Category Archives: Books

UTP’s Physical Distancing Reading List

In these challenging times, it can often seem difficult to grasp the truth of what is going on around us. In an overwhelming flow of media and information, sometimes what’s missing is some context and perspective. As a university press, we are proud to publish the work of leading scholars who tackle important issues – like the ones we are facing today – with intelligence and expertise.

For those who are looking for a little context – or just something to focus your mind while you’re maintaining physical distance from others – we offer a few suggestions of books that we’ve published over the years that might provide exactly the perspective you need.

Be well, stay connected, and keep reading.

Books that will provide some historical perspective:

Epidemics and the Modern World

By Mitchell L. Hammond

Published in January 2020 (we never could have imagined how timely this publication would become), this new textbook uses “biographies” of epidemics such as plague, tuberculosis, and HIV/AIDS to explore the impact of disease on the development of modern societies from the fourteenth century to the present. We highly recommend Chapter 8 on the 1918 influenza pandemic for some necessary perspective – you can read the entire chapter for free here. You should also check out this Literary Review of Canada article which manages to artfully draw from Hammond’s textbook alongside works by Defoe and Camus.


Influenza 1918: Disease, Death, and Struggle in Winnipeg

By Esyllt W. Jones

The influenza pandemic of 1918-1919 killed as many as fifty million people worldwide and affected the vast majority of Canadians. Yet the pandemic, which came and left in one season, has remained difficult to interpret. What did it mean to live through and beyond this brief, terrible episode, and what were its long-term effects? Influenza 1918 uses Winnipeg as a case study to show how disease articulated and helped to re-define boundaries of social difference. Jones concludes that social conflict is not an inevitable outcome of epidemics, but rather of inequality and public failure to fully engage all members of the community in the fight against disease. This is a valuable lesson for today.


Hunting the 1918 Flu

By Kirsty Duncan

To this day medical science has been at a loss to explain the origin of the Spanish flu. Responding to sustained interest in this medical mystery, Hunting the 1918 Flu presents a detailed account of Kirsty Duncan’s experiences as she organized an international, multi-discipline scientific expedition to exhume the bodies of a group of Norwegian miners buried in Svalbard – all victims of the flu virus. Duncan’s narrative reveals the turbulent politics of a group moving towards a goal where the egos were as strong as the stakes were high. The author, herself a medical geographer (and known to most Canadians as the Honourable Kirsty Duncan, Member of Parliament), is very frank about her bruising emotional, financial, and professional experiences on the “dark side of science.”


The Last Plague: Spanish Influenza and the Politics of Public Health in Canada

By Mark Osborne Humphries

In The Last Plague, Mark Osborne Humphries examines how federal epidemic disease management strategies developed before the First World War, arguing that the deadliest epidemic in Canadian history ultimately challenged traditional ideas about disease and public health governance. Using federal, provincial, and municipal archival sources, newspapers, and newly discovered military records – as well as original epidemiological studies – Humphries situates the flu within a larger social, political, and military context. His provocative conclusion is that the 1918 flu crisis had important long-term consequences at the national level, ushering in the “modern” era of public health in Canada.


From Wall Street to Bay Street: The Origins and Evolution of American and Canadian Finance

By Christopher Kobrak and Joe Martin

The 2008 financial crisis rippled across the globe and triggered a worldwide recession. Unlike the American banking system which experienced massive losses, takeovers, and taxpayer funded bailouts, Canada’s banking system withstood the crisis relatively well and maintained its liquidity and profitability. The divergence in the two banking systems can be traced to their distinct institutional and political histories. From Wall Street to Bay Street tackles the similarities and differences between the financial systems of Canada and the United States – offering useful insight into our current financial predicament.


In addition, a couple of books that will provide some medical context include Treating Health Care: How the Canadian System Works and How It Could Work Better by Raisa B. Deber and Public Health in the Age of Anxiety: Religious and Cultural Roots of Vaccine Hesitancy in Canada, edited by Paul Bramadat, Maryse Guay, Julie A. Bettinger, and Réal Roy. As people start to think about food security in new ways, we recommend Growing a Sustainable City?: The Question of Urban Agriculture by Christina D. Rosan and Hamil Pearsall. For those who are thinking more about crisis communication, we suggest Duncan Koerber’s recent guide, Crisis Communication in Canada. And finally, for some political and economic context, consider Backrooms and Beyond: Partisan Advisers and the Politics of Policy Work in Canada by Jonathan Craft; Back from the Brink: Lessons from the Canadian Asset-Backed Commercial Paper Crisis by Paul Halpern, Caroline Cakebread, Christopher C. Nicholls, and Poonam Puri; and Bureaucratic Manoeuvres: The Contested Administration of the Unemployed by John Grundy.

The Lived Experience of Water

Recently released from UTP, The Wonder of Water: Lived Experience, Policy, and Practice is an edited collection that reminds us of our primordial belonging to and need for water – a relation so essential that it is often taken for granted in policy development and decision making. The chapters are written by some of the world’s leading phenomenological thinkers who tackle subjects from flow motions to urban river restoration.


Ingrid Leman Stefanovic

If you are like most people, you will have begun your day by brushing your teeth, flushing a toilet, washing your hands and face and, then, tea or coffee was probably a necessary part of your breakfast. As you moved through these morning activities, you will have taken for granted the fact that safe and secure water was ready and available.

For many of us in the developed world, that ready availability of water is accepted on a pre-thematic level: it is only when the water is turned off that we explicitly realize how vital it is to our existence. As others have said, try going three days without water to recognize its ontological value.

The Wonder of Water: Lived Experience, Policy, and Practice, brings together thinkers who are attuned to the fundamental importance of water to our embodied lives. They each hope to shed some light on the fact that our water policies and practices should be informed not simply by abstract principles but by that deep need that we each have, as beings composed 60% of water, of this basic, life-giving liquid.

Certainly, it is important that rational thinking and evidence-based science inform decisions and policy making around water. Many books on water ethics and water security do an excellent job at covering complex policy issues. However, The Wonder of Water uniquely argues that we need to ensure that the deeply personal, embodied, imaginative, ontological interpretations of the value of water equally inform policy conversations.

Consider, for instance, how every day the news media highlights the growing risks of climate change to our health and to the well-being of the planet. Fewer and fewer skeptics deny the anthropogenic causes of climate warming and, increasingly, there are calls for substantive policy change in favour of more sustainable lifestyle choices.

Whether manifested through more serious droughts or deadly floods or rising sea levels, the reality is, as UN Water pointed out in 2019, that “water is the primary medium through which we will feel the effects of climate change.” Moreover, “the world is on the brink of a deadly crisis, as the combination of water stress and climate change creates a dangerous outlook for children.”[1] UNICEF recounts the stories of 12-year-old Swapna who, after Cyclone Roanu hit Bangladesh, returned home to find her neighbourhood, including all the trees, gone; or how a father in Zimbabwe, struggling to feed his family after a severe drought, was forced to sell his daughter for a few goats. In Canada, we have whole communities operating on boil water advisories. And then there is the reality that every day, over 800 children die from preventable diseases caused by unsafe water and lack of sanitation.[2]

Our book is meant to remind us that each of these lives, and others like them, are at risk and, consequently, meaningful policy changes cannot wait. Climate deniers and environmental skeptics should be invited to look each of these children in the eyes and ask themselves whether these children’s everyday embodied pain and suffering do not matter. “Policies” and regulations affect real lives. They are not simply articles of debate for conferences or international meetings. Rather, the urgency of enacting water policies that are effective and comprehensive comes from the realization that individual lives, emotions, physical health, and happiness are affected by high-powered decisions that themselves must be meaningfully informed by the lived repercussions of those policy choices.

Certainly, environmental decision making should be informed by statistics and quantitative data. Our point is, however, that a different kind of thinking – one that is less calculative and more originative, discerning, and perhaps reflecting even a kind of poetic sensibility toward individual human experiences – needs to drive policy making.

So, Part One of the book aims to remind us of what the lived experience of water might mean, not only in terms of human priorities but also relating to non-human animals and the breathing planet. Part Two shows us how water defines place, not simply as a geographical location but as the embodied projection of human understanding of the world in which we find ourselves. Part Three offers examples of how policies and decisions arise in different communities that are informed by diverse practices and ethical perspectives. The book begins and ends with poetic reflections, reminding us that policies must be driven not only by calculation but by mindful, discerning commitment to our embodied, revered, existential experiences of water.

Overall, the book invites the reader to re-engage with the lived experience and wonder of water, not only because human rights demand safe water or the benefits outweigh the costs of providing water security, but because, simply put, without water, there is no life. This fact we can never take for granted.

***

To read an excerpt from The Wonder of Water, click here.


Ingrid Leman Stefanovic is Dean of the Faculty of Environment and professor in the School of Resource and Environmental Management at Simon Fraser University. She is also a professor emerita in the Department of Philosophy at the University of Toronto.

[1] Please see https://www.unicef.org/wash/waterandclimate/

[2] Please see https://www.unicef.org/wash/

 

 

Breathe, Baby, Breathe!: The Delivery

Every year in the United States, 12% of all births are preterm births, 5% of all babies need help to breathe at birth, and 3% of neonates are born with at least one severe malformation. Many of these babies are hospitalized in a neonatal intensive care unit. Annie Janvier and her husband, Keith Barrington, are both pediatricians who specialize in the care of these sick babies and are internationally known for their research in this area. In 2005, when their daughter Violette was born extremely prematurely, 4 months before her due date, they faced the situation “from the other side,” as parents. Despite knowing the scientific facts, they knew nothing about the experience itself.

Breathe, Baby, Breathe! is the emotional and personal story written by Annie Janvier, that tells the story of their daughter Violette, alongside the stories of other fragile babies and their families with different journeys and different outcomes. In this post, we share an excerpt from the book.


Excerpt from Breathe, Baby, Breathe!

Part 2: The Delivery and the First Days

The Delivery

Violette was born at 5:21 a.m. in Operating Room 1 at the Royal Victoria Hospital in Montreal. A room that looks like so many operating rooms: too cold, highly impersonal, brightly lit. In some places, they call this an operating theatre, with the OR fluorescent blue light pointing to the main actor and to the precise spot where all the action was focused: my tsouin-tsouin. Whether there was to be a caesarean section or not, all the sick babies were delivered in that room, as the resuscitation room was adjacent to it. The “resusc” room was overheated so that babies didn’t drop their temperature. Dropping temperature is a big concern when tiny babies come out. Their little bodies are wrapped in a plastic bag or under plastic wrap in order to keep their temperature stable.

I remembered three months back, when I was 12 weeks pregnant, nauseated and on call, that I had been urgently woken up at 3 a.m. because a 25-week baby was about to be born. After driving madly through red lights and arriving on time, I felt sick. The mother who was delivering had fulminant chorioamnionitis (a uterine infection) and the smell in the OR was not pretty. I took the baby to the resusc room. The baby stank, a tiny stink bomb, the whole resusc sauna room stank of old diapers and septic tanks. Her heart rate was not coming up with only the bag and mask. I needed to intubate her (place a tube down her throat into her windpipe). I was gagging while I was intubating this poor little girl, but managed to intubate her quickly. Thankfully I had a mask on. The junior resident asked what he could do, with both his eyebrows raised. I hadn’t worked with him before. He was still showing me what the heart rate of the baby was, and his finger was going up and down, but I guess he did not know the protocol for dealing with barfing staff, which list to check, how to assist. When the baby was stable, I asked the resident for some ice. As the main assistant for the resuscitation, he ran out to get some. I am sure he did not know why we needed ice, since we were supposed to keep the baby warm. When he returned, I asked him to place some of the ice in a plastic bag on my head. I felt like I would pass out. This baby did well, though. She was still on the unit weeks later, learning to feed, while I was pushing.

Why was I remembering this baby while I myself was giving birth? I have often tried to understand why over the years. Maybe because I thought my situation was slightly better: I did not stink, plus my physician was not about to puke on my baby. Or maybe because I wanted to vomit with despair. Or maybe because I wanted to remind myself I was not only a failing vessel, a broken belly, the owner of an “incompetent cervix”; I was a strong physician who could intubate a tiny baby in under thirty seconds while puking in her mask. Or maybe because I wanted to think about this pretty little girl who was doing well, in our hospital, with the same care Violette would have, her little preemie-roommate.

Credit: Sasiistock

Axel had been born by Caesarean section, but Violette used the good old “natural route” at a highly unnatural time. So many people were around, but at that moment there could have been a TV crew, a clown, a deep-sea diver, cows, whatever, and I don’t think I would have reacted. I wasn’t supposed to be there. Why not another day, week, hour?? Why had I turned around in bed a week before, when my waters broke? That was a huge mistake. This is all a mistake, I wanted to scream. This is not happening. This cannot be my life. This is my husband next to me, with so much love in his eyes, so much despair, and so much hope. I realized it was really happening. When Axel was born, I couldn’t successfully push him out of me. I thought this would be easier. How can a 700g baby be tough to push out? Well, it was not easy. I think I pushed hard, but my OB seemed not to think so. The whole team was counting, encouraging, telling me this was serious. Maybe I was not pushing because I did not want her to come out. This was NOT a happy moment; this was one of the worse moments of my life. This was failure. A big maternal blaaaaaaaaaaah in broad florescent light for everybody to see. I felt her coming out, heard a little cry and closed my eyes. I saw Gene right there, our great colleague who was a neonatal fellow at the time. I knew Violette was well taken care of. He took her into the resuscitation room. Keith and I both knew what was happening out there. At least Gene was not vomiting and asking for ice. He intubated her when she was stable, gave her surfactant to open up her lungs and took her to the NICU. She needed only room air to breathe, 21 per cent oxygen, what healthy human beings need. I did not want to see her. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to be alone.

Keith went to collect Axel from my mom’s place, and I was taken to the prenatal ward. I was so grateful to go there. I had been in the team recommending that all mothers of very sick babies be admitted there after birth, so they did not have to be exposed to the bright balloons, the damned joy and happiness of the other mothers, the first meconiums, the crying fullterm
monsters, and the chattering, smiling, noisy relatives. I was with the waiting ones and the sick ones. It was silent. I went to sleep.

May 22nd. This is the day I learned the definition of emptiness. I did not feel pain, sad emotions. I felt nothing – such a big black hole, a void. I was empty; nothing had any meaning. I learned the definition of nothing, of meaninglessness, the meaning of meaninglessness.

A mother who is really a mother is never free.

Honoré de Balzac


To find out more about Breathe, Baby, Breathe!, click here.

Annie Janvier is a professor of Paediatrics and Clinical Ethics at the University of Montreal, and a Neonatologist, clinical ethicist and researcher at CHU Sainte-Justine.

Phyllis Aronoff and Howard Scott won the 2018 Governor General’s Literary Award for their translation of Descent into Night by Edem Awumey.

Kuhn, Paradigms, and Aristotle’s Physics

Although Aristotle’s contribution to biology has long been recognized, there are many philosophers and historians of science who call him the man who held up the Scientific Revolution by two thousand years. In this post, Christoper Byrne, author of Aristotle’s Science of Matter and Motion, criticizes these views, including that of Thomas Kahn, a well-known historian and philosopher of science, who was one of many historians that labelled Arisitotle of being the great delayer of natural science.


By Christopher Byrne

In his 1987 essay, “What Are Scientific Revolutions?,” Thomas Kuhn wrote that he came up with his idea of a scientific paradigm by reflecting on what was for him the enigma of Aristotle’s physics. On the one hand, Kuhn wrote, Aristotle clearly made significant contributions to logic, biology, and several other fields; on the other hand, Aristotle’s physics was worthless from the point of view of later physics – indeed, held up progress in physics – and contained many errors of logic and observation. Still, Kuhn wrote, given Aristotle’s contributions to logic and biology, the failure of his physics cannot be explained just by scientific incompetence on his part. Thus, we are faced with the puzzle of understanding how someone could be so good at logical reasoning and the minute inspection of biological organisms, but so wrong about the behaviour of physical bodies in general. It could only be the case, Kuhn concluded, that the basic beliefs about nature that had served Aristotle so well in his biology had fundamentally occluded his judgment when he turned to physics. More generally, Kuhn argued, Aristotle’s physics showed that beliefs about nature are not held piecemeal, but are part of a connected system. Claims about nature that by themselves seem arbitrary and wrong-headed, make sense within the context of a more general set of principles. Thus was the concept of a scientific paradigm born, as well as the attendant belief that scientific revolutions involve exchanging one scientific paradigm for another.

Kuhn admits that his view of Aristotle’s physics was the standard one at the time. One finds similar accounts of Aristotle in Sarton’s A History of Science (1952), Sambursky’s The Physical World of the Greeks (1956), Butterfield’s Origins of Modern Science (1957), and Westfall’s The Construction of Modern Science (1977). All of these accounts have in common the view that Aristotle’s account of nature is thoroughly qualitative and teleological, that is, that all change in nature involves the exchange of contrary qualities in perceptible objects, one of which is the distinctive perfection of the object undergoing the change and the other some type of deficiency in that kind of thing. Thus, every change is either a movement toward a telos, or final cause, or a movement away from that telos; in the first case, the change is natural, in the second, violent. Either way, all change in nature must be understood in relation to the specific perfection of the thing undergoing the change.

Kuhn took this interpretation of Aristotle’s physics to its logical conclusion; in so doing, he made clear its many flaws. Perhaps the best example of the way this interpretation misconstrues Aristotle is found in what Kuhn says about Aristotle’s account of locomotion. Kuhn argues that for Aristotle locomotion is a qualitative change; a change of place is a change of quality. Thus, place must be a quality. The difficulty, however, is that the qualities of perceptible objects move with them; examples of such qualities given in Aristotle’s Categories include colour and temperature, possessing a natural capacity or an acquired skill, say, an athletic ability, and properties such as being healthy or ill, and hard or soft. Place, however, does not belong in the category of quality; in his Categories, Aristotle lists the category of place separately from that of quality. He also explicitly states in his Physics that the place of an object does not move with it; on the contrary, a place has to remain and not move with the body that occupied it if one body is to replace another body in the same place. Thus, from the point of view of Aristotle’s Categories and Physics, claiming that a place is a quality is not only wrong, but a category mistake.

Kuhn made similar mistakes with respect to the role of matter as the substratum of change in perceptible objects and the scope of teleological explanation in Aristotle’s physics. I leave it to others to consider whether scientific revolutions are properly understood as paradigm shifts. I will also suspend for the moment the question of whether a set of causal principles and basic ontological commitments constitute what Kuhn calls a scientific paradigm. I do argue, however, that Kuhn was deeply wrong about the principles of Aristotle’s physics.

Learn more about Aristotle’s Science of Matter and Motion


Christopher Byrne is an associate professor in the Department of Philosophy at St. Francis Xavier University and author of Aristotle’s Science of Matter and Motion

 

From the Archives to the Bookstore: Writing the History of the American Canoe Association Encampments

Canoe and Canvasoffers a detailed portrait of the summer encampments of the American Canoe Association between 1880 and 1910, and is particularly concerned with how gender, class, and race shaped these annual events. In this post, author Jessica Dunkin discusses why the canoe is such a fascinating subject to her and why her research led her to some fascinating insights into canoeing and the colonial histories behind it.


By Jessica Dunkin

I became a historian in the basement of Bata Library at Trent University. I was enrolled in a third-year course on Canadian women’s history for which Professor Janet Miron had assigned a research paper based on primary sources. I found my way to the Trent University Archives (TUA), where Bernadine Dodge and Jodi Aoki shepherded me through the process of identifying and working with archival sources. The focus for that paper was early girls’ summer camps in Ontario – TUA is home to the records of the Ontario Camping Association – which remained a topic of interest for me as a Master’s student and which ultimately directed me towards the canoe as a subject of study for my doctoral dissertation.

Adirondack Museum (now the Adirondack Experience), 2009. Image by Jess Dunkin

The canoe is, of course, a massive topic. I had proposed to study the history of women and canoeing to the Graduate Committee in the Department of History at Carleton University. It was in the archive, specifically the Adirondack Museum Archives (now the Adirondack Experience) in Blue Mountain Lake, New York, that I came up against the impossibility of this project, but was also gifted a more manageable topic.

The Adirondack Museum, at that time, had bound copies of Forest and Stream magazine, which during the late nineteenth century enthusiastically supported and documented the activities of the American Canoe Association (ACA), a voluntary society founded in 1880 to bring together canoeing enthusiasts from across the continent; in spite of its name, it had a sizeable Canadian membership in the early years. As I turned the periodical’s large yellowed pages, I had my first glimpse of the organization’s summer encampments.

Beginning in 1880, the ACA hosted an annual gathering at out of the way, if not entirely wild places on both sides of the Canada-US border. For two to three weeks in August, canoeing enthusiasts from Toronto, Philadelphia, Montreal, Boston, and many places in between came together to sleep in tents, socialize, and sail and paddle canoes. I soon realized that these events, which usually featured a multi-day regatta, excursions, campfires, spectacles, and more, offered an opportunity to consider the social worlds that grew up around canoes and by extension the politics of sport and leisure.

From the archives in Blue Mountain Lake, I found my way to Mystic Seaport in Mystic, Connecticut, and the New York State Historical Association (now the Fenimore Museum) in Cooperstown, New York, both of which boast sizeable collections of ACA records and ephemera; the archives at Mystic Seaport have 43 boxes and 8 volumes dating from 1881 to 1987, while the Research Library at the Fenimore Museum has 5.5 cubic feet and six oversize folders of materials covering 1879–2009. These collections, which are primarily composed of official records like meeting minutes, annual reports, and correspondence, provided the scaffolding for the project. The texture of the meets came from a thorough search of newspapers local to the event sites (the ACA set up camp in 15 different locations between 1880 and 1902 before establishing a permanent encampment on Sugar Island in the Thousand Islands in 1903).

While it was a pleasure to visit small repositories on both sides of the border to look through old newspapers, you can imagine my joy when I stumbled upon New York State Historic Newspapers, a free, searchable, full-text database of upwards of 400 newspapers, dating from 1795–2014. This website, which currently has more than 9.5 million periodical pages, enabled me to cast a much wider net (sixteen of the pre-1903 meets were held in the Empire State and even when the encampment was elsewhere, New York State newspapers from communities large and small reported on the event), which in turn allowed for a more nuanced understanding of the encampments. Consider, for instance, this excerpt from an 1896 issue of the Syracuse Evening Herald: “The events in which the ladies participated excited more than usual interest. The contests though short were watched from start to finish by an eager throng, who with craning necks and shouts of encouragement for the various favorites, cheered the contestants on.” Whereas a regatta programme indicates the existence of women’s races, periodical accounts tell us something about the meaning and significance of those races.

“The Sneak-Box Mess: Camp of the Brooklyn Canoe Club,” 1887. Image by Seneca Ray Stoddard

I came to know the encampments in different ways through photographs. The ACA Collection at the Fenimore Museum includes more than 500 images gathered by C. Bowyer Vaux. Many of these photographs were taken by Seneca Ray Stoddard, a well-known nineteenth-century photographer who was a familiar face at the ACA meets from 1881 to 1896, but Vaux also collected images from other commercial and amateur photographers. Taken together, these photographs at once support and subvert dominant narratives about the ACA encampments. They played a particularly important role in revealing and reconstructing the labour that enabled the annual events, which is the subject of Chapter Eight in my book, and disrupting the notion of the meets as exclusively spaces of white, middle-class leisure. This Stoddard photograph, for instance, was the first one I saw documenting the presence of a Black person at the encampments. It inspired me to pay closer attention to other visual and textual sources.

A rich and eclectic library of secondary literature helped me to make sense of what I was reading and seeing in the archive. One of the joys of this project was being able to read widely about topics as disparate and related as middle-class foodways and interior design, liberalism, circuses and minstrelsy, waste management, Indigenous craft production, and boat design and amateur sport. What emerged from this entangling of past and present sources and thinking was an account of an annual event that tells us as much about the significance of sport and leisure in the late nineteenth century, both for individuals and for society, as it does about the ACA and canoeing.

I came to this project as an avid canoeist and I remain one to this day, but I understand the canoe and myself as a paddler in different ways as a result of this research. White settlers appropriated the canoe, eventually transforming it into a craft and, enabled by colonial policies of dispossession and assimilation, they paddled and sailed at their leisure. I have benefitted from these same policies, though I did not see that until I began to study the canoe. Understanding colonial histories of the canoe has not only re-shaped my approach to canoeing as a physical and ethical practice, but it has also inspired me to find ways to support the resurgence of Indigenous canoeing traditions in the place that I now call home, Denendeh.

***

Jessica Dunkin is an independent scholar based in Yellowknife, NT. To find out more about Jessica, you can visit her website.


To find out more about Canoe and Canvas, click here.