Professional Documents
Culture Documents
AMANDA HOLMES
Abstract
Julio Cortázar and Ilse Aichinger’s short stories question the significance of home in
two postwar cities – Buenos Aires and Vienna – by using the concept of the unheimlich
or the unhomely to evoke uneasy private settings. This essay considers the ambiguous
liminal spaces in the texts through a study of the respective urban architectural contexts,
an interpretation of the relationships between personhood and home, and finally through
an analysis of the multiple border crossings in the stories.
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
In his short story “Casa tomada,” Julio Cortázar creates what Anthony
Vidler calls an “unhomely house” – a house that prevents the dweller
from experiencing the comfort and shelter that a home should other-
wise offer. Characters feel ill-at-ease inside these houses, fleeing them
to escape the disquieting inner environments as the once cosy spaces
become unhomely. Cortázar’s urban home loses all signs of safety as
the siblings leave its confines to escape the invading Other. The
dichotomy of heimlich and un-heimlich converges in this residence
through the incursion of an exterior force onto the interior.
As the Other in “Casa tomada” enters the house, the brother and
sister progressively close off those sections that have been appropri-
ated. Finally the occupants find themselves in the middle of the night
without access to the kitchen or the bathroom, they hurriedly abandon
their home and, once safely outside, discard the key. The Argentinean
Cortázar (1914–1984), most renowned for his novel Rayuela [Hopscotch]
(1963), important for its experimental narrative structure that encourages
the reader to jump around in the book, has enjoyed extensive debate con-
cerning “Casa tomada,” his first published short story.1 Some of the most
prominent analyses of this story by literary scholars see the experience
of Cortázar’s characters as similar to that of Adam and Eve in the Garden
of Eden (Alazraki 1983), a baby in the mother’s womb (Andreu 1968),
excrement in the intestines of the body (Ramond 1985), or the bour-
geois elite in Peronist Argentina (Concha 1975). I will examine “Casa
allow for an inexplicable intrusion of the urban space into the private
lives of the characters.
Theoretically, walls are created for protection from the elements and
the exclusion of strangers, producing ambiguous feelings of both security
and fear. Peter Marcuse claims that “walls today represent power, but
they also represent isolation; security, but at the same time fear.” This
dual symbolism rests in the function of walls as dividers between victim
and oppressor:
Boundary walls have come to reflect one of the chief characteristics of our historical expe-
rience: that those who oppress are themselves limited by their oppression, those that
[sic] imprison are themselves imprisoned, that power dehumanizes those that [sic] exercise
it as well as those against whom it is exercised. [. . .] We accept walls that divide people
and rigidify the relations among them as inevitable. They pervade our cities, they are
visible (or block our sight) wherever we look, they symbolize status, rank, and power
(or its lack), they are taken for granted and accepted as desirable, in one form or another,
by everyone. (104)
that seems odd in the case of Buenos Aires. Cortázar’s narrator appears
excessively distanced from his immediate habitat, focusing more on
what is happening across the Atlantic Ocean, bemoaning the fact
that the war has curtailed his ability to stay up-to-date on literary
happenings. The narrator apparently sees no value in literature other
than that produced in France, but also only notices his immediate
political surroundings in its relation to his residence. He worries that
his European-style urban mansion will be demolished, and feels uneasy
living in the front of the house, in a space the size of an apartment like
“los que se edifican ahora, apenas para moverse” [the ones they build
now, with hardly enough space to move] (12). For Cortázar’s narrator,
the good literature comes from Europe as do the showy homes, but he
is unwilling to accept the new urban architectural structure of the apart-
ment, which incidentally also comes from Europe. His understanding
of Europe ends with the beginning of the war or even before, with a
time when urban mansions were still a part of European urban reality.
In both stories, the relationship between the buildings, the charac-
ters and World War II demonstrates the narrators’ attitudes towards
modernity. A broken elevator for Aichinger’s narrator points to the
paralysis of postwar Vienna;4 Cortázar’s narrator is stuck in the past,
in a nostalgia for Europe and its literary classics, undesirous of moder-
nity. The characters all seem incapacitated. Aichinger’s narrator feels she
cannot even mention the strange movement of the apartment, and she
tells nobody.5 The same is true of the neighbors, who do not discuss
the unusual situation, and the narrator attempts to adapt to the movement
of the apartment as readily as possible. The brother and sister in Buenos
Aires are not surprised by the noises behind the oak door of their house.
They seem to have an implicit understanding of what or who has invaded
the home, but the reader is never complicit in this knowledge. The
siblings act alone in their attempts to protect themselves and save their
house from the intrusion. These attitudes of silence and self-protection
vis-à-vis a persistent oppressor are fundamental to both stories.
However, the characters embrace different methods for self-preser-
vation: Aichinger’s narrator chooses to remain entirely passive and does
not consider vacating her apartment; the Cortázar couple actively close
off portions of their home and finally leave the space. The narrator of
“Wo ich wohne” is trapped, whereas in “Casa tomada” the brother and
sister manage to escape. Indeed, Aichinger’s narrator is surrounded by
an identical personal space on each level of her descent: at every level
she still hears the student breathing on the other side of the wall and
her apartment walls and furnishings never change; even the bread remains
where she has left it before returning home. The narrator is encom-
passed by her space, surrounded by her furniture, but incapable of
preventing the apartment as a whole from moving. Analogous to the
Residential Unhomes 251
While in “Wo ich wohne” the socio-political web around the story points
to the feeling of entrapment in postwar Vienna, in “Casa tomada” the
connection between the fictional architecture of the home and that of
Residential Unhomes 253
the real Buenos Aires of the time-period, as well as the location of the
home in the city create a caricature of the contemporary urban polit-
ical scene. The authority that controls the siblings supernaturally haunts
their private space, scaring away the unproductive urban elite. As this
scenario parodies a Peronist Buenos Aires, it also underscores Latin
American debates concerning the role of Europe in post-colonial space.14
The colonists of this story develop from the nineteenth-century col-
onization of European ideas from Italy, Germany, Britain and primarily
France. Following interpretations of regionalist literature of the first
half of the twentieth century, it is tempting to characterize this dichotomy
of oppressor and oppresssed as one between populist and cosmopolitan,
or even using the classical binary of civilization and barbarity.15 Each
of these binaries too narrowly defines the two entities of inhabitants
and intruding Other. Rather, the attachment of Cortázar’s strange siblings
to France and Brussels signals their outdated, indeed, colonialist attitude
towards their immediate surroundings of Buenos Aires.
In this context, Cortázar’s short story both revives the globally appre-
ciated uncanny tale of haunting and reflects political realities of Argentina
during this time period. As part of the production of Boom literature,
Cortázar’s tale rejects colonial domination of Latin American space,
but also critiques what has become of Buenos Aires without the European
influence. Cortázar bases the oppression in his fictional story on one
that is grounded in the real text of the postcolonial city. As in “Wo ich
wohne,” the cultural echoes of the surrounding city stand out as principal
features for the interpretation of the story. Each of the three references
to Buenos Aires in Cortázar’s text – trips to the downtown bookstores,
the name of the street where they live, and the description of the city dust
– opens up a series of connotations.
Uninterested in validations of Latin American culture and society,
the narrator explicitly looks to Europe for cultural experience: his
Saturday excursions downtown which involve seeking out the latest
French novel, characterize the narrator as fostering an intellectual detach-
ment from Buenos Aires. Indeed, his disappointment that nothing of
importance has reached Argentina since 1939 (11) forces him to reread
the French books in his library. As the Other enters the house, it moves
in from the back – “la parte más retirada” (12) – the part of the house
that contains the library of French books.
This library side of the house also faces a named street, Rodríguez
Peña, associating the intrusion with an explicit location in Buenos Aires:
downtown, close to the governmental buildings, in a central location
for involvement in city activity. In addition, the name signals a histor-
ical text: Rodríguez Peña was an influential organizer for Argentinean
independence.16 The named street runs behind the house, as if the building
sought to conceal its actual location, for the reader never discovers the
254 Amanda Holmes
name of the street that would give the house its official address. The
invading Other moves from the back to the front of the house, or from
the section that locates the story in the “real” Buenos Aires outside of
the text to the part that remains anonymous and must be imagined without
any “real” referent. Buenos Aires intrudes into the siblings’ Europeanized
haven.
One of the only reasons the siblings have to venture into the back
of the house is to do the cleaning, and it is through this household chore
that the city of Buenos Aires impacts their hermetic lives. Indeed, the
narrator explains that:
casi nunca íbamos más allá de la puerta de roble, salvo para hacer la limpieza, pues es
increíble cómo se junta tierra en los muebles. Buenos Aires será una ciudad limpia, pero
eso lo debe a sus habitantes y no a otra cosa. Hay demasiada tierra en el aire, apenas
sopla una ráfaga se palpa el polvo en los mármoles de las consolas y entre los rombos
de las carpetas de macramé; da trabajo sacarlo bien con plumero, vuela y se suspende
en el aire, un momento después se deposita de nuevo en los muebles y los pianos.
(12–13)
[we would almost never go beyond the oak door, except to do the cleaning, it is just
incredible how much dust collects on the furniture. Buenos Aires might be a clean city,
but that’s because of its inhabitants and nothing else. There’s too much dust in the air,
with just a small puff of wind the dust collects in the marble surfaces of the console
tables and between the diamonds of the macramé table covers; it’s a lot of work to get
rid of it all with the duster, it flies and suspends itself in the air, a moment later it settles
down again on the furniture and the pianos.]
Along with the irony inherent in the focus on the dusty air of “Buenos
Aires” (literally “good air”), this passage shows the narrator’s defini-
tion of the city to consist of the space independent of its inhabitants:
“Buenos Aires será una ciudad limpia, pero eso lo debe a sus habi-
tantes y no a otra cosa” [Buenos Aires might be a clean city, but that’s
because of its inhabitants and nothing else] (13). Here the “city” is
separate from the people who reside there. The inhabitants can do only
so much to maintain a clean city, according to the narrator, but in essence
Buenos Aires is a dirty place. Although the siblings clean regularly,
they are forced to accept the dust’s penetration into their home, as they
are forced later to accept the incursion of the Other.
Cortázar’s “Casa tomada” explores the modern city in conflict with
a city that rested on the past of another space: Europe. Although moder-
nity in architecture meant a return to Hispanic architectural styles as well
as indigenous ones – styles that had developed in the Americas during
the colonial past –, it also meant a break from French, Italian, German
and British architectural models. Architects in mid-century Buenos Aires
finally looked for methods to create a modern American city, rather
than a modern European one. Cortázar’s story responds to this attempt.
European traces no longer belong in Buenos Aires, although Cortázar’s
Residential Unhomes 255
haunting Other, the bullies that force out the old elite, hardly form an
appropriate political alternative. Cortázar parodies both old and new
Buenos Aires, suggesting skeptically that neither political control holds
the key to modernity.
writing are voiced also by the narrator of her story. The narrator’s terror
of voicing words and communicating through spoken language, her
extreme introversion and fear of the wrath of others cause her to keep
her thoughts inside herself. She entices the reader into the narrative
with her whispered confession: “Ich will es nicht laut sagen, aber ich
wohne tiefer” [I don’t want to say it out loud, but I live lower] (55).
As she confides in the reader, she exposes her desire to be heard. The
narrator finds a need to transfer her thoughts in an act of communica-
tion that is also silent: the written word.
The narrator feels so connected to her apartment that she feels its
movement marks her as physically unusual, and that people can notice
this strange domestic experience on her person: “In der Straßenbahn über-
rascht es mich, daß der Schaffner mich behandelt wie die übrigen
Fahrgäste und niemand von mir abrückt” [In the tram I am surprised
that the conductor treats me like the other riders and no one moves
away from me] (58). Even inside her building, the narrator physically
reacts to the space. Her exhaustion after climbing three flights of stairs
signals to her that she already must have climbed the four flights to
her apartment: “Gewöhnlich überfällt mich im dritten Stock eine Art
von Erschöpfung, die manchmal so weit führt, daß ich denke, ich müßte
schon vier Treppen gegangen sein” [Regularly on the third floor I am
overcome with a kind of exhaustion that sometimes goes so far that
I think I must have already climbed the four flights of stairs] (55).
Her physical interaction with the building helps her recognize her own
apartment, and the first move down one floor seems almost in response
to a wish that she expresses: she wishes she were already home – “Ich
wollte, ich wäre schon hier!” (55). To her dismay, this fairy-tale wish
comes true, and her apartment is indeed now on the third floor of the
building.
The wish-come-true scenario and the narrator’s decision to lie down
and rest from her exhausting climb up the stairs lead to the possible inter-
pretation of the text as merely an hallucination. However, the layers of
imagination surpass the prescriptions of a simple frame story. The narrator
imagines confrontational retorts by her neighbors as well as humili-
ating dialogues with her landlord and cleaning lady in her fancied struggle
to appeal the relocation of her apartment. Her imagined interactions
with others reveal her perception of the city as a judgemental, unsym-
pathetic, unreliable space. The home to which she clings surpasses her
control, as she is left in her apartment wondering how she will fare in
further movements down to the depths of the earth. Lacking personal
dominion over her living space, she does not have the ability to control
her own movement from one home to the other. Rather the space controls
her, moves her, and forces her to live where it prescribes. She remains
trapped.
Residential Unhomes 257
The added emphasis in “Wo ich wohne” on one specific event – the
descent of the apartment – demonstrates the uneasiness that the situa-
tion causes in the narrator’s mind and the un-homeliness of her own
space. The concentration on one unusual object or event to emphasize
the feeling of the uncanny is a technique used frequently by Aichinger
in her stories, including “Mein grüner Esel” [My Green Donkey] and
“Die Puppe” [The Doll] among others. In these stories, Aichinger
creates situations which question the sense of ownership that inhabi-
tants feel towards their environments. The narrator of “Mein grüner
Esel” seeks ownership of an animal – a green donkey – that likely does
not exist. The need for attachment is juxtaposed in each instance
with the rejection and oppression of the city. In later stories, Aichinger
focuses on specific architectural features, such as a balcony in “Zweifel
an Balkonen” [Doubts about Balconies] or a crossbeam in “Der
Querbalken,” to evoke this contradictory attitude towards urban space.
Like many of Aichinger’s later prose texts, “Zweifel an Balkonen”
(1972) has no recountable storyline. Here Aichinger avoids traditional
narrative techniques that focus on relationships between characters, and
chooses the balcony as the focus for a discussion on homelands. She
writes with linguistic associations, not with relationships, bypassing
words such as “during” and “because.”17 The uncanny, in this story,
emerges in the haziness of the border between human and thing as well
as through the provocation of language to become unrepresentational;
at times in the text even the man becomes indistinguishable from the
balcony. The reader stumbles through the text as if through a labyrinth,
always searching for comprehension. The story repeatedly leads from the
abstract back to the literal; from balconies as representatives of the
ideology of home, back to balconies as material objects. A balcony is
a place for drinking coffee, where one plays Halma, where soldiers throw
their caps when they come home from war, but it also symbolizes the
Heimatgefühl [feeling of home].18
In the balcony text, Aichinger uses the word balcony so frequently
– twenty-one times in the first paragraph – that it becomes incompre-
hensible, the attention of the reader redirected towards the keyword of
the text: homelands (Lorenz 176). In “Wo ich wohne” and “Mein grüner
Esel” the focus on a single object stands out. The emphasis on object
in “Zweifel an Balkonen” reaches an extreme. Language itself hovers
between representation and misrepresentation. Aichinger’s associations
in the text persistently evade a clear transitional quality, and the reader
is left groping for answers. In comparison with this story, the symbolic
descent of an apartment becomes a traditional means to represent oppres-
sion. In “Zweifel an Balkonen” language itself oppresses the reader as
the architectural structure of the balcony slides through representations
causing the reader doubts about language as a communicative device.
258 Amanda Holmes
[When the door was open one noticed that the house was very big; if not, it seemed
like an apartment like the ones they are building now, with hardly enough room to move;
Irene and I always lived in this part of the house, we would almost never go beyond
the oak door . . .]
When the door is open it exposes the spaciousness of the enormous house
by revealing the length of the hallway that extends from the back to
the front of the house. When it is closed, the brother and sister live in
the present, in the small apartment typical of the time in Buenos Aires.
The siblings experience a change of identity with the closing of the
door and the creation of the wall: from one attached to the maintenance
of the house to a focus on pure survival. After the residents close
off the back part of the house, they stop thinking, indicating their
overwhelming concern for survival: “Estábamos bien, y poco a poco
empezábamos a no pensar. Se puede vivir sin pensar” [We were fine, and
little by little we started not to think. One can live without thinking] (16).
The characters do not have personal dominion of the spaces that define
their identity. Like the relationship between the narrator of “Wo ich
wohne” and her apartment, this home oppresses not only the charac-
ters’ bodies by subjugating them to undesired living accommodations,
but also their identities. The narrator of “Wo ich wohne” attempts to
accustom herself to the lack of control she has over her home and lacks
the confidence to discuss it with her neighbors. The siblings of “Casa
tomada” finally relinquish all concern for the house, throwing the keys
in the gutter for fear that another would enter the home and be exposed
to the Other’s oppression. This radical adaptation to the strange situa-
tions highlights the passive reaction of individuals towards an oppressive
controlling Other.
The limitations of language explored by Cortázar in his short stories
are often conflated with symbolic spatial barriers, such as the divisions
between rooms in “Bestiario” [Bestiary] the walls of the aquarium in
“Axolotl” and the door in “La puerta condenada” [The Condemned Door].
For Cortázar, these barriers are flexible: the rooms that house the tiger
in “Bestiario” are sometimes off-limits, sometimes not; the walls of the
aquarium in “Axolotl” do not stop the narrator from turning into a fish
and encountering Mexican cultural heritage in the process; in “La puerta
condenada,” Cortázar speculates on the limits between the real and the
imaginary through the object of a hotel door. In this story the narrator
hears a baby crying behind a closed door between his room and another
in a hotel. When he asks the hotel managers about the woman and her
baby, he is assured that there is no baby and that the crying is a part
of his imagination. Here, as in “Casa tomada,” a wooden door empha-
sizes the sense of hearing in the character restricted to one side of the
wall.
A closed door accentuates the desire to know what is happening on
Residential Unhomes 261
Notes
1. “Casa tomada” was first published by Jorge Luis Borges in the Buenos Aires
journal Sur. Later editions include this story as the first of the collection Bestiario, in
which many of the stories parody Peronist Argentina.
2. Julio Cortázar, “Casa tomada,” Casa tomada y otros relatos (Barcelona: Plaza y
Janés, 1995) 11. All subsequent references from this edition.
3. Ilse Aichinger, “Wo ich wohne,” Wo ich wohne: Erzählungen, Gedichte, Dialoge
(Frankfurt am Main: Fischer Verlag, 1963) 55. All subsequent references from this
edition.
4. After World War II, Vienna was occupied by the four allied forces and did not
gain autonomy until 1955.
5. The gender of Aichinger’s protagonist is never defined in the story. Other inter-
pretations of the story have considered the protagonist to be male. Because the story is
written by a woman and reflects aspects of her biography, I will consider the protago-
nist to be female.
6. Hans Wolfschütz touches on this interpretation in his brief discussion of “Wo
ich wohne” when he describes the narrator as “a prisoner of the old-established ways.”
He claims that “the narrative “I” cannot even begin to think in terms of protest; it
remains transfixed by its own helplessness and vulnerability, finding some fleeting con-
solation in the fact that up to now the narrower ‘world’ of its own home has at least
stayed the same” (Wolfschütz 167).
7. Aichinger’s grandmother and her mother’s sister and brother were all sent away
to Minsk in 1942. Aichinger’s twin sister Helga managed to escape to England in July
1939 to join her aunt, two months before the outbreak of war, during one of the last
waves of immigration. Aichinger and her mother could not get a visa. For more details
about Aichinger’s biography see Reichensperger.
8. The large apartment buildings constructed around the Ringstrasse were designed
with four to six floors, usually with no more than sixteen units. These buildings were
modelled on the British style and were set up as multiple-family dwellings in which the
first floor held the commercial space, the second floor had spatious apartments for higher
classes, and the third floor was often further divided into smaller dwellings. The designs
of the façades and the windows became less lavish the higher up in the building (Schorske
46–51).
9. For a discussion on urban planning ideas in turn-of-the-century Vienna see Banik-
Schweitzer.
10. These projects – called the Gemeindebauten – improved on earlier low income
housing designs and especially on the hated Gangküchenhaus [corridor kitchen tenement].
The Gemeindebauten created small, bright interconnected rooms with toilets, running water
and gas contained within the apartment. These new apartments most importantly got rid
of the long corridors with shared taps and toilets that had been typical of low income
housing (Blau 206–207).
11. For a concise overview on the influence of European urban planning ideas on
Latin America see Hardoy 20–49.
12. Francisco Bullrich sees this as an extreme shortfall for Argentinean architecture
as he perceives the nineteenth-century European architectural styles as lacking origi-
nality at that time period. He bemoans the focus on revivalist architectural movements
in Europe (Renaissance, Gothic, etc.) and Argentina’s loss of beautiful Hispanic archi-
tecture of the pre-Independence era such as the Cabildo (Bullrich 14).
13. With the rise of industrialization, European cities had modernized and moved into
new housing ideas that attempted to consolidate cities with highrise or at least multi-
story apartment buildings. The French architect and urban planner Le Corbusier gave a
series of nine talks in Buenos Aires in 1929. Le Corbusier’s ideas on city planning included
Residential Unhomes 263
a plan for the city of Buenos Aires and other Latin American and Third World cities.
One of Le Corbusier’s main concerns was traffic flow. To relieve this, he proposed a
city made up of twenty-four sixty story skyscrapers for offices and hotels for 10,000 to
50,000 people, surrounded by multiple housing units of six stories with sunroofs for
600,000 people surrounded again by Garden Cities that would house two million people.
He envisioned Latin American cities as the ideal space for the completion of his ideas,
however forgot that Latin America lacked the economic and political superstructure
necessary to create such designs (Hardoy 36–41). See also Ortiz 121.
14. For an analysis of how Cortázar’s depiction of Latin America coincides with other
mid-century Boom writers, see Amar Sánchez 19–35.
15. Carlos Alonso’s discussion of autochtonous writing becomes compelling here
as it complicates the relationships between author and cultural heritage in Latin America.
In Cortázar’s story this dialogue is enacted between the characters and the Other in the
city.
16. Nicolás Rodríguez Peña, a member of the military that successfully defeated
the British during their invasion of the River Plate (1806–1807), was also one of the
organizers of the secret society in favor of Argentinean independence. He supported the
May Revolution of 1810 that spurred an insurrection against the Spanish colonial gov-
ernment.
17. Aichinger claims this in a piece that begins the collection of stories in which
“Zweifel an Balkonen” appears called “Schlechte Wörter” [Bad Words] (Aichinger,
Schlechte Wörter 8).
18. Contrary to the claims of several critics that Aichinger’s text need to be taken
at face value – Heinz Schafroth claims that Aichinger’s texts need should be read “ohne
Umwege über Symbolik, Mystizismus, Hermetik” [without detours through symbolism,
mysticism and hermeticism] – I argue that the balcony clearly has a symbolic resonance
(Schafroth 129).
Works Cited
Aichinger, Ilse. “Rede an die Jugend,” in Ilse Aichinger: Materialien zu Leben und
Werk. Ed. Samuel Moser. Frankfurt am Main: Fischer Verlag, 1990, pp. 18–20.
––––. Schlechte Wörter. Frankfurt am Main: Fischer Verlag, 1976.
––––. Wo ich wohne: Erzählungen, Gedichte, Dialoge. Frankfurt am Main: Fischer Verlag,
1963.
Alazraki, Jaime. En Busca del Unicornio: Los cuentos de Julio Cortázar. Madrid: Editorial
Gredos, 1983.
Alazraki, Jaime, Ed. Critical Essays on Julio Cortázar. New York: G.K. Hall and Co.,
1999.
Alonso, Carlos, ed. Julio Cortázar: New Readings. New York: Cambridge University Press,
1998.
Alonso, Carlos. The Spanish American Regional Novel: Modernity and Autochthony. New
York: Cambridge University Press, 1990.
Amar Sánchez, Ana María. “Between Utopia and Inferno (Julio Cortázar’s Version),”
in Trans. M. Elizabeth Ginway. Julio Cortázar: New Readings. Ed. Carlos J. Alonso.
New York: Cambridge University Press, 1998, pp. 19–35.
Banik-Schweitzer, Renate. “Urban Visions, Plans, and Projects, 1890–1937,” in Shaping
the Great City: Modern Architecture in Central Europe 1890–1937. Eds. Eve Blau and
Monika Platzer. New York: Prestel, 1999, pp. 58–72.
Blau, Eve. “Großstadt and Proletariat in Red Vienna,” in Shaping the Great City: Modern
Architecture in Central Europe 1890–1937. Eds. Eve Blau and Monika Platzer. New
York: Prestel, 1999, pp. 205–208.
264 Amanda Holmes