Monday 9th June 2025
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The best books I read this summer

Alyssa Guan
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The best books I read this summer

Like many Oxford students, my reading during term time consists largely of dry peer-reviewed articles. Luckily, the endless prospects of summer always seem to revive my reading-for-pleasure spirit. This long vac holds many fond memories of laying on a beach, book in hand, with not a faculty reading list to be found. So in a desperate attempt to extend the holiday, here are the best books I read this summer.

Bliss Montage, Ling Ma

A compact collection of short stories, Bliss Montage takes you on a surrealist rollercoaster. The stories are weird and unsettling at times, devastating at others. Some I adored, others I finished thinking only: “What is going on?”. There are Yetis, live burials, horror pregnancies, and many ex-boyfriends. Throughout it all, Ma retains her detached yet incisive writing style first exhibited in her debut novel Severance. Standout stories include “Peking Duck”, where a writer attempts to retell a story from her childhood, and “Oranges”, in which the protagonist decides to follow home an ex-boyfriend; and “G”, where two friends reconnect over a recreational drug. These stories alone are grounds for praising the collection. It was, however, difficult to discern the point of other stories– though you could blame it on reader ignorance… All of Ma’s protagonists are Asian-American women and  the stories, naturally, intertwine the Asian-American experience (think relationships with immigrant parents and homelands) with their primary plotlines. The similarity in protagonists tended to blend the stories – if not in their plots, at least in the perspective from which they’re told.

James, Percival Everett

James is an imaginative retelling of Mark Twain’s classic The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, told from the perspective of Huck’s companion, the runaway slave Jim. Everett works masterfully to maintain the original atmosphere of Huck Finn, suffocatingly humid backswamps and all, while also introducing new plotlines that fully flesh out the character of Jim (Twain’s caricature portrayal of Jim leaves much room for improvement). Many stereotypes of enslaved people( including dialect, religion, education, etc.) are cleverly flipped on their heads– a subtle comment on the legacy of stereotypes. Everett does a fantastic job of underscoring just how much danger enslaved people faced in the American South. Something as trivial as stealing a pencil could mean harrowing consequences. A current of modernity underlies the novel so that some of the character’s thoughts and actions seem to be a product of the 21st century rather than the 19th. This detracts slightly from the historical immersion but feels fitting for our current cultural atmosphere. Some familiarity with Twain’s original story enhances the reading experience, though James can no doubt be read as a stand-alone. 

Eileen, Otessa Moshfegh

Moshfegh novels are for the girls with crumbs in their beds. Eileen is no exception. This novel is essentially an extended character study with a side of unhinged, maniacal plot thrown in. Set in a dilapidated New England town known only as X-ville, the story follows the reclusive and miserable Eileen (the titular character) as she becomes intoxicated with the glamorous and mysterious Rebecca St. James. Eileen is about repression, self-destruction, revenge, and obsession (not necessarily in that order). Moshfegh’s writing is sharp and well-paced, painted over with the blackest humor. Her novels are the poster children of off-kilter contemporary fiction. Despite their insanity, Moshfegh’s novels are deeply relatable; that’s precisely what makes them addictive. Control freaks will find uncomfortable resonance in Eileen’s character. The main plot is secondary to Eileen’s character development as a whole, resulting in a storyline that culminates in somewhat of a lackluster ending. The suspense building up to the climax, however, is masterfully done. 

Dishonorable Mention: Malibu Rising, Taylor Jenkins Reid.

A bit of criticism before the final review– Malibu Rising was by far my least favorite read of the summer. Set in 1980s California, the book takes place on the day of Nina Riva’s infamous summer party, alternating between the POVs of Nina and her three siblings. While Malibu Rising radiates sunkissed, beachy vibes, the actual contents of the story leave much to be desired. Rather than fully realized characters, the people of Malibu Rising are little more than clichés. There’s the high-achieving model who bears secret troubles, the cool surfer guy who also has a secret, the overlooked younger sister with yet another secret– you get the gist. The book is also too readable. The writing is mostly “tell”; you can almost predict the next sentence coming (an issue I’ve also noticed in Reid’s other books). However, I do have to thank this book for keeping me company while bedridden with the flu. At the core of this novel is a complex story of familial bonds that could’ve packed some real punch. However, without robust writing and characters, Malibu Rising falls flat.

My Brilliant Friend, Elena Ferrante, trans. Ann Goldstein

I first became aware of My Brilliant Friend when it came in first place on the NYTimes’ ‘The 100 Best Books of the 21st Century’ list. Always a sucker for the NYTimes Book Review, I ran to my local library to grab it. Even before I finished reading this novel, I knew it completely deserved this spot. Originally writing in Italian, Ferrante crafts a true masterpiece. My Brilliant Friend revolves around the lives of lifelong friends Elena and Lila as they grow up amidst the poverty and violence of 1950s Naples. Chronicling their lives from children to teenagers, My Brilliant Friend is the first novel of the Neapolitan quartet. The girls are both innocent and hardened, concerned with boys and dolls as much as they are with murder and familial violence. Ferrante’s writing is excellent: her portrayal of female friendship is raw, her description of Naples equal parts beautiful and tragic. High praise must also be given to Goldstein as a translator; My Brilliant Friend is one of the most stunning English novels I’ve ever read. The prose sweeps you up in a wave, carrying the reader from one paragraph to the next. It’s impossible to put down. I can also attest that the second and third novels in the quartet are just as stunning– building more on the political and social changes Italy underwent in the second half of the 20th century. With rich descriptions of Italian beaches interwoven throughout, it’s also a perfect summer read. Simply put, My Brilliant Friend is brilliant.

Though we are now well into autumn, part of me can’t resist naming summer as the best reading season. Summer makes room for everything: whether that’s the tried and true beach read; the 700 page classic you reattempt every July; or the mystery that keeps you up until 3 am. And while I’m sure we’ve all got that dreaded Outlook back-log reminding us of our Michaelmas reading lists, I hope we can all carry a bit of that reading-for-pleasure spirit into the coming months. 

iPad explodes in maths lecture

Selina Chen
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iPad explodes in maths lecture

An iPad exploded during a probability lecture this morning, filling the room with smoke and prompting an evacuation of the building.

The incident took place in the Andrew Wiles Building of Oxford Mathematics Institute. Several students said the iPad “blew up” or “exploded” while another believes that’s too dramatic of a word, more like an “intense fizzing of smoke” that lasted for about 30 seconds before the fire alarm went off.

An email from Oxford University Maths Department’s safety officer described it as a “small personal device fire”. Nobody was reported to be hurt, and students will collect their belongings in the afternoon.

A subsequent email added: “The building was safely and promptly evacuated and the problem device contained and removed from the building.” The mezzanine floor has been re-opened, except for lecture theatre L2 where the fire occurred, and ventilation effort is underway.

The University said that staff secured the iPad in a metal container and promptly removing it from the building. The incident can be viewed in the Maths Department’s lecture recording.

There have been prior reports of iPads “bursting into flames” but the probability of this is unclear. An Apple spokesperson told Cherwell: “When we hear about an incident, we contact the customer and look to analyse the unit. We often find that either unauthorised 3rd party cables, unauthorised repair or external damage to the device are the cause.”

The epic highs and lows of uni hockey

Sebastian Page
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The epic highs and lows of uni hockey

It can be incredibly frustrating at times to see the vast resources of various colleges, and how little of that money makes its way into centralised, university-wide activities. I’m sure you or someone you know has had to beg their respective JCR or MCR for some funding for dramatic or artistic projects. Why is it then, that people choose to self-fund clubs through subs that they end up running themselves with little external help? Spending copious amounts of money on match kit and transport, just to have to manage the club themselves? Some want to be part of something bigger, some want to take on new responsibilities. No matter how ridiculous it seems that someone would volunteer for death by Google Sheets, ours is not to reason why when such a selfless service is provided.

Splitting up into two factions, club members take on either coaching or committee roles. Committee positions can give you the chance to pad out your CV, twisted into LinkedIn jargon that suddenly turns the checking of an Excel document into ‘managing a high profile group of assets on behalf of 50+ stakeholders’. But the more puzzling of the two to take on is coaching. From the perspective of someone who can only just make a university sport team and is happy just to play a sport where the first team get Full Blues (and that certainly is not me), having student coaches can make or break how enjoyable a season is. You can absolutely have a great time with your teammates, even if your coaches are about as (physically or mentally) present as the people in your 9ams. Good coaches, however, will make a great season amazing, even if most Wednesdays or Saturdays are spent silently returning to Oxford from some outskirt of London after losing a third game on the bounce.

I was lucky enough to have coaches like these in my first year, to ease the growing pains of moving to university sport (shoutout Dez and Rosie). They’ve even come back for an unprecedented second stint this year. Selflessly giving up upwards of six hours a week to watch eleven (relatively) unskilled and unfit blokes mull around an astro at 7am in the depths of January is a Herculean task that the masochists seem to have enjoyed enough to return. It may be the opportunity to get out of S&C… but I’m sure it’s just love of the game. If you’re really like, they may even try to get on your team’s table instead of their own for the End of Season Dinner. The patience of coaches doesn’t simply extend to the frustration of watching their masterfully crafted tactics wasted on us, but regular scheduling changes can make it understandably difficult to buy in. Everyone wants the best slots for training, but not everyone can have them, so being able to move with the ebbs and flows of everchanging disputes is an underappreciated aspect of their job description. They’re likely only one year into the club or university, at a point where it is easy to become disenfranchised after that lone year’s worth of experience. It’s frankly astounding that they’re so keen to try and impart their wisdom onto deaf ears.

You always seem to see professional athletes reunited with their childhood coaches, later on in their career – famous interviews include Ian Wright’s (former Arsenal and England footballer) meeting with his former teacher: Sydney Pigden. Wright later dedicated his 2016 autobiography: A Life in Football to Pigden. I don’t think divine intervention could even get people like me to a professional level, but it’s certainly true that many can remember important teachers or coaches that inspired them academically or in sport. It may be difficult to consider someone your own age (or sometimes younger) to be inspirational, or to provoke the same kind of reaction Ian Wright may have had. It is not impossible, though, to appreciate how coaches affect the culture of the team, and your enjoyment in the process.

It can be a fragile ecosystem. Both in reference to coaching and student sport committees. Training comes at awkward times and it becomes increasingly difficult to stick to the commitment that you promised at the beginning of your term. Not even a few weeks into captaining my hockey team and I’ve already had what some anonymous teammates may describe as ‘the worst organised cars’ he had ever seen. The comment may have stung less if he hadn’t played in our team since its conception… Regardless, it’s easy to forget that volunteering for these roles (and more often exec positions) are students with very little management experience, and an insane workload. Besides, a little drama is always fun. As a wise man once said, without experiencing a bit of in-club tension: ‘you haven’t known the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of [university hockey]’.

Holding down the Fort(ress)

Laurence Raran
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Holding down the Fort(ress)

This week, Cherwell reached out to a titan of St John’s, and indeed, Oxford sport: Ian Madden. Madden has been a groundsman at the St John’s ground for 17 years, and a groundsman for 40. He had much to say about how Oxford sport has transformed in that time.

Cherwell: What is your name? 

Ian Madden: Ian Madden. 

Cherwell: What is your role at St. John’s and elsewhere? 

Ian Madden: Head Groundsman at the Fortress (the St John’s Ground). 

Cherwell: What does being Head Groundsman involve? 

Ian Madden: Being Head Groundsman involves getting pitches ready for students: football, rugby, tennis in the summer, cricket in the winter and looking after the hard tennis courts. It also involves general maintenance of the pavilion, changing rooms and making sure everyone is happy on the day of a match! 

Cherwell: How and when did you come to be in this role? 

Ian Madden: I’ve been at St. John’s now for 17 years, but I’ve been a groundsman since I was 18, so that’s 40 years. I started working with my father down on Exeter and Hertford pitches, and we also had St. Catherine’s grounds, so we had 3 colleges with x amount of teams, so that’s loads. My father was there as Head Groundsman for 50 years and my brother is also Head Groundsman at Trinity, so that’s how I fell into the role; as a sort of family trait. 

Cherwell: Your dad was a groundskeeper; how did he get into groundskeeping? 

Ian Madden: To tell you the truth, it’s one of those situations where he knew the groundsman down there and he used to work as a mechanic in one of the garages in Oxford. He decided to leave there and decided to work for a chap, I believe his name was Art Inwood, and he took on the job and worked there from then on. 

Cherwell: What is your favourite memory as groundskeeper at the Fortress?

Ian Madden: For me, it has to be 2014 Rugby Cuppers Victory at Iffley Road, sticks in my mind all the time – we’ve made the finals 3 or 4 times since then, but the victory stands out as a highlight. But everytime we get to a final, it’s always a highlight! 

Cherwell: What’s the craziest thing you’ve seen happen at the Fortress? 

Ian Madden: We used to have welcome drinks here many, many years ago. And it was a situation we had won a big rugby match and the boys had a couple of drinks and got a bit merry! I looked out the pavilion and they were doing naked wheelbarrow races up and down the field, it was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.  

Cherwell: How did that come to happen? 

Ian Madden: Well you know, when people have a few drinks, these silly things happen. Someone comes up with a bright idea and these things just crack on! It was very entertaining and one or two of the locals spotted it and were highly amused, not disappointed at all, they were highly amused. 

Cherwell: What’s the best part of your job? 

Ian Madden: The best part of my job is seeing that at the end of the day, everyone’s leaving the ground happy. With the pitches being presented in top-quality condition and providing that we play, doesn’t matter whether we win or lose. Ensuring that everyone has had a great day – that’s all we are interested in here.  

Cherwell: What’s the worst part of the job? 

Ian Madden: Obviously losing in the Cuppers Final, in either sport, rugby or football. 

Cherwell: You run the current cricket T20 league, right? How did that come to be and what system existed beforehand? 

Ian Madden: Going back 10 or 12 years ago, there was a league which was held on Wednesday afternoons. That always tied up students and if it was raining, the game was just called off. So when the groundsman who was running the league decided to call it a day, I set up what we call the Fortress T20 League. It’s a flexible league, both captains agree on when to play, it’s all T20s in the evening and it just runs smoothly. It’s the 8th year coming up, we’ve produced quality wickets, medals and trophies – so there is something to win at the end of the day; unlike the University Cup, where you win nothing. 

Going back 30 years ago, there was no real league structure for cricket whatsoever. Mainly, cricket was played in friendlies: touring teams and colleges against each other. A chap called Graham [Sabin] decided to set up the cricket league. This ran most afternoons, Monday to Friday, with a 40 over format. But with work commitments these days, people just do not have time to play a 40 over format, which a real shame. That’s what we really should be aiming it, if people are looking to make it into the Blues, then they need to be playing a longer game of cricket as opposed to T20. 

Cherwell: How do you find changing the grounds during the seasons? 

Ian Madden: It can be trying, depending on the weather conditions. If we had a summer like a couple of years ago with the drought, then you would look at the field and it would just be a desert, everything was brown. You would be praying for some rain to get the grass growing again. But you have to carry on as normal and try and prep them and hopefully the rain comes along. Yet it comes every year: it’s England!

Cherwell: How much has changed since you first became groundskeeper? 

Ian Madden: The job has changed completely. Years ago, the groundsman was in charge of everything on the sports ground. St. John’s is very liberal with me, and they allow us to do what we really want to do. Back in the day, your wife would help set the tea for the cricket matches, and we used to have bars in the pavilion. These days people have moved on, and most grounds have lost their drinking licenses. It’s been a big change from the heyday to now. It is still good, but the social side after matches is gone, which is a real shame. I believe you do lose part of the Oxford experience by not having a social get together after a match, revolving around a pint or two. 

Cherwell: Anything else you would like to tell us? 

Ian Madden: When I first came to St. John’s 17 years ago, it was the prestigious job to get out of all of the colleges. It’s always been rated as the best ground; the rugby pitch is superb and we’re very fortunate as it is one of the flattest pitches in Oxford. We’ve won awards from the groundsmen at Twickenham [Rugby Stadium] a few years ago on the ground’s presentation and won two tickets for England v Australia at Twickenham with free pizzas and champagne. Didn’t see much of the game, must admit! Yeah, St. John’s has been pretty good to me over the years, and can’t really fault them! 

The little things

Anonymous
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The little things

CW: Depression

I sit at my new desk, having just returned from the annual Freshers’ Fair, and begin to unload my tote bag. Examining the loot, I remember that I managed to snag a free pen from the Jenner Vaccine Trials group – it is shaped like a needle and creates the illusion of liquid being pushed out when tilted. Oh my God, I think to myself, I am so glad to be alive. Such an intense reaction to the design of a pen, however genius it may be, will seem strange to some. But in that moment, it signified something very special; I had returned to myself.

In a recent Vogue article, writer Shon Faye likened emerging from depression to being in “a marriage after infidelity”. You carry a fear that the worst days might not be truly behind you, your sense of security is forever fractured, and nothing ever really feels the same as it did before. This is an experience I can relate to. There is something so pernicious about depression that I simply would not be capable of communicating to my past self who had never experienced it. “I can rationally think myself out of this”, you tell yourself, until it has you by the throat and you have lost all sense of who you are.

My experience with depression was so fundamentally distinct from sadness that I grimace at any association people attempt to make between the two states of mind. Pure formlessness, hollow emptiness, or quietly terrifying insubstantiality seem slightly more accurate. I could not feel sadness, because I could not feel anything. In fact, there were times I would desperately wish to feel sad, just so I could feel something. When all feeling has been stripped from life, meaninglessness takes over very quickly. What is the point of going to a concert you had been looking forward to if you are no longer capable of experiencing even a tiny amount of pleasure from music? What is the point of looking at the sunset from your window if it leaves you feeling just as empty as before?

I had always considered myself someone who feels a strong passion for nearly every aspect of life. I wanted to do every degree, every hobby, every experience the world had to offer. I was the kind of person who would call friends up in the middle of the night and ask if they wanted to go on a 15-mile walk for fun. Depression robbed me of the excitement I felt was an integral part of me, leaving behind a robotic haze of a human being. Thus, you can see how the realisation that I was once again capable of experiencing true appreciation and excitement, even over a pen, was like realising I had won the lottery.

As the days passed by, I noticed other little things. I had the mental energy to wash my dishes without crying. When sat with friends, I could laugh authentically rather than having to mimic every basic social expectation. I am not exaggerating when I say that food began to taste better and colours began to look brighter. The reason I wanted to write this article was to stress the beauty of excitement, curiosity, and gratitude. I don’t care that it’s cliché. Getting a cool free pen made my day. If you are feeling low, I can guarantee there will come a day when you get your pen too.

Interdisciplinary is the future

Laurence Cooke
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Interdisciplinary is the future

The University is waking up to the environmental, social, and geopolitical crises of our times – in one sense at least. The British higher education system pigeonholes us into one or two subjects of study for three or four years, an exception being the liberal arts format of some ancient Scottish universities. Oxford is rightly beginning to understand that the graduates of today and tomorrow need so much more. A new emphasis on training students to be well-rounded critical thinkers who can reason beyond their discipline is absolutely pivotal. STEM students need the tools to interrogate sources and communicate knowledge to policymakers and the public. Humanities specialists and social scientists can benefit from a contextual understanding of future challenges in order to apply their critical abilities. 

This can take all kinds of forms, not least through the ability for some students to take outside options – such as the Physicists who can study a language for one paper. It is essential that this be expanded to allow – or even require – one Finals paper to be taken from a different subject altogether, technical abilities allowing. While as a Philosophy and French student I would obviously struggle to take 4th year Medicine, there is no reason why I should not be able to take an introductory statistics course or some Geography. 


Those ambitions may be for the longer term, but the University is already taking action. The Vice Chancellor’s Colloquium was a great success, and I was delighted that my group’s presentation on reducing emissions from college travel grants reached the final. The new series on free speech, if it grasps the nettle of addressing the University’s own controversies and debates rather than ironically lapsing into didacticism, will succeed. Oxford Ministry for the Future is another bold new interdisciplinary programme. These initiatives are a great start, so let’s build on their momentum.

Pensioner fuel cuts shouldn’t warm students’ hearts

Oliver Jones-Lyons
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Pensioner fuel cuts shouldn’t warm students’ hearts

Shortly after the 2024 election, the newly-elected government announced plans to means-test the Winter Fuel Allowance, a benefit previously given only to pensioners. Reactions amongst young people were mixed. Some celebrated the move as a step toward intergenerational equality, while others saw it as a harsh welfare cut. The reality, however, is more complex.

Whilst Starmer has failed so far to court young voters, several recent policies suggest they’re trying to address our concerns. These include means-testing pensioner benefits, setting national planning targets to lower housing costs for first-time buyers and renters, and exploring the reintroduction maintenance grants for poorer students. Policies such as these suggest a rebalancing of intergenerational inequality, which had tipped heavily in favour of pensioners under the previous government due to their reliance on older voters.

But there’s a deeper question here: why do the interests of different generations diverge so sharply?

On issues like housing, the reasons are clear. Younger people form ‘Generation Rent’, facing high-cost rentals, while pensioners enjoy high rates of home ownership. Home owners instinctively seek to preserve their property value, often opposing new reforms that could make housing more affordable for younger generations. On fiscal issues, however, this generational antagonism makes less sense. The erosion of the state pension (as well as repeated private pension tax raids since the Brown government) have left many pensioners more financially vulnerable, with pensioner poverty looking to increase rapidly. Young people have similar concerns in this regard. There is a growing fear we may never be able to retire – let alone comfortably.

Moreover, the ‘tighten your bootstraps and suffer’ attitude, common among members of the older generations, correlates with a failure of government to implement policies that expand education, welfare, and infrastructure investment. This lack of investment keeps incomes and therefore tax receipts down, which in turn erodes the safety net for pensioners. We are caught in a frustrating catch-22: a weakened social contract that harms both ends of the age spectrum.

What about the cuts to Winter Fuel Allowance? There should be no cause for celebration amongst younger voters. The aforementioned challenge of the weakened social contract will continue to lead to a crumbling social security net for those of all ages – and we too may one day need the state as pensioners. Crucially, we need to stop viewing intergenerational equality as an either-or situation. Both pensioners and young people are being shortchanged. Fighting for a better social security net together, rather than against one another, is the only way to secure better outcomes for all.

Increasing tuition fees, increasing inequality

Anita Okunde
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Increasing tuition fees, increasing inequality

When writing this article, I logged in out of curiosity to see my student loan balance. I saw a pretty number: £44,644.18, with £1,463.44 in interest. The fact that two years of my household income would only just about cover my university loans thus far, and that I had spent the time missing lectures after ridiculous nights out, was humbling. 

However, fear not! Labour has a plan for more accountability, easing the burden on students, and making the university more accessible – a plan which somehow involves raising the undergraduate fee cap to £10,500. As a PPEist, I had learned not to derive hope from a politician’s promise: Bridget Phillipson’s insistence that she was not upping tuition fees was drowned out by many’s concerns that they needed to be increased. It seems like an easy choice, given that in the 2023-2024 academic year, 40% of British universities ran deficits, and we haven’t seen an increase in the cap since 2017. However, the implications of this increase in the tuition fee cap have a broader impact on social mobility, and the economic implications on students have not been discussed sufficiently to warrant such a drastic increase.

The rationale behind the proposed rise in tuition fees, as put forward by some policymakers, is cloaked in the language of necessity. The argument goes that universities are struggling to keep up with rising operational costs, from staff salaries to campus maintenance and, of course, funding world-class research. They point to their rankings, research output, and attractiveness to international students as reasons for every-bigger budgets. I understand their plight in needing to balance the books, and maintain quality and status. But is this hike truly necessary, or is it simply the most convenient option for those in power? Alternative funding models should be considered. For example, a return to increased public funding through per-student grants, which has fallen back by 18% in real terms since 2012, could relieve students of bearing the brunt of financial strain. Taxing corporations or high-net-worth individuals who directly benefit from an educated workforce is also viable. Instead, the government seems to prefer to fall back on the familiar narrative that students must pay more to secure the same, or even diminishing, educational experience.

However, tuition fee hikes only offer a short-term fix. It’s not as if universities will see a windfall from this and immediately solve all their financial problems. Instead, the more fees increase, students and their families are forced to take on unsustainable debt levels. Meanwhile, the underlying issues remain government cuts to education funding, the underfunding of research, and a dependence on tuition fees that leaves institutions vulnerable to fluctuations in student numbers. This solution doesn’t address the root cause: the model of financing higher education is fundamentally broken.

At the heart of this brokenness is the question of whether this reliance on ever-rising student loans and tuition fees is sustainable in the long term. Our system has normalised the idea that an 18-year-old, fresh out of sixth form, unschooled in financial planning, is responsible enough to pay off a £27,500 student loan – many graduates struggle to pay off their debts, with some barely making a dent before the remainder is written off decades later. These figures are fiscally ridiculous. The government forecasts that around 65% of full-time undergraduates starting in 2023/24 would repay them in full. This is more than double the forecast for the 2022/23 cohort – for whom the expectation was 27%. Increasing the fee cap feels like a temporary patch on a gaping wound in the system, a wound that needs more than just another layer of financial gauze to heal.

The broader implications of raising the tuition fee cap on working-class and underprivileged students are also far-reaching and under-considered. It’s not just about the immediate financial burden; it’s about the message this sends. The more fees increase, the more university becomes an elitist institution that does not help democratise access to information. For those from low-income backgrounds, attending university may now feel like a financial gamble rather than an investment in their future. The idea that a degree is a ticket to a better life begins to lose its shine when the price tag feels insurmountable. Students already weighing up whether they can even afford to apply are inevitably put off by the thought of taking on tens of thousands of pounds in debt. Among families who have used a foodbank in the last year, 39% of those not planning to apply to universities cited high costs as the main barrier. We hear time and time again that education is meant to be the ‘great equaliser’, levelling the playing field for those who might not have the same social or economic advantages. But how can that be true if, with every fee increase, the university doors inch further out of reach for those who need it most to advance socially?

For families already grappling with the cost-of-living crisis, the prospect of higher tuition fees adds another layer of financial stress. It’s not just about paying for university; it’s about choosing between investing in education and covering necessities. Middle and low-income families often rely on loans to send their children to university and will feel the pinch the hardest. With the price of everything from rent to food spiralling, the idea of finding even more money for higher education can feel overwhelming. Coming to university has meant my maintenance loan has often been used to help with household bills or the needs of a house I do not live in for most of the year. This is the reality of many students. 

Ultimately, the conversation around raising the tuition fee cap is about much more than just numbers. It’s about the shifting perception of higher education, what it stands for, who it benefits, and who it leaves behind. The government’s justification for this increase feels flimsy and negligent at worst. Yes, universities need funding, but we must alleviate this pressure without forcing students and their families into even deeper financial hardship. The reality is that raising tuition fees is a short-term fix for a long-term problem, and it only papers over the cracks in an already broken system. As we move forward, we must ask ourselves: what kind of higher education system do we want? One that widens the gap between rich and poor or serves as a ladder of opportunity? If we continue down this path, the doors to that ladder are slowly closing, locking out the very people it was built to help.

A month in Berlin: Embracing solitude in the big city

Sultan Khokhar
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A month in Berlin: Embracing solitude in the big city

There’s something distinctly Berlin about the setting I am writing in. Inside the jazz café, elegantly dressed business people sit next to a table of young men getting ready to head outside for a cigarette. Miles Davis hums in the background, while loud emergency sirens thunder past every now and then (a true Berlin staple). I check the time once more and confirm that I’ve been here for three hours and written as many lines. There’s a comforting quality to the casual cacophony that appears to be an omnipresent aspect of life in a busy metropolis. It’s impossible to miss: you feel it on nights out in the city when you see throngs of people whatever the hour, and you feel it in the everyday, the mundane, as you get to the supermarket on a Tuesday afternoon and it’s as busy as Magdalen Street Tesco at 6pm.

The similarities with our small university city do end there, though. With all its colleges, clubs and societies, sports teams, and more, Oxford is an excellent place to meet new people and make new friends. The lack of these spaces, even for students, has been perhaps the greatest culture shock that has arisen after moving to Europe. Student-club-culture just isn’t as big here. As a result, social occasions are fewer and farther between, indeed the concept of a ‘social’, just for the sake of it, here feels distant and foreign. And as much I’d like to pretend my German is fluent, a language barrier does still exist too (the time I blanked on the word for ‘weight’ in the gym comes to mind). This, combined with the relatively fleeting character of social events, has meant it is more difficult to form meaningful relationships with people than what many of us are used to after two years at Oxford. 

As my café grows gradually busier, I can’t help but notice that a significant proportion of the people slowly trickling in are by themselves. Certainly, there is something to be said for the culture of voluntary solitude that is to be found in so many European hubs today. In the era of remote-working, recorded lectures, and Instagram reels, it comes as no surprise that so many people seem  to go it alone. One friend, who grew up and completed his undergraduate in Berlin, told me that most of his friends here today are those he went to school with. Platforms like BumbleForFriends and Meetup also lack the popularity they enjoy in places like London.

I hope I have not soured your impression of Berlin too much thus far. Of course, I would be completely remiss to portray the city as some sort of unwelcoming wilderness, populated by lonely creatures bent on ceaseless, solitary social confinement. In fact, after a little over a month living here, I’ve come to appreciate the desire to enjoy one’s own company. There’s a distinctly freeing quality about being beholden only to one’s own interests and ideas. To be able to make plans that suit only you, and that can be broken on a whim with no hurt feelings. And there is a unique sense of excitement and discovery that accompanies trying out things you have done a thousand times with others, alone. My first museum trip in Berlin saw me taking the time to really engage and enjoy the 80 years of recent German art history on display before me, strolling through the exhibition slower than a tourist on Broad Street – I spent three hours at the Neue Nationalgalerie that afternoon.

Feelings of isolation are almost inevitable at the start of a year abroad. Rather than viewing this as a setback though, the best approach can be to embrace the unfamiliar social landscape as an opportunity for growth. Stepping outside your comfort zone can be a positive, enriching experience. Simple things, like reading at a café, can be opportunities to explore the diversity of one’s local area and to discover something new about yourself. In some ways, doing it alone can be the most rewarding, most organic way to meet new and interesting people. Last week I connected with a pair of literature students in a coffee shop I’d decided to try over my copy of Fitzgerald’s ‘Tender Is The Night’.

As the honeyed tenor of Davis’ trumpet begins to grow louder, and the lights dim to a soft, mellow gold, I can’t help but think that going it alone isn’t so bad.

Margaret Casely-Hayford: Why I should be Chancellor

Margaret Casely-Hayford
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Margaret Casely-Hayford: Why I should be Chancellor

Dr Margaret Casely-Hayford is a lawyer and businesswoman who previously served as Chancellor of Coventry University. She is a Board member of the Co-op Group and was previously Chair of Shakespeare’s Globe

I want to be a Chancellor that everyone in Oxford can look up to as an emblem of the unity of the University as a community and seat of learning. The Chancellor is not only the bedrock of advice and guidance for the Vice Chancellor and the governing body of the University, but has developed into much more in the modern era. If elected, I would be an envoy for Oxford on the international stage and, as part of that role, crucially recognise and respect the diversity and individuality of each college, as they succeed together with the university as the unifying institution, whilst also being available to the Vice Chancellor and governing body as a support. 

After 900 years, it’s time for difference in leadership and I want to be elected emphatically not because I would be the first woman or person hailing from an ethnic minority background to hold the position (although election of a woman would clearly be an overdue change), but because of recognition of my achievements as such – and the symbolism of that recognition to change the limits of what may be possible for those who graduate from Oxford today. Also, because I am consensual in style and collegiate in approach, I believe that a learning environment should foster respectful, confident debate and establish a confidence that builds the resilience that makes future leaders, and people capable of co-operating for success.

Post Brexit, external relation-building is an important part of driving the country’s economic growth. The reach of Oxford’s soft power as a world class institution extends more widely than ever and the role therefore demands diplomatic and ambassadorial skills of its Chancellor and someone who is outward facing without driving any particular political agenda. 

I’m a proud graduate and an Honorary Fellow of Somerville College and have a huge love for the College and the University. I would consider it the most enormous honour not only to use the role to champion Oxford’s learning and research opportunity, its ambitions and excellence, but also to use the alumni networks to help establish partnerships globally and encourage funding.

The recent focus on the industrial strategy brought into sharp focus the importance of cooperation between public and private partnerships, the power of information sharing and most crucially, the investment in our future. I share the bright and ambitious outlook of the current Government, but recognise the importance of nurturing and supporting our youth, and their wider support systems to set them up for the best chance of success; and then for the nation more widely to recognise the value of our higher education sector. When our youth succeeds, our nation can prosper. Oxford University demonstrated during Covid the way that the excellence of our research is not only a massive economic contributor but can also literally be a lifesaver. Let’s continue to champion that confidence and brilliance.

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