Friday 21st November 2025
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Ceilings, wives, and love letters to the city: The Pre Raphaelites in Oxford

Nancy Gittus
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Ceilings, wives, and love letters to the city: The Pre Raphaelites in Oxford

It was in 1857, not long after the construction of the Oxford Union, that its architect, Benjamin Woodward, was visited by his close friend Dante Gabriel Rossetti. It was this very visit that sparked the creation of the second Pre Raphaelite Brotherhood. Upon deciding to take on the painting of the Oxford Union, Rossetti immediately began to reach out to his contacts in the Pre Raphaelite movement, men such as William Morris and Edward Burne-Jones. Soon, a team of seven artists was assembled: Morris, Rossetti, Burne-Jones, Valentine Prinsep, John Hungerford Pollen, Arthur Hughes, and Rodham Spencer Stanthorpe. Over the Long Vacation of 1857, they began to embellish the gothic debating hall in murals inspired by the Arthurian legends of Malory’s recently published Morte d’Arthur, a book that Burne-Jones had discovered in a bookshop whilst an undergraduate at Oxford. Already, the city had begun to cast its spell, and they were eager to stay.

Working for free board, lodgings, and unlimited supplies of soda water, their work was perhaps not of the greatest quality. Having failed to adequately prepare the walls before painting, the result is that today the art is much faded, only clearly visible in the more subdued lighting of a winter’s evening. Indeed, the group that Rossetti brought together were not hugely experienced, the whole process was somewhat disorganised, and had been abandoned by the end of the summer vacation. William Riviere and his son had to finish the last three panels. Nevertheless, as Prinsep later remembered: “What fun we had in that Union! What jokes! What roars of laughter!” It is clear to see that the project brought the young artists together, in many different ways, from forming a second Pre Raphaelite brotherhood and modelling for each other, to even meeting their wives.

Jane Burden was the daughter of a stableman in Oxford, but was spotted by the artists during their project at the Union, and was asked to model for them. The murals being based on Arthurian legends, Burden was often used as a model for Queen Guinevere. Today, the best remaining example of Jane’s modelling in the Oxford Union is Rossetti’s Lancelot and the Queen Guinevere panel. Jane Burden went on to marry William Morris in 1859, although, in true Pre Raphaelite fashion, she simultaneously conducted an affair with Rossetti. Burden became both Rossetti’s and Morris’ most desired model, and she continued to pose for them in many other paintings such as The Day Dream and Reverie (both by Rossetti). 

Today, there is much Pre Raphaelite work around the city, from the Ashmolean to the Museum of Oxford and that isn’t by accident. It was here in Oxford that the Pre Raphaelites found support and encouragement. One couple in particular, The Combes, gave great support to the movement. Thomas Combe was a wealthy superintendent of the University, and he, and his wife Martha, were a great aid to young Pre Raphaelite artists such as William Holman Hunt, Charles Collins, and John Everett Millais. The couple commissioned and bought paintings from the young artists, and even allowed them to stay in their Oxford home whilst they worked on commissions. The great friendship between the Combes and the Pre Raphaelites, can be seen in paintings such as Collins’ Convent Thoughts, which was painted in the Combes’ garden, and is now on display in the Ashmolean. There is a beauty in seeing paintings that started in the city, remain here, centuries later.

However, it is not only painters of the movement who have a close connection to the city: they were influenced by others, who had fallen under the charm of Oxford too. The celebrated contemporary art critic John Ruskin is just one such example. After studying at Christ Church College from 1836 to 1842, Ruskin lived on High Street, publishing famous books such as his Modern Painters. Ruskin’s philosophy focused on “truth to nature”. He appreciated highly detailed, intricate paintings, which accurately reflected the natural landscape. The Pre Raphaelites took this philosophy very much to heart.

Ruskin returned the appreciation, speaking out in favour of the movement in 1851 by writing a series of letters to The Times defending the movement from fierce critics, such as Charles Dickens. This created permanent ties between him and the brotherhood. A portrait of Ruskin composed by Millais, and still hanging in the Ashmolean today, reflects this bond of mutual appreciation between artist and art critic. In Millais’ painting Ruskin stands proudly amidst a wild Scottish landscape, leaning confidently against the rocks as an almost photorealistic river rushes by in the background. 

However, Ruskin’s influence on contemporary artists was much more than merely the direction to paint accurately and closely to the object they observe. In 1871 Ruskin founded the Ruskin School of Drawing; today the name also includes Fine Art. It is in this school that the teachings of anatomy, history, and theory of art and visual culture are shaping the next generation of fine artists.

From murals to museums, the Pre Raphaelites have left their marks all over this city. Sometimes discreet and obscure, yet ever present, the Pre Raphaelites decorated, taught, and enlivened Oxford in so many ways and in the remainder of their work we have a lot to be grateful for.

Government plans to construct ‘forest cities’ between Oxford and Cambridge

George Porteous
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Government plans to construct ‘forest cities’ between Oxford and Cambridge

Government officials have confirmed plans to construct “forest cities” within a new national forest stretching between Oxford and Cambridge.

The announcement is part of the government’s broader ambition to create an “Oxford-Cambridge Growth Corridor” that connects the university towns and facilitates innovation. It also aims to address environmental concerns about the impact of development on green spaces.

Alongside new towns, homes, and railway connections, the government will fund tree planting to create a new forest within a ten-minute walk of homes in the corridor, though its exact boundaries remain undefined.

During a speech in January, the UK’s Chancellor Rachel Reeves outlined the goal of transforming the region between Oxford and Cambridge into “Europe’s Silicon Valley” by investing in rail connections, building new homes, and attracting research and development activity. Proposed infrastructure in the region could add around £78 billion to the British economy, by some estimates.

The government’s forest announcement seeks to balance such concerns with its economic strategy. Environmental groups have criticised similar proposals since the late 2010s, expressing reservations about their climate effects on the climate and potential regional inequality. 

Emma Reynolds MP, Secretary of State for the Environment, said: “Our ambitious tree planting programme will help unlock growth, restore nature and create green jobs for the future.”

Plans for two other national forests are underway, including the Western Forest between the Cotswolds and the Mendips, which the government announced in March. A competition next year will decide the location of a third forest in northern England.

The forestry plans coincide with Keir Starmer’s presentation at COP30 in Brazil this week, where he is expected to call for a greener economy. The Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (DEFRA) has also estimated that planting millions of trees could help create and support around 14,000 jobs.

Environmental groups remain somewhat sceptical of the scheme. Abi Bunker, Director of Nature Recovery at the Woodland Trust, said: “As global climate negotiations at COP30 begin in Brazil, and the world is focused on how we can protect the world’s most valuable remaining forests, this feels like a lost opportunity to demonstrate domestic leadership in the protection and restoration of the UK’s own precious temperate rainforests.” 

The forest cities plan is one of several ongoing government initiatives to promote science and technology in Oxfordshire. Other projects include the development of a 221-acre site next to the Harwell Science and Innovation Campus, as well as the conversion of an abandoned Debenhams building in central Oxford into a laboratory.

The lying life of authors: John le Carré and authorial double-lives

Apaar Agarwal
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The lying life of authors: John le Carré and authorial double-lives

“I’m not a spy who writes novels, I am a writer who briefly worked in the secret world.” This was said by the famous author John le Carré, who is finally getting recognised here in the University of Oxford, with the Bodleian Libraries  hosting the first ever major exhibition of his works. Titled Tradecraft, the exhibition explores the legacy of ‘David Cornwell’, Mr. John’s real name, along with evidence from his archives, seeing the daylight for the first time in a while. 

If you didn’t know, John le Carré is known for writing spy novels. His novels, though fiction, were influenced by his life before becoming a book writer. David Cornwell was initially an officer in Sectors 5 and 6 of Military Intelligence, more commonly known as MI5 and MI6. To protect his identity, he began using the pseudonym John Le Carré, until the year 1964, when The Spy Who Came in from the Cold became an international sensation and journalists set about investigating the truth. The British Press won the race and revealed the identity behind the author. This forced David Cornwell to resign, and John Le Carré  took over as a full-time novelist. But the question arises, is Cornwell’s case unique in literary history?

There have been numerous occasions of authors having unconventional careers alongside their writing. A notable example is Agatha Christie, who was a pharmacist’s assistant during World War I. This helped her concoct much more realistic murder methods than some of the more clichéd devices deployed in other novels, which definitely gave her the edge she is so famous for today.

Harper Lee, the author of To Kill a Mockingbird, was a ticketing and reservation agent, which exposed her to all the various types of people there are in the world. She learnt how people behaved when they were nervous, feeling boastful, trying to hide a fear. Her characters felt real because they were inspired from the everyday people she met. The small gestures were recognised, captured, and exposed. Thus, To Kill a Mockingbird became a huge success and is still remembered today.

Lawyers would most probably recognise the name of John Grisham, a law thriller writer known for writing books like The Firm. Your guess is correct: he was a lawyer himself before becoming a full-time writer. He practiced criminal law and spent countless hours in the courthouse. He first started writing when he witnessed the testimony of a young girl, the victim of a violent crime, and began asking himself: “What if the victim’s father took justice into his own hands?” This became the starting point for his book A Time to Kill.

There are countless other authors who have had a different background before, or maintained a career alongside, their writing. Personal experience plays a role whenever a person writes anything, whether it be as huge as a book, or as small as this article. It just makes reading more natural. But having first hand experience is one of the many factors which differentiate a normal author from a great one. It is not always about who has the better grasp on grammar, or who has a better imagination, but often just simply how familiar you are with the experiences you’re drawing on. To end, again, with John le Carré: “I was a secret agent and a novelist. It was the perfect combination. You were inventing your cover story and living it out at the same time.”

‘Undeniably and uniformly exceptional’: Uncle Vanya reviewed

Mair Andrews
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‘Undeniably and uniformly exceptional’: Uncle Vanya reviewed

It is a privilege to attend the most anticipated production of the term, and even more so when that it is a triumph. As a piece of student theatre rivalling professional quality, Fennec Fox Production’s Uncle Vanya is doubtless one of the strongest performances to grace the O’Reilly this term. 

This production of Anton Chekhov’s classic is brought to life through a contemporary translation by Robert Icke. Set in the Russian countryside, everything stems from the visit of an old professor Alexander (Giles MacDonald) and his younger wife Elena (Laura Boyd) to the country estate left to him by his first wife. John (Ezana Betru), brother of the professor’s first wife, and the local doctor Michael (Rufus Shutter), both become enamoured by Elena while Sonya (Lucía Mayorga), the professor’s daughter, develops unrequited feelings for the doctor. 

The general overview: it is quickly established that almost all characters want something they should not. Their feelings, connections, and worldviews are tugged and tangled like strings throughout the play, and by the end are tense to the point of irreparable rupture. 

Like any play with such a large line-up of core cast members, it is constantly a riddle to work out what connects the characters. In this play, it is the past which is both perpetually present and unspoken: the death of Faith, Alexander’s first wife, looms over the house, as Faith lingers onstage throughout the entire performance. Never speaking a word, she (Elektra Voulgari Cleare) simply watches the action of the play unfold, truly haunting the narrative. As the relationships between characters boil over, the play manages to maintain its sense of melancholy without being  drowned in tension. 

But the first wife is not the only constant onstage presence: the set design, featuring a grand forest, ensures that the importance of the natural world becomes an undeniable feature. The destruction of these forests, which occupies Michael’s troubled thoughts, is mirrored by the gradual collapse of the relationships within the house. Every scene is framed by nature, as a bouquet of bare branches hangs from the ceiling, giving way to a pile of leaves at one point in the production. It builds a sense of desolation in combination with the soft lighting – in various moments it was tempting to imagine the actors on the verge of stepping outside into a cold afternoon. 

The instances of grief and loss are not regarded as themes wholly separate from this natural setting. The grave-like mound of soil, impossible to ignore in its central onstage position, at first seems like it ought to represent a garden or perhaps Faith’s death, but in fact serves as a reminder of the gradual death of our planet. The pile is rarely acknowledged in the production: in fact, the first time an actor interacted with it felt like such a fourth-wall break that the audience laughed. We all seemed to acknowledge the dedication of a production in including an element that would entail such a laborious clean-up act. 

Arranged in thrust layout, with a small collection of audience members on either side of the stage, Fennec Fox put the grand space offered by the O’Reilly theatre to good use. The ambitious venue matched the ambitious play. Rather than fall into the trap of grand furnishings for a Chekhov production, the choice was to create a singular open space, even utilising the overhead rigs. This was hugely successful: it felt like a theatrical production because it was centred around the interaction between actors, rather than the space which they occupy. The interchangeability between the natural space, the audience, and the home really evoked humanity’s relation to the forest. 

The actors were magnetic – the acting was undeniably and uniformly exceptional, and there was a tangible chemistry and connection between all castmates. Betru’s sudden explosion and forceful direction in the second half was gripping, while MacDonald’s exit left me unexpectedly teary – he encapsulated the heartache and longing of a generational detachment in such a controlled and careful performance. Shutter’s performance as the young doctor shone throughout. Whether he was charismatic or ignorant, smirking or snogging, his performance was appealing across the character’s emotional spectrum. As he and Mayorga sat at the audience’s feet, the complex dynamics between the two were palpable despite their stillness. 

Ultimately, however, it was Mayorga and Boyd as Sonya and Elena who stole the show. They both gave electric performances, and the tension between the two characters was heartbreaking. Mayorga’s youthful and innocent energy balanced Boyd’s maturity and strength with admirable cohesion. It is no easy feat to convey the depth of the relationship between two women from different generations, especially when such stiff comparison will inevitably be drawn, but they handled it with delicacy and honesty. In such an extended production littered with emotional soliloquies, one would expect a disconnect in the moments of grandeur, but there was no sense of competition between the two actors. It is impressive for a cast to be consistently talented at staying still and crying in such an effortless way, but the ease of silence rang true throughout the entire performance. 

Uncle Vanya was clearly rehearsed to perfection, but nothing ever felt laborious. The production felt driven only by pure compassion for the characters. For nearly three hours, I felt like I was watching a group of people try to connect with each other, rather than merely observing actors on a stage. 

“You will kill my children!”: ‘A View from the Bridge’ reviewed

Charlie Bailey
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“You will kill my children!”: ‘A View from the Bridge’ reviewed

The stellar cast of Labyrinth Productions’ A View from the Bridge delivered a layered, spellbindingly emotional interpretation of a classic. Director Rosie Morgan-Males told Cherwell that she was inspired to put on the play because she likes “doing theatre that [contributes to] a pertinent conversation”. She certainly delivered: the interactions between disgruntled patriarch Eddie (Nate Wintraub) and the Italian immigrants he took into his home (Rob Wolfrey and Gilon Fox), related the play’s interest in immigrant stereotyping to current political discourse, such as the rhetoric of Reform UK.

From the outset it was clear that these actors were top class. Nate Wintraub delivered the standout performance as Eddie: every mannerism amounted to a volatile, insecure patriarch desperate to assert his superior masculinity. He was able to switch between aggressive, gravelly outbursts and a disturbing velvety tone, directed towards Catherine in lines such as “you look like the Madonna type”, that revealed his twisted passions. Catherine Claire was the perfect choice for the character of Catherine, nailing the portrayal of a fragile, hopelessly naïve adolescent girl, unable to understand the sinister nature of Eddie’s feelings towards her. Completing the core trio, Rose Hemon Martin transformed into a loving but exasperated maternal figure, contrasting Catherine’s girlish demeanour with self-assertiveness.

The versatility of Alice Wyles as Alfieri, Rob Wolfreys as Rodolpho, and Gilon Fox as Marco must be commended. Having seen Wyles in a vastly different part in Les Liaisons Dangereuses last year, her performance of a straight-talking, moralistic lawyer demonstrated her ability to adapt to any role. Wolfreys injected the production with humour: his entrance into an early scene as a happy-go-lucky Italian heartthrob broke through the emotional intensity, easing the audience out of the preceding tension. The differences between relaxed Rodolpho and his emotionally sombre older brother Marco were clearly defined by the juxtaposed performances of the actors: Fox began with an authentic portrayal of Marco’s sadness at leaving his wife and sick children back in Italy, and ably escalated his performance into raw, powerful anger at the ways in which Eddie had wronged him. In one strikingly memorable line at the climax of his rage, he screamed: “You will kill my children!”

Masculinity, and the undermining of it, was central to the play, and Wintraub, Wolfreys, and Fox delivered three contrasting renderings of it which were fantastic to watch. Different physicalities were key to the creation of distinct personas: Wintraub’s fixation on control over the women around him was shown in the possessive choreography, as he frequently placed a hand on Catherine’s neck while speaking to her. The less toxically masculine nature of Rodolpho’s character was portrayed by Wolfrey with a bouncy, relaxed physicality, and action towards Catherine (including playfully spinning her around as Eddie watched) that conveyed kindness and warmth rather than aggression. 

The increasingly tense interactions between Fox and Wintraub created a competition for masculine honour which Fox inevitably and violently won. The production chose to emphasise this part of the storyline, with a musical crescendo and dramatic shift in lighting at the point where Marco demonstrated his superior strength by lifting a chair up from the ground. This was effective, if unsubtle. Director Rosie Morgan-Males must be applauded for her ability to draw out these crucial differences.

Another highlight of the production was the depiction of the mother-daughter relationship between Catherine and Beatrice. Here Rose Hemon Martin’s talent was powerfully shown, sympathetically but firmly telling Catherine to start acting like a grown woman and detach herself from her uncle’s warped affections. Her portrayal was truly a blend of emotions, never leaning too far towards anger or sadness but combining the two, in lines such as “you think I’m jealous of you…you should have thought of it before”.

My critique of the music arises not from the score itself (proficiently composed by Louis Benneyworth, Peter Hardisty, and Tabby Hopper) but its constant presence. Given the raw talent of the actors, I felt some more conversational scenes would have carried equal impact without the musical backdrop. The choice to place intense musical scores within scenes of emotional nuance that required focus from the audience was distracting, especially as some lines (particularly Catherine’s) were delivered in a quiet, subtle way. The music aided the production in non-speaking, high-action moments, such as the romantic section between Catherine and Rodolpho and the climatic visit from the Immigration Bureau. More often than not, it contributed to confusion rather than clarity. Yet, having said this, student theatre is the place for experimentation; the intersection between classic and electronic music was a novel way of approaching an underscore, a bold choice which was certainly memorable.

Euan Elliot’s multi-leveled set was well-designed to accommodate more abstract as well as  realistic moments. He expressed this intention to Cherwell: “On the one hand the structures are the fire escapes and tenement buildings surrounding the flat. On the other it’s just spaces and levels.” He credits inspiration for the design to a 2014 production of A Streetcar Named Desire that used similar suggestions of tenement buildings as well as LEDs and an open-walled house around the outside of the stage. Balconies behind the action provided a means of locating Alfieri as a spotlit, godlike narrator, alluding to his authorial voice within the narrative. They also served as a device to convey the sense of an overcrowded New York community in which no family drama went undetected. The stressful humiliation of moments such as Marco spitting at Eddie were intensified by the watchful presence of the ensemble of neighbours, able to see everything from their high vantage point. Utilising a higher level permitted moments of split-screening: Wintraub as Eddie could face forward while responding to a conversation behind him, allowing the audience to make out every twitch of resentment on his face, another directorial success.

Costumes designed by Seiwaa Botley and Marlene Favata fulfilled the crew’s intention of placing this production in its “period and cultural context”. The costumes reinforced the contemporary, stereotypical feminine ideals of modesty and innocence that run throughout the script: young and beautiful Catherine in skirt and high heels, and Eddie’s older and devoted housewife Beatrice in a more practical apron. 

In general, the use of set, graphics and music fed into each other well, but the onstage action became overly chaotic towards the end: the dramatic entrance of two black-clad immigration officers had a slightly 007-esque tone that worked against the more subtle performances of the rest of the production. Some of these choices are put in context by Morgan-Males’ interpretation of the script. She told Cherwell: “The play is often viewed as naturalistic, but it’s not. It has this whole narrator framing device to it and a Greek tragic structure.” She described her directorial style as a blend of “maximalist” and “minimalist” approaches – this addition of melodrama to the naturalistic was evident in the intense lighting choices and bright-coloured background screen projections. 

Whether or not the use of dramatic graphic tableaux in connection with this well-known script was to the audience’s taste, the Playhouse is indeed known for spectacle, and Labyrinth Productions did not fail to deliver that. 

The caring individual: John le Carré at the Weston

Nancy Gittus
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The caring individual: John le Carré at the Weston

At the back of the Weston Library, in a small room off to one side, a stunning wealth of material is laid out in neatly organised cabinets and containers. Starting with David Cornwell’s childhood (John le Carré was his pen name) the visitor is guided through each of the great man’s novels, before confronting his love life, passion for art, and his broader views on the post-Cold War political climate. The exhibition is detailed enough to be of interest even to le Carré superfans (containing a wealth of letters, plots and plans written out in le Carré’s loopy, sprawling hand), but it is not overwhelming. The neat presentation of items, and select few displays, gets each point across without drowning the visitor. 

The exhibition is well ordered; the first wall takes you through the chronological order of le Carré’s key novels. It explores the author’s contribution to the literary canon of spy novels, with Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy one of the first accurate depictions of espionage and life in MI5. A sort of realist’s reply to James Bond, the exhibition emphasises that le Carré’s aim was to present a much more truthful image of what working in the Secret Service was like. The exhibition gave insight, not only into this aspect of le Carré’s life, but also into the impact he has left on the literary world, championing realism in an age where the disillusionment had led to increasing surrealism and absurdist work.

However, not all of le Carré’s novels were based on his own experience in MI5. I must admit I had only known him for his spy novels, but, in fact, I learned le Carré produced a wealth of material combating many different forms of illegal, underground activity. From The Night Manager, where le Carré investigates illegal arms smuggling, to The Constant Gardener, where he exposes the major lack of ethics in medical trials in the Global South, this exhibition highlights le Carré’s incredible contribution to raising awareness on some of the biggest criminal enterprises. 

The main takeaway was just how much work went into each of le Carré’s novels. Every cabinet was stuffed. There were photos of le Carré’s travels to Israel or Hong Kong for location research. His records of interviews with individuals such as Mai Mai, a colonel in the Democratic Republic of Congo militia, Frederico Vardese, a professor of criminology, or Israeli journalist Yuval Eliza, were spread across the desks, revealing just how invested le Carré was in discovering the real inner workings of whatever criminal world he was delving into next. Naturally, copious character notes, profiles, and maps fit in wherever there was space left, demonstrating the painstaking effort the author went to in visualising the exact appearance of each character, precise locations, and intricate timelines. A particularly heartwarming source was an email typed to Herr Bührer, the manager of the Bellevue Palace Hotel, asking for permission to depict the real hotel and descriptive details in Our Kind of Traitor. 

However, the exhibition did not just explore le Carré’s literary life. In the middle of the room and down the second wall, tables and cabinets delved into his hobbies, interests and personal life. His passion for illustration resulted in several cabinets dedicated to the author’s doodles and caricatures. Le Carré’s humorous satire of the Oxford Union, both in illustrative and literary form, made for very amusing reading. However, the exhibition also pointed to the importance of this style for the rest of his career. Satire of the Union developed into satire of the hypocritical West and its criminal underworld. Indeed, the exhibition hinted that this satire might have stemmed from a deeper anguish over the unremarked fall out of the Cold War. It reminded me of how each and every one of an author’s life experiences can contribute to the novelist that they turn about to be.

A particularly remarkable feature of the exhibition were several interview recordings conducted with le Carré himself, that played out at the press of a button. These recordings lifted the exhibition: positioned about half way around the room, they broke up and diversified the forms of media visitors could interact with. Allowing the visitors to mix reading, watching, and listening, I felt, greatly improved the depth of interest, and the fact these recordings played out-loud to the whole room had a powerful impact. John le Carré’s voice echoing around a room filled with his life’s work, movingly tied his ambitions, hopes and achievements together. 

Whether you are a John le Carré fan, want to get an insight into some of the dark, gritty, underworld networks that govern the globe, or are interested in how an author composes a novel, this moving, inspiring, and yet infinitely human exhibition is for you, and it’s free! 

Tradecraft is on at the Weston Library until the 6 April 2026

Girlhood will not save you

Lilly Law
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Girlhood will not save you

I spent a good deal of time last summer trying to work out why bows made me so irrationally angry. Twice, walking while on the phone to my mum, I burst into a rant after just seeing one. To have one bow-induced word vomit on Cornmarket Street is a misfortune, but by the second, I started to feel a little careless. I really struggled to get to the bottom of it – at the time, bows seemed to be fashion shorthand for femininity, for pink, for friendship bracelets and heels. Did my hatred make me a misogynist?

Then I opened Instagram Reels, and it all became clear. I saw pink frilly everything proliferating, and “girl” was being prefixed onto every single trend. Girl math. Girl dinner. Pink jobs. And, of course: “I’m just a girl.” These memes, suggesting women were frivolous and bad at things that require thinking (like maths), that they ate next to nothing because of ‘disorganisation’, and that their careers were meaningless compared to their boyfriends’ ‘big boy job’, really got under my skin. But its most malicious aspect was the way it purported to define ‘girlhood’.

This certainly wasn’t my experience of growing up female. In the top sets, girls outnumbered boys in every one of my classes. True, there were fewer in computer science, but we got the highest results. In primary school, at least, we ate ravenously. My friends all had their own plans for their lives: vets, police officers, West End dancers, speech therapists, psychologists, lawyers. None of us were ‘just’ girls.

The highlight reel of ‘girlhood’ in these posts characterises it in terms of shopping, watching TV shows, and Taylor Swift concerts. It’s fascinatingly consumerist. When I was trying to think about what the aesthetics reminded me of, I kept returning to adverts: to the oversaturated, sparkly world of Barbie, Hello Kitty, and Lelli Kelly shoes. It feels artificial, constructed, and corporate. The closest analogy I can draw from my actual life are the costumes I used to wear in competitive dance. But with tutus and pointe shoes, we knew we were going on stage. No-one was going to pretend this was real life. Certainly, no-one was going to pretend it was a desirable way to be a woman.

Is it sisterhood? Safety and security before the big bad world had a look in? I don’t really buy that. I was catcalled more at 14 than I ever have been at 21. And there wasn’t exactly safety in numbers. My early teenage years were defined by competition – the girls in my year six class would compare breast sizes while we got changed for PE, and those of us who had already started their periods formed a little group, whispering and giving the rest of us knowing glances. I knew of three girls, in my year eight classes, who were ‘dating’ boys above the age of consent. I still cannot eat in front of the girls from my dance class.

The only throughline I can find is control, and power. The online construction of girlhood and the reality dovetail perfectly in how much freedom a girl has: none. When I searched for “pink jobs”, a caption to a reel came up: “Knowing things is a blue job not a pink job”. Mindlessness is a hallmark of girl dinner and girl maths – we’re just so busy thinking about shopping and boys, how could we remember to eat? Around the same time the ‘girlhood’ conversation came up, I saw women discussing how they loved switching their brains off around their boyfriend, and letting him do the thinking. The top post on “pink jobs” had over 300,000 views. A woman explained the “pink jobs and blue jobs” in her relationship – her boyfriend expressed derisive surprise that she “even knew” they had certain bills.

I didn’t realise how little freedom I had as a child and a teenager until I left home. Being able to plan my own day, choose my meals, work out my own goals, have been some of the best parts of being independent. I know everything about my life because no-one else is going to know it for me. The small girl confused at being pulled this way, pushed that way, in an endlessly confusing world, would be thrilled to see the freedom her future self has. That requires thinking, yes. But I wouldn’t trade my independence for anything. You couldn’t pay me to return to childhood and yet, the woman-child, with frivolous interests and little real freedom, is somehow trendy. It goes without saying that body standards evoke childishness, and ‘thin being in’ has been shouted from the rooftops. Hairlessness, doe eyes, helplessness. What’s so attractive about that? What is wrong with being a woman?

To begin with, it’s incredibly frightening. Being a woman means you have power, and that can be taken away. It means you’re likely to have a reproductive system that can invalidate your own right to live. It means you’re likely to be mocked, to be stereotyped, to be harassed. I remember having an existential crisis at 18, because I realised I could no longer call catcallers creeps: I wasn’t underage, so I was officially fair game. At least with the idea of girlhood, you can cling to a pretence of safety. But that facade comes at the cost of independence. If you give up your freedom, your power, and pretend that girlhood is all you ever wanted, as the world becomes more dangerous for women, then there’s a sense in which you’re not losing anything. But that’s a lie.

You can say it’s not that deep, that my entire take is too chronically online, that Instagram is not reality. But trivialisation is the problem. Abortion is illegal in 12 of 50 US states. A woman or a girl is killed every ten minutes by a partner or family member. 62% of the women killed by men in the UK were killed by their partner. In this climate, a trend built on women being stupid and infantile, all tied up in a pretty bow of powerlessness, is simply dangerous. There is no such thing as ‘just’ a girl. Get up.

Oxford University Press acquires science publisher

Charlie Goldberg
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Oxford University Press acquires science publisher

Oxford University Press (OUP) is set to acquire Karger Publishers, a publisher of scientific and medical journals. Under the name Oxford Journals, OUP currently publishes more than 500 scientific journals. With the acquisition of Karger, that number will rise to over 600. 

Karger was founded in 1890 in Berlin, before relocating to Basel in northwest Switzerland. The largely specialist company published Freud’s influential collected lectures in German, though nowadays most of the journals are published in English. Beyond journals, Karger has published over 9,000 books on medicine.

The Chair of Karger Publishers, Gabriella Karger, said that after an extensive search, “Oxford University Press represents the best possible choice” for Karger’s future. In a nod to OUP’s long record of operation, she said that “Karger becomes part of a publishing house that has even a longer history”.

Nigel Portwood, the CEO of OUP, said that the companies’ “shared focus on quality and scholarly integrity offer a strong foundation from which we can continue to serve researchers in medicine and health science far into the future”.

Oxford’s acquisition of Karger comes at the tail-end of significant consolidation in the academic journal market over the past three decades. In 2000, less than 40% of articles in science journals were published by the five largest academic publishers. By 2024, that number had climbed to over 60%. 

This global overhaul has coincided with significant initiatives in the academic world for open access science publishing. Among these initiatives is Plan S, backed by the European Union (EU), World Health Organisation (WHO), and a large number of public and private research organisations, including UK Research and Innovation, the public body in charge of research funding. Plan S mandates scientists who benefit from public research organisations to publish in open access journals. 

Critics of Plan S have argued that open access policies benefit large publishers and have been a major driver of consolidation in the academic journal market. The University of Oxford, representing OUP, came out in “broad” support of Plan S guidelines when they were first announced, but disagreed with some of the plan’s most significant provisions.

This is Oxford’s real free speech problem

Stanley Smith
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This is Oxford’s real free speech problem

I realised I had too much time on my hands when I decided to watch all of the Sheldonian Series in one go. Laid up in bed with the new strain of the plague the freshers brought with them this year, my mind cast back to Michaelmas last year when I attended the inaugural event of the Vice-Chancellor’s pet project. Curious to see how the subsequent editions had gone, I found myself binging all four of the hour-long recordings. Who needs Derry Girls when the University provides such unparalleled comfort telly to nurse you back to health?

What is the Sheldonian Series, you ask? Taking place each term in the Sheldonian Theatre, the event sees a panel of experts and academics answer questions on the ‘big issues’ of today, from ‘democracy’ to ‘life’. The discussions range from the eye-roll-inducing to genuinely stimulating, but that’s not what compelled me to write this. The Sheldonian Series, purportedly existing to model to undergraduates how to disagree agreeably, instead reveals a university that does not want to listen to what its students have to say.

As an evening’s worth of intellectual entertainment, it’s perfectly fine. Kicking off the topic of ‘democracy’, the panelists of journalists and politics professors made cogent, if obvious, arguments. Donald Trump’s election is bad for American democracy? Wow, I never knew! Things go slightly awry when Sonia Sodha, Observer columnist and self-proclaimed “gender-critical feminist”, goes off on a tangent about how transgender people are an “elite minority” who stifle democratic debate, but otherwise the rest of the evening passed smoothly.

The contrast between a physicist’s, a theologian’s, and computer scientist’s view on the topic of ‘life’ in Hilary term made for an interesting dynamic. As were director of the Reuters Institute Mitali Mukherjee’s insights on the difficulties of journalism in the age of social media, during Trinity term’s edition on ‘truth’. The only real failure was this Michaelmas’ attempt to tackle the done-to-death topic of ‘cancel culture’. The evening quickly turned into an increasingly acrimonious debate between Conservative peer Lord Young and director of the think tank British Future, Sunder Katwala, who routinely failed to answer the questions of the audience and instead spent the evening taking pot shots at each other. Clearly someone had failed to tell them it was a panel, not an Oxford Union debate, and the tiresome back-and-forth unfortunately overshadowed the far more intelligent remarks of Guardian columnist Zoe Williams and Helen Mountfield, Principal of Mansfield.

But my issue isn’t so much with the content of the evenings themselves, but the fanfare the University presents it with. The Vice-Chancellor has made it clear that the main rationale for the series was to improve the quality of debate and protect freedom of speech at Oxford. Introducing the series on her behalf, Chief Diversity Officer Tim Soutphommasane explained that “we hope to model what free speech…can and should look like within our collegiate university community”. Combined with other initiatives such as the patronising ‘tips for free speech’, the Sheldonian Series is the University’s attempt to challenge an illiberal attitude towards healthy debate that supposedly plagues Oxford. 

Maybe I’m just an unenlightened undergraduate, but I struggle to see how inviting semi-famous Gen-Xers who already have massive platforms to repeat the same talking points we hear everyday in our media is somehow a win for freedom of speech at this university. 

The most obvious problem is the total absence of actual students from the proceedings. Sat at the very back of the Sheldonian in Michaelmas last year, all I could see before me was a sea of grey hair. This skewed age demographic gave rise to several truly bizarre conversations in which, at an event supposedly for students, the panellists talked about undergraduates as if we are strange and unknowable creatures. Journalists professed their fear that young people no longer cared about democracy, whilst Professor Kimberly Johnson of NYU declared that undergrads are not interested in marshalling evidence and argument in essays. The fact that no-one under the age of 30 was on any of the panels gave the event the feel of a David Attenborough-style commentary on the lesser-spotted undergraduate.

Equally odd was the choice of topics for discussion. The prevailing debates between students today centre around issues such as the University’s investments, the Israel-Palestine conflict, and how to make prestigious institutions more inclusive. If Irene Tracey and Co. truly wanted to “model free and inclusive speech” as they profess, the Sheldonian Series could tackle these topics head on, yielding a likely fascinating set of conversations. But, of course, the University doesn’t want to talk about such issues for fear that someone might dare to criticise its handling of them; so we get an hour’s worth of pontificating on palatable concepts such as ‘life’ and ‘truth’ instead. 

As a result, these evenings are less a good faith effort to engage young people in respectful dialogue on the most controversial topics, and more an attempt to steer the conversation away into ‘safer’ waters. There is something very ‘the grown-ups will take it from here’ about it all. The Sheldonian Series perfectly encapsulates the University’s tendency to hark on about the importance of free speech, whilst ignoring the issues students actually want to speak about. Time and time again, we have seen the administration’s reluctance to enter into a dialogue with students on subjects such as its investments, be those links to fossil fuels or to arms companies and the Israeli military. If there is an issue with discourse in Oxford, it is this.

This is frustrating because the format has real potential. With a few tweaks, it could be a winning one. Start with finding more ways to incorporate students, rather than confining them to asking one or two questions at the end. Where it’s relevant, have us on the panels. If the University wants to discuss access to higher education, get an undergraduate representative from the 93% Club. I, for one, would be more inclined to listen to a discussion about universities if it included someone who actually had to pay tuition fees. Most importantly, bringing students, faculty, and alumni together to talk about difficult topics would send a powerful message that the administration values what everyone at this University has to say, not just the famous faces that once studied here. 

If Professor Irene Tracey just wants to host a chat between successful professionals each term, that’s great. But save us the sanctimony about how this supposedly is great for free speech at Oxford. Next time I’m ill, I think I’ll just watch Derry Girls instead.

‘Like the edge of a knife’: Ukrainian pianist Lubomyr Melnyk brings his ‘Continuous Music’ to Oxford

Lilia Goldstein
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‘Like the edge of a knife’: Ukrainian pianist Lubomyr Melnyk brings his ‘Continuous Music’ to Oxford

Ukrainian pianist Lubomyr Melnyk took the stage in Magdalen College Chapel and the Holywell Music Room on Monday 3rd and Tuesday 4th November to showcase his unique style, called ‘Continuous Music’. In an informal lecture at Balliol College’s Hall, Melnyk spoke in detail about the origins and philosophy of his craft, as well as giving a dazzling partially improvised performance. True to its name, Continuous Music is a style that flows in an ‘unbroken line of sound’ and is unbelievably fast – Melnyk is considered to be the fastest pianist in the world with the ability to play 19 notes per second with each hand. The music is not just about speed, though, but also a different relationship to the instrument than in classical piano, which Melnyk greatly admires. He describes continuous music as a ‘completely new world of the piano and of the pianist’, where there is a unity between the two, which he compares to the roots of a tree. Amusingly, he describes how the style was born ‘through philosophy, through mathematics, through religion and, yes, because I was a hippie.’

With his long beard and philosophical musings, Melnyk definitely looks the part of a 21st century spiritual leader with hippie roots, but his practice is also rooted in political realities – he speaks of how his Ukrainian identity greatly informs the music he makes. According to him, Ukrainians are the only people ‘spiritually crazy’ enough and who have gone through enough to create Continuous Music. 

Melnyk claims that he can make the piano ‘sing’, and this certainly rings true after hearing him perform – when the piano is played that quickly, melodies and rhythms that aren’t actually in the score can be heard, as resonant overtones overlap and add themselves to the already rich texture. Unfortunately, this beautiful effect is lost in the process of recording, making this a music that has to be experienced live. 

In terms of harmonic structure, the music adheres to the familiar traditions of Western functional harmony, and in this sense is unremarkable. If it wasn’t for its incredible speed and continuity, its gradually built-up textures and repetitive chordal structures could be likened to Ludovico Einaudi’s easy-listening instrumental music. Einaudi is a popular classical composer who, like Melnyk, has been inspired by minimalism. Melnyk has experimented with atonalism in the past, but found that it merely provided aesthetic beauty and could not evoke the same level of emotion that functional harmony could. He describes moving over to a mostly functional harmonic language as the music being ‘purified’, a view that could be questioned because of the Eurocentrism that it implies – there’s an underlying sense here that standard Western harmonic structures drawn from classical music are spiritually superior to other harmonies. Rather than through harmony, his music is set apart from other contemporary classical music through the virtuosity of his style, and the spiritual inclinations of his work. 

The talk had a tragic air – this is a music that only reaches its full potential when performed live, and Melnyk only has a few students, none able to perform this music to as high a standard as him. Whilst I did not agree with all of Lubomyr’s philosophical musings about music (he described jazz as ‘spiritually revolting’, for example), Continuous Music made for an enthralling listening experience.

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