A Case for National History
Abstract The late and much lamented historian Raphael Samuel wrote this paper during the debate on the role of History as a national curriculum subject in England in the late 1980s. The Conservative government, under the lead of Kenneth Baker, the Minister for Education, introduced legislation for a National Curriculum that laid out in detail what was to be taught in English schools. History was one of the subjects in the magic circle; it turned out to be the most controversial, leading to an impassioned, adversarial debate reflecting the entrenched values and beliefs of the protagonists. Ralph Samuel, from a liberal perspective, in 1990 places this debate in its historical context, and uses it to suggest an alternative approach to a history curriculum that has ‘nationalism’ at its heart. Ralph’s paper has a freshness, vitality and urgency that is as pertinent today as when it was written. In square brackets we have added explanatory notes.
Keywords British history, Conservative Party, Cultural identity, Ethnicity, History curriculum, History from below, Labour Party, National curriculum, National identity, Nationalism, Racism, World history
If there is a single issue which has made history into a front-line subject, and propelled it into the arena of public debate, it is the question of what it means, in the present day, to be British. Is it a political status, a cultural identity or a birthright? Is it measured by territorial location or, as the Immigration Act of 1971 seemed to suggest, ‘patriol’ lines of descent? If the former, where are the boundaries to be set, Kuala Lumpa, Hong Kong or the White Cliffs of Dover? If the latter, how does it cope with the growing phenomenon of ex-pats (the Conservative government [of Britain] has recently empowered them with the vote)? Should it become, as many supporters of Charter 88 seem to wish, a regional identity with a supreme court assembly at Strasbourg? Even if it is interpreted in a purely insular sense, does it cover the people of three kingdoms – and four nations – or one?
In recent decades the nationality question has emerged, or re-emerged, as a storm-centre of British politics, most obviously in relationship in New Commonwealth immigration and settlement, and Britain’s membership of the EEC. The civil war in Ulster, now in its twenty-second year, and the recrudescence of Celtic separatism has put Home Rule, and the break-up of Britain on the agenda of practical politics. It is not surprising that education has felt these tremors, and the urgency with which the idea of a national curriculum has been pursued, and the support it has won from politicians of all stripes, surely owes something to the fear that, left to itself, the country is falling apart. The rights and wrongs of Standard English – and the difficulties of making it hegemonic – are at the centre of the Kingdom and Cox reports, [two influential reports on the teaching of English, another contentious subject!] while the demand for a more national history – voiced now by three successive Ministers of Education – is a cause which the Prime Minister herself [Margaret Thatcher] has taken up.
Behind the demand for the restoration of history to the school curriculum is an appeal to the unspoken community of the British. For some the definition is narrow and restricted, involving an almost tribal sense of belonging in which the English, if not the British, are conceived of as a hereditary race. For others, like Robert Skidelsky, the reference is rather to a ‘common culture’ in which newcomers are to be initiated. History, on this view, will restore a sense of oneness in national life, and give children a greater sense of common identity. As the Lewes Priory teachers put it [a ginger group of teachers who advocated a ‘traditional’ national history syllabus taught in time-honoured ways], in the model syllabus which Skidelsky and his fellow-professors recommended to the attention of the Minister, ‘school history should be centrally concerned with ‘socialisation’, with the transmission of a heritage’ (press statement, May 1989). The HMI document, ‘History from 5 to 16’, uses a similar formulation, referring to the ‘heritage’ which it is the job of history to transmit, and the shared values which it is to impart: ‘history enables schools to affirm our society’s own values and attitudes’ (HMI, 1988).
For Conservatives [supporters of the Conservative Party in Britain that formed the government at the time], nation is primordial, a transcendent unity of time and space which connects the living and the dead with the yet unborn. It is bound up with the authority – and ideally the majesty – of the British state; with ‘continuity’ in national life; and with the existence of those ‘shared values’ which, according to successive Ministers of Education, it is the duty of school history to impart. Much of the animus directed against the ‘New’ history seems to have more to do with its multi-culturalism than with the pedagogic issues ostensibly at stake – ‘empathy’ skills versus knowledge, chronology and dates. It is charged with denying British children access to their own past; with denigrating national institutions; and with giving a privileged space to what Professor Elton has witheringly called ‘that extra-terrestrial space’, the Third World (Elton, 1984). Mr Baker, the then Minister of Education, gave voice to these sentiments when recommending his Great Education Reform Bill to the Conservative Party conference (Baker, 1988):
… I want out children to know about the main events in our history, because it is these events which have shaped us as we are today: the creation of the Church of England under the Tudors; the development of Parliament under the Stuarts; the transformation of the world through the industrial revolution; the extension of the franchise to women and young people; the spread of Britain’s influence for good throughout the Empire in the eighteen and nineteenth centuries. All these things are matters in which we should take pride. A power of language and a sense of history are essential to the well-being of any nation. For too long some people have written off our past and have tried to make us feel ashamed of our history. Britain has given a great many things to the world. That’s been our civilising mission. Our pride in our past gives us the confidence to stand tall in the world today.
On the other side of the political divide, not to teach national history is for many progressive teachers, it seems, an article of faith. Labour, as the anti-war party in British politics – the position which it inherited when it became the official Opposition in 1918 – has always been committed to some species of ‘one-worldism’ (even Ernest Bevin was a lifelong supporter of the ideas of World Government); and in the spirit of Gladstonian Liberalism, as well of socialism, it is instinctively suspicious of patriotic flag-waving. When, therefore, Jack Straw, [In 2003 the British Foreign Minister with an interesting, and perhaps contradictory, line on Britain’s participation in the second Gulf War] Labour’s spokesman on education [the Labour Party was the main opposition party in 1989-90], condemned as ‘jingoist’ the proposal in the History Working Party report that 50% of the new syllabus should be devoted to British history, one might charitably suggest that he was voicing ancestral fears, speaking in some sort to the Labour Party unconscious, and voicing that opposition to ‘drum-and-trumpet history’ which, ever since J.R. Green’s short ‘History of the English People’ (1874) has been a mobilising cry for an alternative ‘people’s history’.
To the Left, anyway that substantial section of it which, in its teaching profession as elsewhere, has adopted ‘anti-racism’ as its special vocation, the whole discourse of nation is diseased, at once excluding to ethnic minorities and outsiders and corrupting to those within. In the British case it is fatally associated with imperialism and has been constructed, historically speaking, against the blacks. National history on this view is the record of white supremacy and any attempt to return to it would flatter both national and racial conceits. Paul Gilroy, the most eloquent writer in this vein, and an influential one, argues that, even in its radical version as ‘peoples history’, it is saturated with racial connotations and leaves neither imaginative nor conceptual space for the experience of the excluded and the oppressed (Gilroy, 1987).
The attack on what was already, in 1964, being called ‘anglocentric’ history (Lister, 1964), and the championing of a ‘world studies’ alternative was originally a liberal and progressive rather than a specifically Labour or socialist cause. Its remote origins might be traced to the League of Nations idealism of the 1920s in which a whole generation of schoolteachers were caught up, as well as such influential historians as Eileen Power (H.G. Wells’ ‘Short History of the World’ is the best-remembered literary memorial of this moment). More immediately pertinent, so far as the current shape of history teaching in schools is concerned, would be the UNESCO learning projects of the early 1950s, designed, in the spirit of that organisation, to promote international understanding. In higher research, Past and Present, funded in 1952, was a seminal influence, especially in its early years when it pioneered a ‘world systems’ approach to the ‘general crisis’ of the seventeenth century, and took up such global themes as ‘War and Society’ [Past and Present was the leading ‘alternative’ left-wing academic history journal of the twentieth century. Perhaps ironically a group portrait of its founding fathers hangs in Britain’s National Portrait Gallery in London]. The journal, in singular contrast to The English Historical Review and The Economic History Review, was transnational in its subject matter; the first editorial board included the Czech historian Plisensky, and Geoffrey Barraclough, whose ‘History in a Changing World’ (1955) was an influential plea for the comparative study of societies and civilisation.
The original spirit of ‘world studies’ was liberal, benevolent and hopeful, seeing in the ‘expanding horizons’ of the contemporary world a more generous measure for the study of the past. One element, exemplified in the 1956 ‘Family of Man’ exhibition (Anderson, 1957; Barthes, 1957) and emanating from New Deal America, was a kind of secular humanism (the exhibition, a stunning montage and display of photographs taken from the four corners of the globe and the illlustrating moments of birth, love and death, came from the United States and was shown in London in July 1956). A more modernist influence was the ‘global village’ idea of the 1960s, according to which national boundaries were being made redundant by the progress of the electronic media. The ‘expanding horizons’ of E.H. Carr’s ‘What is History’ (Carr, 1962) and Geoffrey Barraclough’s ‘An Introduction to Contemporary History’ (Barraclough, 1964) were those of the colonial liberation movements and the emergence of the Third World countries on the stage of international politics.
In the schools the most influential advocate of a ‘world studies’ approach was E.H. Dance, the veteran head of History at Wolverhampton Grammar School and for a number of years Chairman of the Historical Association’s Propaganda (Development) Committee (Dance, 1971). ‘Twentieth century World History’ was from the start the most popular option in the new CSE examination, and the Schools Council History Project – progenitor of the ‘New’ history – followed suit, transcending national boundaries in its ‘Modern World History’ syllabus and ignoring them in its ‘Medicine and Society’. World Studies were officially endorsed in 1967 by the Department of Education and Science when, in the pamphlet ‘Toward World History’ the HMI argued that:
The rising generation should be more internationally minded; more tolerant; more appreciative of the special qualities and attributes of different people and race.
A similar spirit animated the ILEA [Inner London Education Authority] ‘World History Curriculum Project’, worked in association with the School of African and Oriental Studies, and adopted in 1970 for ‘teacher enrichment’ courses. Teaching world history would encourage children ‘to gain an understanding and respect for different peoples, cultures and values, and an unprejudiced attitude towards all races, colours and creeds’ (Maddox, 1981). In the teaching of Third World History there were to be ‘positive images’ of the African past. When, under the influence of New Commonwealth settlement – and as a way of combating race hatred – a multi-cultural approach was extended from ‘world studies’ to the national past, the UNESCO-like terminology was unchanged, ‘the contribution made to English society by the Vikings (!), the Normans, the Jews…the…Irish… and the Asians’ being ecumenically added to that of the native Britons.
In the schools, during the 1970s, ‘world studies’ seems to have become increasingly caught up in the altogether more domestic and more explosive question of race relations in Britain, and the early history of black settlers in Britain became as pertinent a contribution to it as the record of the colonised in other lands (File and Power, 1981: this work of two history teachers at Tulse Hill Comprehensive School, South London, was a pioneering publication in this genre, which came directly out of the experience of the classroom). A more rancorous strain was introduced into this mix with the introduction of ‘racial awareness training’ and the adoption of ‘anti-racism’ as an object of the school curriculum. Promoted under the influence of the Brixton and Toxteth risings of 1981 – ‘black uprisings’ as they were somewhat extravagantly termed, on the analogy of the US ghetto riots of the 1960s – taken up with evangelical zeal by left-wing councils and educational authorities (most famously the Greater London Council and the Inner London Education Authority); backed up by the ‘Race Relations’ advisors appointed under section 111 of the Race Relations Act of 1976; and tactically endorsed by the Rampton (1981) and Swann (1986) reports (an exhaustive inquiry into the school experience of discrimination and prejudice), ‘anti-racism’ put teachers in the front line of the black and white divide. They were asked to ‘challenge’ racism wherever it raised its head – not only at the chalk-face or in the classroom but also in the school corridors and playground; in the textbooks (vetted for negative stereotypes of blacks or triumphalist ones of whites); in the design of the school curriculum; and not least in their own language and behaviour (one of the purposes of Racial Awareness Training was to make teachers conscious of their own unacknowledged prejudice).
‘Anti-racism’ has the merit of addressing hard realities, and not relying, like ’multiculturalism’ on soft words and benevolent thoughts to smooth them away. It treats race inequalities as structured and systematic rather than as the results of ‘ignorance’ or ‘prejudice’; and it looks both to the colonial past and the institutional present, to practices as well as to perceptions, to explain the virulence of racial stereotyping. But as a classroom practice it seems to produce the opposite of its intended effects, heightening race awareness without offering any common ground where black and white can meet (the Burnage Report, ‘Murder in the Playground’, is a devastating account of the disasters that can result from a mechanical application of its precepts (Macdonald, 1989)). By stigmatising non-black children as ‘whites’, and therefore by definition the bearers of prejudice, it has undermined the whole basis of ‘child-centred’ education – the flagship of progressive teaching in the 1960s and the early days of the comprehensive school; while by making the teachers themselves guiltily aware of their status as ‘white liberals’ it is arguably not the least of those influences which in recent years have undermined their sense of worth.
‘Anti-racism’, like ‘anti-sexism’, has the merit of undermining consensus views of the past, and putting into question history’s unified totalities – not only the ‘nation’ and the ‘nation-state’ of the traditional textbooks but also, as Paul Gilroy argues in ‘There Ain’t No Black in the Union Jack’ (Gilroy, 1987), the alternative terms favoured in the lexicon of ‘history from below’ – ‘class’, ‘community’, ‘the people’. It not only allows conceptual space for but positively requires a central attention to relations of inequality, exclusion and oppression, and also to the competition for privileges and space. Above all, it problematises the word ‘nation’ from the word go, and if it were used in an analytic rather than an accusatory sense would drive us back to very much earlier pasts – e.g. the antique divisions between Anglo-Saxons and Celts, and remind us of half-forgotten xenophobias, e.g. hatred of the French, or fear of the gypsies, Jews and outsiders (Flora Thompson’s ‘Lark Rise to Candleford’ trilogy, with its riveting memoir of childhood fears of being kidnapped by the gypsies (Thompson, 1939, 1941, 1943) takes us as close to the tap-roots of British racism as accounts of the African slave trade).
But the discourse of ‘race’ can be quite as excluding as that of ‘nation’ or for that matter ‘class’ and ‘anti-racism’, whatever its claims as a politics (they are not self-evident: as Paul Gilroy points out in his book, black mobilisation and black community typically takes place on quite other bases – e.g. music, religion, mutual aid). It may be disastrous when adopted as a pedagogy, when the inculcation of ‘correct’ attitudes is usually self-defeating and hardly compatible with the educational ideal of teaching children to think for themselves.
The terminology of ‘anti-racism’, as currently employed, allows only two protagonists in the historical drama, ‘blacks’ and ‘whites’ who occupy the space of ‘rich’ and ‘poor’ or ‘exploiters’ and ‘exploited’ in earlier two-camp theories of history. Each of these terms is quite as vulnerable to deconstruction, or disaggregation, as history’s other unifying totalities. Moreover to use ‘whites’ as a term of opprobrium in a country where it is the skin-colour of some 85 per cent of the population, and by treating it as a defining characteristic, leaves no space for the majority except as the appropriators of discrimination. Racism itself, an even more totalising concept – and an even cloudier one becomes in some sort British society’s original sin, leaving the indigenous population and the descendants with no other relationship to the past that that of expiating the collective guilt of their forbears (prince or paupers, patricians or plebeians). History is the record of white supremacy. As in some early versions of feminism – or for that matter socialism – it is a Calvary of the oppressed.
Many teachers and scholars, especially perhaps those engaged, like History Workshop, in ‘history from the bottom up’, have attempted to sidestep the issue of ‘nation’, advancing the claims of local and regional studies, or culture and community – ‘lived experience’ – against the record of high politics and statecraft. ‘New’ history, too, seems to have wanted to by-pass national history – i.e. the history of the nation as a whole and the components of national culture – on the one hand by promoting ‘World Studies’, the study of ‘other cultures’, on the other, in project work, giving a privileged place to the local, the domestic and the familiar – phenomena which could be expected to come within the imaginative grasp of a particular age-group.
The History Working Group too, though made up of people devoted to the study of the national past, and, in their final report, bending to the Ministers’ requirement that the time-table hours devoted to British history should be increased form 40 to 50 per cent, seem shy of making a case for British history; they are understandably more concerned to resist pressure to insularity, and, in the spirit of multi-culturalism, to stand by a pluralist view of the past (DES, 1990) [The government set up a working group to draw up the National Curriculum for History].
Yet history, whether we like it or not, is a national question and it has always occupied a national space. Even in teaching of local history it remains, or ought to remain, an inescapable point of reference. Nor can the history of minorities escape it, since it is in relations of opposition to majorities that minorities are defined. In any event it is a peculiar double-standard to advocate a history that starts from the known and familiar, as teachers do in the classroom and scholars in the archives, promoting local studies, and yet to jib when the nation is in question and advocate instead a ‘global’ view. Moreover, even if ‘nation’ is expelled from the classroom, it will still carry on an underground existence in the corridors and playground and an altogether more uninhibited one on television and the football terraces. If historians refuse to teach it, there will be plenty of others who will.
If British history is restored to the school curriculum, it should be for pedagogic reasons – because it is the country they know best (they are not obliged to love it), whose language (even if they are bi-lingual) they speak, whose literature they read, whose famous events are dramatised on TV or burlesqued by the stand-up comic.
There is no reason why a British history need be inward looking. The earliest printed histories of this country began with Four Ages of man, and, as in the Albion Legend, they were much concerned with establishing a European pedigree for national existence. Fox’s ‘Book of Martyrs’, that great monument of Elizabethan scholarship and for more than a century the principal means by which a knowledge of national history was diffused, was written originally in Latin, starting its account in Apostolic times, and detailing in some hundreds of pages the trials of the early Christians and the persecution of the continental reformers before coming to the Fires of Smithfield.
A contemporary history, if it were to take account of Britain’s changed position in the world, would need to be even more universalist, not only when treating of origins but also when mapping outcomes. It might make a point of highlighting developments whose epicentre lay elsewhere – the reformation, say, in the 1530s and 1540s; the rise of socialism in the 1880s. It could work laterally as well as longitudinally when addressing, say, the 1930s rise of economic nationalism and ‘protection’, or the spread of the cult of planning (a movement for which there were analogies in Soviet Russia, Nazi Germany and New Deal America). It might emphasise the internationality of phenomena which on the face of it can be given a purely indigenous explanation – e.g. in the liberal hour of the 1960s, the abolition of capital punishment.
Instead of (or as well as) considering the development of Britain as a ‘world power’, as Mr Baker, the Education Minister, recommended to the History Working Party, it might have been more profitable to consider this country as part of a larger whole – an off-shore island, say, in medieval Europe, which is how it appears in Hereford Cathedral’s Mappa Mundi. English foreign policy, in the aftermath of the revolution of 1688, was subordinated to that of the Dutch (the only reason, it seems, why William of Orange bothered to come here), and indeed throughout the eighteenth century England participated in continental wars as a matter of course. Ninth and tenth century Britain was part of a Viking world whose centre was in the Baltic. The heart of the Angevin Empire was Anjou, not England; the largest single source of royal income of the Plantagenets was the Bordeaux wine trade. The medieval wool had its Staple at Calais.
The American connection would be as pertinent as the European. British Protestantism, from the sailing of the Pilgrim Fathers, and the colonising activities of the early Puritans down to the 200 black churches in Britain today, many of the Caribbean, could usefully be considered as a transatlantic phenomenon, and the comparison and contrast between, say, the ‘Great Awakening’ of 1739 and the Wesleyan Revival, or of the impact of Moody and Sankey on Britain and the United States, might tell us a great deal about the sources of its evangelical and missionary energies. Eighteenth century Lancashire, as historians have recently been insisting, can illuminatingly be studies as part of the Atlantic economy. The American Revolution has as good a claim as the Wilkes affair to be the founding moment in the history of British radicalism, sharing, in earlier years, common legends and beliefs. Likewise ‘Americanization’ might be studies as a major theme in the making of twentieth-century ‘British’ working-class culture, with Hollywood films as a more pertinent focus for fantasy and romance than the productions of Elstree, Pinewood or Ealing Studios.
Another way of internationalising the study of British history would be to link it more organically to the history of Empire. Taking a cue from the dramatic impact of New Commonwealth immigration, such a history might consider Empire in terms of its ‘domestic’ effects – i.e. its repercussions on the native British. Such a history would require a new chronology and a different periodisation. For one thing it would need to be a story without an end, since Asian and Afro-Caribbean settlement in Britain is a continuing process. The high point in the story might be not ‘the grab for Africa’ – the place traditionally allotted to ‘imperialism’ in school textbooks – but rather the inter-war years, when investment in Empire reached an all-time peak, when Empire trade accounted (in 1937) for some 70 per cent of Britain’s imports; and when the two-way traffic in people and ideas was, from the point of view of the indigenous British, particularly the Southern middle class, at its most intense.
British politics was dominated for nearly a hundred years by what used to be called ‘the social question’. The ‘discovery’ of the slum (a term which entered general usage in 1881-2) and of ‘unemployment’ (a term which also, Clapham tells us, entered into general usage in this decade), the rise of Socialism and the Salvation Army, and perhaps too, as historians are now arguing, race fears, helped to give it an imaginative centrality. Historical teaching and scholarship bears the mark of this, and indeed the invention of the term ‘industrial’ revolution, and the crystallisation of economic history, as an alternative to the study of Kingship, Statecraft or the Constitution belongs to the same decade as the discovery of ‘unemployment’ and the ‘slum’.
The ‘social’ question has profoundly democratised the study of the past, but social and economic history has typically been more inward looking than the ‘drum-and-trumpet’ narrative it challenged. It stopped short of any cultural or popular account of international relations – a field in which it sometimes seems that the only people who count are foreign ministers. It usually ignored the history of the British Empire, or even, except where Home Rule was at stake, Ireland. It often had nothing to say about Scotland or (before the General Strike of 1926) South Wales. It was in short ‘Little England’ in its biases.
If it enlarged the subject matter of history in many directions, it narrowed them in others, and offered a foreshortened time-span. For some the ‘social’ question, and with it a relevant British history, only begins with the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381, for others with the Levellers and Diggers of the 1640s, for yet others with the industrial revolution.
If the ‘national’ question was made a unifying thread of the history syllabus, it could be at least as illuminating as the ‘social’ question, and it would reach out to components of the national culture – and elements of politics – which economic and social history have passed by. Problematizing ideas of nation instead of taking it for granted, would require us to join the archaeologists in considering the original conditions of settlement, and the geographers in charting the grand ecological pertinences of national life. Concerned with North-South divisions, it might give as much space to the Pilgrimage of Grace, the Rising of the Earls, or what John Morrill [a distinguished academic historian] calls for the 1640s ‘the revolt of the provinces’, as to events at Westminster. It would need to give a much more systematic attention to the built environment, which barely surfaces in economic and social history until the 1830s (or the 1880s) when the ‘housing question’ suddenly appears. It would need to consider, with the critics, whether there were national traditions in music and art, and to consider culture in its international relations as well as in its local moments. It would need to treat the British Empire, as integral to ‘our island story’. With the gathering movement for secession in Scotland, and with a big question over the powers of parliament, and its sovereignty, it could take nothing for granted.
Anderson, L. (1957) ‘Commitment in Criticism’ in Universities and Left Review, No.1, Spring 1957.
Baker, K. (1988) Text from BBC ‘Late Show’ (I am grateful to Julian Birkett for this transcript).
Barraclough, G. (1964) An Introduction to Contemporary History London, Penguin pp. 194, 264.
Barthes, R. (1957) Mythologies (selected trans. by Annette Lavers) reprinted: London, Hill and Wang 1967.
Carr, E.H. (1962) What is History London, Pelican p.148.
Dance, E.H. (1971) History for a United World London, George G. Harrap & Co.
DES (1989) National Curriculum History Working Group: Interim Report, London,HMSO.
DES (1990) National Curriculum History Working Group: Final Report London, HMSO.
Elton, G.R. (1984) Inaugural lecture in Cambridge.
File, N. and Power, C. (1981) Black Settlers in Britain, 1558-1958 London, Heinemann Educational Books.
Gilroy, P. (1987) ‘There Ain’t No Black in the Union Jack’: The Cultural Politics of Race and Nation London, Routledge
HMI (1967) Towards World History London, HMSO.
HMI (1988) History from 5 to 16 London, HMSO.
Lister, I. (1964) ‘The Teaching of the Humanities in the Schools’ in ed. J.H. Plumb, Crisis in the Humanities London, Pelican p.160.
Macdonald, I. et al.(1989) Murder in the playground: The Report of the Inquiry into Racism & Racial Violence in Manchester Schools (aka The Burnage Report) London, Longsight Press
Maddox, J. (1981) ‘ILEA World History Curriculum Project’ in Clio, I (4), Summer 1981, p.15 (Clio was the journal of the ILEA History Teachers resource centre, now sadly, since April 1990, dispersed).
Thompson, F. (1939) Lark Rise Oxford University Press.
Thompson, F. (1941) Over to Candleford Oxford University Press
Thompson, F. (1943) Candleford Green Oxford University Press
[These three books are currently available as a single volume: Lark Rise to Candleford: A Trilogy London, Penguin 20th Century Classics, 2000.]