There's no such thing as broken Britain, we're just bloody broke in Britain.

If you do one thing today, listen to Plan B's latest track, ill Manors:

The track opens with him sarcastically broken a violin, metaphorically symbolising the stream of sob stories - how the Conservative/Lib Dem coalition perceive the impoverished in Britain, most probably. 

Indeed, such was the media coverage of the Summer riots starting in London last Summer, that fingers were all being pointed at the perpetrators. Not a word of doubt, they were wrong to loot. But Plan B implores us to look at the other side of the coin too:

The world, and this country especially, is full of contradictions. I’m just highlighting them, I’m not condoning anything. The point being made in my song ‘ill Manors’ is that society needs to take some responsibility for the cause of last year's riots, why they happened and how we can prevent it from happening again.

Popcorn (Ben Elton), The Virgin and the Gypsy (DH Lawrence) and Murder in Mesopotamia (Agatha Christie), amongst others.

Thanks to a lengthy commuting time to and from work everyday, I've read a fair few books this Summer already. And, as a lot of these books have been wonderful, my thirst for reading has been re-ignited. Thus, if you have recommendations for reading material of any kind, hit me up!

Popcorn (Ben Elton)

Well, well, well. I'd thought Ben Elton had nailed down social satire in his book Past-Mortem, but it turns out he'd done an even better job of it 8 years earlier. Bruce Delamitri is a trendy film director who has just won an Oscar for his ultra-violent film Ordinary Americans, a film which he claims represents America in its brutal, bloody-thirsty state, but others have condemned for influencing America's violent condition. 

With an Oscar under his belt, Delamitri is highly sure of himself, spouting various tidbits of pseudo-philosophy and expecting people to lap up his every word. However, he really learns the meaning of the word hubris when two white trash serial killers hold him hostage on the very night he wins his Oscar. 

As with Dead Famous, this is deliciously dark stuff, some of the funniest moments being at things the reader really should not have found amusing. The epilogue was pithy and the fact that there were no really likeable characters meant that, amidst the horror, the reader derived a twisted sense of glee from everything that occured. Full of characters you can see in celebrities today and short, staccato chapters, this is as good a condemnation of the pliability of the masses as you'll ever find, I can't recommend this enough.

The Virgin and the Gypsy (DH Lawrence)

Despite usage of the word "insinuate" that definitely veers on the repetitive side, DH Lawrence's novella proved to be a brilliant read nonetheless. It tells the story of two vicar's daughters, Lucille and Yvette. When the daughters were little girls the vicar's wife had run off with another more virile man, and this hangs over him in all the puritanical things he does. 

That, along with the somewhat-deranged nan who lives with the girls, has affected them and their thinking in different ways, Lucille is more conservative but Yvette, free-spirited, finds herself drawn towards a local gypsy, who's sexual attraction (and interest in her) cannot be masked. Despite being warned off him, that only serves to make her more and more beguiled by him, and their relationship, though not high on the verbal interchanges, is compelling as it is beautiful. 

I won't lie, I was a tiny bit disappointed at the lack of a deflowering scene of any kind, but there was a metaphorical orgasm, when he was drying her off. Evocatively written and with an oddly banal ending, I was far more taken with this than Lady Chatterlay's Lover.

10 Reasons Not to Fall in Love (Linda Green)

This novel is, as the fluffy title would imply, a romantic comedy chicklit, but it was surprisingly, deeper than just that. It tells the story of a woman living up North (she resides in the Yorkshire area but works as a part-time news reporter in the Lancashire area) who has a two-year-old kid, Alfie, who's dad walked out on them on Alfie's first birthday. She's recently gone back to work as a reporter, wherein he's been promoted to her boss. Somewhat awkward. 

Not surprisingly, she hates men. Until this super-sweet, hot guy called Dan walks into her life. So far, very Sophie Kinsella. But it managed to balance the sweet with a surprisingly sour bit about Dan's backstory, wherein his dad got drunk and hit his mum (hence causing him to be somewhat of a closed book). 

The depiction of domestic violence was actually pretty disturbing in the book, especially how it escalated from verbal abuse to the odd slap to life-threatening amounts of violence. I found myself shedding tears at the most unexpected of moments during this book, and, surprisingly for a chicklit, there was football banter! At first I thought the author was a closet Kopite when she made Richard (the bastard ex) a Man Utd fan and hot Dan a Scouser, but then the narrator was a City fan so I don't know frankly. 

Anyway, I really liked the narrator's writing style, a fine balance between colloquial and intellectual. And I love how it demonstrated that amidst all the shit life throws up, we can eventually get our happy ending, if we're not afraid to try. Recommended.

The Big Four / Murder in Mesopotamia (Agatha Christie)

Not, as I'd blithely wondered, about the "big four" teams in the Premiership, but instead about a cartel

of mastermind criminals who collude to bring down entire empires.

There was a bit too much bluffing and double-bluffing regarding whether or not a pretty integral character was alive or dead in The Big Four to render it believable, plus it focussed more on the espionage side of things, when I prefer the murder mystery. But Agatha Christie showed just why Hercule Poirot remains one of the most beguiling, ingenious men in literature.

Murder in Mesopotamia, I was less taken with, just because I got rather confused when more and more and more characters got introduced (lol, I'm so clever NAT), but the plot twist was as audacious as I'd expect from Christie, and I'm glad the cold-hearted bitch at the centre of it all got what she deserved.

Tales From a Hen Weekend (Olivia Ryan)

Katie Halliday, a vivacious, happy 30something who believes in true love, is on the brink of getting married to Matt, the man she believes to be the love of her life. As he jets off for a weekend in Prague, she's off to Dublin with her friends, aunt and mother, but over the course of that holiday, home truths and murky secrets are revealed left, right and centre. 

This was a rather more predictable checklist than 10 Reasons Not to Fall In Love, and although the characters were all sweet enough (although I found it hard to warm to the protagonist because she seemed to have the gift of being loved universally, which I found hard to believe), the book itself had nothing new to contribute to the genre. 

A fun enough read, just massively forgettable.

Dead Lovely (Helen Fitzgerald)

Oooh er. Whatever I was expecting from Fitzgerald's novel, which revolves around a claustraphobic set-up of married couple Sarah and Kyle and their best friend's Krissie's camping holiday in the Scottish highlands, it wasn't this. 

Krissie, you see, is a free-spirited woman who likes the length of her sexual conquests to be inversely proportional of the willy size of the men inside her who has recently given birth to Robbie following a one-night stand in a public toilet whilst on holiday, and Sarah, despite being married to Kyle and copulating in cycles, can't conceieve for love nor money. 

Add into this equation the fact that Kyle finds himself increasingly attracted to Sarah and it doesn't take Stephen Hawking to work out that this seedy threesome is just an accident waiting to happen. And, sure enough, there's murders, failed murders, attempted murders, and finally, a plot twist so dark that I was surprised such a thing got published. 

But credit to Fitzgerald for her accomplished fusion of sex, murder and human relationships, as well as the way she evoked laughter even at the most dastardly of actions.

Not a bad bunch, on the whole!

Girl with a Pearl Earring score (Alexandre Desplat)

I can't get enough of Alexandre Desplat, me. If you'd like a track or two, just say and your wish is my command!

01. The Master's House (wonderfully atmospheric)
02. Colours in the Clouds - Strings (a delicious piece of chamber music)
03. Griet's Theme (the dancing of the tune between string and woodwind is absolute musical heaven)
04. Griet's Theme - Reprise
05. Cornelia (the bitch of the film gets an appropriately strong piece)
06. Girl with a Pearl Earring (not the most creative theme Desplat's thought up, but still a haunting one)
07. Colours in the Clouds (sexy)
08. Vermeer's Studio
09. Silence and Light (captures the tone of the film in a stunningly elegiac piano solo)
10. Camera Obscura (beautiful, but too tense for its own good)
11. Van Ruijvan (appropriately sneaky piece)
12. By the Canal with Pieter (romantic music)
13. Griet Remembers
14. Girl with a Pearl Earring - Reprise (samey)
15. The Master is painting (I got bored of the tremolo after a while)
16. Catharina's Pearls (one of the more cinematic tracks of the OST)
17. A New Life
18. Home (the oboe sounds a bit boring, clarinet's good though)
19. The Birth Feast
20. Winter Nights (meh, just a replay of the main theme)

How effectively do “Porphyria’s Lover,” “My Last Duchess” and “The Bishop Orders his Tomb at Saint Praxed’s Church” convey character?

Continuing with posting essays from my English Literature AS. You're welcome!

Dramatic monologues vary in length and tone, but each has something that distinguishes itself as a dramatic monologue is by having a fictional narrator, a fictional setting and a turning point, and written for a reader. The characters betray themselves unintentionally through their actions and the things they say, and very often the writers have a purpose for writing the monologue. Robert Browning was one of these, the poet thought to have perfected the dramatic monologue form. The three that I will be looking at are “Porphyria’s Lover,” “My Last Duchess” and “The Bishop Orders his Tomb at Saint Praxed’s Church.”

The narrators are fictional characters, but their motives for narrating the monologues are very different. The Duke of “My Last Duchess” is negotiating for a new duchess, and speaking to someone, presumably a loyal devotee to the new lady’s family. The eponymous “Last Duchess” is a painting on the wall that the Duke chooses who to show to, and often it is difficult to see which the Duke is proud of more – the painting, or the duchess, “I call that piece a wonder now.” This is one of the ways that Browning conveys the Duke’s sense of ownership and materialism, another line being, “Notice Neptune, though,” which shows his love for artificial beauty, usually in the forms of paintings, and now the duchess is just another painting to add to the collection, “Fra Pandolf by design.”

The fictional setting of “Saint Praxed’s” is the bishop on his deathbed, speaking to three monks, revealed to be his sons. This is in itself a way of revealing the bishop’s unchristian nature. He is speaking orders for the layout of his tomb, and it is again unchristian to be so preoccupied with material things. He should be giving advice to these monks, but is instead only speaking to them to give instructions on constructing a magnificent monument to his existence, “Well, go! I bless ye,” only thanking them when he knows the job will be done.

“Porphyria’s Lover,” is the retelling of events that happen on a night between the Lover and Porphyria, seen from his point of view, and despite some attempt to empathise with her, “No pain felt she,” it is a one-sided account of a love story. Because it does not have an implied listener and the Lover is reveals himself by speaking his thoughts allowed, it resembles a soliloquy. Here, the reader takes the part of the silent listener.

Each dramatic monologue has some clear cut themes and some appear in more than one. “My Last Duchess” and “Porphyria’s Lover” both deal with themes of possessiveness and patriarchy. The narrators feel they have acted correctly in killing their partners, and from the line, “And yet God has not said a word!” it is the woman is in the wrong. This shows the chauvinistic edge of distrust of women in the men, and that they have corrected the women for wronging them, “Or that in you disgusts me,” and that the Duke sees sin in everything that the duchess does, and none of his own. The Duke does not ever reveal anything about his wife’s personality, which suggests he never made the effort to try and understand her. He sees her as an object rather than a person. The two poems are also themed around murder in love. In “My Last Duchess” the act of murder is not revealed until the end, “As if alive” which increases impact.

“My Last Duchess” and “Saint Praxed’s” concern materialism. In “Saint Praxed’s,” a large amount of what the bishop says, on his deathbed, is to do with material things, such as, “some lump, ah God, of lapis lazuli,” and “Did I say basalt for my slab, sons?” and the Duke likes to show off his objects as well, “Will’t please you sit and look at her?” The Duke feels he is above everyone that his last Duchess smiled at, “My gift of nine-hundred-year olds name was anybody’s gift,” and essentially, that he is above her, “I choose never to stoop.” The Duke is materialistic in his love for all things elaborate, “Notice Neptune, though, taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity, Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!”

Obsession also features. The bishop is obsessed with having the best tomb, and has been planning on it for a long while, and had “fought with tooth and nail” to save the burial spot for it. He is also obsessed with the lapis lazuli for his grave, and he mentions it three times. The Lover in “Porphyria’s Lover” is obsessed with Porphyria, and fixates on her hair, “And all her yellow hair,” in the end, killing her with it at he turning point of the monologue, “And strangled her.”

In “Porphyria’s Lover,” the Lover frequently repeats the word “mine,” and this contributes to the patriarchal theme of men owning their women and that he loves the idea of having her. But, from “she rose, and from her form,” to “And give herself to me forever,” the Lover stays in passive voice, “When no voice replied.” This makes it sound as if Porphyria is doing all the work, “She put her arm about my waist” and she is the sinner. The lover also uses the weather to act as a metaphor for the Lover’s emotions of anger and betrayal in the piece, “sullen wind” and “it tore elm tops down for spite.” But she is also the one who can rid his feelings, “shut the cold out and the storm.”

The Duke speaks more conversationally throughout, and when revealing his crime, “Then all smiles stopped together,” he almost treats the line as a joke. He does not take the murder seriously, and obviously feels no remorse towards it, “Herself be lessoned with,” seeing hers as a child that needs correcting. Whilst he speaks to the silent listener, the Duke’s arrogant personality is conveyed through his cold formality, and his unfulfilled desire for his wife to be just as aloof, “too easily impressed”. When the implied listener finally reacts by rising to leave, “Will’t please you rise?” the Duke does not realise that they are leaving due to fear and disgust. He also switches topic easily, from talking about how he gave orders to kill his wife to the meeting with the next proposed wife, showing he has no reservations about disposing of the next one if he needs to.

The bishop is a character who wants his legacy to live on after he has died, and he realises he is losing time. In his monologue, he uses many “ands:”

“And then how I shall lie through centuries,

And hear the blessed mutter of the mass,

And see God made and eaten all day long…”

This builds a hurried atmosphere, and we understand how the bishop feels. When he begins to reminisce, “Your tall pale mother with her talking eyes,” religion is far down on the list, “Saint Praxed at his sermon the mount.”

Browning presents each of the three narrators as sinful, corrupt characters, and this is apparent in what they say and the things in do. One of the biggest similarities between poems is that both the Duke and the Lover, have committed murder, and the bishop is clearly not celibate, which is what he should be. “So fair she was!” shows he once had lusted after a woman. The Duke was not even the one who murdered his Duchess, as he felt too superior for that. Instead he “gave commands.” He speaks of the how she angered him, “She thanked men, good! but thanked …” and it is revealed that all she did was act pleased at simple gifts, and for him to get angry at this, shows his lack of self-control.

The men killed for different reasons. The Duke did so because he grew jealous of the simple action of the Duchess smiling in times of gratitude, “Somehow – I know not how – as if she ranked…” This type of behaviour would usually be overlooked, but not with the Duke, who is very possessive of his things. His actions seem more shocking when he reveals the Duchess’ young age, “the white mule.”

Although it is not certain why the Lover murdered Porphyria, it seems most likely because he couldn’t have her, being in a lower social status, “From pride, and vainer ties dissever”. After she has died, he pretends she is living, “I propped her head up as before,” and perhaps in this he finds Porphyria’s presence most reassuring, and that he loves her so much that he would still want her after death. However, he is slightly afraid to touch her at first – he compares opening her eye to “shut bud that holds a bee” - he still finds her beautiful, but is afraid of her “sting,” because she is the wrong.

The Duke in “My Last Duchess” is reassured by manmade items of art such as paintings, or his title. He feels threatened by things he cannot control, such as nature or the Duchess’ smile, “she had a heart – how shall I say? Too soon made glad,” and will dispose of them.

The way in which the bishop speaks changes says something about his disposition - he begins with a quotation, “Vanity saith the preacher, vanity!” then moves on to reminiscing, and towards the middle begins to plead with the monks for the sake of his tomb, “My sons, ye would not be my death?” The bishop clearly has much to say, and knows that there is not enough time to say it all, so will not waste any of it being religious. Some of his lines are shocking because of the way he sexualises objects that are seen as holy: “Blue as a vein o'er the Madonna's breast ...,” and his pagan attitude becomes apparent through, “and one Pan/ready to twitch the Nymph’s last garment off,” and similar lines. He obviously does not have a true bishop’s best interests at heart, and wishes to be remembered for his tomb rather than his achievements.

Most of “Porphyria’s Lover” is written in the poetry form of ABABB, which creates a less tense, more spirited atmosphere. Rhymes are used effectively in the lines, “In one long yellow string I wound/Three times her little throat around,” making the subject appear almost as a joke. “My Last Duchess” is in rhyming couplets, which conveys the Duke’s education and desire to perform rather than tell. The poem has enjambments, and when the ends of sentences do not come, this shows that the sentences have to be altered in order to rhyme, and that the Duke is a performer, out to impress. He also asks rhetorical questions and has sudden pauses, which increases the dramatic impact of his monologue.

Unlike the other two, “Saint Praxed’s” features iambic pentameter but blank verse - no rhyme patterns; instead it has interrupted sentences, which builds to his sense of dementia and confusion. By speaking without flowery dialogue, Browning uses the bishop’s lack of sophistication to convey how the bishop is running out of time. This makes it more like a natural speech, and at the moments where the bishop is at his most confused, the poem resembles a soliloquy.

All three men in the monologues are also greedy in their own ways – the Lover, for Porphyria’s love: “And give herself to me forever,” the bishop, for a tomb better than Gandolf’s: “I fought/With tooth and nail to save my niche” and the Duke, for his duchess, the painters, and his material objects: “Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!” Browning had opinions on the male-dominated society of Victorian times, and, whilst he does not always write his messages clearly in the poems, explicitly, or implied, he manages to convey the character of his narrators well. Each character has a secret which they reveal in the monologues, and they are dark, disturbing secrets which reveal dark, disturbed characters, but I feel these poems have just reached the surface; there is much more about these characters to learn.

The use of Setting in A Streetcar Named Desire

In the opening stage directions of the play, the area in New Orleans where Elysian Fields is located is said to have a “raffish charm”. This quality of have a disreputable charm can be see in Stanley and his friends, as well as everyone living there, including the Negro woman who starts off the play with her scandalous anecdote. Immediately, the sleazy, open, yet friendly atmosphere of Elysian Fields is established. The people here all seem to know on another, and, if tested by an intruder, their loyalties would be with each other.

The buildings are described lyrically by Williams, from the “tender blue, turquoise” sky to the smells of “bananas and coffee,” and he creates a very unique setting for the play, a place that sounds appealing despite the poorness. The poorness is nonetheless apparent, where the stairs are “faded,” and the people live in very close proximity. The crowded set-up evokes a sense of claustrophobia, and there may be little space for an extra person.

The name of the area, Elysian Fields, is misleading, as it conjures up ideas of a paradise, with the “white columns” that Blanche was accustomed to in Belle Reve. Blanche is therefore very surprised to find Elysian Fields as how it is, as it would have gone against her illusions of waterfalls and white columns, as well as the grand, spacious place where she had lived. The poorness of this area is highlighted when she arrives, wearing a white suit, necklace and pearl earrings, and her dress shows that the place she had dressed for does not live up to her expectations. Her shock upon seeing it, “They mustn’t have understood” hints at the conflict between her background, culture and class, and that of the people who live her, which will come later.

When Blanche enters Stanley and Stella’s home, she is even less impressed, as there is little space for two people, let alone a third. This again foreshadows future tensions due to the claustrophobia and cramped conditions. The place is not described favourably, and Eunice’s claim that “when it’s cleaned, it’s real sweet” is not taken seriously by Blanche. Blanche does not think this place is good enough for her, and this will be one of the main things to annoy Stanley about her later. When Blanche finally meets Stella, she slips out, “Never in my worst dreams could I picture! Only Poe!”, rudely implying that their home is like something in a horror story. By doing this, she is insulting Stanley as well as Stella, and she will continue to insult Stanley on a range of things, which will eventually lead to her downfall.

Kazan wrote, “Blanche is a woman of enormous emotional variety, imperious, self-assertive to fluttering helplessness, feverish gaiety to pathetic terr

How much can we sympathise with Blanche in A Streetcar Named Desire?
(essay I wrote for English Literature AS last year, one of my favourites.)


One of the considered titles originally for Streetcar was The Moth, and from the opening introduction to Blanche from the stage directions, “her delicate beauty must avoid a strong light”, an image of a fluttering, self-destructive moth is painted. During the course of the play, elements of her personality reveal her to be vulnerable, such as her alcoholism and history of dependence on men. But she is also a highly flawed character that the audience has difficulty siding with. These dual components to her personality are what make her so interesting, although at times, it can be hard to sympathise with her.

From the start, Blanche manages to annoy other characters as well as the audience with her actions and speech, for example in the insensitive way she criticizes Stella’s house to the way she speaks about Stanley, making her appear self-indulgent, especially as she continues to patronize her sister, “You messy child!” She further loses the approval of the audience through her how egocentric she is, always managing to turn the topic of conversation to herself, “I want you to look at my figure!” However, at the same time, her low self-esteem is clear in how she frequently fishes for a compliment, “Would it be possible to think I was once considered attractive?” showing that her fragility in her seeking of approval. This humanizes her character somewhat, and when she tells Stella, “you’re all I’ve got in the world,” her isolation and loneliness is felt.

Stanley, on the other hand, has plenty of friends and “acquaintances,” all of which he is able to use to his advantage, where he does. He is the antithesis of the Southern gentleman that Blanche is accustomed to. When he takes his shirt off in front of her, Blanche is clearly uncomfortable, and will continue to take offence to a lot of his behaviour through the rest of the play. The audience can partially sympathise with Blanche for this, but her actions make it difficult to take sides for either character, such as her constantly calling Stanley “unrefined”. Whereas Stella has made an adjustment to his behaviour, she knows that her sister won’t, “Try not to compare him with the men we went out with at him.” She is right, and it would be very different for Blanche to get used to this change.

When more is revealed about Blanche’s past, the audience are able to sympathise with her more. She had married young, but with tragic consequences, and it is clear that the events still haunt her, from her emotional exhaustion when discussing it. The sense of mystery surrounding Blanche’s peculiar arrival in New Orleans takes on a sinister taint, and Blanche’s reluctance to be in bright light calls attention to this mysterious nature. Bright light, whether from a naked bulb or the midday sun, reveals Blanche’s true age. She can claim to be a woman of twenty-five in semi-darkness, but the glare of sharp light reveals a woman who has seen more, suffered more, and aged more. In addition, probing questions and honest speech function as a metaphorical light that threatens to reveal Blanche’s past and her true nature.


Whilst we can sympathise somewhat with Blanche about the cultural differences between her and Stanley, she does nothing to make the situation easier. Stanley tells her not to call him a “Polack”, yet she continues to. This could be either conscious or done unconsciously, but either way, it leads the audience to feel Stanley’s frustration at Blanche. His anger at her is further shown in his short sentences, “Huh.” Stanley feels his privacy invaded and wishes for things to be back the way they were, “It’s gonna be all right again between you and me the way it was.” Furthermore, Blanche forever bathes and drinks, treating the house as her own, which riles Stanley, “soaking in the hot tub?” especially if we consider that Blanche does not earn an income, and Stanley is the sole provider. Some argue that whereas Stanley did destroy Blanche through the rape, she was also responsible for destroying Stella and Stanley’s home life during her stay.

However, the main thing done by Blanche to invoke hatred in Stanley is her constant trying to tell Stella that he is not good enough for her. This is felt strongly in Scene Four, where Stanley eavesdrops on Blanche describing him as “common” and “an animal”. Here, the audience hears this insults through Stanley’s ears, and the dislike towards Blanche is felt by us. Part of Blanche’s disparaging comments about Stanley are out of concern for her sister – she had in the previous scene witness her being attacked by him, but the patronizing and judgemental way in which Blanche speaks about Stanley, “But the only way to live with such a man is to go to bed with him!” makes it apparent that she is hurting Stella, and that she is unlikely to take her sister’s advice. In Scene Four, Williams uses dramatic irony to make us feel fear for Blanche, and when Stella hugs Stanley in Blanche’s full view, this also prefigures the end of the play, where Stella will choose her husband over her sister.

A lot of Blanche’s questionable behaviour loses the sympathy of the audience. When she throws herself at the young newspaper boy, Blanche reveals her hypocrisy—she is lustful underneath her genteel, morally upright façade that she creates, “The Hotel Flamingo is not the sort of establishment that I would dare be seen in!” Blanche condemns Stanley and Stella’s purely sexual relationship, but we see that her urges are every bit as strong as Stella’s, yet, as this involves somebody underage, less appropriate. Suddenly, compared with Blanche’s behaviour, Stella’s love life looks healthy and wholesome.

At the same time, however, something of Blanche’s hypocrisy makes her a figure of pity. She is creating the image in the hope of finding a suitor. She is a liar, and knows she is; but never in malice “I never lied inside my heart.” She lied to Mitch because she could never believe that he would truly love her for what she actually is, which makes her lies more tragic. She is obviously someone who is used to and needs sheltering and kindness and is not equipped to deal with ugliness and naked truths (such as the naked light bulbs), so her lies can be understood, if not justified.

And the component in Blanche’s personality is her refusal to face reality, “I don’t realism – I want fantasy!” Stanley is the opposite, practical and realistic. Stella finally sides with Stanley, just because of lack of courage but because the social constrictions of the time made her with baby so she was dependent on him. Blanche’s impracticalities in even taking notes – she uses an eyeliner and writes on paper are humorous, but also highlight how strongly fantasy features in her ideas. Someone once said, “Blanche is a lovely, damaged flower who is not equipped to deal with the harsh realities of life, namely Stanley Kowalski.” Stanley crushes all her delusions, but it can be argued that Blanche’s final dignified exit shows that he has not destroyed all of her self-respect, and for that, she can be seen as a heroine.

Tishler said, “The plot is simple. It moves from hope and frustration to destruction and despair.” This plot shape is similar to that of a tragedy, and Blanche is the tragic hero. At the end of Scene 6, there seems to be an opening for redemption, “Sometimes – there’s a God – so quickly!” but immediately in the next scene, Mitch has left Blanche. Stanley is the cause of this destruction. Blanche is left practically alone, and when she tries to justify her actions to Mitch, by explaining how much he meant to her, “a cleft in the rock” he still casts her aside, “You’re not clean enough to bring into the house with my mother.” By the end of Scene Nine, as she gives up hope, she begins to lose her grip on reality as well.

But of course the ultimate act of tragedy for Blanche is the rape. Throughout the course of the play, Stanley has destroyed many of the things she holds dear, including her relationship with Mitch, but the rape is the worst. In this scene, the plastic theatre is apparent to enhance the paranoia and emotional exhaustion felt by Blanche, such as the shadows of “lurid and menacing form.” This could emulate the fear that she has come to feel of Stanley. In this scene, jungle imageries are rife, accentuating Williams’ “survival of the fittest” theme of the play. In A Streetcar Named Desire, Blanche simply isn’t “fit” enough, and will be devoured and destroyed by the Stanleys of the world.

Sympathy is felt for Blanche in the final scene through Mitch. He lashes out at Stanley angrily, betraying his uneasiness, and showing that he still cares for her. He is unable to concentrate on the game when he hears Blanche’s voice, although several weeks have passed since their previous meeting. He, like many of the audience, blames Stanley for interfering with a relationship that should have been left alone, but then he collapses in ineffectual sobs. Mitch fails by realizing too late the vulnerable beauty of Blanche and thus, he is left as lonely and alone as Blanche.

Blanche tells Stanley “deliberate cruelty is unforgivable.” Whilst Stanley has done some deliberately cruel things – giving Blanche the train ticket on her birthday, the rape, Blanche has not. She has found love in wrong places, lied to people, and made some bad decisions, but she has never been deliberately cruel. Blanche’s entire world was destroyed when her husband killed himself - something that she entirely blames on herself. She spends her life trying to expiate herself from this sin, yet, after arriving at Elysian Fields, her life is just made worse by Stanley. Blanche was someone who was “ahead of her time” in her strong passion, but, in her sexual encounters, never found true love, and was ultimately lead to insanity by her desire. For this reason, I feel a huge amount of sympathy for her.

Explore the varied ways in which Rose Tremain presents the situation and its possible impact on the reader. You should support your answer with close reference to the text.

The entire passage contains just one scene, and contains a balance of dialogue and descriptions. It begins with an ominous description describing Celia “wrapped up in a cloak”, as “her long hair fell loose on her face, like a curtain”. These images have connotations of darkness and suffering, and foreshadows the atmospheric qualities of the scene that are to follow. By using images of a “lighted candle” and descriptions of the coldness, Tremain effectively draws in the reader and creates an ambiance of ambiguity as to the events and speech that is to follow.

Celia speaks to the narrator in whispers of “great urgency” and tells him that “Your bird is dying”, which accentuates to the bleak atmosphere already created. We learn from Celia that the narrator is a physician, and that only he can save the bird. This contributes to the sense of danger, and we realise that the narrator is integral to the plot.

We are made aware of the time period when we learn that the narrator “forgot to wind [his] timepiece”, as well as the fact that he works for the King. Tremain hints at tension when she writes, “if I had been the King, I would have had a diversity of clocks to choose from”. The narrator writes this in brackets perhaps because it is an obvious fact, yet he chooses to state it anyway, which could be a sign of resentment or even mocking at the King’s wealth, as opposed to the squalor in which the narrator lives in, where the night is “so cold that [he] can see [his] breath by the candle.” This image contributes to the sense of discomfort in which the narrator lives, and the candle imagery is sustained from before. This alerts the reader to perhaps later danger, as the fire has links with danger.

The word “candle” is repeated again, as Celia is said to have “fled” from the room. Again, this sustains the tension and pace of the extract, as well as prefiguring the upcoming violence. We are then taken into the narrators thoughts regarding Celia, “I wondered why in the world Celia had been looking at my bird in this peculiar hour”, and we as the reader feel that something is not right. However, when the narrator reveals “I was more puzzled by this than filled with worry for my bird”, we come to realise that the narrator has strong feelings towards Celia, and in this passage, there will be three players – Merivel, Celia, and the nightingale.

In describing the nightingale, Tremain uses language of vulnerability to evoke the pain felt by it, such as “fallen over” and “feebly flapping.” It can be argued that like the poor conditions in which Merivel lives, the bird is equally poor and weak. However, amidst the bird suffering, “legs in the air”, it is interesting that the narrator’s focus is with Celia, “I was so utterly astonished that she should appear to care so much”, showing that his feelings for her overtake his regard for the pet. This adds an extra psychological edge to the passage, and it is interesting that in a time where his pet is suffering, the narrator feels “astonishment” as his primary emotion.

Tremain successfully conveys the suffering felt by the nightingale through the usage of colour imagery, especially in showing how it was and how it is – the “clouded” eye, usually “bright” and “marigold”. Further compassion is felt for the nightingale when the narrator asserts, “I know not what is to be done”, which suggests the futility in attempting to aid him. 

Merivel, who concentrates on his own shortcomings, “Starved of sleep”, he seems to show a surprising lack of interest in the nightingale, and this is contrasted starkly to Celia’s urgent worry – “Then try something! Get out your instruments!”

Ironically, it is Celia’s urgency that inspires Merivel to save the nightingale. We as the audience see his thought processes, “If I could save the bird, I would no doubt earn a little respect from her”, and his intentions are apparent. It is now that the action truly begins, and Tremain marks this with a litany of objects- “I returned with a strong physic, a senna and rhubarb preparation, some linen bandages.”

Tremain marks out Celia as different from the stereotypes of women in the time when she shows her stronger qualities – “Celia did not flinch.” It is likely that these are the type of qualities that drew the narrator to her. In the description of saving the bird, the imagery of light is uses once again – “we worked by three candles”, to accentuate the “shadowy” conditions in which Merivel is working in, as well as, perhaps his “shadowy” knowledge of the bird’s physiology. This creates a sense of impending doom, not only for the fate of the bird, but for Merivel as well.

Bizarrely, the narrator comments that “A stranger entering the room would have assumed that we were at cards or dice”, as the tension conjured in this scene could easily be present in a game of cards or dice. However, the scenario here is completely different. The nightingale is described to “kicked its legs”, but calms itself once within Celia’s hands. This suggests that she bears peaceful characteristic, which again could be something that attracts her to the narrator. 

Celia also reveals that “[she] is concerned for the bird, for if it should die, [she] cannot but feel some misfortune that may follow”, which shows her to be practical. This also raises the question to the audience as to what the misfortune may be.

Celia believes the nightingale to be a gift from the King, when we learn that it was in fact a bribe, and not from the King. This somewhat justifies the apathetic attitude that Merivel has shown the nightingale. Merivel interestingly chooses not to correct Celia about where the nightingale comes from, because he “did not wish Celia to desert me in the middle of it”, showing that our previous suspicions about Merivels’ feelings toward Celia may indeed be correct.

Tremain then reveals some technical information about the scene, and the description of the blood-letting is highly evocative, with short, staccato words describe the process. The lack of hope felt by Merivel and Celia is apparent, through words such as “anxiety”, “piteously” and “exceedingly tragic.” By now, the audience should feel pathos toward both the nightingale and the two attending it. A particularly haunting image used is “Celia picked it up and held it close to her face, trying to feel its heartbeat.” This evokes ideas of birth and a human dying, and intensifies the tragedy of this scene.

After this attempt to save the nightingale comes time for reflection. Celia asks Merivel a question that clearly touches a nerve, and it leads to a heated conversation, so much so that Merivel tells us “I shall spare you the little discourse that followed”, one that left him “deeply vexed.” However, even in his feelings of annoyance, he “does not wish to wound Celia.”

Grumpy Autumn Evening Corner: Slough by John Betjeman.

I'm currently not in a very good mood, so I just thought I'd post one of the finest pieces of bitchery in poetry: Slough by John Betjeman, as read with disgust by The Office's David Brent:

Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air -conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town-
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half a crown
For twenty years.

And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears:

And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.

But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.

It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead

And talk of sport and makes of cars
In various bogus-Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.

In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.

Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.

· Slough, one of Betjeman’s most cutting poems, was published in 1937 in the collected works Continual Dew. Slough was becoming increasingly industrial and some housing conditions were very cramped. In willing the destruction of Slough, Betjeman urges the bombs to pick out the vulgar profiteers but to spare the bald young clerks. However, on the centenary of the poet's birth, Betjeman’s daughter apologised for the poem. Candida Lycett-Green said her father "regretted having ever written it". During her visit, Ms Lycett-Green presented Mayor of Slough David MacIsaac with a book of her father's poems. In it was written: "We love Slough"

· Slough is written in the conventional quatrain scheme, with rhyme pattern of AAAB. Betjeman’s usage of three rhymes in each stanza adds an ironic lyrical quality to a poem describing a place as “Hell” and the shorter fourth line of each stanza acts as a conclusion of the quatrain. These are shorter, using hard words such as “belch” and “yell” to add impact. Slough is divided into ten stanzas, showing there is plenty of information to convey about this area.

· Whereas many of Betjeman’s poems are about his love of topography, Slough expresses his hatred of this area. This is apparent from the beginning, where he asks for “friendly bombs, come fall on Slough.” The juxtaposition of “friendly” and “bombs” are ironic, and paint a Hellish image, of the area, and this is sustained with words like “Death”, “mess” and “Hell.” Furthermore, the imagery of the poem is violent and horrific, “They’ve tasted Hell”, and “dry it in the synthetic air”, further adding to the negativity of Slough.

· War imagery is rife, from the repetition of “tinned”: “tinned fruit, tinned milk, tinned bins”, which creates the image of rationing and constriction. Betjeman then personifies this with “tinned minds, tinned breath”, implying that it is not just the area that is bad, but the people too. His social satire continues when he mentions “that man with the double chin” and “the bald young clerks”, further continuing the “repulsive” description of Slough. The people, like the place, are conveyed violently, with repetitions of “smash”.

· However, Betjeman does not just satirise the appearances of these people, but also their personalities. They tell “boring dirty jokes” and are by his description “mad”, showing that the terrible state of Slough reflects in its residents, and that “it isn’t fit for humans now.” He describes the residents as uncultured, “It’s not their fault they do not know the birdsong from the radio”, and uses vulgar words to reflect the vulgarity of their actions, “belch” and even implies misogyny, “Who washes his repulsive skin in women’s tears.” Furthermore, Betjeman offers sarcastic sympathy to the “cheats” by repetition of the phrase “It’s not their fault”, which suggest the opposite, and that his derogatory comments to the people are deserved.

· Many of the key words and phrases in Slough deal with the superficial, which could be used to convey his dislike of change. He describes the banal actions with derision, “with care/Their wives frizz out peroxide” and “bogus Tudor bars”, which, relating to “tinned minds”, show the people’s inability to appreciate the better aspects of life. Instead of “see the stars”, they “belch.”

· The final stanza repeats the first line of the poem to accentuate the awfulness of it. When the last line, “the earth exhales” is completed, the reader feels the full sense of the “Hell” and repulsion that has been apparent throughout.

Sigh. I miss English Literature.

A critical analysis of Slough by John Betjeman

picture of Rooney Mara that is nothing to do with article but putting it in because a commenter said I needed more photos

Slough is written in the conventional quatrain scheme, with rhyme pattern of AAAB. Betjeman’s usage of three rhymes in each stanza adds an ironic lyrical quality to a poem describing a place as “Hell” and the shorter fourth line of each stanza acts as a conclusion of the quatrain. These are shorter, using hard words such as “belch” and “yell” to add impact. Slough is divided into ten stanzas, showing there is plenty of information to convey about this area. The poem has a regular form, reflecting Betjeman’s decisiveness and determination to have the place blown to “smithereens”.

Whereas many of Betjeman’s poems are about his love of topography, Slough expresses his hatred of this area. This is apparent from the beginning, where he asks for “friendly bombs, come fall on Slough.” The juxtaposition of “friendly” and “bombs” are ironic, and paint a Hellish image, of the area, and this is sustained with words like “Death”, “mess” and “Hell.” Furthermore, the imagery of the poem is violent and horrific, “They’ve tasted Hell”, and “dry it in the synthetic air”, further adding to the negativity of Slough.

War imagery is rife, from the repetition of “tinned”: “tinned fruit, tinned milk, tinned bins”, which creates the image of rationing and constriction. Betjeman then personifies this with “tinned minds, tinned breath”, implying that it is not just the area that is bad, but the people too. His social satire continues when he mentions “that man with the double chin” and “the bald young clerks”, further continuing the “repulsive” description of Slough. The people, like the place, are conveyed violently, with repetitions of “smash”.

However, Betjeman does not just satirise the appearances of these people, but also their personalities. They tell “boring dirty jokes” and are by his description “mad”, showing that the terrible state of Slough reflects in its residents, and that “it isn’t fit for humans now.” He describes the residents as uncultured, “It’s not their fault they do not know the birdsong from the radio”, and uses vulgar words to reflect the vulgarity of their actions, “belch” and even implies misogyny, “Who washes his repulsive skin in women’s tears.” Furthermore, Betjeman offers sarcastic sympathy to the “cheats” by repetition of the phrase “It’s not their fault”, which suggest the opposite, and that his derogatory comments to the people are deserved.

Many of the key words and phrases in Slough deal with the superficial, which could be used to convey his dislike of change. He describes the banal actions with derision, “with care/Their wives frizz out peroxide” and “bogus Tudor bars”, which, relating to “tinned minds”, show the people’s inability to appreciate the better aspects of life. Instead of “see the stars”, they “belch.”

Interestingly for Betjeman, there are no contrasts in tones of the poem, with only a hateful voice used throughout, which adds to how strongly Betjeman’s hatred of the place is. However, there are contrasts in scope. Whereas the first and last stanzas represent the macrocosm of Slough, speaking of it generally, the rest of the poem looks at individual examples. By doing this, Betjeman adds to the idea that all of Slough is “dirty” and that there are no redeeming qualities to it,

Although Betjeman never once explicitly says that he despises Slough, it is still apparent that he does, through many of his descriptions and anecdotes, as well as calling for a bomb to “blow to smithereens” the area. The usage of this colloquial word suggest that he does not have enough of an opinion of Slough to use a better word.

The final stanza repeats the first line of the poem to accentuate the awfulness of it. It ends with a note of calmness, as if Betjeman has imagined the bomb to have gone off. When the last line, “the earth exhales” is completed, the reader feels the full sense of the “Hell” and repulsion that has been apparent throughout.

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How effective is Act I as an opening to Arthur Miller’s The Crucible?

Written by Arthur Miller in 1952, The Crucible is a play in 4 Acts that recounts the chilling events leading up to the witch trials of 1692. Set in Salem, Massachusetts, the government is theocratic—rule by God through religious officials. At the centre of the play is John Proctor, an independent, confident, and essentially, good man, but one that made a mistake, a mistake that will cost him his life. Such a characteristic to the story is similar to that of in a tragedy, as The Crucible spirals into downfall, the hints that were left in Act I become more and more apparent.

Act I introduces to us many of the major characters. It displays the nature of these main characters, and this is the basis of why they behave like they do later. The Act opens with Reverend Parris praying for his comatose daughter. At first, it seems he is mourning for her health, but later, he tells Abi, “now my ministry’s at stake, my ministry and perhaps your cousin’s life.” This shows he values his job above his daughter’s life, and this gives a taster of his personality and the nature of his actions later on in the play; in Act 4, he pleads for the release of Rebecca Nurse and Proctor, not because he cares about them but for his own safety, “You cannot hang this sort. There is danger for me.” 

When he questions Abi, it’s because he fears that the girls were all engaging in witchcraft when he caught them dancing, and his worry is not of their safety, but his own reputation. Reputation is one of the main themes in The Crucible, and Parris is one of the men who value their reputations so much that they would give everybody else’s lives for the sake of their reputation.

Abigail Williams is also introduced, and on first meeting, the author’s notes read, “a strikingly beautiful girl, an orphan, with an endless capacity for dissembling.” This is shown when Parris accuses her of conjuring in the forest and she denies it, although, later, with the girls, she gives them instructions on what to say happened, “tell them we danced”. Abigail is shown as the ringleader of the group of girls, “They’ll be calling us witches, Abby!” and fully able to control and manipulate each of them, “Let either of you breathe a word… and I will come in the black of some terrible night and I will bring a pointy reckoning that will shudder you.” In the “trance” of Act III, Abi is able to lead the girls perfectly, “Abby, you mustn’t!” This representation of Abigail causes the audience to fear and dislike her, which is exactly the dramatic effect desired of the antagonist.

The entrance of the protagonist, John Proctor, is a significant one. He starts by exercising power over his maid, Mary Warren, with, “I’ll show you a great doing on your arse one of these days,” proving him to be a tough character, unafraid of anyone else. However, when he is alone with Abigail, a different side of him is presented, as well as different side of Abigail. This encounter between Abigail and John Proctor will be the cause of everything, and Abi hints at this, “I have something better than hope, I think!” 

John is evidently over Abi, but as she is still in love with him, “I am waiting for you every night.” Her unrequited love drives the hatred of his wife, “She is a cold, snivelling woman, and you bend to her!” as well as hatred of the town, “I never knew the lying lessons I was taught by these Christian women and their covenanted men.” This offers foreshadowing - both of these will be brought together later; Abigail will make them all pay.

The set is described in detail to create the effect of austerity that the Puritans live in. The set is very bare, “clean spareness,” which leaves more room for the drama. The importance of religion to every character is portrayed, through the amount of prayer and hysteria caused through even the mention of witchcraft – “They’ll be talking of witchcraft”. Symbolism is used that will come up again, such as that of heat: “it’s cold in here yet,” is said by Proctor, and he is inadvertently also speaking of the relationship between he and Elizabeth.

Conflict features heavily in the play, and it is one of the dramatic elements used that makes the play so interesting. One of the main disagreements is between Parris and the other men; he complains that he is not given enough land, which again shows his mercenary disposition, “I am paid little enough without I spend six pound on firewood.” 

Another is between the Putnam family and Rebecca Nurse – Rebecca has had many children, and they only have one, “You think it God’s work that you should never lose a child and I have all but one?” These little grudges held by each of the characters will re-emerge later in the play, and Act I lays some of the groundwork for upcoming accusations and the true motives behind them – Putnam uses the witch trials to increase his own wealth.

From conflicts come scapegoats, and the easiest target always suffers. Here, it is the women. Abigail, though clearly evil and disturbed, can be excused for her actions a little by the fact that she is a poor, unmarried orphan – seen as the lowest of social classes. As the men question Abigail on witchcraft, she looks for the easiest target to shift the blame, “I never called him! Tituba, Tituba.” By saving herself, she is also creating fear amongst others into respecting her. Tituba, whose has an even lower status because she is a slave, manages similarly to deflect blame by accusing, “Aye, Sir, and Goody Osburn.” 

This shows that to some, the accusations are every bit about survival as they are about retribution.

Rebecca Nurse is also an unlikely scapegoat – the good mother, good neighbour and general good woman. When others fret, she consoles, “Pray John, be calm.” Though she is killed, her inner strength influences the actions of John Proctor, “I speak my own sins, I cannot judge another”. Rebecca’s calmness and sincerity show her to be a symbol of the true goodness that the Puritans in this play claim to believe in. She is accused by Mrs. Putnam, who, having had 7 babies that all died on the day of their birth, convinces herself that someone used witchcraft to murder them, and will look for a person to blame, one that has everything that she has not. Act I hints shows the faction between the Putnam family and Rebecca Nurse, and later, Putnam uses the witch trials to express his feelings of persecution and undeserved failure, and to satisfy his need for revenge.
Act I is a gripping scene dramatically. It contains violence, “smashes across her face,” implied sex, “I know you sweated like a stallion whenever I come near!” all in a very compressed time frame. There is also the mystery of what actually happened in the woods, “I saw a dress lying on the grass.” There is plenty of foreshadowing in Act I, such Giles’ harmless ramblings about his wife, “And she closed her book… and I could pray again!”, which will be the cause of her death, “I only said she were readin’ books-”. The biggest display of foreshadowing, however, is when Abigail calls Goody Proctor a “gossiping liar;” she will later call her something else.

A critical motif in The Crucible is that of empowerment, and even from Act I, it is clear that it is the women that are empowered, such as Abigail to Proctor–he sleeps with her when he wants to, arousing feelings of deepest desire in her, then drops her when he decides he wants his wife instead. Such a treatment of women will surely cause them to fight back, for survival, as well as revenge. Over the next 3 scenes in The Crucible, many people will be accused, and for once, it will be the women doing the accusing. In Act II, Mary Warren says to Proctor, “I’ll not be ordered to bed no more, Mr. Proctor! I am eighteen and a woman, however single.” This has some dramatic irony, as Proctor orders her to court in the next scene, but she is able to turn on him, “I love God; I go your way no more.”

John Hale is a man that goes through immense character development through the play. In Act I, he is presented as a smug intellectual, “they are weighted with authority,” sure of himself as well as his beliefs. At the start, he is the force behind the witch trials, “We are going to help you tear yourself free”. However, as the play progresses, and he realises that it is the innocent who are going to die, he changes completely, doubting his faith, “cleave to no faith when faith brings blood.” In this sense, Act I offers some dramatic irony about the character of John Hale – a man whose faith seemingly means the world to him, yet, by the end of the play, turns against it. He is also important as contrast to Parris’ character – at the beginning and end of the play, they both want the same thing, but for different reasons. Parris wants worries for his safety, “I dare not step outside at night” but Hale worries for his conscience, “There is blood on my head!”

When Hale thinks Tituba has compacted with the Devil, he forces her into naming all the others, “does he ever come – with another person?” This act of naming is an essential element to the play, and come up many times, including in the climactic moment when John Proctor chooses to die. He cries, “Because it is my name! Because I cannot have another in my life! Because I lie and sign myself to lies!” This again shows the importance of reputation.

There is no truth to any of the naming that Abigail does, but the girls follow suit, to free themselves from any blame. The Act ends in a crescendo of voices, claiming to have seen people as witches. This is a climactic way to end a scene, marking a distinctive end, as well as keeping the audience gripped and awaiting what will happen next.

The play, though a tragedy, has some important messages at the centre of it – that good can come from evil, such as a higher, more emotional love between Elizabeth and John forming. Above all, The Crucible is a parable to the connection of private sins with paranoia, hysteria, and religious intolerance. It picks up on the unjustness of it all, and with some added dramatic techniques, The Crucible can act as a parable to any points of mass hysteria, including the McCarthyism of the 1950s. 

Act I is a gripping and revealing start to Miller’s haunting, lyrical play.