Dreaming and Waking Imagination

Schrage-Früh, Michaela

doi:10.1007/978-3-319-40724-1_3

Michaela Schrage-Früh²

424 Accesses

Abstract

Most of us will intuitively agree that dreams are in some ways akin to our waking imaginations. Metaphorically describing Hollywood as a dream factory or our nocturnal dreams as a dream theatre already suggests that we perceive an analogy, if not a deep-rooted similarity, between our waking and sleeping fictions. Artists, filmmakers and writers have for a long time fruitfully explored this link and dream researchers have confirmed it: ‘Dreams can be considered as a kind of imagination. Both dreaming and imagination are a simulation of the real world on a higher cognitive level.’ However, at the phenomenological level, dreaming arguably feels more ‘real’ than imagined, which is why philosophers and scientists have sometimes drawn attention to the deceptive rather than the imaginative qualities of dreaming. René Descartes (1596–1650) may be the most prominent example: ‘How often does my evening slumber persuade me of such ordinary things as these: that I am here, clothed in my dressing gown, seated next to the fireplace—when in fact I am lying undressed in bed!’ Dreams, here, are described as sensory hallucinations simulating our waking perception so accurately that we find it almost impossible to be completely certain whether we are asleep or awake at any given moment in time.

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Notes

1.
Erlacher and Schredl (2008), 7.
2.
Descartes, Meditations, 14.
3.
Eventually, Descartes came to the conclusion that ‘waking life was more consistent than dreams’ (Dreisbach [2000], 33). This insight is mirrored by Hobbes, who, though likewise emphasizing the wake-like sensory quality of dreams, all the same held that dreams ‘are not only less constant, but also less coherent and more absurd than waking life’ (Dreisbach [2000], 34). As he argued: ‘For my part, when I consider that in dreams I do not often nor constantly think of the same persons, places, objects, and actions that I do waking, nor remember so long a train of coherent thoughts dreaming as at other times; and because waking I often observe the absurdity of dreams, but never dream of the absurdities of my waking thoughts, I am well satisfied that, being awake, I know I dream not; though when I dream, I think myself awake’ (Hobbes, Leviathan, 11).
4.
Dickens, ‘Night-Walks’, 131–132.
5.
See Hobson (1988), 16.
6.
Hobson (2002), 53.
7.
Hobson (1988), 9.
8.
Hobson and Wohl (2005), 20.
9.
Hobson (1999), 5. It should be noted that Hobson’s equation of dreaming with waking hallucinations is highly problematic. In the introduction to Hallucinations (2012), Oliver Sacks explains that, ‘in general, hallucinations are quite unlike dreams’ (xiii). With specific reference to Charles Bonnet Syndrome hallucinations, he notes: ‘Dreams are neurological as well as psychological phenomena, but very unlike CBS hallucinations. Dreamers are wholly enveloped in their dreams, and usually active participants in them, whereas people with CBS retain their normal, critical waking consciousness. CBS hallucinations […] are remote, like images on a cinema screen in a theater one has chanced to walk into. The theatre is in one’s mind, and yet the hallucinations seem to have little to do with one in any deeply personal sense’ (27). At a later point in the book, he outlines similar differences with regard to hallucinations occurring in patients of Parkinsonism (80).
10.
Walsh (2007), 129.
11.
Sartre (1972 [1940]), 192–193.
12.
McGinn (2004), 179.
13.
Windt (2015), 252. Calling the ‘dichotomous conception of imagining and perceiving […] a philosopher’s construction’, Windt comes to the convincing conclusion that ‘[i]t is empirically implausible, creates more problems than it solves, and is best rejected’ (251).
14.
Cavallero and Foulkes (1993b), 13.
15.
Cavallero and Foulkes (1993b), 13.
16.
Kerr (1993), 18.
17.
Kerr (1993), 31, my italics.
18.
N. Thomas (2014), 135.
19.
Hobson and Wohl (2005), 22.
20.
Interestingly, one of the earliest dream poems in Old English, ‘The Dream of the Rood’, makes use of the anthropomorphic associations suggested by Hobson, in that it narrates the poet’s dream encounter with a tree that tells him about Christ’s crucifixion.
21.
Whitman, ‘Thoughts under an Oak—A Dream’, 116.
22.
Poe, ‘The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym’, 446.
23.
Du Maurier, ‘The Pool’, 143.
24.
See Antrobus et al. (1964) and Andrade et al. (1997).
25.
Baron-Cohen (2007), n. pag.
26.
Baron-Cohen (2007), n. pag.
27.
Hunt (1989), 41.
28.
Hunt (1989), 41, my italics.
29.
See Hunt (1989), 47.
30.
Hartmann (2011), 76.
31.
Hunt (1989), 48.
32.
Hunt (1989), 41–42.
33.
N. Thomas (2014), 159.
34.
N. Thomas (2014), 159.
35.
McGinn (2004), 79. Interestingly enough, writers have often played with the notion that dreams have precisely that: a reality independent of the dreamer’s attention. This notion has accordingly given rise to fantastic stories of parallel worlds with the dreamer leading a hidden double life or being increasingly claimed by or lured into the alternative dream existence. Occasionally, this idea also comes up in dream reports. Thus, writer Stephen Laws describes a recurrent joyful dream in which he visits a place full of friendly strangers he never met in waking life but who seem to know him and welcome him back to their world. As he notes, ‘[t]here are times when it seems that the real world might be the dream place and the place I sometimes go to when I sleep is the reality’ (Royle [1996], 138).
36.
See N. Thomas (2014), 152.
37.
Solomonova et al. (2011), 174.
38.
Hustvedt, ‘What Is Sleep?’, n. pag.
39.
McGinn (2004), 86.
40.
Ellis, The World of Dreams, 18–19.
41.
Dickens, ‘Early Coaches’, 156–157.
42.
N. Thomas (2014), 158.
43.
N. Thomas (2014), 158.
44.
N. Thomas (2014), 158.
45.
Llinás and Paré (1991), 525.
46.
See Ichikawa (2009), 5. However, as Nigel Thomas (2014) notes with respect to the implicit distinction between direct and indirect control drawn here, ‘it is not at all clear that any sharp and principled distinction can be drawn between mental acts and bodily acts’ (140). Thus, willing an image to go away through mental control or blocking out a percept by closing one’s eyes or turning one’s head, again, may imply a difference in degree rather than in kind.
47.
Ichikawa (2009), 19.
48.
LaBerge and Rheingold (1997), 3. For a contrasting view, see Windt (2015), 262–263.
49.
Dickens, ‘Lying Awake’, 432.
50.
Hartmann (2011), 36.
51.
Ichikawa (2009), 10.
52.
Nielsen (1991), 23.
53.
Nielsen (1991), 233.
54.
Nielsen (1991), 250.
55.
Nielsen (1991), 234.
56.
Windt (2015), 487.
57.
Nielsen (1991), 233.
58.
Mavromatis (2001), 108.
59.
Royle, The Tiger Garden, 199.
60.
Arnold-Forster, Studies in Dreams, 35.
61.
Borges, ‘Dreamtigers’, 294.
62.
Windt (2015), 274.
63.
For an in-depth discussion of the problem of belief in dreams and fictions, see Sect. ‘The Dreamer as Reader, the Reader as Dreamer’.
64.
Windt (2015), 285.
65.
Fox et al. (2013), 11.
66.
Fox et al. (2013), 11.
67.
Fox et al. (2013), 11.
68.
Fox et al. (2013), 11.
69.
Kaplan et al. (2016), 5.
70.
See Mar et al. (2012).
71.
See Immordino-Yang et al. (2012).
72.
See Ostby et al. (2012).
73.
Walsh (2010), 142.
74.
Nir and Tononi (2010), 95.
75.
Stevenson, ‘A Chapter on Dreams’, 104.
76.
Stevenson, ‘A Chapter on Dreams’, 102.
77.
Stevenson, ‘A Chapter on Dreams’, 103.
78.
Stevenson, ‘A Chapter on Dreams’, 100. Stevenson’s essay is embedded in a lively nineteenth-century popular dream discourse, and his diligent Brownies are an image for what was known as ‘unconscious cerebration’, a term coined by the physician William Carpenter and popularized by Frances Power Cobbe in two influential essays. See Cobbe (1870) and Cobbe (1871).
79.
Coleridge, Friend I, 145.
80.
Coleridge quoted in Ford (1998), 8.
81.
Browne, Religio Medici, 98.
82.
Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment, 44.
83.
Stevenson, ‘A Chapter on Dreams’, 97.
84.
See Mansfield, Letters, 161. Mary Arnold-Forster provides a similar account related to her by an unnamed writer friend who dreamed ‘an original and very dramatic story’ which, when writing it down, ‘seemed to be like a tale that was told to him rather than a thing of his own creation’ (Studies in Dreams, 60).
85.
Yeats quoted in Hayter (1969), 74.
86.
Lovecraft, Dream Book, 11.
87.
Foulkes (1978), 4.
88.
McGinn (2004), 84. At various points in his work, McGinn (2005) discusses the dreaming process in clearly anthropomorphic terms, making it clear, however, that he considers this analogy as a useful tool to illustrate the complex processes involved in the act of dreaming (see 191).
89.
McGinn (2004), 89.
90.
McGinn (2004), 90.
91.
McGinn (2004), 90–91.
92.
McGinn (2004), 91.
93.
McGinn (2005), 186.
94.
McGinn (2005), 186–187.
95.
McGinn (2005), 187. McGinn’s model draws on the cassette theory of dreaming, first introduced in Daniel Dennett’s article ‘Are Dreams Experiences?’ (1976). In this article, Dennett aims to come up with a plausible rival theory to challenge what he calls the ‘received view’ which takes for granted the unproven claim that dreams are subjective experiences. Using anecdotal evidence about dreams whose narrative rather inexplicably leads up to an ending determined by waking sensory stimulus, he suggests that ‘our “precognitive” dreams are never dreamed at all, but just “spuriously” recalled upon waking’ (159). While also briefly suggesting that there might be a dream library full of dreams composed and recorded during our waking hours, he is quick to discard this possibility for what he considers to be the more likely one: that even though dream production takes place during sleep, it is just an ‘unconscious composition process and unconscious memory-loading process’ (161), which turns into a subjective experience only upon awakening and consciously recalling the dream. His main argument is that the average sleeper would never be able to say for certain if a recalled dream was actually experienced or if a dream cassette (of a possibly never experienced dream) was instantaneously inserted into his or her memory upon awakening. He thereby draws into doubt the validity of dream reports and makes a strong case for scientific dream research. See also Windt (2013).
96.
Meier (1993), 63.
97.
See LaBerge (1990), LaBerge and DeGracia (2000) and Erlacher and Schredl (2008).
98.
For an overview of relevant contemporary studies, see Windt (2015), 358–360.
99.
States (1994), 238.
100.
States (1994), 238.
101.
States (1994), 239.
102.
States (1994), 239.
103.
States (1994), 239.
104.
States (1994), 239–240. For a similar account of how writers often feel they are following instructions (rather like readers) in creating their works, see Scarry (2001), 245.
105.
Gardner (1978), 179.
106.
Epel (1993), 141.
107.
Epel (1993), 141.
108.
Epel (1993), 141.
109.
Epel (1993), 212.
110.
Epel (1993), 27.
111.
Epel (1993), 284.
112.
Epel (1993), 44.
113.
Epel (1993), 142.
114.
Epel (1993), 110.
115.
Jay (2011), 15.
116.
States (1994), 240.
117.
States (1994), 240. It goes without saying that this dreamlike state of composition, which has much in common with Freud’s concept of the primary process, is only part of the authorial craft. In the same way that dreams do not usually come as full-fledged pieces of art, such drafts often require thorough revising, which typically takes place in the author’s more wake-like stages. As States (1994) points out: ‘One of the things we commonly find in writers’ descriptions of how they work is that they write best when they let their imagination dictate the flow, but that the results must often be adapted, or retrofitted, to waking standards of intelligibility’ (240). In this context, it may also be interesting to take into account S.T. Coleridge’s notion of poetry as a ‘rationalized dream’ (Notebooks, vol. 1, 2086), ‘which suggests that the creation of poetry requires the magnitude of loss of volition as experienced in dreams, with the crucial qualifier that there is still some reason present. This is a rationalising presence, which is not discernible in other states of dreaming’ (Ford [1998], 35–36).
118.
States (1994), 241.
119.
Oatley (2011), 147.
120.
Pace-Schott (2013), 2.
121.
Pace-Schott (2013), 2.
122.
Pace-Schott (2013), 1; see Mar 2004.
123.
Kilroe (2000), 136.
124.
States (1994), 242.
125.
Borges, Seven Nights, 35.
126.
Sartre (1972 [1940]), 198.
127.
Sartre (1972 [1940]), 199.
128.
States (1994), 243.
129.
Oatley (2011), 143.
130.
Royle, The Tiger Garden, 91.
131.
Epel, Writers Dreaming, 161.
132.
Epel, Writers Dreaming, 285.
133.
Epel, Writers Dreaming, 138.
134.
See, for instance, Bharati Mukherjee: ‘I’m the kind of writer who in the very first draft really doesn’t know what adventures the characters will get into’ (Epel [1993], 161) or Stephen King: ‘When I’m working I never know what the end is going to be or how things are going to come out. I’ve got an idea what direction I want the story to go in, or hope it will go in, but mostly I feel like the tail on a kite’ (Epel [1993], 137).
135.
States (1994), 248.
136.
States (1994), 248.
137.
Flanagan (2000), 143.
138.
The problem of ‘translating’ dream experiences into literary language is dealt with in Sect. ‘Translating the “Language” of Dreams’ in Chap. 4.
139.
See Hartmann (2000a).
140.
Ellis, The World of Dreams, 53.
141.
Interestingly, in a letter from 1805 Robert Southey (1881) commented on his inability to read in his dreams and reached a similar conclusion: ‘This impossibility of reading is perfectly explicable; the mind cannot form its associations and embody or print them co-instantaneously. One operation must precede the other, and it is as impossible in dreams to read what is passing as it is to overtake your own shadow’ (370). The ‘single-mindedness’ of dreams has been explored by Allan Rechtschaffen (1978), who notes in dreaming ‘the strong tendency for a single train of related thoughts and images to persist over extended periods without disruption nor competition from other simultaneous thoughts and images’ (97). For a more in-depth discussion of this dream characteristic, see Sect. ‘The “Language” of Dreams’ in Chap. 4.
142.
See Engel (2004), 113.
143.
Sartre quoted in Iser (1980), 108.
144.
McNamara (2008), 136.
145.
Dickens, ‘Lying Awake’, 433.
146.
Nell (1988), 201, my italics.
147.
N. Thomas (2014), 152.
148.
Iser (1980), 107.
149.
Oatley (2011), 62.
150.
Oatley (2011), 18.
151.
See Speer et al. (2009) and Erlacher and Schredl (2008).
152.
Oatley (2011), 20.
153.
Oatley (2003), 167. This concept of a reading process in which the reader takes an active and creative rather than a passive and receiving part is in stark contrast to earlier phenomenological approaches such as Georges Poulet’s (1969), in which the reader is depicted as becoming ‘prey’ to what he reads: ‘The consciousness inherent in the work is active and potent; it occupies the foreground; it is clearly related to its own world, to objects which are its objects. In opposition, I myself, although conscious of whatever it may be conscious of, I play a much more humble role, content to record passively all that is going in me. A lag takes place, a sort of schizoid distinction between what I feel and what the other feels; a confused awareness of delay, so that the work seems first to think by itself, and then to inform me what it has thought. Thus I often have the impression, while reading, of simply witnessing an action which at the same time concerns and yet does not concern me. This provokes a certain feeling of surprise within me. I am a consciousness astonished by an existence which is not mine, but which I experience as though it were mine’ (59–60).
154.
See Nell (1988), 205.
155.
Nell (1988), 205.
156.
Nell (1988), 205.
157.
Robert Holt quoted in Nell (1988), 205.
158.
Nell (1988), 206.
159.
Nell (1988), 199.
160.
Nell (1988), 199.
161.
Borges, Foreword, Brodie’s Report, 346.
162.
Oatley (2003), 165.
163.
Nell (1988), 207.
164.
Nell (1988), 216.
165.
Nell (1988), 216.
166.
Gardner, The Art of Fiction, 30–31.
167.
Woolf, ‘Reading’, 21–22, quoted in Lamarque and Olsen (2004), 202.
168.
See Esrock (1994), 179.
169.
Esrock (1994), 183.
170.
Esrock (1994), 183.
171.
Brosch (2013), 176–177.
172.
Brosch (2013), 169.
173.
Scarry (2001), 6.
174.
Brosch (2013), 169.
175.
Brosch (2013), 170.
176.
Metz (1977), 109.
177.
Metz (1977), 109.
178.
Calvino quoted in Schwenger (1999), 64–65.
179.
Schwenger (1999), 65.
180.
Schwenger (1999), 65.
181.
Schwenger (1999), 66.
182.
Iser (1980), 139. It should be noted that this argument is only convincing as long as we are concerned with cinematic realism. A filmmaker certainly might use cinematic effects to evoke similarly ‘shifting images’ on screen.
183.
On the other hand, as McGinn (2005) argues, there is a sense of uniqueness to the cinematic experience that distinguishes it from other forms of visual art and may render it closer to the dream experience. Thus, while we look at paintings, drawings, theatrical performance and other visual art objects, we do not really look at the ‘light-constituted movie image’ (36) projected onto the screen, but rather we look into or through it. Explaining the ‘complex visual relationship’ constituting the cinematic experience, McGinn (2005) points out that ‘the image on the screen is seen but not looked at; the actor is seen and looked at; the fictional character is neither seen nor looked at, but imagined’ (41). According to McGinn (2005), it is this kind of ‘imaginative seeing’, enabling us ‘to connect the world of imagination and the world of perception’ that is responsible for the pleasure we derive from the specific cinematic experience (53). For detailed analyses of how film and dream experiences are related, a topic that is beyond the scope of the present study, see Metz (1977), Eberwein (1980), Eberwein (1984), Dieterle (1998), McGinn (2005) and Kreuzer (2014).
184.
Iser (1980), 109.
185.
Brosch (2013), 170.
186.
Iser (1980), 109.
187.
Brosch (2013), 174.
188.
Iser (1980), 116.
189.
Schwenger (2012), 29.
190.
Schwenger (1999), 2.
191.
For a useful overview of the critical literature on the hypnagogic state, see Schacter (1976).
192.
Arnold-Forster, Studies in Dreams, 107.
193.
Some researchers, such as David Foulkes (1974), have argued that sleep onset dreams can have a REM-like quality. For the sake of clarity, however, I will refer only to the type of hypnagogic visions that are experienced as in some sense different from dreaming.
194.
Hunt (1989), 182.
195.
Mavromatis (2001), 19.
196.
Mavromatis (2001), 14–15.
197.
Alvarez, Night, 153.
198.
Foulkes (1974), 323.
199.
Foulkes (1974), 323.
200.
Mavromatis (2001), 28.
201.
Leroy quoted in Mavromatis (2001), 89.
202.
See Mavromatis (2001), 33.
203.
Mavromatis (2001), 16.
204.
Greenwood, Imagination in Dreams and Their Study, 18.
205.
See Mavromatis (2001), 28.
206.
Mavromatis (2001), 88.
207.
Poe, ‘Marginalia’, 494.
208.
Poe, ‘Marginalia’, 495.
209.
Mansfield, Letters, 417.
210.
Nell (1988), 208.
211.
Arnold-Forster, Studies in Dreams, 110.
212.
Schreier and Bulkeley (1993), 1.
213.
Poe, ‘The Fall of the House of Usher’, 213–216.
214.
James, The Turn of the Screw, 170.
215.
James, The Turn of the Screw, 170.
216.
James, The Turn of the Screw, 171.
217.
James, The Turn of the Screw, 197.
218.
James, The Turn of the Screw, 198.
219.
Schwenger (1999), 40.
220.
Wolf (1988), 185. For a more detailed account of the novel’s genesis and the relevance of (hypnagogic) imagery, see Schwenger (1999), 40–46.
221.
Coleridge, ‘Kubla Khan’, 156.
222.
Borges, ‘Coleridge’s Dream’, 371.
223.
Lowes (1957), 369.
224.
See Sartre (1972 [1940]), 91.
225.
Sartre (1972 [1940]), 196.
226.
Sartre (1972 [1940]), 194–195.
227.
See Ryan (1991).
228.
Coleridge, Notebooks, vol. 4, 5360.
229.
Ford (1998), 39. According to Ford, ‘[t]he two terms Coleridge uses, “Somnial or Morphean”, are interchangeable: “Somnial” simply meaning of or relating to dreams, and “Morphean” deriving from Ovid’s name for the god of dreams, Morpheus’ (43).
230.
Coleridge, Notebooks, vol. 1, 1718.
231.
See Windt (2015), 516.
232.
Bosnak (2007), 9.
233.
Gover and Kahn (2010), 189.
234.
Gover and Kahn (2010), 189.
235.
Bosnak (2007), 9.
236.
Bosnak (2007), 37. For instance, persons whose forebrain brain area responsible for the derivation of abstract concepts from spatially organized information has been impaired, cease to have ‘subjective experience of dreaming whatsoever’ (37). Also, topical damage to the right hemisphere of the brain responsible for visuo-spatial working memory ‘comes with a global cessation of the subjective experience of dreaming’ (37).
237.
Hobson and Wohl (2005), 182. Hobson and Wohl therefore view dreaming as akin to virtual reality rather than to any other medium such as film, since in virtual reality ‘the subject’s actions influence his or her perceptions’ (182).
238.
Windt (2015), 333–338.
239.
Kuzmičová (2013), 107.
240.
Kuzmičová (2013), 108.
241.
Kuzmičová (2013), 113.
242.
Kuzmičová (2013), 116. For empirical evidence, see Speer et al. (2009) and Taylor et al. (2008).
243.
Willems and Jacobs (2016), n. pag.
244.
Sartre (1972 [1940]), 195.
245.
Sartre (1972 [1940]), 205.
246.
See Sartre (1972 [1940]), 197.
247.
Oatley (2011), 116.
248.
Windt (2015), 330.
249.
See Sartre (1972 [1940]), 200.
250.
Sartre (1972 [1940]), 200–201.
251.
Arnold-Forster, Studies in Dreams, 42.
252.
See Ford (1998), 36–37.
253.
Coleridge, Notebooks, vol. 1, 1649.
254.
Sartre (1972 [1940]), 201, original italics.
255.
Sartre (1972 [1940]), 202.
256.
Sartre (1972 [1940]), 202.
257.
Mansfield, Letters, 61.
258.
Sartre (1972 [1940]), 202. Similar claims have been made for the reader’s immersion in a narrative told from an omniscient point of view. As Brosch (2013) suggests, one could argue that ‘omniscient narratives offer readers an unusually privileged vision impossible outside the realm of fiction’ (172). It is, however, a perspective at least occasionally achieved in the dream state.
259.
Iser (1980), 156.
260.
Castle (1988), 56.
261.
Dawes (2004), 447.
262.
Erasmus Darwin quoted in Ford (1998), 23.
263.
Coleridge, Lectures on Literature, vol. 2, 266.
264.
Coleridge, Biographia Literaria, vol. 2, 6.
265.
Sartre (1972 [1940]), 197.
266.
Iser (1980), 140.
267.
Iser (1980), 140.
268.
Ichikawa (2009), 22.
269.
Levinson (1997), 23.
270.
Dawes (2004), 449.
271.
Dawes (2004), 449.
272.
Dawes (2004), 450.
273.
Walsh (2010), 154.
274.
Walsh (2010), 154.
275.
Levinson (1997), 26.
276.
Hogan (2003), 81.
277.
Levinson (1997), 27.
278.
See Gaskell, The Life of Charlotte Brontë, 413.
279.
Dawes (2004), 454.
280.
McGinn (2004), 103–104.
281.
McGinn, (2004), 105.
282.
McGinn, (2004), 106.
283.
McGinn (2004), 106.
284.
Felski (2008), 54.
285.
Handke, Absence, 53.
286.
See Nielsen (1991), Kuiken and Sikora (1993), Kuiken and Busink (1996), Blagrove, Farmer and Williams (2004).
287.
Dawes (2004), 454.
288.
Dawes (2004), 455.
289.
Dawes (2004), 457.
290.
Dawes (2004), 457.
291.
Oatley (2011), 113.
292.
Oatley (2011), 123.
293.
Oatley (2011), 73.
294.
Oatley (2011), 72.
295.
Oatley (2011), 19.
296.
Oatley (2011), 112.
297.
Cartwright (2010), 157.
298.
See Cartwright (2010), 158.
299.
Oatley (2011), 132, my italics.
300.
Schwenger (2012), 90.

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Michaela Schrage-Früh

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Schrage-Früh, M. (2016). Dreaming and Waking Imagination. In: Philosophy, Dreaming and the Literary Imagination. Palgrave Macmillan, Cham. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-40724-1_3

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