TN2 Issue 2 Nov '24

issue 2 nov 24

Editors’ Note

Dear, dear reader,

As our bones descend into a frosty winter, and chilblains grow on our icy buttock, we find ourselves faced with a classic winter’s dilemma.

The second issue of TN2 is due, and with our shaky fingerless-mittens, we blot the almost-wet-with-cold page of our second editors’ note. Dressed like the old Dickensian pickpocket, we roam through the streets of Dublin, frequently stopping to knock the growing icicles from beneath our blue noses.

This is where we meet our conundrum. The conundrum: is it more pleasurable to employ the heat of the flame, or to use more modern amenities, for the purpose of injecting some warmth into our frozen carapace(s)? Buster is in favour of a good old-fashioned hearth, whereas Ciara is more accustomed to the low gurgle of the radiator. Let us know your preference in the comments.

Once again, we would like to give all of the credit for this issue of TN2 to our contributors and editors, our artists and friends, all of whom contain talent so boundless that our jaws hang foolishly agape in wonder and awe.

Whether you prefer the blazing fire or the mighty boiler, we hope you enjoy our winter edition.

Buster & Ciara

Interview with Marie Florence Keane, Creator of Cloudsin MyCoffee

Marie Florence Keane’s clothing brand derives its name Clouds In My Coffee from the Carly Simon song repopularised by the New York-based rom-com How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. Less than five years after her brand’s inception, the name truly foreshadowed Marie’s move to the city that never sleeps. While living in New York this summer, I had the pleasure of meeting Marie and learning about her journey as a designer. We met in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park to shoot her latest collection, currently stocked in Om Diva, and to talk about all things creative.

EOB: What inspired the creation of your brand?

MFK: So, during Covid I was at home like everyone else, and that was really when I taught myself how to sew on my mom’s old machine. I was wearing a lot of the things that I was making because, again, I was home so I could wear what I wanted. Most of what I was making at the time wasn’t perfect, so at least if it fell apart, I was at home! My friends encouraged me to set up an Instagram to document everything that I was making, so I did.

How did you land on the name “Clouds In My Coffee”?

To start with, I just really love clouds! They’re like an artwork that’s everchanging that everyone has access to, and I think they’re beautiful. One of my favourite songs of all time is ‘You’re So Vain’ by Carly Simon, which most people would probably know from How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. There is a lyric in it that goes, “I had some dreams they were clouds in my coffee” and I just really liked the lyric. My designs are very fluffy and I use a lot of transparent materials like organza and lace, so I felt like it was a good fit.

What inspires and informs your brand?

Using what we already have is a huge part of what I do. Covid was really when I started to sew and at the time all of the fabric shops were closed so I worked with fabrics from my granny; extravagant eighties floral prints, which at the time I thought were tacky but now think are beautiful. I’m not really into minimalism. I believe what we wear should reflect our personality. The shapes and colours of my brand can be found in nature and from growing up on a farm, I think sustainability is the most important thing our generation can do. It’s not about being perfect, it’s just trying to be better than the fast fashion model we grew up with.

Do you have any signature silhouettes or materials?

Massive organza sleeves are probably what most people would know Clouds In My Coffee for, especially the upcycled blazers. I love the idea of making something that is usually quite rigid, flamboyant and feminine.

Clouds In My Coffee is stocked in Om Diva, a Dublin fashion landmark in many people’s eyes. How was the process of getting stocked in Om Diva and making that leap from creating in college versus having a brand stocked in stores?

In 2022 I was involved in Project Young Designer at the DCU Fashion Show. The dress I made was super Clouds In My Coffee – pastel colours and big sleeves. The first prize was a collection with Om Diva which has always been my favourite shop! I came runner up and was so disappointed. After the show, I was holding my garment and I met Ruth Ní Lionsigh, owner of Om Diva in the carpark. She told me that she loved my design and asked me then if I would be interested in doing a collection with Om Diva.

The next leap you made was the J1 Graduate Visa. What influenced this move and why New York?

In terms of doing the Grad Visa I wasn’t too interested in going to America but New York is one of the epicentres of global fashion. In terms of furthering your career in fashion there are few cities that can give you what New York can.

How has your J1 experience compared to your preconceptions?

To be honest if I knew how difficult it would be here, I definitely wouldn’t have made the decision with such haste. I moved over here on my own, I didn’t really know anyone and I considered myself more independent than I was. My first job in New York was digital pattern drafting which was by far my worst module in college. Fashion is a really tough industry to get into and it involves a lot of unpaid time and overtime. I also learned quickly that it doesn’t matter what you know it’s who you know so just be nice to everyone.

You were recently involved in New York Fashion Week. How did the opportunity come about and did the experience live up to expectations?

I really wanted to get involved in NYFW so I cold-emailed the brand Private Policy, a NY-based streetwear brand, a few weeks before and they said they needed help. I have to say that everyone on the team was really nice and it wasn’t at all the chaos I was mentally preparing for but I think I just landed on a good brand. It’s a really glamorous environment, you meet cool people and the after parties are so much fun!

What are the main differences between the fashion industry in Ireland versus New York?

The Irish fashion industry is quite small but it’s such a gorgeous place because of the “rising tide lifts all boats” attitude that seems to run throughout. The results of which are coming to fruition now with Irish names playing in the big leagues of the fashion industry. It is rare that in another country, national publications would even mention the work of students who haven’t even graduated. Yet in Ireland, both Bairbre Power and Dierdre McQuillan regularly spotlight emerging talent. Naturally, New York isn’t going to have the same characteristics as Ireland so you have to shout a little louder over here. One thing Irish people do regularly is downplay our achievements; the complete opposite to a lot of Americans who have this innate confidence instilled in them from a young age. This follows through when it comes to networking and interviews. I think we just need to back ourselves more and recognise that we’re really great workers and genuinely good at what we do.

If you could give any advice to those interested in fashion school or the fashion industry in general, what would it be?

1. Learn how to do all of the boring stuff. It will most likely be 90% of your job at least for the first few years

2. Your tutors probably haven’t been in the industry in ten years. If you want to do something and it feels right, do it.

Season Six of Clouds In My Coffee is out now at Om Diva

WORDS & PHOTOS Ella O’Brien (@Ella0brien)

DESIGN Marie Florence Keane (@cloudsinmycoffee___)

PHOTO ASSISTANTS Billie Baumeister, Ali Lynch, Luke Micallef

MODELS Amy Xinyi Lee, Maisie Norton, Marie Florence Keane

On Looking Pretty

My favourite part of the day is getting ready. Each morning, if time sees it fit, I like to leave an hour aside for this ritual. Picking outfits, pinning my hair, and prepping my face brings me a specific pleasure. I enjoy the physical process of watching my curls fall into place or my Charlotte Tilbury Hollywood contour sculpting grooves in my cheeks. I enjoy the post face-beat feeling of being clean and put together. I have often spent over a week’s wage on makeup and clothes. Perhaps most of all, I enjoy being complimented on how I look – being asked where my boots are from or if those are your actual nails? (They are not.)

Generally, when I look good, I feel better. After years of experiencing on and off emotional slumps, I have learned this. When I wake up in worry or woe, spending that hour enhancing my exterior boosts my mood, even if it is just for a short period of time. In an ironic sense, the time I spend manicuring myself can feel like an escape from my body. As if I am knee deep into a 3,000-word essay or running a marathon – my focus is unparalleled, my products lined up on my desk like weapons of war, the goal is well within my reach – looking pretty.

Simultaneously, however, I often find myself internally battling with the notion itself, for several reasons. The financial burden of keeping up appearances is overwhelming at times. On numerous occasions I have made trips to Boots to pick up a few essentials and have left with a fiftyeuro hole burnt in my pocket. Contextualising the costs is even more frightening. It is almost double the price of my weekly grocery shop. It is what I earn for working four and a half hours. While it may not be every week that my beautification station needs a top up, the costs, in my own mind, are non-discretionary. Of course, nobody in my life is telling me that I need to buy black charcoal masks, argan oil or lip liner – but such products have rendered themselves essential in my spending, among groceries and new socks.

For lack of a more underground term, the male gaze is the devil on my shoulder (a gross misuse and hackneying of this term has gotten an embargo put on it in my lexicon, therefore I shall try my best to not repeat it.) I consider myself somewhat of a stylish girl. I have a keen interest in fashion and take great pleasure in putting looks together. I like changing the length and style of my hair, trying new makeup products, the works. However, I regularly internally debate whether I can claim to have a personal style, or if what I feel best in is simply coloured by what makes me fit the mould. I follow the archaic rules on dressing to suit my body; I look great in turtle necks and would never touch an empire waist. In essence, I precisely pick the ebbs and flows of my clothes according to those of my body. What is worse, I can always tell when someone is looking at me – checking me out as our friends on the Disney Channel would say. Sometimes it makes me uncomfortable, mostly it makes me curious. I am told that my looks are to be the least interesting thing about me, yet they took residency in my mind around the age of six and have not taken a day’s holiday since.

Lest we forget that a woman’s looks are a direct indicator of her social capital and thus a gauge of how she is to be treated. When you look good, you feel better, as you are being treated better – so do women make themselves look a certain way purely to live a higher quality of life? What about the women who don’t conform? I often look to the women of our time who speak on this matter – those who feel so strongly about it that they have rejected the contrived feminine exterior. I look at women such as Pamela Anderson, who rose to prominence throughout the 1990s for her hyper-feminine look but has since renounced cosmetics and now sports only a bare face. At times I feel though I am not aligning my walk with my talk.

I have always been vehemently critical of plastic surgery. I see it as a rejection of yourself and your female ancestors. However, I struggle with the idea that cosmetics are a lower-scale, temporary variant of plastic surgery. Makeup trends often aim to replicate surgical operations –contouring emulates fat hollowing facial procedures and lip lining strives toward the injected effect. Is it hypocritical to condemn those who decide to permanently alter themselves, when I do it on a temporary basis every day? Am I to turn in my makeup brushes and heated rollers to live my truth?

On the other hand, there is no doubt that getting cosmetic surgery is more extreme than wearing makeup. The more I play out the argument in my head, the more it starts sounding like the ‘if capitalism bad then why you have iPhone?’ question. I want to lead a happy life. Dressing up and wearing makeup brings me joy, even if such joy derives from the misogynistic foundations of social relations and capitalism.

As Kamala Harris famously said: ‘You think you fell out of a coconut tree? You exist in the context in all in which you live and all that came before you.’ Like every other question posed by the arts and humanities, there is simply no answer. No more than anyone else, I am a product of my time. I tip my hat to my fellow women who reject the fabricated elements of femininity, but I do not see myself as any less of a feminist for conforming to them.

WORDS Kate Ryan

ART Eve Smith

twenty-five years of americ

anfootball

an ode to midwestern melancholy

IWORDS Bob Vrba

t is September 1999, a decade that proved transformative for music is drawing to a close with the sounds of colourful, maximalist pop hits like ‘I Want It That Way’ dominating the airwaves. The dawn of a new millennium is met with vivacious optimism for the future, an embrace of the Fukuyama-like belief in the ‘End of History,’ all while caped in denim. At the same time, in an Illinois suburb, American Football released their self-titled debut album – marking the malaise of the moment – and christened a genre of music that could have only arisen from the decaying towns of the Midwest. Thus, they became a melancholic memento for the region, transforming rock music in the process.

The eponymous record is credited as a defining moment for Midwestern Emo, a genre which embodies a wholesale rejection of the commercialised rock that gained prominence in a post-grunge world. Forgoing grandeur in production, American Football feels like an attic performance at times, owing this to its proximity to the listener achieved through a bone-baring display of vulnerability. The album attains its authentic soundscape from warm guitar tones overlaid by screeched Cobainesque lyrics. In this sense, frontman Mike Kinsella’s abrasive singing becomes an instrument in the mix, with the guitars forming the emotional core of each arrangement.

‘Never Meant’ opens the album with one of the most recognisable melodies in rock music, a testament to the band’s enduring cultural capital in the absence of broad recognition. The song’s pondering of past conversations would come to influence the raw scope with which relationships are dissected in Midwest Emo; thereby, what the album lacks in verbosity it conveys through instrumentation. In this regard, ‘The Summer Ends’ is perhaps the band’s most emotionally resonant cut, featuring a deflated trumpet melody and segments signifying the passage of time. Nostalgia, captured in its most raw and self-destructive form, seeps through the veins of American Football, prompting the listener to reminisce at a time when all eyes were on the future.

‘For Sure’ is a highlight due to its incorporation of jazz instrumentation alongside some of the most pointed songwriting on the album. The lyrics are American Football at their best, walking the line between relatability and specificity, describing a love gone cold on a warm June day: “Imagine us together / We’re relatively stable and tentatively able / To say for certain whether this uncertainty is for sure”.

The band draws in fragments of their sonic influences on the latter half of ‘Honestly?’, which devolves into a distorted shoegaze outro reminiscent of My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless. These lushly, layered instrumental passages are interspersed with allusions to heartbreak and permeate through the ensuing tracks, with ‘But the Regrets are Killing Me’ switching time signatures and at times resembling The Cure, a muse from which the band frequently draws.

‘I’ll See You When We’re Both Not So Emotional’ is the most akin to the era’s rock music, featuring the album’s most prominent drum lines alongside math-rock production that elevates throughout the song, breaking from the cascading guitars defining previous tracks.

The album closes on ‘The One with the Wurlitzer’, a dreamy jam session that is structured around the aforementioned instrument. The song encloses musical cues from much of the tracklist to crescendo on a transfixing fading finish to the record.

There is something decidedly counterculture about American Football. It is an album that is uncompromising in form and aesthetic in a purposeful rejection of the accessibility and commercialisation of rock music. This is achieved primarily through its ambient song lengths and the oftensatirised wordiness of its track names, neither of which are optimised for radio play. These incentives for mass promotion are ever-present in our current hyper-commodified music landscape, with shortening attention spans and the notable difficulty of Googling the band, which prompts articles about the sport, limiting their algorithmic reach. Despite this self-imposed obscurity, the group has steadily increased in popularity over time, as new generations of listeners organically discover the album, demonstrating how word of mouth can push music in the digital age.

To this extent, the record has somewhat encompassed the band’s legacy, as none of their attempted follow-ups have reached the same success nor cultural weight as their debut. The iconic cover art has taken on an almost symbolic nature, managing to capture the bittersweet experience of coming of age in American suburbia through an instantly recognisable image. This ease with which the band taps into universal feelings has given the record a timeless quality. Created at a time of larger-than-life music that was loud and glossily produced, the LP’s emblematic minimalism and lyrical taciturnity became the dogma for a new generation of indie rock acts. Its impact extends far outside the Midwest Emo umbrella, seen through the varied attempts to recreate the album’s effortless melancholy. Bands like Black Country, New Road and Death Cab for Cutie have frequently pulled from the sonic library of the band, whilst underground groups like Poor Sports have kept pushing the genre in the modern day.

The absence of anything like it in 1999 had driven much of its appeal and continues to do so 25 years later, as the album’s ennui is evermore relevant in our dejected age. Indeed, with denim back in fashion and pop music taking on an escapist imperative again, a timely reissue of the record has been released to mark the anniversary. The remaster was made alongside a series of reimagined songs off the album, with the most attention going toward the Ethel Cain cover of ‘For Sure’. Cain, who draws on similar ails of Midwestern life, will undoubtedly bring the album into new circulation, prompting an extension of its lifecycle. As music fans increasingly reinvigorate retired acts and discover forgotten gems through democratised vehicles of music distribution, the record is overdue for a reappraisal by the mainstream, a recognition that its contributions to music handily place it alongside modern classics like Nevermind and The Downward Spiral.

At its core, American Football (1999) is an enthralling eulogy to the Midwest, a longitudinal rumination of melancholy and change, condensed into a transient ten-track album. The precision with which it weaves between layered guitars and jazzy horns is deliberate while maintaining the spontaneous charm of a garage jam session. For this reason, it has attained a cult following, becoming one of the most influential albums of the past few decades, albeit never attaining the commercial success of its contemporaries. In this spellbinding balance, it is simultaneously a time capsule for the era from which it hails, while being timelessly relevant, begetting new listens as the soundscapes of rock music catch up to its foresight.

WORDS Alice Carroll

PHOTO Niamh O’Hara

AInterview with Top Floor Music: Trinity FM’s Answer to NPR TinyDesk

Sophie Harris Top Floor Music Chair

dorned with multiple lampshades, twinkling lights, and a singular soft bluelight, A Place to Hide, the latest band to play a Top Floor Music gig, strummed their last incredible chord to a round of applause from the large collection of smiling students rocking, swaying and dancing in the film studio on campus. This is what Top Floor Music, a subsidiary of Trinity FM, is all about.

Following this gig and in anticipation of a busy but brilliant forecast for the rest of the year, I sat down, or, more precisely, FaceTimed, with the Chair of Top Floor Music Sophie Harris to get to know the nitty gritty, the dark underbelly… none of which exists for them, obviously. A more appropriately chosen description would be the collaborative and creative foundations of this committee which endeavour to curate a cool space for all artists and music lovers to feel part of.

Inspired by NPR’s Tiny Desk, Top Floor Music is a unique entity which has been growing in leaps and bounds since its inception in 2017. Hosting free gigs on campus monthly, artists and bands of all genres not only participate in putting on a performance but, Sophie explains, “get something in return for their performance besides just the enjoyment of the gig” as they “also get a video of themselves performing in a comfortable space.”

Collaboration is the linchpin which underscores all aspects of Top Floor. A subcommittee consisting of nine members including Sophie as chair, they in many ways emulate a grassroots, student-run organisation working for the “celebration and appreciation of local talent and Trinity talent.” When asked why she was attracted to run for the head position of Top Floor, Sophie cited her love for Trinity FM but most notably her passion for live music. Growing up in the States, Sophie reminisced upon some of her best memories of attending concerts and specifically studentrun basement shows, which sparked her desire to become part of a similar type of organisation.

This year so far, Top Floor has held two gigs, the first being held during Freshers Week with the band Spritz performing in the GMB, and most recently on October 18th, with A Place to Hide in Studio 192. In terms of the selection process, for Freshers Week a Google Form was sent out for bands to apply; Spritz, a band of the indie persuasion, was chosen. A Place to Hide, with more rock and grunge elements, approached Top Floor with an interest in performing. As Sophie remarked, Top Floor intends to try and attract interest rather than seek it out specifically, hopefully gaining more traction and awareness within the Trinity music space. This lends itself to the goal of a mix of genres and a variety of different gig setups.

In terms of venues, Top Floor distinguishes itself from others when it comes to all gigs being held on campus by ensuring a casual and relaxed atmosphere: as Sophie says,“while we do want to attract a decent amount of people with the intention to spread the word about Top Floor and to make it a fun, social environment, we also know the value in a smaller audience to maximise comfortability for the band.” One of their aims, Sophie stated, “is for the artists to feel comfortable and relaxed, and be able to showcase their band and their creativity to the best of their ability. We also aim to make it incredibly low stakes … even though there is the element of them being sound-recorded and videoed.” Tying to the name of the committee, another aim is to hold gigs mainly on top floors, resulting in the cultivation of an intimate atmosphere. Despite this, Top Floor is extremely flexible in terms of how gigs are put on and work to cater to the bands preferences. For example, Sophie explained how the gig with A Place to Hide was held in an initially unfamiliar space to Top Floor that was requested by the band. However, “it ended up being a phenomenal space for the gig.” Building on this idea, a personal enjoyment for Sophie is “being able to form a bond with the artists a bit as well during set-up, helping them figure how to best maximise a space, and collaborate with them in a vision for the performance.” These elements of collaboration, connection, and creativity are apparent from the moment one enters a Top Floor gig to the very end of pack up. The atmosphere involves an excited chatter, as equipment, cameras and the musicians prepare their instruments. Then, the music hits with a starting speech from Sophie. The crowd contains students, whether dropping in from a break in their timetable, the library, or just hanging out. This results in the creation of a relaxed space that is undeniably special.

In a campus of multiple music orientated societies, Top Floor, despite still being a relatively new committee, is distinct in its own right with the inclusion of its integral feature of recording each performance. This element requires a lot of work, with dedicated subcommittee members in charge of sound management, miking up all instruments, recording, mixing, and finally, putting out the live gig recorded on the internet at a standard reminiscent of the work of NPR’s Tiny Desk. Accompanied by videography work, the act of documenting ensures a noteworthy part of Top Floor’s aims, as many of the artists have not been before recorded in this type of set up. This all maintains the personable connection between the committee and the artists as well as creative production. Commenting on this role within the committee, Sophie believes that “recording and videoing the acts is also a facet of our duty to Trinity FM. Because this started from the radio station, the emphasis on broadcasting is important and it is, in a way, journalism in spreading the word about bands in Trinity.”

In a time where concert ticket prices are forever rising, Top Floor offers a free way for students to immerse themselves within the music culture on campus. The committee’s latest gig was in collaboration with Trinity Arts Festival’s GMB takeover on November 15th with Light Gallery, a project led by student Oísín McCann. Whether you wish to perform or to attend, one and all can get involved with Top Floor Music. Top Floor is the answer to a call for a community built upon appreciation, openness, and the celebration of all genres of music and artists on their own terms – a precious and invaluable addition to the Trinity music scene.

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plastic surgery in cinema

Mistaking plasticity for female anatomy in Joker: Folie à Deux

Irecently went to see the new Joker movie. I do not intend to review the movie in this article, as I have a very sad disease where I think every movie I see is amazing. If you are afraid of spoilers, it’s okay; I don’t really remember the plot. I won’t discuss it, I promise. The movie was fine, but what was more interesting to me in this film was the skin. That sounds so gross. What I mean is that the difference in the two actor’s skin textures was so stark, I couldn’t help but focus on it. Joaquin Phoenix looks clapped in this movie; he obviously underwent a major weight loss to play this character. In real life, he’s normally far hunkier, but in this film he does look genuinely ghastly. And I understand, he’s supposed to. He’s playing the most famous weirdo-incel-freak ever – he HAS to look gross, wrinkly, and weird. His hair, skin, and body all look raw and disturbing, and it’s praised because it’s real. I wonder, though, when we’re watching these films and gagging at the wrinkly, dirty, flawed appearances of the main characters, to what extent does this shock factor come as a result of the fact that everyone else on our screens, big and small, look smooth and plastic? Have we become so ingratiated into a world of perfectly crafted bodies being presented to us that normal, kind-of-gross skin now looks frightening?

I am now going to discuss Lady Gaga’s bouncy, flawless skin, and the obvious amounts of filler and Botox that this queen has. To be clear, I really hate plastic surgery and I think anyone who gets it (for non genderaffirming reasons) is making a really terrible choice. No shame if you have it, but also, some shame. The argument that “if it makes you feel better and it doesn’t hurt anyone, then go for it!” should warrant the death penalty. I’m kidding; but I genuinely and wholeheartedly disagree with that idea. We cannot make choices in a vacuum and to suggest so is dangerous and unempathetic. The plastic surgery industry is hollowing women out and replacing their souls with filler and silicon. It is ruining our perception of what people are supposed to look like. The fact that we have become so comfortable with, and even encouraging of plastic surgery is what will turn ME into the Joker. It’s lazy to suggest that ‘it’s okay because it’s about bodily autonomy.’ That’s not what it’s about. It’s about capitalism and porn and misogyny, and it’s the reason why young girls develop a sense of existential dread at age 12. It is a deeply and wholly bad thing for a cis woman to get plastic surgery or filler just because they want it to feel prettier. That is my opinion, and I know it’s strong, and I’m sure many people will disagree. I think about young girls looking at adult women, pumping themselves up with silicone, and I want to put my head through a glass door. Maybe I am the Joker.

The casting and appearance of Joaquin Phoenix and Lady Gaga in Joker: Folie à Deux reveal glaring inconsistencies in how beauty and physicality are valued differently for men and women in Hollywood. These pervasive double standards are wholly perpetuated by the beauty and plastic surgery industries, and every woman’s decision to partake in them furthers this issue. I understand why women feel the need to get these procedures done. It’s a lot easier said than done to exist in the world as an unattractive woman. It’s basically hell. But it doesn’t justify these procedures. The bad experiences that come with looking less-than-perfect as a woman are magnified a billion times for every person who gets plastic surgery.

“It’s not in the cards for a leading lady to transform into a gross creature the way it is for a man.”

Joaquin Phoenix’s portrayal of the Joker is a study in physical degradation. He does an awesome job at looking gross. He doesn’t need to look attractive to convey power or command attention; no man does. Meanwhile, Lady Gaga is standing opposite him, a seemingly equally crazy Harley Quinn, with skin that looks like porcelain and a tight bod. How does this work? What is going on? She has messy hair and dark roots, and we’re supposed to take this as evidence of her craziness, and set aside the fact that she is obviously in the body of a hot A-list actress who probably has a surgeon that will be godfather to her first child. Joaquin Phoenix gets to push himself like this. Gaga cannot. It’s not in the cards for a leading lady to transform into a gross creature the way it is for a man.

In fact, the further men distance themselves from traditional good looks, the more “serious” and “dedicated” their performances are seen. I am not praising men. I would never do that. If you ever see me praising a man, shoot me through the skull with a gun. What I am saying is that we accept 38-year-old women who look like baby dolls as normal. This is not normal, and should be considered insane. Maybe she actually does look as insane as Harley Quinn is supposed to when you take this into account. Or maybe I am the Joker (holy sh*t).

Her character is supposedly equally chaotic and unhinged, but the demands on her physical appearance are far more stringent. Despite playing a character who is mentally and emotionally broken, she MUST still look beautiful — or at least, Hollywood’s version of ‘beautifully disheveled’. The last time I saw a woman who was both gross looking and crazy, a bunch of people died from shock; it was just so scary….

Even in promotional images where her makeup is smeared and her look is wild, her skin remains unnaturally smooth, her features carefully curated to maintain allure. Meanwhile, Phoenix is sitting opposite her like a pile of hay with eyes. The Joker can fully embody physical decay in a way that Harley just can’t. I want to fight for women’s right to look uglier. Beauty doesn’t have to persist, even in madness, for men; it does for women. I know Harley Quinn is supposed to be hot, but I’m not talking about her character’s sexiness. It’s really about her skin. It doesn’t look real, and when she stands next to the Joker, it’s so obvious how ripe with filler she is. We have to stop this, or at least be angrier about it.

Why does no one care that our understanding of female physicality is something that is pumped full of plastic? For men, these flaws that women have surgically removed or concealed– wrinkles, weight changes, scars–become a symbol of ruggedness, a testament to their depth as individuals and actors. Even worse than this: we don’t notice it in men the way we do in women.

I understand that many women, especially those in the public eye, are pressured into cosmetic interventions to preserve an unattainable level of perfection, often under the guise of empowerment. Look and feel your best by cutting yourself open and getting pumped full of crap, queen! It is not empowering, or even in any way positive, to address the issue of these oppressive expectations by conforming to them. Reject them. Spend the money that you would spend on that procedure learning how to be okay with your wrinkles or stretch marks or crooked nose. You don’t need to be obsessed with every single part of how you look. But unless you are happy to contribute to, and be a part of an industry that is demonstratively harmful to women, there are other ways to live with your imperfections. When we participate in this gruesome industry, we remain in a cycle of self-scrutiny that men are entirely spared from, as well as mutating our understanding of what a woman looks like. If you are crazy, be crazy. Don’t be plastic.

WORDS Rowena Breen

ART Jessica Sharkey

Escaping Into the Wondrous World of Children’s Fiction as an Adult

WORDS Helena Thiel

ART Jess Sharkey

To combat the darkness that starts to seep into the day around this time of year, we inevitably search for small pockets of joy. Children’s books provide a welcome escape from daily routines that grow monotonous as the end of Michaelmas term approaches. For those who do not live at home, adulthood carries extra weight this time of year. Suddenly no place in the world is as appealing as home, and homesickness returns in a wave.

Children’s books satisfy the sentimentality that shrouds the winter months. They function as a physical manifestation of childhood, a place to visit whenever adulthood becomes too overwhelming to bear. The experience of re-reading a book you once loved as a child is fascinating in itself – for the first time, you step into the shoes of both the child and the adult, unlocking a new layer of the story. However, sentimentality does not fully explain why children’s fiction appeals to adults. The quality of a children’s book is not dependent on its re-readability at different points in life; the author is not required to keep adults in mind when writing. The author might choose to include symbolism and direct this to the adult reader, but this alone does not constitute reason enough to revisit children’s fiction.

Tove Jansson, the beloved Finnish author most commonly associated with the ‘Moomin’ characters, wrote an essay in 1961 titled ‘Den lömska barnboksförfattaren’, which I would translate to ‘The sly children’s book author’. Ironically using the third person, she types the children’s book author as a confused man who finds himself out of place in the adult world, reaching for something he lost while growing up. Tove Jansson wrote prolifically for both adults and children, and her children’s books are surprisingly similar to her adult ones. But to consider her children’s books adult because of their profoundness would discredit children’s fiction as a genre.

On the surface, reading a children’s book is revisiting the world as you experienced it as a child. It allows you to notice the little details and find the remarkable in the mundane. In the adult The Summer Book, which follows a child and her grandmother, as in the children’s Moomin series, time is a fickle thing. Every day is a new adventure that can stretch on forever. As adults, we are so used to dividing time into manageable chunks of weeks and months that we sometimes forget to treat each day as containing endless potential and possibility. In much of Jansson’s work, only the passing of the seasons suggests that time still marches on. Reading a children’s book is often like taking a deep breath. It provides an escape for the jaded adult who is tired of the hustle and bustle of modern life.

But re-reading a children’s book is not only an act of remembering what it was like to be a child. Children’s books are, in many ways, universal. In her essay, Jansson concludes that children’s book authors do not write for children so much as they write for themselves – few children’s books are ever childish. She believes children have a natural tendency to find comfort in the fantastical and can distinguish this from the small thrills of everyday life, and that the author, in writing children’s fiction, seeks to rediscover how to balance the two as an adult. Children, much like adults, do not want things explained to them exactly as they are. Rather, the incomprehensible is what allows their imagination to wander. “In a children’s book,” Jansson writes, “there should be a road where the author stops and the child carries on.” Thus, children’s books have a way of engaging the imagination as they leave certain things unexplained.

In writing children’s fiction, and in reading it, Jansson argues that adults are presented with a clear-cut contrast between black and white, between light and darkness. The best children’s books are not those where light triumphs over darkness at the end but where darkness exists as a counterweight to light. For the child, darkness equals endless opportunities to engage the imagination. For the adult, whose imagination has grown weary, the inexplicable darkness only manifests as an impending sense of doom. But the darkness in children’s books also provides a sense of comfort. In Jansson’s Moomin books, darkness is personified as a huge creature called ‘The Groke’. Her only goal in life is to seek out light and comfort, but to her dismay, she is always turned away. To children, The Groke is an archetypal villain, but to adults, she appears rather more relatable. A character like The Groke represents an amalgamation of our day-to-day miseries without specific reference to them.

Jansson believes that the world of children’s books is inexplicable. But children’s books tend to explain the world better than adult books. It is interesting, upon revisiting children’s books, to be able to see the world from the perspective of both the adult and the child. Although we may relate more directly to the adult character’s cynical outlook on life and their problems, they are often at a loss for words to explain those problems. Instead, it is the child who sees things more plainly and articulates the complexities of life without even realising it.

Children’s books allow you to step back in time and revisit the world as you once saw it, which lends comfort in the dark winter months. In many ways, children’s fiction mimics adult fiction, but children’s fiction better expresses and conveys universal truths in refreshing clarity. It provides some small beacon of light in the darkness, but that darkness, in transcending the hardships that come with adulthood, also provides consolation.

When Angels Fall: The Legacy of the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show

When Victoria’s Secret announced that their once-iconic fashion show would be returning in 2024, a brand spokesperson promised that it would “reflect who we are today, plus everything you know and love.” In the weeks following the fashion show, as it has been digested and dissected, how does such a claim stack up, and is there room anymore for this brand in our cultural landscape?

The criticisms of the show, the brand’s image, and Victoria’s Secret at large are numerous. The narrow and patriarchal beauty standards for women which the brand is built upon have been critiqued by feminists since the brand’s establishment in 1977, at the height of the second-wave feminist movement. Such critiques however, would not become mainstream until the 2010s, when social media democratised feminism, and allowed previously marginalised experiences to bypass media gatekeeping and be seen by the masses.

Victoria’s Secret didn’t invent the male gaze, but they did perfect it, says Chantal Fernandez, co-author of the book Selling Sexy: Victoria’s Secret and the Unravelling of an American Icon. This is a very accurate assessment, given the company’s founder Roy Raymond cited his desire to create a lingerie store where men felt comfortable shopping for their wives and girlfriends. The stores are designed with dark colours and velvet and gold details, mimicking a 20th century gentlemen’s club like the Playboy Clubs which began in the 1960s.

Jumping forwards to the 1990s, when the brand, led by new CEO Leslie Wexnor, occupied a lion’s share of the American lingerie market, and the Fashion Show was born. From its conception, its purpose was clear: selling a fantasy. This fantasy told us that sexiness is above all else, synonymous with thinness, and was the brand’s justification for their glaring lack of representation. This continued well into the 2010s, even as the voices of underrepresented women grew louder and louder, calling for the show to change. This message would result in the end of the Fashion Show in 2018, when criticism flooded in after Ed Razek, head of marketing for the company, said in an interview that transgender women and plus sized women could never be a part of this “fantasy.”

I am supposed to say that there’s no place in today’s cultural landscape for the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. We would all like to believe that we are too socially evolved to engage with something so obviously misogynistic and narrow minded. Make no mistake, the Fashion Show does display an extremely narrow range of diversity. Mid-sized models who have hourglass figures and fat in “the right places” are dressed in flowy fabric, high waisted underwear and chevroned bodysuits to further emphasise one very specific body shape, be it at a larger size. All of the women featured in the show would be considered by today’s standards as mid-sized models, instead of plus-sized. The Show’s celebration of ageing, by casting models in their 40s and 50s, only features women who, through expensive skincare, injectables, and plastic surgery, maintain an appearance that is far closer to a woman in her 30s than the average woman their own age, reinforcing the idea that to age gracefully and beautifully is to show your age as little as possible. To the brand’s credit, since the first fashion show held in 1995, the brand has featured women of colour on their runways, often in larger proportions than their luxury fashion counterparts.

Many critics have argued that this smoke-screen diversity does not reflect our current cultural values, and that the brand’s attempt to recapture the zeitgeist will ultimately be unsuccessful. I don’t believe this is the case. We want to be better, smarter, above it all. Our culture strives to appear moral, fair, and open-minded. It does not, however, strive to embody these values, and this is especially true in our treatment of the bodies of women and queer people. Evidence of this can be found littered across social media and mainstream media alike. With celebrities like the Kardashians reportedly reversing the body augmentations that brought about the popularity of the so-called “BBL body,” and the terms “antiaging skincare,” “botox”, and “retinol” almost doubling in Google Search impressions in the past five years, it is evident that the real-world pressure felt to conform to a specific standard of beauty remains ever-present.

The Show also matches our current cultural obsession with the past, both recent and distant. With nostalgic influences on fashion at an all-time high through the prominence of vintage shopping, endless inspiration and near unlimited access to media depicting decades past, the Fashion Show provides a much sought-after throwback to the glitz and girlishness that dominated fashion in the 2000s.

“The brand can never be free from its male centreddesignand

marketing,sinceto

do so would alienate manyoftheircore customers.”

Lastly, when we ask if Victoria’s Secret and its annual Fashion Show is welcome in today’s culture, all you need to do is follow the money: the brands sales, which peaked in 2016 at almost eight billion dollars, experienced a brief ten-year-low of 5.4 billion dollars in 2020, before springing back up to 6.5 billion in 2021 where it has comfortably stayed since. It cannot be said that the companies controversies and souring image were not contributing factors to these trends, however when the beginning of the Covid Pandemic in 2020, and the steady rise of VS’s main competitors Skims and SavageXFenty are taken into account, the relative effect of social pressure seems minimal. Simply put, Victoria’s Secret may have paused their Fashion Show, citing a changing culture, but they never really lost the favour of the only opinion they care about: the consumer

Since 2001, the show has been held in November, and re-aired in early December, in order to capture the lucrative market of the Christmas shopper – in particular, the husband and boyfriend going right back to Roy Raymond’s inspiration for the business. While this year’s show was moved up to October, likely to capitalise on the popularity of New York Fashion Month taking place during September, the end of year timing still allows the show to fulfill its main purpose: advertising. In this vein, the brand can never be free from its male-centred design and marketing, since to do so would alienate many of their core customers.

I do not believe that the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show represents the highs or lows of society. I do not believe that it innovates fashion or beauty standards, nor does it singlehandedly maintain norms. It is one cog in the great big machine that is the fashion and beauty agency. They will continue to hold their Fashion Show, doing their bit in the message of the machine: that whoever they are and whatever they look like, women must seek to improve themselves by buying just this one more item.

WORDS Chaya Smyth

ART Rowena Breen

High on Life The Story of the Stoner Stereotype

It is perhaps a canon event, or at least, it has been for me: you’re dating a guy, but his first and foremost relationship is with the devil’s lettuce. His idea of a good time is decomposing in front of the TV with a takeaway and a few joints; planning dates is hard when he’d rather be doing this, over literally anything else. The stoner is a character we’re all familiar with in various shapes and forms, proliferated by how easily accessible weed is in this day and age. But the stereotype of the stoner has a long and political history, one that transcends that of the chill stoner boys I seem to be so unwillingly fond of.

The origins of the ‘chill stoner’ stereotype originate in, guess what, colonialism. Cannabis use has been dated back as far as 12,000 years ago, with archaeological evidence of cannabis dating back to the Neolithic Period in East Asia, Africa, and Eurasia. It was introduced to Europe and North America through colonial expansion; however, it came with the racial and ethnic stigma of the colonised people who used it. This stigma eventually led to the anti-marijuana film Reefer Madness in the USA in 1936, following the story of two teens becoming addicted to smoking weed and descending into actual, crime-filled insanity. The film is now considered one of the worst movies ever made and, of course, a cult classic.

This leads to the beginning of counterculture in the USA. Beatniks in the 1950s rejected materialism and consumerism, instead opting to engage in the hedonistic aspects of life, including the embrace of weed and other drugs, such as LSD. Drug use became an instrument of rebellion, cementing its relationship with counterculture. This continued with the 1960’s anti-war movements; in the face of the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Vietnam War, smoking weed was an act of resistance. Here emerges the first stoner stereotype: the tie-dyed, blissed-out hippy. This trope was further enforced with the creation of ‘stoner comedy’, courtesy of comedians Cheech Marin and Tommy Chong in the 1970s. Their first film, Up in Smoke, depicts an unemployed stoner on a mission to smuggle a van literally made from weed across the US.

Up in Smoke set the tone for stoner movies, moving the perception of the stoner away from dangerous and radical towards harmless and comedic. This signalled a change in attitude towards weed, correlating with the beginning of decriminalisation in the USA. Texas was the first state to decriminalise possession of marijuana in 1973.

From this point onwards, much of the stoner stereotype is tied up in media portrayal. In the 80s and 90s, stoners became comic relief side characters; Sean Penn’s portrayal of Jeff Spicoli in 1982’s Fast Times at Ridgemont High was huge in establishing this. Spicoli’s intense Californian vocal fry and commitment to chill vibes is perhaps the epitome of the chill stoner side character. With increased portrayal of the stoner character, it became part of the stereotype that people who smoke weed are ‘wasters’, either slacking in school or unemployed. Perhaps the best example of this are the basement scenes in That 70s Show, where a group of friends sit around and get high, shrouded in smoke and misadventure. By the late 90s, stoner movies were everywhere, most famously The Big Lebowski and Dazed and Confused. However, with the increased decriminalisation of both recreational and medical marijuana usage in more and more countries, the stereotype of the stoneris beginning to shift from an aimless loser to a regular person. This is evident in more recent stoner films such as Pineapple Express, where being a stoner is characteristic rather than an entire character. This is linked to the changing nature of our relationship to cannabis, as it becomes more and more widely available. Weed has also moved into health and wellness spheres with the introduction of CBD oils, edibles, and other weed-related health products, therefore changing and perhaps undermining the stereotype of the chill stoner as we know it. The evolution of the stoner stereotype is entangled in pop culture and politics. Across time, the stoner trope has changed massively to accommodate shifting views of cannabis. Maybe next time you pop a THC gummy or ingest weed in whatever way people ingest it these days, think about the social history you are participating in.

WORDS Anneliese Kenny

ART Sadbh Caulfield

Beyond Good and Sequel

WORDS Fiachra Owens

Ihave a theory that Hollywood has not created a truly original movie franchise in the last ten years. Hollywood today is an overabundance of comic book adaptations featuring famous, celebrated actors running around while dressed in spandex, fighting CGI monsters in sequels to movies that came out over ten years ago or that are remakes of beloved movies from our childhoods that tarnish the original with inferior products. When you look at the four biggest movies of the year – Deadpool and Wolverine, Inside Out 2, Despicable Me 4, and Dune: Part Two – they are (surprise, surprise) all sequels. In Dune: Part Two’s case, it’s a triple-threat, being the sequel of a remake. The final upcoming big movies of the year are also sequels: Gladiator II, Moana 2 and Mufasa. Has Hollywood truly run out of ideas? Why are there so many movies solely created to grab cash from our pockets? Furthermore, why do audiences keep going to watch these avaricious pictures?

Personally, I despise the notion of sequels, adaptations, and remakes. Nearly every sequel, remake, or adaptation is disliked by audiences, critically panned, and rarely lives up to the original. The recent Beetlejuice Beetlejuice I found to be a contrived mess, a multitude of side-plots that were going nowhere and stemmed from nowhere. The film was replete with constant references to the original, leaving me with a throbbing headache that only a rewatch of the far-superior original could cure. Joker: Folie à Deux was a sequel only in name; a courtroom drama musical that spent the film’s majority monotonously recounting the events of the first movie. A reiteration of the first movie with the occasional badlyperformed song by Joaquin Phoenix. Deadpool and Wolverine, a movie I will bashfully admit I was excited for, was a disappointing mess; a nonstop bore-fest of cameos, bad jokes, terribly choreographed action, and Ryan Reynolds staring into the camera. So why do audiences go to see sequels if they rarely live up to the original?

We know what to expect going into a sequel. When a sequel to a beloved original is announced, audiences often steadfastly protest that the movie is a terrible decision and will never beat the original. Despite this disdain, people will still go to the cinema to see if their predictions are correct. Then, if a movie turns out to be better than expected, audiences can state that they always believed in its potential. Conversely, if the movie is a failure, audiences can reiterate how they were right all along, nothing will ever live up to the original, and Hollywood should instead be making sequels to a different IP. The idea of reentering a familiar world will always be enough to drag fans back. When sequels or remakes are announced with the reintroduction of a favourite character, a fan’s desire to return to the familiar is compounded. Despite people complaining about the lack of originality, they enjoy the comfort of familiarity. At Christmas time, families will sit down and rewatch the same movies they have seen a thousand times in front of a warm fire. In my family every Christmas we watch Star Wars because we know what to expect. I already know that I love the movie, and regardless of how many times I watch the movie it never changes. While I hate all the new sequels to Star Wars, I still yearn for a movie that will live up to the original trilogy, capturing the familiar magic of the original.

“Despite people complaining about the lack of originality, they enjoy the comfort of familiarity.”

I find myself compulsively needing to watch every single sequel, adaptation or remake that comes out in theatres. Despite Gladiator II featuring our beloved Paul Mescal leading his first Hollywood blockbuster, we did not need a sequel two decades after the original – especially when the first Gladiator movie has an unequivocal, definitive ending. Despite my annoyance with a sequel we never needed, I know for a fact that I will be at the cinema on opening day, ticket in hand, dreaming of my Roman Empire. Until then I will be counting the days to November 13th. My love for the first one will bring me there regardless of my opinions. The feelings of familiarity to the original that the sequel possesses already have me captivated, drawing me to the cinema like a headless chicken. Sentimentality and nostalgia are powerful tools of coercion that Hollywood has skillfully weaponised. The presence of a returning director and a certain Irish actor also helps.

Everyone can enjoy the comfort that the familiarity of sequels brings. However, it is incumbent once in a while to break out of our comfort zones. The desire for the familiar is destroying the originality of cinema. Auteurs are diminishing, as more and more directors known for creating original movies are tempted to create sequels to existing IP’s rather than original pursuits. Robert Eggers, director of stylish horrors like The Lighthouse, is helming another adaptation of Nosferatu, Greta Gerwig is directing a remake of the Narnia books, and Barry Jenkins is directing Mufasa, which releases this November. If cinema keeps going on the current trajectory, in ten years we will have no original movies, but a never-ending train of sequels. So please, Hollywood, maybe skip over the inevitable Gladiator III, Mission Impossible 10 and Kung Fu Panda 5. Instead, breathe some life back into cinema, and give us something fresh.

Seasonal Sadness: A Year in the Life

Spring: new season, new life, new choices, same brain.

Weak sunshine dapples through the trees as messages of growth and rebirth result only in more pain and heartache. You start to resent the flowers and the harmless little lambs. How dare they frolick when your sadness is so loud? It becomes harder and harder to leave your bed. Their laughter is too loud, your quiet is too silent. Your screams fade to sighs as the world turns, leaving you standing in place.

Then, there are parties and coffee dates and sitting outside. Lighter jumpers, fewer scarves, jackets left behind. The hurt subsides one wave at a time. The sun warms your soul, breathing new life into tired lungs. You start to notice the daisies and misplace your phone. The silence of the library is too stifling, you have things to say again. The earth and your pain thaw in tandem in spring.

Summer: the season of freedom, of aimlessness, of sun on your back.

It’s sunburned skin and sand between your toes, it’s Dart rides in sunshine and Drury Street nights. It’s time filled with yearning and chaos, the day turning dark when you’re left on your own. You can’t connect your hurt with your head. If everything’s shining, why is your heart so dull? You don’t have schoolwork or assignment stress or the cold to blame. It indicates a darker rot, something spoiled inside. The weather is shifting, so shouldn’t your soul? Everyone else seems drawn into the light. You’re floating in space, watching the world move below.

Still, there are days where it doesn’t seem so sad. People are smiling, you’ve got a pint in your hand. The sun is just setting and golden hour softens the edges. You feel a lull of peace: the magic of summer in Dublin.

Autumn: more change, more choices, new term.

The leaves pave the streets where cobblestones once lay. The days get shorter, the nights longer. Your heart gets heavier as you battle the rain and wind. 9am classes are hopes of the past, the stillness beckons to you and you can’t leave its grasp. The stress starts to squeeze you as reading week passes. It splinters your ribs until you’re left gasping for air. Everyone else has it under control, they can’t see the daily war that you wage inside.

And yet, spotlights prevail. You’ll meet an old friend or smile at the children playing with leaves. You see the artistry of the sun more often, as it both rises and sets during your waking hours. There’s something special about campus in autumn.

Winter: it’s cold, and it’s dark, and it’s hard.

It’s the season of giving but you’ve run out of strength. You’re caught in a war between your brain and your heart - you can’t seem to tally the losses before another battle starts. The nights are the hardest, the dawn doesn’t want to arrive. You yearn for the warmth of nostalgia-filled winters of the past, not caring that this could one day be that.

But, through it all, there is joy. The tree in Front Square brightens your hopes. There are festive evenings with blankets and hot chocolate and friends. There’s family and love and warm, homemade meals. Winter is the loneliest and the loveliest time of the year.

Then, New Year arrives and it all starts again. The cycle doesn’t change, only you can.

Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) can consume you, no matter the time of year. Most commonly associated with the winter months, seasonal depression impacts an estimated one in fifteen people in Ireland. Every season can be difficult for someone struggling with depression, but it’s important to try to see the unique delight in each one. It’s easy to sink into feelings of isolation as it gets darker earlier and assignment stress seems like the perfect excuse to hide within yourself. However, so many supports exist to help you through the harder parts of the year. Joy and sadness can exist in tandem. It can seem impossible at times, but beauty and love do persist in spite of pain.

WORDS Priya Evans

ART Eve Smith

Fiction & Poetry

WORDS Sara Lynch

To Do: With Ice and a Wedge of Lime

half-eat burnt toastconform - comply - don’t cryripen fast - act nubilehalf-sleep in idle bedneglect breathtear limbs to shredsover and over and over wait, s l o w d o w n

peel my clementine; deliberate and waltz, folding back the layers, consider welcome thought

surrender to the grass; such lucid labour, be, pinkies intertwined, daisies on my knee

light a melting wick; need not make a sound, tuck me into heaven, baby, just slow down.

WORDS Nadine Deehan

with ice and a wedge of lime. I once felt the world’s soul At eleven. The touch of mud on my skin. Glimpses of desire, pain and heaven.

Childhood peeks through the taste of a fanta specifically lemon. Timely songs take me back I no longer know, where to begin. I itch for a grazed knee, a bruised shin.

A Night in the Lecky on November 18th Vignettes

WORDS Luke Reid

Day unending, dark so soon

Memories fading, assignment monsoon

Keyboard tapping, Christmas alight

Treetop glistens through the window tonight.

Monster crack, dried door creak

Yellowing back, bookshelf leak

Reflection black, cigarette smoke

Amidst the haze of a frosty croak.

Laptop dying, plug out of sight

Neighbour prying, trying to write

Printer sighing, slaving since noon

All gathered together beneath the full moon.

Campus abuzz, students baroque

Decadently lush, warmth of the oak

Faux furry fuzz, campus couture chic

Tonight in the Lecky on November 18th.

There is no layer of dust on the top of the books on the highest shelf. The tallest people take from the tip of the spine and the shortest get a ladder. When we go away for Christmas, I hope a small angel comes down with a soft sweeping brush to take care of them. The spines are old, and the covers have been held by many hands, but I hear these things live forever and cannot die. What a comfort. The gods on earth.

***

I noticed that we are toddlers to each other, 18 months old. I have a few purple candles, one white and one pink, stowed in my attic. It’s likely that in the month before you came, a bird was rubbing sticks together up there, making flames to bless your coming. ***

My mother takes the bag of scarves down from the cupboard. There are lengths of green, purple, red, black, pink, white. There is wool thick and thin, mohair and cotton, merino and cashmere. When it gets very cold I take all of them and weave them in a lattice on top of me. Under their warmth I can feel my mother — walking through the door some 15 years ago, smiling, wrapped in knit, taking off her gloves, chasing three small girls around the kitchen yelling “Cold hands!!” I’m half of you still Mummy.

WORDS Ella Flynn

Honouring Herbal Tea

Someone recently told me I look like “the type that drinks herbal tea”. I’m still unsure whether this was intended as an insult or a compliment, but I took it as the latter. Because, since discovering the lore behind herbal teas, my life has exponentially changed for the better. And contrary to common belief, herbal teas are not exclusively reserved for the granola-girl, hippie-esque folk; they are here for us all and we should honour them. Now, before you Lyons-versusBarry’s fanatics get insecure, this is not an attempt to overturn Irish teadrinking tradition; but let me convince you to spice up your life and make these mystical, medicinal drinks a staple in your diet.

Herbal teas have been around for centuries, with strong roots in Chinese traditional medicine, where it is believed that herbals can either ‘heat’ the body by giving it more energy, or ‘cool’ the body by removing unwanted energy – both of which promote the healing of various ailments. These magical potions are typically made up of different flowers, spices, herbs and fruits, each with their own unique properties and benefits. Nowadays, people often use herbal teas in ceremonial or ritualistic practices; like a form of meditation where one becomes more grounded and connected with themselves, guided by the aroma, taste and warmth of the tea. Lots of people also use herbal teas in addition to, or as an alternative to, pharmaceuticals, especially when treating or preventing things like high blood pressure, heart disease, diabetes, and skin issues. And some people just simply love the taste, or are attempting to curb their caffeine addiction. If you’re not convinced yet, keep on reading anyway; you might just change your mind.

Which tea should I go for, I hear you ask? Well, it all depends on your troubles. I’m sure you’ve heard of green tea – the powerhouse of them all. Low in caffeine and full of polyphenols, green tea is the perfect all around booster for the body and the mind, so that we can all live longer (and the grassy taste gets, well, more bearable with time, trust me). However, all herbal teas are beneficial in their own way, with their many healing effects targeting gut health, mood, immunity and more. Add in a dollop of honey and you’ve got the perfect remedy to cure anything!

Here’s a few examples of predicaments you may encounter, and their respective herbal tea antidotes:

WORDS Sara Lynch

ART Jess Sharkey

• Itchy throat because the temperature’s dropping and your flat is full of mould? Think ginger, turmeric, lemon and liquorice – our anti-inflammatory, antibacterial heroes

• Stressed about exams, procrastinating, and spiralling in lieu of sleeping? Chamomile or lemon balm are good picks (but you should probably study too… just a thought)

• You have stomach issues/suspected IBS, but not bothered to see a doctor about it? Say hello to peppermint: your new best friend

• Sick of the sugary, additive-filled drinks from those pesky coffee chains? Chai tea is a perfect alternative, and tastes just like a warm hug

• Got plastered last night and now your liver’s screaming? Dandelion or milk thistle are the ones for you, the bitterer the better – it’s detox time, baby!

I haven’t even scraped the surface here; herbal teas come in all shapes and sizes, so you’re guaranteed to find one that suits your needs. Generally speaking, blended teas do the most and taste the best, so I recommend going for the fancy ones which are usually named something like: ‘Inner Awakening and Peaceful Balance’. Although with the chaos of college life, I think I’d be on the cusp of overdose before experiencing anything close to that… A girl can dream!

Herbal tea has really become my love language. Every evening, I religiously sit wrapped up in a blanket, with a sweet treat to my left and a herbal tea to my right. Even if it is just placebo, I think this ritual alone has the power to cure my seasonal depression. Maybe it could help you too, so why not brew up a cup at home with brands like Pukka, Yogi Tea, Clipper and more. Alternatively, there are lots of idyllic tearooms right at our doorstep, waiting to be explored: Joy of Cha, Wall & Keogh, Tea Garden, or Clement & Pekoe. Ultimately, all you really need is your favourite mug and some hot water – simple as! I urge you to dip your toe into these waters (but not literally, please). The opportunities are endless.

Disclaimer: herbal teas should be enjoyed in moderation, but if you are taking any funky medications, please do some research or consult your doctor before embarking on your journey – I’m just a silly student and would rather not be held responsible for any adverse reactions. Cheers!

Good Soup

A pot of comfort and warmth in the cold depths of winter.

WORDS Mark Regan

ART Jess Sharkey

One of my favourite fairytales is the tale of ‘Nail Soup.’ It tells the story of a tramp, in need of food and lodgings, who is taken in by an old lady. He offers to make her his speciality, a delicious soup brewed from nothing but a nail. He boils his nail in a pot of water, then mentions after some time what a pity it is that he hasn’t got any seasoning to make the already tasty nail soup even tastier. The woman, excited for the meal, happily offers hers. The tramp goes on like this, saying the soup would be better with some carrots, potatoes, milk… with the woman happily providing each ingredient from her own pantry. When the time comes to eat, the tramp makes a show of fishing out the nail from the pot and serves up a nutritious and flavourful soup which the pair thoroughly enjoy. He leaves the old lady’s cottage happy the next day well-fed and rested, his host equally elated, and thoroughly impressed, after lapping up the tastiest meal she’d had in months. The story demonstrates that soup as a dish possesses the ability to turn a few of the most basic ingredients into a rich, cosy meal.

Soup is first and foremost, the food of the people. Over time, it has served as the perfect remedy for communities in strife, as it can be easily made with virtually any combination of ingredients and in big batches. One only needs to gather whatever vegetables are cheap and accessible, boil them with water, and be left with a pot of nutritious, heartwarming potage. This democratic function can be seen in the popularity of minestrone and soup à l’oignon in Italy and France, respectively, during the post-war period. Widespread hunger and poverty made simple and cheap recipes like these popular and vital for survival, and they remain staples in the national diets today. Closer to home, the soup kitchens set up by religious groups during The Famine drew on the few remaining food resources to help the starving population, and it’s virtually impossible to find a traditional Irish restaurant without a ‘soup of the day’ on offer (it’s nearly always an ambiguous ‘vegetable’, maybe carrot and coriander, or mushroom if they’re feeling adventurous).

On an individual level, soup’s transformative power, of requiring a little to make a lot, offers comfort and relief. In today’s busy society, the thought of slicing, sauteeing, roasting and frying the food in your cupboard before it is palatable can seem daunting or tiresome, particularly to the inexperienced chef. The preparation of soup, in contrast, merely involves roughly chopping some vegetables (or even leaving them uncut for a broth), throwing them in a pot with seasoning and water, and simmering on the stove until the contents combine into a liquid hug. I have to check the science on this one, but I’m ninety nine percent sure that soup tastes infinitely better when brewed in a rustic-looking, Le Creseut-style casserole pot. Lifting the lid to inhale the dense, warm fumes evokes a sense of country-living, feeding off the fat of the land, and appreciating the filling simplicity of a broth.

The cutlery and dish used for soup similarly inspires comforting and nonthreatening feelings. Ladles, large spoons, and deep round bowls are a far more welcoming image than, say, the serrated knife used to hack through a slab of steak. That said, sometimes soup is better enjoyed sans cutlery, pouring it into a mug and sipping it like the elixir of life or, better yet, sopping it up with a hunk of bread. After all, the word ‘soup’ comes from the French ‘soupe,’ which in turn comes from the Vulgar Latin ‘suppa’ (bread soaked in broth). I personally favour a thick slice of sourdough, for optimal soaking ability and the added textural experience of the crunchy crust. However, it’s also the perfect opportunity to use up bread that is going stale – baptiste it in your broth and it will be revitalised. Or, rip it to pieces, drizzle it in oil and plenty of salt and pepper, and pop it in the oven for a few minutes for some yummy croutons to sprinkle into your bowl.

Just as there is a broad choice in bread to pair with your soup, there are many varieties of soup itself. The thick, smooth, creamy versions we’d be most accustomed to in Ireland fall in the category of bisques or potages. Thin soups are either consommés if clarified or broths if left opaque (stock is what we call a broth made with bones). Chowder is a bisque that is thickened with flour or another starch, and usually includes seafood. I’m a big fan of a noodle soup. While most will know of Japanese ramen and pho from Vietnam, their Malaysian cousin laksa, made with a spicy coconut base, is a must-have. Whether you liked it blended to a silky cream or left chunky, its bound to be just as cosy and tasty.

Soup will always be the gastronomic equivalent of a hug, perfect for enduring these chilly approaching months. When picking your ingredients from the long list of options, I’d steer clear of nails (I mean, they might boost the iron content, I guess) and opt for some delectable seasonal veg. Most importantly though, as shown in the fable, soup is a dish best served with a friend to share it with.

paintings eve smith

Are They Lovers? Worse... I Want Them To Be.

If you are as obsessed with television and film characters as much as I am, then you have definitely been subjected to a dissection of character relations post-watch across all social media platforms. Marianne and Connell in Normal People, the Hot Priest and Fleabag from Fleabag, Carmy and Sydney in The Bear, and even Riley and Val from Inside Out 2 are just some of the examples that flitter across my Explore Page. The latter example might appear as an obscure reference but it does have reason. Let’s just say for now that a fellow film student and I debated this one on Parnell Street over some beers the other week. What is important, though, is that I no longer have to search the hollow depths of the web to appease my suspicions, or even wait for the next season or sequel for answers to the question of ‘what the hell did I just watch?’ I now have the tailored content on social media which tackles my questions about the nuances in these on-screen relationships. The most recent character-related content to grace my feed is the interaction between a Tik Tok commenter and the fans of a tv show. The exchange has fans stripping down complex relationships into a single-word reply based on a collective understanding and interpretation of the on-screen relationships. The “Are they lovers? Worse” meme is a simple viral trend that attests these silver- and small-screen depictions of various relationships being layered textually, beyond a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

The internet has become a breeding ground for adept viewers to have their theories affirmed and further supported by like-minded people. It is a place where ideas can quickly gain traction, which has also left pop-culture to be moulded by the masses. Ultimately, the internet has given birth to an ever-consuming omnipresent spectator. “Ships” are the character pairing fans desire. Episodic edits and fanfictions recontextualise moments that used to be solely bound to the narrative and visual medium it existed within. However, that would be to assume that it is a new phenomenon for the character and worlds to be re-imagined outside of the black and white plot string in these audio visual mediums. Might I argue that this way of reading relationships on-screen is a foundational element in the analysis for queer-coding? Film academics have debated queer-coding since the dawn of the gaze and still some contest whether bashfully queer-coded films can be read this way, even when there are stacks of evidence. However, I think there is more value in interrogating why certain relationships in texts are being read in multiple ways than there is in simply arguing if they can or cannot be read in such ways. The importance being the average viewer displays the tendencies to evidently read between the lines when they so wish. I simply want to know – why do we insist that these screen friendships have romantic implications? What’s the point in it? Are we all just in denial? Deluded? Or are we all well seasoned geniuses who understand screen semiotics?

WORDS Nadine Deehan

ART Rowena Breen

With communication giving more credit to non-verbal methods it is no surprise we feel attracted to understand the unsaid in these narratives. Ultimately, through the experience of watching, whether it be short and brisk or spanning years, we develop a relationship with the characters. It would make sense that when these characters appear on my social media feed, what I am shown is a reflection of my relationship to the characters. No one can deny, however, that Marianne and Connell were ever just friends. This avenue of thought can also be applied to Fleabag, as the answer to this viral trends question is that they could be lovers. Therefore, these shows’ attraction online are due to viewers being able to remember a time where their own love-life mimicked the one they are seeing unravel on screen. This makes it easier to understand the character’s path to attention on social media, highlighting that any divergence in readings depends on how we project our own histories onto the characters. This is why I still find myself in arguments with friends on who is right and wrong in these fictional narratives. However, there are cases where this over-examination is a bit more airy and undefined by the narrative. The blossoming romantic relationship between Carmy and Sydney is one that I personally do not see. I understand that the motifs and metaphors are screaming and glaring in my face: there is heat in the kitchen, possibly in more ways than one. It is a busy system that occupies their busy minds, one could say distracting them from all those feelings of desire. There is also the mutual respect, trust, and their obvious trauma bonding. Other than that, I do not know where the collective is distinguishing between a deep friendship and a romantic relationship.

Leaving this internet trend to balance between knowing there is something intrinsically romantic about friendships or accepting that a man and woman can’t ever just be friends or the complexity of the friendship must mean it’s queer-coded. The latter inference is where Val and Riley come in but I think this one is left better unscrutinised, only because the production company has come out to heavily deny any possible queer subtext. These claims set up Inside Out 2 as not being queer-coded but solely being coded as queer by some viewers, meaning that a system of erasure is still very much in operation, leaving the relationship between viewer and the characters to possibly perpetuate a further invalidation of those who see a queer subtext. Therefore, if we don’t over-examine this example, it is acceptable to reject the stated intent and recognise a persisting flaw within the industry which then allows the multiplicity reading to remain intact. Irregardless to what is confirmed or denied the screen relations can still be read with multiple interpretations meaning the missing link would have to be in reception. So these characters are commonly seen in two lights – deep friendship, or a possible romantic connection – making this viral trend speak more to the relationship spectators have to the characters than their actual screen relationships. Thus, we begin to reveal parts of ourselves in the support and disregard for such readings of character relationships.

This trend discovers that characters’ relationships can be layered purposefully, or we can think of viewers as merely projecting personal agendas to affirm parts of themselves. With that in mind I think it might be time to let you know that it’s okay to admit you think that they are meant to be together just because you have been in love with your bestfriend for four years; it doesn’t mean they are. Or that even though you have yet to call your ex an asshole “just in case”, doesn’t mean that those two on screen are objectively meant to be together.

While you may have never experienced the balancing act of deciphering whether you have a crush on that girl or whether you just want to be her, more of my being is explained when I can identify the character as doing just that. The latter is the reason why Inside Out 2 does more good than bad when people start arguing about industry suppression of these themes. If you are able to recognise how you apply your life affairs to your viewing experiences then I might just admit that the reason I disregard Carmy and Sydney’s possible relationship is due to the fact that Carmy’s relationship with Claire echoes a past time of my life. Maybe that is exactly why I cannot read Carmy and Sydney’s relationship as being more than deep friendship. I think this might say something about how healed I am, and nothing about their depiction on screen.

Even after coming to these conclusions, I might end up eating my words when Season 4 of The Bear comes out in June. However, as someone who wears their heart on their sleeve – and by God, I love my friends as much as I love my romantic partners – why can’t this be true for the protagonists of my favourite TV shows? So please don’t take any of my throw-away comments to heart. They are throw-away because I feel that there is more than one reading, and I myself am in the position for you to call me a captain because I would die for my “ships”, especially when the characters affirm my life experiences and I can avoid dealing with my own personal past. I suppose a deep investment in the characters’ relationships occurs when viewers recognize themselves on screen. If you are one to reject this sentiment then you may just benefit from relating your relationship to the content a bit more intimately. If you still dislike my argument on TV shows and films having an intimate relationship with our being, and the internet giving us a tool to project and affirm parts of our identity, please come find me in a bar on Parnell Street and I would be happy to fight over it. So please go ahead, watch any and all television shows and films you like, find comfort in what aligns, and get off your phone when you disagree; or maybe, just maybe, you may just realise it might be time to heal.

“The internet has become a breeding ground for adept viewers to have their theories affirmed and further supported by like-minded people.”

Reflections

Finding Warmth in Others

WORDS Alice Moynihan

ART Sadbh Caulfiled

“When we surround ourselves with quality design, it influences our mood. If our surroundings are nice, we feel cosy and safe. It makes us happier,” Hellen Russel, author of The Year of Living Danishly, says of Danish design. I like to apply the same mentality to people.

This year, I learnt that the people we hold dearest to us leave. The very people that you think will be in your life forever, to see you achieve your dreams, to be at your wedding, or to hold your hand through illness or even death, leave. I have found myself reflecting on moments, memories, at the very edges of my mind, smiling and shedding a tear as images of their faces, voice notes of their words, and the feelings that I keep tied to their presence, their being, flash through my mind. Even though they have left, they are no longer a part of my life, this life, the images warm a little part inside of me.

I don’t believe that any significant part of me gets comfort or warmth from the general interactions in daily life; conversations in lectures, in pubs or at parties. It is possibly the introvert in me that, quite frankly, has no time for these interactions. They make me warm in completely different ways. My hands begin to sweat, my pulse races, and my heart stops, thinking of how to reply to simple questions like, ‘did you do the reading?’ or ‘do you want to go to the Pav afterwards?’ These are not heartwarming experiences. For me they are nightmares. I am too afraid to say no I didn’t do the reading and no I don’t want to go to the Pav afterwards. I am sure social anxiety akin to this is not an uncommon phenomenon amongst my demographic and indeed outside of it, though this does not do much to comfort me.

The connection I seek for substance usually touches on a deeper level of the human condition. I do not mean to intellectualise my interactions. Intellectual conversations, if you could call them that, bring me comfort, but they too, do not sustain me. I was speaking to a friend in September, who mentioned that their grandfather had passed away last year. I smiled and nodded, sharing in return that my grandfather had also passed last year around the same time. We shared a look of deeply understood condolence. Tears welled in my eyes and my grief washed over me unexpectedly, but not in the same way it does when I am alone in my room at night, in a different way, a comforting way that seemed to say ‘you are not alone.’ This interaction has stayed with me, at the edges of my mind. I recall it on colder nights, and it warms me.

On an unseasonably warm October night, while sitting in a pub celebrating a 21st, my friend plonked down on the cushioned bench beside me, laying her head down on my shoulder. I set my drink down on the table in front of me, and asked her ‘what’s the matter?’ She replied, ‘I just need to recharge my social battery.’ I don’t know when ‘social batteries’ became a thing, I only remember the term entering my consciousness about four or five years ago. I had been explaining to a friend the exact feeling of exhaustion that a depleted social battery denotes, and was quite relieved to hear there was a term for it. Yet another instance that seemed to say to me, ‘you are not alone.’ It is true, in my experience, that some people drain and some people recharge these temperamental social batteries of ours.

I was only 16 or so when I decided that nightlife was not my ‘thing’. Clubs, even pubs past 10:30pm, liminal spaces where people neither interacted nor secluded themselves from conversation did not do it for me. My decision was met with much uproar and animosity from friends and acquaintances alike, who could not understand why, at the young age of 16, barely having lived much of life, I decided to give up on the whole charade. I cringed at the idea of having to order a drink and sip it as it slowly turned lukewarm, dress in skimpy clothing and suck in just enough to attract someone’s gaze. There are some individuals that are good at this type of thing and crave these types of interactions. I commend them and the ease at which they partake in the whole thing. However, easy as it is for me to understand why they enjoy a night out, a conversation with a stranger in a bar, and a drunken taxi ride home with friends, they can’t understand why I don’t.

My intention here is not to discredit these experiences. Sloppy conversations in nightclub bathrooms, sultry stares across dimly lit rooms, and the rhythm and synth of sweaty bodies, driving an adrenaline high, interlocking eyes and in turn a little bit of your soul, these interactions sustain us. The only difference in experience lies in the location of these moments. A casual flirtation with your postman, a brief moment of deep conversation or even comforting silence in the presence of a friend, all carry much the same effect for me, and rule out the need for much of a nightlife.

We are all in constant search of people that make us feel like we are listening to a Nora Jones album, or flipping through old photo albums and seeing familiar eyes, people who make an effort to smile at you when you are interrupted, or listen and contribute intensely in conversations. The good news is these people are not a rarity, they are a reality, and one I have come across on countless occasions. Your people are your safe space and we sometimes forget that we choose them. Choose people who make you feel good about yourself, give great hugs and comforting shoulders, who make you laugh so much you cry and who recharge you. Time differences, plane rides or some big disagreement could separate you, but the memories and images you hold of these people will stay with you forever, and warm you on colder nights.

A Book by the Fire: Exploring the Winter Literary Condition

Wind is battering against my window and creaking through cracks in the walls. Autumn is hitting with full force as I imagine a delicate winter chill in bed cuddled with a hot water bottle and a book by the fire. Melodrama aside, a wintery condition is admired by the avid reader who spends all year attempting to recreate a cosy, cuddly, hot-chocolate-feel with a book as the rain patters away at their restless mind. But what is it about this solitary quietude that makes winter such an appealing concept? Better yet, how do these books we love so much utilise our own preconceptions of winter? Winter has become synonymous with the Christmas feeling, so much that it’s easy to forget that beyond the Christmas lights in windows, the Irish winter is dreary and wet. A time of abundance now was once a time of scarcity. A time of giving once one of rations. Winter as a literary device is a precarious thing that flickers between these ends of the spectrum as we’ll see across a few examples of popular literature through the years.

To think of winter is to imagine a white blanket across the horizon all season long. Winter is a constant across time that grounds us as all seasons do, each recognisable by their key characteristics. What I’d argue is the most popular example of a winter novel, Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, is a timeless classic retold time and time again (nothing comes close to The Muppet Christmas Carol), and it’s this persistence of winter as a constant that has awarded it its literary classic status. The tale of Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future centre around winter traditions. Amidst the comforting spirit of Christmas seen with Tiny Tim and an assumed titular Carol, winter’s consistency across Ebeneezer Scrooge’s diminishing livelihood uplifts the tradition and meaning of Christmas. This is not a cold winter, with Bob Cratchit and his own traditionally spirited family staying gathered around the fire. Scrooge seems set to continue on his path of dreary unhappiness, the winter coldness that creeps into the house, the life that Christmas Future shows him with the decay of the Cratchit’s family perfection. Ultimately, however, Scrooge allows winter to continue as a state of familial gathering and love by letting that fire into his own life come the novel’s end. Winter in Dickens’ novel creates a deliberate juxtaposition between the dramatic irony of bleak coldness in Scrooge’s life and the warmth winter provides to the tight-knit community surrounding him every Christmas.

“There’s no better time to reminisce than around the family at winter celebrations, thinking of seasons past.”

Winter as a clean slate allows for a rebirth come the spring. Winter being the last season of the year, one filled with decay and a dwindling of resources, signifies a time for both natural and personal rebirth. C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia series is another example of a novel that centres its themes around the idea of winter. In The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, the titular White Witch has allowed winter to persist for the duration of her hundred-year reign. Lewis’ winter is a tyrannical one. The Witch has damned her population to eternal decay. While Dickens portrayed winter as a time of community and familial love, the people of Narnia must huddle in caves and spend their lives around unhomely fires. The temporary state of winter’s comfort becomes a hindrance to the livelihoods of everyone involved, and this is a motif of the novel. From Lucy’s childlike perspective, initially, the snow is a place of excitement where “the parcels and the snow” of the faun Tumnus makes it appear “as if he had been doing his Christmas shopping”. But as this perspective progresses, we learn that under the thumb of the White Witch winter never ends; “It’s she that makes it always winter. Always winter and never Christmas”. The Witch freezes people, like Tumnus, when they disobey her. Not only is a decaying stagnation replicated in the land but also in the population. In resurrecting Aslan, the lion (or Jesus), and working to melt the snow, the children offer Narnia a period of rebirth where the tyrannical monarchy is usurped and the land is restored to its former peace. The children themselves are also literally offered a rebirth. The transformation of their journey doesn’t end when they enter back through the wardrobe where it all began, literally being reborn into society as emerging from the hanging clothes. Winter will come again. But the ending offers a beacon of hope in times of dreariness where rebirth can happen, and the people of Narnia and the war-stricken children can prevail and bring life back to the winter through this.

Winter also offers a realm of nostalgia. There’s no better time to reminisce than around the family at winter celebrations, thinking of seasons past. It’s a common device used in media from literature to music (see Taylor Swift’s ‘tis the damn season!). To comment on lesser known writings you can pick up this winter season, Nicci Gerard’s The Winter House sees its protagonist Marnie return home for the winter upon the news of a dying close friend Ralph. It’s a novel set against a wintery backdrop of the Scottish Highlands that invites reminiscence about a life left unspoken and of memories past. Of heartbreak. Of betrayal. Of melancholic nostalgia felt towards those they crossed paths with in their youth. Emotions that often feel so secluded by isolation that it’s difficult to remember that others feel them too. A story that’s so human. Gerard isolates these feelings through the isolation of the winter house itself, set out afar from Marnie’s city life. As “wind howled” with the “violent creaking of trees” of an icy Scottish winter, the three weave through their memories in lyrical and beautiful ways in what’s quite an optimistic novel. Gerard’s winter is an invitation to the past, as winter always is. It’s an escape from the hustle-and-bustle and a return to primal humanity-feeling and remembering.

There are many other literary winters that have graced history. Apocalyptic winters like Cormac McCarthy’s The Road as a sight of human destruction and connection; winter as cultural norms like the past-exploration novel Winter Garden set against war-torn Leningrad; stories of death and character journeys like A Hundred Words for Snow seeing a solo journey to the North Pole with a father’s ashes; or The Brief History of the Dead which sees much of it set in the death-trying Antarctic. Winter emerges and reappears as a place of nostalgia, scarcity and rebirth, and a natural constant to society across a wide body of literature. There’ll be plenty to read this season to get into the winter spirit.

WORDS Luke Reid

TRIBUTE TO KEITH HARING

A MAP OF THE MAN AND HIS WORK

ART Sadbh Caulfield

Dublin Theatre Guide nov – jan

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The Paradox of Theatre Set Design: Cosy Aesthetics, Uncomfortable Seats

As a humble audience member, the effect of cosy set designs in the theatre has always been an intriguing concept.

The physical act of sitting in a chair surrounded by complete strangers is not something that normally puts people at ease – in fact, it is usually quite the opposite. Most theatres I have been to offer minimal legroom and have incredibly uncomfortable seats (according to my taste). So why am I, as a theatre-goer, sacrificing my own comfort and cosiness to witness a portrayal of such an environment a matter of metres away from me?

It may appear to be counterintuitive, yet as December approaches and the leaves begin to fall from the trees, I find myself leaving hibernation and scurrying back into the theatre for not my own physical comfort, but for a certain type of cosiness that transcends it – it’s a feeling we know all too well. When it comes to the winter, all we want to do is revisit our comfort films and books, and theatre is certainly no exception to this. At the end of the day, human beings are creatures of habit.

Maybe I am somewhat of a cynic when it comes to the physical comfort of most theatres. I suppose I must give it due credit for being an environment in which one can at the very least sit in dim light and warmth while the bitter wind blusters away. My good friend Lily and I watched Aaron Sorkin’s To Kill A Mockingbird in the early months of last year in the Gielgud Theatre (a personal favourite of mine despite my qualms with its legroom). I, of course, booked the cheapest tickets possible, resulting in myself craning my neck to watch Matthew Modine pour his heart and soul into his portrayal of Atticus Finch. Needless to say, I had to engage in neck pain relief YouTube yoga classes for the week after – but it was bloody worth it for the nearly three hours in which I completely fell away from the outside world. It is this escapism from harsh wintery realities that make stage performances perfect for enjoying during these transitional autumn months.

In speaking of cosy set-designs, I can’t help but bring up Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap. For this particular performance, I had once again booked myself into the cheapest seat I could find: front row. When will I learn? As soon as I sat down I could feel my neck begin to throb, but alas, I persevered. And when the curtain opened, I knew I’d made the right choice. The set perfectly encapsulated comfort and I was transported to a realm far away from the viscously cold and rainy streets of London. I was suddenly met with a large mosaic fireplace on the left, huge armchairs and sofas centre stage, and wood accents adorning the rest of the stage, creating the environment of the Monkswell Manor Guest House in snowy Berkshire. I was delighted and instantly sank back in my seat to take it all in (or as far as I possibly could without the much-desired reclining option there to aid me in this endeavour). Now, The Mousetrap is somewhat of an interesting one. As anyone familiar with Christie will know, it mostly takes the form of a classic murder ‘whodunnit’. This concept is obviously meant to stir a feeling of unease and apprehension amongst audience members. Every character on stage is, to the audience, unreliable. Despite this, I couldn’t help but bask in the sheer delight and childhood glee I felt as I furiously tried to work out which character ‘dunnit’, like in an old game of Cluedo.

As I relished the comforting set design of this performance, I couldn’t help but think: maybe the theatre isn’t so uncomfortable at all.

“I must give it due credit for being an environment in which one can at the very least sit in dim light and warmth while the bitter wind blusters away. “

WORDS Anna Moylan

DUBLIN GIG GUIDE: dec/jan

COMPILED BY Éle Ní Chonbhuí, Erin Keenan, Sadhbh Long, Isabelle Doyle

ART Jess Sharkey

This edition’s guide is a brief overview of some of the gigs coming up in December and January. We’ve picked a few that we thought people might enjoy - including Trinity Alumnus Last Apollo on Dec 5th who is doing a specially arranged concert for chamber orchestra which should be the perfect break from stressful study. Later in December, my personal favourites Confidence Man are playing in the Olympia. If you are lucky enough to have finished exams Confidence Man are some of the best live performers around at the minute. Their new album ‘3am La La La’ is fun, kitschy, and exactly what you need to blow off steam. In the sleepy weeks after Christmas there is a welcome slump in concerts. However, if you’re still looking for something cosy Kelly Finnigan and The Atonements will be playing a lovely soul gig in the Sugar Club at the end of January. We hope you enjoy the guide, and if you have any gigs you’d like to advertise in the next edition just get in touch!

December 1st Whelan’s Upstairs Yenkee Indie Pop/Lo-fi

2nd

The Grand Social Harrison Storm Folk

Vicar Street James Vincent McMorrow Alternative

3Arena Sam Fender Pop

3rd The Sugar Club Michael Head & The Red Elastic Band Alt Rock

5th

TN2 PICK

6th

7th

Sound House Cherie Currie Rock

Vicar Street Christy Moore Alternative Folk

The Button Factory Last Apollo Indie

The Grand Social Massive Wagons Hard Rock/Punk

3Arena Fontaines D.C. Indie Punk

The Academy Dylan John Thomas Indie Rock

Vicar Street Soda Blonde Indie Pop

Olympia The Undertones Rock

8th The Button Factory Fizzy Orange Indie Rock

9th

Olympia Villagers Indie Folk

Olympia Villagers Indie Folk

10th tn2 pick Olympia Confidence Man Pop/Electronic

11th

Workman’s Cellar Brad Cox Country

12th/13th/18th/19th/23rd Whelan’s Main Stage Gavin James Singer/Songwriter

12th-17th Olympia The Coronas Rock

13th Vicar Street Pillow Queens Alternative

The Pavilion Theatre Altan Trad

14th The Grand Social L.P. Rhythm House

Workman’s Cellar Annika Kilkenny Singer/Songwriter

15th The Academy Acres Metal

The Sugar Club The Whileaways Folk

16th-23rd Vicar Street Damien Dempsey Singer/Songwriter

17th The Academy Kanii Dance

19th Index Mall Grab Techno

20th Whelan’s Main Stage Search Results Indie Pop

January 11th The Sugar Club Celtic Soul - Van Morrison Tribute Tribute

12th Workman’s Cellar Spencer Sutherland Pop

13th Olympia Joshua Bassett Pop

National Concert Hall Glasshouse perform Ryiuchi Sakamoto Ambient/Avant-Garde

23rd The Grand Social Toshín Soul/RnB

24th The Grand Social Dug Folk

25th Olympia 49th & Main Electronic

27th Olympia Lloyd Cole Alt/Electronic

28th The Grand Social Ten Fé Alternative/Indie

29th Vicar Street Lake Street Dive Alternative

30th Olympia JPEGMAFIA Rap

31st - TN2 Pick

The Sugar Club Kelly Finnigan & The Atonements Soul