Ghosted

G-YOU GHOSTED

5 Ricky Blake - Ghostwritten

7 Eileen O’Sullivan - From page to scream

9 Charlie Catterall - A religious holiday but make it ~monetised~

11 Eliza Checkley-Mills - Honey, I haven’t scared the kids

13 Kseniia Mikushina - The Big Bad…Book? Showcase

15 Jamie Cowan - A twist in the tale

17 Natasha Pooley - Horror Haikus

19 Martin Mullaney - Stain

21 Michelle Acquah - Eating with Eddie Travel

23 Molly Mallinder - Killer entertainment

25 Rothery Sullivan - Exploring what goes bump in the night

27 Alyssa Mills - Why we love horror films

29 Molly Burton - Origins of Fear Politics

31 Omar Atwan - The ghost of generational past

33 Alex Palmer - Brain Drain

34 Eliza Checkley-Mills - The robots are taking over!

Libraries Committee 2022/23 Meet the TEAM

Samyukta Vidyashankar Convener/ Editor-in-Chief

Evan Colley Co-Editor in Chief

Ana Negu ț Production Officer

Alex Ballester PR and Graphics Coordinator

Lina

Leonhard Events and PR Mentor

Morgan Carpenter Travel & Lifestyle Editor

Selen

Shah Politics Editor

Rochelle

Chlala Campus Editor

Eliza

Checkley-Mills Arts & Culture Editor

Finn Macdonald Showcase Editor

THEME NOTE

by Samyukta Vidyashankar

Hello readers! It’s that time of the year again. Burnout season aka Halloween. Mid- terms are due, Halloween socials a plenty and excitement is brewing for Halloween HIVE! This issue’s theme has sparked a play on words, spOOooOOKY haikus and tough conversations that people are scared to address. The issue wades into the concept of fear and how we overcome it, our thrill for horror and our curiosity of the past!

Some of us are in love with the concept of costumes, whilst some of us shy away from it or can’t be bothered. Conversations of altering our self-image on one day to avoid reality come into play – is it a façade? This issue takes a look at our favou- rite horror guilty pleasures, the festival as a capitalistic endeavour and the rea- son why the blood curdling screams in horror films give us the absolute fear.

We hopeyou enjoyourblood, sweat and tears ;)

GHOSTWRITTEN by Ricky Blake.

I was asked to recount a personal encounter with the supernatural for this article. In the story I am about to tell I am not the subject rather, my father is, but it is a story that is nonetheless personal to me in the sense that it was one in which I would ask him to retell countless times to me as a child. I hope you find it as interesting as I do.

I present: ‘The Penny, the Girl, & The Signalman.’

Let me take you to the Yorkshire village of Hutton-Cranswick at the turn of the last century. The village is served by a railway station on a busy line. The villagers relied on the railway and as result the railway staff were a familiar part of the community. None more so than Mr Meginson the Porter-Signalman, whose job title meant that alongside the important safety critical role of signalman, he dealt with tickets, lamp trimming, and many other small jobs for a village station. His reward from the ‘money-centred’ railway company was a cottage, a meagre wage, smart uniform. He was known to be an upstanding family man.

For Meginson, the safety of the railway was top priority, and lamps and tickets came second. Something which was not the priority for the railway company, for them it was the accounts and that every farthing was accounted for. I’m sure Meginson found a quiet hour to sort the accounts for an upcoming audit that cold Edwardian winter. I’m sure too that it was cosy in his cabin with the coal fire gleaming off the polished levers, and brass instruments of his trade. It has been lost to history how the seemingly insignificant event happened that was to cause Meginson such mental anguish and grief. Perhaps a clumsy accident, perhaps a careless oversight by a man keeping so many plates spinning. So small did it seem that he would not have been aware until the men from the British Transport Police came up the wooden steps to his cabin.

The charge was serious and plain, one penny was missing from the latest audit and he was liable for embezzlement. The punishment was swift, Meginson was immediately dismissed from his post pending an investigation, if guilty he would lose his home and face imprisonment. The lack of the small railway wage meant that Meginsons family were unable to properly sustain themselves. That cold winter his daughter got sick, and at a time when one’s chances of recovery were dependent on a well-stocked fire and hearty meals, the girl did not recover. Because he was known in the village, an outcry cleared his name and forced his reinstatement, albeit on a reduced wage. Nothing could replace his lost daughter. The missing penny remained lost.

Around seventy years on, little had changed in Hutton-Cranswick signal box, the addition of electric lighting being perhaps the most notable change. A newly qualified signalman Nigel Blake was working in his first box. On that winter’s night, the coal fire gleamed off the polished lever handles and brass instruments, and Mr Blake took advantage of a quiet hour to sort out a delivery of tickets into their allotted slot in the mahogany drawer. I’m sure there was little on his mind while doing this dull boring ta“Bugger!”

The signalman pulled out the heavy drawer too far when it fell out leaving the little card tickets mixed up in a mound on the floor. After some time sorting the tickets back into their correct slot it was a relief when the time came to put the drawer back. The frustrated signalman tried to ram the aged drawer back into its slot and it would not go. Now having to look in the hole, the signalman saw right at the very back of the cabinet in a dark corner, was the blockage.

Pulling it out to inspect he found an Edwardian penny, his mind instantly went to the occurrence book he had just been looking through, which, with newspaper clippings and official documentation, gave a history of the station and the likes of Meginson.

Then the temperature dropped, the young man’s attention was drawn from the enarius in his hand to the opposite corner of the room. Against the black windows coated in condensation the faint spectre of a young girl in Edwardian dress appeared, she smiled, bowed her head and vanished from view. It was as if through the decades the mystery of the missing penny was solved, and an aged old wrong had been put right.

The signal box was demolished a few years after Mr. Blake finished working there, and with it went the ghosts of over a hundred years of constant railway operation. Now I can’t say for certain if the penny was that same penny, nor if the girl was added for the amusement of a small child. However, there is something to be said about the streets we walk, the jobs we fill, the buildings we inhabit, and the ghost stories which they hold. We undoubtedly are, in our daily lives, walking a well-trodden path.

“It was as if through the decades the mystery of the missing penny was solved, and an aged old wrong had been put right.“

From Page to Scream

“So maybe the more psychological horror stories work better as a written text, they can terrify us with those hideous ideas and feelings so much better than a 2-hour film could. “

by Eileen O’Sullivan.

We love an adaptation. We’re all guilty of it. But I always wondered how on earth reading a book could make someone scared. Like a Stephen King horror, will it really give me the heebie-jeebies and if so, how? Without the magic of the silver screen can it really deliver the same heart pounding, palm sweating, pillow covering eyes type of feeling? To answer my own question, sort of.

I embarked on this great journey of horror discovery by reading ‘I’m Thinking Of Ending Things’ by Iain Reid. This psychological, horror fiction follows a couple taking a trip to visit her boyfriend’s parents for the first time – scary enough as it is – but not everything is as it seems. A constant unknown caller, disturbing parents, a constant feeling of existential dread and unease made this book one of my favourites. It’s a different type of feeling reading a book and becoming so unsettled and creeped out by the words we read; we know the characters more, we connect with them, we’re let into this world and allowed to join the characters in a way a film often fails to do. And so, I was curious as to what the Netflix adaptation would do to convey those same emotions and all that content and context. First impressions were strong; stunning wallpaper, good jumpers, cute dog – what else does one need?

I liked the film, but I loved the book, it just had so much more to grasp onto, so many more subtle unnerving details that leaves the reader dying to uncover more. A few elements were different but we reach the same conclusions. Films have the advantage that books simply cannot compete withmusic. When a scene is deadly quiet you know that something is about to happen; someone’s in danger, someone’s behind the door, who’s going to pop out of nowhere. Charlie Kauffman (director) does a fantastic job of marrying the soundtrack to the visuals to create another layer of anxiety and fear even in what appears to be a dull moment.

On top of this, we have the wickedly talented Toni Collette. She delivers an incredible performance as the mother and brings this role to life. The father played by David Thewlis is so good that I truly got creeped out by the actor himself for a while.

Kauffman really did nail the different varieties of scary and horror with this; the creepy audacious father being inappropriate and the sharp scary tongue of the mother, on top of everything else that’s made us tense and taut.

Both book and film do manage to scare and horrify audiences through this feeling of distress and disturbance and so I would recommend both to anyone – especially those who love to not be able to sleep at night without checking there’s no creepy man in the corner. However, I am team book on this one. There’s just too much that Iain Reid gave us in this novel that simply cannot be interpreted onto the silver screen unless you have 5 hours. I adored the eccentric story in Kauffman’s personal rendition but there’s just that special spark that was missing from the screen adaptation.

Moving on from this I started to think of other horror adaptations that really just butter the crumpet. Twilight. Yes, I am arguing it is horror – there are horror elements (vampires) and a horrific love triangle. Whilst this doesn’t necessarily scare the audience the adaptation is an incredibly well received film, it’s a fall favourite, it’s a self-care essential, a movie night marathon must have! Stephanie Meyers took the scary Count Dracula “I want to suck your blood” and turned it into “hold on tight spider monkey”, and I think that is both horrific and successful. But then we have Jaws. Scary shark, tense music. The book was good and did a wonderful job at advocating open water safety however the film trumps. We all know that classic music, it does something that the book just couldn’t translate.

So maybe the more psychological horror stories work better as a written text, they can terrify us with those hideous ideas and feelings so much better than a 2-hour film could. And maybe the classic scary shark, creepy clown horrors work better with a visual aid and with an incredible soundtrack to help keep viewers up at night from fear and worry. Either way, if you haven’t read any horror stories I implore you to give it a go, they’ll haunt you in an engrossing way that’ll leave you dying for more.

Halloween, but Make it ⁓Monetised ⁓

by Charlie Catterall.

Halloween - a week of binge-drinking and contemplating just how slutty you can make your costume. Sexy police officer, naughty nun, or just lingerie. Playboy bunny? Shelves of tacky decor and multipacks of sweets for the trick-or-treaters. The neighbours gave full size packets last year!! Pumpkins, themed party food, costumes for dogs, and a 6ft scarecrow that every so often makes a sudden movement to scare the kids. Only £60. In a world of political correctness, you have got to wonder why we’ve never stopped to question, what we are such keen participants in? Why are we doing this? Why have I just spent £30 on bunny ears and fishnets? Halloween is more than just another money-eating spell that the commercial mind has cast on us. Cancel your plans, return your bunny ears and put away the booze. What would the Celts think?!

Halloween originated with the Celtic festival of ‘Samhain.’ It was a celebration for the end of summer and preceded the hard winter ahead. It was believed that on this night, the barrier between life and death was blurred, so they built bonfires and wore costumes to ward off ghosts. The Roman Empire conquered Celtic land in 43AD, this led to the festival being combined with two pre-existing Roman holidays; ‘Feralia’ to celebrate the passing of the dead, and ‘Pomona’ celebrating the goddess of fruit trees whose symbol was an apple. This is reflected in the commercialised Halloween of today, we see bobbing for apples and toffee apples as reminiscent of the holiday. The Celtics original holiday is modified even further with the spread of Christianity in 100 AD. The church attempted to replace the holiday with their own ‘Hallows-eve’, a day to honour the dead and those who have died for their beliefs. The original traditions of ‘Samhain’ were followed, but under a Christian pretence. It’s from here we see the emergence of the modern Halloween; it only continues to grow and grab traditions from other cultures and celebration styles until it eventually evolves into the commercialised monster we know today.

The traditional ‘Samhain’ has long ago been masticated by the commercial monster and Halloween is no longer considered a religious holiday. But why is this? We see a similar commercialism with Christmas, yet the religious aspect of the holiday isn’t lost.

Yes, many non-religious people celebrate Christmas and it’s a very very diluted version of the religious tradition it once was. Yet we all know that it is, or was once, a religious holiday. When attending my ‘hallow-week’ events this year, if at any of these parties I asked anyone why we were doing this? What is the real purpose of all this fuss? I imagine I would be faced with a lot of confusion. The Celts have been polarised from their own tradition.

But Halloween has been continually modified throughout time. Maybe it is not fair to compare it to something like Christmas, with such a strong religious tradition behind it. We’ve delved into Halloween’s origin and development, and so know it’s clearly been altered and changed by so many faiths. Its very own Frankenstein holiday, a mash up of different religions traditions, and then further mixed with a modern desire for extravagance and excess. It’s a mix of traditions and cultures, so cannot be pinned to one clear religious plot to exploit. Instead, commercialism exploits the modern general desire for celebration with endless party supplies and costumes.

The tradition of Halloween is deeply rooted in celebration and coming together, that’s the ancient and constant nature of the holiday. The holiday was originally, to the Celts, a big celebration before a hard winter. This was one of the main aims behind the festival. In the first century, winter was something to be feared, many would die or lose a lot of their crop. ‘Samhain’ was in some ways a chance to have fun and forget about the struggle of the upcoming season. They ignored the hardship they were about to face.

This year Halloween comes at the end of reading week, mid-terms have been submitted and the next six weeks ultimately leading to exams will not yet be a problem... ‘hall-o-week’ is back on. Give into the commercial world we live in, buy as much tacky decor as you can and invite your pals round, buy the bunny ears AND the lingerie to match, indulge in as much booze you feel necessary at the time and forget the stress of the upcoming academic months. Make the Celts proud!!!

photocredittoGabrielChoehloviPexels

“It’s a mix of traditions and cultures, so cannot be pinned to one clear religious plot to exploit. Instead, commercialism exploits the modern general desire for celebration with endless party supplies and costumes. “

Honey, I (Haven’t) Scared the Kids

My best friend and I have many things in common. However, one of the things we differ on is our stance on horror films. I can’t abide them. I spend the entire time on the verge of panic, and I won’t sleep for the next three days. My best friend, on the other hand, enjoys them so much that she finds them funny. It seems that the horror aspect of the film is like water off a duck’s back - it simply doesn’t faze her. She is not the only person I know who finds horror genuinely amusing or enjoyable - my flatmate is another example. I’m almost certain that was never the intention of any horror film, to be easy to watch and positively entertaining. Nowadays, horror films are no longer guaranteed fear; they have to continuously strive to achieve screams, forever trying to make anything into a jump scare. It is only with the modern generation that horror entertainment has had to go the extra mile, only with Gen Z.

Gen Z has undoubtedly challenged the horror genre in ways it has never faced before. Take Dracula for example. The first version of Dracula was in the 1931 film of the same name. He is simply dressed in a black cloak with a pale face and slicked-back dark hair but surprisingly, little evidence of fangs in the film. The film was a true horror phenomenon, it was, to the folk of the 1930s, terrifying. In fact, two scenes were deleted from the film five years after its release. The first being an epilogue speech in which it is stated that vampires do exist and the second, Renfield’s screams as he is murdered. Both scenes were removed due to fears that it made the film too horrifying and scarring. And yet now, films are being released loaded to the nines with gore and death.

It’s no surprise that our tastes in entertainment change with each generation. ‘The Walking Dead’ is a standard show to me, whereas to my mother, it is a horrible, horrible show (her words, not mine). What we as Gen Z view as scary is, in my opinion, diminishing at a rate of knots. But does that say anything about us as a generation? Maybe that we are growing up in a world threatened by real things, far scarier than something that is highly unlikely to happen in reality. We have grown up with streams of bad news; attacks, natural disasters, wars. We struggle to consider something paranormal when a very real fire is billowing right in front of us. We are growing increasingly more hungry for fear in our entertainment, but will films and TV ever be able to keep up?

The horror genre is quickly running out of material to make horrifying. Everything has been done. Everything is just being reused. But horror is also an incredibly alienating genre. For the few, like myself, who can be affected by horror and suffer a lack of sleep because of it, this constant effort for horror films to be more terrifying completely estranges us. Though I hate horror, there are films that I can tolerate. But if the horror industry is so hell-bent on creating more fear through their films by making them increasingly more difficult to sit through, then how can someone like me ever actually enjoy them? And so, with me and others like me out of the question, horror has a smaller audience to feed their content to and even then, many of them aren’t as scared as they would’ve been thirty years ago. And anyway,

fear is subjective.

Kids

Not everything deemed scary will be seen as such by every person. A person with a fear of birds would hate Alfred Hitchcock’s movie, whereas a person afraid of the dark might find ‘Paranormal Activity’ a little more chilling. Horror cannot prescribe to everyone’s phobias, it can’t cover all the bases and so, can’t scare everyone.

So has Gen Z ruined horror? I think the short answer is yes. We live in our own little world of horrors and have become desensitised to what we see in the films. Don’t get me wrong, we can still get jump scared and can still get the rush of adrenaline from the feeling of fear, but everything is recycled. It’s all the same content rehashed with a different actor. I don’t believe that the horror genre will ever fully disappear, but I do believe that it is slowly losing the tight grip it has on its viewers and will always be on the uphill struggle to find the next big, scary idea. Maybe it will one day run out of steam? Who knows? Maybe ‘Saw’ will become the next ‘Pointless’.

by Eliza Checkley-Mills.

TheBigBad… Book?

I’ve never been a particular fan of the horror genre. You’re free to endlessly speculate whether it has something to do with my personality type, perhaps bad experience, or just my own preference. However, one of the few interactions I have had with horror was the film ‘It’, originally written by Stephen King. I know, a good one, right? I’m not going to lie, I was peer pressured... well, long story short, it wasn’t as bad as I expected; I spent half of the film with my eyes tightly shut and the other half laughing hysterically at the awful jokes Richie, one of the characters, made. The horror genre is undoubtedly one of the most controversial genres and people tend to have strong opinions on it: you either love it or hate it. Nevertheless, it has been around for some centuries.

When you think about horror, perhaps the first things that come to mind are jump scares, strange noises, and gore. Sometimes, suspense is also added by the stupid characters, who for some reason decide to go alone into complete darkness after asking several times ‘Who’s there?’ instead of running away and calling the police. But can we still get the same fear from a horror book?

It’s no secret that in the 21st century we’re all experiencing an immense informational overload; social media notifications, horrifying news being broadcasted to you 24/7, an abundance of shows, music, blogs etc. We’re basically snowed under the endless stream of information, being so used to the rich visual and audio stimuli that it does seem like at this stage, that’s all we’re capable of perceiving and we can’t imagine any further.

In my opinion, that’s the problem which is probably going to be more prominent in the next generations. I didn’t have an iPad growing up and so quickly learned to entertain myself. I turned everything I saw into some sort of a toy, which really helped with developing my imagination. I have no problem when reading books and picturing all sorts of scenarios, which, if you ask me, is not useful when reading a horror book… Having said that, I agree that my generation, Gen Z, is experiencing a shorter attention span which can be a real problem when trying to study, let alone reading a whole book. The slower pace of written horror just can’t grip us as much as a fast-paced film. Maybe to us, horror only works when condensed into a couple of hours, not when spread over some 300 pages.

Nevertheless, apart from visual and audio stimuli, there are also writing techniques. Modern horror frequently has an underlying psychological context, playing on our feeling of anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and at the same time giving you the feeling that it could genuinely happen and it’s not as far-fetched as it seems. For example, horror often uses popular symbols like clowns, dolls, and small children that in normal life, have nothing to do with the monstrosities described. It has a desirable effect as it changes the way we look at trivial things and leaves a deep and unsettling feeling. Speaking from the point of evolution, people have always been forced to adapt to survive, that might be the reason why modern horrors are not about raw fear anymore, and more about making you feel uncomfortable. And this is where horror books must succeed. You can’t get jump scared by a book, instead, you read more psychologically unnerving material.

For some horror fans, the desire to feel fear is a manifestation of an adrenaline-seeking personality. Horror entertainment can trigger the fightor-flight response, which comes with a boost in adrenaline, endorphins, and dopamine. But to trigger such responses, the audio and visual stimuli are almost paramount. Like I said, you can’t get jump scared by a book. But it’s easier to enjoy horror when exposed to it in a controlled, safe environment and so in that sense, books are better than movies. Books provide a softer form of horror so people can practice emotional regulation and get better at managing their own fear and anxiety through engaging with recreational fear.

I would say that horror books can still be very scary if written properly, as the most terrifying things in life tend to be intangible - evoking feelings related to them and playing with the human psyche will likely do the job. However, the cognitive overload and shortened attention spans of the younger generation could be destructive to literary horror in the future.

Maybe even reading as a whole…

by Kseniia Mikushina.

A Twist in the Tale

“Tomato soup?” Vincent stared at the bowl of simmering red liquid in front of him, feeling the beginnings of a sigh building at the back of his throat. “You’re not being serious right?”

Rennie grinned across the table at him. “Try it before you knock it. You might be surprised.”

“I’m getting heartburn just looking at it.”

“Your heart hasn’t beaten once in about three hundred years. Somehow, I think you’ll be ok.”

Vincent grumbled to himself, playing with the spoon in front of him. He should have trusted his gut about turning Rennie; veganism just wasn’t a good match for this particular lifestyle. Besides which, Rennie had an irritating habit of jumping on the newest bandwagon. If it wasn’t for his ability to not turn up in photos or videos, he’d be seconds away from making a TikTok for all his health tips.

“And you’re sure this is edible? Given our… requirements.”

“I’m sure. It’s just a psychosomatic effect.”

“A what?”

“It’s like – because we think we need to drink blood to survive, we’ve convinced ourselves that it’s the only thing we can eat, right? But this right here – it has more iron, more nutrition and is less heavy on the stomach than blood. Plus it’s red.”

“So?”

“So it tricks your brain into thinking it’s blood. Pretty clever, huh?”

Vincent wiped a palm across his head. He was tempted to point out that it wasn’t particularly clever if they already knew it wasn’t blood, but the entire endeavour was giving him a splitting headache. Besides, the sooner he got through this, the sooner he could go out and kill one of those godawful tourists who had come for the Fringe. That would definitely cheer him up.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, before taking his first sip.

What came next, he could only describe as a revelation; a harmony and melody of flavours that he hadn’t experienced since his days in Florence (back before his unyielding lust for blood). Each mouthful invigorated him, filling him with images of summer, the fields stretching out as far as the eye could see. Maybe humans were more than just delicious bags of meat after all. Maybe there actually was something to this culinary thing that he hadn’t considered before. Maybe –

Maybe he should get to the bathroom before –

Vincent went to speak, and released a stream of bloody red vomit across the table, the floor, the ceiling, the Playstation (he had literally killed to get his hands on that), and across Rennie’s face.

There was silence. The two men sat, motionless. Rennie gently wiped the mess from his face, blinking slowly.

“Vincent – “

A final burst escaped Vincent’s mouth, hitting the wall. There was little chance of them getting their deposit back now.

“Vincent. No offense, but that was a little overdramatic.”

“I… oh god. I need to – “

Vincent rushed to the bathroom before the next wave could hit him. In the background he could hear Rennie, cursing as he set about cleaning up. After what felt like an eternity, he staggered back to the dining room, his face redder than it had been in centuries. Rennie had set about mopping the floor, his eyes never making contact with Vincent’s.

“So. About what just happened…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Vincent crossed to the worktop, flicking idly through the recipe book left lying there. Any second now, Rennie would change his mind, and when he did –

“Actually, I do want to talk about it. I get it. It’s a change. But for god’s sake, it was a tomato soup, not fucking bleach. Did it ever occur to you how much time and energy I sank into making that for you? I had to bribe a neighbour to go out during daylight to get me those tomatoes. Freshly picked, mind you. And you have the nerve to stand there and – “

Vincent had tuned out. He was reading and re-reading the same list of ingredients from the recipe book over and over and over, a sigh building at the back of his throat.

“Rennie. Did you follow this recipe exactly?”

“Of course I did. I used the freshest tomatoes, a pinch of sugar, some nice basil, oregano, thyme and…”

The two stared at each other. Vincent reached into the spice rack, pulled out the tiny, dusty vial of garlic powder, and at long last, let the sigh escape from his mouth.

by Jamie Cowan.

photocredittoCottonbroviaPexels

HALLOWEEN HAIKUS!

by Natasha Pooley.

A circle glowing

With white light. A werewolf’s bane; A witch’s delight.

* Knock knock! What beast at The door? ‘Trick or Treat!’ It’s not A monster at all! *

Witches cackle and Banshees bawl.What’s that howling

At the bright moon’s call? *

The wind shakes the house; Moves the door.You sleep soundly, While it scratches the floor.

Midnight. Mist coats the sand. Strangers dance merry, with Ghost partners in hand.

Stain

In 1945, I am sure that I killed many men. I did not murder a man, however, until one night in a ransacked house in Hamburg. The rifle in my hand was slick with sweat, and I wondered desperately how, despite it, I could still feel so afraid. My polished medals were heavy, and I realised then that I did not deserve one of them. I had no more ammunition, so my next shot would be my last.

In the corner, just then, came a noise. I whipped round, my face wild with fright, and was met, not by an enemy combatant, but a cowering young German boy of no more than fourteen. A civilian. I am a sharp man. I recognised those facts in an instant. And yet, a moment later, I had fired my last shot. Days later, crippled and insensible and awash with the stench of my own fetid waste, I was rescued. My comrades dragged me out along the harsh, hot ground, scattering in our wake the flickering embers of our victory (for, despite our subsequent aggrandisements, we were many of us thoughtless, brutish men).

Against the triumphant inferno raging across the sky I remember the house. The bombed-out husk that had been my prison stood, monolithic, like a great black gash on the world. It seemed to swallow me up, for in my delirium all I could see was a hideous black void, within which a piercing pair of lifeless eyes haunted me.

The following year I had traded the European theatre for England. It was decided that I was to recover in Lymstock, a desiccated market town stuck awkwardly among a maze of hills. The estate of Little Furze was quickly leased to me, and I began my misbegotten new life as a country gentleman. The subsequent months were a hell. I could not be alone, wandering the labyrinthine manor, nor, I found, could I suffer the gossiping wretches of the town, who to me were represented by a hundred pairs of watchful eyes, who saw me, I was convinced, for exactly what I was. Dr. Griffith’s visits were, therefore, something of a reprieve. He was not an especially smart man, but he brought news from London, along with, I soon discovered, whatever new medical device had caught his eye that week. ‘What do you see?’ he said one afternoon, his hands holding a white piece of paper covered in a stainlike mess of black ink (a Rorschach test, I believe he called it).

I saw a face, bloodied and disfigured by the fatal crack of a rifle. ‘A butterfly. I see a pretty butterfly.’ Griffith seemed contented.

He made to leave soon after, and I watched from the window as the doctor ambled down the road. He turned his head to face me just then, and, even from a hundred yards away, I could see plainly that the faraway look on his face was gone, replaced by one of disquieting shrewdness and perception. In that moment I hated Dr. Griffith, but more than anything I was afraid of him.

Thereafter I flew into a rage, and ripped from the walls every portrait in the house, till I was tormented no longer by the reproachful stares of men whom I did not know yet who would surely have despised me. Having staged my pathetic tantrum, I lay awake in impotent silence, a ghastly phantom hiding in the shadows of another man’s home.

The next day, I began writing the letters.

I wrote the first with no intention that anyone but myself should see it. It accused Mrs. Briggs, the stout woman who worked in the chemist’s and who had been curt with me the previous day, of infidelity. My next described Mr. Chapman, the schoolmaster, as a serial predator. Soon, writing them became something of a compulsion, and I composed as many as six in a single morning, which led, inevitably, to disseminating them about town.

I took a morbid satisfaction, I think, in imposing in Lymstock the kind of fear and suspicion with which I had lived my every day in that place. I, of course, was at that time free from suspicion; after all, one of the very first letters that ‘the poison pen writer’ ever wrote had been addressed to me and dutifully handed to the local police, whose oafish bafflement gave me no small degree of pleasure. ‘You murderer,’ it had begun. ‘You cowardly murderer.’

I see the yawning blackness again now, just as I had done on Dr. Griffith’s paper, and in the shadowy corridors of Little Furze, and, long before either, in the ash-choked streets of Hamburg. I see it in the stark, poisonous ink of my letters, and I am not afraid.

by Martin Mullaney.

photocredittoskviaPexels

Eating With Eddie

by Michelle Acquah.

‘Sushi, please.’

Naturally, it didn’t come out in the way Eddie had rehearsed a thousand times in his head. His voice was unsteady and a little pitchy. After a slight pause, he went on anyway, with the full knowledge that the idea of a strong response had failed.

‘The finest, most tratiodinal sushi you can find.’

photocredittoAnnaShvetsviaPexels

This attempt at revival only went poorly, of course. This time there was a crack. His larynx had decided to forget how to pronounce ‘traditional’ correctly. He tried to hide his fear of the inevitable by speaking like what he imagined Gatsby would sound like. Even though things never went well for Eddie, he was still gravely disappointed each time. His brain had never learnt to be used to failure. You see, it didn’t matter for poor Eddie that he might not enjoy eating raw fish. He wanted what he thought would be an ‘expensive experience’. Only Eddie knew what that phrase even meant. That should be enough to tell you about his definition of fancy: something he’d never had.

At this point you may have realised that in order for Eddie to cope with being a non-achiever, he had to have a problem with self-pity. No one else ever cared enough to show a sliver of compassion. His mother was exhibit A. From the moment of his birth, his mother truly and honestly loathed him. Her revulsion was raw and unfiltered. He would carefully observe her behaviour to determine the extent to which he should avoid her on different days. Eddie adored Fridays, like everyone else, but for different reasons. Mother was worn out from the week’s work on Fridays, so he would only get the usual ‘You do not deserve life’, as well as being allowed to eat the stale and mouldy bread roll at the back of the fridge for dinner instead of rat faeces. If she was feeling particularly energetic on a given Friday, she would brutalise him with a slipper instead of a wooden cane or her fists. TGIF was his motto through and through.

Throughout his schooling years, he was also treated poorly by women. Being called names, insulting comments about his intelligence, appearance, hygiene and behaviour. He found it difficult to socialise. It was all Mother’s fault. The resentment grew in his heart. Unfortunately, before he was strong enough to confront the devil he lived with, Mother died suddenly. An embolism behind the wheel on the highway. Eddie felt an unexplainable anger. He screamed and cried and shouted that night until his throat was hoarse and he was worn out. ‘How could she get away scot-free? Oh, how unfair is the world! After all my suffering and pain and hurt that has marked my life forever, I never even had a chance at vengeance! All my efforts to muster up the courage have been for naught!’

However, five years ago, things started to improve. He had made a friend (finally!). Adelaide was a senior. She was quiet but sweet. A very good listener. He told her all about Mother. He had met her when he secured his first job, as a carer, in a home for old people. He eventually got to spend time with her alone in his humble home. It all seemed to be going so well. That was until she turned sour and stiff. She started to turn cold. Eddie didn’t like the way she had become so rotten, so he ended their friendship. This cycle repeated with Beatrice, Constance, Dorcas, Ethel, Faith, Gertrude, Henrietta, Iona, Jemima, and about 16 more. He couldn’t understand what he was doing wrong. He never gave up trying to make friends. He liked having someone who listened.

Anyways, back to the sushi. I may have told a little half-lie about why the sushi did not matter. The true reason was that poor Eddie wouldn’t know in a few minutes whether it was worth it or not, anyway. There was zero point, to the extent that it was laughable he had even been offered the choice of a meal. It seemed to him like a serious standard of respect for someone as badly behaved as he.

Eddie, you see, had suffocated twenty six women in their sleep over the course of five years. He would stalk their families to find out where they were being buried, go to their grave sites when everyone had left, dig them out and take them back home with him. He would make them dinner to eat at the table, bathe them, and tuck them in bed. This would go on until the scent of their rotting flesh was unbearable. Then he’d return their bodies to the earth. The sushi was what he wanted as a last meal. Eddie, the old lady-killer, was on death row.

“Killer Entertainment”

True crime features are scarily spiking up the podcast charts as more people become fascinated with the dark tales the world has to share. As spooky season approaches, we can only predict that they will increase in popularity this coming month. So, take out your headphones, pause the podcast as I explore the frightening facts of why we are so engrossed by True Crime.

From growing up sharing gory ghost stories, to watching horror films over the top of duvet covers, it is no surprise that we crave the same adrenaline rush that we can get from these podcasts. Our generation has developed a thirst for being frightened. So, it only makes sense that the next step would be bingeing on the bloody tales that are True Crime. These podcasts expose us to real-life crime, whilst keeping us at distance from the danger. The storytelling narrative allows us to really dig our teeth (fangs) into the piece, whilst listening within the comfort of our own homes. We can tease ourselves with True crime whilst knowing our limits of the fear factor.

Typically, these podcasts expose us to the details of dark crime that mainstream media attempt to cover up. It is important that we know the truth of these tales, for the victim’s sake, if not for our own. Telling the stories without the mask (no Halloween pun intended) is crucial to ensuring we are aware of the crime that is going on in the world and unravelling this taboo of not discussing the details, no matter how daunting they might be.

However, some people turn to True crime, seeking the opposite of fear. Many True crime enthusiasts listen to these podcasts as a way of gaining more control over their own safety. Those who are tuning in as a way of protection are particularly women, who make up many of the victims of the crimes these podcasts tend to explore. If you’ve listened to enough episodes, you will have noticed that patterns start to emerge, such as when and where criminals tend to strike.

Crime happens all around us whether we acknowledge it or not, therefore so many people are choosing to educate themselves to feel safer, rather than hiding from something that will inevitably always be there. People tend to pay extra attention to their own, friends and family’s whereabouts after listening, and feel encouraged to take extra safety precautions in situations they might not have ever considered.

However, there is a fine line between what is too involved in True crime. At what point do the cautionary steps that we are learning from these podcasts, transform into a source of fear-mongering in our lives?

The clue is in the name when it comes to the nature of True Crime, but some listeners are still shocked by just how disturbing the details can be. It can leave people extremely distressed and can worsen their anxiety about becoming the victim of a similar crime. This is one of the negative aspects of True crime podcasts, as it places the listener in a position to believe that it is up to them to take these precautions to prevent being the victim. When in fact, these crimes, unfortunately, can happen to anyone no matter how much we try and avoid it. Whilst it is great that so many more people are increasing their personal safety because of exposure to True crime, it is important to not allow this ‘innocent thrill’ we might get from these podcasts to stop us from doing the things in life that we enjoy.

So, whether you are tuning in for a trick or a treat, it is important to be aware of how these podcasts can resonate with us even after listening, and the implications it can have on our anxiety surrounding our safety and personal protection. That is not to say we can’t indulge in our guilty pleasure of True Crime podcasts this Halloween, but just remember it is not only fiction that is frightening.

by Molly Mallinder .

“Whilst it is great that so many more people are increasing their personal safety because of exposure to True crime, it is important to not allow this ‘innocent thrill’ we might get from these podcasts to stop us from doing the things in life that we enjoy. “

Exploring What Goes Bump in the Night

by Rothery Sullivan .

With the increase in True Crime popularity, “Dark Tourism” is on the rise; people have an intense fas cination with exploring death sites, crime sites and places where horrible events took place. It’s a weird reaction, isn’t it? When society hears about a horrific event, we are immediately inclined to see the aftermath; there’s a strong desire to understand what people’s last moments were like. Where does this come from? How does this obsession manifest?

A popular dark tourist destination is Chernobyl, which saw over 100,000 visitors in 2019; tours of Chernobyl start at hundreds of pounds, allowing many companies to profit off of the post-destruction rubble. People have also developed an obsession with visiting the sites of serial killers, such as Ted Bundy or Jeffrey Dahmer. True crime fanatics go as far as traveling to Utah to stand outside of Ted Bundy’s old home, a home that he lived in and speculatively may have killed some of his victims. Moreover, the Cecil Hotel, a hotel home to numerous murders and deaths over the last century, also has tourists eager to enter the hallways and rooms where people experienced their last moments. Of course, television series such as Chernobyl (2019), The Ted Bundy Tapes (2019), and the ‘Hotel’ season of American Horror Story (2015) have contributed to the growing fascination with horrific places. However, it’s still peculiar that people are willing to spend so much money and time visiting places that must be filled with sadness, trauma and discomfort.

A prime example of this is the Lizzie Borden house, a house in America that was the site of two gruesome homicides. Following the murder of Lizzie Borden’s father and mother, many believed that she was guilty of the crime despite not being convicted. The story of the event - in which her father and mother were both axed to death - spread quickly across the United States, and has inspired books, films and rhymes. Today, people can go tour the house and even stay there overnight, a choice that many people make due to the frightening idea of sleeping in a ‘murder house’.

Does this obsession stem from fear? Perhaps people enjoy the rush that comes from being in a horrific environment; knowing that before people died they stood in the same place, saw and maybe even smelled the same environment can create an interesting sense of anxiety. Perhaps dark tourism provides the same dopamine and serotonin rush that we get when watching a horror film.

Or, maybe people are interested in visiting these places for the sake of research; after all, authors such as Truman Capote visited murder sites in order to gain the right perspective for their writing. Otherwise, people may want to go to pay their respects. After hearing about how many women were killed at the hands of Bundy, it makes sense that people would want to pay respects to the victims. This is important to consider as our reasoning plays an important part in whether it’s ethical to visit these places at all.

What rights does a person have after they die?

This is a philosophical question that has been tossed around for centuries, but it’s one that applies here, too. Does a person have a right to protect their space - their home, their bedroom, their furniture, their death place - after they die?

I’d say yes. A home, a place where a person lived, is quite intimate - it’s where they laughed, they cried, they loved. Places like these should not be turned into tourist attractions so that those living can profit from a person’s terrible death. Take, for example, the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam; a place where a family is known to have spent some of their last happy moments together. It feels like a violation of privacy for tourists to visit such an attraction solely on the basis of wanting to be entertained or taking an Instagram photo. It doesn’t seem moral for people to reap enjoyment out of such horrific circumstances.

In other cases, such as sites where people were murdered, my argument still stands. These spaces are personal for different reasons: it’s the space where people experienced their worst moments, where they breathed their last breaths. It is disturbing to think of these sites turning a profit because of the horrible things that happened at them.

Again, I want to emphasize the importance of the reason why tourists are visiting. If it’s for ‘tourism’ purposes, it seems wrong to treat a death sight with the same respect as you would a historical building or monument. However, a visit motivated by education and the desire to pay respects could be an ethical way to travel to spots of horror and trauma. Finally, we should continue to question why we are so obsessed with picturing ourselves in circumstances of frightening trauma?

Why We Love Horror Films

by Alyssa Mills .

As we move into October and the official start of ‘spooky season’, it’s growing more and more difficult to avoid horror. Horror is all around us. Whether it’s required viewing of classics like the Shining or the Night of the Living Dead or one of the countless horror films coming out this year, (just take X, Barbarian, and Nope as a few examples) horror is all around us. Many of us enjoy the thrill of a good scary movie, but for those firmly in the anti-horror camp, the question arises – why would people pay to be scared? Fear is a negative emotion, and when there is a wealth of films that provoke more positive reactions to choose from, why does horror remain so incredibly popular?

Like most things, enjoyment of horror comes down largely to psychology. Researchers attribute the appeal of horror to three key aspects which must be delicately balanced by filmmakers. First is tension and the resulting chemical reactions that play out in our brains. Second is relevance, often presenting as social commentary or a form of connection between the film and our lives, making the protagonists relatable and the plot all the scarier. Third is an element of unrealism; we are aware that what we’re watching is fictional, just actors playing to a script, which allows us to experience fear in a safe way. This safety is critical to actual enjoyment of the fear-inducing elements of our favourite horror films.

The building and eventual release of tension is the primary marker of a good horror film. As we watch the final girl cautiously descend the stairs into the dark basement, music slowly rising, we feel a sense of uneasiness. Because the viewer is aware of the genre we are watching, we start filling in the blanks, predicting what’s coming next. She slowly creaks open the door. Our hearts pound. This build-up of tension makes our investment the inevitable climax of the film much stronger than in other genres of film. When the physical effects of this fear and adrenaline wear off, we are left with a sense of relief in the form of endorphins and dopamine after realizing we are, in fact, safe from the existential terror we have been facing during the film. These chemicals are addictive, and for hardcore horror fans, keep us coming back for more.

The second element that makes horror movies so enjoyable is relevance. Nearly every film has some level of relevance to our lives, that’s what makes us connect with the protagonists. Horror movies are largely unique, however, in their approach to social commentary. Horror exists as a tool to tap into and examine those universal human fears and interpret them in new ways. Though not a film, a favourite podcast of mine, the horror fiction show the Magnus Archives outlines 14 fundamental fears that affect people in different ways.

This idea that we only have so many base fears, many of which are evolutionarily based, is one used by horror filmmakers in both a literal and more referential sense all the time. For example, Alien taps into a deep-seated fear of a powerful, unidentified beast – a straightforward fear of being eaten or otherwise killed. In contrast, films like Midsommar or the Shining create a sense of unease, our fear of losing our own minds and subsequently, our control over ourselves and our surroundings. Ultimately, this loss of control is a major theme in horror, and one that will resonate with every viewer.

The final element that allows us to enjoy horror is what’s called a protection frame. Before we can experience the relief of safety, we have to feel safe, and we do that through the recognition of unrealism. Though our brains may initiate fight or flight, cognitively, we are aware that we are simply watching actors on a screen, acting out a script with the aid of VFX. This can be manipulated by directors to make the film that much scarier with tags like ‘based on a true story’ or marketing strategies like the one used for Blair Witch Project, which convinced viewers they were seeing real found footage.

In the end, horror isn’t for everyone. For some, the negative feelings of fear and adrenaline are not outweighed by the eventual relief of dopamine. For others, they have a harder time tapping into the protection framework, or they have a high level of empathy for the characters. Horror is a diverse and highly subjective genre, and people enjoy it for different reasons. Some find paranormal elements cheesy, where others find it evocative and terrifying. Some like straight up slashers, where others prefer psychological horror, or horror-comedies like Bodies, Bodies, Bodies or the Cabin in the Woods. Regardless of your preferences or the reasons you like a good horror, there are plenty of options, and we can’t wait to enjoy a good scare this Halloween season!

o n Gi R i S o fA F E R

I’m sure you know the feeling. Cold sweat trickling down your back. You’re frozen in place, unable to turn around. You feel like you’re going to throw up. You feel the colour drain from your face. You feel a scream gurgling up through your throat. You’re terrified!

But all you’re doing is looking at the first question on an exam paper.

This type of reaction is designed to help you get away from serious threats like lions and tigers and bears (oh my!), but now that these threats are no longer an issue, and we have the time and headspace to ponder the meaning of life: have you ever wondered where fear comes from? With Halloween just around the corner, there is no better time to find an answer to that question: so you can watch all the horror movies you want, and be in the know about exactly how you feel.

Scientists tell us that there are two types of fear: learned and innate. An innate fear is something you’re born with, usually for serious threats to your life like fire or a big snarling dog with sharp teeth. A learned fear is something you pick up through life following negative experiences, like being bullied at school leading you to be afraid of school. Fear is processed in an area of the brain, indeed one of the oldest areas, called the amygdala, generally known to process emotions but more specifically processes memories associated with the fear emotion. The amygdala is the source of the chemicals that create the ‘Fight or Flight’ reaction. This is when the brain prepares your body to deal with a threat in the most appropriate way. As they say in Horrible Histories, “here’s the sciencey bit”:

1. The brain detects a threatening stimulus and quickly analyses the situation to decide whether it is within its capabilities to deal with the threat or not.

2. The amygdala is engaged, releasing the stress hormones known as cortisol, norepinephrine and, of course, adrenaline (giving you super-human strength for the short term)

3. Once the body is prepared, you either fight the threat or flee from it.

4.When the danger is gone, the brain is prompted to begin the rest and digest response, to calm your body down following the stress reaction.

Fear is primarily a survival instinct, most animals have it. Of course, this reason is a benefit in itself. I don’t know about you, but anything that helps me avoid being eaten by a lion is alright with me. However, as human culture and daily life has progressed and evolved, fear becomes more of a stumbling block than anything else. Due to the incredible speed of the cultural evolution since the first homo-sapiens walked the earth, the actual physical evolution of the brain hasn’t been able to keep up. As I said before, we no longer have to worry about stray wolves wandering into our villages, and we no longer have to be prepared to fight for our food and family at any given moment, but the ancient amygdala doesn’t know that; it still does exactly what it’s designed to do. This can create issues for us.

There are the obvious issues like our brain overreacting to an exam: preparing us to run away as fast as possible doesn’t really help when trying to remember Pythagoras theorem. But it could be that many of the social issues facing us today actually have their roots in fear. The people of the past learned to be afraid of anyone who wasn’t part of their direct community for fear of danger, it could be that this has carried on well into the present and now takes the form of racism. It is very important to recognise this origin, and realise that we’re no longer separate groups individually sticking together against the ‘others’, but instead all one human race connected.

Institutions like religion used fear as a control, to keep the public at bay for fear that God would punish them. This even lead to the deaths of tens of thousands of people who were burned at the stake for being witches. This is why it’s imperative that you don’t let fear take over in your mind, and you don’t allow those around you to control you through fear either. The best way to stop this from happening is to fully understand your reactions to things, practice critical thinking and always keep in mind the consequences and origins of fear.

by Molly Burton.

by Omar Atwan.

The Ghost of Generational Past

TW: The following article contains mentions of war, mental health, and eating disorders which may be triggering to some.

We live in a world where two groups of people exist. One group which takes privilege for granted and the other where people must fight for a fair chance in life. Over the past couple of years, we have seen people rise up against injustices and fight for what is right. We saw people in millions march for BLM when George Floyd and Breonna Taylor were tragically murdered by the police. We saw people rally against Israeli Apartheid during the 2021 war in Gaza. Those heroic acts have given marginalised groups a voice, one that is strong enough for people in power to consider. We were able to stick up to aggressors and fight for our basic human rights to be given to us. However, as marginalised and oppressed groups stand up against their assailants one cannot help but feel as though there is a lack of accountability and discussion over the ways things are dealt with within those groups. How do I, as a second-generation Palestinian refugee and many other ethnic minorities hold our elders to account and stand up to them over the ways they have and continue to handle atrocious events that have happened to them? How does one deal with the trauma passed on to them in a healthy way that is still respectful to the suffering our elders have gone through?

Growing up I was taught that as a man, I must be tough, must fight to prove my ‘manliness’ and show no emotion in public as that would make me ‘feminine’. I was also taught that as a Muslim, I could just pray all my mental health issues away and that those who go to therapy are crazy and belong in a mental asylum facility. Furthermore, I was taught that it was a normal thing to stare at women and that locker room talk was a normal thing and in fact was encouraged. However, I never understood how being a devout Muslim, which I am, would mean that all my problems would go away, I also never understood how someone could claim to be a devout Muslim when they look at women in a disrespectful manner. Especially since Islam bans such behaviour. I never understood how me not being connected to my emotions and being a troublemaker would make me more of a man and how me being respectful to others and not getting into fights would make me weak.

Due to me having such firm beliefs, I found myself to be the subject of bullying from everyone I know. My family and school mates would call me gay all the time for not acting manly nor staring at women, having a lighter voice and not getting into fights. This bullying eventually led me to have some serious mental health issues as well as develop several eating disorders and body dysmorphia, all of which brought me lots of self-inflicted shame, which I projected onto others by distancing myself and becoming less open, confident and fragile. My story is unfortunately similar to many in my societies, think of women growing up with strict fathers who have been raised that a woman’s place is with her husband. So, I have always found myself wondering, why is it that my society is the way it is, what caused it to become so close-minded to change and how do I handle the issues inflicted upon me because of it?

It’s no secret my society in general went through a tough patch, from oppression by the ottomans, to occupation by Britain and then by Israel, we’ve lost a lot of loved ones, been expelled and separated from land and family. It feels as though sometimes my elders are more than justified to believe in things the way they do, at least for some cases. When hearing stories about how my grandpa had to fight and my grandma had to take care of her kids, I can understand how culturally men need to be tough and women more caring. Those are how things were when times were rough, and I feel like there is a sense in my society that times are always tough. Hence never being open to change. However, for things like treating women as a second class and dealing with mental health, I still find myself at a loss for why people think the way they do. That often transcends into the way I deal with things, which is almost always staying quiet about my struggles and retreating to the comforts of my self-company because I find myself only trusting myself. Such ways are of course unhealthy, and I am aware of that, but due to how I was brought up, I still cannot find a way to bring myself to deal with these things in a healthy way and I believe others too share the same struggle.

“How does one deal with the trauma passed on to them in a healthy way that is still respectful to the suffering our elders have gone through?

“

Brain Drain

by Alex Palmer.

Blue and green cards are sadly both a colourblind person’s worst nightmare and far from colourblind from an immigration perspective– for the cards in question, the United States’ and the European Union’s main immigration schemes often exchange skilled immigrants from certain countries for hardship and toil on their part.

Human capital flight, or ‘brain drain’ (vaguely Hallowe’en-like, thank you editor) as it’s more commonly known is the consequence of ‘high-skilled’ emigration from one country to another, in the process bolstering the intended country’s workforce, and removing a skill-set from the country of origin. How can we in a world where there is so much discussion about remedying the wrongs done largely by the western world and decolonisation reconcile this effect with such liberal values as freedom of movement and support for lifting the developing world out of poverty?

Well dear reader, we’ve now reached the stage of the article where I do the one thing I really don’t like doing: semi-patronisingly explaining simple yet essential concepts to you. This time round it’s supply and demand. In short, as long as we’ve had jobs, we’ve had ‘skilled jobs’ that are in much demand throughout the world, and if there’s demand, supply will reach to fulfil it. Much the same is true with the pattern we see here: people move to where there are employment and other opportunities for them, whether that’s purely financial or otherwise.

It all seems so simple set out in such abstract terms as those on this page. Discussions of immigration issues such as the one you’re reading often leave it at that, bemoaning the consequences on the economy of migration from one country to another, or the (usually imagined, scaremongering) impact that it’s going to have on your wallet!, or perhaps your doctor’s waiting list!, or that Christmas is somehow not happening this year! Needless to say, these aren’t exactly backed up by rigorous studies.

We should rationally be talking about the very human reasons that mean these people make the usually very difficult choice to emigrate from the country that, up to that point, they’ve called home for their entire lives, but we don’t. After all, if you were given the choice most of us wouldn’t uproot ourselves to move to a different country for a considerable length of time, leaving behind family, friends, the landscapes and places we’ve grown up with. It is a difficult, heartbreaking decision, but also one that can offer hope and the promise of a better future. We should discuss it in such terms, not in pejoratives and bad-faith pieces.

Brain drain is also largely a perennial issue– something you read about in the effects of Brexit or the British press’ incessant drumming about immigration, but let us not forget amongst the jokey tone of this piece that in large portions of history this is instead mostly a discussion of those persecuted fleeing their country not because of economic interests, but because they have no other choice. From the plight of the Huguenots in the 17th century to the Jewish diaspora fleeing from waves of antisemitism in the mid 20th, this is not an issue that can be dealt with unseriously, and it would make for more decent discourse if we would address it as such. In much the same way, it is deeply unhelpful for the narrative around ‘brain drain’ to be expressed so negatively. At the end of the day, these are people seeking a better life. We would all be happier and better off if we addressed the reasons they leave, had some humanity, and were conscious of the way that we speak about them.

The Robots are Taking Over!

“ But is it too late to turn back now? Honestly, and this may just be the pessimist in me speaking, I think so. “

I, potentially like many of you reading this article, have experienced the complete chaos that was online teaching. My entire second year was spent staring at the little faces on my computer screen in my pyjamas, forever on the cusp of a buffer, failed connection, or the lecturer not realising the video was on mute the whole time. My bedroom was my sanctuary and my workplace – something that I now, with every fibre in my being, avoid at all costs. Online teaching had its perks; anytime was a suitable time for a cup of tea; I never had to wear actual trousers; 24-hour open exams! But such close and constant contact with assessments, deadlines, and secondary readings caused a total inability to just relax, to be able to escape the university stressfest. Don’t get me wrong, the convenience of it all was marvellous, but is it truly worth the bombardment?

Technology has always been something I loved. Everything is in one place and its intelligence and ability make up for where I lack, for example the calculator function. It would be weird to use the original device for such tasks nowadays, no one just has a calculator in their pocket and if they did, it’s almost guaranteed some weird looks. I’m sure in the advent of technology, it was exhilarating – all the possibilities! You could send letters to one another instantly, you could look up anything without having to look through a book or ask your dad, you could talk to people on the phone (and eventually, not have to be attached to a wall the whole time). Computers, phones, televisions; they were designed for our convenience, for our entertainment. I genuinely don’t believe that there was ever any goal for the future that we now live in, simply some people who wanted to make life easier. Even now technology has a massively positive impact, it can literally save people’s lives. But then the businessmen came in and decided that this was going to become the next hotshot consumerist dream. Technology became a commodity that could be forever improved, forever made more appealing, more sellable, more necessary. Suddenly, you need it to breathe, all in a bet to make profit.

And it works. The dependency that I have on my phone is genuinely embarrassing. I won’t leave the house without it, I get invasive thoughts that I’ve lost it and then must check. If I ever did lose it (God forbid), I seriously think I’d be equally as worried as if I’d lost my dog in the park. The emotional attachment I have to my phone is mortifying and my functionality as an adult truly does depend on it.

Everything is on my phone - payment cards, banking, maps, addresses, deadlines, calendars. I no longer need a separate device to listen to music or watch TV, no longer do I need a book to read a book. I will never question the practicality and ease that technology brings, but I do worry about the absolute necessity it has become for the world to keep turning.

But is it too late to turn back now? Honestly, and this may just be the pessimist in me speaking, I think so. The improvements being made to technology to make it more useful (and thus, more addictive) show no sign of stopping. In fact, they are speeding up. There has been a new iPhone model every year since 2007, they have now invented voice-controlled smart bathtubs, they are trying to make DRIVERLESS CARS PEOPLE. When will this madness end? When will it finally be enough? When the movie WALL-E has finally become a reality? Seriously, I think they really hit the nail on the head with that one.

Although I believe that we are on the slippery slope downhill when it comes to the development of technology, I do believe there is opportunity for salvation when it comes to reducing personal usage. Setting timers on apps, leaving your phone in the other room, going outside for a walk to break up the day. It’s crucial for students to take breaks from the screens as often as feasibly possible. We are so chronically on phones and computers because all our work is on them, our lives are on them. I’ve come to accept that I will never be able to fully drop technology and live in a hut in the woods. I have literally typed this article on a computer and emailed it to Rochelle. But take a break from it when you can. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it so WALL-E doesn’t have to live on Earth all by himself while we just sit in floating chairs in space!

by Eliza Checkley-Mills.

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