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Mythes et mémoires

Kingdom Come by Ballard: The Stricken City

Nicole Terrien
p. 377-386


Que votre règne arrive de J. G. Ballard continue la tradition de la dystopie mise en place par Huxley puis Orwell. Le schéma de la quête d’un héros perdu dans un paysage urbain sert à faire parcourir au lecteur un itinéraire initiatique où détails réalistes et transformations littéraires soulignent l’émergence d’une nouvelle culture, dans laquelle l’individu perd ses repères. Saturé de références à l’histoire et à la littérature des années trente, le texte transforme la perception immédiate du réel et se pose en espace de réflexion sur les débats refusés par les instances politiques officielles. L’esthétique de la violence ne définit pas seulement l’ordre politique dénoncé, mais caractérise aussi le mode opératoire du roman qui, à travers les mises en scènes de moments disjoints et le choix d’un vocabulaire décalé, oblige le lecteur à s’interroger sur l’espace dans lequel il vit. Tel un microscope, le roman donne à voir l’espace de la banlieue comme un gigantesque "incubateur" de nouveaux pathogènes, observés à dessein par les pouvoirs politiques qui se croient à l’abri de la contagion. La multiplication des voix couvre le silence des masses agissantes : la dénonciation politique est rendue effective par la constante adéquation entre fond et forme qui donne à ce roman la force des grands textes.

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1Borrowing our title from Ballard’s chapter twenty-nine, we aim at showing that the city plays as important a part as any character in this novel that belongs to the tradition of dystopia firmly established in Britain by Huxley’s Brave New World and Orwell’s 1984. Kingdom Come, with its apocalyptic connotations, is to be taken just as seriously. It claims its heritage and consciously plays with the reader’s historical and literary memory. It also defines itself in relation to modernist literature in its staging of the failure of modernist individualism, using the pattern of the hero’s quest in an urban landscape as the structuring motif for its denunciation of contemporary political deviance.

2We will see how "the suburban outlands" appear as a new territory that still escapes any effort at mapping. The description of the urban landscape is a mixture of realistic elements turned gothic by the surprised consciousness of a lost driver, one of the copywriters who dreamt this new reality. The ever recognizable pattern of warehouses, industrial parks and parking lots is defined through a feeling of absence. Negative forms, inappropriate comparisons, draw a negative picture of what these suburbs fail to be. The motor-culture that emerges defines the new spiritual needs of a whole civilisation condemned to live in "a perpetual present". The reader has no choice but to question the possibility of surviving in such a vacuum.

3"A geometry of shadows and memories" comes to haunt the wandering hero who is looking for the man who shot his father at the shopping mall. The text is saturated with references that transform the immediate perception of reality and ensure the reader’s sympathy with the hero/narrator. The multiplication of points of view gives a fairly complete image of the town over which the Metro-Centre looms as a threatening figure. Traditional values are debated by the very few characters who realize what is going on, thus ensuring the reader’s privileged position at the heart of an inquiry too often ignored in politics.

4"Aestheticiz[ing] violence" (Ballard 86) is not just a feature in this new world order, it is the method chosen by the narrator to denounce the massive brainwashing taking place undercover. The illusion of perfection in the middle-class paradise is constantly denied by the movement and noise around the stadium and the shopping mall. The multiplication of TV screens evokes the image of Big Brother, and the fear of Newspeak invades the very language of the text. Figures such as the oxymoron or the inappropriate use of vocabulary point at the tension that threatens to break out at any moment. Whether "the interdenominational chapel looks like an avant-garde pissoir" (Ballard 97) or whether the political atmosphere is perceived as an "amiable plague", the reader is aware of the incongruity.

5The constant correspondence between theme and form ensures the literary dimension of the novel. The close attention paid to the modern suburban way of life is striking enough to anybody who has lived in the leafy suburbs. The very use of the word "suburb" is at the heart of the matter and should be debated as well as the attitude of politicians: "[t]he Home Office wants to see what happens. The suburbs are the perfect social laboratory. You can cook up any pathogen and test how virulent it is" (Ballard 210). Literature challenges us to question our certainties.

The suburban outlands

6Because he targets a large audience, Ballard has to use literary devices that the reader can easily recognize; because his purpose is to challenge his reader’s certitudes, he does it with a twist. "The trench-coat" hero who gives his name to one of the chapters underlines the link with the roman noir, which gives the novel its atmosphere. But the actual hero who is investigating the death of his own father, shot in a shopping-mall, is no professional detective, only an individual torn between his need for immediate justice and his need to understand circumstances that defy his expectations. The personal dimension blends into an ever-shifting form of social entanglement that in its turn reveals the complexities of the self.

7Right from the beginning, the structure of the first-person narrative appears broken so as to evoke the stuttering of a narrator who hesitates as to how best to account for what he has to tell. This initial weakness helps anchor the story in a convincing illusion of reality, and when the hero finds himself lost somewhere in the suburbs, the reader is willing to follow him there, already aware of the difficulty of knowing where to stand. The simplicity of the opening statement, "[t]he suburbs dream of violence", could belong to a sociological study as it could introduce a gothic plot, but the initial flow of the narrative is interrupted at the beginning of paragraph two as "wishful thinking". This shifts the focus onto the narrator’s attempt at understanding what is going on within a specific geographical reality. The division of the text into slightly disconnected paragraphs, amplified by the disjunction between chapters, mirrors the landscape observed by the hero, isolated in his old-fashioned car, losing his sense of direction.

8"Heathrow airport shrank into the rear-view mirror" (Ballard 3): the first landmark, itself evocative of transient positioning, already belongs to the past and can no longer work as a signpost. One after the other, all landmarks will thus be cast off as inefficient, partly because their identity is subject to relativity. The phrasing, "outer London suburbs", contains in itself the growth from London to greater London, underlining that the present-day suburbs are in fact the suburbs of former suburbs now integrated into the city. The constant evolution thus suggested does not erase the former limits, and the new urban texture is torn apart as much as sewn together by the numerous roads mentioned, dual carriageways, motorways, highways or thoroughfares. The very careful numbering of these roads dehumanises the landmarks instead of providing help to the traveller who cannot decipher what he sees:

I had entered what the AA map represented as an area of ancient Thames Valley towns—Chertsey, Weybridge, Walton—but no towns were visible around me, and there were few signs of permanent human settlement. I was moving through a terrain of inter-urban sprawl, a geography of sensory deprivation, a zone of dual carriageways and petrol stations, business parks and signposts to Heathrow, disused farmland filled with butane tanks, warehouses clad in exotic metal sheeting. (Ballard 6)

9There is no way to reconcile the familiar names read on the map with the landscape observed, although the reader recognises everything. If the hero had no notion of "ancient Thames Valley towns", the feeling of estrangement would not be so strong. The historical identity of the towns, no longer visible to the visitor, has been destroyed by the "inter-urban sprawl". Perception through the eyes of an educated outsider, or the eye of the cartographer as the term "represented" suggests, creates the critical distance that incites the reader to question what may have become too familiar a sight. The insistence on geography points at the deeper identity of the place, its true nature covered by successive waves of settlement.

10To enhance the feeling of unease the description combines subjectivity and realism: "[n]othing now made sense except in terms of a transient airport culture. Warning displays alerted each other, and the entire landscape was coded for danger. CCTV cameras crouched over warehouse gates, and filter-left signs pulsed tirelessly, pointing to sanctuaries of high-security science-parks" (Ballard 6). The landscape is endowed with a life of its own, a new wilderness; the background for a science-fiction thriller has been set: the large number of security devices, associated with the multiplication of self-contained science-parks, creates a threatening atmosphere. The incapacity to read the landscape signals an identity between space and text that accounts for the efficiency of Ballard’s prose: the novel is not a science-fiction thriller even if it presents some of the characteristics of that genre, but today’s Britain appears as an image borrowed from a science-fiction novel.

11Against this futuristic background a "suburban town had conjured itself from the nexus of access roads and dual carriageways" (Ballard 6). The magical apparition recalls the dream atmosphere mentioned at the very beginning, the subconscious of the hero seems to create the setting. The images created by the mind mimic images provided by literature or the cinema, the cause and effect pattern no longer applies. Time itself seems transfixed in a series of disconnected moments. This "eternity compressed into a few seconds" (Ballard 6) mainly exaggerates fears already recorded in literature. The novel is interspersed with references to myths and plots that the narrator either makes explicit or leaves in relative darkness, allowing readers to build their own terrifying combinations: "[l]ike the nearby town [a police car] had materialized out of the empty air, alerted by the wayward imagination of an impatient driver in a powerful sports car. The entire landscape was waiting for a crime to be committed" (Ballard 7). Paradoxically the first-person narrative seems to be dropped at the very moment when the text presents what is going on in the mind of the hero. But inner focalisation is balanced by the lucidity of the analysis of the imagination process. Later on, the character of the psychiatrist will provide the reader with a running commentary on the progression of the plot as the clinical development of both personal and collective madness. Intertwining the science fiction mood with the detective novel atmosphere, under the scrutiny of professional manipulators, Ballard offers us another form of popular fiction, dystopia. The hero under the surveillance of the police appears first as the innocent victim treated as a suspect; later he will be pictured as dangerous.

A geometry of shadows and memories

12"Always let the road decide..." (Ballard 4): there is no freedom of choice, the choice is made unconsciously in reaction to a landscape of "motorway towns that had grown unchecked since the 1960s" (Ballard 7). The organisation of space along the main thoroughfares gives the towns their very identity as "motorway towns" where neither town-hall nor church appears as the central official building, replaced by "the multi-storey car park that dominated the town, a massive concrete edifice of ten canted floors more mysterious in its ways than the Minotaur’s labyrinth at Knossos" (Ballard 7). In the dreamlike atmosphere the "massive" structure, a symbol of modernity in the 1960s, stands out as the only "concrete" element, "this vast structure reflected the truism that parking was well on the way to becoming the British population’s greatest spiritual need" (Ballard 7). The ancient myth has been overcome by an even more cryptic representation of man’s relation to time and space. The narrator carefully makes his point at the beginning of the novel so that whenever a scene takes place in one of the parking lots, the reader can infer more than is actually said. The blowing up of the hero’s car in the car park of the shopping mall will therefore be perceived as more than a personal attack. And when the hero feels the need to "pace a car park somewhere to clear [his] head" (Ballard 56), the strangeness of the urge signifies his getting engulfed in the local culture.

13The architecture of the town appears sketchily, evoking the juxtaposition of ways of life but also the impossibility of erasing the past. Descriptions are not needed: the suggestion of endless rows of semidetached houses or villas, pretty areas breeding boredom and violence, flags flying in the front gardens, invites the readers to react to the pictures stored in their memory. This is twenty-first-century Britain, but so close to 1930s Germany, to ethnic cleansing elsewhere in Europe today or exaggerated patriotism in American suburbia. What has remained from a troubled period in history enhances, by contrast, what has disappeared: the symbols of a thriving democracy. Absence is inserted in the text, signalling a vacuum at the heart of society: "[t]here were no cinemas, churches or civic centres" (Ballard 6). This absence of cultural landmarks is echoed in the hero: "[t]he spaces were as much inside me" (Ballard 5).

14On the one hand, the quest to fill in that void is to be expressed in terms of a conquest of space, reminiscent of the ideology of the westerns as well as of the Biblical presentation of Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 13:12). The outlands are indeed outposts threatened by new barbarians, or so Fairfax thinks. As a lawyer, he represents the old middle class who came there first, and he is "flushed by more than rage, a deep tribal loathing of the people of the plain who had settled around him" (Ballard 33). Characterised as a nineteenth-century aristocrat, obsessed with his love for fox-hunting, Fairfax would be at home in a Trollope novel, as well as in the news of Britain today. The struggle between social classes has not disappeared, ideologies have just taken a new form.

15On the other hand, the quest is an inner fight between contradictory drives. Richard Pearson is an advertising man, just made redundant because he was not quite aggressive enough. He belongs to the group who helped devise these new suburbs of the consumerist empire, "impossible destinations that featured only on the mental maps of marketing men" (Ballard 3). He hesitates between loathing and fascination for this world: "[i]n short, the town was an end state of consumerism. I liked it, and felt a certain pride that I had helped to set its values. History and tradition, the slow death by suffocation of an older Britain, played no part in its people’s lives" (Ballard 8). Catch-phrases from the political discourse on Britain signal the weakness of this initial perception. The point of view of the hero/narrator will evolve with experience when he perceives more than appearances. Symbolically, his crossing the frontier between sanity and madness is to be visualised in spatial terms as crossing the racing track when he meets the TV presenter whom he will turn into a new Führer: "I crossed the perimeter of the old Brooklands racing circuit. Giant floes of black concrete emerged from the darkness, a geometry of shadows and memories, a stone dream that would never awake" (Ballard 35). The once-lively place is now like some sort of graveyard, the fixed impression of a nightmare on the landscape, in the form of a cubist work of art for everybody to contemplate, made of the same material, concrete, as the 1960s parking-structure.

16Brooklands, the town where the plot is set, is famous for the first fast-speed racing track built in the 1930s, now protected as national heritage and home to an aviation museum, "a monument to the 1930s, the heroic age of speed... [when] the public had been seized by a dream of speed no advertising agency could rival" (Ballard 19). The patched-up terrace houses, now inhabited by immigrants but that the population would like to torch, are another testimony of the troubled past. References to the 1930s pervade the text as if the current violence originated then: "[a]cross the road was a disused cinema, a 1930s white-tile Odeon like a shabby iceberg, for years a bingo hall and now a carpet warehouse.... The ancient Odeon was no longer even a ghost of itself, and violence had long migrated from the screen to the surrounding streets" (Ballard 75). The survival of such buildings in the town bears witness to a sort of decadence.

17Wandering in the streets, on his own or driven by the representatives of the middle class, Richard Pearson witnesses the unstoppable rise of violence, from the good-humoured banging on cars at the end of a football match, or "a very suburban form of race riot, which had barely disturbed the peaceful commerce of the town" (Ballard 11) to the carnival-like rioting in front of the town-hall (chapter 18). "Wearing the double face of cruelty and farce" (Ballard 125), episodes of violence multiply to underline the identity between the novel and the town it presents. The repetition of such scenes does not only entrap the reader in an atmosphere of danger, it also provides an opportunity to contemplate violence from different points of view, thus confronting every group with its own responsibilities. The landscape is saturated with signs of violence just as the text is saturated with intensive forms and superlatives: "[t]here were too many slogans and graffiti for comfort, too many BNP and KKK signs scrawled on cracked windows, too many St George’s flags flying from suburban bungalows. Never far from the defensive walls of the motorways, there was more than a hint of paranoia, as if these people of the retail city were waiting for something violent to happen" (Ballard 16). Instead of writing a new modernity, the exaggerated multiplication of signs inscribes the urban landscape within the walls of new dark ages. The show of history ironically repeating itself becomes obvious to whoever knows how to read a landscape.

18The new middle class, as anonymous as the houses they inhabit, as bland as the goods they purchase, remains as faceless as it is voiceless in the novel, although several points of view are recorded. One comes to realise that all the major characters belong to the traditionally educated middle class, the very segment of the population that despises the suburban way of life, and that they all have an explanation for what is going on in the suburbs.

"Aestheticiz[ing] violence"

19Over-shadowed by the gigantic dome of the Metro-Centre—"with its visual echoes of the Millennium Dome in Greenwich, it fully justified its name, lying at the heart of a new metropolis that encircled London" (Ballard 15)—the local school, the police-station and the hospital still shelter the more articulate representatives of a past order. The voices of these characters are heard although their institutions no longer provide the prominent buildings in town. The new city thus represented is organised like a medieval town hugging its keep. The military overtone of the verb "encircled" reinforces the atmosphere of war just as the reference to the Millennium reactivates the superstitious fear of an apocalypse. The age of Enlightenment is over.

We have to prepare our kids for a new kind of society. There’s no point in telling them about parliamentary democracy, the church or the monarchy. The old ideas of citizenship you and I were brought up with are really rather selfish. All that emphasis on individual rights, habeas corpus, freedom of one against the many… …
What’s the use of tree speech if you have nothing to say? (Ballard 85)

20The teacher offers an unexpected explanation of the current situation. The effect of surprise challenges the reader’s certitudes: the description of the school as a comprehensive school run by benevolent leftist teachers had led us to expect some denunciation of the consumerist and capitalist system. Instead we are faced with the denunciation of democracy and of the modernist ideals of individuality; the division between culture and politics is clearly rejected. The implicit references to inter-war literature we may come across are thereby endowed with a different connotation. Sangster’s words put Ballard’s prose into perspective: "the whole modernist enterprise was intensively divisive. Modernism taught us to distrust and dislike ourselves" (Ballard 85). Sangster labels the heritage of the modernist outlook as "the Hampstead perspective" (Ballard 85), as there would have been a Bloomsbury perspective. The reminiscences of Mrs Dalloway in the narration are linked to the question of the great divide between the highbrow culture of central London and the new middlebrow culture of the suburbs; they ensure the connection between real life and literature: "[p]eople in London can’t grasp that this is the real England. Parliament, the West End, Bloomsbury, Notting Hill, Hampstead—they’re heritage London, held together by a dinner-party culture. Here, around the M25, is where it’s really happening. This is today’s England" (Ballard 101).

21Showing that a small group of individuals cannot by themselves resist the pressure of a consistent system, Ballard introduces a strong note of pessimism into his narrative. The refutation of the basic principles of parliamentary democracy leaves the door open to the most extreme forms of abuse. However sophistic, the argumentation of the teacher invites the reader to question what remains of the ideals of past centuries. Sangster also offers a more constructive interpretation of what is happening in the suburbs: "consumerism is a redemptive ideology. At its best it tries to aestheticize violence, though sadly it doesn’t always succeed..." (Ballard 86). The reference to a new ideology acknowledges the political stakes just as the unfinished sentence suggests possible complications. This may be wishful thinking on the part of someone who can feel the growing threat of violence: "[c]onsumerism is a new form of mass politics. It’s very theatrical, but we like that. It’s driven by emotion, but its promises are attainable, not just rhetoric. A car, a new power tool, a new CD player" (Ballard 85).

  • 1 Ballard first wanted to become a psychiatrist before he interrupted his medical studies because the (...)

22In a conversation with the hero, taking the form of a Socratic dialogue leading Pearson to accept the theory as if he had uttered it himself, the character of the police-officer offers a more complex vision of what is going on, refuting the very opinion voiced by the school teacher: "'There are people who think it’s preparing us for a new world’. ‘And who is behind it all?' 'No one. That’s the beauty of it...'" (Ballard 25) But the police-officer plays an ambiguous and shifting part: she has provided the weapon that killed Pearson’s father, thus provoking the catastrophe. Her explanation can no more satisfy the reader than the teacher’s. It draws attention to the theme of manipulation, fully developed by the psychiatrist, by far the most lucid and complex character.1

23Yet, the motives of the psychiatrist are just as dubious since he is the one who let the murderer out, "a day-release patient with a criminal record and a long history of public disturbance" (Ballard 14). These circumstances so much evoke the short story by Evelyn Waugh, "Mr Loveday’s Little Outing", that they suggest some fabrication. But Maxted serves as an efficient guide in our reading beyond mere appearances. His multiple references to the third Reich echo the narrator’s use of comparisons with historical events. He "steers" the hero as the narrator guides his readers, once more underlining the identity between the structure of the novel and the geography of the town: "I assumed that Maxted was trying to confuse me, constructing a maze around my head from a jumbled atlas of back streets and slip roads.... Like many psychiatrists, he needed to play games with anyone who entered his professional space, performing the private rituals of the modern-day shaman" (Ballard 9). Space represents power and the capacity to relate unconnected levels of existence. The psychiatrist, like the novelist, like the narrator, combines data in order to make up a theory that can account for the evolution of urban life. The modern suburban landscape has turned into the traditional image of the town as a labyrinth.

24Under their scrutiny, the minutiae are magnified, and the dome of the Metro-Centre works as the perfect image of the magnifying glass under which suburban life can be studied. Indeed, the shopping mall is introduced as a town within the town, with its own streets, shops, hotels, "a terraced city" (Ballard 38), with its various levels of existence, turned into a stage: "I felt I was on the stage of a vast opera house, surrounded by a circle and upper circle packed with spectators. Everything seemed dramatized, every gesture and thought. The enclosed geometry of the Metro-Centre focused an intense self-awareness on every shopper, as if we were extras in a music drama that had become the world" (Ballard 41). Echoes with the opinions of other characters entrap the reader in a web of verisimilitude. The mall stands at the centre of "a vast annular plaza", the heart of concentric circles evoking the representation of hell. The reference to the opera house, once the "martial music" has been heard, evokes once more the Nazi regime, although the comparison offers an unexpected variation on the theme: "[a]s the martial music blared, they straightened their backs and walked more briskly like Londoners during the Blitz" (Ballard 39). Likewise the edited photographs of the evacuation of the mall after the shooting episode display "a retreat as calm and heroic as Dunkirk" (Ballard 46). Efficiently the references to World War II or to the violence of the 1930s challenge the official self-representation of Britain.

25The features of the Metro-Centre organisation must all be read in relation to the political situation in Britain. The TV presenter, whose image beams on all the giant screens illuminating the sports grounds and the sinister streets where the immigrants can never be left in peace, is straight away introduced as a potential politician while reminding the reader of Big Brother: "[t]he local constituency chairman thinks he’d make a great Member of Parliament" (Ballard 46). Implicit references to fiction transform the perception of current political attitudes and open a bleak perspective on the future. Because the enemy is so easily invited to enter the system by the very person who should know better, the target of the narrator’s criticism is not so much the fictitious character as the politicians in the real world who encourage the spreading of the very form of mass politics the teacher referred to. The text intertwines the voices of opponents and supporters of these modern developments as it intertwines references to fiction and to reality.

26Within the suburban town of Brooklands, the Metro-Centre is the stage on which the drama can be played out just as the novel offers space to outlay the full implications of current political trends, the place where the TV presenter’s image booming on the close circuit channel is only one feature in a complex organisation. The reader has been tricked into believing in a re-enactment of past scenarii, just as the hero/narrator has deceived himself into believing he could be the main manipulator. In a consumerist world, where the "human race sleepwalked to oblivion, thinking only about the corporate logos on its shroud" (Ballard 41), crowds move according to instincts, "the unique geometry of a crowd..., picking first one leader then another" (Ballard 120). Whether they are manipulated by the mall manager who wants his profits to go on rising or the "group of prominent local citizens who [feel] threatened by the Metro-Centre" and mount "an amateurish putsch, an attempt to turn back the clock and reclaim their ancient county from a plague of retailers" (Ballard 127), the inhabitants of the suburbs represent a danger to themselves and to society at large because they do not realise their freedom is only an illusion.


27The fight for control over space is expressed through a series of historical references, underlined in the titles of chapters, quoting Nazi slogans such as "Work Makes You Free", modernising the English Revolution into "The Republic of the Metro-Centre", ending on a threat of collective suicide with "A Solar Cult". The structure of the novel expresses the impossibility of dissociating the geometry of urban space from its impact on its inhabitants, "the unique geometry of crowds", therefore from its role in politics. The pattern of the quest involves the reader in a gradual understanding of the impossibility of standing out and ignoring the new world order that is fast developing under the guise of the freedom to consume. The gradation towards a grotesque revolution watched from the outside by the media points at the responsibility of the Establishment. On 1 November 2008, The Independent devoted a full page to the opening of Westfield, the biggest shopping-mall in Europe: it gave a voice to the various segments of the population concerned with the event and offered an economic prognosis of success in the present economic crisis. The structure of the article as well as its language seem so directly inspired by Ballard’s novel that one may wonder whether fiction has not already become reality and our main tool to apprehend the real world.

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Ballard, J.G., Kingdom Come, London: Fourth Estate, Harper and Collins, 2006.

Cauquelin, Anne, Michel Zéraffa, "La Ville n’est pas un lieu", Revue d’esthétique, 3 (4), 1977.

Huxley, Aldous, Brave New World, London: Chatto and Windus, 1932.

Orwell, George, Nineteen Eighty-Four, London: Seeker and Warburg, 1949.

Waugh, Evelyn, "Mr Loveday’s Little Outing", Work Suspended and Other Stories, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 2000 (1943).

Woolf, Virginia, Mrs Dalloway, London: The Hogarth Press, 1925.

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1 Ballard first wanted to become a psychiatrist before he interrupted his medical studies because they did not leave him enough time to write. The figure of the author is thus doubly embodied in the psychiatrist as well as in the hero.

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Bibliographical reference

Nicole Terrien, « Kingdom Come by Ballard: The Stricken City », Caliban, 25 | 2009, 377-386.

Electronic reference

Nicole Terrien, « Kingdom Come by Ballard: The Stricken City », Caliban [Online], 25 | 2009, Online since 13 December 2016, connection on 17 February 2020. URL : ; DOI :

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About the author

Nicole Terrien

Université de Rouen

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Licence Creative Commons
Caliban – French Journal of English Studies est mis à disposition selon les termes de la licence Creative Commons Attribution - Pas d'Utilisation Commerciale - Pas de Modification 4.0 International.

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