In April 2016, the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare’s death was marked and celebrated. In those 400 years since his passing, countless retellings have been created in literature, plays and films. The universal appeal of his work has ensured his legacy continues to this day. The latest series of retellings, the Hogarth Shakespeare project, brings his work into the present day. The project launched in October 2015 and will reach completion in 2021. So far, four plays have been reimagined. Although some retellings (for instance, the OMG Shakespeare series published by Penguin Random House) have been much criticised for the ‘dumbing-down’ of his work, I was keen to get my hands on the latest Hogarth publication: Hag-Seed by Margaret Atwood. A retelling of The Tempest, Hag-Seed centres on the maligned protagonist Felix Phillips (Prospero). Critics of The Tempest have remarked on Prospero’s similarity to Shakespeare and the way he manipulates the action like a theatre-director; it was refreshing to see this interpretation taken literally in Atwood’s version. As the Artistic Director of the Makeshiweg Theatre Festival, Felix has a long way to fall when he is outed by a rival. Living in exile for twelve years and working on a theatre programme at a nearby prison, Felix has a long time to plot his revenge. Atwood’s retelling worked beautifully; the prose was witty, well-thought-out and incredibly fun to read. Although some retellings have been heavily criticised, for me Hag-Seed added another dimension to The Tempest. The modern setting but familiar characters proved that although history may have changed, humanity has not. Personally, I am looking forward to the next instalment in the Hogarth series.
Literature
Artificial Intelligence: Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
The book behind the film Blade Runner, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? has withstood the passage of time. Unlike many speculative works of fiction, Androids possesses an uncanny foresight into contemporary society. Unlike, for instance, that fated day in Back to the Future: October 21, 2015. That date has been and gone; hoverboards are still a world-away from our reality. On the other hand, androids are becoming increasingly and disconcertedly more prevalent. Like Back to the Future, there may be hover-powered vehicles within the pages of Androids, but one element remains scarily accurate: the humanoid robot.
Within Japan’s National Science Museum lives a humanoid robot called “Alter”. Powered by a neural network, Alter moves unaided by any human operator or remote control. Like a living being, the robot is in control of its own movements. It can even sing. There is no denying that robots are gaining more prevalence in our lives; currently under development for operations such as driving cars and performing surgery. Which raises the question: where do we draw the line?
Philip K. Dick grapples with this unnerving topic beautifully. The chapter in which the protagonist Rick Deckard (a bounty hunter whose aim is to “retire” androids) finds himself in an android-controlled police station is thrilling. The hunter becomes the hunted. Philip K. Dick throws the reader into complete doubt. The distinction between human and android is consistently blurred. Sometimes the android acts more human than the real artifact. The ending chapters took a slight detour from the bulk of the storyline, but ultimately Androids proves a thought-provoking and stimulating read.
Russian Fairy Tales
Christmas is a period in which we find comfort in the familiar; many of our expectations for the day are cemented in our childhood memories. It is a time of nostalgia, rituals and predictability. With this in mind, I thought I would revisit the familiar world of the fairy tale over the holidays. As much as I love the dark narrative of Grimms’ Fairy Tales, my collection of Russian Tales takes precedence. I was fascinated with these as a child and I think it makes a refreshing break from the Western literature that dominates my degree course. Whilst I was engrossed with the figure of Baba Yaga (a witch who lives in a hut on chicken legs), I felt the short tale Father Frost was the most season-appropriate.
Opening with the traditional “Once upon a time”, the narrative is aware of its own tropes: “Everyone knows what stepmothers are like. If you do wrong, you get a beating, and if you do right, you get a beating all the same”. There are definite parallels that can be drawn between the tale and Snow White; a stepmother orders for her stepchild to be left in a forest to die. In this tale, however, the child is visited by the figure of Father Frost. He asks the child whether she is cold. She replies that she is warm and Father Frost ultimately rewards the child with lavish furs and costly gifts. Seeing the result, the stepmother tries the same with her own daughter; leaving her in the forest for Father Frost. But the stepmother’s daughter tells Father Frost that she is cold and curses him. In response, Father Frost freezes her to death. The moral of the story is blurry but stress is placed on manners and to never show weakness. Ultimately I find these tales bewitching; they are as good (if not better) than the Grimms’ Fairy Tales. They may make a good gift for the fairy tale-enthusiast.
Halloween and Gothic Literature
Autumn has finally settled in and with Halloween just around the corner I felt a suitably spooky piece of literature was in order. Synonymous with femme fatales, haunted castles and the supernatural, Gothic literature has become a genre renowned for its ability to invoke terror. Interestingly the Gothic genre is considered to have originated from a novel written in 1764; The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole. Paving the way forward, The Castle of Otranto establishes many of the tropes (evil tyrant, virtuous maiden, etc.) associated with later works. Claiming to be a translation of a 16th-century Italian manuscript, the novel unfolds the misfortune of Manfred, prince of Otranto. The family is haunted by an ancient prophesy that reveals the castle “should pass from the present family, whenever the real owner should be grown too large to inhabit it”. Manfred’s only son, Conrad, is crushed the morning of his wedding day by a mysterious plumed helmet large enough to fit a giant. Consumed by his desire to produce an heir, Manfred is set on a path of destruction. Fast-paced, melodramatic and sensational, The Castle of Otranto is at once both thrilling and absurd.
The 125th Anniversary of Agatha Christie
September has been a month of growing anticipation and expectation; the start of a new academic year, but also a milestone in the literary calendar as we reach the 125th anniversary of the best-selling novelist of all time.
Agatha Christie, born on the 15th of September 1890, wrote over 80 novels, short story collections and plays. Her work has only been outsold by the Bible and Shakespeare, an awe-inspiring accomplishment that leaves me feeling ludicrously overwhelmed. In the spirit of things I thought I’d tackle one of her Poirot novels before the onset of term. Murder on the Orient Express is the 10th Poirot novel and was voted this month to be the world’s second favourite Agatha Christie novel (surpassed by And Then There Were None, which is being adapted for screen and released this winter). On his return to London via the Orient Express, Poirot stumbles into a case. The train comes to a standstill in a snowstorm, one of the passengers is murdered and the killer remains on the train. Poirot, calm and collected with a meticulous eye for detail, launches himself into an investigation which leaves us guessing until the very end. The structure of the novel takes the reader methodically through the case, presenting the evidence and even including a map of the carriages. It is very easy to get submerged in the details. I finished the novel in the mind-set that I could easily inhale another. I can definitely see the reasons why Agatha Christie became so popular.
Hoarding and Bleak House
I recently purchased about twenty or so books from my reading list for university. Having thoroughly decluttered my bedroom in search of space and to deter (at least for a few hours) the inevitable summer boredom, I still found it impossible to sandwich any more books onto my shelf. My new purchases remain in piles on my floor. Reluctant to sell any of my old books for sentimental reasons, I am beginning to wonder if I am becoming soppy or worse, a hoarder.
It must have been around the time I received my seventh parcel that I was suddenly reminded of a certain Mr Krook who spontaneously self-combusted in Dickens’ Bleak House. However it was not his sudden ignition into flame which I was concerned about (though a much discussed phenomenon, it is generally accepted that cases of self-combustion are in fact caused by other external factors), but his hoarding. Whilst it may take me years to accumulate the same quantity of stuff, I am no less disturbed to think of the extremity it could emerge into. Decades of dirt and decay built up around towers of clutter is not the image I see when I imagine my ideal home. Then I remember the (spoiler alert) discovery of some rather useful papers which uncover the central mystery in the plot. These papers were found in the dwelling of Mr Krook. If Mr Krook had not been a hoarder, these papers would most likely have been thrown out; he was illiterate after all and had no use for them. Hoarding therefore had a central role in Dickens’ novel; an accumulation of information that was vital for the closure of Bleak House. Why then, I imagine, hoarding cannot be that bad. Someday I might need something and at the very least I will know where it is, it just might take me awhile to find.
Dystopian Fiction
There is something about dystopian fiction which I find horrific but at the same time alluring and downright seductive. I am both repelled and enthralled by its content; an experience which succeeds in securing my undivided attention. With this in mind, I am surprised that it has taken me this long to get my hands on George Orwell’s renowned 1984.
Having meticulously studied the first utopian fiction (Thomas More’s Utopia – arguably more of a dystopia) alongside having read contemporary versions of the genre (The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro and The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins to name a few), I found it interesting to see how each reflected on the other. Permeating the content of Orwell’s 1984 are the lines:
“War is Peace
Freedom is Slavery
Ignorance is Strength”
A haunting reminder of the darker side in humanity, it is disconcerting to realise the prevalence these lines have both in other speculative narratives and most disturbingly the real world (1984 has been likened to the current situation in North Korea). Those thoughts aside, I found the narrative itself exhilarating. Entering the consciousness of its protagonist Winston Smith, the reader is guided through his experiences in a rigidly controlled totalitarian society. Everywhere he is watched by the eyes of Big Brother, even his thoughts are policed and subject to punishment: “Thoughtcrime does not entail death: thoughtcrime IS death”. No location, both external and internal, is safe from surveillance. The novel pries open questions about our own society: Are we really influencing media or is media subliminally influencing us? How much of our individuality is a product of behaviours dictated appropriate by society? Ultimately are we really free at all?
Anticipating Summer and F. Scott Fitzgerald
With exam season over at last, I can finally look forward to the prospect of choosing what to read. An author which I simply could not ignore any longer was F. Scott Fitzgerald. I have no shame in expressing my adoration for The Great Gatsby, a book I studied for A-Levels and have treasured since. However, being a stranger to the majority of Fitzgerald’s work, I thought I would begin my summer reading by familiarising myself.
Tender is the Night was published in 1934. Set against the backdrop of the French Riviera and Swiss Alps, the elaborate exterior life and dark interiority of Dick and his wife Nicole made a satisfying read. Fitzgerald is a compelling craftsman, I found myself time and time again lured by the fluid eloquence of his language. The Great Gatsby however remains a firm favourite; its closing remains one of the best that I have ever read. With this at the back of mind, Tender is the Night simply failed to fulfil my expectations. Nevertheless it remained a hypnotic and poignant read that channelled the hypocrisy and cold centre of the Roaring Twenties. Conclusively, my bookshelf will always have a place for Fitzgerald.
Cornwall, Poldark and Winston Graham
Cornwall has been receiving a fair amount of attention recently which I love. Being a student at the obscure but beautiful Penryn Campus (University of Exeter), I have been living in Cornwall for the best part of the year. A BBC interpretation of Daphne Du Maurier’s Jamaica Inn in 2014, followed by Winston Graham’s Poldark this year have brought Cornwall’s literary heritage to the forefront of the nation’s consciousness. As such I thought I would tackle Graham’s first novel in the series, Ross Poldark, over my Easter break and I was not disappointed.
Being the sort of person who prioritises reading the book before viewing the film, this was a new experience for me. I came to the novel with certain character appearances and a general plot already in my mind. Whilst I’ll argue that Aidan Turner may excel any protagonist my imagination could conjure, I did find the plot spoiled to an extent by my prior knowledge. Nonetheless I found Graham to be a proficient writer who undoubtedly understood the hardships of late-eighteenth century mining communities. Ross is an amiable hero, one I was at once empathetic towards and found myself siding with throughout his journey in the first instalment. His social transience binds the multi-stranded narratives from the working classes to the gentry. I found the novel impeccably easy to read; the narrative flows seamlessly from beginning to end and I would recommend the books to anyone who has enjoyed the 2015 BBC series so far. Having finished the book I will certainly never look at the crumbled remnants of a degraded Cornish tin-mine in the same way again.
Woolf and Living in the Present Moment
Arriving at university over a year ago, I was suddenly forced to come to terms with what I want to do with my life. Standing on the precipice between childhood and that vast blank space of time which comes after, I find myself torn between eager anticipation and horror at the prospect of filling all that time. The future has become a topic which preoccupies my mind more often than I would consider healthy.
Something I read this year on my course which strangely resonated with me is Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse. I suppose it stood out for the simple fact that I had never read anything like it before. Set on two days separated by ten years, it deals with the mundane day-to-day livelihoods of the Ramsey family at their summer home in the Hebrides. Woolf crafts the complex relations of a family structure with a fragility and intelligence that evokes an unquestionable nostalgia. The stream-of-consciousness narration places inconsequential thoughts to the foreground, whilst in turn devaluing action. Consequently Woolf is able to portray a compelling insight into the inner-workings of the mind. It can be read as a celebration of the present, of living in each and every moment as it happens. Woolf addresses the most fundamental of questions: What is life? In answer she presents us with life; the inconsequential.
Faced with the prospect of the “real” world which is undeniably looming on the horizon, I often find my mind wandering into the potential future. But whilst it may be helpful to plan and speculate, reading Woolf has reminded me of the remarkable beauty of the present moment.
Last Word Uttered... 