industry was fundamental to the overthrow of the Kingdom of Hawai‘i, resulting in the annexation of Hawai‘i by the United States in 1898. The third chapter (1898 to 1929) analyzes the effects of annexation on labor and water resources as the industry boomed under U.S. control. The authors highlight how Maui’s irrigation systems and solar radiation levels gave it a boost in sugar production. In chapter 4 (1930 to 1969), the authors describe how, “In the late 1930s—prior to the U.S. involvement in World War II—the cash wages paid by the Hawaiian sugar industry (not counting benefits like housing and medical care) were the highest paid by any sugar industry in the world” (123), but this quickly changed with the Great Depression and World War II. The industry was pressured to reduce its labor force and mechanized tools replaced hand harvesting. The economy in the 1950s and 1960s boomed, which allowed for advances in overall factory operations and sugarcane breeding.

Finally, the chapter 5 (1970 to 2014) details the modern Hawaiian sugar industry into the twenty-first century. Since the 1970s, factory costs have not matched the price of raw sugar on domestic and international markets. However, technological advances to shed labor and production costs as well as the dissolution or consolidation of companies have kept the sugar economy alive. Drip irrigation allowed most of Hawai‘i’s irrigated plantations to survive until the 1990s. In the 2000s, more and more plantations and companies closed, leaving HC&S the last remaining sugar company in the state by 2011. HC&S faces environmental, political, and economic challenges.

From King Cane to the Last Sugar Mill is clearly written and organized, and one of its greatest strengths is that through the eyes of agricultural scientists, we can understand the importance of the technological advances Hawai‘i made in the sugar industry to allowing that industry to thrive. From King Cane to the Last Sugar Mill also analyzes the specific history of one company, HC&S, within the broader contexts of the international sugar trade and the forces of local and world history. As authors of one of the most recent texts on Hawai‘i’s sugar industry, Jones and Osgood are able to tell the story of HC&S as the last sugar mill, and why and how HC&S has survived beyond the nineteenth century when sugar was king.

Social science and humanities readers will find Jones and Osgood’s insights into labor, politics, and ecological factors most helpful, while the scientific specificity of the industry limits the audience to agricultural specialists. Furthermore, despite From King Cane to the Last Sugar Mill’s clear organization, it does not focus equally on each factor that influences the industry in every chapter—for example, focusing on labor or water rights during in each time period would help trace their chronology. Instead, the chapters focus on different factors as they become important during each period, so labor might be highlighted in one chapter but not in the next.

Overall, however, From King Cane to the Last Sugar Mill brings together Hawai‘i sugar’s environmental, political, and agricultural elements to form a pragmatic perspective. Other studies have recounted sugar’s history with a focus on plantation labor and life in Hawai‘i in the early twentieth century. Rather than separating technology and culture, Jones and Osgood bring the histories of agricultural technology and societal forces together to develop insights into Hawai‘i’s sugar industry, especially in the later twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. As HC&S has recently announced that it will close at the end of 2016, meaning the end of sugar mills in Hawai‘i, From King Cane to the Last Sugar Mill is a welcome addition to what has been missing in histories of the sugar industry and an important text for scholars of Hawaiiana and agriculture.

Kara Hisatake, University of California, Santa Cruz, USA                                                              

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THE PEARL FRONTIER: Indonesian Labor and Indigenous Encounters in Australia’s Northern Trading Network. By Julia Martínez and Adrian Vickers. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. ix, 227 pp. (Figures, maps.) US$50.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-4002-0.

As a social history of the pearling trade in the Arafura and Timor Seas, The Pearl Frontier examines interactions among late colonial era racism, labour exploitation, and nation building. A peripheral frontier between nascent nations becomes a social and economic hub that forces and shapes Australian national policies on the categorization and civil rights of diverse ethnicities.

Blending life history narratives with detailed archival research, the authors chronicle the century of large-scale Australian-run pearling businesses arising after 1860 when slavery was abolished in the Dutch East Indies. Based in Broome, Darwin, and the Torres Strait Islands, white Australian pearling masters recruited Asian workers from Singapore and the Dutch East Indies. Systematic abuse of Asian workers by indenturing them at low wages occurred while European states passed laws against colonial slave-like labour practices. Ironically, “white Australia” national policy exceptions, made specifically for pearlers to exploit foreign labour, led to the establishment of multi-ethnic communities in Australia and eventually undermined the agenda of Australia as the Pacific’s white bastion. Personal histories of people who lived this painful process are a major strength of this book. Australian citizenship application records of former indentured servants from Indonesia provide substance to these accounts.

A key argument of the book is that pearling industry toil intensified cultural and social relations among the Timor and the Arafura Seas region’s diverse peoples through mobility and intermarriage, and created a contiguous social region. Intensification occurred despite the creation of legal obstacles to physical and social mobility. Indonesian pearling workers were needed by an exploitive industry, but not wanted as people, as exemplified by Australia’s 1901 white-only immigration law.

Chapter 1 introduces the region’s social history of ethnicities, mobility, and seasonal work. Chapter 2 examines the 1860­–1890 entry of Australian entrepreneurs into a long-established pearling trade amid British, Dutch, and Portuguese competition for control of East Indies commodities, territory, and labour. The Australians recruited male Asians on two- or three-year indentured contracts. Pearl shell and pearls were processed in Australia for export to world markets. Seasonal weather conditions kept workers on shore in northern Australia for three-months each year. Segregation of whites and non-whites led to social relations between Indonesians and Australian Aboriginal peoples, despite legal impediments. Stories of an Alorese man’s unregistered marriage to an Aboriginal woman, whose descendants met the authors in Broome in 2010, adds an engaging narrative quality.

Chapter 3 explores eastern Indonesian understandings of their maritime world; land and sea blend into a contiguous series of places defined by cultural histories. Symbolic ship imagery pervades coastal villages. Livelihoods depend upon boat travel or walking in shallow seas. Chapter 4 chronicles business activities of Australian and Arab pearling entrepreneurs, who attempted to influence world pearl shell prices. Windfall profits and bankruptcies followed fluctuations in fashion and demand for pearl shell. Narratives of these entrepreneurs’ careers explain the motivations behind labour strategies shaping the lives and deaths of the workers. In 1911, in the Torres Strait area, 11 percent of the divers died in accidents; many other workers died from vitamin deficiencies. Despite risks, many workers vied for lucrative diving jobs.

Chapter 5 develops the book’s central argument regarding labour migration into northern Australia. Political lobbying by pearl industry titans resulted in Australian labour law exemptions for indentured foreign workers, classed as “outside civilized community.” The authors’ use of personal narratives provides Indonesian perspectives underlying changing patterns of marital relations, religious practices, and work. The pearling masters would jail and not pay indentured workers who refused to sign contracts or were disobedient. Such abuses raised dilemmas for Darwin’s growing trade unions, which lobbied for a white Australia and segregation of Asian workers staying on shore. However, flagrant abuses of Asian workers motivated intervention by some union leaders. Thus, Asian workers on Australian soil challenged white Australian policies. If unions stood for workers’ human rights, then Asian workers needed to be classed as nonhumans in order to maintain the fiction.

The book demonstrates the consequent challenges to Australian racist policies. Defiance of social segregation arose in Darwin and Broome where Asian and Aboriginal people outnumbered whites. Chapter 6 addresses intergroup dynamics among workers at sea and on shore. The racial hierarchy placing Japanese and Chinese below Europeans, but above diverse cultural groups of Indonesians and Aboriginals, led to conflicts escalated by poor living conditions and wages. For decades, tensions in a few northern Australian towns fueled debates over segregation and immigration policy in Australia.

When Japan entered World War II, the Australian pearling industry shut down. Chapter 7 describes internments of Japanese workers, and unprecedented relocations of Indonesians, stranded in Australia by the war, to southern Australia. Consequent settlement support from churches and anti-segregation advocates established connections which in postwar decades led to overturning the white Australia policy. Indonesians enlisted to fight the Japanese, often as special forces or espionage agents behind enemy lines. Capture meant execution. The book profiles Indonesian men who survived the war, but had minimal success gaining their promised Australian citizenship, which raised questions in Australia about race-based human rights.

The Australian pearling industry declined following Indonesian independence in 1949; decolonization made it difficult to contract indentured workers. By the early 1970s, Indonesian economic nationalism policies pushed out Australian pearling businesses, leaving behind social connections between Indonesians and Aboriginals across the Timor and Arafura Seas. The results support the authors’ central argument that histories of trade, labour, consumption, and social relationships are intertwined, but the strand of trade establishes the path.

This book makes a valuable contribution to scholarship on the history of commerce and labour in the Timor and Arafura Sea region. Pearling activities shaped the region’s modern society and inadvertently transformed race-based ideologies and labour movements throughout Australia. Blending scholarship with chronicles of the workers’ lives makes the book accessible and interesting to a wide readership. A minor critique of the book is a lack of detail regarding the perspectives of Japanese pearling workers. Otherwise, the book makes a significant contribution to consolidating rare knowledge of historic relations between peoples of Indonesia and Australia.

A. Ross Gordon, University of Alberta, Edmonton,Canada                                                              

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BEING POLITICAL: Leadership and Democracy in the Pacific Islands. Topics in the Contemporary Pacific. By Jack Corbett. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. xii, 243 pp. (Map, tables.) US$54.00, cloth. ISBN 978-0-8248-4102-7.

Are politicians really as self-serving and corrupt as they are often depicted to be by scholars and news media alike? Are they to blame for the cynicism and disillusionment that is often expressed when it comes to describing contemporary politics? Jack Corbett has interviewed 112 politicians from Pacific countries and draws upon biographic sources for many others to find out what these politicians themselves think of this characterization and of the work they do. His aim is to construct a “political-centered account of political life in the Pacific Islands” (22).

Not surprisingly, zooming in on the details of how political lives and careers are experienced offers Corbett a nuanced understanding of the ambiguities and dilemmas of leadership and politics more generally. Corbett has structured the book as a would-be career as he follows these politicians from their decision to go into politics to candidacy in an election, to political dealings in parliament or as a minister, to the day of retirement. The starting point has been to take the accounts of the interviewees seriously rather than being normative or trying to identify what makes good or bad politicians. Corbett does discuss the question of whether these politicians may be lying or polishing their images in the interview situation, but as he points out, even if they have done so, the interviews and the patterns that emerge from them are still a valuable account of political life from the point of view of those who practice it. This approach leads to an interesting discussion of structure versus agency in political life pursued through what Corbett refers to as “collective portraits”; an amalgam of individual voices to identify patterns and commonalities.

The book begins with a chapter that thoroughly delimits the study and its rationale (supplemented by an appendix on the methodology of life interviews, which seems aimed at those who prefer “objective” measures rather than those familiar with interpretive approaches).

The second chapter outlines the backgrounds of the politicians in question and what they claim motivated them to enter politics—family, upbringing, kinship, community relations, educational resources, or church membership, and how they have relied upon or built “profiles” and “reputation.”

Chapters 3 and 4 outline perspectives on the four core roles of politicians: candidate, representative, legislator and minister. The main topics covered here include how profile, constituency dynamics, gender, geographic location, and much else affect trends of growing expectations, the influence of gatekeepers, and senses of uncertainty. These chapters are about what it means for these politicians to represent as well as their strategies in how to achieve it.

Chapter 5 returns to what is arguably the main theme of the book, namely the question of what motivations and interests politicians have. Corbett finds that most of his interviewees claim to be driven by strong views (although it is not clear to me as a reader what they consider a “view” to be, nor what is meant by “ideal” as a cultural category). The chapter continues by going through the ways such factors as money, ambition, calling, and challenge are seen as motivating to the interviewees.

Chapter 6 discusses the legacy that politicians make for themselves along with the contradictions and challenges of leadership (versus ideals of democracy). The first half of this chapter is my favorite, with fine coverage of various positions and arguments pertaining to the dynamics of politics and the corruption of politicians. The second half is about considerations of when (or if) to leave politics, either due to age, financial costs, family, and the chances of regaining a seat, among others.

The concluding chapter 7 returns to the overall issues outlined in the introductory chapter.

While the interview-based approach to the topic has undoubtedly presented the author with a wealth of material, the potential of the material for theoretical insights are, unfortunately, rarely explored in depth. Corbett chooses wisely to anonymize his interviewees, but the consequence is that many of the quotes stand as mere apt illustration of a point that has been made through a review of the literature. Most of the analytical points have been documented by others, and it is not clear to me how the interview excerpts do more than add empirical flavor to the discussions of the dynamics of “being political” in the Pacific that the author arrives at. The analysis would have been stronger if the interview material had figured more prominently.

While the theoretical discussions drawn upon are relevant, the book generally provides a good recapitulation of existing positions and arguments. Unfortunately, some of the discussions are engaged somewhat superficially. Most problematic is that the term “anti-politics” has more connotations than Corbett gets around to covering. To Corbett, it appears to refer to the disillusionment and cynicism by which political leaders across the board are classified as corrupt (which is the popular view Corbett wants to dispel), whereas James Ferguson, whom Corbett cites, discusses anti-politics as the masking of political decisions in a language of “experts” and “neutral technocratics.” This is a significant difference even if disillusionment and resentment of politicians as amoral stem from such ploys to disguise decisions as “necessary” rather than “choice.” That is, I am not convinced that the book adds much that is new to our theoretical understanding of discourses of leadership and “anti-politics.”

Nonetheless, the book is well written in a clear and unpretentious language, and the interesting and novel empirical perspective on Pacific political leadership is insightful. For that reason, I would recommend it as particularly relevant for those specializing in Pacific politics and their leaders, though there is much to be gained by those interested in political leadership more generally, as well as by novices keen to gain an introduction to the dilemmas faced by Pacific leaders.

Steffen Dalsgaard, IT University of Copenhagen, Copenhagen, Denmark                                    

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