Tuesday 7th April 2026
Blog Page 611

Review: Troy: Myth and Reality

Clementine Scott
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Review: Troy: Myth and Reality

It would be hard to think of another set of myths that are so present in contemporary culture as those surrounding the fall of Troy and its aftermath, immortalised most notably by Homer and Virgil. Stories such as the judgment of Paris, which sets the war in motion, the deception of the ‘Trojan Horse’ and Odysseus’ encounter with the Cyclops during his decade-long journey home are many people’s first introduction to the classical past as children, and the past few years have seen a resurgence of the Trojan cycle in popular culture. Novels such as Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles and Pat Barker’s The Silence of the Girls have reconsidered the war and its characters from different angles, and the BBC’s Troy: Fall of a City adaptation brought the saga to a generation raised on Game of Thrones. Therefore, the British Museum chose an opportune time for this year’s BP exhibition, Troy: myth and reality, which aims ambitiously to exhibit artistic depictions of the well-known myths and their various post-classical reinterpretations alongside the archaeological evidence that Troy and the war actually existed.

The exhibition began promisingly, with the three clear strands of myth, reinterpretation and reality laid out in the entranceway, with one of the most famous Troy-related classical works of art, the Athenian black-figure vase depicting Achilles killing Penthesilea, exhibited alongside pottery found at Hisarlik (the modern name for the site thought to be the location of the real Troy) and two contemporary works by Cy Twombly and Anthony Caro. The latter was particularly effectively placed, since it uses sculptures of salvaged wood and steel to represent the ruined remains of the battlefield itself, revealing an interesting relationship between archaeological reality and artistic interpretation. However, this interplay between fact, fiction and retelling was not entirely followed through in the main gallery.

After a brief yet fascinating display of artistic and papyrus evidence of Homer and Virgil’s popular significance in the ancient world (not least in the ancient schoolroom, where the epics were used to teach literacy just as the stories contained within them are fixtures of modern children’s books), what followed was a rather simplistic unloading of the Museum’s holdings of Greek, Etruscan and Roman pottery and sarcophagi depicting the Trojan myths, in an unimaginative chronological order from the judgment of Paris to Odysseus’ return to Ithaca. Given the relatively high level of familiarity the general public has with these myths (even if one is not, like this reviewer, a classics student), this part of the exhibition put too much emphasis on explaining well-known stories and not enough on discussing key themes and controversies within them. Some interesting points of discussion were touched upon in the labels, such as Helen’s agency (or lack of it) in her affair with Paris, the level of involvement and culpability of the gods during the war, the habit of later Greeks to use the Homeric epics to contextualise their own wars. Yet, the exhibition’s overly ambitious scope and desire to move swiftly through every story associated with Troy, in a rigid chronology, meant that these more complex ideas could never be fully expounded upon.

With this being said, there were details to be admired in the display, such as the neat division of the Trojan saga into four Ancient Greek concepts: eris (strife), polemos (war), halōsis (downfall) and nostos (homecoming). As well as this, the inventive use of technology was effective, particularly a revolving light-up display which magnified the wine-mixing bowl depicting Peleus and Thetis’ hectic wedding procession and identified the various figures, a concept previously put to good use in the British Museum’s Ashurbanipal exhibition.

The remainder of the exhibition ostensibly linked the original mythology to the exhibition’s two other strands, the archaeological reality of Troy and the post-classical interpretations of the myths. The archaeological section illuminated via recent findings and analysis of the various ancient settlements the mistakes made by the Victorian pioneer Heinrich Schliemann – chiefly that he set out with the intention of ‘finding Troy’ and thus made wild assumptions along the way, rather than excavating systematically. However, with the entire archaeological portion of the exhibition sectioned off into an annex at the far end of the gallery, it was difficult not to feel as though the archaeological findings comprised a separate exhibition, not fully integrated with the previous mythology-focused exhibit.

A similar problem followed in the exhibition’s final section, wherein various post-classical artistic and literary responses to the Trojan cycle were organised thematically, through themes such as ‘journeys’, ‘conflict’, and the depiction of women, a curatorial approach one wishes had been taken in the earlier classical galleries. It is worth saying that the content of this gallery was the most varied and interesting part of the exhibition. The artefacts on display ranged from medieval manuscripts claiming that London was founded by a descendant of Aeneas, to Max Slevogt’s prints depicting the brutal rage of Achilles on the eve of the First World War, to Hans Eworth’s intriguing gender reversal depicting Elizabeth I playing the role of Paris in the famous judgment scene. It was also a powerful choice to have some artworks accompanied by commentary from charities linking the myths to their own work, indicating that the relevance of the ancient epics extends beyond art and culture to politics and psychology. The veterans’ charity Waterloo Uncovered found psychological resonance in Odysseus’ emotional turmoil, while Crisis saw similarities between Aeneas’ journey and that of the modern refugee. 

However, not only did it seem a shame that the classical galleries did not share the curatorial ingenuity of the later galleries, it also seemed to contradict the concept of the whole exhibition to have classical and post-classical art displayed separately. A dual display of a classical and a modern interpretation of a particular myth, alongside evidence of the real city of Troy, would have more effectively shown the contrast between classical and more modern worldviews as well as the continued relevance of the Trojan cycle, and would have formed the exhibition into a cohesive whole. In reality, with the strict delineation of myth, reality and modern interpretation, Troy: myth and reality felt like three separate exhibitions which, while intriguing and rich in content, felt entirely unintegrated with one another. 

Ten Politically Inspired Books to Read in 2020

Tilly Walters
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Ten Politically Inspired Books to Read in 2020

The last three years of politics are enough to make a person want to do some Malcolm Tucker-esque screaming into the void. You can’t move for “exciting” commentary on the state of the Tory party or post-referendum analysis of the voter breakdown of Brexit. This is not to say politics is never absorbing, exciting, or hopeful; but right now the state of affairs it could be quite accurately described as a “f***ing omnishambles”. Political literature can still provide a way out through and maybe reading about chaos can help us briefly escape what’s going on around us–with the US 2020 election and the Brexit deadline fast approaching, escaping the 24-hour news cycle seems like an increasingly attractive option.

So, if the thought of another year of relentless news updates makes you feel like applying for an Irish passport, here are ten escapist books to deal with the present state of political fiction:

1.  House of Cards by Michael Dobbs (1989)

The original Westminster-based political trickery that went on to provide the two shows of the same name is the ultimate guide in spin, secrecy and skeletons in the closet. It follows Francis Urquhart (who Netflix would make Frank Underwood), Chief Whip of the Conservative Party, and his criminal path to Number 10. 

2.  Shame by Salman Rushdie (1983)

A beautiful example of Rushdie’s magical realism, and written five years prior to the controversy of The Satanic Verses, Shame explores the status of Pakistan in the decades after Partition. The story examines the issues of heritage, family, political identity, and morality. 

3.  Decline and Fall by Evelyn Waugh (1928) 

Waugh wrote in the preface to the novel: “Please bear in mind throughout that IT IS MEANT TO BE FUNNY.” Set in the 1920s, the novel caricatures various elements of British society at the time: Oxford and its ‘Bollinger’ Club (no prizes for guessing that one), the public school system, the aristocracy – Waugh manages to satirically critique the society he grew up in, with little moralistic superiority. 

4.  The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen (2001)

Franzen’s depiction of Midwestern, middle-class life is filled with anxiety about the future. It follows the Lambert family from the birth of their children to adulthood and tensely captures an American family plagued by anxiety and crisis. It ends just prior to the new millennium, capturing what Franzen describes as “the alarm bell of anxiety” surrounding societal change.

5.  All The President’s Men by Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward (1974)

Woodward and Bernstein’s account of the Watergate scandal is synonymous with political deceit, and while it’s not fictional, it’s a masterful account of investigative journalism and reporting that won the pair a Pulitzer. It recounts the detailed reporting of the Washington Post in one of the most significant political conspiracies in history. It is perhaps one of the most influential non-fiction works of all time.

6.   Fear and Loathing: On the Campaign Trail ‘72 by Hunter S. Thompson (1983)

This collection of Thompson’s coverage of the 1972 election details the minutiae of the McGovern-Nixon race for the White House from primaries to polling day. Read for an amusing display of political vitriol towards Nixon, a figure Thompson directs much criticism towards, and beautifully quotable lines such as: “McGovern made some stupid mistakes, but in context they seem almost frivolous compared to the things Richard Nixon does every day of his life, on purpose, as a matter of policy and a perfect expression of everything he stands for.”

7. Libra by Don DiLillo (1988) 

One of the most significant moments of twentieth-century US political history–the assassination of John F. Kennedy–is given its due attention through the eyes of Lee Harvey Oswald. The novel builds up to the shooting with conspiratorial threads of the story so beautifully composed that it becomes hard to distinguishing fiction from reality.

8. Bonfire of the Vanities by Tom Woolf (1987)

Woolf’s satirical debut was initially published, to huge commercial success, as a serial in Rolling Stone. It focuses on self-titled “Master of The Universe” Sherman McCoy, a Wall Street trader in 1980s New York, as well as assistant DA Larry Kramer and British journalist Peter Fallow. When McCoy is involved in a hit and run, the three are messily thrown together in a powerful depiction of public image and corruption.

9. Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche (2013)

Its title puns on the idea of ‘Americana,’ namely symbols of American culture that have come to represent the USA’s cultural heritage. It is set initially in Lagos, Nigeria and then moves to the USA where Ifemelu, the story’s protagonist, has gone to attend university. As the title suggests, the idea of Americanization and the lionization of American culture is one of the primary preoccupations of the novel.

10. This House by James Graham (2012)

It may be a cheat to include a play as the final item on this list, but Graham’s script features the political machinations of Westminster as well as any novel. Political theatre finds its home in the Chief Whips’ offices during the Labour minority governments of the 1970s, so desperate for votes that bedbound MPs are brought into the House from hospital.

Photo Credit: Pete Souza, used under Creative Commons Licence.

Boat Race Ready?

Simone Fraser
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Boat Race Ready?

The past week saw some highly important races in the world of university rowing – Trial Eights. Each of the four clubs: OUBC (male heavyweights) OUWBC (female heavyweights), OULRC (male lightweights) and OUWLRC (female lightweights) fields two, theoretically matched boats, which race against each other. Although the crews of the boats are usually not exactly what the first and second boats will later be for the Boat Races, they do give a good indication of who’s likely to be involved. 

Oxford University Boat Club’s matched eights raced on Wednesday 11th December down the full Boat Race course from Putney to Mortlake. Naming their boats Hurley and Burley after the RNLI Tower lifeboat, it was a comfortable win for Hurley in the end. The club are looking strong, with each boat comprised of several members of last year’s first boat and Isis, as well as a handful of new members. For these men it can be their only chance to row the full course before the boat race, and so it’s vital practice. 

For Oxford University Women’s Boat Club, the names of the boats were inspired by the crew of the 75th Anniversary of the women’s boat race. Brown, named after the stroke of the boat that raced in 1927 came out on top, beating Morley, who had been at bow, by over three boat lengths: roughly 6.25 seconds. After an intense term of training, it gave the women (and man) a chance to put all they’d learnt into practice, and gain some great racing experience. 

Two days later, Oxford University Women’s Lightweight Rowing Club made history by racing down the Tideway Championship Course in their matched eights – Puppets and Parrots. Up until this year, the lightweight women have raced at Henley stretch, so the race was valuable experience for the whole team. Puppets reigned victorious on this occasion, but both boats are looking good ahead of their first London race against Cambridge. 

Finally, Oxford University Lightweight Rowing Club raced Brains against Brawn in their matched eights. Somewhat appropriately for Oxford, Brains won out, despite challenging conditions, and the team is now counting down until their own Tideway Boat Race – a tradition that started for them last year. 

After a difficult term with an unrowable Wallingford stretch for a few weeks, all boats put in a great performance down the tideway. Although both lightweight clubs are coming into the races as champions, after defeat at the 2019 boat races, both OUBC and OUWBC have a lot to prove. Hopefully dedication and hard-work will win out, and I look forward to seeing how all the crews will do in the spring races.

Review: Vampire Weekend

Hope Hopkinson
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Review: Vampire Weekend

Nine years after they last took Muswell Hill by storm, indie giants Vampire Weekend played a two-night engagement at London’s Alexandra Palace as part of the hotly anticipated touring circuit of their LP released in May of this year, Father of the Bride; and it was certainly worth the wait.

     Having a self-described ‘spring-time’ feel, FOTB was the band’s first release since 2014’s Modern Vampires of the City and the early 2016 departure of founding member and co-songwriter Rostam Batmanglij. Whilst the latest release boasts an 18 song tracklist, citing Kacey Musgraves and flamenco as key inspirations, the two-plus-hour setlist did not neglect their extensive Ivy League back catalogue, pleasing fans both new and old.  

    Frontman Ezra Koenig seemed to command the Palace from the get-go, opening with the punchy and melodic Bambina. For a band that alternates their opener night-by-night, it was a pleasant surprise and setting the energetic tone for the rest of the set. They ploughed through a seamless selection of new songs alongside the classics of yesteryear, such as the worldbeat-meets-baroque Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa and timeless A-Punk, Koenig barely stopping between tracks to address the crowd. However, the music seemed to do enough talking as for a 10,000 capacity venue, the tone felt strangely familiar and intimate.

      The consistently youthful energy was only halted once or twice throughout the setlist. My Mistake, a poetic yet melancholy number, felt like more of an opportunity for the seven-piece to catch their breath between the high-octane tracks before and after than anything else. However, following it up with fan favourites such as Step and Koenig’s collaboration with British house producer SBTRKT, New Dorp New York, they never seemed to drop the ball completely. This is in part thanks to the magnetism of guitarist and backup singer Brian Robert Jones, whose tie dye, Britney Spears-stickered guitar, and infectious energy meant that it was hard to resist the charms. Long time fans have argued that it is only with the addition of such new band members, and in such large quantities (going from a four piece to a seven piece from 2018), that Rostam’s absence from the outfit is made up for, but it feels as if the Vampire Weekend before and after his departure are incomparable, both possessing unique and equally endearing attributes.        The night came to a close with a five-song encore which included two crowd requests, another way in which the band fosters an undeniable sense of closeness to their fans. Closing with the timeless Ya Hey from their third album, inflatable globes matching the ever-spinning one up on stage being passed around the palace through the crowd, the mood was as ecstatic and joyous as ever. After a twenty-six song setlist, it is a testament to their strength and cohesiveness that they fostered such a consistent vibe, and hopefully means that their velocity is showing no signs of stopping any time soon.

The paradoxical toxicity of the ‘January detox’

Clare Tierney
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The paradoxical toxicity of the ‘January detox’

Everyone, even those who don’t formally celebrate Christmas, will most likely find themselves snaffling a bargain box of best-before mince pies or having a few extra drinks during the festive period. You’ve reached the end of another year – have one more slice of pie! You have a fortnight off work and the whole family round – so crack open the Quality Street! Evolutionarily, we crave high-sugar and high-fat foods, hence why the Christmas dinner table, Boxing Day buffet and days of free-flowing mulled wine keep us coming back for more than we ‘need’ for fuel alone. The absolute worst-case scenario is that we overeat and feel a bit bloated for a week or so, but that is where the story ends. 

Yet influencers, diet product peddlers and gyms present us with an entirely different narrative and we, the vulnerably hungover and overfed, lap it up like brandy cream dregs from Grandma’s best china jug.

Discounted gym memberships, supplements and fitness accessories abound once January is upon us, tapping into the tradition of New Year’s resolutions. We jump at the chance for self-betterment, an excuse to start afresh and leave behind old habits. For many of us, an unhealthy lifestyle is that old habit. Enthusiasm to eat more healthily and to take up a new physical activity is both life-affirming and life-preserving. Surely, this is an overwhelmingly positive thing. 

What is not positive, however, is the insidious marketing that manipulates our attitudes to our bodies by means of post-Christmas guilt. The rhetoric of self-blame, linked to a little over-indulgence at what should be a joyous time of the year, is much more toxic than ‘detox.’ And although Veganuary is motivated by the wellbeing of animals and our planet, rather than the money-making opportunity of thousands of people being desperate to shred, shed pounds and slim down, I am sure I am not the only one who has considered making it a Trojan horse for my weight-loss attempts.

I have watched enough myth-debunking YouTube videos, read enough blogs and articles that deign to counteract diet culture, to understand at a rational level that we can and should trust our bodies to recalibrate itself after Christmas. We each have an optimum weight at which our bodies fight to stay – our set point – and a few weeks of the pigs in blankets diet will not succeed in throwing this mechanism off course. All that is required is of us is a return to normal, balanced eating once the holidays are over. 

Gymshark, PureGym and Weight Watchers fail to explain this to us, as to do so would undermine their business models, constructed around the message that we, as we are, are inadequate. In the words of Britney (more or less): they’re toxic, we’re slipping under. And we will continue to fall for their guilt-tripping slogans, because flourishing corporations with a fortune behind them have more clout than a few body-positive Instagrammers, unfortunately. After all, they would not have made their money if it weren’t for successful seduction tactics: we truly believe it when they tell us that we need to shape up, tone up, shrink ourselves down.

And by anticipating the advent of this toxic message come January we run the risk of falling foul of our subconscious. Again, I will state the obvious: evolutionary biology is omnipotent. If you know a period of penury is approaching, you will, even if not deliberately, find yourself ‘stocking up’ on the nutrients of which you soon intend to deprive yourself. The psychological and physiological strain of fasting, regardless of the degree to which you enforce it, outweighs whatever you stand to gain (or, more appropriately, here, lose) from denying your body and mind the nutrition it requires. 

From experience, I know that the mere thought of not being able to eat what I want once the decorations are down is enough to drive me to extreme binges while I have the self-bestowed permission to indulge. Such is the reality of yo-yo dieting. I know that it is far better to eat little and often, indulge without bingeing and stave off the extreme New Year regimes. 

Yet the unrepentant guilt-mongering of the post-Christmas period hits me particularly hard. I am a weight-restored, physiologically-sound eating disorder sufferer, but one whose relationship with the gym, diet products and food restriction is far from healthy. 

Absolving oneself of responsibility to obey the orders of internet culture is, therefore, a gargantuan task. I have, nevertheless, learned – the hard way – that detox teas and fat-burning coffees are useless, not eating for 24 hours at a time is pointless (because it will always backfire) and excessive cardio is nothing short of ridiculous. Refuge in online recovery communities can seem appealing, but it is increasingly hard to escape a society where special diets and resistance bands reign supreme – even among those who were once eating disorder sufferers themselves. Recovery journeys morph into fitness journeys, obsessive cross-training evolves into dedicated muscle-building and devoted butt-sculpting and my hope that self-acceptance is to be found outside of the gym begins to waiver. I question the legitimacy of my recovery because I am trying to resist, rather than submit to, the allure of the watt bike.Let’s all eat up and chill out this Christmas and New Year, only working out and cutting down if the decisions to do so are made free from external or self-imposed pressure.

Is the Christmas vac actually the worst holiday of the year?

Jenna Colaco
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Is the Christmas vac actually the worst holiday of the year?

In very simple terms, yes: the Christmas vacation is arguably the worst of the year. It is usually the shortest— 39 days this year. It may seem very long and to our friends at other universities or in employment, very generous, but is actually a period of great stress for many students. It comes after a very draining term, Michaelmas— always a hit to the system after a long summer. For freshers, this is probably the hardest term in general, trying to navigate the complexities and rigour of Oxford for the whole term only to pack up and go back home after spending eight weeks trying to settle in. However, now they are going back with the added burden of probably an overdraft, a heap of academic work, a temporary loss of all their new friends and newfound freedom and the impending pressure of collections. To top it all off, everyone wants to ask how university is going, how the course is, or how much you must love it all, when in reality sometimes you just want a mental break from it all.

The Christmas vacation is also expensive; whilst many may not have to pay for accommodation during these periods by moving out of college, the money spent trying to have a social life and visit all the friends and family members you haven’t seen in a while can quickly add up. Not to mention that a term at Oxford can be very expensive, probably using up most, if not all, of your student loan, especially if your family or partner has not been able to help financially support you. With this in mind, and the fact the next student loan installment won’t be until the start of next term, you might be taking on part-time work to try and build up your bank balance before next term. The stress of finances and academic work are hard enough without having to work shifts, a time consuming activity which some tutors do not understand is a necessity for some students. Not to mention that this takes so much out of the time you could spend relaxing with those dearest to you, or just having some uninterrupted time to yourself. With all of these pressures combined, the idea of gift-giving can feel more like a burden than a happy exchange, especially when the budget is tight.

The Christmas period in general, without all the revision and assignments, is one of the most isolating for people who do not have a consistent home life. We are constantly attacked by images of people huddled under a tree with an abundance of presents sitting underneath it. We are inundated with songs and films which depict happy families, lovers and magical white Christmasses. Unfortunately, the commercials sell dreams and not everyone has such a wonderful home to go to, or people to care for them. For some students, returning home may not be an option at Christmas, so while everyone else leaves Oxford, they remain in city devoid of so many of the people who make it home, all while being bombarded by images of the magical Christmas ideal that ignores the fact that it is a day that can feel very isolating. It is a day where transport stops and public buildings are closed so people are forced to accept that this is a time where society expects them to have someone, it can be lonely. Additionally, Oxford, like many other cities in the UK, has a massive homelessness problem, and though there are many organisations who work to bring warmth and festive joy to those in need, winter is the toughest time for those on the street, or those whose families struggle to afford heating or food over the holidays.

In many ways, Christmas is the most beautiful time of year, but for those of us lucky enough to have somewhere to go and people to share it with, let’s count our blessings whilst remembering and doing our best to help those we know who don’t have the same privilege.

Please note:

The Oxford Homelessness Project is running a Christmas meal and need donations and volunteers (they will be having a three course dinner, handing out gifts, playing music and board games!).

For students who are finding university difficult to afford the university has a fund which you can access regardless of household income, you should really consider applying, you deserve to have time to put into your education and wellbeing without the constant pressure of worrying you won’t have enough: https://www.ox.ac.uk/students/fees-funding/assistance/hardship/alf?wssl=1

Pantomime: does it still deserve a place on the modern theatrical scene? (Oh, yes it does!)

Joanne McNulty
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Pantomime: does it still deserve a place on the modern theatrical scene? (Oh, yes it does!)

When asked what the most culturally and/or socially relevant genre of theatre is, few people would think to respond with ‘pantomime’ – but this Christmas staple is by far the most successful and ubiquitous form of theatre in the United Kingdom, and it’s only growing more popular. The 2019 season has seen the genre’s highest turnover so far at over £60m, and the season isn’t even over yet.  To the theatre critic, pantomime might come across as cheap and amateurish, but that’s hardly a reason to imply that it’s irrelevant. It’s pantomime’s very accessibility that makes it a fascinating opportunity to involve kids in theatre and engage wider audiences in an experience that might otherwise be unacceptably subversive.

It’s crucial to remember that pantomime, for many children, is their first ever experience of theatre – indeed, for many people, going to the pantomime as a child is their only experience of theatre. And kids love it! What makes pantomime so exciting for kids is its combination of the familiar (pop songs, familiar fairy tales, celebrities) and the ‘strange’ (men playing women and vice versa, incomprehensible jokes that the adults all seem to find funny for some reason, an actual live theatre performance!) The audience participation aspect of pantomime encourages children to engage with the show and effectively demonstrates to them the potential of live performance. Here you can interact with the story very differently to the way in which you engage with a TV show or film – if you’re very lucky, you might even be invited up on stage at the end. If you’re a child, the concept of screaming ‘It’s behind you!’ to the oblivious old dame is the height of comedy. It’s not high art, but there’s no reason why it should be – its primary audience is children, and if it doesn’t prioritize their entertainment, then something has gone wrong. Sending a child to (what they perceive as) a boring, overlong and pretentious production is a sure-fire way to put them off theatre for a long time. Of course, we shouldn’t settle for a situation where many children never have the opportunity to experience theatre beyond pantomime – but that’s the fault of chronic underfunding in the arts. And the experience of attending an exciting and engaging pantomime at Christmas time can potentially encourage a much deeper interest in the world of theatre and live performance.

Pantomime’s near-ubiquitous popularity also renders it a crucial source of income for many smaller theatres. In some cases, the ticket sales from the yearly pantomime alone can fund its entire repertoire for the following year – allowing them to take risks and put on important but less commercially-friendly shows, supporting local creatives and bringing more artistic theatre to people who would otherwise have to travel to big cities. The pantomime itself is also often a great opportunity to give local actors and creatives experience in working on a big show. This includes the children’s chorus, many of whom will be performing on stage for the first time in their lives. Pantomime’s enduring popularity arguably allows it to help sustain the entire British theatre industry, both by providing an economic bedrock and by introducing theatre to the audiences of tomorrow.

That said, pantomime is important as a genre in and of itself; it doesn’t just exist simply to support ‘real’, high theatre. It’s important to remember that pantomime has its roots in a subversive tradition. Gender-swapped casting is all but prescribed for many characters, allowing audiences to enjoy subversive and disruptive presentations whilst still being couched in the safety of ‘family-friendly Christmas entertainment’. This was even more revolutionary in Victorian times, the birthplace of the modern pantomime. The concept of the principal boy being played by a woman was not simply a case of gender subversion – it also allowed Victorian audiences to get a cheeky glimpse of the actresses’ shapely legs in breeches rather than covered by a long skirt.

Of course, pantomime has existed for over two centuries now, and has evolved little for most of them. What was once subversive can in some cases become positively conservative. Often this is highly dependent on the quality of the individual pantomime. The old dame, in the hands of a talented actor and writer, can become a delightful opportunity to relish in the aesthetics and comedy of high camp – or, in less capable hands, she can become a disappointing transphobic archetype. The ‘comedy’ becomes the old dame’s body – hilarious because it is that of a man – rather than her physical comedy and wordplay. Even the best-quality pantomimes rarely stray from tradition despite the interesting gender dynamics of the actors in pantomime; the panto ‘canon’ is limited to a stock selection of traditional fairy tales almost always revolving around a heterosexual love story.

However, the rules of pantomime, though generally upheld, are not set in stone. This year’s production of Cinderella at the Lyric Hammersmith, for example, saw Cinderella’s ‘ugly’ stepsister fall in love with a female Buttons, and the show has received rave reviews. The nature of pantomime’s gleeful subversiveness means that radical rule changes are more likely to be accepted than anyone trying to pull the genre towards a more conservative status quo – particularly because pantomime as a genre has a long tradition of poking fun at the status quo. Every year, right back to its origins in Victorian times, pantos have been updated with topical, often politically-charged jokes. While Bobby Davro cracking jokes at Prince Andrew’s expense in Woking is hardly going to set the world on fire, it’s still an example of speaking truth to power. Good pantomime revels in taking shots at the establishment. It’s no coincidence that many of the classic pantomime tales – Cinderella, Aladdin, Dick Whittington, and so on – are stories of plucky, Picaresque heroes making their way in the world pitted against authoritarian baddies. They reach the upper echelons of society in the end, but do so through their morality and pluck, whilst the villains are deservedly toppled from their position of power.

Some pantomimes, of course, still rely on lazy and reactionary humour; characters insulting other characters or the audience by implying that they’re from the ‘scummy’ neighbourhood of wherever the show is being performed is a particularly common trope. But not all pantomimes are created equal, and to denounce the entire genre because of the laziness of a few writers is nonsensical. When pantomime gets it right, it really gets it right, and it’s a genuine celebration of the subversive and radical that nevertheless still manages to successfully engage wide audiences. It’s a genre that we should feel deeply privileged to have.

Opinion – Authentically Insincere: the conflict between sincerity and authenticity in British Politics

Christian Edwards
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Opinion – Authentically Insincere: the conflict between sincerity and authenticity in British Politics

After nine years of Tory rule, voters have looked at our country and said ‘yeah, this is good, more of the same.’

How did this happen? How could Labour not force the Conservatives, in all their mess and disgrace, out of government? The inquest into the collapse of the Labour Party will be long, conducted mainly on Twitter, and unhelpful. Momentum will blame anyone but Corbyn and the dream will live on. But now we must be honest: whatever Corbyn was selling, the British people did not want it. This is the first time in a century that an opposition has lost seats after being out of government for nine years. The fault must lie, above all else, within the opposition.

But there may be a deeper reason than all this for the Tory victory. This election confirmed one thing: the problem is not that politicians lied, the problem is that people don’t mind being lied to. Andrew Neil said if Boris Johnson had come on his show to be interviewed, he would have centred his questions on ‘trust’ – why ‘critics and even those close to him deem him untrustworthy’. But we may be thinking about trust in the wrong way. Johnson has made it clear throughout his career that he reneges on promises, argues for whatever betters himself, cannot be trusted. And yet people still place their trust in him with their votes.

Why? We might look to the South African writer J.M. Coetzee for an answer. Coetzee lived in England for a number of years, he knows the English well. In a 2015 book called The Good Story, a series of exchanges between Coetzee and the clinical psychologist Arabella Kurtz, Coetzee made a striking observation about the difference between authenticity and sincerity:

“I suspect that the word authentic came into wider usage precisely to capture what the word sincere fails to… If so, this in turn suggests that the phenomenon of the person who holds a belief in all sincerity yet is not committed heart and soul to that belief is of quite recent birth…

“Being authentic includes being able to lie and steal and cheat as long as you don’t pretend to yourself that you are not a liar and a thief and a cheat. As a society we cut a great deal of slack for ‘authentic’ characters of this kind. I have never seen why. The classic English novelists (Fielding, Dickens, for example) are often prepared to forgive immorality yet are dead set against hypocrisy, the pretence to virtue.”

Authenticity, for Coetzee, is about being ‘true to yourself’. Sincerity is simpler: it is more about telling the truth than acting in a way that is true to oneself. We could say ‘I am sincerely sorry for what I did’, meaning that we are really, truthfully sorry. But we wouldn’t say ‘I am authentically sorry for what I did’. Authenticity is not about telling the truth; it is about being one’s own truth, being the truth of one’s self.

This matters in modern British politics because politicians often lie, and so, we should think about what sort of lie we are being told. Is this politician lying about the facts (are they being insincere), or are they lying about themselves (are they being inauthentic)? Coetzee is right: in Britain we tolerate insincerity if it is authentic. What we can’t tolerate is inauthenticity. So, Dickens’ villain Fagin can lie and thieve and cheat and that’s okay – it’s authentic. But when a good guy does something bad, their goodness is shown to be inauthentic, and we begin to doubt their whole character.

Think back to the Conservative leadership campaign. Michael Gove was never going to win that election. But his campaign was utterly crushed by the allegations that he used to sit at home in his Chelsea flat after long days on Fleet Street and take cocaine. Any momentum he had was gone overnight. Why was this allegation so damaging?

Perhaps because Michael Gove presented himself as sincere. He styled himself – before the EU Referendum at least – as someone who cared, someone who would try to make a difference, someone conscientious. In short, he was not a Boris Johnson.

Maybe it was the bug-eyed incredulity, the slight over-pronouncement of the ever-trembling lower lip, the overarching sense of unease and even nervousness that made us believe him sincere. He never had the Johnsonian wink or Cameron’s smug grin. He always seemed like he was trying and falling short. And so, when the cocaine story broke, his sincerity was exposed as inauthentic. Gove wasn’t a good guy: he was getting coked up throughout his twenties. He was insincere – and, worse, inauthentically sincere. Any chance of his becoming party leader disappeared.

So why did the same not happen to Johnson? After Gove, every leadership candidate was asked what they had taken and when. How did Johnson deflect these questions? Quite simply, he lied – and, what’s more, people just didn’t care. When asked, Johnson denied taking the drug. But this was untrue. He previously admitted to taking the drug on numerous occasions: he told Piers Morgan in 2007 that he remembered taking cocaine ‘vividly’. And, really, of course he can. I find it absolutely inconceivable that Johnson has not taken cocaine at least once, and impressive that his septum has emerged unscathed.

It was only in 2015, perhaps with his premiership in sight, that Johnson started to retreat from his earlier confessions. On Have I Got News for You? he said: ‘I think I was once given cocaine but I sneezed and so it did not go up my nose’ – the most ridiculous line since Clinton’s ‘I didn’t inhale’. Johnson absurdly claimed a scene of Annie Hall for his own and somehow got away with it. The evidence was there, staring at voters in the face: Boris Johnson, by his own admission, had taken cocaine, just like his fellow candidate Michael Gove. So why did this bare-faced, unflinching, shameless lying not derail his campaign too?

Because Johnson’s deceit, his cynicism, his all-round bad guy-ness, is authentic. We know he lies, we know he cheats. This is who he, in a dramatic sense, is. This is his character, his persona, and he has spent most of his life perfecting it to the point that it is authentic.

Three details from Andrew Gimson’s 2006 biography of Johnson tell us more about this ‘character’. First, his school reports, which have long been doing the rounds: “Boris really has adopted a disgracefully cavalier attitude to his classical studies… I think he honestly believes that it is churlish of us not to regard him as an exception, one who should be free of the network of obligation which binds everyone else.”

Second, an anecdote from a school play: Johnson didn’t bother to learn his lines, so he pinned them up around the stage, dashing between them as he tried to catch his next cue, much to the audience’s hilarity and the anger of his fellow actors. Everyone could see what he was doing, but nonetheless, they found the performance funny.

And third, his post in an Eton yearbook: a picture of himself with two scarves and a machine gun and a vow to make ‘more notches on my phallocratic phallus’. And there we have our prime minister: lover of self, lover of audience, lover of sex. It’s blatantly there for us to see, and this authenticity works in his favour.

How could the allegations that this man had merely taken cocaine have hurt someone like this? It could hurt Gove, who was meant to be sincere. It couldn’t hurt Johnson, who everyone knows to be insincere – authentically insincere. This is the problem: we know Johnson is a bad guy, but because he doesn’t pretend not to be, we simply don’t care. In fact, it is a huge source of his appeal.

Journalists of late have picked up on this trend. Matthew Parris’s column in last Saturday’s Times picks up on the authenticity phenomenon: “Everywhere I go among fellow voters I meet the same response. They know he’s a scoundrel, know he’s a cheat, know he’s a selfish careerist, and there’s no point in reminding them. But something about his rascality appeals.”

Parris continues: “He’s your virtual mate. Boris is Boris but he’s our Boris. ‘Ooh you are awful, but we like you.’ In the southern Africa of my youth there was a human type widely admired in Bantu culture and the admiration helps to explain some of Africa’s political problems. He’s called a tsotsi and he’s basically a petty thief, an Artful Dodger, but he’s flashy, he’s fun and he’s a winger. Johnson is a blond tsotsi.” Like Dickens’ Artful Dodger, he is authentic, it is all there in his persona. This is the thing that makes voters dismiss each successive scandal with a tut and a frown, but with a stifled giggle and an ‘Oh, Boris!’.

Think about what Johnson was up against. (Not much.) We can see how the authenticity problem might have affected his opponents. Swinson is meant to be young and progressive, yet voted for a number of austerity policies. Corbyn is meant to be against racism in all its forms, yet had a blind spot to antisemitism. It seems as though one could not shake the idea that these sincere beliefs held by Johnson’s opponents may have been inauthentic.

But isn’t there a sense of authenticity I’m missing? Surely Corbyn’s politics are authentic? Yes, absolutely. Corbyn is authentically old left in a way that Johnson will never be a politically authentic anything. There is much talk of how Johnson may now return to how he was as London Mayor, a One Nation Conservative, whatever that soupy term still means. But he may equally continue in his current vein of populist nationalism. Who can say? As Chris Patten warns us: “His principles are so flexible he could do almost anything.” Authenticity is a matter of character, which goes deeper than politics. Johnson’s authenticity comes from his commitment to himself, stronger than his commitment to any political idea.

If we think about the language used to describe leaders like Johnson and Trump, we see the importance of authenticity. Throughout the populist movements around the globe we recognise the same distrust of irony, the same desire for there to be no gap between appearance and reality. People like Johnson and Trump, who supposedly embody a ‘what you see is what you get’ persona. It’s all there in Coetzee: ‘Being authentic includes being able to lie and steal and cheat as long as you don’t pretend to yourself that you are not a liar and a thief and a cheat.’ Johnson and Trump don’t pretend to be otherwise and are being rewarded by voters.

So what do we do with a man who seems to have accessed this special place in the British consciousness, coinciding with the pockets of populism around the globe, who we have just given five more years of power? People say the media failed to hold Johnson accountable. This is undoubtedly true, but even those who do hold him to account find their efforts rather impotent. Peter Oborne, a Conservative voter all his life until recently, has created a dossier (boris-johnson-lies.com) in which he adds a new Johnson untruth every day.

And for what? How can this possibly hurt Johnson or persuade voters? People do not care about Johnson’s lies, perhaps because Johnson himself does not. It’s the shamelessness that the media don’t know how to confront. Andrew Neil’s call on Johnson to be interviewed on the theme of trust was masterful, but ultimately of no effect. Johnson simply said no, and faced no consequences because he showed no shame.

We may be about to learn the hard way. A former ally of his said: “The British people are going to have the same experience with Boris that everyone who has known him have understood. They will feel hugely let down.” Johnson may leave Britain looking like the pain-stricken face of Jennifer Arcuri – incredulous, stunned, betrayed.

Except it won’t be like that. There’ll be nothing personal in it, no sense of tragedy, no communal sense of being ‘had’. Enough people, for whatever reason, just don’t seem to care about being lied to anymore. ‘That was just Boris,’ they’ll say. The truth will not be like a smack across the face, as Arcuri must have felt when her calls were declined and she was left to howl into the wind. It will be slower, less painful than that. Like a dull ache, constant, not overpowering. There will be no national sense of outrage when it turns out this emperor was in fact naked all the time, for, as Johnson’s former editor Max Hastings said: “We can scarcely strip the emperor’s new clothes from a man who has built a career, or at least a lurid love life, out of strutting without them.” Johnson has been nakedly himself for his whole career. While his commitment to ideas, to policies, to people has wavered erratically, his commitment to himself has pertained authentically.

So the feeling won’t be shock, it won’t even be pain. Those who voted for Johnson know, at some level, what they have signed up for. He has been telling us who he is all along. The feeling will be more of having our tails forever between our legs, a sense of shame and embarrassment, as if we must apologise for what we let happen – a sense, at the root of all, that now we are no longer ruled by a serious person, it may be a while before we can once more call ourselves a serious country.

The Skywalker ‘Saga’

Ben Beese
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The Skywalker ‘Saga’

The following article is Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker Spoiler-free.

In the several weeks leading up to the release of the newest Star Wars film, Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, the term “Skywalker Saga” has spread across the internet. Star Wars has long been referred to as a ‘saga.’ There has been a special emphasis on this installment being its conclusion. The idea of Star Wars as a ‘saga’ in the original sense of the word, an Old Norse prose history, has not received nearly as much attention as it might. What makes Star Wars a saga? And what does the end of that saga say about our changing relationship with stories?

Surprisingly, ‘saga’ is not a term commonly applied to Star Wars’ most closely related contemporaries. The Avengers, perhaps the closest kin to Star Wars in terms of scale, is more commonly referred to as a “cinematic universe.” Although one sometimes speaks of the “wizarding world,” Harry Potter never seemed to land a descriptor equivalent to ‘saga’ even after the 2016 and 2018 Fantastic Beasts films. Star Trek, Star Wars’ classic rival, could be called a saga (as a quick internet search can prove) but this does not feel quite appropriate for the sprawling tendrils of that franchise. English speakers seem to prefer the term ‘epic’ for Lord of the Rings despite the direct influence which the original Norse sagas had on the content and style of that work. Perhaps this is a coincidence or quirk of popular culture, or perhaps there is something distinctly saga-like about Star Wars.

The term ‘saga’ most likely entered the English lexicon via 17th– and 18th-century scholars studying the sögur (sing. saga) of the Old Norse world. This category includes a wide range of stories from medieval Iceland and Norway. There are King’s Sagas, Saint’s Sagas, Legendary Sagas (in one medieval source referred to as ‘Lying Sagas’), Contemporary Sagas, and an ever-changing list of other sub-categories. Fundamentally, sagas are distinct from epic court poetry (although sagas often featured fragments of court poetry to support the prose narrative). It is most likely that the sagas were performed to groups for the entertainment of nobles and commoners alike. The term saga itself is related to the verb segja meaning “to say” or “to tell.” This suggests that they were preserved orally, sometimes for several centuries, before being written by historians in the 13th-century.

Interestingly, many of the sagas, the so-called “Sagas of the Icelanders,” star more-or-less regular Icelanders and Norwegians. Kings, saints, and other ‘important’ figures are relegated to supporting roles. Admittedly, these ‘regular’ people were, like Luke Skywalker or Frodo Baggins, taken on extraordinary journeys. In one story, for example, Auðen of the Westfjords journeys across Iceland and Norway, repeatedly losing all of his money, in order to gift his pet polar bear to the king of Denmark. Yet, with the exception of this bizarre mission, Auðen appears to be no more than a regular Icelander worried about his ailing mother.

Sagas frequently feature the supernatural. Shapeshifters, ghosts, and cursed rings are all elements to be found in the Norse sagas. In the Saga of King Olaf Tryggvason of Norway, the King rests from his Christianizing mission to listen to stories told by the Norse god Oðinn, disguised as an old man.

These general qualities of sagas already hint at Star Wars-esque entertainment. They are popular stories told about a regular farmer from a desolate land who takes part in exceptional events that are tinged with hints of the supernatural. Of course, many stories follow a similar structure and are not called sagas. Let us consider a specific example to demonstrate how Star Wars, in particular, fits comfortably in the saga genre.

Take the classic saga of Egill, Skallagrim’s son. In it, Kveldulf (possibly a werewolf, certainly a supernatural berserker) and his son Skallagrim flee the conquering King Harold of Norway to become founding settlers of Iceland. Skallagrim’s son, Egill, is born and demonstrates an equally striking temper and level of physical and poetic prowess. By age three, he composes his first court poetry, a task requiring immense skill, out of spite for not being invited to a party. By age seven, he had murdered his first victim with an axe over a dispute in their play. By age 12, he was strong enough to beat most full-grown men in athletic competitions.

As a young adult, he insisted on joining his older brother on his travels across the North Atlantic. In his travels, Egill repeatedly worsens his family’s feud with the Norwegian King Eirik. He joins King Aethelstan of England’s army in a decisive defeat of the King of Scotland. He is later captured by ex-King Eirik, escaping execution via a wager regarding his poetic abilities. By the end of the saga, Egill lives into his old age, long enough to see one of his sons die in a shipwreck and the other become increasingly enmeshed in feuds over land and cattle.

Although lacking in some of the narrative focus that modern readers have become accustomed to, Egill’s Saga contains many of the same elements as Star Wars: narrow escapes, epic battles, political intrigue, cross-generational family conflict, supernatural lineages which provide the hero with exceptional abilities, and adventures which take one to diverse locations across the world. One can imagine replacing Kveldulf, Skallagrim, and Egill with Darth Vader, Luke, and Ben Skywalker and a similar story would emerge. In contrast, Star Trek and The Avengers tell the story of organizations that, although at times familial, lack the personal and multi-generational dynamics of such dynastic struggles.

Sagas are not only entertainment, but histories. If stories tell us about people to admire (or hate), histories tell us about ourselves. In the 13th-century contemporary sagas, Egill is confidently described as the ancestor of the Sturlungs, the family who included many of the most important figures of 12th– and 13th-century Icelandic history. Egill’s fame continued to have an impact on the identity of his family and Icelanders as a whole.

Similarly, Star Wars has always claimed to be history from “a long time ago…” While no one claims literal heritage to the Skywalker family, generations have grown up imaging themselves as Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia. This is a two-way relationship; Star Wars is linked to our generations’ concerns. Our parents’ Star Wars told the story of good triumphing over evil and the redemption of Darth Vader. This generation’s Star Wars, on the other hand, asks how one moves beyond the inheritance of the past. When the past failed to eliminate evil in our world, do we reject it? As Luke and Ben Skywalker suggested in 2017’s The Last Jedi, do we let the past die, killing it if we need to?

Although extended narratives, even sagas must come to an end. After 2018’s Solo: a Star Wars Story was released, Joshua Rothman wrote in The New Yorker that Star Wars was becoming a genre instead of a story, an aesthetic instead of a saga. With the conclusion of the Skywalker Saga this year, simultaneous with the launch of The Mandolorian television show and the promise of several other Star Wars projects to come, Rothaman’s prediction seems on the verge of coming true. This will create a Star Wars mainstream much more like The Avengers universe or, even, the complicated expanse of Star Trek. Of course, this may not be bad necessarily. But something is lost with the abandonment of the saga form. Sagas have always been stories to build a culture around. Our culture has grown around the Skywalkers. What will happen when Star Wars grows past them?

Oxford University receives €56 million grant

Trudy Ross
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Oxford University receives €56 million grant

Oxford University has been awarded a grant of €56 million by the European Research Council (ERC). 

The winners of the ERC’s latest Consolidator Grants Competition were announced on 10 December, the funding for this being a part of the EU’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation programme.

Awards worth €600 million went to 301 outstanding researchers across 24 countries. Oxford University received nine new ERC Consolidator Grants, the most awarded to any institution in the UK and the second most in Europe.

ERC grants are highly esteemed across the European academic community, and are awarded solely on the basis of scientific excellence. The Council was created to encourage groundbreaking research of the highest possible quality in Europe.

Researchers of any nationality with 7 to 12 years of experience since completion of PhD, and with a promising scientific track record and excellent research proposal are eligible to apply for a Consolidator grant.  

Professor Patrick Grant, Pro-Vice Chancellor (Research) and Vesuvius Chair of Materials at Oxford University said: “We are proud of the success of our early career researchers in this recent round of highly competitive ERC funding. The level of funding support we receive from the ERC speaks to the calibre of researchers we are able to attract and who bring considerable prestige to the University. Teaching and research excellence is at the core of our mission, and in which ERC awards continue to play a valued and central role.”

Controversy surrounds the allocation of ERC Grants as their policy of focusing purely on excellence means wealthier and more well resourced institutions reap the greatest benefits.

Institutions in countries like Germany, the UK, France and the Netherlands receive large amounts of funding from the ERC, prompting the question of how it can be possible for less economically developed countries to catch up academically to their richer counterparts.

Some grants were awarded to Europe’s less wealthy central and eastern countries. Zaroui Pogossian at the Central European University in Hungrary, for example, received an award to support her research on cultural interactions in the medieval Caucasus, Anatolia and northern Mesopotamia.

Yet, the success of Oxford and other wealthy, Western European institutions may be indicative of a larger political problem. 

Mariya Gabriel, European Commissioner for Innovation, Research, Culture, Education and Youth, acknowledged the need to examine this issue, saying: “…it is so important that we reach an agreement on an ambitious Horizon Europe budget for the next multi-annual budget. More available research funding would also allow us to create more opportunities everywhere in the EU – excellence should not be a question of geography.”

Grantees at Oxford University include researchers from a variety of departments, including Physics, Chemistry, Anthropology, Music, Medicine and Earth Sciences, to name a few.

Dr Gascia Ouzounian from the Faculty of Music is looking at the topic of sound in cities, and how we can utilize the power of sound to build healthier, more inclusive, and more sustainable societies.

Dr Dace Dzenovska from the Department of Anthropology is researching the concept of ‘emptiness’ in relation to post-socialism villages and towns in the Latvian Russian borderlands, while Dr Sergi Padilla-Para from the Nuffield Department of Medicine is studying antibody responses to aid rational vaccine design for HIV.

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