The so‐called positivist or objective view of the legal process that assumes separation between rational deliberation and the realm of emotions has long been challenged by socio‐legal scholars. Pioneers in this field have drawn our attention to the feeling rules, emotional labour, and management of emotions in court; pointed out the performative and dramaturgic aspects of the legal process; and reminded us to play close attention to ritual, language, interaction, power, and status.

Stina Bergman Blix and Åsa Wettergren's book is a welcome contribution to this important body of knowledge. The authors broaden the study of emotions and court to a civilian context, with an in‐depth analysis of Swedish judges and prosecutors (though Sweden may be considered to belong to a sort of hybrid inquisitorial/adversarial tradition). They also shine the sociological spotlight on background emotions. These are the more subtle feeling states that are not at the forefront of our cognition, to such an extent that we might not even realize we are feeling them.11 This is to be contrasted with foreground emotions, in which the person feeling the emotion becomes immediately aware of this internal state. An example of this is a judge who becomes sad when hearing evidence given in court. The judge feels like crying, and this sadness becomes a foregrounded emotion in that the judge must shift their focus away from the hearing and towards making an effort not to cry (p. 1). See J. Barbalet, Emotions and Sociology (2002).  Background emotions include feelings of seriousness, autonomy, comfort with power, or pleasure in using one's intellect. They might not be considered ‘emotional’ emotions, but as the authors show, they have a significant impact on professional identity, contributing to what they call the ‘emotive‐cognitive judicial frame’. Background emotions facilitate our involvement in a desired course of action – that is, they help us to do the work of rational deliberation.

These achievements are related. In an adversarial system it might be somewhat easier to study foreground emotions as their display is easy to spot, particularly in countries like the United States where lawyers might express outrage or sadness when they perform for a jury and judicial expression of emotion is somewhat more common. In civilian systems, where professionals see themselves as part of a neutral, bureaucratic apparatus, legal professionals (and judges in particular) see themselves as standing outside the political sphere – they do not belong in the messy reality of emotions, morality, and everyday life. Bergman Blix and Wettergren note that by choosing to study judges and prosecutors, they were effectively forced to focus on background emotions, since foreground emotions are so rare. Swedish judges are not known for their expressive outbursts – they take pride in their ‘stone faces’. The authors play with this cold Nordic stereotype, describing how the closest a judge comes to displaying anger in the courtroom might be when they gently place down their pen. The lack of foreground emotions requires the sociologist to attend keenly to the more subtle ways in which emotion creeps into a frame. This focus on what is happening in the background provides an insight into the work that goes into what we might call ‘performing non‐emotion’, itself a form of emotional labour (Chapter 4). This is of course related to power and status, something of which both the judges and prosecutors are well aware.

The authors draw on concepts from the sociology of emotions, interaction, and ritual, and both Hochschild and Goffman loom large. In particular, Bergman Blix and Wettergren make very good use of Goffman's concept of a frame from his 1974 book Frame Analysis. While the backstage/frontstage metaphors of Goffman's earlier work make an appearance in many studies of courtroom interaction, the frame is a more sophisticated elaboration of his sociological approach. In a formalized and ritualized space like a courthouse, it is perhaps too easy to see certain spaces as frontstage (a courtroom) and others as places for backstage interaction and behaviour (judicial chambers, private corridors, canteens, and so on). As the authors demonstrate, this metaphor quickly breaks down – in each of these spaces, there is frontstage and backstage behaviour, and actors are continuously moving between the two. The concept of frames helps us to deal with this. Frames provide us with something like a script to help to guide our social interactions, but they also help us to make moral evaluations about our own experience. While in any given situation there may be multiple frames in operation, a ‘primary frame’ will come to dominate and will be a central element of a particular group's culture. Power and stratification is revealed when we see who knows how to follow the script within the primary frame, who does not, and who feels able to deviate from it.

The primary frame guiding interaction for professionals at court is what Bergman Blix and Wettergren call the ‘emotive‐cognitive judicial frame’. This may sound somewhat clunky, but they argue that it is necessary since it emphasizes that ‘emotional and cognitive constraints of the frame are entwined and that emotions and emotion management are vital for learning the behavioural script and for orienting behaviour when the constraints of the frame become habituated and non‐reflected’ (p. 22). The frame seals off certain (foreground) emotions and orientates one towards other (background) emotional states.

The main empirical chapters of this book examine different facets of this frame, and how it guides both the behaviour and the experience of the professionals who work within it. While this frame operates for all professionals in court, the different duties, obligations, and professional identities of judges and prosecutors mean that the scripts within the frame differ. These differences make up the ‘professional emotional profiles’ of judges and prosecutors (Chapter 2). While all professionals are guided by background emotions, such as pride in their work and a sense that they are on the ‘right side’ of justice, the background emotions of judges are feelings of objectivity, autonomy, intellect, and a sense that their work is somehow ‘pure’ or above the messiness of everyday life (in this sense they are marking their duties out as sacred, and perhaps god‐like). An additional key background emotion of judges is a certain ease with their power. You can see how this operates in court rituals, as others adjust their demeanour, speech, and approach to suit the judge (Chapter 4). A particular strength of this book is a sociological account of what power feels like, for judges and prosecutors, both as a background emotion and as an interactional achievement, through the interaction rituals both inside and outside the courtroom (Chapter 5). Prosecutors, on the other hand, revel in the dirty mess of people's lives and relationships. They take pride in their toughness, quick thinking, and ability to translate this mess into a pure legal problem for the judge to solve (if judges are the law's gods, then prosecutors are its priests, purifying and translating the profane).

This frame does not appear out of nowhere; rather, it is a direct consequence of the organizational structure and neoliberal management ideology that dictates how professionals are to spend the hours of their day (Chapter 3). Both judges and prosecutors experience pressure to be more ‘efficient’, requiring them to keep a detached and depersonalized attitude, as the demands on their time are ever increasing. This leads to the development of a ‘Teflon culture’, a feeling rule that requires professionals to shield themselves from emotions such as anger, trauma, fear, or sadness. The ability to follow this rule is central to the judges’ and prosecutors’ professional identity, and any chink in one's armour is seen as a sign of weakness and perhaps unfitness for the job. As a result, even when programmes to deal with workplace stress are offered, they are rarely accepted.

While this book is focused on the emotions of judges and prosecutors, as I read it I kept wondering how lay people fit into the frame. In particular, I was fascinated by the emotional regimes of the lay judges, who make an appearance in this book more as an aside. In the first‐instance courts under study, a panel of three lay people preside with the professional judge over the trial. Lay judges have no legal training, are appointed by the political parties, and tend to be retired members of the community. While not professionals, they are still subject to the emotive‐cognitive judicial frame. The fact that they may not be aware of the constraints of this frame leads to regular breaches, a source of frustration for the professional judges which requires careful emotion management. This tension particularly arises when professional judges feel that a lay judge's behaviour threatens the strongly valued ideal of positivist objectivity (Chapter 6). Objectivity is something that takes work. It involves detachment, an impartial demeanour, and above all a clear commitment to the rule of law. Professional judges worry that lay judges do not know how to do this kind of work. They fear that they rely not on legal reasoning but on their own ‘common‐sense’ morality – that is, they are too focused on identifying the ‘the truth’ as opposed to ‘the proven fact’. Professional judges feel that lay judges bring the wrong kind of emotion to their job, and bristle at how this challenges the frame.

The expression of strong, foreground emotions signals a crack in the frame, but also an ‘impending crack between [the] self and professional role that threatens the status of both; their ontological security is destabilized’ (p. 168). This relationship between the frame and the self is only briefly discussed in the concluding chapter, though one can catch glimpses of it running throughout the text. While I recognize that the authors did not set out to study lay people, I suspect that more can be learned by a close examination of how professionals interact with lay people, how lay people navigate emotions within the frame, and how the resulting cracks and dramaturgical stress impacts professional identities, concepts of the self, and attitudes towards justice more broadly.

In the concluding chapter of this book, the authors remind us that the emotive‐cognitive judicial frame and the background emotions that guide professional action are consistent with a commitment to rational positivist orientation. Indeed, many of the professionals whom they interview believe that they have ‘no emotions’ when they are at work. This belief, and the Teflon culture that it generates, means that professionals do not have the tools to interrogate their own biases or to self‐reflect in any way. They conclude by calling for critical self‐reflection and institutional recognition of the role of emotions in legal work.

The authors have done the socio‐legal community a great service by opening up a discussion about the primary frame of the court, in particular as it relates to background emotions and emotions in a civilian tradition. The concept of background emotions is a tricky one, and raises a series of methodological question that all scholars who work in this area should ask themselves. What counts as an emotion? What methods do we use to study them? What are the boundaries of this approach? The authors grapple with these questions when reflecting on their methodological approach, on their own ‘emotional participation’ during fieldwork, and on the interviews and observations at the heart of this book. These reflections are demarcated in the text in a series of ‘how did we do it’ boxes – a novel way to talk about methodology and its ethics, and a useful resource for students and others who do empirical work in this area.

While the Swedish judge with their stone face may seem a million miles away from the American judge who sheds tears in court then hugs a defendant,22 S. Mervosh, ‘Why a Judge Says She Gave Amber Guyger a Bible, a Hug and Hope of Redemption’ New York Times, 7 October 2019 <https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/07/us/tammy-kemp-amber-guyger.html>. much can be learned about emotions across a range of justice contexts by adopting the approach taken by Bergman Blix and Wettergren. Their analysis reveals the inner workings of background emotions for Swedish legal professionals. However, it raises somewhat more universal questions about the tensions between lay and professional emotions and frames, the relationship between background and foreground emotions, and the limits of the emotive‐cognitive judicial frame. This book can and should generate a broader discussion about emotions in legal settings.

社会法律学者长期以来一直在质疑法律程序的所谓实证主义或客观观点，这种观点假定理性审议与情感领域是分离的。该领域的先驱者已将我们的注意力转移到了感觉规则，情感劳动和法庭上的情感管理上。指出了法律程序的表演性和戏剧性方面；并提醒我们密切注意仪式，语言，互动，力量和地位。

Stina Bergman Blix和ÅsaWettergren的书是对这一重要知识体系的可喜贡献。作者通过对瑞典法官和检察官的深入分析，将情感和宫廷的研究扩展到了民用环境（尽管瑞典可能被认为是一种混合的询问/对抗传统）。他们还将社会学的焦点放在背景情感上。这些是较微妙的感觉状态，它们不在我们认知的最前沿，以至于我们甚至可能没有意识到我们正在感觉到它们。11这与前景情绪形成对比，在前景情绪中，感觉到情绪的人会立即意识到这种内部状态。例如，法官在法庭上听取证词时会感到难过。法官感觉就像在哭泣，而这种悲伤成为一种预感，因为法官必须将注意力从听觉转移到努力不哭泣（第1页）。参见J.Barbalet，《情绪与社会学》（2002年）。 背景情绪包括认真，自主，对权力的舒适感或使用智力的愉悦感。他们可能不被认为是“情感”情感，但是正如作者所表明的那样，它们对职业身份具有重大影响，有助于他们称之为“情感-认知司法框架”。背景情绪有助于我们参与期望的行动过程，也就是说，它们有助于我们进行理性的思考。

这些成就是相关的。在对抗性系统中，由于容易发现前景情绪，因此研究前景情绪可能会更容易一些，尤其是在美国这样的国家/地区，在美国等国家，律师出任陪审团时可能会表达愤怒或悲伤，而司法表达情感则更为普遍。在平民系统中，专业人员将自己视为中立的官僚机构的一部分，法律专业人员（尤其是法官）将自己视为站在政治领域之外–他们不属于情绪，道德和日常生活的凌乱现实。伯格曼·布利克斯（Bergman Blix）和韦特格伦（Wettergren）指出，由于选择了研究法官和检察官，他们被迫专注于背景情绪，因为前景情绪非常罕见。瑞典法官以其富有表现力的爆发力而闻名，他们以“石像”而自豪。作者玩弄了这种冷漠的北欧刻板印象，描述了当法官轻轻地放下笔时，如何最接近法庭上的愤怒表现。缺乏前景色的情感要求社会学家敏锐地关注情感潜移默化的更微妙的方式。对后台发生的事情的关注提供了对工作的洞见，该工作被我们称为“表现为非情感”，其本身就是情感劳动的一种形式（第4章）。当然，这与权力和地位有关，法官和检察官都清楚这一点。描述法官在法庭上最能表现出愤怒的方式可能是当法官轻轻地放下笔时。缺乏前景色的情感要求社会学家敏锐地关注情感潜移默化的更微妙的方式。对后台发生的事情的关注提供了对工作的洞见，该工作被我们称为“表现为非情感”，其本身就是情感劳动的一种形式（第4章）。当然，这与权力和地位有关，法官和检察官都知道这一点。描述法官在法庭上最能表现出愤怒的方式可能是当法官轻轻地放下笔时。缺乏前景色的情感要求社会学家敏锐地关注情感潜移默化的更微妙的方式。对后台发生的事情的关注提供了对工作的洞见，该工作被我们称为“表现为非情感”，其本身就是情感劳动的一种形式（第4章）。当然，这与权力和地位有关，法官和检察官都清楚这一点。对后台发生的事情的关注提供了对工作的洞见，该工作被我们称为“表现为非情感”，其本身就是情感劳动的一种形式（第4章）。当然，这与权力和地位有关，法官和检察官都清楚这一点。对后台发生的事情的关注提供了对工作的洞见，该工作被我们称为“表现为非情感”，其本身就是情感劳动的一种形式（第4章）。当然，这与权力和地位有关，法官和检察官都清楚这一点。

作者从情感，互动和仪式的社会学中汲取了概念，霍奇希尔（Hochschild）和戈夫曼（Goffman）都显得很重要。特别是，伯格曼·布利克斯（Bergman Blix）和韦特格伦（Wettergren）很好地利用了戈夫曼（Goffman）1974年的《框架分析》一书中的框架概念。尽管戈夫曼早期工作的后台隐喻在许多法庭互动研究中都出现过，但框架是对他的社会学方法的更为精细的阐述。在像法院大楼这样的形式化和仪式化的空间中，将某些空间视为前台（法庭）而将其他空间视为后台互动和行为的场所（司法室，私人走廊，食堂等）也许太容易了。正如作者所证明的那样，这个比喻很快就被打破了–在每个空间中，都有前后台行为，并且演员在两者之间不断地移动。框架的概念可以帮助我们解决这一问题。框架为我们提供了诸如脚本之类的东西，以帮助指导我们的社交互动，但同时也帮助我们对自己的经历进行道德评估。尽管在任何给定情况下都可能运行多个框架，但“主要框架”将占主导地位，并将成为特定群体文化的核心要素。当我们看到谁知道如何在主要框架内遵循脚本，谁不知道并且谁能够背离脚本时，就会显示出力量和分层。

Bergman Blix和Wettergren称为法庭上的专业人员进行互动的主要框架是“情感-认知司法框架”。这听起来可能有些笨拙，但他们认为这是必要的，因为它强调“框架的情感和认知约束相互交织，并且当框架的约束发生时，情绪和情绪管理对于学习行为脚本和定向行为至关重要变得习惯和不反省”（第22页）。框架封闭了某些（前景）情绪，并使一种情绪朝向其他（背景）情绪状态。

本书的主要经验章节探讨了该框架的不同方面，以及它如何指导从事该框架工作的专业人员的行为和经验。虽然此框架适用于所有法院专业人士，但法官和检察官的职责，义务和专业身份不同，这意味着框架内的脚本有所不同。这些差异构成了法官和检察官的“专业情感特征”（第2章）。尽管所有专业人员都受到背景情感的引导，例如对工作的自豪感和对正义的“正确认识”，但法官的背景情感则是客观感，自主性，智力以及对工作的感觉。在某种程度上是“纯粹的”或高于日常生活的混乱（在这种意义上，他们将自己的职责标榜为神圣，也许像上帝一样）。法官的另一项关键背景情绪是他们的权力得到一定程度的缓解。您可以看到这在法院的仪式中是如何运作的，因为其他人会调整他们的举止，言语和方法以适合法官（第4章）。本书的一个特别优势是通过法官在法庭内外的互动仪式，对法官和检察官来说，权力的感觉是一种社会学上的解释，既是一种背景情感，又是一种互动成就（第5章）。另一方面，检察官陶醉于人们生活和关系的肮脏状态。他们以自己的坚韧，敏捷的思维和将这种混乱转化为纯粹的法律问题以供法官解决的能力而感到自豪（如果法官是法律的神灵，那么检察官是其司铎，净化并翻译亵渎者）。法官的另一项关键背景情绪是他们的权力得到一定程度的缓解。您可以看到这在法院的仪式中是如何运作的，因为其他人会调整他们的举止，言语和方法以适合法官（第4章）。本书的一个特别优势是通过法官在法庭内外的互动仪式，对法官和检察官来说，权力的感觉是一种社会学上的解释，既是一种背景情感，又是一种互动成就（第5章）。另一方面，检察官陶醉于人们生活和关系的肮脏状态。他们以自己的坚韧，敏捷的思维和将这种混乱转化为纯粹的法律问题以供法官解决的能力而感到自豪（如果法官是法律的神灵，那么检察官是其司铎，净化并翻译亵渎者）。法官的另一项关键背景情绪是他们的权力得到一定程度的缓解。您可以看到这在法院的仪式中是如何运作的，因为其他人会调整他们的举止，言语和方法以适合法官（第4章）。本书的一个特别优势是通过法官在法庭内外的互动仪式，对法官和检察官来说，权力的感觉是一种社会学上的解释，既是一种背景情感，又是一种互动成就（第5章）。另一方面，检察官陶醉于人们生活和关系的肮脏状态。他们以自己的坚韧，敏捷的思维和将这种混乱转化为纯粹的法律问题以供法官解决的能力而感到自豪（如果法官是法律的神灵，那么检察官是其司铎，净化并翻译亵渎者）。

这个框架并非无处不在。相反，这是组织结构和新自由主义管理思想的直接结果，决定了专业人员如何度过一天的时间（第3章）。法官和检察官都面临着提高“效率”的压力，要求他们保持独立和人格化的态度，因为对他们时间的要求越来越高。这导致了“铁氟龙文化”的发展，这种感觉规则要求专业人士保护自己免受愤怒，创伤，恐惧或悲伤等情绪的影响。遵守此规则的能力对于法官和检察官的专业身份至关重要，盔甲上的任何缝隙都被视为软弱或可能不适合工作的标志。结果，即使提供了应对工作场所压力的计划，

虽然这本书着重于法官和检察官的情绪，但在我阅读本书时，我一直想知道人们如何适应这一框架。尤其让我着迷的是非专业法官的情绪体系，他们在本书中更偏重于一旁。在所研究的初审法院中，由三人组成的小组由专业法官主持审判。临时法官没有经过法律培训，由政党任命，并且往往是社区的退休成员。尽管不是专业人员，但他们仍受情绪认知司法框架的约束。他们可能不知道此框架的约束这一事实会导致经常性的违规行为，这是专业法官感到沮丧的原因，这需要仔细的情绪管理。当专业法官认为外行法官的行为威胁到被高度重视的实证主义客观性理想时（第6章），这种紧张关系尤其容易出现。客观性需要付出努力。它涉及超支，公正的举止，最重要的是对法治的明确承诺。专业法官担心外行法官不知道如何进行此类工作。他们担心自己不依靠法律推理，而是依靠自己的“常识”道德–也就是说，他们过于专注于识别“真相”而不是“已证明的事实”。专业法官认为，外行法官给他们的工作带来了错误的情感，并为这种挑战给框架带来挑战。它涉及超支，公正的举止，最重要的是对法治的明确承诺。专业法官担心外行法官不知道如何进行此类工作。他们担心自己不依靠法律推理，而是依靠自己的“常识”道德–也就是说，他们过于专注于识别“真相”而不是“已证明的事实”。专业法官认为，外行法官给他们的工作带来了错误的情感，并为这种挑战给框架带来挑战。它涉及超支，公正的举止，最重要的是对法治的明确承诺。专业法官担心外行法官不知道如何进行此类工作。他们担心自己不依靠法律推理，而是依靠自己的“常识”道德–也就是说，他们过于专注于识别“真相”而不是“已证明的事实”。专业法官认为，外行法官给他们的工作带来了错误的情感，并为这种挑战给框架带来挑战。他们过于专注于识别“真相”而不是“已证明的事实”。专业的法官认为，外行法官给他们的工作带来了错误的情感，并为这种挑战给框架带来挑战。他们过于专注于识别“真相”而不是“已证明的事实”。专业的法官认为，外行法官给他们的工作带来了错误的情感，并为这种挑战给框架带来挑战。

强烈的前景情绪的表达预示着框架中的裂缝，但同时也预示着“自我和职业角色之间即将出现的裂缝，这威胁着两者的地位”。它们的本体安全性不稳定”（第168页）。在最后一章中仅简要讨论了框架与自我之间的这种关系，尽管可以窥见贯穿全文的框架。虽然我认识到作者并未着手研究非专业人士，但我怀疑通过仔细检查专业人员与非专业人士的互动方式，非专业人士如何在框架内引导情绪以及由此产生的裂缝和戏剧性内容，可以学到更多压力会更广泛地影响职业身份，自我概念以及对正义的态度。

在本书的最后一章中，作者提醒我们，指导专业行动的情感认知司法框架和背景情绪与对理性实证主义取向的承诺是一致的。确实，接受采访的许多专业人士相信，他们在工作时“没有情绪”。这种信念及其所产生的特氟龙文化，意味着专业人士没有工具来质疑自己的偏见或以任何方式进行自我反思。他们通过呼吁批判性的自我反思和对情感在法律工作中的作用的制度性认识来得出结论。

作者通过展开有关法院基本框架的讨论，特别是与背景情感和平民传统情感相关的讨论，为社会法制社会做出了巨大贡献。背景情感的概念是一个棘手的问题，并提出了一系列方法论问题，所有在这一领域工作的学者都应该问自己。什么算作一种情感？我们用什么方法研究它们？这种方法的边界是什么？当反思方法论方法，田野调查中自己的“情感参与”以及本书核心内容的访谈和观察时，作者们都在解决这些问题。这些反思在一系列“我们如何做到”框中被划定了，这是一种谈论方法论及其伦理学的新颖方法，

虽然瑞典法官张开石头的脸似乎离美国法官一百万英里，后者在法庭上流下眼泪，然后拥抱被告，22 S.Mervosh，``法官为什么说给琥珀色的Guyger圣经，拥抱和救赎的希望''，《纽约时报》，2019年10月7日<https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/07/us/ tammy-kemp-amber-guyger.html>。通过采用伯格曼·布利克斯（Bergman Blix）和韦特格伦（Wettergren）所采用的方法，可以在许多司法环境中了解很多有关情感的知识。他们的分析揭示了瑞典法律专业人士背景情绪的内部运作方式。但是，它提出了一些更为普遍的问题，这些问题涉及外行和专业情感与框架之间的张力，背景与前景情感之间的关系以及情绪认知司法框架的局限性。这本书可以而且应该引起关于法律环境中情感的广泛讨论。