Chapter 4 explores how a range of popular spy guides published in the second half of the eighteenth century both shape and reflect a sense of the city as home to fraud and deception. It situates these surveys of urban life alongside earlier precursors like Ned Ward’s The London Spy and mid-century writing about the city, including the novel, that presented the city as home to various cheats and frauds. The repetitive works, in which a new arrival is taken on a tour through the city by one versed in its ways, highlight various tensions in the representation of the metropolis in the period, including between claims to novelty and the repetition of familiar scenes and between an understanding of the city as a space of false appearances and an insistence that these performances can be read and understood.

The everyday work of a manuscript editor who works independently is variously styled as:

• intellectual labour

• highly skilled work

• technical or craft work

• support for creators or publishers

• piecemeal, gig or cottage industry work

• contracting or labour hire, consulting or supply of communication services.

The mere mention of the term “plagiarism” can strike fear into the heart of an academic editor; likewise “attribution” and “citation”. Editors of fiction and poetry can take no great comfort, either: our Nemesis might be found in the subgenre fan fiction and the saying that “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery”.

So, what exactly is literary appropriation, and what is its relationship to plagiarism?

There are many definitions of what might constitute literary appropriation. On the side of generosity and openness is the idea of using a well-known literary work as inspiration for a reworking, or re-imagining, so as to offer a new or extended perspective or meaning. An intellectual or scholarly approach might be to explore intertextuality or commentary, whereby elements of one work are explicitly or implicitly referenced in another. A more critical interpretation might be that of a hostile takeover of minoritised languages and cultures in post-colonial societies. This section explores some interpretations of literary appropriation.

If there is to be a singular conclusion to this book, it is that we live in increasingly uncertain times and thus, as editors, it behoves us to embrace uncertainty in all aspects of our work – or, at least, to learn to live with it. Embracing uncertainty in the professional context can be empowering: it enables us to be flexible and open to new ideas, to new ways of thinking and doing things, to be innovative. Learning to live with uncertainty can also help to build our personal resilience. If the concept of resilience appears to be an overused cliché, that is understandable because it is increasing in importance to life as we know it in the 21st century.

How might we go about reading and assessing the worthiness of manuscript or published work?

Commentators have long responded to accusations that Shakespeare’s portrayal of Shylock in The Merchant of Venice was anti-Semitic. Nabokov’s Lolita, considered by some critics to be one of the best works of the 20th century, is also described as an erotic novel advocating paedophilia. Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale is considered both a warning about the dangers of encroaching religious and patriarchal fundamentalism, and a depiction of feminism as a new form of misogyny.

In your view, do these books represent literary value? Why, or why not?

Writers have a responsibility to reflect the standards of the society in which they are creating their works and earning their living. They have the good fortune of being able to “speak” directly to their readers, and thereby to inform and educate them (however subtly that might occur), as well as to entertain and inspire.

The people they write about in non-fiction works and the characters they create in works of fiction represent real people in society in one way or another: good, bad, mediocre or indifferent, or a mixture of some or all of those qualities.

As humans we all deserve to be depicted as we are and as we choose to be identified: authentically and respectfully, and not as caricatures or stereotypes. The considerable body of published research and other literature illustrates just how harmful stereotypes can be. For example, negative racial stereotypes, including internalised racism, have been directly associated with actual harm to people’s economic/material, physical, intellectual, emotional and spiritual wellbeing.

The most important thing you can do to support your professional and personal wellbeing is to cultivate personal awareness and to understand what support you need. This chapter introduces methods and approaches you can use to help maintain a happy balance between a busy and fulfilling professional life and personal health and wellbeing.

Editing requires a degree of accuracy and precision, but not only that. It also requires an equal degree of comfort with ambiguity and uncertainty. In this guide I am seeking to influence your editorial deliberations and decision-making processes with all of this in mind.

As you consider the definitions and recommendations offered, you will need to weigh your editorial approach and decisions in light of:

1. 1. Personal context – your experiences, worldview and the type of editor you are or wish to be

2. 2. Societal context – our world is in constant flux, especially the ways in which we communicate, so always keep in mind that things may have changed since the publication of this guide. You will need to maintain your vigilance on usage, read widely and continue to think deeply about the potential and actual effects of change on how audiences might interpret a given text

3. 3. The brief – consider what is said and not said, and how you can meet the needs of your author, client/employer as well as the intended reading audience for the work you are editing

4. 4. Advice and recommendations from professional, industry and technical experts, beta-readers, reviewers and communities of practice that apply to the work you are editing.

In large and medium-sized organisations, workplace policies are usually developed by executive boards or human resources committees and are implemented by managers; commonly known as a “top-down approach”. As already stated, many of the concepts and practices covered in this guide are new or in development, so editorial staff have an important role to play in influencing policy discussions and development, perhaps even implementation.

Small businesses, community organisations and not-for-profits may not have a written policy but there may be practices of employing or contracting paid and/or volunteer workers that result in a diverse and inclusive workforce, to a greater or lesser extent.

In contrast, to policies, style guides are very much the domain of editorial staff and freelancers or consultants who work on print and digital content. Editors and proofreaders, for example, must keep up to date with word choices, usages and other trends in the literature (books and journals) as well as in society more broadly (news, commentary and the arts). An advantage of this “bottom-up” approach is that editors can provide on-the-ground intelligence in real time, and this enables house styles to reflect readers’ perspectives and practices.

In 2016, the Australian literary world was abuzz with rage when celebrated writer Yassmin Abdel-Magied walked out of the opening keynote address to the Brisbane Writers Festival. The speech was being delivered by Orange Prize-winner Lionel Shriver, American activist and author of such works as We Need to Talk About Kevin (2003) and The Mandibles (2016).

Abdel-Magied, Queensland”s Australian of the Year in 2015, in an article for The Guardian, described the speech as “a poisoned package wrapped up in arrogance and delivered with condescension“, because Shriver”s speech, “was a monologue about the right to exploit the stories of “others”, simply because it is useful for one”s story [book].”

This, in essence, is how the topic of cultural appropriation – or, rather, misappropriation – came to mainstream attention in Australia, but of course it had been a bone of contention for many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander writers and writers of colour for decades.

As many might have anticipated, the Australian Publishing Industry Workforce Survey on Diversity and Inclusion (API Survey) found the publishing industry in Australia “is largely white, including a high percentage who identify as British. Fewer than 1% of publishing professionals are First Nations Australians … [t]he workforce is concentrated in Sydney and Melbourne, skews young and female, especially at the lower levels, and is more likely than the general population to be privately educated and to have a postgraduate degree… [and there is] high LGBTQ+ representation”. In introducing the study, Bowen and Driscoll note that while they are not surprising, these findings signal that “the potential for change is now evident: the data provides the insights necessary for targeted redress initiatives”. Future iterations of the survey will be important in measuring the impact of such redress.

Guide, advisor, teacher, tutor – the connotations of ‘mentor’ are unambiguous enough, and the relationships that arose between the young and older Britten and more experienced acquaintances outside the immediate family are invariably matters of interest to biographers and critics. Britten first met the composer and conductor Frank Bridge in 1927, and remained in close contact until Britten’s move to America in 1939. He first met W. H. Auden on joining the GPO Film Unit in 1935, and soon encountered several of Auden’s literary associates, including Christopher Isherwood, Louis MacNeice and Stephen Spender. While in America (1939–42) Britten and Peter Pears lived for a time in Auden’s New York house, after a spell with the Mayer family on Long Island. The Bridges, the Mayers, and Auden and his associates all contributed to the social and aesthetic context within which Britten was able to produce his early compositions, and while a different set of mentors and friends could have had an identical effect, the distinctive qualities of those who actually filled these roles are what matters here. It was in Britten’s nature to resist potentially intrusive mentoring as much as to invite it.

The Vision of Tnugdal (1149) was written in Latin in Regensburg. It provides a case study for the genre of otherworld visions. The author, an Irish monk, shows the influence of Bernard of Clairvaux, in his treatment of divine mercy and justice as expounded by a guide who accompanies the visionary and explains the nature of the otherworld. Hell is segmented into eight locations for different punishments. The less grievous sinners, still redeemable, are at the top, with those eternally damned already in the pit of hell. Outside a segmented heaven two intermediate locations are designated for those neither particularly good nor particularly bad. This lengthy and popular work demonstrates considerable learning and a unique creativity with its vivid descriptions of punishments and demons and its spatial, intellectual, and spiritual vision of heaven. The vision expounds a theology of fear while extoling the redemptive power of both internal and external pilgrimage.