Religion in ‘Brideshead Revisited

Religion is a key theme in English author Evelyn Waugh’s 1945 novel ‘Brideshead Revisited’. The novel follows the life of a man over the course of approximately twenty years, as he is simultaneously enchanted and bewildered by the members of the wealthy Catholic Flyte family. Waugh reflects throughout the book on the role of religion in society, in the lives of individuals, and the importance it plays in interpersonal relationships. Through the eyes of the Anglican-agnostic protagonist, Charles Ryder, the reader comes to understand the intricacies of the other characters’ Catholicism, and as characters develop, so does the religious outlook had by not only the Flyte family members, but also by Charles himself.

Charles is used by Waugh to contrast with the members of the Flyte family. Charles represents all that is seen as conventional at this place and point in time – British, Anglican, middle-class – and it is contrasted with the exotic romance of the Flyte family, who are of distinctly European heritage, Catholic, and extremely wealthy. The otherness of the Flytes is exemplified during the incident where Julia’s fiancé, Rex, prepares to convert to Catholicism and struggles with the cultural differences between the Catholic Church and the Church of England. Religion continues to play a large part in the relationships between characters, tearing apart both Charles and Sebastian, and Charles and Julia. The irrepressible religious beliefs of the two Flyte siblings prevents true closeness with Charles, who only finds religious security after the main events of the story, and resents the strength of their convictions.

Another debate emerges between the characters during the course of the novel – whether one has to suffer in order to be close to God. During these discussions, Cordelia states that her brother Sebastian is very holy, and that “no one is ever holy without suffering”, and this bears a strange similarity to Charles’ opinion that Sebastian would be happier without his religion. However, the tone of these remarks is very different. Cordelia certainly means this as praise of her older brother, but Charles is overtly criticizing the faith of the family as detrimental. This incongruity demonstrates the fundamental differences between Charles and the Flytes, and the disagreements of this sort foreshadow the breakdown of relationships later on in the story.

Within the Flyte family, the different lifestyles and religious opinions prevent true unity amongst all of the parents and siblings. They all, however, undergo their own religious transformations, largely strengthening their beliefs. The religious beliefs of Sebastian are initially rather shallow, as he remarks to Charles that he holds his religious beliefs because he thinks they are “nice ideas”. By the end of the novel, having lost everything to alcoholism, his religious understanding has become deeper and more profound. His father, Lord Marchmain, having lapsed in his religious beliefs for many years, returns to England and requests that a priest bless him in his dying moments.

Perhaps the character who undergoes the greatest religious transformation is Charles himself, as he develops from an almost aggressive atheist who outright opposed the presence of a priest at Lord Marchmain’s deathbed, to paying his respects at the nearby church in the epilogue of the novel. Other than his interactions with the Flyte family, there is no explanation given for the change that occurs, so the reader assumes that his decades long conflicted relationship with the family has left a permanent mark on him in terms of religious ideology.

Overall, the novel is a beautiful commentary on individual personhood, and the relationships formed between people throughout their lives. The religious commentary adds to the concepts of change and influence, while also serving as a vessel for Waugh to explore the social norms of the time he was writing in. The philosophical and religious discussions between characters add so much to the novel in terms of realism, character development, setting and theme, while the changes undergone by all significant characters drastically increase the poignance of the story.

--Lucia Dakin

‘Love Lost’

Words would drift like smoke Buoyed up into the cold, crisp air And night would last forever The moon suspended would hang for eons Stars would shed their searing brightness and pause in their vast downward sweep, while we would hold on To the slightest brush of fingers, Pretend that we had eternity Realised in that dark sky. Now I wait and ponder uselessly weeping for the love we gave away that starry night. But to give love, I must first have felt it. This oddly giddy feeling? No. It was not that. Rather, it was a lightness, Rendering all clear thought unsubstantial, I can hardly recall it. It was so profound then, and seems now so trivial Or perhaps it is the other way around. Whatever it was, or could have been It is vanished now. I can no longer feel your phantom limbs around my neck Lingering… Even this has been taken from me. If before I was electrified, illuminated, Now I am a mere shadow, a whisper of something that once was, and now is not. It has fled me, and I regret my unsuspecting self letting it slip idly by Had I been deceived all along? Was it water in an ocean of desert?

A wretched man blindly seeking false salvation. Maybe. It happens, I suppose…

--Anonymous

‘A Year in the Life of Deception’

March I tried an apricot for the first time today. It was a warm orange colour, almost like the sun. It was sweet, but with a slightly starchy undertone. I must remind myself to spit out the bitter stone encased in the syrupy flesh next time. Perhaps it was not quite ripe enough, but as the spring progresses, I know the trees will bear much fruit, blossoming with the purity that surrounds us. April The poetry of spring is in full bloom. An orchestra of pink and ivory roses have grown on the fresh grass, their scent dancing in the air, like the fairies in the stories I was told as a child. The birds’ music fill my ears. I have stepped into paradise.

May I visited Mr Mokri’s shop today. There is something inexplicably remarkable about the tapestries strung on the walls, each hand-embroidered with images of the sky and fields and rivers. Not a single thread hangs loose. The line separating pictures and reality becomes blurred. If you stare at the images too long, you might begin to forget that you are not in the real world. June At dawn, when a drop of black ink fell and began to stain into the orange sky, I climbed onto the roof to watch the sunset. The sun has always fascinated me. It is the paperclip of the universe, bringing light and warmth in the summer. It is forever youthful, and never abandons us. I watched as it slowly sank downwards, with the moon rising to take its place. Even when we cannot see the sun, it never leaves. It gives its reflection to the moon. Some may call this deception, but I do not think this is the right word to describe the natural phenomena that allows us to dream. July The heat is intense. It begins to burn my skin. The sun is visible, standing proudly at the top of the sky. But I cannot look at it, because it might blind my eyes.

August I went to the small forest near the lake, pacing along the scorched and tawny floor. There was a deer lying there, dead, encased in a pool of its own crimson blood. I prefer to shy away from slaughter rather than face it. So, I left the deer there to decay, until it is diminished to nothing but a skeleton attached to traces of flesh.

September Hunting season has started early. I have been thinking about all the animal remnants that have touched the soles of my leather shoes. Just a few months ago, being outside offered be pure bliss, like taking a bite out of a perfectly ripe, sugary apricot. Now I prefer to stay inside. October The transition period between the hopeless autumn and the bleak winter has arrived, with icy winds forceful enough to unhinge my door. I thought the outside was not safe, but perhaps the inside is also perilous. It is not just because of the weather. Homes have been ransacked, some losing everything they have ever owned. Except for our faith. Nobody can every take away our faith, no matter how wicked and deceptive they are. February The foggy air had made the time from October to now nothing but a greenish blur. The sun is dying, and I see very little of her now. The fruit on the trees is starchy and sour. Almost a year ago I was deceived by the summer air, forgetting the reality of where I really was. The seasons are impermanent, the warmth and comfort are never there to stay. Yesterday I braved the outside and went to Mr Mokri’s shop to buy a tapestry. I thought that, perhaps, I could lie it down on the stone-cold gravel and pretend I was sitting in a field of luscious grass, surrounded by a clear lake and trees that bear luminous fruit. The shop was diminished into nothing but a pile of splintered wood, shattered glass and loose threads. And now I must sleep. But I cannot. I keep on tossing and turning between dreams and old linen and the fear of what might happen tomorrow.

--Alex Morgan

A Sonnet: Hamlet abridged

Being held is mortifying - the suffocation Of another’s hand on what is yours, What some would call flirtation Others see as an autopsy on a bloated corpse But, the tickling and teasing revealing A deeper joy is like the first trace Of the burning of spirits down your throat, flowing, Lighting your insides at an intoxicating pace Before it hits, and you feel sick And confused and scared and There is nothing else to do but throw out your politic, Revolt the unwelcome hand: To be held is a violation Of all you will learn before your cremation.

--Anonymous

What we’ve been reading Circe, Madeline Miller

In this mesmerising work of fiction, Madeline Miller writes on the life of Circe, daughter of the sun god Helios. We follow this passionate, magical protagonist on her mental and physical adventures: in the luxury and safety of her birth home, Circe is rejected as an outsider for her differences; Aiaia – the place of her exile – becomes her new home, both desolate and thriving. Through the numerous experiences and encounters made on this island, goddess Circe forms immense discoveries about life as an immortal, relationships, and most crucially about herself. Circe is the kind of book that you are bound to be reluctant to put down, and look forward to picking back up; through her writing, Miller prominently but seamlessly weaves together themes of love, tragedy, responsibility, loneliness, and faithfulness to the self, complimented by the most beautifully emotive and vivid imagery – giving life to a powerful journey that you, too, feel you are a part of. -Fleur Lee The Silence of the Girls, Pat Barker

This is an incredibly moving and eye-opening novel detailing the untold story of the Trojan women captured by the Greeks in the Trojan War. It follows Briseis, a captured queen and young friend of Helen of Troy. I would highly recommend this to anyone interested in the Ancient World, and to my fellow feminists, who will be glad to finally hear the voices of the Trojan Women. --Emma Gower The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath

I am currently reading ‘The Bell Jar’ by Sylvia Plath. The subject matter of the novel is very difficult, but Plath’s expressive prose makes the emotional struggle worth it. The story follows a university-age girl who experiences a mental breakdown while working for a fashion magazine in New York City. The book was first published in the 1960s, and consequently has a very digestible writing style, while simultaneously referring back to a different, foreign age in terms of society’s treatment of women and the mentally ill. I greatly recommend this book for anyone who wants to read more 20th century fiction or is interested in women in literature. I do feel, though, that I should warn any potential readers: I have had to take a couple breaks while reading this relatively short book due to the very difficult subject matter!

--Lucia Dakin DEAR AGGIE

By Aggie Nyarnt

Dear Aggie, I’ve recently been asked out by a man of great wealth and importance and I understand that I should be over the moon. However, he’s been nothing but unkind. In fact, the very first time I met him, he called me “tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me!” You can imagine how I felt, although my friends and I did laugh at the haughty figure he made. And now he tells me that despite my social standing, his “feelings could not be repressed.” He made it clear that I was inferior to him and that it was a marriage that was likely to be mocked by fellow members of his social standing. Frankly, I felt strong dislike rather than any form of affection. Furthermore, I fear that he was the one who swayed his friend’s thoughts and caused him to break my sister’s heart. I am unsure of how to respond. Yours, Elizabeth Bennett

Dear Elizabeth, It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. But you make him out to be rather unpleasant! A marriage with a man who has the characteristics you described is sure to be unhappy. Have you attempted to confront him over your suspicions? Although, whether he did or didn’t ruin your sister’s possibility of an engagement does not change his previous actions. If you are really so firmly fixed in your stance against this man, stick to your guns! From Aggie

Xoxo, Grammar Girl

Ahhh, the Oxford comma… It is none other than the single most contentious subject in the entirety of the English language, and the proven cause of 95% of divorces, death, and despair. Never fear, dear readers, for your grammatical angel is here. But rather than delivering salacious gossip, we are dishing out cold hard facts: the realities of grammar. Follow us for the latest details on S and B, that is, subordinate clauses and brackets. To clarify, this is not a guide on how to get into Oxbridge; alas, you misread this in your haste to get to the end of the magazine. Back to the issue at hand, the Oxford comma has divided families since its introduction in 1905. Yes, we have none other than one Horace Hart to blame for the increasingly partisan divides inherent within our society. Some Oxford comma historians* even theorise that Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s grievous misuse of the comma landed him in some hot water in the early 1900s. The Oxford comma is most widely used in North America, Australia, and the UK. Spotted: The Oxford comma slipping into the sentence above. Grammar Girl Tip: Form a list, add a comma before the last ‘and’, and you are destined for success.

Thank you to Grammarlover28, for shedding further clarity on this highly pressing issue:

Farewell for now, North Londoners. Alas, you won’t be rid of me for long, as next edition I’ll be back, getting to the bottom of some particularly pernicious grammar. Xoxo, Grammar Girl

*a considerable number of historians have devoted their lives to tracing the Oxford comma through its illustrious history