The Limiting Imagination
of National Cinema
ANDREW HIGSON
In 1989, 1 published an essay about national-cinema in Screen (Higson 1989).1 Ten years
on, much of what I wrote still seems valid, but there are also some issues 1 would want
to reconsider. One of the problems with that 4ssay is that I was very much extrapolating
from my knowledge of just one national cinema (British cinema). As Stephen Crofts has
suggested, scholarly work on national cinema often operates from a very limited knowledge
of the immense diversity of world cinemas (Crofts 1993:60-1). In my case, there is undeniably
a danger that my essay transformed a historically specific Eurocentric, even Anglocentric
version of what a national cinema might be into an ideal category, a theory of national cinema
in the abstract that is assumed to be applicable in all contexts.
'When is a cinema "national"?', asks Susan Hayward (1993: 1). As if in answer, Crofts
delineates several different types of 'national' cinema that have emerged in different historical
circumstances (1993, 1998). They have performed quite distinct functions in relation to
the state. They have had very different relationships to Hollywood. Divergent claims have
been made for them. They adopt a range of formal and generic characteristics. They are
'national' cinemas in a variety of ways. Faced with such variety, a single, all-encompassing
grand theory may be less useful than more piecemeal historical investigations of specific
cinematic formations. How have specific national cinemas been defined as such, for
instance? How have they come to be understood as national cinemas, in what historical
circumstances? How have politicians, trade organisations, distributors, critics, historians,
journalists and audiences demarcated one national cinema from another? How has
a particular body of films or a particular economic infrastructure come to be seen as embody¬
ing a distinct national cinema? Which strands or traditions of cinema circulating within
a particular nation-state are recognised as legitimate aspects of the national cinema? How
have particular policies and practices been mobilised in the name of particular national
cinemas? /
While these are undoubtedly important questions, and while 1 have attempted to explore
some of them elsewhere, I do in fact want to deal with some of the more abstract and
theoretical issues here.2 First, I want to revisit the idea that the modern nation, in Benedict
Anderson's terms, is an imagined community (Anderson 1983). Second, 1 want to reconsider
the traditional idea of the 'national' as a self-contained and carefully demarcated experience.
In particular, 1 want to suggest that the concept of the 'transnational' may be a subtler
16 ANDREW H1GSON
means of describing cultural and economic formations that are rarely contained by national
boundaries. Third, I want to examine John Hill's argument that the concept of national cinema
is of vital importance at the level of state policy, particularly as a means of promoting cultural
diversity and attending to national specificity (Hill 1992, 1996). For better or worse, 1 will
again be drawing examples from the British context.
My intention overall is to question the usefulness of the concept of national cinema. It
is clearly a helpful taxonomic labelling device, a conventional means of reference in the
complex debates about cinema, but the process of labelling is always to some degree
tautologous, fetishising the national rather than merely describing it. It thus erects bound¬
aries between films produced in different nation-states although they may still have much
in common. It may therefore obscure the degree of cultural diversity, exchange and
interpenetration that marks so much cinematic activity.
The nation as imagined community
Following Anderson (1983), it is now conventional to define the nation as the mapping of
an imagined community with a secure and shared identity and sense of belonging, on to
a carefully demarcated geo-political space. The nation, from this perspective, is first forged
and then maintained as a bounded public sphere. That is to say, it is public debate that
gives the nation meaning, and media systems with a particular geographical reach that give
it shape. Those who inhabit nations with a strong sense of self-identity are encouraged
to imagine themselves as members of a coherent, organic community, rooted in the
geographical space, with well-established indigenous traditions. As David Morley and
Kevin Robins put it, 'the idea of the "nation". . . involve|s] people in a common sense of
identity and . . . work|s| as an inclusive symbol which provides "integration" and "meaning"'
(1990:6).
National identity is, in this sense, about the experience of belonging to such a community,
being steeped in its traditions, its rituals and its characteristic modes of discourse. This sense
of national identity is not of course dependent on actually living within the geo-political
space of the nation, as the emigre experience confirms. Thus some diasporic communities,
uprooted from the specific geo-political space of the nation or the homeland, still share a
common sense of belonging, despite - or even because of - their transnational dispersal.
On the one hand community, on the other, diaspora. On the one hand, modern nations
exist primarily as imagined communities. On the other, those communities actually consist
of highly fragmented and widely dispersed groups of people with as many differences
as similarities and with little in the sense of real physical contact with each other. If this is
the case, it follows that all nations are in some sense diasporic. They are thus forged in the
tension between unity and disunity, between home and homelessness. Nationhood thus
answers to ‘a felt need for a rooted, bounded, whole and authentic identity' (Morley and
Robins 1990: 19).
The public sphere of the nation and the discourses of patriotism are thus bound up in
a constant struggle to transform the facts of dispersal, variegation and homelessness into
the experience of rooted community. At times, the experience of an organic, coherent national
community, a meaningful national collectivity, will be overwhelming. At other times, the
experience of diaspora, dislocation and de-centredness will prevail. It is in times such
THE LIMITING IMAGINATION OF NATIONAL CINEMA 17
as these that other allegiances, other senses of belonging besides the national will be more
strongly felt.
It is widely assumed that the rituals of mass communication play a central role in re¬
imagining the dispersed and incoherent populace as a tight-knit, value-sharing collectivity,
sustaining the experience of nationhood. But is that collectivity necessarily national?
Consider three prominent media experiences that might be seen at one level as enabling
the British to imagine themselves as a distinctive national community. First, consider the
funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales, which of course became a major media event in which
millions participated. Second, consider the consistent ratings success of long-running, home¬
grown, British-based soap operas depicting everyday inner-city life. Programmes such
as Coronation Street and EastEnders are of course routinely transmitted on a nationwide basis
by British broadcasters with at least some sense of a public service remit. Third, consider
the immense success at the box-office and subsequently on video and the small screen of
a handful of 'typically British’ films of the 1990s, among them Four Weddings and a Funeral
(1994), The Full Monty (1997) and Shakespeare in Love (1998), all of them British-produced and
British-set. Each of these media events has had repercussions far greater than mere viewing
figures suggest, given their wide discussion in print, on television, on the Internet and through
word-of-mouth. 9
But are these media events best understood as national phenomena? For a start, there
are always dissenters. Some Britons did not mourn Diana's death or participate in the
media event of her funeral. Some Britons don't watch soaps, go to the cinema, or take any
interest in popular culture. Nor do they recognise themselves in films like Four Weddings or The
Full Monty, or feel interpellated by the invitation through such texts or viewing experiences
to share in a collective sense of national identity. Second, the audiences for all three cited
events were by no means simply national. To talk about these events as global phenomena
would surely be an overstatement, but they undoubtedly were, and in some cases continue
to be, considerable transnational experiences. Third, there is of course no guarantee that
all audiences will make sense of these experiences in the same way, since audiences will
translate each experience into their own cultural/rames of reference, using them in different
contexts and for different ends.
Fourth, the 'national' audience for a film like The Full Monty also 'gathers' to watch nonindigenous
films, especially Flollywood films. On the one hand, their coming together for a
Hollywood film surely underlines the transnational experience of the 'imagined community',
rather than a solely national experience. On the other hand, it is clear that American films
play a strong role in the construction of cultural identity in the UK. Fifth, the community that
we might imagine 'gathered' around, say, the exhibition and dissemination of The Full Monty
is always a fortuitous, contingent, abstract amalgam of dispersed and specific audiences or
cultural subjects that have come together for a very specific event. At the end of this particular
experience or event, the imagined community disperses again, while other communities
reassemble quite differently for other relatively fleeting experiences. Such communities are
rarely self-sufficient, stable or unified. They are much more likely to be contingent, complex,
in part fragmented, in part overlapping with other senses of identity and belonging that
have more to do with generation, gender, sexuality, class, ethnicity, politics or style than with
nationality. The sense of community, of shared experiences and common identities that
was mobilised around the death of'Diana, for instance, was clearly mobilised beyond the
boundaries of the nation. National identity did not always or necessarily come into it.
18 ANDREW HIGSON
Thus in some quarters, the popular groundswell of empathy registered as feminism or sisterliness;
in other quarters, or even at the same time, it took the shape of anti-authoritarian and
especially republican principles.
The 'imagined community' argument, in my own work as much as anywhere else, is not
always sympathetic to what we might call the contingency or instability of the national. This
is precisely because the nationalist project, in Anderson’s terms, imagines the nation
as limited, with finite and meaningful boundaries. The problem is that, when describing a
national cinema, there is a tendency to focus only on those films that narrate the nation
as just this finite, limited space, inhabited by a tightly coherent and unified community,
closed off to other identities besides national identity. Or rather, the focus is on films that
seem amenable to such an interpretation. The 'imagined community' argument thus some¬
times seems unable to acknowledge the cultural difference and diversity that invariably
marks both the inhabitants of a particular nation-state and the members of more geo¬
graphically dispersed ‘national’ communities. In this sense, as with more conservative
versions of the nationalist project, the experience and acceptance of diversity is closed
off. This seems particularly unfortunate as modern communication networks operate on an
increasingly transnational basis and cultural commodities are widely exchanged across
national borders.
The media are vital to the argument that modern nations are imagined communities. But
contemporary media activity is also clearly one of the main ways in which transnational
cultural connections are established. Hollywood of course is one of the longest standing
and best organised media institutions with a transnational reach capable of penetrating
even the most heavily policed national spaces. Should this fact be celebrated or bemoaned?
As Hollywood films travel effortlessly across national borders, they may displace the sort of
'indigenous’ films that might promote and maintain specific national identities. On the other
hand, the entry of 'foreign' films into a restricted national market may be a powerful means
of celebrating cultural diversity, transnational experiences and multinational identities.
Certain British films may have been identified as projecting a core sense of national identity
- the consensus films made at Ealing Studios and elsewhere in the latter half of the Second
World War, for instance - but it is equally possible to identify 'British' films that seem to
embrace the transnational or even quite self-consciously to dissolve rather than to sustain
the concept of the nation.3
Nationalism and transnationalism
In The Concept of National Cinema' (Higson 1989), I suggested that national cinemas were
the product of a tension between 'home' and 'away', between the identification of the homely
and the assumption that it is quite distinct from what happens elsewhere. In this sense, there
are two central conceptual means of identifying the imaginary coherence or specificity of a
national cinema. On the one hand, a national cinema seems to look inward, reflecting on the
nation itself, on its past, present and future, its cultural heritage, its indigenous traditions,
its sense of common identity and continuity. On the other hand, a national cinema seems to
look out across its borders, asserting its difference from other national cinemas, proclaiming
its sense of otherness.
The problem with this formulation is that it tends to assume that national identity and
tradition are already fully formed and fixed in place. It also tends to take borders for granted
THE LIMITING IMAGINATION OF NATIONAL CINEMA 19
and to assume that those borders are effective in containing political and economic
developments, cultural practice and identity. In fact of course, borders are always leaky and
there is a considerable degree of movement across them (even in the most authoritarian
states). It is in this migration, this border crossing, that the transnational emerges. Seen in
this light, it is difficult to see the indigenous as either pure or stable. On the contrary, the
degree of cultural cross-breeding and interpenetration, not only across borders but also
within them, suggests that modern cultural formations are invariably hybrid and impure.
They constantly mix together different 'indigeneities' and are thus always re-fashioning
themselves, as opposed to exhibiting an already fully formed identity.
The cinemas established in specific natibn-states are rarely autonomous cultural
industries and the film business has long operated on a regional, national and transnational
basis. The experience of border crossing takes place at two broad levels. First there is the
level of production and the activities of film-makers. Since at least the 1920s, films have been
made as co-productions, bringing together resources and experience from different nation¬
states. For even longer, film-makers have been itinerant, moving from one production base
to another, whether temporarily or on a more permanent basis. When a German director like
E.A. Dupont is based in England, and makes an Anglo-German co-production simultaneously
in English and German (Atlantic, 1929), can it usefully be called a British film?4 When a British
director like Alan Parker makes a Hollywood film about an Argentinean legend (Evita, 1996),
to which nation should the film be attributed? When a British director teams up with an
American producer, a multinational cast and crew, and American capital, to adapt a novel
about the contingency of identity by a Sri Lankan-born Canadian resident (The English Patient,
1996), can its identity be called anything other than transnational?
The second way in which cinema operates on a transnational basis is in terms of the
distribution and reception of films. On the one hand, many films are distributed far
more widely than simply within their country of production. Occasionally, even the small,
'home-grown', indigenous film can become an.international box-office phenomenon given
the right backing and promotional push. On the other hand, when films do travel, there is
no certainty that audiences will receive them in the same way in different cultural contexts.
Some films of course are physically altered for different export markets, whether in terms of
subtitling, dubbing, re-editing or censorship. But even where they are not altered, audiences
can still take them up in novel ways.
The debates about national cinema need to take greater account of the diversity of
reception, the recognition that the meanings an audience reads into a film are heavily
dependent on the cultural context in which they watch it. The movement of films across
borders may introduce exotic elements to the 'indigenous’ culture. One response to this
is an anxious concern about the effects of cultural imperialism, a concern that the local cul¬
ture will be infected, even destroyed by the foreign invader. A contrary response is that
the introduction of exotic elements may well have a liberating or democratising effect on the
local culture, expanding the cultural repertoire. A third possibility is that the foreign
commodity will not be treated as exotic by the local audience, but will be interpreted
according to an 'indigenous' frame of reference; that is, it will be metaphorically translated
into a local idiom.5
20 ANDREW HIGSON
Cultural diversity and national specificity: a matter
of policy
One of the ways in which the nation talks to itself, and indeed seeks to differentiate itself from
others, is in terms of state policy. The fear of cultural and economic imperialism has of course
had a major impact on state policy in a great many different nations. Consequently, if the
concept of national cinema is considered troublesome at the level of theoretical debate, it
is still a considerable force at the level of state policy. One of the problems with legislating
for a strong and healthy national cinema untroubled by foreign interlopers is that national
legislation can rarely have more than a cosmetic effect on what is really a problem of the
international capitalist economy. One of the solutions is that even governments occasionally
operate on a transnational basis, notably in terms of the pan-European media funding
infrastructure established under the auspices of the European Union and the Council of
Europe.
Even so, there is no denying that at the level of policy, the concept of national cinema still
has some meaning, as governments continue to develop defensive strategies designed to
protect and promote both the local cultural formation and the local economy. Such
developments have traditionally assumed that a strong national cinema can offer coherent
images of the nation, sustaining the nation at an ideological level, exploring and celebrating
what is understood to be the indigenous culture. Of equal importance today is the role
that cinema is felt able to play in terms of promoting the nation as a tourist destination,
to the benefit of the tourism and service industries. Also at the economic level, govern¬
ments may legislate to protect and promote the development of the local media industries.
They may encourage long-term investment (often from overseas). They may create the
conditions that might generate significant export revenue. And they may seek to maintain
an appropriately skilled domestic workforce in full employment.
To promote films in terms of their national identity is also to secure a prominent collective
profile for them in both the domestic and the international marketplace, a means of selling
those films by giving them a distinctive brand name. In this respect, it is worth noting how
national labels become crucial at prestigious prize-giving ceremonies, such as the Oscars,
for the kudos that can spill over from successful films on to their assumed national base.
Note for instance the way in which the British press celebrated the success of films like Chariots
of Fire (1981), The English Patient and Shakespeare in Love as British films, even though they all
depended on significant amounts of foreign investment.
Given that the nation-state remains a vital and powerful legal mechanism, and given
the ongoing development of national media policies, it remains important to conduct debate
at that level and in those terms. It would be foolish in this context to attempt to do away
altogether with the concept of national cinema. Yet it is important to ask to what precisely
the concept refers, what sorts of cultural developments it can embrace and what it makes
difficult. The implication of what 1 have argued so far is that the concept of national cinema
is hardly able to do justice either to the internal diversity of contemporary cultural formations
or to the overlaps and interpenetrations between different formations. This is surely true
if we define a national cinema as one that imagines, or enables its audiences to imagine, a
closed and coherent community with an already fully formed and fixed indigenous tradition.
Ironically, it is very often the case that a government that legislates for a national cinema, or
a pressure group that lobbies for such legislation, is in fact advancing an argument for cultural
THE LIMITING IMAGINATION OF NATIONAL CINEMA 21
diversity. Those western European nations, for instance, that have erected defensive
mechanisms in their own marketplace and economy against an apparently imperialist
Hollywood have almost invariably done so as a means of promoting a film culture and a body
of representations other than those that Hollywood can offer.
Given the extent to which state media policy is still overwhelmingly defined in nationalist
terms, it may then make sense to continue to argue for a national cinema precisely as a means
of promoting cultural difference. A government-supported national cinema may be one of
the few means by which a film culture not dominated entirely by Hollywood can still exist.
This is an argument that )ohn Hill has developed, with specific reference to British cinema.
He suggests that the case for a national cinema is best made in terms of 'the value of home¬
grown cinema to the cultural life of a nation and, hence, the importance of supporting
indigenous film-making in an international market dominated by Hollywood’ (Hill 1992: 11).
Such a statement of course begs the question of what exactly the value of that home-grown
cinema is. This is particularly pressing in the light of the argument that the presence and
popularity of Hollywood films in Britain is in itself a means of ensuring a populist diversity
within British culture, a valuable means of broadening the British cultural repertoire.
Hill however is dismissive of the claim that the presence of Hollywood films within British
culture should be seen as a potential democratisgtion of that culture. He argues that national
cinemas have a much greater potential to act as forces for diversity and for the re-fashioning
of the national cultural formation. 'It is quite possible to conceive of a national cinema', he
writes, ‘which is none the less critical of inherited notions of national identity, which does
not assume the existence of a unique, unchanging "national culture", and which is capable
of dealing with social divisions and differences' (Hill 1992: 16). In other words, to question
tradition and to embrace cultural difference is not necessarily to reject altogether the idea of
a national cinema that can speak eloquently to a multicultural audience. On the contrary,
Hill argues, it is important that a national cinema is maintained in Britain, one that is
'capable of registering the lived complexities of British "national" life' (Hill 1996: 111). Hill
suggests that this was precisely the national cinema that Britain enjoyed in the 1980s, when
'the "Britishness" of British cinema . . . was neither unitary nor agreed but depended upon
a growing sense of the multiple national, regional and ethnic identifications which
characterised life in Britain in this period' (Hill 1999: 244).
Is this a sufficient reason for persevering with the concept of national cinema? In fact,
it seems to me that Hill is arguing less for a national cinema than for what might be called
a critical (and implicitly left-wing) cinema, a radical cinema, or as he puts it, a cinema
'characterised by questioning and inquiry’ (Hill 1992: 17). His concern is to ensure that the
range of cultural representations available to audiences is not restricted by the operations
of the marketplace. In this respect, as he puts it, 'The case for a national cinema . . . may be
seen as part of a broader case for a more varied and representative range of film and media
output than the current political economy of the communications industries allows' (Hill
1992: 18). >
There are two problems with formulating a defence of national cinema in these terms.
First, in order to promote a cinema characterised by questioning and inquiry is it necessary
to do so on national grounds? A critical cinema surely need not be nationally based in its
funding, its textual concerns or its reception. Likewise, cultural diversity within a national filmculture
may just as easily be achieved through encouraging a range of imports as by ensuring
that home-grown films are produced. Second, the British films of the 1980s that Hill favours
*
22 ANDREW HIGSON
are by no means the full range of British-made films produced in that decade, but those
whose radical subject-matter and critical approach appeal to his own ideological preferences.
Most histories of national cinema have of course been written in this way. Canons of critically
favoured home-grown films are created to the neglect of other films circulating within the
film culture, whether home-grown or imported. The formation of such canons also tends
to overlook the relative popularity of the canonical films with 'national' audiences. As far
as Hill is concerned, 'the most interesting type of British cinema, and the one which is most
worthy of support' does not 'exemplify . . . the virtues and values of Britain'. Instead, what
he calls for is ‘the provision of diverse and challenging representations adequate to the
complexities of contemporary Britain'(Hill 1992: 18-19).
What sort of cinema does this imply? It seems to me that it is really a call fora very specific
type of film.- social dramas set in contemporary Britain, attending to the specificities of
multiculturalism and employing a more or less realist mode of representation. It is thus
hardly surprising that Hill's book on British cinema in the 1980s presents the British costume
dramas and heritage films of the period as of less relevance than the films of Ken Loach, Stephen
Frears and Isaac Julien. It is not necessarily the case, however, that audiences will find more
relevance in contemporary dramas than in period films. Nor is it the case that only Britishmade
or British-set films can address matters of importance or value to audiences in
Britain. After all, questions of gender, sexuality and ethnicity, for instance, can be addressed
in very poignant ways in displaced or exotic settings, whether the displacement is in terms
of period or geography. In this sense, films by a Spike Lee, a Jane Campion or an Emir
Kusturica can make what Hill describes as 'a valuable contribution to British cultural life'
(Hill 1992: 17). The case for supporting a home-grown cinema, it seems to me, is thus
weakened rather than strengthened by Hill's call for a critical cinema that promotes cultural
diversity.
Given his emphasis on national specificity, there is even a sense in which Hill's argument
depends on a rather enclosed sense of the national, in which borders between nations are
fully capable of restricting transnational flow. He does of course argue that films made in
a particular nation-state need not necessarily invoke homogenising national myths and
may precisely be sensitive to social and cultural differences and to the plurality of identities
within that state. He seems less sensitive to the hybrid or the transnational, however. Central
to his argument is the distinction between a cinema that indulges in homogenising national
myths and one that ‘works with or addresses nationally specific materials' (Hill 1992: 16). it
is a distinction he draws from the work of Paul Willemen, who argues that a nationally specific
cultural formation need not necessarily be characterised by a preoccupation with national
identity (Willemen 1994). As Willemen points out, the discourses of nationalism will always
try to repress the complexities of and internal differences within a nationally specific cultural
formation. But he also argues that a cinema that attempts to engage with the nationally
specific need not be a nationalist cinema.
The terms in which Hill and Willemen make this distinction seem to me confusing and
therefore problematic because they persist in using the concept of the national. Willemen
is of course right to insist that 'national boundaries have a significant structuring impact on
. . . socio-cultural formations' (Willemen 1994: 210). We cannot therefore simply dismiss
the category of the nation altogether, but nor should we assume that cultural specificity
is best understood and addressed in national terms. To persist, as Hill does, in referring to a
nationally specific cinema that deals with 'national preoccupations’ (Hill 1992: 11) within
THE LIMITING IMAGINATION OF NATIONAL CINEMA 23
an identifiably and specifically British context' (Hill 1992: 16) seems once more to take
national identity, and specifically Britishness, for granted. It seems to gloss over too many
other questions of community, culture, belonging and identity that are often either defiantly
local or loosely transnational. Concepts like 'national life' and 'national culture' thus seem
destined to imply a homogenising and enclosing tendency.
Conclusion
I stated at the outset of this chapter that I wanted to question the usefulness of the concept
of national cinema. It would be impossible - and certainly unwise - to ignore the concept
altogether: it is far too deeply ingrained in critical and historical debate about the cinema,
for a start. Even so, as Crofts has argued, it is important to question 'the ongoing critical
tendency to hypostatize the "national'' of national cinema' (1993: 61). The questions 1 have
posed above suggest that it is inappropriate to assume that cinema and film culture are
bound by the limits of the nation-state. The complexities of the international film industry
and the transnational movements of finance capital, film-makers and films should put
paid to that assumption. Should policy then be developed to ensure that cinema can operate
at a national level? On the basis of the British experience, 1 have suggested that to make
assumptions about national specificity is to beg too many questions. In other political
circumstances, however, it may be that lobbying or legislating for a national cinema will
usefully advance the struggle of a community for cultural, political and economic self¬
definition. As Crofts points out, in some contexts it may be necessary to challenge the
homogenising myths of national cinema discourse; in others, it may be necessary to support
them (1993: 62).
Are the limits of the national the most productive way of framing arguments about cultural
diversity and cultural specificity? It is certainly valid to argue for a film culture that accom¬
modates diverse identities, images and traditions, and it is undoubtedly important
to promote films that deal with the culturally specific. But it doesn't seem useful to me to
think through cultural diversity and cultural specificity in solely national terms: to argue for
a national cinema is not necessarily the best way to achieve either cultural diversity or cultural
specificity. In any case, the contingent communities that cinema imagines are much more
likely to be either local or transnational than national.
Notes
1 This was an early version of material subsequently revised in Higson 1995, in which 1
explore some of the ways in which British cinema has been constructed as a specifically
national cinema. See al^o three other papers in which I discuss the concept of national
cinema: Higson 1997, 2000a and 2000b.
2 I look at some of the ways in which British cinema has been constructed as a national
cinema in Higson 1995 and 2001; Higson and Maltby 1999 look at the development of a
pan-European, transnational cinema in the 1920s and 1930s.
3 For a more detailed version of this argument, see Higson 2000b.
4 For a discussion of Dupont's career in Britain in the late 1920s, see Higson 1999.
24 ANDREW HIGSON
5 For enlightening discussions of this process of cultural translation, see Bergfelder 1999a
and 1999b.
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