Darwinism, Genre Theory, and City Laments.
My approach to genre study and theory is essentially pragmatic and rhetorical in nature. That is, I regard genre as a tool of criticism. In positing a particular literary genre for a given text I assert that the posited genre most fully and precisely captures the tenor of that text, that it results in a more compelling and interesting reading than the genres used in previous critical discussions of the text.  Such a commitment to pragmatism also entails, as A. Rosmarin notes, the possibility that the genre analysis of some texts may require a potentially endless process of refinement, correcting, and further deducing of particulars.  In the present contribution I return to the general topic of my Weep, O Daughter of Zion--a genre analysis of the city-lament genre in the Hebrew Bible--with the specific aim of enhancing and refining the analysis of genre enacted there.  In that study I employed a concept of genre that foregrounded the analogy of family relations.  Such an analogy is especially well suited for getting at questions of definition,  and it was precisely at the definitional or criterial level that I sought to establish the presence of a city-lament genre in the Bible. The analogy proved helpful in allowing me to show that the Hebrew Bible contains texts (e.g., Lamentations, the "Oracles Against the Nations" in the prophetic literature, and certain of the psalms) which exhibit identifiable and coherent complexes of imagery, themes, motifs, and even poetic devices and structures that are used in compositions about destroyed cities and their sanctuaries and that bear certain strong resemblances to the Mesopotamian genre of city laments. But as with all analogies, the analogy of "family resemblance" does not illuminate everything equally well. In fact, a theory of genre in which the concept of "family resemblance" plays a formative role is not so well suited to address specific questions about the origins, evolution, and interrelations of genres. For such questions, as D. Fishelov compelling ly argues, we must have recourse to a different analogy. Fishelov takes up issues related to "questions of generic evolution and interrelationship" in light of the more sophisticated understandings of Darwinism characteristic of contemporary biology,  and it is my intent to utilize this general line of investigation to explore the same issues with respect to the city-lament genre.
The need to attend more intentionally and with more sophistication to questions about the origins and evolution of the Israelite city-lament genre and the nature of its interrelations with the Mesopotamian city laments becomes most apparent in the comments of some of the reviewers of my earlier study. Both W. C. Bouzard, Jr.  and A. Berlin,  for example, in mostly sympathetic reviews understand me to be making a strong case for the independence and even the "indigenous" nature of an Israelite genre. Bouzard at one point writes of my attempts "to maintain the idea that Israel's city laments represent a separate indigenous generic phenomenon."  And Berlin summarizes the central thrust of my thesis as positing "the existence of an Israelite genre of city laments which, although probably influenced by the Mesopotamian genre, stood independent from it."  While it was most definitely my intention to show that the Israelite genre had an integrity of its own, especially as it thrived on Israelite soil, I did not mean to stress the Israelite genre's independence to the degree that these scholars (especially Bouzard) suggest. At least part of the confusion results from what, in hindsight, was a poor choice of terminology. I used the adjective "native" several times to describe the city-lament genre in Israel and Judah. Etymologically, it is quite obvious why some might take this to mean "indigenous" (a term I did not use), especially in light of my interest in accentuating those themes, motifs, and imagery I took to be characteristically Israelite and in light of my having raised (but only raised ) the possibility of the genre's polygenesis in two different literary traditions. I took the term "native" from D. R. Hillers,  who argues that one of the "other currents of native Israelite literature" on which Lamentations draws is "a city-lament tradition within Israel." Neither Hillers nor I, of course, meant to deny a specific and real connection to the Mesopotamian genre. To the contrary, the fact of s uch a relationship provides for both of us a point of departure. Hillers writes very specifically that he supposes "that the resemblances between the Mesopotamian laments and the biblical book of Lamentations are evidence of some kind of connection."  And one of my principal conclusions, though stated perhaps too cautiously, was "that the two genres had some type of closer contact."  In fact, I listed a whole set of features, chief among which is the personified city motif, which makes it hard to deny the fact of some kind of connection. And though I stressed the difficulty of determining the precise nature of this connection, I did allow for the likelihood "that the direction of the influence is from Mesopotamia to Israel."  That is, as I put it, "the Mesopotamian laments are clearly the oldest and best attested city laments," and therefore "it is likely that some generic influence may have radiated out from Mesopotamia." 
Let me put this unequivocally and most emphatically: based on current knowledge (which can always change in light of new archaeological discoveries), the city-lament genre appears to have originated in Mesopotamia. And though I was perhaps overcautious and far too equivocating on the issue of origins in my earlier study, nothing I said there is finally incompatible with this position. What I meant by the term "native" (and what I take Hillers to mean by it as well) was nothing less and nothing more than that we have evidence for knowledge of city laments in Israel for a period of at least two hundred years and that as encountered in the Hebrew Bible the genre shows every sign of having long been internalized within and understood as an inherited part of the Israelite literary tradition. 
Still, confusing terminology aside, there remains a general lack of sustained and critical reflection on the issues of origin and evolution in my earlier study. To be sure, the formative role played by the concept of "family resemblances" in my theory of genre allowed me to articulate, admittedly at a fairly general level, how the Mesopotamian and Israelite texts could be related in spite of their obvious and sometimes striking differences. But more is required and it is with this need in mind that I now turn to the work of Fishelov. In general, Fishelov advocates the need to utilize a variety of different analogies when seeking to understand different aspects of how literary genres work.  For understanding issues relating to origins and interrelationship he remains convinced that biology still offers us the most fruitful analogy. Of course, genre theorists of the past frequently relied on biological analogies when dealing with such issues. The problem, Fishelov maintains, is that the evolutionary models typically invoked were fairly naive, especially those that fore-grounded the controlling metaphor of a ladder and tended to be based on the life-cycle of an individual instead of that of a species.  While the criticisms leveled against this use of outdated biology are appropriate,  Fishelov contends that biology nevertheless still offers the best analogy for treating questions relating to generic evolution and interrelationship.
Fishelov shows that generic survival, i.e., the way in which a genre is manifested in a specific literary and cultural environment, like the survival of biological species more generally, is chiefly a factor of productivity and environment. More specifically, the survival of a genre depends on "the relationships between the production of the texts 'belonging' to the genre and the literary and cultural environment and how this environment coerces (or thwarts) the genre's production."  It is precisely in the area of productivity that one notices a major difference between the Mesopotamian and Israelite city laments. Productivity has to do with whether specific genre traditions continue to produce new texts and the nature of the texts produced.  The five classic Mesopotamian city laments ("Lamentation over the Destruction of Ur," "Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur' "Nippur Lament," "Eridu Lament' and "Uruk Lament") exhibit what Fishelov defines as "primary productivity." Primary productiv ity "occurs when the works of a genre serve as a 'stimulus' for the production of further texts that are perceived as 'belonging' to the genre."  The city-lament genre was clearly productive in Mesopotamia during the early Isin period, with the "Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur" and the "Lamentation over the Destruction of Ur" likely serving as the prototypical genre models.  By contrast, the balag and ersemma exhibit a noticeably different kind of productivity, what Fishelov terms "secondary productivity." Secondary productivity "occurs when the new texts related to the genre are produced according to some 'fixed' formula, and have some definite relationship to the genre."  This kind of productivity may ultimately take any number of possible forms, including most commonly translation, parody, imitation, and adaptation. Balags and ersemmas seem to be mostly imitative in nature, retaining both the form and content of the classic city laments, but lacking their vibrancy and elegance. Indeed, they appear, in comparison with the classic city laments, to be highly formulaic in nature.
In Israel and Judah, the city-lament genre apparently (on present evidence) never enjoyed a comparable phase of primary productivity. That is, all of the texts (on Lamentations, see below) in the Hebrew Bible that can be plausibly associated with the city-lament genre exhibit signs of having originated as a result of secondary productivity. As Berlin notes, the "Oracles Against the Nations" employ the city lament in modulated form ironically to celebrate the destruction of other cities and nations. In prophetic oracles about Israel and/or Judah, the city-lament mode is used most prominently to proclaim judgment (e.g., Isa 22:l-14;.Mic 1:2-16; Amos 5:1-3, 16--2l).  And according to Bouzard's recent analysis,  the communal laments in the Psalms would be doubly derivative in their productivity, as they draw most closely on the Mesopotamian tradition of balag and ersemma, which are themselves the products of a secondary productivity. As for Lamentations, the most straightforward embodiment of the genre i n the Hebrew Bible, it does not stimulate the production of other city laments--at least not in the biblical period,  and thus cannot be said to inaugurate actively a phase of primary productivity in Israel and Judah. Moreover, when viewed from the perspective of Mesopotamia (which one must do if, as I assume, the genre itself originated there), Lamentations appears to be secondarily derived, representing a translation and adaptation of the classic Mesopotamian city lament with a tragic twist (but see below).
Unfortunately, we can only speculate about the complex of factors that might account for the differences in the productivity of the genre as manifested in Mesopotamia and in Israel and Judah. However, surely environmental factors played a key role in influencing the kind of productivity that was realized. Mesopotamia throughout its history was an urban culture, with a variety of competing great cities, actively vying with one another for regional supremacy, the frequent destructions of which can more than adequately account for the genre's long run of productivity in this region. More particularly, the primary productivity that the genre enjoyed during the Isin-Larsa period likely reflects (among other things) the especially devastating effect that the fall of the Third Dynasty of Ur had on the Mesopotamian psyche and the early Isin-Larsa rulers' (and Ishme-Dagan's, in particular) strong desire to tap into this generally held sentiment, to be seen as saviors and restorers of Sumerian culture, and to extend t heir hegemony throughout the region. 
By contrast, in Israel and Judah urban culture was never so dominant and there was certainly not a strong tradition of rivalry among multiple urban centers, especially after the fall of the northern kingdom in 722 B.c. Therefore, no matter how ingrained or well-known the city-lament genre might have been in Israel and Judah, the requisite environmental pressures needed to call forth its full flowering simply did not exist until the destruction of Jerusalem, the society's premier urban center. And afterwards, the general cultural collapse that accompanied Jerusalem's fall ensured that Lamentations would not stimulate the production of other Israelite city laments.  Indeed, what the environment seemed to call for during most of Israel and Judah's history (for whatever reasons) was the ironic modulations that we have in the prophets.  But this reality need not lead us to conclude that the city-lament genre was merely derivative or not well integrated in the Israelite literary tradition. To the contrary, that an author can ironize a genre indicates a knowledge of that genre, even if the genre itself has never been fully realized. Irony, like parody, depends upon the general recognizability of its model.  Indeed, the situation in Mesopotamia is analogous. The "Curse of Agade" clearly exhibits a familiarity with the main features of the city-lament genre. And yet the "Curse of Agade" develops away from this genre as well. This is how genres commonly work and is therefore not problematic. The problem is that the "Curse of Agade" predates all of the known city laments. Either the "Curse of Agade" represents one of the principal forerunners of the city-lament genre,  or, as seems more likely, it represents a reworking of the genre in light of unique circumstances, namely, that Akkad was destroyed and never rebuilt.  In summary, then, the environment in Mesopotamia was apparently conducive to both primary and secondary production of city laments, whereas in Israel and Judah only secondary productivity is attested.
In addition to the defining force of productivity, individual texts belonging to a literary genre are strongly shaped by the paths of evolution that they take. The model of evolution usually encountered in genre studies posits a smooth line of descent where subspecies of a particular genre share all or most features with their ancestors. According to biological models, however, such lines of evolution are not normative. "Certain interesting, unpredicted mutations usually occur during the evolutionary process."  Moreover, instead of proceeding linearly, as posited in the tree or ladder models of evolution, evolution more typically proceeds by repeated episodes of speciation in which successive lineages split apart from the parental stock, resulting in a bushy pattern, "a circuitous path running like a labyrinth, branch to branch, from the back of the bush to a lineage now surviving at its top."  These ideas, in so far as they allow for genre membership without insisting on the necessary presence of co mmon features, are not only very compatible with a theory of genre based on the notion of "family resemblance," but they also strongly corroborate it.  Moreover, they provide an important corrective to the hierarchical trajectory implicit in the notions of primary and secondary productivity treated above.  For example, a bushy pattern of evolution is better able to capture the reality of the Mesopotamian genre in which members of the primary phase of production exhibit noticeable differences in both content and accent and in which the earliest balags and ersemmas may well have circulated contemporaneously with the classic city laments. Such constellations can be fitted only imperfectly on a smooth and purely linear trajectory of descent but follow naturally when a bushy pattern of evolution resulting from successive incidences of speciation is assumed.
Still, the Mesopotamian genre remains fairly conservative throughout its long history, reflecting the tendency for the dominant population of a species to evolve only gradually. This contrasts with the more rapid and radical changes that take place in smaller population groups on the periphery.  The latter reflect allopatric evolution, defined by S. J. Gould as the kind of evolution that results when "new species arise in very small populations that become isolated from their parental group at the periphery of the ancestral range. Speciation in these small isolates is very rapid by evolutionary standards."  One of the major contentions in Weep, O Daughter of Zion was that certain changes (including the use of Israelite themes, motifs, and imagery and of poetic techniques and devices characteristic of Hebrew canons of poetry, as well as other adaptations required by the monotheizing Yahwism of Israel and Judah) could be expected in the city-lament genre as it was transmitted to Israel and Judah, and t his in fact turns out to be what can be observed from later, better documented historical periods.  These changes reflect the genre's struggle to survive in a smaller population (i.e., smaller number of literary works belonging to the city-lament genre) on the periphery (geographical and cultural) of the genre's ancient, region in Mesopotamia.  That is, if the city-lament genre was to survive in Israel and Judah it would have to adapt to its new cultural and literary environs. The net result was a significantly altered city lament, but a city lament all the same.
In conclusion, then, while necessarily allowing for the real possibility that some archaeologists may yet discover in Israel (or Palestine or Jordan or Lebanon or Syria) other exemplars of the city-lament genre that is so well known from ancient Mesopotamia, nonetheless it appears, on the basis of presently available evidence, that there are significant differences between Mesopotamian and Israelite city laments. However, these differences need not lead us to doubt the reality of an Israelite city-lament genre. Rather, they can be more plausibly explained, on the one hand, as resulting from differences in the nature of the genre's productivity as dictated by distinct environmental pressures in two different geographical and cultural areas, and on the other hand, as reflecting in Israel and Judah the survival of the city-lament genre on the periphery of its ancestral region. The Israelite city-lament genre is clearly distinct from its Mesopotamian progenitor, but its existence may be confidently maintained.
(1.) S. Tinney, in his recent edition of the "Nippur Lament" (The Nippur Lament [Philadelphia: Univ. of Pennsylvania Museum. 1996], 11-25), generally disparages such a pragmatic approach to genre, preferring instead a concept of genre that is putatively more cognizant of native criteria for genre assignments. However, a pragmatic approach to genre need not ignore--indeed, should not ignore!--relevant ethnic or native understandings of genre. As A. Rosmarin (Tinney's source for pragmatism), in particular, stresses: "It is not necessary to deny--nor am I doing so--that the poet or novelist knew his genre in order to accept that our narrations of his generic manipulation are nevertheless informed by our present-tense explanatory purpose" (The Power of Genre [Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press, 1985], 37; my emphasis). That is, Tinney's interest in setting "literature in its socio-cultural context" and his concomitant lack of interest in "aesthetic and ethical values" are choices he as a critic makes, not cho ices that are somehow dictated by the text he studies.
(2.) Power of Genre, 40.
(3.) F. W. Dobbs-Allsopp, Weep, O Daughter of Zion: A Study of the City-Lament Genre in the Hebrew Bible (Rome: Editrice Pontificio Istituto Biblico, 1993).
(4.) See especially A. Fowler, Kinds of Literature: An Introduction to the Theory of Genres and Modes (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press, 1982); C. Guillen, Literature as System (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1971); R. L. Colic, The Resources of Kind: Genre Theory in the Renaissance (Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 1973); J. P. Reichert, "More Than Kin and Less Than Kind," in Theories of Literary Genre, ed. J. Strelka (University Park: Pennsylvania State Univ. Press, 1978), 57-79; M.-L. Ryan, "Introduction: On the Why, What, and How of Generic Taxonomy," Poetics 10(1981): 109-26; P. Alpers, "What is Pastoral?" Critical Inquiry 8 (1982): 437-60; J.-M. Schaeffer, "Literary Genres and Textual Genericity," in The Future of Literary Theory, ed. R. Cohen (New York: Routledge, 1989), 167-87; D. Fishelov, Metaphors of Genre: The Role of Analogies in Genre Theory (University Park: Pennsylvania State Univ. Press, 1993), 53-83.
(5.) Fishelov, Metaphors of Genre, 3.
(6.) Metaphors of Genre, 1-2, 19.
(7.) We Have Heard with Our Ears, O God: Sources of the Communal Laments in the Psalms (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997).
(8.) "Review" of Weep. O Daughter of Zion: A Study of the City-Lament Genre in the Hebrew Bible, JAOS 115 (1995): 319.
(9.) We Have Heard with Our Ears, 80, n. 109; cf. 44.
(10.) "Review," 319.
(11.) See Dobbs-Allsopp, Weep, O Daughter of Zion, 5.
(12.) Lamentations, Anchor Bible, 2d rev. ed. (New York: Doubleday, 1992), 35; cf. 39.
(13.) Lamentations, 35.
(14.) Weep, 0 Daughter of Zion, 160; cf. Berlin, "Review," 319; Bouzard, We Have Heard with Our Ears, 11.
(15.) Weep, 0 Daughter of Zion, 158.
(17.) Answers to the questions of just how well known the city-lament genre was in Palestine and for how long can only be inferred indirectly, and thus ultimately must remain open, debatable. On the one hand, Berlin remains unwilling to date the emergence of the Israelite genre prior to the time of its modulated use by the prophets ("Review," 319; personal communication), while Bouzard, on the other hand, thinks he can date the genre's use to a much earlier time (We Have Heard with Our Ears, 174-200; though, admittedly, the evidence for his thesis is not wholly compelling). I remain of the opinion that the city-lament genre in Israel clearly predates the time of Amos, but by how long is hard-if not impossible-to say. My reasoning is threefold:
First, the phenomena of modulation and irony that I see in the prophetic use of the genre presumes a knowledge of the larger genre. Second, that the relevant biblical literature shows itself to be fairly coherent (i.e., there is a strong similarity of language, theme, and imagery exhibited among the group of texts that I identified as being influenced by an Israelite city-lament genre) suggests to me, not withstanding the obvious Mesopotamian origin of the genre and even the likelihood of ongoing connections of some unknown kind, that the genre became internalized as a part of the Israelite literary tradition. Take the example of the personified city motif, the feature that has the strongest claim for being derived genealogically from the Mesopotamian genre. Are we to suppose that over a two hundred year period (at least) multiple Hebrew writers drawing separately on Mesopotamian laments all decided individually to adapt the imagery of the weeping goddess in the same exact way, using very similar (and at time s even exact) language and imagery? I find it far simpler and more convincing to suppose that such a uniformity of language and imagery is indicative of the existence of an internalized and Israelized--if not "native"--tradition for lamenting destroyed cities, what I would call city laments.
E. L. Greenstein has now added a third reason for suspecting an earlier and more prolonged awareness of the city-lament genre on Israelite soil. In the Bokser Memorial Lecture series at the Jewish Theological Seminary (February, 1998), Greenstein suggested that the latter part of Psalm 78 (esp. vv. 56-72) draws on the city-lament genre in relating to the destruction of Shiloh and its sanctuary. If the tradition reflected in this Psalm is genuinely old, then this would provide quite strong evidence for an early awareness of the genre in Israel.
(18.) In particular, he focuses on four such analogies: biology, family resemblances, social institutions, and speech acts.
(19.) See Fishelov's discussion and criticism in Metaplars of Genre, 19--25. In fact, it is this very strain of biological thinking which surely undergirds Gunkel's conception of form criticism, especially his positing that genres must have single generic ancestors, consist of some fixed set of specifiable features, and progress, transform, and eventually die over time in a gradual, unidirectional, and predictable way.
(20.) For example, see T. Todorov, The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre (Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 1975), 6; R. Wellek and A. Warren, Theory of Literature, 3d ed. (New York: Harcourt, Brace, & World, 1963), 226-37. For a recent critique of traditional form criticism influenced by modern genre theory, see T. Longman, "Form Criticism, Recent Developments in Genre Theory, and the Evangelical," WTJ 47 (1985): 46-67.
(21.) Fishelov, Metaphors of Genre, 39.
(22.) Ibid., 37. The evaluation of productivity, like most other aspects of genre analysis, is something that can only be judged retrospectively.
(23.) Ibid., 38.
(24.) See Dobbs-Allsopp, Weep, O Daughter of Zion, 19-20; H. L. J. Vanstiphout, "Some Thoughts on Genre in Mesopotamian Literature," in Keilschriftliche Literaturen: Ausgewahlte Vortrage der XXXII. Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Munster, 8.-- 12.7.1985, ed. K. Hecker and W. Sommerfeld (Berlin: D. Reimer, 1986), 7-9.
(25.) Fishelov, Metaphors of Genre, 38.
(26.) Dobbs-Allsopp, Weep, O Daughter of Zion, 134-54.
(27.) We Have Heard with Our Ears.
(28.) It does appear that Lamentations stimulated some kind of textual production at Qumran [(3QLam.sup.a], [4QLam.sup.a], 4QapLam, 4Q501, [5QLam.sup.a], and [5QLam.sup.b]), and one wonders how the city-lament genre was transmitted to Greece (possibly through Lamentations?).
(29.) See S. N. Kramer, "The Weeping Goddess: Sumerian Prototypes of the Mater Dolorosa," BA 40 (1983): 70; W. W. Hallo, "Lamentations and Prayers in Sumer and Akkad," in Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, ed. J. M. Sasson, vol. III (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1995), 1872.
(30.) Nevertheless, Lamentations exhibits a strong kinship with the classic Mesopotamian city laments in poignantly registering the depth of the community's devastation over Jerusalem's destruction.
(31.) Of course, one can only speculate about the kind of environmental factors that might have influenced the production of the "Oracles Against the Nations," especially given our continuing ignorance with respect to the basic nature of these compositions (for a general overview with bibliography, see S. M. Paul, Amos [Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1991], 7-11). Consider the following scenario, which contrasts strikingly with the basic history of the early Isin period in Mesopotamia. For most of its history, Syria-Palestine was a battleground for the region's superpowers (e.g., Hittites, Assyrians, Babylonians, Egyptians). The region's smaller city- and nation states were but pawns in a larger geopolitical game, and their domestic and foreign policies were always necessarily fashioned in light of the waxing and waning of the great powers and, to a lesser extent, of the lesser powers (as most vividly portrayed in the Amarna letters). Therefore, states like Israel and Judah were routinely concerned more with po litical survival than political supremacy, and they would thus be strongly concerned with the possible decline of foreign powers, a perspective that may well be reflected in the "Oracles Against the Nations." Ultimately, of course, we cannot say much that is very specific about the cultural environment which lies behind biblical texts like the "Oracles Against the Nations." The point is not necessarily to insist on the veracity of the overview presented, but to stress that environment surely impinges on the production of literary genres, even if in particular instances we cannot be sure how.
(32.) S. K. Heninger, Jr., "Sequences, Systems, Models: Sidney and the Secularization of Sonnets," in Poems in Their Place: The Intertextuality and Order of Poetic Collections, ed. N. Fraistat (Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1986), 68.
(33.) So, for example, P. Michalowski, The Lamentation over the Destruction of Sumer and Ur (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1989), 8-9.
(34.) See the analysis of J. C. Cooper, The Curse of Agade (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 1983), 20-28. Such a scenario is made more likely by the so-called "Lagash Lament" of Uruinimgina, possibly an early twenty-fourth-century precursor of the city laments (see Dobbs-Allsopp, Weep, O Daughter of Zion, 20, n. 75).
(35.) Metaphors of Genre, 46.
(36.) Ibid., 48.
(37.) Such as that espoused in the literature cited in n. 4 above and utilized in my own study (Weep, O Daughter of Zion); cf. Fishelov, Metaphors of Genre, 53-83.
(38.) Here Fishelov (Metaphors of Genre, 25-35) offers some telling criticisms of Fowler's understanding of the life and death of literary genres, an understanding presupposed by both Vanstiphout ("Genre," 7-9) and myself (Weep, O Daughter of Zion, 19-20).
(39.) Fishelov, Metaphors of Genre, 48-49.
(40.) Ever Since Darwin: Reflections in Natural History (New York, 1977), 61 (as cited in Fishelov, Metaphors of Genre, 47-48).
(41.) Fishelov, Metaphors of Genre, 17.
(42.) The Greek laments for destroyed cities exhibit similar kinds of adaptations; the potential attestations of the genre in Ugaritic (e.g., KTU 1.15.I.1-8) are too meager to reflect adaptive strategies.
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|Author:||DOBBS-ALLSOPP, F. W.|
|Publication:||The Journal of the American Oriental Society|
|Date:||Oct 1, 2000|
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