Tuesday 5th August 2025
Blog Page 14

Common threads: Historical fashion and its lessons for our time

Charis Patterson
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Common threads: Historical fashion and its lessons for our time

When we think of historical fashion, images of towering wigs, tight-laced corsets, heavy brocades and voluminous skirts often spring to mind – ornate, impractical, and rooted firmly in the unenlightened past. But to reduce historical dress to its stereotypes is to miss a broader, and perhaps more urgent, lesson. Beneath the showy ostentation lies a pragmatic and surprisingly progressive relationship with clothing that today’s world of fast fashion would do well to revisit.

Historical fashion is a vast subject stretching across centuries, cultures, and classes. But across the board common threads emerge: resourcefulness, a persisting respect for materials, and a slower, more deliberate pace of consumption. In an era where disposable clothing feeds insatiable consumerism, these lessons from the past may offer a model for a more sustainable future for fashion.

1. Clothing Had Value – Real Value

In a time before mass production, clothing was handmade, expensive, and often bespoke. Laborious in construction and dear in price, clothes could not be made or bought on a whim but represented a significant investment of time and money. Most people owned only a few outfits, which made each garment both precious yet frequently worn in order to justify the cost.

Acquiring clothes was a deliberate and premeditated activity. That it involved parting with a substantial part of one’s income meant quality, longevity, and practical use were carefully considered before making a purchase. The cost of resources and the duration of construction meant impulse buying was not an option for historical consumers. Clothes were a considerable investment, and perhaps it’s time we treated them that way again.

2. Make Do and Mend

Given the cost and labour involved in their production, clothing was expected to be durable, lasting even a lifetime. To help ensure this, many people were versed in at least the rudimentaries of sewing in order to carry out their own repairs. Being able to make even the simplest of repairs to a garment meant that they rarely needed to be thrown away.  Besides repairs, one could also tailor their own clothes. Simple modifications such as taking in seams or letting down hems enabled clothing to adapt to one’s body as it changed over the course of a lifetime.

During the Second World War, with fabric in short supply, the British government issued a pamphlet titled Make Do and Mend. It encouraged women on the home front to recycle worn garments, patch holes, reknit old jumpers, and even form community sewing circles. ‘Make do and mend’ became an apposite response to the crisis of resources ,and encouraged women to return to practices that had been common currency in preceding eras when clothing was similarly scarce.

Far from being a relic of the past, this ethos of repairing rather than discarding has never felt more relevant. The fashion industry remains one of the most environmentally damaging sectors globally, with textile waste mounting at an alarming rate. If we were to shift our modern mindset and consider resources once again limited, learning basic sewing skills and committing to a ‘make do and mend’ mentality would be an apt response to stewarding materials well in light of the climate crisis.

3. Fabric came first

Historically, garments were often commissioned, not purchased ready-made. Fabric was acquired from merchants, markets, and later drapers’ shops, before being made up into a piece of clothing by a tailor or even the purchaser themselves. This meant it was the norm to buy fabric first – valuing the material and its quality before committing to a style or silhouette. People chose materials from  natural fibres like wool, linen, silk, and cotton. They would have factored in the fabric’s durability and structure,  weight, and the tightness of the weave before making a purchase.

Today, consumers have largely divorced themselves from prioritising fabric. Most are unaware of the differing characteristics of each natural fibre, the advantages of choosing natural fibres over synthetic ones, and are unlikely to even consider a garment’s fibre content before making a purchase. Yet natural fibres, unlike synthetics, are biodegradable and often far less damaging to produce. By learning to recognise good fabric like our predecessors – and asking where it came from – we can make more informed and ethical choices when shopping.

4. Utility Can Be Beautiful

During the Blitz, when rationing made luxury impossible, the British government collaborated with leading couturiers to create “Utility Clothing” – a line of stylish yet frugal designs marked by the now-iconic CC41 label. In order to reassure the public that fashion was not being sacrificed for frugality, in 1942 the government Board of Trade commissioned designs for a Utility collection from the Incorporated Society of London Fashion Designers, whose leaders included Charles Creed, Norman Hartnell, and Bianca Mosca. These designs went on to feature in Vogue later that year.

Despite working with such restrictions, the designers involved in the Utility Clothing scheme produced garments that were not only well-received at the time, but have since left a lasting mark on the fashion world, inspiring designers from Miuccia Prada to Vivienne Westwood.

Though born of necessity, these pieces were intentionally pared back in both form and function, characterised by their sleek silhouettes, clean lines, and absence of ornamentation, deriving elegance from simplicity. What was once a response to austerity has become a template for timeless, modern design, demonstrating the striking ways creativity can flourish amidst adversity.

5. Capsule Wardrobes Aren’t New

The idea of a capsule wardrobe – a small, versatile collection of clothing that can be mixed and matched – is often seen as a product of modern minimalism, popularised in the 1970s by Susie Faux. But for most of history, capsule wardrobes weren’t a lifestyle trend. They were simply a reality. Limiting one’s wardrobe wasn’t a conscious act of restraint, but the natural result of economic and material scarcity.

The availability of clothing today, made possible by industrial production and fast fashion, has made us assume that variety and excess are normal. But historically, clothing was designed with longevity and adaptability in mind. Each item had to work hard – worn in different combinations, across seasons, and over many years. What we now call a capsule wardrobe was once just common sense. Revisiting that approach today is less about nostalgia and more about rethinking what we really need – and why we consume in the first place.

6. Zero Waste Isn’t New Either

Long before “zero waste” entered fashion discourse, garments were made to use every inch of fabric. The 18th-century mantua, for example, was often draped rather than cut, preserving the full width and length of the original swathe of fabric and minimising textile waste. Similarly, for many centuries clothing was more likely to be pleated and gathered into shape rather than cut in order to curtail the creation of harder to use scraps of fabric. Where this was impossible, offcuts were always repurposed. Today, the environmental footprint of clothing is not just in its wear, but in its manufacture. Learning from historical construction techniques – like using rectangular pattern pieces and the full swathe of fabric, or creatively reusing scraps and trims for smaller projects – could help designers and creators alike to reduce fabric waste.

Historical fashion isn’t a blueprint for how we should dress – but it offers compelling lessons about why we dress the way we do. It reminds us that fashion hasn’t always been fast, that clothing used to be cherished, and that scarcity breeds creativity. As we grapple with the realities of climate change, overproduction, and overconsumption in fashion, the past may not be such a bad place to look for inspiration. In a world increasingly defined by excess, there’s something quietly radical in choosing to consume less, repair more, and dress with intention. After all, sustainability isn’t a trend – it’s a return to something we used to know.

A Pelican Crossing Somewhere on Green Dragon Lane

Briony Arnott
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A Pelican Crossing Somewhere on Green Dragon Lane

I jolt from dreams of silence into a wakefulness of traffic. The school rush, honking and shrieking like geese outside. I forget that other people’s days start before noon – the leisurely life of university – but today I join them. Wash my face in the sink, dress in black. My roots have grown out these past months. Of all the days to notice, it has to be today. 

I sit on the edge of my bed to catch my breath. 

I can’t stop for long – the train station is thirty minutes away and to tempt fate would be unwise at best, devastating at worst. 

Purse, phone charger, paper tickets (what a novelty!), and keys. Enter the throng and the bustle of real life. Little year sevens flocking towards the open doors of the schools, cowering under backpacks which would put Mohammad’s mountain to shame. They glance in panic and shame at the time, run with all their might to be ten minutes earlier to register. Their parents watch from a safe distance, engines on as if to disguise the fact that they will sit there, intently focused, for at least another ten minutes. I do not have the luxury to linger and watch both the past and future unfold. I don’t remember being that small, that blissfully unaware, but like a bullet in the leg the truth of it embeds and will not unlodge. The passage of time is a bloodthirsty hound. 

On the train I play choral covers of Radiohead songs and think about the looming deadlines which have characterised my term; the fact that I haven’t received a text back from the PPE-ist at St John’s I’ve been seeing; how one less person now remembers me as young and careless and shockingly blonde. 

Tears clog in my sinuses – I feel them everywhere but my eyes. Somewhere just off the mark, just out of reach. I wish I’d brought water. I read years ago you can’t cry and drink simultaneously, and though it’s yet to work, it gives my mouth something to do other than tremble. Wish I’d brought food. When does one eat on days like these? My friend told me wakes often have food, but what does she know?

No one she knows has ever died. 

Change at Paddington. Tube is packed.

I always thought London was this great car-less city, with everyone crammed into metal tubes, on their way to mindlessly turn cogs in some behemoth machine I could neither see nor understand. To have a car would be too personal, too rebellious, too close to straying from the written path. Yet, in my grandmother’s house, with its creaking floorboards and Turkish rugs, there was always the constant chatter of cars. I would lie awake watching the room shoot in and out of shocking blackness as the headlights outside came and went – ships skirting past my harbor.

I, having grown up somewhere between nothing and nowhere, found this of course to be terribly distracting. I would always fall asleep on the sofa the next day mid-way through breakfast, when the murmur of TV and conversation masked the unfamiliar buzz of city life. 

But inside a car the world was different, taking on new shapes and meanings like clay in my hands. 

She used to drive us places, my sister and I. Before the migraines started, she would drive two and a half hours to come and visit us. Take us on walks around our favourite parks. Kiss our kittens and let us regale her with our dolls and dinosaurs. 

Or, if we were in London, she would bundle us into that beaten sedan with no headrests on the back seat, and take us to the cinema, or the Tower, or the Eye. There must be a picture of us three in every corner of the city. I can still taste salted caramel ice cream, feel the sun on my face, her hand in mine.

So it goes.

I mustn’t dwell. Wouldn’t want to miss my stop. A train whizzes past on the other track. I used to think they would run all night, perpetually roaming the tracks like creatures with individual minds and powers. Foxes howling in the woods outside my bedroom; the pitter patter of cat claws in the hallway at 3am. These sounds spilling into my dreams like milk, lullabies of the country. 

I cannot, even now, imagine life stilled. The bluest ribbons of blood fading grey. The babbling pulse damned. Wet paper bags in the chest; whatever happened to breath? 

The speaker crackles, Enfield Chase. Disembark.

Meet my mother on the platform – fall into her embrace like my strings have been cut. Walk the familiar paths, past the cracked painted fence and crossing car-heavy streets. I cannot quite accept it may well be the last time I will do this. I want to stand on the precipice of youth and lean backwards, splashing through the warm waters of summers, lost until I emerge, unscathed, in a spring when nothing bad has ever happened.

Life goes so very quickly. I shore against my ruins faded pictures and pink-princess birthday cards, but still it passes unhindered, unwavering. Motorway traffic versus some poor squirrel, caught up in hamartia, or animal instinct. 

Who am I to halt time? Who am I not to try?

I gnaw on the bones of time to no avail. Hard and fast, it whispers unrelenting, unforgiving in my ears. A cacophony of loss I can only fathom by tracing the edges. 

As we walk down Green Dragon Lane, I think for the hundredth time it could do with a pelican crossing. 

Of course, it makes it easier for the hearse that it doesn’t. My parents, sister, uncle, and a woman who introduces herself as Martynne squash into the cars that will follow. I’m sure she tells us more, but I cannot bring myself to listen. Let others smile and socialise – I breathe in the dust and the life which lingers, despite the absence I cannot ignore. 

Say goodbye. Buckle my seatbelt. Not that I’d need it – someone is walking in front of the hearse, top hat and morning coat on. I thought this kind of ceremony was reserved for other people. 

It seems, even now, as though it cannot be happening to me, despite all evidence to the contrary. 

During the service, I tell myself that this is happening to somebody else. That I am not here, watching my grandmother’s life in pictures, my sister crying and holding my hand. I read the words in front of me – a book of hymns. Do people usually sing? 

The person this is happening to, who is not myself, but some far removed girl who can mourn, swallows grief whole. I – she chokes on memories. 

Nails dig into palms, teeth clench. We stand at the coffin, backs bent like apostrophes, and I do not know how to speak to a body, cold and silent; hidden away and removed from everything bright and dazzling and new. We turn away. I follow my sister into sunlight – an Orpheus without hope – and wonder if there is a heaven, if the seasons are different to earth.

After the wake, I am put on the opposite train to the rest of my family. They wave to me as my train leaves the station, and I begin my odyssey to the city of spires. I read Little Women. Stop before Beth dies. Google ‘books where nothing bad happens’ and am forced to accept that to live is to grieve. Call my friend from the third train so she can meet me at the station. We pick up dinner and she asks if there was food at the wake. I tell her there were sandwiches and drinks. 

We eat cross-legged on the floor. If I wear these clothes tomorrow, I will have sat a miniature shiva. No time for a full-one, there are meetings to go to, and deadlines delay themselves for no man.

I go to bed early. Engines croon and hum outside my window, fending off sleep.

I am twelve years old, my sister snores next to me, at the top of that rickety house I once knew like the back of my hand. 

Everyone is alive. 

Doctor Zhivago: The banned book the CIA smuggled across the Iron Curtain

Kavya Kapadia
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Doctor Zhivago: The banned book the CIA smuggled across the Iron Curtain

“May it make its way around the world. You are hereby invited to watch me face the firing squad.” 

These were the words of Boris Pasternak as he entrusted Italian literary talent agent Sergio D’Angelo with a copy of Doctor Zhivago, the book which became the CIA’s secret literary weapon against the Soviet Union. 

Pasternak initially hesitated in giving D’Angelo the novel, likely remembering the ugly fate of his predecessors, such as the execution and exile of Pilnyak and Zamyatin. Giangiacomo Feltrinelli, the Italian publisher for whom D’Angelo worked, would become one of the first to publish ‘Dr Zhivago’ in Italian, despite threats from the Italian Communist party and proposals from the Soviet authorities to instead publish a censored version of the novel within the Soviet Union itself.

Soviet authorities and publishing houses had refused to publish Doctor Zhivago, with the KGB claiming that his work was an “estrangement from Soviet life, and a celebration of individualism”. Upon discovering the novel two years later, the CIA stated that this was an “opportunity to make Soviet citizens wonder what is wrong with their government, when a fine literary work by the man acknowledged to be the greatest living Russian writer is not even available in his own country”. In circulating the book, their goal was to contribute to the “cultural cold war” to undermine and challenge Soviet attitudes by propagating the idea of intellectual freedom within the Soviet Union and to foster anti-Soviet attitudes amongst the intelligentsia.

Censorship and repression visibly moulded the very shape and form of the book. When I wanted to read Doctor Zhivago, an internet search and a quick trip to Waterstones was all it took. The CIA, however, first read and received the book in the form of two rolls of film from MI6, with each page having been individually photographed by an unnamed British intelligence officer. Some received their copies from a small hidden library that Russian immigrant Catholics had created in Belgium during the first postwar world’s fair at the 1958 Brussels Universal and International Exposition. Several young Soviets would have been showered with miniature copies of the book, the books were thrown into the Soviet buses arriving at the 1959 World Festival of Youth and Students for Peace and Friendship in Vienna. The CIA had printed these miniature copies on onion-skin paper, designed to be small enough to fit in pockets. The flood of these was so potent that Soviet customs officials would search specifically for them in travellers’ luggage. Others read the book through the efforts of those who would remove its cover, separate the pages, and hide them in their pockets. 

Two simultaneous wars were playing out: one on the battlefield and one in the publishing houses. Stalin had announced ‘socialist realism’ as the only acceptable method of writing; all depictions of reality were obliged to be related to the spirit of communism and Marx. These writers were called upon to be the “engineers of the human soul”, helping to produce the “new Soviet man”. Censorship in the Soviet Union was often drastic, stringent, and arbitrary. A text about carrots was once banned because it detailed how carrots could be grown in individual plots of land, not just collectives. 

Pasternak’s work, on the other hand, was described as a work of “symbolic realism”. There is an underlying humanism in the text, championing dignity and respect as integral human rights, completely independent of one’s beliefs or political affiliations. This was in direct opposition to the Communist principles of the prioritisation of the community over the individual. The novel does contain strong indictments of Stalin’s regime, for example when Zhivago’s close friend Dudorov claims that war was a blessing as a “purifying storm, a breath of deliverance…collectivisation was an erroneous and unsuccessful measure” and when Zhivago claims that “revolutionaries who take the law into their own hands are horrifying, not as criminals, but as machines that have gotten out of control, like a runaway train”. Despite these politically charged, evocative passages, the book was not full of potent invocations against socialism; its main sin was apathy and indifference towards politics. 

Likely because Pasternak spent more than a decade writing the novel, the novel reflects changing attitudes towards the Revolution: at the beginning of the novel, the narrator is enthusiastic towards it, but gradually he begins to chart his disillusionment. The book itself charts Yuri Zhivago’s complex and intricate relationships, cast against the backdrop of the Russian Revolution, World War I, and the atrocities of Stalin’s rule, including his affairs and his experiences of being forced to serve as a medical officer for Bolshevik partisans.  It exists in a liminal place of unprecedented writing; it is neither the epic-style book about the Russian Revolution, nor is it the conventional romantic story. 

Pasternak was not the political dissident he was perceived to be. He opposed Soviet ideology; however, “he was not at all a political man”. Doctor Zhivago is considered to be about something unique altogether. Stalin himself described him as a “cloud dweller” when he demanded that Pasternak’s name be taken off a list of those to be executed after he hung up the phone on Pasternak, failing to ascertain whether or not he was a supporter of Mandelstam (an anti-Stalinist writer). Pasternak’s ambiguous musings seemed neither to vindicate nor convict him. 

Ironically, the CIA also issued intricate instructions on how the text should be interpreted, despite their claimed values of promoting free speech. When publishing Pasternak’s novel, John Maury, the Soviet Russia Division chief at the CIA, advised the public that “Dr Zhivago is an excellent springboard for conversations with Soviets on the general theme of ‘Communism versus Freedom of Expression”. The interpretation of the book itself was influenced by external circumstances, suggesting that books are rarely able to be read independently. 

One could claim the book has been pigeon-holed into the category of political subversiveness, while discussion of its other themes of love, fate, and immortality, has been neglected. In several scholarly works produced about the CIA and Doctor Zhivago, little has ever been said about the contents of the book itself, other than vague descriptions of its anti-Soviet sentiments. His work is not politically, but philosophically and spiritually dissident; its political, subversive messages, could be interpreted as emphasised by the KGB to silence Pasternak, and by the CIA, to give him a voice. 

Amidst the political and ideological discourse surrounding Doctor Zhivago, appreciation of the text as literature for literature’s sake is often neglected, thus raising several questions about literature itself: What are the purposes of literature? Must all literature be political propaganda? For some, it is a form of dissociation from the real world, whereas in this case, it was a direct link to the real world and the truth of oppressed voices. For Pasternak, the circumstances surrounding the book were equally as important as its contents; evidently and understandably, the CIA would have had no interest in its publication, had it not been for its ability to be used against the Soviets. Therefore, free speech must noe be concentrated solely in the power of publishing houses and governments, and the pathways through which voices can be heard must be diversified. 

Edward Bulwer-Lytton’s phrase, “The pen is mightier than the sword,” is often quoted in such discussions regarding the power of literature, yet its preceding words are conveniently omitted. The full version reads: “Beneath the rule of men entirely great, the pen is mightier than the sword”. Under the rule of men not entirely great, Pasternak regrettably never received his deserved accolades while alive. The Soviet authorities suppressed any praise directed towards Pasternak, culminating in him being forced to decline his Nobel Prize in Literature, due to fears of exile or persecution. 

Widely speculated, yet false, rumours that the CIA had organised the publication of Doctor Zhivago in Russian so that he would win a Nobel Prize, further undermined Pasternak’s literary prowess. While the CIA and the MI6 had a prominent role to play, we must not forget Pasternak’s bravery to write about reality, and his relentlessness in his drive for his novel to be published anywhere, in whichever language. He intentionally broke Soviet law and established a vital precedent for future authors to do what had once been unthinkable. Without Pasternak’s legacy, other silenced voices may never have been heard. 

By Kavya Kapadia

Sally Rooney, a Flaubert for today?

Richard Kuehl
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Sally Rooney, a Flaubert for today?

Like millions of other people in recent years, I have fallen victim to the ongoing Sally Rooney craze. The Irish author, whose novels have received numerous successful TV adaptations in the past few years, has been labeled ‘the voice of a generation.’ In today’s media landscape, even those not in tune with ‘Booktube’ or ‘Goodreads’ will have stumbled across her name.

I liked her debut novel Conversations with Friends, but it was her 2018 bestseller Normal People that finally won me over. I read the book in a day during a particularly long 11-hour train ride between Italy and Germany. The things that attracted me to the story and its characters have been written about by countless other people over the years. It is true that Rooney’s work is outstanding. When it comes to crafting complex and relatable protagonists whilst also drawing the reader into their mundane daily lives, she is unparalleled.

However, Rooney’s literary projects are by no means groundbreaking. As the author herself states, she draws quite a lot on the 19th century novel in her writings. No other work exemplifies this as much as Gustav Flaubert’s 1869 L’Education Sentimentale. Although arguably much larger in scope and almost twice the length of Normal People, L’Education Sentimentale treads along the same stylistic lines whilst also having a lot in common with
Rooney’s work thematically. On the one hand, like Rooney, Flaubert aimed to remove any subjectivity from his writing, eradicating the narratorial presence from his novel. Through this, and his focus on mundane subjects, he hoped to bring the reader closer to the characters, and break some of the artificiality attached to any work of fiction.

On the other hand, both novels follow the evolution of two people’s relationships over time, and the way that they are hampered by miscommunication, self-doubt, and socio-
economic factors. Both novels thematicise the cultural differences between the city and countryside, and the way that the dynamics between people are shaped by class. Whereas Connell is uneasy at the fact that his mother works as a cleaner for the mother of his romantic interest Marianne, the penniless Deslauriers progressively develops an antipathy towards his childhood friend Frédéric because of his inherited wealth.

Although both literary works are certainly not identical, I believe the comparison is an interesting one, especially if one wished to make an educated guess about how novels like Normal People will be perceived a hundred years from now. In the case of French literature, it is clear that the most popular novels read and taught nowadays, are for the most part by realist authors such as Balzac, Flaubert, and Zola. These authors’ character-focused stories which capture their contemporary society, have been of continued interest and have never fallen out of print over the last century and a half. Neither Romantics like de Chateaubriand, nor decadents like Huysmans receive as much attention today as one might expect from authors that were highly popular at their time. This is in part because they alienate modern readers, be it through the use of melodrama, pedanticism, or a concern for social issues that no longer resonate with today’s audience.

Because of this, I believe it is not unreasonable to speculate that contemporary authors such as Rooney will have a more lasting presence in the literary landscape, then some of their more experimental counterparts. Not unlike the aforementioned authors, Rooney’s work functions as a document of sociological and historical interest. It chronicles the attitudes, fears, and desires of our generation. Rooney’s novels are also, above all, relatable. It is this relatability that partially drives the success of classical authors such as Flaubert today, and it will be this relatability that will keep novels like Normal People in print for the coming decades.

Twenty-seven years on from The Satanic Verses: Can works of fiction be political?

Ivett Berenyi
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Twenty-seven years on from The Satanic Verses: Can works of fiction be political?

On the 16th May, the man who stabbed author Salman Rushdie following a literary event in 2022 was sentenced to 25 years in prison. Almost three years after the assassination attempt on Salman Rushdie, it feels there are two predominant approaches to reading The Satanic Verses: getting lost in its immense creative energy, or keeping at a remove, with its political implications in mind. 

The response to Rushdie’s novel has been nothing short of extraordinary. On the one hand, it won the Whitbread Novel Award and was shortlisted for the Booker Prize in 1988. On the other, Ayatollah Khomeini issued a fatwa (a ruling by an Islamic authority) against the author, following bans in seven countries in 1989. In Rushdie’s case, this was an order for execution against a bounty of $3 million. And as already alluded to, Rushdie was eventually attacked (and ultimately lost his right eye) during a talk at the Chautauqua Institution.

Alongside works such as Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye and Beloved, The Satanic Verses is a cornerstone example in knotty issues like the banning of books, freedom of expression, and postcolonial theory. However, Rushdie’s novel goes beyond the boundaries we are used to: the author (or his novel – it is difficult to pin down) became indirectly embedded in British-Irani diplomacy for ten consecutive years following the 1989 fatwa. A consideration of this political background reveals the interpretive grey areas that fictive literature inhabits. 

The Satanic Verses details the paths of actor Gibreel Farishta and voice-actor Saladdin Chamcha from India all the way to Britain. This journey, however, is anything but smooth: their flight, Bostan 420, gets hijacked and blown up above the English Channel. The two, however, do not fall to their death – they are instead rebirthed. Gibreel’s nights become riddled with dreams of Jahilia, an imaginary realm in an unspecified desert, where he becomes Allah’s Messenger to prophet Mahound. Simultaneously, Saladdin metamorphoses into a goat while his English wife has an affair with someone new. 

The title is a reference to Qur’anic passages in which Muhammad appears to venerate three pagan goddesses, which sits uneasily with Islamic monotheism, and so has, controversially, been represented by scholars in the past as the product of Satanic suggestion. This title, along with the Jahilian passages (where allusions to Satanic suggestion are played out), were the main elements triggering the fatwa.

Despite the sheer wonder of the novel, it is difficult to ignore its political and religious voice. Its dazzling passages also serve as areas of contestation about the roles of the author, of governments, and of religious authorities. Lots of commentators, like Brend Kaussler in his piece ‘British-Iranian Relations, “The Satanic Verses” and the Fatwa: A Case of Two-Level Game Diplomacy’, have discussed the political potential of fictional works. In approaching these connections, however, we must ask ourselves: how far should literature be allowed to infiltrate and influence global politics?

A core conflict surrounding The Satanic Verses lay between religious orthodoxy (the Irani perspective) and freedom of speech as a human right (the British perspective). This is not to reinforce a binary of the West and the Middle East: especially in the late eighties, when a mere handful of people (mainly men) were making decisions over the novel, it is self-explanatory that they were and are not representative of their respective nations.

Immediate responses to the fatwa included keeping Rushdie under police protection, delaying the establishment of the British Embassy in Tehran, the official breakdown of Iranian-British relations in March 1989, and eventually the taking of hostages in Lebanon and Tehran. Though neither the hostage crisis, nor its resolution, are closely related to the text itself, the book worsened the hostility between the negotiating parties, hindering the initial bilateral efforts to establish and sustain British-Iranian relations. In this context, Penguin Books did not go ahead with the publication of The Satanic Verses paperback – a clear sign that literature could and had taken on political resonance. We may view the publication, then the fatwa, the mistrust, the conflicts, and the conspiracies as a sequence of domino effects––but where does it end? Was this politicisation Rushdie’s intention?

We must return to the book itself. The plot is interspersed with sinister magical realism; Jahilia is fragmented by religious conflict that Gibreel cannot resolve and neither can he navigate his relationship with Alleluja Cone or the bustling capital of England. Saladdin experiences the physical manifestation of hyperbolic racial stereotypes in his metamorphosis and struggles to resolve the tension with his Indian roots and aspirations in London.

Preceding the first two pages of the novel (famously the only bit of the novel actually read by Rushdie’s assailant), we are faced with a title that immediately centres the incident of the Satanic Verses. And Rushdie alludes to it again in a scene in which he weaves Mahound (a prophet), Gibreel (the protagonist and God’s Messenger), and the narrator together as they wrestle. The resulting confusion prompts Mahound’s belief  that “it was the devil’’ who dictated his last message to his community, in which he expanded their religion to polytheism. In light of the title, the narrator’s voice seems to match up with Satan, and Mahound with Muhammad. The implication is one that deeply disturbed Islamic orthodoxy. 

Straightforward allusion is however uncharacteristic of Rushdie. The whole “Mahound” section interrogates authority, translation, poetic and political expression, and obfuscates the narratorial persona. The “I” of the passage is elusive, intrusive, cynical – at several points it does not match up with the Satan-figure of the Qu’ran. Instead, Rushdie seems to be questioning the validity of an omniscient interpreter, narrator and distributor when it comes to story-telling.  It is unclear from recontextualisation, then, whether the conclusion drawn by Ayatollah Khomeini was indeed Rushdie’s message; here literary criticism assumes political ramification.

The Satanic Verses layers its theological discourse with a magical realist depiction of diasporic experiences in the UK, quite separate from theology. For instance, one of the protagonists, Saladdin Chamcha, metamorphoses into a goat shortly after touching the shores of England, and is detained by police for illegal immigration. In captivity, Saladdin’s conversation with a fellow prisoner discusses mechanisms by which the white supremacist British depictions misconstrue immigrant and diasporic identities. 

Rushdie’s hybrid narrative of religion, migration, and the struggles of cultural assimilation involves more than theological debates on unorthodoxy. Nevertheless, diplomatic tensions strongly centred around the latter, masking, unfortunately, the psychological aspect and cultural critique. Some responses to the novel destabilise the text to an extent where it becomes barely recognisable. The layered narrative investigates several aspects of the human condition, aside from the Jahilian reimagination of the Satanic verses incident in the Qu’ran, and it is in those moments that his craft shines through, where readers lament that his creativity was (and sometimes still is) overshadowed by diplomacy, the Defence Committee and book bans in several countries. 
The Satanic Verses may challenge aspects of religion, but this is by no means reserved for Islam alone, and the diplomatic responses have blown textual implication out of proportion. However, with this novel, as with many, it difficult to just stop analysis and interpretation. Fiction is ultimately inextricable from the political context in which it is conceived and interpreted. Perhaps that is why tensions around the book have never ended; neither will the conversations, after all.

by Ivett Berenyi

Roots and rhythm: The living legacy of Dot’s Funk Odyssey

Maya Rybin
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Roots and rhythm: The living legacy of Dot’s Funk Odyssey

The first thing I am struck by as the members of Dot’s Funk Odyssey settle into a loose circle on the grass of one of Balliol College’s quads, sunlight filtering through the spring canopy, is a feeling of welcoming. There’s an easy warmth in the air that goes beyond the blue sky and sunshine – a settled kind of closeness, built over time and countless rehearsals.

Ben, drummer and musical director, flashes a warm grin. Maisie, trumpeter, band wrangler, and chaos coordinator, moves between jokes and quiet check-ins with the easy confidence of someone who knows exactly how things run. Phoebe, one of the vocalists, sits cross-legged and glowing. Erin, trombonist and unofficial holder of the band’s ‘golden retriever energy’ title, leans back into the light. Tom, new on guitar this year, already has his sunglasses on and is cracking jokes with Patra, a vocalist basking in the sunniest spot.

Image credit: Aury Mosseri

Being part of a resident band in Oxford is not like joining your average student society. DFO, born from Wadham College’s Wadstock dreams and now a fixture of Oxford nightlife and ball culture, is something inherited. “It’s not just a band,” says Phoebe. “It’s something bigger. A family, really.”

Maisie nods: “It’s emotional. You’re contributing to something that doesn’t need to be your personal brand – it’s a legacy.” That legacy echoed at the 20th birthday celebration, when dozens of alumni flooded back to the stage, some flying in from as far as Tennessee. “There was this incredible sense,” Ben reflects, “that we’re not just the 2025 DFO. We’re DFO. Full stop.”

And like any family, there’s a lineage: whispered stories of DFO priests, honorary cousins, DF-mums, and DF-kids. Erin, in her third year in the band, laughs: “We literally made a family tree once. We just put ‘DF-’ in front of everything.”

There’s music, of course – funk grooves that wrap around jazz progressions, silky soul vocals, and horn sections that make you dance even if you meant to be serious. Behind the setlists and soundchecks, however, lies something even deeper: joy. The band doesn’t take any of their pay home, because they choose to spend the money instead on big meals after gigs, summer festivals together, and better kit. “You’re not doing it for money,” Maisie says. “You’re doing it because you love it, and because you love each other.”

Phoebe lights up at this. “It’s like a sleepover every summer. It’s a big holiday. Honestly, it’s the thing that’s kept me sane through Oxford.”

The gigs, too, are memory machines. They reminisce on gigs in Jesus College’s bar, soaked in nerves and neon. They reflect on Wadstock, too, with thousands of students singing back their set like a gospel choir of indie kids. “It’s wild,” Ben recalls. “You’re used to regular shows – and then you hit that first chord, and the crowd just erupts. That sound. I’ll never forget it.”

Image credit: Maya Rybin

Beyond the music, the band has become a school of living. “I’ve learnt more management and people skills from this band than I have from my degree,” says Maisie, grinning. As musical director, Ben has honed the delicate art of feedback: “It’s so easy to say the wrong thing to someone. Musicianship is personal. You learn when to push and when to just stop.”

Phoebe adds: “You can read books, practise alone, but there’s nothing like communicating through music – with your eyes, your timing, your instrument. It’s the best education there is.”

Each new member brings their musical world with them: Ezra Collective here, trap beats there, a polka arrangement of ‘Bad Romance’ lurking somewhere in Maisie’s files. The setlists are as democratic as they are joyful – equal parts crowd-pleasers and surprises, tailored to whether it’s a ticketed gig or a May Ball marathon.

“We’re friends first, bandmates after”. That’s how Ben puts it, and the others all murmur in agreement. “Honestly,” Tom chimes in, “this has made my Oxford life. Like, this is it for me.”

Erin nods: “I want to come back for the 50th. The 100th. Freeze my brain if you have to. Just wake me up in time.”

Everyone laughs, but there’s a seriousness underneath it. “If I came back in seven years and everyone in DFO looked miserable,” Erin says, “I’d be like – we messed up.”

They won’t mess up, because they know what the secret is. They say it again and again, like a mantra passed from generation to generation of DFO: have fun. Enjoy each other and make music like it matters – because it does. 

As the shadows grow long on the grass, the band begins to scatter. There’s a Balliol Ball to prepare for, a European tour to dream about, and new members to find. The music doesn’t end, though. It hums under their words, sways in their movement, curls around their memories. Somewhere out there, a first-year is tuning their trumpet. Somewhere else, an alum is playing a gig in London, or Vienna, or Barcelona, remembering a joke from Wadstock 2019.

Dot’s Funk Odyssey doesn’t belong to one person, one year, or even one genre. It’s what happens when talent, friendship, and absurd levels of joy find their groove – and never stop dancing.

Metal becomes mainstream: Sleep Token breaks through

Oliver Crosher
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Metal becomes mainstream: Sleep Token breaks through

Metal is a genre that is certainly out of fashion. Gone are the days of long, flowy Metallica-esque hairstyles, studded gloves, and all too revealing skin-tight leather trousers. For the most part, teenagers no longer dream of shredding on stage and have lost their propensity for all things loud. Bands like Metallica, Megadeth, Iron Maiden, and Pantera once dominated rock. Now, they have slipped out of the limelight and been replaced by a new wave of pop, soft rock, and indie music. However, there is a change on the horizon. 

Enter Sleep Token: a modern metal band that is fiercely breaking on to the mainstream music scene. The band’s new album Even In Arcadia sits comfortably in the No. 1 spot on Billboard’s ‘Billboard 200’ chart, as well as on the Official Charts top 100 list (as of the week of 24th May, 2025). The question is, how has a band like Sleep Token achieved such a feat? Is it a stroke of luck? Or is it the start of a new musical trend?

Sleep Token is an anonymous British progressive/alternative rock band that formed in 2016. Since then the band has released four full-length studio albums starting with Sundowning (2019), followed by This Place Will Become Your Tomb (2021) and Take Me Back to Eden (2023), with the most recent installment being Even In Arcadia (2025).

These previous albums did enjoy considerable success, particularly with Take Me Back to Eden that peaked at No. 16 in the ‘Billboard 200’. However, the instant acclaim of Even In Arcadia was unmatched by the band’s prior records. More specifically, the band’s song ‘Caramel’ gained considerable traction upon its release, with it winning a spot as No. 34 in the charts at its peak.

But why is this so interesting? Well, to answer that we need only to look at the music that surrounds Sleep Token on the charts. A cursory glance is all it takes to see that Sleep Token’s heavy sound is one of a kind in the mainstream; Even In Arcadia’s closest competition is perhaps Kali Uchis’ Sincerely, or SZA’s SOS, or even Sabrina Carpenter’s Short n’ Sweet. Essentially, Even In Arcadia sticks out like a sore thumb in comparison to the current trends.

But how has Sleep Token achieved success in an age where metal is not mainstream? One could argue that Sleep Token is a prime example of the circular nature of trends: metal went out of fashion, and now it is coming back into fashion. Additionally, some could say that their newfound prominence is a mere quirk of fate, or perhaps the result of a gimmick in the form of the band’s dramatic attire and anonymity.

But, I don’t believe this is the case. Sleep Token offers a profoundly different sound to the current popular artists around the world. But perhaps what is more important is how they compare to metal bands of the past and how they appeal to listeners across the globe.

Sleep Token maintains many traits of the metal bands of the past with their dropped tuning, intense and technically precise drumming, and scream vocals. Yet they also bring a nuance to the genre through their softer melodies and more touching lyrics. Where bands like Metallica and Pantera often sing about aggression and violence, Sleep Token have a different lyrical focus. They raise questions of love, yearning, devotion, and introspection that create a more poetic and earnest connection with listeners. Essentially, Sleep Token aren’t afraid to break the mould and diverge from what is expected of the metal genre.

The lyrics and vocals of the lead singer, allusively named Vessel, in songs like ‘Missing limbs’ and ‘Damocles’ play a key part in this. Additionally, the unique style of the band’s drummer, II (the other band members are similarly named III and IV) make the band distinct. In a rare interview with Drumeo, II gave the world some insight into his drumming style, commenting, ​​“I’ve always personally taken a lot of inspiration from the UK dance music scene.” He added that he draws a lot of influence from “linear style gospel” when asked about his creative inspiration.

With this unique and mesmerising style, the band are providing fully fledged metalheads with a new and interesting sound that differs from classical metal. Meanwhile they simultaneously provide fans of other styles, such as indie or even pop, an accessible route into the world of metal.

However, whether metal as a whole is on the rise is a different matter. Sleep Token are having an amazing effect on the genre by popularising it and positively contributing to the state of current music considerably by diversifying the scope of what popular music can be. Also, it is undeniable that mainstream music is leaning towards a slightly more rock orientated state; bands like Fontaines DC and Wunderhorse have gained a large following in recent years, and bands like Polyphia and Bring Me The Horizon have maintained a large following for many years. Nevertheless, it is hard to look at the current charts and conclude that metal specifically is on a widespread rise.

So, unless bands in a similar vein to Sleep Token defy all odds and take the charts by storm, maybe it’s best to keep the leather jackets and combat boots in the wardrobe, and to stick to a short back and sides for the time being.

Oxford ice cream shops: sugar, ice, and everything nice?

Amanda Li
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Oxford ice cream shops: sugar, ice, and everything nice?

Now that it is officially June and most of us are leaving exams for the blissful 2 hours of sun that Oxford gives us, we can see nothing but people gathering for ice cream in the warm weather. If you’re wondering where is worth to try and where isn’t, here’s a guide to the large number of ice cream places in Oxford!

George and Danver’s

Honestly, we all expected this to be first – it’s an Oxford institution for a reason, right? I think the reason why G+D’s stands the testament of time really banks on their unique  flavours. G and Danver’s has such a nice spread of flavours, ranging from more classic (biscoff, honeycomb, or cheesecake) to weirder (blueberry, strawberry lemonade, rose pistachio), and almost all of them taste delicious. The few flavours that I didn’t want to at least sample were alcoholic ones, like lime daiquiri, which I’m sure the resident finalists will love. With the option of having your ice cream in sundae, affogato, or with hot chocolate, there will always be something for you!

George and Delila’s

Yes, there is a difference! Unlike its sister location on St. Aldate’s, the flavors here tend to be a bit more boring, but still quite nice. The general lack of seating (one floor instead of two at G and Danver’s) is what makes it second place. I will always order mango sorbet (and it is almost always there when I go!) to brighten up my day. 

Swoon

Swoon is in third solely because of its pistachio gelato, which is absolutely perfect: not too sweet, not too nutty, and absolutely delicious. The tiramisu ice cream also is delicious, with just a slight aftertaste of coffee. As a mint fan, the mint straciatella makes me so happy – the mint is strong!

iScream Gelateria

This place in the Covered Market also has 10% off, but the free wafer always makes me happy! Unlike Swoon, we can get two flavors in the small cup, which bodes well for the indecisive – my normal order is a mix between the straciatella and the lemon sorbet, but I once had black sesame gelato and cried of happiness, it was so good. #bringbackblacksesame

Najar’s

Honestly, not bad! It’s just a basic Mr. Whippy ice cream, but sometimes you just want a bit of soft serve. This is the ice cream that goes in their milkshakes, though,  and I would take the Najar’s strawberry milkshake over an ice cream cone (and any other milkshake flavor) any day.

Italiamo

Nothing particularly wrong with this one, but perhaps the prices could be a bit nicer… I like the lemon sorbet here as well, it’s not too tart but not bland. 

Love Coffee Cafe

Love Coffee just has ice cream on their cart outside, which has tempted me a few times. The vanilla ice cream goes well with their waffles, but otherwise, I feel that I would’ve rather gone to G and Ds just because of the variety in flavours. Definitely make a visit for their pastries and cakes, though!

Honourable mention: Endorphins

Not an ice cream place, but a bingsoo place, Endorphins has a nice range of Asian-inspired flavors such as their Thai iced tea, with tapioca balls, whipped cream, and a giant pile of bingsoo. The price may be a turnoff for many people, but if you split it between two people, it’s just £5.50, which feels more reasonable for an extra special treat or a date. 

Mini-crossword: TT25 Week 5

Zoë McGuire
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Built using PuzzleMe"s crossword maker

Previous mini-crosswords this term:

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Summer Eights final day: Live updates

Sebastian Page
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Summer Eights final day: Live updates

18:48 – Apologies to loyal Cherwell readers, phone service was a persistent issue throughout the day (all updates relied on my awkward set-up of hot spotting my laptop from my phone). As such, I’ll summarise some of the key moments in what was an absolutely insane final day of racing.

To begin with the supposedly INFALLIBLE Oriel crew with not one but two Olympic medallists were toppled by Wolfson yesterday! After they got the better jump yesterday, there were signs that the Oriel crew weren’t necessarily guaranteed headship, but I don’t think anyone would have predicted that Wolfson would take it off them today.

The Women’s Division I headship also changed hands in slightly less unthinkable fashion, as it was heartbreak for Wadham who had rowed beautifully all week, but were no match for a Pembroke crew hungry for headship after summiting those heights at Torpids. In the end, both crews who achieved headship followed up on doing so at Torpids.

On top of the blades and spoons already mentioned in the period of time before my phone’s little heart gave out, blades were achieved by: Somerville W1 (making it a remarkably impressive 3/3 women’s crews achieving blades for Somerville), Linacre W1, Univ M2, Hilda’s M1, Keble W2, Reuben M1 and W1, Somerville W2, Merton W2 and Exeter W2.

In order to move up, some crews have to move down… so commiserations to Christ Church W1, Teddy W1, Anne’s W1, Catz W1, Trinity W1, and Corpus M1 and W1.

14:29 – Suggested that Wadham have bumped Oriel!

14:27 – Worcester gaining ground on Green Templeton early.

14:26 – 1 minute gun fired.

14:20 – Worcester awarded a technical row over for their Men’s Division V race, and Women’s Division IV should hopefully be starting on time.

14:07 – Delays in that race mean that Women’s Division IV will be starting 10 minutes later at 14:25.

14:02 – Wolfson are steaming towards Lincoln, but the latter seem to gotten away. Green Templeton went down to seven rowers, but with a gap carved out behind them by Teddy bumping New, they’re safe from New. Those gaps do mean that Univ have bumped Jesus to inflict spoons upon them, and at the front of the race, Exeter bumped Magdalen to become the sandwich boat for Division IV.

13:59 – New concede to Teddy! So not only do they get their blades, but they also match the +11 record for most positions gained in one Summer Eights! Catz also concede, leaving them as a spoonful crew.

13:58 – Men’s Division V is finally off to a start, and Teddy are already gaining on New.

13:50 – 1 minute gun.

13:40 – 5 minute gun for Men’s Division V. For blades watch, we have Green Templeton and the Teddy Hall boat that’s eyeing up the position gain record. To get it outright, they’ll have to hope that New can bump the strong GTC crew, but if in doubt, they’ll want to bump the former to tie it. On spoons watch, Magdalen, Catz and Jesus are all at risk. Catz will be hoping they don’t get what might be the first of three spoons for the college today if they can’t consolidate in their M1 and W1.

13:28 – From the other gaps, we can also only assume that Somerville bump Hugh’s for their blades, Merton bumped Regent’s to do the same, and Exeter bump Jesus to also get blades, leaving Jesus with spoons.

13:26 – Balliol are the last crew through, which means that they avoid spoons, and Peter’s must have been bumped by Queen’s behind them.

13:25 – Wolfson ending strong. There’s no pressure behind them, but still looking comfortable ahead of their effort at Division IV later.

13:23 – New are first through the gut.

13:22 – Finally underway, and Hertford make a beeline for the trees! Teddy Hall get them as a result.

13:18 – River is now clear, and as a result the 1 minute gun fires.

13:16 – No word on the start yet, still some traffic present near the end of boathouse island though.

13:10 – 5 minute gun for Women’s Division V. Somerville, Exeter and Merton are all eyeing up blades, while Jesus and Balliol are the ones at risk of spoons.

12:52 – Correction: Balliol banked early, which means that even though they have bumped, New think they’re still racing and Anthony’s are chasing them like they still are!

12:49 – They’re followed by Anthony’s which would imply New have bumped Balliol back after losing that position yesterday. Big gap to the sandwich boat Exeter behind, so that may be it for this race.

12:49 – Next out of the gap is John’s, which implies that Hilda’s have bumped Linacre. Univ follow them, which means Pembroke bump Oriel M4 for their blades and Oriel’s spoons.

12:47 – Mansfield get Oriel M3! Hugh’s the first crew out of the gut.

12:46 – We’re off!

12:45 – 1 minute gun.

12:40 – 5 minute gun for Men’s Division VI fires on time.

12:38 – Now some boats called over for penalty bump consideration from Men’s Division VII: it looks like Brasenose might not be off the hook after all.

12:32 – Mixed in the announcement of the results included a Catz bump on Mansfield, as well as a penalty bump consideration – representatives from multiple colleges have been called so sit tight on that one to be resolved later…

12:23 – Tight between Univ and LMH at the end, but both look fairly evenly matched and eventually row over.

12:20 – Anne’s footing the division now that Wadham have bumped, they’ve lost their lead on Peter’s, but will get a boost from their boathouse right by the end.

12:19 – Anthony’s concede to Wolfson! Unfortunately for them, that means they take home the first set of non-footship spoons of the day.

12:18 – Queen’s look clear out the gap, implying Hilda’s have bumped for their blades!

12:17 – Anne’s are closing on Peter’s early. Contact between Wadham and Oriel means that not only do they bump up, but secure blades!

12:16 – Underway, only a minute late.

12:15 – 1 minute gun fired now.

12:10 – 5 minute gun for Women’s Division VI, and there are two crews on for blades. Hilda’s will need to catch a reasonably strong Queen’s W2 to secure it, while Wadham W3 will be looking to catch Oriel W3 as sandwich boat to get theirs. Trinity, Anthony’s and Univ W3 are all hoping to escape spoons though so there’s still plenty at stake…

11:54 – That all but seals it. No more movement in the bottom three, and Exeter M4 are consigned to footship.

11:52 – Exeter M3 and Worcester M3 cruise through to the end. After John’s bump Queen’s, it’s just Hilda’s, Brasenose and Exeter M4 battling it out at the back of the division now.

11:49 – Wadham M3 get their bump, securing the first blades of the day for the college! W3 will be up again in the next race to make it 2/2.

11:48 – Wadham M3, on for blades, are closing in on Pembroke.

11:47 – Balliol bump Hertford for their blades, Lincoln concede to Anne’s!

11:47 – Anne’s closing on Lincoln early, Balliol M4 pressuring Hertford.

11:46 – Start gun has been fired for Men’s Division VII!

11:45 – 1 minute gun after marshalls have to get busy clearing the way.

11:40 – 5 minute gun for Men’s Division VII.

11:25 – The last few crews for Men’s Division VII are pushing off now. Just two sets of blades up for grabs in this division: Balliol M4 and Wadham M3. Still just the one set of spoons though, currently in the hands of Exeter at the footship.

11:23 – Big gap between John’s W3 and Hilda’s, which must mean Somerville W3 have bumped New W3 to secure the second set of blades today.

11:22 – Wadham cruise comfortably past joyous cheers from their own boathouse, while Pembroke’s form begins to break down in pursuit. Worcester behind are looking much stronger.

11:20 – Look’s like Queen’s have been bumped out of the gut, trading places back with Univ after bumping them yesterday. Hilda’s are also the last racing crew, which means Keble have escaped footship by bumping Reuben!

11:18 – Exeter concede to Jesus, and the latter secure the first blades of the day!

11:18 – John’s closing on Worcester for blades, Jesus close to Exeter for the same!

11:17 – Underway with the first race of the final day!

11:16 – 1 minute gun fired.

11:13 – Slight delay due to traffic, but the hope is that it won’t affect the start time.

11:10 – 5 minute gun for Women’s Division VII has been fired! In this race we have four crews on for blades: Somerville W3, John’s W3, Jesus W3 and Wadham W3 – although the latter will need to row over and bump up into Division VI to secure it. Just Keble are on for spoons if they can’t avoid footship.

9:50 – Plenty of narratives left to play out on the last day of Summer Eights 2025. After the conclusion of racing yesterday, a successful appeal from Christ Church M2 about their disqualification yesterday means that they were awarded a technical row over, and Wolfson M2’s penalty bump was rescinded. Unfortunately for Wolfson M2, that means that blades are off the cards for them this year, a shame after rowing so well for the first two days. They may well catch Christ Church today, but it won’t be enough. Otherwise, there are 28 crews on for blades across the divisions, and the same number staring down a spoon-shaped barrel. Finally, one of the biggest questions today will be Teddy Hall M3. A bump would see them tie the record for the most positions gained across one set of Summer Eights at +11, having gone +7 on day one, up to +8 on day two, and getting two scalps yesterday while moving up to Division V, putting them on +10 so far. Will they hope for an overbump to take the record for themselves? With a somewhat lacklustre New M3 in front of them, it may be a faint hope that they catch a Green Templeton crew in front that’s currently on for blades… At the top of both divisions, it’s going to be an incredibly interesting final day of racing, as Wadham W1 look to defend against a very strong Pembroke crew, and Oriel M1 finally felt a little bit of heat behind them from Wolfson yesterday.

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