A blog from Gale International
By Tom Henderson, Gale Ambassador at Durham University
In December 1929, British newspapers reported on ‘sporadic riots’ taking place in the British colony of Nigeria, targeting Warrant Chiefs and Native Courts across several districts. This was the Ogu Umunwaanyi or ‘Women’s War’: a coordinated insurrection of Igbo women against British colonial rule, ignited by a fear of taxation.
By Anna Sikora, Gale Ambassador at NUI Galway
In the recent movie To Walk Invisible (2016), a biopic depicting the lives of the famous Brontë sisters, Charlotte tells her sisters to publish their work under male pseudonyms. This, the oldest Brontë supposedly reasoned, was to prevent the publishers from judging the authors, and to invite them to judge the story instead. A certain degree of moral indignation prompted some of my students to take Charlotte’s statement as a cue to sweepingly proclaim that none of the Brontë sisters would have been published had they submitted as Anne, Emily and Charlotte. If this were true, said I (a woman), there would have been no literature by women in print until Ms Wolf entered the literary scene. Generalisations and hasty conclusions kill critical thinking, so let’s take a step back and read what was actually written about the early women writers publishing under their real names and literary aliases at the time their works hit the bookshop and library shelves.
By Daniel Mercieca, Gale Ambassador at Durham University
‘Since t’is the intent and business of the stage,
To copy out the follies of the age
To hold to every man a glass,
And show him of what species he’s an ass’.[1]
– John Vanbrugh
The sharp, epigrammatic wit of John Vanbrugh’s preface to The Provoked Wife (1697), reflects the theatricality of eighteenth-century audiences and exposes the wider hypocrisy of the ‘Public Sphere’[2]. After the Restoration of Charles II, the New Printing Act (1662) led to a watershed of publishing and print culture in Britain[3]; a society in which political sentiments and private identities bled into each other. The torrent of periodicals, pamphlets and magazines circulated gossip and popular opinion, cultivating a highly self-conscious and extravagant nation.
│By Julia de Mowbray, Publisher at Gale│
While reviewing the content recently loaded into the online archive The Stuart and Cumberland Papers from the Royal Archives Windsor Castle, one document caught my eye: a plan of a journey with daily stops for meals or a night’s rest. Descriptions of journeys and itineraries, plotting out where someone travelled at a particular time, especially from earlier centuries, can transport me back to that time – placing my feet on that road or piazza, in that carriage or train – to experience the same journey in my imagination.
By Tiria Barnes, Gale Ambassador at the University of Liverpool
On the 25th of March 1807, the British Parliament passed the Abolition of the Slave Trade Act which prohibited the carrying of slaves in British ships. While it is important to note that this did not outlaw slavery itself, which came about in 1833 as a result of the Emancipation Act, 1807 was a significant step in the right direction. Two hundred years later, the UK commemorated the bicentenary of the act, and attempted to reflect on the brutality of slavery [1]. Using Gale Primary Sources, I thought it would be interesting to study how this was reported in the media, taking note of the ways in which newspapers depicted the actions taken by the UK as part of the commemoration.
│ By Megan Murphy, Gale Ambassador at the University of Liverpool │
The hit BBC drama series Peaky Blinders – which is set in Birmingham and follows the lives of the Shelby brothers and their criminal gang the ‘Peaky Blinders’ – has captivated the minds and imagination (and – thanks to lead star Cillian Murphy – the hearts) of the British public. Given the recent fascination with Birmingham’s criminal underworld that the series has generated, I thought it would be interesting to use Gale Primary Sources to investigate the ‘real’ Peaky Blinders of late nineteenth-century Birmingham.
At Gale, we truly value your feedback, and are always looking to improve our resources in a way that saves time and increases productivity. In response to suggestions and continuous user testing, we are excited to announce that a number of enhancements have been made, providing increased functionality, easier access to our most-used tools, and more.
Por Paula Maher Martin, Gale Ambassador en la Universidad NUI Galway
Para leer esta publicación de blog en inglés, haga clic aquí.
Como “un miembro de la ‘Generación perdida’ o una encarnación de juventud y belleza (condenada a desvanecerse)”, así retrató a Francis Scott Fitzgerald el The Times Literary Supplement en 1958. Consolidado como una figura mítica a lo largo del siglo XX, su escritura se sobrepuso con su personaje y reverberó con espumoso champán y caricias de jazz: la dulce indolencia de los años 20. Su primera novela A este lado del paraíso, publicada en 1920, pronto se convirtió en un best-seller. De acuerdo a The Times, en 1921 Fitzgerald ya había vendido 75,000 copias de su opera prima.
By Paula Maher Martin, Gale Ambassador at NUI Galway
To read this blog in Spanish, click here
A member of the ‘Lost Generation’ or a personification of youth or beauty (doomed to fade), thus is Francis Scott Fitzgerald portrayed in The Times Literary Supplement in 1958. Consolidated as a figure of myth over the 20th century, his writing overlaps with his persona and reverberates with foaming champagne and jazz caresses, the sweet indolence of the 1920s. His first novel, This Side of Paradise, published in 1920, became an instant best-seller; according to The Times, Fitzgerald had already sold 75,000 copies of his opera prima by 1921.
by Rory Herbert
James Greenwood was an author of relative obscurity who came to fame abruptly following the publication of his serial A Night in the Workhouse in the 1860s by the Pall Mall Gazette. He soon found himself rising through the ranks of the Victorian social ladder and became one of the leading social commentators of his age. This revolutionary piece saw Greenwood experience the conditions of a workhouse firsthand in one of the first examples of investigative journalism. Yet, while his work was quickly adopted by social reformers and critics alike, it seems the author himself was somewhat less interested in the people he claimed to support and, instead, focused on appealing to a wider audience.