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In an institution as prestigious as Oxford, every book you pull out in public is transformed into a portable personality test, a hard launch of your favourite academic, and the cover art of your personal brand. So whether you’re the one reading a Colleen Hoover romance in the Rad Cam, or annotating an 800-page Russian novel in Pret, or casually flipping through a suspiciously perfect Penguin Classic in University Parks, just know that I see you, and I’m sorry for being honest.
So here it is, the 100% judgment-full review of what the book you’re reading says about you, dear reader:
The Nietzsche Reader
What it says: You stick to dark colours, drink coffee at 1 am and constantly remind everyone that you “absolutely cannot stand TikTok”, yet spend hours curating the perfect low-exposure Instagram story to seem enigmatic. Please, for the love of God, increase the phone brightness so I can see your Iced Americano and wired earphones clearly.
Your degree: PPE, Philosophy, and Maths.
Fantasy Romance (I’m talking Sarah J. Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses, Rebecca Yarros’s Fourth Wing, Holly Black’s The Cruel Prince – you get the gist)
What it says: You should be focusing on your many essays and annotating medieval texts, but instead you spend hours highlighting each enemies-to-lovers scene with glee. You romanticise your life at Oxford but secretly wish a fae prince would arrive and save you from that 2:1. Yes, you are obsessed with winged warriors and morally dark men, but at least you believe in love, which is more than can be said for the average Oxfordian.
Your degree: Any of the Humanities, but also Biology and Geography.
Atomic Habits by James Clear
What it says: The self-help book warrior. Look, it’s great to have ambitions and focus on self-improvement, but maybe start with cancelling your conservative society membership. You are that one Union hack who invited freshers to coffee in week one with the promise of a “really great Junior appointed position!”, only to ignore them once elections were over. I’m not sure if it’s a curse or a blessing that you chose Oxford over Hustler’s University.
Your degree: PPE and all variations of this subject.
The Secret History by Donna Tartt or any ‘Dark Academia’ texts with a mysterious cover
What it says: You totally falsely romanticised Oxford, hoping it would be a chance for you to wear Doc Martens and turtlenecks and have complicated relationships with guys called Henry. You’re always skimming in libraries like the Duke Humphrey’s or the Taylor Institution instead of doing actual reading, and you refer to your tutorial partner as your ‘‘academic rival’’. You probably also have an Instagram page full of staged pictures of colour-coordinated book tabs and cigarettes that you pretend to smoke.
Your degree: English, History, and Classics
Freud and/or the Romantic poets (Byron, Shelley, Keats and their ilk)
What it says: You are the poetic version of the scene from the Barbie movie where Ken plays the guitar whilst holding his audience captive, except you went to private school and have a sonnet addiction. No one wants your perfect metre! You religiously attend poetry open mic nights and cite verses from the top of your head, but let’s be honest: you’re not even sure what they mean. I recommend a long chat with your supervisor and your mum. The good thing is, you’ll never need to question how this reader feels; they’ll yell at you about it in perfect iambic pentameter.
Your degree: History, Psychology, English, and probably PPE
Normal People by Sally Rooney (dog-eared and annotated, in danger of actually falling apart)
What it says: only texts in lowercase and has a spotify playlist named ‘yearning’. you confidently claim you enjoy being utterly devastated by a plotline because it makes you feel emotionally intelligent. Arriving at Oxford, you hoped for a deep romance full of wistful looks and rainy quad walks, but instead got awkward tutorials and a situationship from christ church who is scared of commitment.
Your degree: English, Psychology, and Modern Languages
The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins
What it says: You are extremely suspicious of institutions, but happily applied to Oxford University. Now you’re here, you’ve realised Oxford is the Capitol, just with horrid Wi-Fi and bad heating. All of your essays are somehow linked to capitalism, power structures, and class inequalities, but you have a union membership and shop at SHEIN. You’re not actually planning on being the generation’s Mockingjay, but you will definitely write an amazing blog post about it.
Your degree: Human Sciences or History
In the grand scheme of things, ensuring that you have the right book for the version of yourself you want to project is surprisingly important. Alas, whilst I could keep listing reader stereotypes for the time it takes for Oxford Union hustings to finish, I have to stop myself from offending too many of you. So, whether your shelves are full of novels that will remain untouched, or your accommodation is cluttered by chaotic piles of second-hand books, don’t worry. They will still act as faithful companions and handy personality introductions through the academically rigorous journey that is Oxford.
With finals in full swing, and prelims just around the corner, Oxford’s libraries are full to the brim and SOLO is open at all times. Despite easy access to every book published in Britain, courtesy of the Bodleian, each exam season I have found myself daydreaming of walking into Blackwell’s and buying the trashiest romance novel I could find. Luckily, like clockwork, each year Emily Henry brings out a summer bestseller and as Trinity draws to its close I swiftly transition from clunky reading lists to endearingly predictable romances that pull me out from the academic trenches into a world that makes me giggle and cringe on buses, benches, and my bed.
Having studied literature for years, I will always be a defender of the trashy romance genre. These books do what they say on the tin, or, that is, what the near-identical abstract covers emblazoned with big white letters promise. They are light-hearted, fast-paced, easy to read, and most importantly, they allow you to flex your reading muscles again. Each year, when I turn to read one, whether sitting in my family’s garden with my ginger dog, on a beach squinting behind sunglasses, during cosy evenings off from my internship, or on Balliol’s quad, I remember why I love to read. When your reading is not stuccoed by analysis of metre and metaphors and note-taking, books can again transport you. With reading for pleasure dusted off and rediscovered, you can then turn to books that inspire fewer eye-rolls and finally read them without a critical eye always ready to pounce.
Here, then, are some recommendations of books to read in those lulls between exams when you can’t face blurting anymore, or for your post-exams rest, or, if you are a finalist, as a distraction from the post-exam panic of ‘what next?’.
Book Lovers by Emily Henry
Book Lovers is a cosy enemy-to-lovers story about a literary agent, Nora, and Charlie, her nemesis and an editor who works for the same publishing house. Nora (who has a tramp stamp of the RadCam) goes on a getaway with her sister to the picture-perfect American town ‘Sunshine Falls’. But the getaway is interrupted when she bumps into – you guessed it – Charlie. Trapped together in the town, and on a new work project, the pair slowly overcome their differences. Like many of Henry’s books, the story follows family conflicts, monetary issues, and many other seemingly mundane anxieties of life, before tying each thread up with a pithy ending that leaves you missing the wit and comforting predictability of her characters.
Funny Story by Emily Henry
When my exams ended last week one of the first things I did was head to Waterstones, still in my sub fusc and red carnation. Before heading to the King’s Arms, and whilst tourists gawked at the strange dress, I bought Henry’s 2024 novel Funny Story as my friend bought Book Lovers. I wanted a kitsch romantic novel, and that’s exactly what I got. Funny Story sees Daphne and Miles thrown together when their partners, childhood best friends, realise they have been in love with each other all along. This double betrayal leads them to live together and when they receive an invitation to their respective ex’s wedding, they RSVP as a couple themselves. Henry lays the perfect foundation for a fake relationship trope that sees, to no one’s surprise, something genuine develop. Whilst a relationship blooming out of the carcasses of two others, and the fact they initially bond through mutual heartbreak, was a slightly uncomfortable premise, the character-building swiftly made up for this. The ending, like many of Henry’s, is somewhat sudden, but very sweet, and the book becomes a meditation on finding belonging and community in new places and circumstances.
Daisy Jones and the Six byTaylor Jenkins Reid
Now a series starring Riley Keogh, Sam Claflin, and Suki Waterhouse, Daisy Jones follows a struggling rock band who meet the socialite singer Daisy Jones, and subsequently have an astronomical rise to fame in the 70s. Like her The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, Jenkins Reid draws on recent histories of fame to create a dizzying and chaotic story reminiscent of Fleetwood Mac’s turbulence. It is full of forbidden love, sex, addiction, and lots of rock-and-roll. Their fallout is explosive, emotional, and makes it a struggle to put down. One of the best consequences of its adaptation into a series is that there is now a full soundtrack of the songs in the book available on Spotify, but I would still recommend listening to Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Silver Springs’ whilst reading.
The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas
Catalina Martin is going back to Spain for her sister’s wedding. Her ex-boyfriend is also invited, so she is desperate, naturally, for a date. Armas collides the fake-relationship and enemies-to-lovers tropes as Catalina’s colleague Aaron overhears her lie one evening in the office that she has a very handsome American boyfriend, and chivalrously offers to step in and get a free trip to Spain. Desperate to save face, she accepts, and what follows is a trip full of sun, Spanish beaches, romance, drama and dancing. It’s a perfect light-hearted book for a post-exam summer.
Honourable mentions:
Henry’s Beach Read is a fun story about two authors afflicted with writer’s block who decide to switch genres and later bodily fluids, but it was a slog to read and has a disappointing lack of beaches.
Ali Hazlewood’s The Love Hypothesis follows the classic fake-relationship trope, this time between a supervisor and a researcher. It was toe-curlingly, throw-the-book-across-the room cringe. Warning if you read – as an academic spin on the ‘one-bed trope’, there is instead only one seat left at a conference.
You have to accept these books in all their cringe-worthy and blobby, abstract-art glory. They probably won’t change your life, or leave you in a pit of emptiness for days, like a truly good book would, but they will revive your ability for leisurely reading after exam season and hopefully help you to unwind during some well-deserved rest. And, after all, isn’t that what every finalist needs?
A trembling bride. A distrustful mother. Two murderous rivals vying for a single, wavering hand. A wedding vow broken, unleashing all the violence of a family feud and the vengeance of a Moon who rouges her cheeks with the blood she spills.
A new translation of Bodas de sangre (Blood Wedding), Federico García Lorca’s highly stylized, lyrical tragedy, was put on beautifully by Full Moon Theatre at the Oxford Playhouse. Expressing the fiery intensity of rural Andalusia in English, a language which seems cold, even clinical when compared to Spanish, is no easy undertaking. The play’s anglophone performance history has certainly seen the act of translation subdue its magnificent emotions, but Emma Nihill Alcorta (director and translator) conjured perfection with her bilingual vision. Mostly in English, the dialogue remained faithful to the melodies of Lorca’s Spanish, his syntactic and lexical style preserved in a glimmering undercurrent which resisted full anglicisation of the original idiom. The songs, meanwhile, were performed in Spanish with English surtitles, a choice which anchored the tragedy to its cultural poetics.
Short and sweet, Blood Wedding leaves little room for character development. An appreciation of this tragedy rests much more on a taste for aesthetic spectacle and social critique, not quite indulging the modern tendency to over-psychologise. All its characters are unnamed archetypes rather than individuals, designated by their titles (The Bride, The Mother, The Bridegroom, The Father) – except for Leonardo Felix, the rival suitor, who swoops in to wreck the social order. They are swept ominously along their tragic arc by the duende, a concept associated with flamenco which literally refers to a “ghost” or “goblin” in Spanish folklore, and is thought to plunge people into “a state of tragedy-inspired ecstasy”. The duende is often elusive in translation but must not be forgotten in the works of Lorca, who conceptualises it as a “mysterious power” and “spirit of the earth”, sensed in “the dancers of Cadiz or the beheaded, Dionysian scream of Silverio’s siguiriya.”
The Full Moon Theatre team was fabulously attentive to these nuances. The terrified Bride (Thalia Kermisch) was in control of every micro-expression; her wide, expressive eyes intensified her performance and made her character appear possessed by this obscure chthonic force, the duende. The wedding scene seemed to rise to a bacchic frenzy, the entranced cast swaying and chanting folk wedding songs in synchronised festivity. As the music and mayhem increased in volume, so did the voices of the betrotheds’ arguing parents (played powerfully by Siena Jackson-Wolfe and Rohan Joshi) – and the dramatic tension rose to a scream, drowning out the Bride and her Bridegroom’s (Gilon Fox) hopeless attempts to communicate. Amid all the chaos, the Maid (Rebekah Devlin) brought the Bride to laughter one final time before catastrophe. She stole the show with her virtuoso solo – “Despierte la novia la mañana de la boda. ¡Que los ríos del mundo lleven tu corona!” – a melody that still lingers in my head, thanks to the memorable score composed by Elsa Vass-de-Zomba specifically for this production.
The disappearance of the Bride with Leonardo Felix (Gillies Macdonald) put an abrupt end to the dancing, and the backdrop was suddenly coloured by a menacing crimson. With the action transposed to a surreal forest realm, the bloodthirsty personifications of the Moon (Lucía Mayorga) and Death as a Beggarwoman (Emily White) now dominated the tragedy. They plunged the rival suitors into a fight to the death, choreographed with such elegance that it resembled a dance.
It was always going to end in blood. The vitriolic Mother (Siena Jackson-Wolfe) dressed in black from the start, preemptively mournful. Elevated on stage as silent observers of the action, three girls in red skirts spun red yarn and became this play’s very own Fates. This Full Moon Theatre production eclipsed any other that I’ve seen this term, and I am excited to see what their next cycle brings.
In the underbelly of Hong Kong, a Goldsmith-Sachs Vice President invites a woman back to his penthouse apartment for sex. Once there, he tortures her hideously for days, filming it for masturbatory purposes and eventually hiding his victim’s corpse on his balcony when she succumbs to her injuries. The opening section of The Wykehamist, poet Alexandra Strnad’s first novel, is a brutal introduction to a book filled with misogynistic violence, gluttony, and obsession.
Above all, Strnad is interested in privilege: Vice-President Lucian is a privately-educated (the title refers to alumni of Winchester College) Cambridge-graduate whose psychopathy has been facilitated by the ease with which people turn a blind eye to the actions of the beautiful and wealthy. Admittedly, when we meet him next in Hong Kong he’s less lucky, now in prison for the serial killings of a string of vulnerable women. It’s as his visitor that we’re introduced to Clementine, an accomplished journalist and fellow Cambridge alumni who has been obsessively stalking Lucian since he first walked by her outside Trinity College Library.
From there, the book flits between the past and present, detailing how Clementine began observing Lucian from afar, following him to an ill-fated Varsity trip, and eventually befriending his ‘gyp-mate’ (Strnad provides little explanation on the Oxbridge terms she uses; ‘gyps’ are small kitchens shared by stairways in Cambridge colleges) in order to gain access to him. Lucian, meanwhile, attends dinners at the prestigious Pitt Club, flirts with various elite women, remains completely uninterested in Clementine, and eventually begins an exploitative relationship with a homeless girl named Kimberley, satisfied that the wealth disparity between the two will maintain a power dynamic in his favour.
Strnad herself studied English at Cambridge, as Clementine does, but ironically it’s the passages set outside the town – in London and Hong Kong – which are the best-written. It’s here Strnad displays her talent for carefully toeing the line between repellent and arresting, in describing Lucian’s spiralling, gluttonous search for power, food, and women. That said, The Wykehamist is by no means a comfortable read, but Strnad knows how to use the viscerally disgusting to prevent any romanticisation of the killer in this true crime tale.
This is also what makes Clementine’s obsession with Lucian so incomprehensible to the reader. Granted, she has no comparable insight into his psychopathy, but he is an open chauvinist who treats her with contempt the few times they interact, and almost forces her without warning into a threesome with Kimberley. The Wykehamist’s interest in power naturally extends in passages like this to an examination of misogyny, of which there is plenty from both Clementine and Lucian. In fact, most of the women (with the exemption of Kimberley and the sex workers in Hong Kong) are seemingly willing participants in their own maltreatment. Clementine explicitly says she abhors feminism, and near the end of the novel – despite nearly seven years on from her last meeting with Lucian – pays for Tiny, a sex worker from Jakarta currently employed by him, to fly home to her family not out of fellow-feeling but as a vindictive attempt to gain Lucian’s attention.
This in itself is an interesting commentary on the way in which privileged women can perpetuate sexist systems. But it is hard for us to understand what Strnad believes lies at the root of this phenomenon. And equally difficult to understand why Clementine’s unrequited obsession with Lucian forms and continues with such unchanging force, beyond the suggestion that they are both disdainful and aloof. Especially given that Strnad only dedicates a page to its development: by the end of the passage, we are told, rather than convinced, that she was fixated on him, and she remains so throughout the book with hardly any sense of crisis or emotional development. Likewise, we lack any emotional insight into Lucian, and when hints are given they are asserted, rather than implied. We are told he feels shame for his disabled father, but it is dwelt on briefly, and no alternate motivation for his violence is offered. The emotional stagnancy of the characters may be a commentary on the untouchability of the privileged, and the innate perversity of the psychopathic, but it still left me unsatisfied.
The blurb describes the book as a cross between American Psycho and Saltburn, and the similarities to the latter are clear. Both Clementine and Oliver, Barry Keoghan’s character in the film, become obsessed with an upper-class classmate, and both pieces of media lay bare the operations of privilege. For Strnad, the way in which the rich stay rich through the Oxbridge-only circles of commercial London; for Fennell, the hereditary house-ownership and ignorance which underpins undue advantage.
But just as Saltburn’s attempt at social commentary fell flat, The Wykehamist does a better job at exemplifying entitlement than interrogating it. Clementine is not privately educated, and her insecurity over this seems to fuel the way in which she colludes with Lucian’s misogyny in antifeminist rants against her fellow female actors. But her complicity with Lucian robs the novel of the opportunity to critique the systems it lays out: like Oliver in Saltburn, Clementine really just wants a cut of the system, rather than its take-down. The only working class individual, Kimberly, is attacked by Lucian, leaves, and is announced by the narrator as gone for good. You mourn her loss, not only as the only semi-likeable character, but as one who provided a crucial alternative perspective in the tale. The potential message of the novel, it seems at first, is ‘privilege dulls empathy to the point of psychopathy’, but when Lucian asks Clementine at its end whether she thinks it was Cambridge that ‘did it’, she replies no. By providing us little insight into Lucian’s background, childhood or private education (bar some very interesting passages right at the end), Strnad dulls this critical potential with the suggestion that he is just intrinsically misogynistic, obsessive and manipulative. Some people are just born bad, she seems to be saying.
Strnad is certainly a talented poet, and The Wykehamist indicates she has great potential as a novelist. But it is ultimately, like Saltburn, unimpactful. Clementine reflects in the last line that she was the ‘winner in this game’, but the reader cannot share in her confidence for The Wykehamist seems unresolved both as to what that game is, and whether the central players even stand on opposing sides.
George Abaraonye has been elected Oxford Union President for Hilary Term 2026 with 611 first preferences against opponent Rosalie Chapman’s 416 first preferences. Turnout was 1208, which falls significantly short of the previous election, where 1737 votes were cast.
Prior to the election, George Abaraonye had told Cherwell: “I’m not promising perfection, I’m promising presence, purpose, and a plan. If you’ve ever felt like this place wasn’t for you…then maybe, this time, it actually can be.”
Elsewhere, Brayden Lee was elected Librarian, beating opponent Victor Marroquin-Merino. Matthew Chiu and Samy Medjdoub, both running unopposed, were elected as Treasurer and Secretary respectively.
The following were elected to Standing Committee, from most to fewest votes: Arwa Elrayess, Liza Barkova, Prajwal Pandey, Daniel Eldridge, Katie Pannick, and Catherine Xu.
Meanwhile, Secretary’s Committee will be made up of the following: Vijay Pathak, Will Lawson, Milo Donovan, Sara Hughes, Qasim Ahmad, Zahra Saeed, Dheeraj K Singh, Catherine Kola-Balogun, Trishaad Surty, Oliver Douglas, and Oliver Green.
After three years, I’ve realised that I am nowhere close to completing the Oxford formal challenge. But luckily, my friends and I collectively only lack five colleges, all of which are postgrad, and one of which is All Souls. Here is our ranking – we only include normal formals to even out intra-formal disparities. For the formals I haven’t been to, Max and Juliette have compared them to colleges where we overlap. Our ranking criteria are: 1) food quality, 2) ambience including themes, and 3) price. Just a note, there are no PPHs on our list – sorry, Regents!
Top 5:
Good:
Somerville – The food was indeed good; the fish had crispy skin and was well-seasoned. During Trinity, the sun sets during formal and the lighting in the hall is perfect.
Exeter – Their pork belly texture was great. The braised beef had a nice red wine jus that beats other formals. Love the lighting and the portraits, and the renovated hall looks amazing.
Teddy – The food is great, given their Michelin chef, though not worth £27. The unique butters are always great. Thanksgiving formal left a bit to be desired.
Mansfield – So many points for it being in the chapel, but it doesn’t happen often, so it’s hard to get in. Max: the food was “unmemorable; not too good, but clearly not bad either.”
Kellogg – I loved the dauphinoise potatoes, and the free port and wine! Their chocolate is also nice. Assigned seating without a high table meant we sat next to a fellow, but made for a cool experience. It is a bit expensive though.
New – Almost always a hit. Only formal I’ve been to that’s served pie as a main. “Manners maketh man” is a great motto to put on plates. The duck was so good to the point that I worried I accidentally went to a guest formal.
Merton – really yummy food, and offers great gluten free food (gf dessert was a brownie rather than just fruit!). Brilliant price, and the ambience was cosy with warm lighting and plenty of arm room.
Decent:
St Hugh’s – The espresso is nice, and had one of my favorite formal desserts (a madeleine with creme brulee).
Lincoln – One time they tried to experiment with a Chinese menu, and it didn’t work. Their chicken is great though! And I still think about their mango sorbet. Added points for heated seats.
Reuben – Our starter was duck breast, main was beef rump, both perfectly cooked. Sticky toffee pudding was a bit too boozy, and the price is too high.
Magdalen – We loved the hall; it’s so pretty and bumps up the score for ambience. Max: The food is decent but not exactly special.
Keble – The kale in the main was good, but the chicken was not brilliant. I loved the panna cotta for dessert, and the giant hall is fun for people watching!
Oriel – My friend once got kicked out for wearing brown shoes with his suit. Max: The hall “gives library”, with a tapestry of books. The food was typical formal food, but done well.
Univ – The hall is so cute! Salmon was a bit bland, but the goat’s cheese salad was nice and pungent, which worked great with the rocket.
Pembroke – Juliette: I think Max’s review was a one-off bad formal – I’ve enjoyed many Pembroke formals, and can say they are great! In my opinion, it’s a consistent and reliably tasty formal, with occasional desserts like the Pembroke brownie skyrocketing my review. Max: I only went to Chinese New Year formal. The starter tasted like egg noodles from Tesco, and the main was not worth the price bump! The only reason why I wouldn’t rate it last is because it was at least served in a hall.
Harris Manchester – Max: We had guinea fowl and free wine. The hall was small, but well-designed. The food was good, but not super special.
Hit or miss:
Hertford – The Sunday formals are family style, but I went to their Thursday formal, which was great; we had a quiche followed by sticky toffee pudding with caramel. Bonus points for the view of the Rad Cam from the hall: it is gorgeous.
Queen’s – The obsession with geometric-shaped foods is, to put it nicely, odd. Sometimes, the formal is just not good. But they do know how to cook good salmon, and their chicken tends to be juicy (they also cook the skin until crispy!), and often the vegetarian meals are done very well.
St Hilda’s – Their round table concept makes it much easier to chat! I had salmon with greens, which was great. There was a tomato and mozzarella salad which was incredible. Max: The chicken was the worst chicken I’ve had at formal. (Editor’s note: Hilda’s is clearly the winner for the most inconsistent quality formal)
Brasenose – You can tell whether the formal is a hit or a miss simply by taking a look at the menu. The Brasenose brownie? Delicious. Sunday soup night? Decent. Second year’s guinea fowl with cabbage? Horrible.
Corpus Christi – Most points here are awarded for their cute hall. Max: The Chinese New Year formal is the best in Oxford (read: not horrible.) The potato balls with steamed fish were not too bland. The other formals were so-so, but you do get a decent amount of food.
Balliol – The themed formal wasn’t bad, and the pineapple kebab was good. The chicken ramen was just… weird. The pork at normal formal tastes too meaty. It would be higher up on the list if it wasn’t so expensive!
Lady Margaret Hall – Max: Not a fan of the hall and food was mid. The chicken pâté was okay, but the main had one unseasoned potato and two pieces of broccoli for vegetables. Do better.
Leaning bad:
Jesus – Max: the main was a bland, floppy turkey schnitzel. The bread was iffy. The hall bumps the score up a lot. (Can you tell that Max is here for the vibe?)
Wadham – Max: There were only two courses, and it felt like normal hall food served on a plate. But added points for the placemats, and for the attempt to make formal hall accessible.
Christ Church – Just the leftover hall food from that night, so they tend to rush, and it doesn’t feel very special. I had three servings of ONION RINGS. Unfortunately, the parameters of the review hamper Christ Church from getting any recognition it might deserve – guest nights are where it truly shines. (Max: Add points for a gorgeous hall!)
St Antony’s – Max: Overpriced, and I hate brutalist halls. The cod was overcooked. Dessert was nice. Crucially, the gazpacho was worse than the Balliol one.
St Cross – Max: I went to Japanese formal. Their miso soup didn’t taste like miso soup at all! The matcha sponge cake was decent. But it felt claustrophobic because of how tiny the hall was, and the lights were too bright.
St Catherine’s – Max: I enjoyed the old hall, but the tent is horrible. Food was not special, but not too horrible – it seemed like what they were serving in the hall that day.
With roughly 55% of the world’s population living in cities, the urban world – the brainchild of architects – has become what most people recognise as home. Studies have suggested that architecture has a direct impact on an individual’s mood, assigning it an emotive power analogous to art.
However, unlike poetry or painting, architecture cannot be entirely self-expressive or individualistic. Buildings are inherently public; they are designed to be used by others. At the same time, the choice of which buildings to create and which ones to tear down is an expression of that power. For example, during the Cultural Revolution in Beijing, 4,922 out of 6,843 officially designated places of cultural or historical interest were destroyed in an effort to rewrite history in line with contemporary political ideology. As unapologetically visible structures, buildings are the clearest expression of power and history we see in day-to-day life. Buildings have power – in defining which stories are told, in defining which spaces are available to whom, as repositories of history, as shapers of memories and mood. This is a power that purely functional entities, like a drain, or highly individualistic and expressive disciplines, like art, do not possess.
Art and function converge within architecture to reflect the attitudes and ideologies of the time. Neoclassical architecture heavily referenced ancient Greek and Roman motifs, from Ionic columns to direct depictions of the Classical world’s gods. Neoclassical architecture hit its height in popularity in 18th-19th century Europe, which overlapped with the Enlightenment. This movement emphasized symmetry and harmony, moving away from the ornate look of the preceding Baroque and Rococo periods, and arguably acting as a visual embodiment of the Enlightenment’s emphasis on order and rationality. Neoclassicism also overlapped with colonial expansion. Colonial architecture often incorporated aspects of neoclassicism, perhaps in an attempt to signal that they are the ‘new Roman empire’. These design choices reflected the discriminatory ideologies of the time, which associated Europe with reason and civilisation and the colonised with intellectual and cultural inferiority.
Another example of architecture capturing cultural attitudes is ‘anarchitecture’, in which the architectural structure itself becomes the art. In the 1970s, Gordon Matta-Clark exemplified this approach by drilling wall-sized circles into disused buildings to express his discontent with urban disrepair. Architecture can even comment on how humans relate to nature. For instance, the meticulously curated gardens of Versailles reflect humanity’s desire to control and dominate nature, while the Art Villas of Costa Rica are designed to blend into the greenery, emphasising its coexistence with the neighbouring rainforest. In these cases, architecture can crystallise the cultural attitudes and values of contemporary society. In this case, the relationship between art and function is symbiotic – art serves the function, the function feeds the art.
The relative lack of embellishment central to most modern (broadly speaking, post-WWII) architectural styles does not necessarily imply an artistic vacuum. In fact, functional designs can heighten the artistic presence of architecture. Shifts in longstanding power structures, such as the dismantling of the British Empire and technological advancements like the accessibility of photography pushed many art forms, from painting to film, toward the metaphysical.
The Barbican, for example, evokes the feeling of a fortress – imposing, impenetrable to outsiders, a city within a city – without being a pastiche of a fortress. Brutalist icons, like Balfron Tower in London and the Toblerone tower in Belgrade, have cemented their place in architectural history due to their distinctive silhouettes. The bare, unembellished nature of concrete creates a certain starkness that draws attention to the building’s composition and its relationship with light, absence, and presence. Through composition, shadow, and light, the artistic aspect of architecture extends far beyond embellishment. Functional design, then, can feed into the artistic presence of architecture.
Overall, architecture is both form and function; whether you think it’s more one or the other hinges on the present state, mood, and needs of the living. A cynic might say that today’s world is reliant on mass production where individuals own very little. Think, for instance, of the meteoric rise of subscription-based models and buy-now-pay-later programmes. This might be reflected in the often-complained-about homogeneity of some new buildings. An optimist might say that the homogeneity of architecture comes from a cultural shift: that identity and culture have moved from the tangible forms of buildings to the intangible forms like the internet, a sentiment similar to “the book will kill the building” found in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. One way or another, architecture has a unique power that rises beyond art and function, and is definitely not the sum of art and function playing tug-of-war against one another.
Recently, students from the University of Oxford have blessed the city with several performances of cantatas by the great Johann Sebastian Bach. On Wednesday 7th May, the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment collaborated with the Choir of New College in three cantatas exploring the theme of ascension. Last Monday, my own early music ensemblem, Vocatio:Responsio, performed the famous Herz und Mund und Tat und Leben, paired with a cantata by Christoph Graupner, the two composers being candidates for the Thomaskantor position in Leipzig in 1723.
And then, in a late-night concert at New College’s stunning chapel, it was New Chamber Opera’s turn. With three more Bach cantatas, it’s fabulous to see such enthusiasm for this broad range of repertoire covering such a variety of themes, while also providing immense reward for performers. NCO’s cantatas appeared to discuss the theme of God being above all else – how humanity should strive to walk with and in God’s footsteps as opposed to any other external forces. This is my own theory, though, with no clear programmatic motivation indicated at any point.
The first cantata, BWV150, Nach dir, Herr, verlanget mich (For thee, O Lord, I long) spoke of a feeling of uplift, strength and power, for with God at one’s side he acts as a shield against the outside world. The opening movements were weak as the adrenaline of live performance kicked in and the ensemble adjusted to the acoustics. The Sinfonia was untidy and not together, and in the following chorus the bass instruments were overbearing in volume. However, the group quickly focused, and the soprano solo movement featured Alaw Grug-Evans’s understated excellence; her stunning tone made her one of the concert’s standout stars.
Apart from an extremely messy Terzetto movement where the three soloists failed to coordinate, the rest of the cantata was assured. I especially admired how musical director Rudyard Cook maintained the cantata’s momentum by minimising the gap between movements. This allowed the narrative to maintain its trajectory, with soloists even moving during the final orchestral ritornello.
The second cantata, BWV106, Gottes Zeit ist die allerbesteZeit [God’s time is the very best time] was intended for a funeral: known by the name “Actus Tragicus”, it speaks of joining God in heaven, gaining wisdom and strength in entering God’s home. This featured two recorders, played by Molly Skeil and Matt Rogers, who were both excellent. However, they could have perhaps stood up for a greater projection over the ensemble, especially in the sonatina.
In the solo for four voices, Cook used his stage ingeniously in placing the soprano on the opposite side against the alto. Meanwhile, the tenor and bass soloists were kept on the left, as musically the soprano sings the chorale melody over commentary-like figures from the other three. If only the transition had properly worked, as the tenor and bass initially didn’t give room for the alto singer to join them. Some audience members were left momentarily bemused by the situation.
Being one of the rare cantatas that omits violins, violists Ynyr Pritchard and Julius Klin brought their trademark characterful playing, boasting an exceptional tone and intonation throughout. Nevertheless, they were guilty of overplaying less important lines and rushing their fast passages. As a result, there were sometimes losses of balance and of coordination that should have been avoided with more sensitive accompaniment.
The final cantata, BWV182, Himmelskönig, sei willkommen[King of heaven, welcome] was composed for Palm Sunday. With themes of Jesus’ strength as he faced death alone, the cantata is characterised by a series of three solo arias in succession with dwindling accompaniment forces (representing reduction from full crowd to individual believer). Ed Freeman’s bass aria was well delivered, but the tempo was slightly too fast with the venue struggling to accommodate the forces at play. This particularly affected violinist Jemima Price:, a slower tempo would have given her time to provide more shaping to the phrase and produce a more gorgeous sound.
Alto Anneka Vetter was next, who’s acting skills drew the audience into her plot. Even better, though, were the fantastic embellishments in Skeil’s recorder accompaniment. Although sometimes slightly overdone in getting in the way of the text itself, they were still beautifully tasteful. The last of this triplet was Elliot Gregg’s tenor aria, who exhibited remarkable musicianship and storytelling in his dramatic piece. Perfectly accompanied by cellist Miriam Alsop, she was outstanding all evening, keeping everything grounded as a solid and virtuosic continuo player. My only general complaint was the transition between arias being too hurried, as these are much longer pieces than in BWV150 and the soloists didn’t allow the audience to fully recover from the preceding movement’s mood.
One last word must go to the musical director, Rudyard Cook. Cook is clearly a more technique-focused conductor, boasting clear, precisely indicated cues. He also exuded confidence on the podium with a strong handling of tempo. To take a group of singers and instrumentalists from scratch and produce such an accomplished intonation, blend and tone (in only two days of rehearsal!) is a remarkable achievement that Cook should be proud of.
However, his less existent musical gestures (rarely demonstrating things like dynamic variation, balance regulation or phrasing) limited what his ensemble could achieve musically. Particularly in the longer choral movements, where there is less musical variety anyway, I could sense things were plodding along in a “samey-samey” manner. Unfortunately, this eventually spiralled into a cauldron of noise that the acoustic (and the performers) struggled to regulate.
On the one hand, in terms of technical execution, NCO’s performance of Bach cantatas was among the greatest triumphs I have seen here. On the other, the musical interpretation was often bland, and NCO must take greater care in this area to progress further.
Underground Bar, a “grassroots alternative music venue” is set to open in the basement of 29-31 George Street. It will aim to support “local bands, independent music communities and alternative subcultures”.
The venue, previously home to Cirkus nightclub, is located below Gourmet Burger Kitchen. It will include a lounge area with fixed seating, a dance floor space with a DJ booth, and a cloak room. The bar will be open to serve alcohol from midnight to 2.30am every day of the week with “occasional live music” from 5pm to 11pm on weekdays.
Oxford City Council granted a license for the opening of the premises and the licensing for the bar on Wednesday 4th June.
The application was submitted by Yola Kucel, a former co-manager of Kiss Bar on Park End Street. Prior to Kiss Bar closing last December after 23 years of operating, Ms Kucel previously hosted the Goth night, “Intrusion” at the venue.
The George Oxford Hotel, which is located on the upper floor of the same premises, objected to the application, citing public nuisance and public safety as concerns. Thames Valley Police also originally objected to the application due to concerns of crime and disorder, but no longer have any significant issues with the scheme, praising Ms Kucel for being “very engaging and very supportive” in running Kiss Bar.
As stated in the application, Underground Bar would be a place to “host those who like to socialise with like-minded people within a safe and controlled environment” to ensure they can “freely express themselves regardless of gender, race or sexual identity”. The venue will be a space for “the alternative music side of night life” hosting live “rock, metal, indie, goth music and other genres of music”. The bar is intended as a space “for all of Oxford’s residents, students and visitors alike”.
City councillor Anna Railton supported the application, saying: “If you value things you’ve got to protect them and that is true for live music venues for all genres.”
Oxford’s music scene was described by Railton as “part of [its] amazing culture”. Notable bands that originated in the city include Radiohead, Supergrass, and Glass.
This news follows the closure of many music venues in Oxford, such as SJE Arts and Atik.
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