Books: Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments: Intimate Histories of Social Upheaval

Books
Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments: Intimate

Histories of Social Upheaval. By Saidiya Hartman. New
York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2019; 464 pp.; illustrations.
$28.95 cloth, $17.95 paper, e-book available.
In Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments: Intimate Histories of

Social Upheaval, Saidiya Hartman threads immersive detail,
sweeping narrative, and incisive critique together to chroni-
cle the visionary labors of early-20th-century black women who
dared to “live as if they were free” (xv). Narrating the “beautiful
experiments crafted by poor black girls” (4) who migrated from
the US South to Philadelphia and New York City between the
1880s and 1930s, Hartman establishes these “minor figure[s]”
(13) as the dauntless initiators of modern struggles for black
freedom, female sexual autonomy, and queer possibility. Telling
stories of subjects often relegated in history as “surplus women
of no significance” (xv), Hartman delivers an epic of this uncred-
ited collective, and with it, a new scale and method for the femi-
nist study of black women, queer life, and the social history of US American modernity.
The formidable contributions of Wayward Lives arise both from the intimate histories of self-
fashioning and “open rebellion” (xiii) that it unearths, and from its original approach to them.
Assembling a “Cast of Characters,” from “Girl #1” and the “unnamed young women of the city”
(xvii) who constitute the book’s “Chorus,” to the recognizable Ida B. Wells and Billie Holiday,
Hartman deploys “close narration” (xiii), rich description, and the careful, yet nonindexical,
placement of photographs to flesh out each figure and their surround. Hartman’s ability to
transport the reader “inside the circle” (xiv) is a feat in itself, accomplished through her scouring
of archival fragments and her “speculat[ion] about what might have been” (xiv); for, as Hartman
relates, where and when these figures appear in archives is often in state inventories of their
criminality, not in first person narratives of their inner lives. Sustaining a critique of archival
power that extends from her influential essay, “Venus in Two Acts” (2008), and from the uptake
of its key terms in black studies, Hartman undertakes entirely original experiments in this new
book that materialize her essay’s concept of “critical fabulation” (2008:11) and make Wayward
Lives a singular achievement.
Book 1 propels readers into Hartman’s experiment across its eight parts. Contemplating a
nude photograph of the unnamed, very young Girl #2 in “A Minor Figure,” Hartman exhumes
the violence of the photograph’s capture and its residual violence as it overdetermines Girl #2’s
presence in the archive. Announcing her search for “another path to her” (30), Hartman’s
pursuit diverts in multiple directions. Following another minor figure, Mattie Jenkins, out of
the South in “An Intimate History of Slavery and Freedom,” Hartman explores the desires
that buoyed Jenkins while enumerating the conditions of servitude and state white supremacy
that met her in New York in 1913. In “An Atlas of the Wayward,” Hartman makes the first of
several pivots away from the intimate lives of the wayward toward those of the reformers and
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sociologists who judged them so. Deconstructing W.E.B. Du Bois’s The Philadelphia Negro
(1899) from inside the scholar’s own intimate shame, Hartman initiates the book’s interrogation
of how black women’s freedom came to be seen as the “Negro problem” itself (101), the
target for reformers’ moral condemnation, and worse, the state’s justification for black
women’s confinement.
The 12 sections of Books 2 and 3 clarify the high stakes of black women’s lived experimen
tation, detailing the “incredible ferocity” with which states and municipalities acted to “shape
and regulate intimate life” (256). Across these sections, Hartman denudes intimate history
of its solely celebratory register, clarifying that, to know the intimate histories of poor black
women during this period was to hold a weapon against them. Hartman demonstrates the
vicious efficacy of intimate knowledge in her chronicle of New York’s Tenement House Laws;
of Bedford Hills Reformatory’s intimate abuses; and of the surveilled, entrapped, and “Arrested
Life of Eva Perkins” (257). Yet, within these stories of racial and gendered repression, Hartman
weaves others: of Gladys Bentley’s queer self-making in “Mistah Beauty”; of black women
“smash[ing] things up” (235) in “An Anarchy of Colored Girls Assembled in a Riotous Manner”;
and of the audacity of black romance undertaken at great risk.
In “Venus,” Hartman stated her fear of “invent[ing...] a romance” (2008:8) to fill slavery’s
archival void. In writing intimate histories of those who came after slavery, Hartman confronts
romance without yielding to its occlusive power. Romance suffuses Wayward Lives not as
embellishment, but in each figure’s desire for more than survival; romance continually punctured
by “extraordinary brutality” (348) but resurgent in each successive pursuit of “something else”
(46): in the flight of Mamie and James Shepherd from their landlady and the law (153); in
Esther Brown’s enjoyment of idleness and her fugitive refusals of domestic service (233); and
in the precarious, yet life-saving, queer community found and lost and found again by Mabel
Hampton (297).
It is toward possibilities of something else that Wayward Lives concludes: with a convocation
of the errant “Chorus” and an image of birds rising as a “Swarm” (348). If Hartman has not
recovered Girl #2 of the book’s beginning by its end, the conclusion suggests that we can still
locate her: in the murmuration of “chorines, bull daggers, aesthetical Negroes, lady lovers” (34),
“muses, drudges, washerwomen, whores, [and] house workers” (345), and in the “wild idea”
that “young black women were radical thinkers who [...] never failed to consider how the world
might be otherwise” (xv); an idea that Hartman makes irresistible, and a vision worth both study
and pursuit.
— Camille S. Owens
Reference
Hartman, Saidiya. 2008. “Venus in Two Acts.” Small Axe 12, 2 ( June):1–14.
Camille S. Owens is a Junior Fellow at the Harvard Society of Fellows. She received her PhD in African
American Studies and American Studies at Yale University in 2020. Her dissertation, “Blackness and
the Human Child: Race, Prodigy, and the Logic of American Childhood,” traces a genealogy of 19th-
and 20th-century black prodigy performances, exploring schemas of race and childhood as interlocking
measures, and limits, of the Human. csowens@fas.harvard.edu
TDR 64:3 (T247) 2020 https://doi.org/10.1162/dram_r_00951

©2020 New York University and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology
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Valuing Dance: Commodities and Gifts in M
otion.
By Susan Leigh Foster. New York: Oxford University Press,
2019; 264 pp.; illustrations. $125.00 cloth, $35.00 paper,
e-book available.
The popularity of the panel honoring Susan Leigh Foster at the

2019 Dance Studies Association conference was a clear testa-
ment to her impact as a scholar and educator. Recognizing her
influential research in the field of dance studies — which she
has been central in creating — the session included words read
or otherwise performed by past graduate students and current
colleagues whose thinking has been shaped by Foster’s persis-
tent lines of inquiry. Her seminal work Reading Dancing (1986)
uniquely brought linguistic theory to choreographic analy-
sis, while the subsequent edited volumes Choreographing History
(1995) and Corporealities (1996) assembled provocative perspec-
tives on historiography and movement knowledge. Dances that
Describe Themselves (2002), ostensibly on the improvised cho-
reography of Richard Bull, was equally a profound conception of how a dance’s voice speaks
through participating human bodies. The more recent Choreographing Empathy (2011) then
demonstrated — by narrating the evolving histories of the terms “choreography,” “kinesthe-
sia,” and “empathy” — how understandings of dance shift in relation to societal changes. Overall
Foster’s oeuvre, which also includes numerous articles and performed lectures, is rooted in
questions of how and why dance matters. Today, these issues are pressing not only for scholars
but increasingly for dance educators, who continue to advance learning through bodily move-
ment amidst a variety of ever-challenging market forces.
Foster’s newest book, Valuing Dance, challenges us to become aware of how we conduct
transactions within systems — particularly Western capitalism. Without frontloading her
position, Foster allows her research to guide the reader through how and why dance practice is
a valuable human resource whose exchanges build community. The book’s scope is ambitious.
Luckily, Foster is gifted in taking on large, complex topics, synthesizing them into digestible
portions, and delivering them via approachable language and manageable concepts. The
text provides examples of dance’s circulation easily grasped by even the most casual cultural
observer, including social settings, dance studios, and television. Historical trajectories on
current dance phenomena like the global reach of hip hop provide insight into how localized
practices gain broad appeal, then suggest how participation in these economies can shape
future action. Broad strokes on the somatic features and histories of certain movement practices
are coupled with finer bodily details — such as early-20th-century studio pedagogy and the
observation that approaches in today’s youth competition dance, in which so many local dance
studios participate, tend to eliminate movement transitions between forms or “poses.” It is rare
to find dance writing that speaks to both the specialist and the novice reader. In dedicating the
book to her students “who have given me so much,” Foster acknowledges that research, like
dance practice, is a generous form of knowledge exchange.
Foster’s signature wit reveals itself in chapter formats that choreograph their content by
structuring page layout and textual delivery. The book begins with a discussion of dance as
“resource-ful” (chapter 1), meaning both possessing many assets and able to skillfully overcome
difficulties. This first chapter identifies how dance practice is relational, energetic, and adaptive,
which raises the persistent themes of dance as ephemeral and intangible — aspects that escape
easy quantification or material evidence. They are hard to “evaluate” by common standards
of measurement. Foster does not belabor these points ontologically, but rather shows how
these features define dance as a practice that adjusts to many contexts, environments, ends,
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and means. Small margin keyword listings provide tangible entry points into larger dialogue
and are a valuable teaching tool for those using this text to instruct or invite discussion. The
second chapter then demonstrates dance’s adaptability to various contexts with an overview of
commodity versus gift exchange. The reader traces their comparison across the recto and verso
sides of the fold, attending to one side of the page spread, then flipping back from the verso or
recto to read the other side’s counternarrative.
Readers should definitely persist past chapter 2 into the third chapter, which complicates the
binary by noting that commodities and gifts go hand in hand. This chapter’s extended discus-
sion of “the social life of dances” traces three case studies — hip hop, private dance studio teach-
ing, and the powwow circuit. Each is introduced with historical predecessors such as African
American dance halls, the Denishawn studio, and Wild West Shows — in order to show the
complex interweaving of human desires to learn, challenge, and improve amidst modifications
and delivery mechanisms designed so that practices can reach new populations. While these
examples are only briefly explained, the element of competition within each is striking. Systems
of transmission led by good intentions often have a darker side, fraught with exploitation, mis-
placed value systems, and loss of perspective. It is therefore all the more important to carefully
and conscientiously tend to the forces of competition in relation to actual moving bodies.
The book’s final chapter returns to the question of value and what each form of exchange —
commodity and gift — may offer. Three additional case studies in the form of artist practices in
postmodern dance, ballet, and tap serve as models for how dance artists can function differently
and still survive within capitalist systems. The artists — Deborah Hay, William Forsythe, and
Savion Glover — initially seem curious choices; their practices do not align with the earlier
social history case studies, and as successful artists they can arguably afford to risk innovative
approaches. However, their examples serve to highlight a fourth figure: the owner of a private
studio in Ojai, California, who rather than succumb to increased pressure to participate in
competition dance events and their emphasis on athletic display rather than artistry, instead
starts her own nonprofit dance program focused on artistry and expression. This grouping of
individuals thus sends a final message that each and every one of us has power, voice, and choice
in how we relate to and participate within systems of exchange, even those that appear limiting.
Valuing Dance is less a definitive argument for how and why we should value dance than an
invitation to apply this thinking to further areas of dance research, education, and action. The
book does not ignore the complex intersections of race, labor, and capitalism, but untangling
them is not the project here. Related discourses on dance, labor, and politics found in titles
such as Mark Franko’s earlier The Work of Dance (2002) on 1930s dance and the production of
ideology, the late Randy Martin’s writings in Knowledge LTD (2015) on kinesthetic approaches
to global economics, and Bojana Kunst’s Artist at Work (2015) on subject formation and artistic
practice under capitalism are only peripheral reference points. Instead, the system Valuing Dance
most successfully disrupts is Western canonical dance writing, which often narrates through
key figures, geographic locations, and dance styles at the expense of how and why we enter into
these practices in the first place. By focusing on modes of exchange, Valuing Dance eliminates
details that might be cumbersome to readers not well versed in certain dance histories or
vocabularies, allowing the movement of the larger argument to take precedence. At the same
time, more voices from within African American and Native communities would help make the
historical case studies and final chapter on artist practices more convincing. The footnotes and
their sources are a valuable resource in this regard.
People will continue to find ways to dance, despite the complexities of global market forces.
As Foster gently points out: “Today’s studios use dance to sell participation in a world of
dance in which the dancer becomes a repository of skills that can be accessed as the demand
arises” (123). Given the limitations of this ecosystem — which like others today comprises an
overwhelming amount of information — she notes that dancers may not be able to productively
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share history, deep knowledge, or an inner emotional life: “Instead, they give the one thing that
is available to them: their complete and unstoppable energy in delivering the results of their
hours of hard work” (123). This statement answers the book’s most fundamental question and
final chapter title, “Why Dance?” Dance engenders vibrancy and connectivity, which are greatly
needed at this current moment, and the photo choices throughout the book reinforce this point.
Rather than displays of peak virtuosity staged for the camera, the images predominantly show
bodies in social settings — clubs, studios, subways, or the media — engaged in teaching, learning,
and sharing movement processes with others. These are not just rehearsal settings, but rather
indications of what happens when bodies work through problems together. The images are thus
an important intervention in how dance histories and their practices are transmitted through
scholarship. They remind us that dance labor activates important human capacities such as
concentration, engagement, and inquiry so often bypassed in a modern social world focused on
products and outcomes. Valuing Dance questions, informs, provokes, and educates. It calls each
of us to become aware of our choices around participation so that we can direct the energy
dance generates toward cultivating what we most value.
— Megan V. Nicely
References
Franko, Mark. 2002. The Work of Dance: Labor, Movement, and Identity in the 1930s. Middletown, CT:
Wesleyan University Press.
Kunst, Bojana. 2015. Artist at Work: Proximity of Art and Capitalism. Winchester, UK: Zero Books.
Martin, Randy. 2015. Knowledge LTD: Toward a Social Logic of the Derivative. Philadelphia, PA: Temple
University Press.
Megan V. Nicely is an artist-scholar working within contemporary choreography and Japanese butoh.
Her performances have been produced in the US, UK, and Europe, and she has published in TDR,
Choreographic Practices, Performance Research, and others. She is currently Coeditor of the Critical
Acts section of TDR and Associate Professor of Dance at the University of San Francisco, whose program
focuses on the arts and social change. nicely@usfca.edu

Performing Image. By Isobel Harbison. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2019; 256 pp.;
illustrations. $40.00 cloth.
Isobel Harbison’s Performing Image is a timely contribution to the field of performance stud-
ies, as it appeals to the facets of the performing body and identity in our contemporary, image-
centric mediascape. The book sets out a dual project: the first is to map a group of artists from
the 1970s to 2010s whose work has plumbed the meaning of images in relation to the body
and subjectivity; and the second is to meditate on how that work anticipates the imbrication
of performance and image in the contemporary attention economy defined by social media.
The fulcrum of these two projects is the technological, cultural, and economic phenomenon
of prosumerism: a “new mode of image production” in which the producers are also consum-
ers (6). Through a “speculative genealogy” (4) Harbison argues that certain artistic works — that
is, works of “performing image” — both anticipate and illuminate the cycle of consumption-
production-consumption that defines the prosumerist logic of contemporary cultural practice.
This eponymous term, then, refers to images that negotiate, in a meta fashion, the meaning
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of images. It is through the study of such works that we might
glean the subtle yet pervasive impulses to create, post, interface
with, and — yes — perform images in and through new media. As
such, Performing Image aptly resonates with and contributes to
discourses on mediatized performance, digital corporeality, and
performance on new and social media — among others.
The theory that Harbison’s text introduces, that of the per-
forming image, is grounded in J.L. Austin’s (and, by exten-
sion, Judith Butler’s) work on performativity. In describing this
concept, Harbison writes, “The compound term, Performing
Image, highlights the junction of performance and moving
image as a critical fissure where artists respond to the pressures
of living under the image [...]” (25). Though such discussions
of nomenclature are helpful in understanding how Harbison
deploys performance as a concept, they omit how performativ-
ity manifests through image-production. The reader might, for
instance, speculate that the gaze functions as a conceptual link
between performance and image, yet there is little to no treatment of this notion as it might
apply to the performing image. How does looking, watching, viewing, and observing (among
other registers of the gaze) contribute to capturing something through image? The theory of the
performing image, while generative, topical, and widely applicable to other phenomena of dig-
ital culture, is wanting of greater theoretical grounding, which the performance studies reader
might be seeking.
Despite this gap, theory is well-integrated into the chapters, allowing the reader to interpret the
objects of analyses through the particular lens of the performing image. In chapter one, Harbison
reviews the intellectual history of prosumerism, how the concept has been integrated into artistic
works, and how it applies to the notion of the performing image. Notable in this discussion is
Harbison’s insight into the relationship between subject and image in new media. “It becomes
difficult to discern,” Harbison maintains, “whether [new media prosumers] are conversing with
people through images or whether [they] are having encounters as images, differently dimensioned
versions of [themselves] interacting with others’ different dimensions” (15).
This foundational discussion is then followed by seven additional chapters that primarily
analyze works of performing image in chronological order. Chapters 2 and 3 examine
20th-century examples that probe how images are “registered” (chapter 2) and also how they
“invade” the body (chapter 3). The former is guided by Robert Rauschenberg’s notion of
“contact”: how visual material manifests as “affective inquiries into how imagery impacts the
[subject’s] senses, comportment, and movement” (39). Here, Harbison applies this concept to
works by Vito Acconci, Yvonne Rainer, Adrian Piper, and Lorraine O’Grady. Chapter 3 then
addresses works produced during the 1980s and 1990s — a discussion that Harbison aligns with
the advent of the internet, and sentiments toward it as a “new spatial frontier” (66). In Brandon
(1998–1999), a work produced in response to the rape and murder of a teenage transgender
boy, artist Shu Lea Cheang utilizes the interface of a multiuser online platform to explore and
picture the “dark caverns, vast terrains, and new frontiers” (77–78) of both cyberspace and
identity-building. Collectively, these two chapters help to model the theory of performing
image: to anchor its concepts and to activate its principles.
As if to provide a theoretical interlude to these analyses, chapter 4 recalibrates the reader
to the issues of prosumerism, precarity, and free labor. In this chapter, Harbison provides more
background on prosumerism and describes the geopolitical landscape in a “Post-Internet” era.
Though most of this discussion continues the conceptual grounding from the introduction
and chapter 1, Harbison does warn here of the perils of image production, circulation, and
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c onsumption in a neoliberal digital marketplace, articulating its “active and aggressive coloniza
tion of visual material” (103).
Chapters 5 and 6 resume the task of examining artistic works that demonstrate how artists
live “under the image” (25). In detailing productions by Mark Leckey and Frances Stark,
chapter 5 demonstrates how works of performing image do not always pose an obviously
critical position toward prosumerism. Lecky’s work in particular attends to “the reciprocity
between the Internet’s volume and the expanding recesses of human desires for images” (115).
It is not until the final chapter, however, that Harbison details how this seemingly ambivalent
positionality is marked by “distantiation, overidentification, and disidentification” (183) toward
the economic, political, and cultural pressures of prosumerism — a critical linchpin in the
book’s core concepts.
The final chapter is indeed integral to understanding the nuances of how prosumerism is
imbricated in works of performing image — yet this discussion arrives quite late in the text.
Such an observation indicates a wider critique: that, in general, the structure of the book may
not best serve the extrapolation of its argument. Specifically, bifurcating the analyses of art-
works from the theoretical discussions miscues the reader to the relationship between the two.
Nonetheless, the notion of performing image is a provocative concept that strikes a chord of
resonance with myriad issues in contemporary digital culture. It may be mobilized, for example,
toward inquiries into digital spatio-temporalities, notions of new media as archive, questions
of contemporary performer agency, surveillance, or neoliberal infiltrations of the perform-
ing body. In this way, Performing Image will prove to be a valuable addition to the performance
studies bookshelf.
— L. Archer Porter
L. Archer Porter is a writer, scholar, and purveyor of performance on new media. As a Doctoral
Candidate in Culture and Performance at UCLA, she investigates performance in digital culture. Her
dissertation, “The Domestic Stage: Performance and Intimacy in the Age of New Media,” examines
choreographies of intimacy in home dance videos posted online. archerporter@ucla.edu

Performance Constellations: Networks of Protest

and Activism in Latin America. By Marcela A. Fuentes.
Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2019; 178 pp.;
illustrations. $75.00 cloth, $24.95 paper, e-book available.
In Performance Constellations: Networks of Protest and Activism

in Latin America, Marcela Fuentes proposes “performance
constellations” as a concept to understand activist aesthetic
interventions and protests in the era of digital culture and
neoliberalism. Performance constellations entangle on-
and offline systems of communication in what Fuentes calls
“connective dramaturgies” (3), which link fragmented sites of
protest across temporalities and localities within a common
dramaturgy for action, whether it be remembering state-
sponsored disappearances in Mexico via Twitter hashtags or
staging move-ins in Argentina’s banks to protest capital flight.
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As the author states, her work builds on Diana Taylor’s theorizations of performance traditions
as systems of knowledge transfer, from body to body, within culturally specific repertoires
of embodiment (Taylor 2003). Performance constellations do not depend on body-to-body
transfers, yet they produce “dispersed collectivities,” where bodies from different localities
perform separately but collectively, and within the shared mediation of “a common frame or
narrative” (16). The book provides a hemispheric history of neoliberalism in Chile, Argentina,
and Mexico, which by the late 1990s — where the author begins her analysis — had seen
“mutating forms of neoliberal capitalism, such as transnational trade, financial speculation,
predatory lending, and narco violence” (20). Fuentes brings performance studies up to
date by examining how collective protests, our sense of embodiment, and other aesthetic
practices defined as live performance occur entangled with online modes of communication,
in performance constellations “distributed” across many localities and “extended” over time
by continued online presence and distribution for new iterations. Having reformulated
performance in this new way, the author historicizes and theorizes overlooked possibilities
for political resistance within neoliberal systems of power. She demonstrates how activists
have effectively intermingled body-to-body performances with digital networks to articulate
“demands concerning the common good” (112), mobilizing politically excluded bodies against
neoliberal ideals of self-sufficiency and meritocracy.
In the first chapter, “Assembling Convergence Online,” Fuentes analyzes virtual sit-ins
in the late 1990s organized by the US-based collective Electronic Disturbance Theater in
support of the Zapatista uprising against NAFTA (North American Free Trade Agreement).
She posits virtual sit-ins against the exclusionary and individualizing drives of neoliberalism,
and argues that this form of protest functioned to create dispersed collectivities of embodied
anti-imperialist action. The author draws from Alexander Galloway and Eugene Thacker,
who proposed networks as dominant forms of control that can also articulate resistance
(Galloway and Thacker 2007). The synchronous embodied participation of people in front of
their computers, flooding targeted websites, created a “copresence” that relied on a collective
imaginary of convergence or networked actions. Performance constellations of convergence
create a sense of collectivity without physical proximity between performers, or a sensorial
experience of others’ live performance.
In the second chapter, “Articulating Global and Local Resistance,” Fuentes provides a
historical account of Argentinian activists’ attempts to make visible connections between
local predatory finance systems and global neoliberal economic policy regimes by theorizing
“stream-out” performance constellations, conceptually uniting events that occurred in distinct
times and spaces in the 2000s following the years of deindustrialization and capital flight.
She demonstrates how asynchronous actions, “pieced together through practices of citizen
journalism, digital storytelling, and asynchronous assembly” (44), linked protesters with shared
aesthetic vocabularies. Examples of these include email-circulated PowerPoint presentations
that described the economic situation of Argentina in the format of a cooking recipe and called
for pots and pans protests; and on-site performances of clients “moving into” banks to draw
connections to capital leaving their banks.
In chapter 3, “Expanding Moves, Enacting Futurity,” Fuentes analyzes how the
affective force of live performance can be enhanced by the entanglements and circulation
of performances online, allowing distributed events to be connected via noncontiguous
cooperation. By looking at two performance constellations that emerged from the 2011 student
movements in Chile, Thriller for Education and 1800 Hours for Education, Fuentes effectively
demonstrates how activists employed the way social media structures our experience of time to
make “nonsimultaneous acts be felt as part of an extended event” (74). Through YouTube tuto-
rials teaching flash mob choreography, or online coordination of 1,800 hours of continuous
running by rotating participants, the technologies for live performance are conceptualized
as networks of on- and offline communication that extend the affective force of performance
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across time and locations, allowing the live to inspire “multiple lives” of iterations via digital
circulation and archives.
In the last chapter, “Contesting Disappearance after Ayotzinapa,” the author theorizes
hashtags as units or “beats of sustained campaigns” (92) within performance constellations.
Fuentes posits the constant innovation of hashtags by activists demanding justice in the case of
the disappeared students of Ayotzinapa, Mexico, as a performative tactic against the erasure of
narco violence from mainstream media outlets in Mexico. The goal is to successfully persist in
social media, using its protocols of trending hashtags, to fight the viral ephemerality that the
state counts on to continue business as usual without addressing widespread narco violence.
Theorizing performance constellations as activist efforts that entangle off- and online culture
allows Fuentes to analyze the potential of alliances made visible through hashtags — such as
#Fergusinapa — that connect social movements across the Mexico–US border.
The book does not argue for an idealistic faith in technological networks as inherent driv-
ers of revolutionary uprising. In fact, Fuentes herself cautions against ahistorical and uncritical
generalizations or transfers of constellated tactics across contexts and bodies; for, as she posits,
we know that many remain without access to certain technologies, and that digital or embod-
ied protest for women of color, trans folks, and undocumented people might present lethal
risks at the hands of police, military, and other violent groups. Yet, the book provides a histori-
cal account for the theorization of performance tactics used in common and across “contexts to
reclaim liveness for those whose lives are in question, devalued, colonized” (22). The book is a
timely reminder that technologies of oppression and capital accumulation are accompanied by
an ever-evolving, always-on-the-move repertoire of tactics of solidarity that connects bodies and
political struggles in dispersed localities and sociocultural contexts.
— Marlon Jiménez Oviedo

References
Galloway, Alexander R., and Eugene Thacker. 2007. The Exploit: A Theory of Networks. Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press.
Taylor, Diana. 2003. The Archive and the Repertoire: Performing Cultural Memory in the Americas. Durham,
NC: Duke University Press.
Marlon Jiménez Oviedo is a PhD student in Theatre Arts and Performance Studies and an MA student
in Development Studies at Brown University. His research focuses on movement traditions that live
outside systems of authorship and stage or museum spaces, decolonial movements, and the transnational
movements of neoliberal capitalism. marlon_jimenez_oviedo@brown.edu

Queering Black Atlantic Religions: Transcorporeality in Candomblé,

Santería, and Vodou. By Roberto Strongman. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2019;
296 pp.; illustrations. $99.95 cloth, $26.95 paper, e-book available.
In the field of performance studies, one finds foundational texts by Michael Taussig, Barbara
Browning, Diana Taylor, and Joseph Roach, for example, that raised a variety of issues
pertaining to the multilayered interplay between colonialism, mimesis, religion, and subversion;
as well as the dialectics between political resistance and domination, the sacred and the
profane, and the embodied transgressions of gender and sexuality taking place all around
the Americas. This scholarship gave shape to a performance studies critique of modernity’s
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c onstrictive category of the sovereign and self-determined
subject, as well as its attendant concepts and regimes of
knowledge, identity, and representation. Queering Black Atlantic
Religions attempts to add to this impetus by arguing that the
three most notable religious systems of black diaspora in
Latin America and the Caribbean share a distinct model of
embodiment and cultural representation of the psyche as both
multiple and interchangeable, which Roberto Strongman calls
“transcorporeality.”
While the concept of the multiplicity of the self in black
diasporic cultural production — and its epistemological
consequences for a feminist and queer critique of modern
embodiment — is anything but new to performance studies,1
Queering Black Atlantic Religions brings further light to the
genealogy of this phenomenon as the author traces it back
to Akan and other West African philosophical (i.e., religious
and mythic) discourses on personhood. The introduction,
therefore, has the virtue of reviewing multiple sources in the field of African and Afro-
Caribbean philosophy in order to detail how the immaterial and spiritual dimensions of a
person are thought to be composed of external, multiple, and removable parts, which rest upon
the person’s material corporeal surface, represented by a concave vessel, an open calabash, or
a saddle (17). This body schema composed of fragmented and removable parts of the spirit
not only has implications for varied funeral rites but also for practices associated with spirit
possession. In Vodou spirit possession, it is said that the tibonanj (the part of the psyche that
allows for self-reflection and self-criticism) authorizes the gwobonanj (the individual source
of memory, intelligence, and personhood) to exit the head in order to accommodate the lwa
spirit, who then rides the “horse” (person) during a ceremony, disregarding of course any fixed
reference to the “horse’s” gender or sexual identification, which for Strongman — as for other
scholars of trance possession before him — presents a unique opportunity to critique Western
heteropatriarchal models of subjectivity.
The rest of the book is divided into three main parts with a similar methodological structure,
which identify and investigate how transcorporeality — this Afro-diasporic representation of the
self as multiple, removable, and commingling with divine energies — enables a collection of eth-
nographies, novels, paintings, and films to enforce critiques of gender and sexuality throughout
the American hemisphere, particularly in the Caribbean and Brazil. Each of these three sections
(Vodou, Lucumí/Santería, and Candomblé) consists of a chapter that revises the queer potential
in the canonical scholarship dedicated to each religion, and another chapter that offers various
artistic counterpoints to the scholarly approach. The underlying assumption here is that films,
novels, and visual artworks that articulate (and are articulated by) transcorporeality oftentimes
complement, contradict, and reorganize the ethnographic and academic discourse on these reli-
gious systems.
The first part offers insightful close readings of feminine/feminist ethnography on Vodou
(Zora Neale Hurston, Maya Deren, Katherine Dunham, Karen McCarthy Brown, and
Mimerose Beaubrun), while also unveiling the sometimes coded and sometimes openly queer
(though always fetishistic) male ethnography on Vodou and Candomblé by Pierre Verger and
Hubert Fichte. This section ends with a diligent queering of Haitian artist Hector Hyppolite’s
pictorial self-portraiture, along with biographical information on the artist.
1. See Browning’s Samba: Resistance in Motion (1995) and Infectious Rhythm: Metaphors of Contagion and the Spread
of African Culture (1998), which are not mentioned by Strongman.
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Part two features a comparative approach between the often-prejudicial scholarship on
Lucumí (both in Cuba and elsewhere) and the more “transcorporeal” representation of
Santería in the film Fresa y Chocolate (1993). Also here is one of the book’s most interesting
chapters, where reflections of Strongman’s ethnographic voyage to one of Cuba’s celebrations
of Yemayá mingles with his account of a friendly relationship to a particular informant whose
emigration to New York allows Strongman to record some historical data on both Cuban and
Puerto Rican Santería in NYC. Furthermore, this chapter presents an informed meditation
on Lydia Cabrera’s novel El Monte ([1954] 1968) with a strong emphasis on Cabrera’s
erotic entanglement with Santería and its female participants — and ends with an important
contribution to the art criticism of Wifredo Lam’s surrealistic paintings, acknowledging once
and for all Lam’s debt to blackness (in general) and Santería (in particular). Unfortunately,
this astute chapter ends on a rather patronizing note, in which Strongman “decodes” Lucumí
symbols in Lam’s paintings for his Cuban informant and Santería practitioner Fran, while
presenting himself as the “disseminator of knowledge, spokesperson and theorist in the service
of practitioners like Fran” (177). The dualist logic embedded in this language positions theory
and practice in highly anachronistic and oppositional terms, working against the nuanced
proposition that “transcorporeality” may in fact inaugurate new possibilities of advancing what
knowledge and codes actually mean and do in a world where matter and spirit are in constant
reciprocation.
Finally, in the last part of the book we come to two chapters on Candomblé (an umbrella
term for a myriad of traditions treated in the text, such as Batuque, Umbanda, Catimbó, Keto,
and Quimbanda). The investigation here focuses first on Jorge Amado’s novel Dona Flor and
Her Two Husbands (1966) and Bruno Barreto’s filmic adaptation of that work (1976), both in
relation to the controversial Exu spirituality in Brazil, guided by a myriad of street guardian
spirits, like Exus and Pombagiras, whose magic work are popularly seen as dealing primarily
with very human and material matters, such as seduction and vengeance. Secondly, Strongman
articulates connective points between Mário de Andrade’s novel Macunaíma (1928), Pierre
Verger’s nomadic biography and photographic work, and the traveling of Candomblé and
Umbanda back from Brazil to Portugal — this last bit also supported by in loco ethnographic
work. Apart from what seems an unfortunate typing mistake, in which Strongman writes “Mário
de Andrade’s Anthropophagist Manifesto” where he must have meant “Mário de Andrade’s
Macunaíma” — unwittingly giving the misinformed impression that Mário de Andrade not
only wrote the “Anthropophagist Manifesto,” but did it without giving “credit” to Oswald de
Andrade (242), an overall false polemic, of course — the book ends in a very interesting key: if,
as Strongman argues, one of Candomblé’s main commandments stems from the mythic story
of the old and powerful god of peace, Oxalá, in which he claims that wisdom should be a matter
of wide circulation, would the survival of transcorporeality similarly be tied to circulation, here
emblematized by its voyage back to Europe, where it might hold the potential to contaminate
and dismantle modernity’s principle of the unitary and self-possessed subject?
Queering Black Atlantic Religions brings no groundbreaking news to the already strong
scholarship on the black diaspora that informs the field of performance studies. But its earnest
scholarly work and its hemispheric scope are nevertheless a positive addition to the intersecting
fields of religious studies and gender and sexuality studies. Let’s hope that “transcorporeality,”
Strongman’s new term for an old realization, may become a useful tool for further grasping
how queer people in the Americas mobilize Afro-diasporic religion to gain access into a world
in which transgression of gender roles and sexual values are not only acceptable, but structural.
— Pablo Assumpção B. Costa

References
Browning, Barbara. 1995. Samba: Resistance in Motion. Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.
Browning, Barbara. 1998. Infectious Rhythm: Metaphors of Contagion and the Spread of African Culture. London:
Books
Routledge.
178
Pablo Assumpção B. Costa is Associate Professor of Performance and Faculty Member in the Graduate
Arts Program at the Universidade Federal do Ceará in Brazil, and Editor-in-Chief of Vazantes Journal
of the Arts. libidinalsublime@gmail.com

Worldmaking: Race, Performance, and the Work

of Creativity. By Dorinne Kondo. Durham, NC: Duke
University Press, 2018; 376 pp.; illustrations. $104.95 cloth,
$28.95 paper, e-book available.
In the fields of theatre and performance studies, thoughtful

scholarship on race, and separately, dramaturgy, fill journals and
monographs. Yet engagement with racial dramaturgy is very
limited (save for Faedra Carpenter’s excellent writing [2014]). In
that absence, Dorinne Kondo’s Worldmaking: Race, Performance,
and the Work of Creativity articulates why dramaturgy, the
process of researching the world of the play, must vigorously
engage racism, the structure of power and meaning-making that
racially marks all bodies who inhabit stages and worlds.
The book groups chapters into Acts. Act I, “Mise-en-
Scène,” includes chapter 1, “Theoretical Scaffolding, Formal
Architecture,” which introduces key terms and Kondo’s
ethnographic engagement; and chapter 2, “Racialized
Economies,” in which Kondo, following Lisa Lowe (2015), argues against the late-20th-century
“newness” of neoliberalism, suggesting instead that neoliberalism furthers modernity’s longer
logics of racism and colonialism that produce racialized theatre structures. Act II, “Creative
Labor,” features chapter 3, “(En)Acting Theory,” which analyzes Anna Deavere Smith’s oeu-
vre and includes Kondo’s ethnographic interviews with Smith; chapter 4, “The Drama behind
the Drama,” described below; and chapter 5, “Revising Race,” which investigates David Henry
Hwang’s Yellow Face (2007) from “multiple perspectives of critic, ethnographer, dramaturg,
and playwright” (167). Act III, “Reparative Creativity,” features Kondo’s creative process with
chapter 6, “Playwriting as Reparative Creativity”; and chapter 7, “Seamless, A Full-Length
Play,” Kondo’s playscript tracing histories of a Japanese American family across early-21st-
century Southern California and 1940 in Oregon. Worldmaking begins with an “Overture”
and is stitched together by three “Entr’acte” chapters, ethnographic “vignettes” on Bruce
Norris’s Clybourne Park (2010), an acting class, and a conversation about limited space for Asian
American theatre in Los Angeles (53).
In 1993, Kondo worked as a dramaturg on the world premiere of Smith’s Twilight: Los
Angeles, 1992. Staged as a one-woman documentary theatre performance at the Mark Taper
Forum in Los Angeles, California, Twilight was based on Smith’s interviews with over 200 Los
Angelinos present during the “rebellion/riots/uprisings/civil unrest” sparked by the videotaped
beating of black motorist Rodney King by four white police officers, who were later acquitted
(133). A performance in which Smith, a black woman, portrays white, black, Asian diasporic, and
Latinx characters, Twilight allowed audiences to bear “witness to this state of emergency” (131).
In chapter 4, Kondo brings the reader backstage into rehearsals. Kondo details her
dramaturgical role, which included research, script edits, and feedback, and most immediately,
“respond[ing] to Smith’s performance as she listened to her audiotapes and subsequently
performed onstage,” or what Kondo calls “dramaturgy on the spot” (145).
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Critically, the chapter centers the racial stakes of this dramaturgical work, intensified as
Smith culled 200 interviewees to stage 25 characters. “Which characters should be cut, and
which should stay?” Kondo asks, and “What are the politics of racial representation being
played out onstage?” In the dramaturgical process, these questions took on frustration, conflict,
and ultimately, repair. After one rehearsal in which Smith cut the characters of a Chicano artist
and a Japanese American musician, Kondo and fellow dramaturg Héctor Tobar were livid. After
disagreeing on these cuts, Kondo temporarily left rehearsal; later Smith added the characters
back in. The chapter details the decision-making processes through which Smith dialogued with
collaborators to portray characters amidst racial turmoil — within and beyond a black–white
racial schema.
The chapter anchors arguments pervasive across Worldmaking. First, Kondo’s analysis
focuses on Twilight’s live theatre production, not the film version, which has been widely taken
up in critical scholarship. As such, Kondo “emphasize[d] the processes through which race was
produced or reproduced backstage, where [the collaborative team] both contested and [...]
reinscribed conventional meanings of race” (139). At one moment, Kondo describes how as
a Japanese American, she queries her dramaturgical representation of other Asian American
characters; Kondo compelled Smith to hire a Korean American to interview the Korean
community affected by the uprising.
Second, in detailing “fiery battles backstage” as central to how Smith collaboratively pro-
duced reparative racial representations — and with attention to representation, inclusion, and
research — Kondo proposes the role of the dramaturg not as “diplomatic” or merely “aesthetic,”
but rather as an “intellectual/political intervention, a step toward the reparative” (40– 41).
Kondo suggests that dramaturgical critique is:
a crucial phase in the creative process, necessary for effective activist, artistic interven-
tion [...and] a pivotal step in creating different theatrical/political alternatives, for without
a finely grained analysis of what is problematic and why, how can we address those prob-
lems, to remake the world? (44)
Kondo’s dramaturgical critique, then, problematizes and processes how productions racially
represent and produce worlds.
Third, and most central, Kondo theorizes reparative creativity as “the ways that artists make,
unmake, remake race in their creative processes, in acts of always partial integration and repair”
(5). This idea of dramaturgical critique as necessary for racially reparative creativity grounds
Kondo’s most important invention. In Worldmaking, Kondo not only articulates how racist
structures that frame and inhabit theatrical productions produce affective violence especially
for minoritarian audience members, but also suggests how reparative creativity “dramatically
make[s] race” (40). This includes “reparative mirroring” or the “public performance of
minoritarian characters historically excluded from the stages of mainstream theater” that “give
characters of color this public existence” (37) as well as dramaturgical critique that further
racially dimensionalizes works like Twilight by “offer[ing] possibilities to work through the
effects of affective and structural violence” (51).
Whereas monographs often open with an “Acknowledgments” chapter focusing on
“gratitude, joy, and pride” (ix), Kondo’s begins differently, telling of her recent open heart
surgery — deemed necessary despite her impeccable health habits — and its after-effects
including exhaustion that prevented her from fulfilling her career obligations — such as seeing
theatre productions past 8:00 p.m. and finishing this book years earlier. Writing amidst pain
re-animated something Kondo has long experienced within theatre: that “vulnerability and
fragility” root life and “spotlight our interconnectedness” (x).
When I teach Anna Deavere Smith’s Twilight, I screen the film version as students
engage theories on racial representation and performance, and as they prepare to stage
solo performances based on their own interviews. Kondo’s emphasis on racialized
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dramaturgy — which recognizes the racial structures that produce race and the potential of
the theatre processes to mirror and repair — can further this engagement. This book also suits
courses on theatre, race, and performance, and on ethnographic methods. Crucially, this book
expands necessary conversations on race and dramaturgy, and ways in which “dramaturgical
critique” — conscious of racial logics and embodied meanings — might make and repair
theatrical and racial worlds.
— Jasmine Mahmoud
References
Carpenter, Faedra Chatard. 2014. Coloring Whiteness: Acts of Critique in Black Performance. Ann Arbor:
University of Michigan Press.
Lowe, Lisa. 2015. The Intimacies of Four Continents. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
Jasmine Mahmoud is Assistant Professor in Arts Leadership in the Department of Performing Arts and
Arts Leadership at Seattle University. Her research and teaching engage contemporary performance, race,
policy, and space. mahmoudjasmi@seattleu.edu

In Person: Reenactment in Postwar and

Contemporary Cinema. By Ivone Margulies. Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2019; 336 pp.; illustrations. $99.00
cloth, $29.95 paper, e-book available.
Ivone Margulies’s inventive new book In Person: Reenactment in

Postwar and Contemporary Cinema reframes the aesthetic, cultural,
and ethical concerns of postwar realist cinema through the lens
of a particular performative practice: in-person reenactment,
wherein “a person replays her own past on camera” (4).
Although reenactment, broadly construed, connotes an array of
historical, biographical, and artistic practices of restaging events,
in-person reenactment departs from these other forms due to
its foundation in personal experience. If one’s re-performance
of their past “always introduces a differential,” for Margulies
the epistemological and ethical stakes of such replay reside in
the possibility of redemptive transformation (5). Drawing on a
Brechtian framework, wherein the theatrical citation of an act
becomes a form of socially conscious pedagogy, she argues that first-person embodied replay
allows subjects to critically revise their past (9–10). In doing so, individual lives “acquire a
collective resonance” as exemplary narratives directed toward didactic, therapeutic, memorial,
and historiographical ends (8).
While In Person establishes the reenactment film as a newly configured subcategory within
realist cinema, it has much broader stakes for the study of modern and contemporary film at
large. Attending to reenactment excavates the hitherto unacknowledged “activist impetus” (14)
at the heart of postwar cinema, the desire for representation to not only record “contested social
realities” (7), but also to effect real change within them (14). Additionally, Margulies observes
that the “celebrated aesthetic aspects of modern and contemporary cinema — its hybridity, reflex-
ivity, and performance ambiguity” — are the animating formal concerns of r eenactment (15).
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Consequently, reenactments form the very condition of possibility for postwar cinema’s for-
mal experimentation, becoming both “instruments and signifiers of late neorealism’s and of New
Wave cinema’s existentialist concern with theatricality and authenticity” (15).
Margulies’s analysis moves along both of these axes of reenactment: as “instrument” and
as “signifier,” the instrumental line of thought delineating reenactment’s function within
postwar realist narratives, and the signifying line of thought interrogating reenactment’s formal
conditions — its temporal and referential structure. The instrumental argument takes up the
majority of the book and traces a historical genealogy of the mode in postwar realist cinema.
Beginning with Cesare Zavattini’s vision of cinema in which everyone “play[s] themselves”
(37), Margulies elaborates neorealism’s critical shift from an illustrative model of social types
to a “performative” model, which enables the social actor to “reclaim [...] her experience”
for moral instruction (47– 48). In Storia di Caterina (The Story of Caterina, 1953), Caterina
Rigoglioso, a mother who was publicly tried and acquitted for abandoning her child, reenacts
the abandonment in order to explain the desperation that led her to take such drastic action and
symbolically atone for it. This redemptive ethos is subsequently reinflected in Edgar Morin and
Jean Rouch’s cinema vérité experiments, which shift from neorealism’s emphasis on social type
and on gesture to individual psychology and cathartic speech.
Cinema vérité’s emphasis on individual speech amplifies the “testimonial” dimension
of reenactment, setting the stage for the subsequent proximity between the reenactment
narrative and the trial in post-Holocaust films. Marceline’s monologue about her memories of
concentration camps in Chronique d’un été (Chronicle of a Summer, 1961) serves as a hinge for
Margulies’s turn from reenactment as “self-enlightening pedagogy” (114) to reenactment as
social forum for witnessing and accounting for historical trauma. While late vérité and a ctivist
films of the 1960s and ’70s explore reenactment’s ritual, phatic ability to conjure absence,
Margulies argues that Claude Lanzmann’s landmark Holocaust film Shoah (1985) occasions a
historical shift away from a reparative model, engendering a more critical, unredemptive stance
that continues to characterize contemporary cinema (172).
Margulies’s historical genealogy is deeply researched, elegantly argued, and highly
persuasive in its bold reevaluation of canonical postwar films. However, I find her book to be
at its most generative and compelling in her ancillary articulation of the signifying dimensions
of reenactment, and of the challenges it poses for cinematic form. While the first and third
chapters examine the structuring tensions of reenactment — the relationship between “actor
or person, past or present, representation or presentation, theatricality or authenticity”
(14) — within a broader arena of realist performance, her claims are more clearly expressed in
her close readings of contemporary films in the book’s final chapters.
Margulies proposes two new terms to encapsulate the unredemptive ethos of contemporary
reenactment — “para-juridical” and “a-filiation.” “Para-juridical” cinema emerges in dialogue
with post-Holocaust discourses of traumatic memory, witnessing, and survivor testimony.
While the term connotes an adjacency to legal testimony, particularly within human rights
investigations, this work displaces the reparative aims of such institutional frameworks to
explore the (non)potential of redress (205–06). Cambodian director Rithy Panh’s oeuvre, which
interrogates the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge regime, is Margulies’s case study for this model.
His para-juridical practice utilizes highly theatricalized tableaus and ascetic staging in order to
confront the inscrutability of mass violence, displacing the cathartic potential of reenactment
onto a spectatorial address that positions viewers as critical, ethical witnesses.
“A-filiation” foregrounds a dislocated temporality that intervenes in discourses of presence
and kinship, amplifying the disruptive potential of reenactment in order to challenge its central
assumptions — that the past may be conjured or integrated within a performative continuity.
Margulies elaborates on this idea through Andrea Tonacci’s film Serras da Desordem (Hills of
Disorder, 2006), wherein Carapiru, a member of the Awá-Guajá tribe, reenacts events of his
life, including his first contact with nonindigenous Brazilians. Reenactment’s dimensions of
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“displacement and relocation” (221) magnify Carapiru’s own violent history of dispossession,
persistently “uprooting” and “exiling” him within the film, and as such “challenges the social-
activist film’s most tempting conceit: the equation of self-performance with social agency” (249).
The displacement of the fundamental assumption of “agency,” which underwrites the
exemplary model, and the refusal to move beyond the impasse that this engenders, ultimately
constitutes the unredemptive model’s critical challenge. Margulies argues that both the para-
juridical and the a-filial modes participate in what she terms “senseless mimesis,” deploying the
structure of reenactment — its repetition and referentiality — against itself (255). By stripping
away reenactment’s implicit forward momentum toward revision, senseless mimesis suspends
the performer within an ambivalent, static present. Contemporary films not only subvert
reenactment’s instrumental function, but also its signifying function, upsetting the circuits of
meaning-making by which the “public reframing of an act’s significance” in the present adheres
to its past (260).
However, in attempting to theorize the critical stakes of this modality, Margulies finds
herself at a theoretical impasse. She writes, “given the instrumental purpose of reenactment
films — their ritual, juridical, memorial, or pedagogic functions — the import of an unredemp
tive reenactment is difficult to define,” although she acknowledges that it is “far from a neutral
strategy” (261). This generic statement is a jarring one following her stunning and rigorous
analyses of these contemporary films, and points to a limitation of Margulies’s privileging of
the instrumental mode. For if reenactment’s performative value within film has hitherto been
defined by its instrumental moral function as opposed to its signifying structure, a mode that
ostensibly has no “function” — a “senseless” mode — indeed appears to have no value.
Margulies resists this claim, emphasizing the contemporary mode’s critical, deconstructive
force, and concludes her book with a call to find an alternative system of values within which
to situate unredemptive reenactment. In the final lines of the book she raises a provocative
possibility — that of moving beyond reenactment understood as an instrumental practice,
to viewing reenactment as constitutive of a new filmic form: “an alternate form of realist
re-presentation, an aesthetics of pressured co-presence, with the power to spark continued
questioning” (261).
Unfortunately, Margulies leaves the contours of this alternate aesthetic form largely
undefined, again a function of her primary focus on the instrumental mode. Yet in gesturing
toward these possibilities, Margulies’s ambitious and deeply insightful study makes clear that
reenactment is indeed a fertile field with the “power to spark continued questioning” (261). As
the first full-length treatment of in-person reenactment as a cinematic genre, In Person, with its
astonishing scope and robust yet focused bibliography, will serve as an indispensable resource
for scholars wishing to take up its spark.
— Katie Kirkland
Katie Kirkland is a doctoral student in Film and Media Studies and Comparative Literature at
Yale University. katie.kirkland@yale.edu

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Going Stealth: Transgender Politics and U.S.
Surveillance Practices. By Toby Beauchamp. Durham, NC:
Duke University Press, 2019; 208 pp.; illustrations. $94.95 cloth,
Performance, Transparency, and the Cultures of

Surveillance. By James M. Harding. Ann Arbor: University
of Michigan Press, 2018; 326 pp.; illustrations. $80.00 cloth,
Forever Suspect: Racialized Surveillance of Muslim

Americans in the War on Terror. By Saher Selod. New
Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2018; 174 pp. $120.00
cloth, $31.95 paper, e-book available.
In the introduction to his book, Performance, Transparency, and

the Cultures of Surveillance, James M. Harding writes, “rather
than ushering in an era of increasing transparency — which is
the basic paradigm of egalitarian democracies — surveillance technologies and the cultures that
accompany them have in fact cultivated radically new and postdemocratic formations of power
and authority that are shrouded in fortified opacity” (5).
Harding’s book, along with Saher Selod’s Forever Suspect: Racialized Surveillance of Muslim
Americans in the War on Terror and Toby Beauchamp’s Going Stealth: Transgender Politics and U.S.
Surveillance Practices pierce through the “fortified opacity” of our (postdemocratic) surveillance
society in order to scrutinize the sociopolitical optics and material impacts of contemporary
surveillance methods on a range of communities and individuals. Each of these three books
adds new and vital perspectives to the emerging canon of cultural criticism on contemporary
surveillance society: Harding focuses on artist-activist interventions into privatized surveillance;
Selod on experiences and perceptions of Muslim Americans after 9/11; and Beauchamp on
transgender politics as they intertwine with institutional surveillance policies. Taken together,
these important books constitute a coalition of academic activism across fields of sociology,
transgender studies, and performance studies, as these skilled authors bring to visibility the ways
in which the institutionalization, automation, and privatization of surveillance practices divide,
stigmatize, and oppress communities under the mythos of national security.
Harding’s Performance, Transparency, and the Cultures of Surveillance positions surveillance as a
performance-based concept and practice that has long historical roots. Through a range of case
studies, dramatic texts, and art practices, he compares 21st-century methods of surveillance and
counter-surveillance to earlier political and aesthetic movements, ranging from 20th-century
avantgarde art and cultural activism to 15th-century religious painting and the ancient Code
of Hammurabi. Holding this long view of surveillance in frame, Harding raises foundational
questions about how we, individually and as a culture, are responding to contemporary
conditions of surveillance: Why do we acquiesce to the social categories into which surveillance
technologies seek to sort us? What might we learn from the histories of avantgarde arts activism
that can help guide us towards necessary and even productively dangerous action against
dominant regimes of surveillance?
Throughout the book’s six chapters, Harding provides thorough explanations and engaging
analyses of worrisome trends in privatization, neoliberal economic structures, and racism in
contemporary surveillance society. Each chapter (the titles of which cleverly modify the concept
of visual power: God’s Eyes; Private Eyes; Blind Eyes; Electronic Eyes; Downcast Eyes; An Eye
for an Eye) considers the impacts of surveillance techniques and technologies within and across
a series of ideological and material practices of 20th- and 21st-century life, including Christian
narratives embedded in Western culture, 1960s political activism, maximum security prisons,
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the growing private sector surveillance industry, and radical
activism in an era of “post-democracy.” His chapter on religion
and surveillance (chapter 1) is particularly illuminating for its
explication of the Christian ideologies that continue to underpin
dominant narratives of surveillance, a theme he explores
through close readings of Arthur Miller’s The Archbishop’s Ceiling
(1976) and Muriel Spark’s The Abbess of Crewe (1974). His
critique of prominent surveillance scholar David Lyon’s reliance
upon a Christian worldview will be of great interest to scholars
of religion and surveillance, as will the heated debate it sparked
between Lyon and Harding that has been published in the Fall
2018 issue of Surveillance & Society.
In subsequent chapters, Harding introduces readers to a
range of performance examples that illustrate the dangers of
privatization in the surveillance industrial complex. Building on
Simone Browne’s Dark Matters: On the Surveillance of Blackness
(2015), in which Browne brings critical attention to indelible
histories of racism that extend from 18th-century slave ships to the maximum security prisons
of the 21st century, Harding employs Victoria Brittain and Gillian Slovo’s play Guantanamo:
“Honor Bound to Defend Freedom” (2004) to develop his theorization of maximum security
prisons as examples of “ban-optic” discipline. A revision of Jeremy Bentham’s well-known
model of panoptic surveillance, theorized by Foucault as panopticism, ban-opticism brings
attention to the ways in which individuals are given access to or banned from certain spaces,
activities, rights, or privileges (Bauman and Lyon 2013). Harding revisits the work of the well-
known Surveillance Camera Players as a means of assessing the strategies of other radical a rtist-
activists who have responded to the privatization and automation of surveillance techniques
in the late 20th and early 21st century. Towards the end of the book, Manjula Padmanabhan’s
futuristic play Harvest (1997) serves as an effective touchstone for Harding’s examination of
the dark pressures that dataveillance and biometric surveillance exert on our lives today and
of the dystopian dangers that could emerge in years to come. Harding’s final chapter consti-
tutes nothing less than a call to arms to scholars, artists, and activists, as he makes a stirring
appeal for radical action in the face of distressing imbalances of power at local, national, and
international levels.
Saher Selod’s Forever Suspect: Racialized Surveillance of Muslim Americans in the War on Terror
likewise brings attention to disturbing power imbalances as they have emerged in the wake of
9/11, building a compelling sociological portrait of the effects (and inefficacies) of intensified
surveillance and stigmatization of Muslim Americans in the US. A sociologist by training
and a self-identified Muslim American herself, Selod skillfully blends decades of survey data
with recent ethnographic research, drawing on personal interviews she conducted with family
members and interview subjects in the metropolitan areas of Chicago and Dallas/Fort Worth.
Selod carefully lays out the political and economic context of the US “war on terror” and
provides useful historical perspective on the status and experience of Arab and South Asian
immigrants within the US, prior to and after September 2001. Selod does a particularly astute
job of illuminating the rhetorical processes by which Muslim men and women have been
constructed as threatening and/or threatened bodies. She brings attention to the discursive
strategies of journalists, cultural theorists, and politicians who constructed a narrative for
Muslim terrorists that inaccurately (but nevertheless convincingly) aligned Islamic radicalization
with free-floating anti-Western, antimodern ideology and, in the process, overlooked structural
political and economic inequalities as significant factors of radicalization.
Selod deepens this line of analysis in the first two chapters as she charts significant shifts
in racial and ethnic identities assigned to and experienced by Arab and South Asian Muslim
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Americans over the last century. Contrasting census and immigration records from the last
185
c entury with her interview data, Selod reveals how the US
Census categorization of Arabs as “white” no longer feels accu-
rate to many Arab Muslim Americans who now feel that they
are seen only as Muslim. This trend, which she describes as the
“racialization of Muslims,” rhetorically reclassifies Arab Muslims
and Muslim South Asians according to religious rather than
ethnic or racial identities, which, Selod argues, enforces a dan-
gerous cultural perception that Muslims, regardless of their
ethnicity, nationality, or immigration status, are not only cat-
egorically “not white” but are culturally incompatible with
Western values.
In chapter 2, “Flying while Muslim,” Selod describes how
state scrutiny of Muslim persons in airports and at national bor-
ders “intersects with and depends on both religious signifi-
ers and gender in this process of racialization” (50); for men,
those with typical Muslim names were more frequently placed
on the “secondary security screening selection list,” whereas
women who wore the hijab were far more likely to be routinely subjected to “random” searches
by TSA than those who did not. Selod builds on these findings to examine the practices of self-
surveillance that many Muslim Americans have taken on in the years following 9/11 and into
the Trump era, paying particular attention to women’s choices of if, where, and how they will
wear the hijab. Selod spends less time discussing African American Muslims in the book over-
all, turning to this group most directly in her final chapter to consider how the unique history
of racism experienced by African Americans in the US may be further complicated by physi-
cal markers of Islam such as the hijab: “the hijab may mark African Americans as foreigners like
it does for South Asians and Arabs, altering the way their bodies are read and, subsequently,
the way they are treated” (133). Bringing together the multivalent and diverse experiences of
her Muslim American ethnographic subjects, Selod concludes with a cutting analysis of how
the racialization of Muslim Americans has exacerbated and created new dimensions to deep
histories of racialized surveillance and institutionalized racial discrimination in the US, arguing
powerfully that such policies, in fact, make no one safer.
Toby Beauchamp’s Going Stealth: Transgender Politics and U.S. Surveillance Practices is similarly
topical and urgent, delving into contemporary hot-button issues of gendered bathrooms and
TSA screening practices. At the same time it is deeply historical, as the book charts how public
and private surveillance practices and attendant concerns over privacy have long depended
upon the policing of gender conformity. Going Stealth begins by juxtaposing the high profile
Virginia Tech shooting in April 2007 with a lesser known campus lockdown the following day
in Detroit, Michigan, that was motivated by a parent who sighted a “suspicious” transgendered
body (a man in wig, heels, and lipstick). Using this example to emphasize long-standing cultural
anxieties over gender nonconformity that place “a man in a dress” in a category that “might
prompt the same security protocol as for the events that have come to define terrorism in the
U.S.” (6), Beauchamp establishes a principal argument of the book: “that surveillance is a central
practice through which the category of transgender is produced, regulated, and contested” (2).
At the same time, Beauchamp cautions that “the policing of gender transgression, though often
occurring most overtly in relation to transgender-identified people, casts a much wider net” (9).
Beauchamp frames each of the book’s four chapters with a recent landmark case that ignited
or responded to contemporary public discourses and fears about gender nonconforming bodies
in a range of spaces — on academic campuses, in public or semiprivate bathrooms, within TSA
screening procedures, and in the military-industrial complex — effectively using each example
to explore deep histories of racial inequity, prejudice, and the uneven rights to bodily “privacy”
that haunt these current policy debates. His first chapter investigates the regulatory effects of US
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186
federal identification documents, focusing in particular on post-9/11 policies aimed at identifying
terrorist suspects, such as the Real ID Act. From there, Beauchamp extends backwards to explore
histories of medical and legal scrutiny of gender-nonconforming bodies, the creation of the
term “transgender” through such practices, and the racial and nationalist foundations of legal
identification documents more broadly. The second chapter returns readers to the contested site
of airport security checkpoints, as Beauchamp examines controversial changes in TSA screening
practices that use X-ray technologies to assess bodies according to normative physical attributes.
A tool commonly associated with healing, Beauchamp charts the darker history of the X-ray,
such as experimental uses of the powerful backscatter X-ray now common in airport screenings
on incarcerated populations and other marginalized and disempowered groups. He thus reveals
that concerns about the health impacts, physical safety, and personal privacy of X-ray subjects
remain deeply sutured to ideologies of “innocence” and wellness that privilege and protect
whiteness, normative gender identities, able-bodiedness, and economic elitism.
Beauchamp exposes similar structures of belief in chapter three as he turns attention to
the still unfolding policy debates surrounding gender-segregated public and semiprivate
bathrooms. This controversial issue becomes, in Beauchamp’s skillful hands, an opportunity to
investigate long-standing social inequities attached to the policing of race, sexuality, and gender
normativity in public spaces. Beauchamp’s final chapter delves into the high-profile case of
Chelsea Manning as a means of investigating the treatment of transgender individuals within
several, sometimes overlapping institutions — in prison, in the military, and in mainstream media.
Beauchamp considers Manning’s choice to leak classified military documentation of unethical
wartime tactics in Iraq and Afghanistan; the effects of US military dictum on homosexuality and
gender nonconformity, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”; and Manning’s emergence as an “exceptional”
figurehead for transgender politics as a means of excavating complex intersections of visibility,
privilege, and secrecy within some of the most powerful institutions in the US.
Though each of these three books employs diverse methodologies and sources to traverse
disparate pathways across the landscape of contemporary surveillance society, they all c onclude
with similar notes of alarm regarding the reign of President Donald Trump. Beauchamp declares
his concern regarding changes to Title IX initiated almost immediately by Trump and his
Secretary of Education Betsy DeVos, changes that would inhibit educational institutions across
the country from implementing protections for transgender students and staff in the form
of policies on pronoun usage, dress codes, and restroom designations. Harding’s conclusion
catapults forward from performance and activist practices of the 20th-century avantgarde to issue
an unequivocal call to action for direct, radical, and even dangerous disruption of postdemocratic
surveillance regimes. Selod confronts damaging rhetorical and policy changes inaugurated by
President Trump that have overtly targeted Muslim Americans in the “war on terror,” while at
the same time leaving readers with a silver lining to these explicit attacks on Islam: whereas the
two previous presidents, George W. Bush and Barack Obama, also participated in surveillance
of Muslims, their methods were more covert and did not garner the national protests and legal
interventions that have met Trump’s travel bans. With the surveillance of Muslim Americans,
transgender people, incarcerated populations, people of color, and other stigmatized groups
now fully in the spotlight, let us hope that we can find ways to enact and expand upon Selod’s
affirming conclusion: “It is entirely possible to have a country that is committed to keeping its
citizens safe without racially profiling an entire religious group” (137).
— Elise Morrison
References
Bauman, Zygmunt, and David Lyon. 2013. Liquid Surveillance: A Conversation. Cambridge: Polity Press.
Browne, Simone. 2015. Dark Matters: On the Surveillance of Blackness. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
Brittain, Victoria, and Gillian Slovo. 2004. Guantanamo: “Honour Bound to Defend Freedom.” London: Oberon
Books.
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Harding, James M. 2018. “Picking the Speck and Missing the Beam in the Eye of Surveillance: On the
Failure to See Eye to Eye with David Lyon.” Surveillance & Society 16, 4:554 –67.
Lyon, David. 2018. “God’s Eye: A Reason for Hope.” Surveillance & Society 16, 4:546–53.
Miller, Arthur. 1984. The Archbishop’s Ceiling. New York: Penguin Books.
Muriel Spark. 1974. The Abbess of Crewe. New York: Viking Press.
Padmanabhan, Manjula. (1997) 2003. Harvest. London: Aurora Metro Books.
Elise Morrison, Assistant Professor of Theater and Performance Studies at Yale University, is the author
of Discipline and Desire: Surveillance Technologies in Performance (2016). She is Associate Editor for
the International Journal of Performance Art and Digital Media and a TDR Consortium Editor.
elise.morrison@yale.edu

More Books
A Body in the O: Performances and Stories. By Tim Miller. Madison: The
University of Wisconsin Press, 2019; 157 pp.; illustrations. $19.95 cloth.
Tim Miller’s memoir chronicles major works of his performance career, which are intimately
linked to pivotal events in queer male US American culture from the 1980s to the present. The
solo texts for the stage included in this book have a raw and frenetic sensibility that highlight
queer identity amidst the AIDS epidemic, the censorship of the 1990s, the fight for marital
equality in California, as well as an underlying desire for sexual expression. The various chapters
fold early sexual encounters into activist encounters and filter these experiences through the
production of corresponding stage works. Miller writes extensively about his personal life as the
context for the production and content of his solo shows; however, beyond a nod to feminist
performance, there is a lack of substantial connection between his works and other artists
engaged in parallel performance practices or concerns. The style of this memoir, which includes
personal snapshots and performance photos, mirrors the tone of Miller’s solo performances,
prioritizing an intimate form of storytelling embedded in the political intricacies of gay culture.
Impersonations: The Artifice of Brahmin Masculinity in South Indian

Dance. By Harshita Mruthinti Kamath. Oakland: University of California Press, 2019;
225 pp.; illustrations. $34.95 paper, e-book available.
Impersonations is a detailed dance ethnography on the Kuchipudi brahmin male tradition

of female stage impersonation conducted in Kuchipudi, a village in the Indian state of
Andhra Pradesh. The book contains in-depth interviews and photographs of local and global
practitioners, as well as careful photographic documentation of temples and performances.
The analysis situates the Kuchipudi tradition of female impersonation within queer theory and
feminist theories of gender, including culturally reflexive analyses of “passing,” “hegemonic
masculinities,” and “shade” vis-à-vis Paris Is Burning (1990). Throughout the book, Kamath
refers to the “three embodied techniques of impersonation: costume (ãhãrya), speech (vãcika),
and bodily movement (ãngika)” (58). The final chapter is composed of interviews and conver-
sations with local women who have had experiences learning and performing the traditional
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188
dances, which Kuchipudi traditionalists argue is currently altering the perceived necessity for
female impersonation. Kamath seeks to simultaneously highlight an exclusionary performance
practice in a remote location and place it in dialogue with international conversations on the
performance of gender.
New Postcolonial Dialectics: An Intercultural Comparison of Indian and

Nigerian English Plays. By Sarbani Sen Vengadasalam. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge
Scholars Publishing, 2019; 243 pp. £61.99 cloth.
Sarbani Sen Vengadasalam offers a new intercultural dialectical analysis of postcolonial histories
and processes of reconciliation in India and Nigeria, through several major English-language
plays of the postcolonial period. The comparisons in this book examine the particularities of
both countries struggling with the political and linguistic consequences of British colonial rule,
and the implications of this for the “intercultural scaffolding” of both nations. Postcolonialism
is theorized through the texts of Frantz Fanon, Abdul JanMohamed, and Edward Said, as well
as Marxist critiques. New Postcolonial Dialectics concentrates on plays by Nigerian dramatist
Wole Soyinka, analyzing the plays The Lion and the Jewel (1959) and The Road (1965), and the
Indian plays Red Oleanders (1923/1925) by Rabindranath Tagore and Procession (1972) by Badal
Sircar. Vengadasalam’s analysis examines intercultural dynamics expressed by the dramatic
form that both engages the multiplicity of culture and radically critiques institutional power in
postcolonial India and Nigeria.
Nightfall Hotel: A Surrealist Romeo and Juliet. By Nanos Valaoritis. Ed.

and trans. Vassiliki Rapti. Boston, MA: Somerset Hall Press, 2017; 178 pp.; illustrations.
$19.95 paper.
Nightfall Hotel: A Surrealist Romeo and Juliet is a collection of texts, assembled by literary
theorist Vassiliki Rapti, which offers analytical insights into Nanos Valaoritis’s play of the same
name. Valaoritis is a major literary figure of the 20th-century Greek diaspora, known primarily
for his poetry and prose, as well as his association with surrealism. The play Nightfall Hotel
(1959) is a conversation between two lovers (Marthe and Yves) locked in a small hotel room
while the building is being torn down around them. The book includes the full play in both
English and the original French. The play originally ran in Paris for four days in 1959, and
generated a substantial amount of mixed reviews from local Parisian press because the lead
female role of Marthe was played by Marpessa Dawn. At the time of the play’s short run,
Dawn was a prominent French starlet, attracting international press and attention for her
beauty, acting, dancing, and performance as the female lead in the film Black Orpheus (1959),
which was released earlier that year. The reviews discuss the play’s successes and failures in
relation to the adaptation of Valaoritis’s lyrical writing style to the stage. Rapti concludes the
book with documentation and participant reflections of an informal studio restaging of the play
at Harvard University on 26 April 2016.
Rehearsing Revolutions: The Labor Drama Experiment and Radical

Activism in the Early Twentieth Century. By Mary McAvoy. Iowa City: University of
Iowa Press, 2019; 260 pp.; illustrations. $90.00 paper, e-book available.
Mary McAvoy offers several historical case studies of labor drama programs in the United
States. These theatrical educational programs were part of the curriculum of labor colleges in
several states between the two world wars. Instructors, students, and the schools themselves
operated in an economically and ideologically precarious climate exacerbated by the Great
Depression. The works staged within these programs addressed concerns related to labor, union
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organizing, and working conditions, and struggled to maintain an audience during the changing
economic conditions of the time. McAvoy’s research examines the confluence of education,
labor, amateur performance, and radicalism that took place at the Portland Labor College
(1922–25), Brookwood Labor College (1925–26), Ladies of Southern Labor Dramatics (1928–
36), Highlander Folk School (1934– 40), and Commonwealth Labor College (1932–39). Each
case study features biographies of prominent educators and actors working at these schools,
tracing their personal performance histories, political affiliations, and their impact on “labor
drama.” McAvoy defines labor drama as “a method for imagining and enacting emancipatory
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Rehearsing Revolutions also includes class plans, rehearsal images, references to specific labor
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Remain. By Ioana B. Jucan, Jussi Parikka, and Rebecca Schneider. Minneapolis: University of
Minnesota Press, 2019; 107 pp.; illustrations. $25.00 paper, e-book available.
Remain is an exciting pocket-sized volume that brings together essays by notable scholars
Jussi Parikka and Rebecca Schneider on the interdisciplinary fields of media archeology and
performance studies. Ioana B. Jucan’s introduction sets up the main essays by discussing major
texts of both scholars, emphasizing notions of deep time, the materiality of media, and “cultural
leftovers.” Jucan’s contribution includes a dense diagram outlining the conceptual terrain,
keywords, and “multiplicities” covered in the essays that follow. Parikka’s essay offers insights
into the ways that media theory can semantically speculate on the term “remain,” considering
material traces of media culture through discarded technical devices — cords, computers,
recorders, cameras, etc., and the various ways media is expressed through infrastructure.
Schneider’s expansive essay playfully explores the boundary of media to posit connections
between Roman gaming pieces carved from bone, Star Trek episodes, traces of paleolithic
gesture, physical interventions of Valie Export, and the human body. Remain is a particularly
salient volume for performance studies scholars as Schneider makes a controversial and
convincing argument that the body itself is a form of media.
— Allison Peacock
Allison Peacock is a choreographer and doctoral student in the Interdisciplinary Humanities program at
Concordia University in Montreal, Canada. allison.peacock@concordia.ca

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