The opportunity to conduct archival research in Ireland and England this summer allowed me to seriously consider portrayals of World War One memory by Irish Protestants in the 1940's and 1950's. However, after working with a number of different sources in Ireland, I decided that the work which had originally inspired my topic, Elizabeth Bowen's A World of Love was best understood not through its similarities to other Protestant literature of the time but rather through its very exceptionality. Most of the films, oral histories and works of literature I looked at tended to discuss World War One memory in fairly conventional ways according to unionist/nationalist rhetoric. As a result, I reframed my topic to analyze Bowen's unusual use of World War One memory in light of her views on the complexities of Irish identity. After better acquainting myself with her oeuvre and the critical discourse on her work, I worked with her unpublished correspondence in several archives throughout the U.K in order to better understand her conception of Irish pluralism. My final topic will focus primarily on Bowen as a focal point for debates over the inclusiveness of Irish identity. I plan on examining this by further researching Bowen's own work alongside current media debates over her "Irishness." The summer research trip allowed me to deepen my knowledge of 1940's and 1050's Ireland, and reevaluate the proper context in which to assess "A World of Love."

I discovered new angles to explore in my topic and gained a much better understanding of the late nineteenth century in particular. I also developed a new appreciation for the prominent reformers of that era, such as Josephine Butler, Florence Nightingale, and Ellice Hopkins, after perusing their writings. Having access to so many primary resources, including hand-written letters, newspaper clippings, and original pamphlets and circulation materials helped me to both form a wider base of materials for any generalizations and to choose particular authors—including the above reformers—and a time period on which to focus, the late nineteenth century. I hope to find a way to incorporate several of these works as well as my many interests and thoughts as I move forward with work on my thesis. I am also considering focusing on Elizabeth Gaskell's novel Ruth (1853), Josephine Butler's drama The New Godiva (1883), and Grant Allen's novel The Woman Who Did (1895) as works of fiction in my thesis.

When I decided to study French laïcité, I knew I had big shoes to fill. A core value of French republicanism since the revolution, laÏcité has become an almost untouchable tenet of the country's constitution and the French staunchly defend their state/church neutrality against any reproach from abroad. But in recent years, I have sensed some national tensions on the role of laïcité, exemplified in part with a reaffirmation on the part of president Sarkozy of France's Christian heritage. These tensions between France's renewed focus on Christianity and its continuous commitment to laÏcité became increasingly apparent throughout my interviews this summer. In France, I divided my time between politicians who offered a wide range of opinions on the relationship of state and Church, and experts and professors who have made careers out of studying the history of laïcité. Through these interviews, I hoped to learn more about tensions currently developing in France about laÏcité and the Christian heritage and to probe how this national debate affects thoughts about the European Union and the accession of Turkey. With the help of Harvard professors and the network I developed throughout the summer, I was able to interview a wide range of people. Among them were two members of the French constitutional court (the equivalent of the supreme court), the French European commissioner, deputies to the European parliament and two members of the Stasi Commission that recommended the law against conspicuous religious symbols in secondary schools. I also spoke with historians of French and Turkish laÏcité who helped me establish a solid background on the paths that both countries have followed. I returned to America bearing overweight suitcases filled with books recommended to me throughout my time abroad and the works of the many people I interviewed, including some unpublished articles. Reflecting the intellectual culture of their country, the French politicians I met with were often just as well-versed on the subject as the experts I interviewed and I quickly learned that everyone who is anyone in France has written at least one book about laïcité. I left Europe confident in the research I had done and the arguments I was beginning to form in my head, but also more aware of the complexity and controversial nature of the subject I have chosen to study.

When I arrived in London, I was deeply interested in the representations of the body in the 19th century novel and how the social currents of the period influenced such authors as George Eliot and Edith Wharton. Once I began reading into Eliot's letters alongside current scholarly treatment of Middlemarch, I noticed a new strand in the author's project. As before, the driving current of my study had been what role technology, or modernization played in the changing structure of the 19th century novel. Did literary representation change? Or basic narrative structure? After a week or so of research, my interest began to shift from medicine and science to urbanization, from the body to the city. By pursuing Eliot's texts – her novels, letters, essays – in a chronological manner, I noticed a severe move from pastoral novels to narratives that sharply portrayed the nuances of the London streets. I cannot help but believe that this new topic grasped my interest in part because of my own city wanderings. As I was attempting to navigate the city myself, I began to consider the implications of structuring one's life – or one's narrative – around a grid, or at least around a city that can be mapped. This lead to an entirely new line of questioning: What actions – moral and practical – are newly possible in the city? And more interestingly, what influence does the structure of the mapped city hold for Eliot's prose, on her narrative and representation of consciousness. While I was working in the archives, I was able to access primary texts for a significant period of time, leading my study to an entirely new critical juncture. Now, I will be able to research into the theory that surrounds my new interest of spatial practices, and throughout the fall and spring, I will be able to tease out the repercussions that this line of inquiry holds for the late shift in George Eliot's fiction from the pastoral countryside to the urban landscape of London.

My thesis sets out to demonstrate that through the vantage of the Spanish Civil War, the Irish poets Charles Donnelly (1914-1937) and Ewart Milne (1903-1987) hewed to an ideal of republicanism which upheld a universalized defense of the working class. After Donnelly's death mere months after joining the International Brigades, it was Milne who carried Donnelly's name back to Ireland. Publishing work that bridged a divided, isolated Ireland with wider European anti-fascist currents through World War II, it is my contention that Milne's little-studied war poetry opened the way for a belated valorization of Irish fighters for the Spanish Republic.

Upon arriving in Dublin, I made the National Library of Ireland my first stop. Some of my most important sources were here, in a publication called "Ireland Today," a left-leaning, outward-looking journal of current events and Irish culture published only from 1936 to 1938, the years of major conflict in the Spanish Civil War.

Almost more exciting, though (I had already found some of these in other sources) were contemporary articles on the war as it progressed. Also at the National Library was a stunning exhibition on W.B. Yeats. While less directly relevant to my topic, this was one of the highlights of my trip.

[At the end of my stay in Europe] I had a brief meeting at Trinity College Dublin with Prof. Gerald Dawe, one of the only scholars to have written on Donnelly or Milne. Dawe was excited about the idea of my working on Ewart Milne. He confirmed my suspicion that there simply has been no scholarly work done on Milne, and exceedingly little on the poets of the 1930s, which makes the topic all the more exciting as I approach my thesis this fall. For the opportunity to establish these contacts, bring home such relevant material, and start with a strong base in this work, I owe great thanks to the CES.