Tess of the D’Urbervilles

Some books are a joy; a mere afternoon of reading and in a flash the paperback has been read. This is not one of these novels. At 460 pages with miniscule font, I can hardly say that there was much ebullience ignited by this classic.

True: there were complex (and contemporarily speaking) risqué issues handled. It is unsurprising that in a harsh and patriarchal 19th Century society that Hardy’s piece caused quite a stir amongst those lucky enough to be able to read.

I did get a sense from the novel that it was far too long, simply because half the content was unuseful. Tess D’urberville is defintely a book that can be skimmed through, as the pace is slower than a hungover sloth, so if you’re reading and miss a line, any overlooked information will be repeated at least three times before it is somewhat relevant.

The climax of the novel is in the last twenty or so pages (Hardy, you kept me waiting a long time!) and even then it was so awkward that it can be hard to give it merit. It seems out of character for Tess to stab Alec, even if he did anger her greatly. Hardy always presented Tess as a maternal figure, caring not only for her siblings but for Sorrow too. She was mainly meek and obeyed orders, being careful to avoid (where controllable) shame upon her family.

For Tess to murder another man seems contradictory on two accounts: although this was an impulsive act, Tess is firstly rarely impulsive herself (she didn’t marry Angel straight away, and deliberated about telling him her secret, as well as hiding from Angel’s brothers instead of suddenly facing them), so the murder- as it wasn’t premeditated- is unusual. Then Tess must have known she’d be caught, meaning death and therefore one less source of income for her poverty stricken family. Seeing as Liza-Lu was held with the utmost respect by Tess, so much so that Tess suggested her marriage, it seems unlikely that Tess was seeking ‘revenge’ on her family by depriving them of her presence/income.

As for the effect on Angel; Tess knew that she was already outcast by Angel, but still hoped with relentless optimism for his forgiveness. Morales dictate that murder is a gruesome crime, so it is strange that Tess should murder Alec and still hope to be liked that Angel. How could she expect this death to be forgiven, particularly when after the stabbing she purposefully seeks out Angel to tell him. Of course, contemporarily the death of the father allowed the widow to move onto another man, although cold murder does seem to be drastic as it limits the longevity of her relationship with Angel, if it was going to happen at all. Didn’t it occur to Tess that he may be repulsed by her brutishness, even if it was to cut off this societal tie?

The language was more like a desert than flowery, although there were a few buds here and there to brighten up the barren language. There were some interesting motifs and symbols, too: the mention of birds frequently throughout the novel were a thought provoking motif of the freedom of characters. The strong theme of freedom and freewill tie strongly into birds; as the Mrs D’Urberville’s finches could fly around the room, they were free. But the mess they created had to be cleaned up by Tess, so the freedom of one creates hardship for the other. This of course is somewhat ironic as nothing but difficulty stems from Tess’ work there, particularly because Alec’s feeling of entitlement to Tess’ body and the consequences of these interactions ultimately leads to Tess suffering throughout the rest of her life.

Many would even say that the peasants that Tess encounters on a particular walk are a metaphor for herself, because although pheasants (and all birds) are synonymous with beauty, grace and freedom, these pheasants can never fly again due to violence, condemned to suffering for as long as their lives may last.

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A rather more cheerful looking pheasant 

Thus Tess is sentenced to a life as an outcast after her encounter with Alec and then Sorrow, and her wings are clipped as she suffers everyday as she cannot truly be with Angel.

Another interesting motif to touch upon is that of the Bible and the story of Adam and Eve. Even though Adam and Eve are directly mentioned in some imagery by Hardy, the comparisons run much deeper than that. Tess is Eve whilst the serpent is Alec, because whilst he doesn’t necessarily tempt her, he takes her to the realms which society cannot forgive, just like God could not forgive Eve for taking the apple, even if the serpent led her there, like Alec led Tess to her downfall. The guilt imposed upon Tess after Alec’s seduction (which was under a tree like in the Book of Genesis) never leaves Tess throughout the novel (although maybe it does after his murder at the end…). Either way, this guilt can be drawn back to the original sin which all of the human race now have within them, and are what caused Adam and Eve to be exiled from Eden, just like how Tess and her family were exiled from their home.

Lastly is the symbol of Prince and inherent suffering. Prince is of course a name with a royal link, just like the D’Urberville name is, and yet Prince toils away his entire life with no pampering or luxury, just like Tess’ family continue to suffer even though they have royal heritage. The death of Prince is unusual, because of the piece of metal driven into him, which is reminiscent of a wound sustained by jousting, which is a sport that only the highest in society could partake in. As Prince dies because Tess fell asleep, dreaming about knights and royalty, it suggests that dreaming and hoping for a better life ultimately leads to loss and suffering. Prince was the ultimate resource for her family, and now gone, the Durbeyfields must live in deeper poverty once more thanks to Tess’ fantasising, even if it was subconsciously. This links into the overarching theme of inherent suffering. Tess didn’t intend for any relationship with Alec, and yet it was imposed upon her, whilst she never meant for Prince to die. Yet these events, entirely out of her control, govern her livelihood and happiness, and so Hardy emphasises that the state of our existence is completely at odds with the notion of self-determination.

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Nike’s JUST DO IT campaign suggests that circumstances are entirely irrelevant to achieving any goals

This theme is the most engaging in a modern context, more so perhaps that the commentary of a patriarchal society or the mobility throughout social class, because luckily it seems that in the centuries since publication the ability to change social class is much easier, and only recently has an idea of the strength of the patriarchy and the need to deconstruct been discussed. But the concept of self-determination is often left astray, because of millennial parenting techniques and corporations. The idea that ‘because you want it, you can have it’ is incredibly damaging long term (watch Simon Sinek’s excellent talk on this here), whilst companies cash in on this idea. Think of Nike’s JUST DO IT and of all the millions of self-help books written that sell out even though they’re written by people with no education on the subject. This idea of meritocracy at all costs is dangerous, as proven by Hardy, and needs to be looked at through a larger lens more as we progress.

 

 

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This is Why Your Opinion Doesn’t Matter

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Yes, sometimes people with questionable opinions get into power. Luckily, this won’t apply to most people. Probably you, too.

I’ve said it. The words that millions of people across the world have been waiting for. In an age of social media where you can directly contact the President of the United States through a tweet, it’s easy to feel like your voice matters and that your voice is powerful. Which is true: in a way. Activism is a necessary and intrinsic part of society, ensuring that negative aspects are tackled but that in particular is not what I’m discussing when it comes to opinions. It’s those of individual people on an individual level.

This concept (jarring in the optimism of the 21st century) came to me as I was reading Eimear McBride’s A Girl Is a Half Formed Thing. The book didn’t appeal to me; there were odd loop-holes in the plot (such as if the boy was to die of a brain tumour why weren’t there trained nurses looking after him- why was he abandoned by the doctors to the care of his psychotic family? Or how could the protagonist even afford to be at home all the time without a job when their family were desperate for money, and then suddenly said finicial problems were never mentioned?) Anyway, these critical thoughts were tumbling through my mind when I realised that all this was irrelevant. Absolutely and utterly irrelevant. It’s not to say that I’m writing off all my past book reviews, but I just thought- who cares? As in, this is my opinion, and in the end if McBride is satisfied with her work, does it matter what I think?

Part of me thinks of course it does. I am a reader and therefore a customer and therefore someone who could pay her for future books. On the other hand, my opinion is formed due to billions of experiences and interactions that have happened up to over a decade ago which dictate my preferences and standings on all conceivable topics. Ultimately, even I cannot control what I enjoy, so are ‘my’ opinions even really my own? Even if McBride read my feedback on a hypothetical review, should or would she change her work just because I asked her to?

I hope not.

The process of editing is laborious, so her book would a product she would have to be absolutely content with, so even if I said I didn’t like certain parts, it wouldn’t matter. There will be other people who do like it. Who don’t mind loopholes. This theory of the devaluing of our opinions comes from the idea that you can say what you want, but that doesn’t mean something will change. There is crucial difference between saying something, people listening, and then something happening in response. People like to think that when they speak, it’s like to a room of open-eared fans, when in reality it’s more like shouting at a few seagulls who just stole your chips and are coming back for the fish later.

A billion people could read this blog post. Imagine. All those people I could reach just through a single post- the influence I could have on the world through my thoughts. But realistically it’s this kind of self-entitled thinking which should be prevented. Not dreams or aspirations, but more people understanding their place and influence in society.

And it’s not just about me. It’s about you, too. Having just watched one of Simon Sineck’s speeches about the millennials, (which you can watch here) it made me realise how people truly do inflate their sense of purpose and self. They are egoistical, some might say, but through no fault of their own; how can we not expect ourselves to achieve great things when “every single one of us is special and can do what we want simply because we believe we can”. This is the type of rhetoric being told to the millennials. It was (and still is) chanted in schools. To the generation who now has the highest rate of depression and suicide ever. It doesn’t quite add up, does it? I won’t paraphrase Sineck’s interview but it linked into my earlier thought about overestimating one’s impact on the world. You are allowed to have opinions, thoughts, stances on things- I just urge you not to expect it to make a difference on a global scale. It’s like being a child and writing to your local MP, adding in the essential drawing of a melancholy polar bear on a lone icecap. Yes, you will receive full marks for initiative, but don’t you think that the Houses of Parliament realise that polar bears are dying and actually yes there is a war on and refugees and protestors outside their door and-

I want to tell people to stop waiting around for modelling agencies or Ivy League universities to magically be attracted to you by your sheer brilliance. That’s what  a lifetime of unfounded but well meaning praise has led them to believe will happen. It may seem like a pessimistic article, but a necessary one. When people (at least those I know) are wracking up thousands of followers on social media it is easy for them to feel powerful; when people don’t immediately reply to emails, or you have to wait to talk to someone as they’re in the middle of a conversation, it’s easy to feel annoyed. To feel like the world isn’t quite functioning as it should. Or is it your mindset which isn’t quite functioning properly to fit into a cohesive society?

We all want a podium to stand-on and whilst a dream is fine if it helps you through the wild current of life, don’t expect it to stop you from drowning.

Distillation of thought

We sit.

We sit and we think.

We sit and we think and we turn a page.

Or we stand in the train, the tears of a child seeping into conciousness

a stranger’s anger twisting

into our minds at the half-line of a phone call,

eyes darting away to avoid the shadow of confrontation-

we grip the book tighter trying not to think about

yesterday or today or the taxes or the work or the-

we mumble excuses, push past other people with other problems,

stepping onto the platform, book still clutched in our hand

like a medicine against the pain of reality,

the page now lost.

 

We sit and we think and we turn a page.

Arrive at bookshops with hours to shed, looking for a book

like we’re looking for a new life

They pile in your mind, the weight of unread masterpieces

dragging down your social confidence, because what if that was

a line of a Wilde novel, slipped into a party conversation to ignite a laugh,

but us being the fool

(always the fools, aren’t we)

we miss the joke because we hadn’t spent enough time alone,

alone with a book

which isn’t the same thing, is it?

 

That time spent thinking about stolen money,

stolen dreams,

stolen people,

the time spent crouched over pieces of paper that spout

lies, glorious lies but lies all the same,

is like a drug for curiosity. We read to escape,

to deduce with Holmes and

make spells with Harry

or ponder with Hamlet

because our world isn’t enough, too cramped

and busy

and stuffy with mortal problems

to be valuable.

 

Instead of searching for a cape of words-

a place to hide whilst problems fester and grow

(the thoughts pushed frantically to the back of the mind)

we should spend more time on returning from our imagination.

Searching for a plan, a solution, a way

instead of the right chapter, because when you return

from altars of blood and planets of moonlight, the problems will still exist.

The father will still be crying in the corner, untouched.

The girl’s fists will still be clenched, blood bursting into her palm

The woman’s face will still be etched into marble, and she won’t speak anymore.

 

 

The world is fractured, humanity splintering

into shards of terror and fear and horror

at it’s ends, but the ends will only become sharper

if we try to hide

behind pieces of paper

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thwaites undergoats an udderly ridiculous joureny

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Goat and follow your dreams; if a man can become a goat, then you can definitely become a popstar

The concept behind GoatMan is ingenious. It sounds like an invention only someone desperate, determined and open-minded would do. Which is Thomas Thwaites in a nutshell, or should I say, goat’s cheese wheel.

Stumbling along in life, with no job and acting as a unwilling trustafarian, Thwaites decided to turn his life around. Somehow, he thought that becoming an elephant walking across the Alps was the way to do it, with a grant from the Wellcome Trust. Which does still sound decidedly trustafarian-like all things considered, but at least the author wasn’t dog-sitting anymore.

Having trekked to Copenhagen and given some shamanic guidance in a hut, Thwaites realised he should’ve been a goat all along. It would’ve got my goat to say the least if I was part-way through an elephant design project and changed animal, but Thwaites didn’t seem to mind. Throughout the book we are guided through his process of realising his goal: visits to goat farms, creators of prosthetics, animal dissections (ft. snow leopard and an alpaca with practically tuberculosis) and a psychologist all feature. It’s exciting stuff.

Winning the 2016 Ig Nobel Prize for the project, as seen in the book GoatMan by Thomas Thwaites, this goes far deeper than merely thinking ‘goat-like’ thoughts. Impressively, Thwaites commits to the project with a level of dedication seldom seen elsewhere, and the documentation of this is displayed aesthetically, which appears to be the designer of Thwaites coming through, or in any doubt, a great publishing house. For every notable event, there is a technicolour image to boot, my favourite being (not the goat’s rumen spilling everywhere in graphic detail whilst I thought about my last meal, but in fact) Prof. Hutchinson’s freezer. It’s filled with hundreds of plastic bags with mysterious lumps and it’s all rather intriguing. Lumps being dead animals and intriguing meaning including giraffe necks and elephant feet. Check out his blog here: http://www.whatsinjohnsfreezer.com

As a concept it’s fantastic; sometimes it’s wonderful to do something just for the sake of it, not because it will ‘look good on my CV’. I hear this so often, with people wandering off on Duke of Edinburghs (it’s overrated- I ran out of food because my porridge pots broke and I woke up with frost on the inside of my tent), or attending up to 8 hours of extra curricular activities a week in the hope of impressing someone later in life in an application. Whilst pursing interests is important, I find that since the only incentive is to gain a place at an academic institution, it seems like a waste of time. Most people I know don’t even know what they want to do next weekend, let alone for their degree courses. Yet societal values have convinced us that the only path to success is: go to university, have a long working career- establishing yourself as upper middle class whilst you have a family, then retire. That’s the conventional measure of a happy lifestyle today, with the amount of wealth accumulated punctuating that achievement. But what if that isn’t true? There are so many assumptions in there, and now people automatically think they want going to university, but with no real incentive of their own except that that is what everybody else is.

So this book appeals because it is a rebellion of that. Sure, Thwaites did it to drag himself out of a pool of unemployment, but he could have worked as a waiter to do that. He didn’t know that he was going to win the Ig Prize for the Project. He received (and still does probably) uncertain comments from people around him surrounding it, but he preserved because that’s what he wanted to do. To live a simpler life is a noble aim, I suppose. It’s difficult to let go of everything, of contacts, the internet, unnecessary material objects. There’s an underlying fear of making that decision and getting so far behind with the world that if you don’t hurry, it’ll be too late to return.

Yet to take the time out and simply read this project counteracts that. You’ll never put reading this on your CV, and you’ll be so enraptured that you won’t think of your phone. Think of reading this as a little rebellion, your own holiday from being a modern Homo sapiens.

Why did The Sellout sellout?

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Beatty is the first American author to have won the Man Booker prize

Today the 2017 Man Booker Prize winner will be announced. The award has a stiff atmosphere of prestige surrounding it, with a hefty £50,000 cheque for the winner. Yet the winner is only crowned because their work has pleased a small group of people, the Judges. If another group of people read the same few books, perhaps the winner would be different. So to check if this set of judges had good taste, I decided to read The Sellout for myself.

It’s a visceral novel. But before delving into that, it’s dotted with Americanisms and little witty quips that someone foreign to the culture would miss: being part of that cultural clique adds to the attraction of the book. Basic psychology, one could argue; the ‘in’ and ‘out group’ theory- relating here to understanding the pun, or not. Aside from that the subjects in it are incredibly intense. It’s about the reintroduction of segregation and slavery in modern-day L.A. A very fine line to tread, even when the characters hold entirely different views and are a separate entity to the author, because although the West might think themselves above both of these things- that they’re buried safely underneath the weight of history- the truth is far from it. There are an estimated 40.3 million people in slavery today across the world, including America and Britain. To start to toy with the idea with ownership if a human is a calculated risk, but the manner in which Beatty did so was considered enough to distinct itself from satire on that topic. Perhaps he deserves merit in his own right for handling that suitably enough. Maybe he thought was ‘on a roll’, or held a level of conceit for his skills (rightly so at any rate) but he decided to lump in segregation too. The segregation of the city, Dickens, of the protagonist. It’s a polarising topic, in my head at least. The topic of segregation was approached much more bluntly than slavery and it was intrinsic to the plot. I believe that in all honesty there would have been mortified and incensed reactions to Beatty’s work if he hadn’t have been black though. In Western culture particularly there has been a rising trend in the embracement of minorities, women and LBTQ+ (basically everyone bar privileged straight white men), with this book no doubt falling into this category. Whilst I wholesomely advocate this movement, still today in society there are copious amounts of racism, so approaching topics like this have to be done with care.

For the actual details of the book; it has a plot certainly, but is mainly made up of factors that appeal to the aesthetic more than literary rhetoric of any kind. Little twists in fate like Marpessa having the bus where Rosa Parks famously denied to move are in all honesty fascinating quirks, but don’t add substantial to weight to the storyline on their own. There are many other instances of this, such as the protagonist of the book having the last name “Me”, so that when he was in court it was “Me vs. The United States of America”. A fun, if somewhat extravagant touch, which is mainly how I sum up the novel as a whole. Things happen, of course, but I don’t feel like there’s something I can tangibly take away from the experience at the end. It’s not like you can close the covers saying to yourself, thank goodness he got the girl. There’s a resolution, certainly, but it’s not life changing, not pivotal to the sense of closure in the conventional manner.

In Western liberal democracies, there are often issues with renowned institutions, be it government (in general) or something as flippant as the Oscar Awards; creating cultural diversity without appearing to fall for tokenism is one of them. I admit that I have only read the Man Booker Prize Winner from last year, and none of the other competing titles, and yet bearing this eagerness to create a diverse playing field in mind, it does not surprise me that Paul Beatty’s piece had won. Because it is a book by a black author about a black protagonist talking about racism. Much in the same way that a few years ago the book Lies We Tell Ourselves (read my review of it here) got onto the Carneige Shortlist when frankly it was awful- the actual prose of that novel itself couldn’t have been strong enough to merit a place on it’s own- so it suggest other factors were influences too. Bearing in mind the large amount of children reading the Carneige Shortlist in shadowing groups, the exposure to a vetted book about mild racism and lesbians would have been an eye-opening experience for them. The judges have a far greater responsibility on their shoulders than simply choosing the best book; it’s worth remembering that when considering titles with awards. Now whilst I’m not suggesting that Beatty won on these grounds, it wouldn’t surprise me if these factors did work in his favour. As The Man Booker Prize is a prestigious award, of course the winner is going to be highly scrutinised, so it is going to have to be a high quality. Yet given the amount of exposure that each novel gets after being awarded, it seems that handing this American satire this opportunity to reach the masses would, as with Lies We Tell Ourselves, be a wise idea.

The subject and morality of racial quotas can be discussed in another post, but it’s clear that we’re not living in a post-racial, post-judgemental world. It seems obvious to me why The Sellout would hold such an attraction to the Man Booker judges; because it openly grapples with subjects that people are too afraid to articulate themselves for fear of being called a racist. Now noting someone’s skin colour, calling them a ‘white person’ or a ‘black person’, is unfortunately now synonymous with racial slurs because people have have been brought up today to be so considerate of others, to rectify the horrendous attitudes of the past, that no one knows where they stand. It’s like social media posts where people make racial jokes that ‘my (coloured) friend laughs at as well’ and then are grilled by the international community for their words. The appropriateness of the joke is beside the point; it’s the cautiousness that society is now trained to adopt which is the important factor. The Sellout isn’t cautious. It doesn’t care about social convention or pleasing the crowds- which is why it does hold that level of attraction. This year all the novels on the 2017 shortlist are experimental, and this one certainly is too.

So the Sellout. The Man Booker judges certainly picked an appropriate novel, but would I read it again? Probably. It seems like something which has to be read several times to be understood fully. Or maybe it doesn’t. I’ll just have to take the risk and find out.

Freakonomics- is it worth it?

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The unique interpretation of Economics here is perhaps far-fetched

Freakonomics. The despair of every Economics University admissions officer as they scan personal statements. At this point in time, who hasn’t read Freakonomics, and even if they had, would flaunting the fact their eyes have skimmed over 211 pages make a difference to their knowledge of interdependence in Oligopolistic Markets?

It, like the pocket-sized physics books which were all the nerdy rage last year, was part of a half-hearted trend to revive the intelligence of the nation. Perhaps publishers had had enough of talking about the weather over their tea break and thought, if only we could talk about something interesting, something like why drug dealers still live with their mothers, then life would be better. So let’s publish a book so people know about this and can then discuss it. Or maybe Steven D. Levitt was good enough at economics to know that:

Lots of books sold – (tax + publisher’s cut) = A FUN HOLIDAY

Or so it seems. So down to the content; there’s not much of it. There are only 6 different chapters, which were more like 3 broken in half, where the authors tried to pass the second half off (sometimes) as an entirely new subject. Which they weren’t. The issue was also that there was no unifying theme. There’s no satisfaction in covering lots of ground when you’re moving too fast to pick anything up. It’s a shame. Maybe Steven should have proof-read it.

Initially, it was gratifying, if slightly pointless, to see that there was a link between a sumo wrestler and a teacher, but I was left with one question. The authors repeatedly say that you have to look for the right question, then the rest will follow. I’m not sure about anybody else, but it seems that obviously when you have masses ‘data’ and know about separate ‘studies’, it’s articulating the link which is the only mildly tricky part. There was no research done into either profession in order to find the bridge between the two: Levitt simply had to scan a few pages from studies done on teacher and sumo wrestlers, find a tenuous loophole to sling the two together, then gleefully stuff the pages with irrelevant facts about nepotism in the University of Georgia.

It seems like although Freaknomics is the adult version of a ‘fun facts booklet’, there is nothing tangible that can be taken away from reading this. Nothing that you can flaunt to your friends except that somewhere in New York, a few decades ago, a father named his sons Winner and Loser Lane. But perhaps I am being too harsh. After all, it offers great insights into sectors of human thought that would never normally cross our minds, such as how humans more intensely fear things that they’re unfamiliar with: an easy example is jumping into a car vs. taking off on a plane. Yet that’s not much a revelation, is it?

It seems that at times the evidence, whilst sounding impressive with their acronyms, because the companies are too important to have their names squeezed into a single word, is flawed. Sometimes the evidence was too superficial- hardly reliable when trying to make grand posturing claims about contradicting prevailing wisdom, and at other times foolhardy. Scores of their ‘evidence’, once you trudge to the footnotes of the book, seem to be laughable or dubious at best. And is this really book really covering Economics, or merely palatable Sociology? The latter for sure, but given that these supposed ‘findings’ were so ‘obscure’ (i.e bound together by the most far farfetched pieces of data), it’s no surprise that instead of being crafted into a respectable journal, it’s been churned out as a commercial book.

I was at first steeling myself for this review; I had the general impression that people liked Freakonomics and thought of it as their intellectual lunchtime companion, but soon it became clear that elsewhere people were having the same thoughts as I did, and that I wouldn’t be the only personal trying to articulate my distaste.

My final word is that, despite the hype, I didn’t buy into it. So no; it’s not worth it.

Dear Lupin by Roger and Charlie Mortimer

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The book has also been turned into a play, which had a successful run at the Apollo Theatre

 

Dear readers,

Some say the message is medium: Dear Lupin is a collection of letters that span nearly 25 years, and through this form offer the most intimate insight into the Mortimers’ lives. If intimate is the right word- it seems like multiple opportunities to be delighted at the sheer hilarity of it is more suitable.

Letters. Seems dated now, doesn’t it? Something you only tend to at Christmas out of obligation, not because the simple act offers any sort of satisfaction. (I bet many people have said the same about over-indulging in mince pies, but there you go.) Here, it conveys admirably parental despair. In reality, nothing in our modern day with the prevalent technology could genuinely reveal to the same depth any relationship. Imagine being a historian, sifting through the one line texts. There’s no detail behind what we communicate now, because who has time to go into the neighbour’s health? Why bother? It’s this offhand thinking that not makes it difficult not only for people in the future to discern who we really are, but it makes life clouded for ourselves when we can’t even engage with each other. What does anything mean to us?

Roger Mortimer typically humoured the pages with self-deprecation or painstaking accurate remarks. “Doubtless you regard me as monumental bore, tolerated only at times because I fork out some cash, but senile as I am I probably know a bit more about you and your friends than you seem to realise” Hm. Bet a lot of parents today would be much more success in talking to their children if they realised in themselves these words.

Anyway, it is rather clear to see that although Charlie entertained a school career at Eton, it wasn’t exactly the most successful, as he was constantly reminded to try and get through a term “without a chorus of disapproval and despair from the unfortunate masters who have to try and teach you something.” Joyfully Charlie moves through life though, and it’s almost bizarre, like watching a time-lapse of a plant, to see the style and tone of the letters change. One moment it’s from a reprimanding father, another it’s from a more- well, still reprimanding father, but with a rather letter edge to the words.

“Dear Charles,                                                                                                                                        I am very impulsive. Your mother is also very impulsive. That is quite enough for one family. Let us have a little… deliberation from you. So to start with, get rid of that motorbike. I did not give you £40 for that, as you well know!”

But, like everything, things start to break down and crumble, and although the earlier letters were cheerful and lighthearted, punctuated with concerns, the hilarity seeps away towards the end of the collection, where above all Roger voices his fears of ageing, of dying. It is poignant and raw- often a gruff acceptance of fate that retells all our own fears. This is a book which will not only inspire you to laughter and morose reflection, but to start writing letters again yourself.

Best wishes,

Melrose

1984 by George Orwell

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Are classic works beyond criticism? Perhaps. Since literary professors have devoted their careers to hallowed sentences, should one dare to question their opinion, with the threat of passive aggressive comments later (or is that just from fandoms)?

Yes. One should continually review and question the work of the professors, not just to discover the merits (or the conceived merits) of classic pieces, but to learn of your own stance on such controversial topics discussed.

The most notable thing that spruced from this book was the lack of tangibility concerning the characters. The protagonist, Winston Smith, had no defining traits or features, except for his rebellious streak which might not even set him out to be individual, but as one of many aspiring revolutionaries. My hope was to discover a Bonsai: a character that had been nurtured, not necessarily sheltered from action though, and cultivated into their own skin of ink and imagination. Sadly not. Driven by a desire for sex and Victory gin and not much else, Winston is a pathetic man to spend your afternoons with. When he is tortured, it’s not painful to read- unpleasant certainly- but the fires of anguish and sympathy are not ruthfully burning. You would think that Orwell would have devoted a bit more time to fleshing out, but if Winston was to be discovered on paper, it seems like paper he would remain.

Ingsoc
English Socialism-a political philosophy

It is common knowledge that 46% of American adults cannot understand the label on their prescription medicine, so perhaps the language used in the mid-20th century would be a problem for the masses. Alas, alas, if only it were so. The writing is bland. Bland like builder’s tea (I’m much more a green tea person myself). Or cardboard. Perhaps this is the message that Orwell was trying to spread to us: we should inherently not use paper for anything like writing stories as it’ll only bore you: all theses papery references must count for something. I did count down the pages until the end which is never good a sign either.

The pace is unforgivable. My tortoise could waddle 100m faster: yes, there’s a climatic moment (Orwell was not an idiot after all) and perhaps intrigue, but generally it plopped along with an agenda that would horrify all overly zealous 3rd Grade teachers. (The  high intonations and tattooed on smiles never seem to go out of fashion in the education industry.) In fact, only a tree would grow slower than the pace. Coincidence? I think my point is proven. The arc of the plot is predictable to say the least, so it seems that there is little of interest in literary terms with 1984, except…

On the other hand (always a risky sentence starter) the ideas that are conveyed do hold significant weight. The themes of the proletariat rising to power, a theory cultivated by Marx, and their potential to do so was intriguing. At the time it must have caused the upper society to melt into enraged philosophical discussion, however today our society has evolved into something more unusual. The nature of the working classes, when nations are compared, is that they are astoundingly contrasting, so for a society like the one in 1984 to be created where the lower classes rise to power, it would have to be localised to a country or region, with people rebelling against a certain government/ specific policy. Not a worldwide movement as many people stand for many things.

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There is a flaw in the argument as at the moment not only are people under different governmental regimes, which means when the proletariat united rise to power their idea  of how power should be would, realistically, differ depending on culture (so not all inherently communist), but that at the moment many people are happy with the status quo.

Jo Brand said 1984 was ‘more relevant today than almost any other book’, however I feel that whilst identity and freedom are discussed, the underlying motives of the plot are entirely mischaracterised by Brand. Of course with more digital products entering our lives, it is easier to collect personal data. So the concept or value of privacy has undoubtedly evolved, but it is not eliminated like it is the book. In 1984 people are ruthlessly violent and racism is rife towards the prisoners of war with insults breeding everywhere:​ in the age of `Generation Snowflake’, there hardly seems a time where people are more emotionally protected or more sheltered from raw comments. But perhaps because now more than ever, they have to be.

June Book of the Month- Grief is the thing with feathers-Max Porter

Crows

A pocket-sized explosion of character and immense profundity.

Porter create separate strands of perspective using multiple points of view, which help form a precise map of emotion concerning the aftermath of a women’s death. It weaves a journey through the characters’ catharsis, too.

This isn’t a dazed process though: grief is personified as a crow. A whimsical and fantastical idea, as Crow contrasts the moping father by inserting humour into the piece, especially when he becomes borderline hyper-emotional:

 “The whole city is my missing her. Eugh, said Crow, you sound like a fridge magnet.”

Crow adds a technicolour aspect to the novel, with his attitude to the suffering family of sons and father offering a fresh view of what grief truly is.

The father, a Ted Hughes’ scholar, awkwardly straddles his new-found parental responsibilities over his two sons by ignoring them completely, his sons gently breaking the rules for the sake of it. There are nights of numbness, lasagne, easy laughter because they managed to forget, forget that the hole burnt in their lives by loss exists and should be suffocating them.

The boys are never separated. They remain always identical, similar to A.A.Gill when he referenced the Twins. Although they have different opinions, floating across the page with lyrically, they are always referred to as one. Like youth in many situations, they aren’t indifferent, but more indifferent in an aching way. They don’t linger on the event, but steely smile on, brushing aside their father’s solemn outlook on life.

The concept of metaphorizing an emotion is simply an idea which I believe we all wish we came up with ourselves. It is written in the style of a continuous poem, with the imagery created outstanding and resulting in an ethereal engagement in the text on the reader’s behalf. Presented in the style of snippets of babbling thoughts, poignant reflections and fragmented memories, the brief novel consumes the themes of realisation and sadness beautifully, deserving to be absorbed by all.

 

Happy 2nd Birthday!

It’s been a manic two years, but we have made it. Or at least this slither of internet space which contains my opinionated  reviews of popular books is still in existence, which is practically the same thing.

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Firstly, I want to say thank you so much to everybody who follows, likes or visits my site. It’s definitely encouraging to know that although I write these from behind a laptop, there are actually other people out there who seem to find my stuff interesting. Thank you! If any of you have any ideas you want on the site, or points for improvement, please always let me know!

It’s strange, the time has passed rapidly, but this blog has been such a great project on the side, not necessarily offering catharsis but instead helping me store accounts of everything I’ve read. Two years… I mean I now have 26 followers which was 26 more than when I began! Not exactly the rise to fame that I had envisioned, but I’m sure it’ll happen one day 🙂

So, *wipes away tear* with that said and done, do carry on celebrating!