and 'diaspora''' (185). Food can provide immigrants with a connection to their homeland, it can also represent their struggle to assimilate and, for third generations, symbolize a connection to their ethnic legacy. So it is no surprise that the culinary memoir has been popular among diasporans and hyphenated Americans since the late 1990s, as shown by Smith and Watson, Roy, Mannur, Gilbert and Torreiro Pazo.

As these memoirs focus on domestic scenes—mothers preparing dishes in the kitchen, families sharing meals—the reader is invited into the author's home and becomes privy to a home life that often confused the author. What kind of home, then, does the transnational culinary memoir invite the reader in? While culinary memoirs with recipes can serve idealized versions, or even fictions, of home—Colette Rossant's *Apricots on the Nile* (1999), which recalls the author's childhood in her father's family's home in Cairo, is a case in point—most authors dispute the notion that home is a stable concept as they analyze their complex relationships with home, family and identity—three interconnected concepts.

In this chapter, I analyze culinary memoirs published in the 2000s, from several cultural backgrounds and culinary legacies: Louise DeSalvo's *Crazy in the Kitchen* (2004), Diane Abu-Jaber's *The Language of Baklava* (2005), Linda Furiya's *Bento Box in the Heartland* (2006), Bich Nguyen's *Stealing Buddha's Dinner* (2007), Laura Schenone's *The Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken* (2007) and Joyce Zonana's *Dream Homes* (2008). The authors revisit their childhood homes, analyzing the affects that made them see it as a safe haven, a prison, or a battle field. Homes are shown to be essentially hybrid spaces—neither “American American” homes nor bastions of ethnicity. Revisiting their childhood home and the ancestral homeland are often seen as stages in journey in search of home as the authors interrogate their “homing desire”—a term coined by Avtar Brah (180)—which both stresses and questions the need to feel at home. Most authors also discuss the home they want to create for their own family—a home that is connected to the past but also to the world. Ultimately, I will consider the possibility that the memoir itself is the only home that the author can claim for herself, a home where her ghosts, and her readers, are welcomed.
# 1. A Safe Haven or a War Zone?

In diasporic studies the immigrant's home is seen as a "diaspora space"—the site where multiple subject positions are juxtaposed, contested, proclaimed or disavowed (Brah 208). A central trope in diasporic literature, "the home either becomes a place of confinement where the old self of the im/migrant becomes locked up [...] or can act as an interface, a locus of interaction with the outside world" (Král 41). Vietnamese-born Bich Nguyen, who grew up in Grand Rapids Michigan, explains that her memoir describes "an immigrant's dilemma to blend in or remain apart" (255). Culinary memoirs can appeal to readers who felt the same dilemma, regardless of their cultures, and to those who are curious about culinary legacies. Food, a strong marker of identity, is a useful trope to articulate tensions that emerge within the immigrant's home, as well as in the interaction with the outside world. As they focus on family life, scenes in the kitchen and around the dinner table, the authors of transnational culinary memoirs let their readers in, something they did not do when they were teenagers, as they were often confused by their immigrant home and by their feelings about home.

As the authors write about food as affect, a strong sense of intimacy is created. Affect, a visceral force beyond emotion, which Seigworth and Gregg define as "a body's capacity to affect and be affected" (2), "an impingement or extrusion of a momentary [...] state of relation as well as the passage of forces and intensity [...] that pass body to body and sometimes stick to bodies" (1), is a core ingredient of culinary memoirs. Food functions as a magnet, it crystallizes parental hopes to raise and control their children, and the children's strong reactions to home, family, and identity. Memories of sticky food remind us that "[a]ffect is what sticks, or what sustains or preserves the connection between ideas, values, objects" (Ahmed 29) while evocations of the indigestible food parents would prepare, and children reject, function as embodied memories of painful family life. Eventually, instances of indigestion, choking, and nausea, can function as expression of self-loathing, and ethnic shame, contrasting with images of ethnic food as a source of comfort for the im/migrant.
# 1. A Safe Haven or a War Zone?

In diasporic studies the immigrant's home is seen as a "diaspora space"—the site where multiple subject positions are juxtaposed, contested, proclaimed or disavowed (Brah 208). A central trope in diasporic literature, "the home either becomes a place of confinement where the old self of the im/migrant becomes locked up [...] or can act as an interface, a locus of interaction with the outside world" (Král 41). Vietnamese-born Bich Nguyen, who grew up in Grand Rapids Michigan, explains that her memoir describes "an immigrant's dilemma to blend in or remain apart" (255). Culinary memoirs can appeal to readers who felt the same dilemma, regardless of their cultures, and to those who are curious about culinary legacies. Food, a strong marker of identity, is a useful trope to articulate tensions that emerge within the immigrant's home, as well as in the interaction with the outside world. As they focus on family life, scenes in the kitchen and around the dinner table, the authors of transnational culinary memoirs let their readers in, something they did not do when they were teenagers, as they were often confused by their immigrant home and by their feelings about home.

As the authors write about food as affect, a strong sense of intimacy is created. Affect, a visceral force beyond emotion, which Seigworth and Gregg define as "a body's capacity to affect and be affected" (2), "an impingement or extrusion of a momentary [...] state of relation as well as the passage of forces and intensity [...] that pass body to body and sometimes stick to bodies" (1), is a core ingredient of culinary memoirs. Food functions as a magnet, it crystallizes parental hopes to raise and control their children, and the children's strong reactions to home, family, and identity. Memories of sticky food remind us that "[a]ffect is what sticks, or what sustains or preserves the connection between ideas, values, objects" (Ahmed 29) while evocations of the indigestible food parents would prepare, and children reject, function as embodied memories of painful family life. Eventually, instances of indigestion, choking, and nausea, can function as expression of self-loathing, and ethnic shame, contrasting with images of ethnic food as a source of comfort for the im/migrant.
In *Bento Box in the Heartland, My Japanese Girlhood in Whitebread America*, Linda Furiya, who grew up "Japanese" in a rural community in Indiana, opposes her parents' sense of home as a stable concept to her own ambivalent feelings and dilemma. She remembers her parents' isolation but also feels that they had a clear sense of what "home" meant; for them, home was, simply and always, Japan (173). Home food, that is to say, Japanese food, is depicted as a source of comfort for her parents—it "assured them they could make it through the daily challenges of living in a country not their own" (95)—and a source of anxiety for Linda. The obento lunches she brings to school are synonymous with shame and resistance. She eats the food, "a glaring reminder of the ethnic difference between my peers and myself (5), but eats it in the girls' bathroom.<fnref n="118" /> Thus home is depicted as a safe haven, the only place where Linda "experience[s] an absolute peace and connection with [her] Japanese heritage" (279).

Such vision is always threatened. Furiya recalls how much she feared a visit by a school friend who was to eat with them and sleep over, assuming her friend would find her home and family too weird (71). Bich Nguyen explains that after her father's marriage to a Mexican-American woman she became "self-conscious about" her grandmother's rituals, in particular the food offerings at the foot of Buddha (29). Such fears—the knowledge that home is always potentially a source of discomfort, embarrassment and even shame—pervade many memoirs. In *Crazy in the Kitchen* Louise DeSalvo confesses that when her friends called her Italian grandmother a witch, she betrayed her by laughing at her with her friends because she was ashamed of the old woman in black (80). Leslie Li's *Daughter of Heaven* depicts the childhood home in Riverdale (New York) as a place of horticultural conflict and embarrassment after her "very odd Chinese grandmother" (1) came to live with them. While most of the front lawn had the regular roses and lilies of the valley, lurid bok choy leaves adorned the third patch that had fallen into the hands of her grandmother. Leslie and her sister were so embarrassed that when they

<footnote n="118">¹¹⁸ Linda Furiya's obento lunches have already received critical attention (Gilbert 188; Torreiro Pazo 156) as glaring examples of ethnic shame, although shame is mixed with a visceral need to eat them.</footnote>
In *Bento Box in the Heartland, My Japanese Girlhood in Whitebread America*, Linda Furiya, who grew up "Japanese" in a rural community in Indiana, opposes her parents' sense of home as a stable concept to her own ambivalent feelings and dilemma. She remembers her parents' isolation but also feels that they had a clear sense of what "home" meant; for them, home was, simply and always, Japan (173). Home food, that is to say, Japanese food, is depicted as a source of comfort for her parents—it "assured them they could make it through the daily challenges of living in a country not their own" (95)—and a source of anxiety for Linda. The obento lunches she brings to school are synonymous with shame and resistance. She eats the food, "a glaring reminder of the ethnic difference between my peers and myself (5), but eats it in the girls' bathroom.<fnref n="118" /> Thus home is depicted as a safe haven, the only place where Linda "experience[s] an absolute peace and connection with [her] Japanese heritage" (279).

Such vision is always threatened. Furiya recalls how much she feared a visit by a school friend who was to eat with them and sleep over, assuming her friend would find her home and family too weird (71). Bich Nguyen explains that after her father's marriage to a Mexican-American woman she became "self-conscious about" her grandmother's rituals, in particular the food offerings at the foot of Buddha (29). Such fears—the knowledge that home is always potentially a source of discomfort, embarrassment and even shame—pervade many memoirs. In *Crazy in the Kitchen* Louise DeSalvo confesses that when her friends called her Italian grandmother a witch, she betrayed her by laughing at her with her friends because she was ashamed of the old woman in black (80). Leslie Li's *Daughter of Heaven* depicts the childhood home in Riverdale (New York) as a place of horticultural conflict and embarrassment after her "very odd Chinese grandmother" (1) came to live with them. While most of the front lawn had the regular roses and lilies of the valley, lurid bok choy leaves adorned the third patch that had fallen into the hands of her grandmother. Leslie and her sister were so embarrassed that when they

<footnote n="118">¹¹⁸ Linda Furiya's obento lunches have already received critical attention (Gilbert 188; Torreiro Pazo 156) as glaring examples of ethnic shame, although shame is mixed with a visceral need to eat them.</footnote>
brought white friends over, they used the back door to "avoid the front door and its embarrassing vegetable patch" (4). The back door, however, also posed problems of its own since their grandmother could hang bok choy leaves on the clothesline (4). More questions, and embarrassment, surfaced when their white friends noticed the (dead, in the process of being cured) chicken hanging from the light fixture in the center of the back porch ceiling (6).

Brah defines the diaspora space as the site where multiple subject positions are juxtaposed, contested, proclaimed or disavowed (208). The author's home is always a contested space. In *The Language of Baklava* Diane Abu-Jaber, who describes her home as a prison (230), under the control of her Jordanian father, explains that inviting friends over was an act of defiance and resistance. Similarly Nguyen, Zonana and Abu-Jaber depict their homes as a place where the immigrants maintain the family's sense of identity by cooking, *and* the place where their children growing up in America feel "overwhelmed by [their] home situation" (Nguyen 177). The teenagers "read [their] way out" (Nguyen 163) of their problematic homes. Zonana, who sees her mother's dedication to recreating the Egyptian food she ate in Cairo as a symbol of her connection to the past and a source of confusion over her own Jewish identity,<fnref n="119" /> escapes "home and its ambiguities of identity" (31) by choosing English literature: "I found my home in books" (1).

In these memoirs vocal protests often go hand in hand with a refusal to eat and/or cook "ethnic food," since the child is aware that for her parent(s) home food which is at the core of her parents' identity, is precisely what sets her apart from her peers. The authors recall being torn between liking and loathing home food, which is seen as a mechanism of parental control, or/and the essence of ethnic identity—leading to ethnic shame. Paula Torreiro Pazo's analysis of the intersection of food and identity in Asian American literature resonates with most transnational memoirs. The rejection of home food, either or both a manifestation of ethnic self-loathing and self-abjection or/and an act of rebellion against

<footnote n="119">¹¹⁹ The Zonanas were the only Egyptian Jews in their Ashkenazi neighborhood, and language and food set them apart from the other Jews. The Zonanas did not speak Yiddish, they spoke French and Arabic, did not eat gefilte or bagel, but ate Egyptian food (26-27).</footnote>
brought white friends over, they used the back door to "avoid the front door and its embarrassing vegetable patch" (4). The back door, however, also posed problems of its own since their grandmother could hang bok choy leaves on the clothesline (4). More questions, and embarrassment, surfaced when their white friends noticed the (dead, in the process of being cured) chicken hanging from the light fixture in the center of the back porch ceiling (6).

Brah defines the diaspora space as the site where multiple subject positions are juxtaposed, contested, proclaimed or disavowed (208). The author's home is always a contested space. In *The Language of Baklava* Diane Abu-Jaber, who describes her home as a prison (230), under the control of her Jordanian father, explains that inviting friends over was an act of defiance and resistance. Similarly Nguyen, Zonana and Abu-Jaber depict their homes as a place where the immigrants maintain the family's sense of identity by cooking, *and* the place where their children growing up in America feel "overwhelmed by [their] home situation" (Nguyen 177). The teenagers "read [their] way out" (Nguyen 163) of their problematic homes. Zonana, who sees her mother's dedication to recreating the Egyptian food she ate in Cairo as a symbol of her connection to the past and a source of confusion over her own Jewish identity,<fnref n="119" /> escapes "home and its ambiguities of identity" (31) by choosing English literature: "I found my home in books" (1).

In these memoirs vocal protests often go hand in hand with a refusal to eat and/or cook "ethnic food," since the child is aware that for her parent(s) home food which is at the core of her parents' identity, is precisely what sets her apart from her peers. The authors recall being torn between liking and loathing home food, which is seen as a mechanism of parental control, or/and the essence of ethnic identity—leading to ethnic shame. Paula Torreiro Pazo's analysis of the intersection of food and identity in Asian American literature resonates with most transnational memoirs. The rejection of home food, either or both a manifestation of ethnic self-loathing and self-abjection or/and an act of rebellion against

<footnote n="119">¹¹⁹ The Zonanas were the only Egyptian Jews in their Ashkenazi neighborhood, and language and food set them apart from the other Jews. The Zonanas did not speak Yiddish, they spoke French and Arabic, did not eat gefilte or bagel, but ate Egyptian food (26-27).</footnote>
parental control, is conveyed through images of indigestion and vomit (Torreiro Pazo 147). Diane Abu-Jaber describes how her feelings towards home, family and ethnicity changed over time. As a child, Diane loved her "Jordanian home," and managed the separation between two identities and places—outside (American) and home (Jordanian)—well enough. As she grew older however she rejected her Jordanian identity, which she associated with her father's rule. The more her father would insist that his daughters were "good Arab girls" (Baklava 197), the more outspoken her protests that she was American were (182). The family home became the terrain where "the long war" (181) between Diane and "Bud" was waged. As a teenager, Diane claimed that she hated "Arab food" (185). Later, during her college years, Diane would be violently sick after eating the family meals (223-229). As an adult, the author of the memoir sees that she "rejected more than food" (229). Similarly, Leslie Li refuses to eat bok choy (3), but also rejects the American food her father prepares. She describes the overcooked food as barely eatable; to her, it is literally indigestible: "I tried not to chew but simply swallowed, or tried to. Instead I gagged. Out came the fish" (Li 51). In both Abu-Jaber and Li, the violent reaction to home food serves as a metaphor of the girls' inability to process their confused feelings for home.

Childhood homes are routinely likened to a battlefield, meals to wars. Food wars inform *Crazy in the Kitchen*—Louise DeSalvo writes of an ongoing "bread war," symbolized by her mother's white bread and her grandmother's Italian bread. She offers an interesting analysis of her mother's diet of American bread, which she explains as a desperate attempt on her part to lose her Italian, i.e. immigrant, identity: "my mother thinks that eating this bread will change her [...] Maybe my mother thinks that if she eats enough of this other bread, she will stop being Italian American and she will become American-American" (12-13). Louise's mother is angered and appalled by the fact that her husband and children prefer the Italian bread and food her stepmother bakes, as this annihilates her own efforts to reach the American dream—"my mother is striving for all that we can be" (15). Just like her stepmother's black clothes, cooking utensils, and use of dialect, the Italian food is evidence that their home remains an immigrant home: "It means that we are stuck in the rut of where we came from" (15).
parental control, is conveyed through images of indigestion and vomit (Torreiro Pazo 147). Diane Abu-Jaber describes how her feelings towards home, family and ethnicity changed over time. As a child, Diane loved her "Jordanian home," and managed the separation between two identities and places—outside (American) and home (Jordanian)—well enough. As she grew older however she rejected her Jordanian identity, which she associated with her father's rule. The more her father would insist that his daughters were "good Arab girls" (Baklava 197), the more outspoken her protests that she was American were (182). The family home became the terrain where "the long war" (181) between Diane and "Bud" was waged. As a teenager, Diane claimed that she hated "Arab food" (185). Later, during her college years, Diane would be violently sick after eating the family meals (223-229). As an adult, the author of the memoir sees that she "rejected more than food" (229). Similarly, Leslie Li refuses to eat bok choy (3), but also rejects the American food her father prepares. She describes the overcooked food as barely eatable; to her, it is literally indigestible: "I tried not to chew but simply swallowed, or tried to. Instead I gagged. Out came the fish" (Li 51). In both Abu-Jaber and Li, the violent reaction to home food serves as a metaphor of the girls' inability to process their confused feelings for home.

Childhood homes are routinely likened to a battlefield, meals to wars. Food wars inform *Crazy in the Kitchen*—Louise DeSalvo writes of an ongoing "bread war," symbolized by her mother's white bread and her grandmother's Italian bread. She offers an interesting analysis of her mother's diet of American bread, which she explains as a desperate attempt on her part to lose her Italian, i.e. immigrant, identity: "my mother thinks that eating this bread will change her [...] Maybe my mother thinks that if she eats enough of this other bread, she will stop being Italian American and she will become American-American" (12-13). Louise's mother is angered and appalled by the fact that her husband and children prefer the Italian bread and food her stepmother bakes, as this annihilates her own efforts to reach the American dream—"my mother is striving for all that we can be" (15). Just like her stepmother's black clothes, cooking utensils, and use of dialect, the Italian food is evidence that their home remains an immigrant home: "It means that we are stuck in the rut of where we came from" (15).
DeSalvo exposes the violence, and danger, of her mother's attempts to become "American American" at all costs. Pointing out that she only cooked inedible meals and starved herself—lunch was, typically, a can of Campbell's soup diluted with water and dinner, two pieces of burnt toast, for the four of them—DeSalvo suggests that the battle her mother waged was also one against her own self. Her rejection of Italian food actually illustrates a concerted effort to educate immigrants away from their ethnic food that started in the first decades of the twentieth century. Food historian Donna Gabaccia explains that women reformers, domestic scientists and governments attempted to "educate" immigrants by encouraging them to give up their food, alongside the creation of a national cuisine (122-148). Girls' schools were specifically targeted and "as late as 1940, the Home Economics section of New York's Department of Welfare issued food recommendations aimed at immigrants" (Gabaccia 129). *Crazy in the Kitchen* both exposes the dangers of such policies by depicting the DeSalvo home as a battlefield and shows its failure.

A central chapter (73-83) devoted to the presence of her grandmother in the new house shifts the focus from the house as a battlefield to a "Third Space" (Bhabha 54): an in-between, hybrid, ambivalent space. The DeSalvos decided to move out of Hoboken's Italian neighborhood and turned the house they bought in a distant suburb into a "modern" i.e. American home. Yet, as they did in the Hoboken apartment, Louise's mother and grandmother fought over space in the Ridgefield house. Louise's mother pushed her stepmother away, into liminal spaces—the steps leading to the basement, on which the old woman stored her pots and pans. Louise's grandmother found refuge in a corner by the radiator, in the living room. She would remain there for five decades, knitting sweaters to protect her grand-daughters from the New Jersey climate and crocheting tablecloths—a traditional craft in Puglia. The memoir envisions this small corner in the living room as a third space, neither Puglia nor America: "there, by the radiator, my grandmother sat, ignored and despised, through the years, in that darkened room [...] in a space that was not Italy, but that was not America either" (81). The corner, a prison, the symbol of Louise's mother's victory, is also a pocket of resistance. The old woman sat there, a ghost-like presence and a persistent connection to Puglia,
DeSalvo exposes the violence, and danger, of her mother's attempts to become "American American" at all costs. Pointing out that she only cooked inedible meals and starved herself—lunch was, typically, a can of Campbell's soup diluted with water and dinner, two pieces of burnt toast, for the four of them—DeSalvo suggests that the battle her mother waged was also one against her own self. Her rejection of Italian food actually illustrates a concerted effort to educate immigrants away from their ethnic food that started in the first decades of the twentieth century. Food historian Donna Gabaccia explains that women reformers, domestic scientists and governments attempted to "educate" immigrants by encouraging them to give up their food, alongside the creation of a national cuisine (122-148). Girls' schools were specifically targeted and "as late as 1940, the Home Economics section of New York's Department of Welfare issued food recommendations aimed at immigrants" (Gabaccia 129). *Crazy in the Kitchen* both exposes the dangers of such policies by depicting the DeSalvo home as a battlefield and shows its failure.

A central chapter (73-83) devoted to the presence of her grandmother in the new house shifts the focus from the house as a battlefield to a "Third Space" (Bhabha 54): an in-between, hybrid, ambivalent space. The DeSalvos decided to move out of Hoboken's Italian neighborhood and turned the house they bought in a distant suburb into a "modern" i.e. American home. Yet, as they did in the Hoboken apartment, Louise's mother and grandmother fought over space in the Ridgefield house. Louise's mother pushed her stepmother away, into liminal spaces—the steps leading to the basement, on which the old woman stored her pots and pans. Louise's grandmother found refuge in a corner by the radiator, in the living room. She would remain there for five decades, knitting sweaters to protect her grand-daughters from the New Jersey climate and crocheting tablecloths—a traditional craft in Puglia. The memoir envisions this small corner in the living room as a third space, neither Puglia nor America: "there, by the radiator, my grandmother sat, ignored and despised, through the years, in that darkened room [...] in a space that was not Italy, but that was not America either" (81). The corner, a prison, the symbol of Louise's mother's victory, is also a pocket of resistance. The old woman sat there, a ghost-like presence and a persistent connection to Puglia,
and the past. She did not invade the house—she was ignored (80)—but she prevented it from being an American American home. Her cooking, her use of dialect, her crocheting, her very presence, all challenged the structure of Louise's mother's fiction of home. Louise DeSalvo's narrative of home, by contrast, incorporates these ingredients, moving to "a third space of enunciation" (Bhabha 54). After the old women's death, traces of the ancestral homeland, and the old woman herself, reappeared. Louise's mother got rid of all the doilies that her stepmother had crocheted, only to pick up embroidery herself. DeSalvo argues that without being aware of it, her mother embroidered flowers and herbs that grew in or near her stepmother's home village (126).

## 2. Haunted Homes

My contention is that in these memoirs the all-American home is always haunted by the past, the homeland and one's ancestors. The presence of her grandmother in the DeSalvos' living room or of Joyce Zonana's grandmother in Joyce's bedroom creates "unhomely moments [which] relate to the traumatic ambivalence of a personal, psychic history to the wider disjunctions of political existence" (Bhabha 15). Joyce, who shares her bedroom with her grandmother, hears her moaning (in Arabic) every night (Zonana 52-54). Without being able to fully comprehend it, Joyce feels that her grandmother is haunted by the past and the memories of her lost home. With these women, "the recesses of the domestic space become sites for history's most intricate invasions" (Bhabha 13).

DeSalvo explicitly argues that her family had unconsciously inherited the violent history of their ancestral homeland, Puglia, a region plagued by violence, poverty and famine.<fnref n="120" /> She thinks that although she and her parents did not know about these historical facts, "perhaps [they] knew them in [their] bodies" (137). Thus her mother's relationship to food, starving herself and denying her children food actually "recreated the privations experienced by her people in the South of Italy" (124). A later chapter

<footnote n="120">¹²⁰ DeSalvo would later read books on the history of Puglia and discover poverty, food and water shortages, famines, unbearably hard-working conditions and extremely low wages for the farm hands. Peasant protests were brutally repressed by governmental troops who fired at the peasants, killing thousands.</footnote>
and the past. She did not invade the house—she was ignored (80)—but she prevented it from being an American American home. Her cooking, her use of dialect, her crocheting, her very presence, all challenged the structure of Louise's mother's fiction of home. Louise DeSalvo's narrative of home, by contrast, incorporates these ingredients, moving to "a third space of enunciation" (Bhabha 54). After the old women's death, traces of the ancestral homeland, and the old woman herself, reappeared. Louise's mother got rid of all the doilies that her stepmother had crocheted, only to pick up embroidery herself. DeSalvo argues that without being aware of it, her mother embroidered flowers and herbs that grew in or near her stepmother's home village (126).

## 2. Haunted Homes

My contention is that in these memoirs the all-American home is always haunted by the past, the homeland and one's ancestors. The presence of her grandmother in the DeSalvos' living room or of Joyce Zonana's grandmother in Joyce's bedroom creates "unhomely moments [which] relate to the traumatic ambivalence of a personal, psychic history to the wider disjunctions of political existence" (Bhabha 15). Joyce, who shares her bedroom with her grandmother, hears her moaning (in Arabic) every night (Zonana 52-54). Without being able to fully comprehend it, Joyce feels that her grandmother is haunted by the past and the memories of her lost home. With these women, "the recesses of the domestic space become sites for history's most intricate invasions" (Bhabha 13).

DeSalvo explicitly argues that her family had unconsciously inherited the violent history of their ancestral homeland, Puglia, a region plagued by violence, poverty and famine.<fnref n="120" /> She thinks that although she and her parents did not know about these historical facts, "perhaps [they] knew them in [their] bodies" (137). Thus her mother's relationship to food, starving herself and denying her children food actually "recreated the privations experienced by her people in the South of Italy" (124). A later chapter

<footnote n="120">¹²⁰ DeSalvo would later read books on the history of Puglia and discover poverty, food and water shortages, famines, unbearably hard-working conditions and extremely low wages for the farm hands. Peasant protests were brutally repressed by governmental troops who fired at the peasants, killing thousands.</footnote>
sheds light on the bread war. She explains that the food her ancestors survived on was "mostly bread [...] just bread [...] poor bread that was made from flour that had been adulterated with clay, sand, chalk, that was infested with mites and contaminated with mice shit" (135).

Reading up on the history of Puglia, DeSalvo learns that poverty-stricken Puglia was also plagued by violence (rebellions, massacres), which explains the violence in the DeSalvos' home, from verbal abuse, to threats—Louise's father routinely threatens to kill her (30)—, to actual blows (81). Violence in the kitchen is also a trait that Louise herself inherited and strives to control—she evokes her own fights with her husband in her own home, which usually start over food. Cooking "perfect meals" for her family is for Louise a means to "undo [her] father's violence, undo [her] ancestors' history" (166). Writing humorously about her anger at the way her husband keeps "assassinating the carrots, [...] or massacring the eggplant" (162) is yet another strategy to cope with the ghosts of the past.

Diane Abu-Jaber devotes a chapter to describing the homes of her "immigrant-kid friends" (Baklava 161), paying particular attention to her friend Olga's home. Olga's Russian father, a man who had escaped a concentration camp, crossed Europe on foot and made his way to America, clearly fascinates Diane—she is certain that this man is haunted. Although he acquired a PhD, secured a university position, married and raised children, he kept trying to kill himself (161). Abu-Jaber describes Olga's mother as a woman who "ghosts around the corner," always alert for signs of a breakdown (163). Olga lay awake at night, "mentally meandering" after her father who wandered sleepless through their house.

In Nguyen's, Furiya's and Li's memoirs, meals where traditional food is consumed and the family's past evoked are crucial moments which help the girls imagine bridges between their worlds and their parents'. The Furiyas' apparently peaceful Japanese home in America is disturbed by her father's nightmares. Talks at the dinner table allow the child to gradually understand that when her father was a war prisoner in Russia he survived on watered-down soup and rice gruel (292). Each meal recalls the past and celebrates survival. Torreiro Pazo has convincingly argued that ritualized meals in Nguyen's and Li's memoirs allow the girls to experience postmemory—to feel a connection with their families' traumatic past and
sheds light on the bread war. She explains that the food her ancestors survived on was "mostly bread [...] just bread [...] poor bread that was made from flour that had been adulterated with clay, sand, chalk, that was infested with mites and contaminated with mice shit" (135).

Reading up on the history of Puglia, DeSalvo learns that poverty-stricken Puglia was also plagued by violence (rebellions, massacres), which explains the violence in the DeSalvos' home, from verbal abuse, to threats—Louise's father routinely threatens to kill her (30)—, to actual blows (81). Violence in the kitchen is also a trait that Louise herself inherited and strives to control—she evokes her own fights with her husband in her own home, which usually start over food. Cooking "perfect meals" for her family is for Louise a means to "undo [her] father's violence, undo [her] ancestors' history" (166). Writing humorously about her anger at the way her husband keeps "assassinating the carrots, [...] or massacring the eggplant" (162) is yet another strategy to cope with the ghosts of the past.

Diane Abu-Jaber devotes a chapter to describing the homes of her "immigrant-kid friends" (Baklava 161), paying particular attention to her friend Olga's home. Olga's Russian father, a man who had escaped a concentration camp, crossed Europe on foot and made his way to America, clearly fascinates Diane—she is certain that this man is haunted. Although he acquired a PhD, secured a university position, married and raised children, he kept trying to kill himself (161). Abu-Jaber describes Olga's mother as a woman who "ghosts around the corner," always alert for signs of a breakdown (163). Olga lay awake at night, "mentally meandering" after her father who wandered sleepless through their house.

In Nguyen's, Furiya's and Li's memoirs, meals where traditional food is consumed and the family's past evoked are crucial moments which help the girls imagine bridges between their worlds and their parents'. The Furiyas' apparently peaceful Japanese home in America is disturbed by her father's nightmares. Talks at the dinner table allow the child to gradually understand that when her father was a war prisoner in Russia he survived on watered-down soup and rice gruel (292). Each meal recalls the past and celebrates survival. Torreiro Pazo has convincingly argued that ritualized meals in Nguyen's and Li's memoirs allow the girls to experience postmemory—to feel a connection with their families' traumatic past and
engage in collective memory (116-123). In *Stealing Buddha's Dinner*, food offerings for Tet and the Lunar New Year serve to recall the violence endured in Vietnam, the family's flight, and to celebrate the family's survival (Torreiro Pazo 119-121). On occasions such as Tet, but also on the anniversary of her husband's and son's deaths, Bich's grandmother would place traditional dishes in front of Buddha's altar (Nguyen 189). Noi Noi's celebration of the dead is mirrored by the girl's private experience: Bich "would imagine [her] ancestors and relatives descending into the room" (190). Not only does the girl establish an "almost magical relationship with her dead relatives" (Torreiro Pazo 120), she also turns the Grand Rapids house into a home that can welcome the ghosts of the past.

Laura Schenone's *Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken* shows that an all-American home can nevertheless retain traces of the past. The memoir also reveals the author's attempt to turn her American home into one that can accommodate ghosts. Schenone's parents moved out of Hoboken for a new suburb, hoping for "a fresh start, a *tabula rasa*" (78). They chose to sever all connections with their relatives, becoming an "island with no bridges to the past" (9). Yet early in the memoir Schenone mentions an old ravioli press that used to hang on the kitchen wall (16). Since the press had belonged to her father's Ligurian grand-mother, and had been brought from Liguria, her father had preserved tangible evidence of their past and legacy. As Schenone explained in a promotional video she posted on a website devoted to the memoir,<fnref n="121" /> her quest for family and home started with this old ravioli press. Ultimately, Laura would feel a strong connection to her great-grandmother when she gets to use her rolling pin, to the extent that in her own kitchen Laura feels Adalgiza's presence and hears her whispers when she makes the ravioli dough (1). While Louise DeSalvo cooks to "undo the past," Laura Schenone cooks to create a connection to her past. Being a third-generation immigrant, Schenone depicts a journey which is different from the journeys of those who grew up feeling uncomfortable in homes with glaring remainders of ethnicity, from food to language.

<footnote n="121">¹²¹ The website (www.lostravioli.com) is extinct but her video was posted on December 15, 2007 by a friend of hers and can be seen on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NkoSY50FUBM.</footnote>
engage in collective memory (116-123). In *Stealing Buddha's Dinner*, food offerings for Tet and the Lunar New Year serve to recall the violence endured in Vietnam, the family's flight, and to celebrate the family's survival (Torreiro Pazo 119-121). On occasions such as Tet, but also on the anniversary of her husband's and son's deaths, Bich's grandmother would place traditional dishes in front of Buddha's altar (Nguyen 189). Noi Noi's celebration of the dead is mirrored by the girl's private experience: Bich "would imagine [her] ancestors and relatives descending into the room" (190). Not only does the girl establish an "almost magical relationship with her dead relatives" (Torreiro Pazo 120), she also turns the Grand Rapids house into a home that can welcome the ghosts of the past.

Laura Schenone's *Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken* shows that an all-American home can nevertheless retain traces of the past. The memoir also reveals the author's attempt to turn her American home into one that can accommodate ghosts. Schenone's parents moved out of Hoboken for a new suburb, hoping for "a fresh start, a *tabula rasa*" (78). They chose to sever all connections with their relatives, becoming an "island with no bridges to the past" (9). Yet early in the memoir Schenone mentions an old ravioli press that used to hang on the kitchen wall (16). Since the press had belonged to her father's Ligurian grand-mother, and had been brought from Liguria, her father had preserved tangible evidence of their past and legacy. As Schenone explained in a promotional video she posted on a website devoted to the memoir,<fnref n="121" /> her quest for family and home started with this old ravioli press. Ultimately, Laura would feel a strong connection to her great-grandmother when she gets to use her rolling pin, to the extent that in her own kitchen Laura feels Adalgiza's presence and hears her whispers when she makes the ravioli dough (1). While Louise DeSalvo cooks to "undo the past," Laura Schenone cooks to create a connection to her past. Being a third-generation immigrant, Schenone depicts a journey which is different from the journeys of those who grew up feeling uncomfortable in homes with glaring remainders of ethnicity, from food to language.

<footnote n="121">¹²¹ The website (www.lostravioli.com) is extinct but her video was posted on December 15, 2007 by a friend of hers and can be seen on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NkoSY50FUBM.</footnote>
### 3. A Homing Desire

Journeys are an essential trope in culinary memoirs, as most include a journey back to the ancestral homeland. This is what Linda Furiya points out when she says that going to Japan marked a "life-long journey in search of home" (173). Central to the transnational culinary memoir is a "homing desire" (Brah 16, 92)—that is to say a desire to celebrate a connection to the homeland, without glorifying it or turning it into one's only true home. The journey is often undertaken by choice. For instance, Nguyen decides to go to Vietnam with her grandmother, twenty years after they left Vietnam. Leslie Li travels to her grandparents' home town, Guilin (99-145), and once there, she feels a strong connection to the grandmother she depicted as an irritating figure in the first chapters of the memoir. Leslie feels that all the dishes that she eats have retained her grandmother's hand, although her grandmother is too old to cook. She is struck by the resemblances, rather than differences, between the house in China and her childhood home. Joyce Zonana decides to travel to Cairo (161-179), and although she fails to locate her parent's house, she finds a synagogue which gives her "the sensation of homecoming" (178). Schenone travels to Liguria, the country her great-grandparents left in 1907. There, in the Ligurian hills, Laura feels at peace and at home: "a place I have both lost and yet have always had within myself, somewhere deep in the physical roots of my body" (127). Thanks to the journey, home is no longer only an imaginary homeland, although it is a mental and emotional space.

The journey can either enrich their lives—this is clearly what happens for Schenone—or further disturb stable notions of home. Some women end up having their feet planted in both worlds, inhabiting what Haitian-born Edwidge Danticat calls "a country of uncertainty" or "floating homeland" (49). This is perhaps best illustrated by Leslie Li's realization that she feels most at home on islands. When on a tiny volcanic island in Finland, looking at the rocks and water, she suddenly feels "grounded in China" and "connected" with her heritage (175). *The Language of Baklava* offers a more radical version of the "floating homeland" or country of uncertainty. When in Jordan Diane feels homesick for America, when
### 3. A Homing Desire

Journeys are an essential trope in culinary memoirs, as most include a journey back to the ancestral homeland. This is what Linda Furiya points out when she says that going to Japan marked a "life-long journey in search of home" (173). Central to the transnational culinary memoir is a "homing desire" (Brah 16, 92)—that is to say a desire to celebrate a connection to the homeland, without glorifying it or turning it into one's only true home. The journey is often undertaken by choice. For instance, Nguyen decides to go to Vietnam with her grandmother, twenty years after they left Vietnam. Leslie Li travels to her grandparents' home town, Guilin (99-145), and once there, she feels a strong connection to the grandmother she depicted as an irritating figure in the first chapters of the memoir. Leslie feels that all the dishes that she eats have retained her grandmother's hand, although her grandmother is too old to cook. She is struck by the resemblances, rather than differences, between the house in China and her childhood home. Joyce Zonana decides to travel to Cairo (161-179), and although she fails to locate her parent's house, she finds a synagogue which gives her "the sensation of homecoming" (178). Schenone travels to Liguria, the country her great-grandparents left in 1907. There, in the Ligurian hills, Laura feels at peace and at home: "a place I have both lost and yet have always had within myself, somewhere deep in the physical roots of my body" (127). Thanks to the journey, home is no longer only an imaginary homeland, although it is a mental and emotional space.

The journey can either enrich their lives—this is clearly what happens for Schenone—or further disturb stable notions of home. Some women end up having their feet planted in both worlds, inhabiting what Haitian-born Edwidge Danticat calls "a country of uncertainty" or "floating homeland" (49). This is perhaps best illustrated by Leslie Li's realization that she feels most at home on islands. When on a tiny volcanic island in Finland, looking at the rocks and water, she suddenly feels "grounded in China" and "connected" with her heritage (175). *The Language of Baklava* offers a more radical version of the "floating homeland" or country of uncertainty. When in Jordan Diane feels homesick for America, when
she is back in America, she feels homesick for Jordan. She eventually understands that these feelings of being homeless, alone, and uprooted are her Bedouin heritage: "I am as surely a Bedouin as anyone who has travelled in a desert caravan" (327).

The authors typically bring back a taste for food and/or recipes from the ancestral homeland. Most of the time they acquire rather than inherit the ability to cook, and the desire to cook is central in the process of reconciliation and healing—a central trope in culinary memoirs. Several memoirs end with a family meal, combining tradition and innovation—family recipes and recipes borrowed from other traditions. Schenone's memoir ends with a meal that Laura prepares for her family and close friends. The ravioli she makes are half Hoboken (the Americanized Philadelphia cheese-filled recipe Adalgiza passed down to her daughters) and half Genoa—the Ligurian recipe Laura learnt there. The memoir also gives prominence to the home and family she has "created." The home that Laura builds for her family differs from the home she grew up in and which deprived her of her ethnic legacy since she intends to pass on her Ligurian heritage. The family meal gathers both parents and children, with the ravioli as symbols of a connection to the past and between generations. While Abu-Jaber's first memoir focuses on uprootedness, her second memoir, *Life Without a Recipe*, describes the home she made for herself, her husband and their adopted daughter, whom she named after her German grandmother. Diane's home accommodates two ghosts, her father and her German grandmother. Food connects all of them: the little girl loves to eat Bud's Jordanian dishes *and* the cookies that Diane bakes, using her maternal grandmother's recipes.

## 4. Cooking One's Way back Home?

Since ethnic food symbolizes the connection to the home country, transnational culinary memoirs question whether the immigrant can recreate a home by recreating the food of the past. For instance, Joyce Zonana who recalls how her Cairo-born mother spent most of her time in her Brooklyn kitchen makes her "the epitome of diasporic sacrificial dedication to recreating the food of her Egyptian past" (Sherman 279).
she is back in America, she feels homesick for Jordan. She eventually understands that these feelings of being homeless, alone, and uprooted are her Bedouin heritage: "I am as surely a Bedouin as anyone who has travelled in a desert caravan" (327).

The authors typically bring back a taste for food and/or recipes from the ancestral homeland. Most of the time they acquire rather than inherit the ability to cook, and the desire to cook is central in the process of reconciliation and healing—a central trope in culinary memoirs. Several memoirs end with a family meal, combining tradition and innovation—family recipes and recipes borrowed from other traditions. Schenone's memoir ends with a meal that Laura prepares for her family and close friends. The ravioli she makes are half Hoboken (the Americanized Philadelphia cheese-filled recipe Adalgiza passed down to her daughters) and half Genoa—the Ligurian recipe Laura learnt there. The memoir also gives prominence to the home and family she has "created." The home that Laura builds for her family differs from the home she grew up in and which deprived her of her ethnic legacy since she intends to pass on her Ligurian heritage. The family meal gathers both parents and children, with the ravioli as symbols of a connection to the past and between generations. While Abu-Jaber's first memoir focuses on uprootedness, her second memoir, *Life Without a Recipe*, describes the home she made for herself, her husband and their adopted daughter, whom she named after her German grandmother. Diane's home accommodates two ghosts, her father and her German grandmother. Food connects all of them: the little girl loves to eat Bud's Jordanian dishes *and* the cookies that Diane bakes, using her maternal grandmother's recipes.

## 4. Cooking One's Way back Home?

Since ethnic food symbolizes the connection to the home country, transnational culinary memoirs question whether the immigrant can recreate a home by recreating the food of the past. For instance, Joyce Zonana who recalls how her Cairo-born mother spent most of her time in her Brooklyn kitchen makes her "the epitome of diasporic sacrificial dedication to recreating the food of her Egyptian past" (Sherman 279).
Colette Rossant, whose background is partly similar to Zonana's as she was born to a Jewish Egyptian father, wrote three successful culinary memoirs that testify to an exile's efforts to (re)create a home. Her first memoir, *Apricots on the Nile* (1999), which was first published as *Memories of a Lost Egypt*, opposes two halves of Colette's life, in Paris and Cairo. The memoir shows that the Paris apartment in which she grew up until she was five was never a home. Colette's French mother and grandmother are depicted as cold women who could only utter words of reproach and would send Colette out of the only place she felt at home—the kitchen. When Colette was five, her parents moved to Cairo, her father's ancestral home, and Colette stayed there with her Palacci grandparents after her father's death and her mother's return to Paris, until she was fifteen. Symbolically, a photograph of a sailing boat on the Nile (154) precedes the chapter entitled “The Return” (to Paris). Its caption—it is listed as “A *felouk* on the Nile two blocks from *our* house” (xiii, emphasis mine)—clearly posits Cairo as home.

The memoir claims Cairo, and more largely, Egypt, as home and the Palaccis as family. Colette is symbolically welcomed by her Palacci family *and* Egypt from the moment she steps out of the ship. Her grandfather picks her up and buys her a hot *semi*<fnref n="122" /> from a street vendor (18). The Cairo chapters describe the palatial Cairo house—the repetition of the name Palacci and Rossant's explanation that it means “of the palace” (19) create a strong connection between the family and their house. They also evoke family life in the family quarters and scenes in the kitchen, with the cook, Ahmet, and Colette's grandmother, Marguerite. Since Colette would lose the Cairo home—her mother demanded her return to Paris when she was fifteen, and the Palaccis, like other Jewish families, left Cairo after the Nasser Revolution—food was the only element from the past that Colette could recover. Yet the memoir goes beyond nostalgia: claiming Egypt as the Palaccis' and Colette's true home is also a political gesture. The cook, who becomes a central, paternal figure in the memoir, after her father's death, also ensures Colette's connection to “real Egypt,” as if to compensate for her aristocratic background. Thus Colette would

<footnote n="122">¹²² Semit or simit is a popular type of bread, typically sold on the streets.</footnote>
Colette Rossant, whose background is partly similar to Zonana's as she was born to a Jewish Egyptian father, wrote three successful culinary memoirs that testify to an exile's efforts to (re)create a home. Her first memoir, *Apricots on the Nile* (1999), which was first published as *Memories of a Lost Egypt*, opposes two halves of Colette's life, in Paris and Cairo. The memoir shows that the Paris apartment in which she grew up until she was five was never a home. Colette's French mother and grandmother are depicted as cold women who could only utter words of reproach and would send Colette out of the only place she felt at home—the kitchen. When Colette was five, her parents moved to Cairo, her father's ancestral home, and Colette stayed there with her Palacci grandparents after her father's death and her mother's return to Paris, until she was fifteen. Symbolically, a photograph of a sailing boat on the Nile (154) precedes the chapter entitled “The Return” (to Paris). Its caption—it is listed as “A *felouk* on the Nile two blocks from *our* house” (xiii, emphasis mine)—clearly posits Cairo as home.

The memoir claims Cairo, and more largely, Egypt, as home and the Palaccis as family. Colette is symbolically welcomed by her Palacci family *and* Egypt from the moment she steps out of the ship. Her grandfather picks her up and buys her a hot *semi*<fnref n="122" /> from a street vendor (18). The Cairo chapters describe the palatial Cairo house—the repetition of the name Palacci and Rossant's explanation that it means “of the palace” (19) create a strong connection between the family and their house. They also evoke family life in the family quarters and scenes in the kitchen, with the cook, Ahmet, and Colette's grandmother, Marguerite. Since Colette would lose the Cairo home—her mother demanded her return to Paris when she was fifteen, and the Palaccis, like other Jewish families, left Cairo after the Nasser Revolution—food was the only element from the past that Colette could recover. Yet the memoir goes beyond nostalgia: claiming Egypt as the Palaccis' and Colette's true home is also a political gesture. The cook, who becomes a central, paternal figure in the memoir, after her father's death, also ensures Colette's connection to “real Egypt,” as if to compensate for her aristocratic background. Thus Colette would

<footnote n="122">¹²² Semit or simit is a popular type of bread, typically sold on the streets.</footnote>
ask to eat the food the staff ate—ful medames<fnref n="123" />—rather than the tartines her cousins ate (57). She also talked Ahmet's son into smuggling zalabia into the house for her (62). Insisting that her grandfather loved "Egyptian food, especially street food, like ful medames" (33) and that Marguerite, who "loved all things Egyptian" (47), would prepare mulukhiyya soup, cousbareia sauce, or sambusaks, Rossant asserts the Palaccis' Egyptian identity, which would later be denied by the Nasser Revolution.

But the memoir also evokes Rossant's New York home—she moved to New York in the late 1950s, after marrying an American architect. There, Colette discovered Brooklyn's Atlantic Avenue shops and started to cook the Egyptian dishes from her past. The dishes—semit, sambusaks or ful—are (unrealistically) identical, and Rossant does not mention any difference in taste. The point is to recover the connection to her past and claim her Egyptian legacy: "Egypt was once more part of [her] life" (168). In this way she also indirectly tells her readers that they can "recreate the past by buying it," which Gabaccia identifies as a central strategy in culinary memoirs (181).

By contrast to such optimistic, or perhaps, unrealistic, views, *The Language of Baklava* suggests that the immigrant can never cook his way back home. Abu-Jaber details her father's struggles with the very concept of "home." When he resides in America, "Bud" is certain that home is Jordan, so he returns to Jordan twice, only to realize that Jordan is no longer home. In America "Bud" is the one who cooks the family meals and Diane Abu-Jaber analyzes his cooking (Jordanian food) as a desperate attempt to keep the connection alive: "He is eating the shadow of a memory. He cooks to remember, but the more he eats, the more he forgets" (190). Diane nevertheless understands her father's feelings, having spent two years in Jordan as a child, which both created a connection to the family's Bedouin culture and a sense of uprootedness. When she cooks, she fears that, like her father she is only trying to "live in the taste of things" (318). The memoir ends with her sense of uprootedness: "I feel shipwrecked, cut off from family and home, and even the idea of a

<footnote n="123">¹²³ Ful medames, a dish of cooked fava beans, is a staple of Egyptian cuisine, commonly eaten at breakfast. Zalabia are deep fried sweets. Sambusaks are fried dumplings, filled with meat.</footnote>
ask to eat the food the staff ate—ful medames<fnref n="123" />—rather than the tartines her cousins ate (57). She also talked Ahmet's son into smuggling zalabia into the house for her (62). Insisting that her grandfather loved "Egyptian food, especially street food, like ful medames" (33) and that Marguerite, who "loved all things Egyptian" (47), would prepare mulukhiyya soup, cousbareia sauce, or sambusaks, Rossant asserts the Palaccis' Egyptian identity, which would later be denied by the Nasser Revolution.

But the memoir also evokes Rossant's New York home—she moved to New York in the late 1950s, after marrying an American architect. There, Colette discovered Brooklyn's Atlantic Avenue shops and started to cook the Egyptian dishes from her past. The dishes—semit, sambusaks or ful—are (unrealistically) identical, and Rossant does not mention any difference in taste. The point is to recover the connection to her past and claim her Egyptian legacy: "Egypt was once more part of [her] life" (168). In this way she also indirectly tells her readers that they can "recreate the past by buying it," which Gabaccia identifies as a central strategy in culinary memoirs (181).

By contrast to such optimistic, or perhaps, unrealistic, views, *The Language of Baklava* suggests that the immigrant can never cook his way back home. Abu-Jaber details her father's struggles with the very concept of "home." When he resides in America, "Bud" is certain that home is Jordan, so he returns to Jordan twice, only to realize that Jordan is no longer home. In America "Bud" is the one who cooks the family meals and Diane Abu-Jaber analyzes his cooking (Jordanian food) as a desperate attempt to keep the connection alive: "He is eating the shadow of a memory. He cooks to remember, but the more he eats, the more he forgets" (190). Diane nevertheless understands her father's feelings, having spent two years in Jordan as a child, which both created a connection to the family's Bedouin culture and a sense of uprootedness. When she cooks, she fears that, like her father she is only trying to "live in the taste of things" (318). The memoir ends with her sense of uprootedness: "I feel shipwrecked, cut off from family and home, and even the idea of a

<footnote n="123">¹²³ Ful medames, a dish of cooked fava beans, is a staple of Egyptian cuisine, commonly eaten at breakfast. Zalabia are deep fried sweets. Sambusaks are fried dumplings, filled with meat.</footnote>
cultural community" (319). The *Language of Baklava* radically embraces
uprootedness and disconnection as home: "my feeling of aloneness is
also a bit like home" (319).

5. Cosmopolitan Homes

There is no denying that Rossant's evocation of Cairo is part of a
strategy to emphasize exoticism and nostalgia, but choosing her Egyptian
inheritance over her French legacy for her first memoir<fnref n="124" /> is also a strong,
if not bold, gesture at the end of the twentieth century—considering that
with the 1991 Gulf War hostility towards Arabs had increased in America.
New York, not Paris, allowed Colette and her children to claim their
Egyptian legacy. As argued by Anita Mannur, the culinary is a paradoxical
space, at once a site of affirmation—embracing exotic visions of one
self—and resistance, especially when visible minorities claim America as
their home (7). Drawing attention to her tentative efforts to introduce
Egyptian dishes into the family meals (once a month), Colette Rossant
does hint at possible difficulties for her children to accept their Egyptian
inheritance. This is perhaps best exemplified by her explanations: "my
son, Thomas, accepted his very curly hair, calling it his 'Arab inheritance.'
[...] Cecile decided to dress up as an Egyptian princess at the school
Halloween party" (168). While one child picks up a costume, and an exotic
look, another child accepts his *Arab* inheritance. The family meals and
the shopping scenes in Brooklyn are also meant to praise New York's
multiculturalism—clearly New York, not Paris, allowed her to recover her
Egyptian identity.

As noticed by Gilbert (148, 168) and Gabaccia (181), the culinary
memoir was framed by the increasing popularity of ethnic cookbooks, and
corresponded to an increasingly strong interest in ethnic food in America.
Americans and American readers have been crossing the boundaries
of taste. Looking back at the time when they grew up in small town
America, Furiya and Nguyen reflect on the changes highlighted by Donna
Gabaccia—how America eventually embraced ethnic foods (Gabaccia

<footnote n="124">¹²⁴ She returned to her French identity in *Return to Paris* (2003) and *The World in My Kitchen* (2006).</footnote>
cultural community" (319). The *Language of Baklava* radically embraces
uprootedness and disconnection as home: "my feeling of aloneness is
also a bit like home" (319).

5. Cosmopolitan Homes

There is no denying that Rossant's evocation of Cairo is part of a
strategy to emphasize exoticism and nostalgia, but choosing her Egyptian
inheritance over her French legacy for her first memoir<fnref n="124" /> is also a strong,
if not bold, gesture at the end of the twentieth century—considering that
with the 1991 Gulf War hostility towards Arabs had increased in America.
New York, not Paris, allowed Colette and her children to claim their
Egyptian legacy. As argued by Anita Mannur, the culinary is a paradoxical
space, at once a site of affirmation—embracing exotic visions of one
self—and resistance, especially when visible minorities claim America as
their home (7). Drawing attention to her tentative efforts to introduce
Egyptian dishes into the family meals (once a month), Colette Rossant
does hint at possible difficulties for her children to accept their Egyptian
inheritance. This is perhaps best exemplified by her explanations: "my
son, Thomas, accepted his very curly hair, calling it his 'Arab inheritance.'
[...] Cecile decided to dress up as an Egyptian princess at the school
Halloween party" (168). While one child picks up a costume, and an exotic
look, another child accepts his *Arab* inheritance. The family meals and
the shopping scenes in Brooklyn are also meant to praise New York's
multiculturalism—clearly New York, not Paris, allowed her to recover her
Egyptian identity.

As noticed by Gilbert (148, 168) and Gabaccia (181), the culinary
memoir was framed by the increasing popularity of ethnic cookbooks, and
corresponded to an increasingly strong interest in ethnic food in America.
Americans and American readers have been crossing the boundaries
of taste. Looking back at the time when they grew up in small town
America, Furiya and Nguyen reflect on the changes highlighted by Donna
Gabaccia—how America eventually embraced ethnic foods (Gabaccia

<footnote n="124">¹²⁴ She returned to her French identity in *Return to Paris* (2003) and *The World in My Kitchen* (2006).</footnote>
149-201). Furiya notes that Japanese food became available, not only in Cincinnati, but also at the local grocery store (302-303). At the end of the memoir, Nguyen notes, "I will be astonished by how much [Grand Rapids] has changed: there are white people in the Vietnamese markets, white people eating bean curd and *banh bao*" (250). Parama Roy and Anita Mannur have criticized South Asian food-themed novels and cookbooks as catering for wealthy cosmopolitan diasporic South Asians and western readers who like to think of themselves as cosmopolitan. Transnational culinary memoirs with recipes offer traditional recipes (Leslie Li's for instance), but they also often put hybrid dishes on the menu, reflecting life in a diaspora space. This also evidences a desire to welcome readers from other cultural backgrounds and praises America's multiculturalism. However, introducing foreign words alongside English words, integrating both traditional and hybrid recipes, the memoirs themselves occupy a third space of enunciation (Bhabha 54). For instance, in *Bento Box* Furiya explains that her mother invented a few dishes that brought together Asian and western flavors and techniques. Furiya's mother's "Japanese-style omelet" (82) is evidence that the seemingly all Japanese home was permeable to western influence. The words "Japanese-style" and the recipe itself—vegetables, chicken and rice are cooked in the wok before her mother adds the eggs and, as a final touch, *tonkatsu* sauce (78)—also indicate that rather than simply adapt Japanese dishes to her American life, her mother hybridized a Western one. The "Japanese-Style Omelet," which is clearly endowed with a symbolic value, epitomizes her mother's life—her creativity—in a diaspora space.

Cosmopolitanism therefore can be seen as a positive driving force of the culinary memoir. The Greek roots of the word—*cosmos*, the universe and *politês*, citizen—indicate that the citizens of a state or nation feel that they belong to a larger space, that they are citizens of the world. Cosmopolitanism theory has drawn strong connections between cosmopolitanism and the power of imagination that allows human beings to construct their relationship to the world (Delanty), or, in Zonana's words, to construct "dream homes." Joyce Zonana's memoir symbolically ends with a Rosh Hashanah meal Joyce prepares in her Brooklyn apartment. The tiny apartment, then, seems to be the final point of destination of
149-201). Furiya notes that Japanese food became available, not only in Cincinnati, but also at the local grocery store (302-303). At the end of the memoir, Nguyen notes, "I will be astonished by how much [Grand Rapids] has changed: there are white people in the Vietnamese markets, white people eating bean curd and *banh bao*" (250). Parama Roy and Anita Mannur have criticized South Asian food-themed novels and cookbooks as catering for wealthy cosmopolitan diasporic South Asians and western readers who like to think of themselves as cosmopolitan. Transnational culinary memoirs with recipes offer traditional recipes (Leslie Li's for instance), but they also often put hybrid dishes on the menu, reflecting life in a diaspora space. This also evidences a desire to welcome readers from other cultural backgrounds and praises America's multiculturalism. However, introducing foreign words alongside English words, integrating both traditional and hybrid recipes, the memoirs themselves occupy a third space of enunciation (Bhabha 54). For instance, in *Bento Box* Furiya explains that her mother invented a few dishes that brought together Asian and western flavors and techniques. Furiya's mother's "Japanese-style omelet" (82) is evidence that the seemingly all Japanese home was permeable to western influence. The words "Japanese-style" and the recipe itself—vegetables, chicken and rice are cooked in the wok before her mother adds the eggs and, as a final touch, *tonkatsu* sauce (78)—also indicate that rather than simply adapt Japanese dishes to her American life, her mother hybridized a Western one. The "Japanese-Style Omelet," which is clearly endowed with a symbolic value, epitomizes her mother's life—her creativity—in a diaspora space.

Cosmopolitanism therefore can be seen as a positive driving force of the culinary memoir. The Greek roots of the word—*cosmos*, the universe and *politês*, citizen—indicate that the citizens of a state or nation feel that they belong to a larger space, that they are citizens of the world. Cosmopolitanism theory has drawn strong connections between cosmopolitanism and the power of imagination that allows human beings to construct their relationship to the world (Delanty), or, in Zonana's words, to construct "dream homes." Joyce Zonana's memoir symbolically ends with a Rosh Hashanah meal Joyce prepares in her Brooklyn apartment. The tiny apartment, then, seems to be the final point of destination of
her "exile's journey" in search of home. Yet, what kind of home does she ultimately create? Transnational culinary memoirs typically reveal a shift towards a more cosmopolitan home that can accommodate various traditions, and does not simply bind the author to one heritage and identity. Thus, the food Joyce cooks for Rosh Hashanah symbolically includes traditional Jewish dishes, such as her mother used to cook, and dishes that reflect Joyce's sense of belonging to the world: butternut squash, kale risotto and arugula and fennel salad (203). Similarly, in *Life without A Recipe*, Abu-Jaber synthesizes several cultures, notably her father's Jordanian legacy and her German grandmother's baking skills.

Nikos Papastergiadis argues that through the perpetual function of the imaginative world, art is always cosmopolitan (220-232). In his reading, cosmopolitan visual art that allows for intercultural dialogue between different perspectives, weaves new types of communities. I believe the same to be true for culinary memoirs. Even if we see them as commodities targeting a cosmopolitan audience, these narratives all suggest the possibility that cooking, sharing food, and speaking about food create a new form of hospitality and communication. Rossant entitled her third memoir, *The World in my Kitchen. The Adventures of a (mostly) French woman in America*. I find Rossant's title to be working both ways, as it suggests that a cook can bring culinary traditions from all over the world, and can wish to open her home, or kitchen, to readers, regardless of their cultural backgrounds. The dream home Zonana imagines is not a lost paradise, it is rather a home she intends to bring and welcome people in. Virginia Sherman argues that the recipes and the pieces of advice that Zonana gives her reader in her memoir "represent the ritual of the shared meal, the breaking of bread together [...] A gift shared between author and reader" (279). Memoirs with recipes can be said to illustrate the concept of xenia—inviting strangers into one's home—that Zonana discusses with her students (195), and which Diane Abu-Jaber's father adhered to, all his life.

Although the ravioli are supposed to embody Laura Schenone's connection to her great-grandmother and to her Italian culture, the dish takes on a larger symbolic value—as a dish that travels across cultures. Schenone's research at New York's Public library reveals that stuffed
her "exile's journey" in search of home. Yet, what kind of home does she ultimately create? Transnational culinary memoirs typically reveal a shift towards a more cosmopolitan home that can accommodate various traditions, and does not simply bind the author to one heritage and identity. Thus, the food Joyce cooks for Rosh Hashanah symbolically includes traditional Jewish dishes, such as her mother used to cook, and dishes that reflect Joyce's sense of belonging to the world: butternut squash, kale risotto and arugula and fennel salad (203). Similarly, in *Life without A Recipe*, Abu-Jaber synthesizes several cultures, notably her father's Jordanian legacy and her German grandmother's baking skills.

Nikos Papastergiadis argues that through the perpetual function of the imaginative world, art is always cosmopolitan (220-232). In his reading, cosmopolitan visual art that allows for intercultural dialogue between different perspectives, weaves new types of communities. I believe the same to be true for culinary memoirs. Even if we see them as commodities targeting a cosmopolitan audience, these narratives all suggest the possibility that cooking, sharing food, and speaking about food create a new form of hospitality and communication. Rossant entitled her third memoir, *The World in my Kitchen. The Adventures of a (mostly) French woman in America*. I find Rossant's title to be working both ways, as it suggests that a cook can bring culinary traditions from all over the world, and can wish to open her home, or kitchen, to readers, regardless of their cultural backgrounds. The dream home Zonana imagines is not a lost paradise, it is rather a home she intends to bring and welcome people in. Virginia Sherman argues that the recipes and the pieces of advice that Zonana gives her reader in her memoir "represent the ritual of the shared meal, the breaking of bread together [...] A gift shared between author and reader" (279). Memoirs with recipes can be said to illustrate the concept of xenia—inviting strangers into one's home—that Zonana discusses with her students (195), and which Diane Abu-Jaber's father adhered to, all his life.

Although the ravioli are supposed to embody Laura Schenone's connection to her great-grandmother and to her Italian culture, the dish takes on a larger symbolic value—as a dish that travels across cultures. Schenone's research at New York's Public library reveals that stuffed
dumplings are common to many cultures across the world (174-175). Although she does not hesitate to say that she is Jewish, Zonana is often able to connect with Middle-Eastern shopkeepers in delis or bakeries throughout America, where she buys bread that is common to Arab and Jewish cultures, under different names (35). Diane Abu-Jaber learns that stuffed cabbage is common to Russian and Jordanian cultures. Her friend Olga's father, who is Russian and Jewish, steps out of his depression when he eats, and praises, Bud's stuffed cabbage (163-164). In return, the man makes *golubtsi*, a Russian-Polish-Ukrainian-Jewish version of stuffed cabbage, for Diane to bring home to her Jordanian father (164). Yet the memoir is never naïve: although the sharing of food transcended a Jewish/Arab difference, this was not sufficient to help this man who had survived a concentration camp feel at peace and at home in his host country.

Abu-Jaber uses “Baklava” as an instance of cultural resemblances and differences, and a language in itself. On a first, obvious, level the *baklava* embodies cultural encounters across borders—as her aunt points out, this is a dessert that is common to many Middle Eastern cultures (185). There are many versions of it, and different names. Diane having told her aunt that she hated “Arab” food, the latter tells her they should prepare *baklava* because *Baklava* is a Greek word, not an Arabic word. Drawing attention to words, Abu-Jaber suggests that cooking is a language that helps cross cultural boundaries. Intimate connections between food and words, cooking and writing are revealed—a message that also informs Schenone’s memoir. She likens the shape of ravioli to an envelope—“a little square of ravioli is an envelope with a message” from one cook to another (4). The idea is repeated in the promotional video which moved from the website devoted to the memoir to Youtube, reaching a larger audience, as shown by viewers comments posted as late as 2017. Interestingly, the video shows Laura making dough in her kitchen—there are drawings on the fridge, the room is messy, with electric wires and plugs on the right hand-side. The reader is clearly invited into the author’s kitchen, with the result that the boundaries between homes are blurred.
dumplings are common to many cultures across the world (174-175). Although she does not hesitate to say that she is Jewish, Zonana is often able to connect with Middle-Eastern shopkeepers in delis or bakeries throughout America, where she buys bread that is common to Arab and Jewish cultures, under different names (35). Diane Abu-Jaber learns that stuffed cabbage is common to Russian and Jordanian cultures. Her friend Olga's father, who is Russian and Jewish, steps out of his depression when he eats, and praises, Bud's stuffed cabbage (163-164). In return, the man makes *golubtsi*, a Russian-Polish-Ukrainian-Jewish version of stuffed cabbage, for Diane to bring home to her Jordanian father (164). Yet the memoir is never naïve: although the sharing of food transcended a Jewish/Arab difference, this was not sufficient to help this man who had survived a concentration camp feel at peace and at home in his host country.

Abu-Jaber uses “Baklava” as an instance of cultural resemblances and differences, and a language in itself. On a first, obvious, level the *baklava* embodies cultural encounters across borders—as her aunt points out, this is a dessert that is common to many Middle Eastern cultures (185). There are many versions of it, and different names. Diane having told her aunt that she hated “Arab” food, the latter tells her they should prepare *baklava* because *Baklava* is a Greek word, not an Arabic word. Drawing attention to words, Abu-Jaber suggests that cooking is a language that helps cross cultural boundaries. Intimate connections between food and words, cooking and writing are revealed—a message that also informs Schenone’s memoir. She likens the shape of ravioli to an envelope—“a little square of ravioli is an envelope with a message” from one cook to another (4). The idea is repeated in the promotional video which moved from the website devoted to the memoir to Youtube, reaching a larger audience, as shown by viewers comments posted as late as 2017. Interestingly, the video shows Laura making dough in her kitchen—there are drawings on the fridge, the room is messy, with electric wires and plugs on the right hand-side. The reader is clearly invited into the author’s kitchen, with the result that the boundaries between homes are blurred.
## 6. The Memoir as (a Haunted) Home

Sandra Gilbert argues that Linda Furiya's memoir illustrates "an attempt to create a gastronomic home: neither Tokyo nor Indiana, neither the lost original table nor the uncomfortable new world lunchroom, the dematerialized but scrupulously described kitchen in the pages of the book becomes the only culinary place to which the writer feels she can belong" (188-189). Gilbert similarly argues that Abu-Jaber "struggles to create a space elsewhere through gastronomical memory" (189). Perhaps, then, Zonana's opening assertion that "through the act of writing I found my home in the world" (1) provides an answer to Avar Brah's question, "when does a place of residence become home?" (1) Zonana clearly likens making vine leaves to writing the memoir: "assembling the fragments of my story and the story of my family, attempting to roll them together into tidy packets, letting them simmer in the juice of imagination" (26). Most memoirs evoke at least one dish that is made with layers of dough folded over fillings: baklava is made with several layers of filo, ravioli are made by placing a filling on top a first layer of dough and folding dough over the filling, Egyptian sambusaks are similarly made by folding dough over a filling, and so are Vietnamese *cha gio*—a rice wrapper is folded over the filling before it is rolled. They can be seen as metaphors of these memoirs which are often pastiches of memories, stories, photographs and recipes.

The claim that the author's home can only be found in the pages of the memoir is valid for those who attempt to deal with loss, and who decide to embark on a journey of reconciliation. Zonana's memoir becomes a place in which she accommodates her mother's recipes and gives her mother a place with her in the kitchen. Symbolically, the first recipes in *Dream Homes* are two recipes for stuffed grape leaves, the first one is "Joyce's recipe" (207), the second one, "Nelly's recipe" (208).

Reconciliation often implies redefining home as infused with love, and redefining the author's identity as a "collage" (Furiya 306). Furiya's memoir rests on a shift from her "Japanese girlhood in Whitebread America" (the subtitle) to "a girlhood in white-bread America—a collage
## 6. The Memoir as (a Haunted) Home

Sandra Gilbert argues that Linda Furiya's memoir illustrates "an attempt to create a gastronomic home: neither Tokyo nor Indiana, neither the lost original table nor the uncomfortable new world lunchroom, the dematerialized but scrupulously described kitchen in the pages of the book becomes the only culinary place to which the writer feels she can belong" (188-189). Gilbert similarly argues that Abu-Jaber "struggles to create a space elsewhere through gastronomical memory" (189). Perhaps, then, Zonana's opening assertion that "through the act of writing I found my home in the world" (1) provides an answer to Avar Brah's question, "when does a place of residence become home?" (1) Zonana clearly likens making vine leaves to writing the memoir: "assembling the fragments of my story and the story of my family, attempting to roll them together into tidy packets, letting them simmer in the juice of imagination" (26). Most memoirs evoke at least one dish that is made with layers of dough folded over fillings: baklava is made with several layers of filo, ravioli are made by placing a filling on top a first layer of dough and folding dough over the filling, Egyptian sambusaks are similarly made by folding dough over a filling, and so are Vietnamese *cha gio*—a rice wrapper is folded over the filling before it is rolled. They can be seen as metaphors of these memoirs which are often pastiches of memories, stories, photographs and recipes.

The claim that the author's home can only be found in the pages of the memoir is valid for those who attempt to deal with loss, and who decide to embark on a journey of reconciliation. Zonana's memoir becomes a place in which she accommodates her mother's recipes and gives her mother a place with her in the kitchen. Symbolically, the first recipes in *Dream Homes* are two recipes for stuffed grape leaves, the first one is "Joyce's recipe" (207), the second one, "Nelly's recipe" (208).

Reconciliation often implies redefining home as infused with love, and redefining the author's identity as a "collage" (Furiya 306). Furiya's memoir rests on a shift from her "Japanese girlhood in Whitebread America" (the subtitle) to "a girlhood in white-bread America—a collage
of Americana and Japanese" (306). As the authors look back, they
attempt to atone for their anger and shame towards home and family,
feelings that dominated their childhood. So doing, they often pay a
belated tribute to their families and the home they created. Bich Nguyen
explains that she eventually understood that her stepmother and her
grandmother had actually created a home that was "real," unlike the
visions of perfect American homes she saw on television and used to
wish for (247). The title, *Stealing Buddha's Dinner*, can be seen as a way
to acknowledge the impact of what the teenager did, an admission that
she attacked her legacy, which she is trying to atone for. At the end of
the memoir Nguyen recalls how her grandmother would "squat" in the
front yard to pull out toadstools, even though the neighboring children
laughed at her (247). She realizes that her grandmother exposed herself
in order to protect her, since at that time the child would probably
have picked up and eaten the mushrooms. The weirdest member of
the household, the immigrant mother or grand-mother, is no longer a
figure of shame but is remembered as a figure of resistance, or turned
into a tutelary figure. Thus, in the final pages Nguyen pays tribute to
her silent grandmother, who, throughout the years, had "talked" to her,
through cooking (248). DeSalvo turns her grandmother into a symbol, the
epitome of the "immigrant woman": a woman who kept "affirming her
right to exist in a world that did not want her" (83). DeSalvo does not
provide the reader with scenes of shared meals and cooking sessions
(her grandmother used to cook and eat on her own), so she focuses
on her grandmother's crocheting. Louise DeSalvo acknowledges that
this craft gave her what the country she left and the country she
came to did not give her: "a sense of worth and some small scrap of
dignity" (83). There are no photographs as DeSalvo chooses instead
the process of *ekphrasis*, when she describes and comments her
grandmother's naturalization document, and textual pictures. Both
her sister, mother and grandmother were dead when the memoir was
written, and *Crazy in the Kitchen* is a tribute to the old woman in black,
an attempt to reconcile with a difficult mother and understand why
her sister killed herself, and a desire to get closer to the ghosts of
the past. The section entitled "Chasing ghosts," includes her DeSalvo
of Americana and Japanese" (306). As the authors look back, they
attempt to atone for their anger and shame towards home and family,
feelings that dominated their childhood. So doing, they often pay a
belated tribute to their families and the home they created. Bich Nguyen
explains that she eventually understood that her stepmother and her
grandmother had actually created a home that was "real," unlike the
visions of perfect American homes she saw on television and used to
wish for (247). The title, *Stealing Buddha's Dinner*, can be seen as a way
to acknowledge the impact of what the teenager did, an admission that
she attacked her legacy, which she is trying to atone for. At the end of
the memoir Nguyen recalls how her grandmother would "squat" in the
front yard to pull out toadstools, even though the neighboring children
laughed at her (247). She realizes that her grandmother exposed herself
in order to protect her, since at that time the child would probably
have picked up and eaten the mushrooms. The weirdest member of
the household, the immigrant mother or grand-mother, is no longer a
figure of shame but is remembered as a figure of resistance, or turned
into a tutelary figure. Thus, in the final pages Nguyen pays tribute to
her silent grandmother, who, throughout the years, had "talked" to her,
through cooking (248). DeSalvo turns her grandmother into a symbol, the
epitome of the "immigrant woman": a woman who kept "affirming her
right to exist in a world that did not want her" (83). DeSalvo does not
provide the reader with scenes of shared meals and cooking sessions
(her grandmother used to cook and eat on her own), so she focuses
on her grandmother's crocheting. Louise DeSalvo acknowledges that
this craft gave her what the country she left and the country she
came to did not give her: "a sense of worth and some small scrap of
dignity" (83). There are no photographs as DeSalvo chooses instead
the process of *ekphrasis*, when she describes and comments her
grandmother's naturalization document, and textual pictures. Both
her sister, mother and grandmother were dead when the memoir was
written, and *Crazy in the Kitchen* is a tribute to the old woman in black,
an attempt to reconcile with a difficult mother and understand why
her sister killed herself, and a desire to get closer to the ghosts of
the past. The section entitled "Chasing ghosts," includes her DeSalvo
grandparents, and her Pugliese ancestors—many of whom died of starvation, or massacre.

If we see the memoir as a home, then, the transnational memoir is also a haunted home, as writing the memoir means accommodating ghosts. Even though Colette Rossant claims that she could replicate the dishes of her childhood in New York, the Cairo home can only exist on the pages of the memoir. The photograph of the Palacci home, which precedes the chapter entitled "The House" (16), illustrates her memories of a palatial home and reveals it to be lost forever. When Rossant went back to Cairo for the first time in the late 1970s, she found the house and—symbolically—"peered through the black gate into a mostly decrepit garden" (62). The photograph only shows part of the façade, from the outside—illustrating the description of Colette peering at the house. It places viewer and author in the position of an outsider who is forever denied entry. The memoir does not give any photograph of the Cairene cook, Ahmet, her grandmother Marguerite or the Parisian cook, Georgette, instead, the memoir features embedded recipes with a design—a frame—that evokes the shape of a photograph, as if to suggest that the recipes stand for the lost/missing photographs of her childhood. The memoir gives pride of place to a photograph of "My grandfather Vita Palacci surrounded by his children and grandchildren" (xiii) which is positioned after the title page, before the narrative. The cracked photograph captures everything that was lost, a home and a family.

When Rossant published the memoir, her mother and her grandparents were dead and the Palaccis had lost their Cairo home. The memoir offers them a place to rest, or haunt. As Rossant points out, her ancestors were exiles, having been expelled from Spain in the fifteenth century and moved to Turkey; then, after Turkey invaded Egypt, they settled in Cairo (20-22), until the Nasser revolution forced them to disperse. In *The Lost Ravioli Recipes*, Schenone attempts to retrace or find traces of her great-grandparents' lives. Both Laura's own kitchen and the memoir become a haunted home for her "ghosts" (the title of one chapter). The memoir offers the ghost a place to haunt, through photography. There are four photographs of her great-grandparents, one of which is their wedding picture, which features in the third chapter (25). It is also used as
grandparents, and her Pugliese ancestors—many of whom died of starvation, or massacre.

If we see the memoir as a home, then, the transnational memoir is also a haunted home, as writing the memoir means accommodating ghosts. Even though Colette Rossant claims that she could replicate the dishes of her childhood in New York, the Cairo home can only exist on the pages of the memoir. The photograph of the Palacci home, which precedes the chapter entitled "The House" (16), illustrates her memories of a palatial home and reveals it to be lost forever. When Rossant went back to Cairo for the first time in the late 1970s, she found the house and—symbolically—"peered through the black gate into a mostly decrepit garden" (62). The photograph only shows part of the façade, from the outside—illustrating the description of Colette peering at the house. It places viewer and author in the position of an outsider who is forever denied entry. The memoir does not give any photograph of the Cairene cook, Ahmet, her grandmother Marguerite or the Parisian cook, Georgette, instead, the memoir features embedded recipes with a design—a frame—that evokes the shape of a photograph, as if to suggest that the recipes stand for the lost/missing photographs of her childhood. The memoir gives pride of place to a photograph of "My grandfather Vita Palacci surrounded by his children and grandchildren" (xiii) which is positioned after the title page, before the narrative. The cracked photograph captures everything that was lost, a home and a family.

When Rossant published the memoir, her mother and her grandparents were dead and the Palaccis had lost their Cairo home. The memoir offers them a place to rest, or haunt. As Rossant points out, her ancestors were exiles, having been expelled from Spain in the fifteenth century and moved to Turkey; then, after Turkey invaded Egypt, they settled in Cairo (20-22), until the Nasser revolution forced them to disperse. In *The Lost Ravioli Recipes*, Schenone attempts to retrace or find traces of her great-grandparents' lives. Both Laura's own kitchen and the memoir become a haunted home for her "ghosts" (the title of one chapter). The memoir offers the ghost a place to haunt, through photography. There are four photographs of her great-grandparents, one of which is their wedding picture, which features in the third chapter (25). It is also used as
peritext<fnref n="125" /> for this chapter: a faded image of her grandparents' faces can be seen behind the words "CHAPTER 3" and "*Salvatore and Adalgiza*"—in an old-fashioned typeface (21). The artificially faded image gives Adalgiza and Salvatore's picture a ghostly quality (21).

Writing the memoir also gives Rossant the opportunity to create connections between generations, one striking passage in *Apricots on the Nile* is the description of Colette Rossant's grandson helping her prepare *ful medames*. It is the boy's face which triggers memories of Cairo—cooking with Ahmet and her grandmother (43). Her grandson's face, hands and hair are described as “sticky” (43) because he has been helping her. The description of his sticky hands and face reminds me of Sara Ahmed's proposal to think through affect as “sticky” (Ahmed 29). Through her grandson, Colette feels and draws connection between her past and her present, her lost Egyptian family and the next generation. Ultimately, readers are invited to share the cooking experience. These memoirs usually evoke the process of cooking, plunging one's hands into raw materials, kneading dough with one's bare hands. The reader is invited to join the cook, in the kitchen.

Thus, the home the author invites her readers into is both a cosmopolitan home, and a haunted home. Although the versions of home that are offered can be rather raw and painful—affects such as shame and anger are recalled, hunger strikes or violent quarrels around the dinner table rather than peaceful family meals are depicted—the transnational memoir has appealed to many readers. Its main ingredients are usually said to be exoticism and nostalgia for the past, but perhaps its secret ingredient is best defined as a homing desire, a desire for roots and legacy that many readers can relate to. If home life is rarely peaceful, the memoir does offer reconciliation with the past as its purpose is clearly to revisit home, as well as hopes that creating a home that is cosmopolitan, with connections to the past and to the world, is possible. Transnational culinary memoirs illustrate the concept of xenia, but the reader is not only a guest at the dinner table, she is also encouraged to cook with the author and see the memoir as a *lieu commun*, a meeting ground between reader and author.

<footnote n="125">¹²⁵ For each chapter, the design is the same, a faint image—usually an artificially faded photograph or painting—in an oval frame which appears as a background to the chapter number and title.</footnote>
peritext<fnref n="125" /> for this chapter: a faded image of her grandparents' faces can be seen behind the words "CHAPTER 3" and "*Salvatore and Adalgiza*"—in an old-fashioned typeface (21). The artificially faded image gives Adalgiza and Salvatore's picture a ghostly quality (21).

Writing the memoir also gives Rossant the opportunity to create connections between generations, one striking passage in *Apricots on the Nile* is the description of Colette Rossant's grandson helping her prepare *ful medames*. It is the boy's face which triggers memories of Cairo—cooking with Ahmet and her grandmother (43). Her grandson's face, hands and hair are described as “sticky” (43) because he has been helping her. The description of his sticky hands and face reminds me of Sara Ahmed's proposal to think through affect as “sticky” (Ahmed 29). Through her grandson, Colette feels and draws connection between her past and her present, her lost Egyptian family and the next generation. Ultimately, readers are invited to share the cooking experience. These memoirs usually evoke the process of cooking, plunging one's hands into raw materials, kneading dough with one's bare hands. The reader is invited to join the cook, in the kitchen.

Thus, the home the author invites her readers into is both a cosmopolitan home, and a haunted home. Although the versions of home that are offered can be rather raw and painful—affects such as shame and anger are recalled, hunger strikes or violent quarrels around the dinner table rather than peaceful family meals are depicted—the transnational memoir has appealed to many readers. Its main ingredients are usually said to be exoticism and nostalgia for the past, but perhaps its secret ingredient is best defined as a homing desire, a desire for roots and legacy that many readers can relate to. If home life is rarely peaceful, the memoir does offer reconciliation with the past as its purpose is clearly to revisit home, as well as hopes that creating a home that is cosmopolitan, with connections to the past and to the world, is possible. Transnational culinary memoirs illustrate the concept of xenia, but the reader is not only a guest at the dinner table, she is also encouraged to cook with the author and see the memoir as a *lieu commun*, a meeting ground between reader and author.

<footnote n="125">¹²⁵ For each chapter, the design is the same, a faint image—usually an artificially faded photograph or painting—in an oval frame which appears as a background to the chapter number and title.</footnote>
Works cited

ABU-JABER, Diane. *The Language of Baklava*. New York, Pantheon Books, 2005.

—. *Life Without A Recipe*. New York, Norton, 2016.

AHMED, Sara. "Happy Objects." *The Affect Theory Reader*. Ed. Melissa Gregg and Gregory Seigworth. Durham, Duke UP, 2010, pp. 29–50.

BHABHA, Homi. *The Location of Culture*. 1994. London and New York, Routledge, 2004.

BRAH, Avtar. *Cartographies of Diaspora. Contesting Identities*. London and New York, Routledge, 1996.

DANTICAT, Edwidge. *Create Dangerously. The Immigrant Artist at Work*. 2010. New York, Vintage, 2011.

DELANTY, Gerard. "The Emerging Field of Cosmopolitanism studies." *The Routledge Handbook of Cosmopolitan Studies*. London, Routledge, 2012, pp. 1–8.

DESALVO, Louise. *Crazy in the Kitchen. Food, Feuds and Forgiveness in an Italian American Family*. New York, Bloomsbury, 2004.

FURIYA, Linda. *Bento Box in the Heartland. My Japanese Girlhood in Whitebread America*. Emeryville, Seal P., 2006.

GABACCIA, Donna. *We are What We Eat. Ethnic Food and the Making of Americans*. Cambridge, Mass, Harvard UP, 1998.

GILBERT, Sandra. *The Culinary Imagination. From Myth to Modernity*. New York, Norton, 2014.

KRÁL, Françoise. *Critical Identities in Contemporary Anglophone Diasporic Literature*. Basingstoke/ New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2009.

LI, Leslie. *Daughter of Heaven. A Memoir with Earthly Recipes*. New York, Arcade, 2005.

MANNUR, Anita. *Culinary Fictions. Food in South Asian Diasporic Culture*. Philadelphia, Temple Books, 2010.

NGUYEN, Bich Minh. *Stealing Buddha's Dinner. A Memoir*. New York, Penguin, 2007.

PAPASTERGIADIS, Nikos. "Aesthetic Cosmopolitanism." *The Routledge Handbook of Cosmopolitan Studies*. Ed. Gerard Delanty. New York, Routledge, 2012, pp. 220–232.

ROSSANT, Colette. *Apricots on the Nile*. 1999. London, Bloomsbury, 2001.

—. *The World in My Kitchen. The Adventures of a (Mostly) French Woman*
Works cited

ABU-JABER, Diane. *The Language of Baklava*. New York, Pantheon Books, 2005.

—. *Life Without A Recipe*. New York, Norton, 2016.

AHMED, Sara. "Happy Objects." *The Affect Theory Reader*. Ed. Melissa Gregg and Gregory Seigworth. Durham, Duke UP, 2010, pp. 29–50.

BHABHA, Homi. *The Location of Culture*. 1994. London and New York, Routledge, 2004.

BRAH, Avtar. *Cartographies of Diaspora. Contesting Identities*. London and New York, Routledge, 1996.

DANTICAT, Edwidge. *Create Dangerously. The Immigrant Artist at Work*. 2010. New York, Vintage, 2011.

DELANTY, Gerard. "The Emerging Field of Cosmopolitanism studies." *The Routledge Handbook of Cosmopolitan Studies*. London, Routledge, 2012, pp. 1–8.

DESALVO, Louise. *Crazy in the Kitchen. Food, Feuds and Forgiveness in an Italian American Family*. New York, Bloomsbury, 2004.

FURIYA, Linda. *Bento Box in the Heartland. My Japanese Girlhood in Whitebread America*. Emeryville, Seal P., 2006.

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GILBERT, Sandra. *The Culinary Imagination. From Myth to Modernity*. New York, Norton, 2014.

KRÁL, Françoise. *Critical Identities in Contemporary Anglophone Diasporic Literature*. Basingstoke/ New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2009.

LI, Leslie. *Daughter of Heaven. A Memoir with Earthly Recipes*. New York, Arcade, 2005.

MANNUR, Anita. *Culinary Fictions. Food in South Asian Diasporic Culture*. Philadelphia, Temple Books, 2010.

NGUYEN, Bich Minh. *Stealing Buddha's Dinner. A Memoir*. New York, Penguin, 2007.

PAPASTERGIADIS, Nikos. "Aesthetic Cosmopolitanism." *The Routledge Handbook of Cosmopolitan Studies*. Ed. Gerard Delanty. New York, Routledge, 2012, pp. 220–232.

ROSSANT, Colette. *Apricots on the Nile*. 1999. London, Bloomsbury, 2001.

—. *The World in My Kitchen. The Adventures of a (Mostly) French Woman*
in *America*. New York, Astria, 2006.

ROY, Parama. *Alimentary Tracts. Appetites, Aversions, and the Postcolonial*. Durham, Duke UP, 2010.

SCHENONE, Laura. *The Lost Ravioli Recipe of Hoboken. A Search for Food and Family*. 2007. New York, Norton, 2008.

SEIGWORTH, Gregory and Melissa GREGG. "An Inventory of Shimmers." *The Affect Theory Reader*. Ed. Melissa Gregg and Gregory Seigworth. Durham, Duke UP, 2010, pp. 1-25.

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C

Contributors

Abouddahab 7, 9, 27, 28, 139
Ben-Messahel 8, 9, 33, 229
Bigot 8, 9, 35, 255
Blazek 7, 10, 19, 89
Bouzonviller 1, 2, 7, 8, 10, 13, 28, 41, 167
Latour 7, 10, 16, 63
Michel 8, 11, 33, 47, 61, 203
Morgan-Proux 8, 11, 29, 191
Peraldo 7, 11, 14, 45, 57, 60, 61
Reviron-Piégay 7, 12, 24, 115

Critical, biographical and historical
references

Ahmed 259, 278, 279
Amfreville 19, 38
Anderson 247, 252
Anson 85, 87
Antolin 26, 38
Armstrong 214, 226
Ashcroft 14, 30, 34, 37, 38, 231, 233, 236, 252
Ashcroft, Graham Griffiths and
Gareth Griffiths 211, 226
Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin 216, 226
Augé 169, 170, 174, 175, 187, 188
Bachelard 25, 38, 145, 166, 235, 252
Baena 35, 38
Baridon 47, 54, 61
Barksdale 67, 74, 75, 84, 87
Bartkowski 177, 180, 186, 188
Benatar 111, 112
Bennett 231, 243, 252
Berleant 58, 61
Bevis 34, 38

Bhabha 33, 38, 241, 252, 263, 264, 272, 279
Bourdieu 232, 251, 252
Bourriaud 33, 38, 238, 252
Bradstock 211, 226
Brah 257, 258, 259, 261, 267, 275, 279
Briggs 67, 87
Brigham 194, 202
Brown 53, 61, 102, 112
Bruccoli 170, 183, 188, 189
Bryer and Barks 183
Bryer and Kuehl 184
Buell 85, 87
Casey 237, 252
Cavell 72, 87
Chandler 25, 26, 38, 77, 80, 87
Channing 67, 69, 79, 87
Clark 132, 133, 136
Clarke 194, 195, 196, 201, 202
Colley 59, 61
Cowley 142, 166
Cresswell 206, 227
Curnutt 10, 178, 188
D'Amore 69
Dassow 69, 72, 75, 85, 86, 87
De Baerdemaeker 144, 166
Delanty 272, 279
Deleuze 34, 39
DeSalvo 130, 136
DeSalvo and Leaska 130
Diamond 97, 112
Dick 128, 136, 138
Doubrovsky 182, 188
Dougherty 70, 87
Doumet 69, 76, 83, 84, 87
Edwards 36, 39
Index

C

Contributors

Abouddahab 7, 9, 27, 28, 139
Ben-Messahel 8, 9, 33, 229
Bigot 8, 9, 35, 255
Blazek 7, 10, 19, 89
Bouzonviller 1, 2, 7, 8, 10, 13, 28, 41, 167
Latour 7, 10, 16, 63
Michel 8, 11, 33, 47, 61, 203
Morgan-Proux 8, 11, 29, 191
Peraldo 7, 11, 14, 45, 57, 60, 61
Reviron-Piégay 7, 12, 24, 115

Critical, biographical and historical
references

Ahmed 259, 278, 279
Amfreville 19, 38
Anderson 247, 252
Anson 85, 87
Antolin 26, 38
Armstrong 214, 226
Ashcroft 14, 30, 34, 37, 38, 231, 233, 236, 252
Ashcroft, Graham Griffiths and
Gareth Griffiths 211, 226
Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin 216, 226
Augé 169, 170, 174, 175, 187, 188
Bachelard 25, 38, 145, 166, 235, 252
Baena 35, 38
Baridon 47, 54, 61
Barksdale 67, 74, 75, 84, 87
Bartkowski 177, 180, 186, 188
Benatar 111, 112
Bennett 231, 243, 252
Berleant 58, 61
Bevis 34, 38

Bhabha 33, 38, 241, 252, 263, 264, 272, 279
Bourdieu 232, 251, 252
Bourriaud 33, 38, 238, 252
Bradstock 211, 226
Brah 257, 258, 259, 261, 267, 275, 279
Briggs 67, 87
Brigham 194, 202
Brown 53, 61, 102, 112
Bruccoli 170, 183, 188, 189
Bryer and Barks 183
Bryer and Kuehl 184
Buell 85, 87
Casey 237, 252
Cavell 72, 87
Chandler 25, 26, 38, 77, 80, 87
Channing 67, 69, 79, 87
Clark 132, 133, 136
Clarke 194, 195, 196, 201, 202
Colley 59, 61
Cowley 142, 166
Cresswell 206, 227
Curnutt 10, 178, 188
D'Amore 69
Dassow 69, 72, 75, 85, 86, 87
De Baerdemaeker 144, 166
Delanty 272, 279
Deleuze 34, 39
DeSalvo 130, 136
DeSalvo and Leaska 130
Diamond 97, 112
Dick 128, 136, 138
Doubrovsky 182, 188
Dougherty 70, 87
Doumet 69, 76, 83, 84, 87
Edwards 36, 39
Enevold 194, 202
Fallon 53, 55, 60, 61
Farrell 141, 142, 166
Freud 19, 25, 39
Gabaccia 263, 270, 271, 279
Gamage 232, 252
Gamal 248, 252
Ganser 193, 194, 202
Garber 68, 88
Gelder and Jacobs 235
George 214, 222, 227
Gilbert 257, 258, 260, 271, 275, 279
Gilbert and Gubar 21, 40,
Gilroy 242, 252
Glendinning 131, 136
Glennie 215, 227
Glissant 243, 244, 252
Greer 237, 252
Gregory 236, 252
Hage 231, 238, 240, 242, 252, 253
Hall 32, 40
Hamon 25, 40
Hanisch 24, 40
Harding 75, 88
Harrison 68, 81, 86, 88
Heidegger 141, 166
Humm 136
Hutcheon 31, 40
Inge 25, 41
Jiménez 124, 125, 136
Jose 243, 244, 253
Kaplan 180, 189
Kazin 28, 41
Keister 35, 41
Kelly 94, 112
Kennedy 179, 189
Kenyatta 222, 227
Kerridge 58, 61
Král 257, 259, 279
Lanahan 170, 175, 189
Lee 118, 122, 128, 136
Lejeune 181, 189
Lincoln 34, 41
Locke 51, 61
Lynn 158, 166
Mannur 257, 258, 271, 272, 279
Marcel 69, 83, 88

Marx 74, 88, 197, 202
Marzec 53, 59, 61
Massey 40, 250, 253
Masterson 97, 112
Matteson 22, 41
McDowell 193, 202
Mellow 182, 189
Milford 183, 189
Moore 180, 189
Morel 160, 166
Myerson 67, 73, 87, 88
Nicolson 130, 131, 136, 138
Niekerk 234, 253
Novak 51, 61
Papastergiadis 273, 279
Pappas 111, 112
Pascoe 232, 253
Pearlman 34, 42
Phillips 60
Prewitt Brown 53
Primeau 194, 195, 202
Raitt 126, 136
Raynaud 2, 31, 42
Rhodes 111, 112
Richardson 85, 88
Rogers 108, 111, 112
Rose 237, 253
Rosner 118, 136
Ross 36, 42
Roy 258, 272, 280
Sackville-West 130, 136, 137
Said 59, 61, 221, 222, 227
Scholl 98, 112
Schonhorn 51, 56, 62
Schulkind 118, 123, 137, 138
Seidel 59, 62
Seidel, Alexis and Alvin Wang 175, 189
Seigworth 259, 279, 280
Sherman 268, 273, 280
Showalter 124, 137
Sinclair and Taylor 118, 137
Small 142, 166
Smith 125, 126, 127, 137
Smith and Pimm 58, 62
Smith and Watson 179, 182, 186, 189,
258, 280
Snaith and Whitworth 119
Enevold 194, 202
Fallon 53, 55, 60, 61
Farrell 141, 142, 166
Freud 19, 25, 39
Gabaccia 263, 270, 271, 279
Gamage 232, 252
Gamal 248, 252
Ganser 193, 194, 202
Garber 68, 88
Gelder and Jacobs 235
George 214, 222, 227
Gilbert 257, 258, 260, 271, 275, 279
Gilbert and Gubar 21, 40,
Gilroy 242, 252
Glendinning 131, 136
Glennie 215, 227
Glissant 243, 244, 252
Greer 237, 252
Gregory 236, 252
Hage 231, 238, 240, 242, 252, 253
Hall 32, 40
Hamon 25, 40
Hanisch 24, 40
Harding 75, 88
Harrison 68, 81, 86, 88
Heidegger 141, 166
Humm 136
Hutcheon 31, 40
Inge 25, 41
Jiménez 124, 125, 136
Jose 243, 244, 253
Kaplan 180, 189
Kazin 28, 41
Keister 35, 41
Kelly 94, 112
Kennedy 179, 189
Kenyatta 222, 227
Kerridge 58, 61
Král 257, 259, 279
Lanahan 170, 175, 189
Lee 118, 122, 128, 136
Lejeune 181, 189
Lincoln 34, 41
Locke 51, 61
Lynn 158, 166
Mannur 257, 258, 271, 272, 279
Marcel 69, 83, 88

Marx 74, 88, 197, 202
Marzec 53, 59, 61
Massey 40, 250, 253
Masterson 97, 112
Matteson 22, 41
McDowell 193, 202
Mellow 182, 189
Milford 183, 189
Moore 180, 189
Morel 160, 166
Myerson 67, 73, 87, 88
Nicolson 130, 131, 136, 138
Niekerk 234, 253
Novak 51, 61
Papastergiadis 273, 279
Pappas 111, 112
Pascoe 232, 253
Pearlman 34, 42
Phillips 60
Prewitt Brown 53
Primeau 194, 195, 202
Raitt 126, 136
Raynaud 2, 31, 42
Rhodes 111, 112
Richardson 85, 88
Rogers 108, 111, 112
Rose 237, 253
Rosner 118, 136
Ross 36, 42
Roy 258, 272, 280
Sackville-West 130, 136, 137
Said 59, 61, 221, 222, 227
Scholl 98, 112
Schonhorn 51, 56, 62
Schulkind 118, 123, 137, 138
Seidel 59, 62
Seidel, Alexis and Alvin Wang 175, 189
Seigworth 259, 279, 280
Sherman 268, 273, 280
Showalter 124, 137
Sinclair and Taylor 118, 137
Small 142, 166
Smith 125, 126, 127, 137
Smith and Pimm 58, 62
Smith and Watson 179, 182, 186, 189,
258, 280
Snaith and Whitworth 119
Solomon 124, 137
Sylvester 15, 43
Tate 212, 227
Taylor 129, 134
Thieme 14, 29, 32, 43
Tiberghien 69, 71, 76, 81, 88
Torreiro Pazo 257, 258, 260, 261, 262, 265, 266, 280
Trachtenberg 94, 112
Tuan 14, 43, 206, 227
Turner and Sutherland 205, 227
Urbain 47, 62
Viviès 29, 43
Wagner 206, 227
Wagner-Martin 186, 189
Welter 18, 36, 43
West 103, 113, 184, 188
Wisker 127, 137
Woolf 117, 137
Zhang 13, 43

M

Movie directors

Claxton 28, 38
Fleming 29, 39
Hitchcock 28, 40
Scott 194, 202

N

Novelists, poets, essayists, memorialists, lyricists

Abu-Jaber 35, 258, 261, 262, 265, 268, 270, 273, 274, 275, 279
Adams 169, 188
Adichie 32, 38
Alcott 22, 38, 41, 71
Alger 16, 38
Anderson 147, 148
Austen 20, 38, 126
Beeton 17, 18, 38
Brontë 21, 38, 137
Brooks 22, 38
Brown 19, 38
Burnside 141
Cambridge 8, 11, 33, 203, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 222, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227

Cather 26, 38
Chopin 23, 24, 38
Codman 26, 43
Coe 36, 38
Crèvecoeur 15, 16, 39
Danticat 267, 279
Defoe 7, 11, 12, 14, 45, 47, 48, 51, 53, 54, 57, 58, 61, 62
DeSalvo 35, 258, 260, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 276, 279
Dickens 20, 39
Dickinson 21, 39
Donne 164
Dreiser 34, 39
Eliot 20
Emerson 70, 72, 73, 74, 75, 84, 87, 88
Engels 17, 35, 39, 41
Erdrich 8, 10, 29, 30, 34, 35, 39, 41, 42, 191, 193, 194, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202
Ernaux 183, 188
Evaristo 32, 39
Faulkner 25, 27, 39, 41, 147, 166, 248
Filmer 55, 56, 61
Fitzgerald 7, 8, 10, 19, 26, 27, 28, 34, 38, 39, 43, 89, 92, 103, 107, 112, 113, 142, 147, 167, 169, 170, 176, 178, 179, 181, 183, 184, 185, 186, 188, 189
Frost 13, 39
Furiya 35, 258, 260, 265, 267, 271, 272, 275, 279
Gaskell 17, 20, 40
Gemmell 236, 237, 238, 252
Gilman 23, 40
Grenville 232, 233
Gurganus 3, 40
Gyasi 31, 32, 40
Hawthorne 7, 19, 40, 89, 92, 93, 95, 97, 98, 112, 180, 189
Hemans 17, 40
Hemingway 7, 9, 27, 28, 34, 40, 139, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 150, 152, 154, 157, 158, 159, 160, 163, 164, 165, 166, 185
Hill 31, 40
Homer 193, 202
Solomon 124, 137
Sylvester 15, 43
Tate 212, 227
Taylor 129, 134
Thieme 14, 29, 32, 43
Tiberghien 69, 71, 76, 81, 88
Torreiro Pazo 257, 258, 260, 261,
262, 265, 266, 280
Trachtenberg 94, 112
Tuan 14, 43, 206, 227
Turner and Sutherland 205, 227
Urbain 47, 62
Viviès 29, 43
Wagner 206, 227
Wagner-Martin 186, 189
Welter 18, 36, 43
West 103, 113, 184, 188
Wisker 127, 137
Woolf 117, 137
Zhang 13, 43

M

Movie directors

Claxton 28, 38
Fleming 29, 39
Hitchcock 28, 40
Scott 194, 202

N

Novelists, poets, essayists,
memorialists, lyricists

Abu-Jaber 35, 258, 261, 262, 265,
268, 270, 273, 274, 275, 279
Adams 169, 188
Adichie 32, 38
Alcott 22, 38, 41, 71
Alger 16, 38
Anderson 147, 148
Austen 20, 38, 126
Beeton 17, 18, 38
Brontë 21, 38, 137
Brooks 22, 38
Brown 19, 38
Burnside 141
Cambridge 8, 11, 33, 203, 205, 206,
207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213,
214, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 222,
223, 224, 225, 226, 227

Cather 26, 38
Chopin 23, 24, 38
Codman 26, 43
Coe 36, 38
Crèvecoeur 15, 16, 39
Danticat 267, 279
Defoe 7, 11, 12, 14, 45, 47, 48, 51, 53,
54, 57, 58, 61, 62
DeSalvo 35, 258, 260, 262, 263, 264,
265, 266, 276, 279
Dickens 20, 39
Dickinson 21, 39
Donne 164
Dreiser 34, 39
Eliot 20
Emerson 70, 72, 73, 74, 75, 84, 87, 88
Engels 17, 35, 39, 41
Erdrich 8, 10, 29, 30, 34, 35, 39, 41,
42, 191, 193, 194, 198, 199, 200,
201, 202
Ernaux 183, 188
Evaristo 32, 39
Faulkner 25, 27, 39, 41, 147, 166, 248
Filmer 55, 56, 61
Fitzgerald 7, 8, 10, 19, 26, 27, 28, 34,
38, 39, 43, 89, 92, 103, 107, 112,
113, 142, 147, 167, 169, 170, 176,
178, 179, 181, 183, 184, 185, 186,
188, 189
Frost 13, 39
Furiya 35, 258, 260, 265, 267, 271,
272, 275, 279
Gaskell 17, 20, 40
Gemmell 236, 237, 238, 252
Gilman 23, 40
Grenville 232, 233
Gurganus 3, 40
Gyasi 31, 32, 40
Hawthorne 7, 19, 40, 89, 92, 93, 95,
97, 98, 112, 180, 189
Hemans 17, 40
Hemingway 7, 9, 27, 28, 34, 40, 139,
141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147,
148, 150, 152, 154, 157, 158, 159,
160, 163, 164, 165, 166, 185
Hill 31, 40
Homer 193, 202
Hornung 238, 239, 242, 253
Hurston 194
Ingalls 28, 41
James 7, 19, 25, 26, 39, 41, 89, 92, 97,
98, 102, 103, 112, 118, 123, 169,
189

Jefferson 15, 41

Keats 25, 41

Kerouac 34, 41, 193, 202

Kingsley 209, 227

Kingsolver 8, 29, 191, 193, 194, 195,
198, 199, 202

Laronde 3, 41

Le 247, 249, 252, 253

Lee 32, 41

Li 260, 262, 265, 267, 272, 279

Marx 17, 41

Melville 34, 41

Mencken 185

Mill 18, 41

Milton 17

Morrison 3, 30, 31, 41, 42, 178, 189,
194

Murphy 17, 41

Naipaul 37, 42

Nguyen 35, 258, 259, 260, 261, 265,
266, 267, 271, 272, 276, 279

O'Connor 194

Oates 194

Ortiz 34, 42

Paine 27, 42

Patmore 17, 42

Payne 15, 28, 29, 42, 43

Poe 19, 21, 25, 42, 95

Praed 216, 227

Pung 249, 251, 253

Radcliffe 20, 42

Rhys 12, 21, 42

Rossant 258, 269, 270, 271, 273, 277,
278, 279

Rowlandson 30, 42

Rushdie 29, 42, 61, 257

Ruskin 213, 227

Schenone 35, 258, 266, 267, 268,
273, 274, 277, 280

Stein 194

Stowe 30, 42, 43

Tanner 30, 43

Thoreau 7, 10, 16, 63, 65, 66, 67, 68,
69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77,
78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86,
87, 88

Tourgenieff 25

Twain 34, 43

Voltaire 104, 113

Walpole 18, 43

West 7, 19, 89, 92, 107, 108, 110, 111,
112, 113

Wharton 26, 43, 118, 137, 194

Winton 233, 234, 235, 236, 253

Wolfe 27, 43

Woolf 7, 12, 24, 43, 66, 115, 117, 118,
119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125,
126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132,
133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138

Zonana 35, 257, 258, 261, 264, 267,
268, 269, 272, 273, 274, 275, 280

P

## Places & People

Aboriginal 234, 235, 253

Adelaide 238, 239

Africa 163, 164, 165, 166, 169

African 16, 30, 31, 32, 148, 165, 174

America 16, 27, 30, 39, 41, 42, 43,
72, 96, 97, 106, 108, 142, 147, 148,
163, 164, 169, 177, 178, 179, 180,
188, 194, 202, 260, 261, 263, 265,
267, 268, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274,
275, 279, 280

American 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, 15, 16, 18, 19,
20, 21, 22, 26, 27, 28, 30, 32, 34,
35, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 67,
72, 77, 85, 87, 91, 92, 93, 98, 102,
105, 106, 111, 142, 144, 148, 151,
152, 157, 166, 167, 170, 171, 177,
178, 179, 180, 182, 187, 189, 194,
195, 196, 197, 202, 205, 247, 258,
260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 266, 270,
271, 272, 276, 279, 280, 292

apartment 106, 107, 146, 263, 269, 272

Arizona 195

Asia 238, 239, 242, 243, 244, 247,
248
Hornung 238, 239, 242, 253

Hurston 194

Ingalls 28, 41

James 7, 19, 25, 26, 39, 41, 89, 92, 97,
98, 102, 103, 112, 118, 123, 169,
189

Jefferson 15, 41

Keats 25, 41

Kerouac 34, 41, 193, 202

Kingsley 209, 227

Kingsolver 8, 29, 191, 193, 194, 195,
198, 199, 202

Laronde 3, 41

Le 247, 249, 252, 253

Lee 32, 41

Li 260, 262, 265, 267, 272, 279

Marx 17, 41

Melville 34, 41

Mencken 185

Mill 18, 41

Milton 17

Morrison 3, 30, 31, 41, 42, 178, 189,
194

Murphy 17, 41

Naipaul 37, 42

Nguyen 35, 258, 259, 260, 261, 265,
266, 267, 271, 272, 276, 279

O'Connor 194

Oates 194

Ortiz 34, 42

Paine 27, 42

Patmore 17, 42

Payne 15, 28, 29, 42, 43

Poe 19, 21, 25, 42, 95

Praed 216, 227

Pung 249, 251, 253

Radcliffe 20, 42

Rhys 12, 21, 42

Rossant 258, 269, 270, 271, 273, 277,
278, 279

Rowlandson 30, 42

Rushdie 29, 42, 61, 257

Ruskin 213, 227

Schenone 35, 258, 266, 267, 268,
273, 274, 277, 280

Stein 194

Stowe 30, 42, 43

Tanner 30, 43

Thoreau 7, 10, 16, 63, 65, 66, 67, 68,
69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77,
78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86,
87, 88

Tourgenieff 25

Twain 34, 43

Voltaire 104, 113

Walpole 18, 43

West 7, 19, 89, 92, 107, 108, 110, 111,
112, 113

Wharton 26, 43, 118, 137, 194

Winton 233, 234, 235, 236, 253

Wolfe 27, 43

Woolf 7, 12, 24, 43, 66, 115, 117, 118,
119, 120, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125,
126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132,
133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138

Zonana 35, 257, 258, 261, 264, 267,
268, 269, 272, 273, 274, 275, 280

P

## Places & People

Aboriginal 234, 235, 253

Adelaide 238, 239

Africa 163, 164, 165, 166, 169

African 16, 30, 31, 32, 148, 165, 174

America 16, 27, 30, 39, 41, 42, 43,
72, 96, 97, 106, 108, 142, 147, 148,
163, 164, 169, 177, 178, 179, 180,
188, 194, 202, 260, 261, 263, 265,
267, 268, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274,
275, 279, 280

American 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, 15, 16, 18, 19,
20, 21, 22, 26, 27, 28, 30, 32, 34,
35, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 67,
72, 77, 85, 87, 91, 92, 93, 98, 102,
105, 106, 111, 142, 144, 148, 151,
152, 157, 166, 167, 170, 171, 177,
178, 179, 180, 182, 187, 189, 194,
195, 196, 197, 202, 205, 247, 258,
260, 261, 262, 263, 264, 266, 270,
271, 272, 276, 279, 280, 292

apartment 106, 107, 146, 263, 269, 272

Arizona 195

Asia 238, 239, 242, 243, 244, 247,
248
Asian 241, 242, 243, 244, 247, 249,
250, 253, 261, 272, 279, 280

Atlantic 16, 47, 176, 184, 189, 206, 270

attic 21, 125, 126

Australia 9, 11, 33, 205, 206, 207,
208, 209, 210, 211, 213, 214, 215,
216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222,
223, 224, 225, 231, 232, 233, 235,
236, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243,
244, 247, 248, 249

Australian 8, 9, 11, 22, 33, 203, 205,
206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212,
213, 214, 216, 217, 219, 220, 221,
222, 224, 225, 231, 232, 233, 234,
236, 237, 239, 240, 242, 243, 244,
247, 249, 250, 251, 292

Baltimore 178, 185

Bloomsbury 12, 117, 118, 120, 122, 124,
138

border 241, 242

Britain 32, 36, 47, 50, 52, 53, 55, 60,
206, 208, 209, 211, 232, 233, 242,
243, 249

British 18, 20, 26, 57, 59, 137, 205, 209,
211, 213, 214, 215, 216, 218, 244, 292

bush 211, 212, 213, 221, 224, 225, 238

cabin 16, 37, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71,
72, 73, 75, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83,
84, 85, 86, 87

Cairo 257, 258, 261, 267, 268, 269,
271, 277, 278, 280

California 16, 108, 109

Canada 30, 198

Canadian 9, 32, 38, 158

car 29, 105, 146, 157, 171, 172, 177,
178, 180, 193, 195, 196, 197, 198,
199, 201

Caribbean 30, 32

castle 48, 55, 134

cave 51, 52, 56, 59

China 243, 244, 246, 250, 267

Chinese 197, 199, 241, 243, 244, 247,
249, 253, 260

Cincinnati 31, 272

Concord 22, 66, 68, 74, 75, 84, 86,
87, 88

Cornwall 120

desert 14, 47, 48, 51, 52, 55, 56, 57,
59, 60, 236, 238, 239, 268

England 17, 20, 40, 48, 49, 51, 53, 67, 72,
87, 109, 111, 199, 205, 206, 207, 209,
211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 217, 218, 219,
220, 222, 223, 224, 225, 226

English 9, 10, 12, 14, 25, 33, 53, 54,
91, 127, 206, 207, 210, 213, 215,
219, 223, 245, 261, 272, 292

Europe 16, 27, 142, 151, 158, 169, 171,
175, 177, 242, 243, 249, 265

European 30, 33, 72, 142, 158, 174,
178, 180, 184, 189, 222, 232, 243

farm 53, 84, 264

France 24, 28, 30, 42, 149, 152, 171,
176, 179, 189

French 31, 33, 34, 38, 146, 169, 171,
174, 175, 176, 179, 181, 182, 183,
261, 269, 271, 273, 280

French Riviera 171

garden 57, 95, 99, 100, 101, 110, 121,
177, 197, 243, 277

Germany 24, 149, 151, 152

Gordon Square 117, 118, 120, 123

Hollywood 28, 29, 107, 111, 112, 169

hotel 110, 145, 147, 169, 170, 172, 173,
175, 176, 177, 183

house 13, 16, 17, 19, 20, 22, 23, 25, 26,
28, 30, 36, 37, 48, 53, 54, 57, 68,
69, 70, 71, 73, 75, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82,
83, 84, 85, 93, 95, 96, 98, 99, 100,
103, 104, 105, 106, 108, 109, 110, 111,
117, 120, 121, 122, 123, 125, 127, 130,
131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 141, 144, 145,
146, 147, 152, 164, 169, 172, 176, 177,
184, 185, 197, 199, 216, 217, 221,
231, 233, 234, 235, 236, 238, 241,
245, 246, 249, 250, 251, 263, 264,
265, 266, 267, 269, 270, 277

Hyde Park Gate 117, 118, 120, 121, 122,
123, 124, 138

Indigenous 26, 27, 29, 33, 34, 216,
232, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239

island 14, 47, 48, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55,
56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 201, 239, 240,
266, 267

Italy 158, 263, 264
Asian 241, 242, 243, 244, 247, 249,
250, 253, 261, 272, 279, 280

Atlantic 16, 47, 176, 184, 189, 206, 270

attic 21, 125, 126

Australia 9, 11, 33, 205, 206, 207,
208, 209, 210, 211, 213, 214, 215,
216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222,
223, 224, 225, 231, 232, 233, 235,
236, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243,
244, 247, 248, 249

Australian 8, 9, 11, 22, 33, 203, 205,
206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212,
213, 214, 216, 217, 219, 220, 221,
222, 224, 225, 231, 232, 233, 234,
236, 237, 239, 240, 242, 243, 244,
247, 249, 250, 251, 292

Baltimore 178, 185

Bloomsbury 12, 117, 118, 120, 122, 124,
138

border 241, 242

Britain 32, 36, 47, 50, 52, 53, 55, 60,
206, 208, 209, 211, 232, 233, 242,
243, 249

British 18, 20, 26, 57, 59, 137, 205, 209,
211, 213, 214, 215, 216, 218, 244, 292

bush 211, 212, 213, 221, 224, 225, 238

cabin 16, 37, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71,
72, 73, 75, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83,
84, 85, 86, 87

Cairo 257, 258, 261, 267, 268, 269,
271, 277, 278, 280

California 16, 108, 109

Canada 30, 198

Canadian 9, 32, 38, 158

car 29, 105, 146, 157, 171, 172, 177,
178, 180, 193, 195, 196, 197, 198,
199, 201

Caribbean 30, 32

castle 48, 55, 134

cave 51, 52, 56, 59

China 243, 244, 246, 250, 267

Chinese 197, 199, 241, 243, 244, 247,
249, 253, 260

Cincinnati 31, 272

Concord 22, 66, 68, 74, 75, 84, 86,
87, 88

Cornwall 120

desert 14, 47, 48, 51, 52, 55, 56, 57,
59, 60, 236, 238, 239, 268

England 17, 20, 40, 48, 49, 51, 53, 67, 72,
87, 109, 111, 199, 205, 206, 207, 209,
211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 217, 218, 219,
220, 222, 223, 224, 225, 226

English 9, 10, 12, 14, 25, 33, 53, 54,
91, 127, 206, 207, 210, 213, 215,
219, 223, 245, 261, 272, 292

Europe 16, 27, 142, 151, 158, 169, 171,
175, 177, 242, 243, 249, 265

European 30, 33, 72, 142, 158, 174,
178, 180, 184, 189, 222, 232, 243

farm 53, 84, 264

France 24, 28, 30, 42, 149, 152, 171,
176, 179, 189

French 31, 33, 34, 38, 146, 169, 171,
174, 175, 176, 179, 181, 182, 183,
261, 269, 271, 273, 280

French Riviera 171

garden 57, 95, 99, 100, 101, 110, 121,
177, 197, 243, 277

Germany 24, 149, 151, 152

Gordon Square 117, 118, 120, 123

Hollywood 28, 29, 107, 111, 112, 169

hotel 110, 145, 147, 169, 170, 172, 173,
175, 176, 177, 183

house 13, 16, 17, 19, 20, 22, 23, 25, 26,
28, 30, 36, 37, 48, 53, 54, 57, 68,
69, 70, 71, 73, 75, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82,
83, 84, 85, 93, 95, 96, 98, 99, 100,
103, 104, 105, 106, 108, 109, 110, 111,
117, 120, 121, 122, 123, 125, 127, 130,
131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 141, 144, 145,
146, 147, 152, 164, 169, 172, 176, 177,
184, 185, 197, 199, 216, 217, 221,
231, 233, 234, 235, 236, 238, 241,
245, 246, 249, 250, 251, 263, 264,
265, 266, 267, 269, 270, 277

Hyde Park Gate 117, 118, 120, 121, 122,
123, 124, 138

Indigenous 26, 27, 29, 33, 34, 216,
232, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239

island 14, 47, 48, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55,
56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 201, 239, 240,
266, 267

Italy 158, 263, 264
Japan 260, 267

Japanese 108, 260, 265, 271, 272,
275, 276, 279

Kansas 149, 157, 158, 159, 160

Kentucky 195

kitchen 35, 108, 121, 250, 258, 259,
265, 266, 268, 269, 273, 274, 275,
277, 278

Knole 119, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135,
136, 137

London 15, 36, 112, 113, 117, 120, 174,
175, 209, 218

Los Angeles 107

mansion 37, 131

Melbourne 205, 207, 210, 211, 212,
214, 222

Montgomery 169, 170, 171, 173, 184

Native 16, 30, 34, 35, 37, 38, 41, 42,
196, 201

New Orleans 23, 257

New World 16, 18

New York 28, 102, 103, 105, 109, 148,
158, 169, 170, 171, 175, 176, 178,
183, 260, 263, 270, 271, 273, 277

North America 30, 43

North American 10, 13, 15

Ojibwe 8, 30, 35, 39, 191, 193, 198,
199, 200, 202

Oklahoma 144, 159, 196, 198

outback 236, 239

Pacific 109, 197, 206, 238, 239, 242,
243, 252

Paris 145, 146, 148, 152, 169, 171, 174,
175, 176, 179, 269, 271

Pyrenees 146, 183

rented accommodation 19, 91, 92,
100, 101, 107, 111

road 11, 29, 74, 91, 108, 171, 172, 178,
193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199,
200, 201

room 22, 23, 24, 66, 79, 80, 81, 82, 86,
87, 95, 96, 104, 118, 120, 123, 124,
125, 126, 127, 129, 130, 131, 132,
154, 156, 162, 172, 173, 176, 199,
210, 245, 250, 263, 264, 266, 274

Saint Raphaël 177

skyscraper 26

Spain 146, 277

Spanish 146, 148, 164

St Paul 169, 170, 174

Switzerland 184

Talland House 117, 118, 120, 121, 122

tent 47, 48, 51, 52, 81

tepee 26, 28

UK 24

United States 15, 28, 91, 92, 169, 171,
177, 180, 196

Venice 98, 174

Victoria 205, 206, 207, 208, 210, 213,
214, 215, 219, 223

Vietnam 241, 242, 266, 267

Vietnamese 240, 241, 248, 259, 272,
275

Walden 7, 16, 63, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69,
70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79,
80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88

wigwam 26, 201

woods 65, 66, 69, 73, 75, 76, 77, 82, 86

Yemen 238, 239, 240, 241, 242

S

Society

appropriation 14, 33, 48, 57, 59, 108,
237

assimilation 181, 237, 247, 251

colonial 11, 14, 29, 30, 32, 33, 48, 51,
52, 53, 54, 55, 59, 60, 206, 208,
211, 213, 215, 216, 217, 219, 221,
222, 224, 225, 231, 232, 233, 234,
238, 239, 242, 247, 249, 292

community 13, 28, 31, 76, 151, 152,
161, 181, 195, 200, 214, 236, 237,
240, 242, 247, 252, 260, 271, 292

culinary 10, 35, 257, 258, 259, 267,
268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 275,
278

diaspora 197, 242, 257, 258, 259, 261,
272

diasporan 35, 257, 258

diasporic 9, 10, 27, 29, 31, 32, 33, 37,
231, 240, 247, 257, 259, 268, 272

displacement 16, 29, 32, 54, 91, 180,
197, 200, 206, 231, 232, 239, 240,
241, 247, 249
Japan 260, 267

Japanese 108, 260, 265, 271, 272,
275, 276, 279

Kansas 149, 157, 158, 159, 160

Kentucky 195

kitchen 35, 108, 121, 250, 258, 259,
265, 266, 268, 269, 273, 274, 275,
277, 278

Knole 119, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135,
136, 137

London 15, 36, 112, 113, 117, 120, 174,
175, 209, 218

Los Angeles 107

mansion 37, 131

Melbourne 205, 207, 210, 211, 212,
214, 222

Montgomery 169, 170, 171, 173, 184

Native 16, 30, 34, 35, 37, 38, 41, 42,
196, 201

New Orleans 23, 257

New World 16, 18

New York 28, 102, 103, 105, 109, 148,
158, 169, 170, 171, 175, 176, 178,
183, 260, 263, 270, 271, 273, 277

North America 30, 43

North American 10, 13, 15

Ojibwe 8, 30, 35, 39, 191, 193, 198,
199, 200, 202

Oklahoma 144, 159, 196, 198

outback 236, 239

Pacific 109, 197, 206, 238, 239, 242,
243, 252

Paris 145, 146, 148, 152, 169, 171, 174,
175, 176, 179, 269, 271

Pyrenees 146, 183

rented accommodation 19, 91, 92,
100, 101, 107, 111

road 11, 29, 74, 91, 108, 171, 172, 178,
193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199,
200, 201

room 22, 23, 24, 66, 79, 80, 81, 82, 86,
87, 95, 96, 104, 118, 120, 123, 124,
125, 126, 127, 129, 130, 131, 132,
154, 156, 162, 172, 173, 176, 199,
210, 245, 250, 263, 264, 266, 274

Saint Raphaël 177

skyscraper 26

Spain 146, 277

Spanish 146, 148, 164

St Paul 169, 170, 174

Switzerland 184

Talland House 117, 118, 120, 121, 122

tent 47, 48, 51, 52, 81

tepee 26, 28

UK 24

United States 15, 28, 91, 92, 169, 171,
177, 180, 196

Venice 98, 174

Victoria 205, 206, 207, 208, 210, 213,
214, 215, 219, 223

Vietnam 241, 242, 266, 267

Vietnamese 240, 241, 248, 259, 272,
275

Walden 7, 16, 63, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69,
70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79,
80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88

wigwam 26, 201

woods 65, 66, 69, 73, 75, 76, 77, 82, 86

Yemen 238, 239, 240, 241, 242

S

Society

appropriation 14, 33, 48, 57, 59, 108,
237

assimilation 181, 237, 247, 251

colonial 11, 14, 29, 30, 32, 33, 48, 51,
52, 53, 54, 55, 59, 60, 206, 208,
211, 213, 215, 216, 217, 219, 221,
222, 224, 225, 231, 232, 233, 234,
238, 239, 242, 247, 249, 292

community 13, 28, 31, 76, 151, 152,
161, 181, 195, 200, 214, 236, 237,
240, 242, 247, 252, 260, 271, 292

culinary 10, 35, 257, 258, 259, 267,
268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 275,
278

diaspora 197, 242, 257, 258, 259, 261,
272

diasporan 35, 257, 258

diasporic 9, 10, 27, 29, 31, 32, 33, 37,
231, 240, 247, 257, 259, 268, 272

displacement 16, 29, 32, 54, 91, 180,
197, 200, 206, 231, 232, 239, 240,
241, 247, 249
ecology 48, 57, 58, 62

exile 15, 124, 142, 205, 207, 208, 209,
214, 218, 219, 220, 222, 223, 225,
239, 241, 257, 269, 272

expatriate 142, 146, 220

family 15, 17, 18, 19, 22, 27, 28, 35, 47,
48, 49, 51, 55, 56, 60, 66, 75, 81,
93, 95, 96, 97, 98, 105, 120, 122,
126, 144, 146, 148, 152, 159, 164,
169, 176, 184, 185, 195, 196, 197,
198, 199, 200, 207, 208, 213, 219,
220, 222, 223, 225, 236, 240, 241,
245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251,
258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 264, 265,
266, 268, 269, 270, 271, 275, 276,
277, 278, 292

food 35, 78, 85, 173, 257, 259, 260,
261, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 268,
269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274

habitus 232, 251

heritage 72, 87, 198, 240, 241, 247,
250, 260, 267, 268, 273

homeland 27, 28, 29, 32, 35, 142, 144,
147, 148, 149, 150, 152, 164, 196,
200, 248, 257, 258, 264, 267, 268

identity 14, 19, 29, 32, 34, 35, 37, 49,
59, 68, 72, 93, 100, 108, 111, 133,
150, 151, 159, 162, 174, 177, 180,
182, 183, 186, 187, 193, 194, 206,
233, 235, 240, 241, 242, 248, 249,
257, 258, 259, 261, 262, 270, 271,
273, 275

immigrant 259, 262, 265, 266, 268,
270, 276

immigration 27, 33, 213, 219, 226

marriage 17, 18, 20, 95, 99, 100, 101,
111, 123, 136, 152, 185, 205, 223,
260

mother 22, 27, 28, 85, 98, 111, 120,
121, 122, 129, 132, 133, 135, 143,
144, 149, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155,
156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162,
163, 186, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200,
215, 219, 220, 222, 232, 239, 240,
242, 248, 250, 251, 261, 262, 263,
264, 265, 266, 268, 269, 272, 273,
275, 276, 277

multicultural 33, 238, 239, 242, 243,
247, 249, 251

multiculturalism 242, 271, 272

patriarchal 35, 151, 224

postcolonial 9, 34, 37, 60, 235, 242

post-colonial 29, 32, 33, 231, 233,
238, 239, 247, 249, 292

roots 13, 31, 32, 66, 86, 170, 174, 185,
197, 200, 243, 267, 272, 278

separate spheres 17, 18, 22, 36, 193

traveler 14, 59, 147, 173, 174, 177, 186,
187

Victorian 12, 18, 21, 26, 120, 121, 122,
123, 133, 206, 211, 213, 233

wife 17, 18, 21, 130, 133, 145, 176, 181,
186, 195, 223, 224, 232, 239, 244

woman 17, 18, 99, 100, 101, 118, 124,
126, 129, 130, 133, 135, 154, 183,
186, 197, 208, 213, 216, 260, 263,
264, 265, 273, 276
ecology 48, 57, 58, 62

exile 15, 124, 142, 205, 207, 208, 209,
214, 218, 219, 220, 222, 223, 225,
239, 241, 257, 269, 272

expatriate 142, 146, 220

family 15, 17, 18, 19, 22, 27, 28, 35, 47,
48, 49, 51, 55, 56, 60, 66, 75, 81,
93, 95, 96, 97, 98, 105, 120, 122,
126, 144, 146, 148, 152, 159, 164,
169, 176, 184, 185, 195, 196, 197,
198, 199, 200, 207, 208, 213, 219,
220, 222, 223, 225, 236, 240, 241,
245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251,
258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 264, 265,
266, 268, 269, 270, 271, 275, 276,
277, 278, 292

food 35, 78, 85, 173, 257, 259, 260,
261, 262, 263, 264, 265, 266, 268,
269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274

habitus 232, 251

heritage 72, 87, 198, 240, 241, 247,
250, 260, 267, 268, 273

homeland 27, 28, 29, 32, 35, 142, 144,
147, 148, 149, 150, 152, 164, 196,
200, 248, 257, 258, 264, 267, 268

identity 14, 19, 29, 32, 34, 35, 37, 49,
59, 68, 72, 93, 100, 108, 111, 133,
150, 151, 159, 162, 174, 177, 180,
182, 183, 186, 187, 193, 194, 206,
233, 235, 240, 241, 242, 248, 249,
257, 258, 259, 261, 262, 270, 271,
273, 275

immigrant 259, 262, 265, 266, 268,
270, 276

immigration 27, 33, 213, 219, 226

marriage 17, 18, 20, 95, 99, 100, 101,
111, 123, 136, 152, 185, 205, 223,
260

mother 22, 27, 28, 85, 98, 111, 120,
121, 122, 129, 132, 133, 135, 143,
144, 149, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155,
156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162,
163, 186, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200,
215, 219, 220, 222, 232, 239, 240,
242, 248, 250, 251, 261, 262, 263,
264, 265, 266, 268, 269, 272, 273,
275, 276, 277

multicultural 33, 238, 239, 242, 243,
247, 249, 251

multiculturalism 242, 271, 272

patriarchal 35, 151, 224

postcolonial 9, 34, 37, 60, 235, 242

post-colonial 29, 32, 33, 231, 233,
238, 239, 247, 249, 292

roots 13, 31, 32, 66, 86, 170, 174, 185,
197, 200, 243, 267, 272, 278

separate spheres 17, 18, 22, 36, 193

traveler 14, 59, 147, 173, 174, 177, 186,
187

Victorian 12, 18, 21, 26, 120, 121, 122,
123, 133, 206, 211, 213, 233

wife 17, 18, 21, 130, 133, 145, 176, 181,
186, 195, 223, 224, 232, 239, 244

woman 17, 18, 99, 100, 101, 118, 124,
126, 129, 130, 133, 135, 154, 183,
186, 197, 208, 213, 216, 260, 263,
264, 265, 273, 276
<figure><img src="image_19.png" /></figure>
<figure><img src="image_19.png" /></figure>
<figure><img src="image_20.png" /></figure>
<figure><img src="image_20.png" /></figure>
Relying on British, American and Australian novels and self-narratives ranging from the 18th to the 21st century, this volume focuses on the way home and houses can be at the heart of the narrative process. Actually, this literary topic echoes the global health crisis which kept people home for weeks in 2020 and led them to reflect about travel restrictions and the meaning of home as a place of confinement, but also of creation. The homes at stake here are not merely buildings but extend to places where memories are rooted. They may be family spaces with their specific spheres of influence, but also lost territories, nations entailing criticism or attachment, idealized and reconstructed homelands, or even abstract creative areas of artistic construction. No matter its size and its concrete or abstract meaning, home is space transformed by personal experience and can, therefore, take various shapes and give birth to various representations. From an enclosed space granting or hindering personal freedom to the nostalgia of a lost home, from the conquest of new homes at the expense of others through the colonial process to the post-colonial cultural reconquest of home beyond geography, from a place fostering or preventing the writing process to literatures that follow architectural rules and become homes themselves, this volume ponders the many facets of home and houses and, eventually, emphasizes a concept that transcends time and space while it entails stories of belonging and creation.

UNIVERSITÉ
DE LYON

<figure><img src="image_21.png" /></figure>

<figure><img src="image_22.png" /></figure>

UNIVERSITÉ
JEAN MONNET
SAINT-ÉTIENNE

<figure><img src="image_23.png" /></figure>

ECLLA
Études du Contemporain
en Littératures, Langues, Arts

Unité de Recherche
UNIVERSITÉ JEAN MONNET SAINT-ÉTIENNE
Relying on British, American and Australian novels and self-narratives ranging from the 18th to the 21st century, this volume focuses on the way home and houses can be at the heart of the narrative process. Actually, this literary topic echoes the global health crisis which kept people home for weeks in 2020 and led them to reflect about travel restrictions and the meaning of home as a place of confinement, but also of creation. The homes at stake here are not merely buildings but extend to places where memories are rooted. They may be family spaces with their specific spheres of influence, but also lost territories, nations entailing criticism or attachment, idealized and reconstructed homelands, or even abstract creative areas of artistic construction. No matter its size and its concrete or abstract meaning, home is space transformed by personal experience and can, therefore, take various shapes and give birth to various representations. From an enclosed space granting or hindering personal freedom to the nostalgia of a lost home, from the conquest of new homes at the expense of others through the colonial process to the post-colonial cultural reconquest of home beyond geography, from a place fostering or preventing the writing process to literatures that follow architectural rules and become homes themselves, this volume ponders the many facets of home and houses and, eventually, emphasizes a concept that transcends time and space while it entails stories of belonging and creation.

UNIVERSITÉ
DE LYON

<figure><img src="image_21.png" /></figure>

<figure><img src="image_22.png" /></figure>

UNIVERSITÉ
JEAN MONNET
SAINT-ÉTIENNE

<figure><img src="image_23.png" /></figure>

ECLLA
Études du Contemporain
en Littératures, Langues, Arts

Unité de Recherche

UNIVERSITÉ JEAN MONNET SAINT-ÉTIENNE