Monthly Archives: March 2015

An Analysis of the Samuel Beckett Translation of Paul Éluard’s ‘Le Travail du peintre.’

A phase of Beckett’s writing career that is not touched upon in the smattering of criticism or scholarship that I have encountered is his time spent doing what one could call literary ‘hack work’ in translating the work of French poets for the literary journal Transition in the thirties.

This is not to belittle the quality of the work produced. From my own readings of the translated poems, I can attest to their quality. However, being not adept enough in French to judge the quality of a translation of a work of, let’s be honest, avant-garde high literary art I would have to seek the opinion of an expert. Luckily for me and Beckett’s legacy, the editor of the magazine This Quarter, Edward Titus described Beckett’s work on translations of the surrealist French poet Paul Éluard as definable ‘only by superlatives.’ John Pilling and Seán Lawlor in their exhaustive 2012 edition of Beckett’s Collected Poems assure us that the numerous re-printings of Beckett’s version demonstrate the validity of this claim.

Éluard’s original, entitled Le travail du peintre is difficult to find online and so this post will be less about the work of translation and more about the merit of the poem itself, in the context of Beckett’s work.

The poem was written by Éluard as a tribute to one of his best friends, the Spanish artist Pablo Picasso. As such, the poem negotiates the relationship between the painter, or the artist in a general sense, the world that they occupy and the way that they see it. The first section of the poem, ‘I,’ has the artist as a kind of warrior, running naked, Lear-like into a storm, determining to understand the world as it is really is:

“Like a blind man like a madman

Raise a high sword towards the void”

I find this formulation of the artist as a priapic hero slightly tedious and more open to parody than po-faced contemplation. Luckily Éluard, or Beckett, refuse to allow the simile. The third section, aptly named ‘III’ will do much to undermine this ludicrous warrior image:

“On the cloth the trite

Image of the sword

Raised towards the void note of exclamation”

The tension here turns rather neatly on the pun on the word ‘void.’ Does this Picasso analogue face down the fundamental vacuity of his existence bravely and refuse to let it conquer his resolve? Or is it a ‘void note’ of exclamation, sounded when we consider the ‘trite/Image of the sword(?)”

I want to emphasise the sceptical Éluard, for the sake of my own interest in a subversive understanding of the macho man artist image, but judging from the tenor of the remaining sections, reflecting on an idyllic friendship between two men, Éluard is fairly keen that Picasso comes out of this poem well however much I might want to read the following lines from ‘V’ cynically:

“I like to say so I like to say

That all your gestures are signed

For it is thence that men

Bring the warrant of their stature”

Éluard’s speaker is obviously keen to get these four lines out, judging by the unpunctuated and excited gushing of the first line. I would also hope that Éluard would hold people who a higher standard than merely wishing those around him to bring a self-important signature to their mannerisms, signing themselves off like cheques.

Though there is one line that does appeal as regards Éluard’s thesis as to what an artist should be and should do from ‘III:’

“You are a ray of the star of shadow

That determines light”

While drawing on celestial imagery is no less grandiose than casting Picasso as bearing his ‘sword’ aloft against the elements, Éluard’s vision is now abstracted in a sequence of apparently irresolvable oxymora. It also recalls, oddly, a lyric from a Leonard Cohen song, widely spread across websites that carry inspirational slogans over the face of a youngster looking pensive:

“There is a crack in everything,

that’s how the light gets in.”

The artist’s role is to modulate reality in sometimes barely perceptible ways in order to alter one’s perspective, to cast light or, more appropriately for the work of a writer with an aesthetic as moribund and austere as Beckett, darkness.


Digital Scholarly Editing Blog Post #2 – Observations on TEI marking-up Samuel Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape

This blog post continues the rationale of the first post written on the subject of annotating a selection from James Joyce’s novel Ulysses (1922). As was argued in that first post, it is important that digital humanities projects and projects involving TEI mark up, provide a statement of intent and rationale that can provide the researcher and ‘common reader’ alike with information about the text and the editorial processes that a text has been subject to. This should go beyond the information provided in the , or elements in the . This particular blog post is intended to serve as a gloss to the process of marking up an excerpt of Samuel Beckett’s short play Krapp’s Last Tape (1958) in TEI.

In script form, Krapp’s Last Tape is only pages long, but can, depending on the production, run between thirty and sixty minutes. This variation in production length can be attributed to how long each particular production spends on enacting the play’s many pauses, ellipses and mechanically repetitive stage directions.

This text was chosen for mark up because it is a dramatic text, and therefore requires a different range of elements and tags than the prose extract from Ulysses. Furthermore, the TEI mark up project that will be carried out, the ‘Circe’ episode from Ulysses, will be combining the prose elements and dramatic elements, so the marking up of a play script will provide an opportunity to become familiar with a different mark up methodology.

Krapp’s Last Tape provides an interesting challenge to the process of mark up because of its paradoxical use of voice. Most plays have more than one character, but Krapp’s Last Tape could be regarded as a partial exception. The play represents Krapp, a man who records his thoughts on the year that has passed on his birthday every year. The play takes place on his sixty-ninth birthday, a year in which he decides to listen to a recording he made on the same day thirty years ago. This tape, from when he was thirty-nine, appears as a voice in the piece, but the extent to which it can be regarded as a different character is uncertain, considering that it is Krapp who is speaking on it, albeit when he was thirty years younger.

This present the first difficulty to the TEI code, but it was decided that it the original text’s line on the matter be maintained, that Krapp be credited as a speaker and the Tape be credited as a different speaker. In the line of the code at least, there will be no overt link made between the two, to suggest that they are essentially the same person.

The source text for this TEI version of Krapp’s Last Tape is not from a copy of the play text that is published on its own. Instead, it is part of Faber & Faber’s Complete Dramatic Works of Samuel Beckett. This is why it is declared as the source text in the TEI Header.

There are frequent pauses in the dialogue and in the parts between stage directions in the play script. They appear as “[Pause.]” TEI provides a number of different @type attributes for the purposes of stage direction, such as ‘delivery,’ ‘business,’ or ‘modifier,’ to provide just three examples. It was ultimately decided that the use of the @type attribute ‘delivery’ would be most suitable for the conveying of the pauses. This was done despite the fact that the TEI-C website suggests that it be used for the way in which a character speaks as it represents a withholding of speech or action on the part of the performer.

The stage directions that describe Krapp’s repetitive movements, whether he be walking off stage, opening and closing drawers or switching tape reels are tagged with the element , with the @type attribute ‘instruction.’ It was decided not to formulate an excess of @type attributes for the element for fear of creating a sequence of disparate categories that would separate them out too finely from one another. Nesting <stage=’exit’> within <stage=’tech’> within <stage=’business’> in turn would seem counter-intuitive based on the kind of playwright that Beckett is. Furthermore, Beckett was well known for his micro-managing style of direction and high standard of perfectionism when producing his own plays. This frequently manifested itself as an absolute refusal to deviate even in the slightest way, as he saw it, from the text as it was written. Many performers of Beckett today speak of his stage directions with a kind of reverence. It is this scrupulousness that merits, for the purposes of this exercise, the use of the @type attribute ‘instruction,’ in order to emphasise the importance of accuracy in a staged iteration of Krapp’s Last Tape. This is, of course, not to suggest that this TEI encoded excerpt of the play is to be performed in any context, but merely to maintain a kind of integrity to the source material, which is in this case, contingent on the work of the editor.

This apparent digression is important to consider, as it seems that for the element that there is far more scope for the editor’s own interpretation and judgement than is usual in TEI. As was said earlier, the TEI-C website provides a number of potential @type attributes which can be considered quite productively in this context. The @type attribute ‘novelistic’ is particularly so. The TEI-C’s example of a novelistic stage direction in as follows: Having had enough, and embarrassed for the family. This is a stage direction from Lorraine Hansberry’s play A Raisin in the Sun (1959). It is obvious why this is read as a stage direction that is more characteristic of novelistic discourse than dramatic play-texts. It deals overtly in interiority and the character’s (Ruth, in this instance) motivations, which would typically be left out of a stage text and left for performers to articulate on their own terms. However, contained in this @type attribute is a closed-off definition of ‘novelistic’ discourse as realistic and transparent. While Krapp’s movements may be monotonous and not particularly illustrative of an inner state in the same way that the example provided above is, it is neither accurate, nor particularly discriminating to in turn suggest that novelistic discourse that does not partake of this particularly, readable language is only novelistic. A number of Beckett’s texts, or writers that have been influenced by him often describe at length a sequence of repetitive motions that try even the most patient reader’s attention, in order to parody and subvert the monolithic notion of what a novel ‘should’ be.  While this would seem a punctilious point to make at first, it is important that users of TEI recognise its occasional interpretative biases. As Jerome McGann writes: “it is not only difficult and time consuming to implement, but its hierarchical principles and other design characteristics set permanent and unacceptable limits on its usefulness with arts and humanities materials.”[1] The history of the TEI-C displays the fact that they have often functioned democratically as a consortium and adapted their methods of standardisation according to use, until they have come to formulate the open, almost endlessly malleable to develop the open, almost endlessly malleable means of marking up texts that it perpetuates today.

Despite the protestations of theorists such as McGann, the contention of this post is that from experience of using TEI, it is for the most part an objective framework. However, there are instances, as in the case of the @type novelistic that it throws up some contentious but interesting questions about naming and tagging. This post will once again assert the importance of interrogative critical apparatuses in conjunction with a mark-up project. Problematic tags such as ‘novelistic’ do not need to be expunged altogether from the TEI, but it is important that debates take place as to whether some tags are better than others at maintaining the objectivity that the TEI should be striving for. This is demonstrated by the writings of Susan Hockey on TEI, who points to the fact that when it was being developed initially, it emphasis was on the ordering of a text for ease of navigation. This was at the expense of interpretative or analytical mark up languages presumably because these would be far more problematic for the obvious reasons. Furthermore, TEI was developed in order to combat the proliferation of mark-up languages which risked limiting the interoperability of digital texts. The TEI-C’s evolutionary framework and ability to continually update its schema is a good reason why the process of its development should not come to an end, but rather continue. Critical analyses, debates and interpretations such as those contained within this post should help to further this.

[1] McGann, Jerome, Radiant Textuality: Literature After the World Wide Web (Palgrave: 2001), p.17


Beckett, Samuel, Complete Dramatic Works (Faber & Faber: 1986)

McGann, Jerome, Radiant Textuality: Literature After the World Wide Web (Palgrave: 2001)

Schreibman, Susan, Siemens, Ray and Unsworth, John, A Companion to Digital Humanities (Blackwell: 2004)

Schreibman, Susan and Siemens, Ray, A Companion to Digital Literary Studies (Blackwell: 2008)

Text Encoding Initiative Consortium Website,

Digital Humanities Internship Blog Post #1 – Historical, Literary Context & Impressions of a Dublin Playgoer as a Resource

This blog post is the first to document progress on ‘The Lost Theatres of Dublin’ internship as part of the Digital Humanities and Culture MPhil. This first post will be dealing primarily with Joseph Holloway himself and his unpublished manuscript Impressions of a Dublin Playgoer 1895-1944 in order to provide a context for the resource and its accompanying challenges.

Joseph Holloway was born on 21 March 1861. He was an architect and designed the Abbey Theatre when it was converted from the Mechanic’s Institute into a building fit for the Irish Theatre Society in 1904. His architectural career ended in 1912. He did however, continue his work on amassing an enormous collection of theatrical ephemera, including playbills, newspaper cuttings and an accompanying diary of performances that he attended from 1895 until his death in March 1944. Holloway attended a vast number of plays in a number of different theatre venues around Dublin during his lifetime, including the Abbey Theatre, the Antient Concert rooms and the Gaiety Theatre.

Holloway provides in his manuscript, a contents page for each year that the diary covers. Each venue appears as a heading, followed by the production that Holloway saw there, next to the page number on which they appear in the diary. Holloway also occasionally provides the name of the theatre company performing that particular night. This system of pagination and indexing was carried out by Holloway himself. This resource does not however, provide us with a full concordance or index as modern print versions of texts such as these generally do. From the size of the corpus and how active Holloway was in Dublin theatrical and literary life at the time, it is reasonable to assume that there are many points at which Holloway mentions the Queen’s Theatre, which are not necessarily grouped under a ‘Queen’s Theatre,’ contents heading because of the rudimentary nature of his contents system. This is demonstrated by passing references to the Queen’s under the heading of different productions in the selections from the Impressions published by the Proscenium Press in 1970. Rather than documenting every instance that Holloway mentions the Queen’s, an impossible task in the time allowed to this project due to the size of the corpus, it was decided that this project would be limited to instances when a Queen’s performance is mentioned and a page number has been provided. Navigating the corpus without this means of signposting would have been too time-consuming a task otherwise.

The Impressions have been microfilmed for use by the National Library of Ireland’s users so that they can be examined without damage coming to the manuscripts and the theatrical ephemera and newspaper clippings that they contain. However, the work is incomplete. While the manuscripts continue until 1944, the microfilm runs out at December 1924. Why this is the case is uncertain, but as the Impressions appear in the microfilm directory under the collection title Manuscripts of the Irish Literary Renaissance (Parts One and Two) it is probable that this was part of an ongoing project to provide more resources for those seeking to understand the ‘Celtic Revival’ of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, of which Holloway would have been a key observer. Maria Edgeworth’s and William Butler Yeats’ papers are listed in the same collection and appear next to Holloway’s Impressions in the directory of microfilms. The prevailing notion about Ireland in the early to mid twentieth century that persists to some extent until today is that following the Celtic Revival, the Irish literary scene went through a dormant phase. This reputation extends to the Irish theatrical scene, due to mismanagement of the Abbey under Ernest Blythe. It could be argued that under Blythe’s tenure, there was a movement away from the sort of drama that helped to cement the Abbey Theatre’s reputation as a platform for the staging of bold and emergent Irish dramatists. This belief has had the effect of undermining the work of playwrights such as Teresa Deevy, Paul Vincent Carroll and George Shiels. It is only recently that critics have drawn attention to the work of these marginalised authors and insisted upon their importance.

The Impressions are consistent in some respects and maintain a number of key features in the entirety of the corpus. However, they are in many ways also quite a dynamic resource and constantly undergo changes as Holloway’s methods of journal-keeping change. Firstly, they get longer as time goes on. It was decided at the start of the project that every play indexed as being staged at the Queens would be fully transcribed and marked up in TEI. However, as was said above, if particular years came without a contents page, they would be ignored and left for future undertakings of this kind. Even with this reduced scope, the transcription of every available year 1895-1924 remained somewhat over-ambitious. While this would perhaps have been feasible if the resource stayed within the length of the manuscript in 1895 of five hundred or so pages, by 1900, each manuscript volume is at least one thousand five hundred pages, sometimes one thousand seven hundred.

There are a number of reasons for this inflation of the resource. Initially, Holloway kept his reviews or summaries of the performances quite succinct. He provides the names of actors, the names of the characters that they portrayed, a word or two on how their performance was and how the audience reacted to it. This would typically take up no more than a page of the manuscript. However at around 1900 he begins to make much more extensive notes. Descriptions of a production typically run to about three full pages, sometimes five. He also takes up a lot of extra manuscript pages with caricatures of actors, people he has spoken to or seen around Dublin, newspaper clippings, correspondences, deaths, conversations he has had and a number of other articles under the contents heading of ‘Miscellaneous.’ This is all material that makes it increasingly difficult to ‘scan through’ the microfilm, at least in such a way that does not result in the waste of huge amounts of time.

This is why the decision was reached to transcribe every five years of the microfilm, 1895, 1900, 1905, 1910, 1915 and 1920. This would firstly provide a deliverable of six years of history of the Queen’s Theatre and would also be a representative sample, as it would be spread out throughout the chronology of Holloway’s lifetime and the political and social milieu of Dublin society during a number of very turbulent years in its history.

However, from 1914 onwards, Holloway fails to provide an index or contents page as he does in every other year from 1895. This led to the exclusion of a number of years from the process of transcription as the size of the corpus precludes intensive examination as has been stated many times already. As such, it was decided that an extra year would be transcribed in order to compensate for the loss of 1915 and 1920. The productions from the year 1896 were transcribed in their place.

However, in the 1913 manuscript, Holloway’s index becomes incomplete or incorrect. This is problematic as it is the means that has been used to navigate the resource until now. Instead of providing contents at the start of the manuscript, they appear at the end. Furthermore, Holloway’s index at the end creates a new indexing scheme and provides dates rather than pages numbers. This would not appear to be problematic at first, but these dates often contradict those given in the actual manuscript. It is in this year that Holloway first abandons pagination as a navigation device. Sometimes the index disappears altogether. He occasionally returns to use this method of date navigation, but these will still contradict one another occasionally. A wholly speculative reason for this could be that he wrote the diary entry on a different day to the actual production and that the date given in the index is the real date, whereas dates given in the entry themselves is the date that wrote the actual entry on the productions that he has seen in the past few days.

The primary argument of this first blog post that provides a context and introduces some of the resource’s procedural difficulties is that the indexing of the resource is inconsistent and unreliable. While it was anticipated that they would at least provide a reliable means of locating information pertinent to the Queen’s Theatre, they did not. It is speculative to advance the possibility that a more dependable contents page exists somewhere in the Impressions manuscripts that have not been microfilmed, or were possibly missed in the microfilming process. It is nevertheless recommended for future projects of this kind that transcription should be carried out in tandem with the manuscript, if only to perhaps find a more efficient means of traversing this protean resource.

Digital Scholarly Editing Blog Post #1: Notes on marking up an excerpt of James Joyce’s ‘Wandering Rocks,’ in TEI

The following is a blog post intended to provide a context and rationale for the marking up of Leopold Bloom’s section of ‘Wandering Rocks,’ the tenth section of the tenth episode of the novel Ulysses (1922). This blog post will provide a description of how the process of marking up the text was carried out and will provide reasons for doing so. The chosen methodology has been documented in the interests of providing a transparent editorial model, so that potential readers, both of the code and of the text produced through the code, are aware of the editorial mediation that has taken place and why. As William Kretzschmer argues:

The making of any model is a deliberate act of the maker, in part a reflection of the marker’s theoretical foundation and assumptions about what is represented. The more explicitly the ideas are formulated and made known the more usable the model will be for others besides the maker and vice versa.[1]

It is therefore the contention of this blog post that the documenting of the editorial approach and consequent declaration of editorial principles in tandem with the process of digital editing is fundamental to the process itself and should not be regarded as an extraneous or trivial activity. Firstly, it encourages the editor to engage more deliberately with the process as it is being carried out. Secondly, it can provide an intellectual foundation for future editors, whether they are dealing with the same texts, texts of the same, ‘high-modernist’ genre, or texts that are completely different. For these reasons, this blog post is intended to provide a point of departure and a means of assisting others in identifying potential flaws or discrepancies in the mark-up method, which can perhaps be improved upon in the work of others.

This text was chosen for the first exercise in TEI mark-up because of its complexity. While there are no shortage of elements and tags permitted within TEI, it is certain that there are few texts that would challenge it as much as Ulysses. While the episode chosen, ‘Wandering Rocks,’ is not as structurally complex or phantasmagorical as other, subsequent episodes, such as ‘Circe,’ it nonetheless poses certain challenges to users of TEI, particularly for novices, as will become clear.

‘Wandering Rocks’ is an episode in which Joyce attempts to demonstrate the functionality of a rigid and empirically verifiable chronotope in prose, by documenting the activities of a number of different characters in his novel walking around Dublin at the same time. This is not done in a straightforward manner by an objective narrator that informs the reader directly as to the time and place of each character as we read, but via more elliptical means. To this end, the episode is divided into nineteen different sections devoted to different characters. Sixteen of these nineteen sections are interpolated by the activities of a different character in a different part of Dublin at the same time, to promote the idea simultaneity and synchronicity being at work in the episode.

The section that has been marked up in this instance is one in which Leopold Bloom is browsing a number of titles at a bookstand. Quotations from said works are rendered on the page, which would in theory necessitate the use of tags and elements that distinguish them from the text ‘proper.’

Marking up a novel composed of a disparate mélange of voices would be challenging enough, but Ulysses in many ways makes it even more difficult. Often, the ambiguity that exists as to where the dividing line between the representation of the narrator and the thoughts of any given character can be drawn is precisely the point and to ascribe particular sentences to definite agents would be an interpretative exercise and contravene the deliberate playfulness of the novel. Robert Gogan’s ‘Remastered’ version of the novel, for instance, italicises each instance of internal monologue, in order to allow more inexperienced readers access to a famously inaccessible text. However, such an endeavour elides its own interpretative nature. It is fortunate therefore, that the elimination of ambiguity and spaces for readers to form their own impressions is not necessarily what TEI is designed to do. This depends on the agency and the choices made by those responsible for marking up a particular text.

It was decided that the Hans Walter Gabler edition, collated from Joyce’s manuscripts would form the basis of this exercise. This is not only because academic consensus has decided that this is the ‘standard’ version, though there are some exceptions this, but because of the line numeration that the Gabler edition adopts. This not only presents us with an accepted method of referencing the novel in Joycean literary criticism, but maintaining the required line breaks would provide another challenge in the mark-up process. The use of the Gabler edition also necessitates that Gabler be cited in the TEI Header section as an editor, which would not be necessary if another edition of Ulysses was being used for this exercise, such as the 1922 facsimile edition, for example.

Each new section in announced by the presence of ellipses that appear as follows: * * *. The Gabler edition recognises them as autonomous lines in themselves, and this is documented as such. Not doing so would result in a discordant listing of line breaks and would inappropriately break with the formatting of the Gabler edition.

Bloom’s section is the tenth and is listed as such in the ‘div’ element.

As was said before, what makes this excerpt so interesting and potentially challenging form the point of view of TEI is the fact that Bloom is inspecting a number of texts from the bookseller’s collection. These are primarily pornographic titles, such as Sweets of Sin, Aristotle’s Masterpiece (1684) and Leopold von Sacher-Masoch’s Tales of the Ghetto (1886). When Bloom skims these texts, they are filtered through his consciousness and appear on the page. They invoke, for Bloom, memories of his youth and a time in his relationship with his wife when they were more sexually engaged with one another. It was initially intended that the titles of these books would be tagged, along with a clarification as to whether they were fictional or not, using an element such asto indicate this. Von Sacher-Masoch is a well known writer of erotica and fiction and Aristotle’s Masterpiece but this is not necessarily the case for Aristotle’s Masterpiece or the probably fictional Sweets of Sin. This means of clarification would be carried out with the help of Don Gifford & Robert J. Seidman’s Ulysses Annotated (1989), a thorough reader’s guide to the novel. However, it was ultimately decided that as these interpretative elements were not present in the original Gabler text and that no annotation can provide a final, objective answer on the subject, this was not done and each title is marked up only as ‘.’ It is not, for example, objectively true that Sweets of Sin is fictional, as Giffords & Seidman and many other critics have argued. It may be the case that it is partially based on a piece of salacious fiction that Joyce came across that has since been lost. It was decided therefore that this mark up would preserve the typographical element of the text being marked up and maintain only the Random House edition’s use of italics when a book was being ‘quoted.’

As was said earlier, ‘Wandering Rocks’ uses the device of interpolation to demonstrate synchronicity in the episode’s prose. Gifford and Seidman delineate these as ‘interruptions.’ It was intended when beginning this exercise that they would be annotated as such within the TEI code, but as ‘interpolations.’ This change in terminology has the advantage of eliding the implicit value-judgement of ‘interruption.’ Bloom’s section features two such interpolations, the first concerning Denis J Manginni, a dancing teacher and the second describes an unnamed elderly woman, who Gifford and Seidman believe is based on Miss Flyte, a woman from the Charles Dickens novel Bleak House (1852).

As John Lavagnino points out, tagging every name in a text can seem at first advantageous and straightforward, but as this exercise has proceeded, it became clear how quickly carrying out extensive mark up can become complicated, cumbersome and problematic. Rather than adopting a time-consuming and overly-extensive mark up ethos that leaves too little room for analysis, it is preferable to deal in a more minimal and elegant style. This takes into account the extent to which this project was an exercise and was intended to familiarise a newcomer with the process of mark up. Of course each project has different needs and in some cases a more extensive encoding of Ulysses could be preferable or desirable, but this blog post is intended to sound a more cautionary note to the over ambitious. If a page and a half of the novel can generate this much difficulty, it is certain that more complicated episodes will be even more ungainly and obtuse.

[1] Flanders, Julie, ‘The Literary, The Humanistic, The Digital: Towards a Research Agenda for Digital Literary Studies,’ Literary Studies in the Digital Age: An Evolving Primer,


Flanders, Julie, ‘The Literary, The Humanistic, The Digital: Towards a Research Agenda for Digital Literary Studies,’ Literary Studies in the Digital Age: An Evolving Primer,

Gifford, Don, Seidman, Robert J., Ulysses Annotated (University of California Press: 1989)

Joyce, James, Ulysses (Random House: 1983)

Lavagnino, John, Electronic Textual Editing: When Not To Use TEI