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Deconstructing the Animal-Human Binary: Recent Work in Animal Studies.

Elephant Slaves and Pampered Parrots: Exotic Animals in Eighteenth-Century Paris. By Louise E. Robbins. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002.

Experimenting with Humans and Animals: From Galen to Animal Rights. By Anita Guerrini. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003

Figuring Animals: Essays on Animal Images in Art, Literature, Philosophy, and Popular Culture. Edited by Mary Sanders Pollock and Catherine Rainwater. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005.

Renaissance Beasts: Of Animals, Humans, and Other Wonderful Creatures. Edited by Erica Fudge. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2004.

Romanticism and Animal Rights. By David Perkins. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003.

Savages and Beasts: The Birth of the Modern Zoo. By Nigel Rothfels. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002.

Zoontologies: The Question of the Animal. Edited by Cary Wolfe. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2003.

The first publication of Peter Singer's Animal Liberation in 1975 can be taken as a watershed event because of the influence it exerted on political culture and personal action. Harriet Ritvo's The Animal Estate: The English and Other Creatures in the Victorian Age (1987) provided a similar impetus and beginning for scholarly studies of animals. In addition, two important pieces by Jacques Derrida helped define the concerns of philosophical approaches to animals in the last twenty years: "Geschlecht II: Heidegger's Hand," and "'Eating Well' or the Calculation of the Subject." (1) Since the groundbreaking works by these thinkers, studies focusing on animals have been appearing at an increasing rate. Most of those working in what has been taking shape as a new field of animal studies have their primary training and disciplinary perspective in literary studies, joined by significant numbers of those trained originally in philosophy, history, and journalism. Partly for this reason, but also because a long tradition contributes to the framing of such lines of inquiry, many of the studies in this field have focused on questions of representation: how animals are represented in human discourse and images; the ethical implications of such representations; whether certain animals might be capable of a form of discourse or representation themselves. On the other hand, works that focus on the lives and treatment of animals and the interactions of animals and humans are often written by historians, or, if they chronicle the contemporary situation, journalists; the questions in these cases often include how the animals have been raised, captured, bought and sold, employed, exhibited, domesticated, and trained.

But it would be a mistake to consider these broad approaches as mutually exclusive and not overlapping: the fine-grained study of representational patterns often leads to considering the ethical implications and the consequences of such representations for the treatment of animals; and investigations of the treatment of animals in a particular time and place usually refer to cultural understandings or ideologies for an explanation of such patterns of behavior. To take another point of intersection, both of these overarching approaches demonstrate a strong interest in the history of the killing of animals for food and in the violence toward and deaths of animals in experiments. Here I consider recent book-length studies and collections in this field, with particular attention to studies of early modern and nineteenth-century subjects, in keeping with the historical concerns of Clio.

Of recent philosophical statements concerning animals, perhaps the most significant have come from Derrida, especially sections of his long presentation, "The Autobiographical Animal," delivered at Cerisy-la-Salle in 1998, portions of which have been translated into English and published as essay-length pieces. (2) The first of these, "The Animal That Therefore I Am (More to Follow)," argues against the long tradition of using what is called "the animal" as lacking those traits and capacities that are purportedly most constitutive of what is human, whether that is taken to be the ability to use articulate language (including to lie), to make and use tools, or to act ethically. Derrida makes an important contribution to this field by maintaining that to speak of "the animal" is to commit a wrong, to write as though all forms of nonhuman animal life could be grouped together as homogeneous by virtue of their not being human and could thus constitute an undifferentiated unity set over against the privileged, sovereign, self-designated human. (3) In the section from this long address that is included in Zoontologies, Derrida raises the possibility that some animal or animals might be able not only to react to language as to a stimulus (to which they have been limited by thinkers in the high philosophical tradition in the West), but also to respond with appropriate kinds of (symbolic) actions, including lies and feigning; he suggests that we attempt to think of animals' not sharing human speech as something other than a lack.

The contribution of the editor, Cary Wolfe, to this anthology, entitled "In the Shadow of Wittgenstein's Lion," attempts to extend Derrida's insights in the direction of providing a bridge between Derrida's deconstruction of exclusive dichotomies (such as that between "the human" and "the animal") and the construction in biological systems theory of a continuum of signifying processes on which human language differs in degree but not in kind from the signifying behaviors of other animals, including the linguistic behaviors of other great apes. (4) These essays by Derrida and Wolfe constitute suggestive attempts at philosophically understanding and synthesizing recent work in animal language studies, beginnings on which further work can build. Derrida's interview "Eating Well" similarly provides an important ground for understanding the killing and eating of animals as part of the sacrificial structure of Western society and philosophy that allows for the "non-criminal putting to death" of animals but not of humans, and on this basis differentiates between humans and all animals. (5) Other contributors to this collection besides Wolfe build on Derrida's insights, including Steve Baker, who in "Sloughing the Human" makes reference to Derrida's "Geschlecht II" to analyze the importance of animals with hands in the recent art of John Isaacs, Edwina Ashton, and the French painter Tessarolo.

Many of the essays in Zoontologies take shape in relation to a recurrent Derridean critique and deconstruction of traditionally well-established terms, frameworks, and arguments in the Western tradition. Without being organized around a comparable theoretical or philosophical orientation, many of the essays in Renaissance Beasts, edited by Erica Fudge, accomplish a similar questioning and inversion of arguments and paradigms that have gained prominence and exerted some authority in contemporary thought. For example, Fudge's own essay on the understandings of and attitudes toward meat-eating in early modern England surveys the positions of many writers of the period, including two vegetarians from the early seventeenth century. She finds that most meat-eaters of the time did not attempt to ignore the animal that was the source of their meal, but rather, following numerous Protestant theologians, focused on the death of the animal as a reminder of their own mortality and need for salvation. This conclusion may be surprising because, in a striking and influential formulation, Carol Adams in The Sexual Economy of Meat has argued that in modern societies, meat-eating is enabled by a strategy of hiding or negating the living animal from whose dead body the meat on the plate was obtained. (6) Fudge's finding thus allows us to historicize Adams's insight, and to conceive of a shift between an early modern and a modern attitude toward the use of animals as food. (7)

Similarly, the essay by Peter Harrison on animals and experimental philosophy demonstrates that those experimenters who abandoned or expressed misgivings about their use of animals did not do so primarily because they had come to recognize that their animal subjects suffered. Most acknowledged and were bothered by such suffering even while carrying on their experiments. Rather, many came to feel that the results of the experiments were not significant or substantial enough to warrant their continuation, and ceasing to cause the animals to suffer served as a secondary reason for their decision. This analysis also revises a contemporary perspective on animal experimentation based primarily on the work of Singer, which draws on the utilitarians, the nineteenth-century vivisectionists, and especially Jeremy Bentham, who maintained that the principal question was not whether animals can think or speak, but whether they can suffer. Again, examination of the early modern instance suggests that a shift occurred somewhere in the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century that involved placing a greater emphasis on the suffering of the animals who were in this case the subjects of experimentation.

To take one further example from this collection, Brian Cummings's essay about literate elephants in Pliny demonstrates an exception to Derrida's argument that philosophy in the West has consistently defined the human as uniquely possessing articulate language and derogated the animal as lacking language. Cummings shows that Pliny thought about elephants' not having human language as something other than a privation, just as Derrida suggests we think about other animals not having speech. Cummings concludes that Pliny conceived of elephants possessing along with their own language a whole other world, as Ludwig Wittgenstein implies when he writes, "If a lion could talk, we could not understand him"--the saying that serves as a point of departure for Wolfe's essay discussed above. (8)

Two striking recent works are concerned with the history of the exhibition of animals--including the financial and logistical arrangements involved in ordering, purchasing, transporting, feeding, and maintaining the animals--and thus place themselves at an intersection which requires attention not only to the conditions of life of the different species involved, but also to the implicit meanings or symbolic significance of the animal exhibits. Louise Robbins's Elephant Slaves and Pampered Parrots traces the forms of possession and exhibition of exotic animals in eighteenth-century Paris by aristocrats, the wealthy, and the king, and the institutions associated with this trade, such as the guild of oiseleurs or bird sellers. Her study ranges from the erecting of a royal menagerie by Louis XIV at Versailles in the late seventeenth century to the decision of the revolutionary authorities more than a hundred years later to bring together in a republican, state-sponsored, educational institution open to the public the bedraggled remains of the royal menagerie along with the animals that had previously been used in privately owned displays on the streets of Paris. She demonstrates that the taming and exhibiting of animals such as elephants, tigers, ostriches, and rhinoceroses served as a sign of the power of the monarch who could purchase or receive as gifts and maintain such large, beautiful, and rare (at least in Europe) animals. The menagerie thus played a role in supporting the image of the king as exercising a world-wide dominion over both the most powerful animals and the human communities living in proximity to them.

Robbins examines the way that in France (as in England), exotic pets such as monkeys and parrots were often used as figures of female capriciousness and luxury. In addition, her study repeatedly shows the passage from one way of understanding and organizing animals and their relations with humans to another. Thus, she notes that in the course of the century, the possession of exotic birds came more and more within the means of bourgeois households. In the cultural realm, beast fables began from the late seventeenth century onward to reveal an awareness of animal species newly observed and classified by naturalists, which even in Jean de La Fontaine no longer simply represent human kinds or attributes. Finally, Robbins notes an inversion in the symbolism of the king's menagerie: an animal such as the elephant, whose possession displayed the power of the king early in the eighteenth century comes by the end of the century to be seen as a symbol of slavery, resembling not only the Africans held by European and American masters, but also the Frenchmen kept under the control of a single absolute ruler. (9)

Robbins's account concludes on the verge of the bourgeois exhibition of animals in zoos for educational purposes; in Savages and Beasts, Nigel Rothfels picks up the story of the exhibiting of exotic animals in the middle of the nineteenth century, and traces the transformation that led from the organization of zoos as a series of cells with concrete floors and iron bars to the exhibiting of animals without visible means of confinement, among trees or bushes with grass or dirt underfoot. This latter mode of exhibition, now characteristic of modern zoos throughout the world, was first developed by the German animal entrepreneur Carl Hagenbeck. Among the intriguing parts of Rothfels's study are accounts of how much a zoo in the United States would pay for a pair of white tigers in the 1880s, for example, or what the total costs for the capture, purchase, transportation, care, feeding, and delivery of a baboon or African elephant were in the 1890s, and what provisions or compensation were agreed to should the animal die soon after delivery.

But the core of the account concerns the means and the stages by which Hagenbeck transformed his father's small sideline in the trade of uncommon animals in the 1840s into a business with a worldwide network of contacts both among those who hunted, caught, and transported large exotic animals, and among those, especially circus owners and zoo administrators, who placed orders for the purchase of such animals. Hagenbeck's own exhibitions did not begin on the grounds of established zoological gardens, but rather originally served as a way of generating income from the large number of animals handled by his firm that were in transit from a source to a destination. Hagenbeck's imaginative leap was to conceive of exhibiting exotic animals so that spectators could believe they observed the creatures in their natural surroundings, and he had the practical realization that the use of moats would allow for such an unrestricted vista. Hagenbeck's culminating animal exhibit was the huge Animal Park and "zoological paradise" that opened in Stellingen, outside Hamburg, in 1907.

As original as is the idea of the barless cage, it is perhaps more striking that the idea of exhibiting animals in this way seems to have been derived from Hagenbeck's extensive experience beginning in the mid-1870s of exhibiting groups of humans from distant and unfamiliar cultures: Laplanders, Sudanese, Inuit from Greenland, and Sri Lankans, among others. Hagenbeck observed that Europeans were fascinated and would pay in large numbers to see native peoples dressed in their traditional clothing carrying out typical activities of their societies, from cooking and nursing children to hunting, using kayaks, or riding horses. As Rothfels reports, however, it was difficult to keep the exotic humans confined to their native cultural habitat untouched by European manners, including modern dress and activities such as drinking alcohol and smoking tobacco. In addition, humans could learn the languages of those who observed them, could ask for tips, and in other ways destroyed the illusion that they were purely natural examples of their cultures. Although the exhibits of humans therefore became difficult to sustain, the animal exhibits and especially those in the Animal Park grew in popularity because they provided the illusion of immediate contact with native creatures who appeared to roam unobstructed by physical barriers. Thus, the legacy of Hagenbeck is an extremely ambiguous one, including the exhibition of unfamiliar human kinds for the purpose of entertainment and science as the model for the exhibition of exotic species of animals. Rothfels is alert to the nuances of moral judgments that the story calls for: he points out that Hagenbeck's decisions were always based on the prospect of making profits, even as he acknowledges Hagenbeck's innovations and influence.

David Perkins's Romanticism and Animal Rights also focuses on the ambiguous attitudes of well-known figures to animals; however, it is concerned not with exotic but with native and everyday animals of England. In each chapter, Perkins brings together common cultural attitudes to these animals, their treatment at the time, and relevant parts of the writers' biographies to illuminate mostly poetic works by romantics such as William Cowper, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and John Clare. He reads Charles Lamb's "Dissertation upon Roast Pig," for example, as an ironic and ambiguous response to the vegetarianism of his brother, and suggests reasons for Cowper's sensitive treatment of and identification with his pets, especially his three hares. Perhaps the most striking case he examines is the baiting of a badger in a series of sonnets by Clare, which represent a custom of agricultural workers that Clare would have known at firsthand from his own youth in the country. Clare's attitude toward this custom is very difficult to determine: he seems to sympathize with but not sentimentalize both the badger and the rustics who torment the animal, and the poetic sequence breaks off without any clear conclusion. The chapter on the treatment of common birds in early nineteenth-century England (which mentions the eating of hundreds of thousands each year in London alone) could serve as a foil for Robbins's discussion of exotic birds a generation or two earlier in Paris. In readings of a range of romantic poems and essays about animals, Perkins's study draws out some of the social, legal, and cultural contexts of these works. (10)

Figuring Animals, edited by Mary Sanders Pollock and Catherine Rainwater, collects essays on images of animals in literature, film, art, and philosophy, mostly in late-twentieth-century works, but it includes three essays on earlier periods, two of them on the late nineteenth century. The first, by Carrie Rohman, offers a strong reading of H. G. Wells's The Island of Doctor Moreau as depicting a failed attempt by Moreau to burn out the animal and hence make purely human the animal-men on whom he operates. My only misgiving here concerns whether this effort should be called an Enlightenment project, since numerous figures of that period stressed, to the scandal of more conservative readers, the unavoidable intersections and overlaps between humans and nonhuman animals (here I have in mind thinkers such as David Hume, Julian Offray de La Mettrie, Denis Diderot, Bentham, and Thomas Paine).

In the second essay from this collection that is concerned with an earlier period, William Scheick examines the depiction of animals as witnesses to supernatural or miraculous visitations in Renaissance paintings (such as the Annunciation or the conversion of Paul); when this motif occurs, the animals who are understood not to be able to see such phenomena nonetheless register their perception of something extraordinary, and thus serve to confirm the reality of the supernatural event. The artistic representations grant such animals a degree of comprehension higher than that acknowledged by the philosophy of the time. A third essay, by Pollock, offers a detailed account of the career of Ouida (Maria Louise Rame), who is almost entirely unknown now (except, for some reason, in Japan). This essay could, and probably should, prompt a reevaluation of a once prominent cultural figure whose distinctive voice--sentimental but also courageous--was reduced to silence for almost a century. Ouida published forty-eight volumes of short stories, essays, and novels; the best known of these, perhaps the only one known today (a film adaptation was made in 1999), is A Dog of Flanders (1872). Pollock shows that in her stories and novels, Ouida consistently linked cruel treatment of work animals and pets with callous and unfair treatment of poor people, orphans, and people of mixed or uncertain ethnic or racial identity. Later in her career, Ouida became more explicit and direct, turning to express mostly in essays and pamphlets her arguments against vivisection and the unkind treatment of the disadvantaged.

Such equivalences between the treatment of animals and of disadvantaged groups of humans again raise the question of anthropomorphism. In this case, Ouida's realistic mode does not treat the suffering or thoughts of animals as metaphors for the suffering and thoughts of humans. As opposed to the practice of most political fables, which do take animals as figures of humans, the comment of Wittgenstein mentioned above, to which Wolfe refers in his essay, goes to make the same point that Thomas Nagel does in his essay "What Is It Like To Be a Bat?"--that is, the mental states or worlds of other animals are so different, and hence their languages also, as to be inaccessible to us. (11) But having acknowledged this point, the proper response is not to follow a policy of silence about animals, because all human language expresses a human understanding and a human point of view. Although, as Tom Regan and others have written, it may be unjustified to grant animals contractarian rights because they cannot agree to accept correlative responsibilities, that does not mean that we must abandon all concern with the relations between humans and other animals. (12) Rather, we should continue to attempt to speak and write as accurately, thoughtfully, and ethically as we can about the physical treatment of, and the representations of, other animals in human cultures.

In Experimenting with Animals and Humans: From Galen to Animal Rights, Anita Guerrini offers the study with the widest chronological range to be considered here. Guerrini considers the practices and defenses of experimentation in successive chapters on Galen and the Alexandrians; Rene Descartes and William Harvey; the controversies about vaccination in the eighteenth and vivisection in the nineteenth century; Louis Pasteur and antibiotics; and the development of the polio vaccine. The work gathers together a great deal of information on experimentations mostly from Harvey's observations on the circulation of the blood in the early seventeenth century (described in some detail) through Jonas Salk's field tests of the polio vaccine in the early 1950s. One might wish that the chapters could be more extensive, but perhaps the format and length were limited by appearing in the series Introductory Studies in the History of Science. Guerrini's study makes an important contribution by showing that experimentation on animals has often been linked to experimentation on humans. For example, although Pasteur used many hundreds of animals (mostly rabbits employed as culture media) to produce the vaccine for rabies, his journals indicate that the vaccine used on the first human subject had not been sufficiently tested on animals; in fact, his assistant refused to inject it into the first boys on whom it was used. In the event, the vaccine worked on these two recipients, and Pasteur became a culture hero, but Guerrini concludes that Pasteur's administering of the vaccine to them would be deemed unethical today.

Similarly, the first site of human trials for Salk's vaccine was a school for the mentally retarded in Pennsylvania; again, such a procedure would not be considered ethical now. Moreover, the production of vaccine for the field trials on more than a million children in 1954 involved the killing of more than four thousand monkeys per month throughout that year; Guerrini concludes that in total at least one million and perhaps as many as five million monkeys were killed in the process of developing the Salk and Sabine polio vaccines. In the face of such staggering numbers, Guerrini maintains an even and nonpolemical tone. In the preface, she makes clear that she accepts experimentation on animals and humans as a necessary part of modern medicine and science, but she also spells out the need to pursue all possible alternatives and to give the living subjects the best care and treatment. She does believe that Descartes has been unfairly vilified for formulating a view of animals as unfeeling machines that was useful to many experimenters on animals in the early modern and modern periods. She points out that Descartes performed very few experiments himself. Still, because of his status as one of the giants of early modern philosophy, Descartes conferred great prestige on an extreme position that could be quite useful to those who sought to defend any experimenting on live animals. But this is not a major matter in an informative and illuminating book that covers an impressive range of medical and scientific history.

Many books have appeared in the last few years that have focused on a single species, especially dogs and horses, but also parrots, and I have not been able to give an account of all these volumes here. (13) I make an exception to mention Donna Haraway's A Companion Species Manifesto because Haraway's theoretical concept of "metaplasm" as the biological and genetic material that companion species give to and borrow from each other necessitates and opens the door to complex, detailed histories of the interactions, economies, and migrations of humans and species with whom they have lived in close proximity. (14)

A number of the texts discussed here record or investigate transformations in attitudes and practices: for example, from a monarchic and aristocratic system of keeping exotic animals to a bourgeois manner of showing them in zoos; and, within that culture of the zoo, from a system using concrete floors and iron bars to a less constraining, open-air method of exhibiting the animals. On the other hand, as Pollock points out in her discussion of Ouida, it can be disheartening to realize that more than a century has passed and that the terms of discussion and the conditions in place remain very similar to what they were when the issue first arose (in some ways, in the massive development of factory farming, for example, conditions are far worse than they used to be). From a position that accepts the necessity of animal experimentation, Guerrini's study moves toward the related recognition that, despite the intensity of the antivivesectionist movement in the late nineteenth century, little has changed in European attitudes toward practices concerning the experimental use of animals over the last three centuries. On the other hand, the forms of critique that both Singer and Derrida have introduced--as different as they are--may help shift the discussion and practice in productive directions. Perhaps, too, the ecocriticism that underlies many of the essays in Figuring Animals may prove to be a sign and a part of a long-term shift. In one way or another, the books under review here may indicate and be involved in a transformation of thought and practice concerning animals. It is always difficult to tell, and it is probably still too early to determine, whether we are in the midst of such a shift.

(1.) Jacques Derrida, "Geschlecht II: Heidegger's Hand," trans. John P. Leavey Jr., in Deconstruction and Philosophy, ed. John Sallis (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1986); and '"Eating Well' or the Calculation of the Subject," in Who Comes after the Subject?, ed. Eduardo Cadava, Peter Connor, and Jean-Luc Nancy (New York: Routledge, 1991), 96-119.

(2.) Jacques Derrida, "The Animal That Therefore I Am (More to Follow)," Critical Inquiry 28 (2002): 369-418; and "And Say the Animal Responded?" in Zoontologies: The Question of the Animal, ed. Cary Wolfe (Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2003), 121-46.

(3.) He calls the idea of any homogeneity or continuity between other animals and humans "asinine" and "imbecile," but himself asserts that the border or edge between humans and other animals is not single and absolute, but is interrupted, folded, and varies according to different historical moments. "The Animal That Therefore I Am," 398-99.

(4.) This essay is also printed as chapter 2 of Wolfe's Animal Rites: American Culture, the Discourse of Species, and Posthumanist Theory (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2003).

(5.) "'Eating Well,' or the Calculation of the Subject," 112.

(6.) See Carol J. Adams, The Sexual Economy of Meat: A Feminist-Vegetarian Critical Theory (New York: Continuum, 1990).

(7.) For further work by Fudge on animals in the early modern period, see Perceiving Animals: Humans and Beasts in Early Modern English Culture (Urbana: U of Illinois P, 2000).

(8.) Also of interest in this collection is Sue Wiseman's essay arguing that accounts of werewolves play an important role in the construction of the civic in sixteenth-century England ("Hairy on the Inside: Metamorphosis and Civility in English Werewolf Texts"). This line of analysis finds a parallel in Howard Bloch's thesis that the Fables of Marie de France contribute significantly to the construction of the nation-state in twelfth-century France. See "The Wolf in the Dog: Animal Fables and State Formation," Differences 15.1 (2004): 69-83 (special issue on "Man and Beast").

(9.) Matthew Senior also writes about the royal menagerie in "The Menagerie and the Labyrinthe: Animals at Versailles, 1662-1792," in Renaissance Beasts, edited by Fudge. Senior stresses the way that the menagerie serves not only to represent the dominion of the monarch, but also to bear out the principles of order in the classical period that Michel Foucault discerns and discusses in The Order of Things. Senior also analyzes the statuary in the fountains at the Labyrinth of Versailles that represented animals in thirty-nine fables by Aesop; powered by water, the figures in these scenes became animal-machines resembling those described by Rene Descartes earlier in the seventeenth century.

(10.) For a more wide-ranging study of animals in romantic-era writing that directs close attention to Percy Bysshe Shelley's essays on vegetarianism, Lord Byron's attitudes toward dogs, and evolutionary attitudes between Erasmus Darwin and his grandson, Charles, see Christine Kenyon-Jones, Kindred Brutes: Animals in Romantic-Period Writing (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001).

(11.) Thomas Nagel, "What Is It Like To Be a Bat?" Philosophical Review 83 (1974): 435-50. For a wide range of views on anthropomorphism, see Anthropomorphism, Anecdotes, and Animals, ed. Robert W. Mitchell, Nicholas S. Thompson, and H. Lyn Miles (Albany: State U of New York P, 1997).

(12.) See Tom Regan, The Case for Animal Rights (Berkeley: U of California P, 1983).

(13.) See, for example, Raimond Gaita, The Philosopher's Dog (New York: Routledge, 2002); The Culture of the Horse: Status, Discipline, and Identity in the Early Modern World, ed. Karen Raber and Treva J. Tucker (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005); Bruce Thomas Boehrer, Parrot Culture: Our 2,500-Year-Long Fascination with the World's Most Talkative Bird (Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania P, 2004).

(14.) Donna Haraway, The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People, and Significant Otherness (Chicago: Prickly Paradigm P, 2003).
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Title Annotation:Experimenting with Humans and Animals: From Galen to Animal Rights; Figuring Animals: Essays on Animal Images in Art, Literature, Philosophy, and Popular Culture; Renaissance Beasts: Of Animals, Humans, and Other Wonderful Creatures; Romanticism and Animal Rights; Zoontologies: The Question of the Animal
Author:Palmeri, Frank
Article Type:Book review
Date:Jun 22, 2006
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