About

Maria Truglio is a professor of Italian and women’s, gender, and sexuality studies in the College of the Liberal Arts at Penn State University. Her approach to education emphasizes the importance of fostering student growth and curiosity, drawing inspiration from her own experiences as a student and from Italian philosopher Antonio Gramsci. Truglio aims to create an environment where students develop critical thinking skills about cultural traditions and stereotypes, particularly through analyzing literature and media. She strives to improve students’ fundamental communication skills and encourages them to formulate their own educated perspectives on cultural issues, agency, and patriarchy. Her teaching involves active listening and fostering mutual respect, with a focus on inspiring lifelong learning and empathy. Truglio is dedicated to guiding students not only academically but also in their personal development, ensuring they are prepared to contribute thoughtfully to their communities beyond their careers.

Research topics

• Sociology
• Art
• Artificial Intelligence
• Political Science
• Computer Science
• Social Science
• Law
• Literature
• Aesthetics
• Media studies
• History
• Business
• Art history

Selected publications

• Children’s Literature and Its Readers in a Globalizing Italy

  Oxford University Press eBooks · 2025-03-20

  book-chapter1st authorCorresponding

  Abstract Children’s literature is constituted not by its themes or forms but by its intended readers. This literature, which historically has sought both to educate and to delight its readers, is a site of a complex and mutually constituting relationship between actual and implied child readers. This chapter traces some ways in which children’s literature in Italy (including picture books and comics) has offered sites of identification to its readers over time, concluding with close readings of texts by Erminia Dell’Oro and Igiaba Scego. Taking into account both immigration into Italy since the 1990s and Italy’s colonial past, this chapter shows how Italian children’s literature sheds light on evolving ideas of “Italianness” and new modes of imagining “the child” in the contemporary landscape of globalization.

  PublisherDOI

• As Close as from Here to There: The Ethics of Haunting in Geda and Akbari’s Nel mare ci sono i coccodrilli

  ˜The œLion and the unicorn · 2023-04-01

  article1st authorCorresponding

  As Close as from Here to There: The Ethics of Haunting in Geda and Akbari's Nel mare ci sono i coccodrilli Maria Rosa Truglio (bio) In early November 2022, four charity-operated ships carrying about 1,050 rescued migrants sought to dock at Sicily's port of Catania. After waiting at sea for several days, two of the ships—the Humanity 1 and the Geo Barets—were granted permission to dock by the new right-wing Italian government, led by Giorgia Meloni of the "Fratelli d'Italia" ["Brothers of Italy"] party. Meloni decided to follow a selection procedure, allowing only vulnerable migrant passengers to disembark. The screening procedure reflected the administration's stance that charity-operated rescue ships facilitate human trafficking in the region. The gesture also called attention to their claims that the European Union unfairly burdens frontier nations like Italy with the task of receiving refugees and immigrants. In contrast to Angela Merkel's 2015 open door refugee policy, Meloni's "selection" screening granted only about half the migrants permission to disembark. When ordered to leave the port, the captain of the Humanity 1 refused to comply until all the passengers—referred to "residual cargo" by Interior Minister Matteo Piantedosi—were allowed to leave the ship. The case immediately triggered both condemnation and praise of Meloni as well as legal action. Ultimately, the Ocean Viking, with its 234 passengers, including 55 children, headed for France, and the remaining migrants from the other three ships were allowed to disembark in Italy on November 8 (Amante; Associated Press; Carraretto; Nocioni). This political standoff unfolded as the latest episode in Italy's now thirty-year process of grappling with its role as a destination nation for immigrants and refugees. I here explore how the novel Nel mare ci sono i coccodrilli: Storia vera di Enaiatollah [End Page 143] Akbari (2010) by Fabio Geda generates a haunting effect as a remedy to the xenophobia evinced in Piantedosi's comments and Meloni's policies. As I have summarized elsewhere, significant immigration into Italy began in 1991 when many Albanians fled political chaos in their country (Levy 50). Beginning in 1998 the sea passage into southern Europe became a major, and highly risky, smuggling corridor for refugees from Africa and the Middle East. The Migration Policy Center has recorded 922,971 clandestine migrants between 1998 and April 2015, a figure which does not include those who entered the European Union unrecorded. (Truglio, "Mediterranean" 435) Refugees and other migrants have continued to undertake these notoriously perilous journeys. Between January 2022 and the time of the incident in Catania, 88,000 migrants came into Italy (Amante). In light of this phenomenon, some political parties, particularly the Lega led by Matteo Salvini and Meloni's Fratelli d'Italia, as well as the self-declared fascist movement CasaPound, have stoked anti-immigrant sentiment and attempted to leverage it to their advantage, in spite of the fact that, according to the latest Istituto Nazionale di Statistica figures, "new Italians" and "foreign residents" combined actually make up just slightly more than 10% of Italy's total population (Serri 5).1 In these same decades, publishers, writers, illustrators, and educators have sought to foster a more informed and more empathic intercultural understanding among Italian youth. With a conviction in the ability of literature to "help us see beyond our own experience, to come to know ourselves and others" (Luatti 18), niche presses such as Sinnos, Orecchio Acerbo, and EMI (Editrice Missionaria Italiana), as well as major houses like Rizzoli and Mondadori, have been publishing a growing body of children's literature written by immigrants and first-generation Italians (Luatti 30; Finozzi 21–22). Lorenzo Luatti, whose scholarship has been seminal in defining the field of postcolonial children's literature in Italy, has documented and analyzed this corpus, observing three major thematic threads over the decades. In the earlier phase, testimonial accounts of the writers' own lives as well as fables and fairy tales typical of the authors' home cultures predominated, while the later phase saw the rise of fantasy narratives. Tracing the field since Luatti's study, Anna Finozzi has recently proposed that highly innovative uses of language (such as...

  PublisherDOI

• Representing Past Futures: Approaches to Reading Alex Rivera’s <i>Sleep Dealer</i> Today

  Comparative Literature Studies · 2023

  • Sociology
  • Political Science
  • Social Science

  ABSTRACT Sleep Dealer (2008), a science-fiction feature directed by Alex Rivera, offers a dystopian view of U.S.-Mexico relations: with the border fully closed, labor is extracted from economically desperate Mexicans through “nodes” and technologically delivered to the United States. Over the past decade, the film has emerged as a cult success, screening at festivals and in classrooms, garnering favorable critical reception, and generating scholarship in film studies, cultural studies, border studies, Latinx studies, and science fiction studies. This article complements existing perspectives by offering six different, but interrelated, approaches to reading the film, followed by a brief interview with the director. The interventions read Rivera’s speculative vision of a near future not that different from our current reality through the lens of recent events. Rivera’s film appears even more prescient and insightful in light of the rise of remote work as a tool to mitigate the virus that protected certain bodies via technology while leaving “essential” ones vulnerable; the proliferation of drones and other modes of surveillance; the digital mediation of our personal lives and memories; and the emergence of a technologized border that extends geographically and virtually beyond the physical borderlands.

  PublisherDOI

• Old Schools: Modernism, Education, and the Critique of Progress

  Comparative Literature Studies · 2023 · 2 citations

  1st authorCorresponding
  • Sociology
  • Literature
  • Art

  From the boredom of Walter Pater’s Marius to the frustration of James Joyce’s “Oxen in the Sun” to the pain of Pier Paolo Pasolini’s Salò, Old Schools reexamines texts that make their readers uncomfortable. Ramsey McGazer’s insightful and original analysis of these weighty works, however, is a delight to read. Through sustained argumentation, expansive scholarship, and fine-tuned textual analysis, the study shows how five canonical (male) modernist writers, in their late work, prompt readers to fundamentally rethink the paradigms generated by their earlier, more popular aesthetic projects (such as Pater’s “Conclusion” to The Renaissance and Pasolini’s Trilogy of Life). More broadly, each of these works launches a critique of “progressive education.” Giovanni Pascoli’s Paedagogium and Glauber Rocha’s Claro join the three texts mentioned to form a “counter” tradition of “backward-looking works” (10). McGlazer illuminates how these works both claim and enact the seemingly paradoxical liberatory potentials of “old-school” pedagogical methods.Published in 2020, the book appears at a timely moment. The chapter devoted to Pasolini productively coincides with the centenary of this writer and filmmaker, which has elicited reengagements with his influential body of work. Similarly, the chapter on Pascoli opens an original critical dialogue about this poet just as his work is finally being made available to English readers: after over a century of neglect in this regard, English renderings have flourished in the past five years. Most significantly, McGlazer’s in-depth reflection on the limits, disavowals, and inner contradictions of progressive education comes at a moment in which this pedagogical model has become so dominant as to appear almost unquestionable. The author claims that “many of us still tend to treat [progressive pedagogy] as an unqualified good” (7) insofar as, like modernity itself, it appears to be a “liberating exit from convention and constraint” (27). The claim is substantiated on numerous fronts. The 2022 “Child and the Book” conference, for example, focused on the theme of children's activism. Speakers celebrated the pedagogy of Paolo Freire and others who advocate for books and teaching strategies which facilitate the child’s agency. Similarly, in reaction to institutional cuts and enrollment drops in the Humanities, these programs have been seeking new ways to assert their value. My own institution has developed “engaged” learning as one defense. Faculty laud the creative and relevant nature of such courses precisely by contrasting them with dusty and sterile “old-school” classrooms, a perhaps dangerous rhetorical move.What could be bad about these liberating, play-oriented, and child-centered approaches? What might yardstick-wielding Latin teachers who demand laborious “mechanical exercises” (37) like rote memorization be able to offer? In his Introduction, the author states clearly the critiques which he has discerned operating in these “counter-progressive” texts: “I argue that what Rousseau and those who follow him [. . .] call the student’s ‘freedom’ is not, in fact, the absence of constraint but its occlusion or mystification. [. . .] intergeneration contradiction is disguised as play, just as the imposition of language masquerades as the child’s spontaneous expression.” By contrast, the kind of “instruction” found in these counter-progressive texts, “avows its compulsory nature,” and thus “makes it possible for the student to do something other than what’s imposed [. . .] to cultivate her resources for resistance and refusal” (7). These claims evoke a moment from Eden K. McLean’s study of fascist educational policy in Mussolini’s Children (University of Nebraska Press, 2018): in her notebook, a third-grade girl from Pistoia describes the inspiring images of Jesus, the King, and Duce in her classroom, and then remarks that “she wished there were also a portrait of the queen” (256). Through McGlazer’s analysis, the ritual, repetitive, performative, and collective nature of old-school exercises are shown to be more honest and ultimately more productive than the “new school” focus on the “individual student and his ‘present interest’” (29): repetition enables revision, and, against modernity’s myths of “self-mastery” (50) the old school “affirm[s] a subjectivity that is socially and materially entangled” (51).In probing these pedagogical debates, McGlazer’s study builds on the work of Suzanne Stewart-Steinberg, who, like McGlazer, employs psychoanalytic thought (both McLean and Stewart-Steinberg appear in the robust bibliography). In the two chapters about Maria Montessori in The Pinocchio Effect (Chicago University Press, 2007), Stewart-Steinberg argues that the Montessorian teacher is only “apparently passive,” much like Pinocchio’s invisible strings. Rather, through practices like the “lesson of the zero,” the teacher directs the child in ways that are both “cruel” and productive of “pleasure” (335–37). Developing these insights, McGlazer contends that counter-progressive thinkers from Pater to Rocha make their own pedagogical strings visible. In so doing, they make the past visible as well, in ways that “forward-thinking” methods refuse. McGlazer makes this last point forcefully in his interpretation of Salò as a rebuttal of the Italian postwar imperative to “render the Fascist past” as a “closed parenthesis” (119) and in his analysis of Rocha’s “fake-out fade-out” views of the city of Rome as a visual strategy to “underscore the millennial continuity of imperial power” (147, 151).The Introduction usefully frames the differences between old-school “instruction” and modern “education” through the debate over the teaching of Latin between Giovanni Gentile, minister of education under Mussolini, and Antonio Gramsci. McGlazer effectively leverages the fact that it was the fascist philosopher who celebrated the “progressive” view, while the Marxist thinker advocated for the traditional models, a perhaps counterintuitive alignment. David Forgacs, editor of The Antonio Gramsci Reader (New York University Press, 2000), notes that the writer’s “emphasis on discipline” and “defense of the traditional curriculum” must be “weighed against the radical and liberatory aspects” of his thought (55). Examining Gramsci’s understanding of the process of learning Latin, rather than the content “delivered,” McGlazer argues that these pedagogical commitments are fundamental to, not aberrations from, Gramsci’s radical thought (6).In each chapter, McGlazer provides a clear synthesis of the critical landscape, then focuses his critique on one or two particularly powerful voices from the field: Giorgio Agamben for Pascoli, Leo Bersani and Armando Maggi in the case of Pasolini, Virginia Woolf in Joyce criticism. The core of each chapter probes works that enact old-school pedagogies: works that “interpellate” us as “pupils” (96). The works fitting this criterion are either obscure, like Pascoli’s Paedagogium, which has not joined the growing ranks of English translations, or controversial. For McGlazer, the preference of modern readers for lighter, less uncomfortable material accounts for such neglect or controversy. However, their fallow or contested reception (unread texts, unwatchable films) dilutes McGlazer’s claims about the “power” of their critiques and the abundance of the “useful resources” they provide. Nevertheless, each chapter shines with truly tour de force displays of creative, persuasive close readings. In laying the groundwork for his analysis of Paedagogium (a 1903 Latin poem about early Christianity), for example, McGlazer considers the effect of the Greek phrase “panta rhei” in an 1896 Italian essay by Pascoli. Here, to defend the instruction of Greek and Latin, Pascoli mounts an argument on the “dying” nature of all languages, an argument that leads to a logical impasse. McGlazer demonstrates how the insertion of this Heraclitean cliché “descends like a deus ex macchina to come to our rescue” (73) paradoxically stopping the flow of the argument and acting out the educational potential of dead languages. McGlazer brings this kind of skillful interpretive work to bear on the visual language of the two films he discusses, to compelling effect. These close readings disclose possibilities of pushing back on “capitalist presentism” (23) and the potential fecundity of forms of belatedness.Given the centrality of history to the book’s concerns and its frequent engagement with Bersani, it was surprising that the argument did not address the specific history to which Bersani’s essay on queer masculinity responds. More broadly, like the schoolgirl in Pistoia, I found myself wishing that among these portraits of artists as older men, there might be a portrait of the artist as a woman—if not a chapter devoted to a woman writer, at least a more explicit unpacking of the difference that gender might make in this debate. Nevertheless, McGlazer offers here a timely, deeply researched, and brilliantly insightful study at a moment of profound crises in education. As in Pascoli’s time, so in ours, “the school [has] become a battlefield” (75). We have much to reflect on and learn from Old Schools.

  PublisherDOI

• Should Shipwrecks Be Sweet?

  Romanic Review · 2022-09-01

  article1st authorCorresponding

  Abstract Demand for books about current events in Italy has yielded scores of children’s books in the past three decades that treat the topic of immigration. The goals of eliciting empathy in children and explaining to them complex historical and contemporary events can be challenged by the perceived need to shield children from traumatizing scenes. This essay examines four recent children’s books published in Italy that dramatize immigration from Africa. Authors Maria Attanasio, Erminia Dell’Oro, Dino Ticli, and Francesco D’Adamo allude to canonical Western literature (such as Pinocchio and Cuore) as a way to sweeten these often bitterly disquieting narratives for their young readers. This essay probes the potentials and limits of intertextuality and ultimately argues that several texts go beyond leveraging the image of capsized ships in the Mediterranean, an image that has become a media fetish, to engage readers in ways that facilitate both empathy and critical self-reflection.

  PublisherDOI

• The Fabulous Journeys of Alice and Pinocchio: Exploring their Parallel Worlds

  Comparative Literature Studies · 2021

  1st authorCorresponding
  • Sociology
  • Computer Science
  • Art

  The engaging title accurately describes this extensively researched and accessible book. Laura Tosi (with contributions by Peter Hunt: the short story in the Appendix, “gendered books” in chapter 2, and “the Blue Fairy” in chapter 4) explores the many intersections between the journeys undertaken by Alice and Pinocchio, both the characters and the books. The “parallel worlds” include primarily the texts themselves: Carlo Collodi's Le avventure di Pinocchio (1883) and Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (1865) and Through the Looking-Glass (1871) (mostly taken as a unit), but also the lives of their authors, which evince uncanny similarities (37–45), the political, social, and economic landscapes of Italy and Britain in the late nineteenth century (46–58), the generic traditions that each text often subverts or stretches to new limits (61–142), and the fruitful afterlives of the two texts in the form of creative works that they inspired (145–66). Tosi concludes her study by comparing sets of British and Italian contemporary works in other genres: the school boy novels by Thomas Hughes and Edmondo De Amicis, and the adventure novels by George Henty and Emilio Salgari (167–94).In spite of Alice and Pinocchio's contemporaneity and shared status as “infinitely productive books” (9), very few comparative studies have been undertaken and have been more limited in scope (Glauco Cambon, 1973, and Ann Lawson Lucas, 1997, notably). To provide thematic coherence to her much more extensive exploration, Tosi situates her inquiry around the paradox of the simultaneously “universal” and “local” qualities of the two “classics” (4). Alice and Pinocchio are deeply rooted in their cultures of origin, and yet both have “transcended the boundaries of genre, nation and language” (24): while their protagonists have been recognized as icons of their respective nations, “quintessentially” English and Italian (4), they have also become “shorthand for insincerity or general topsy-turvyness” (3) and indeed for childhood itself: “universal human character[s]” (19).To account for this seeming paradox, Tosi addresses the question of national stereotypes by deftly summarizing the claims of the field of “imagology,” citing among others Emer O'Sullivan and Joep Leerssen. Following these scholars, Tosi affirms that national self-images and stereotypes of other countries that are disseminated by texts should not be read as reliable reflections of a preexisting reality but rather as “discursive conventions” and as “possible identifications” that subjects assimilate over time (13). Thus “Pinocchio's Italianness and Alice's Englishness are constructions and projections” (14). Tosi points out how such national “imagemes” contribute to broader schemata, particularly the dichotomy of the North and the South, where the “North” is perceived as the geographical space that favors “democracy, rationality, and composure,” while the South breeds “anarchy, gregariousness, and sensualism” (15–16). Comparing Alice and Pinocchio, then, potentially illuminates the mechanisms that reinscribe both the imagemes of national characters and these larger geographic “blueprints.” In her essay “Imagology Meets Children's Literature" (IRCL 4.1 [2011]), O'Sullivan calls for research that is guided by “diachronic studies of extensive corpora,” and underscores the limitations of “snapshot” analyses of individual texts (9). Tosi's analyses of adaptations and translations (she discusses, e.g., the role that Disney played in globalizing these characters, and how English translators have domesticated Collodi's Italian) and her final chapters do widen her lens along the lines urged by O'Sullivan. However, the focus of this study remains on the core texts. In a similar vein, while imagology stresses reader reception, Tosi's own survey among members of the British Lewis Carroll Society, while yielding interesting insights, remains too delimited to sustain the kind of broad claims about reception to which imagologists aspire (19). Thus while the issues that Tosi explores illuminate key concerns of imagology, her approach goes beyond this methodology, and is more broadly defined as a “parallel reading.”Through this reading, Tosi suggests that it is precisely by means of, rather than in spite of, each book's deeply local character that both have attained their timeless vitality. Her historically grounded examination shows how each writer made concretely legible a set of enduring human questions. Indeed the questions of “legibility” and of “the human” themselves emerge as fundamental to both texts, refracted differently given the unique circumstances of each book's milieu. In Alice's world, with its very high literacy rates, the signs that the protagonist must learn to read are social: proper manners, the conventions that structure polite relationships and the codes of social hierarchies. Pinocchio, “born” into an Italy where the 1877 Coppino Law had not managed to remedy the high rates of illiteracy (52), and who represents modernity's “dangerous boy in danger” (34, here Tosi and Hunt point to Carl Ipsen's important study), must learn to read civic rules. His illiteracy manifests not only in his inability to read the puppet theater sign but also in his misinterpretation of the painting on Geppetto's wall. His harsh world of scarcity requires that he sees through such false signs of illusory abundance and accept the rule of work (76–77).Playing with the expectations of readers, as conditioned by generic conventions, emerges as a key way in which these authors profoundly shifted the landscape of children's literature. Some of the most compelling pages of this study are those which position the two classics within the various genre traditions, which they engage but also subvert: the fable, the folk tale, the fairy tale, fantasy, and the bildungsroman. In her section on “talking animals,” for example, Tosi reminds us that there are at least five-hundred references to animals in Pinocchio, and twenty-two speaking animals in Alice. Tosi also points out that the early illustrators of both books, Enrico Mazzanti and John Tenniel, were inspired by the works of Jean Grandville, the French caricaturist known for his Les Fleurs Animées (1867) and illustrations of La Fontaine's fables (78). Reading Collodi and Carroll in light of the fable tradition and through the lens of this caricaturist makes clearer how they subvert the moralizing lessons often voiced by animal characters. At the same time, this comparison brings into focus how both texts confront a central philosophical question through these embodied figures: what is the nature of humanity and how does it differ from the animal world? Such questions are probed when Alice asserts that, unlike a serpent for which she has been mistaken, she eats only cooked and not raw eggs. The same question is dramatized when Pinocchio encounters his friend Lucignolo, still in the form of a donkey. As Lucignolo dies from overwork, he elicits a tear of empathy from his friend. For Tosi, these are moments when the characters (and the reader) confront basic questions of human identity, questions made legible by the specificities of their cultural circumstances (82).Ultimately for Tosi, it is their ability to probe the darkness of human nature that makes these books “universal and popular patterns of childhood,” even if it is precisely this quality that adult readers often deny: “it is this powerful darkness, rather than any comfortable closure, that both overrides and feeds off local and national characteristics” (111). The analysis of the revisions penned by Angela Carter and Robert Coover carries forward this claim. Tosi discloses how these more recent works turn to Pinocchio and Alice to dramatize the disquieting transformations and cruelties of aging and its ways of making one's “own” body seem alien.Tosi offers a wealth of stimulating observations and takes into account the staggering body of criticism on these two seminal works. In treating so many topics, the study at times broaches but leaves open certain questions. In some cases, Tosi acknowledges the work of previous scholars, but does not stake her own claim on the matter. For example, she mentions the important contributions of both Alberto Asor Rosa and Suzanne Stewart-Steinberg, but does not engage how Stewart-Steinberg fundamentally critiques Asor Rosa's analysis: for Stewart-Steinberg, Pinocchio does not offer a metaphor of a national developmental process, rather, the stringless puppet represents the liberal subject who is always modern. In other cases, thematic sections conclude by suggesting paths of inquiry not pursued by the study. For example, Tosi ends her rich discussion of both authors' lives by musing “are Collodi and Carroll, in their own peculiar ways, men who did not want to grow up, men who could not see themselves in a father's role?” (45). While implying the potential fruitfulness of biographical analysis, Tosi's study neither commits to this approach nor critiques it. More generally, the study does not define the parameters of the problematic category of “universality” as rigorously as it merits. Various moments emerge when the discussion seems to embrace an essentialism without fully claiming it, as when Hunt remarks “it is tempting to interpret these characters also in essentialist terms—as representatives of ‘everyboy' and ‘everygirl'” (36). While more terminological precision would have benefitted the study, the wealth of insights offered by this fabulous journey will appeal to a wide range of readers in Italian Studies, English, Comparative Literature, and Children's Literature Studies.

  PublisherDOI

• Mussolini’s children: race and elementary education in fascist Italy

  Journal of Modern Italian Studies · 2019-01-01 · 6 citations

  article1st authorCorresponding

  As Italy marks the eightieth anniversary of the ‘Manifesto of Race’ and the devasting legal codes that followed, Eden McLean’s Mussolini’s Children provides a rigorous account of the Fascist-era pe...

  PublisherDOI

• Ezio Gribaudo: my Pinocchio

  Journal of Modern Italian Studies · 2018-10-20

  article1st authorCorresponding

  Ezio Gribaudo: My Pinocchio offers a luxurious visual experience and a richly nuanced analysis that will appeal to at least two groups of readers. The 124 color plates of Gribaudo’s collages and pa...

  PublisherDOI

• A Mediterranean Melville: Representing Migration for Young Adult Readers in Francesco D'Adamo's Storia di Ismael che ha attraversato il mare

  Children's Literature Association quarterly · 2018-01-01 · 1 citations

  article1st authorCorresponding

  This article examines Francesco D'Adamo's 2009 novel Storia di Ismael che ha attraversato il mare as an example of the growing number of fictional accounts in Italy that represent migration for young readers. The novel conveys images that have the potential to be deeply troubling, such as the smuggler's shipwrecked boat full of dead bodies, and re-stages the relationship between the needy migrant Other and the nationally situated Self. D'Adamo's use of intertextuality and of metonymy through a first-person narration enables a shared point of view between readers and the protagonist and moves away from rigidly bounded nation-state categories.

  PublisherDOI

• Geographic Expressions

  2017-07-20

  book-chapter1st authorCorresponding
  PublisherDOI

Frequent coauthors

• Alex Rivera

  1 shared

• Justus Peña Berman

  1 shared

• MaryEllen Higgins

  1 shared

• Adachiara Zevi

  1 shared

• Pamela M. Lee

  1 shared

• Ibis Sierra Audivert

  1 shared

• Jutta Gsoels‐Lorensen

  1 shared

• Krista Brune

  1 shared

Labs

• Penn State Teaching FellowsPI

Awards & honors

• 2026 Penn State Teaching Fellow