Monday 28th July 2025
Blog Page 971

St Hilda’s JCR establishes Class Liberation Officer

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St Hilda’s JCR yesterday passed a motion to establish the position of Class Liberation Officer. Once appointed, the Officer will focus on equalising opportunity for those from working-class and socio-economically disadvantaged backgrounds.

The motion was proposed by Charles Ors and seconded by Nina Chatrath, both second-years, and passed overwhelmingly in the meeting on Sunday evening.

The motion notes “Students from socio/economically disadvantaged /‘working class’ backgrounds are underrepresented at the University of Oxford, and in the Higher Education system generally.” It also recognises that these students may suffer from “microaggressions” and “classism” during their time at university.

Speaking to Cherwell, Ors said, “At St Hilda’s we already have four liberation officers—LGBTQ+ Officer, People of Colour and Racial Equalities Officer, Disabilities Officer and Women’s Officer. Those from a socio/economically disadvantaged/working class background were a liberation group who were not represented by a specific liberation officer on the committee—we thought it was time to change that!

“The Access and Equal Opportunities Officer on the JCR Committee will continue to work with the college in terms of outreach—but we believe that once students from a socio/economically disadvantaged/working class background are here in Oxford there should be a JCR Committee officer to represent any specific liberation issues/provide welfare support.”

Chatrath said to Cherwell “The Access and Equal Opportunities Officer on the JCR Committee will continue to work with the college in terms of outreach but this post was not a representative role, making it even more important that St Hilda’s ensures that those from socio-economically disadvantaged/working class backgrounds are fairly represented.

“In a similar vein to the other liberation officers, the officer will run a compulsory workshop during Freshers’ Week informing all students of the issues that the students that they represent can face, and how they can be an ally etc. We will be organising our first ever elections for this position at the start of Hilary. This is a proud moment for St Hilda’s College.”

The decision follows institutions including the University of Manchester, SOAS (University of London) and King’s College London, who have a ‘Working Class Students’ Officer’ on their Student Union/JCR committees.

In September this year Cherwell reported that the University’s intake of freshers was to have the highest proportion of state school students for at least forty years. The University offered 59.2 per cent of its places to state-school students, while the Independent Schools Councils estimates that about 93 per cent of all UK pupils are educated in state schools.

The St Hilda’s JCR President declined to comment on this matter. The college has been contacted for comment.

Gym diary: start getting your fitness back on track (and maybe even keep it that way too)

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Today is the day. 20 years of questionable diet habits and lethargy have left you tubby. Three years of vegetarianism have left you puny—or at least that’s your excuse. You have decided that this Monday will be a Monday like no other; you get up early and cycle to the nearby leisure centre to join your local gym, despite your misgivings and snobbery about gym culture. You bound over to the desk with a puppy’s enthusiasm but are informed that there are no induction slots available until the following day and as much as you pretend you are dismayed and held back, you are relieved and you go back to bed and your sweet PlayStation.
Day one, mark two. Today is the day. Your induction is booked. You dress in some old football shorts and a small top. You look short and weedy. You are short and weedy. But not for long. Soon you’ll just be short. You cycle to the leisure centre, announce why you’re there, and fill in lots of paperwork. Your instructor is late and you begin to get nervous. You realise that coming was a terrible idea. Your instructor arrives and, inexplicably, he compliments your form on every machine you try. You wonder if he is internally laughing at you. You realise that he doesn’t care. He leaves you and you wander round the gym for a few minutes trying to look purposeful. You try a couple of machines and then cycle back home. You are still short and weedy.

The Olympics inspire you to work out harder. You know deep down that all these medallists started from nothing, so you can succeed too. Your friend is a “gym lad” and you are at the same gym so he shows you the ropes. He is much bigger than you but he tells you to leave your ego at the door. You like this advice. Over the coming days you begin to feel more and more comfortable and competent. With your gym buddy, it’s actually… fun. That is until you use the bar wrongly, put 20kg on the very top of your spine and find it difficult to walk for the next few days. After your recovery, you work hard at the gym, setting new small personal records and discovering new levels of pain. Everything feels horrifically futile and you wonder if you should just call everything off and go back to the days when the only weights you lifted were books.

As usual over the last few weeks, you come home to feast on scrambled eggs and baked beans. You sit down to eat lunch and put the TV on to watch the Olympics. You wonder why these athletes are so bloody perfect. You watch Team GB notch more golds and, deflated, you go back to bed. You work hard once again and notice that you’re less tired at the end of the session and you’re starting to look trimmer. Your arms have graduated from being twigs to being bona fide sticks, and your stamina is in a good place. You even notice your biceps trembling when you work them, however delicate and soft they are. You are surprised at the rate of change, but happily so, and you’re enthused and motivated. That is, until you watch the GB rowers obliterate the competition while you’re nursing your sore, thin arms. You begin to question the logic of joining the gym during the Olympics. You hate the Olympics.

You get to the stage where you’re one of the regulars in the gym and you have to fight very, very hard not to compare yourself with oth- ers. There’s the mother who takes her teenage daughter to the gym with her after school. The daughter is probably seven years younger than you, and yet she is stronger, faster and generally a more effective human than you. You want to curl up into a ball. Then there is the older guy with the mane of hair who wears the death metal t-shirts and has his music blaring from his tiny Apple earphones. You wonder if it’s the music or the egotism that’s makes him throws his heavy weights down after working out and trots away to leave others to pick up his mess. You vow never to be that guy.

And then, with lessons learned in your head and callouses formed on your hands, you return to the gym after a moderate lull. You notice that something is different after two months of gym- ming. You’re using noticeably higher weights. Your body shape is changing. You actually have chest muscles. You still loathe your body, and you still feel inadequate about all the other huge lads in the gym. You still feel like Mr. Krabs without his shell, but you’re making progress. It’s a start. As your friends constantly remind you, everyone starts somewhere. Where you end upisuptoyou.

Home Front: voices left behind

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Home Front combines the collections of four female poets on the experiences of war for those left behind. The narrative of Isabel Palmer’s first collection, Atmospherics, begins with seeing her only son go to war in Afghanistan soon after his 21st birthday. The poems that emerged from her weekly writing ritual caught the eye of Andrew Motion, who writes in his foreword that the collection’s “subjects have a high level of documentary interest, but Isabel Palmer’s particular achievement is to invest them with the authority of the heart.” Motion’s praise is restrained, yet very expressive and complementary. His sincerity left her feeling “very honoured and very humbled.”

It is clear on first meeting Isabel Palmer that she is open, warm and very motherly. She talks frankly and tenderly about how her collection came to be published. “When Afghanistan came around, the most natural thing for me to do, to absorb myself in something other than watching the news all the time, was to write poetry. I found it quite cathartic. It was painful, but the focus it demanded to find exactly the right words took my mind off obsessing about news broadcasts of death and injuries. That’s why I wrote the poems. But as for seeking publication, I felt so strongly that there weren’t voices explaining what it was like for those left behind.” Though the poems were written for very personal and private reasons, she now wants to help people understand these experiences of “unpopular wars”. She tells us, “This is what really happens—you must make up your own mind about whether it’s justified or not.”

Palmer’s poems came to be combined with those of Bryony Doran, Jehanne Dubrow and Elyse Fenton when Bloodaxe received four collections describing the experience of being a woman on the Home Front, which were “all very compelling, and very different in their styles of poetry.” She was delighted to join forces, since “we all felt that our individual egos and our success in poetry was far less important than telling a story in as powerful a way as we can.” Doran’s collection is written with a fantastically dry sense of humour. “Her poems are far more direct in how they tackle the experiences, and there’s a sense of irony as well.” Dubrow sees her experience in a historical context, invoking the plight of Penelope in the Odyssey. Palmer’s poems are “about fear,” and what sets her apart is her exquisite choice of images. She thinks her “focus is always on the language, and the sounds of the language, and finding the right image for the feeling I’m describing.”

Palmer is right about how right her images feel—her father’s gun is “fast and sleek as a salmon”—and this accuracy was often reached in one draft. “I didn’t change them very much. They came from somewhere quite deep—I didn’t think someone looking back on the experience months or years later could really find a better way of saying it.” It is obvious from reading her poems that she has thought carefully about lineation and the sounds of her words. Her background as an English teacher meant that she knew all about shaping diff erent kinds of poetry, but “that never came into it. It was all about allowing the thoughts to come and then revisiting it later to see if maybe that word or that image wasn’t appropriate.”

The poems beg to be read aloud, resembling invocations or addresses rather than letters. It was important to Palmer that the poems felt as if she were talking directly to her son—it was her way of “bridging the communication gap.” Phone calls were rare and brief, so every Monday morning she put together a parcel to send to Afghanistan and wrote a poem. When sending a parcel, according to Isabel, “the important thing is to find something that they want, to find something to lift their morale, and to find something that isn’t too heavy—and that seems to me the same process as writing a poem.”

Home Front is launched on Remembrance Day—the only day that felt appropriate for Palmer. The new voices in this quadruple collection are powerful, unusual and varied. They have so many stories to tell, and they are calling for listeners.

Steven Moffat: A talk at the Oxford Union

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“I am rubbish.” This was the opening statement of Steven Moffat’s talk at the Oxford Union on Monday, and it’s an assessment most of the audience presumably disagreed with. Best known for helming Doctor Who and Sherlock, Moffat’s career stretches back to 1989, and covers such varied genres as children’s TV, sitcoms, feature films, as well as the BBC One dramas which helped make his name. In his brief address before a general Q&A, Moffat stressed the importance of self-awareness.

“I am rubbish. I first became aware of my rubbishness when I overheard my wife on the phone to some camera-people. ‘Don’t get him to take the lens back to Cardiff,’ she said. ‘Why? Because he’ll lose it. I know he’ll lose it. Because he’s rubbish.’ I heard her say that. I took the lens. I lost it.” But rubbishness is a universal trait: “everyone is in disguise as a competent human being”. Diligence is an important factor in success: “you can’t control how rubbish you are… but you can control how hard you work.”

Moffat has been called many things; showrunner, creator, executive producer. But the title he really cherishes is ‘Writer’. “It’s great to be a writer, because we make it up! It’s like you’ve done all the homework, and everyone else copies it.” Moffat was playfully resentful of directors. “They’ll say ‘my inspiration for this movie was this or that moment in my life or this or that artistic vision… and not the 120 pages of finished script my screenwriter gave me! Who else has that, in their job? Oh look, here’s exactly what I need to do.”

The talk then moved into an interview, starting with Doctor Who. Moffat has no patience with the idea of ‘overloading’ the audience. “Children nowadays, teenagers nowadays, are some of the cleverest audiences in history – they’re keeping up with television while texting and tweeting each other, and they’re all getting it. We try never to have a dull moment on Doctor Who.” Catering to adults is fairly straightforward – “it’s like when you go into a restaurant and you eye the children’s menu, and you wish you could order from that instead – it’s the same principle.” There are challenges – “you have to be ringingly clear” – but Moffat was adamant that “to write for children is to write better… everybody likes children’s stuff.”

As well as executive producing Doctor Who, Moffat is co-producer on Sherlock. They’re two very distinct shows, but Moffat finds the differences easy to manage. “I’ve spoken to Mark [Gatiss] about this; we’ve just got to pretend that we don’t work on both. They’re both part of the same landscape, so when a similarity crops up we just try and go with it rather than getting anxious.” It’s not a difference that keeps either writer up at night: “The Doctor is a sort of space Sherlock Holmes anyway.”

Sherlock and Doctor Who are both prestige BBC shows; how does Moffat view the corporation and its future? “The BBC is an unequivocal good – that doesn’t mean every decision it makes is good, or that it’s above reproach, but there’s nothing else in the world like it, and when it’s gone, it’s gone. The circumstances which produced it are never coming back.” Moffat is not totally enamoured of the beeb; “Mark says: ‘you love the BBC, but you don’t expect the BBC to love you back.'” Governments naturally go after the corporation; “no-one likes being criticised. If I had power over every TV critic in the world, I’d have them all executed!” Nevertheless, Moffat hopes that the BBC “remains the powerhouse that it is.”

Returning to Doctor Who, an audience member asked if there was anything Moffat could tell us about the next series. There was talk of a return of the Cybermen, perhaps even an origin story, but Moffat seemed reticent. “Anything is possible… but it’s not an idea that I’m aware of. It’s kind of been done, and I’d be hesitant to return to it. But then I generally speaking lie, so you never know”.

Conscious of potential spoilers, Moffat ended with a tease of series 10: “The Doctor will reliably save the day. There will be big speeches and evil monsters. There will be an epic amount of urgent standing. And you’ll all fall in love with Pearl Mackie as Bill.”

Planet Earth: Ten Years On

 Paris Jaggers

“Today, much has changed.” So says David Attenborough in the opening scene of the BBC’s new sequel to Planet Earth, which first aired in 2006. Ten years on, the BBC’s Natural History Unit is able to make use of the most advanced camera technology to revisit the natural world and reveal it anew in all its splendour. But a rising note, one that’s become tragically more important in the intervening decade, is that of this world’s fragility and the rate of its destruction.

Living up to all expectations, Planet Earth II shows us life at an exquisite, unparalleled degree of detail. Improvements in camera stabilisation, aerial drone footage, remote recording and the ability to film in ultra HD (4K) make every shot spectacular. What catches the eye above all is the depth and range of colour – the first sequence, following a male sloth’s pursuit of a mate through the mangroves of Escudo Island, glimmers in full emerald glory, while a later glimpse at the march of crabs on Christmas Island overwhelms with red and orange.

But the triumph of this new technology is in producing close-up shots that wouldn’t look out of place in a human drama. Our first encounter with Komodo dragons shows the 10ft lizards at an uncomfortably close distance, the blood of their last meal still visible between their teeth.

The first episode, focusing on island wildlife, strikes a perfect balance between the majestic, the terrifying and the tear-jerking. From battle-scarred dragons and hunting packs of racer snakes to penguin parents returning, blood-stained, to feed their chicks, it sweeps across the world to paint a picture of unique island life. The soaring score, composed by the legendary Hans Zimmer (among others), carries us effortlessly through every scene. But what is it telling us?

Nature documentaries have always relied on anthropomorphism to introduce us to the lives of our animal relatives. Despite Attenborough’s meticulously scientific narrative, the close-ups, the score and the dramatically-enhanced presentation combine to show us more than ever that we care most about what we see when it reflects human emotion. The sight of a mother fairy tern refusing to leave her smashed egg, or an entangled fledgling starving on the forest floor, evokes pity in even the most steely of minds.

These scenes may be touching, but they are the symptom of a wider, dangerous trend.  Conservation projects struggle to gain support when the target animal isn’t pretty or cute, and doesn’t behave like humans do. And while few people would tolerate harm to cuddly, expressive and familiar pets like dogs and cats, they find it easy to turn a blind eye to the fates of the millions of other animals abused and killed by humans on a daily basis. Our understanding and appreciation of the natural world, on all ecological levels, is compromised by anthropomorphism, especially when endorsed by high-profile figures like Attenborough.

But as much as it is true that anthropomorphism distances us from the reality of animal life, Planet Earth II’s heightened drama, if used right, can only add to its impact on audiences. As well as for the pure marvel of experiencing the beauty of the natural world, it can expose people to the all-too-necessary message hinted at in this first episode: nature is suffering, and it’s our fault. As Attenborough explains, nowhere is this felt more than in island ecosystems, which have seen around 80% of recent species extinctions. While this was introduced, briefly, in this episode, it remains to be seen if Planet Earth II will harness the power of its footage to truly bring these important issues to the attention of the public.

 

Henry Grub

How fitting that, 10 years after the true epic Planet Earth, the BBC has returned with its sequel, to examine the changes in the interim. Attenborough makes clear from the outset that we are living in a drastically changing world, and we know what this means…

… It means global warming. Sea level rise. Climate change. Greenhouse gases.

So why on Planet Earth did these words not come up?!

I expected this programme to chronicle the emerging battle between life and the altering ecosystem, as it was billed. After all, back in 2006 these issues just weren’t covered and surely all the wildlife in the world has been documented by Attenborough by now.

Yet, I had to wait until 39 minutes in before Attenborough talked about the yellow crazy ants, an invasive human-introduced species that eat the eyes of native crabs on an Indian Ocean island. But even this change is localised and seemed to be added just so the BBC could add in photography of eye-gouged crabs and reel off the 80% fact. No mention of sea level rise, which surely would be quite important with regard to islands, the subject of this week’s episode?

I presumed the four-minute ant-crab saga was just the beginning to the second half of the show, which would address the show’s stated aims. My presumptions seemed to be confirmed with the follow-up line of “our impact on the Earth is greater today than ever before…”

“…yet some islands are so remote few humans have even set foot on them!”

In one foul swoop Attenborough quickly dismissed all notions of impending climate doom and moved onto an unspoilt Southern Ocean island with loads of penguins.

We were instead told the story of a male Chinstrap penguin trying to negotiate the most hellish car-park situation ever, figuring out where he had left his… ahem… family. Impressive he managed to find it among one-and-a-half-million other penguins!

Now, let me set the record straight: Planet Earth II is a formidable nature documentary which sets a very high standard, as one might expect. It is little wonder why the other major channels don’t attempt to replicate what is very much the BBC’s winning formula. And today, with the technology and methodology that Paris detailed, evermore the filmmakers are able to break down the barriers between the viewers and the animals, and bring them into your living room. The shots of the swimming sloth, the stalking Komodo dragon and the startling racer snakes brought the action up close and makes it easy to connect to.

Scientifically, Planet Earth II can seem like an embellished and hyperbolic way of viewing nature, with the grand music scores and lavish, vivid colour. It glamorises the natural world, more like story-telling than scientific fact. I appreciate the good television, but feel a balance between, for example, plants and animals should be struck.

I hope that this series will go onto address some of the key issues that I believe can make it distinct from the endless previous series Attenborough has been accredited for. There will be an ‘urban areas’ episode at some point, and no doubt more “changing world” rhetoric, but I do hope that the BBC isn’t just paying lip-service to the issues too big to ignore.

Hundreds rally for post-election unity at Broad Street demonstration

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On November 13, a ‘Love Rally’ was organised by Oxford students on Broad Street, Central Oxford. Hundreds of people gathered outside the Clarendon Building to express peaceful solidarity, following but not exclusively in response to the results of last week’s US election.

The organisers of the rally urged fellow students “Come stand in solidarity with the people who will be made most vulnerable by a Trump presidency. Come stand in solidarity with the people who fear being stripped of their rights.”

Following the U.S. election, those who were experiencing “fear, confusion, sadness, anger, despair, loneliness, disappointment” were encouraged to stand together, whether American or not, in peaceful unity.

Elizabeth Shaughnessy, one of the organisers of the rally, told Cherwell, “We organized the Love Rally as a way for students and the local community to stand in solidarity with anyone feeling marginalized and alone following the US election as well as Brexit and other nationalist and politically isolating events in Europe. Our goal was to create an inclusive, supportive environment for people here, in America, and abroad.”

Review: Doctor Strange

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I am absolutely certain that the Marvel logo gets longer with each new film from the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU). Back when Iron Man first came out in 2008, it was on screen for five, maybe ten seconds — but Doctor Strange , the 14th entry into the MCU, announces itself with the most grandiose, operatic Marvel logo you can possibly imagine. It runs through their most famous characters from The Avengers to the Guardians of the Galaxy , as if to say: “Hey, remember these superhero movies you really like? We made those, so don’t worry: you’re in safe hands!”

Doctor Strange is, however, definitely distinguished from the other Marvel films simply by fully embracing the madcap weirdness of the magic side of the Marvel universe. If you’re worried about needing tons of backstory before going in, don’t be—compared to Captain America: Civil War earlier this year, Doctor Strange is very light on Marvel connections. Aside from the odd mention of the Avengers and a couple of shots of the Avenger’s Tower, only the first end credits scene really ties the film into the larger universe, so it’s very easy to watch as a standalone film.

I never like recommending a film based on the visuals alone (because otherwise we’d all hold up the Transformers series as masterpieces of filmmaking) but the visuals of this film honestly have to be seen to be believed. It is rare that the phrase “jaw-dropping” is used literally, but on an enormous screen, some of the more surreal sequences had me catching flies in my mouth. Even apart from those, the production and costume design are outstanding, and the visualisation of magic is really interestingly done—certainly a lot more physical than the “point-and-squint” wandwork in the Harry Potter series.

The cast is on top form, too. One of my main worries going in, surprisingly enough, was Benedict Cumberbatch as Strange. His American accent seemed a bit shaky in the trailers, but his performance absolutely anchors the film and creates pathos where many actors would only irritate the audience.

It’s a touch too close to his portrayal of Sherlock at times, but they’re both enormously arrogant, immensely intelligent masters of their fields, so it’s a forgivable similarity. Elsewhere, Tilda Swinton turns in a fantastic performance as The Ancient One, Chiwetel Ejiofor is reliably brilliant in a significant supporting role, and Mads Mikkelsen makes a more interesting villain than many in the Marvel pantheon.

The only issues with the film are pretty minor, to be honest; structurally, it’s very similar to Iron Man 1 and Ant-Man , and Marvel’s trademark sense of humour undercuts what ought to be many of the film’s best moments. The punch-based fight sequences are shot pretty badly too, with the camera far too close to the action for you to really get an idea of whats going on—but then the action reverts to citybending, mind-warping craziness of such visual inventiveness and breathtaking spectacle that by the time the third act sweeps in and starts messing about with time, you can’t help but grin at the sheer wonder of what’s happening on the screen in front of you.

After a string of high-profile failures in the comic book movie genre this year (ahem Batman v s Superman , ahem ahem Suicide Squad ), it was such a relief to sit down to a movie that’s actually pretty damn good for a change. This is honestly the most purely fun film to come out this year—find the biggest screen you can and don’t miss this one.

Preview: The Roaring Girl

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Want a welcome break from the Trump turmoil? The Roaring Girl from St Hilda’s College Drama Society not only provides comedic light relief but also some fun proto-feminism to cheer you up.

Dekker and Middleton’s city comedy has very rarely seen the light of day in Oxford drama. Co-director Alex Barasch calls it a “forgotten gem.” With its heroine Moll Cutpurse striding the stage wearing men’s trousers and duelling her misogynist opponents with gusto, this production sounds like it’s come just at the right time to give all us students some feminist fun.

The play includes a large cast, entirely made-up of St Hilda’s students, including eleven newbies who’ve never done Oxford drama before. Directors, producers, this is your chance to spot your next star! As a result of this inclusiveness, the cast have had just three weeks to rehearse and learn the lengthy Renaissance script. A mammoth task, one might think, but Freya Cunningham as Moll and Felicity Miles as her lecherous nemesis Laxton seemed to have no trouble when I watched a sneak preview of the show. Cunningham in particular performed a sizeable speech with aplomb, her fury at Laxton varied in pitch but not intensity. She lends real power to the role, particularly in this more serious scene.

Miles is also impressive as Moll’s opponent Laxton. Used to playing the debutante or the ingénue, she told me in a weird way it’s empowering to play the misogynist: “It’s almost a release to get to make comic relief out of the creepy guys in the club.” Despite a minor mishap with the props during the preview (nothing a little sellotape won’t fix!), the duelling looks like it’ll be slick and entertaining.

Barasch and his co-director Jhanie Fender have transitioned their Roaring Girl to the roaring twenties. Partly set amongst London’s shopkeepers, the women are unwilling to go back to a simply domestic role after their brief experience of independence during the First World War. Gender is clearly a big theme in this production. The characters may be larger-than-life and comedic, but the ideas behind them are thought-provoking.

However, the directors are keen to emphasise that above all, this is a comedy. In fact, Barasch sees the comedy as holding up better than that of Shakespeare—and the drama includes both shopkeepers and Lords, taking in more of the ‘commoners’ than in Twelfth Night, or Much Ado, for example.

Taking place in the Jacqueline du Pre Music Building, the inevitable omnipresent piano is being used to effect in a musical interlude during a scene at Sir Alexander’s house, whilst the shopkeepers will be represented by a trio of colourful shopfronts.

All in all, this promises to be a fun and feisty production, whether you’re in the mood to take down the patriarchy or just escape the cold November weather and fifth week blues for a warm and diverting show. Cunningham says since taking on the role she’s begun asking herself, “What Would Moll Do?” Having seen some of Moll’s fierce independence (and duelling skills!) first hand, I think this wouldn’t be a bad motto for all of us at the moment. If you want to see for yourself what Moll would do, head down to Hilda’s this weekend for seduction, sword fighting, and smashing societal expectations.

Letters from abroad: Nîmes

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In his generation-defining novel Fiesta (or The Sun Also Rises),Hemingway exalts the passion and courage on display in the Spanish corridas of Pamplona. Yet, it is his non-fiction work ‘Death in the Afternoon’, published six years later in 1932, that is considered a fundamental guide to the history of bullfighting, even by real enthusiasts. In it, he writes, “Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter’s honour.” As a keen reader of Hemingway, when I stumbled upon a poster advertising the final of Le Trophée Taurin, I knew I had to go.

For my year abroad, I’m teaching English in a lycée in Nîmes, referred to as ‘The French Rome’ due to its Roman heritage. Consequently there are several Roman monuments, including Les Arènes, a Roman amphitheatre—in fact, the biggest and best-preserved one outside of Italy. Because of this, Nîmes is considered to be the capital of French bullfighting. Previously, I’d been to one bullfight before, and it was a traditional, rather grisly, corridas in Seville. So when I made my way down to the arena one Sunday afternoon a couple of weeks ago, past overflowing bodegas with sangria-sipping crowds spilling out onto the bustling streets, I was fully expecting a similar experience, a culturally intriguing and enchanting spectacle, coupled with the bitter aftertaste of cruelty and death. However, I was to be pleasantly surprised.

Completely by chance, that afternoon I was about to discover La Course Camarguaise, or bullfighting à la Française. As opposed to its bloody Iberian counterpart, French bullfighting doesn’t end with a dead bull. Whilst a traditional, Spanish bullfight consists of various rounds of pageantry, designed to weaken and taunt the bull, resulting in its inevitable death, but with La Course Camarguaise, it’s different. For starters, instead of matadors and picadors, the format is far simpler. For 15 minutes, a group of men (Razeteurs), kitted out in Pamplona-style outfits, compete amongst each other to remove ribbons from between the bull’s horns. In return for their courage and sheer disregard for their own safety in grabbing these ribbons, they are awarded cash prizes.

The real enjoyment of this comes from the bravery of the Razeteurs as they evade the horns of the bull, often narrowly. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that part of the fun also comes from secretly willing the bull to finally catch up with one of them. With this version of the bullfight, it ends up feeling more like Total Wipeout than ritualistic blood sacrifice. Another very telling difference is that, whereas before a Spanish corridas, posters advertise the names of the matadors, with La Course Camarguaise, it is the bulls’ names instead that are listed. Hemingway wrote: “Anything capable of arousing passion in its favour will surely raise as much passion against it.” But as the passion against it appears to increasingly outweigh the passion for it, perhaps La Course Camarguaise provides a more humane alternative, whilst preserving the cultural significance of bullfighting for many communities.

W.H. Auden’s return to Christ Church

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Underfoot, beneath the vaulted ceilings of Christ Church Cathedral, is a small, modest plaque. Easy to step on, even easier to walk past, it is not something which draws attention to itself. Take the time to explore the plaques intermingled with the stones, however, and you’ll find a black triangle, bearing a dedication to the great man. Auden was, and still is, a literary giant whose influence stretches through so much modern poetry, not just in Oxford—yet Auden and the University are still bound together over the course of decades, first as student, later as master.

Last week, we looked back on Richard Burton gracing Oxford with his presence, leaving, and then returning for a glorious hero’s welcome. Auden’s journey to and from the city was much the same. However, the educational route of Auden, one of the greatest English poets of all time, was anything but clear-cut. He came to Oxford to study Biology, only to have switched to English by second year and graduated with a third-class degree in 1928.

At Christ Church, he would fall into a group of future poetic stars such as Stephen Spender, Louis MacNeice and Cecil Day-Lewis. They would later be known, rather disingenuously, as the ‘Auden Group’ during the 1930s, which marked their heyday. Their friendship and cross-pollination was a huge influence, both on each other and on the literary scene of inter-war Britain as a whole.

After his studies, Auden left Britain for Berlin, to encounter the physical and political turmoil which would underscore much of his work. After nine months, he returned to Britain, had his first collection of poems published and began to establish himself as one of the finest poets in the country.

Twenty years after graduation, Auden took up the post of Professor of Poetry at the University. He was a hit with the student body, all while bolstering his output with articles, reviews and reading tours, and would eventually retire in Oxford, offered a cottage by Christ Church, while regularly holidaying in Austria.

Auden died in Vienna and is buried there, but his work lives on in the city and college where he made such an impact. Auden’s name is embedded into Christ Church’s Cathedral, much like his presence is embedded into Oxford’s recent history.