Monday, May 5, 2025
Blog Page 1653

Preview: Love’s Labour’s Lost, Christ Church Cathedral

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It is hard to imagine a more appropriate production for Trinity Term than Tommo Fowler’s Love’s Labour’s Lost. The play itself, famously Shakespeare’s ‘most intellectual’, focuses on the King of Navarre’s decision to cut off his court to devote ‘three years’ to Academia. The three men are tempted away from their studies by the lure of three young ladies in the fields surrounding the court. Sounding familiar? Fowler’s production pushes the comparison even further, giving his cast Brideshead-style costumes and introducing croquet and academic gowns in the first scene. The adaptation is a good one, making sense of the play’s content rather than standing in opposition to it. We understand the arguments characters have about the importance of intellectualism in the context of the struggle of being young and full of energy, but forced to study hard.

The segment of the show I saw was lighthearted and full of physical comedy- a notable moment being when Armado (played flamboyantly and amusingly by Michael Beale) carries his servant Moth (Zoe Bullock) on his back to demonstrate Hercules’ strength. John Mark Philo, who played the wayward Biron, contributed most to the physical comedy- bouncing around the stage and using an enormous range of comical and exaggerated (occasionally over-exaggerated) facial expressions. Chris Bland and Morritz Borrmann were good foils for his exuberance, and Bland had his own moment of comedy, hiding from Borrman’s Dumain in a brilliantly choreographed scene which brought to the fore the farcical aspects of Shakespeare’s convoluted plot.

Fowler has changed Holofernes from a male schoolmaster at the court to a female ‘spinster’ (despite the slight discrepancy this causes in a plot where the men make an oath that they may ‘not even talk with a woman’): played by Ellie Wade, the wordy lines are well-handed, and the performance is an extremely funny one. The Princess and her two ladies, played by Katherine Skinglsey, Claire Parry and Georgia Waters, were effective in their charming of the three gentlemen but lacked something in their bearing and attitude–even in the 20th century, the meeting of two royal families would surely contain a little more formality than Waters’ fiery characterisation allows. There were a few other problems: some lines were not very clear, as Shakespeare’s long-winded speeches ran away with the actors, and some of the onstage mirth occasionally descended into corpsing. Yet these issues will, I am sure, be negated by the time the play opens on Wednesday. Christ Church Cathedral gardens will be an ideal location for this funny and fresh adaptation of one of Shakespeare’s more difficult comedies.

FOUR STARS

5 Minute Tute – Greek Debt Crisis

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Why is the Greek debt crisis so extreme?

There are three crises in the Euro at the moment. Firstly, a competitiveness crisis: many countries allowed inflation to exceed German levels from 2000 to 2007, making them pretty uncompetitive. Next, a banking crisis: the private sector in several countries borrowed too much before the recession. This led to housing and construction bubbles, and helped cause the competitiveness problem. Finally, a government debt crisis, where governments borrowed too much. In fact, only one country started the recession with a serious government debt problem – Greece. The fiscal problems in Ireland and Spain are the result of the public sector bailing out the banks following the banking crisis. So the crisis is so extreme for Greece because its the only country that has all three problems at once. In addition, they reinforce each other. Because it is uncompetitive, Greece can’t solve its debt problem through growth. A partial default on its government’s debt has worsened the position of Greek banks, which owned part of this debt.

How beneficial have the successive austerity packages been for the Greek economy?

There is a strong argument that they have not been beneficial at all. Some austerity in Greece was clearly required, but pushed too far too soon and there was a danger that the economy would collapse, and the electorate would revolt. That is exactly what has happened.

How likely is a Greek exit from the Eurozone now?

It’s certainly possible. There is a game of chicken going on between Greece and the rest of the Eurozone, and Germany in particular. Both have a lot to fear if Greece is forced to exit, so each side is hoping the other will back down first. The problem with such games is that if neither side gives enough, the outcome is worse for everyone. If Greece leaves, could contagion spread to other countries? With great difficulty. Although Greece is the worst case country, the same conditions could easily arise elsewhere. The key to preventing contagion is the European Central Bank. Eurozone national governments cannot print their own currency, and so are at much greater risk of default on their debt. The ECB needs to start acting as though it were each country’s central bank, underwriting government debt so that investors continue to lend to periphery countries. It should also strengthen the vulnerable economies by raising German inflation targets relative to the rest of the Eurozone. This will make the peripheral countries more competitive, enhancing their growth prospects.

For the rest of Europe, would it be better for Greece to stay or leave?

If Greece was forced out of the Euro, it would default on its remaining debt, which is largely owned by Euro economies. Exit would also increase the risks of contagion. Banks in some periphery countries would be particularly vulnerable. Probably the only positive thing would be that the threat of contagion might finally force the ECB to underwrite the fiscal positions of the periphery countries, and for the Eurozone to develop a banking union to deal with insolvent banks. The benefits of Greece leaving are far less clear. Some say that using additional funds to support Greece within the Euro is throwing more money at an intractable problem, but that does not make much economic sense. There are certainly serious structural problems in Greece, but it is better to change these with a combination of carrot and stick, rather than with overwhelming austerity.

Sides of the story – eurozone crisis

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The British have never been quite sure what to make of Europe and tend to flit between contempt and envy. But since the Eurozone began its descent towards accidental suicide, the tabloids have shifted to a weirder mix of delight at having been proved right that Britain never should have got involved in the first place, and outrage that we may be dragged with the rest of the continent anyway. Now, the focus is on Greece’s slide towards failed-statehood, and on Germany’s new found place as Europe’s political kingmaker, deposing governments in Spain and Italy at will and calling the new French President Francois Hollande to Angela Merkel’s knee barely a few hours after he took office.

While the right-wing side of the British press gloats and rants, the hacks who supported the European project from the beginning have been left with really very little to write about beyond depressing post-mortem analyses of the near-lifeless economies of southern Europe. The elephant in the room seems to be what the UK should actually do to try to stop complete euro-meltdown, or at least how it might save itself. No one seems to know.

Victoria Hislop falls back on omens as the only hope Greece has left, and tells of how the clouds parted to allow a rainbow to fall on Athens during her last visit, mixing Greek and apparently Irish myth to express her hope that ‘Greece can find its pot of gold’. Peter Hitchens geared himself up for overdrive though, calling Germany an empire in all but name and accusing it of colonial exploitation of Europe’s weaker southern states. Much of the rest of his Daily Mail column reads like an attempt to clear out all the insults for the EU he has saved up over the years and now needs to get rid of. He calls the EU a ‘stupid empire’, and at that a poor substitute for the USSR’s evil empire, with a weird mix of paranoid outrage and sarcasm. The EU is apparently also a mad hospital, and once hapless member states are incarcerated within, ‘the best thing to do is leave. If you can’t get out, you will probably die’.

Andrew Rawnsley points out the absurdity of Cameron now joining in with Obama, Hollande, and just about the rest of the world to convince Germany of the insanity of the very same austerity drive that he is now defending to the UK electorate. He has gambled, apparently correctly, that the British public will be so delighted to watch the Euro fall apart that they will not even notice the contradiction.

Paul Seabright reminds us in the Guardian that however ludicrous the amounts of money wasted by the Greeks, both the money they spent and the things they bought came from the rest of Europe. Who the hell in Germany thought that Greece needed to be the 4th biggest arms importer in the world? The rest of Europe was sucked into the credit boom just as much as Greece. Everyone else reaped just as much money as they did, and now we deserve to take our share of pain as well.

Debate: do we really need OUSU?

Proposition:

Part of the reason OUSU exists is to work alongside common rooms. This year we have worked hard to ensure that our undertakings are complementary to their work: we have focused on providing common rooms with tailored support, information, and advice. This has included an intensive programme of officer training, multiple information sessions, regular consultation, and one-to-one welfare support.

In order to avoid duplication we have also worked to facilitate campaigns that are necessarily centralised, whilst ensuring that they are relevant to students and shaped by the priorities communicated to us through common rooms and OUSU Council. The main policy areas this year have been: supporting graduate students, student teaching awards, mental health awareness, campaigning for a living wage, improving the conditions of student residents, and raising academic standards.

Furthermore, in spite of the devolved nature of the University many decisions are still made centrally. OUSU can focus at a University level, providing representation and a strong student voice after consultation with students. All of this helps us to support effective student representation in Oxford, enhancing and supporting the work already carried out by common rooms.

A criticism oft levied at OUSU is that we do not take enough time to consult students; this year OUSU has made it a priority. We conducted the final review of reports focussing on teaching and consulted hundreds of students; using this to set OUSU’s academic priorities. We have also tried to give controversial motions a full airing: the White Paper Response was debated in multiple Common Rooms before it was taken to Council and several drafts were sent round the whole student body for input. The full-time officers have visited over sixty common rooms this year and met one-to-one with hundreds of students. We have also made the Council agenda extremely public. OUSU is working to make sure we are a more representative and accountable union.

As affiliation fees have been abolished the only change brought by disaffiliation is the removal of a common room’s voting rights. Since February last year a host of MCRs have re-affiliated to OUSU and graduate issues have become one of OUSU’s priorities. With the support of these MCRs, we have repeatedly won on graduate issues. Affiliation gives common rooms direct influence over OUSU’s policies and actions, thus keeping us accountable. It also gives the student union collective, unified bargaining power so that we can win on the issues you really care about.

 

Opposition:

The nitty-gritty business of student politics happens in the JCR. Facilities, welfare, and academic issues are all handled in college. With the day-today concerns of students managed so close to home, it is hard to justify a further, more distant organisation in a collegiate university.

That is not to say that we don’t need some kind of representation for the student body as a whole, but the real question is not ‘what does OUSU do?’ but ‘what does OUSU do that could not be done, in some way, through JCRs?’ A straw poll of students in hall this morning revealed nobody felt particularly strongly about OUSU, and several didn’t know what it was. Whether you put it down to bad PR or just lack of effect, this isn’t the hallmark of a successful students’ union.

Just look at the elections that are, after all, OUSU’s justification for representing us at all. The most I remember of the last one is the over-blown centrespreads in the OxStu and the occasional poster on Turl Street. Short on policy, short on personality. No student I know actually felt like it would make a difference to them. The entire process left us disengaged: even with internet voting the turn-out was 19%. Hardly a democratic mandate. The ‘hackocracy’ criticism is an easy one to level, but it contains a grain of truth: it is hard to see how OUSU is not run for hacks, by hacks.

Compare that to the local democracy of the JCR. Presidential elections are hard-fought and engaging: Corpus even managed enough interest in the process to have a plant both run and be murdered. More importantly, if I vote in a JCR election, or even in a JCR meeting, I know my voice is being heard on an issue that matters to me as I represent a good couple of percent of the electorate. That gives a sense of empowerment that OUSU completely fails to provide. The organisation receives £200,000 from the university each year, but surely that money would be best spent by those closest to the students they stand for. OUSU is the European Parliament of university democracy: distant and inscrutable, disengaged, and – according to most of the electorate – pretty much irrelevant.

The real powerhouses of university politics are the JCRs, their committees and presidents. They are transparent, approachable, and we can see them making a real difference in our day-to-day lives. Surely these truly democratically elected people should be the ones we trust to communicate with the University and the outside world, without the expense and bureaucracy (and, dare I say it, hackocracy) that comes with an external organisation.

Harry Potter Charity Hall

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Students fundraising for Travel Aid’s China project, held a Harry Potter themed hall at St Catz in order to raise money to go to China to teach English over the summer. The hall was also open to members of other colleges.

Out of the ivory tower

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For too long, higher education has been trapped in a paradigm of success which places undue emphasis on research and relegates teaching to little more than an afterthought. Both for universities competing at a national level in the league tables, as well as for academics competing within an insti- tution, a focus on research is currently the path to the top. And students are losing out. The first solution is simple: we need to find better ways of measuring teaching quality across the UK, so that students can make an informed choice when choosing where to study. One obvious measure of teaching quality is to measure outcomes, by trying to establish how much value a teacher has added to you over the course of your interaction. This is already done at primary and secondary school levels and allows for far more accurate league tables.

However, measuring outcomes at the university level is hampered by the absence of standardised testing. We can’t just simply measure teaching quality based on the difference between A-levels and degree classification because different institutions are more or less generous with their grades. Different degrees are not only different in classification but in content too. Try to standardise degree classifications and you have your work cut out. Try to standardise degree content and you face an unwinnable battle because higher education is subjective: you will never get two economists to agree what should constitute a degree in economics.

Given the difficulties in measuring outcomes, many have looked to the quantity, timeliness and quality of feedback as an indicator of teaching experience. Students can have famous lecturers and small classes, but if their work isn’t being marked, their learning is limited. Though this is a far from perfect measure, it is a decisive improvement on the ambiguous ‘student surveys’ currently used by universities and the league tables. 

The second solution is harder: we need to reconstruct the incentive structure in academia so that it is conducive to good teaching. At the moment, it is publish or perish for academics at most British universities, where promotion and reputation is based entirely on your research. Should an academic choose to dedicate their career to good teaching, they must make a vast sacrifice of both income and prestige unacceptable to most. Furthermore, while universities often have elaborate frameworks and support networks for research, nothing similar exists for teaching. Teaching matters. When the new cohort arrives later this year, many will be spending over £9,000 for their education. With the increase in tuition fees, the role of teaching will have to be recognised by institutions because students, over time, will be more discriminating about where to go. Teaching in higher education is not a lost art, but regard for it is a lost tradition. Students need to stand up for their education and demand a change.

How to lose friends and educate people

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The free school founder and former columnist Toby Young has been appointed to the government’s new Office for Students (OfS). The body aims to open the universities sector up to more market competition. It is the biggest change to higher education oversight in a century. Here, Young speaks to Cherwell’s Tom Beardsworth about his time at Oxford, his views on state education, and the left wing politics of his father.

Sat outside the Turl Street Kitchen I look up to see a mediocre William Hague lookalike approaching. It’s Toby, of course, and I find him transformed from the social liability of How to Lose Friends & Alienate People to the affable and focused founder of the West London Free School. The story is hilariously well told, documenting his attempt to break into the close-knit celebrity circles of the States, from his pilgrimage there in 1995 to his escape home five years later, tail flailing between his legs. On the face of it Toby has every reason to be fed up with life. A low point perhaps was when Simon Pegg, having just come from Run, Fatboy, Run, was told to ‘fatten up’ in order to play him in the film adaptation of How to Lose Friends.

Yet Toby Young is now far from the hapless caricature he presents. The son of Michael Young, a Labour peer, his upbringing was political and firmly anti-establishment. Lord Young drafted Labour’s radical 1945 manifesto and was a leading protagonist on social reform, championing comprehensive education, a struggling system Michael Gove’s free school project threatens to dismantle. He “wasn’t very keen on meritocracy” despite famously authoring that phrase as New Labour’s public philosophy. In the past Young has called his father a “blinkered ideologically hidebound socialist” and he is largely critical of his beliefs, if affectionate towards the man himself.

The inter-generational irony personifies the turbulent history of British state education. Despite persistently failing at state schools, Toby wasn’t entered into any of the local private schools which were surely within his parents’ means. Though never bitter, he clearly abhors the worst of the state system. “Having seen how bad state schools can be I was nervous about sending my own children to the local state school.” Isn’t this just a naked appeal to self-interest? It’s perhaps a less noble motivation than those which fired his father’s ‘utopian socialism’ a generation before. Would he be turning in his grave? “I think he would have applauded groups of parents, groups of amateurs, coming together to try and take control of a public service. He believed that small was beautiful.”

And that’s the point of free schools; that in devolving power locally to extraordinary individuals you can harness their energy and innovation. The parents of West London certainly think so: in its inaugural year West London Free School attracted almost ten applicants to every place, making it the most competitive state school in the country. However, last year only 24 free school ap- plications were approved; the vast majority failed to make a viable business case. I put it to him that private capital may be the answer. After a lengthy pause for consideration, Toby endorsed the idea: “Provided the market is properly regulated, there is no reason why for-profit educations managements organisations (EMOs) shouldn’t be allowed to set up and operate free schools” with “an array of minimum standards to which all schools need to comply”.

As for the concerns that free schools will suck the best teachers and pupils from neighbouring schools, he argues “a bit of competition is no bad thing. People are a bit wary of hitting that note too hard because it seems a bit cut-throat…but I’d argue it has a positive impact [on surrounding schools].” This is the revolutionary principle that may strike the heart of the British educational establishment; that you should be able to shop for education like you do for groceries or foreign holidays. If rich parents can pay for choice, why can’t everyone else?

I was yet to fully comprehend what drives Toby; I hadn’t quite gleaned that anecdotal nugget which, once revealed, allows all the other facets of an interviewee’s character to fall into place. Then he helped me out: Toby is a Brasenose alumnus, but really he shouldn’t be. Having successfully applied, he needed to meet the unusually generous offer of three ‘B’s and an O-level ‘pass’ in a foreign language. Failing to exhibit the immodesty that would later make him famous in America, Toby told me that “my father and I concluded that getting three A-level B’s was simply beyond me.” And right they were; he received a ‘C’.

Remarkably though, “I got this letter, and it wasn’t addressed to me personally, but it was evidently sent to successful candidates.” Alas it was a mistake. A week later he received the personal letter confirming he had failed to get the requisite grades and “wishing [him] success in his university career”. Despite an embarrassed Toby imploring him not to, his father rang up the college to explain the predicament. What ensued between the PPE tutors was an extraordinary philosophical exchange about whether a clerical error was grounds for admission. Apparently it was.

The lesson: that what constitutes success is marginal; that failure can be so easily grasped from its jaws. And whilst he had plenty of the latter, he excelled in student journalism. It was, he confesses, “my only real success”. He started a new magazine, based on the insight that – with a nod to Cherwell and Isis – “if I named it after a bigger river it would be a bigger magazine. I came up with the brilliant wheeze of calling it after a different river for each issue, the first being the Danube.” It only lasted two issues, though he subsequently became the editor of Tributary, Oxford’s now defunct equivalent of Private Eye, whose previous editors included the Anglo-American journalist Andrew Sullivan and the historian Niall Ferguson.

Toby was by all accounts, an awful Union hack. “I was extremely unsuccessful; no one voted for me. I failed to get elected to Treasurer’s Committee [now Secretary’s Committee]. I got nowhere.” He had competition though; Boris Johnson and Michael Gove were both contemporaries. No doubt the London mayor’s famous bombast in the Chamber trumped Toby’s somewhat pernickety campaign. The two have been friends since their days on The Spectator. He reflected, “I spent Saturday night at Boris’s victory party, which I probably wouldn’t have done when he won the Presidency of the Union.”

Showing how far he has strayed from his Labour roots, in 2002 Toby famously made a £15,000 bet with Nigella Lawson that Boris would be Tory leader within 15 years. What about his own political ambitions though? No doubt he would relish the opportunity to rile up lefties – “I’ve always enjoyed baiting liberals.” Toby has the CV, the connections and a unique brand of ‘anti-charisma’ that could carry him into Parliament. He’s ambivalent – “Being an MP would remind me of those Oxford days shinning up the greasy pole.” Though he didn’t say as much, he considers what he does to be political.

His radical impulses are satisfied by free schools, which he wants to do more with. A book, about “class, education and British society” is also in the pipeline. Though thoroughly hostile to Lords reform, he is enticed by the opportunity it presents. “I might stand for election in the House of Lords if indeed the changes that the Coalition are thinking of introducing [85% elected second chamber] go through.” Toby Young is a colourful character. His haphazard career. his cheerful approach to failure – “failing upwards” as he puts it – and his DIY approach to solving social problems are all endearingly British. Not in the foppish style that has served Hugh Grant so well in Hollywood, but rather actually endearing to the British. He’s like a train without tracks; forceful, unpredictable and bewildering. And remarkably successful, if he won’t mind me saying.

No Minister – Banning the ASBO

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According to a White Paper released last week, the Government is planning to reform the much-maligned ‘anti-social behaviour order’, or ASBO. Proposals include making it possible to obtain orders within hours at a lower standard of proof, and giving police the right to disperse groups of two or more people without prior notice. With the revelations surrounding the Leveson Inquiry still dominating the news, the government has been allowed to present the changes without great criticism. But these proposals are a massive step in the wrong direction, from a dire initial standpoint. Worse still, they exemplify a political elite out of touch with those growing up in urban Britain.

The underlying logic is stupid. Prevent a group of young people – the main perpetrators of ‘anti-social behaviour’ – from doing something in one place and they’ll do exactly the same things somewhere else, further from the reach of the police. In no way does it address the causes of the problem. An ASBO does not ask why people are behaving the way they are. It does not ask why people are standing on a street corner with nowhere to go. It does not ask why these people are not at home, or in school, or in work. If a child is not in school, banning them from a shopping centre will not make them go back into the classroom. All behaviour orders succeed in doing is further alienating those who already feel disenfranchised, abandoned by the political class, and harassed by police.

In the Netherlands, a lower drinking age for alcoholic drinks which are under 15% allows teenagers into pubs and bars. It gives them somewhere to be, a feeling of adult responsibility and a mature attitude to alcohol. We provide ASBOs instead. The point of ASBOs was never to confront gang crime, youth unemployment, poor education, or the removal of anywhere for young people to go. All they were meant to do was sweep the armies of yobs far far away and keep them from intimidating honest, upstanding voters.

Behaviour orders are the result of the middle classes legislating for the middle classes. They demonstrate the gulf between those growing up in our inner cities and those, sometimes not so far away, who are dictating their future. Politicians simply do not relate to the young people who are the main subjects of behaviour orders, for whom they are not ‘badges of honour’ but an unwelcome restriction on their civil liberties. Clearly we don’t need more criminalisation: we need politicians brave enough to face up to the real issues that are the causes of ‘anti-social behaviour’. Proposals like these are just sad evidence that such people are hard to come by.

When is a book a book?

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In the middle of Terry Eagleton’s new book, The Event of Literature, we come across the eighteenth century bishop who, having just read Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, threw the book into his fireplace, declaring that he didn’t believe a word of it. Fictionality is not the only topic under discussion in this work (although that chapter is particularly rewarding).

Eagleton takes a look at literature through the conjunction of Continental literary theory and the Anglo-Saxon philosophy of literature. In a recent In Our Time episode, this dichotomy seemed to be revealed as an Anglo-American construction, alien to continental philosophers. But, for the sake of argument, or more realistically not making a huge fool of myself by taking on one of the most esteemed and groundbreaking literary theorists, we’ll leave that there.

In the chapter on realism and nominalism, he surveys the running battle between the empiricists and rationalists, noting that realism has been rebuked for generalisation, whilst nominalists have gotten flack for being so wrapped up in material imaginings that they can’t disentangle themselves from them, so much so that Plato threw the poets out of his Republic, so caught as they were in the sensuality of music that they couldn’t rise to the dignity of an abstract idea. Students of literature should watch out.

How is a poem different from a joke? How is a dream, written down, different from a novel, both combining imagery, wordplay, grippingly dramatic events, moral insight, fascinating characters and a compelling storyline? If a real duke plays a character who is a duke, is a film or play removed from its supposed fictionality? This exploration of dogmatism and meaning allows Eagleton swipes at liberals who attack didacticism and conviction, proof that the old Marxist is not dead. But this is no lengthy meditation on Marxist criticism. Tolstoy, Twain and Tropic Thunder are mentioned in the same breath.

He sets up what seems to be a reasonably plausible definition of literature, and then knocks it down: fictionality, the ability to yield significant insight into human experience, the self-conscious or heightened use of language, a lack of practicality, and highly valued as a piece of writing. Impracticality and fictionality work, as they exclude shopping lists. But what about the American Declaration of Independence? It is practical and a work of non-fiction, yet also a work of literature. We learn that Shelley wanted to class parliamentary statutes as poetry, creating harmony – as they supposedly did – out of disorder (although, to dispel the risk that David Cameron is considered the new Keats or Wordsworth, we should move on swiftly).

Eagleton’s book is a swirling nebula, a string of stars set against a seemingly impenetrable black sky. It is wonderfully accessible, and yet the subject tackled is gigantic, so massive as to extend beyond this world into questioning God’s nature and reality itself. Yet, you don’t leave sections on subjects like Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations feeling a dolt. This is a book for those interested in literary theory, philosophy, or anything in between.