Thursday 3rd July 2025
Blog Page 24

First indigenous female student to be awarded posthumous MPhil

Sophie Price
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First indigenous female student to be awarded posthumous MPhil

The University of Oxford is set to award an MPhil in Anthropology to Māori scholar, Makereti Papakura, nearly a century after she began her studies. Makereti, also known as Maggie, is believed to be the first indigenous woman to matriculate to Oxford University, in 1922. She passed away in 1930, just weeks before presenting her thesis. 

Makereti conducted her research at the Pitt Rivers Museum, with the Society of Home Students (now St Anne’s College). Her scholarship centred on the customs of the Te Arawa people from a female perspective, with a particular focus on genealogy, childhood rituals, and domestic life. It combined academic research with her personal experiences in the rural community of Parekarangi. She also detailed observations from areas where she had worked as a tour guide prior to attending Oxford. 

With the permission of family members, Makereti’s friend and Rhodes scholar Thomas Kenneth Pinniman published her thesis eight years after her death. The Old Time Māori marked the first extensive work of ethnographic scholarship by a Māori author, and has been celebrated for combining formal academic study with an observational perspective. 

In recognition of her contribution to anthropology and indigenous academia, the Oxford School of Anthropology and Museum Ethnography submitted a request to grant Makereti a posthumous MPhil. The request, supported by St Anne’s College and the Pitt Rivers Museum, was then approved by the university’s education committee. The degree will be formally awarded by Vice Chancellor Irene Tracey at a ceremony later this year in the Sheldonian Theatre. Members of Makereti’s family are expected to attend. 

Professor Clare Harris, head of the school of anthropology and museum ethnography, praised Makereti as an “inspiring figure, not only to many in Aotearoa New Zealand but to students and scholars around the world.”

Māori artist and guide June Northcroft Grant spoke on behalf of Makereti’s family: “We are grateful to Oxford University for this tribute to Makereti’s memory and to all those who have supported her story in the years since her passing.

“It is a testament to the lasting power of education, culture and the determination of one woman to ensure that Maori stories would not be forgotten.”

Student Union co-CEO to leave in June

Laurence Cooke
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Student Union co-CEO to leave in June

Emilie Tapping, co-CEO of Oxford SU, announced her resignation last week, with a plan to leave in June after a year in post. Formerly CEO of Oxford Brookes Students’ Union, Tapping joined Oxford SU in June 2024 and oversaw a transformation period which produced a “flat structure” of four officer roles and a “conference of commons rooms” model. 

In a LinkedIn post, Tapping said: “this project hasn’t always been popular, I guess change never is, but I am so proud of what we’ve achieved in such a short space of time and in an organisation once referred to as ‘like the supertanker stuck in the Suez Canal except it’s been 800 years and no-one ever leaves’.” 

In March, Cherwell obtained SU budgetary documents for 2025-26 which revealed that Tapping, alongside her co-CEO Nikki Smith, were paid a combined salary of £187,827. The 2022-23 CEO position was previously held by one person with an unburdened salary range of £53,348-£61,818, according to job adverts. SU campaigns, such as Class Act, received £500 each. 

Other difficult moments include the resignation of Dr Addi Haran, former SU President, citing “institutional malpractice” and “efforts to obstruct student engagement”. 

Tapping also previously worked in the Arts Students’ Union and the LSESU, and will now join the National Union of Students (NUS) Charity as Deputy CEO. 

While formally leaving in June, Cherwell understands that she will support the new officer team throughout July in their new roles. 

In a statement, an SU spokesperson told Cherwell: “We are incredibly grateful to Emilie Tapping for the significant work she has put into her role at the SU over the past year.  

“Emilie originally joined Oxford SU for a fixed period to support Oxford SU’s Transformation programme. We wish her all the best as she moves on to her new role in July as Deputy CEO of the National Union of Students (NUS), where she will continue her important work of improving student representation at a nationwide level. 

“Emilie has been working in tandem with the Sabbatical Officers, SU staff team, and the student Transformation Taskforce & Transformation Committee to support Oxford SU’s transition. Her work, which has included reviews of all aspects of the organisation, has laid the foundation for the next stages of a Transformed SU. 

“Nikki Smith will remain as Oxford SU’s permanent CEO, working closely with the Sabbatical Officers to deliver on their priorities. She has worked in the higher education sector for more than ten years, has served alongside Emilie as co-CEO since January, and prior to this held the post of Interim CEO from Feb 2024.”

LinkedIn is a Faustian bargain

Lloyd Doré-Green
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LinkedIn is a Faustian bargain

There are some truths about the world which are both obvious and yet rarely addressed. That social media is, in fact, deeply antisocial is one such truth. Long gone are the days when my Instagram or Facebook feeds were filled with wholesome photos of an old friend’s summer holidays, the works of an artist I had followed or some beaming celebrity. Here to stay are the literally endless reels, the brain rot memes, and the armies of bots ready to dispense opinions on anything from the Russian invasion of Ukraine to their lord and saviour, Donald J. Trump. What was once expected to be a vehicle for truth has become a tool for lies and conspiracy at such a rapid rate that it is impossible to combat with the truth. What was once a tool for keeping in touch with friends has become a tool for cramming as many thirty second clips as possible into every minute of your day.

And yet, despite being such an obvious problem it manages, for multiple reasons, to avoid any useful scrutiny. Firstly, social media is an extremely useful tool for all of the people who would otherwise be able to use their platform to criticise it. When so much news is borrowed from Twitter (currently known as X), structural criticism of the social media platform itself gets forgotten. Only an idiot would take to social media to tell everyone how bad it is. Further, actual criticism of social media is often insincere, based more on political affiliation than any genuine principles. Right wing opinion of Twitter, at least in the US, seemingly flipped after Musk’s takeover in 2022, despite free speech on the platform having suffered since. Finally, so much of the criticism of social media is focused on the personal rather than the political, advising individual embargos on shortform content or a 30 day dopamine detox.

Only one social media platform poses a truly interesting personal dilemma. A social media site which is, on the one hand, worse for your mental health than any of those mentioned above, especially prone to causing depression and imposter syndrome but which, on the other hand, significantly improves your job prospects and gives you the opportunity to humblebrag about your latest internship (without mentioning, of course, that you were really just doing odd jobs for your Uncle Jeff). In many ways, LinkedIn has the perfect business model. It has managed to make itself an important, if not indispensable, tool in job applications, actively promoted by schools, universities and hiring managers. An applicant without a LinkedIn account is at an undeniable disadvantage when faced with a veteran LinkedIn warrior.

Yet what is a perfect business model for Microsoft is a poisonous cocktail for the consumer. Instagram is often rightly accused of perpetuating unhealthy expectations. But LinkedIn is far worse in this regard. Every single post is geared to make you look like a dream employee. Even posts about mental health and the damage that a social media might have on consumers are framed so as to be appealing to recruiters. (‘People who discuss their mental health on LinkedIn are shunned but I alone am brave enough to do it anyway’.) With this in mind, it is hardly surprising when studies demonstrate the harm that LinkedIn has on its users. In being so obvious, it manages to be the perfect Faustian Bargain. Will you trade your mental health for better employment prospects, your soul for material wealth? 

Mephistopheles will see you now.

Review: Cyrano de Bergerac – ‘A clever adaptation of a timeless play’

Natalie Tan
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Review: Cyrano de Bergerac – ‘A clever adaptation of a timeless play’

I’m ashamed to admit I almost mistake Cuigy (Kate Burke) and Brissaille (Nancy Gittus) for incredibly dapper audience members before the play begins. The sweet jazz that pipes out among the smoke as the audience files in ends up being indicative of the play’s quality: Cyrano is whimsical and delightful, anchored by a showstopping turn from Cameron Maiklem as the titular character. This well-loved play has been adapted many times over the years, but this new show nonetheless stands out.

Saddled with a frankly jaw-dropping amount of monologues to deliver, Maiklem gleefully chews up each and every word with a manic gleam in his eye and an impressive amount of vocal fry. His verbose dismantling of Brissaille is a highlight of the first act as they duel while Cyrano composes a “ballad of a battle between Monsieur de Bergerac and a coxcomb.” On the fly, Brissaille hesitantly asks: “What is that?”

In response, Cyrano says, with the arrogant, enthralling grin of a man who’s better than you and knows it: “The title.” Maiklem is having fun. So, you find, are you. Equally as entertaining is Raguneau (Tristan Hood), a bumbling, generous old pastry chef, at once unfazed and endeared by Cyrano’s dramatics, who delivers a monologue about almond tarts with great gusto, and Ligniere (Ioannis Angelos Karanasios), an ostentatious drunkard. 

Still, any actor who plays Cyrano has to sell to us his vulnerability and insecurity in order for us to buy the entire premise of the play, and Maiklem more than succeeds. It’s impressive how drastically he switches up the timbre of his voice and his stance from Cyrano-in-public to Cyrano-in-private. Gone is the cocksure wordsmith who revels in taking every opportunity to show someone up: in his place is a quiet, self-deprecating man who believes his homeliness bars him from ever finding love, much less that of his cousin Roxane. 

At this point I must give the costuming, which is incredibly clever, a shout out: the crew have dressed the cast in variations of black and white with only accents of red: socks, a rose, a scarf. So when Roxane (Robyn Hayward) makes her first appearance, almost glowing in her red dress, we feel just like Cyrano must: it’s impossible to look away from her. Hayward, too, is excellent as Roxane: her loveliness is often spirited but never cloying, helped by her lilting accent. Christian (Mark van Eykenhof), the last member of this central trio (him, Cyrano, Roxane), completes a trinity of talent with a self-professed “easy military wit” and the familiar, tongue-tied charisma of a lovelorn soldier. 

It’s an old tale: the inarticulate, handsome Christian wants a way to express his reciprocated love for Roxane, and who better to hire than Cyrano? When he flounders in the face of Roxane’s request for eloquence and can summon no more than the simple and eminently obvious I love you, it’s Cyrano who speaks from the shadows, puts poetry in Christian’s mouth that Roxane can’t see from up on her balcony. You feel bad – but for which member of this melancholic trio? 

The play does drag in certain parts: a bit right before the intermission, for instance, where Cyrano impersonates a madman in order to delay De Guiche (Stan Toyne) from interrupting the secret wedding of Christian and Roxane. Maiklem prances around the stage with an affected drawl and a breathy giggle, helped not insubstantially by the smart lighting and sound design of Cayden Ong and Pep Oosterhuis. The whirlwind of almost psychedelic colour and chimes makes full use of the intimacy the Pilch offers and ensures the scene still remains somewhat entertaining; it would have flagged in the hands of lesser cast and crew. 

In such a production, there are still a few things worth singling out. Toyne, for one, whose De Guiche is beleaguered, bitter, and captures all the pitiful misery of finishing third in a two-horse race – yet so helplessly enamoured by Roxane that he somehow acquires a kicked-puppy charm. The sturdiness of Cyrano’s prosthetic nose, for another: it doesn’t budge an inch even though I can see beads of sweat sliding down Maiklem’s face. And though the scenes of battle at Aras are slightly underwhelming despite the actors gamely giving it their all, it’s easy enough to forgive. 

It’s another clever bit of costuming that ties the play’s ending together: the red scarf Cyrano’s been winding around his neck the whole play becomes the blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his fatal head wound. As the lights come up on Cyrano’s surprisingly affecting death I see the director (Lara Machado) smiling from her seat in the front row; she should be. Cyrano de Bergerac takes a script full of sly innuendos and rises to meet it with no small amount of heart and energy. It’s an old play about love rendered new by precisely that – the love you can feel the cast and crew have put into this timeless production. 

Bannister Miles 2025: Four meet the mark again

Sebastian Page
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Bannister Miles 2025: Four meet the mark again

Fittingly, it was four runners again who broke Roger Bannister’s four minute mark in the BMC Bannister Miles 2025, the same number that did so last year. The event has been running every year since 2012, other than a brief stint in the virtual world in 2020, as some of the best mile runners across the country gather at Iffley Road athletics track where it all started.

The event is divided into two – elite runners take to the track to test their times, whereas anyone can pay £15 to run a mile that starts on St. Aldates, goes the length of the High Street, and ends on Iffley Road in front of the sports centre. Only a few members of OUAC were registered for the elite races at the track as entrants for the men’s race needed to have a 4:40 mile time already, 5:40 for the women’s equivalent. World Championship Points were on offer, and while no members of OUAC walked away with any of those points, or any prize money for that matter, there were some seriously impressive times put up. 

Alex Gruen and Nick Whittaker managed to qualify for the Men’s A Final, in which they ran 4:04.11 and 4:05.29 respectively, which handed the former a Season’s Best and the latter a Personal Best, part of the 70% that achieved a PB on track yesterday. The A Final saw four runners break four minutes however, so neither Gruen nor Whittaker’s time was quite enough to take home the victory. Joe Wigfield of Wirral/St. Mary’s University/Liverpool Harriers won the race in cinematic fashion, as his 3:56.64 ensured he didn’t need to jostle for any position on the final straight. The other sub-four milers were Jacob Cann, Harry Wakefield and Tiarnan Crorken. In doing so, the latter of these three became the first man ever to achieve the sub-four minute feat twice at Iffley Road, having done so last year as well. Unfortunately, there was no OUAC representation in the Women’s A Final, but that’s perhaps just as well after Holly Dixon stormed to a three-and-a-half second victory over her competitors, coming over the line in 4:40.05. 

Congratulations to all of those representing OUAC on track, the list of whom include not only Alex Gruen and Nick Whittaker, but also Chris Parker, Andrew Shaw, Levi Berger, Benjy McCartney, Ethan McColgan, Matt Luney, Klara Hatinova and Sophie Glencross. All OUAC runners achieved either a PB or SB. Only Glencross, Gruen and Shaw achieved an SB, which means that all seven other runners lodged a PB.

As well as the track races that run across the length of the afternoon and into the early evening, the road race took over the High Street in the morning. OUAC dominated the men’s road race, as Fred Beale and Jason Barrett took home first and second, while another six OUAC representatives featured in the remainder of the top 20. Beale and Barrett both went sub 4:40 with times of 4:34.9 and 4:39.4. The women’s road race was not quite so successful, but a strong 5:45.7 from Tamsin Sangster ensured that there was at least some Oxford representation in the top five. 

One of the more impressive times of the day came from Brasenose College’s Senior Fellow in Politics. Alexander Betts dominated the men’s V40 category with a time of 5:01.7, good enough for top 20 across all categories, and beating out the next fastest V40 by a good eleven seconds.

Why reading for pleasure still matters at Oxford

Ruby Tipple
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Why reading for pleasure still matters at Oxford

The idea of students reading for pleasure during term time has sparked much debate. Simply put though, Oxford’s intensive schedule makes it near-impossible. The natural consequence of eight weeks of unrelenting academic work is for some hobbies to fall in priority, and reading for pleasure is often the first to be swept away by the Oxford whirlwind.

The decline in reading for pleasure among students might seem like a natural consequence of our new exposure to the pressure cooker of career readiness innate to the ‘adult world’. Why would we make time to read a book when we have to decide what we want to do with the rest of our lives, and how to make it happen?

This, though, is perhaps not the sole reason for the decline in reading rates. Whilst university is undoubtedly a stepping stone for our future careers, that shouldn’t be its only function. 

Rather, I think there’s another reason that’s particularly pertinent to Oxford students. Because of the uniquely demanding course of study we’ve chosen, most simply can’t make time to read. 

Reading requires a level of intellectual labour that many of us are simply unable to commit to on top of our degrees. With the old adage of “work hard, play hard” in mind: why should students devote our attention to something even more academic (regardless of its benefits), when they could be recharging with something like going to the pub or watching TV — something that’s social, or more obviously relaxing? 

At the start of last term, I realised I wanted to try and reignite the passion I once had for reading. I set aside time in my week, got friends to recommend books and hold me accountable, and joined book clubs, both in Oxford and at home.

The immediate benefit was feeling like a child again, reading under the covers in my lamp-lit student bedroom — a quiet act of rebellion. I think reading is remarkably intimate in this way; the solitude of it feels as if you are the only person capable of accessing these worlds that have been created just for you. 

Over the course of the term, reading ended up having a grander purpose in my life.

Reading for pleasure is one of those hobbies that serves the dual purpose of allowing you to engage intellectually, yet it’s fun — you get to choose what you read and when you want to. It doesn’t have the same academic pressure that Oxford students are expected to manage. 

With reading, nobody can enter your head to see how well you’re doing. Nobody will quiz you. There will be no 2500-word essay. I didn’t fully realise how fulfilling this freedom would be: to concentrate on something without it having to be an ‘academic project’. 

For all students that’s a worthwhile feeling to have — but it’s a particularly important one to hold onto in such a rigorous academic environment like Oxford, with its constant requirement to perform. 

But, what to read? 

I have made the decision to read  mostly modern fiction in term-time, and leave the classics for when I’m able to dedicate extended time to them. 

One of the most exciting books I read last term was Ariana Harwicz’s Die, My Love. Her writing has such a wild, electric charge driving it forward, pairing perfectly with the book’s intense exploration of a woman driven to a violent breaking point by the expectation of motherhood. The book chills you from the opening line. 

Something lighter is Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity: a particularly great read for any music fan. It’s a witty and self-aware story of a music-shop owner, Rob, who revisits his past relationships to reflect on why he’s still alone. There are some great anecdotes that stem from his obsession with making ‘Top 5’ lists — the top five songs to play at your funeral, for example.

And finally, Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle is a surreal, elusive and fascinatingly magical book. Its cast of quirky characters and deceptive, labyrinthine plotlines make for the perfect form of escapism within the traditional Oxford term.

But everything I’ve read, even if I haven’t personally enjoyed it,  has made the long Oxford terms far more academically fulfilling. It may take consistency, but reading hasn’t been the extra burden that I’d expected to have to schedule. Rather than making the university experience more stressful, it’s done the opposite — it’s enriched it. 

Ruby Tipple

The Pasts Contained in Preloved Books at the Oxford Premier Book Fair

Maya Heuer-Evans
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The Pasts Contained in Preloved Books at the Oxford Premier Book Fair

Although post-collections celebrations usually involve nights out, followed by long, long lie-ins, I spent Saturday morning taking the bus to the Oxford Brookes Headington Campus. Why? Because the Oxford Premier Book Fair had come to town – a rare and fleeting gathering of sellers of antique novels, aged children’s books, and antiquated pamphlets from around the UK. Sprawling far into a large hall in the Fusili building of the site, the Book Fair represented a treasure trove for the curious; its busyness a testament to Oxford’s love for second-hand books.

But why is it that we find objectively old, musty, and often damaged books so fascinating? I overheard one,very posh-seeming, goer saying they had spent £320 on goods in the thirty minutes since the fair had opened. Why are people willing to spend such extortionate amounts of money on books others have owned before them? The answer may be academic purposes, with what seemed like the entirety of Oxford’s many male faculty members over the age of sixty, attending the event. But a simple mix of nostalgia and curiosity is often at the root. An affinity for the pages of a book on fairy illustrations from the twenties because they are reminiscent of those you read as a child. Or piqued interest in the battered bluish spine of an old novel on flowers, because you want to know how differently they gardened in the eighteenth century. Writing at its most inspired combines curiosity with imagination. Sifting through the first copies of niche works from centuries before is a testament to just how long we have been motivated by these impulses to create and explore.

A good second-hand bookstore or book fair can also make real the community of readers that have preceded you. Scribbles in margins by another’s pencil, or proud block letters proclaiming that this book belongs to ‘Melody, Eight Years Old, February 1980’ – they bridge the division between past and present and make stories feel timeless. In an impossibly large, ramshackle second-hand store in Inverness, I once picked up a book on Scottish nationalism (despite, I’m sorry to say, not being Scottish,) and found three generations of questions pencilled, inked, and felt-tipped into the front page. The first: ‘when will my beloved country, my beautiful land, my Scotland – be free??????’ The second: ‘still not – 1999’. And the third: ‘NEVER – and I write this 30 years later – 8/1/06’. Together, they formed a dialogue of disappointment between three individuals who would probably never know each other, but had been united briefly by this book. I did not, for those wondering, disappoint them further by adding my own update from 2025.

For me, it was the children’s books stands that called my name. Ever nostalgic, and ever a sucker for a good, fantastical, inked illustration of the kind you get in older versions of The Hobbit, I spent the majority of my time leafing through the stand of a seller from Cambridge (The Other Place – I know). And as a historian the tiny books, pamphlets, and illustrated fairy tales on display were fascinating. It has often been through children’s reading material that imperialist, nationalist, or patriarchal sentiments were subtly reinforced and imbibed: I found, even in an innocent-sounding collection of pixie illustrations from the early twentieth century, a dubious scene in which a young fairy was admonished and made an example of for daring to reject the proposal, via tiny flower-stalk ring, of her social better, the flower-lord.

Finally, having aroused a good deal of suspicion from the old men around me by taking copious photos of every page and work I found even slightly interesting, I left the fair without buying anything. That sadly included leaving behind an old almanac from 1884 (see the cover picture) which congratulated me on Charles Dickens’ death falling on my birthday. My student budget, unfortunately, does not stretch to paying £50 for a single book, but I’m nonetheless glad I went. Most of all for the feeling it invoked – probably more to do with just how anomalous I was age-wise than the event itself – of being very small and young again, with endless avenues, stories and times left unexplored, and unlimited time to do it in.

Maya Heuer-Evans

Review of ‘Intermezzo’: Chess, law, and the philosophy of language in yet another Rooney masterpiece

Peter Chen
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Review of ‘Intermezzo’: Chess, law, and the philosophy of language in yet another Rooney masterpiece

I thought it perplexing that critics felt Intermezzo similar to other works by writer Sally Rooney. Certainly, it shares some familiar ingredients: it’s set (mostly) in Dublin, explores personal relationships, and the characters seem to have perpetually miserable lives. Yet the resemblance stops there. Rooney’s new book is a bold exploration of love and grief, and an exposition of how not all of life’s problems can be solved by logic and intelligence.

The epigraph of Intermezzo is taken from Part II of Ludwig Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations: Aber fühlst du nicht jetzt den Kummer? (Aber spielst du nicht jetzt Schach?) (But don’t you feel grief now? (But aren’t you now playing chess?)) The (nonsensical) question is posed in the context of ‘language games,’ a central tenet in Wittgenstein’s philosophy in which he rejects a general definition of language or words and adopts instead the ‘meaning as use’ concept. In this view, words (or sentences) do not have set definitions; their meaning depends instead on how they are used. 

Take the word ‘game’ (spiele). What’s a game? The problem isn’t that the reader cannot conjure one singular definition of ‘game’; rather, the meaning of the word changes depending on the context in which it is used. Wimbledon is no hide-and-seek, say. Above, Wittgenstein discusses grief as a pattern (Muster) that weaves through life: though the statement “I do feel grief now” is logically permissible, such a response fails to capture the atemporal and personal nature of grief. 

Indeed, much like grief, philosophy and logic are deeply woven into the fabric of Intermezzo. Peter and Ivan Koubek are brothers. Peter is a successful barrister and Ivan is a chess prodigy. In typical Rooney fashion, the story revolves around love in its various instantiations: the Koubek brothers’ love for their late father, Ivan’s love for an older woman, and Peter’s love for his former partner – who is unable to have sex due to a recent accident – and his current, more youthful companion. 

The central struggle is one between the brothers. They deeply resent each other, despite sharing many similarities: Ivan and Peter are both highly intelligent, and they both have careers that use logic to solve complex problems. They are also both entangled in complicated age-gap relationships. The law, of course, is a much more social profession than chess, and the shared dating dilemma seems to alienate rather than unite the pair. 

Take the following exchange. At dinner, Ivan calls Peter brave for speaking in court every day. In response, Peter says: “Not if you were good at it. No. It’s easy to do things you’re already good at, that’s not courageous. … We’re being hard on ourselves in a way, … because both our lives involve some voluntary exposure to what other people might call defeat. Which I think requires a certain degree of courage. Even if just psychologically.”

To which Ivan responds: “I don’t know. I don’t think I cope with it all too well. It bothers me a lot to lose.” Peter replies: “It bothers me a lot too.”

In many ways, both characters embody their professions. Peter is cool, calm and composed, adept in social situations and difficult conversations. Yet like the law, when faced with a moral dilemma and unorthodox arrangement he suffers a complete meltdown. Ivan is nervous, reflective and deeply kind; bashful as a bishop, yet he is unafraid to trade and make sacrifices for the people he loves.

By setting grief beside logic, and chess beside law, Rooney exposes the limits of systems that promise order while life remains defiantly unruly. The Koubek brothers’ problems are never solved by the cold elegance of an opening or an overlooked precedent; instead, they are revealed, move by messy move, as an attempt to translate private anguish into language that others might understand.

That effort, Rooney suggests, is the real game. One without clear rules, clocks or victors. When the novel closes, nothing has been solved, yet something has shifted: grief is acknowledged, love is embraced, and the silence between two men sounds a little less deafening. If earlier Rooney books questioned whether intimacy could survive economics, Intermezzo asks whether it can survive logic itself. The answer is qualified but hopeful, delivered in prose that slips between clinical precision and romantic ache.

So yes, the novel still roams Dublin streets and features fearful millennials in messy relationships. But to dismiss it as more of the same is to miss the daring way Rooney turns a philosophical foil into a fierce tale of love and loss. Readers willing to sit with ambiguity – who can bear, for a while, to feel grief now – will find in Intermezzo the author’s most incisive and, paradoxically, consoling work to date.

Review: Oxford Opera Society enters the bullring for Bizet’s ‘Carmen’

Eleanor Hamilton Clark and Francois Cloete
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Review: Oxford Opera Society enters the bullring for Bizet’s ‘Carmen’

If you recall Pixar’s UP, a comedy where an old man balloons with his dog to South America, a funny moment appears in Carl’s morning routine: the agonizingly slow stairlift in his house. What makes this scene funny is the tune we hear, all its tension, frustration, and sauciness – and that tune comes from Carmen. 

Set in southern Spain, the opera follows a Gitano woman, Carmen (Milete Gillow), and her complex relationships with two men, the soldier Don José (Robin Whitehouse) and Escamillo (David Biccaregui) the bullfighter. Unable to handle Carmen’s rejection, Don José murders her at the very end, just before Escamillo enters the bullring. The Oxford Opera Society’s Friday night performance of the opera in the Sheldonian gave us an entertaining performance, looking past a few musical and logistical issues, but their faithful approach to Carmen’s problematic stereotypes raised questions about producers’ responsibilities today.

There were certainly many laudable moments; one of our personal favourites was the incorporation of dance into a number of scenes. Elizabeth Lee, Lilly Law, and Rosie East delighted us with graceful twists and turns in nostalgic ‘character dance’ skirts, reminiscent of primary school ballet. The fight scene between Don José and Escamillo was also enjoyable, with impressively slick flips and glanced blows.

The soloists certainly had their moments too. Act 1’s ‘Habanera’ was particularly captivating, as Carmen taunted infatuated soldiers with vocal portamento and her commanding stage presence. In Act 3, we heard Michaëla (Lucy Elston) pleading with her aria ‘Je dis que rien’, accompanied beautifully by Tommaso Rusconi on horn. Carmen’s hit tunes drew generous applause between numbers.

Although peppered by scintillating musical talent, the opera did leave much to be desired. Starting with some practical issues, the orchestra seemed thin on the ground for string players, blasted out by trombones in the ‘Overture’. At times the players seemed completely lost, such as during the tra-la-la flute number, or the offstage brass in the finale (half a beat behind). Our stellar singers were missing some key structural support from the orchestra, dragged along by rather pompous conducting. Carmen may be an opéra comique, but its passionate arias may have benefited from a little more flexibility.

Staging and lighting choices were equally confusing. A multipurpose minimalist set was awkwardly moved around for each new scene, with a couple of screws going missing in the process. Lighting was stark and abrupt – who wants mustard yellow for a love scene? 

To be fair, a seventeenth-century theatre is no ideal substitute for a modern opera house, with all its technical riggings. And don’t get us wrong: we were definitely entertained. Some of the production’s best moments came from its ingenious use of props to focus on key moments. The addition of tequila shots during the party scene was a modernising and fun addition. Carmen’s impressive castanet skills while she flirted with Don José helped draw us into the scene’s sexual tension.

But overall, the heart of Carmen seemed to have been missed. Carmen’s journey from commanding and powerful to objectified, used, and ultimately murdered, could have been a perfect platform to address issues of sexualisation and violence against women. Instead of critically engaging with the opera’s bullring of nineteenth century attitudes, Oxford Opera Society preferred to recreate them.

Take the production’s costuming, for example. Carmen’s transitions from yellow to red foreshadow the act of her murder and remind the audience of the violence to be committed against her. Carmen’s sexual liberation is her undoing, prophesied by fortune cards, and we are left with the message that unruly femininity kills. Compare this with Michaëla in her old-fashioned blue dress: Michaëla is the ‘ideal’ domestic feminine, the ‘right’ woman for Don José as she pleads him to return home in Act 3, but José is led astray by the unruly Carmen. The duality between the two women, at least in this production, seemed to align the audience with Michaëla, and condemn the dangers of women’s freedom and empowerment that Carmen represented.

Opera is a product of its time. Bizet’s Carmen reflects a misogynist, racist Third Republic France fantasising over Spanish and Gitano women whilst condemning resistance to the status quo. Why should today’s productions toe the line? Carrie Cracknell at the Met, or Johan Inger at the English National Ballet have reimagined Carmen in innovative and empowering ways, profiling the story’s darker themes. Perhaps the Oxford Opera Society should reconsider their fidelity to the score and embrace the task of interpretation in our uncertain times. Only then might they more earnestly enter the bullring of Carmen. 

Tailoring expectations: Couture culture shocks

Emma Heagney
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Tailoring expectations: Couture culture shocks

Academia has a historic relationship with fashion, both officially and unofficially. The former manifests itself in Oxford’s sub fusc – mounting costs and pressure of tradition aside, it’s at least somewhat reassuring for us to be equally as pretentious as each other.

Unofficially, however, the class disparities reveal themselves. Sure, going to a college-wide formal dinner in freshers’ week sounds great, but no one warns you about the dress code, the faux-pas you commit through a lack of cultural capital. In the same way, the visual language through which aristocratic fashion is expressed is unintelligible to me. The intricate differences between white and black tie, appropriate horse-riding wear, the luxurious yet mysterious brands embraced by those with money. This wasn’t my world.

Alternative subcultures certainly exist at Oxford – I’ve been seen a fair few times at Intrusion, Oxford’s goth club night. Yet, the dominant discourse around fashion remains steeped in tradition, like most facets of Oxford life. The degree to which certain styles are socially acceptable is in complete contrast to what I’m used to. Back home, casually wearing a suit is more than enough to earn you the title of ‘neek’, and your collection of Nike tracksuits is a status symbol of much higher value. Swap Saltburn for Top Boy, Adidas Sambas for Shoe Zone. Going to university subverted my stylistic sensibilities and demeaned my sense of self-worth – the culture of my family, friends, and peers is actively devalued, labelled ‘chavvy’ before anything else.

These tastes have trickled down to the general student population in Oxford, and even to the teen TikTokers who romanticise the University (just wait until they find out about the weekly essay grind). The intellectualism associated with the ‘dark academia’ aesthetic is watered down and diluted into neatly divided visual categories, even identities – yet in the appearance of academic discipline is all that counts. What matters is if you look like someone who would read, who would study at a prestigious university, who would speak several languages, and so on. Think dark brown colour palettes, pleated suit trousers, too much plaid, satchel bags, heeled loafers, and the cosmetic use of glasses. Although related, this look is distinct from early 2010s ‘preppy’, an ideal of the all-American adolescent, not pretending to harbour intellectual merit. Academia is now an accessory. Yet, even this emulation of the upper and middle classes is a far cry from anything I had encountered back home, where the same style would probably just indicate that you were coming home from sixth form.

The vacation periods at Oxford are very long. Every time I return either to the city or the ever beautiful Croydon, it feels as though I must readjust myself again and again, especially in my fashion choices. Some solace is achieved in carving out your niche – finding your friends, the societies you want to join, the events you want to attend. Yet, systemic problems and social disparities dating back to the foundations of both Oxford and Cambridge seep into the everyday workings of student life.

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