Ziggy Stardust

Author’s Note
This is the outline of an idea for something much longer that may, or may not, be written at some point in the future. I tried to put myself in Bowie’s mind as he had the idea for his altar ego.

He called himself Ziggy Stardust. He and his band seemed to appear out of nowhere, they weren’t there, and then they were. He and his band had one thing in common, they had no names. He was Ziggy Stardust, and they were the Spiders, and that was it. Many journalists tried to track them down, and to find people who had known them before, with absolutely no success whatever. It was as if they had never existed. They were in many ways a strange group of individuals, many labels had tried to sign them up and were rejected out of hand. Ziggy maintained that they were a band that did what they wanted not what others wanted them to do. This was very much reflected in their gigs, no two were ever the same. For that matter the same track was never the same twice running.

Musically it was impossible to place them into any one category of music. There was a sort of fluidity about them which ranged across all genres from rock to the operatic, visiting the many other genres along the way. Ziggy played guitar, but like very few others he played left handed, and he was very obviously the driving force. On seeing them play it soon became very plain that there was no pre-planned structure to the gig. It seemed like there was some sort of telepathic connection between Ziggy and the Spiders. He would start a piece, and it was as if he was transmitting it to their heads, down their arms to their hands, and thus to their individual instruments. The weird thing was that both visually and musically they appeared to be not of this world. They were something never seen or heard before, and very likely never to be seen or heard again in the future.

The music was both powerful and all encompassing, at the same time being quietly inspirational and inspiring as a Debussy tone poem. The riffs and licks could be built around chord progressions worthy of the best blues musicians, or arpeggios worthy of classical composers. Often there would be a chord which would lift you from the ground, spin you around and dump you unceremoniously back where you started feeling that your head was about to explode. Then you would get an arpeggio that defied time, that seemed to take time and bend it, twist it, then wring it until it screamed for mercy as it ceased to exist. This was the extent of engagement with the audience, the music spoke Ziggy didn’t, and if you expected any such engagement you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

In the Fullness of Time

In the fullness of time is such a meaningless phrase, if we take out the filler words in, the, and of, we are left with fullness and time. In fact we are left with two words that have no relationship to one another at all – at least only in the mind of a deviant prevaricator. There are a couple of meanings of fullness,

the state of having or containing a lot of something,
or
the quality of being whole or complete.

Let’s run with those. Time is a different concept which has three definitions for our purpose,

A nonspatial continuum in which events occur in apparently irreversible succession from the past through the present to the future.
An interval separating two points on this continuum; a duration.
A number, as of years, days, or minutes, representing such an interval.

Let’s ignore the second and third definitions of time and look at the first one – a nonspatial continuum in which events occur in apparently irreversible succession from the past through the present to the future. A good analogy for this definition would be an unstoppable train that is running in one direction only – there is no return ticket. Of course we can mark points and intervals on this continuum, the duration between two points, or intervals of seconds, minutes, days etc.. But these are artificial constructs that are abstract in nature, products of the human mind. The first thing we notice is that time has no volume. It does not have length, height or width, and subsequently can’t be measured in traditional measures of volume, cubic metres, square feet, or any other that we might think of. So, my question is how can there be a fullness of time? If time have no volume how can it be either full or empty, that would seem to be an impossibility. Next, fullness – the state of having or containing a lot of something – implies that there is an element of physicality, and that there is something we could hold, or at least touch. We can arrive at a similar conclusion with – the quality of being whole or complete – which again implies a degree of physicality, of solidity.

Consequently ‘in the fullness of time’ presents us with what appears to be an unsolvable conundrum – the problem of finding a relationship between fullness and time. The bigger problem is that it is virtually impossible to find any relationship between these two concepts – at least with our current understanding of physics. We are also presented with a totally meaningless phrase, fullness and time are completely incompatible, there is no relationship between the words. This leaves me thinking that those who speak about ‘the fullness of time’ are either prevaricating, trying to cover something up, plain stupid/ignorant, or simply out and out weird.

The Witness

The countryside of Sutherland is darkened by smoke, as it has been for many a year now. I remember when the mansions, and abodes, of proprietors, factors, magistrates and ministers were seats of honour, truth, and of good example – no longer are they. I live to see the most cruel and unfeeling calamity inflicted upon my fellow Sutherlanders time after time. This in the form of the burning of the houses of the descendants of those who drew their swords at Bannockburn and Killiecrankie. A people ruined, trampled upon, dispersed, forced to seek asylum far beyond these shores. At the same time those who remain, unable to emigrate, are deprived of all of the comforts of life, turned into paupers, beggars, This is a disgrace to a nation whose freedom and honour these same people had sustained through their valour, cemented by the spillage of their blood.

The perpetrators of such a disgrace ascribe this misery to the indolence and improvidence of these Highlanders. The truth is that they are wrong, and it is the inevitable result of the avarice and tyranny of the landlords and factors. There have been past attempts to relieve these sufferings in the form of government aid and public subscriptions. But the fact is that the unhappy country of Sutherland has been excluded from the benefits to be derived from such sources. Excluded due to the false statements and public speeches made by hired agents, or by those in whose interest it is to conceal the misery and destitution which is the direct result of their actions. Thus the victims of these actions are denied any of the assistance offered by government or private individuals due to the thraldom and subjugation in which this once brave and happy people are to the factors, magistrates and ministers. They dare not even whisper a complaint, much less say plainly and openly ‘thus and thus have you done to us’.

Having spoken out on what I have witnessed has brought accusations upon me, accusations that I am of singular ignorance, that I misrepresent the facts. Those with most to gain deny my assertions and demand that I prove them by bringing forward facts. They know full well that I am right, and that I cannot bring forward those facts due to the avarice and tyranny with. Which they prevent those who could tell the truth from speaking out in the fear of an even worse retribution.

Four Prompts

Four prompts given with the instruction that we had to write between one hundred and two hundred words about each.

1
The truth is…
…plain to see they say, although some say that it is stranger than fiction. But there are some truths that are so strange that if they were written as fiction they would not be believed. The truth is the truth, it cannot be denied. Although there are those who will seek to ignore it, to twist it to another purpose – but it remains the truth. There is only one version of the truth, anything else is a facsimile, a lie, an incorrect version of events. The truth is the truth, and the consequences for those who vainly attempt to break it, or twist it to fit an alternative reality, can, and should, be dire.

2
It surprised me when…
…I first went to school. I didn’t know what to expect. I suppose that I was expecting school to be just like home – it wasn’t I was further surprised that primary school gave me a taste for learning. This, in some ways, has never left me – that is except for the years at secondary school. Let me explain. It was back in the days of the eleven plus, and the first time that I discovered that I am crap at exams. Somehow, I managed to haul myself to the borderline – a minor miracle. I had an interview and was offered a place at the Grammar School. For whatever reason my parents decided that I would be better going to a Secondary Modern. Yet again it surprised me when I got there. On arrival, and within a very few days, I came to the conclusion that I was surrounded by losers, and that included most of the teachers.

3
I wish I had said…
…no when she suggested that we get married. But, I was young and foolish. My parents liked the idea – well, they were getting rid of me. The problem was that I was naïve, had no life experience, let alone any clue about reading people. Hell, at the tender age of nineteen how was I supposed to know that she was not only barking mad, but also didn’t have a faithful bone in her body. I should have spotted that her concept of morality was non-existent from the start. But I didn’t. Thus followed several years of constantly letting her get away with various affairs. The last one was the straw that broke the camel’s back (but that’s a long story), the one where I upped and left – as I should have done many years before.

4
It was no use pretending…
…that it wasn’t him there in the corner of the pub, the nemesis of my school years. Who’s him? I hear you ask. The school bully, that’s who, Kim Upton (not his real name). I say nemesis, but I wasn’t one of his victims. He was simply more of an all-round pain in the arse. In many ways I was more his nemesis than he mine. Whenever I saw him bullying another kid, he was also not above bullying girls as well, I intervened and stopped him. This led me to many visits to the headmaster – because the only way of stopping him was to take him down. I had to prove that there was at least one kid that he couldn’t bully, one who could soundly thrash him. Fuck! He’s seen me. I suppose that I am going to have to talk to him after all. Well, I suppose that is going on for forty years now.

Flying Lessons

Flap flap jump, flap flap jump, or was it jump flap flap, jump flap flap, I forget the instructions. Ah, it might have been run flap flap jump, run flap flap jump, or was it flap flap run jump, flap flap run jump. But then it might have been run jump flap flap, run jump flap flap, this learning to fly is bloody complicated. Ok, let’s try again run run jump jump flap flap, oh shit, oh shit, gonna miss the roof, and it’s a long way down. Only one thing for it, flap flap flap flap furiously hope to soften the landing, and hope I don’t break a wing, a leg, or my neck.

Shit that ground was hard. Wings, flap flap, check. Legs, jump jump check, Neck, well, I’m alive and feeling things, so I guess check. No one told me to be careful because this learning to fly lark was hazardous. Now how do I get back up there? By mastering this flying business I suppose. At least I’m now on the ground, no chance of falling off of a roof again. Oh shit, oh shit a car, run run run run, bugger that was close there was I, nearly a flat seagull. Why is this stuff not instinctive, why do we have to learn it? Complicated doesn’t come close, all this stuff is bloody nigh impossible.

Run run run run jump flap flap flap flap, whee, made fifty feet that time. Keep it up son you’ll crack it soon. Now where’s mother with breakfast? Oh, no, she’ll expect me to be on the roof. I’m gonna die of starvation, I haven’t cracked flying yet, let alone feeding myself. MUM, MUM, I’M DOWN HERE!

Imagined Worlds

‘… the fantastic uses imagined other worlds and practices to make sense of experience in the broadest sense of the word’ (2019, pp. 12–13). Discuss this idea in relation to two of the set texts: Stardust, The Dispossessed and The Tempest.

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The nightingale
Tells his fairytale
Of paradise, where roses grew
Though I dream in vain
In my heart it will remain
My stardust melody
The memory of love’s refrain.
(Stardust, Hoagy Carmichael)

In this essay I shall be looking at Stardust and The Dispossessed in the light of this quotation. First, I will examine the quotation in order to make sense of it. My sense of Stardust is that it falls within the tradition of the Victorian fairy tale, even though it is not specifically labelled as a fairy tale. Gaiman labels it: ‘Being a Romance Within the Realms of Faerie’. Although the book is deeply rooted in the realm of fantasy, there are aspects of ‘the quest’, as in Gawain and the Green Knight, along with some indications of being a utopia. So perhaps it would be better to call it ‘a quest for a utopia’. It is clear that Tristran Thorn’s travels with the fallen Star, Yvaine, through Faerie, along with their choice to marry and continue their travels, qualify the story as a fairy tale. The combination of image and text makes Stardust a curious hybrid of the Victorian and modern comic/illustrated story. I find it harder to locate The Dispossessed in a particular genre. Although it is supposedly science fiction, in so far as it is set in other worlds, but in practice it reads more like a work of political theory, exploring political ideas such as anarchism, socialism and capitalism. In that sense it has aspects of fantasy and realism. Le Guin ranges widely in the topics she addresses in this novel, but I will restrict myself to discussing the utopian, albeit flawed, aspects of the novel, which introduces us to the anarchist socialism of Anarres set against the rampant capitalism of Urras. Each of the worlds in Stardust and The Dispossessed have walls, and these can operate as barriers to passage in ways that reflect how walls can operate in ‘our’ world also. One of the reasons for selecting these two very different novels was the common motif of walls that they share and the interesting practices of ‘crossing boundaries’.

The quotation itself seems to be encouraging us to make comparisons between the fantastic and the realist. However, is there such a sharp distinction between the two? Yes indeed, most of the time the fantastic seems to use an imagined other world, and certain practices to guide us in making sense of our experiences. But there are writers who use fantastic other worlds, and their practices, in more creative ways, not to help us understand experience, but simply for the joy of telling the story. So, it may not always be the case that the fantastic, when in use in fiction, facilitates understanding in the sense articulated in the quotation. Having said that, I would argue that science fiction comes close to being more helpful than pure fantasy. While science fiction is more often than not set on other worlds the writers are generally exploring ideas that affect the human condition, such as political theories, technological speculations, ideas about where science might be taking us, to name but a few. This does lead us to question experience itself, and whether or not the version presented to us is a simple or much more complex one. In fact, it is widely accepted that literature encourages us to ‘broaden our horizons’ by presenting us with a world, or worlds, from differing perspectives, and letting us access experiences of the other, whether that be through the genre of fantasy or realism. The aim of this essay is to explore in more detail how some works of fantasy may assist us in this search for meaning.

Turning to Stardust, we need to start by identifying the concept of ‘fairy tale’. But therein lies the problem of the many and varied definitions of the fairy tale. I prefer not to think of the fairy tale from the point of view of pure fantasy, as Nicola Watson puts it

The fairy tale typically incorporates an element of the fantastic, that is to say, happenings beyond realistic possibility, although fairies themselves are not an essential component. (2019, p22)

This applies nicely to Tristran Thorn’s quest for the fallen star, and thereafter to Tristran and Yvaine’s continuing journeys through Faerie, and their eventual choice to marry. Fairy tales are not restricted as to audience, children or adults. Some tales are suitable for one or the other but not both. With Stardust, Gaiman and Vess circumvent this problem by making their tale suitable for both readerships.

Stardust crosses many boundaries. Although a tale set in the world of Faerie, the combination of text and imagery brings it into the realm of the comic book, and also makes it reminiscent of the Victorian illustrated fairy tale. It immediately establishes itself as a fairy tale with the framed and illustrated representation of John Donne’s poem ‘A Song’, which enumerates supernatural elements, as well as belittling female loyalty. Gaiman immediately takes us into what might be seen as a traditional fairy story with his opening line

There was once a young man who wished to gain his Heart’s Desire.
(Gaiman p.6)

Tristran’s quest begins and, more or less, ends with what could be argued to be the main element of the tale, the wall. The wall is both a physical and psychological barrier for those in habitants of Wall, and even though it is guarded, no local has the inclination to pass through it. The counterfactual is also seen to be true, as we see when Tristran returns and is not allowed back through the wall. No one has ever come through from the realms of Faerie so it can’t be allowed. This gives the impression that psychological barriers appear to be much stronger than physical ones.

Gaiman presents us with a rich array of characters: people transformed into animals and back again, sentient trees, witches, a unicorn etc. etc., leaving us in no doubt that we have entered the fantastic world of Faerie and the fairy tale. However, Stardust does not quite fit the genre of the classic fairy tale in the sense of those compact stories written by the likes of the Brothers Grimm, as it is a longer and more complex story with an almost hyper-dimensional existence, and the authorship is not ambiguous, as was the case with many of the stories presented by the likes of Charles Perrault. Gaiman and Vess show us the way in which the illustrated novel can tell us the story in different ways. It is as if they are taking the fantastic, the unreal, and showing us just how they can be made that little bit more real. What do we learn about ‘Telling Stories:’, Stardust confirms that there are many ways in which the story can be told, even enhanced, and here it is done with the excellent use of images complementing the text.

One very good example of enabling us to interrogate imaginary things is Tristran’s encounter with the tree, and the accompanying images (Gaiman pp. 128-9) in which we are shown Tristran both asleep and paying attention to the tree. The tree has listened to his tale (of woe?) and has agreed to help him, but only because he had unchained the star

If you had kept her chained, and then she escaped her chains, then there is no power on earth or sky could ever make me help you, not if the Great Pan or Lady Sylvia were to plead or implore me. But you unchained her, and for that I will help you.
(Gaiman pp.132)

The story raises many complex gender-related issues and the encounter with the tree shows us something about the power lying within relationships. There is a moral here: if Tristran had not released Yvaine of his own free will he would never had found her again, or if he had, it would have been too late. Here we have reflections of abusive relationships, where the abused thinks the abuser loves them, but the abuser has the power, employing an ideology of control. This is quite a lot of ‘reality thinking’ inspired by a talking tree. Therefore, it does seem that the reward of an interrogation of the fantastic, of the imaginary, is that our understanding of real-world issues and/or experience can be enhanced. Gaiman with his words, and Vess with his imagery, turn the spotlight upon real world issues to make us think about them in a more coherent manner.

The Dispossessed appears to combine elements of four different literary genres. The utopia, pulp science fiction, the Bildungsroman(1) and the quest. Seen as a utopia the novel seems to contain the basic requirements, in that it represents Anarres as exhibiting the ideal society with its anarchist values. Anarresti values of mutual aid, gender equality, and selflessness/solidarity are portrayed in direct contrast to the more capitalist/selfish society of Urras. The amalgamation of scientific fact, prophetic vision, the brilliant scientist (Shevek), and technological innovation (the ansible), is also very redolent of pulp science fiction. That Shevek’s life is traced from childhood through adolescence to adulthood and ultimate self-knowledge fulfils all of the requirements of the Bildungsroman. Shevek decides to undertake his ‘quest’ to the unfamiliar world of Urras in the search for the scientific knowledge that would allow him to complete his life’s work, his General Temporal Theory, thus enabling the construction of the ansible contributing to the advancement of the universe.

One of the defining elements of The Dispossessed, as with Stardust, is walls, in symbolic, physical and psychological forms. For Shevek and the Anarresti

walls therefore have overwhelmingly negative associations: they block individual agency and initiative; they frustrate the advance of scientific knowledge; they stand for the bureaucratic centralism embodied by Sabul and are directly at odds with anarchist dreams of freedom; they serve selfish interests as opposed to mutual aid; and they constrain independent thought in art, music and science (2019, pp. 232-3)

Whilst walls are functional, their functions are open to debate whether they are for our safety, our exclusion, or restrictions of our freedom.

Like all walls it was ambiguous, two-faced. What was inside it and what was outside it depended upon which side of it you were on. (Le Guin p.1)

For the Urrasti, walls fulfil a very different, but in some ways similar, function, they are to distance the elite from the more distasteful realities: the anarchist/Odonian challenges to the political system of A-Io, the exploitation of the labour producing the wealth of consumer goods for them, alongside the impoverishment of the oppressed majority of the population.

The Dispossessed deals with some labyrinthine philosophical and political issues, gender, power and its abuse etc. The scope extends far beyond the confines of this essay. I could also argue, for example, that Shevek’s journey from Anarres to Urras is a reverse quest, even a dystopia, as he travels from a utopia, albeit a flawed one, to an anti-utopia. He is searching for scientific knowledge and freedom in the light of the abuse of power, and the betrayal of Odonian principles, by Sabul. The Anarresti establishment, and in particular Sabul, seek to restrict his scientific explorations, ensuring that his only option to develop his theories and to make the breakthroughs that will deliver collective benefits, is to leave his society. However, he eventually discovers that there is a similar abuse of power, along with many other problems, to be encountered on Urras. His puzzlement at there being no female scientists is met with the remark

“Scientists. Oh, yes, certainly, they’re all men. There are some female teachers in the girls’ schools, of course. But they never get past Certificate level.” “Why not?” “Can’t do the maths; no head for abstract thought; don’t belong. You know how it is, what women call thinking is done with the uterus! Of course, there’s always a few exceptions, God-awful brainy women with vaginal atrophy.” (Le Guin p. 63)

He quickly comes to the conclusion that Urras is no Anarres, and that it comprises three main societies, Benbili, poor, oppressed and fighting for freedom, Thu, centralised and authoritarian, and A-Io, highly consumerist and competitive with an elite protected by a violent police force keeping the masses in their place. After some decisions in line with his anarchist principles, Shevek has no choice but to return to Anarres not knowing, and we are not told, what sort of reception he is going to receive.

In some ways The Dispossessed helps us to make sense of the society/ies in which we exist. There do appear to be elements of subversion in Le Guin’s representation of the Anarresti utopia of anarchist socialism, even though it transpires to be a flawed utopia. Le Guin presents us with examples of how easily the Anarresti principles of mutual benefit are betrayed, particularly by Sabul who would rather take the work of others and put his name to it. Her anarchist socialism subversion does encourage us to think about our experience of the modern world in which we live, a consumerist, capitalist one very much like her presentation of Urras. The similarities between our world and Urras are quite striking, especially when we are presented with a dominant greedy and misogynistic elite who exist solely for their own selfish ends. Are we that much different from the Urrasti?

Thinking about the starting quotation, which asks us how literature, whether fantastic or realist, helps us to make sense of experience raises the counterfactual of how experience helps the author make sense of the story she/he is writing in whichever chosen genre. Although being encouraged to think about ‘Telling the Story’, I have begun to think somewhat beyond that, and to think about the story in a more holistic way. It is said that words have power, in which case the story has the ability to transmit their power to any given society. Stories, particularly fairy tales, seem to be structured into societies, into their social order, with the capability to define the sphere of societal change whether that be socio-economic, political or cultural change. After all, experience informs us that resistance and change often come to fruition through the medium of art. Stories are the medium through which our understanding of the world, and how we live in it, are developed, they help us make sense not only of ourselves, but also of the environment which surrounds us. Stories are not just outside of us, something we read or listen to, they are something that make sense for us, of us, because of our relationship to them. We are, and have been, in them ourselves.

What Gaiman shows us with his text, and Vess with his imagery, is that it is perfectly possible for two very different worlds to exist side by side without conflict. Yes, there is conflict within each world, but seemingly not between the two which only coincide and overlap every few years to mutual benefit. Maybe the message here is that, when it comes to our ‘experience’, we should be able, and prepared, to live closely and comfortably with our neighbours, and that conflict of any kind is unnecessary. Stardust does seem to have strong messages within it, just like any fairy tale from the past, about racism, misogyny, gender, equality, and the ‘ethical pathway’. etc. etc.. Of course, these messages are to be widely found in much more ‘serious’ literature, but does such literature really succeed in putting its point across to everyone? Just as humour is a very good way to get a message across, to make a point, perhaps fantasy also fulfils the same function of bringing ‘the message’ to a wider audience and making society think. Maybe it is the function of literature to suggest an alternative to our thinking, to make us question the ubiquitousness and necessity of our societal institutions, to expand our thoughts of possibilities of moral understanding.

Le Guin in The Dispossessed presents us with similar messages to Gaiman, but in a very different way. Yes, the novel is set on other worlds, but those worlds are not so different from the one on which we live. We are presented on the one hand with Anarres, an ambiguous/flawed utopia, and on the other with Urras, a world very much like our own, capitalist, greedy, elitist. Le Guin shows us Anarres as a world of cooperation and equality where no one wants for the basics of life, and all work for a common mutual benefit. Of course, even in this sort of world there with always be those, like Sabul, who hunger for power over others, working to their own exclusive agenda. We are presented with a political theory, anarchist socialism, which in some ways has much to be praised. She also holds a mirror up to our own world, in the form of Urras, showing us much of what is wrong with capitalist thinking, and how it engenders racist thinking, misogyny, violence, inequality etc. etc.. The novel brings the complexities and ambiguities of the different political theory of the Anarresti into sharp focus but showing us it can work if the flaws are ironed out. It also shows us in the form of Urrasti society that our societal model is broken, and no longer fit to benefit the majority of the world population.

So, do ‘imagined other worlds and practices’ help us make sense of experience? I would ask if literature really needs to use other worlds rather than using experience of our world as a method. The argument in favour of that proposition would be that we live in our world and understand it as best we can, so by setting the story outside of our understanding it makes us think about the messages being presented to us. That must be a good thing, especially if it holds a mirror to the problems of our world, and requires us to wonder if there might be solutions to our societal problems. Both Le Guin and Gaiman do this effectively, even though in very different ways, Gaiman with pure fantasy and Le Guin through a complex mix of science fiction and political reflection. Long before the written word was used for storytelling, wandering minstrels visited communities and told their stories, using the power of the spoken word to deliver a message that, hopefully, changed people’s minds. Inevitably their stories changed slightly with each telling, as is the nature of the oral tradition. Interestingly the recording of the stories with the written word does not seem to have changed this very much. If we look at written down stories it quickly becomes apparent that there is not just the one version of any given fairy tale, but many different versions. Therefore, can we ‘make sense of experience’ through the medium of literature? The answer to that question must be ‘yes, we can’, but that it should not stop with just ‘making sense’. Rather, it should also prompt us towards making societal change.

Bibliography
Danson Brown R. (2019) (ed), The fantastic (A233 Book 2), Milton Keynes, The Open University.
Gaiman, N. and Vess, C. (2019) Stardust: being a romance within the realms of Faerie. Burbank, Calif.: DC Comics.
Le Guin, U.K. (2002) The Dispossessed. London: Gollancz. SF Masterworks.

1 In literary criticism, a Bildungsroman is a literary genre that focuses on the psychological and moral growth of the protagonist from childhood to adulthood (coming of age), in which character change is important.

Between Two Seas

Between Two Seas consists of twenty two, mostly short, poems written many years ago whilst I was still living in my beloved Cornwall. I say poems, but more truthfully they are more series of thoughts and observations gathered on my many excursions around the county with my dog. I make no pretensions of being a poet I am not, I am an observer, a people watcher, who records that which presents itself. Words have always meant a lot to me, I was taught to do crosswords at a very early age, which gave me an innate sense of word-play. More than that I discovered books, and the power of the written word to paint pictures in the mind of the reader. Walking for me at that time was very solitary exercise, that is apart from the dozy mutt referred to later. It was not only walking, I could also sit for hours on a rock just watching the sea, contemplating its many faces and moods. It quickly occurred to me that walking should be a solitary thing, that is if I wanted to sit, think and observe. One misses so much when walking with another person because one is always talking about something or other – usually inconsequential rubbish. These musings were very much what I was seeing, thinking and experiencing at the time, usually quickly scribbled down in a notebook that was always in my pocket, and edited later. Now thirty to forty years, in some cases longer, later I feel that they should see the light of day, and stand or fall on their own merit. Between Two Seas comes from Cornwall’s unique position between the Atlantic on the north coast and the English Channel on the south. This provides not only the wondrous light admired by so many artists past and present, but also very localised weather conditions at times. The influences upon my musings are many and varied, far too many to list here, but range from Homer to the much beloved Terry Pratchett.

Hardy v Wharton

Write an essay in which you analyse and compare the two passages provided:
Passage A: Thomas Hardy, Far from the Madding Crowd
Passage B: Edith Wharton, The Custom of the Country.

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Hardy v Wharton
This essay will compare extracts from novels by two writers who belong to the realist tradition and who use similar techniques to build their narratives but from contrasting perspectives. Both Thomas Hardy and Edith Wharton are critical of their respective societies, but in different ways. Far From the Madding Crowd is a pastoral novel which criticises some of the rural aspects of the society in Hardy’s Wessex (i.e. Dorset). On the other hand, The Custom of the Country is a satirical social realist novel which is critical of the New York society with which Wharton was familiar. I will attempt to establish that both authors used very similar narrative techniques but, because they do so with dissimilar aims in mind, they find a variety of ways of constructing the novel to engage the reader. I will concentrate on six of the main techniques to be found in these extracts: narrative and narrators, characterisation, dialogue, language, imagery, and time. All of which are used by the authors to provide the context and perspective of the novel as a whole, and we can find traces of them in both passages. I will provide a short analysis of each passage individually, in the order presented, before moving on to compare the ways in which each author has used the available techniques to order their respective worlds into a shape that seems spontaneously to emerge from their narrative.
Passage A features several of the complex sentences for which Hardy is well known. For example, the second sentence is extremely long and very difficult to parse and understand. Here we seem to find the omniscient narrator becoming a touch intrusive, instructing the reader as to why the ‘rural business-men gathered as usual’, and who were ‘gazed upon by the burghers’, might suffer ‘exclusion from possible aldermanship’ (Hardy p. 318). Also in the first paragraph, we are informed that this is Bathsheba’s first visit to Casterbridge since Troy’s disappearance. Does the imagery of her ‘passing slowly on foot through the crowd’ show us a degree of apprehension on her part? This phrase also gives us a first indication of Hardy using the passage time as a narrative device. Hardy’s use of imagery continues in the next sentence when Bathsheba overhears a conversation: ‘Bathsheba’s ears were keen as those of any wild animal’ (p. 318). The author uses this to link Bathsheba to the rural/agricultural life, making her part of the pastoral landscape he portrays. The overheard conversation of Troy’s presumed drowning is a mixture of direct and indirect speech. Here we are directed to focalise on Bathsheba and what she is overhearing, learning of its impact as Bathsheba faints. Hardy’s use of language here appears dramatic, with a quite elaborate description of a fainting fit. Overall his use of language suits the narration in that he had a good ear for the local dialects and idioms, which he uses to good effect. Having said that, one does occasionally need to consult a dictionary for some of the more obscure words he uses. However, these are words which Hardy’s reader would, probably, have been quite familiar with.
What little dialogue there is in the passage is a mixture of direct, ‘ “I am looking for Mrs Troy. Is that she there?” ’(p. 318), and indirect speech, ‘ “Yes: that’s the young lady I believe,” said the person addressed.’ (p. 318). Hardy establishes Bathsheba as an independently minded character, especially when he has mentioned ‘The ice of self command which had latterly gathered over her’ (p. 318), when she refuses Boldwood’s offer to take her home, much preferring to drive herself. Hardy also takes this opportunity to highlight Boldwood’s obsessive nature, and his euphoria at catching Bathsheba, as she faints, and conveying her to a sofa. The imagery of the way in which he smooths Bathsheba’s dress in the manner that a child might have arranged the ruffled feathers of a ‘storm-beaten bird’ (p.319), and his realisation that ‘For those few heavenly golden moments she had been in his arms’ (p. 319) all serve to reinforce his obsession. However, Boldwood is also shown to be a considerate man in the gentleness with which he treats Bathsheba when she is vulnerable, and in which he leaves her when she insists that she wants to go home alone.
Again we are shown Hardy’s adroit, if somewhat confusing, manipulation of time. The implication in the opening sentences of the passage where Bathsheba is ‘passing slowly on foot through the crowd of rural business-men gathered as usual in front of the market house’ (p. 318), that is early on market day. Yet by the end of the passage ‘The first shades of evening were showing’ (p. 319) when Bathsheba finally returns home, perhaps taking longer than usual because she is distracted. It seems that a whole day has by now elapsed, but this is a day which has not been sequentially narrated. Hardy’s shifting of the narrative perspective from Bathsheba to Boldwood and back again implies that the day has developed in fits and starts. This technique of showing time passing, then doubling back on itself leaves the reader with the impression that it was a somewhat chaotic day. Hardy uses this passage of time to present the reader with Bathsheba finally returning home, by now in a calmer state of mind. It seems that she has processed, and come to terms with, the news she received earlier in the day.
Passage B is also presented to us by an omniscient narrator, who is strongly directing the reader’s viewpoint of the characters. Although Undine is only mentioned once, her self-centred selfishness becomes quite clear. Generally the passage is focalised upon Ralph, and his growing realisation of his own apathy, and deepening depression. There is a mix of direct and indirect speech, but the majority is indirect, with Ralph noting the phrases from the letter along with the comments, from the family, about his divorce. Through the recalling of ‘the old family catchwords’ (p.273) the narrator is allowing us a view through a separate set of eyes. Here we are seeing things, predominantly, through Ralph’s eyes, as Sue Asbee points out
‘Third-person narratives like this one can be very subtle, swiftly changing focus from a detached account of events, into the point of view and language of one particular character…’
(Gibson p.136)
This is done through two fairly long sentences in the last paragraph of the passage. Wharton also uses successful imagery, ‘Ralph dropped into a chair, crumpling the letter in his hand.’, along with the hammer ‘drumming in his head’ (Wharton p.273) to present us with Ralph’s descent into an apathetic depression. The free indirect style used by the author requires the reader to work out in which direction the narrator is trying to lead them.
We appear to be being presented with a characterisation of Ralph as weak, especially when told that he is aware of how he ‘had assisted at the perpetration of this abominable wrong’ (p.273), and when he ‘…retravelled the hateful months during the divorce proceedings, remembering his incomprehensible lassitude, his acquiescence…’ (p.273). This does put a little perspective on the effects of Undine’s self-centred selfishness upon Ralph’s mental state at this point. This also serves to show us the passage of time between the divorce and Undine who, at the time, did not want to enforce the fact that she was given ‘sole custody’ (p.273) of Paul now wants to exploit it – when it suits her to do so. Wharton’s use of language is quite incisive, with short punchy sentences, never going beyond what needs to be articulated explicitly. The only exception comes with the two longer sentences in the last paragraph. The author also makes use of verbal irony when Ralph replies to his mother ‘‘Nothing – it’s nothing.’ He stared at her. ‘What’s the day of the week?’’ (p.272). Here Ralph appears to be both in denial, along with not wanting to upset Mrs Marvell.
Even in this short passage we can identify the satirical social realist critique of the New York society that Wharton would have been quite familiar with. This is expertly done through the use of language to portray what is explicitly said, and what is conveyed through the use of implicit dialogue – the reading of the phrases, the recalling of the family comments etc.. The use of satire seems to be more effective given that the author also gives it a slightly sarcastic edge. This especially clear when Ralph is referred to as a ‘sane man, young, able-bodied, in full possession of his wits’(p.273), which he clearly is not at this point. Even in this short passage we are shown how ‘Old New York’ society is apparently out of touch with the reality of the modern day and is thus vulnerable to the machinations of a more worldly ‘nouveaux’ milieu.
In conclusion, the challenge of this essay has been to offer a narrative-based analysis of two characters coming to terms with the ‘emotional turmoil’ brought on by an external change of circumstances: in Bathsheba’s case learning that Troy has allegedly drowned; in Ralph’s case, realising that the status quo is about to be dramatically upended as he loses his son. This thematic similarity provides a useful context for our analysis.
Furthermore, it is important to recall, when setting these two short pieces of analysis alongside each other, that the passages under review come from two novels which share some commonalities, but equally reveal sharp differences. The Hardy passage is from a realist pastoral account, whilst the Wharton passage embodies a social realist, satirical account. Both authors are critical of their respective societies, Hardy of his Wessex (Dorset), and Wharton of the New York with which she was familiar.
In the Hardy passage we are shown Boldwood as an example of a member of a very patriarchal, even paternalistic, society with social structures that demand that men are the ‘protectors’ of women. Although Bathsheba appears to break through this with her own agency to emerge as her own keeper. This is very different to Wharton’s society which sees women more as a commodity, albeit still a male oriented/dominated society. Wharton attempts to subvert this with the self-centred selfish character of Undine, alongside showing us a rather weak and apathetic/pathetic Ralph.
While both authors wrote very different novels in the realist tradition, they both used very similar (universal) narrative techniques making good use of narrative, narrators, characterisation, dialogue, language, imagery, and time. Although both authors used similar narrative techniques to write realist novels, these passages reflect their fundamental differences as novelists. There are additional challenges in comparing two passages of such differing lengths, with the Wharton being much the shorter of the two. However, there are similarities, and differences, that bear examination as shown here.

Bibliography
Hardy, T. (2002) Far from the madding crowd. Edited by Suzanne B. Falck-Yi, introduction by Linda M. Shires. Oxford: University Press. Oxford World’s Classics.
Wharton, E. (2008) The custom of the country. Edited by Stephen Orgel. Oxford: University Press. Oxford World’s Classics.

The Ghost of the Blejan Eyhre

Davy was sitting looking at his boat, the Blejan Eyhre, waiting for the tide to recede so that he could start cleaning the bottom. He was fully aware that Blejan Eyhre was a corruption of Blejan Ergh, the Cornish for flower of the snow – basically snowdrop. He was also thinking about his dilemma, which he had been thinking was not going to be an easy one to solve. The boat had been in the family since it was built way back in the mists of time, sometime in the early 1800s. It was traditionally handed on to the eldest son, and this was Davy’s dilemma. His father had told him just before he died that the boat would let him know if he made the right decision. He didn’t understand this until a few days ago, but now he knew what his father meant. Davy had two children, Katrin the eldest, and Louis, named after his grandfather. Davy knew that tradition meant that the boat should be handed on to Louis, this was his dilemma, Louis had no real interest in the boat. The kid had always loved going out with him, the difference being that Louis always had to be told what needed doing, whereas Katrin instinctively knew and just got on with it without needing to be told. It wasn’t that Louis was lazy, far from it, it was just that he had no interest whatever in the boat.

It was also tradition that the son worked for a couple of years with the father before he handed over the reins, just to be sure of a smooth transition. It also meant that the son learnt the little quirks of the boat along with the best fishing grounds. It was now getting to that point, Davy had another project in mind and wanted to move on and hand over the boat. Tradition dictated that it should be Louis, but Davy knew that would be a mistake, especially in the light of recent events. Both kids had done well for themselves, Louis had some sort of land management job, and Katrin had studied hard and had become a marine biologist. They both still loved going out when they came to visit. It was more often Katrin as she lived closer to home. It was a couple of weeks back that she was home, and they went out, returning with quite a catch. After landing they went to the pub for a couple of beers as usual. Katrin, for her, had been a little quite until Davy asked if anything was wrong. She thought for a minute
‘We were on our own today weren’t we?’
‘Of course we were, why do you ask?’
‘In that case who told me that we should pull the lobster pots tomorrow?’
Davy was somewhat taken off guard, but now knew what his father had meant by the boat letting him know if he made the right decision.

When he had taken over the boat both his grandfather and his father had told him to listen to the whispers, and do what they suggested, and that if he did the boat would look after him.

Note:
This is the beginning of an idea for a much longer piece.

A Monk’s Appearance

The church clock strikes eight, so those villagers who are awake know without checking that it is six.
A cock crows.
A body lies the doorstep of the church, a line of crumb-carrying ants marches across the fedora covering its face.
There is a serene, momentary quiet after the chimes cease.
A figure glides past the church wall, before the silence is cracked by a baby crying.

A Monk’s Appearance
Catriona has awoken to the rosy fingers of the dawn creeping through her window as the church clock strikes eight ‘I wish the elders would get someone to fix that bloody clock’ she thought. Then she hears a cock start crowing ‘and I could strangle that bloody cockerel’ she thinks. She has lived here long enough to know that although the clock is striking eight it is actually six. It isn’t that the clock is fast, rising, and opening the window, she looks across the churchyard and sees the clock says six, it’s just that on every hour there are two errant strikes. It could be so confusing if you were unaware of it. For some weird reason it doesn’t happen on the half hours, only on the hours. The clock chimes cease, and all is once more quiet except for a crying of a baby, Julie has delivered then she thinks. Her eyes lower from the tower and notices a red fedora. She then realises that there was someone lying on the church doorstep. Then it occurs to her that the only person she knows who wears a fedora is the vicar.

She quickly pulls on jeans and a T shirt so that she can go and see if she can help. As she crosses the road she thinks, but can’t be sure, that she sees a figure in a black hooded cloak slip around the corner of the church. Catriona calls out
‘Patrick, Paddy, are you ok?’
There is no response, but she thinks she sees a slight movement. Then she notices the line of ants marching over him as if nothing is going to deter them from their task. Pulling her phone from her pocket she calls for an ambulance, hoping that it is not too late, and that Paddy has not done something stupid. She reaches him and searches for a pulse, but there is none, ‘too late’ she thinks. Then she remembers the figure she thought she saw, and it reminds her that Paddy once told her that a monk in a black hooded cloak supposedly appeared at the church when an incumbent vicar dies. The ambulance arrives closely followed by a police car. A paramedic rushes to the body feeling for a pulse, Catriona knows it’s pointless, but can’t find one and pronounces the vicar dead. The policeman finishes talking into his radio and comes over
‘There’s a detective on the way who will want to speak to you, if you could give me your details please.’
‘I live across the road.’
She pointed to her house, but also gave him her address and phone number.

Catriona returned to her house, she needed coffee. Walking through the door she noticed an envelope which she had missed earlier in her rush. Picking it up there was one word, Cati, written on it – she went ice cold, the writing was Patrick’s. Opening the letter she was thinking ‘What the fuck have you done Paddy?’, instinctively knowing that it was no accident. She pulled the letter out and read it
Dear Cati,
By the time you read this it will be too late. I have taken some of my sleepers, and am on my way to the church to seek forgiveness, you will find me by the altar. To take one’s own life is a sin, but in this instance I am sure that the Boss will be understanding. If you think about it you will know why I can take no more of this miserable life. Just know that I have been eternally grateful for all of the long chats we have had in recent months, they really helped me to put my mind, or what was left of it, in order. If you are lucky you will see the monk. I know that as an atheist you don’t believe in such things, but there are things in this world that stretch beyond mere religion.
Goodbye my friend
Paddy

She had just read it a second time when there was a knock at the door, on opening it she was surprised to find a woman there
‘Hi, I’m DI Ruth Foley, I believe that you found the vicar.’
‘Yes, please come in I think that I can save you a lot of time.’
‘What makes you think that then?’
As they walked into the living room Catriona handed her the letter
‘I found this when I came back, Paddy must have dropped it off on his way to the church.’
The DI read the letter carefully.
‘So, definitely looks like suicide then. He refers to sleepers and a monk, any idea what he means?’
‘Sleepers were his sleeping pills, he had problems sleeping recently. The monk is a little more complicated.’
‘How is it complicated?’
Catriona went on to explain how paddy had told her the centuries old tale of how when an incumbent priest died a hooded monk was to be seen around the church, and that she assumed that this was the hooded figure that she had thought she saw this morning.
‘Right, I see. Can I hold on to this letter for the time being, I will return it as soon as I can.’
‘Of course. I suggest that Paddy may have left a fuller version on his desk, he was a very tidy person in everything.’
The DI nodded and headed for the door.