Picked warm from a tree, a California apricot opens into halves as easily as if it came with a dotted line down its center. The seed infuses the core with a hint of almond; the fruit carries the scent of citrus and jasmine; and it tastes, some say, like manna from heaven. In these pages, Robin Chapman recalls the season when the Santa Clara Valley was the largest apricot producer in the world and recounts the stories of Silicon Valley's now lost orchards. From the Spaniards in the eighteenth century who first planted apricots in the Mission Santa Clara gardens to the post-World War II families who built their homes among subdivided orchards, relive the long summer days ripe with bumper crops of this much-anticipated delicacy.

A collection of essays inspired by Professor Emeritus Gruffydd Aled Williams' research, in recognition of his outstanding contribution to Welsh academic life. -- Cyngor Llyfrau Cymru

This book represents the longest single-volume work on modern Welsh literature ever published, and proceeds from two broad perspectives. First, avoiding the traditional intrinsic and extrinsic approaches to literary history as the story of literary forms, authors, other literatures, or events, it places readers, where possible, at its centre. The definition of readers adopted here is broad: fictional and non-fictional, derived from letters, reviews, and criticism, as well as audiences addressed in prefaces, those mediated through authors' consciousness, or implied, assumed, postulated, created, idealized, chided, encouraged, and reviled, and treated as experts or pupils, arbiters, or dupes. Welsh literature is approached not as the sequential product of authors writing under particular circumstances but as material interpreted and reinterpreted, discovered, and rediscovered, by reading communities across time. Second, it seeks to interpret Welsh literature as shaped in turn by a series of concerns and preconceptions that have governed production and reception through most of the period covered in this book. These include, for instance, the fact that Welsh literature has been read as a crisis of cultural communicability between writers and readers; that writers in a largely amateur literary culture have been regarded as benefactors; that there is a lack of material to read; that, in a bilingual milieu, there is an inescapable relationship between Welsh and English literature; that a language with widely differing spoken and written registers is preoccupied with notions of correctness and appropriateness.

What does it mean to talk about law as theater, to speak about the "performance" of transactions as mundane as the sale of a pig or as agonizing as receiving compensation for a dead kinsman? In Dark Speech, Robin Chapman Stacey explores such questions by examining the interaction between performance and law in Ireland between the seventh and ninth centuries. Exposing the inner workings of the Irish legal system, Stacey examines the manner in which publicly enacted words and silences were used to construct legal and political relationships in a society where traditional hierarchies were very much in flux. Law in early Ireland was a verbal art, grounded as much in aesthetics as in the enforcement of communal norms. In contrast with modern law, no sharp distinction existed between art and politics. Visualizing legal events through the lens of procedure, Stacey helps readers recognize the creative, fluid, and inherently risky nature of these same events. While many historians have long realized the mnemonic value of legal drama to the small, principally nonliterate societies of the early Middle Ages, Stacey argues that the appeal to social memory is but one aspect of the role played by performance in early law. In fact, legal performance (like other more easily recognized forms of verbal art) created and transformed as much as it recorded.

Lawrence Gordon Clark directs this triple bill of BBC adaptations of the ghost stories by M.R. James. In 'Lost Hearts' (1973) young orphan Stephen (Simon Gipps-Kent) goes to stay at the generous Mr. Abney (Joseph O'Connor)'s estate where he is haunted by two children who previously lived in the house. It turns out the children have come to warn Stephen that Abney is not all that he seems. In 'The Ash Tree' (1975) Sir Richard Fell (Edward Petherbridge) inherits his uncle's manor and grounds. He moves in and decides to cut down an ash tree that could prove harmful to the property but before he gets the chance he begins to hear strange sounds and sees supernatural figures coming from the tree... In 'The Treasure of Abbot Thomas' (1974) cynical Reverend Somerton (Michael Bryant) is completely close-minded when it comes to paranormal activity. His steadfast beliefs falter, however, when his and Lord Peter Dattering (Paul Lavers)'s search for the treasure of alchemist Abbot Thomas (John Herrington) unleashes a terrifying spectre.

Examines the institution of personal suretyship through the remarkable rich sources extant from medieval Ireland and Wales.

When Ben Bowen died, aged twenty-five, in 1903, the Welsh literary establishment predicted his immortality. This book looks at the Bowen phenomenon as a product both of his own view of himself as a great poet and a Wales that fed that assumption. It traces his escape from a miner's life in the Rhondda, his stay in South Africa during the Boer War, his talent for controversy and his growing awareness of his early death. This is the first extended, dispassionate account of the life, work and death of the Treorci-born poet Ben Bowen (1878-1903). Published on the centenary of his death, the work seeks to explain Bowen's short-lived fame and subsequent obscurity. It considers his precocious sense of himself as a poet, the literary, social and religious milieu in which he operated, his desire to use poetry as an escape from humble beginnings, and his awareness from his late teens of his impending death. Through a consideration of the life of this compelling character, Robin Chapman also enhances our understanding of Welsh culture in late-Victorian and early-Edwardian Wales.

In Law and the Imagination in Medieval Wales, Robin Chapman Stacey explores the idea of law as a form of political fiction: a body of literature that blurs the lines generally drawn between the legal and literary genres. She argues that for jurists of thirteenth-century Wales, legal writing was an intensely imaginative genre, one acutely responsive to nationalist concerns and capable of reproducing them in sophisticated symbolic form. She identifies narrative devices and tropes running throughout successive revisions of legal texts that frame the body as an analogy for unity and for the court, that equate maleness with authority and just rule and femaleness with its opposite, and that employ descriptions of internal and external landscapes as metaphors for safety and peril, respectively. Historians disagree about the context in which the lawbooks of medieval Wales should be read and interpreted. Some accept the claim that they originated in a council called by the tenth-century king Hywel Dda, while others see them less as a repository of ancient custom than as the Welsh response to the general resurgence in law taking place in western Europe. Stacey builds on the latter approach to argue that whatever their origins, the lawbooks functioned in the thirteenth century as a critical venue for political commentary and debate on a wide range of subjects, including the threat posed to native independence and identity by the encroaching English; concerns about violence and disunity among the native Welsh; abusive behavior on the part of native officials; unwelcome changes in native practice concerning marriage, divorce, and inheritance; and fears about the increasing political and economic role of women.