On Organisational Excitement

So it’s been a little while since my last post, because it has been Christmas, and the festivities have somewhat overshadowed my laptop, and my usual surgical connection to it. However, now that Christmas is over, I will be able to resume this particular occupation. I’m sat at my laptop at the moment waiting for the world to become light, so that I can go for a four mile walk behind my house; I hate walking in the dark, and since the street lights are still on, the sky is looking grey and gloomy. It would be more noteworthy if the sky was bright blue and teeming with sunshine.

Christmas time is one for family, and it’s one of my favourite times of year. New Years Eve, on the other hand is about friends, and raucously enjoying the beginning of the new year. It was rather well coordinated in my opinion; each social circle gets a holiday each, and therefore everyone is happy. Problems really only seem to arise when others try to alter this schedule, or interfere in the Christmas routine. Every household has one, whether it is an acknowledged one or not; things fall into an accepted rhythm, and this is possibly why so many family altercations happen around this time of year. Fundamentally, we cannot agree to change a beloved routine, and despite it being the season of giving, we find it difficult to be flexible when people decide to alter our plans for us.

Now, the dark grey gloom is only a mediocre grey… and so it’s time for a brisk morning stroll.

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That was a very brisk morning walk. It’s amazing how much can be accomplished when you get up really early…

All people are affected by this idea I think. We are all creatures of habit; we construct routines because they make us feel safe and secure, and as though we have a purpose. Personally, I need a routine of work, errands, exercise, and so forth, because otherwise I get lost inside the folds of all that spare time, and things stop being as productive as they ought to be. Schedules make my world go round; I appreciate the aesthetics of the Filofax, as well as the Blackberry organiser feature, and calendars are one of my favourite items to shop for. Staplers, folders, art supplies, pencils, sketch pads. They are all items designed to make us more efficient, productive, creative, and organised. I love shopping for these things.

At the same time however, too much structure is crippling to us young people; we like to feel as though we are free. Essentially though, we’re obliged to do things, be things, and achieve something during our waking hours, whether this is making something beautiful on paper, or going to work to earn a little bit of money. Working itself raises the self-esteem of a person, no matter how menial a job, because you are a part of something. It will never be easy to get up on a cold winter morning and be at work for seven, but it feels good to have done it, and taken care of something to do. If a job is worth doing, you might as well do it properly too. Work is pointless if you just drag yourself around all day, avoiding doing anything even vaguely productive. Plus, time slows down to geological levels when you try to do nothing; you’d be better off doing something and moaning, as opposed to not doing anything. The doing passes the time until home time, as well as making you more popular with your boss, work mates, and with yourself. And the whole point of work is to get through the day, doing well, and of course, getting paid. We all have to do it, so might as well enjoy it too. Working also means I get to write down the appointments in my organiser and my Blackberry…

So, in conclusion, I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas, and I hope everyone has fantastic plans for this evening, and have a wonderful new year!

(:

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Good Morning, Christmas Eve!

This morning is one of the two mornings a year when school aged children are willing to arise from their beds; Christmas Eve is upon us. This magical day has religious significance, familial significance, and corporate importance, to almost everyone. This year for me however is going to be slightly different, because I am going to spend the morning with my family, decorating a beautiful gingerbread house, but this afternoon, I shall be going to work. This seems like an extraordinarily grown up way of conducting the day; as children, the afternoon would be used for playing with the garland, making stockings for teddy bears, and watching Christmas films.

(1) Christmastime in Harrods

Christmas tends to be one of those reflective periods of the year, especially since it falls very close to New Years Eve, a time where we make resolutions, and promptly break them at some point on the 1st, 2nd, or 3rd of January. I find the progress of the resolution strangely amusing in the way that one’s conviction for it decreases in direct proportion to the time passed immediately after it. New Year’s Eve resolutions are perhaps made to be broken, in the same way as tulip shaped wine glasses, and plastic children’s toys.

I find the Christmas period one unrivalled in attitudes by any other time of year. At no other time of the year is eating until you are considering vomiting an encouraged practice. The consumption of mince pies is, at no other time of year, a pleasant afternoon past time. During the course of weeks one to fifty-one of the year, drinking Bucks Fizz at breakfast is frowned upon. But not for Christmas. Considering the origins of the holiday, these practices present something of an attitudinal paradox.

To my untrained mind at least, Christmas seems to present something of a release from the restrictions and the tensions of the year that has just passed. Where people have been running through London’s complex tube system at six thirty every morning for fifty weeks, they relish the opportunity to exchange this for a very hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, smoked salmon, and kippers, accompanied by Buck’s Fizz. These foods represent the luxury of time which very often evades us, for most of the year. Christmas is also a time where paying mortgages, and saving up a nest egg, tends to be something of an abandoned practice; instead, we lavish gifts on family and friends, buy fine foods, gallons of wine, and seek only really, to be merry. This celebration of the year is a kind of reward: a reward for doing so well, surviving the pressures of life, and therefore instead of resisting the pleasures of life in favour of a slightly more attractive waistline, we tuck in.

The Christmas period offers us also, the opportunity to become creatures of leisure, something we don’t tend to be able to do very often during the year. Being a student, I have plenty of time for reading books, however they are not my books of choice; they are lovely books, they are classical books, but they are a part of my “job”. Over Christmas however, I get to indulge in the classics I have chosen for myself, such as Dostoevsky’s Devils, and The Picture of Dorian Gray. I also get to draw during the festive period, squeezing it in between walks and work. For the very reason that I get to be at home whilst I do all this, it’s my favourite time of year.

I hope everyone has a fantastic day today, and have a happy holiday!

(:

(1) http://www.shoppingblog.com/2011pics/harrods_christmas_world_department_2011.jpg

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Staring into “The Picture of Dorian Gray”

As you may have become aware, as you have looked through my growing number of blog posts, I am just a little bit in love with Oscar Wilde. And the decadence, eloquence, and rather philosophical writings of his have been long fascinating my mind, however, today, I have nearly finished his only completed novel; The Picture of Dorian Gray. Moving on through the novel, you begin to observe the complete destruction of a man through the ultimate kind of all-consuming vanity. He is essentially being made the central element of the universe, and subsequently, if his beauty, that which inspired this masterpiece, was to begin to deteriorate, then the universe around him would begin to deteriorate also.

(1) Oscar Wilde: My Literary Hero

This vanity is portrayed from a completely singular view-point, which potentially adds to the overwhelming decadence of the novel; Dorian Gray is literally the whole world, to both himself and Basil Hallward, something that is an intoxicating responsibility and power simultaneously. This obsession with the self shows how delicate the psychological perception of the self is, and how truly brilliant Wilde is as a writer, with the ability to write in such a completely beautiful fashion.

My favourite element of the novel however is the subversive portrayal of influence of Lord Henry; he fundamentally feeds Dorian Gray these twisted, backwards perceptions of life that reinforce the concerns he has for the world in relation to himself. This is because he himself seems to be more affected by realism than Dorian Gray and Basil Hallward are, perhaps because he is more exposed to London high society as prescribed by the time; the complexities of the social politics described in the novel are familiar to most of us, especially considering the festive season we’re entering. The balance one has to strike between social factions, work demands, and family duty all serve to create potentially a very stressful holiday period.

The lack of innocence however that Lord Henry represents however is the beginning of Dorian Gray’s demise; it is this that leads to his want to experiment with every kind of vice available to him, including endless intoxication and debauchery. Fundamentally however, this abuse of the satanic finery of life does not show on the man physically; his initial wish, that his portrait would grow old as opposed to himself, is fulfilled. This desire haunts him, and eventually, he is forced to greet his own reflection, himself as he was painted by Basil Hallward. The sheer fact that he killed the painter of the portrait symbolises rather aptly his desperation, and the complete disregard he had for his soul, or indeed for willpower and self-control as an entity in itself.

This rather beautiful novel of Oscar Wilde’s is a testament to the extravagant excellence of the late Victorian period of decadence; Wilde himself reflected decadence and in many ways, perhaps could see some of himself in both Basil Hallward and Dorian Gray, both being complex characters of aesthetic value, with little regard for the depth behind the necessary aesthetic value of life, and of possessions. The linguistic quality of the text reflects the richness of the plot itself and indeed the decadence of the late Victorian period as a whole. Wilde himself was critical of the conservative nature of the Victorian period, and led a life that defied many of the social boundaries set at the time.

Oh, Oscar Wilde. Thank goodness you were so naughty.

(:

(1) http://nigelfeatherstone.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/oscar-wilde.jpg

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The Realisation of Complacency

Today, I made an alarming discovery about my mental and physical states of fitness. Which led me to immediately vow that I would change; become more disciplined, fitter, and more aware of food groups. This however will require some commitment on my part; renouncing my deep and everlasting love of Pringles and Chinese food, and forming a wonderful new relationship with the cross trainer in the garage, the swimming pool, and going for rather long walks. It will be tough, but the hardest part to me at least, is wondering how it came to be like this.

When you realise that you have changed, both physically and mentally, you can only wonder when you stopped noticing this change in yourself; what happened to allow you to forget that you still exist as a physical entity? And more to the point, when did you stop wanting to do better? I think this is the worst part, to me at least, because I always want to better at something. I’ve been like this since I was a little kid. I’ve always wanted to look better, feel better, and do better than I did last time, and I think the problem is that I became complacent of myself.

People never do better if they are completely and perfectly happy; perfection, it would seem, does not come from happiness. It comes from relentlessly trying to do it better, no matter what it is; whether it’s making a perfect cheese sauce, being fitter, or getting better academic reviews, complacency does not lead to perfection. A complete obsession with perfection is how people grow. This is where the experts come from. They emerge from their libraries, for only an hour a day, and then they go back in. They do it because they feel as though they are not yet finished, and they, fundamentally, never give up researching, looking into new projects, and writing books, because there is always the nagging sensation in the back of their minds that they aren’t quite done yet. Nothing is finished, as yet.

Sometimes, you have to just drag yourself up a mountain. (1)

This is how I feel most of the time too; largely, I feel as though I have barely started, and therefore complacency at this point is simply idleness and laziness. Therefore, as of tomorrow, I will be implementing a new routine which will hopefully combat this complacency. I cannot abide stand to do nothing, produce nothing; so I will be filling my days with productive hours instead of catching up on television, and I will push through the inevitable barrier of pain, and hopefully, I’ll start to see the results within a week or so.

The human spirit is essentially what allows us to improve because we want to do better. There are people who do not have this desire to have everything; that is entirely their prerogative, and every individual is entitled to act as they wish. However, I’m of the disposition that says I have to do better.

Like I said at the very beginning of this blog, I want to be a writer. That’s all. I want to be good at what I do. So instead of talking about it, and dancing around the idea of being this person that I have fashioned for myself,  I guess I should just knuckle down and start.

(:

(1) http://powerofpositivity.net/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/mountains.jpg

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The Literature, the Author, His Character and His Beauty

Knitting is a fantastic use of time, in my humble opinion. Really, I think it’s fantastic. It stimulates the mind, increases dexterity, and creates something meaningful simultaneously. I suspect however that much can be said about English literature; it certainly stimulates the mind, if you find the right piece, and makes you dexterous insofar as your vocabulary increases, your capacity for accommodating other ideas grows, and you begin to perceive the world in innumerable different ways. Therefore, the question can be asked: why do children not want to read anymore?

I find this dilemma difficult to empathise with because I have never struggled with not wanting to read. I’d read under the duvet with torches, with glow in the dark things, mobile phone lights… anything that would allow me to see the words on the page and translate them into something fantastic in my mind. Harry Potter and company would transport me to alternate universes. Therefore, I think it is almost unfathomable that children wouldn’t want to be a part of this world; at least not through their own imaginations. Certainly through obvious, glaring media, but not of their own accord, or because they want to experience the novels in the purest form, without the director’s interpretation affecting how one perceives the characters, and the settings.

The castles, dragons, wizards and people who emerge from the realms of my imagination are always exponentially more interesting and more exciting than those put on a screen. The capacity to create an image that everyone is involved with is certainly an advantage of cinema, however it is not fundamental. It treats the integrity of the character and the setting as it was prescribed by the author as superfluous, something that can, and should be, altered at any given moment. This essentially defies the authority of the author as the creator of the literature, and in this way, we can consider that television, film and video gaming has murdered the literary beauty of the literature they seek to portray.

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A good example here is the novel The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde. The perception of the artist of the young man exploits the reality of the young man himself, although it was never intended to be so; all that was intended was for the young man, Gray, to be Basil’s muse, the influence that allowed him to create his art, instead of the exploited and caged creature that he inevitably becomes. I have always been a Wilde fan, and enjoy curling up in armchairs, reading the plethora of work he left us. Nothing is more wonderful than reading, with a pot of tea, on a cold, wet evening; this is not a rare occurrence in this part of the world. It becomes as enchanting as exploring antique book shops, and wandering over hills, having picnics. This simple pursuit then replaces all of these things, because it removes itself from reality; it takes us away, beyond the limits of our minds as they were, unexplored and untouched, and instead, creates something infinitely more beautiful than we truly acknowledge it as.

“But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face.” – Oscar Wilde

And so, upon this final quote which I think rather nicely summarises my final paragraph, in that beauty is destroyed as an entity the second intellectual understanding is applied to it, I recommend that everyone dives into Wilde for a while. He’s great fun. I’m planning on writing a fairly lengthy blog on Oscar Wilde very soon, too!

(:

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A Proposal From Mr. J. Swift

Eighteenth century English satire is perhaps one of the most sophisticated of the literary periods. It subtlety satirizes, or makes ridiculous, the institutions that existed at the time, including the government, the treatment of children, and indeed social structures themselves. Jonathan Swift and Alexander Pope were both famed satirists in their way, respectively Juvenalian and Horatian in style. Jane Austen was also a satirical writer, writing a critique of the restraints of the upper and lower classes, in an often amusing fashion.

A Modest Proposal for Preventing the Children of Poor People in Ireland From Being a Burden on Their Parents or Country, and for Making Them Beneficial to the Publick, commonly referred to as A Modest Proposal, was written by Jonathon Swift in 1729, at the height of satirical importance in English literature. Swift was a famed satirist, however his complete body of works does not sit comfortable in either a Juvenalian or Horatian category of satirical writing specifically. This particular work however is broadly considered to be a Juvenalian text, combating issues of morality, such as the man’s treatment of his wife with ridiculous sentiments such as her usefulness as a “breeder”. It is this incredibly powerful juxtaposition that provokes the mind to consider these sentiments in all seriousness.

Mr. Swift (1)

Juvenalian satire is an angry, biting form of satire, using morality to create a situation in which contempt can be provoked. In A Modest Proposal there are certainly a number of these elements, such as his extreme derision towards himself as a narrator, and the continued references to human children as delicious meats for the wealthy, products of a “breeder”. Whilst it is strikingly obvious that this is a satirical condemnation of the poverty and lack of government awareness in Ireland at the time, Swift himself may have to a certain extent supported these ideas. There are however, also elements of Horatian satire in the pamphlet; Horatian satire is a gentler form of derision that is motivated more towards amusing the audience, as opposed to repulsing them. There are very few elements of his kind of satire in this text; for instance, the suggestion that the cannibalistic behaviour would lead to a more loving marital situation is astounding, especially since it suggests that men would view their wives in the same way as they view their livestock.

Swift himself attempted to protect the oppressed in Ireland, specifically those who lived under the control of the English (often absentee) landowners, and the Irish Parliament, which was dominated by English influences. Despite being an Anglo-Protestant himself, and being elected Dean of St. Patrick’s Church very reluctantly, he sought to protect the Irish against the Anglo-Protestant classes, using very serious sermons to spread a message. Most significantly however, Swift went to the power of the pen, and wrote pamphlets such as A Modest Proposal that highlighted the issues of poverty in such a severe way that it was impossible to ignore such an extreme mode of communication. Swift had huge psychological problems with being connected by blood to Ireland, and appears to have had a very complex psychological stance on identity and society as a whole. Nevertheless, he sought to speak out against the huge issues of poverty that he saw in the streets on a daily basis. These problems included infanticide, begging, and prostitution. Due to his position as a senior member of the church, Swift often experienced these issues first hand.

For those who haven’t yet started to look at satire, then I’d say that you should if only for the entertainment value; without considering the social implications, the satirical texts tend to be amusing on a superficial level. That surely is the point of satire; to amuse, whilst causing somewhere, in the subconscious, a consideration of the meaning of the text. We never have been able to fully understand the subconscious; and in the same way that we don’t understand fully how dreams are formed, we don’t understand what makes us think of ideas in the way that we do. A testament to the power of satire is how it has continued to be a significant genre even today, especially in television. Satire is fundamentally amusing, and often hides the more serious implications of satire for society within its fabric.

(:

(1) http://www.thefamouspeople.com/profiles/images/jonathan-swift.jpg

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A Day Spent with a Bottle of Bleach

Today has been a day of cleaning, sterilizing, bleaching, and so on. I want to leave my flat sparkling and tidy before I come home for Christmas, so I can come back for new years refreshed, and with the attitude of “tidy flat, tidy mind”. Which is always helpful when you are drowning in a quagmire of essays, essay preparation and the never-ending list of compulsory reading. And then there’s the list of suggested reading. And that is also, a never-ending one.

It’s interesting to consider how important environment is in relation to one’s ability to be productive. Living in chaos consistently makes it impossible to achieve what you wanted to, because you can think about nothing except the clutter around you. It’s depressing to live in a dirty, untidy environment, and it starts to take over your world, becoming a little game, of which mug is the cleanest out of these mouldy ones, or can I eat without having to actually use cutlery? That is really no way to live.

Personally I like to plan how I’m going to decorate my house when I am older; what I will do in terms of colour schemes and flooring. Will I have carpet, of stripped wood? Will I have plenty of blankets or will the house be minimalistic? It will be a mixture of these things I think. And it’ll use many pastel colours and have pretty floral prints. It’ll be beautiful largely because it will be my house. My very own place. I’d also quite like Kenwood kitchen appliances in pop art pink, too.

For now however, I’m living with an oven that is temperamental at best, a microwave that regularly turns into an incubator for all that is bacterial and viral, and a kettle which sits next to the hob, next to the only plug socket, causing it to collect grease on top of it. The worst part though, without competition, is the extractor fan. Which drips grease. Some would ask why buy cooking oil, when it is freely dripped, quite literally, from above. I’d argue it’s revolting and could persuade a person to avoid eating altogether. But that’s just my little quirk.

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I thoroughly enjoy student living though. It’s humbling, to remember that luxury is not normal, and smart-price everything is perfectly acceptable; look on the bright side, at least all your store cupboard items will match! It’s nice to keep it clean anyway though. I reject the premise that students are all pigs, rolling around in their own mess. I think that if you want to enjoy university, you have to make an effort; house mates do not like the untidy species of student, in the same way that they don’t like the one who steals the cheese.

So I shall keep persevering with my bottle of bleach and J-cloths, because then we all get to be in a nice clean flat, and be productive and happy people. Besides, the ability to see the table surface means that we can use it to play poker and monopoly.

(:

(1) http://hookedonhouses.files.wordpress.com/2008/03/babybluesblinds1.jpg

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Sailing Through Campus

So here we are. I am quite literally, sat outside a lecture theatre forty-five minutes early purely because it’s raining so hard that walking home will turn me into a water storage unit. And to cap it all off, I’d have to walk all the way back too. The prognosis for the week is not looking much improved either; it’s set to continue in this diabolical fashion for some time, which leads me to wonder how on earth I’m going to survive the twenty-five minute walk to town this evening for my philosophy reading group, without drowning on the way. Six centimeters of rain is expected, most of which will try to embed itself in the fabric of my jeans, in my hair, and in my socks. That’s what living on the south coast will do for a person.

However, I’m thinking of taking up sailing next semester; I think it’ll be one of those healthy and wonderful activities, which “blow away the cobwebs” and give your skin that slightly sunburnt look. It’ll be a companionable way to spend a Saturday, instead of lying around in bed, making supernoodles, and planning how to spend your ten pounds in such a way that allows you to do a ten bar crawl around town. It’s a mathematical mystery if there ever was one. However, I think sailing would be a much more productive use of both time and money; it might even become a valuable life skill.

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There are a number of problems I shall have to overcome first though; firstly, a lack of boating apparel, something which in all reality, shouldn’t be too difficult, since I live in a seaside town, which has all manner of weatherproof jackets and boat shoes a mere fifteen minute walk away. The second problem is that really, I don’t like boats. I get terrifically seasick. Ferries render me a nervous wreck. I think I may have to take a “mind over matter” approach and hope that the sea isn’t too bumpy; it’s slightly alarming, having absolutely no idea what lies beneath you in the water, and being so very alone (with the exception of a flat-mate and some friends) on the open sea. We’ve all seen Titanic.

I’ve only really been sailing a few times in my life, and on all occasions, I was the captain: the captain of the cheese sandwiches and strange tasting boat tea. I prepared all manner of refreshments, but in practice, had no real contribution to the actual sailing of the vessel. I liked sailing because I got to sit in the sunshine and float about a little bit, and then come home and have a warm shower with the classic “wind-swept” look. It’s not quite the same though, when you live alone. Things don’t really “happen”; dinner, much to my horror, doesn’t prepare itself, and if you wish to eat, you not only have to cook, but actually buy ingredients all by yourself. I’ll have to buy the bread and cheese for the cheese sandwiches, as well as make them.

All in all, I think sailing may be a bit of a learning curve. I think it’ll be worth it though, especially since I get to go with friends, and maybe this time, I’ll be allowed some navigational capacity. So… I’ll update you when we end up in a Spanish port on the north coast, as opposed to the Isle of Wight.

(:

(1) http://www.anniebees.com/Tahiti/images/Bora%20Sailboat%20Sunset.jpg

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The Rejection of Rejection

For an aspiring writer, there is nothing so disheartening as rejection. When the letter or email comes through saying “you aren’t quite what we were looking for, for this issue,” you know that what they mean is that they simply didn’t like it. Or they didn’t think it was good enough. And this fairly soul-destroying mission, of despatching one’s work to publishers and magazines, only to have it rejected, is enough to make a person doubt their ability as a writer, and to wonder why you wasted twelve pence on a stamp in the first place.

This is where there should be a motivational speech, something like “of course it was fantastic, they clearly don’t know what they’re talking about…”. Except this isn’t true. These people have spent their lives in literature. Reading it, editing it, writing it. They might be heartless, but they do know what is good. They do know what they are doing. So instead of blindly burying your head in the sand, you have to take your work, and look through it, research where it might have gone awry, and maybe even rework it, and try again. You shouldn’t let your self-worth become directly proportional to how much an editor enjoyed your work, but simultaneously, you can’t let the essence of your work change. Remember that what you are doing is what you love, but sometimes you have to rethink how you write about these things that you love. But keep writing about them all the same.

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The same sort of thing applies when one tries to find work experience. Cover letters, curriculum vitae, and sample pieces leave your hopeful little hand, and instead land on a far less hopeful desk. This desk has probably seen hundreds, if not thousands of letters just like yours and so naturally may be a little weary of them. And then the automated rejection letter pops back into that same hopeful little hand, and you feel a little bit worthless once again. However; we’re writers. We want to do well. And writers in essence, write. So we go back and write another cover letter, and keep posting them until finally there’s an acceptance letter in your triumphant hand, which means the first hard bit is over. You just have to keep irritating these weary editors and agents until they are simply forced to accept you. Someone will, eventually, assuming you are willing to take criticism and use it constructively.

This constant rejection is why the blogger-sphere is so important; we need constant and positive feedback. It’s human nature to want to have people to review our work, look at it, and tell us what is good, what is bad, and keep reading our efforts. The blogging world keeps literary hope alive when the big scary corporate people want to squash us, purely so they have fewer letters to trawl through.

So, in conclusion: I shall keep writing little letters, building my CV, and writing on my blog as often as I can. I shall keep writing, because, like someone once said, “I’m in this for the long haul.” It’s a very tough journey, but it’s extremely rewarding. Keep plugging away. Something will come of it, I’m sure.

(:

(1) http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/site_furniture/2009/05/26/paper-pile-page.jpg

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Wading through Shakespeare: “Othello”

Shakespeare’s collection of work is a vast and riveting one; however amongst the plays, I’d have to say that Othello  is my favourite. It has all the makings of a modern soap opera: the possibility of adultery, an impossibly attractive cast, the potential for racial abuse… it’s hard to know where to begin to count the ways in which I love this play.

I think my favourite element however would have to be the antithesis of the heroic protagonist; the unlikely military general, who emerges from royal obscurity, likely to be from southern Spain or northern Africa, who is well-known for his linguistic proficiency and the delightful nature of his metaphors. The plot is somewhat drastically altered however when the protagonist’s supposed friend (and haven’t we all got a “fr-enemy”?) seeks to usurp him from his position to become general himself. The ways in which he goes about doing this could alarm even the most devoted Hollyoaks fan, from deception of everyone in the royal court, to the assault of Cassio, the flirtatious nobleman, and finally, the ultimate refusal to confess:

“Demand me nothing. What you know, you know. From this time forth I will never speak word.” - Iago’s final words

Othello and Desdemona (1)

There are few ways more stubborn to exit a play; the complete lack of remorse, and the ability to manipulate everyone in the vicinity of himself is worthy of applause. I consider Iago my favourite villain, purely because he is perfectly timed, in terms of placing tiny hints and clues across the landscape of what ultimately becomes destruction, despite its aesthetic beauty, in Cyprus. The juxtapositions found across Shakespearean literature remind the audience of the decadence of the Elizabethan period, and the rather beautiful paradoxes of circumstance that are symbolic of the nature of revenge tragedy.

Desdemona, in comparison with Othello, can be considered from a feminist perspective. Is she a passive character, playing more of a symbolic role than anything else, a possession to be passed about? Or is she a character who is completely instrumental in her own downfall? Personally, I find it to be the latter. The naivety of her character infuriates me, because looking back from a modern perspective, I feel as though she should have tried a little harder to understand why Othello was behaving in such a repulsive and cagey manner. She applies herself in no particular way, and so from my very modern viewpoint, I wanted her to look a little further, and put the jigsaw puzzle together, before she became a victim of her own circumstances. She is smothered, in a perversely kind way, by her husband. His unwillingness to break her skin or violate her in any way is symbolic of her purity and subsequent lack of progression into the adult world.

Tragedy tends to emerge from outside circumstance, sometimes not even in conjunction with internal factors. (Courtesy of Professor Nick Groom)

I hope you get to watch the adaptation and read the play, because it’s a brilliant example of the classic revenge tragedy.

(:

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