Apocalypse Then

The United States, the only country to have dropped the bomb, and Japan, the only one to have suffered its devastation, understandably portray the nuclear threat differently on film. American science fiction movies of the 1950s and 1960s generally proclaim that it is possible to put the nuclear genie back in the bottle. Japanese films of the same period assert that once freed the nuclear genie can never again be imprisoned. This book examines genre films from the two countries released between 1951 and 1967--including Godzilla (1954), The Mysterians (1957), The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957), On the Beach (1959), The Last War (1961) and Dr. Strangelove (1964)--to show the view from both sides of the Pacific.

Why is the Apocalypse - so alien to most people today - so pivotal to the creation of our culture and to what we are? Williamson explores this question, offering an introduction to why many of Europe and America's most creative minds believed that they were living in the latter days of the world between 1500 and 1800.

"In her brilliant, wide ranging, nuanced study of apocalypse, Keller has written a definitive cultural and theological essay. In this book she is doing the work of the true intellectual: providing learned, passionate guidance for living the good life, all of us together, here and now, on our planet." —Sallie McFague, Distinguished Theologian in Residence Vancouver School of Theology "A richly evocative exploration of apocalyptic's ambiguous possibilities.... Inspiring in the fullest personal, political, and religious senses of the term." —Kathryn Tanner University of Chicago Divinity School "Catherine Keller is a poet among theologians. Her writing attains imaginative heights and depths that expose the flatly prosaic character of most theological work. One finds oneself lingering over sentences, images and tropes, hearing them resonate with connections and insights." —Peter Hodgson Journal of the American Academy of Religion

the end is near Surviving the apocalypse is one thing. Enjoying life after most of civilization is wiped out -- that's entirely different. Maybe you can outrun an avalanche, or escape a burning building, but can you really cut it after the unthinkable happens? Can you, for example, deal with damn dirty apes, convert your car to run on bathtub gin, or synthesize a species-saving vaccine from your own mucus? No? Obviously, it's not going to be as easy as you thought to come out of Armageddon as the new ruling king of the world. Any chump off the street could be lucky enough to have the immunity to survive the all-of-humanity-killing disease, or be the one dude who happens to make it through a meteor strike. But not everyone will know what clothes to wear to intimidate, or what kind of vehicle you want to be driving in the postapocalyptic wasteland. Not everyone will have the sense to discern whether their food is, in fact, people. You can survive the apocalypse without this book. But the apocalypse isn't the problem: It's what happens afterward. You against the other people left in the world. You'd better be prepared.

Explores the belief in Muslim countries that the end of the world is at hand, uncovers the role of apocalypse in Islam, and examines the widespread fear of Christian Zionist domination as an impetus to jihad.

A fresh look at the Argentine novelist Marechal emphasises his subversive approach in his novels to the Peronist politics of his time. Leopoldo Marechal has become a chosen precursor of many contemporary Argentine writers, cineastes, and intellectuals, and so his novels - universally recognized but rarely studied - demand treatment from a contemporary critical sensibility. This study departs from the line of criticism that reads Marechal as a Christian apologist, arguing instead that Marechal's `metaphysical' novels are really metafictional, ludic exercises informed by ironic scepticism.Adán Buenosayres (1948) inverts the Christian-Platonist narrative of redemption through the Logos; in El Banquete de Severo Arcángelo (1965) Marechal, tongue firmly in cheek, leads his readers on a metaphysical wild-goose chase; and in Megafón, o la guerra (1970) he finally lays apocalypticism to rest. The close readings of his novels presented in this book help to lay the theoretical groundwork underpinning Marechal's reinscription incontemporary Argentine culture.

Despite the world’s insecurities, the most common drama of all is not of apocalypse now, but of apocalypse deferred; the pain of living is having to wait it out. In Apocalypse Then, DeMarinis’s characters try alcohol, they try travel, and (most of all) they try off-limits love. They find themselves in harm’s way, or put themselves there—but in life, as the title story states, "sometimes the worst doesn’t happen."