Michele Kennerly's ambitious book sends a gust of fresh air through the field of ancient rhetoric. But that figure doesn't really suit her metaphorics—such a central aspect of the project. To hone in on these (a better figure, as we'll see), we need to come down to earth—to the material substance of wax tablets and papyrus book rolls, and the bodies of text produced on them. Editorial Bodies is a study of the ways ancient Greek and Roman poets and orators engaged in working on and over texts in a process of “recursive composing” (3) with consequences exceeding any narrow considerations of grammatical niceties. As Kennerly explains at the outset through a careful etymological introduction, our English word “editing,” understood as a late-stage form of “textual tidying” (1), often done by someone other than the author, cannot capture the kinds of work with texts performed and extensively discussed by these ancient wordsmiths. Honing, smithing, polishing, filing—these are a few of the gritty figures for textual work Kennerly excavates, and their object of attention, the text, is very often presented as a body. And here we arrive at the idea of “corpus care” (15), Kennerly's richly polyvalent figure for the processes and vocabularies referring to work on a text, itself a material body, for the bodies of the writers, and for those who received their work: a complex and multidimensional concept.Kennerly tracks the analogy of the body with the written text through an impressive number of authors in the Greek and Roman traditions. She argues for a consistency of reference across many sources, demonstrating that writing about writing in terms of the body pervades these ancients' extensive and careful attention to the crafting of rhetorical texts. An adjunct to this claim is the observation that insufficient attention has been paid to the relation between writing and oratory in the ancient periods. Editorial tendencies and terminologies, writes Kennerly, become absorbed into habits of writing, which, for orators, could “come to be absorbed into habits of extemporaneous speaking” (3). But Kennerly admits that delivery—the body of the orator on display—is not her concern here (172–73). Actual bodies appear from time to time. Aristotle warns that the bodily evidence of labor on a text should be hidden (9). Cicero in his dialogue Brutus relates his early experience of strain on voice and body, but after working with Molo in Rhodes, “both his body and speech [are] better defined for the unrelenting demands of public speaking” (90–91). We learn that Horace had a habit of debating with himself through shut lips (112) and that Ovid's body wasted away in exile (138–51). But Kennerly is far more interested in what bodies mean in Greek and Roman rhetorical culture, and in the textual analogy. Those signifying systems coalesce in the domain of gender, performing the normative work of “policing appropriate style and delivery” to secure “masculinity's approved cultural boundaries” (98).After an introduction setting up her terminology and claims, Kennerly begins with Athenian rhetoric in the classical period (fifth and fourth centuries BCE), surveying a daunting array of figures: Herodotus, Agathon, Alcidamas, dramatists Cratinus and Aristophanes, Plato, Isocrates, Aristotle, Demosthenes, Aeschines, Aristotle, and Anaximenes. Accumulating evidence of the “somatic-graphic analogy” (23), Kennerly performs some quite targeted readings here. Plato scholars will look in vain for the philosophical investments of the Phaedrus and his layering of voices in the Menexenus. These are set aside in favor of a reading of “rhetorical management,” attributed to Socrates rather than Plato (38–39). But this book is cast clearly as a material, rather than intellectual, history, and the method becomes more successful when we move to comedians and their “play and polemic” about rhetorical training. The Alcidamas text, On Those Who Write, offers much pertinent commentary on editing, but it is with Isocrates that Kennerly finds the richest exponent so far of “corpus care.” In his late and highly self-reflective Panathenaicus, Isocrates offers a “harrowing composition narrative” including “a view of how extensive and collaborative an editorial process can be” (45). The “insult-dense” oratory of Demosthenes and Aeschines provides Kennerly with colorful evidence of commentary on modes of composition, and of moving from written to oral performance, invested by these archenemies with “considerable invective energy” (46).The next chapter, on the Hellenistic period, is a welcome addition, given that there is less attention to these centuries than to others in the existing scholarship in rhetoric. Kennerly offers a counterpoint to the familiar narrative of rhetoric's decline, making the case here that polis life continued to rely on democratic practices and the rhetorics that they demand even after the triumphs of Philip of Macedon and Alexander at the end of the fourth century. I appreciate the way she works at the seam between Greece and Rome in this chapter, pairing two Greek writers, Demetrius of Phalerum and Callimachus, with two early Roman ones, orator Cato and poet Lucilius, who lived during the same period (roughly). Because we have no surviving work by Demetrius, Kennerly interprets his style through Cicero's extensive reception of his work in Brutus, a survey of Roman orators, and Orator, on style. Trained in the Peripatetic school of Theophrastus, Demetrius led Athens for ten years under the thumb of the Macedonians and in this role made deliberative speeches (59–65). According to Cicero, his philosophical learning “softened” his speech (64) without feminizing it. Her treatment of Cato gives us a more nuanced view of a rhetor in process than the familiar shorthand version of a gruff and taciturn moralist. Close etymological work with the treatment of figurae—understood broadly as forms or styles—in the anonymous Rhetorica ad Herennium provides Kennerly with abundant material for body-based rhetorical advice. The picture of Hellenistic rhetoric emerging from this chapter supports the assertion that the period is more accretive than derivative (76) and offers historians of rhetoric ways of rethinking the Roman relation to Greek rhetoric as more collaborative and less strictly oppositional. Where Kennerly does address the notion of a Roman inferiority complex—an anxiety of influence where letters were concerned—she attaches it to the imperial project: “editorial polish [is seen] as a solution to the general failure of Roman writing to spread and stick” (7).In chapter 3, Kennerly takes up one of her favorite figures, Cicero, highlighting his participation in a mid-first-century BCE large-scale cultural contest over style in its broadest sense (79). The struggle had to do with Atticism versus Asianism—inherited from the Greeks—and in keeping with the theme of the book, Kennerly shows how the struggle is carried out through (gendered) corporeal language. She makes the case indisputably for Cicero's interest in the use of writing before and after the delivery of the speech. There is in his process, Kennerly shows, a mix of “memory and monument,” the latter being Cicero's term for the finished text. After his exile in the mid-fifties BCE, Cicero stepped back from the vigor and intensity of his public oratory and applied his brilliance to philosophical and stylistic works on eloquence itself. In line with the purposes of her project, Kennerly does not delve into Cicero's philosophical contributions but notes that, for this consummate stylist, philosophy provides “silva (raw material; literally a forest)” (104). Later, she notes that Cicero, in his philosophical treatise De Officiis, praised the collaborative editorial practices of poets as a model for virtuous action: one should submit plans “to the scrutiny of trusted friends so that all mistakes can be caught and corrected” (151). We are treated to a more thorough analysis of Brutus and Orator, along with the less completely realized De Optimo Genere Oratorum (On the Very Best Kind of Orator). Far from simple formulae or a rejection of the new Atticism, Cicero advises a more expansive and flexible sense of style, Kennerly observes, matching each of three genres or duties of an orator—to move, to convince, and to delight—with three styles: “the weighty moves, the thin proves, and the moderate delights” (95). As with the Greeks, for Cicero the stakes are high where stylistic expertise is concerned. When an orator fails, it is not only his art or himself that he fails: it is “a client, friend, or the Commonwealth” (100). Kennerly addresses this entanglement of text, culture, and community persuasively.The chapter on Horace is refreshing, given that we have few rhetorical treatments of this poet. Kennerly highlights his compromised position in relationship to the first emperor, Octavian/Augustus, and reviews the implications for his poetic stance. Some of the most charming language in this chapter comes from Horace's Ars Poetica, where he pays a good deal of attention to style. He proposes a “compositional ethics of the slow,” advising restraint, scraping and scrubbing with the metaphorical file (127). His care in editing, Kennerly notes, is compatible with his “philosophic bent”: writing correctly arises from wisdom (130). In chapter 5 on Ovid's writings in exile, we read of his many pleas for attention, for collaboration, for editing in its most comprehensive sense. Ovid, Kennerly writes, shows an “acute rhetorical sensitivity to a situation”: his sad legal status as exile and harsh location influence his talk about writing (141). The penultimate body chapter on Quintilian is a significant one, and in it Kennerly brings to light the diligence with which Quintilian treats care of the text. She writes that he “made the managerial magisterial” (161), encouraging time, labor, and care in mastering the rhetorical art. Another important aspect of this analysis is Kennerly's attention to the gendered critical language running throughout Quintilian. A good style is always a masculine style marked by “an attractive fertility.” Tacitus and Pliny receive unusual and welcome attention at the end as well. Pliny's letters offer an accessible and revealing view of the sociality involved in composing, editing, and performing written and spoken texts in first-century CE Rome. The final chapter brings to light Cicero's famous and beloved amanuensis, Tiro: one known provider of the often unrecognized and coerced labor that went into ancient eloquence produced by elites. Kennerly ends with a reminder of the “ancient belief in the cross-indexical quality of the way one writes and the way one lives” (205).This is a beautifully prepared book; it's original and useful. The chronological movement—tracing the consistency of corporeal language across several centuries—enables the reader to follow the complex interrelations among writers and orators across the two cultures over six centuries. The attention to the original languages across the volume is meticulous. Kennerly's bibliography is very current, spanning the fields of classics, rhetoric, and poetics. She is evenhanded in her work with sources. As with all of her publications, Kennerly is a master stylist, showing how she has “love-labored” (a term from Isocrates) over this work. Her wordplay often delights. An example comes in her discussion of Isocrates, whom she characterizes as “figure-loving”: “political discourse without polish is all bluster whereas polished discourse without political import is all luster” (39). For some readers, the relentless word play may become distracting, and at times the clever tips over into the merely flip. But overall the style leavens a project entered into a field that may feel dusty and distant to students and nonspecialists. Scholars in composition / writing studies will be especially interested in the focus on writing process. At many points, we can see possibilities for contemporary comparisons and applications.Significantly, Kennerly is not pursuing stylistic manners for their own sake. She attends to contestation over what sorts of words best sustain communal life. Where I find the text really gaining purchase are the places where Kennerly points out the stakes of editorial work, and often they concern the status of the state. For example, she points out that Horace's enthusiasm for the editorial file (lima) was not only a poetic stance but also a civic one (19). We are urged to understand that editing, in the specialized sense elaborated here, is about not only the quality of the work and the status of the author but also political health and personal ethics.I will end where Kennerly ends, with comments on the canon. She claims to have shifted the canon by placing traditional names in untraditional scenes (211), and I agree that this is a contribution of the book. She also helpfully quotes and endorses Robert Gaines's proposal for an expansive reconsideration of “canon” so as to include “‘all known texts, artifacts, and discourse venues’” in a wide range of genres in “‘the ancient European discourse community’” (Gaines 2005, 65, qtd. on 210). This is an appealing invitation, one that led me to imagine how Kennerly's interest in the materials of writing and discourses of textual body care might be applied to an even wider swath of rhetorical activity in antiquity. For papyrus book rolls and wax tablets, as Kennerly knows well, were not invented in fifth-century Athens. She specifies at the outset that she will leave aside earliest examples—those with “a small chain of reception”—and concentrate on works “that have been heard and read by many” (1). This a reasonable criterion of selection. I did wish, though, that Sappho (and with her all the archaic lyric poets?) had not been dismissed so summarily (23), given the importance of the (woman's) body in her work and a substantial literature of reception. But a book can be about only so many things, and this book is about quite a few.Looking further afield, both temporally and geographically, we find many writers and speakers grappling with the materials of textual production—clay tablets in Sumeria, bone and tortoise shell in China, string knots in the Americas. And, in fact, some texts from those preclassical sites have been saved from the papyrus garbage heap. Just to take one example from the very rich repertoire of writing (on papyrus) in ancient Egypt, consider the anonymous tale “The Eloquent Peasant,” composed around 1850 BCE (Lichtheim 1973). This didactic tale features embedded speeches in the forensic mode that a peasant was required to deliver to a king/judge and then convert to writing (with the aid of a scribe) in order to get justice for a wrong. Embodied negotiations by multiple actors in the production of written and spoken texts, the quality of bodies—fine textual and debased working bodies: these are elements Kennerly has drawn on in her study of “corpus care.” The point of applying her method to such a text would be not only to expand the canon or corpus of rhetoric but also to grant the possibility of meta-consciousness about textual production not only to well-known elites of Greece and Rome but also to figures from distant times and places for whom we have only incomplete records. I'm grateful to Kennerly for her fine study and for the potential it opens up for further work in this vein.

I shall begin by speaking of our ancestors … [who] by their courage and their virtues, have handed … on to us a free country.—“Pericles’ Funeral Oration,” Thucydides, History of thePeloponnesian War, 2.36Persuasion involves choice, will; it is directed to a man only insofar as he is free.—Kenneth Burke, Rhetoric of MotivesCome, taste freedom with us.—Pussy Riot, “Death to the Jails, Freedom to the Protests”Freedom is a big, broad word—a capacious concept. It seems open and welcoming, frank and approachable. Such a natural pairing: rhetoric and freedom. There is an invitational gesture of sorts in each of the three passages that begin this piece: the speakers/writers offer to give over a polis, a choice, a collective experience to savor.For Pericles the gift of freedom is consolation and justification for the losses of war; for Burke (1950), freedom is the precondition of choice and will, essential to his sense of the human; Pussy Riot, on a more celebratory note, extends an invitation to freedom’s banquet but tacitly acknowledges that that invitation needs to be accepted. The sixty and more rhetoricians who gathered to mull over this pairing of rhetoric and freedom in San Antonio in May 2014 at the biennial symposium of the American Society of the History of Rhetoric brought with them that open spirit—a utopian urge to pursue freedom as a ground, a practice, and a potential outcome of rhetorical action. They also brought their deep rhetorical knowledge of the complexities of this subject: their awareness that this long-standing relationship between rhetoric and freedom is paradoxical, fraught with deception, and at times a spur to violence.The distortions of the term in political/popular discourse since 9/11 suggest that the time is right for a scholarly return to “freedom.” Casting himself as “author” of and “worker” for freedom, George W. Bush (2003) has now branded his own presidency and its legacy as a “Freedom Agenda.” Can freedom be authored, or forced, by one state onto another? Does “working for” freedom through military invasion not constitute the most basic violation of freedom? Although it is unlikely that such questions will be posed within the Bush Institute, a think tank “separately managed” by the Bush Foundation over the objections of trustees at Southern Methodist University adjacent to which it is housed (Traub 2009), we rhetoricians have the space, time, and conditions for contemplating and working through questions that the creation and naming of the Bush Institute raises. What is the relationship between freedom and the state, especially states that purport to be democratic? What are the personal conditions that enable rhetorical acts? Who are rhetorical persons and to what extent can we grasp their “freedom,” or lack thereof? And what will we rhetorical beings, or at least some of us, risk to win the pleasures and rewards of collective freedom?The articles brought together here, expanded versions of talks delivered at the symposium, explore these questions through an impressively diverse range of rhetorical approaches. To get a grasp on rhetoric and freedom, as these scholars demonstrate so compellingly, requires making fine distinctions, paying close, critical attention to stance and voice in historical texts and material culture, especially with regard to the state (Pernot; Lamp); it requires attending to questions about rhetorical personhood in relationship to governance as presented in Early Modern and Enlightenment political philosophy (O’Gorman; Stroud; Allen); and it demands that we direct our analysis beyond the page to the significance of space and body in the performance of protest under conditions of unfreedom (Trasciatti; Haskins). In what follows I introduce the articles offered here by reflecting on the topoi of freedom and rhetoric emerging from them—as a report on what I have learned from them and in hopes of framing and enhancing your reading experience.Freedom enters into rhetorical history and theory early on through a founding statement and performance of Athenian democracy: the funeral oration Thucydides (1954) attributes to Pericles, Athenian general and statesman, delivered early in the course of the war against Sparta, 431 BCE. Honoring the first to fall in the traditional state funeral, Pericles offers an encomium of the polis that celebrates several different kinds of freedom. As soon as he designates Athens as a free country (in the epigraph above), Pericles notes with praise that the fathers added to the city an empire; thus, the freedom of the first democracy was from the beginning contaminated by conquest and slavery. It is appropriate then that our issue begins with studies of the constraints on free speech and expression under empire. Laurent Pernot unveils the intricate processes through which Greek rhetors under the Roman empire were able to weave critical perspectives into their orations: a practice of using “figured discourse.” Kathleen S. Lamp approaches the question of freedom and captivity from the Roman side, reading state art in the Roman empire—representations of captives and conquest in sculpture, painting, and architecture—not merely to comment on the images but to ask: What happens when Roman citizens view this art? As citizenship becomes more and more available to subjects across many categories of difference, does the experience of viewing produce anything like freedom? Or does it rather foster imperial relations?The word for “free” in the passage from Pericles previously quoted is the superlative form of autarkês, meaning self-supporting or independent, as a sovereign. The same roots serve to designate imperial sovereignty (autokratoria) and the emperor (autokratês). It therefore is not surprising and is symptomatic of the state of rhetoric studies at present that the Athenian democracy praised by Pericles is, for the some of the authors in this special issue (e.g., O’Gorman; Allen; Trasciatti), a point of reference, sometimes an inspiration for the historical figures they study, but not a sanctified origin. And it is also fitting that this special issue closes as it opens, with essays that focus on the ways repressive states—the United States during World War I (Trasciatti) and Russia in the contemporary era (Haskins)—limit and punish free expression especially through the control of space and bodies. In each case, the analysis draws out the power of collective action and the rhetorical impact of bodies “prepared for freedom” (Trasciatti).As the ancient funeral oration proceeds, Pericles declares that “in my opinion each single one of our citizens, in all the manifold aspects of life, is able to show himself the rightful lord and owner of his own person” (Thucydides 1954, 2.41). Here it seems (eidê) that each man appears to be self-sufficient with reference to his body (to sôma). The general, like so many leaders since, must obscure the cruel paradox of destroying persons in the service of the freedom of the state. The “seeming” to be free and the reference to the body intrude as an unconscious into Pericles’s glorification of the solider who is “owner of his own person.”Burke’s (1950) sense of the person (in the second epigraph) is like and unlike that presented in the ancient Greek oration. Couching his project within the extreme limits of war, killing, and enslavement to dictatorship, Burke acknowledges the ultimate boundaries of freedom as life or survival—“good to remember, in these days of dictatorship” (50). The self imagined here might be that self-sufficient or sovereign: the solitary and defended self who can arm himself or herself against persuasion as aggression. And yet as Burke begins the section on “traditional principles of rhetoric,” he introduces the notion of persuasion “to attitude,” “attitude being an incipient act, a leaning or inclination” (50), qualities of a different sort of rhetorical actor. Several articles offered here in a similar fashion explore and expand the concept of rhetorical freedom as a practice, an activity, and a capacity of the person. Ned O’Gorman, for example, reads Milton against Hobbes to find in the former the concept of rhetorical freedom as a quality rather than a state. Scott R. Stroud discovers in Kant a rhetoric wherein autonomy is enacted across multiple agents toward an educative end. And Ira J. Allen presents rhetorical personhood as the characteristic of citizens who are capable of crafting collectively new forms of democratic governance.In all the articles we gain a sense of freedom as an incomplete process, a struggle requiring risk and effort but one with rewards worth savoring (as in the third epigraph). Freedom is an enticement: something sweet to taste and something to be shared. In praising Athens, Pericles remarks not only on the polis and its warriors but on daily life: “just as our political life is free and open, so is our day-to-day life in our relations with each other” (2.37). Here the word for “freedom” is eleutherôs, coming from a verb that means to loose or let go. This freedom is available to all and reminds us of the creativity and open expression that draws rhetorical thinkers of all eras to the ancient polis despite its limits. We might find a modern parallel in Burke’s (1950) ideas about the sublime: “by the paradox of substance, one can imaginatively identify oneself with the mountain’s massive assertiveness while at the same time thinking of one’s own comparative futility. The identification thus gives a sense of freedom, since it transcends our limitations (though the effect is made possible only by our awareness of these limitations)” (325). The courageous activists presented in Mary Anne Trasciatti’s work on antiwar protestors who defied the Espionage Act during World War I and in Ekaterina V. Haskins’s study of Pussy Riot’s daring performances aimed at Putin’s authoritarian regime and the Church patriarchy supporting it give us a sense of the dangerous lengths to which rhetors will go, in the face of limitations and futility, to seek a common freedom.Through this fine work, we readers are offered more than a taste but rather strong draughts of rhetorical scholarship on freedom. I invite you to imbibe, to slake a thirst, but at the same time to whet your appetite for evermore rhetoric and freedom.

In early June 2013, a group of rhetoric and composition scholars gathered in Lawrence, Kansas, to take part in a comparative rhetoric seminar, part of the 2013 Rhetoric Society of America Summer In...

On February 8, 2010, eleven student activists at the University of California–Irvine protested a speech by Michael Oren, Israel’s ambassador to the United States. The disruptive nature of the protest by these students—advocates of Palestinian de-occupation and members of the Muslim Student Union—led to disciplinary action against their student organization and criminal prosecution in the local county court for disturbing the peace. This essay offers the results of an interview-based study exploring the rhetorical education of five of these college activists. The interviews reveal the powerful influence of family histories of activism and thoughtful reflections on the rhetorical dynamics of the Middle East conflict within local, national, and international publics. They also show student awareness of the limitations of the liberal-deliberative rhetorics that underpin most college writing courses. That students reported only a tenuous sense of connection between college courses and self-sponsored activist education suggests that teachers and scholars of rhetoric and composition may need to give cocurricular activism more consideration in the next phase of the “social turn.”

Around 1980, Michel Foucault took a new direction in his historical work. This essay poses a question about the historiographical stance Foucault adopts in his late lectures by contrasting them with an early essay, “Nietzsche, Genealogy, History.” The central question concerns the status of “critical history,” a term Foucault derives from Friedrich Nietzsche. The turn toward ethics in the later work combines with Foucault’s urge toward a rapprochement with philosophy as a discipline and his engagement with canonical works of antiquity in a constellation of effects that seem to blunt the critical edge of his earlier historiography. It is finally through a turn toward the Cynics very near the end of his career that Foucault revives a form of historiographical untimeliness.

ABSTRACTThis article examines the interplay between the Stoic concept of cosmopolis and Greek rhetorical discourses of the polis in the Roman imperial period. D. A. Russell's “Sophistopolis” (from Greek Declamation, 1983) and Doyne Dawson's work on utopian political theory (1992) serve as points of departure for developing a method of reading the political in Second Sophistic rhetoric. The text under examination is a major first-century oration: Dio Chrysostom's Euboean Discourse. Composed around 96 CE, after Dio's return from exile by Domitian, the Euboicus combines a castaway's rural fable with didactic commentary, forcing the utopian pastoral hard up against a lecture on economic and social distress in the imperial city. Dio creates disjunctive moods, city-visions, and speaking personae, performing a rhetorical tour de force while simultaneously constructing a political subject at the limit of creaturely need. A “cosmopolitical” analysis of Second Sophistic rhetoric finds the consummate artistry of the paideia addressed to imperial power and provincial realities, revealing civic breakdown and human suffering in the city-spaces of empire.

Reviews 113 Ruth Webb, Ekphrasis, Imagination and Persuasion in Ancient Rhetorical Theory and Practice. Surrey, England: Ashgate, 2009. 238 pp. ISBN 9780754661252 The topic of ekphrasis has garnered much attention of late among classi­ cists, literary critics, and visual theorists—so much so that the bibliography on the subject has become unwieldy. Is ekphrasis a humble elementary exer­ cise in description? A w idely encompassing topos for the agon between word and image? An ancient nexus of speculation on the complexities of represen­ tation and the psychology of reception? Bringing together these perspectives and more, Ruth Webb's comprehensive treatment of ekphrasis from a rhetor­ ical point of view will be of interest to historians of ancient Greek and Roman rhetoric but may prove to be less than completely satisfying to those readers who have been following the critical explorations of the term of late. Webb begins with a strong argument: a proper understanding of ekphra­ sis should be grounded in the definition of the term offered in the rhetorical manuals of the imperial period, the 1st to the 5th centuries of the Common Era. Working closely with the Progynmasnmta of Theon, Ps.-Hermogenes, Aphthonios, and Nikolaos, as well as with rich material on the subject in the more advanced treatises by Quintilian, Ps.-Longinus, and Menander Rhetor, Webb insists that ekphrasis be considered in terms of effect rather than sub­ ject matter: it is "a speech that brings the subject matter vividly before the eyes" (Introduction and Chapter 1, "The Contexts of Ekphrasis"). She argues vigorously against a tendency she finds in modern criticism to see ekphraseis as descriptions of art works or as opportunities to explore ideas about the act of viewing in antiquity. Tier careful treatment of the handbook material— usefully presented in Greek and English in two appendices—focuses the reader's attention on enargeia. A vivid impression could be achieved through the detailed description, or narration, of many subjects, including activities such as battles, storms, plagues, earthquakes, and festivals, not only through descriptions of objects such as paintings, sculptures, and architectural won­ ders. Chapter 1 proceeds with historical evidence for a drift in scholarly treatments of ekphrasis away from the ancient rhetorical definition in the writings of nineteenth-century French art historians. A key moment of rupture in the mid-twentieth century for Webb is Leo Spitzer's appropriation of "ekphrasis" to designate a poetic genre. From here, writes Webb, "the rest is history," as ekphrasis is "catapulted" out of "the specialized domain of classical [sic] and archaeology into the world of English and Comparative Literature" (p. 35). The lapsarian tone of the narra­ tive at this point may startle readers who value interdisciplinary approaches to rhetoric and visual theorists who have left new critical poetics behind. The implication that all subsequent treatments of ekphrasis by literary scholars follow Spitzer's new critical lead is inaccurate and unhelpful (see p. 35 n. 63). In the penultimate chapter, Webb acknowledges recent writing on ekphra­ sis from classical scholars working on the ancient Greek novel (by Shadi Bartsch, Jas Eisner, Elelen Morales, Tim Whitmarsh, and others: see p. 178 114 RHETORICA and nn. 27 and 28). Influenced by literary theories such as semiotics, fem­ inism, and post-structuralism, these works, like those of scholars (notably W. J. T. Mitchell) from other humanities disciplines intersect in many ways with the perspectives developed later in Webb's book, but Webb does not pause to consider how they complicate the ancient vs. modern definitional agon driving her argument early on. As she aptly observes, "The connec­ tion between ekphrasis and the idea of visual representation ... runs deep" (p. 53), thus her lack of engagement with scholars exploring that very idea is puzzling. Webb is on firmer ground as she returns to a detailed examination of the treatment of ekphrasis in the handbooks (Chapter 2, "Learning Ekphra­ sis: The Progymnasmata). Emphasizing rhetorical production, she focuses on ekphrasis as "the exercise which taught students how to use vivid evocation and imagery in their speeches" (p. 53) rather than the static reproduction of set passages. Webb here makes an illuminating connection between ekphra­ sis and narrative, citing passages in which the speaker becomes...

In the post-Civil War United States, several historically black colleges gave a central role to classical rhetoric in their curricula, and many of their students used its concepts to develop a distinctly black, oppositional public sphere.

Reviews Raffaella Cribiore, The School of Libanins in Late Antique Antioch. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007. 360 pp. ISBN-10· 0-691128234 -3 Given the enormous body of writing left bv Libanius (b. 314 C.E.), sophist of Antioch, it is surprising that more scholarship has not been generated on this dynamic figure. Raffaella Cribiore, author of the prize winning Gymnastics of the Mind: Greek Education in Hellenistic and Roman Egypt (Princeton, 2001), has gone some distance in filling that gap with the impressive volume under consideration here. Her book serves two purposes: to provide an overview of education in the Greek East in Late Antiquity, with a focus on the school of Libanius in Antioch, and to present new English translations of ox er 200 of Libanius' letters to fathers, students, and other teachers. Using this material, Cribiore argues that assessments of Libanius as a personality based on his orations and the long Autobiography (composed in 374 and supplemented on numerous occasions up to the supposed date of his death, 393: see A. L. Norman, Libanius. Autobiography and Selected Letters, vol I, ed. and trans. A. L. Norman (Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1992), "Introduction" pp. 7-16) will become more three-dimensional through the evidence of the letters. Admirably, she does not read the letters as direct reports of Libanius' character or of history: "[l]etters manipulate reality no less than do speeches self-consciously composed for public consumption or autobiography" (p. 3). The character that takes shape in these letters, argues Cribiore, provides a counterbalance to the "old, embittered sophist" of the Autobiography and the late speeches (p. 6). She seeks to keep in view the warm, supportive teacher and passionate devotee of the logoi alongside the more familiar figure: a Libanius anguished over his physical trials and personal losses, and resentful at the loss of students to other teachers and other interests, such as philosophy and Roman law. Cribiore brings attention to the status of the letter as a genre residing "between public and private" (p. 4) and to the teaching of epistolary rhetoric (pp. 169-73). Letters were essential to the sophist in maintaining contact with former students, their families, and friends; he used them as a central form of promotion and recruitment to keep his school, so closely identified with the man himself, active and filled with students. "'A friend's children have come Rhetorica, Vol. XXVII, Issue 1, pp. 98-111, ISSN 0734-8584, electronic ISSN 15338541 . C2009 by The International Society for the History of Rhetoric. All rights re­ served. Please direct all requests for permission to photocopy or reproduce article content through the University of California Press's Rights and Permissions website, at http://www.ucpressjournals.com/reprintlnfo.asp. DOI: 10.1525/RH.2009.27.1.98. Reviews 99 to a friend through a friend"' (letter number 204, 321; qtd. p. 110): through such artful formulations Libanius forges a chain of connections among elites across the great distances of the empire. Cribiore emphasizes the role of the carrier, often the student in question, in presenting the letter, and the topos of letter as gift (p. 173; see also Norman, Libanius, pp. 17-43). In the translation section, Cribiore helpfully groups letters into "dossiers": clusters of letters concerning a single student or family. Most had instrumental goals—to evaluate a student to a father, to recommend a student for a position—but more fundamentally, Cribiore observes, each "had to represent the cultural values [Libanius] embodied" (p. 105). They functioned to maintain bonds of philia, the practice of a codified web of relationships (p. 107), forming the connective tissue of elite Greek society in Late Antiquity. Beginning with overview chapters on Libanius in Antioch and schools of rhetoric in the Roman East, Cribiore then moves in more closely to educational practices: the network of relations woven by epistolary practices, processes of admission and evaluation, the content of the curriculum, a long and short course of study, and a discussion of career paths of students after they completed their rhetorical education. The analysis ends with a somewhat cryptic and gloomy section on the silences of Libanius' final years: his illness and depression, the usurpation of rhetoric...

In this article, the authors analyze the history of 12th- century Byzantine intellectual Anna Comnena with attention to the use of rhetoric in her life and work. By analyzing the fragmentary historical record about Anna, they revise earlier readings of her relation to power, shifting critical scrutiny from a psychological perspective on Anna as an emotional and disappointed woman to her rhetorical performance and choices as a historiographer. By studying her strategies of self-presentation and use of figured discourse, they locate Anna as a participant in world-changing events: a writer who communicates the losses and pain experienced by those living in violent and politically volatile times.

218 RHETORICA voulu, p. XIII, sou peu, p. XIV n. 3; Fisiognomica, p. 1.... C'est en somme un ouvrage foisonnant, marquant et stimulant, à lire et à conserver. Pierre Chiron Université Paris XII-Val de Marne Michelle Ballif and Michael G. Moran, eds., Classical Rhetorics and Rhetoricians: Critical Studies and Sources. Westport, CT: Praeger, 2005. 402 pp. As programs in rhetorical studies in the U.S. grow, the field has come to acknowledge the need for a fuller complement of reference materials. In their introduction to this collection of short essavs on ancient Greek and J Roman rhetoricians, Michelle Ballif and Michael G. Moran point out the paradox of one of the oldest areas of studies in the humanities discovering in the late twentieth century a dearth of scholarship on its own history. The seemingly tireless efforts of George A. Kennedy and James J. Murphy have been indispensable, but a healthy discipline cannot be sustained on the work of a very few scholars. Over the past decade, rhetoric specialists such as Theresa Enos, James Jasinski, Water Jost and Wendy Olmsted, and Thomas O. Sloane have been moving to fill this gap. With its focus on figures rather than concepts and its concentration on the pre-modern period, the work under consideration here distinguishes itself from other recent publications. Falling between the Speech Association of America's 1968 Biographical Dictionary of ancient rhetoricians (Bryant et al.; now out of print) with its very short entries and the huge, comprehensive Oxford Classical Dictionary, perhaps too expensive and broadly conceived for many rhetoric scholars to justify owning, Ballif and Moran's book is a welcome contribution. The volume includes sixty-one alphabetically arranged entries, most on individuals, with a few on clusters of rhetors (Attic orators, Pythagorean women), anonymous works (Rhetorica ad Herennium), works whose author­ ship is in doubt (Anaximenes' Rhetorica ad Alexandrian, Demetrius' On Style, and Longinus' On the Sublime), and rhetorical practices (dissoi logoi, progymnasmata ). The forty-five contributors come from a range of institutions and disciplines-classics, communication studies, and English. Established schol­ ars in the field of classical rhetoric are well represented, and the contributors include a few writers from outside the U.S., but the project is primarily ori­ ented toward those who work with rhetoric in conjunction with composition or communications, a largely North American phenomenon The volume is distinctive in its resistance to the typically conservative function of reference works, the tendency of which is to consolidate, repro­ duce, and canonize. Ballif and Moran take a revisionary historiographical approach to their task, outlining in the introduction their desire to expand Reviews 219 and realign the historical boundaries of the field in several ways. They take in a broad historical sweep, including Homer and the pre-Socratics at one end and Augustine and Boethius at the other. Further, they work against the male-dominance of ancient rhetoric by including a number of female fig­ ures (e.g., Sappho, Aspasia, Hortensia, and Hypatia). Finally, they heighten the significance of sophistic contributions to the rhetorical tradition. This revisionarv approach is carried into the entries in many cases. Thankfully, the editors did not demand strict adherence to a template, so contributors were able to shape their material to the contours of their widely varied subjects. But there is consistency, so that in each case the reader is offered biographical data, an account of the significant texts, a discussion of rhetor­ ical theory and practice, and a perspective on the legacy of the figure in question. Numerous entries foreground on-going scholarly debates, realiz­ ing the editors' revisionarv commitments. Notable in this regard are Patrick O'Sullivan on Homer, Michael Gagarin on Antiphon, Janet Atwill on Aris­ totle, Takis Poulakos on Isocrates, and Joy Connolly on Quintilian. For the most part, the writers avoid the flattening or deadening effect that seems al­ most inevitable in such works, and figures come across not as clearly drawn monoliths but as sites of contestation. Particularly lively moments come in the entry on Diogenes of Sinope by D. Diane Davis and Victor J. Vitanza, and in Vitanza's characteristically zealous encounter with Favorinus. The quality of scholarship in general is high, as one would expect...

Abstract In these reflections on the symposium as an event, the author speculates about change and continuity in rhetorical scholarship over the last two decades and ponders the relationship between rhetorics of performance and citizenship. Notes 1. In Rhetoric and Poetics, Walker carefully delineates the histories of rhetoric as an instrumental or pragmatic art against which he posits his vision of rhetoric as a much older and more pervasive epideictic practices.

Abstract Archaic lyric provided opportunities for reflection on civic power and community values before the invention of prose and the emergence of democracy in Athens with its attendant rhetorical practices. The fragments of Sappho and Alcaeus, poets of 6th‐century Lesbos, can be read along side each other for an exploration of gender difference. Sappho's evocations of memory bespeak the situation of women excluded from public spaces of political deliberation and subject to displacement and loss. Gendered practices of memory are traced from Sappho and Alcaeus through the memory systems of classical Greek and Roman rhetoricians.

The tradition of rhetoric established 2,500 years ago emphasizes the imperative of speech as a defining characteristic of reason. But in her new book Lend Me Your Ear, Brenda Jo Brueggemann exposes this tradition s effect of disallowing deaf people human identity because of their natural silence. Brueggemann s assault upon this long-standing rhetorical conceit is both erudite and personal; she writes both as a scholar and as a hard-of-hearing woman. In this broadly based study, she presents a profound analysis and understanding of this rhetorical tradition s descendent disciplines (e.g., audiology, speech/language pathology) that continue to limit deaf people. Next to this even-handed scholarship, she juxtaposes a volatile emotional counterpoint achieved through interviews with Deaf individuals who have faced rhetorically constructed restrictions, and interludes of her own poetry and memoirs. The energized structure of Lend Me Your Ear galvanizes new thought on the rhetoric surrounding Deaf people by posing basic questions from a rhetorical context: How is deafness constructed as a disability, pathology, or culture through the institutions of literacy education and science/technology, and how do these constructions fit with those of deaf people themselves? The rhetoric of deafness as pathology is associated with the conventional medical and scientific establishments, and literacy education fosters deafness as disability, both dependent upon the premise that speech drives communication. This kinetic study demands consideration of deafness in terms of the rhetoric of Deaf culture, American Sign Language (ASL), and the political activism of Deaf people. Brueggemann argues strenuously and successfully for a reevaluation of the speech model of rhetoric in light of the singular qualities of ASL poetry, a genre that adds the dimension of space and is not disembodied. Ironically, without a word being spoken or printed, ASL poetry returns to the fading, prized oral tradition of poets such as Homer. The speech imperative in traditional rhetoric also fails to present rhetorical forms for listening, or a rhetoric of silence. These and other break-out concepts introduced in Lend Me Your Ear that will stimulate scholars and students of rhetoric, language, and Deaf studies to return to this intriguing work again and again.

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Composition (at its best) and feminism work against the grain of conventional institutional practices. Both challenge assumptions and seek to transform ways of thinking, teaching, and learning. Both are complex, containing different agendas and different voices. Feminism and Composition Studies: In Other Words is a feminist project that boldly places at its center differences among women. Topics discussed include American history, politics, language, racism, pedagogy, contingent labor in the teaching of writing, e-mail behavior, and the need for educational and institutional reform. Teachers, graduate students, program administrators, and feminists will find valuable the critiques, theoretical as well as personal, contained in this unusually honest and thought-provoking volume.

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This book is a critically informed challenge to the traditional histories of rhetoric to the current emphasis on Aristotle Plato as the most significant classical voices in rhetoric. In it, Susan C. Jarratt argues that the first sophistsa diverse group of traveling intellectuals in the fifth century B.C.should be given a more prominent place in the study of rhetoric composition. Rereading the ancient sophists, she creates a new lens through which to see contemporary social issues, including the orality/literacy debate, feminist writing, deconstruction, writing pedagogy.The sophists pleasure in the play of language, their focus on historical contin-gency, the centrality of their teaching for democratic practice were sufficiently threatening to their successors Plato Aristotle that both sought to bury the sophists under philosophical theories of language. The censure of Plato Aris-totle set a pattern for historical views of the sophists for centuries. Following Hegel Nietzsche, Jarratt breaks the pattern, finding in the sophists a more progressive charter for teachers scholars of reading writing, as well as for those in the adjacent disciplines of literary criticism theory, education, speech communication, ancient history.In tracing the historical interpretations of sophistic rhetoric, Jarratt suggests that the sophists themselves provide the outlines of an alternative to history-writing as the discovery recounting of a set of stable facts. She sees sophistic use of narrative in argument as a challenge to a simple division between orality literacy, current discussions of which virtually ignore the sophists. Outlining similarities between ecriture feminine and sophistic style, Jarratt shows that contemporary feminisms have more in common with sophists than just a style; they share a rhetorical basis for deployment of theory in political action. In her final chapter, Jarratt takes issue with accounts of sophistic pedagogy focusing on technique the development of the individual. She argues that, despite its employment by powerful demagogues, sophistic pedagogy offers a resource for today s teachers interested in encouraging minority voices of resistance through language study as the practice of democracy.

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readers a philosophical endorsement of rhetoric, an argument for narrative, a hypotactical defense of parataxis, and a serious discussion of playfulness. The one exception to this cryptodialectical commentary is Jarratt's second chapter. There she skillfully avoids the binary trope of mythos-logos, rejects convincingly the logic of linear historical progress, and demonstrates nicely how the sophistical affinity for nomos shifts our attention from a questionable and outdated dichotomy to a field large enough to include both binary terms and meaningful enough to transcend their differences. Dismissing neither mythos nor logos, nomos appropriates both, and in so doing invents something other that problematizes the already familiar. Unfortunately, the story of nomos is only half of a larger sophistical story. The other, opposing half, the story of physis, finds itself associated only with the philosophers. Insofar as Antiphon's and Hippias' arguments for physis support part of her agenda, this omission or misassociation is all the more perplexing. In the 1850's George Grote observed that the sophists were the mainstream intellectuals in their culture and Plato an eccentric reformer. True, many historians of philosophy reversed this historical reality, making Plato the intellectual king and the sophists his unworthy subjects. Now Jarratt urges historians of rhetoric to give the sophists, women, and teachers of English composition a more prominent role in the new histories of rhetoric. Recent works by Vickers, Conley, and Bizzell are already doing what she is urging. If Jarratt is looking for more recognition as a historian of rhetoric, a feminist intellectual, and a teacher of college composition, she has a great deal more support than she may realize.

Even before the Research Network was called to order during the 1988 Conference on College Composition and Communication, we as organizers had become aware that we had tapped into a strongly felt need. As Charles Bazerman recounted in his opening remarks that morning, response had been overwhelming. Not only had we been impressed with the number of people willing to travel early to CCCC to talk about their work in progress, but we had been unprepared for the number who wanted to listen and respond. This deeply felt need, as Bazerman suggested, was a sign that we had come of age as researchers. No longer exhausted with the task of defending our projects to outsiders, we sought the time and space to talk among ourselves. Ironically, much of the morning talk was given over to expressions of good will and pluralism that initially obscured rather than furthered this dialogue. It was as if we had to assure ourselves that no one was going to walk out the door before we could get down to work. The tone of the meeting changed by the afternoon, however. In small groups the participants quickly ignored the global questions we had formulated over lunch (What do we need to know?; How will we know it?; What do we do with it when we get it?) and turned with more relish to the work-in-progress presentations. In these, researchers from strikingly different perspectives attempted to explain their current projects in terms the others could understand. Now, instead of speaking of our global pluralism, we more frankly admitted our ignorance in the face of each

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(1987). The first sophists and the uses of history. Rhetoric Review: Vol. 6, No. 1, pp. 67-78.