and, therefore, was brought to the screen shortly afterwards under the direction of Volker Schlöndorff and Margarethe von Trotta. In his work Böll denounces how the notion of “freedom of the press” can be abused, and the social violence that can be generated and supported by such abuse. Bascoy argues that both the original text and the film version can be considered typical of a period in German recent history when cinema and literature began to position themselves politically, an attitude for which both Böll and Schlöndorff ended up as victims of attacks by the press, even though the film has been frequently criticized for not knowing how to transmit the strength and force of the female protagonist.
Claudia Garnica’s essay is an analysis contrasting similarities and differences between Elfriede Jelinek’s novel, The Pianist, and its film version by Michael Haneke. After placing Jelinek’s novel in the context of other novels by the Austrian writer, Garnica goes on to dissect the basic frame of reference in the novel so that the reader of her essay can fully grasp the play of coincidences and dissonances between the novel and the film. Although Haneke does a great job translating faithfully the words on the page into images on the screen, there are moment in which he deviates from that rule of absolute faithfulness. Garnica’s contention is that those deviations are choices that Haneke consciously make, and, in that sense, they are clearly intentional on the part of the filmmaker, and respond to variations through which the director can emphasize certain relevant topics in the text.
The last essay in this section, by Eva Parra-Membrives, deals with the Netflix series The Sinner, which has frequently been critically praised not only for the originality of the plot, but for using the structure of the detective novel to denounce various aspects of an American middle-class life based on falsehood and deception. The series is a version of a novel by Petra Hammesfahr, a German novelist not really interested in the American way of life, but rather, as Parra-Membrives argues, in denouncing the universality of the social repression of female sexuality, a much more subtle type of violence, which leads women to reject sexual desire and thus perpetuate a conventional view of the idea of sin. According to Parra-Membrives, by narrowing the case presented down to a very specific context, and ignoring the nonfulfillment of desire as the ultimate source of violence, the series trivializes the sexual repression that women have always suffered and contributes to silencing the important denouncement in Hammesfahr’s text.
5 (Music is) a World Within Itself
Finally, in this volume, we include three essays that dissect aspects of the presence of women or the feminine from three very different perspectives. We have chosen for this section the title “(Music is) a world within itself”, one which the knowledgeable reader will have easily identified as part of the first verse of a song by Stevie Wonder (“Sir Duke”), for it is true that music is, like other areas of culture, a world within itself, with its own language and its own codes, its frames of reference of all kinds, which provide almost infinite intertextual games, and local and not so local genealogies and traditions.
But at the same time, and this is the question we want to raise here, music is not oblivious to the avatars and influences of ideological tendencies of all kinds affecting all areas of culture and also, naturally, the field of music. This is particularly true when we look at the representation of the female figure in popular music songs, but also in music considered more elitist, such as opera.
Add to this the authorship component, that is, the question of whether we are dealing with a male author or a with female author, which allows us to add another level of analysis, concerning the way in which the female artist presents herself to the public, that is to say, the way in which her image is marketed. Let us not forget that in popular music there is a double product that is put on the market: the music itself, the songs, but also the figure, the image, of the artist. And the synergy that occurs between these two “products” can generate all kinds of variations and a great amount of interpretative possibilities from the field of cultural studies in general, or from a feminist perspective in particular.
Marina Tornero Tarragó’s essay is an attempt to chart the different ways in which the figure of Carmen, originally from the eponymous novel by Prosper Merimée, has become an important symbol of the representation of a certain kind of woman. Of course, as Tornero Tarragó describes, this is a rather tricky issue, beginning with the stereotypical setting which pervades the original work of Merimée, and coming down through the cultural history of the nineteenth- and twentieth-century, and into the latest versions of this character already in the twenty-first century. After a survey of the main types of representations of this female character, Tornero Tarragó focuses on its, until now, latest version, that of Beyoncé’s take on this iconic woman and, as some sort of turn of the screw for the coming together of high and low cultures, her participation in the campaign “The Joy of Pepsi”.
Beyoncé is not the only popular singer that has participated in an advertising campaign for some commercial firm. As Rocío Cobo-Piñero shows in her study of Nina Simone, the Afro-American jazz singer also found herself involved in such a commercial event, although this time not as a real presence but through one of her songs, which eventually became the song by which most people know Simone. As Cobo argues, the use of this song implied the reconstruction of Simone’s image in a fashion that had very little to do with the image which the singer has struggled all her life to project, that of the Civil Rights campaigner and of the artist that underlines her political commitment in relation to a number of important issues in the society of her time. For Cobo-Piñero, the chronicle of the Civil Rights Movement that one can discern seems to end up eclipsed by the apparent glamour of a commercial advertising a very expensive perfume, Chanel Nº 5.
In the last essay of this collection, Jiří Měsíc analyses the way in which musical videos should be considered an intrinsic element in our critical approach to the musical work of Leonard Cohen. Given the vast production of songs by the Canadian singer and poet, Měsíc provides a rather extensive chronological survey of the different periods of such production and the way it has been given a visual representation. But apart from describing the evolution of that relationship between the song and the musical video, Měsíc is also interested in establishing a connecting link that runs through the work of Cohen, which is also present in the visual versions of it. Měsíc refers to this link as the Shekhinah, a term which he takes from Judaism to refer to some sort of feminine aspect of G-d. Having identified this feminine presence, Měsíc uses it as a kind of leitmotif that runs through the whole work of Cohen and which sheds a new light on heretofore apparently trivial or worldly themes.
And now one for the road: this volume arises from friendship, from the relationship between two friends who periodically meet to share their ideas about the movies or series they watch, or the novels they read, making mutual recommendations for their entertainment, their fun, and frequently to illustrate their classes. And all this while sharing a cup of coffee. This volume is, therefore, an invitation to this hypothetical hypocrite lecteur to bring up a chair and join the conversation, with or without a cup of coffee, to consider and perhaps also share the opinions and ideas of the authors collected in this volume. It is a welcome to a friendly dialogue, especially in times of turmoil like those we live in as we write this. It is also an invitation to that kind of relationship that allows us to share the best of ourselves.
Bibliographical References
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Baines, L. (1996). “From page to screen: When a novel is interpreted for film, what gets lost in the translation?”Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 39(8), 612–622.
Blake, A. (2002). The irresistible rise of Harry Potter. London: Verso.
Bridge, D. “The Greatest Epic of the Twenty-first Century?” In A. Elliot (Ed.). (2015). Return of the Epic Film: Genre,
