Wednesday 16th July 2025
Blog Page 1004

English after Brexit

Iweta Kalinowska
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English after Brexit

United Kingdom’s membership of the EU over the years

Britain’s relationship with the European Union has been a rather turbulent one from the very beginning. The Union began with the signing of the Treaty of Paris in 1951 which established the European Coal and Steel Community, of which the United Kingdom decided not to become a member. With changing economic and political priorities, as well as the project of a common market, the European Economic Community (EEC) and the European Atomic Energy Community were established by the 1957 Treaties of Rome, which formed the basis of the EU as we have come to know it today.

With a change in attitudes towards the European Common Market, Britain first applied for membership of the Communities in 1960. However, its membership was vetoed by French President Charles de Gaulle, and it was not until 1967, with Georges Pompidou succeeding as leader that Britain would resubmit its application, finally to join the Union in 1973. Yet all was not plain sailing for Britain who, two years later, passed the Referendum Act of 1975, leading to the European Communities membership referendum. With a strong 67.2% majority vote supporting continued EEC membership, Britain would ultimately remain part of this European partnership, but would continue to be plagued by Euroscepticism for the next forty years and, in what is commonly referred to as the 2015 ‘Brexit’ referendum, has ultimately voted to leave the European Union by 51.9%.

English in the EU after Brexit

This result raises the question of the future of English following Brexit, the language which currently seems to dominate the institutions of the European Union. Though legally all the 24 official languages of the 28 member states of the EU have equal legal status, English has grown to become the most used, gradually displacing French as the European lingua franca. If Britain goes on to leave the European Union, this will create a very odd linguistic phenomenon, with a co-official language of some 5 million people (Ireland with a population of 4.6 million and Malta with 450,000), used to discuss and further the interests of 450 million European citizens.

However, following the results of the Brexit referendum, many European politicians and MEPs have questioned the status of English in the European institutions, with the mayor of Béziers, Robert Ménard claiming that it no longer has ‘any legitimacy’, and Danuta Hübner, head of the European Parliament’s Constitutional Affairs Committee (AFCO) and Polish MEP proclaiming that ‘if we don’t have the U.K., we don’t have English’. She has cited the existence of a European regulation which declares that ‘every EU country has the right to notify one official language’, stating that Ireland has notified Gaelic and Malta Maltese, which would render the UK the only member state to have proclaimed English as their official language. However, this claim has been contested by other EU sources, who have cited disparity among the translations of this regulation, with the French not decidedly ruling out the possibility of more than one official language per country, contrary to the English version. Furthermore, the European Commission has released a statement to counter these claims:

‘The Council of Ministers, acting unanimously, decide on the rules governing the use of languages by the European institutions. In other words, any change to the EU Institutions’ language regime is subject to a unanimous vote of the Council, including Ireland.’

According to the Wall Street Journal, however, the European Commission has already started using French and German more often in its external communications as a symbolic transition towards a Britain-less EU following the results of the referendum.

Multilingualism in Europe

Will Brexit pave the way for a greater linguistic variety and increased multilingualism in Europe? Language groups across Ireland, Wales, and the rest of the UK have warned of the damaging consequences of Brexit on lesser-spoken languages, such as Welsh, Cornish or Gaelic. UKIP MEP Nathan Gill has countered these claims, pointing out that Welsh did not have full official status in the European Union, and claiming that “the Welsh language is safer…by us having the freedom to legislate ourselves in the Senedd or in Westminster”. Yet the groups argue that the EU plays an important role in the promotion of lesser-used languages, and ‘cultural wealth’, as opposed to the British governments which ‘throughout much of our shared history conducted aggressive language policies designed to eradicate our languages’. They go on to say that ‘being a part of a heterogeneous European Union with its robust congregation of minority and majority cultures allows for a better understanding and protection of our own languages’.

Euro-English

What about the European future of English without England? The language seems less dependent on Britain’s membership of the EU than legislation seems to suggest. In fact, a sort of Euro-English, influenced by foreign languages is already in use, particularly among members whose native language is not English. An EU report from 2013, by Jeremy Gardner, an official at the European Court of Auditors, entitled “Misused English Words and Expressions in EU Publications,” addresses dozens of incorrectly used terms, everything from “actor,” “valorize,” or ‘delay’:

“‘Delay’ is often used in the EU to mean ‘deadline’ or ‘time limit’. In English ‘delay’ always refers to something being late or taking longer than is necessary. You cannot, therefore comply with (or ‘respect’) a delay.”

Clearly the language is capable of surviving outside the zone of British influence, yet such an existence will have unparalleled consequences on the type of English spoken in the European Institutions. Euro-English is already rife with various quirks which seem to resemble the type of English spoken in India or South Africa, where a small group of native speakers is dwarfed by a far larger number of second-language speakers. While such ‘pidgin’ languages exist successfully in many parts of the world, nonetheless they are not usually used as the main legislative and communication tool for a Union of such unprecedented geographical scope and influence. They cannot be an accurate tool for political negotiations and subsequent rendition of European law. What’s more, rather than enriching the original language, placing it in the hands of non-native speakers risks the simplification of more complex linguistic features. Brexit would not be the end of English, but as Dr Ingrid Piller, Professor of Applied Linguistics at Macquarie University, suggests, it would represent ‘another nail in the coffin of native speaker supremacy,’ with native speakers choosing to give up their prime role in the story of English.

The new lingua franca

If not English, then what? As Britain was not one of the founding members of the European Communities, French was initially used as the official language. In fact, certain institutions, such as the European Court of Justice, have maintained the use of French as their working language for both historical and economic reasons. However, it is unlikely that it can be restored to its former primacy. Despite the economic and political strength of Germany, German does not look to be an obvious replacement either.

Both on a continent shaped for almost half a century by the ever-growing popularity of English as the intermediary language, and in a world where English exerts, and will continue to exert, incredible business and political influence, to move away from this for the sake of regulation seems more like an unrelenting manifestation of the validity of legislative content than a convenient and constructive decision. To forcefully eject English would be to plunge the Union into a period of costly and complicated structural revisions, in every unit and at all levels.

Furthermore, for many years now, English has not been the prerogative of the British. Over time it has become almost neutral, a tool for communicating with friends, colleagues and lovers alike. In an ideal world, the Union would have an auxiliary language, a language of no state, which belongs to no one and everyone all at once. Yet, would that really celebrate the European motto of being ‘united in diversity’? To move away from English would be to go against both heart and mind. For, though we may not be linked in legislation, we remain part of the same continent, united by the same values, and in solidarity with all those who want to partake in them, regardless of the language they speak.

Five picks for your four final days at the Fringe

Ellie Siora
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Five picks for your four final days at the Fringe

As the Edinburgh Fringe Festival rolls to a close, with performers nearing their final night, time is tight for how many of these performers one can see. With nearly 4000 shows to choose from in four days the task of choosing where to spend your precious hours is pretty monumental. So, whether you are nearing the end of your own performance up at the Fringe and want to squeeze a few more shows in between flyer-ing, or whether you have decided to come up for the final days to catch the farewell fireworks, here are a few suggestions to help you figure out what’s worth watching.

Paul Currie: ‘Ffffffmilk’ at the Hives. Every day at 19:40

The Fringe Festival is renowned for its concentration of comedic acts, where the up-and-coming rub shoulders with household names. I have no doubt that Currie is on his way from the former to the latter. Daringly original amongst a sea of stand-up, Currie’s humour is simultaneously universal whilst maintaining deep idiosyncrasies. One of the only comedians I’ve seen to never falter and fall into the easy, offensive and self-deprecating gags for laughs. He’ll make you laugh like a kid again. Truly worth a watch (and part of the pay-what-you-want festival).

Yokai: at Underbelly Cowgate. Every day at 13.30

This continental show harks back to the charming simplicity of mime and puppetry. Despite being a performance with no dialogue, the performers never fail to provoke and emotional response from the audience using a more imaginative and intimate form of communication in their performance. Not only is the execution of this piece inventive, it’s content is pertinent and thought-provoking. Exploring the presentation of tragedy, Yokai reminds us how tragedy involves real individuals and real emotions in a context where we easily forget. Constantly bombarded with international tragedies in the news, it goes unnoticed how our emotional engagement with them wanes, and the people they involve simply become puppets part of a greater plastic story. Yokai, combining puppetry with performance goes some small way towards breaking down this world view.

XX: Paradise in the Vault. Every day at 18.55

A piece of theatre that Oxford thespians should be proud of to call a product of their university. Jack Bradfield’s writing is compelling, authentic and unbelievably clever. The performers’ presentation of it does not fail to do the writing justice as the individual performances and group dynamics work flawlessly to the overall affect of the play. With its unusual premise exploring the genre of romance and love, XX ran a high risk of falling into the unfortunate combination of pretentious and boring. Yet, the company utterly escaped this pitfall, with honest material and genuinely talented actors they create an un-missable experience of a show. My favourite at the Fringe.

Pussyfooting: Paradise in the Vault. Every day at 20:10.

Another Oxford production worth seeing. Half a play, half a sleepover you’ve been invited to, Pussyfooting presents the topic of what it means to be female. A topic we can, unfortunately, so easily tune out of. I commend it for being ground-breakingly original: five girls take to the stage in such an innovative and fresh way that they successfully open up the debate whilst simultaneously making you feel like you are making new friends.

Shit-faced Shakespeare. Measure for Measure: Underbelly, George Square. Every day at 22:15

A Fringe classic but one that doesn’t lose its raucousness. Performing the Bard’s Measure for Measure, his problem play, is a particularly side-splitting choice as one cast member a night has the problem of working out what in the world their next line is on a bottle of Prosecco or two. Giving you the pleasure to watch someone make a fool of themselves at 22:15 when you yourself are, probably, shit-faced is a recommendable way to end any day at the Fringe.

Warehouse to become part of Nuffield College

Tony Diver
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Warehouse to become part of Nuffield College

The building used for former nightclub Warehouse, on Park End Street, is to become offices for the new ‘social sciences quarter’ of Nuffield College.

Warehouse, which closed without warning in January, was joined this summer by Wahoo and the Glee comedy venue as part of a spate of nightclub closures in the city. Unlike the others, there were commercial reasons for its closure, and it has stood empty for the last seven months.

Despite rumours that the building would become a youth hostel, Nuffield College has confirmed that its new purpose will be administrative and academic.

Much of the land around Park End Street and Hythe Bridge Street, which forms the nexus of Oxford nightlife for many, was acquired by Nuffield in 2015 in a deal with Christ Church. It will form part of the college’s attempt to refocus Oxford’s West End away from nightclubs and onto social sciences, in which Nuffield specialises.

Speaking to the Oxford Mail, college bursar Gwilym Hughes said “When we stripped these buildings back we found they were flexible, open spaces that will work quite well as offices.

“We would like to get the departments all under one roof, as they are all a bit scattered at the moment.

“There is some amazing work being done. We are world-leaders in social sciences so we are pleased to be able to help.

Sophie Conquest, a second-year student at Balliol, said: “The news about the closure of Warehouse and the imminent closure of Wahoo was heartbreaking. It’s no secret that Oxford doesn’t have much going for it in terms of nightlife, but when these nightclubs are both gone I worry that I’m not going to know what to do with myself after my Thursday evening deadline.

“Words cannot express the anger and disappointment I feel that future generations of Oxonians will not get to experience the euphoria of top floor Wahoo on a Friday night… or the weird faux rocks in Warehouse.”

Nuffield is set to release its full plans for the development of the area early next year.

Review: Foxtrot at the Edinburgh Fringe

Peter Thickett
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Review: Foxtrot at the Edinburgh Fringe

9/10

Foxtrot, Anthony Maskell’s latest theatrical offering, is a challenging piece of writing that negotiates the fetishisation of female lost person cases in the media. In exploring the ways in which female victimhood is constructed in mainstream culture, Maskell invites us to confront our own complicity with the destruction of the individual. The narrative is loosely based on fragments before and after a girl’s disappearance. Unnamed and constantly recharacterised by different members of the cast, she remains out of reach—the shifting representation of an aspect of her gender.

The opening scene acts as a prologue to the series of vignettes that follow. Questioning the time it takes to announce a missing person presumed dead, the scene precipitates the conclusive thought of the piece—that their ‘deaths’ are, in some way, the deaths of their identities. The multi-role cast dexterously transition between comedy and sincerity, equally coloured with an uncomfortable darkness. Maskell’s approach to difficult topics such as sexual exploration in children is handled with sensitivity and intuitiveness. The often distressing nature of some of the scenes is never gratuitous, but deeply grounded in the motivation to challenge our perceptions of selfhood.

Clever juxtapositions of realism and comic absurdity create a distinct sense of the dystopian. Maintaining a fine line between the real and the imagined, Maskell forces the audience to engage with the, at times, bewilderingly decentred narrative. The blurring of these boundaries is in many ways the piece’s most striking attribute but makes it difficult to follow the ‘story’ of the singular lost girl. However, Foxtrot is not really a story about one girl, but rather a story of a destructive culture, a culture that perpetuates restrictive, reductive gender categories. This intelligent and innovative piece of writing requires the openness of the audience to be appreciated in its full capacity; once the superficial assumptions of narrativity are broken down this production holds strong as a piece of extremely accessible and intuitive theatre. Anna Nichols Pike’s perceptive set design, a Mondrianesque set of hanging frames overlapping to create smaller subsections, aptly captures the narrative structure—one where each scene, although distinct in itself, makes up part of a greater puzzle.

Foxtrot has a tendency to leave structural devices unfinished. For example, the recurrent intermission of voicemail messages never really comes to a successful conclusion; doubtless a representation of how missing person cases rarely resolve. However, this constant negotiation between structure and meaning, whilst not straightforward, ultimately enriches this intriguing piece.

This is an accomplished piece of new writing delivered with style and finesse. I look forward to following Maskell’s work in the future.

Jonathan Evans: the Poké-MAN

Benn Sheridan
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Jonathan Evans: the Poké-MAN

A few weeks ago, my co-editor and I engaged in a debate which transcended nation, belief and politics: the merits (or otherwise) of Pokemon Go. The article prompted a furore amongst the Pokemon community, splitting traditionalists from rebellious, open-minded reformers, almost bringing battles out of the gym and into the open. In the wake of this divisive response, I was fortunate enough to interview someone whose name is whispered in awe amongst Pokemon circles: Jonathan Evans.

Jonathan is a Maths/Phil student at LMH. And whilst Andrew Triggs-Hodge and Constantin Louloudis fought battle for Oxonian gold in Rio, a prize of equal, nay, surpassing stature was being sought in the sumptuous setting of the San Francisco Marriott Marquis Hotel. Olympic Village eat your heart out. Yes, this was the Pokemon VGC World Final, and through the ranks our young hero had climbed, defeating opponent after opponent till the day of the final was reached. Though the eventual victory was not to be his (losing by the slightest of margins to Wolfe Glick), the tenacity and guile he demonstrated in his matches reveal a player of only the highest calibre.

This calibre was forged at a young age. As he explains, “I’ve been playing Pokemon since I was a kid. I played every single generation.” Battling with his older brother, he quickly outstripped his peers in acumen, till eventually, as he is quick to remind me, “if I was to play competitive Pokemon with someone who’d never played it competitively before, they’d get trashed.” This is tough talk, but as he explains the details of playing competitively, I realise that it is by no means empty: unlike normal Pokemon, “you’re playing a double battle, choosing four Pokemon from a team of six.” He glibly notes, “It’s rough.”

But it’s the two comparisons he draws that interest me the most: “It’s like poker – you make moves at the same time with imperfect knowledge of the situation. And it’s like chess – you try and have a slight advantage at the end of the game.” Or, at least, this was how he played the game – to the margins, taking slight advantages and playing till the timer was up – a strategy that only works (and which he played to near perfection throughout his time in San Francisco), he claims, if you’re “thinking three or four turns ahead of your opponent.” This is risky, edge-of-seat stuff, he implies – but stuff that an audience could enjoy just as much as the players.

And, of course, this is where Pokemon differs from other ‘E-Sports’: it doesn’t have the same fanbase as traditional, action-oriented online games do, action which I imagine – not being a gamer myself – possesses some appeal. Whilst this doesn’t affect Jonathan’s choice to play the game, “I love it regardless,” he reminds me, it does give slight cause for frustration: “I just wish more people would watch Worlds.” And this is where Pokemon Go enters the fray. “I was so happy when it came out – I saw everyone playing and I was like this is what I want for the world.” High praise indeed for Niantic’s effort… but he doesn’t stop there. “I hate it now, I hate it so much. I’m so annoyed that the gameplay’s so bad.” His main criticism is of the uncreative gym battles, seeing it as less of a game than a nostalgia trip for millenials. He does have some hope, however, admitting “yeah I see a future in it, if they improve the player interaction element, it could be great.”

Though couched in some pretty sanitary language, Jonathan’s hope is pretty emblematic of the power of Pokemon and in particular of Pokemon Go: it is a social game, which brings people together in a way like no other. As he puts it, “The social element is what keeps people coming back. Everyone really likes the people they play it with.”

Jonathan later told me that the reason he applied here to Oxford is because of the encouragement of a friend – who graduated last year – whom he met playing Pokemon. I’m not a gamer, and I don’t think I ever really will be, but this kind of story – of a game bringing people together – is not one that should be laughed off as a simple fad. So, when I said at the beginning that Pokemon was transcendent, I really (almost) meant it, after a fashion at least: maybe I should pick up my old Pokemon cards (at least a decade untouched) and give the game a fresh look, though I doubt I’ll be as avid a fan as Jonathan.

Eddie Ndopu, Oxford’s first disabled African student, might not be able to attend

Katherine Pye
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Eddie Ndopu, Oxford’s first disabled African student, might not be able to attend

Eddie Ndopu, a disability rights activist, is the first African student with a disability to be accepted into Oxford University. Beginning in Michaelmas 2016, he hopes to study for a Masters in Public Policy at the Blavatnik School of Government on a full academic scholarship; however, he still lacks the majority of the $33,000 he needs to pay the costs for an automated wheelchair and his carer, which Oxford’s scholarship does not cover.

Ndopu told The Daily Vox, “The reason why I chose this institution was because this particular programme is the only programme in the entire world that looks at public policy through a global lens.” Applying to Oxford whilst still recovering from surgery, he claims that when he received his offer he “didn’t believe it. I thought they made a mistake, but then I realised that I am an Oxford student.”

Originally from South Africa, Ndopu was diagnosed at the age of two with spinal muscular atrophy and given until the age of five to live. Now 25, he has a degree from Carleton University, Canada, where he served as a research analyst at the World Economic Forum. He was named one of the 30 greatest thinkers under 30 by Pacific Standard Magazine and was also head of the Youth Program for Africa at Amnesty International. In 2008, he was a member of the inaugural class of the African Leadership Academy.

In his own words he describes himself as, “the guy on wheels who refuses to rest until every single disabled person in the world, until every single beautifully black and brown disabled soul gets a fighting chance at living their best life.”

However, Ndopu may find himself unable to begin study in September, as the scholarship does not account for the costs of his disability needs. In response, Ndopu’s case has attracted significant attention and the campaign #OxfordEddiecated has been set up to crowdfund the $33,000 needed to cover the costs of an automated wheelchair and for a full-time carer to accompany him.

“They [Oxford] assumed that I would able-bodied, so they did not account for the 24-hour care I will need,” Ndopu told South Africa’s Mail & Guardian, “there is no visa category for a caregiver who needs to accompany an international student with a disability because this has never happened at Oxford.”

Hannah Jones, a DPhil student at Oxford writing for gal-dem online magazine, condemned the deficit in Ndopu’s scholarship. She wrote, “Eddie has highlighted an epic flaw in [Oxford’s] scholarships: an assumption that every scholar is able-bodied. Collectively, we need to wake up and create a more inclusive academia. This is our responsibility as human beings.

“Oxford University is an astronomically wealthy institution, and Eddie’s predicament is so incredibly frustrating, because the funds clearly exist and can be sourced through dialogue and organisation between the institution and the South African government.”

Oxford University has said in a statement, “We have awarded a place on our Master of Public Policy programme which is being accompanied by a full academic scholarship. The University provides high-quality support to staff and students with disabilities to meet their needs in work and study. Oxford fulfils the legal duty to make reasonable adjustments with the utmost care.

“In this case, we are also working hard to explore financial options which can sustain the type of all-round support already being funded and provided long-term to the applicant in his home country. We welcome the determined, enterprising and creative efforts being made to fulfil the opportunity to study at Oxford by the applicant and his many friends and supporters.”

Poetry: One Hundred Red Kites

Harry Smith
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Poetry: One Hundred Red Kites

(Above, one hundred red kites;
They built my house.)

Some were tethered still, children pulled at them,
And wondered at their bobbing, their straining to be lost,
Even as they writhed ecstatic between euphoric freedom
And tugging memory, that very human cost.

Of course these were false kites, paper and twigs.
It is the real ones that made my home.
I was a big child, my parents joked,
So I would not be carried away.

(They are the ones I dream of joining, when my bones are lighter.)

I saw one close, when I too was a child,
And never thought of the cord it lacked.
Its feathers were dingy, mottled vermilion,
Far from the pure paper red of my toys;
Just a bundle of terracotta bones,

(Avian skeletons are hollow inside, an adaptation to lighten the skeletal system for flight.)

Ragged, dishevelled – its wing was broken.

(A side-effect of hollow bones is their frailty. I can hear the sea.)

I tried to pick it up, to take it safe;
Its beak lashed forward and took part of my hand,
Pinched out my flesh precisely,
Left a perfect diamond-hole of red and pain.
I could not move my fingers.

(Now, sitting on the ground, I look at my palm. The scar is still there, and a little indent in flesh where my hand had never recovered its flatness.)

But still I took it home,
Staining its feathers with rolling childish tears
And pouring human blood.

(Thinking back, I can see it still, in my hands. I held it with its strong wing pressed shut, my other hand about its gullet, so it could not peck me again. As I took it home through the lanes, its claws opened and closed madly, grasping at nothing, for me. I do not know how many years it has been, how the time has washed away.)

My parents fought because of the kite.
The kite watched them argue,
Its wing makeshift splinted.
I cried again, when it was taken,
My hand makeshift bandaged.

(The bark of the tree digs into my back, and I have sunk a little into the mossy ground. I find I cannot move. Two toes in my left foot tingle, in harmony with my scarred hand.)

I showed my twins the kites,
Showed them the palm of my hand,
Where that beak had slit a tendon,
And how my two longest fingers
Now could only point;
They both were young.
The wind was high that day, our coats’ buttons, too.

(I feel a breeze on my face; is it cool? Either way, I am perspiring, expiring.)

I say to them, the kites built our house.
“Why?” – a child’s question,
Asked over and over and over.
The answer, debt, has weighed on me,
Weighed in my bones, infused them to their marrows,

(Would I fly if I passed that on?)

And held me to the ground – it held all three of us.
I have one twin on each side,
Boy on left, girl on right.

Boy holds my useless fingers,
He tells me he loves their feathers,
Their dirty dry-blood coats,
That he dreams of wearing colours such as those,
Resplendent matted sailors’ robes,
To curl against the early frost,
To billow out in springtime breezes,
To perch upon a mountain-top,
And to look down over lakes and stones and paths,
And to revel in needing none of it.

(Even now, it is sweet for me to remember such a dream. Salt stings my eyes; it has found its way into my mouth, too. My bones ache, and there is a fractured throb on my left. Why can I not lift my arm?)

Girl stands on my dexterous side,
She tells me how she envies their wings,
She tells me how she feels that, here,
With the wind in her hair and her eyes and her bones,
She knows the feeling of soaring,
And she tells me what a wonder it is to soar,
To be among that flying legion,
To be their centurion, childish wings akimbo,

(Haphazard sprawl, yet soaring still,)

To fly and hunt among the birds,
To feel a mammal in one’s clutches,
To sense life’s ebb in the sinking wind,
To rise and fall.

(I remember her words, a propped-up starfish I, and how I came to know iotas of those feelings. Rise and fall, rise and fall – my ribs can hardly manage it.)

When I saw the kites again, my twins were gone.

(One hundred red kites; I see you, is my house waiting?)

My horse was heavy. (Was I too?)
I felt the bones that held us together.
The cry came, an avian shriek,
Above the mammalian murmurs,

(Those sounds, they are numbed now. Is it the wind I hear, is it the sea? I grasp at the moss, my useless fingers stay sprawled on its surface. It is damp – I know that, but I do not feel it; my seeing fingers fail me. Even the kites are fading, weightless sand-grains in the blue.)

“Enemy sighted!”
No fear, no fear, what could I have feared?
Of course these were false foes, paper and twigs;
They would blow away in the wind.
The sword at my right was heavy.
Needs must to cut bone.

(It is still heavy, it rests across my leg. The blood cannot reach my foot. My foot cannot reach the ground. I cannot move the blade. Where else could the blood go, if not to ground, from the hollow in my left flank?)

I saw the kites above,
They were with me, for me,
Beaks snapping in breathy anticipation,
With me, for me.
They had built my house,
It was up there, with them,
I had only to wait.

(I am waiting now, but I am tired, how much longer can there be? Is it the sea I hear?)

The sea’s breath was at our backs.
The kites it lifted high,
It pressed us down.
“Break their bones” was the cry,

(I shiver a little; isn’t it summer?)

I shivered a little, but nerves were normal.
The fear was gone,
What could I have feared?
The wind was behind us,
My bones were light,

(My bones are heavy)

My house was waiting,
Built and readied
By one hundred red kites.

(My house is waiting,
Built and readied
By one hundred red kites,
Waiting for me, on me.
My bones are heavy, I have sunk in the moss.
The bark digs into my back.
Above, a swooping red kite.
Blood and bone, paper and twigs.)

The peck of a beak, on my left flank.
A human thought, a dream of flight.
Watching the skies, I saw their beauty.
I slept in the grass, a twin on each side.

My claw is on my right – I remember you, daughter.
I wear a wet-blood coat – I remember you, son.
The wind is in my down – I remember you, daughter.
The earth is green and red – I remember you, son.

I feel the tree.
I am paper and twigs.
The light is fading, my bones weigh me down.
The earth is soft, the sun is warm.
My body is cold, my bones are hard.
My thoughts are sun. My body is earth.
My house is waiting, my home in the sky.
Above, one hundred red kites;
They close the door.
It is made of paper and twigs.
I go to enter in.

Review: ‘Inspiring Impressionism: Daubigny, Monet, Van Gogh’; Scottish National Gallery

Altair Brandon-Salmon
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Review: ‘Inspiring Impressionism: Daubigny, Monet, Van Gogh’; Scottish National Gallery

‘Inspiring Impressionism’, is a major exhibition currently on at the Scottish National Gallery in Edinburgh. It tracks the development of Impressionism through the careers of Charles-François Daubigny, Claude Monet, and Vincent Van Gogh, respectively proto-, archetypal, and post-Impressionist. Each represents a distinct phase of the movement, between which the exhibition draws connections while covering half a century of painting.

The first room of the exhibition is focused primarily on Daubigny, the least well-known of the trio, and confronts the curator’s greatest challenge: convincing us that he is as important as his successors. His landscapes are well painted, with a great feeling for complex skies, thick clouds interacting with bright suns. The horizon line is often midway down the composition, stressing the dominance of nature over man, a notion inherited from the Romantics, who had always enjoyed popularity in the Salon. Indeed, Daubigny eventually became a juror on the annual Academy show, his landscapes having transitioned from being deemed aesthetically radical to fine examples of the French School, not so very far from Constable. To a contemporary audience, the upset Daubigny caused is hard to fathom: his views of the Seine, Oise, and Auvers are detailed, naturalistic with brushwork carefully rendering trees and foliage. ‘Banks of the Oise at Auvers’ (1863) is the best of them, the thicket of dark green trees to the left introducing a note of cool menace to the tranquil atmosphere. Daubigny appears interested only in capturing the countryside’s transient beauty.

Monet's 'Sunset on the Seine at Lavacourt'. Source: wikimedia commons
Monet’s ‘Sunset on the Seine at Lavacourt’. Source: Wikimedia Commons

Of course, Monet could be accused of the same, his obsessive painting of haystacks and ponds more concerned with light than humanity, but his bold approach, with dramatic, sweeping brushstrokes and a promiscuous, burning palette, is what gives his canvases their dramatic impetus. There are no true Monet masterpieces on display in the exhibition, but his ‘Sunset on the River Seine at Lavacourt, Winter Effect’ (1880) is the finest here; the orange sun, its rays reflected on the river, conveyed with rough daubs of paint straight from the tube, recalls Japanese prints in its intensity of colour. It acknowledges plainly Monet’s pivotal earlier work, ‘Impression, Sunrise’ (1872) (its title inspiring the name of the movement as a whole), which boasted a similarly striking sun illuminating an otherwise muddy landscape. In comparison, Daubigny is too careful, wishing to portray the leaves in the trees, when Monet knew we see in generalities, his great aesthetic discovery. Daubigny’s paintings which were contemporaneous to Monet’s are looser, dirtier, more clearly ‘impressions’ than earlier works, but still fundamentally in good taste and acceptable to the Salon at a time when Monet and his compatriots like Pissaro (also in the exhibition) were being rejected.

The last key room places Daubigny alongside van Gogh, the latter an admirer of the former, even painting his gardens, and positions him as the ‘natural’ conclusion to a process Daubigny had begun. There is no deviation from the traditional, evolutionary art historical narrative used to explain Impressionism, nor any challenge posed to the idea that the style was about nature: landscapes are the only genre represented, ignoring Monet’s frank, bruising cityscapes. The exhibition offers a neat summary of itself here, hanging Daubigny’s ‘Fields in the Month of June’ (1870) in the centre of a triptych flanked on the left by Monet’s ‘Field with Poppies’ (1881) and to the right by ‘Poppy Field, Auvers-sur-Oise’ (1890) from Van Gogh. The motif of a poppy field is central to all three works and allows for us to understand just as clearly the differences between them as it does the similarities – Daubigny’s fastidious observance of each flower, Monet’s fluid, gestural approach, Van Gogh’s penetrating, subversive, graphic depiction. The determined experimentation of Monet and Van Gogh contrast with Daubigny’s innovation inside accepted boundaries, and this aesthetic clash off-balances the exhibition.

van Gogh's 'Poppy Field, Auvers-sur-Oise'. Source: wikimedia commons
van Gogh’s ‘Poppy Field, Auvers-sur-Oise’. Source: Wikimedia Commons

As a kind of post-script, the SNG has as its final room a recreation of Daubigny’s Studio Boat, from which he painted many of his landscapes. It’s bizarre, almost childish, not terribly illuminating and robs a whole room from the exhibition space, leading one to speculate there were not enough paintings to fill the walls. Certainly, the exhibition is composed of minor or middle-ranking canvases and the Impressionist and Post-Impressionist galleries in the main part of the SNG, while smaller, are superior in their range and quality.

‘Inspiring Impressionism’ makes a convincing case that Daubigny was an important influence on the Impressionists, but despite selective quotes praising Daubigny, taken from letters by Monet and Van Gogh, it never quite explains why he alone is focused on and not say, Gustave Courbet. The gap in quality between the three painters is undeniable and makes for an interesting but not wholly cohesive exhibition, seeming to omit as much as it includes.

What can we learn from the Norrington Table?

Daniel Kodsi
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What can we learn from the Norrington Table?

Head of the river and top of the Norrington – Oriel really have it all this year.

But there is something else remarkable about Oriel’s accession, besides that it gives the proprietors of Oxford’s most famous statue yet more reason to gloat: it marks the first time in fifteen years – since Balliol took the crown in 2001 – that the college at the top of the Norrington Table is not one of Oxford’s five richest undergraduate colleges.

After all, what is it that the Norrington Table really measures? Cherwell runs you through the trends and factoids in this year’s academic rankings.

Where the fun goes to die

Poor Merton – if only one more finalist had earned a 1st instead of a 2.1, they would be back on top, having dropped down nearly to the bottom of last year’s rankings. Still, that would have placed them nowhere near their record score of 77.7% back in 2007/8. Rounding out the top five are Magdalen, University, and Trinity.

Better luck next time

Pembroke dons must be breathing a sigh of relief. After last year’s humiliation of losing by 3.1 percentage points – the same amount separating 12th-place Oriel and 29th-place St Edmund Hall – they are replaced by Queen’s at the foot of the Norrington. Mansfield and a few of the ‘St’s – Anne’s, Hilda’s, and Peter’s – will be providing company at the bottom of the Table.

I knew I should’ve read maths…

No, the maths students assure you, horror in their eyes, you do not wish you were reading maths. But is there truth to the claim that it’s easier to get a first in the sciences than humanities? The statistics from 2015’s Gazette would certainly seem to suggest so: 38% of mathematical, physical and life scientists graduating last year managed a first, whilst only 30% of humanities students, 29% of medical scientists, and 26% of social scientists managed the same. Moral of the story? Yet another reason not to read PPE, whose 22% first rate was easily the lowest of any of Oxford’s popular courses.

The tyranny of wealth? Of popularity?

Actually, not so much. Of Oxford’s ten richest undergraduate colleges, only three (Merton, Magdalen, and Univ) break the top ten Norrington performers – whilst two (Christ Church and and Queen’s) can be found in the bottom third of the Table. On the other hand, six of Oxford’s poorest undergraduate colleges can be found in the bottom ten, so the data cuts both ways.

Equally murky is the debate over whether oversubscribed colleges tend to outperform: six of Oxford’s ten colleges with the lowest percentage of direct applicants accepted made the Norrington top ten – which almost has you wondering about the four that didn’t: are their tutors sure they’re accepting the right applicants?

With age, wisdom

The old adage: Wisdom before beauty. Except Oxford’s oldest colleges also tend to be its most beautiful. They are also its best academic performers. Wealth might not be a determining factor, but how about date of foundation? Six of Oxford’s oldest colleges – all founded before 1500 – made the top third of the Norrington. Meanwhile, eight of Oxford’s nine latest additions (St Catherine’s aside) – none older than a spry 140 years –  placed in the bottom half of the Table.

Oxford researcher suggests Donald Trump has stronger psychopathic traits than Hitler

Tony Diver
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Oxford researcher suggests Donald Trump has stronger psychopathic traits than Hitler

An Oxford researcher has pegged Republican Party’s presidential hopeful Donald Trump at 171 on the PPI-R test for psychopathic traits.

The study, which was drawn up by Oxford’s Dr Kevin Dutton, saw him and a collection of political experts estimate Trump’s response to 56 psychometric questions. The results place him two points above Adolf Hitler, who scores 169.

The test “does not say whether someone is a psychopath,” explains Dr Dutton, “it scores them on eight traits that contribute to a psychopathic character.

“Both great and terrible leaders score higher than the general population for psychopathic traits, but it is the mix of those traits that determines success.

“Some of those traits, such as fearlessness or stress immunity, can be positive. Others, such as blame externalisation or being unconcerned about the future, are more likely to be negative. One, cold-heartedness, can contribute to good and bad leadership.”

Trump scored higher than Hitler on “social influence” and “fearlessness”, but lower on traits usually considered bad, such as “Machiavellian egocentricity” and “cold-heartedness”. One trait both figures share is “blame externalisation”, a common feature of populist politics.

The findings, which were published in the journal Scientific American Mind, also measured the estimated score of Hillary Clinton, who was found to have a very high score for “Machiavellian egocentricity”. On the measure for “fearless dominance”, traditionally associated with strong presidencies, Trump’s score was higher.

The study is another example of the worldwide Trump phenomenon reaching Oxford, after students organised a protest against his candidacy in March. Dr Dutton, who included Trump as part of a wider study on the relationship between psychopathy and political leadership, was nonetheless keen to stress that “in the end, while both score relatively highly, it will be up to voters to decide if whether their mix of positive and negative traits should send them to the Oval Office.”

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