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Space tourism is a rapidly growing sector of capital accumulation. As virtually all space on the Earth has been humanized and populated, outer space is being made by elite groups into the new exotic destination of choice. But the humanization of outer space also reinforces an ancient and powerful worldview concerning society’s relations with the cosmos. It relies on the idea that outer space is an apparently pure and serene “other” place offering a profound sense of awe, wonder, and renewed identity. This hegemonic view of the cosmos and society is a product of a new dominant social bloc, one incorporating pro-space activists, the aerospace industry, the tourism industry, and governments.

Space tourism is often represented as an extended version of tourism on the Earth, with tourists experiencing relaxed and trouble-free experiences. But parallels between travel on the Earth and in outer space are misleading. The latter raises major issues concerning power-relations between passengers, pilots, and ground control. Who has the power in space tourism and how is this power exercised? The literature underestimates potential dangers to the human body. These include short- and long-term risks stemming from microgravity, exposure to radiation, and rapidly changing switches between day and night. These problems further undermine the popular image of space tourism as a wholesome and joyous practice. Space tourism may well be a very expensive way of achieving ill health.

ONE MUST BEGIN with Dickens. A chapter by Christopher Hibbert in Charles Dickens, 1812–1870: centenary volume, edited by E. W. F. Tomlin, and The London of Charles Dickens, published by London Transport with aid from the Dickens Fellowship, make a similar study here superfluous; both are illustrated, the latter giving instructions for reaching surviving Dickensian buildings. Neither warns the reader of Dickens's conscious and unconscious imaginative distortion, considered in Humphrey House's The Dickens World. Dickens himself imagined Captain Cuttle hiding in Switzerland and Paul Dombey's wild waves saying ‘Paris’; ‘the association between the writing and the place of writing is so curiously strong in my mind.’ Author and character may be in two places at once. ‘I could not listen at my fireside, for five minutes to the outer noises, but it was borne into my ears that I was dead.’ (Our Mutual Friend)

In Poetic Justice, Martha Nussbaum (1996) offers one version of an argument frequently repeated in the history of law-and-literature scholarship; to wit, that the literary imagination performs a salutary function with regard to many domains of modern public life. While law and economics are governed by logics of bureaucratic rationality and utilitarian calculus, literature, in particular the novel, presents a counterdiscourse, inviting us to empathize with others, expanding our moral sense, emphasizing the importance of affect and imagination in the making of a just, humane, and democratic society. Nussbaum's broad goal is a commendable one; concerned that “cruder forms of economic utilitarianism and cost-benefit analysis that are…used in many areas of public policy-making and are frequently recommended as normative for others” are, in effect, dehumanizing, she argues for the importance to public life of “the sort of feeling and imagining called into being” by the experience of reading literary texts (1996, p. 3). This sort of feeling and imagining, Nussbaum explains, fosters sympathetic understanding of others who may be quite different from us and a deepened awareness of human suffering.

This article examines the value of the concept of significant harm some 20 years after its introduction in the Children Act 1989. It introduces the concept of significant harm and then discusses the profile of children and families in care proceedings, the decision‐making process, the interpretation of significant harm in case law, ‘panic’ and its impact on patterns of referrals for case proceedings, and the issue of resources. An alternative model of the problem‐solving court is outlined. It is suggested that ‘significant harm’ has largely stood the test of time. However, the absence of a clear operational definition is both its strength and its weakness. It allows necessary professional discretion but is vulnerable to external pressures affecting its interpretation. A more confident workforce and sufficient resources are required, but the future role of the court and compulsory care is more contentious. The problem‐solving court model may offer a helpful way forward for the scrutiny of significant harm.