In Home (2006), Blunt and Dowling creatively argue that home must be considered as both a spatial imaginary (the relations between feelings, attachment, and dwelling) as well as a political space of negotiation and contestation. The book begins with a contemporary, largely western conceptualization of the home and moves to outline multiple avenues for exploring a critical geography where home is conceptualized as the multi-scalar, material and imaginative site in and through which power and identity intersect with, disrupt, and extend common understandings of home. While comparative cultural geographies of home are limited here, the resulting book is a solid reference piece that persistently requires a flexible reader willing to extend their own imaginations of home along the journey. As such, reading it becomes a series of engaged moments between authors and reader in which a truly critical geography finds expression.

The historical dimensions of home, through which we have come to understand what home does, should, and could mean, is best found in Chapter 2: Representing Home; and Chapter 4: Home, Nation and Empire. Missing, however, is a temporal dimension more closely connected to the everyday lived enactments, experiences, and expressions of home: the time-specific particularities of the meanings of home. While space is critical to appreciating the 'fluidity of home as a concept, metaphor and lived experience' (p. 21), I suggest that political, social, and cultural processes are disrupting the linearity of home as well. That is, the meanings and attachments of home for single couples; young families; families with teens; empty-nesters; and returnees -home across the life course -suggest that home is indeed dynamic, but both flexible and durable. While a sense of time is introduced in a section on ethnographic research, it is not developed more substantially (pp. 43-4). Thinking about the home across the life course is one approach to incorporate social processes and rites of passage that reorient the material and imaginary home. Rethinking home across the course of one day, the differences in social relations and expectations during the week compared to the weekend, or between the everyday and the celebratory moments might further disrupt the normative and static notions of home. In these temporal frameworks, a deeper understanding of parental control, boundaries and territories of 'adult' space versus 'child' spaces, and the constant renegotiation of norms, expectations, and power relations might be more critically analyzed.

That I can pose these questions without undermining the integrity of the book's argument suggests that Blunt and Dowling have succeeded in producing, not only a geography of the home, but also a framework and approach for a sustained critical geography of the home.

Department of Geography

cultural geographies 15(3)

This is a book situated between the fields of literary, media, and cultural studies, geography, architecture, and history. Its focus -the emerging 'spatial turn' in studies of modernist literature, art, architecture and more -is a fascinating one. But despite this the book is strangely uneven and rather disappointing. The introduction to a collection like this needs to set a clear agenda, but it does little more than suggest that historicist criticism should involve some consideration of space. What this might mean is largely left to the contributors, who seem equally uncertain.

I hope this isn't just a disciplinary twitch on my part but none of the contributors are geographers, and beyond the usual suspects there isn't much discussion of the discipline (though postcolonial historians of cartography, empire and nation are better represented). Does this matter? Well, Andreas Huyssen's chapter seems to be mired in the debates about the 'global' and the 'local' which bothered geographers in the late 1990s. Jon Hegglund's account of Graham Greene's travel writing is also weirdly familiar, like it fell out of Barnes and Duncan's Writing worlds. Hegglund concludes 'Perhaps we can take one of modernism's trademark aesthetic elements -the multiplication of perspectives -and fruitfully apply it to the way we imagine the very nature and history of geographical space' (p. 53). I was hoping that the contributors to this volume might have started from this point, not ended there.

So the most interesting stories are those that are least familiar: Rebecca Beasley on the British intelligentsia's engagement with Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, for example, or James Housefields' subtle and insightful reading of Duchamp as 'traveller and geographer'. Or those that mix the familiar and unfamiliar to produce something novel, like James Donald's provocative discussion of modernist mediations of space and time, or Andrew Thacker's chapter on Imagism and Orientalism. But in the end it wasn't the sense of missed opportunities that bothered me -after all, interdisciplinary work isn't easy and geographers have been slow to catch on to developments in literary criticism -but that the casually historicist approach of some contributors seems as uninterested in history as it is in geography. In a few chapters history seems to be a pretty simple thing, a cultural 'moment' of a particular and unproblematic type, and space and cultural production are treated as expressions of this. This strangely uncritical approach compromises what might have been much more than just another eclectic set of essays. Burrell's book Moving lives is a powerful counter-argument against those globalization theories that downplay the role of nation-states in our modern societies. Taking three migrant groups living in Leicester -Poles, Greek-Cypriots and Italians -Burrell tests the applicability of national identity theories to migrants and artfully uncovers the complexity of migrants' national identity

Department of Geography

JAMES KNEALE

University College London

Home.

  By Alison Blunt and Robyn Dowling. London/New York: Routledge. 2006. xvi ϩ 304 pp. $125.00 cloth, $35.95 paper. ISBN 0415332753.

  : literatures, cultures and spaces. Edited by Peter Brooker and Andrew Thacker. London and New York: Routledge. 2005. 181 pp. £19.99 paperback. ISBN 0 415 33116 1.

  Moving lives: narratives of nation and migration amongEuropeans in post-war Britain. By Kathy Burrell. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Ltd. 2006. xix ϩ 212 pp. £50 cloth. ISBN 0754645746.


est destinée au dépôt

This is a book situated between the fields of literary, media, and cultural studies, geography, architecture, and history. Its focus -the emerging 'spatial turn' in studies of modernist literature, art, architecture and more -is a fascinating one. But despite this the book is strangely uneven and rather disappointing. The introduction to a collection like this needs to set a clear agenda, but it does little more than suggest that historicist criticism should involve some consideration of space. What this might mean is largely left to the contributors, who seem equally uncertain. I hope this isn't just a disciplinary twitch on my part but none of the contributors are geographers, and beyond the usual suspects there isn't much discussion of the discipline (though postcolonial historians of cartography, empire and nation are better represented). Does this matter? Well, Andreas Huyssen's chapter seems to be mired in the debates about the 'global' and the 'local' which bothered geographers in the late 1990s. Jon Hegglund's account of Graham Greene's travel writing is also weirdly familiar, like it fell out of Barnes and Duncan's Writing worlds. Hegglund concludes 'Perhaps we can take one of modernism's trademark aesthetic elements -the multiplication of perspectives -and fruitfully apply it to the way we imagine the very nature and history of geographical space' (p. 53). I was hoping that the contributors to this volume might have started from this point, not ended there.

So the most interesting stories are those that are least familiar: Rebecca Beasley on the British intelligentsia's engagement with Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, for example, or James Housefields' subtle and insightful reading of Duchamp as 'traveller and geographer'. Or those that mix the familiar and unfamiliar to produce something novel, like James Donald's provocative discussion of modernist mediations of space and time, or Andrew Thacker's chapter on Imagism and Orientalism. But in the end it wasn't the sense of missed opportunities that bothered me -after all, interdisciplinary work isn't easy and geographers have been slow to catch on to developments in literary criticism -but that the casually historicist approach of some contributors seems as uninterested in history as it is in geography. In a few chapters history seems to be a pretty simple thing, a cultural 'moment' of a particular and unproblematic type, and space and cultural production are treated as expressions of this. This strangely uncritical approach compromises what might have been much more than just another eclectic set of essays. Burrell's book Moving lives is a powerful counter-argument against those globalization theories that downplay the role of nation-states in our modern societies. Taking three migrant groups living in Leicester -Poles, Greek-Cypriots and Italians -Burrell tests the applicability of national identity theories to migrants and artfully uncovers the complexity of migrants' national identity which is constantly negotiated, constructed, reconstructed, manipulated, but still preserved. An important part of the definition of migrants' national identity is based upon constructive relationship with the fellow nationals and local community, but also upon religious, national and even regional othering. She argues that what it means to be Polish, Greek-Cypriot or Itialian in the UK can only be understood if studied through the prism of Billig's (1995) 'banal nationalism.' It is the everyday social practices that people undertake that define their national identity.

Department of Geography

JAMES KNEALE

University College London

At the same time migration itself has a significant impact on national identity. The author chooses these national groups in order to highlight differences between migration experiences of exiles and voluntary migrants. While Polish migration narratives focus on traumatic migration experiences, memories of which are transmitted to later generations born in the UK, Greek-Cypriots and Italians emphasize the efforts they put into establishing themselves in the immigration country. However, the author convincingly argues that migration is never simple: even in the case of 'forced' migration there is still scope for personal decisions, while in 'voluntary' migration there can be an aspect of pressing family circumstances.

Burrell is also concerned to explore the importance of national territory for the preservation of migrants' national identity. Just like identity, homeland is individually constructed from selective accounts of the national history. This serves the function of projecting the intended image of homeland, but may also result in the dislocation between territory, time and memory. She provides a number of examples that illustrate how norms and values of homeland travel with migrants and find their new home in the immigrants' national community.

This book enriches the existing literature in the field by its comparative perspective on individualized accounts of the nation and migration and will be interesting to students and researchers working in the area of national identity, migration and diasporas as well as those with a specific interest in the Polish, Greek-Cypriot and Italian communities. Colin Clarke has succeeded in providing a comprehensive analysis of Kingston's social and cultural transformations from colonization, through independence, to the post-colonial period. The wealth of empirical knowledge in this longitudinal study is derived from census data for 10 per cent of the households for Kingston in 1960 and 1991, and enumeration district data for the city in 1943, 1960, 1982 and 1991. Using these data Clarke has substantially demonstrated the combined influences of colonialism and its legacies, and the imposition of structural adjustment programmes in (re)shaping this city's colour-class-culture dimensions both spatially and temporally. Through the use of correlations, cross-tabulations, indices of dissimilarity and isolation, cartography and several plates he has adequately captured the dynamic spatial dimensions of social processes and the social dimensions of spatial processes.

School Of Slavonic and East European Studies

  Reviews in brief: Moving lives: narratives of nation and migration among Europeans in post-war Britain. By Kathy Burrell. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Ltd. 2006. xix + 212 pp. £50 cloth. ISBN 0754645746 Violetta Parutis To cite this version: Violetta Parutis. Reviews in brief: Moving lives: narratives of nation and migration among Europeans in post-war Britain. By Kathy Burrell. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Ltd. 2006. xix + 212 pp. £50 cloth. ISBN 0754645746. cultural geographies, 2008, 15 (3), pp.398-399. 10.1177/14744740080150030705. hal-00572032 cultural geographies 15(3)

  Moving lives: narratives of nation and migration amongEuropeans in post-war Britain. By Kathy Burrell. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Ltd. 2006. xix ϩ 212 pp. £50 cloth. ISBN 0754645746.

  city: urbanization and stratification in Kingston, Jamaica. By Colin Clarke. Oxford: Oxford University Press Inc. 2006. xxv ϩ 298 pp. £85.00 cloth. ISBN 0-19-926981-5.


cultural geographies 15(4) both the 'fleshly' and the immaterial implications of possessions for those who acquire, live with and dispose of them. She understands the domestic as a setting for the production and manifestation of social and cultural identities and sees household goods as a crux in the complex negotiations between people, their circumstances (including their gender, age, social status, wealth and location) and discourses of home. This particular study is set among the middling sort in England between 1750 and 1850 because, Ponsonby argues, this is when, where, and for whom a particularly potent normative discourse of domesticity developed. She is impressed by the ethnographic approach of recent material culture studies but cannot observe or talk with her historical subjects. Instead, in a method more akin to the archaeological tradition of material culture studies in the United States, she minutely considers their household possessions, as evidenced in inventories, household accounts and personal papers. Ponsonby analyses combinations and arrangements of goods in a small number of specific houses, reading them in their social and cultural contexts to produce numerous new insights. For example, she follows a complicated trail of crockery and room names to delineate the gendered practices of genteel formal hospitality. And against the frequent assumption of the nationwide influence of London, she is able to retrieve a distinct elite provincial identity. It is, for the most part, the owners who are thus illuminated; the less privileged household members remain rather more in the shadows.

In the second part of the book, Ponsonby turns to a discussion of the differing interpretive strategies used in historic house displays. She argues that it is more revealing to focus on individual cases than to take a generic approach. This is her own methodology, which does yield enormously rich results, although it makes her generalizations less convincing. This book's attention to the ordinary practices of everyday life brilliantly fractures the stillpervasive monolithic myth of Victorian domesticity. Ponsonby suggests that these 'different' homes were individual deviations from the ideals of the period; a larger study might allow us to consider whether such deviations might rather be seen as expressive, or even constitutive, of commonly held norms.

Queen Mary, University of London

LESLEY HOSKINS

A movable feast: ten millennia of food globalization. By Kenneth F. Kiple. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 2007. xvi ϩ 364 pp. £15.99 hardback. ISBN 9780521793537.

Based largely upon the author's The Cambridge world history of food (2000), this book offers an overview of the interaction between the world and the foods we currently consume. Reviewing the history of domestication, sedentism, power over resources, and trade, 'the globalization of foodstuffs' suggests that our world has been integrated since the beginnings of the Neolithic. The story of our foods is one where all aspects of history can be examined. Perhaps the best example is the expansion of the Portuguese along the African coast and Columbus' voyages across the Atlantic: 'The New Worlds they reached to link with the Old brought food globalization on a cataclysmic scale ' (p. 104). This led to what Thomas McKeown called the 'modern rise of population', because of the infusion of higher-caloric foods into famine-stressed populations led to improved nutrition, increased infant and child life expectancy, and protection against the ravages of infectious diseases.

The author tackles a number of subjects that directly relate to the development of agriculture: chronic malnutrition, famine, globalization, and the homogenization of culture. Much is made of the loss of overall health as a consequence of the move towards settled agriculture and reliance upon mono-cropping. The author suggests that diseases such as rickets, scurvy, and incidences of anemia, dental caries, and knobby joints do not seem to be indicated in our hunter-gatherer ancestors but begin to appear in archival records from Greek and Roman sources writing about the known cultures of that era. Kiple states that our ancestors were significantly taller than the following agrarians; similarly, American Revolutionary soldiers were larger then their European opponents, indicating more protein in their diets.

This book joins with those of Charles Mann, 1491, and Jarrod Diamond, Guns, germs, and steel, in examining the impacts of the new world upon the old. The author states that the 'Columbian Exchange,' touted as revolutionizing the world, did so by reversing the evolutionary trend to diversify: that it rather rearranged food around the world. This globalizing of our foods, fueled by immigration and the industrial revolution, 'ushered in the modern world' (p. 162).

Although food geographers may consider this book a primer reader best suited to an introductory course, the bibliography is extensive and well researched, the writing fluid, and the themes well expressed and thoroughly explored. Culture, urbanism and planning is an edited book that reflects its roots in a collection of papers from an annual conference of the International Planning History Society. As expected from an IPHS conference, the majority of the 15 contributions are firmly rooted in the discipline of planning history, though most are concerned to link past, present and future, and some are predominantly about the contemporary city. The geographical focus is wide-ranging, including chapters on Latin America and South America as well as Europe and the US. Cultural geographers will no doubt be attracted by the intriguing title. They might, however, be disappointed by what they find inside the covers, especially as the combination of 'culture', 'urbanism' and 'planning' is used as a loose umbrella for disparate chapters rather than a starting point for analysis. The editors' introductory chapter has only a brief discussion of the three concepts, but it makes clear that their focus is planning for the cultural economy rather than the ways in which culture gets into planning. The presence of the terms 'urbanism' and 'planning' in the title is seen as little more than an attempt 'to delimit a more comprehensive and fluid area of problems, than that which each term evokes on its own' (p. xvi). Many of the chapters take a wider view of the culture-planning relationship, but the implications tend to be implicit rather than explicit. The chapters that rise to the challenge of linking culture and planning reflect the concern with planning for culture in its narrowest sense.

University of Wyoming

  and planning. Edited by J. Monclús and M. Guàrdia. Aldershot: Ashgate. 2006. xix ϩ 293 pp. £55.00 hardback. ISBN: 0754646238.


Karen M Morin

That 'gardens signify' and 'landscapes are contested' will not surprise cultural geographers. And while Garden plots does not seek to critically engage, at the intellectual level sustained in its core approach, with geographical approaches to landscape, it might well have benefited from this, not least because cultural geography has itself gained much from feminist, psychoanalytical and postcolonial theories. That said, Saguaro offers a valuable, readable perspective on the politics of landscape and identity in recent history and the global reach of even small, anonymous plots.


cultural geographies 15(4) Publics and the city. By Kurt Iveson. Oxford: Blackwell. 2007. 252 pp. £24.99 paperback. ISBN: 9781405127301.

There have been times over the past few years when I have despaired of reading or hearing anything on public space which might move the discussion beyond hackneyed debates, in which we are told that public space is dying and needs to be saved from the forces that threaten to emaciate its capacity to act as a democratic forum. Too often in such debates, the 'streets' are privileged as spaces of sociability, with revanchist politicians and planners accused of undermining the social and cultural value of public spaces by dedicating them to a narrow range of consumer-oriented practices. Counter-arguments -that the streets have never been truly open or accessible to all -are duly trotted out, not least from feminist urbanists who point to the inherent masculinity of the public sphere and its inability to embrace gender difference. Caught in a theoretical impasse, debates about public space circle endlessly, becoming ever more self-referential and less relevant to cities where the internet now rivals the streets' role as a space of dialogue and sociality.

Thankfully, Kurt Iveson has arrived at similar conclusions. Part of the RGS-IBG Book Series, Publics and the city is a wide-ranging but empirically grounded consideration of the relationship between publicity and the city. Beginning with the assertion that topographical definitions of public space are severely limited as a basis for exploring issues pertaining to the 'public city', Iveson instead takes a perspective that focuses on issues of publicness and public address. Here, Iveson takes the latter to constitute the processes of addressing 'horizons of strangers', and hence seeks to explore the importance of particular urban sites as spaces where 'scenes of circulation' are established. Reworking Habermas, Young, and Fraser et al., Iveson refines notions of the 'public sphere' to move beyond questions of access and consider the affordances and constraints that might be associated with using a site as a venue of public address. At the same time, Iveson acknowledges the importance of the city as an object of public address, and argues that particular individuals and groups may make major gains by questioning the expectations of whom may be addressed (and how) in different urban sites.

This given, Iveson recognizes the importance of established imaginings of 'the public city' in the 'struggle to make space', and three of his case studies explore how different groups have sought to produce and sustain forms of public address by making particular sites the object of debate. The three chapters on the use of the Parliamentary Precinct in Canberra, public sex environments in Melbourne and graffiti-writing practices in Sydney thus offer nuanced accounts of the ways in which tactical appropriations of space may make strategic claims about the publicness of particular sites. In contrast, two chapters explore the ways in which normative ideas about unacceptable conduct in 'public space' have been used to justify the exclusion of particular groups from specific urban sites. Both the chapter on the struggle over McIver's Baths in Sydney and that on the 'neoliberal' policing of Perth's city centre offer balanced accounts in which the claims of counterpublics about their rights to the city are carefully scrutinized, with Iveson arguing that in some cases, exclusions can be justified. In such ways, he moves away from cosy notions that the city must constitute a 'being together of strangers', and acknowledges that his own vision of the city is about particular forms of publicness that others may not share. This underlines that when talking about public space, geographers are always and inevitably working with a specific notion of what the public city is -one that may or may not resonate with the concerns of others who are engaged in struggles for the city.

Iveson's book hence moves the debate on public space forward in a significant manner and will certainly be of interest to all geographers and urbanists for whom the life of the street holds fascination. Even those who find debates on public space somewhat arid should enjoy this book's lively range of examples. Drawn from across Australia, the case studies that Iveson presents are carefully nuanced and engage critically with ongoing debates in social and cultural geography about the making of gender, racial, age and sexual identities. Issues of aboriginal rights, youth countercultural expression, sexual citizenship and the gendering of space are flagged up by the varied case study chapters, meaning that there are multiple points of entry for those for whom public space per se is not a prime concern. This given, Iveson clearly demonstrates why issues of publicness should be of concern to all geographers, and he suggests that there is too much at stake to accept existing normative assumptions about the decline of the public sphere. Provocative and passionate, the fact that the book is laced with humour will also surely endear it to a student audience. For such reasons, Publics and the city is highly recommended both as a primer on public space as well as a state of the art intervention in debates on the 'struggle for space'.

Loughborough University

PHIL HUBBARD

The politics of life itself: biomedicine, power, and subjectivity in the twenty-first century. By Nikolas Rose. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. 2006. $25.95/£14.95. ISBN: 9780691121918.

In the classic analyses of Foucault, the 18th and 19th centuries saw the emergence of a biopolitical state, in which the very vitality of individual citizens came to be the subject of systems of management (through state provision for health and welfare, for example). Such a politics centred on the human body is today being reconfigured, claims the sociologist Nikolas Rose, in his new book The Politics of life itself. To summarize brutally, new ways of understanding life have resulted in new forms of managing, shaping and contesting it. Thus, vital politics today, Rose suggests, 'is concerned with our growing capacities to control, manage, engineer, reshape, and modulate the very vital capacities of human beings as living creatures' (p. 3). There is much to admire in his account of the forms that such a politics is taking, and I would encourage the reader to engage with this work. But two aspects of Rose's account warrant brief commentary.

First, both life and politics are given, in my view, too narrow a definition in this book. Central to what Rose seeks to analyse, for example, is the emergence of a particular 'style of thought' -drawing on Ludwig Fleck's phrase -based upon a shift in the scale at which we think to understand, act on, and act in relation to, human life: from a clinical gaze centred upon the body, to a molecular gaze that understands life at the level of its component


Jo Frances Maddern

Peter Adey

Keywords:

est destinée au dépôt

out some of the topics emerging as part of a broader engagement with spectrality within geography and the arts, humanities and social sciences. We suggest that a careful attunement to the ghostly, spectral and the absent, can be a particularly powerful and emancipatory way of dealing with a number of problematics central to contemporary geographical thought.

Despite the taunts of those who would prefer geography to be concerned with the 'rational', the 'ordered' and the 'sane', a reading of geography's outputs over the last few years suggests that there are a set of social theories that are now becoming increasingly important to understanding a whole host of spatial and social relationships: a concern with the most spectral aspects of space. [START_REF] Luckhurst | The contemporary London gothic and the limits of the "spectral turn[END_REF] This is perhaps unsurprising given our increasing subjection to media images of death and vulnerability, from 9/11, 2 to the Asian Tsunami, the New Orleans floods and the occupation of Iraq and Afghanistan. Whilst commentators proudly proclaimed the end of history at the close of the twentieth century where all moments in time are neatly ordered and 'in their rightful place', [START_REF] Fukuyama | The end of history and the last man[END_REF] the twenty-first century has so far transpired as a century of haunting; of irregular, unexpected and (un)anticipated events that appear to be 'beyond the real'. [START_REF] Kitchin | Lost in space: geographies of science fiction[END_REF] These events continue to reverberate in and around places long after they have occurred so that time is rendered 'out of joint.' [START_REF] Derrida | Specters of Marx: the state of the debt, the work of mourning and the new international[END_REF] Derrida's reading of 'endist' writers and thinkers in contemporary society, such as Fukuyama, is that such sentiments are merely 'ideological confidence tricks' which play a central role in suppression of political opposition by those in power. Hence his influential and iconoclastic work Spectres of Marx shows how not just one, but plural, spectres of Marx (plural, since Marxism Derrida argues, is open to interpretation and revision in response to changing cultural conditions) continue to haunt the 'endist' paradigm of western liberal democracy which has 'triumphed' over communism (and by implication, over Marxism too). In response to the 'good news' that ideological conflict is no longer a problem since the ideal of liberal democracy cannot be improved upon, Derrida argues that the 'triumph has never been so critical, fragile, threatened, even in certain regards catastrophic, and in sum bereaved'. 6 Derrida's 'hauntology' unpicks how there is neither a beginning nor an end to history and thus Marxism, despite the supposed triumph of capitalist liberal democracy.

The term 'spectro-geographies' is chosen by the editors of this themed set as a deliberate reference to Derrida's spectro-politics. The papers in this themed set emerge from a session at the IBG-RGS in 2005 in which we sought to add depth to understandings of the spatial frameworks and processes through which Derrida's spectro-politics might operate. If spectrality has a temporal politics, then it also has a spatial politics, one which we would argue, is complex, uneven and multifaceted.

Outwith this themed set, evidence of a nascent engagement in geography is all around in the form of book length research on phantasmagorias in the city, [START_REF] Pile | Real cities: modernity, space and the phantasmagorias of city life[END_REF] traces of life woven through urban industrial ruins and the ghosts of dereliction, 8 the uncanny resonance of subaltern postcolonial histories, [START_REF] Gelder | The postcolonial ghost story[END_REF] the haunting fictional myths that saturate southern California's regional identity, [START_REF] Delyser | Authenticity on the ground: engaging the past in a California ghost town[END_REF] the 'extra-geographies' of Fortean science, [START_REF] Dixon | A benevolent and sceptical enquiry: exploring "fortean geographies" with the mothman[END_REF] and the role of macabre, impossible spaces of 'horror writing' in marking a threshold between the known and unknown. [START_REF] Kneale | From beyond: H. P. Lovecraft and the place of horror[END_REF] A whole swathe of upcoming work situates itself within this unfolding concern for the just perceptible, the barely there, the nagging presence of an absence in a variety of spaces from infant burial grounds, to genocide museums and even the haunting of the private spaces of the home.

Nevertheless, the engagement with spectral matters is in its infancy. Since the publication of Spectres of Marx, there has been increasing awareness of a 'spectralized amnesiac modernity with its delusional totalizing systems'. 13 However, the spectre is used widely within academic thought without full examination of its theoretical consequences. [START_REF] Anderson | The spectre of comparisons: nationalism, Southeast Asia and the world[END_REF] A clear set of issues, which may benefit from the application of the currently dissonant collection of theories of spectrality has yet to be defined. The words 'haunting' and 'spectrality' are also often used loosely and without clear definition. Furthermore, the current debate remains murky and disconnected. Not that this is a bad thing, but there is need to move beyond the use of spectres as just narrative, metaphorical or allegorical devices. Through varied geographical and substantive case studies this themed set gives a tentative shape and form to a number of different ways by which we can understand haunting. In doing so, it examines what this typology might mean for the practice of geography as a discipline.

We see the central contribution of this collection and works within the field of spectrality and space as feeding into, yet also problematizing, the geographies of the 'more than representational' in several ways. [START_REF] Lorimer | Cultural geography: the busyness of being "more-than-representational[END_REF] Drawing on diverse case studies from ghost stories and literature, to the act of the séance and from the walk to work, the papers in this issue set out a number of issues that coalesce around several different themes. The first theme to emerge is that of temporality. Alerting our attention to the already passed and even the not-yet, [START_REF] Massumi | Parables of the virtual: movement, affect, sensation[END_REF] papers in this issue unsettle 'taken for granted' relationships that occur along a linear temporality. For John Wylie, the ghostly 'confounds settled orders of past and present'. [START_REF] Wylie | The spectral geographies of W. G. Sebald[END_REF] Within these papers, spectro-geographies are relations that may speak through texts, things, objects and practices, and more than metanarratives and overarching ideologies. Papers in this collection suggest how ghostly relations tangle up the string of temporal linearity. Pasts and futures, to paraphrase Wylie once more, bare a supplementary relation to the present. Spaces and times are folded, allowing distant presences, events, people and things to become rather more intimate. 18 Understanding spectrality can not only help us come to terms with the 'impassible' [START_REF] Elden | Impassible geographies[END_REF] mess of these ties, connections and relations -but also how people do come to terms with the erosion of an over-determined sure footing of certainty. The figure of the ghost is often used as a means of apprehending that which we cannot explain, do not expect, understand, or struggle to represent; as Dixon suggests it is a matter of how 'to live and cope with the notion of uncertainty'. 20 Holloway and Kneale's article, in particular, examines ghost hunting through spectral stories and the spiritualist practice of the séance. Such ghost hunting performances and spectral accounts emerge as ways of making sense and even anticipating unexpected and indeterminable happenings. [START_REF] Harrison | Making sense: embodiment and the sensibilities of the everyday[END_REF] For many of the papers in this issue, ghostly geographies may be read as ways to understand the kaleidoscopic modes of experiencing uncanny agencies, unforeseen events and a morphology of almost there-ness.

But while concerns with the non-representational and the 'new mobility paradigm' urge us not to subdue the world's animation, its continuing 'on-goingness', [START_REF] Thrift | The still point: resistance, embodiment and dance[END_REF] spectrality can open our eyes to a sense of obduracy and the persistence of presences that somehow remain. Even as Edensor writes that the 'city endlessly moves on', he demonstrates that it 'leaves behind traces of its previous form, social life, inhabitants, politics, ways of thinking and being, and modes of experience', all of which may inflect social experiences and translate into new material affordances. [START_REF] On | Ghostly footsteps: voices, memories and walks in the city[END_REF] Maddern's piece further elaborates on how the past may be resurrected by less-than-dead presences that narrate and also disrupt the telling of history at odds with the commemorative practices of the state and its forward march. It is in this sense that spectro-geographies can move us to question efforts that enliven the world into immaterial practices and processes whilst forgetting the still, the stubborn and the static geographies of obdurate elements, immobilities and fixities. [START_REF] Rose | Guest editorial: animating landscape[END_REF] Finally, spectro-geographies may contribute to the increasing wealth of research regarding the non-rational and affectual. [START_REF] Anderson | Becoming and being hopeful: towards a theory of affect[END_REF] Matless's article renders sites charged with magical qualities and spiritual associations, spatial encounters with affective electricity. Fear, anxiety and terror, or indeed awe, excitement and wonder are experienced and felt sometimes beneath any conscious registering. As Holloway writes, there is a 'vitalism, livedness' and 'often a sheer sensuousness' [START_REF] Holloway | Enchanted spaces: the séance, affect, and geographies of religion[END_REF] to these comings-together. And thus, by attending to the materiality of ghostly geographies we must seek to examine their immateriality. [START_REF] Latham | Moving cities: rethinking the materialities of urban geographies[END_REF] Ghostly geographies warp perceptions of time and space. Fears and phobias disturb the ordinary and the expected as projections of objects, things and events cast long shadows. And yet, and related to the previous point, we must be careful not to presuppose a given vitalism to spectro-geographies. Even as it has the capacity to awaken a previously inanimate world with affective intensity, spectral relations must be able to invoke a sense of lessening, slowing, lingering, deadening, vulnerability, loss of hope, boredom and withdrawal; and unpick the absences that make these states a reality. [START_REF] Anderson | Time-stilled space-slowed: how boredom matters[END_REF] Much of geography, Thrift and Dewsbury once lamented, has seemed 'to follow the logic of the corpse; a geography interested in the broken, the static and the already passed', [START_REF] Thrift | Dead geographies -and how to make them live[END_REF] in a way that makes the world 'play dead'. Studies of the spectro-geographical, the hidden politics that haunts spaces in intimate and complex ways, can continue to animate silenced agencies and forgotten voices and histories, while also attending to the political aspects of those voices and histories. [START_REF] Mcewan | A very modern ghost: postcolonialism and the politics of enchantment[END_REF] But at the same time, spectro-geographies may help us not to move too far in arousing the world. We should be careful not to forget the lifeless geographies of 'the broken, the static and the already passed'. Live geographies, let's make them dead again.

Biographical notes

Jo Frances Maddern is Learning and Teaching Development Coordinator at University of Aberystwyth. She can be contacted at: Cledwyn Building, Penglais Campus, University of Aberystwyth, Aberystwyth, Ceredigion SY23 3DD, UK.

Peter Adey is Lecturer in Cultural Geography at Keele University. He can be contact at: Earth Sciences and Geography, Keele University, Keele, Staffordshire ST5 5BG, UK; email: p.adey@esci.keele.ac.uk.

Notes


Julian Holloway

James Kneale

Locating haunting: a ghost-hunter's guide

Keywords: enchantment, ghosts, ghost stories, haunting, spiritualism cultural geographies

Recent work in human geography seems to support Roger Luckhurst's (2002) claim that the humanities and social sciences are undergoing a 'spectral turn'. This paper is intended as a contribution to this 'turn' and to assist those who might be interested in investigating haunting. It begins by discussing the meaning and value of ideas of haunting, identifying a number of ways in which it makes analysis productively hesitant. Second, since hauntings usually involve attempts to represent the unrepresentable, we would like to offer a practical guide for locating these awkward moments of hesitancy. Drawing upon a number of examples from films, literature and life we will discuss some of the ways in which ghosts may be made manifest, textually and materially. We will conclude by suggesting that in being hesitant and embracing indeterminacy we might open up new and potentially productive apprehensions of haunted spaces and the enchanting energetics that are particular to them.

T his paper is offered as something of a practical guide to those interested in the geogra- phies of haunting and spectrality. As Steve Pile points out, 'To be alert to the ghostand the presence of ghosts -requires a particular kind of seeing' and with this in mind we hope to provide some encouragement, and a few useful intellectual resources, to investigators of haunting. [START_REF] Pile | Real cities: modernity, space and the phantasmagorias of city life[END_REF] We will do this through an examination of two different kinds of materials associated with the spectral: ghost stories and spiritualist séances. What unites our engagement with these very different kinds of evidence is that both struggle with the problem of representing the unrepresentable, and that they do this in what we would argue are ultimately highly productive ways. Ghosts are hard to get to grips with, and thinking about the efforts of other ghost-hunters, both real and imagined, to bear witness to haunting offers a few clues about the kinds of ways we might go about materializing the spectral.

It is obvious that geographers and others are increasingly interested in ghosts and haunting -a sign of what Roger Luckhurst has described as a 'spectral turn' in the humanities and social sciences. [START_REF] Luckhurst | The contemporary London Gothic and the limits of the "spectral turn[END_REF] Of course there are different ways in which we might engage with ghosts. Within literary and cultural studies there has been a tendency to see them as an index of something else: for example, Rosemary Jackson writes that fantasy expresses a culture's fears and taboos, both in the sense of representing them and in expelling them when they threaten its stability. [START_REF] Jackson | Fantasy: the literature of subversion[END_REF] Robert Mighall points out the flaws in this 'anxiety model' in his discussion of critical analyses of the vampire: 'a tautology operates which insists that the vampire is erotic, and because it is monstrous this testifies to sexual anxieties which the critic then identifies'. [START_REF] Mighall | A geography of Victorian Gothic fiction: mapping history's nightmares[END_REF] In this kind of analysis, ghosts are mysteries that must be solved, although they are not significant in their own right.

Other writers have made more of an effort to get to grips with haunting. Stimulated in part by Derrida's Spectres of Marx, and by work on affective and emotional senses of attachment to place (fear, guilt, loss, rage), this work has sought to make productive sense of the absent, mysterious and terrifying aspects of modern life. For Avery Gordon, the ghost can represent a past tragedy or injustice, and our encounter with it might lead to a new engagement with the present. The disinterring of the colonial past in countries like Australia is a good example of this kind of productive encounter with the spectres of past traumas, making the taken-for-granted world uncanny. The refugee or exile remembering home, or returning only to find it changed forever is similarly haunted. We might also be spooked by the traces of those who have gone before us not because we sense a tragedy or loss but precisely because we know so little about them. Both houses and second-hand clothing can appear to be haunted by those who used to inhabit them, according to Daniel Miller, Nicky Gregson, Kate Brooks and Louise Crewe. Cities appear to be exemplary haunted sites, as Pile makes clear, because they are anonymous but highly charged spaces. Nigel Thrift suggests that we are haunted by 'apparitions which are the unintended consequences of the complexity of modern cities, cities in which multiple time-spaces are being produced, which overlap, interact, and interfere'. Finally, John Wylie, through a reading of the work of W. G. Sebald via Derrida, argues that haunting as a motif displaces notions of place as dwelling and authentic identity. [START_REF] Derrida | Spectres of Marx: the state of the debt, the work of mourning, and the new international[END_REF] This complexity can sometimes leave us uncertain as to what is going on in cities and place. And uncertainty can also be identified as a key element of fantastic fictions, including ghost stories. Lucie Armitt's reading of Tzvetan Todorov's work on the fantastic suggests that texts like these can encourage a hesitant response in the reader, who struggles to decide whether the account is true or not. The fantastic might force us 'to hesitate between a natural and a supernatural explanation of the events described'. [START_REF] Armitt | Theorising the fantastic[END_REF] Of course for some critics this hesitation is simply an expression of the indeterminacy of literature and language; again the ghost is in danger of being reduced to an expression of something else, in this case a poststructuralist critique of mimetic theories of representation. And while ghosts can be very useful in this way, they might still possess something else besides. So we are happier with the idea of ghosts as traces of the unknown or unknowable than as a kind of puzzle, standing in for something else, something more important. Like Pile, we think that 'ghosts are not coherent', that they can mean many things at once: 'just like an element in a dream, the figure of the ghost is overdetermined -pointing in many different directions at once'. 7 We would also like to suggest that ghosts can be enchanting. Jane Bennett argues that despite appearances, modern life contains sites where we may be enchanted, surprised, charmed and disturbed. We can learn to look for these sites and to encourage this response in ourselves; more importantly she argues that 'to some small but irreducible extent, one must be enamored with existence and occasionally even enchanted in the face of it in order to be capable of donating some of one's own scarce mortal resources to the service of others'. In other words, we need to feel this way because it encourages us to engage with the world; 'it is too hard to love a disenchanted world'. Can looking for ghosts help us to do this? [START_REF] Bennett | The enchantment of modern life: attachments, crossings and ethics[END_REF] In order to explore this question we offer a guide to ghost-hunting through a discussion of two different ways in which ghosts manifest themselves or are made manifest: first, the textual and second, the material. In both examples we concentrate on previous attempts to investigate hauntings. We then conclude with a brief discussion of the value of taking a hesitant approach to ghost-hunting. Here we argue that this hesitancy retains both the particularity of spectral spaces and the enchanting force that ghosts perform.

Textual manifestations

We want to begin by suggesting that those interested in haunting and spectrality might look in one of the places where these manifestations tend to be quite common: the ghost story. This section of the paper therefore presents three ghost stories to consider how haunting works in these kinds of narratives. The first concerns a tragic, vengeful ghost; in the second a suburban house is invaded by something uncanny; and in the last a mysterious object haunts two experts. The first has something to say about the attachment of haunting to people and places, and points out that we cease to fear ghosts when we understand their reasons for haunting. The second and third examples develop this to show how disclosure and detection are central to many tales of haunting, though a troubling or enchanting excess often remains.

The first of our three stories is a recent Spanish/Mexican horror film. [START_REF] Del Toro | El espinazo del diablo[END_REF] El espinazo del diablo (The devil's backbone) is set in an isolated, and haunted, Spanish boy's school during the Civil War. During the opening sequence Casares, one of the teachers, asks:

What is a ghost? A tragedy condemned to repeat itself time and again? An instant of pain, perhaps. Something dead which still seems to be alive. An emotion suspended in time. Like a blurred photograph. Like an insect trapped in amber.

Casares is not alone in thinking this way. Both fiction makers and real ghost-hunters have suggested that places and objects might somehow hold or store emotions, memories or even consciousness. Nigel Kneale's BBC TV drama The stone tapes suggests that powerful emotions might be recorded in the stones of old buildings. [START_REF] Sasdy | The stone tapes[END_REF] In the real world, 'Earth Mysteries' writers and parapsychologists like T. C. Lethbridge, Paul Devereux and Don Robins have suggested that 'a kind of psychic record may be imprinted on a location, perhaps because of some violence or strong emotion generated there'. [START_REF] Smyth | A guide to ghosts[END_REF] Natural materials might also carry these 'recordings' even when they are no longer part of a landscape: Robins suggested that the apparition that seemed to haunt a pair of mysterious sculptures known as the 'Hexham Heads' was somehow encoded into their crystalline structure. [START_REF] Screeton | Curse of the Hexham Heads[END_REF] Irrespective of the likelihood of this, haunting often represents a return of some sort, with ghosts coming back to attend to unfinished business, or because the wrongs done to them have not been redressed. This is certainly true of El espinazo del diablo. In the 'making-of ' documentary the director says 'I think a ghost is something waiting to happen. So… that's what the film is about… things waiting to happen'. [START_REF]Del Toro 'Behind the scenes[END_REF] So the plot is partly about vengeance, the working out of the consequences of a past tragedy, with the inevitability of this creating some of the tension even before we know anything about past events. Pile suggests that ghosts disrupt temporality because they represent 'an undisclosed injustice -a death, a haunting: a tragedy for which there is not yet a history.' 14 But we would want to suggest that a ghost does not have to be 'a tragedy condemned to repeat itself time and again', 'an insect trapped in amber'. That suggests that ghosts are following a script, recordings playing mechanically. If a ghost is something waiting to happen, then it might well be something existing in the virtual, a source of energies and possibilities. Instead of replaying its tragedy every time, each haunting might offer something new, a form of 'spiral' -rather than bare -repetition, in the Deleuzian terms discussed by Bennett. While the ghost may haunt the same places in the same way, each haunting is different because it concerns different observers, and produces different relationships between ghost and observers; 'each turn of the spiral enters into a new and distinctive assemblage'. And of course the ghost in El espinazo del diablo does eventually manage to make things happen. 15 So while the film suggests that the ghost is 'something dead that appears to be alive', we prefer to think of it as something alive that appears to be dead. Disturbing ghosts, bringing them back to some sort of life, is one of the aims of this paper. And it has important implications for the politics of haunting, because ghost stories can be strangely comforting. This is clearly the case for El espinazo del diablo. It is a very scary film, at least at first, but something happens as we learn more about the ghost and its motives. We become sympathetic towards it, and it ceases to scare us as much as it did when we first encountered it. In fact knowing why a ghost haunts is one way of loosening its hold over us. Once it can be narrated it ceases to be a mystery or threat. Which is why we want to sound a note of caution about investigations of haunting: they might exorcise our object away altogether. We want to think about how this might happen and suggest an alternative.

Strangely enough, perhaps, ghost and detective stories can be quite similar, and this resemblance is not simply a formal one. If haunting is associated with uncertainty, hesitancy, and the uncanny, then it also represents an opportunity to understand and come to terms with mystery. Noel Carroll notes that 'The point of the horror genre… is to exhibit, disclose, and manifest that which is, putatively in principle, unknown and unknowable'. As a consequence horror narratives revolve around the point of disclosure, of 'rendering the unknown known'. [START_REF] Carroll | The philosophy of horror, or, paradoxes of the heart[END_REF] The dramatic appearance of the phantom, or the discovery of an unknown presence are examples of this kind of disclosure. This process of disclosure is often played out in the text as 'a conflict of interpretations' and 'a deliberation about this conflict in terms of a ratiocination, the drama of proof, and the play of competing hypotheses'. 17 The story's characters, and its reader, debate the likelihood or unlikelihood of the haunting. Hesitancy is followed by disclosure, discussion, and explanation. The monster becomes visible; the ghost is laid to rest.

Similarly, Todorov pointed out that detective fictions involve two narratives: the first is the narrative of detection and the second is the narrative of the mystery itself. [START_REF] Todorov | The poetics of prose[END_REF] The story of the detective's investigation of a mystery uncovers and pieces together another, earlier narrativewhat really happened and 'whodunnit'. A cliché of this kind of story has the detective gather the protagonists together in order to reconstruct the events and present the solution. Ghost stories often possess a similar double narrative; a haunting or mysterious set of events is explained, at least partially, when a past event comes to light. Yet making sense of haunting denies it the enchanting charge that probably provoked our interest in it in the first place.

So we want to suggest that in our investigations into haunting we might usefully take heed of our fictional predecessors, but that we should also stop short of making ghosts make sense. In order to do this we want to consider two brief examples from the golden age of the British ghost story.

One of the best examples of the similarity between ghost stories and detection comes from the work of Algernon Blackwood (1869-1951), the author of horrific and fantastic fiction. Blackwood's Dr Silence, a 'psychic doctor', featured in five extremely popular tales in John Silence -physician extraordinary (1908) and one in Day and night stories (1917). Seemingly modelled on Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes, Silence discusses cases with his clients in his consulting room, visits the sites of cases, and is meticulous in his reasoned investigations. However, he is also well versed in the occult, reflecting Blackwood's own interest in psychic research and occultism.

The first of the Silence stories, 'A psychical invasion', concerns a haunted house in Putney, in London's suburbs. Its tenant has apparently taken an 'overdose' of cannabis and this has somehow encouraged a psychic presence to invade his home. Dr Silence sets out to investigate the house. The tenant has not actually seen the entity; it remains thoroughly immaterial and invisible, though its impossible presence terrifies him. Silence realizes that while he may not be able to sense this entity himself he might be able to witness the haunting indirectly, using a cat and a dog as 'barometers'. [START_REF] Blackwood | A psychical invasion[END_REF] He believed (and had already made curious experiments to prove it) that animals were more often, and more truly, clairvoyant than human beings. Many of them, he felt convinced, possessed powers of perception far superior to that mere keenness of the senses common to all dwellers in the wilds where the senses grow specially alert. Cats, in particular, he believed, were almost continuously conscious of a larger field of vision, too detailed even for a photographic camera, and quite beyond the reach of normal human organs. He had, further, observed that while dogs were usually terrified in the presence of such phenomena, cats on the other hand were soothed and satisfied. He selected his animals, therefore, with wisdom so that they might afford a differing test, each in its own way, and that one should not merely communicate its own excitement to the other. He took a dog and a cat. 20 Silence's careful, one might almost say scientific, use of these animal barometers helps him find and repel this psychic invader. In fact it is reminiscent of the subtle (though inanimate) devices employed by investigators like Harry Price (who we will return to later), and in fact Dr Robert Morris, a Kentucky parapsychologist, apparently noted the different reactions of a dog, a cat, a rattlesnake and a rat in his investigation of a haunted house in the 1960s. 21 But Silence is also interested in the history of the house; as with most haunted houses, from the classic Gothic stories to Danny Miller's Edwardian semi, it is previous inhabitants who haunt us. At the end of the story Silence reveals something of the evil history of the woman who used to live there; this is a good example of the twin narrative as the earlier story that Silence has recovered makes sense of the haunted house mystery. This is also obvious in our third story, 'The red hand' (1897) by Arthur Machen (1863-1947). The story concerns the investigation of a murder in Clerkenwell, London, by two friends who propose rival explanations for its bizarre nature. Phillips, a sober ethnologist and archaeologist, cannot believe that there is anything supernatural about the case at all, while Dyson, a writer who shares Machen's own mysticism, is prepared to consider the most outré explanations. Between them they play out Carroll's 'drama of proof ', as so many other fictional duos have done when faced with the fantastic, from the protagonists of H. P. Lovecraft's 'The unnamable' to The X-Files' Mulder and Scully. [START_REF] Lovecraft | The unnamable[END_REF] Despite Dyson's willingness to entertain the prospect that 'there are sacraments of evil as well as good amongst us' he solves the case by the application of rational deduction. [START_REF] Machen | The red hand[END_REF] Phillips, on the other hand, is hampered by his refusal to believe that 'the troglodyte and the lake-dweller… may very probably be lurking in our midst', and can only follow Dyson's investigation much as Watson follows Holmes. 24 Dyson makes the mystery make sense, just as Dr Silence does. And when the case is finally solved we are presented with a story that makes some sense of what has gone before, just as Silence is able to recover the truth of the haunting by reconstructing an earlier story.

But there is something excessive about the presences haunting London in both of these stories. The animals that Silence uses as his barometers only provide hints as to the nature of the mysterious entity: the cat rubs itself against the legs of the invisible intruder, which shows us that it is there without letting us know what it is. 25 This is of course a classic example of what Rosemary Jackson describes as 'non-signification' in horror fictions. [START_REF] Jackson | [END_REF] Roger Salomon refers to this as the 'problem of witnessing': 'how to naturalize such narrative enough to make it credible without limiting the implications of issues raised and thus explaining away the horror'. [START_REF] Salomon | The mazes of the serpent[END_REF] Horror and fantastic fictions are full of such almost-presences, from the invisible 'Damned Thing' in Ambrose Bierce's story of the same name (1893), whose movements can only be detected as it disturbs long grass or blots out the stars in the night sky, to E. F Benson's 'The chippendale mirror' (1915), which replays the scene of a murder over and over again, and the Invisible Man of both H. G. Wells' novel (1897) and James Whale's film (1933). [START_REF] Bierce | The Damned Thing[END_REF] At one point in El espinazo del diablo the ghost is invisible but leaves wet footprints behind it as it walks. There are similar limits to Silence's scientific approach to the haunting; he becomes worried because the dog appears to be terrified, though he admits to himself 'that it was really impossible for him to gauge the animal's sensations properly at all'. 29 In other words it proves quite difficult to calibrate his barometers.

Similarly, in Machen's story Dyson is troubled by a clue he discovers, a stone known as the 'black heaven', carved with 'inscrutable' characters. When Phillips offers to try to make sense of these glyphs, Dyson says: 'take the thing away with you and make what you can of it. It has begun to haunt me; I feel as if I had gazed too long into the eyes of the Sphinx'. Phillips also fails to decipher the symbols (despite having formulated 'thirty-seven rules for the solution of inscriptions') and agrees, 'I yearn to be rid of this small square of blackish stone. It has given me an ill week'. Something about the stone haunts them both, and it seems that this is only partly because the inscription remains unsolvable. 30 And the two friends are shown another disturbing object at the end of the story, when they have identified the murderer, who presents it to explain something of his motives. We are told that 'Phillips and Dyson cried out together in horror at the revolting obscenity of the thing', which is then not described further. 31 These mysterious objects do not become straightforwardly meaningful despite the solving of the murder; in fact the uncovering of the original story simply opens up another, and much more profound, mystery. This tension is obvious from Machen's other stories, as S. T. Joshi points out: one could easily imagine Machen writing an accomplished detective novel; but of course he would never have done so, for the notion of resolving all loose ends, and thereby emphasising the rational intellect's understanding of the world, was anathema to Machen, the religious mystic. [START_REF] Joshi | Introduction[END_REF] This tension between investigation and mystery seems a rather fruitful one, and is also visible in historical attempts to manifest ghosts. We turn now to our second set of examples.

Material manifestations

So far we have explored the ways in which ghosts and haunting are disclosed and made sense of through the narratives of supernatural and horror fiction. In this section we wish to further explore this process of disclosure and, in particular, the excess of ghostly manifestations.

Here we dwell upon the interaction between the ghostly immateriality and the spectral transformation of different objects, bodies and spatialities. Indeed, one of the ways in which geographers have sought to understand the spectrality of space and contribute to broader debates on spectrality, is through the ghostly rendering of space, objects and embodiment. For example, Pile explores how various architectures of the city are haunted by multiple phantoms: as he puts it, '[t]he spirits of the dead become a part of the very fabric of the city, woven into its physicality, such that the sidewalks and stairwells become spectral, attached in some way, to the spirits of the spirits -like a shadow cast by the body of reality'. 33 Here it is the very substance and the concreteness of the city and urban space which bring forth ghosts and haunting. As such the intertwining of the material with the immaterial registers a disruption or dislocation of the ordinariness of different spatialities. The involuntary and often unsettling recollections which occur in such spaces involve the transformation and destabilization of the very mundanity of materially ordered space. In other words, haunted spaces concern the disruption of the normalized affordances of objects (i.e. how they enable and constrain 'taken-for-granted' modes of action and practice) and their attendant spatialities: mundane practices with and towards objects are shifted and the habitualized sense we make of objects is disrupted such that the configuration of materiality, space and bodies show up and are enabled in new and unexpected ways. [START_REF] Gibson | On materiality, affordance and practice see[END_REF] Arguably, then what we are dealing with when a space becomes haunted is the disruption or dislocation of normalized configurations and affordances of materiality, embodiment and space.

We would like to explore this argument further through the example of spiritualism. Originating primarily in the mid-nineteenth century, spiritualism was a transatlantic movement that held it was possible to contact and communicate with the spirits of the dead through the central space of the séance. [START_REF]On spiritualism see[END_REF] Here the medium, skilled in communicating with the deceased, plus other believers and invited guests gathered round (usually) a table, linked hands and waited for signs of contact. The manner of this contact came in different forms. Beginning with simple knocks or 'raps' on the séance table, as the nineteenth century progressed 'spirit lights' were witnessed, mediums 'apported' different objects from 'the other side' (often petals of flowers) and began to materialize body parts such as spirits hands, faces and limbs, reaching its ultimate conclusion in fully embodied materializations (first performed in 1873 with the manifestation of 'Katie King' by the medium Florence Cook). The following example, under the mediumship of Evan Powell, is typical of séance reports:

Most common to the performance of the séance was the registering of spirit communication through the movement of different objects. In particular, spiritualism became known by the short-hand of 'table-tipping', whereby the table round which sitters gathered moved, rocked and tilted to reveal the presence and record the message of the spirits. Here, under the mediumship of J. R. M Squire, a Dr Robertson records such phenomena:

The raps on the dining table were loud, frequent and intelligent, i.e. they responded to the wish of the medium, imitating his raps, rapping the numbers requested and giving responses by the alphabet to questions put…The dining table, a large heavy oak table, 5 feet by 7 feet, was frequently lifted up and moved about the room, and this not by any of the four persons present. Again, a writing table on which the four witnesses seated themselves was twice tilted over with a strange unearthly facility, and they landed on the floor. 37 And from 'an inquirer' William Overton, reporting on a séance held in Bethnal Green, London, in 1868:

The room was darkened only about a minute when the raps commenced. During the evening, the large loo table, weighing about 100 lbs, was lifted from the floor several feet, and, I think, would have gone up to the ceiling if there had not been a gas chandelier in the way. The table was held suspended for some seconds at a time, waving to and fro as if it had been only a feather, and the hands of two present were forcibly pulled off by what appeared to them the hand of a giant. [START_REF] Overton | More manifestations[END_REF] In the séance therefore, and the spiritualist movement more generally, the ghost is registered and disclosed through the transportation of objects and material artefacts. Indeed, this materialization is one which shifts and alters the affordance of an object in that the normal possibilities for action engendered by a table are disrupted by its registering of the ghost. Furthermore, this movement and physical shifting of objects is one that makes different the normalized spatiality of things: registering the ghostly displaces and dislocates material geographies. This disruption occurs precisely through the disordering of how space and its object relations come to be known through practice. This making strange of the affordance of the object and its attendant spatiality is arguably unsettling: no longer in their place, no longer offering their normal course of practicable action, dislocated ghostly materialities disrupt our senses of space. In other words, the familiar object-spaces that endure through habitual practice are made strange and mysterious. Ghosts and spirits lend what we like to deem an uncanny affordance to material geographies. When the normalized and familiar possibilities for action proffered by an object are made strange and unfamiliar our practiced senses of space are disrupted and refigured, displaced and dislocated.

The uncanny affordances of displaced materialities offer up different and contingent affectual registers. These disorientating modes of affect are transversal in that different lines of sensation transect and cross in often contingent ways through the bodies of the sitters and the relations between objects and the participants. This transversal affect emerges out of the different relations between bodies, objects and the sensual apprehension of this relational emergence. [START_REF] Holloway | Enchanted spaces: the séance, affect and geographies of religion[END_REF] One of the key loci in this affective relationality was the comportment and body of the medium: often entering a trance-like state in order to become the conduit for the spirits to communicate, the medium enacted a form of what can be deemed spectral embodiment. This, as many spiritualist commentators pointed out, was a corporeality that required not only a particular sensitivity (gendered and patriarchal assumptions meant that women were often deemed the best and most appropriate mediums), but also a degree of discipline and calibration of the body. As one mid-Victorian commentator explains:

The gift of mediumship requires developing by constant sitting, in the same way that a musical or an artistic talent requires to be cultivated; and a person can therefore no more expect to be a proficient instrumentalist without previous practice. [START_REF] Fritz | Where are the dead? or spiritualism explained[END_REF] Indeed not all those who attempted this corporeal practice achieved it, as we can see in this example from a Mr T. M. Simkiss reporting to the London Dialectical Society in 1873: I am not myself a medium in the common acceptation of the term, though I have tried to become one. I have tried in a variety of ways to see, hear or feel spirits myself…by sitting alone in the dead of night for many hours in a room that was used for some years exclusively for the purposes of spirits and mediums…but with no apparent effect. 41 Thus the ability to disclose the ghostly and perform this mode of spectral embodiment relied upon skill and somewhat intangible characteristics of 'the gift' or 'sensitivity'. As such, mediumship was a contingent performance, not always successfully enacted, and derived through a varying and mysterious assemblage of practice, affect and corporeality.

The haunted space of the séance derives from the uncanny affordance of materialities and the manifestation of the ghost through transformed affect and embodiment. These processes unsettle sedimented practices of materiality, embodiment and the expectations of how certain spaces show up. This unsettling or making unfamiliar of the familiar is at the heart of Freudian notions of the uncanny wherein the sudden and disruptive return of repressed and unconscious anxieties to consciousness, produces sensations of dread, fear and even horror. Placing aside the spectral notion of the unconscious upon which this theory is based we would argue that the space of the séance, and its uncanny affordances and modes of spectral embodiment, do not always produce affectual registers of dread and fear. [START_REF] Castle | Phantasmagoria: spectral technology and the metaphorics of modern reverie[END_REF] Certainly in the early days of the spiritualist movement these sorts of sensations would have been uncanny to the degree they produced horror in the sitters. Here an anonymous 'Honourable Lady' reports to the London Dialectical Society concerning such sensations, enacted in a séance under the famous medium, Daniel Dunglas Home:

We were seated in a partially darkened room. We first heard raps and then saw a human figure at the window. It entered and several other figures came trooping after it. One of them waved its hands. The atmosphere became fearfully cold. A figure which I recognised as that of a deceased relative, came behind my chair, leaned over me, and brushed lightly my hair with its hand. It seemed about eight feet high…But the most extraordinary thing of all was the laughter. One of us said something and all the spirits laughed with joy. The sound was indescribably strange, and it appeared to us as it came from the ground. 43 Yet as the movement progressed and séances became more commonplace, horror and fear of the strange often gave way to sensations of reassurance, comfort and even delight. For spiritualists the defamiliarization of a dislocated table engendered belief in the reality of the other world (often circumscribed as a utopian 'elsewhere' of emancipation and freedom for all) and offered hope and guarantee that loved-ones had passed safely. In a period where the spatial relations of distance, proximity and bodily boundaries were being opened up by the uncanny possibilities of the telegraph, communication between the 'two worlds' through the supernatural displacement of, and 'raps' on, tables became a source of both opportunity and warmth. As Jeffrey Sconce puts it, 'each time a medium manifested occult telepresence, be it through rappings or spirit voices, planchette readings or automatic writing, she [sic] provided indexical evidence of a social stage continually displaced and deferred that held the promise of a final paradise.' [START_REF] Sconce | Haunted media: electronic presence from telegraphy to television[END_REF] Sometimes unsettling in their intensity, but often culminating in feelings of assurance and even delight and humour, séances could be orientating or disorientating, or both. Thus séances were always contingent spaces caught up in different charged orientations towards belief or incredulity, mystery or rational explanation. However, consistently emerging through the event of the sèance, for both spiritualists and other sitters, were a series of imponderable moments and instants of undecidability. This lack of knowability of what or who was rearticulating the familiar spatial and practical fields of both objects and bodies gave these spectral geographies their particular resonance. As one nineteenth-century commentator describes, 'as the operators are invisible, it is impossible to say how they effect this object.' 45 Castle eloquently expresses the undecidability of spectrality when referring to the phantasmagoria shows of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries:

The subliminal power of the phantasmagoria lay in the fact that it induced in the spectator a kind of maddening, irrational perception: one might believe ghosts to be illusions, present 'in the minds-eye' alone, but one experienced them here as real entities, existing outside of the boundary of the psyche. The overall effect was unsettlinglike seeing a real ghost. 46 The 'not-quite-there-ness' of spectrality, manifested in shifting objects and bodies, renders space unfamiliar and unsettling. The unsettling nature of this repositioning emerges through lack of security of what actually causes the transformation. For some sitters the unsettling moment of hesitation was resolved and gave way to different explanations: for many enrolled into the spiritualist movement the disruption of certainty became expressions of the 'reality' or 'truth' of the spirit world, while for others hesitancy was transformed into the need to expose fraudulent mediums or disclose the supposed dysfunctional medical bases for mediumship. [START_REF] Walkowitz | Science and séance: transgressions of gender and genre in late Victorian London[END_REF] As such both sets of séance goers seek to represent the séance as expressions of something else and resolve their hesitancy in the face of undecidability. Yet in dispelling hesitancy through decidability, we would argue, is to dispel the particular instants of excessive resonance that orchestrate spectral geographies. Indeed, it is this sense of being caught up in a surge of indeterminacy which gives spectral space its particular tone and its potentialitytwo characteristics of haunted space we wish to explore as we conclude.

Conclusions: hesitancy, spectrality and enchanted analyses

One of the defining characteristics of the history of ghosts and haunting has been the many attempts to dissipate undecidability and make the unfamiliarity of spectrality familiar again. In various ways these represent attempts to control and bring fully into representation the absent-presence of ghosts. In addition to those examples already detailed in this paper, there are a number of other attempts at determination worth briefly mentioning here. First, in the séance, it became customary to tie the medium to their seat (usually in a curtained cabinet) with string, rope and sometimes electrical wire in an attempt to remove the possibility of fraud and thus to prove (or not) the 'reality' of the contact and manifestations:

It should be mentioned that Evan Powell [the medium] had been securely tied with rope, all the knots covered with sealing wax, and his thumbs tied with cotton. At the close all the fixtures were found entirely unaltered. 48 For spiritualists, scientists and de-frauders (of which there were many) these controls, as well as those where tables and rooms were checked for hidden means of trickery, represent attempts to dictate and ultimately decide the truth of spiritualism. Second, ghost-hunting has often been achieved through various technologies. For the famous ghost-hunter Harry Price these technologies consisted of cameras, sealants for doors and windows and torches. For Baron Albert von Schrenck-Notzing, who spent five years investigating mediums, spirits and ectoplasm, evidence of the ghostly or otherwise was performed in a 'psychic laboratory': Schrenck-Notzing initially outfitted his studio with five cameras including two stereoscopic cameras, and wired them to photograph an event simultaneously. He later added four more cameras, raising the number to nine and ensuring that his studio contained a large audience of mechanical eyewitnesses. [START_REF] Schoonover | Ectoplasms, evanescence and photography[END_REF] For the contemporary ghost-hunter these kits can include EMF meters, hydro thermometers and motion alarms. Such technologies can be seen as means to measure and ultimately to decide upon the causes of spectrality and the spaces they produce. Third, since the nineteenth century spectrality has been reduced to a product of the mind and the imagination: ghosts, it seems, are the result of an over-active imagination, or worse, the consequence of mental instability or various neuroses. This investigative path seeks certainty through a rationalist 'internalization of the spectral. For as long as the external world is populated by spirits -whether benign or maleficent -the mind remains unconscious of itself, focused elsewhere, and unable to assert either its autonomy or its creative claim on the world', which 'as if through a kind of epistemological recoil [results] in the spectral nature of our own thoughts -to figure imaginative activity itself, paradoxically, as a kind of ghost seeing.' 50 These various diagnostics and means of surveillance wrestle with the ghost and haunting in order to find assurance in 'this-worldly' zones of intelligibility. In short, ghosts are seen here as really something else. Yet as often as these attempts revealed fraudulent mediums, deception, particular environmental conditions and mental 'disturbance', they also pointed towards undecidability and imponderability. Thus the technologies afforded an agency in the recording and making manifest of the ghostly still leave us in a state of uncertainty in that these devices can only trace the ghostly. For example, during Schrenck-Notzing's investigations camera flashes would make ecotoplasm disappear and thus, 'the technology that secured a lasting material record of the ghostly manifestation also eradicated the physical phenomena itself, reducing any material evidence of spirit activity to a mechanical tracing.' 51 From Machen's 'black heaven' stone to the frisson of uncertainty of a displaced table, anomalies and imponderables abound in the different forms of materialization and manifestation we have discussed in this paper. The various means by which ghosts make their presence known -displaced objects, certain affectual registers or different textual narratives -are always troubled by absences and 307 often uncertain causation. Even under the strictest test conditions, spectral geographies are shadowy and excessive affairs, never fixable, always caught between explanatory criteria.

It seems therefore there is always an excess to the ghost and the spaces they haunt. Spectrality and haunting is impossible to exorcise through the securing categories that have often been created for them. Ghosts and spectres appear and disappear, are both absent and present. They are incarnations which hover between secure accounting mechanisms: as Laclau states, '[t]he very essence [of spectrality] is to be found in this undecidability between flesh and spirit: it is not pure body -for in that case there would be no spectrality at all; but it is not pure spirit eitherfor the passage to the flesh is crucial'. [START_REF] Laclau | The time is out of joint[END_REF] Inexplicability means that spectral geographies always produce and are produced through a degree of hesitancy. As such, haunted spaces and ghostly geographies often engender an interpretive position caught or frozen between a worldly or familiar explanation of events and a purely supernatural explanation of situations. This uncertainty and hesitancy is, we would argue, the specificity and particularity of spectral geographies. Indeed, the interpretative criteria we use to understand spectral geographies must likewise be hesitant. Ghosts can never be fully understood, represented or brought into representation.

How haunted spaces and ghostly geographies emerge through a specific refusal of classification is something we would like to see retained and explored in the so-called 'spectral turn'. Put differently, the specificity of locating haunting relies upon the particularity of ghosts as ghosts and the peculiar spaces assembled through and with them. Consequently, in taking up ghostly or hauntological understanding of spatiality there is a danger that some of the specificity of ghosts and spirit manifestation is lost. These dangers involve losing the particularity of spectral geographies to what Luckhurst calls 'the very generalized economy of haunting … [which] routinize[s] specificity beneath a general discourse regarding the spooky'. 53 Thus, retaining the particular and peculiar hesitancy of spectral geographies, manifested in various mysterious geographies, uncanny affordances, spectral corporealities and unresolved narratives, is and can be a very productive step forward.

We would argue that undecidability and hesitancy while at first a seemingly unproductive analytical manoeuvre, is full of potentiality for new ways of apprehending haunted spaces and spectrality more broadly. Take for example Tim Edensor's work on the industrial ruins of factories and warehouses: as he explores and moves through these marginal sites, ghosts enliven the assemblages of materiality, embodiment and space encountered producing myriad involuntary memories of childhood, ex-workers, habitualized factory routine and obsolescent pop culture. [START_REF] Edensor | Industrial ruins: space, aesthetics and materiality[END_REF] These insubstantial, uncertain and indeterminate absent-presences disrupt and often lend little sense to space, yet they allow for different and contingent speculations and ways of thinking to emerge. Ghost herein 'motivate us to celebrate the mysterious, heterogeneous sensations and surprising associations of the past in the present and encourage a wanton speculation towards objects and places, encouraging contingent rather than causal connections to be made between remembered events, spaces, objects and places'. 55 This is precisely the power of ghosts and the contingent potentiality of haunted spaces to enchant, to make us wonder and in so doing usher forth new interpretative frameworks, to open up our epistemologies or even our ontologies in fantastic, strange and sometimes baffling ways: 'By definition, having proof means that otherworldly experiences are brought into the concrete world of clarity and legibility. But when this happens they are in danger of losing their mystery and power to make us wonder.' [START_REF] Durant | The blur of the otherworldly[END_REF] Indeterminacy and contingency are both consistent characteristics of ghosts and haunting and a potentiality for orchestrating new ways of thinking and apprehensions. [START_REF] See | A benevolent and sceptical inquiry: exploring "Fortean Geographies" with the Mothman[END_REF] Indeed the way these imponderable spaces show up as distinctive haunted assemblages means that we can never be prescriptive: the peculiarity of the enchanting charge of haunted space involves manifold resonances and energies for our thinking and practices which are impossible to set out in advance. As such we would argue for the enchantment of ghosts to be witnessed and apprehended in their particular and peculiar spaces: ghosts as they are made manifest through specific spatialized narratives and spatial assemblages of practice, embodiment and materiality, and we must be attendant to this geographical particularity rather than producing generalized analyses of the spooky. Perhaps the ghost then, in its spatial multiplicity and indeterminacy, could make us (and our apprehensions) more alive despite, or even because of, its association with absence and death. Hesitancy and imponderability, excess and ineffability -going ghost hunting offers the potential and opportunity for newly charged lines of thought and enchanted modes of apprehension in the social sciences and humanities.

We had spirit lights, the Direct Voice, and movement of objects. My face was brushed by spirit drapery, and a flower was placed in my hand… A small table was lifted out of the cabinet and pressed against a lady sitter, whose handbag was taken from her and placed on the table.[START_REF] Curnow | The physical phenomena of spiritualism: a historical survey[END_REF]

Acknowledgements

The authors would like to thank the supportive comments of the two anonymous referees and the organizers, Peter Adey and Joanne Maddern, and audience of the session at the RGS-IBG conference in 2005 where this paper was first presented. Special thanks also go to Louise and Siobhan for putting up with our spooky obsessions.