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This chapter argues that Eminem and Rihanna's 2009 “Love the Way You Lie” is a cultural artifact representing contemporary attitudes about domestic violence; thus, this chapter models a trauma-informed methodology for guiding students through analysis and discussion of these narratively violent texts. In so doing, instructors can help students recognize the discursive strategies through which stories about gender violence are constructed and examine what is at stake in telling and circulating these stories. The chapter begins by defining trauma-informed pedagogy and critical pedagogy, arguing that when used together in the classroom, they can promote empathy, self-advocacy, resistance, and resilience. The chapter then contextualizes the song and music video within the context of the #MeToo movement, encouraging instructors to validate the perception of students who experience allyship with Rihanna as a survivor. The chapter moves on to provide instructors with a model for guiding students both through semiotic analysis and close reading of the song's and video's narrative and visual discourses. This model pays attention to the lyric's reliance on the point of view of the unreliable narrator and pronoun shifts to interpellate listeners into the abuser's world view while also truncating the victim's testimony; this model also examines the content of the lyrics to identify gender violence mythologies constructed within both the abuser's and victim's narratives. Equipped with these insights, instructors can help students deconstruct the visual discourses of the video, which repeat the gender violence mythologies of the song lyrics.

This edited volume brings feminist theory, critical pedagogy, and trauma theory in conversation with one another in order to analyze how gender-based violence is being discussed in educational settings. Lines of inquiry include how and why this topic is being carried out, suggestions for the future, as well as recognition and respect for the emotional toll embedded within these important conversations. In the introduction to the volume, the editors lay the foundation for understanding how the genres and topics communicate with one another to contextualize learning as intellectual, emotional, reciprocal, and ever-changing.

Some time ago, a writer in these columns entered a plea for a series of reprints of notable books which had been allowed to drop entirely out of print, and certain lists of such works were printed. So far nothing seems to have come of this useful suggestion, and no publisher has had the enterprise to experiment with a few issues on the lines laid down. Instead, every British publisher is engaged in the old, old game of reprinting edition after edition of the same old classics, and venturing no further than the limits of this or that hundred “best books.” The result is that we find publishers tumbling over each other in their eagerness to produce editions of the same hackneyed classics, each slightly different from its fellow in some trifle of price, shape, size, binding or editorial annotation. The book‐shops are filled with these rival reprints, and gradually, because of a craze for over‐daintiness, their stocks are beginning to look more and more like those of the stationers who deal largely in pocket‐books and diaries. Dainty little editions of Shakespeare, Scott, Dickens, Bunyan, and similar chestnuts, abound in every variety of limp leather and gilt‐edged prettiness, and all of them are warranted to survive about half‐a‐dozen readings before their dainty beauty fades, and they are ready for the waste‐paper basket. The leading idea of most of the publishers of these delicate editions seems to be that books are no longer intended to be kept on shelves, but should be carried about like watches or toothpicks. Waistcoat‐pocket dictionaries, fountain‐pen‐pocket editions of “Don Quixote,” and breeches‐pocket editions of the London Directory are all the rage, and people are urged to buy this or that dainty classic with binding designed by Blank, R.A., not because it is a good serviceable edition of a great literary classic, but because it forms such a pretty ornament for the pocket. The sixpenny reprint has been done to death, and now the shilling and two‐shilling net edition of the book possessed by everybody is beginning to go the same way. The literature of England is one of its chief treasures, and we are never weary of boasting of its power, extent, and variety. And our leading publishers, to prove the truth of the boast, keep on multiplying the same limited selection of books in the same way, while hundreds, equally good, are neglected. It never seems to occur to the diligent publishers who issue their trumpery little editions of Shakespeare, printed on thin paper, bound in limp leather, and edited to death by some learned scholar, whose notes smother the original text, that the masterpieces of some other author would come as an absolute novelty, and be hailed as a relief from the never‐ending stock classic. Public Libraries and students of literature are compelled to buy at a great comparative cost such of the older, out‐of‐print hooks as they may desire to possess, while in many cases they are unable to Vol. IV. No. 44, February, 1902.

The institution of food and cookery exhibitions and the dissemination of practical knowledge with respect to cookery by means of lectures and demonstrations are excellent things in their way. But while it is important that better and more scientific attention should be generally given to the preparation of food for the table, it must be admitted to be at least equally important to insure that the food before it comes into the hands of the expert cook shall be free from adulteration, and as far as possible from impurity,—that it should be, in fact, of the quality expected. Protection up to a certain point and in certain directions is afforded to the consumer by penal enactments, and hitherto the general public have been disposed to believe that those enactments are in their nature and in their application such as to guarantee a fairly general supply of articles of tolerable quality. The adulteration laws, however, while absolutely necessary for the purpose of holding many forms of fraud in check, and particularly for keeping them within certain bounds, cannot afford any guarantees of superior, or even of good, quality. Except in rare instances, even those who control the supply of articles of food to large public and private establishments fail to take steps to assure themselves that the nature and quality of the goods supplied to them are what they are represented to be. The sophisticator and adulterator are always with us. The temptations to undersell and to misrepresent seem to be so strong that firms and individuals from whom far better things might reasonably be expected fall away from the right path with deplorable facility, and seek to save themselves, should they by chance be brought to book, by forms of quibbling and wriggling which are in themselves sufficient to show the moral rottenness which can be brought about by an insatiable lust for gain. There is, unfortunately, cheating to be met with at every turn, and it behoves at least those who control the purchase and the cooking of food on the large scale to do what they can to insure the supply to them of articles which have not been tampered with, and which are in all respects of proper quality, both by insisting on being furnished with sufficiently authoritative guarantees by the vendors, and by themselves causing the application of reasonably frequent scientific checks upon the quality of the goods.

JOHANN FROBEN, the famous printer of Basle, was born at Hammelburg, in Franconia, about the year 1460. The exact year of his birth is not definitely known, but 1460 is probably not far wrong, as we find him established at Basle as a printer in 1491. He was educated at Basle University, where he distinguished himself as a scholar, particularly in the Latin, Greek, and Hebrew languages. After finishing his studies at Basle, he turned his attention to the then new art of printing, and he showed such aptitude that Johann Amerbach, another well‐known printer of Basle, who had set up a press in that city in 1481, induced him to devote his energies to the art, and appointed him to a position in his own printing establishment. Froben thus had the advantage of learning the art of printing under one of the best known printers of the period. In 1491, Froben set up a press of his own in Basle, having become a naturalized citizen of that city the previous year. He had been used in Amerbach's establishment to print with gothic types, and it was, therefore, but natural that his first production should also be printed in that type. This was an octavo Latin Bible, with two columns to a page, printed in a very small gothic type. He afterwards introduced the type invented by Aldus, that known as italic, the first book to be printed with this type being the Adagia of Erasmus, issued in 1513, of which mention is made later. Froben was also instrumental in making the roman type more popular in Germany, as although roman type had been used by German printers for about 20 years, having been introduced by Mentelin at Strassburg, about the year 1470, it was not so much in favour as the gothic type.

THIS number of THE LIBRARY WORLD closes one of the most distinguished years in the history of libraries. The opening of the National Central Library by the King on November 7th was undoubtedly the most important public happening in this country, not only of that particular day, but for a very long period. For the first time the highest personage in the land gave his countenance and approval to the work of the public library through the National Central Library which is its natural crown. In describing the Library as “a university which all may join and which none may ever leave,” His Majesty added a memorable phrase to library literature, and gave a new impulse to library activity.

IN this number we make some commemoration of the twenty‐five years so happily achieved by the King‐Emperor. As our contributors show, the cardinal event of the whole of the Reign, so far as libraries were concerned, was the passing of the Public Libraries Act of 1919. The generations change rapidly, and there are few to‐day who remember acutely the penury and struggle which were involved in the fact that all public library expenditure had to be kept within “the limit of the penny rate.” It is possibly true that the average community has taken no very intelligent advantage of the breaking of its financial fetters; in no town in the British Empire can it be said that there is anything approaching generosity, let alone extravagance, towards libraries. Even in the greatest cities, where they have built fine buildings and opened them with much ceremony, the rate allocation for their maintenance is not nearly of the scale that finds acceptance, or did find acceptance, in the United States. That is because we are young people in an old country. The tradition dies hard that education is a luxury and that libraries, which in the eyes of many are only remotely related to education, are an even greater luxury. We heard it said recently that many local authorities regarded the libraries as a sort of joke, and delighted to cut down their expenditure upon them. This lugubrious way of opening our remarks upon the Jubilee is only by way of pointing out that to‐day, at any rate, we have the power to go ahead if we convince our authorities that it is desirable to do so.