This essay examines the way that US secretary of defense Donald Rumsfeld sought to apply one of the central lessons of the Vietnam War to the George W. Bush administration's War on Terror after 9/11. Following the disastrous withdrawal from Vietnam, Rumsfeld had argued that one of the major lessons to be taken forward was that, in future conflicts, the US needed to ensure that the war was portrayed to the public in a way that would ensure ongoing success. The way to do this, Rumsfeld subsequently averred, was to convey a message of perpetual, unstoppable, but not too rapid, progress; victory was at hand, but it would take some time to achieve. As part of this process, Rumsfeld developed an elaborate narrative based around a keyhole satellite picture of the Korean peninsula at night – one half, that of South Korea, bathed in the light of progress; the other, North Korea, nearly completely dark. This photo, Rumsfeld suggested, told you all you needed to know about the fact that the US would ultimately succeed in the War on Terror. In taking this approach, however, Rumsfeld unwittingly revealed an inherent contradiction that has continued to blight the administration of Barack Obama: that there is a very fine line between progress toward an inevitable endpoint of victory and progress toward a position whereby the US is able to withdraw. For Rumsfeld, progress was toward an endpoint of victory and it was only the change in political context after 2006 that derailed his attempts to set out this message; for Obama, on the other hand, progress has become a prerequisite for getting out of Afghanistan and Iraq.

This article examines the development of two distinct theories of American internationalism in the 1990s – the political humanitarianism of the liberal hawks and the unipolarism of the neoconservatives – and the fundamentally different and opposing grounds on which these two groups supported the 2003 Iraq War. The liberal hawks, however, failed almost completely to examine the motivations of the neoconservative architects of the “war on terror.” Instead, they imposed their own normative schema on the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and campaigned for them as wars of liberation. Their almost total failure to engage with the intellectual origins of the war led them to accept uncritically the idealistic rhetoric of the President and to assume that the Bush administration and the neoconservatives were motivated by the same idealism and world view as they were themselves. This led them to dismiss critics of the war as opponents of liberal values. As the situation in Iraq worsened, they continued to view the war as a moral endeavour – just one that had gone wrong, as opposed to a war fought for strategic reasons in which nation building was never a priority.

For many years opposition to US foreign policy has frequently been interpreted by cultural commentators and the wider media as “anti-Americanism.” Such “anti-Americanism” has been situated as dangerous, irrational and violent, and this apparent link has been reinforced continuously since 9/11. However, by making a reading of two Iraqi weblogs which have gained significant recognition in Iraq and the West, this article challenges such a simplified definition of alternative perspectives on foreign policy as “anti-Americanism.” This article focusses on the blog entries of two Iraqis, Salam Pax and “Riverbend,” who lived in Baghdad throughout the Iraq War (2003–9) and during the subsequent years of civil unrest. It explores how their online responses to the US action in Iraq illustrate the complexity of perceived “anti-Americanism.” The bloggers do not situate themselves as “anti-American.” Instead they draw a clear distinction between opposition to US foreign policy and hostility towards America and its people, thus problematizing previous definitions of “anti-Americanism.” However, this article also recognizes that whilst these texts highlight this distinction, the negative impact of US foreign policy on Iraq since the occupation, coupled with the militarized image that America projects of itself, has caused the distinction between a disapproval of US foreign policy and an objection to US culture in broader terms to become increasingly blurred. Indeed, these narratives indicate that rather than situating 9/11 as the first move in a campaign of “anti-Americanism,” it could be argued that it is the American government's reaction to the attacks, and the impact of the subsequent occupation of Iraq, which acted as a catalyst for the growth of opposition to US foreign policy, and to some extent a rejection of US culture, in Iraq.

This article argues that far from marking a break in recent literary development, the terrorist attacks of 9/11 made less of an impact on American fiction than we often think. Critics have often accused writers after 9/11 of “retreating” into the domestic; in fact, domestic and individual narratives, often set against sweeping historical backgrounds, already dominated American writing in the late 1990s. At first, therefore, novelists handling the events of 9/11 framed them within the personal and the small-scale. In the last two years, however, writers such as Adam Haslett and Jonathan Franzen have begun publishing broader, more ambitious state-of-the-nation novels, explicitly addressing the United States' relationship with the Middle East and the impact of globalization. Yet in these novels, too, the global and the personal are tightly intertwined; again and again, writers are drawn to the domestic themes that have so often dominated American literature.

This paper contends that 9/11 remains subject to a crisis in criticism, resulting from the failure of certain strains within American studies to sufficiently separate their modes of critique from the ideological means of 9/11's manipulation. An overreliance upon themes of trauma, and a failure to observe the means by which these discourses have been compromised by their mobilization in political rhetoric, has led to the development of an interpretative void unable to produce a much-needed counternarrative. Whilst the explicit politicization of 11 September has been widely criticized, far less remarked upon is the extent to which the tropes in which 9/11 is represented have been standardized across popular, political, critical and artistic narratives. Failure to challenge the basic terms of this movement has engendered a compromised interpretative field, in which frames of reference slip too easily between the public and the personal, simultaneously militarizing mourning and sentimentalizing politics. This compromises counterhegemonic narratives, neutering the force of their thrust by presenting them as echoing, and even reinforcing, the discourses of the public–political realm. I will contend that this crisis of representation has arisen, at least in part, from the ubiquity of traumatic narratives, which have been transferred across discursive realms, disguising crucial authorial and critical differences, and seeming to validate the perspective of the state by testifying to an apparent unity of interpretation and response.

Literary criticism has debated the usefulness of the trauma paradigm found in much post-9/11 fiction. Where critiqued, trauma is sometimes understood as a domesticating concept by which the events of 9/11 are incorporated into sentimental, familial dramas and romances with no purchase on the international significance of the terrorist attacks and the US's response to them; or, the concept of trauma is understood critically as the means by which the boundaries of a nation or “homeland” self-perceived as violated and victimized may be shored up, rendered impermeable – if that were possible. A counterversion of trauma argues its potential as an affective means of bridging the divide between a wounded US and global suffering. Understood in this way, the concept of trauma becomes the means by which the significance of 9/11 could be deterritorialized. While these versions of trauma, found in academic theory and literary practice, invoke the spatial – the domestic sphere, the homeland, the global – they tend to focus on the time of trauma rather than on the imbrication of the temporal and the spatial. If, instead, 9/11 trauma could be more productively defined as the puncturing of national fantasies of an inviolable and innocent homeland, fantasies which themselves rest on the (failed) repression of foundational violence in the colonial and settler creation of that homeland, and on subsequent notions of American exceptionalism at home and, in the exercise of foreign policy, abroad, then the traumatic can be spatialized. In other words, understood in relation to fantasy, trauma illuminates the terroritalization and deterritorialization of American history. After working through various examples of post-9/11 fiction to demonstrate parochial renditions of trauma and trauma's unrealized global resonances, this article turns to Cormac McCarthy's 9/11 allegory The Road for the way in which its spaces, places and territories are marked by inextricable traumas of the past and present – and therefore for the way in which it models trauma's relation to national fantasy.

The rise of the ekphrastic poem at the turn of the twenty-first century speaks of a preoccupation with the mediated representations that are increasingly a part of perceived reality. In the wake of “terror,” what we know and how we know it are subjects of fundamental importance. Mixed-media poet Claudia Rankine turns a revealing lens on the ontological implications of how combinations of words and images construct the world, taking in the virtual and material nature of contemporary existence as well as questioning the commercial and political image-texts that constitute reality for most people. I will argue that Rankine's hybrid and complex texts are representative of an increasingly urgent need to attend to the heavily mediated nature of experience and the emotional disconnect this often entails, revealing the need for a reassessment of the responsibilities involved in making representations for public consumption.

This article explores competing efforts to make sense of the 9/11 attacks within entries posted on the “Where Were You … September 11th, Two Thousand One” Internet archive. Open to written contributions for one year from 15 September 2001, the archive amassed more than 2,500 responses, with posters writing from over twenty different countries. The article begins by arguing that this repository of vernacular memories has potential to significantly broaden our understanding of how the events of 9/11 were interpreted beyond the dominant discourses of political and other elites. It then attempts to do this via a discursive analysis of three key themes traversing contributions to WhereWereYou. These relate, first, to efforts to position 9/11 within particular temporal horizons; second, to accounts of 9/11's essence and causes; and third, to articulated hopes, fears, and expectations around the attacks' future impacts. The article concludes by locating WhereWereYou within debates over the archive's status in contemporary social and political life. It argues that this specific archive's refusal to foreclose 9/11's meaning renders WhereWereYou a particularly interesting memory project for exploring the events of 11 September 2001, and for thinking through contemporary mnemonic practices more broadly.

This article examines how the experience of the 11 September 2001 terrorist attacks has prompted both a hardening of a narrow version of US national identity figured in prejudicial terms and, conversely, an increased willingness to explore difference as it occurs both within the US (i.e. in the relations between Americans) and abroad (i.e. in the relations between Americans and foreigners). Through close textual analysis of two feature films – 25th Hour (Spike Lee, 2002) and Rendition (Gavin Hood, 2007) – this article profiles this increased willingness to explore difference as it is indexed in both the form and content of the films under discussion.

This article examines two films, James Marsh's Man on Wire and Spike Lee's Inside Man in relation to the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. It looks at both films as examples of the heist genre and explores the ways in which genre conventions enable the production of meaning about the terrorist attacks. The conventions of the heist film, it argues, help make sense of September 11 by producing a different set of relations to time and space that draw on the uncanny, rather than the traumatic, nature of the events. Narrating stories of transgression, both films place the horrors of September 11 in another context. Through the genre conventions of the heist, each film offers a view of New York in which the events of September 11 and the destruction of the World Trade Center stand as the center. Not yet complete in one, already destroyed in the other, the Twin Towers haunt these films. As Man on Wire and Inside Man each attempt to make sense of the world in which the city of New York is marked most powerfully by a profound absence, it is in their uses of the heist genre that they find a representational space in which to mourn the World Trade Center and the victims of the attacks.