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Race and the Modern Exotic: Three ‘Australian’ Women on Global Display

Introduction

This book tells the stories of three internationally successful ‘Australian’ performers of the first half of the twentieth century, in order to raise questions about femininity, transnational celebrity, race and Australianness. Annette Kellerman was an early twentieth-century swimmer, diver, lecturer, and silent-film star. Kellerman turned herself into a star through a modern, performative career centred on her own body – a very fit body that she used in spectacular ways to challenge older notions of weak, modest femininity. Through her international vaudeville performances and film roles, Kellerman played with gender boundaries, and the quasi-racial identity of South Sea Islander. Rose Quong was an actor, lecturer and writer who was born and brought up in Melbourne, but left Australia in 1924 and forged a career in London and New York. Quong also built a career based on her own body, through a careful appropriation of Orientalism. In Quong’s case, her body was the signifier of her Chinese authenticity, the essentialist foundation for her constructed, diasporic Chinese identity. While both Kellerman and Quong deployed their bodies strategically, and both were performers, Quong was modern in ways distinctive from Kellerman.

Merle Oberon was one of the most celebrated film stars of the 1930s and 1940s, first in London and then Hollywood. The official story of her origins was that she was Tasmanian; Oberon kept up the pretence of her Australian birth until her death. However, this was a publicity story concocted at the beginning of her film career to mask her illegitimate, lower-class, Anglo-Indian birth. A Tasmanian version of Oberon’s birth contends that her mother was an unmarried Chinese hotel worker in a small town in the island’s northeast. Denying her Anglo-Indian birth, the Tasmanian believers insist that Oberon’s exotic beauty was because she was part-Chinese. This local myth of Oberon’s origins thus posits a Chinese-Australian celebrity who made it by suppressing her Chineseness, just shortly after Rose Quong made it (to a lesser extent) by foregrounding hers. This myth, disproven by Oberon’s birth certificate and family testimony, is a relatively recent construction. At the time of Oberon’s rise to fame Australian audiences, like those elsewhere, believed that she was an Australian of British colonial descent. Despite anxious undercurrents about her exoticism, Australians were thrilled to claim a true Hollywood star as one of their own.

White Australia existed as a legislative entity from 1901, when the Commonwealth Immigration Restriction Act was passed, until the 1960s when restrictions were gradually eased and Australia moved towards embracing multiculturalism. Most Australians knew of this immigration restriction and its legislative basis, but did not spend much time thinking about it. Rather, for them White Australia was the cultural reality of a society dominated by Anglo-Saxons and Celts, descendants of and migrants from the British Isles with an admixture of others from Europe. Racial thinking was at the core of White Australian culture: far from being oblivious to racial hierarchies and constructions, Australians engaged with them on an everyday basis. White Australia was in part an imaginative construct, a sense of a nation born only at the beginning of the century, a product of the British Empire flourishing in the Asia-Pacific region. The whiteness of White Australia was maintained, beside immigration restriction, through the pervasive repression and subordination of Indigenous people. But it was also a racial identity that was continually produced and negotiated, in a process that can be explored through the imagery, the cracks and the fissures of the period’s popular culture.

This book looks at the careers of three celebrated ‘Australian’ women performers of the first half of the twentieth century, a period nearly coterminous with full-blown White Australia. Revealing the racial ambiguities related to each of these three women’s projected images, Race and the Modern Exotic suggests that White Australia played out as an imaginative construct replete with complex cultural tensions. Glad to see their own celebrities on the international stage, Australians were willing to negotiate imaginary connections with South Sea Islanders that played on actual historical links, the compound cultural identity of a Chinese-Australian who performed traditional English drama, and a mysteriously exotic film star’s utterly false claim to be Tasmanian.

Looking in detail at Annette Kellerman, Rose Quong and Merle Oberon’s careers, their merging of Australianness with other racial and ethnic identities, and Australians’ views of them, provides us with insight into the deep tensions within White Australia as a cultural identity in its prime decades. Ghassan Hage contends that White Australian culture was not as confident as its American counterpart, that Australians were made nervous by their uncontrollable natural environment, and the continuing presence of cultural otherness within the new nation’s shores. It was this nervousness that provided emotional depth to what was more than simply an immigration policy. What Hage terms ‘White paranoia’ was based on a logic that British civilisation was the highest form, that it was defined by racial whiteness, that non-whites were unable to uphold the values of British civilisation, and if admitted they would undermine the values and standard of living for everyone. It was this logic that provided broad cultural support for the White Australia policy for most of its duration.1 Hage’s notions of cultural lack of confidence and nervousness help to explain tensions and ambiguity within Australian popular culture in these decades.

Popular culture has been at the heart of the modern, perhaps never more so than in the first decades of the twentieth century. In the era when new technologies such as the car, and social iconoclasts such as the flapper, remade the world, the modern entertainment vehicles of live theatre, magazines and film carried dramatic images of them to towns and cities around the globe. As audiences everywhere used cinematic and other forms of popular culture to help them negotiate the modern in their daily lives, the cult of the star produced individual figures who represented specific, gendered and racialised forms of modernity. For Australians, the emergence of ‘Australian’ celebrities meant that they could recognise themselves as part of global modernity. Yet analysis of successful actors and entertainers reveals the Australianness represented in transnational cultural forms as open to negotiation in ways not usually associated with the entrenched era of White Australia.

Moreover, it becomes difficult to disentangle the national from the transnational. The most revered ‘Australian’ performers were those who made it internationally – a global success of which Australians could be proud. Australian actors and filmmakers were a recognised presence in Hollywood in its formative years, and the healthy Australian film industry of the 1910s–20s throve in part because of this connection, and the constant traffic across the Pacific. New York was a magnet for Australians in theatre: of the many ambitious Australians who first headed to London, the British imperial metropole, a substantial proportion moved from there to New York; some went to New York first. It is possible to see the transatlantic axis not only as the cultural highway of the Anglophone world in this period, but as part of a wider triangulation for Australians, as it was in different directions for those from other English-speaking smaller nations.

These three women’s careers, and the images of modern femininity they projected, jointly pose questions about the transnational construction of Australianness. They suggest an entanglement of Australianness, in popular culture, with other racial categories and ‘the exotic’. Performative careers that made ‘Australian’ women’s bodies visible and internationally recognisable helped to shape Australian modernities. In making themselves recognisable, these three women performers created newly modern, racially ambiguous Australian femininities. Their stories speak as well to the tensions between the national and the transnational in the popular cultural forms of high modernity. Vaudeville, fiction and film in its first decades were all global industries, with participants moving according to their ambitions and careers, working in both national and international companies and entertainment circuits. The backstage areas of circuses, vaudeville and other popular theatres, like the production sets of early film companies, were remarkably polyglot spaces. In nineteenth-century Australia, for example, Aboriginal people were recruited for circus and sideshow work, travelling both here and overseas; some were given Spanish names to explain their dark looks.2 From the mid-nineteenth century the steamship and the railroad, before the rise of the motor car, facilitated the rise of national and international theatrical circuits, and the geopolitical and economic ties forged by Western imperialism provided the itineraries.3 The national and the transnational were interwoven in that success in one country enhanced the prospects of a production’s international tour. The geographical circuits established for live theatre in the nineteenth century became the basis for film distribution in the twentieth, as films were first shown as part of mixed programs in theatres.

Increasingly popular daily newspapers promoted the vaudeville and film industries, and the stars that were their emblems. Magazines too proliferated in this period, including specialist theatre and film periodicals, women’s magazines and those celebrating modern culture. Women increasingly constituted theatre audiences. Veronica Kelly has pointed to the connections between increasing numbers of young women workers ‘with just enough discretionary income to wield their consumer power in the expanding marketplace of cultural choice’, feminine passion for theatrical glamour, and the ‘deliriums of star worship’.4 In the same decades, the prodigious and transnational growth of clubs, not least women’s clubs, created lecture circuits for women speakers. Looking for the ‘Australianness’ in the performances and personas of entertainers in such transnational industries and networks is thus, to some extent, a chimerical endeavour. Yet national as well as racial typing was a staple of the mass entertainment industries and popular culture alike.

This book contributes at once to the fields of Australian history, transnational history, gender history and the history of popular culture. Its central focus on global circulation and interconnectedness reflects the concerns of transnational history, while its interest in the construction of ‘Australianness’ reveals the symbiotic relationship between transnational culture and national identities. Like much current transnational history, my analysis is informed by the insights of postcolonial studies, such as the interconnections between imperial ties, racial hierarchies and cultural production. I also bring to bear a feminist analysis that insists on the connections between cultural understandings of the body and sexuality, gender categories, and the public importance of the supposedly private. As much work in feminist cultural history has evocatively demonstrated, the female body’s role as visual spectacle in the modern period has been at once the product of women’s subordination and sexualisation, and central to women’s exercise of their own social and economic agency.

I hope that showing the interconnection between idealised representations of femininity, and racial ambiguity, will provide insight into the profundity of transnational racial awareness during a period replete with legally entrenched forms of discrimination based on race – from White Australia, to the segregated American South, and the late stages of European colonialism across the globe from Africa, to South Asia, the Pacific and elsewhere. Racism flourished not because people, even in cities or metropoles, were unaware of racial categories and their effects; on the contrary, they were exposed to and grappled with them constantly. Like other consumers and audiences, Australians made sense of the world and their place in it from myriad sources of information, not least those they found in popular culture.

The majority of Australians, European-descended, constructed their sense of themselves as ‘white’ people from their privileges as citizens in a settler nation founded on the suppression of its Indigenous inhabitants. As Hage has pointed out, the ‘Blackness’ associated with Aboriginality has functioned in Australian culture as a marker against which others – those who need to promote their claims to national belonging – can distinguish themselves and thereby have ‘access to Whiteness’.5 Australians also absorbed racial lessons about Australia’s place and regional hierarchies from representations of the South Sea Islands (their immediate vicinity including Australia’s colonial dependencies), China and its diasporic peoples (whose perceived threats to Australia’s racial purity and economic standing had been the impetus for the White Australia policy), and other parts of the British Empire, not least the South Asian colonies at which most Australian passengers en route to England necessarily sojourned. Like ‘Australianness’ and other national identities, racial understandings were shaped transnationally. The complex meanings attached to three successful ‘Australian’ performers in this period of highly articulated racism thus become a popular cultural archive we can investigate to learn more about contemporary connections between race, exoticism and gender on the global stage.

Modern women, visual spectacle and White Australia

Kellerman, Quong and Oberon exemplify the significance of femininity and celebrity to vernacular culture in the period of high modernity. Between them, these three ostensibly ‘Australian’ stars encompassed the performance genres of vaudeville and live spectacle; the club and community lecture circuit; and the legitimate stage; they wrote books and articles; and appeared on radio, television and film, from the 1900s to the 1970s. Making careers from this range of forms of the modern entertainment industry, Kellerman, Quong and Oberon deployed their own bodies and meanings attached to them to create and sell modern images of femininity. While their degrees of fame varied, with Kellerman and Oberon outshining Quong, their times in the spotlight were both sequential and overlapping – reinforcing, I would like to suggest, the ambiguity of each other’s careers.

Using Australianness in various ways, they linked it to a range of other national and ethnic forms, from the South Sea Islander, to the Chinese or ‘Oriental’, and the ‘English girl’. Playing with racial ambiguity, they invited audiences to embrace, consume and enjoy racial and ethnic slippage, as well as instances of gender transgression. If the modern has consisted of local and specific engagements with global culture, these putatively Australian celebrities with overseas careers show gender instability and racial ambiguity to have been as central to Australian modernity as any elsewhere. The Australian public’s support for and fascination with their careers (especially Kellerman and Oberon) reveal the thrills of skirting the edges of whiteness, the precarious balance between shoring up its boundaries and admitting the exotic. Identifying the racial dynamics at work in these instances of popular culture helps us to understand the racial thinking of the period, the constant racial awareness that underlay immigration restrictions and the very idea of ‘White Australia’.

Racialised and eroticised images were at the core of modernist culture, and thus particularly powerful vehicles for manipulation and appropriation. The extraordinarily successful career of Josephine Baker in 1920s–30s Europe shows the centrality of conceptions of the primitive and the exotic to live performance. Baker was perhaps the most successful performer of the 1920s, and even later, to use her own body to create an iconic stage presence. An African-American born into poverty in St. Louis, Missouri, Baker toured America in popular theatre before she moved to Paris in 1925. There, and to a lesser extent in Berlin, she became a hugely successful dancer and performer, earning considerable wealth in the process. She appropriated and satirised contemporary racist stereotypes, depicting them with her own beautiful body and modernist irony. For the most iconic of her dances, she wore her trademark ‘banana skirt’ and virtually nothing else, at once playing on racist stereotypes and mocking them in highly erotic fashion. Baker, who apparently had astonishing rhythm and energy, performed what was known as her ‘danse sauvage’, and played on images of the Black Venus, specific characters from French colonial culture, and motifs of African art currently much in vogue through cubism. Baker consciously played on the primitivism so pervasively represented in European modernism.6

Yet, as Nancy Nenno argues, her appeal to Europeans lay partly in her fusing of the primitive and the modern. Audiences knew she was American, and thus linked to jazz and the urban modernity they themselves sought, for all of her jungle allusions. She allowed them at once to take pleasure in near-nudity and the erotic, and to indulge racist stereotypes and apparently laugh at them. Baker is a useful example of the extent to which racial thinking suffused popular culture in these decades, even as it worked through overt mimicry, and was closely linked to spectacular display of the female body. She also exemplifies the commercial appeal of such spectacle, in the way she commodified herself through, for example, cosmetic products and dolls.7 Wendy Martin contends that, while Baker transcended her racial status as a black person through her parodies of racial and colonial stereotypes, her representation of uninhibited sexuality rendered her still dependent on erotic imagery and the male gaze.8

Josephine Baker’s astonishing success and much-publicised career is instrumental to understanding Kellerman, Quong and Oberon’s careers. Spanning the 1920s and ‘30s, the decades of Baker’s greatest success, Kellerman, Quong and Oberon also depended on the seemingly insatiable public appetite for displays of the female body – though Kellerman was the only one of the three who rivalled Baker’s near-nudity. Similarly, they each relied on modernist culture’s fascination with ethnic and racial stereotypes. They were different from Baker in that none of them used parody as she did, though again Kellerman came closest with her playful presentation of mermaids. Baker’s success depended on audiences’ willingness to laugh at parody (even as they indulged in racist caricatures) and to engage with irony. None of Kellerman, Quong or Oberon employed irony. Rather, they each sought to impress as well as to entertain audiences: Kellerman with her daring and feats, Quong with her acting, voice and literacy in traditional Chinese culture, and Oberon with her acting and her beauty. Nevertheless, their careers all also involved audiences’ willingness to engage with racial and ethnic stereotypes, or to either engage or suppress their fascination with the exotic.

The period spanning the late nineteenth century and the early twentieth century comprised high modernity in the introduction of new technologies, the acceleration of global movement, and the rapidity of urbanisation and industrialisation. It was also the age of aggressive imperialism when the European, American, Japanese and other empires asserted control over massively expanded amounts of territory – from Africa to the Pacific and elsewhere. With the extensive ‘exploration’ of parts of the globe previously known well to their inhabitants but not to the West, geography, cartography, and anthropology all caught the Western imagination. Ethnographic study combined with large-scale looting of artifacts around the world, and both stocked the expanding natural history and art museums of the Western capitals. Interest in the art of so-called ‘primitive’ cultures sparked the appropriation of primitive motifs in modernist art, including cubism and other forms. And in the second half of the nineteenth century, the enormous appetite for imperial and colonial exhibitions that was sparked by the London Great Exhibition of 1851 created a mass entertainment industry of temporary displays of non-Western cultures, such as the villages constructed at exhibitions in Paris and elsewhere. As Elazar Barkan and Ronald Bush have suggested, the result was ‘the kind of ambiguous appropriation associated with modernism: a mixture of violence and aestheticism; the difficulties of placing and displacing the modern and the primordial; the conflation of the past and the future’.9 These dimensions of modernism infused popular culture, and had much to do with the early twentieth century fascination with racial and ethnic stereotypes. The huge worldwide popularity of jazz music, which arrived in Australia in 1918, represented a fusion of modernity, excitement and otherness.10 It was these broad and globally pervasive cultural currents that Kellerman and Quong tapped into with their marketing of ethnic and exotic stereotypes that seemed timeless, and that at once fuelled public interest in Oberon’s mysterious exoticism.

It was equally significant that all three careers depended on the display of female bodies, tapping into both eroticism and the commodification of changing gender ideas. Femininities had become unsettled and exciting, through women’s dramatic encroachment on the public sphere, gaining of voting rights gradually around the world and particularly early in Australia, and their incursion into arenas from which they had been excluded. It was only in the late nineteenth century that Western culture reluctantly began to concede that women’s presence on stage could be respectable. Renee Sentilles locates the birth of modern celebrity culture in the United States during the Civil War period, the 1850s and 1860s, an era of tremendous social upheaval for that divided then unified nation. In her study of the sensational theatrical performer and poet Adah Isaacs Menken, Sentilles argues that it was the emergence of a media-driven national culture as well as contemporary awareness of the uncertainty of social categories (including race and gender) that enabled Menken, who played with such categories, to spark a cult of celebrity.11

Other women celebrities would soon follow. Actress Sarah Bernhardt, of course, transfixed audiences in Europe, America and around the world in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Susan Glenn has suggested that, from the 1880s, celebrity women performers such as Bernhardt linked the spectacular and the New Woman, throwing femininity open to public renegotiation through the modern.12 Then there was Loie Fuller, the American vaudeville dancer who built a significant European career from her modernist dancing and performances that incorporated phosphorescence and elaborate coloured lighting.13 Such women provided a powerful cultural counterpoint to the first-wave women’s movement, placing images of transgressive and dramatically sexualised femininity at the heart of popular culture. They added an extra provocation to the already explosive debates surrounding gender roles and women’s place. Femininity, the erotic, and women’s bodily display became intertwined in vaudeville and other forms of theatre, even before the rise of film.

Scholars in feminist history have understood for decades that cinema, femininity and modernity were interconnected. Mary Ryan’s 1970s article on ‘The Movie Moderns in the 1920s’ argued that ‘screen femininity’ shaped American conceptions of the ‘flapper’, sexual permissiveness, the display of the female body, and a renewed emphasis on heterosexual relations and marriage, even or perhaps especially for the flapper.14 The rapid rise of the film industry and the cinema in the early twentieth century meant that screen representations of modern femininities reached massive audiences around the world. By the 1920s four times as many Australians patronised the cinema as live theatre and horse racing together: by 1928 the nation boasted 1250 cinemas with an annual attendance of around 110 million, many times the actual population.15 It was the mass scale of cinema globally that made Kellerman’s career so successful, and, coming two decades later when the talkies had made films even more popular, Oberon’s even more so. As Jill Matthews has put it so well: ‘In the early years of the twentieth century, moving pictures blazed like a comet in the night-life sky with the other practices and entertainments streaming away in brilliant tails, scattering the sparks of modernity into everyday life’.16 Women’s changing behaviour and new definitions of femininity were at the heart of cultural modernity, and not only on the cinematic screen. Liz Conor’s study of The Spectacular Modern Woman analyzes the manifold ways in which visual spectacle and appearance came to define femininity in the 1920s, in media from film and magazines, to cartoons, advertisements, postcards, posters, sheet music, billboards and mannequins. Conor draws most of her examples from Australia, yet at once shows the transnational context of these developments, while analyzing the operation of both racism and colonialism in equating modernity with white women and excluding colonised and non-white women.17

The ‘Modern Girl Around the World’ research project, based at the University of Washington, was an interdisciplinary study of the connected global emergence of the ‘Modern Girl’ in the first half of the twentieth century. The study’s authors point out that: ‘In cities from Beijing to Bombay, Tokyo to Berlin, Johannesburg to New York, the Modern Girl made her sometimes flashy, always fashionable appearance…. Modern Girls were known by a variety of names including flappers, garconnes, moga, modeng xiaojie, schoolgirls, kallege ladki, vamps, and neue Frauen.’18 Importantly, the researchers on this project have pointed to the roles of nationalism, colonialism, race and the international in this gendered form ‘produced through twentieth-century multinational corporations, imperial relations, the mass media and modernist literary, aesthetic and political discourses’.19 They identify the ‘imbrication of the local and the global in these weblike circuits’ particularly ‘the Modern Girl’s repeated role in processes of racialisation and articulations of nationalism’.20 A quintessentially transnational product of the cinema and commodity culture, the ‘Modern Girl’ represented the seeming paradox of national types constructed through globally circulating cultural forms.

The ‘Modern Girl’ provided the transnational cultural canvas against which Kellerman, Quong and Oberon’s careers were staged. Each represented different aspects of feminine modernity. Kellerman exemplified physical fitness and transgression, bodily display, endurance and daring, as well as both live theatre and film. Quong stood for cross-cultural exchange, Orientalism, serious theatre, and modern women’s intellectual and literary capabilities. Oberon personified the glamour that film stars had accrued by the 1930s and 1940s, herself one of the most famous visual spectacles of modern femininity, not least because of her exoticism. Offstage as well as on they each represented feminine sophistication, though at different levels of wealth. Between them they connected Australianness to the South Sea Islands, China and the Orient, and the mysteriously exotic, representing the ways in which Australian modernity participated in the global. As success stories of White Australia, they show its racial hierarchies to have been continually produced through imagined and feared connections with diverse parts of its Asia-Pacific regional location.

1 Ghassan Hage, Against Paranoid Nationalism: Searching for Hope in a Shrinking Society (Annandale, NSW: Pluto Press, 2003), pp. 51–54.

2 On this, see Wendy Holland, ‘Reimagining Aboriginality in the Circus Space’, Journal of Popular Culture Vol. 33, No. 1 (Summer 1999), 91–104; Mark St. Leon, Wizard of the Wire: The Story of Con Colleano (Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press, 1993); Roslyn Poignant, Professional Savages: Captive Lives and Western Spectacle (Sydney: University of New South Wales Press, 2004).

3 On the significance of these international circuits for Australian theatre, see Veronica Kelly, ‘A Complementary Economy? National Markets and International Product in Early Australian Theatre Managements’, New Theatre Quarterly Vol. 21 Pt. 1 (Feb. 2005), 77–95.

4 Veronica Kelly, ‘An Australian Idol of Modernist Consumerism: Minnie Tittell Brune and the Gallery Girls’, Theatre Research International Vol. 31, No. 1 (March 2006), p. 19.

5 Ghassan Hage, White Nation: Fantasies of White Supremacy in a Multicultural Society (Annandale, NSW: Pluto Press, 1998), p. 57.

6 Bennetta Jules-Rosette, Josephine Baker in Art and Life: The Icon and the Image (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2007), esp. pp. 2–4.

7 Nancy Nenno, ‘Femininity, the Primitive, and Modern Urban Space: Josephine Baker in Berlin’, in Katharina von Ankum (ed.), Women in the Metropolis: Gender and Modernity in Weimar Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), esp. pp. 156–57.

8 Wendy Martin, ‘“Remembering the Jungle”: Josephine Baker and Modernist Parody’, in Elazar Barkan and Ronald Bush (eds.), Prehistories of the Future: The Primitivist Project and the Culture of Modernism (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1995), pp. 310–325.

9 Barkan and Bush (eds.), Prehistories of the Future, pp. 1–2.

10 Bruce Johnson, The Inaudible Music: Jazz, Gender and Australian Modernity (Sydney: Currency Press, 2000), p. 8.

11 Renee M. Sentilles, Performing Menken: Adah Isaacs Menken and the Birth of American Celebrity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003).

12 Susan A. Glenn, Female Spectacle: The Theatrical Roots of Modern Feminism (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000).

13 Rhonda K. Garelick, Electric Salome: Loie Fuller’s Performance of Modernism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007).

14 Mary P. Ryan, ‘The Projection of a New Womanhood: The Movie Moderns of the 1920s’, in Jean E. Friedman and William G. Shade (eds.), Our American Sisters: Women in American Life and Thought (Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 1976), pp. 366–85.

15 Richard Waterhouse, Private Pleasures, Public Leisure: A History of Australian Popular Culture Since 1788 (South Melbourne: Longman Australia, 1995), p. 176.

16 Jill Julius Matthews, Dance Hall & Picture Palace: Sydney’s Romance with Modernity (Sydney: Currency Press, 2005), p. 15.

17 Liz Conor, The Spectacular Modern Woman: Feminine Visibility in the 1920s (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2004).

18 The Modern Girl Around the World Research Group: Alys Eve Weinbaum, Lynn M. Thomas, Priti Ramamurthy, Uta G. Poiger, Madeleine Yue Dong, and Tani E. Barlow (eds.), The Modern Girl Around the World: Consumption, Modernity, and Globalization (Durham: Duke University Press, 2008), p. 1

19 Modern Girl Around the World Research Group (Tani E. Barlow, Madeleine Y. Dong, Uta G. Poiger, Priti Ramamurthy, Lynn M. Thomas, and Alys Eve Weinbaum), ‘The Modern Girl around the World’, Gender and History Vol. 17, No. 2 (2005), p. 246.

20 ‘The Modern Girl around the World’, p. 247.

Race and the Modern Exotic: Three ‘Australian’ Women on Global Display

   by Angela Woollacott