Ad Astra Issue 04

AD ASTRA

A Journal of Aspiration and Achievement Issue 4 - Winter 2015

Front cover: Artwork by Sheryl Del Rosario

Acknowledgements Executive Editor:

Kat Pugh

Production and Copy Editor:

Rosie Emery

Art Editor:

Dora Wade

Cover Art:

Sheryl Del Rosario

Produced by:

NHA Asssociates Ltd

An online version of this journal is available at www.stmaryleboneschool.com.

AD ASTRA is wholly owned and produced by The St Marylebone C.E. School.

Copyright in text and images resides with the individual authors and creators of those works.

The St Marylebone Church of England School is a charity and an academy trust company, limited by guarantee, and registered in England and Wales.

Company number: 7719620. Registered office: 64 Marylebone High Street, London, W1U 5BA.

AD ASTRA Issue 4 - Winter 2015

Contents List of Contributors ii Artwork by Eva Barnett iv About AD ASTRA by Kat Pugh v Artwork by Columba Williams vi Introduction by Rosie Emery vii Artwork by Columba Williams viii Creative Interaction between Mind and Matter in the Work of Coleridge, De Quincey and Shelley by Zeena Elhassan 1 Artwork by Johnny O’Flynn 4 Artwork by Mackenzie Westwood 8 Modern Science Fiction’s Sympathy for Detached and Alienated Figures: Brave New World and Never Let Me Go by Honor Barber 9 Artwork by Marco Pini 14 Was Nationalist Ideological Appeal the Main Reason for Franco’s Success in the Spanish Civil War? by Alicia Poultney 15 Artwork by Felix Bayley-Higgins 16 Artwork by Uccella Khan Thomas and Helena Moock 20 Artwork by Maddy Monnickendam 22 Morality is for the Weak by Megan Wilson 23 Artwork by Charlotte Elvin 26 Stalin’s Socialism: A Necessary Evil?

by Eve Aronovich 27 Artwork by Mackenzie Westwood 30 Artwork by Isobel Whalley Payne 32 Can Music Have Gender? A Study of Female Composers and their Lost Voices by Maya Colwell 33 Artwork by Evangeline Baldwin 36 Poetry in Translation: Le Coeur Volé par Arthur Rimbaud; translation by Jemima Skala 37 Opinion in Translation: The Internet - Has It Become Lawless? by Joe Monaghan 38 Artwork by Florence Webb 40

How far does Alfred the Great Deserve his Reputation as a ‘Great’ Monarch?

by Anna Barona 41 Artwork by Ayantu Erana 44 Artwork by Florence Webb 46 To What Extent was Longstanding Desire for Change the Main Cause of the February Revolution of 1917? by Matilda Shoul 47 Artwork by Marco Pini 50 Artwork by Uccella Khan Thomas 52 Fin de Siècle Anxiety in Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Arthur Conan Doyle’s Hound of the Baskervilles and Christina Rossetti’s Selected Poems by Jack Hilton 53 Artwork by Evangeline Baldwin 56 Artwork by Maya Tonkin 60 Blanche DuBois: Dreamer or Deceiver?

by Kitty Low 61 Artwork by Iona Brandt 62 Artwork by Ayantu Erana 64 The Politics of Perversion: The Defining Inspiration Behind Hans Bellmer’s La Poupée Series by Honor Cooper-Hedges 65 Artwork by Rowan Kelly 68 Artwork by Marco Pini 70 The Presentation of Women in The Handmaid’s Tale and The Road by Rowan Kelly 71 Artwork by Helena Moock 74 Original Writing: Pastries by Jessa Kidner 76 Artwork by Ayantu Erana 78 Kowalski and DuBois: An Aristotelian Tragedy by Orlando Phipps 79 Artwork by Helena Moock 80 Artwork by Felix Bayley-Higgins 82 Metaphysics and the Possibility of Knowledge beyond Sense Experience by Oliver Joncus 83

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List of Contributors EVE ARONOVITCH studied English Literature, History, RS and AS Drama and Theatre Studies. Currently on a gap year, she will be going on to read Theology at The University of Edinburgh.

HONOR COOPER-HEDGES studied Philosophy, Fine Art and English Literature.

She is currently completing an Art Foundation at Central Saint Martins.

SHERYL DEL ROSARIO is studying Fine Art, FELIX BAYLEY-HIGGINS studied Psychology, Fine Art, Geography and AS English Literature. He is currently completing an Art Foundation at Kingston.

EVANGELINE BALDWIN studied Fine Art, Mathematics, Chemistry and AS Biology. She is now studying Fine Art at Falmouth University.

HONOR BARBER is studying English Literature, History and Government and Politics.

English Literature and Classics.

ZEENA ELHASSAN studied Philosophy, History, English Literature and AS Mathematics. She is now reading Anthropology at The LSE.

CHARLOTTE ELVIN studied Drama and Theatre Studies, Classics, Textiles and AS Psychology. Currently on a gap year, she intends to apply to Drama school.

AYANTU ERANA studied Psychology, Fine EVA BARNETT studied Mathematics, Fine Art, Physics and History. Currently completing an Art Foundation at Kingston, she will be going on to study Architecture at Queens’ College, Cambridge.

ANNA BARONA studied Psychology, History, German and AS Biology. She is now reading Anthropology and Archaeology at Keble College, Oxford.

IONA BRANDT studied Spanish, History, Textiles and AS Government and Politics. She is now reading Spanish at The University of Bristol.

Art, English Literature and AS History. She is currently completing an Art Foundation at Kingston.

JACK HILTON studied History, Drama and Theatre Studies, English Literature and AS Psychology. He is now reading English Literature at Newcastle University.

OLIVER JONCUS studied Philosophy, English Literature, Classics and AS Drama and Theatre Studies. He is now reading Classical Studies and English at The University of Exeter.

ROWAN KELLY is studying English Literature, Fine Art and Mathematics.

MAYA COLWELL studied Chemistry, German, Music and AS Mathematics. She is now studying Music at The University of Bristol.

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UCCELLA KHAN THOMAS studied AS Fine Art and English Literature. She is currently completing an Art Foundation at Kingston.

JESSA KIDNER is studying Drama and Theatre Studies, Classics, English Literature and Government and Politics.

MATILDA SHOUL studied Classics, English Literature, History and Fine Art. She is now reading English and Classical Studies at The University of Bristol.

KITTY LOW is studying Mathematics, English Literature, Classics and Spanish.

JOE MONAGHAN studied Economics, French, Geography and AS Psychology. He is now reading Economics at The University of Birmingham.

MADDY MONNICKENDAM studied Fine Art, Mathematics, Chemistry and Physics. She is now reading Natural Sciences at Durham University.

HELENA MOOCK studied Fine Art, RS, English Literature and AS History. She is currently completing an Art Foundation at The Prince’s Drawing School.

JOHNNY O’FLYNN studied Fine Art, Mathematics, Physics and AS History. He is currently completing an Art Foundation at The Prince’s Drawing School.

ORLANDO PHIPPS is studying Philosophy,

JEMIMA SKALA studied English Literature, French, History, German and Mathematics. She is now reading English and French at The University of Leeds.

MAYA TONKIN studied Fine Art, Drama and AS Philosophy and English Literature.

Currently on a gap year, she intends to apply to Drama school.

FLORENCE WEBB studied Fine Art, Psychology, History and AS English Literature.

She is currently completing an Art Foundation at Camberwell.

MACKENZIE WESTWOOD studied Fine Art, Philosophy, History, and AS English Literature. She is currently completing an Art Foundation at Kingston.

ISOBEL WHALLEY PAYNE is studying Fine Art, English Literature, French and Mathematics.

Mathematics, English Literature and History.

COLUMBA WILLIAMS studied Fine Art, MARCO PINI studied Fine Art, Philosophy, History and AS English Literature. He is currently completing an Art Foundation at Kingston.

Philosophy, History and AS Mathematics. She is currently completing an Art Foundation at The Prince’s Drawing School.

MEGAN WILSON studied Classics, Latin, ALICIA POULTNEY studied Classics, English Literature, History and Spanish. She is now reading History at King’s College, London.

English Literature and Drama and Theatre Studies. Currently on a gap year, she will be going on to study Classics at The University of Manchester.

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Artwork by Eva Barnett

About AD ASTRA AD ASTRA: ‘to the stars’. We can view this phrase as a declaration of intent, an invitation, an exhortation, even a command. But before any of those things, those three short words are something more fundamental: a statement of possibility. As such they reflect a guiding ethos of St Marylebone. Every member of staff believes in the potential of every student here to reach extraordinary heights, and is dedicated to helping show them the way. Hence, AD ASTRA, showcasing some of the best of what St Marylebone students have aspired to and attained.

Every piece of work in this journal bursts through the strictures of assessment objectives and examboard specifications. Testing and marking, though an integral component of teaching and learning in our increasingly competitive world, should never be allowed to obscure the importance of creation as a good in its own right, whether as an act of affirmation, of rebellion, or of self-definition. To simply file creative works behind exam-board coversheets with a ‘full-marks’ score on the front does not do them justice; even the tiny asterisk in A* is too monochrome and meagre.

Yes, the writing and art included here earned or will earn their creators points which contribute to a score on a list produced by an exam board and submitted through UCAS to universities which add their names to an undergraduate register. But these pieces are so much more than means to this end.

They are the work of students who have dared to

question, to explore and engage with ideas and concepts, knowledge and experiences way beyond textbook margins in the manner admired by William Faulkner, one of the great American men of letters: “At one time I thought the most important thing was talent. I think now that the young man or the young woman must possess or teach himself, training himself, in infinite patience, which is to try and to try until it comes right. He must train himself in ruthless intolerance - that is to throw away anything that is false no matter how much he might love that page or that paragraph. The most important thing is insight… to wonder, to mull, and to muse why it is that man does what he does.”

This too is entirely in accordance with both the St Marylebone ethos and the wider context from which the phrase ad astra is taken: “est ad astra mollis e terris via”: ‘there is no easy way from the earth to the stars’. Great achievements are not a gift; they are the result of great effort, diligence and persistence. We are celebrating here not only the heights attained, but the uncompromisingly aspirational hard work and application involved in getting there.

So as you read, gaze and learn, be impressed, as you should be, by the sheer quality of what’s on offer. Equally, however, be inspired. There is no easy way from the earth to the stars, but the means to getting there are available to all of us.

The stars are also within your reach.

Kat Pugh Head Teacher

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Artwork by Columba Williams

Introduction to Issue 4 I am delighted to share with you the fourth issue of AD ASTRA, St Marylebone School’s journal celebrating outstanding academic and artistic achievement. This being my first year as Production Editor, I feel privileged to take up the mantle of Dr Graham Gardner, former Director of Independent Learning, and to showcase the work of so many talented writers, thinkers and artists. This edition covers a broad spectrum of work within the Arts and Humanities including, for the first time, a piece of original play writing on the subject of gentrification in East London and its implications for personal and collective identity. Continuing the accent on Modern Foreign Languages, this issue includes two works of translation, one a beautiful rendering of Arthur Rimbaud’s The Tortured Heart and the other, a piece of original French writing on the legal repercussions of living in the internet age.

As in previous years, AD ASTRA maintains a strong focus on English Literature and critical analysis. Two essays discuss the characterisation of Blanche Dubois in Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire, considering the layers of (self ) deception that define her character and the ill-fated meeting of Blanche and Stanley Kowalski. This fourth edition also includes two pieces of comparative literature, dealing with themes of detachment and alienation in dystopian novels Brave New World and Never Let me Go, and the presentation of women in Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale and Cormac McCarthy’s The Road.

Alongside these essays feature philosophical explorations of the relationship between mind and

matter in the work of Coleridge, De Quincey and Shelley, an examination of fin de siècle anxiety in Victorian writing, and an analysis of the strengths and weaknesses of ‘moral’ characters in The White Devil and Paradise Lost.

Owing to the exceptional standard of work submitted, this issue makes a particular feature of the historical essay, considering Nationalist ideological appeal as a reason for Franco’s success in the Spanish Civil War, the questionable reputation of Alfred the Great, the controversial merits of Stalin’s dictatorship and longstanding desire for change as a key cause of the February Revolution.

Beyond the curriculum, this fourth edition includes a submission for the ARTiculation prize on German artist Hans Bellmer, exploring the personal and historical factors that influenced his notorious La Poupée series; a thought-provoking extended project introduction considering the lost voices of female composers, and a metaphysical enquiry into the possibility of knowledge beyond sense experience.

True to tradition, AD ASTRA’S outstanding literary work is accompanied by a diverse array of artworks, selected by Art Editor Dora Wade, displaying the illimitable artistic vision of students in St Marylebone 6th Form. With a view to marrying image and the written word, in this fourth issue I have sought to identify the universal themes which unite individual contributions, juxtaposing essays and artworks to create a common narrative.

In so doing I hope to reflect the spirit of collective enquiry which so perfectly defines St Marylebone School and its students.

Rosie Emery, 6th Form Librarian, 15th December 2015

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Artwork by Columba Williams

Creative Interaction between Mind and Matter in the Work of Coleridge, De Quincey and Shelley Zeena Elhassan For Coleridge, De Quincey and Shelley, the mind is engaged in a mutually reciprocal relationship with the external world: it both acts upon and is shaped by the object of its perceptions. However, as McFarland suggests, while Shelley emphasises the mind’s agency in adding colour and form to a ‘blank canvas’, Coleridge and De Quincey develop their creative vision through the constant and dynamic transformation of an ever-expanding montage (1969, p.27). Specifically for Coleridge, in order to connect with his philosophy of the One Life, the mind must make an imaginative leap by abandoning the Enlightenment idea that mind and matter are separate entities and instead adhering to the ‘Romantic interfusion of subject and object’ (Abrams, 1965, p.550). In spite of their varied motives, Coleridge, De Quincey and Shelley are all writing in response to the intellectual movement of the Enlightenment against which their values are contrasted and opposed. Significantly, all three use their imagination as a driving force either to break societal conventions or to transcend reality.

In Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner the mariner violates the natural unity of life when he kills the albatross. The caesura before ‘With my bow I shot the ALBATROSS’ conveys the severing of this natural unity through a corresponding severing in the line of poetry, mirroring the failed connection between mind and world. This lack of connection causes him to look bitterly at the ‘thousand thousand slimy things’ and the ‘rotting sea’, noting

that there was ‘Water, water, everywhere, nor any drop to drink’. This repetition frustratingly portrays his lack of connection with the world, the water symbolising the inherent spirituality of the imagination, which surrounds the mariner but is unattainable. It is not until the mariner ‘watche[s] the water-snakes’ towards the end of the poem that he is finally able to unite his mind with the external world. Unlike the sea, heaven, and moon, which he had merely ‘looked’ at, suggesting a momentary glance, the act of watching the water-snakes requires the mariner to observe them attentively over a period of time, thus leading him to draw imaginative links between himself and the natural world. Since Coleridge’s delight was, as critic T. H. Levere tells us, in the ‘immediacy of careful observation... in its purity’ (1981, p.84), this clearly indicates the turning point in the poem where the mariner is now able to connect with the world through the One Life. He now dreamt that the buckets were ‘filled with dew and when [he] awoke, it rained’. The conjunction ‘and’ links the human mind to the external world, since his imagination has directly changed his external setting.

Whilst the development of Coleridge’s mind was primarily spiritual, resulting from his intimate connection with nature, De Quincey’s journey was an intellectual one, fuelled by the consumption of opiates which, he believed, increased activity in the brain. In The Pains of Opium, De Quincey writes how he had ‘devoted the labour of [his] whole life, AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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and had dedicated [his] intellect, blossoms and fruits, to the slow and elaborate toil of constructing one single work’. The reference to ‘blossoms and fruits’, which for Coleridge, connote the natural world and therefore happiness, is here associated with his labour and intellect, thus highlighting the difference between Coleridge and De Quincey’s respective spiritual and intellectual growth. While De Quincey wants to understand everything in ‘one single work’, Coleridge seeks to find something ‘one and indivisible’ that can connect his mind with the external world. Both writers seek to find something ‘one’, but for Coleridge this is a pantheistic venture, encapsulating the mind, the natural world and God in his One Life. De Quincey’s concern, on the other hand, is purely intellectual: he wants to unite the entirety of his knowledge and experience to form ‘one single work’. This ‘excess of knowledge’ (Zieger, 2008, p.44) which can never be sated leads Lever to draw links between De Quincey and Faust as two scholars dissatisfied with life who pursued their thirst for knowledge to its extreme, transcending forbidden boundaries while coming face to face with the ultimate limits of their quest - hence the majority of De Quincey’s knowledge acquisition falling under his ‘Pains of Opium’ chapter. Further, the elongated vowel sounds in De Quincey’s ‘slow and elaborate toil’ demonstrate the forced strain and pressure he has put on his mind, and his willingness to sacrifice short-term pleasure for long-term pain if he is to achieve this intellectual growth. This contrasts with the spiritual and organic growth of Coleridge’s mind, as he rejoices in his connection with the One Life, symbolised by the exclamatory phrase in The Aeolian Harp ‘O! the one Life within us and abroad’, which is reminiscent of a celebratory religious revelation.

The writers’ different stances toward their spiritual and psychological growth can, at least in part, be explained by their differing social and historical contexts. De Quincey’s Confessions was written 26 years after Coleridge’s Aeolian Harp, and the difference in their literary motivations is 2

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apparent. Whilst Coleridge was initially excited and caught up in the political fervour of the French Revolution, he soon ‘became disillusioned with its bloodthirsty excesses’ (Ballantyne, 2004, p.78).

Coleridge’s increasingly conservative views held that society’s long-term improvement ‘depended above all upon the spiritual, moral and cultural leadership of a national Church’ (ibid). Although his outlooks linked to De Quincey’s, who served as editor of the uncompromisingly Tory newspaper the Westmorland Gazette, his response to the horrors of the French Revolution was to seek connections with God and Morality. De Quincey, on the other hand, while also a Christian, sought to acquire knowledge through reason and the intellect, looking inside himself for meaning rather than appealing to abstract, metaphysical entities.

In contrast with De Quincey and Coleridge whose minds, in spite of their differences, symbolise a progressive growth, Shelley’s mind does not build from the past but starts anew. While Coleridge and De Quincey’s minds were ‘composed by mosaic organisation’, Shelley’s was more of a ‘painting on an empty canvas’ (McFarland, 1969 p.27). This is unsurprising given the political and literary contexts of the three writers. Shelley was not only a staunch liberal atheist, but a Second Wave Romantic who had not yet been born in the outbreak of revolution, and thereby adopted an idealised notion of revolution to comply with his liberal leanings.

Shelley’s Ode to the West Wind concludes with ‘Drive my dead thoughts over the universe’, where the word ‘dead’ links to the irrelevant and outdated ideals of the past which are like the ‘wither’d leaves’ he wants to disperse across the universe. Moreover, the notion of ‘quicken[ing] a new birth’ stresses the urgency and the fast-pace of his ideal revolution, with the ‘new birth’ mirroring his blank canvas of a mind that purges ‘dead’ ideas in order to build something new.

Shelley’s revolutionary spirit is apparent in his poem England in 1819. Taking the form of a

Petrarchan sonnet, it sets the tone for a loveorientated poem, but this is immediately disrupted by the discomforting opening description of King George III as ‘An old, mad, blind, despised and dying king’. Instead of adhering to a sonnet’s conventional rhyme scheme, Shelley reverses the structure both thematically and structurally: the harsh sounds of the monosyllabic ‘old, mad, blind’ followed by the thudding dental plosives of ‘despised and dying’ convey Shelley’s frustration with the status quo in England, which complies with Burt’s observation that this was ‘one of the great poems of political anger’ (2011, p.130). Shelley would undoubtedly have received harsh criticism for his staunch liberal views, and thus the verb ‘burst’ seems to indicate an urgent need to release himself not only from the tyranny and growing oppressive nature of the State, but also from the growing conservative masses around him* (Shelley’s Ghost, 2010).

The distinctive mindsets of all three writers are reflected in the style and content of their writings and in their political outlooks, the ‘mosaic organisation’ of Coleridge and De Quincey’s minds contrasting with the Shelley’s ‘blank canvas’.

Nonetheless, they are united in their shared interest in the reciprocal relationship between the Romantic mind and the external world. One of the key aspects of this relationship is the use of the imagination to challenge societal norms of the late 19th century.

Shelley and De Quincey were writing against the Industrial Revolution which rejected human interaction in favour of mechanisation, leading them to write literature that transcended social barriers in an effort to stress their dissatisfaction with the status quo. Shelley was particularly vocal about his frustration with society and religion’s role in ‘keeping things as they are’, as Godwin put it**. Thus, in Adonais, he does not conform to the strong Christian views that dominated his society. The Speaker in Adonais has a ‘godlike mind’ that ‘soars forth’ and makes ‘earth bare’ and ‘[veils] heaven’. Here, the lack of capitalisation of ‘godlike’ and ‘heaven’ entirely

contradicts the sacred connotations of the words, further reinforced by the notion of ‘soaring forth’, not linking to an ascent into a spiritual world, but instead a world that is dominated by man, since Shelley’s God is not a personal one but a ‘force’.

Thus, when Shelley writes in the poem Alas, this is not what I thought life was ‘And when / I went among my kind’, he separates ‘I’ onto a separate line to distinguish himself from his society both through his literary works and in reality.

In a parallel manner, De Quincey subverts the societal expectations of late 19th century by establishing friendships with social outcasts. From the outset of the text in Part 1, Preliminary Confessions, he befriends prostitutes, labelling Ann as his ‘partner in wretchedness’. This ‘wretchedness’ is ultimately the result of an industrialised London that was not ‘readily accessible to poor houseless wanderers’, reinforced by the descriptive triplet that ‘London society is harsh, cruel and repulsive’. De Quincey labels Ann as his ‘partner’ which draws upon their connection despite the rising concern of the 1830s that, as Milligan suggests, Opium was associated with ‘Working Class evils’ (2003). Later, in The Pains of Opium, De Quincey connects with the Malay in spite of the ruthlessly imperialist and racist attitudes that dominated his society. Initially, De Quincey declares that he hates the East in all its forms and that if he had to live in China he ‘would go mad’. Yet, Lever rightfully claims in her analysis of De Quincey as a ‘Gothic Hero’ that ‘inside him dwells the man who feels an unspoken kinship with the wandering Malay ...a kinship symbolized by the opium De Quincey gives’ (1979, p.343). The reader is brought to sympathise with the frustrated writer who, unable to communicate with this intruder, dresses his train of thought with copious justifications: his ‘knowledge of the Oriental tongues is not remarkably extensive’ so he speaks Iliad which is ‘geographically nearest’ to Malay. The opium addiction has therefore confronted De Quincey with those forbidden pleasures postAD ASTRA - Issue 4

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Artwork by Johnny O’Flynn

Enlightenment society, in its rejection of personal interaction in favour of industrial innovation, had forced him to repress.

In Kubla Khan, a poem which follows the speaker in his opium trance, documenting his fragmented visions and fantasies of the external world, Coleridge establishes his own connection with the East. The ‘Abyssinian maid’ whose ‘symphony and song’ she played on her ‘dulcimer’ holds parallels with the Malay. This ‘creative exercise of Romantic Orientalism’ (Khan, 2015, p.108) includes the speaker wishing he could ‘revive within him’ her song, and, to take the literal definition of ‘revive’, to ‘restore our life or consciousness’. It is clear in this poem how Coleridge, much like De Quincey, has repressed an inner Eastern influence which now reveals itself under the influence of opium.

However, unlike De Quincey, Coleridge did not subvert the social norm by establishing his connection with the East, since he did not actively form any direct communication and merely looked towards the East as a ‘suitable context on which [the West] could project its fears and aspirations’ and offset Western corruption (Abbasi, 2010, pp.1534). The Western corruption here that Abbasi points to would have led Coleridge to escape both physically and mentally, since ‘Mount Abora’ does not physically exist in the world and instead represents the power of his imagination in granting mental escape from the world’s immorality. By retreating to the Lake District he could be in isolation from the world and its sinful ways. He was therefore only an ‘individual against mass conformity’ to an extent, since he did not actively try to change the society he lived in. Coleridge’s priorities lay instead in the power of the mind’s imagination in the world.

The imagination, for all three writers, acts as the bridge between the Romantic mind and the external world. For Coleridge and Shelley, the imagination was a ‘lamp’ which illuminated the world and

changed the description of objective matter. In To a Skylark, Shelley rejects the objective description of a bird and instead projects his own feelings onto it, marked by the statement ‘Bird thou never wert’.

This is emphasised by the simile of ‘like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun’ which illustrates the speaker’s removal of the bird’s physical properties to emphasise its spirituality. This use of simile indicates the shift from Enlightenment literature of ‘plain and exact description[s]’ (Bishop Lowth, 1753, cited in Abrams, 1953, p.77) to Romantic descriptions infused with subjective beliefs and desires. Similarly, in Coleridge’s conversational poem The Nightingale, the imagination is used to transcend ordinary descriptions of nature into ones that are reflections of ‘whatever dwells upon the mind’ (ibid). The speaker states that ‘all those wakeful birds / Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy’, the cheerful tone of which echoes the mind of the speaker who feels some sort of ‘tipsy joy’. This links with the notion in Dejection: An Ode that joy is the ‘spirit and power’, which justifies the action of the birds’ ‘burst[ing]’ to signify their forceful passion. This is in stark contrast, then, with the Enlightenment movement which rejected human passion and emotions in favour of rationalist science. Both Coleridge and Shelley refuted the Cartesian tradition of strict mind-body dualism and instead projected their own minds onto the external world, illuminating their subjective experiences through literature.

Under the influence of opium the imaginations of Coleridge and De Quincey flourish as they are able to dream and transcend realities of time and space, thus surpassing the confines of the ‘material and mechanical universe’ (ibid) of the Enlightenment era. In Coleridge’s Kubla Khan, for instance, the ‘twice five miles of fertile ground’ includes protective imagery of ‘walls’ and ‘towers’ that were ‘girdled’, mimicking the exact and rational descriptions of Enlightenment literature. This is in AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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direct contrast with the ‘strange’ and ‘measureless’ caverns of the following stanza, a landscape all the more magnificent for the absence of manmade architecture. The turning point ‘But oh!’ marks that uncontrollable ecstasy which interrupts the ‘enfolding’ of the previous stanza and signifies the wild and untamed power of the beginning of the Romantic period.

Whereas Coleridge transcended the confines of space, De Quincey escaped the confines of time, and thus, in an altered state of consciousness, they were both able to surpass the rigidness of the Enlightenment era. In De Quincey’s dreams he ‘seemed to have lived for 70 or 100 years in one night’ or indeed a ‘millennium or a duration far beyond the limits of any human experience’. In so far as De Quincey’s dreams surpass the limits of ‘human experience’, he substitutes the experimental science of the Enlightenment for the primacy of the imagination. The use of sibilance and repetition in his descent into ‘chasms and sunless abysses, depths below depths’ alludes to the idea of a loss of belonging and a lack of grounding in anything fixed; precisely what was needed to transcend the established ‘truths’ of the Enlightenment and embrace a new and more ambiguous reality of intense visions, emotions and spirituality.

Ultimately then, all three writers transcend reality by using their imagination to bridge the perceived gap between the mind and the external world.

Whether this is explored through breaking social conventions, illuminating sensory experiences, or surpassing the confines of time and space, for all three writers, the mind must be active in order to engage with the external world. Whilst they differ in their approach and in the growth of their minds, it is clear that literature is the vehicle which has freed them all from the otherwise rigid constraints of society.

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Notes * Shelley was expelled from University College Oxford in 1811 because of his publication of a pamphlet entitled The Necessity of Atheism. ** William Godwin wrote a three volume novel, published in 1794, to promote the ideas set out in his 1793 treatise Political Justice in which he condemns the state of things ‘as they are’ and warns of the danger legal systems present to the individual.

Bibliography Abbasi, P. and Anushiravani, A., 2010. Coleridge’s Colonial Interest in Abyssinian Christianity. k@ta, 12(2).

Abrams, M.H., 1953. The Mirror and the Lamp.

Oxford: OUP. Abrams, M.H., 1965. Structure and Style in the Greater Romantic Lyric. In: F. Hilles and H. Bloom, eds. 1965. From Sensibility to Romanticism: Essays Presented to Frederick A. Pottle.

New York: OUP. Burt, S. And Mikics, D., 2011. The Art of the Sonnet. Cambridge: Belknap Press.

Ballantyne, J., 2004. Political Ideas: Samuel Taylor Coleridge - Conservatism’s Radical Prophet. News Weekly, 2684.

Coleridge, S. T., 2004. Selected Poems. Whitefish: Kessinger Publishing.

Khan, J. U., 2015. Perspectives: Romantic, Victorian and Modern Literature. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing.

Lever, K. M., 1979. De Quincey as Gothic Hero.

Texas Studies in Literature and Language, 21(3).

Levere, T. H., 1981. Poetry Realized in Nature.

Cambridge: CUP. McFarland, T., 1969. Coleridge and the Pantheist Tradition. Oxford: OUP. Milligan, B. ed., 2003. By De Quincey, T. Confessions of an English Opium-Eater. London: Penguin Books.

Shelleyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Ghost, 2010. Percy Bysshe Shelley: Biography. <http://shelleysghost.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/percyshelley-index>.

Zieger, S., 2008. Inventing the Addict. Amherst: UMP.

Shelley, P. B., 1994. The Complete Poems of Percy Bysshe Shelley. New York: Modern Library.

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Artwork by Mackenzie Westwood

Modern Science Fiction’s Sympathy for Detached and Alienated Figures: Brave New World and Never Let Me Go Honor Barber Brave New World and Never Let Me Go both portray dystopia as the collective absence of autonomy where ‘everyone belongs to everyone else’, thus separated from individuality: the cornerstone of the human condition. The consequences of this vary: Huxley presents ‘a world in which everything is available, nothing has any meaning’ (Atwood, 2007), whereas Never Let Me Go depicts a world where human life is a commodity. Either way, it is not the rebel that is atomised; instead, both works follow parallel trajectories of the consequences of a society that has forgotten what it means to be human. Sympathy is created because the protagonist’s distance from dystopia represents exactly what it means to be human. Both works were created at times of anxiety regarding the human implications of scientific progress. Huxley explored eugenics, specifically its potential to create a caste-based society, whereas Ishiguro considered the advent of cloning, which changed the nature of mortality forever.

Initially, the novels both present institutionalised child abuse, blurring the distinction between childhood and adulthood and implying that without autonomy we are all children: utterly defenceless. The authoritarian precision with which the ‘hypnopaedia’ of Brave New World is carried out naturally begins at birth. Children perform the ‘normal howl of ordinary terror’. That the terror of children could be construed as ‘ordinary’ reflects the

destructive power of conformity: accepting injustice simply because it is ‘normal’ is nihilism itself. When society becomes accustomed to valuing normality over morality, it is itself alienated from our moral code, not the individual who opposes it. This makes the opposing individual a closer representative of ourselves, propagating sympathy. Brave New World was accurately described as continuous ‘conformity achieved through engineered, bottle-grown babies and hypnotic persuasion’ (ibid). Equally, in Never Let Me Go childhood is portrayed as a meaningless footnote in a futile existence. Ishiguro used his fixation on mortality as the foundation of the book, creating an ever-present awareness of death (Ishiguro, 2015). Ironically, Hailsham is glamourised as conditions outside it are said to be worse. To romanticise such an alienated place reiterates our distance from it, and reinforces our sympathy for the alienated protagonist.

A flawed construction of morality is linked to an absence of parenthood. In both novels parental guidance is non-existent, allowing the state to design consciousness. Bernard gains our sympathy as he yearns for something outside this imposed world of sleep-conditioned thought. Rather than ‘sex on demand’ (Atwood, 2007), he looks for real emotional connection, and as such, the culture of ‘immediate gratification’ (ibid) becomes horrific. At the time of writing (1932) many were moving away from Victorian ideals of sexual repression, favouring AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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sexual liberation and advances in the emancipation of women (Baruch, 1991, pp.192-3). However, Huxley problematises this progression, highlighting the consequences of extreme sexual liberation.

Through transcending the world of drug-induced conformity, Bernard represents Man as the sole creature on earth that ‘abhors stability’ (Barr, p.847).

In Brave New World ‘stability is practically assured’ (Huxley, 2007, p.46), making us opposed to the world itself: there is no room for individuality.

Bernard’s sympathy lies in embodying the reader’s desire to fight against such a society; his refusal to fall victim. The absence of parenthood in Never Let Me Go has unusual and mildly comic consequences.

The characters pick up behavioural patterns from television and lack basic socialisation, but also present troubling desires for a family life they will never have.

The implied idealisation of parental over state morality suggests Ishiguro and Huxley consider familial ties as essential for our moral development.

This is particularly relevant to Huxley as at the time of writing, with the rising pressure of the women’s rights movement, many perceived family values to be at risk. Some have argued that Huxley couldn’t have portrayed these situations so vividly without a fear of progress himself. This fear is emphasised in Wyndham Lewis’s response to the novel as ‘an unforgiveable offence to progress and to political uplift of every description’ (1963, p.226), hinting at a repressive streak embodied in John Savage’s role as protagonist. John romanticises pain, and pines for art amidst the cultural wasteland of Brave New World. Although Huxley denounces the Victorian repression characterised by John, he also mourns the loss of culture in his society with the prevalence of Hollywood and consumerism (Sion, 2010. p.131).

John retains our sympathy by looking at Brave New World as an outsider, just as we do. However, his treatment of Lenina demonstrates a dark, repressive nature. The critic Theodor Adorno claimed that John is not a heroic rebel but a ‘neurotic... motivated 10

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in his frantic purity by repressed homosexuality’ (1983, p.106). Using John’s poor treatment of Lenina, Huxley warns against both Victorian ideals of sexual repression represented by John but also against the ‘officially enforced promiscuity’ (Atwood, 2007) of Brave New World. John continually engages our sympathy through his humanity and disgust at the society of Brave New World, despite his behaving in a destructive manner.

However, he creates his own truth where society is absent of it. As a result, our sympathies are directed towards him as opposed to the culture of shared meaninglessness.

Central to a meaningful life is the concept of a ‘life beyond immediate gratification’, anathema to dystopia’s ‘dim view of the prospects of the human race’ (ibid), which prioritises impulsive greed over a shared sense of value. Bernard, rather like Karl Marx himself, has an ostensibly optimistic view of humanity. Due to this, despite his ultimate acceptance of the system and its concessions, he still retains our sympathy. However, compared with the energy of Bernard’s initial vow to fight against the society, this is disconcerting. Through this, Huxley elucidates the ominous ‘power of convention’ (ibid): conformity is more comfortable to the individual than idealism. Nevertheless, despite Bernard’s ‘offensive and arrogant’ behaviour, he is an accurately complex representation of the human condition, inviting our sympathy, against the simplistic alienation of the Brave New World.

Parallels exist here with the characterisation of Tommy in Never Let Me Go, who is ‘raging’ against the system just like Bernard, refusing to draw in the prescribed way. However, when he has the opportunity to benefit himself through a deferral, he begins to conform as Bernard does. In this way, both authors make powerful suggestions to an ‘erosion of hope’ (Harrison, 2005). Both characters begin as angry revolutionaries but ‘lose their spirit, grow old, and die’ (Ishiguro, 2015). This symmetry of defeat reflects how, through a system of rewards,

the alienated consciousness of a totalitarian regime can infect even the most impassioned of idealists.

Both Bernard and John’s flaws prevent them from actualising their opposition, causing us to desire action in their failure. This is mirrored in Never Let Me Go by the characters’ inability to act: ‘the avoidance of protest provokes the reader, habituated by dystopian films and fiction, to associate individuality with resistance’ (Mullan, 2009, p.106).

In this sense, to truly gain the reader’s sympathies, distance is not enough: action is required.

In Never Let Me Go, ideological defeatism morphs into collective existentialism. Death is not ‘territory we’d rather not go into’, but ‘completion’. Thus, we perceive a culture that is not merely socially alienated, but detached from life itself. Death as completion is linked to Ishiguro’s exploration of humanity’s endless fear of death (Ishiguro, 2015).

Kathy and Bernard’s insecurities and social atomisation are what define them. Kathy is the victim of ‘childishly snobbish’ (Harrison, 2005) behaviour, epitomised when Tommy and Ruth form a ‘proud, cruel little clique, excluding Kathy H’ (Atwood, 2005). Kathy is isolated because of her arch conformity. Ishiguro aimed in his work to explore the human condition (Ishiguro, 2015) and this interest is reflected in the primitive behaviour of the characters, both as children and adults.

Alienation and loneliness are distinctly human feelings, so despite any resentment we feel for her lack of rebellion, she retains our sympathy through her subjection to Ruth and Tommy’s conniving natures. Therefore, the characterisation of Kathy is deeply ironic: in her attempts to conform to the alienated society she exists in, she herself becomes alienated. Through this, Ishiguro presents the utopian ideal as fundamentally self-defeating, both socially and individually, thus propagating our sympathy for individual disengagement.

Equally, In Brave New World, Bernard is ostracised by the ‘alcohol [in] his blood surrogate’ (Huxley, 2007, p.39) and his aesthetic detachment

from the stereotype of an Alpha plus. A psychoanalytical reading could suggest Bernard has a Napoleon complex, instigated by his small stature.

As a result, Bernard is mocked and bullied: ‘the mockery made him feel an outsider and feeling an outsider he behaved like one’ (ibid, p.55). This idea of Bernard as a bullied child is cemented in the phrase ‘those who feel themselves despised do well to look despising’ (ibid, p.30). Although Bernard is occasionally ‘arrogant’ and ‘offensive’ (ibid, p.55), it is a reflection of the resentment he harbours regarding his appearance and its bearing on his social status. Subsequently, his position as a rebellious underdog fighting against a horrific system of ‘soft totalitarianism’ (Atwood, 2007) ensures he is continually a source of our sympathy, though at times a rather comic figure. Again, instead of individual alienation being repelling, it increases our sympathy as the world he inhabits is alienation itself.

Bernard’s insecurities are a consequence of Brave New World’s strict caste system, a reflection of Huxley’s concern at the time for the serious threats posed by the combination of power and technical progress (Huxley, 1959, p.308). Huxley was hugely influenced by the rise of eugenics within fascism as his brother was a prominent eugenicist. Many critics have commented on Huxley’s astounding ability to prophesise: his fear of eugenics proved justified with the horrific acts of the Holocaust (Zigler, 2015, pp.33-4). Equally, Ishiguro also fears humanity’s pursuit of shallow perfection, notable in the creation of the first cloned animal in 1996: Dolly the Sheep; hence why Ishiguro set his novel in the 90s. Ishiguro stated that he had to involve the science fiction element to avoid being labelled ‘a Japanese author’ (Ishiguro, 2015). This could explain the lack of scientific fact in the novel. The critic John Harrison instead claimed that Never Let Me Go is not a science fiction novel, but is ‘about the steady erosion of hope. It’s about repressing what you know, which is that in this life people fail one another, grow old and fall to pieces’ (Harrison, 2005). This emphasises our AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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sympathy for the characters as it is a profoundly depressing existence. Like Huxley, Ishiguro wanted to portray what it is that makes our lives supposedly meaningful, saying ‘time is limited… do we reach out to each other? What’s important to people?

Friendships, memories, love? (Ishiguro, 2015). As the protagonists in both novels pine for these fundamental human tropes, they are human anomalies in an alienated world.

The greatest distinction between the lives of the characters and ours is the pursuit of meaning, a unique feature of humanity. This is humanity’s endless philosophical conquest: to define purpose in our existence. In contrast with the banal worlds of Brave New World and Never Let Me Go, we yearn to see the characters question their surroundings. The most profound manifestation of this occurs in Brave New World when John affirms ‘the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer... the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind’ (Huxley, 2007, p.212). This desire for pain, which gives pleasure meaning, defines not only what it is to be happy, but also, what it is to be human. It also propels us into rebellion: ‘we want to be those anguished others, because we believe, with John, that life has meaning beyond the play of the senses’ (Atwood, 2007).

Using this, Huxley portrays a world where there is no struggle and no meaning either. Therefore, Bernard’s idealisation of anger and John’s desire for pain is not perverse, but profound: thought makes us human even if it causes suffering. Huxley portrays suffering as empowering, while Ishiguro portrays it as an absence of sensory experience. In both cases however, societies that shun feeling in favour of control are inhuman, making the individuals who rebel highly sympathetic.

In conclusion, Huxley and Ishiguro demonstrate that modern science fiction creates cumulative sympathy for the alienated individual in a society profoundly alien to us. In such systems detachment is endemic, so the real dichotomy is between the 12

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rebel and the conformist. Both are necessarily alienated; the difference is a question of acceptance.

The rebel is doomed to demand human connection, while the conformist learns to live without it. Both instances are tragic and dehumanising, yet it is the rebel’s romantic attachment to something greater which commands our admiration. This admiration is alchemised into our own desire to rebel, seeing the characters’ flaws and failures in actualising rebellion. Nevertheless, existence in such a stunted place intrinsically begets sympathy, regardless of whether an individual attempts, failingly or otherwise, to defy their oppressor.

Bibliography Adorno, T. W., 1983. Prisms. Cambridge MA: MIT Press.

Atwood, M., 2005. Ishiguro’s Creepy Clones. Slate Magazine. <http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/books/2005/0 4/brave_new_world.html>.

Atwood, M., 2007. Everybody Is Happy Now. The Guardian. <http:// www.theguardian.com/books/2007/nov/17/classic s.margaretatwood>.

Barr, B., 2010. Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World Still a Chilling Vision After All These Years.

Michigan Law Review, 108(6).

Baruch, E. H., 1991. Women, Love, and Power: Literary and Psychoanalytic Perspectives. New York: NYUP. Harrison, M. J., 2005. Clone Alone. The Guardian. <http://www.theguardian.com/ books/2005/feb/26/bookerprize2005. bookerprize>.

Huxley, A., 1959. Collected Essays. New York: Harper and Brothers.

Huxley, A., 2007. Brave New World. London: Vintage.

Ishiguro, K., 2015. In: Mark Lawson Talks To...

Interviewed by... Mark Lawson. BBC Four, 22 February 1999, 20.00.

Lewis, W., 1963. In: W. K. Rose ed. The Letters of Wyndham Lewis. 1963. New York: New Directions.

Sion, R. T., 2010. Aldous Huxley and the Search for Meaning: A Study of the Eleven Novels. Jefferson NC: McFarland and Co. Inc. Zigler, R. L., 2015. The Educational Prophecies of Aldous Huxley: The Visionary Legacy of Brave New World, Ape and Essence, and Island. New York: Routledge.

Mullan, J., 2009. On First Reading Never Let me Go. In: Matthews, S. and Groes, S. eds.

Contemporary Critical Perspectives: Kazuo Ishiguro. New York: Continuum.

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Artwork by Marco Pini

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Artwork by Felix Bayley-Higgins

Was Nationalist Ideological Appeal the Main Reason for Franco’s Success in the Spanish Civil War? Alicia Poultney In 1939, the Nationalists, led by General Franco, won the Spanish Civil War. They defeated the Republicans and set up a fascist dictatorship under Franco. The reasons for Nationalist success in the war have been widely debated by historians. One view states that the reason lies in the popular appeal of their ideology and whilst this evidently contributed to their triumph, it has nonetheless been challenged by other historians who claim that the unpopularity of Republican ideology was in fact the cause. Furthermore, foreign intervention played a monumental role in determining the outcome of the violence as this provided both sides of the fighting with vital aid. However, there is debate between historians as to whether Nationalist success was due to the superiority of the foreign aid that they received or the failures of the aid received by the Republicans.

In addition, the use of terror and violence by both sides in order to quell opposition and gain control also contributed to the outcome; some historians argue that this was solely due to the failures of the Red Terror, whilst others argue that the effectiveness of the White Terror caused the Nationalist triumph.

The ideological appeal of the Nationalists most certainly contributed to their success in the Spanish Civil War of 1936-9. Browne argues that the broad and far-reaching appeal of Nationalist ideology and, in particular, their association with the Catholic Church, helped to bolster support for their regime among the Spanish people and abroad, leading to their victory (1996, p.36). Browne highlights the significant impact of the Catholic alliance, which is

validated by the fact that Catholicism was an intrinsic part of life in Spain, providing the common language, value and culture (Graham, 2005, p.4); the public’s alliance with the Catholic Church bound them to the Nationalists, whose ideology reflected Catholic values. However, Beevor challenges this view, claiming that it was not positive support for Nationalist ideology that resulted in their triumph, but rather, the unpopularity of Republican ideology. He argues that Republican ideology could not retain the support of the Spanish people without sacrificing the opinion of Western nations whose fear of the spread of Communism discouraged their support for a party so heavily reliant on Soviet military aid. He argues that, ‘The internationalized aspect of the civil war made foreign opinion seem of paramount importance to the outcome’ (2006, p.268), which suggests that the West’s negative opinion of Republican ideology resulted in their failure. This is corroborated by Franco’s broadcast speech from Madrid on 20th May 1939, following the victory of the Nationalists in which he describes Republican Spain as being, ‘sullied with Marxist crime’, and given over to ‘perverse methods of Russian Communism’ (Bahamonde, 1939). This speech plays on Western fears of Communism by reiterating its dangerous influence which, he suggests, has only been avoided due to Nationalist reign. However, Franco’s argument is limited owing to his ulterior motive to quell potential Republican resistance to his newly founded regime. In fact, the aims of Juan Negrin, AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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the Prime Minister of the Republic at the time of its defeat, as evidenced in his ‘Thirteen-Point Program’, demonstrate that he did not want Spain to become Communist, but instead envisioned it as an independent country with a democratic government, only accepting the Soviet alliance because he believed that their funding was all that could help the Republic to win the Civil War (Jones, 2009). This suggests that it was not the intrinsic doctrine of Republican ideology that resulted in their unpopularity, but rather, Nationalist propaganda’s clever manipulation of the Republican-Soviet alliance, that was created with the knowledge of the West’s hostility towards Communism in order to discourage their support for the Republic.

Browne more convincingly demonstrates that the Nationalists were able to gain significant domestic support through their doctrinal link to the Catholic Church, a mobilising institution in Spain during the war which had the majority support of the Spanish public. However, other historians argue that the foreign intervention of Hitler and Mussolini also greatly contributed to the success of the Nationalists. Hitler provided planes to transport the African Army – which was stranded in North Africa – to mainland Spain, which Preston argues ‘turned a coup d’état going wrong into a bloody and prolonged civil war’ (1986). This is corroborated by Browne who claims that ‘The military balance rested with the Army of Africa. Hitler’s intervention… was to save the day for the Nationalists and make possible… the ultimate defeat of the Republic’ (1996, p.48). Thomas challenges this view, arguing that it was in fact the failure of the foreign assistance that the Republic received which facilitated Nationalist success.

Thomas links the failings of the International Brigades to their poor leadership under André Marty and their lack of organisation; the Brigades were made up of Communists, non-Communists and people from a variety of different countries, making communication and cooperation ineffective 18

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(2003, pp.457-61). This is supported by Orwell who served in the POUM militia, a branch of the International Brigades, from December 1936 to July 1937, who similarly shows that, ‘discipline did not exist’ and that, ‘the whole militia-system had serious faults, and the men themselves were a mixed lot’ (1938, pp.9-10). However, this account is not a reliable representation of the failures of the International Brigades because it was written and published before the Civil War ended, which means that it does not convey the situation of the International Brigades across the whole of the Civil War. Furthermore, the persecution of the POUM militia by Soviet communists in 1937 means that Orwell is likely to have presented the Republican effort in a more negative light due to the support that it received from the Soviet Union and his resentment towards this. To add credibility to Preston’s interpretation, the pre-eminence of the intervention received by the Nationalists was due to the fact that ‘more German officers than Soviet officers on the other side assisted in [the] training of junior officers… helping to achieve a higher level of combat readiness’ (Payne, 2009, p.33). This was clearly lacking in the training of the International Brigades as Orwell shows, saying ‘many of the militiamen had never had a gun in their hands before’ (1938, p.27).

In addition, the Nationalists and the Republicans received funding that was almost equal in value - the Nationalists received approximately $569 million and the Republicans received approximately $518 million (Whealey, 2004, p.23), which supports Preston’s argument because it shows not that the Republicans’ failure was a consequence of a lack of foreign aid, but only that the Nationalist foreign aid was more effectively deployed.

Another important factor which contributed to the Nationalist success is the failure of the Republican-led Red Terror, owing to their persecution of members of the clergy. Beevor argues: ‘The Spanish war saw many terrible acts, but it was those of a religious significance that tended to

prevail in people’s minds’ (2006, p.91). This suggests that the violence of the Republic towards the Church was very negatively received by other countries, causing foreign support to turn to the Nationalists, who were allied with the Catholic Church. The huge impact of Catholic persecution on the Republican reputation is validated by the fact that 7000 clergymen and women were killed by revolutionaries in what has been described as ‘the greatest clerical bloodletting in modern times’ (Sànchez, 1987, p.8). This view is challenged by Graham who argues that the Nationalists’ calculated and systematic use of terror and violence, through the White Terror is the reason for their success.

Graham states that ‘The rebels’ contempt for constitutional politics, their preparedness to use mass executions and terror throughout the war meant that they, unlike the Republicans, never faced the dilemma of how to deal with the “enemy within” (2005, p.33). This suggests that the effectiveness of the White Terror in fulfilling its purpose of removing opposition helped the Nationalists to gain control over large regions of Spain, and resulted in Nationalist success. This view is made more credible by the fact that approximately 200,000 people were killed under the White Terror compared with 38,000 under the Red Terror (Beevor, 2006, p.97, p.105).

The huge disparity in deaths demonstrates that the Nationalists were far more violent. This implies that they were able to more effectively instil fear in the Spanish population and thoroughly eradicate those opposed to the regime. This is further corroborated by the ruthless nature of Nationalist Terror that was made clear at the very beginning of the Civil War when General Emilio Mola, leader of the military rising in 1936, stated in a speech on the 19th of July to the Mayors of the Province of Navarre that ‘It is necessary to spread terror. We have to create the impression of mastery, eliminating without scruples or hesitation all those who do not think as we do…

Anyone who helps or hides a communist or a supporter of the Popular Front will be shot’ (1936,

p.179). Mola’s threatening and serious tone that warns of shootings for those disloyal to the Nationalists, and the fact that this was declared at the very beginning of the Civil War, demonstrates that the primary means of the Nationalists in gaining domestic support was the use of terror and violence.

This source is useful as evidence in support of Graham’s argument because the instructions stated were clearly deployed, as evidenced by the huge death toll following the White Terror. This validates Graham’s argument as it shows that the White Terror undoubtedly deterred the Spanish public from opposing the Nationalists. Although Republican attacks on the clergy affected international opinion, reducing potential international support for the Republicans, this did not put them at a disadvantage due to the fact that the aid received by both sides was, for the most part, equal in value. However, the White Terror rallied significant domestic support for the Nationalists, allowing them to gain control over the country and win the war, which shows that Graham’s argument is more convincing. This also suggests that ultimately, whilst foreign aid was a vital component in bringing about Nationalist success, physical violence and the presence of terror on the ground was the deciding factor.

Overall, Graham’s argument, that the Nationalists’ success was due to their extensive use of terror and violence, is the most convincing. This is because her argument is validated by the death tolls of both the White Terror and the Red Terror, the disparity of which indicates that the Nationalists were more violent, allowing them to gain control over the population far more effectively than the Republicans. Whilst Beevor and Browne argue for the significance of international intervention and Graham and Browne for the significance of ideological appeal, both this statistical evidence and Mola’s speech indicate that the domestic support, achieved by the Nationalists through their instillation of fear amongst the population, was far more vital in determining Nationalist success.

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Artwork by Uccella Khan Thomas and Helena Moock

Bibliography Bahamonde, F. F., 1939. Gen. F. Franco’s Broadcast Speech. 20 May, Madrid.

Beevor, A., 2006. The Battle for Spain: The Spanish Civil War 1936-1939. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson.

Orwell, G., 1938. Homage to Catalonia. London: Secker and Warburg.

Payne, S., 2009. Franco and Hitler: Spain, Germany and WWII. New Haven: YUP. Preston, P., 1986. Spain 1936: From Coup d’Etat to Civil War. History Today, 36(7).

Browne, H., 1996. Spain’s Civil War. London: Routledge.

Thomas, H., 2003. The Spanish Civil War. London: Penguin Books.

Graham, H., 2005. The Spanish Civil War: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: OUP.

Sànchez, J., 1987. The Spanish Civil War as Religious Tragedy. Notredame IN: UNP.

Jones, J., 2009. Soviet Stooge or Spanish Socialist?

Chapman Historical Review, 1(1) <http://journals.chapman.edu/ojs/index.php/ VocesNovae/article/view/16/106>.

Whealey, R., 2004. Hitler and Spain: The Nazi Role in the Spanish Civil War, 1936-1939.

Lexington: UPK.

Mola, E., 1936. Gen. E. Mola’s Speech to the Mayors of the Province of Navarre. In: Preston, P., 2013. The Spanish Holocaust. Great Britain. New York: Harper Press.

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Artwork by Maddy Monnickendam

Morality is for the Weak Megan Wilson Moral characters of both Webster’s The White Devil and Milton’s Paradise Lost are often punished or mistreated by other more immoral characters.

However, it is arguable that this punishment is not due to their morality itself being a weakness, but rather, a consequence of a lack of conviction in their moral beliefs. Although characters such as Adam of Paradise Lost or Cornelia of The White Devil are characterised as godly and moral characters, their moral compass often deviates into behaviour which allows immoral characters to take advantage of them. It is this shaky resolution which leads to disastrous consequences. Immorality, on the other hand, is presented differently in these two texts.

While in The White Devil immorality is almost lauded by Webster, Milton condemns immoral actions in Paradise Lost: Satan is characterised as manipulative and malicious, with his actions resulting in loss of power, whereas in The White Devil the immorality of characters such as Francisco and Flamineo is approached with humour, frequently demonstrating their superiority and influence over the other characters via asides to the audience. In spite of this, in The White Devil the immorality of female characters is punished without question, indicating that although Webster is suggesting immorality breeds power, this applies almost exclusively to men.

Characters defined largely by their ‘moral’ characteristics appear weak due to a lack of conviction in their beliefs, rather than due to the moral beliefs themselves. In The White Devil the character Cornelia is presented as a Christian woman, written as wearing a ‘crucifix’. Cornelia often demonstrates morality in the face of her immoral son, early on in the play asking him,

‘What! Because we are poor, shall we be vicious?’

For being the only voice of reason against her son’s treacherous behaviour it seems as though she is punished by what critic Michael Billington describes as ‘Ophelia-like madness’ (2014), a parallel which in itself foreshadows her doomed fate, since Jacobean drama defines Flamineo as a ‘malcontent’ character type, like the malcontent Hamlet who drove Ophelia to her madness and eventual death.

Marcello comments that Flamineo ‘broke a limb off ’ Cornelia’s crucifix as a child; this may symbolise Flamineo’s broken faith as opposed to Cornelia’s good natured and optimistic response that ‘yes’ he did ‘but tis mended’ now. The use of ‘yes but’ exposes Cornelia’s kind nature and belief in core Christian values of the 17th Century such as redemption and forgiveness. The irony in this case is that that only a moment after she speaks these words, Flamineo runs on stage to murder Marcello in cold blood. It is arguable that this violent action was a result of Cornelia’s wavering morality since, a few scenes prior, she kicks Flamineo’s lover Zanche.

This sort of behaviour may have arguably been acceptable to a largely white and intolerant Jacobean audience in a time before black slavery had been abolished. That aside, kicking Zanche would have been the opposite of the Christian ideal to ‘love thy neighbour’ and in this way, Cornelia is demonstrating a flawed sense of morality. Similarly, the character Isabella is sweet and morally upstanding, though she deviates from this to lie to the court about wanting to leave Brachiano; it is this deviation from morality which allows him to get away with her murder. Likewise, in Paradise Lost Milton demonstrates the importance of upholding morality and of what might occur if allowances are AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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made for immoral characters. After Eve has fallen and tasted the forbidden fruit, she approaches Adam who rather than let her fall alone, decides that he is ‘certain’ that his ‘resolution is to die’. By allowing himself to be ruled by his emotions, Adam is taking on the role of Eve’s ‘lover’ and subscribing to the typical 17th century ideas of a ‘courtly lover’ who might devote and dedicate himself to his companion, in this case Eve. While his actions make sense to the contemporary reader, Milton makes it clear that following Eve is sinful through his description of her in the previous line as ‘defaced, deflowered, and now to death devote.’ The alliteration creates a hammering sense of Eve’s condemnation, suggesting that Adam’s immoral act will be his personal undoing. It is also arguable however, that Adam’s actions demonstrate his respect for Eve’s free will. Milton personally believed in the idea of free will being an essential part of humanity used ‘to reiterate God’s authority’ rather than ‘man’s own agency’, allowing humans to prove and redeem themselves, rather than be passive instruments of God. As well as this weakness, it appears that immoral characters of both Paradise Lost and The White Devil are stronger and have more influence. Webster demonstrates Flamineo’s villain numerous times throughout The White Devil. For example, Flamineo enables the affair between Brachiano and Vittoria: he introduces Brachiano to the Doctor, allows his sister to be trailed while he remains guilt-free, murders his own brother, and countless other immoral acts besides. Flamineo is seen at the start of the play mocking Camillo, particularly in the line, ‘Ha ha ha, thou entanglest thyself in thy own work like a silkworm.’ Here, in an aside which highlights both Camillo’s weakness and his own ability to influence and ensnare, Flamineo mocks a man who trusts him, equating him with a fragile insect.

Webster creates a sense of rapport between the audience and Flamineo, which allows the audience to experience the power of Flamineo’s influence first 24

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hand. Flamineo’s power is derived from his charismatic personality, much like Satan of Paradise Lost, whose charming and duplicitous nature allows him to convincingly persuade Eve to taste the forbidden fruit. As Satan prepares to approach Eve, Milton describes how he ‘towered fold above fold’ in a ‘surging maze’, ‘erect amidst his circling spires’.

The use of ‘towered’ and ‘erect’ creates a sense of elevation in Satan’s character, already establishing a sense of his higher importance. William Blake commented that Milton was ‘of the Devil’s party without knowing it’ (1994, p.3), indicating that Milton put so much energy into portraying Satan as sympathetic, charming, and influential that it almost seems as though he is the favoured character within the story. Whether this is the case or not, Blake is aware that the effect is not deliberate, and it is therefore still possible that Milton is condemning Satan’s immorality (as a 17th Centenary Christian such as Milton would have been inclined to do) while still maintaining a sense of his power and influence.

While some immoral characters are powerful, their wavering conviction (just as with moral characters) is their downfall. Although Flamineo demonstrates great influence for the majority of the play, in Act 5, after he sees the madness which his mother has fallen into, he begins to lose his conviction and questions his own morality, saying ‘I have lived riotously ill’. Flamineo is described by Margret Drabble as a ‘self-centered existentialist pimp’ (2013), which summarises well both his initial charisma and the profane side of him, which acts as a weakness. In Act 5 Flamineo also begins to lose his power to even more immoral characters, such as Francisco. Within the Jacobean drama context, Francisco is a Machiavellian character, defined by his wickedness and scheming, whereas Flamineo is merely the malcontent striving to elevate his position. This power is demonstrated best since Francisco is able to ‘frame’ her figure before him, using imperatives to command the ghost of

Isabella, while Flamineo responds ‘what’s that? Oh fatal!’, demonstrating through the caesura and broken line how jumpy and on edge he feels in face of Brachiano’s apparition. There are conflicting forces of immorality within the White Devil, rather than a clear divide between moral and immoral characters. This is similar to the depiction of immorality within Paradise Lost in which it is arguable that although Eve has enough influence and power over Adam to corrupt him, as she does in the line, ‘to undergo with me one guilt, one crime’ – minimising the effect of the sin by repeating ‘one’ – ultimately Satan has more control over both characters since it is he who initially persuades Eve to fall.

Although throughout the play the moral characters are depicted as weaker, this may be due to their lack of conviction in morality rather than the morality itself. Similarly, although immoral characters generally have more power, their place in the hierarchy is dependent on their commitment to their immoral beliefs. Characters such as Francisco are calm, controlled, and self-assured in their duplicity and manipulation, while Flamineo is unable to remain vigilant and convicted in his immoral schemes and suffers as a consequence.

Likewise, the lack of moral conviction in characters such as Cornelia of The White Devil and Adam of Paradise Lost is what leads them astray and results in eventual disastrous consequences.

Bibliography Billington, M., 2014. Putting the Patriarchy on Trial. The Guardian. <http:// www.theguardian.com/stage/2014/aug/07/thewhite-devil-review-rsc-swan-stratford>.

Blake, W., 1994. The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.

Mineola: Dover Publications.

Drabble, M., 2013. The Garrick Year. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt.

Milton, J., 1973. Paradise Lost Books IX – X. Evans, M. J. Ed. Cambridge: CUP. Webster, J., 2008. The White Devil. York: Methuen.

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Artwork by Charlotte Elvin

Stalin’s Socialism: A Necessary Evil?

Eve Aaronovitch In 1923 the Soviet Union was a vast, mainly peasant country with an underdeveloped industrial sector.

Since 1914 it had endured the Great War, two revolutions, a civil war, foreign invasions, famines, and was being run by a revolutionary government that probably enjoyed only minority support and whose leader, Lenin, was dying. Twenty-two years later Stalin’s Soviet Union was a military superpower occupying half of Europe and the main component in the defeat of Nazi Germany. Furthermore, Stalin’s hold on power was utterly secure. He had imprisoned or shot most of the old Bolshevik leaders, stifled dissent, destroyed the military high command and instilled a reign of fear. Historians have long debated the extent to which the seeming miracle was possible precisely because of Stalin’s political ruthlessness – a ruthlessness that cost an estimated twenty million lives – or whether the ‘miracle’ was bound to happen in spite of Stalin’s actions.

The question ‘Was Stalin necessary?’ is answered in the affirmative by Alec Nove. With regard to Stalin’s economic policies, Nove argues that rapid industrialization was a priority as the Bolsheviks feared invasion and needed heavy industry to produce the armaments necessary to defend themselves: ‘The Bolsheviks were in a hurry. They saw themselves threatened by ‘imperialist interventionists’. To achieve national strength…

Russia needed modern industry’ (2011, p.23). One aspect of this campaign was the Bolshevik’s destruction of the peasantry and appropriation of the agricultural system. Assessing Stalin’s choices, Nove sees no alternative to forced collectivization: ‘It is sometimes said Stalin deliberately starved the peasants into submission. This would not be quite fair. Stalin faced resistance from the peasants; he

thought they were deliberately withholding supplies: the needs of the towns and of exports were pressing.

So he pressed’ (1975, p.45). His evidence is compelling. After the revolution land was given to the peasants, but they were reluctant to produce surplus food to feed the workers. For most, there was no incentive to sell as there were few consumer goods to purchase with profits. Furthermore, the kulaks were threatening to become a strong, independent group of peasants which could threaten Bolshevik authority with a resurgence of capitalism. For Stalin to keep his grip on both the economy and government he had to control agriculture.

The counter-argument to Nove is put by Stephen Cohen. He is sympathetic to the argument of ‘party reformers’ who thought Stalinism was definitely not necessary. They believed the New Economic Policy (NEP) – a more liberal economic policy developed under Lenin – would have been ‘an incalculably preferable alternative to Stalinism’ (2009, p.23).

Recalling its Leninist pedigree, they emphasized NEP’s mixed economy of private and state property, market relations and planning, socialist aspirations and capitalist practices, and its commitment to nonviolent, evolutionary development (ibid). In other words, Russia could have industrialised rapidly and been as united against the Nazi threat without Stalinism and at a fraction of the human cost.

Cohen’s evidence is that by the mid-20s, under the NEP, the economy had largely recovered to pre-war levels. In fact it had recovered ‘… faster than any other European belligerent. NEP was the first economic miracle of the twentieth century’ (Cohen, 1979, p.56).

Evaluating these contrasting views, it seems that even though, as Cohen argues, by 1927 the AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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economy under NEP had recovered, progress was not rapid enough to transform Soviet-industry by the onset of war. It could not advance more speedily because there was not enough grain to feed the towns. Estimates show supplies were 20million tonnes short. Even Bukharin, a supporter of the NEP, acknowledged in 1926 that industrialisation could only advance at ‘the pace of a tortoise’ if it depended on what peasants would do voluntarily.

Bukharin consistently spoke up for the interests of the peasants, believing socialism could not be achieved through their exploitation, and so his words carry conviction. Even so, it does seem that the degree of coercion against the peasants was excessive and, to an extent, counter-productive.

About 1million kulaks, the most efficient farmers were deported or killed and most peasants resisted collectivization, leading to a disastrous disruption of agricultural production. Although by 1937 grainproduction rose from 73million tonnes in 1928 to 97million in 1937, animal stock never recovered.

But, without the benefits of forced collectivization, as Nove argues, rapid industrialization could not have happened, and Stalin’s 5 year plans did increase production hugely. Coal production alone rose from 36million tonnes in 1928 to 130 in 1937.

Furthermore, Nove’s assessment is given more weight by Molotov, Stalin’s closest advisor, who underlined the need for urgency: ‘Stalin was right saying that we are fifty to a hundred years behind Western Europe and if we do not close this gap fast we shall perish’ (Chuev, 1993, p.201). Molotov remained an unapologetic Stalinist all his life.

Whilst this might invalidate him as an objective assessor, he remains an invaluable historical source giving us rare insight into the mentality and morality of Stalin’s thinking, and making Nove’s argument that Stalin’s policies, whilst brutal, were necessary to build a powerful industrial base, all the more convincing.

Similarly, there has been great debate over whether the purges of the 1930s, which killed tens 28

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of millions people, were necessary to unify the USSR in the face of the growing threat from Germany, or whether they were acts of excessive cruelty. Nove argues that Stalin’s ruthlessness was an inevitable consequence of one party rule initiated by the Bolsheviks under Lenin: ‘Can one really blame all these things on Stalin personally? No… There was the logic of the revolution from above, of all-out mobilization for economic growth’ (1975, p.61). However, Robert Service disagrees, arguing that not all of Stalin’s actions can be justified by the legacy inherited from Lenin: ‘Stalin’s terror campaigns of the 1930s were excessive even by the standards of Bolshevism’ (2004, p.600). This view is more convincing because it seems to better reflect Lenin’s approach. Although there were casualties in the civil war, this wasn’t the same as the cold-hearted mass killings instigated under Stalin, and Lenin didn’t kill off his political rivals. Lenin also approached the aims of Communism with a more gradualist method through policies such as the NEP. Stalin, however, although he did pursue similar policies, was less motivated by ideology and more by personal ambition. Whereas the victims of collectivization and industrialisation might be justified by the need for rapid modernization, there is no such justification for the purges. Furthermore, Khrushchev’s denunciation of Stalin for ‘the use of the cruelest repression against anyone who in any way disagreed with him’ (1956) suggests other communist leaders were doubtful of the need for purges. Khrushchev supports Service’s view that Stalin corrupted Lenin’s legacy: ‘Stalin sanctioned the most brutal violation of socialist legality, torture and oppression’ (ibid). Khrushchev’s opinions refute Nove’s view of Stalin following a Leninist path.

However, Khrushchev’s words must be understood in the context of his ongoing struggle at the time to defeat his Stalinist rivals for leadership of the communist party, although this does not mean the source loses validity. The purges were a slaughter of mass proportions conducted on Stalin’s orders.

Therefore, the evidence supports both Khrushchev and Service in that Stalin’s tactics were not a continuation of old ideas, but rather a new, sinister response to the pressures of leadership by a uniquely sadistic and cruel individual.

Stalin’s ruthless purges might also have cost him the war. The killing of Russia’s top generals meant for Stephen Cohen that Stalin was ‘a leader who had decapitated the armed forces on the eve of war, ignored warnings of the German invasion, leaving the country undefended’ (1979). Simon SebagMontefiore writes: ‘He very nearly lost the Second World War with his clumsy mistakes costing millions of lives’ (Sebag-Montefiore, 2006). However, Nove argues that the terror unleashed by the purges was a key reason why he defeated Hitler. Although the purges undoubtedly weakened the military, Nove claims that Stalin’s reputation for ruthlessness was vital to his ability to keep Russia united.

In retrospect, it’s easy to assume Hitler’s invasion was doomed from the start. But, looking at the evidence, nothing was inevitable about the Soviet victory. 1941 was a military calamity of mass proportions. Soviet forces in the West were destroyed. This must be blamed on Stalin’s ruthlessness as many Soviet commanders were of poor quality, hastily promoted to replace the purged officers. Also, Stalin’s refusal to accept evidence that Hitler was about to attack was a terrible mistake possibly caused by timid staff terrified of telling Stalin bad news. This supports Cohen and Montefiore’s opinion that Stalin’s ruthlessness could have cost him the war. However, Stalin’s ruthless grip on power was also the reason he managed to create such a powerful war machine. Two days after the invasion Stalin ordered the transportation of factories and manpower to the safety of the Urals.

Twenty-five million workers relocated. The Soviets soon out-produced Germany in armaments, suggesting Stalin’s tactics were justifiable. In Molotov’s opinion too, the fact that Stalin had purged his opposition was critical to victory:

‘Without a man like Stalin it would have been very difficult, especially during the war. There would no longer have been teamwork… It would have been nothing but one against the other’ (Molotov, cited in Chuev, 1993, p.258). This all shows that whilst Stalin’s ruthless tactics damaged the USSR’s forces initially, Stalin’s brutal leadership is what led the USSR to victory. In 1944, following the siege of Stalingrad, Franklin D. Roosevelt congratulated Stalin: ‘The siege… will inspire forever the hearts of all free people. Their glorious victory stemmed the tide of invasion and marked the turning point in the war of the Allied nations against the forces of aggression’ (Roosevelt, cited in Chuev, 1993, p.258). It is true that those who lived outside Russia did not know many of Stalin’s atrocities and Roosevelt may have been ignorant of them. This doesn’t however detract from the fact that Stalin was highly commended for his actions. Whether Stalin would have been more effective with less ruthless tactics is debatable, but the atmosphere he created, as Nove rightly points out, contributed to his ability to command and succeed.

All the historians agree that Stalin’s rule was a bloody tyranny. Where they disagree is whether or not Russia could have become an economic and military superpower capable of defeating Hitler without Stalin. Cohen thinks there might have been a more gradual approach to economic development which could have led to a more sustainable economy and greater political freedom. But, as the Bolsheviks feared, rapid industrialisation was necessary to withstand invasion, and, without coercion, it could not have been imposed on a peasant country. It is easy to condemn Stalin, as Khrushchev did, for his brutality without acknowledging his achievements which kept the communists in power and the country intact. There is a case for his defense when his actions are looked at in context, as Nove does.

He was ruthless and perhaps deserves the label ‘mass murderer’, which Cohen gives him, for a proportion of his actions. However, whilst he did terrorize AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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Artwork by Mackenzie Westwood

Russia, within that terror lay the seeds of its salvation, proving that his methods, whilst ruthless, were necessary. Furthermore, Stalin cannot be blamed entirely for the brutality which may well have been, as Molotov suggests, the natural outcome of policies supported by the Bolsheviks. There might have been an alternative to Stalin’s ruthlessness, as Cohen says, but not one that would have delivered the industrial base to fight a war or that could have created a strong enough leadership to unite the Russians against Hitler’s onslaught.

Bibliography Chuev, F., 1993. Molotov Remembers. Chicago: Terra Publishing.

Cohen, S. F., 2009. Soviet Fates and Lost Alternatives. Columbia: CUP. Cohen, S. F., 1979. Stalin’s Afterlife. New York: New Republic.

Khrushchev. N., 1956. Speech to 20th Congress of Communist Party of USSR, Moscow, Feb. 25th. The Guardian. <www.theguardian.com/theguardian/2007/apr/26 /greatspeeches>.

Nove. A., 1975. Stalinism and After. London: Routledge.

Nove. A., 2011. Was Stalin Really Necessary?

London: Routledge.

Sebag-Montefiore, S., 2006. Russia’s Beloved Butcher. BBC History Magazine, 7(2).

Service. R., 2004. Stalin: A Biography. London: Macmillan.

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Artwork by Isobel Whalley Payne

Can Music Have Gender?

A Study of Female Composers and their Lost Voices Maya Colwell When asked to name a composer of so-called ‘Classical’ Music, even those who have little interest in musicology would very likely be able to suggest at least one, be it Mozart, Chopin, Tchaikovsky or Beethoven. What is the common link running through this list? It is not the instrumentation that they favour, nor the styles of their most famous pieces. What links them is not just that they are selfconsciously working within the Classical tradition, but that they are all male composers writing within a male-dominated Classical tradition.

Most people would never instinctively include a woman in their list, and would most likely struggle, when asked directly, to name a single female composer. This is not for a want of names to choose from; indeed, there are hundreds of books and websites dedicated to cataloguing forgotten female composers and their work - over 288 documented female composers are out there to be found, and the number is rising, however slowly (Sadie, 1994). This gender barrier is still affecting women today, and although musical education is now readily available to young girls, there is still a stigma attached to the study of composition. This can be seen in the example of the Saturday school Junior Trinity, aimed at talented young musicians, where the class consists of a majority of girls, but when split into groups, two thirds of composition students are male (Kerry, 2012). This is not to say that this particular branch of sexual politics only applies to classical music.

Indeed, Jazz – a movement which for many people epitomises the breakdown of unnecessary

boundaries, namely those pertaining to race – is an area of music in which women have been pushed aside as less accomplished musicians, and most importantly, have been almost entirely forgotten when it comes to elements such as improvisation.

The Feminist Improvising Group, a 70s band set up to challenge the norm of male improvisation, was one of the countless female groups shoved into the ‘Women’s Music’ box, and though this gave it political momentum and a new meaning; it is also symbolic of the attitude that an all-female band could never just be the norm. Indeed, it was such an unusual phenomenon that the founding member of the FIG related her wish merely to feel the ‘quality of shared experience [when you hang out with women, and to see], how that would translate artistically’ (Smith, 2004, pp.224-43). Surely the novelty of playing in an all female group is a cause for concern if one considers the fact that playing in a group dominated my men would never be considered as something out of the ordinary conventions of our Western tradition of Classical music? The purpose of this investigation, however, is to explore the reasons behind the marginalisation of female composers in Western Classical music.

Has the work of these women been pushed aside due to the gender of their composers, or have they simply been dealt a bad hand by posterity? Is it the case is that the composers simply were not as talented or forward thinking as their male counterparts? And crucially, can we see intrinsic differences in a harpsichord suite or Romantic lied AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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written by a female rather than a male composer?

The role of women in music seems to be predominantly that of the subservient assistant to the man in their life: highly musical, but deprived of an in-depth education in composition. The composer Howard Goodall writes that it was ‘practically impossible to write… a symphony… without years of instruction and specialist knowledge’ (2013, p.157). This is the case for many of the women who we recognise today as talented composers, and can be understood to be the reason behind the lack of compositions by women for larger ensembles, except in a few special cases. The saying goes, ‘Behind every successful man is a great woman’, and although the generalisation may be an incorrect one, there is no doubt that this can be seen time and time again in Music. Clara Wieck was far more than just a muse to her husband, Robert Schumann, and to his friend and colleague, Johannes Brahms. Wieck was a collaborator and assistant in the composition of many pieces that we know today, and in this role, raises questions as to the active musical influence of women in the development of the Western Classical tradition. The cases of Clara Wieck and Fanny Mendelssohn* are particularly telling, as the women involved have both achieved recognition for their work over time, and as our society shifts gradually towards acceptance of this, their places as important composers to study and appreciate should become more cemented.

Attitudes towards women in music were not static however; there existed an ebb and flow of encouragement and disapproval. Hildegard von Bingen, a 12th Century nun, poet, scientist, and most importantly, composer, is an example of a case in which gender was irrelevant to success. A link between her and Elizabeth-Claude Jacquet de la Guerre (b. 1665) is that their common interest and talent for sacred music allowed them to transcend any negative attitudes towards women, enough to be recognised as legitimate composers. An in depth 34

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study of the work of three female composers from between the 12th and 19th centuries and comparison with that of their male contemporaries has enabled me to assess the respective composition techniques in relation to the conventions of their times. This raised issues as to whether the expressive and individualistic demands of the Romantic era, for example, created the possibility of female voice to emerge, or whether the paradigms of the Baroque era allowed a composer like Jacquet de la Guerre to submerge gender within conventional forms.

When addressing the issue of the genderization of music, it is necessary to draw from the theories of Schopenhauer** and explore the use of pseudonyms by female composers in order to achieve recognition.

The case of Rebecca Clarke*** clearly shows us that the identification of the gender of the composer is a construct based on the imposition of our own ideas, which we have developed from the Western Classical tradition. The music that we hear when it is performed, or that we read on the page, is not affected by the gender of its composer, but rather by the level of support that the composer has received, in terms of education, social background, and innate talent. Our methods of identification of gender in music are not absolute, and more often than not, they will stem from an assumption that the work of female composers will be weaker in some way – an assumption that seems to have been carried through from aspects of musical tradition that include naming weaker cadences ‘feminine’ cadences. It is no coincidence then, that the number of acclaimed female composers rose over the course of the 20th century. It was only when most young men were being conscripted during WWI that music colleges began accepting women into their ranks. This increase in availability of musical education for women is the driving factor behind their success, as it meant that women learnt to compose for instruments outside of their range as performers, and slowly became recognised enough to begin to have a chance at moving their music into the

mainstream. What is perhaps shocking then, is the wasted potential had women just been given the opportunity to compose. There are many male composers whose work is regularly recorded, and performed, but who had only half the talent of the women mentioned above, and rose to where they did due to the training that they received.

Notes * Sister of Felix Mendelssohn. ** Inherently anti-women, claiming that they cannot be responsible for any creation other than that of children. *** A female composer placed second in a composition competition, whose piece was deemed so good that it must have been submitted as a hoax by the winner, Ernest Bloch.

Bibliography Goodall, H., 2013. The Story of Music. London: Random House.

Kerry, A., 2012. Why are there so few female composers? The Guardian. <http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/201 2/feb/08/why-so-few-female-composers?>.

Sadie, J. A., and Samuel, R., eds., 1994. The Norton/Grove Dictionary of Women Composers.

London: W.W. Norton & Company.

Smith, J. D., 2004. Playing like a Girl. In: Fischlin, D. and Heble A eds. The Other Side of Nowhere: Jazz, Improvisation, and Communities in Dialogue. Middletown CT: Wesleyan University Press.

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Artwork by Evangeline Baldwin

Poetry in Translation Jemima Skala

‘Le Coeur Volé’ par Arthur Rimbaud

‘The Tortured Heart’

by Arthur Rimbaud

Mon triste coeur bave à la poupe, Mon coeur couvert de caporal: Ils y lancent des jets de soupe Mon triste coeur bave à la poupe: Sous les quolibets de la troupe Qui pousse un rire general, Mon triste coeur bave à la poupe, Mon coeur couvert de caporal.

Ithyphalliques et pioupiesques Leurs quolibets l’ont dépravé.

Au gouvernail, on voit des fresques Ithyphalliques et pioupiesques. Ô flots abracadabrantesques Prenez mon coeur, qu’il soit lave.

Ithyphalliques et pioupiesques Leurs quolibets l’ont dépravé!

Quand ils auront tari leurs chiques Comment agir, ô coeur volé?

Ce seront des hoquets bachiques Quand ils auront tari leurs chiques J’aurai des sursauts stomachiques Moi, si mon coeur est ravalé: Quand ils auront tari leurs chiques, Comment agir, ô coeur volé?

Mai 1871

My sad heart drools at the stern, Covered in tobacco juice: They launch their globs of spit at it My sad heart drools at the stern: Suffering the jeers of the troop Provoking a cruel laugh from all, My sad heart drools at the stern Covered in tobacco juice.

Ithyphallic and soldierly Their jeers, they have corrupted it.

At the helm, I see graffiti Ithyphallic and soldierly.

O abracadabric floods Take my heart, so it might be cleansed.

Ithyphallic and soldierly Their jeers, they have corrupted it!

When, at last, they’ve run out of wads How will you act, o stolen heart?

Their hiccups will make Bacchus proud When, at last, they’ve run out of wads, My stomach will heave in disgust With my heart thus weakened and frail: When, at last, they’ve run out of wads, How will you act, o stolen heart?

May 1871

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The Internet - Has It Become Lawless?

Translation by Joe Monaghan Internet - Est-Il Devenu Une Zone de Non Droit?

Le développement d’internet a permis le partage d’information et de connaissance. Cependant, ce n’est pas sans conséquents. L’anonymat qu’on peut trouver en ligne a facilité des actes illégaux souvent sans répercussions. Donc est internet une zone de non-droit?

Certains abusent de la liberté qui se trouve en ligne en faisant des propos homophobes, xénophobes et racistes sur les réseaux sociaux comme Facebook et Twitter. Ceci est malheureusement difficile d’empêcher à cause de la nature de la messagerie instantanée. Il y a eu de nombreux cas de gens qui ont souffert des injuries sur Twitter, bien qu’ils puissent « bloquer » les gens qui leur envoient les messages horribles afin de n’en recevoir plus. C’est tellement difficile de faire un procès contre le problème.

Par ailleurs, le piratage informatique est une préoccupation. L’année dernière les grandes entreprises comme Sony et Ebay ont été piraté. Ainsi beaucoup d’information personnelle a été volée. Mais une chose même plus préoccupante est la radicalisation des jeunes et le piratage des logiciels militaires par des organisations terroristes comme E.I. En plus, un effet secondaire du commerce

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électronique a été le commerce illégal.

Récemment, le site internet notoire « Silk Road » a été fermé par le FBI parce qu’on pouvait acheter une variété énorme de produits illégaux des drogues aux armes, en utilisant un compte bancaire électronique anonyme qui contient des « bitcoins » (une monnaie électronique). Maintenant des gens essayent de créer une nouveau « Silk Road ».

Pourtant, malgré ces problèmes l’internet devient une zone plus régulée. Le gouvernement au Royaume Uni a fait du « Trolling » un délit avec une peine de prison d’au moins de deux mois et quelques gens ont déjà été condamnés. Ceci aidera à résoudre le problème. En outre il y a eu de la répression en matière de commerce illégal, les criminels n’ont pas réussi à créer un nouveau « Silk Road » grâce aux mesures que le FBI a pris.

Finalement, les réseaux permettent la réprobation en masse des crimes comme le racisme ainsi cette pression de groupe aide à lutter contre eux.

Pour conclure, internet est encore jeune, maintenant nous sommes plus conscients des conséquences imprévues et de ces problèmes donc les gouvernements ont commencé à agir et l’internet continuera de devenir de plus en plus régulé.

The development of the internet has enabled the sharing of information and knowledge. However, it is not without consequences. The anonymity that can be found online has facilitated illegal behaviour often without repercussions. So is the internet lawless?

Certain people abuse the liberty found online by making homophobic, xenophobic and racist remarks on social networks such as Facebook and Twitter. Unfortunately this is difficult to prevent due to the nature of instant messaging. There have been numerous cases of people who have suffered abuse on Twitter; although they can “block” the people who send them horrible messages, in order to no longer receive them it is really difficult to take legal action against the problem.

Furthermore, hacking is a concern. Last year big companies such as Sony and Ebay were hacked.

Thus a lot of personal information was stolen. But something even more worrying is the radicalising of young people and the hacking of military software by terrorist organisations such as I.S. Furthermore a side effect of e-commerce has been illegal trade. Recently the notorious website “Silk

Road” was shut down by the FBI because you had been able to buy a huge variety of illegal products from drugs to weapons using an anonymous electronic bank account which contains bitcoins (an e-currency). Now people are trying to create a new “Silk Road”.

However, despite these problems the internet is becoming more regulated. The government in the United Kingdom has made “trolling” a criminal offence with a prison sentence of at least two months and some people have already been sentenced. This will help to resolve the problem.

Additionally there has been a crackdown in illegal trade, criminals have not succeeded in creating a new “Silk Road” thanks to measures that the FBI have taken. Finally, social networks enable mass disapproval of crimes such as racism so this peer pressure helps to fight against it.

To conclude, the internet is still young; now we are more aware of the unforeseen consequences and these problems so governments have started to act and the internet will continue to become increasingly regulated.

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Artwork by Florence Webb

How far does Alfred the Great Deserve his Reputation as a ‘Great’ Monarch?

Anna Maria Barona Alfred is the only English monarch to ever be given the title of ‘the Great’. However, how far he truly deserved this title is widely debated; although he is the only Anglo-Saxon monarch about whom we know so much because of the surviving primary sources, the questionable reliability and authenticity of these sources has led to much disagreement as to how much Alfred deserves his reputation. Aspects of the debate include the role played by his predecessors in Alfred’s achievements, as well as his military successes and progress towards the creation of England.

Fisher argues that Alfred had a positive legacy and was thus able to achieve the successes he did. A prominent argument within this is the role of Egbert, Alfred’s grandfather, in establishing Wessex supremacy, and Fisher argues that ‘Wessex was only in a position to resist invasion in the first place because of the earlier efforts of his [Alfred’s] brothers, father and grandfather’, thus suggesting that Alfred’s successes ‘owed much to his predecessors’ (1973, p.219). This is strongly supported by evidence that at the time of the Battle of Basing, when Alfred assumed his position as king, Wessex was the only relatively stable kingdom left; Northumbria fell into civil war in the late 860s, with a Danish government being established there, the East Anglian king Edmund was killed in 869 by the Danes, and the Mercian king was forced to flee to Rome in 874 (In Our Time Archive, 2005). In contrast, Woodruff argues that Alfred’s accession presented him with a ‘grim and doubtful inheritance’ (1974, p.56); the immediate

circumstances in which Alfred was placed were those of defeat by the Danish army at the Battle of Basing in 871 as well as the broader context of the Danes turning their attention to weakening Wessex, as it was the only kingdom which could offer resistance.

The military legacy of Alfred’s predecessors was indeed negative in this regard. As Fanning argues, there was very little unity amongst the people (1991, p.1), their defences were weak, and, Abels adds, Wessex had no army which could be quickly mobilized (2013, p.195).

Although both arguments have some truth in them, the difficulty lies in determining the degree to which the legacy of Alfred’s predecessors aided him in his success in the long-term. For example, it can be said that it was not so much Egbert’s expansion of the kingdom which led to Wessex being the only remaining kingdom, as it was Wessex’s geographical location, which had the strength of having only one land frontier, making it strategically advantageous in regards to the Viking threat. Since most of their attacks came from the sea, the attackers could be easily seen and shot with arrows while rowing. However, the situation in East Anglia can be used as an example of when a large coastal frontier proved to be problematic: if it was not sufficiently protected, the Vikings could use their large numbers and the element of surprise to their advantage, leaving the land-dwellers in an unfavourable position (In Our Time Archive, 2005).

This clearly demonstrates that there must have been more to Wessex’s position than just geographical location and that skill was needed in order to make AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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the location beneficial, thus weakening the argument for the impact of Alfred’s predecessors on his achievements. Nevertheless, further evidence powerfully opposes this claim; Alfred did, for example, win the Battle of Edington on his own account, despite being reduced to roaming the marshes with only a few loyal supporters (Duckett, 1957, p.71). Overall however, the most credible interpretation is that of Alfred having a negative legacy. Even though the efforts of his predecessors did aid him in his success, this only applies to a military aspect: in a cultural regard, for example, he made great progress towards promoting ‘Englishness’ through the revival of the use of English (Foot, 1996, p.25) and through ‘radical reorganisation of the Church in Wessex’ (Fisher, 1973, p.282).

Alfred’s military successes are equally as controversial. Albert and Tucker argue that Alfred made significant military achievements, which included not only victory at the Battle of Edington in 879, but also the creation and re-organisation of the Royal Army as well as successfully protecting his kingdom through the creation of a network of burhs (fortified settlements) (2014, pp.169-173). Fisher, on the other hand, argues that Alfred’s military successes were mostly partial: the burhs, for example were often ‘occupied by a few peasants and only half built’ (1973, pp.220-1) and the advantages of Alfred’s army reforms were only really seen during the reign of his successors (ibid, p.221). Alfred’s military success is supported by Asser’s account of his victory in the Battle of Edington of 879: ‘And when he [Alfred] had remained there fourteen days, the heathen [Vikings], terrified by hunger, cold, fear, and last of all despair, begged for peace, engaging to give the king as many designated hostages as he pleased, and to receive none from him in return – in which manner they had never before made peace with any one’ (1906, p.29). Asser’s argument, however, is an exaggeration; Asser being Alfred’s contemporary biographer would certainly present 42

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his king in the most favourable light and would make his victory seem almost effortless so that people would gain more confidence in the newlyappointed king. This, therefore, weakens the claim.

Even through Alfred did win the Battle of Edington, the peace which he made with the Danish King Guthrum was not particularly effective, and peace treaties did not bind the Vikings, who ‘twice that year [885] raided the region bordering the southern banks of the Thames’ (Abels, 2013, p.173).

Additionally, the new English-Danish border which was set as a result of the treaty with Guthrum was not entirely stable; Hertfordshire, Bedfordshire and Buckinghamshire, for example, were all re-taken by the Danes (Davis, 1982, p.809). Furthermore, the main weakness of Albert’s interpretation lies in the omission of the realistic impact of the burhs on military success, and instead focuses on the theoretical advantages of having a network of burhs.

The fact that Viking attacks did not cease strongly corroborates the opposing argument; Viking attacks on Wessex continued throughout Alfred’s reign, with some of these including those of Chester in 893 and Chichester in 894 (Haywood, 1995, p.67).

Issues of practicality are similarly ignored in terms of naval reforms in Albert’s argument: although Alfred did create a new type of warship (Duckett, 1957, pp.125-6), Alfred was ‘unable to recruit the men to man these ships from among his own subjects’ (Turner, 1901, p.476). The most convincing interpretation is therefore one of Alfred’s military achievements being quite flawed. However, although these reforms may not have been effective during his reign, Alfred was the first English king who appreciated the importance of having a navy and a standing army (Fisher, 1973, p.220) and his reorganisation of the army, for example, proved helpful for his successor Edward (ibid, p.221) as it strengthened royal authority (Abels, 2013, p.208).

Alfred has been called the First King of England, however, the degree of unity that he achieved is debatable. Foster takes on a critical view and makes

the distinction of Alfred making his country ‘less Danish’ rather than ‘more English’, and argues that the title of ‘King of West Saxons’ rather than the whole of England should be attributed to him.

Although it suggests a large degree of unity, an entry in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle supports this: ‘This year died ALFRED… he was king over all the English nation, except that part which was under the power of the Danes’ (Carruthers, 2011, p.121).

Asser, in his Life of King Alfred presents a different viewpoint and claims that ‘to this king all the Angles and Saxons who hitherto had been dispersed everywhere, or were in captivity with the heathen, voluntarily turned, and submitted themselves to his rule’ (1906, p.47), thereby suggesting full unity.

Asser’s view, however, can be discredited. His Life is very likely to be exaggerating Alfred’s successes as it was, after all, created as a form of propaganda for the Alfredian government. Moreover, the fact that it was written at the time of the coming-of-age of the sons of Alfred’s brother (ibid, p.235) strongly challenges the source’s reliability; Alfred came to the throne in unlikely circumstances after the untimely death of his four older brothers (Woodruff, 1974, p.96) who, at the time of death, had underage sons so the crown had to be given to Alfred. Now that they were coming of age, Alfred’s position became weaker as his nephews began to resent their positions. Therefore, Alfred’s commissioned biography aimed to add legitimacy to his rule by presenting him as the rightful king of the AngloSaxons. Although the Chronicle was similarly a form of propaganda, it is nevertheless useful in demonstrating that a divide within England existed, albeit one between the Danish and the English rather than one within the English. However, it is important to determine whether it is useful to make this distinction; Foster’s criticism here is too extreme and Alfred’s role in promoting unification should not be underestimated. Considering the situation in Wessex at the time – a kingdom which was regionally divided (Fanning, 1991, p.1) – it would perhaps

have been unrealistic to unify such a diverse group in such a short life-span. There is also strong evidence to support Alfred’s resourcefulness: his success lied in his innovative realisation that English could be used to bring his subjects together and create a new shared English identity for them (In Our Time Archive, 2005) as well as creating a law code for his people (Turner, 1901, p.477) even if he did not succeed in achieving full unity within his kingdom.

The evidence demonstrates that Alfred should therefore be seen as a king who did everything in his power to create this shared identity for his people – Fisher’s argument is too harsh and Asser’s too lenient. Even though Alfred did emphasise the English-Danish differences in order to achieve this, his efforts to unify his country through his own means (through the use of English, for example) must also be commended. It is true that he did not achieve unity, but the process needed to be approached from a military as well as a cultural angle. Alfred’s achievement was the cultural success of laying the foundations for the possibility of unity in the future, whilst his descendants completed the creation of England by re-conquering the Danelaw (Abels, 2013, p.208).

Overall, the most convincing interpretation is that of criticism of Alfred’s achievements, especially in terms of his military successes. Fisher’s argument of the limited extent of Alfred’s reforms is supported by strong evidence of very little decrease in the number of Viking attacks whereas the opposite argument comes from Alfred’s propaganda written

by Asser, therefore making it very flawed. This is very similar for Alfred’s achievements in terms of achieving unity: the view which argues for the largest degree of unity is once again presented by Asser. However, the context of increasing Viking attack and the lack of a substantial military force strongly supporting the idea that Alfred was left with a negative legacy does mean that Alfred must be given some credit for making progress in a military as well as cultural regard.

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Artwork by Ayantu Erana

Bibliography Abels, R. 2013. Alfred the Great: War, Kingship and Culture in Anglo-Saxon England. London: Routledge.

Fanning, S., 1991. Bede, Imperium and the Bretwaldas. Speculum, 66(1).

Fisher, D. J. V., 1973. The Anglo-Saxon Age. London: Longman

Albert, E. and Tucker, K., 2014. In Search of Alfred the Great: The King, the Grave, the Legend.

Stroud: Amberley Publishing.

Foot, S., 1996.The Making of Angelcynn: English Identity Before the Norman Conquest. Transactions of the Royal Historical Society: Sixth Series, 6.

Asser, J.., 1906. Asser’s Life of King Alfred. Watford: Ginn & Company.

Haywood, J., 1995. The Penguin Historical Atlas of the Vikings. London: Penguin.

Carruthers, B. 2011. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.

Barnsley: Pen & Sword.

In Our Time Archive: History, Alfred and the Battle of Edington, 2005. BBC Radio 4. 7 April, 21.30.

Davis, R. H. C., 1982. Alfred and Guthrum’s Frontier. The English Historical Review, 97(385).

Turner, C., 1901. The Permanent Influence of Alfred the Great. The Sewanee Review, 9(4).

Duckett, E., 1957. Alfred the Great and His England. London: Collins.

Woodruff, D. 1974. The Life and Times of Alfred the Great. London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson.

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Artwork by Florence Webb

To What Extent was Longstanding Desire for Change the Main Cause of the February Revolution of 1917?

Matilda Shoul The first of two major upheavals in Russia in 1917 – the February Revolution – resulted in the abdication of Tsar Nicholas II and the collapse of the Romanov Dynasty. Its causes are manifold and have been the focus of historical debate for the best part of the 20th century. Some historians argue that the revolution was the outcome of people’s longstanding desire for change. More frequently asserted is that the prime cause of revolution was the war in the wake of political turmoil, and the argument that Nicholas II’s incompetence as a leader was the principal reason for his downfall. Although the majority of Historians concur that Russia’s loss of loyalty for Nicholas II led to his downfall, the fundamental cause of this is not agreed upon.

Lynch argues that ‘what does stand out is the ‘lack of direction and leadership at the top’ (2008, p.47), citing the Tsar’s countless disastrous political and military decisions as a prime cause of revolution.

This is made more plausible by the fact that on ascending the throne in 1894, Nicholas II himself said, ‘what is going to happen to me and to all of Russia? I am not prepared to be a Tsar …’

(Romanov, 1894. Cited in: Figes, O., 1997, p.16).

Although the validity of the source is questionable, as his comment could be dismissed as the early anxieties of a man who grew to be a strong leader, the argument for his incompetence is further strengthened by a comment made by a General Brusilov on his leadership that ‘Everyone knew that Nicholas understood next to nothing about military matters’ (1930, p.185). The fact that the source is a

direct firsthand account from someone exposed to Nicholas’ behaviour further validates Lynch’s argument, and it seems as though the Tsar’s selfassessment was correct - he did not have the skills to be a great or even a competent military leader, and his failings in leading the army resulted in growing resentment. Quite apart from his ineptitude as a military commander, he also showed himself to be incompetent in leading political matters. Lockhart supports Lynch’s assertion that the Tsar had a ‘lack of direction’, describing how Nicholas had ‘an unhappy knack of retaining aged and incompetent ministers and of dismissing all ministers who showed efficiency and readiness to take action’ (1991). Lockhart’s commentary on the Tsar’s disastrous decision is validated by a further primary source, wherein Rodzianko (Chairman of the State Duma) stated in a telegram to the Tsar that ‘There is not one honest man left in your entourage; all the decent people have either been dismissed or left’ (14 February 1917) Although it must be acknowledged that Rodzianko’s statement to Nicholas could be viewed as an exaggeration intended to force the Tsar to realise his failings and adjust his decisions accordingly (Rodzianko was heavily involved in advising the Tsar and it was Rodzianko who eventually led abdication talks with Nicholas), the source nonetheless validates both Lynch and Bruce’s arguments. Moreover, Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich (Naval Officer and Advisor to Nicholas) wrote in a letter to the Tsar on February 7, 1917 that ‘the Government itself is the organ that AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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is preparing the revolution… we are witnessing the unparalleled spectacle of revolution from above, and not from below’ (1917). Although the Duke, like Rodzianko, may have been exaggerating how abysmal the situation was in order to force Nicholas to make changes within government, the assuredness of his bold statement, coupled with the fact that those in government were turning away from the Tsar makes the source a valid one, and further corroborates the historian’s interpretation that Nicholas’ failure to successfully manage his government led to a loss of loyalty from his principal elite supporters, and thus fuelled revolution. What these Historians perhaps fail to consider however, is the fact that although Nicholas’ weakness was indeed inherent, it was not critical until it was exposed by the War. Although Lockhart states that Nicholas’ incompetence was key in bringing about revolution, his statement ‘There was no chance of a successful rising unless Russia was engaged in a foreign war’ (1991) undermines any argument he may have formulated on the Tsar’s failings, and thus shows Nicholas’ poor leadership to be a necessary, but not sufficient cause of revolution.

Pipes asserts that Tsardom was ‘a power that, however dazzling its external glitter, was internally weak and quite unable to cope effectively with the strains – political, economical, and psychological – which the war brought in its wake’ (1995, p.29), summarizing the argument agreed upon by the majority of historians that the circumstance of war essentially bred revolution. Kochan argues that the war led to revolution as it broke all trust between the government and the masses, describing how ‘Down with the Tsar’ was the ominous cry beginning to be heard… the war had utterly destroyed any confidence that still remained between the Government and the people’ (1990, p.284). Hickey’s interpretation is similar to that of Kochen, arguing that ‘by late 1916, even top military commanders privately doubted the Tsar’s ability to guide Russia to victory’ (2010, p.32). This 48

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is validated by a comment made by a soldier (referred to by Figes as ‘the sort of discussion’ that was had among many soldiers and thus seen as a typically held view) that ‘It’s clear as day that we’re going to lose the war’ (cited in Figes, 2014, p.52).

Although the validity of the source must be questioned as the hardship of war meant that the soldier may have exaggerated his certainty in defeat, the very fact that it is a firsthand and typical account of someone involved in the fighting suggests that war was indeed resulting in a complete loss of trust, as both Kochen and Hickey claim. These claims are further supported by evidence that ‘By the spring of 1915, whole battalions were being trained without rifles’ (ibid, p.51), a fact that corresponds to Kochen’s assertion that the failure of Nicholas to sufficiently lead the army broke all bonds of loyalty, as without adequate training and equipment, it is unlikely that soldiers would have felt trust towards their leaders. Moreover, the fact that ‘the newly trained NCOs who took over the junior command posts were from the lower classes and their sympathies were with the troops’ (ibid) validates their interpretation, as those in a position of reasonable power within the army were sympathetic to the soldiers rather than their Tsar and his government, thus providing a strong motive for revolution when the organization of the army began to collapse.

An additional result of the war was that Nicholas’ leadership of government further worsened, particularly as he left his wife Alexandra with much political power, and the monarchy soon became enveloped in scandal. Hickey argues that the Tsar destroyed the good name of the government through his mismanagement during the distraction of the war, stating that, ‘Nicholas appointed a new crew of even more inept reactionaries and cronies of Rasputin to his cabinet – including men rumoured to have pro-German sympathies’ (2010, p.59). This is supported by a comment from Vasily Gurko, the Army’s Chief of Staff, exhibiting the extent to which

rumours could have an impact on the ordinary people of Russia: ‘What is said in high society trickles down into the social circles of the two capitals, and subsequently… passes down to the masses, upon whom such rumours have revolutionary effect’ (1927). This source is highly valid as it is from an official of the army who would have seen these ‘revolutionary effects’ in action amongst his soldiers just prior to February 1917, and thus corroborates Hickey’s interpretation by exhibiting how the revolution stemmed from the Tsar’s failure to effectively manage government, due to the distracting circumstance of war. It is clear from this evidence that the war revealed the weakness of both Nicholas and his government, and it was this illumination that fundamentally began the collapse of trust between the people and the Tsarist autocracy and eventually led to revolution, thus proving Kochen’s interpretation to be correct.

Kennan acknowledges that the masses as well as the political elite had considerable revolutionary potential, arguing that revolution was the result of the people’s long-standing desire for change (1947).

Similarly, Figes asserts that ‘The February Revolution of 1917 would be a people’s uprising’ and that those involved were inspired by the memory of the 1905 Revolution (Figes, 2014, p.33). This is supported by a statement made by Lenin, who called the 1905 Revolution ‘the dress rehearsal’ without which the revolutions of 1917 would have been impossible’ (1966, p.27), suggesting that without Russia’s revolutionary history, the events of 1917 would not have come about. However, this assessment is refuted by Pipes’ evaluation: ‘It becomes apparent that the Marxist notion that revolution always results from social (‘class’) cannot be sustained… the decisive factors were overwhelmingly political’ (1992, p.62). This argument is indeed stronger than Figes’, which is weakened by the fact that he contradicts his first

assertion by stating categorically that ‘the monarchy’s collapse was not in peasant discontent or the labour movement’ (2014, p.39), thus undermining his previous argument. Evidently, whilst the people indeed had revolutionary potential, those who conclude that their dissatisfaction was the prime cause of revolution are not fully taking into consideration the extent of the political animosity within government.

Kochen and Hickey’s interpretation that it was the war that was the principal cause of the February 1917 Revolution is the most convincing overall argument, due to the fact that evidently, without the circumstance of WW1, the trust that the people of Russia (the masses, the army and even the government itself ) had in the Tsarist autocracy would not have collapsed as severely. Particularly strong in validating this argument are the statements from the Army’s Chief of Staff, Gurko, and the comment from the soldier (a typically held view), as they are statements by those directly exposed to both Nicholas’ weakness and the general feelings of the people, similarly expressing the common discontent towards Tsardom in light of the circumstances brought about by war. Kennan and Figes’ arguments do pose the important point that there was a longstanding desire for change in Russia, though there is not enough primary evidence to support the idea that this, crucially, led to revolution, and moreover Figes’ contradictory statements mean that his argument is not sustained. Although Lynch and Lockhart’s interpretation is in part correct – Nicholas II’s incompetence was undoubtedly significant in bringing about the events of February 1917, it is clear that alone this was not enough: as Kochen argues, war was necessary as it exacerbated the situation in Russia to such an extent that it entirely exposed the weakness of the Tsarist autocracy, an exposure severe enough to generate revolution and end the Romanov Dynasty.

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Artwork by Marco Pini

Bibliography Brusilov, A. A., 1930. A Soldier’s Notebook.

London: MacMillan and Co. Figes, O., 2014. Revolutionary Russia. New York: Metropolitan Books.

Gurko, V. I., 1927. Cited in: Figes, O and Kolonitskii B., 1999. Interpreting the Russian Revolution: The Language and Symbols of 1917.

New Haven: YUP. Hickey, M. C., 2010. Competing Voices from the Russian Revolution: Fighting words. Westport: Greenwood.

Kennan, G., 1947. The Sources of Soviet Conduct.

The History Guide <http://www.historyguide.org/ europe/kennan.html> Kochan, L., 1990. The Making of Modern Russia.

London: Penguin Books.

Lenin, V., 1966. Collected Works: Volume 31, April – December 1920. Moscow: Progress Publishers.

Lockhart, R. B., 1991. The February Revolution of 1917. History Today, 41(2).

Lynch, M., 2008. From Autocracy to Communism.

London: Hodder.

Mikhailovich, A., February 7 1917. Cited in: Atchison, B. 2015. Diaries and Letters of the Grand Dukes. Alexander Palace Time Machine. <http://www.alexanderpalace.org/ palace/lettersdukes.html>.

Pipes, R. 1992. The Russian Revolution 18991919. London: Fontana Press.

Pipes, R., 1995. Three Whys of the Russian Revolution. New York: Vintage.

Rodzianko, M. V., 14 February 1917. Cited in: Lynch, M., 2008. From Autocracy to Communism: Russia 1894 – 1941. London: Hodder.

Romanov, N. A., 1894. In: Figes, O., 1997. A People’s Tragedy. London: Random House.

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Artwork by Uccella Khan Thomas

Fin de Siècle Anxiety in Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Arthur Conan Doyle’s Hound of the Baskervilles and Christina Rossetti’s Selected Poems Jack Hilton The Victorian Period is defined by Britain’s industrial and economic success. However, at the fin de siècle new anxieties began to emerge which undermined the progress of Britain’s Empire.

Mutiny in India encouraged rebellion against the British and, when paired with Ireland’s independence, can be held partly responsible for the fear of the ‘foreigner’ sweeping across Britain. In addition, new scientific discoveries pioneered by Darwin shook the pillars which had until then underpinned modern society. By revealing that we have in fact evolved from inferior species, Darwin exacerbated fears instigated by physiologist Cesare Lombroso, making people believe that core British values of honour and chivalry were beginning to erode due to a widespread fear of social regression.

In Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles (HOTB) and Stoker’s Dracula the two writers express these anxieties through the settings of each text. Castle Dracula and the moors which surround Baskerville Hall, similarly to Rossetti’s Goblin Glen or the ‘ghost land’ which features in A Coast Nightmare, appear far removed from the civilised locations of London or the maiden’s home. They seem to be defined by their relationship with the past and, consequently, are used to represent the dichotomy between Britain’s progress and Victorian fears of degeneration which plague it. In addition to this, Rossetti’s goblins’ foreign appearance and Stoker’s

placement of Castle Dracula in Transylvania perhaps symbolise fears that the primitive being, or ‘other’ may colonise the civilised world. They are a foreign threat, and although these atavistic characters are ultimately defeated, the Victorian anxieties surrounding degeneracy and the decline of the Empire fail to be contained in the texts and remain a threat.

In all three texts: The Hound of the Baskervilles, Dracula and Rossetti’s Selected Poems, the writers provide settings which represent polarised depictions of Victorian society. The civilised settings of their protagonists contrast with the wild atavistic settings which contain the texts’ villains, establishing the relationship between Britain’s progress and the anxieties which plague it. For example, Transylvania in Dracula is located in the East, far removed from the Westernised world of London. It is a ‘green sloping land full of forests and woods’, described with ‘steep hills crowned with clumps of trees’.

Similarly, in HOTB, Watson’s description of his journey to Baskerville Hall involves ‘jagged hills’ and ‘old country lanes’ dripping in foliage. They appear to be old, sublime environments: places, which Stoker and Doyle imply, are shaped by the rule of nature as opposed to the rule of man. Therefore, Stoker’s use of the word ‘crowned’ when commenting on the trees which line the hills not only offers a sense of progression, suggesting that in AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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these settings nature is permitted to build upon itself, but also highlights that Transylvania’s relationship with the natural world is all that it has.

Therefore, just like Doyle’s Dartmoor, it is isolated from a progressive Victorian society, radically contrasting with the ‘crowded streets’ and locations, such as ‘Regent Street’ and ‘Charing Cross’ described by Doyle. Indeed, in both texts the writers draw attention to the grandeur of the nation’s capital, specifically the West End. This is illustrated

by Stoker’s reference to ‘The Stores’ (Harrods) in Knightsbridge which Seward and Lucy visit in Dracula, whilst in HOTB, Doyle points to the ‘twenty three hotels’, all ‘in the immediate area of Charing Cross’, to establish the city’s wealth.

Therefore, in comparison, Transylvania and Dartmoor are underdeveloped. The roads ‘are not in good order’ and Harker’s comment that ‘the further east you go, the more unpunctual are the trains’ proves that they lack the infrastructure present in Victorian London. Both novels are written at the fin de siècle and therefore Dracula and HOTB are ‘constructed around a series of binary oppositions ... the progressive present vs the primitive past, evolution vs degeneration or regression...’ (Clausson, 2005, p.65) and subsequently this contrast has been presented through the texts’ settings. Through stating that ‘brown earth had become ruddy’ and that ‘brick had changed to granite’ during Watson’s journey, Doyle pairs two of these ‘binary opposites’ together: the civilised setting of London, represented by the ‘brick’, and the archaic setting of rural England, symbolised by the ‘granite’. Brick is built from granite and therefore Doyle evokes an image of ruin or decay. Consequently he suggests that Watson’s journey to Dartmoor, similarly to Harker’s journey to Transylvania, acts as a metaphorical journey into the primitive past, where the technological advances present in London are non-existent and an anxiety surrounding social regression emerges.

Comparatively, in Rossetti’s A Coast Nightmare, 54

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the poet’s ‘ghost land’ also represents Britain’s primitive past. It is cloaked in death as living ‘flocks and herds are nowhere found’ as she comments on ‘the unripe harvests’ or ‘unripe vineyards’ present in the speaker’s barren ‘ghost land’. Here, Rossetti’s repetition of ‘unripe’ and her use of anaphora create a sense of development, implying that perhaps for many years the ‘ghost land’ continues to worsen, remain desolate and ‘unripe’. However, through later stating ‘unripened in the unended twilight’, Rossetti partly contradicts this progression. By not using the present tense ‘unending’ and instead using the past tense ‘unended’, Rossetti obscures the gradual decline which is occurring in the ‘twilight’, as she implies that the speaker associates the ‘ghost land’ with the past and therefore nothing in there can progress. Subsequently, much like the atavistic settings of Transylvania and Dartmoor, Rossetti’s ‘ghost land’ belongs in the past. Rossetti’s ghost land distorts time ‘for there comes neither night nor day’ in Rossetti’s setting. It lacks structure and would have exacerbated Victorian anxieties as it remains unclear as to whether the primitive threat it contains belongs in the past or the present. In this sense, like the Castles which feature so prominently in Gothic literature, Rossetti’s poem embodies what Valdine Clemens in her recent study on the genre claims fin de siècle Gothic to represent: ‘the return of the repressed’ (1999). The setting in A Coast Nightmare is surrounded by ‘dead man’s islets’ and therefore remains plagued by death as the ghosts haunt the speaker. Similarly, Clemens’ definition explains why Doyle first describes Baskerville Hall glimmering ‘like a ghost’, as these settings belong in the past yet exist in the present. However, most importantly, the definition also characterises Castle Dracula. It enables the castle to appear as a historical monument, representing ‘a life that has preceded our own but appears never to have gone away’ (Punter and Byron, 2004, p.260). Just as the Victorians built Crystal Palace in 1851 to showcase the great technological advances the nation had

developed for The Great Exhibition, Dracula’s castle stands as a living memory of the Carpathian’s past.

It explains why despite symbolising degeneration the Count’s castle overwhelms Harker. Its ‘considerable size’, ‘its great round arches’ all force him to believe ‘that it seemed bigger than it really is’, reflecting Victorian anxieties surrounding the state of the Empire. Similarly to the way in which the Goths battled against the Roman Empire, a symbol of civilisation, these atavistic landscapes challenge the progress achieved by the Victorians. They represent ‘the avenues of death’ which define the Gothic Tradition; symbolising a fear of degeneration, they threaten to thrust civilisation back into the dark ages.

In addition to representing Britain’s primitive past, the archaic settings in the texts symbolise Victorian anxieties surrounding colonization and a fear of ‘the other’. In Dracula, for example Stoker’s placement of Castle Dracula in Transylvania emphasises the Victorian interest in ‘The Eastern Question’. It had been a place of political turbulence throughout the 19th Century and had therefore witnessed the rise and fall of many Empires. The Count himself confirms this, stating that his homeland has been the scene of military violence for years: ‘there is hardly a foot of soil in this entire region that has not been enriched by the blood of man’. Stephen Arata in Fictions of Loss in the Victorian Fin de Siècle reinforces this further, highlighting that ‘racial violence (in the East) could reach appalling proportions, as in the wholescale massacres, wildly reported by the British Press, of Armenians by Turks in 1894 and 1896, the years in which Dracula was written’ (1996, p.115). Szelcky, Turk, Slovak and Berzerker - Warrior races - have all inhabited the area and been defeated by Dracula’s race, the Carpathians. Subsequently, Stoker presents the Count as an active warrior, who is a product of his primitive setting. In the same way that his homeland has been ‘enriched by the blood of man’, he confirms to Harker that he belongs to ‘a

conquering race’, reflecting his desire to rule. Stoker presents Dracula as a foreign threat. Similarly, the goblins in Goblin Market are considered foreign and, like Dracula, appear to be inextricably tied to the setting from which they originate. Rossetti describes how ‘some dived into the brook’, ‘scudded on the gale without a sound’, and how some even ‘writhed into the ground’. By being able to seamlessly drift in and out of the Glen, Rossetti suggests that the market is the goblins’ home. However, through stating that ‘some vanished in the distance’ away from the glen, Rossetti implies that the goblins may actually originate from a more wild location. They possess exotic fruit, ‘swart headed mulberries’ and ‘wild free born cranberries’, which contrast with the ‘apples and quinces, lemons and oranges’ which the goblins initially list. This difference is emphasised through Rossetti’s use of metre too. Rossetti’s rhythm increases in pace when the goblins begin to list their exotic fruit, which makes Rossetti’s goblins appear to have innumerable supplies. The use of dactylic dimeter, an irregular form of metre, also mirrors the irregular fruits which the goblins are selling, and when paired with Lizzie’s question: ‘who knows upon which soils they feed?’, implies that the goblins, like Dracula, may belong to an even more atavistic, foreign setting than the ‘haunted glen’. In this way, Rossetti may be drawing upon the ‘Imperial Gothic’ to accentuate ‘the otherness’ embodied by the goblins. She implies that they are beings who have ‘gone native’, returned from the far corners of the earth with artefacts of the Empire (the fruits) to contaminate civilisation with their foreign ideas. Similarly, in another Holmes story, Doyle’s The Speckled Band, Roylott, the text’s villain, uses a swamp adder - ‘the deadliest snake in India’ - to commit murder in the story. Like the goblins, Doyle suggests that Roylott has been influenced by uncivilised lands, become ‘a clever and ruthless man who had an Eastern training’ from a setting less civilised than Britain. Furthermore, this explains why the characters in the text are described in AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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Artwork by Evangeline Baldwin

zoomorphic terms, as their physical appearance reflects their primitive actions. For example in HOTB, Selden - the mad man on the moors - is described as ‘half human, and half beast’, while Stoker’s Count is presented with ‘long sharp canine teeth’. Here, Stoker’s use of the word ‘canine’ explicitly likens the vampire to a dog and mirrors Rossetti’s descriptions of the goblins’ ‘tails’ and ‘cat faces’. They are denied any human qualities as the writers imply that these characters, much like the lands they originate from, are uncivilised. Similarly to Simone De Beauvoir’s definition of the ‘other’, they diverge from the norm and subsequently defy what would be considered morally correct in a Victorian society. Much like the settings which contain them, they represent Victorian anxieties surrounding the Empire and the prominent fear that Britain would be colonised by the uncivilised, primitive foreigner.

Although the antagonists are defeated at the end of each text, the anxieties of social regression and colonization which they represent become accentuated, as they contaminate the domestic settings of the protagonists. In HOTB, Sir Henry’s desire to install ‘[a] thousand candle powered Swan and Edison’ lamps in Baskerville Hall, when paired with ‘the half constructed’ building financed by Charles’s South African Gold, illustrates the protagonist’s attempts to illuminate ‘the long shadows [that] trailed down the walls’. However, instead the family remains threatened. Although Holmes solves the case, Nils Clausson explains that Stapleton, the man carrying out the attacks, ‘is never found’ (2005) and therefore implies that the ‘long shadows’ - Doyle’s metaphor for the Baskerville curse - are never truly extinguished. This is further reinforced as Doyle describes the house itself as ‘a ruin of black granite’, suggesting that the house is easily comparable to Castle Dracula as ‘the bare ribs of rafters’ fit Stoker’s equally Gothic description of the castle. Moreover, by using the phrase ‘black

granite’, Doyle shrouds the house in mystery, actively contrasting against ‘the light’ which Sir Henry attempts to omit. The recurring image of ‘granite’ which Doyle evokes, something which the writer perhaps uses to symbolise the primitive, Gothic elements of the novel, casts Baskerville Hall as the physical embodiment of the dichotomy between the progressive present - highlighted through Henry’s lights - and the primitive past, symbolised by the black granite. It is clear that one cannot exist without the other and therefore, just as Sir Henry fails to expel the Baskerville Curse, the Gothic elements of the setting imply that the anxiety of social regression also fails to be defeated.

In contrast, Terrence Holt believes that in Goblin Market, the maiden’s home is not penetrated by the goblins and subsequently the threat of the ‘other’ remains contained. Unlike Baskerville Hall, the maiden’s home is the polar opposite of the ‘haunted glen’. It is separated by ‘a steep bank, extensive waste and a gate’, and according to Terrence Holt, ‘the two places belong to different biological (and moral) orders’ (1990, p.53), which explains why Laura’s Kernel Stone, which originated from the glen, fails to grow in the maiden’s domestic setting. However, contrary to Holt’s interpretation, the goblins do contaminate the maiden’s home. Once infected by the goblin fruit, Laura walks around in ‘an absent dream’, ‘longing for the night ‘when she had previously ‘kneaded cakes’ and ‘milked the cows’ with her sister. Unable to engage in her daily routine, Rossetti implies that the goblins have deprived Laura of an appropriate lifestyle for a Victorian woman. Rossetti’s reference to the ‘night’ shares connotations with mischief, continuing to suggest that the goblins have corrupted Laura’s innocence as she no longer ‘warbles’ for ‘the light of day’. Consequently, following the exchange, Laura has assimilated herself with the ‘different biological (and moral) orders’ which Holt believes the goblins to possess (ibid). Therefore, similarly to the way in AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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which Baskerville Hall fails to extinguish Victorian fears surrounding degeneration, the maiden’s home becomes contaminated with the scorn and disdain associated with the Glen, suggesting that the fear of the ‘other’ fails to be contained within the poem.

In Dracula though, unlike Goblin Market, Stoker presents the Count physically invading the domestic sphere of the protagonists, continuing to reflect Victorians fears that the primitive being, or other ‘may colonise the civilised world’ (Senf, 1979, pp.160-70). He leaves Castle Dracula to instead purchase the estate of Carfax in London, a city he has learnt about through a number of books found

by Harker ‘all relating to England and English life and customs and manners’. Through them Dracula has learnt all about London and therefore cannot simply be regarded as a purely primitive threat; similarly to how Harker experiences the atavistic landscape of Transylvania, Dracula yearns to exist within the progressive setting of London. Instead, the threat lies with Dracula’s desire to impose his status as a Count onto the British Empire, as he says to Harker that ‘I have been so long master that I would be master still - or at least that none other should be master of me’. The repetition of the word ‘master’ alongside the Count’s statement highlights Dracula’s desire to be considered not only a dominant figure, but a dominant race in London.

Stoker suggests that as a Carpathian, ‘a ruling race’, Dracula intends to ensure that ‘none other’ will master him, suggesting that he plans to defeat the British, just as he and his ancestors defeated the Turks and the Slovaks in Transylvania. Therefore, through him, Stoker ‘articulates fears about the development of [foreign] races in relation to the English’ (Arata, 1990, p.640) and the fear that we may be colonised by those who belong in the past.

The ‘Ghost’ in Rossetti’s The Hour and the Ghost is also an example of this. He, like Dracula, comes from an equally Gothic setting and ‘taunts’ his bride

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‘with the past’ by invading her domestic setting. He steals the Bride from her current Groom, before the Ghost states that the Bride will ‘visit him again’, implying that she will ‘taunt’ him ‘with the past’, just as the Ghost has taunted her. This, when paired with the alternating stanzas appointed to each speaker and the verbs ‘toss and howl and spin’ which Rossetti uses to describe their movement, implies that the couple are caught in an endless cycle. The Bride has associated herself with the Ghost and thus, the past. Therefore, Rossetti’s description of the couple stuck in ‘the outside weather’ implies that the couple have become an omnipotent presence in the poem. It suggests that the past - which they both symbolise - will never dissipate, explaining why in Dracula and HOTB, although the Count and Stapleton are ultimately defeated, the anxieties which they and the settings they originate from symbolise, will never be contained.

Perhaps, in response to emerging fears around Britain’s Empire and social regression towards the end of the period, the texts present the ‘threat of the primitive trying to colonise the civilised world’ (Senf, 1979, pp.160-70). The locations of London and the maiden’s home symbolise the success of the Empire, contrasting with the primitive settings in the texts which act as a passage into the past. The characters who originate from these wild locations are equally threatening as they intend to contaminate the Empire with their uncivilised, foreign behaviour. Although they are eventually defeated, the anxieties which they represent continue to exist alongside the protagonists.

Rossetti’s ‘Ghosts’ continue to ‘spin’ in the outside weather, while in HOTB, Nils Clausson identifies that ‘Stapelton’s body is never found’ (2005, p.78).

Consequently the texts suggest that the anxieties of social regression and a fear of the foreign ‘other’ are never truly expelled.

Bibliography Arata, S., 1990. The Occidental Tourist: Dracula and the Anxiety of Reverse Colonialization.

Victorian Studies, 33(4).

Arata, S., 1996. Fictions of Loss in the Victorian Fin de Siècle. Cambridge: CUP. Clausson, N., 2005. Deneration, Fin-de-Siecle Gothic, and the Science of Detection. Journal of Narrative Theory, 35(1).

Clemens, V., 1999. The Return of the Repressed.

New York: NYP.

Holt, T., 1990. Men Sell Not Such in Any Town: Exchange in Goblin Market. Victorian Poetry, 28(1).

Punter, D. and Byron, G., 2004. The Gothic.

Oxford: Blackwell Publishing.

Rossetti, C. G., 2008. Selected Poems. London: Penguin.

Senf, C., 1979. Dracula: The Unseen Face in the Mirror. Journal of Narrative Technique, 9(3).

Stoker, B., 1993. Dracula. Ware, Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Editions.

Doyle, A. C., 1987. The Adventure of the Speckled Band. New York: St. Martin’s Press.

Doyle, A. C., 1999. The Hound of the Baskervilles & The Valley of Fear. Ware, Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Editions.

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Artwork by Maya Tonkin

Blanche DuBois: Dreamer or Deceiver?

Kitty Low From her first appearance in Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire, Blanche is presented as a fabrication; and it is this initial deceit that acts as her hamartia. Before Blanche tells Stella about the ‘talk in Laurel’, hinting at her promiscuity, Stanley has already started to uncover the truth about his sister in law’s disreputable past. In light of this, Blanche’s feverish confession to Stella could be an attempt either to elicit redemption or simply to soften the indignity of when Stanley inevitably tells his wife himself.

Blanche’s deceptions show her attempt to mask the truth of her ageing and degeneracy. Her husband’s youth is secured in death while hers decays, leaving her with a fixation on adolescence despite her receding looks: she whimpers that ‘I I’m fading now!’ The repeated pronoun ‘I’ focuses this passage on Blanche and her decline, and her stilted speech is suggestive of her growing panic at ageing. Indicative of this fear is Blanche’s reliance on sex for validation that she can be still be found attractive: her husband (who was revealed to be homosexual) never desired her physically. There is a tension between her kissing the ‘young, young, young, young’ newspaper boy to reassure herself that she is still desirable (the repeated adjective emphasising her fixation on youth) and the ‘respect’ she demands from Mitch when she refuses to ‘put out’. To obtain security, she tries to ‘deceive [Mitch] enough to make him - want [her]’; the verb ‘want’ is suggestive of her wish to be desired physically, but the stability she now seeks exceeds the empty passion that she yearned for previously, and the dichotomy of these ideals is conveyed through

Williams’ use of hyphens to fragment Blanche’s speech. This confession of her own deception foreshadows Stanley’s accusations at the end of the play, where he points out that she hasn’t got ‘a goddam thing but imagination’. Blanche’s acceptance here of her dependence on deceit, the anagorisis of the tragic play, portends her descent into despair and, ultimately, madness.

Blanche’s fabrications are a way of transcending her degrading past: Williams uses her change in moral principles to demonstrate the need to hide her previous promiscuity under the more respectable façade of a ‘Southern belle’. In this passage she wears a ‘pretty white skirt’, and its incongruity with her surroundings reveals her desperate attempt to retain her class despite having lost much of her material wealth. She maintains that she had to ‘shimmer and glow - put a - paper lantern over the light’. Rather than expose the truth with harsh ‘light’, she prefers her world to appear mystical and alluring, smothered by the euphemism of her discourse (such as her use of the phrase ‘put out’). When Stanley reveals in his direct, explicit language her ‘lies and conceit and tricks’, Blanche is unable to detach herself from her humiliating past, and her carefully constructed character unravels into disrepair. Stanley, whose blunt manner is ultimately more powerful than Blanche’s fear of the truth, finally makes this accusation shortly before he attacks her; demonstrating that without this shield of lies to protect her, she is both physically and emotionally vulnerable.

Blanche’s new reality is far more forgiving than the truth itself: she acknowledges that she only speaks ‘what ought to be the truth’. To Blanche, this AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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Artwork by Iona Brandt

redeems all her deceits, as she is trying to give the world a little ‘magic’ to avoid the actuality of her loneliness. In adherence with the Greek tradition of action in tragedy occurring offstage, Stanley’s climactic rape of Blanche is left to the imagination of the audience. This structure allows for some empathy with Blanche as Williams’ ambiguity reflects Blanche’s own confusion between illusion and reality.

What she sees as ‘vulgar’ she refuses to accept, and this is admirable in a world domineered by Stanley, who epitomises vulgarity through his brute masculinity and ultimate act of sexual domination.

Blanche’s disillusionment with reality has given way to delusion, the fragility of which expresses itself through extremes of emotion. She reacts dramatically with a ‘piercing cry’ when Stella spills her drink: since Belle Reve ‘slipped through [her] fingers’, alcohol has become her stability, and when this too ‘slips from her grasp’ she can feel her insubstantial grip on reality also weaken. The recurring word ‘slip’ in these statements, used to personify Belle Reve, and as a literal verb when she drops her drink, is indicative of the impermanence of Blanche’s objects of security; as these symbols ‘slip’ away one by one, so does her ability to reason.

Moreover, it connotes her lack of control over these external protectors, and therefore increases the audience’s sympathy towards her lies, as they seem to be all that remain within her power. Her only refuge, also out of her control, is the dream that Shep

Huntleigh will whisk her away on a Caribbean cruise, and the more appalling the real world appears, the more fixated on this idea she becomes. At the end of Scene 10, she tries to phone him, but is forced to stop as the ‘prostitute’, ‘drunkard’ and thieves of New Orleans intrude upon her fantasy in a ‘lurid’ reminder of reality. Williams uses these images to embody parts of Blanche’s character which have grown out of her own despair: the prostitute, her sexual recklessness; the drunkard, her dependence on alcohol, and the thief, her dubious acquisition of expensive clothes after she loses Belle Reve. Though Blanche’s imagination alleviates her from the horrors of what is real, it ultimately makes her downfall into corporeal tragedy even harder to accept.

Blanche declares in Scene 11 that she has ‘always depended on the kindness of strangers’: ‘strangers’ who do not know her in any form except that which she presents to them. The pressure of keeping up a constant appearance within the claustrophobic flat is what leads Blanche to her demise, but her lies are ultimately only self-deception: escapism from the cold certainty of her lonely ageing. Williams uses her growing deceits to demonstrate how powerful the concept of a ‘better’ reality can be, as Blanche becomes increasingly dependent on lies once her material stability has disintegrated. She sees that she can never ‘breathe quietly again’ now that her lies have been exposed, and finally accepts defeat after realising that her imagination is no longer a refuge.

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Artwork by Ayantu Erana

The Politics of Perversion: The Defining Inspiration behind Hans Bellmer’s La Poupée Series Honor Cooper-Hedges ‘The body resembles a sentence that seems to invite us to dismantle it into its component letters, so that its true meanings may be revealed ever anew through an endless stream of anagrams’ (Bellmer, 2005, p.133).

Like any creative artist who seeks to explore the darkest depths of the human psyche, German artist Hans Bellmer’s body of work is faced with its fair share of divided opinion, ranging from critics hailing him as a pioneer of the Surrealist movement, to those who dismiss his work as mere pornography.

Bellmer established himself as an artist through his fixation on creating life-size articulated dolls of prepubescent girls, whose sexual undertones wrestle with the innocent nostalgia evoked by the form of a child’s doll. The dolls began the 1933 series known as La Poupée or The Doll, which became a recurring obsession throughout his prolific, forty-year career in which he photographed the dolls in painstakingly intricate assemblages, producing over 300 individual photographs, hand coloured prints and lithographs all revolving around the central imagery of the doll.

The factors which spring-boarded Bellmer’s decision to recreate himself as an artist with such a subversive aesthetic are something of a debated mystery, due to the multitude of contrasting influences on Bellmer throughout his life. Born in 1902 in Katowice, Poland, then part of the German empire, Bellmer was an artist within the crude, dark world of Hitler’s Germany. In the beginning he was condemned by the Nazi Party as a degenerate, which led many

critics to dismiss the doll’s erotic undertones entirely and describe La Poupée as a satirical commentary of the fascist ideals of Hitler’s Germany. However, we cannot ignore La Poupée’s blatant sado-masochistic themes, which represent a complex labyrinth of Bellmer’s lost desires and a deep-rooted hatred for himself and the society in which he lived. Perhaps, if we delve deeper into the context of Bellmer’s life, we can see the dolls as a complex means of escaping the prison of present reality.

Bellmer held a general scorn for authority and patriarchy throughout his life, which seemed to progress from teenage rebellion into politically motivated artistic expression and criticism. During his time at Teschnische Hochschule Bellmer befriended George Grosz, a prominent Dadaist, who introduced him the Socialist philosophies of Marx and Lenin. The Dadaist movement was a reaction to the Nationalist bourgeoisie of World War One and was described by Hans Richter as ‘a storm that broke over the world of art as the war did over the nations’ (1973). Grosz inspired him to become a savage critic of politics and society, which ultimately led him to abandon his studies. After he dropped out of university he worked as a draughtsman for an advertising company until 1926, when Hitler’s fascist and sadistic regime rose to power. At this point he declared he would no longer produce any work that supported the Nazi regime in any way, thus dedicating his life to creating disruptive art. Indeed, Bellmer believed that the dolls’ erotic compulsiveness and provocative AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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overtones would strike a blow against tyranny and authority. We can see that Bellmer created his dolls with a noticeably theatrical presence and their overtly dramatic presentation stands as a reminder to the viewer that his work is a representation of the sadism of the Nazi regime, as opposed to an act of sadism in itself.

The aspect of the dolls which really struck a chord with the Surrealist community was their embodiment of the Surrealist ideals of ‘compulsive beauty’ and the ‘cult of the excess’, antonymous to the Nazi ideals of Aryan beauty and the cult of the perfect body. Bellmer faced a lot of harassment for his work, from the State in particular. His work was declared Entartete Kunst or Degenerate Art, a general term adopted by the Nazi Party as a reaction to Modernism, used to describe virtually all modern art and music, which was banned on grounds of being un-German, Jewish, homosexual, or Communist in nature. Over 5,000 works were seized, including 1,052 by Expressionist Emil Nolde.

Artists, who were declared degenerate, were subject to sanctions and even arrest, a factor, which we could argue, drew Bellmer to his permanent re-location to Paris in 1938. With their provocative and overtly critical overtones, the dolls acted as a means of expression for Bellmer’s revulsion at the society developing around him: ‘If the origin of my work is a scandal, it is because the world itself is a scandal’ (1933, p.157). The doll became Bellmer’s own way of withdrawing from a society which he considered to be degenerate; it became a lifelong activity and theme in Bellmer’s work, which, in turn, became his most powerful tool for political critique and a reaction to the idealisation of the Aryan race.

Bellmer’s father, whom he despised, was among the Nazi Party’s strongest supporters, which leads us to the deep rooted desire to escape the degradation and abuse he suffered from his father from a very young age. Arguably, in many ways he was an activist, choosing the path of greatest resistance to express himself and to challenge censorship.

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Although Bellmer’s political intentions were entirely legitimate, we cannot ignore La Poupée’s blatant eroticism and almost sado-masochistic nuances. Bellmer is frequently portrayed as having a troubled childhood which led to a rebellious and withdrawn adolescence. Indeed, Bellmer himself even described his childhood experience in the family circle at Katowice as something which could have come straight out of one of Sigmund Freud’s case studies. Bellmer’s gentle mother was dominated by his father whose severe and humourless authority led Hans and his brother Fritz to fear and despise him. Certainly, many critics have ascribed a similarly Freudian-style interpretation to Bellmer’s work. Sue Taylor dismisses the doll as ‘a repressed homoerotic attachment to his father, castration anxiety, and an unconscious sense of guilt’ (2002). There may be some merit to these views, however other critics argue in a different direction; Rosalind Krauss believes that through the dolls Bellmer ‘produces the image of what one fears… which arms the subject in advance against the onslaught of trauma (1997, pp.192-7).’ Many have criticised Bellmer as an artist whose works are derived from sexist male fantasies, which is an understandable viewpoint as all of Bellmer’s deconstructed dolls are clearly female and there are blatant elements of this perversion as she usually is seen wearing white socks with black Mary Janes, an uncanny allusion to young girls. However, throughout his work, the doll seems to stand equal to the artist; by deconstructing her body he simultaneously deconstructs his psyche, laying it bare and inviting the viewer to do likewise. It could be argued the doll is sexual yes, but not sexist. The art historian Hal Foster has written that there was also a masochistic subtext in the Doll Photographs: ‘in his sadistic scenes Bellmer leaves behind masochistic traces; in his erotic manipulation of the dolls he explores a sadistic impulse that is also selfdestructive. In this way the dolls may go inside sadistic mastery to the point where the subject confronts its greatest fear: its own fragmentation and

disintegration (2001, pp.203-22). Bellmer was known to lust after his 15-year-old cousin Ursula seeing her as an unattainable and transcendental beauty. Indeed, the doll is even said to resemble Ursula in height and facial features. The allusions to the personal connection between Bellmer and his dolls are both intriguing and painful; the dolls can be seen as Bellmer’s creative way of rejecting the horrors of adult life and of stealing away to a world of erotic and social liberation.

By 1934 Bellmer was isolated, unknown and vulnerable within the world of Hitler’s Germany; he had few friends and felt he was slowly lapsing into psychotic inertness. Yet within a year, Bellmer was accepted into one of the most vibrant artistic movements: Surrealism. The Surrealists, whose themes centred around female beauty and the sexualisation of the youthful form, favoured his work. Through them he found the acceptance and approval his work needed and was heavily encouraged by Surrealist writer Paul Eluard to push the boundaries of his work even further. It is widely contested amongst critics how exactly an unknown artist with such a small body of work was able to have won such rapid acceptance by some of the leading members of the Surrealist Movement.

According to Peter Webb, Bellmer’s biographer, the doll was the ‘ideal Surrealist object’, effecting, in the words of Surrealist artist Jean Brun ‘the conjunction of every day and the imaginary, the animate and inanimate, the natural and the artificial – it is the first and only surrealist object with a universal, provocative power (1985, p.41). Desire and revolt were central ideas of the Surrealist movement, and the doll was hailed as the ideal Surrealist object, as to the Surrealists it embodied all their aesthetic values. Indeed, within a year of Bellmer’s induction to the Surrealist mainstream, mannequins were being widely used in a multitude of Surrealist exhibitions, ranging from Salvador Dali to Man Ray. Furthermore, of all the elements which led to the creating of the doll, his 1932 viewing of Jacques

Offenbach’s opera Les Contes d’Hoffman, is hailed as the most significant. In the first act the protagonist Nathaniel is tricked and falls tragically in love with a mechanical doll Olympia. The opera perfectly anticipates Bellmer’s mixture of sadism and the macabre in the doll, and this idea of unattainable beauty, which he first saw in Ursula. Bellmer’s doll is also thought to be directly taken from his reading of Oscar Kokoschka’s writings Der Fetisch 1918, in which he recounts making a life-size female doll resembling his mistress Alma Mahler, who had previously rejected him; however, unable to satisfy his lust for Alma through the doll, he dramatically destroyed it at a party. We can argue that through the acceptance and encouragement of the Surrealist movement, paired with the radical writings of earlySurrealist Kokoschka, Bellmer was able to fearlessly push the boundaries of his message, until he established himself as the forerunner of the Surrealist movement. In virtue of his dolls, Bellmer was hailed as the creator of the Surrealist sub-genre ‘Surrealist Mannequin’, whose iconography is widely used in later Surrealist works of art.

In summary, every intricate aspect in Bellmer’s complex life – to a greater or lesser extent – has contributed to his doll legacy. I believe that the rise of fascism acted as a catalyst for him to release emotions he had oppressed since childhood, adding a much needed emotional dynamic to his works, which would never have been released if it weren’t for his inherent Oedipal desire to rebel against his father. Furthermore, the support and acceptance Bellmer found in the Surrealist community, served not only as material for Bellmer to take inspiration from, but also gave him the much needed confidence to push the boundaries of his work and to transgress conventional ideas of human sexuality.

This heady mixture of influences on Bellmer adds a noticeable depth to his works, which have a profound effect on the viewer. The consistency of his output of doll iconography, on an almost obsessive scale, paints a picture of Bellmer as a gifted AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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Artwork by Rowan Kelly

yet incredibly perverse figure, ever transcending the limits of 20th Century Art. It seems fitting then that in L’Anatomie de l’Image Bellmer quotes Rennaissance Physician and Philosopher Paracelsus who claimed that ‘The Scorpion cures the Scorpion’ for, like the scorpion, Bellmer’s art has the ability to turn poison into an antidote.

Bibliography Bellmer, H., 1933. In: Krauss, R., 2000. Bachelors.

London: MIT Press.

Bellmer, H., 2005. The Doll. London: Atlas.

Foster, H., 2001. Violation and Veiling in Surrealist Photography: Woman as Fetish, as Shattered Object, as Phallus. In: Mundy, J. ed. Surrealism: Desire Unbound. Princeton: PUP. Krauss, Rosalind E. 1997. Uncanny. In: Formless: A User’s Guide. Yves-Alain Bois and Rosalind Krauss eds. New York: Zone Books.

Richter, H., 1973. Dada: Art and Anti-Art. London: Thames and Hudson.

Taylor, S., 2002. Hans Bellmer: The Anatomy of Anxiety. London: MIT Press.

Webb, P., 1985. Hans Bellmer. London: Quartet Books.

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Artwork by Marco Pini

The Presentation of Women in The Handmaid’s Tale and The Road Rowan Kelly Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, uses its dystopian setting to explore the suppression of women. She focuses on her female characters, often showing them in positions of weakness in order to express that this is wrong. She uses the organised suppression as a political satire, mirroring elements of women’s position in 1980s society in an ironic way whilst exploring women’s thoughts, creating sympathy by showing a deeper emotional, philosophical and intellectual understanding.

Cormac McCarthy’s 2006 novel The Road uses its dystopian setting to explore a father and son’s search for meaning and the relationship between them. Though this quest is widely accepted to represent the universal human search for meaning, it would appear that ‘humans’ in this sense excludes women, as there is very little female representation in the novel. The scarce female characters – the man’s ‘wife’ or the destructed mothering landscape around them are the only we can distinguish – are in fact shown in weakened positions, similar to the female characters in The Handmaid’s Tale, but in this case, in a non-ironical fashion.

Both Atwood and McCarthy use the idea of the woman ‘as a vessel’. Whilst Atwood uses this idea to show the suppression of women, McCarthy uses it to show fault in human nature. Atwood’s ‘handmaids’ are women whose only role in life is to bear children. They have been put in this position by the men who are in power; they struggle to overcome their situation, and it makes them weak.

Every aspect of their lives is centred around this, to the extent that their daily greeting is changed from ‘hello’ to ‘blessed be the fruit’ or ‘may the lord open’

- phrases wishing fertility to the receiver rather than happiness. Furthermore, as the handmaids have their children taken away from them should they conceive, they exist purely for the function of giving birth, and not even for the motherhood that follows.

Again, Atwood uses this as a criticism. This may be seen as a reflection of the 1966 ban of abortion and birth control in Romania. Ruled by Dictator President Ceausescu, it was aimed to increase the population, which is also supposedly the role of the handmaids in Gilead. As the character Professor Pieixoto mentions these events in the ‘historical notes’ section of the book, it is clear that Atwood drew upon them to create Gilead’s society, and this link to real world events makes a dystopian Gilead future seem all the more probable. In The Handmaid’s Tale, therefore, Atwood criticises dictators for taking away the freedom of childbearing from women and responds by showing it forced upon her characters in the novel.

In McCarthy’s The Road, the sole distinctive female figure is the boy’s mother, who gives birth to the boy and, like the handmaids, does not get the right to mother him afterwards – in this case owing to her death. The narrator describes the birth, saying ‘A few nights later she gave birth in their bed by the light of a drycell lamp.’ The simplistic description of something so painful, and done in such hard conditions, shows there is little weight placed on the action and the female character is there only to carry out the function. McCarthy uses other examples of pregnant women in the other travellers along the road. He describes ‘Three men and a woman… wretched looking beyond description,’ the woman AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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pregnant, and the next morning when they inspect the travellers’ fire they find ‘a charred human infant headless and gutted and blackening on the spit.’

Here, again, the woman has been presented exclusively for her role in bearing the child, and after she has conceived, the child is eaten and discarded.

Like the boy’s mother or the handmaids, this woman has also given birth in very hard conditions and her babe is born to benefit others (a meal for the men she is travelling with), and so is in a weak position. McCarthy shows woman in the same situation as Atwood, but considering his motive for writing was more the discussion of human nature, focusing on the father-son relationship, this is clearly done non-ironically.

Leading on from the bearing of children, both novels also explore woman’s role as a mother and the motherly instinct. Whilst Atwood uses motherhood to argue woman’s case and create empathy for her, finding hope as well as weakness in human nature, McCarthy shows how the tough dystopian world has overcome motherly instinct, using this to emphasise its general decline. Atwood expresses motherhood as something sacred and universal. Her protagonist Offred loves her daughter, arguably the most out of all those she remembers, and as the child was too young when she was abducted to speak in the narrative or have any distinctive character, she can be seen as more of a symbol for Offred’s motherhood than a character. At times Offred refers to her as ‘the little girl who is now dead’, in order to relieve herself from the idea that she could be still alive and in pain. It is also her daughter that she receives a picture of from Serena Joy, showing the mother’s weakness for her child and hence her bravery, thus creating empathy for her. It is also interesting that the weakness of the motherly instinct is abused by Serena Joy (who uses the photo of Offred’s daughter to blackmail her). Alanna A. Callaway argues that ‘the power structure of Gilead… critiques the feminine roles that support and enable the repression of other women’ (2008, 72

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IV). It is certainly true in this example that Atwood is using Serena Joy and the idea of motherhood to express feminine betrayal and corruption in an area that should naturally be sympathetic. Perhaps this is written as a message to women in real society who, in the struggle against gender inequality, are key in supporting each other. McCarthy, contrastingly, does not put any stress on the relationship between the boy and his mother, and even belittles it to an extent. In a flashback the ‘wife’ tells the protagonist ‘My heart was ripped out of me the night he was born’, showing that there is no strong mother-child pull between the ‘bride’ and her son. The protagonist also says ‘I will not’ when the ‘bride’ requests he say goodbye to the boy from her, emphasising the idea that the mother has no claim to her child. McCarthy uses the idea that this natural phenomenon is fading to portray a general decline in human nature and morality. When Lydia Cooper presents the idea of the boy being a symbol of the ‘holy grail’ (2011), a feminist reading of the text could show that the protagonist, when ruling ‘I will not’, declines the female’s wish for attachment to the grail, and therefore promotes a world where holy things are only available to men. Both writers explore human nature through the mother and child relationship, Atwood using this to show loss and create empathy, and McCarthy to conclude moral decline and hopelessness.

Both writers also use their female characters to present the importance of having a will to continue.

While Atwood uses the suppression of her female characters to explore the idea that having such a will can help people survive extreme circumstances, McCarthy uses his sole woman to show that without a will to continue, people decay. Though Atwood’s female characters are the victims of the men in Gilead’s power structure, they have enough will to continue to survive this. Offred narrates that ‘Sanity is a valuable possession; I hoard it the way people once hoarded money. I save it, so I will have enough, when the time comes.’ The idea that people in weak

positions can survive on ‘sanity’ alone, and that ‘sanity’ is something that can be ‘hoard[ed]’ shows that people need little more than their own will to get them through. Bearing in mind Atwood’s sociopolitical motivations and the gender inequality in the 1980s at her time of writing, this can be seen as a message to women of her time: she uses her characters to display to women how the ‘hoard[ing]’ of ‘sanity’ that she knows they ‘possess’ can help in their fight for equality.

Throughout The Road, McCarthy stresses the importance of continuing and not giving up, repeating phrases such as ‘This is what the good guys do. They keep trying. They don’t give up’. There is not much leeway in the idea of ‘good guys’, showing that the issue of carrying on is black-and-white to McCarthy and it is quite simple that anyone who ‘gives up’ is in the wrong. In light of this, it is interesting that McCarthy uses his sole female character to represent those who do give up. Her giving up represents those who cannot overcome their harsh circumstances, and this is presented as failure and lack of morality, in contrast with the constant reference to man’s ‘carrying the fire’. The ‘bride’s’ lack of will contrasts the male’s carrying on with ‘the road’ and shows the difference that having a will to continue can make. While Atwood uses her female characters and the idea of having a will to continue to show strength and bravery, McCarthy uses these things to show danger and decay.

As a contrast to the will to continue, both writers also explore the significance of self-destruction through their female characters. Whilst the suicide of McCarthy’s sole distinguishable female character is frowned upon and used to represent weakness, Atwood shows women ultimately forced into self destruction to escape being destroyed by men, as well as exploring how suicide could in fact be the bravest and most righteous way out of the dystopia - a concept McCarthy shows his female character presenting, but only for his male characters to have the last say on. Atwood presents various women

forced into suicide, including Ofglen and the Offred who ‘came before’. The narrator remembers her, thinking ‘whom he had sex with secretly, too, and who killed herself ’. Atwood uses the memory of this character to show how close Offred – who we sympathise with due to her first person perspective – is to meeting the same fate. The realness of this situation could be seen as a symbol of the threat that women in the 1980s were under – to ruin themselves for men as they were more reliant on them than they are today. Near the opening of the text, Atwood’s narrator talks about suicide in a different light, saying ‘It isn’t running away they’re afraid of. We wouldn’t get far. It’s those other escapes, the ones you can open in yourself, given a cutting edge’. She presents suicide as a power women have over the system, using the word ‘can’, and the imagery ‘open in yourself ’, to make the idea seem magical and fantastical. It is also presented against the concept of weakness: they cannot ‘run away’; they ‘wouldn’t get far’. The idea that suicide is a power rather than a weakness contrasts with McCarthy’s presentation of it. While the males in his novel are reminded to ‘carry the fire’ and told that they are ‘the good guys’, the man’s ‘bride’ argues with the man over the prospect of self-destruction and he does not relate to her. McCarthy gives her poetic words; she says that she hopes for ‘eternal nothingness’, ‘with all her heart’, though the fact that this is her hope, while the man’s is his love for the boy, presents her as a cold character. The contrast between the woman’s hope for ‘eternal nothingness’ and the man’s hope for further life as a ‘good guy’ shows that in McCarthy’s eyes selfdestruction is not a sufficiently brave or righteous outcome. Though on awaking to find his father coughing when the road is hard the boy says ‘I wish I was with my mom’, presenting the woman’s suicide in a favourable light, he afterwards forgives his father, as normal, for the state they are in and the suicide is again only used as a contrast. The authors’ contrasting use of the concept of self-destruction AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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can perhaps be put down to their different uses of the dystopian genre. Atwood’s dystopia is influenced by political satires such as Orwell’s 1984, so any power of the individual over the totalitarian state will be elevated. McCarthy’s, on the other hand, is of the post-apocalyptic sub-genre, perhaps a reflection of the 9/11 bombings that were an attack on the institution he knew, so this is something he does not need to elevate.

In conclusion, while the texts show women in similar situations and suffering similar hardships, they have different undertones due to their contrasting agendas. Atwood writes to warn society of the systematic dystopia they did not know they were creating, emphasising inhumane and alienating conditions to get her point across then examining them from an emotional perspective by means of her narrator. Though McCarthy emphasises similar conditions experienced by his female character(s), this creates his dystopia’s ugliness only to contrast it with the love shared between his protagonist and son. As such, the positions he puts his female character(s) in makes no point in their favour.

Perhaps, though written over a decade later, this is the type of unthinking use of women Atwood is warning against. Though both writers use their women characters to illustrate morals of the human nature, McCarthy points out the perceived flaw in the nature of the females, whilst Atwood points out that these flaws may be projected and forced onto them by the patriotic system they are trapped within.

Bibliography Callaway, A., 2008. Women Disunited: Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale as a Critique of Feminism <http://scholarworks.sjsu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi? article=4501&context=etd_theses>.

Cooper, L., 2011. Cormac McCarthy’s The Road as an Apocalyptic Grail Narrative. Studies in the Novel, 43(2)

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Original Writing

Pastries Jessa Kidner Scene One - Landscape (I) AYAME is on the Overground - pulling up to Dalston Kingsland station. It is dimly lit - she stands, holding onto the railings above her. Each person sitting and standing opposite or behind her is dressed either grimly in sportswear, or eccentrically, like herself. They are frozen while she speaks.

Ayame: As I turn twenty, I start to ask myself odder questions. Do you even want to see the sunset? Do we actually find the colours pretty when they dapple like that? Or, do we just like the way in which it was held out to us?

Here, the bars are smoking and spitting like all the fire trucks in Shoreditch had a light show or two. In this place, we watch sunrise boulevards that emigrate from Kent to France to America all the way to our city, the city of lights and Bens that are big and beautiful, drumming up the fumed sky. What’s a fire without smoke?

I saw many fires as a child. Growing up on a council estate is the oddest and yet most homely thing I think I’ve ever known - there’s there’s a community - but I never saw it as my

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own. I was a cynical, self-obsessed child. These people - we had nothing in common. Not even the way our voices chimed.

My father tells me to cry for these streets that are no longer the same and yet I’ll never see anything prettier than when I don’t see bricks soaked in the bad decisions of our ancestors. I see streets of glass that were once smoked and thriving and, on occasions, I listen for what used to be there, but more often than not I hear the music and see the lights and the faces of all the people I wished I could be when I was a child, and I choose to forget what I am from, only where I want to go.

Tell me I ought to cry for the world I was born into. A world of drug-dealing and aimlessness instead of this, pretty, safe and soft one ridiculous and relaxed, where money worries are things that happen to other people - where I regularly witness the lost irony that is a group of privileged privately-schooled millennials chanting along to ‘Common People’ at a party.

A little ridiculous it is - but it is not dangerous or sad or scary or cold. It’s not the world of my parents. It is the world I chose.

The train grinds to a halt - all passengers fall over, except AYAME. She stands strongly and pulls out a notebook from her bag, opening it, as though she were reading from it. The passengers melt away and instead, her housemates - SALINA, BLAKE, CLYTAEMNESTRA and THEO position themselves around her to listen, like eager schoolchildren.

Salina:

(in awe) That was fucking amazing.

Orchid: You wrote that all - (gesturing to the manuscript) while high?

Ayame: (nodding) Yeah, but, honestly Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve written betterClytaemnestra: (in awe, pretentiously) Nonsense.

Ayame - that basically transcended time.

Theo:

Very Ginsberg-esque.

Clytaemnestra: God, I was just going to say that.

I got this sense of-

Theo: (with a certain arrogant quality) Why, of course - the character is alienated from society and therefore chooses to attach herself to individuals whom she feels connected with.

Textbook trope, but written interestingly enough to make one forget where the phrase stems from.

AYAME looks dumbfounded. SALINA and CLYTAEMNESTRA look to THEO as though he is Dostoyevsky.

Blake: I completely disagree with you, (CLYTAEMNESTRA rolls her eyes) in terms of the idea. Name one time where that trope is depicted in modern fiction with the same contentment as that character had.

Ayame: (interrupting again) - Character?

Salina: Yes, exactly, character, but - (SALINA continues, except miming, to which the group listen, all except from AYAME).

Ayame: (to herself ) Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not what I meant.

Ayame: (interrupting, a little confused) -You guys understood it?

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Artwork by Ayantu Erana

Kowalski and DuBois: An Aristotelian Tragedy Orlando Phipps In order to understand why Stanley and Blanche are incompatible, not only their characters, but also their origins and heritages must be understood.

Williams does a great deal to create conflicting dispositions and irreconcilable differences. Stanley is proud of his social status – he is a member of the working class and a Kowalski (an immigrant family). He represents the nouveau riche. Stella finds a middle ground and disjointedly bridges the two families, appearing comfortable in her marriage, and yet recognising that Blanche may disapprove: ‘[He] is Polish, you know?’ Conversely, the DuBois family is of French aristocratic decent with ‘old money’ representing the fading South (and Blanche clinging to its values). In this regard, Williams obliquely presents Stanley’s nouveau riche lifestyle and his presence in New Orleans as a reaction to an era from which Blanche’s values arise. Ultimately, Blanche and Stanley are incompatible on every level, from their social status, to their relationship with reality and the way in which they handle desire.

Williams, in the apparent inevitability of Blanche’s destruction, presents Blanche and Stanley’s story as a modern, Aristotelian tragedy. At the end of Scene 10 Stanley states: ‘We’ve had this date with each other from the beginning!’, implying that Blanche’s rape was unavoidable and somewhat her own doing, as if the moment was a ‘date’ and ‘each’ character had this in mind upon their meeting.

Structurally, this scene is the climax of the tragedy.

The constant tension caused by desire must find its release here where neither character has anyone else to temper it. The entire play is set in the apartment, which acts like a crucible and makes their fate seem

all the more inevitable.

In a tragedy the protagonist has some form of ruinous flaw that expedites the ending – if Blanche is the protagonist, her hamartia is vanity. Williams insinuates this theme earlier in the play, as Stanley states that Blanche’s future is ‘all mapped out for her’.

Blanche flirts with Stanley from the first moment she meets him, fishing for compliments, and it could be seen that the men in the play use this as an excuse to punish her. She even shamelessly admits to flirting, saying to Stella, ‘I called him a little boy and laughed and flirted. Yes, I was flirting with your husband!’

However, the fact she says ‘laughed and flirted’ demonstrates how Blanche is more playful with the matter, unlike the men in the play.

The catalyst and driving force behind Blanche’s downfall is desire – arguably the key thematic concern of the play and Blanche’s currency throughout, which she uses in order to tempt and manipulate the other characters. She wants everyone to desire her but won’t let them act on it; acting on desire would allow for catharsis, meaning they would no longer yearn for her. Consequently, Blanche never lives in the present but awaits a promised future, seen in how she uses the idea of Shep Huntleigh. The irony is that Blanche married someone who could not desire her. Conversely, Stanley lives in the present and likes it when a woman ‘[lays] her cards on the table’, demonstrating his blunt nature. Blanche’s function in the play is to provide the object of desire in the relationship between her and Stanley, and while she would prefer it to remain as it is, Stanley is a character who cannot help but to act on his impulse.

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Stanley breaks down Blanche’s defining mannerisms, leaving her aghast and aphonic; this is an integral part to her downfall. He says ‘Take a look at yourself in that worn-out Mardi Gras outfit, rented for fifty cents from some rag-picker… You come in here and sprinkle the place with powder and spray perfume and cover the bulb with a paper, and lo and behold the place has turned into Egypt and you the Queen of the Nile!’ The fact he calls it a ‘Mardi Gras’ outfit implies it is only to be used for cheap celebration and is part of an act of sorts, it represents Blanche clinging onto a façade she can no longer maintain. The ‘powder’ and ‘perfume’ are devices she uses to try to preserve her veneer. The most symbolic object is the ‘paper lantern’ – she uses it to cover the bulb so that she may not be seen in a harsh light and may obscure her fading appearances, though the ‘bulb’ may represent truth which Blanche obscures using this paper lantern. She cannot deal with being seen in the unforgiving ‘light’ of the truth and so obfuscates it. Blanche is usually particularly articulate, however there is an utter breakdown of language as Stanley picks her apart. The fact that the light/truth is now upon her means that she has no substance, as Blanche consists almost entirely of deceit. Now that she has been

stripped of her fabrication, there are ‘shadows of a grotesque and menacing form’, which Williams uses to present Blanche as she is in that moment – a hideous ‘shadow’ without her pretence. It is at this point that the play moves from naturalism to expressionism, the use of shadows demonstrating Blanche’s progressive and inevitable detachment from reality. Williams later implies that the lantern represents Blanche, as seen when Stanley tears it down towards the end of the play and ‘cries out as if the lantern was herself ’. The lantern creates an air of romanticism and pretence. This is appropriate as these are currencies that Blanche deals in. The lantern is delicate, a feature that Blanche uses as a defence mechanism – if she appears delicate then she may not be approached with matters that she doesn’t want to face.

The lantern is used to hide the truth not only from others but also from Blanche herself: she wants to see the world in her own particular light. Stanley however, is presented as crass and can only see things how they are. This is fundamentally conflicting and demonstrates how utterly incompatible Blanche and Stanley are. A volatile situation was present from when they first met and this was only going to escalate.

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Artwork by Felix Bayley-Higgins

Metaphysics and the Possibility of Knowledge beyond Sense Experience Oliver Joncus The claim that there can be no knowledge beyond sense experience proposes a limit to the breadth of human knowledge. It is an empirical position which holds that all knowledge derives from the coherent and unified source of our immediate experience. By consequence, it also renders false absolute metaphysical claims such as ‘God exists’ or ‘Beauty has a reality of its own’, which seek a type of mindindependent reality. In this essay it will be argued that this position is fundamentally flawed. By attempting to make all a priori knowledge cohere to the criteria of perceptual knowledge, the strict empiricist is left in a state of Cartesian doubt in which even the most modest of claims can be challenged. Ultimately all knowledge, experiential or otherwise, rests upon unquestionable metaphysical foundations.

Platonic Realism gives us reason to believe in the independent existence of universal forms such as Beauty, Truth and Justice. Plato’s ‘world of the forms’ thesis suggests the existence of an extramental realm where the ideas we possess exist in their purest form. In the physical world, on the other hand, we can only see examples or ‘representations’. Thus, when I admire the Sistine Chapel in Rome, commonly thought to be beautiful, I understand its representation of Beauty as distinct from Beauty-in-itself: when the chapel is old and dilapidated, my idea of Beauty will be no less diminished. However, this Realist claim for universal, mind-independent knowledge can be challenged on Nominalist grounds that it merely recognises what connects certain particulars in the material world. Thus, when I see something

aesthetically pleasing, I identify a pattern of resemblance between it and other aesthetically pleasing things in the same way that I might identify a pattern of resemblance between a heron and blue jay and place them in the category of ‘birds’; a connection fabricated by the mind and dependent upon experiencing those particulars. While this initially seems a convincing response, Russell points out that the Nominalist fails to recognise that, as a relation between particulars, resemblance is itself a universal (1997, p.48). From the fact that, for instance, I can identify a piece of music as ‘more harmonious’ than another, it is evident that there exists, at least in some degree, a type of knowledge which is not dependent upon pure sensory experience. There must exist something prior to my experience which enables me to categorise and compare particulars.

A stronger argument in favour of the view that knowledge is confined to sense experience is provided, by implication, in Nietzsche’s challenge to metaphysics. Complex, abstract ideas, like those found in questions of morality, he believes, represent ‘the will to knowledge on the foundation of a far more powerful will, the will to ignorance’ (2003, p.23). Ideas such as good, evil and God involve a deliberate falsification of our experience and so, a will to ignorance. They are concepts grounded in our underlying values and therefore cannot constitute knowledge, which must surely be objective and value-free. However, by recognising Kant’s distinction between our conceptual understanding of an object and the thing-in-itself – the ding an sich – we understand the latter as ‘the AD ASTRA - Issue 4

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other side’ of the same thing, or perhaps the background from which the knowable emerges. In a similar way Heidegger, through his concept of ‘nothingness’, encourages us to see knowledge as a dichotomy – what is and what isn’t – something which empiricism doesn’t account for because it only attempts to fulfil the condition of what is.

Heidegger’s concept of nothingness teaches us that metaphysical propositions can be meaningful in their own right and therefore count as knowledge, despite not having the same informational import as empirical claims. This is something Verificationists such as A. J. Ayer – who argue that all claims to knowledge beyond sense experience are ultimately meaningless – have staunchly denied.

Ayer argues that such claims are meaningless as (i) they do not possess the logical certainty of analytic truths and (ii) they are not empirically verifiable (2002). Statements, for instance, like ‘anthropogenic CO2 emissions are enhancing the greenhouse effect on this planet’ can be meaningful because we can look at the statement in relation to other empirical data. Claims such as ‘God is all-perfect’, on the other hand, are meaningless as they are neither analytic nor empirically verifiable. However, Ayer’s Verificationism seems too restrictive, not allowing us to distinguish between the truth-value of different a priori claims. Surely there is an important distinction between claims to the existence of an allperfect God and claims to the existence of, for example, a self? An improvement upon this litmus test for the possibility of knowledge beyond sense experience is provided in Flew’s ‘Falsificationism’, which shows how a claim is only meaningful if evidence could theoretically be provided to count against or ‘falsify’ it (2000, pp.28-9). Thus, a statement like ‘Water boils at 100 degrees Celsius under normal atmospheric conditions’ is meaningful as if it ever happened that water boiled at a different temperature, then the claim would be falsified and would need to be revised. However, there is a problem at the heart of Ayer’s 84

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Verificationism and Flew’s Falsificationism. By inventing criteria for meaningful knowledge, both theories make metaphysical claims themselves. The principles on which their arguments rest are neither analytically true nor verifiable or falsifiable: they rest on metaphysical assumptions. Thus it appears that we can only judge the informational worth of empirical knowledge through the lens of metaphysical ideas.

Understanding metaphysical knowledge as a fundamental pre-condition of all empirical knowledge allows us to see how knowledge beyond sense experience not only exists, but is fundamental to all human enquiry. Collingwood makes an important distinction between ‘relative presuppositions’ and ‘absolute presuppositions’ (2008). The claim that there can be no knowledge of what lies beyond sense experience deals only with the relative, that is, those presuppositions internal to a particular form of enquiry. For example, the relative presupposition that ‘humans evolved from apes’, rests on the absolute presupposition that ‘events occur within time.’ In drawing this distinction, Collingwood demonstrates the necessity of metaphysical knowledge to all human enquiry.

Nonetheless, Collingwood’s absolute presuppositions also reveal how metaphysical knowledge cannot successfully confront the problem of induction as they require a logical leap of faith which the strictly empirical does not. Our empirical knowledge rests on metaphysical foundations which are known and yet can neither be proven nor disproven. In order to resolve the inadequacy of a priori knowledge claims in comparison with empirical claims, we must understand metaphysical knowledge as a different, transcendental form of knowledge. This is the position advocated by Aristotle in his Metaphysics where he describes enquiry into the non-material as the ‘first’ and ‘highest’ science because it is intimately connected to and necessary for natural science, while also being distinct from it. Aristotle’s

argument is transcendental as it identifies the axioms of knowledge rather than merely attempting to justify metaphysical claims. The most fundamental of axioms is the Principle of NonContradiction (PNC) which states that ‘the same attribute cannot at the same time belong and not belong to the same subject in the same respect’.

Aristotle takes Heidegger’s notion of the ‘nothing’ further by revealing it as the most basic and necessary of rules, intrinsic to all knowledge. Thus we can see how claims that there can be no knowledge beyond sense experience are not only misconstrued, but the terms on which they challenge a priori knowledge are untenable since they criticise metaphysics using empirical evidence.

In conclusion, the claim that there can be no knowledge of what lies beyond sense experience is flawed in every aspect. Not only is it factually incorrect, as we discovered when examining the question of universals, but it is also misguided in its approach. Metaphysical knowledge exists, has meaning in its own right, and all knowledge predicates itself upon it. To suggest that there can be no knowledge of what lies beyond sense experience is philosophically indefensible.

Bibliography Ayer, A. J., 2002. Language, Truth and Logic.

Mineola: Dover Publications.

Collingwood, R. G., 2008. An Essay on Philosophical Method. New York: OUP. Flew, A., 2000. Theology and Falsification.

Philosophy Now. (29).

Nietzsche, F., 2003. Beyond Good and Evil.

London: Penguin Classics.

Russell, B., 1997. The World of Universals. In: Mellor, D. H. and Oliver, A. eds. Properties.

Oxford: OUP.

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