University College have told all students at their accommodation site in North Oxford to stay within their households, from this afternoon. This includes almost 100 second-year undergraduates and some graduate students.
The college told students in an email that the lockdown has been caused by “a spike in positive Covid-19 tests among Univ students”. Students are waiting on “further advice” about how long the lockdown will last, and it is described as a “precautionary measure”.
This is the first known case of accommodation-wide isolation in Oxford, though many other colleges have households currently in isolation. Other colleges may also be dealing with significant clusters.
The measures are in light of concerns about Public Health England (PHE) involvement, who can step in to manage the outbreak with further restrictions when there is a cluster. Students will receive an update by midday Monday at the latest, after a PHE review.
Students will be supported with grocery deliveries, laundry, and welfare.
The University of Oxford reported 61 Covid-19 cases in Freshers’ week, making 91 total confirmed cases among staff and students from 20th August to 9th October.
A spokesperson from University College told Cherwell: “There has been a spike in the number of students at University College who have tested positive for COVID-19. The students involved live in college accommodation on one of the College’s sites. As of Saturday 17 October there have been 19 positive cases.
“The College is working with Oxford University’s Early Alert Service and the public health authorities to ensure that appropriate measures are in place to limit the spread of the virus. On an interim basis, the College has asked students who are resident on the site concerned to remain in their households, pending further advice.
“College staff and student representatives are in regular contact, and are making sure that students have food and other support. Online tuition and other academic support will also be available. ‘We are working with students to reduce risks both to them and to the wider community’, said a college officer. ‘Resident staff are on hand to offer support and advice as required.’”
This article was updated at 18:15 on 17th October to include University College’s comment.
Chester’s Grosvenor Park is normally teeming with playgoers over the summer months, with performances of two Shakespeare plays and a classical children’s book booking up year after year. All changed in 2020, unsurprisingly – but director Alex Clifton managed to band together a cast of eight for two weeks of intensive zoom rehearsals, which culminated in a fast paced and surprisingly polished socially distanced performance of The Comedy of Errors. Stewards ushered audience members to their seats and ensured they were suitably distanced from fellow theatre goers with the help of a six foot pole, which certainly brought new meaning to the phrase “wouldn’t go near you with a barge pole”! Once seated, however, it was easy to forget about the distancing measures as masks were not required in the open air and the actors leapt around the stage so quickly that it was hardly noticeable that they never actually touched.
The plot, in brief, hinges around two sets of twins, Antipholus of Ephesus and Antipholus of Syracuse, and their servants, both called Dromio. They grew up in different countries after being separated in a shipwreck whilst young and the play begins with Antipholus of Syracuse and his servant arriving in Ephesus on a mission to find their respective siblings. A day of confusion and mistaken identity ensues with the servants and masters confusing each other, a wife locking her husband out under the impression he is someone else, and a debt collector sending the wrong Antipholus to jail. Naturally, all is resolved in the final scene when the siblings appear onstage together.
As with almost every Shakespeare comedy, the exaggerated slapstick could be a little repetitive; directors are often fearful that their audience might not understand the Shakespearian language, so resort to non-stop physical comedy to try to guarantee an easy laugh. However, the direction had to be a little more imaginative with a socially distanced cast, and so even the standard visual gags had something more to them in this performance. The Comedy of Errors is full of fight scenes as both Dromios repeatedly become the victims of their masters, the politics of which can be uncomfortable for the audience. This was alleviated by wild kicks and punches at a two metre distance, accompanied by well-timed bashing of pots and pans for the sound effects, which meant that the fight scenes became not only more entertaining but felt far less uneasily violent. A combination of more imaginative slapstick and the stripped-back script saved the production from becoming overly reliant on repetitive physical comedy, and made Shakespeare’s shortest comedy an even faster and more exciting piece.
The casting of two sets of identical twins for the main characters (Danielle and Nicole Bird playing the two Antipholuses and Lowri and Mari Izzard the Dromios), worked on both a visual and an emotional level. Distinguishable only by their accents, I spent the first ten minutes wondering if it was just the same actor running on and off stage every scene and trying to spot differences in their costumes to prove it one way or the other. However, by the final scene this casting offered something more than breezy entertainment and occasional confusion. Although at its core the production was a slapstick comedy – complete with country covers of pop songs and audience interaction – the final scene of the play was a reminder of the times we live in. The two sets of twins were reunited and, as members of the same family and household, were able to hug each other. Shakespeare often places a great deal of importance on familial bonds in his comedies, which seems particularly appropriate these days. The final line of the play is spoken by Dromio of Ephesus to his brother: “and now let’s go hand in hand, not one before another.” The cast then left the stage with the siblings holding hands, a moment of familial affection which felt much more poignant than the socially distanced punch ups and Scooby Doo style chase scenes which had gone before. No one really knows when theatre, or in fact life, will return to normal, but until then scenes like these will hold even more significance for audiences eager to see their own families again.
In 2016, Lil Peep’s Hellboy mixtape dropped on Soundcloud. In 2017, Lil Peep died of a drug overdose. The release of his fifth and final mixtape on major streaming platforms, exactly four years after it first came out, offers an opportunity to rethink the ascent and tragedy of one of underground emo rap’s gems.
On this
mixtape, Lil Peep (real name Gustav Åhr) creatively combines electronic and
hip-hop production, moody alternative rock, and distinctive reverb-heavy vocals.
The atmosphere is depressive rather than abrasive. Although Hellboy,
like earlier mixtapes, is sample heavy, his vocals are no longer layered over other
people’s riffs. They emerge clearly from a sea of emotions, allowing us to
discern his alternation between anguish, frustration, apathy. At times, a brief
clarity emerges, searing, scary, and surprising as he seeks out hope in
darkness.
The hazy
instrumental of ‘We Think Too Much’is the album’s most serene point: “I
just wanna lay my head on your chest, so I’m close as it gets to your heart/We
can fall apart, start over again”, he promises. “I know all about the pain that
you go through”, he sings, as the Aphex Twin sample fades into the next track.
It is as if he’s speaking directly to the listener, and in this moment one can
imagine Lil Peep’s tortured universe enmeshing with their own. It is the final
track that he recorded for the album.
As the face of a newer brand of emo, his music has always attracted complaints. Reduced to bare lyrics, some songs seem repetitive, juvenile, even shallow. “I used to wanna kill myself/Came up, still wanna kill myself/My life is goin’ nowhere/I want everyone to know that I don’t care” – and then repeat, for the chorus of OMFG. “Tears in my diary stuff”, scorns music reviewer Anthony Fantano: the “worst and most extreme” of edgy Soundcloud rap. Further controversy surrounds Peep’s subject matter: the extensive drug use, the apparent beautification of suicide, and the generally self-destructive way that he navigates sex and emotions. If the lyrics, delivered through off-pitch vocals and melodramatic production, seem turgid, self-absorbed, even dangerous, then they naturally seem to amount to an aesthetic nothing.
Yet, this disregards how appeal of emo music partly lays in the realm of the affective. Any album attempting to thematically explore a gamut of feelings, a variety of confused, chaotic experiences quickly runs into difficulties. Some part of his psyche remains deliberately impenetrable: on the titular track, he raps, “You don’t even know what I been through”. ‘Fucked Up’ mixes raw sexual desire with the regret of taking drugs, while ‘The Song They Played (When I Crashed Into the Wall)’ is a bittersweet, whirlwind look at a past life. These songs all make extensive use of samples, the bassline of an Underoath song or a Blink-182 acoustic are recognizable, yet are assimilated into Lil Peep’s own sonic world. It is less of an aural disharmony that permeates Hellboy, than a tumultuous personal navigation of ennui and earnestness, fulfillment and fading away.
Some brief
digital archaeology might illuminate Fantano’s puzzlement at how “for whatever
reason there seems to be this really big following for dark edgy rappers”,
exemplified by Lil Peep. Attraction to and connection with any artist are
personal and intimate: Cherwell’s own Joe Bavs, writing in the wake of a 2017
concert, would posit that he was “our greatest living icon” – both gig and
crowd spirited if amateurish. The comments on YouTube or Soundcloud sincerely
professing a kinship with Lil Peep’s own dark moments, giving a quick thanks or
small tribute (“in tears over this, man I miss peep”), are countless. Walking
about in a town of 8,000 in Slovenia last summer, a piece of graffiti caught my
eye:
Image: Ernest Lee
In death, a great number of Lil Peep lyrics seem prescient. Not eerily so, for part of his charm lay in the tragedy and self-knowing passion of choruses proclaiming: “And as long as I’m alive, Imma die, baby” or “These drugs are callin’ me, do one more line, don’t fall asleep”. Lil Peep did as much to prop up the mythos of the rockstar prematurely departed, as he was consumed by it: “Call me Cobain, she can see the pain/Look me in the eyes, tell me we are not the same”. Debates about the quality of his music – whether he could rap, or did justice to the musicians he sampled – have become muted.
In other
ways, he seems to live on. Lyric pages are dotted with annotations that unfold
into anecdotes from living friends. His mother, who has managed his songs and
estate, makes her love for him and appreciation for his music evident in
various interviews and speeches. Some songs, their
samples now cleared, have been re-released, and in their accompanying videos, another side of him always emerges. Last
year, the documentary Everybody’s Everything was released. The volume of
unreleased songs and footage, of course, dwindles.
If any
album is deserving of being called Lil Peep’s magnum opus, Hellboy might
be it. Whatever nascent genre it could be fitted into – ‘emo trap’ a good
contender, or ‘alternative rap-rock’ – would flourish only in the wake of his
death. Even here, there are signs of his dynamism. “I’m not coming back/Move
on/Be strong”, goes the chorus that closes the album. The final song features
growled ad-libs and hints of metalcore, a tantalizing hint at the shifting
directions future albums might have taken. We will never know.
Have you ever wondered where all your German friends disappear to
each Friday of 1st week at around 5pm? Why all their stuff is left in
the library, as if they have left in a hurried flight? Why they don’t
join you for dinner in hall that day? Here’s the secret: your friends
are disappearing in order to have cake. On that special afternoon of
term, many Germans in Oxford drop everything they are doing and rush
towards the German Society where they’re going to have their unofficial
fourth meal of the day, “Kaffee und Kuchen” (eng. ‘coffee and cake’).
Perhaps the most essential part of German culinary culture.
When most people think about the German diet, our love for cake definitely won’t be the only stereotype that comes to their minds. “Why are you not having a Bratwurst?”, a friend of mine jokingly asked me at the Oxford Christmas market last year, pointing towards the German food truck, which was promoting its freshly fried Bratwürste. It took me a second to realise why I should be having one: as a German, I am expected to be an enthusiastic meat-eater. As much as I’d love to say that this cliché is entirely wrong – it’s not. German cuisine might not only consist of sausages, bread and the occasional potato, yet I can’t deny that all of these are considered essential parts of most traditional dishes.
“So
this must be what British people call bread” – was my thought when I
went to the bakery of a Tesco store for the very first time. I was,
quite frankly, devastated. It was around lunchtime sometime during my
first week at Oxford and I had been dreaming about a deliciously
smelling, freshly baked loaf for days. However, where I was hoping to
find an abundance of different breads from which to choose, I was
instead faced with piles of impressively dry sponge that seemed to
consist more of holes than bread. When I left the supermarket, I
genuinely wondered whether I was going to make it through the next
couple of months without ‘proper bread’. (Spoiler: I made it, and
actually got some nice bread at the university’s German Society, but
more about that later.) It’s not for nothing that the famous line “Food,
glorious food” from Oliver Twist literally translates to “Bread,
glorious bread” in the German version. Our country’s love for loaves is
phenomenal. In Germany bread is not just a food, it’s an art.
The
German translation of the Oliver Twist song, by the way, doesn’t
continue with “we’re anxious to try it” but with “ham, cheese and
butter”, yet another strong indicator of what our nation likes to
consume. On both breakfast and dinner, a variety of bread delicacies is
enjoyed with an even bigger selection of spreads and toppings, ranging
from cheese and ham to jam and honey. Dinner is most often called
Abendbrot (eng. evening bread), a name which easily speaks for itself.
If you’d ever like to try it, the German Society usually organises a
very authentic one, which is also what saved me from my severe,
self-diagnosed bread-deficiency in Michaelmas (I promise there will be
other spreads than liver!).
Enough about bread now, let’s
remember the food truck at the Christmas market with its sausage-heavy
menu, giving vegetarians far from an easy time. Even though the
stereotype of a meat-loving Germany is slightly exaggerated since, in
fact, we consume far less meat per person than some other nations (ask
Google), lots of traditional dishes do rely on meat as an essential
component. With this in mind, it might be less of a surprise that you
can find over 1,500 different kinds of sausages in German supermarkets!
Perhaps the most famous is the already mentioned Bratwürst, which is
basically just a general term for any barbecued sausage. Sausages are
far from the only once-living-now-dead items to be found on the menu of
traditional restaurants. The most widely known meaty dish is the
Schnitzel. Originally from Vienna, it is a breaded and particularly flat
piece of veal. Equally famous is the Schweinshaxe, a giant roasted ham
hock, and definitely not the option you should go for when you fancy a
lighter meal.
You’re probably waiting for me to mention
potatoes, sauerkraut and cabbage, and voilà, here they come. Most
traditional German dishes (at least the meaty ones) are usually
accompanied by some variation of these. I will admit that there is not
particularly much that you can make of sauerkraut apart from, well,
sauerkraut, but you would be surprised in how many different disguises
you can discover potatoes on a restaurant’s menu. Kartoffelknödel (eng.
potato dumplings), Kartoffelpuffer (eng. potato fritters),
Kartoffelsalat (potato salad), and much more. Only one vegetable seems
to be able to compete with our beloved potato, and that’s asparagus.
Ironically, despite its short season, it’s somewhat of a star among
vegetables. In the months from April to June some restaurants even
devote an entire menu to it!
Last, but, for many people,
certainly not least, we must not forget about German beer. I’m sure
you’ve already seen Erdinger Weissbier or Beck’s at Sainsbury’s, perhaps
even tasted it. The occasion where most beer is served every year, is
the world-famous Bavarian Oktoberfest, attracting about 6 million
visitors. Taking place at the end of September (despite its name), it
lasts two entire weeks, and results in a beer consumption of several
million litres. The atmosphere is not just that of an ordinary festival,
instead it’s almost carnival-like. If you’d like to (literally) get a
taste of it, the German Society usually organises one, which is
certainly worth a try!
Talking about special occasions,
something else you definitely shouldn’t miss are our Christmas markets. I
know there are British equivalents, like the one in Oxford, but trust
me when I say that they can’t be compared with the German original.
Featuring charming wooden huts, beautiful fairy-lights and decorated
trees, they’re already lovely to look at. But then there’s also the
smell of delicious, Christmassy food. Schmalzgebäck (eng. deep fried
dough) and Stollen (a very special fruit bread!) are just some of the
delicacies you can purchase when you visit – which you definitely
should. And don’t you dare forget the Bratwürst, of course.
Perhaps
you think this was it, but let me tell you, the most important part is
still to come. I’m talking about the unofficial fourth meal of the day,
the legendary ‘Kaffee und Kuchen’ (eng. coffee and cake). These are the
hours when cafés in Germany are overflowing with customers, bakeries
bursting. Who doesn’t crave something sweet in the afternoon? Germans
definitely do, and for most of us, there is nothing that can beat a
delicious slice of cake. Schwarzwälder Kirsch (eng. Black Forest) might
be the most famous one.
See, now you know where, and especially why, your German friends usually disappear each Friday of first week, and, honestly, can you blame them? In fact, maybe you should even join them next time in order to get initiated into the mysteries of German food traditions. Oh cake, glorious cake!
When I imagine all the possible ways 2020 could get worse, a catastrophic election in one of the greatest Western powers, manipulated by a ‘fascist quasi-dictator’, forcing millions to risk their lives in the name of democracy, alongside the death knell of one of its strongest and most trusted institutions, ranks pretty high on the list. And yet, that is almost exactly what we may face this coming November. Trump’s recent attacks on the US Postal Service (the USPS), while not yet making him a fascist, threaten to undermine one of the most essential agencies America has, eroding the very roots of democracy. With two epidemics to tackle, COVID-19 and an increasingly dwindling public faith in democratic practices only magnified by a leader constantly evading them, America’s presidential election this year will undoubtedly be like no other.
The USPS has long been fighting for its life financially, the first bullets fired by Republicans decades ago. The most crippling blow, however, came in 2006, when the Bush administration passed a mandate ordering the USPS to pre-fund workers’ pensions 75 years in advance, a requirement no other federal agency has ever been burdened with. Every year since then has seen it drop further and further into debt, now with a staggering bill of $14 billion waiting for it. Despite being entirely at congress’ beck and call and despite providing a constitutionally binding service, it has received no federal funds since 1982 – its only financial lifeline is direct revenue from mail deliveries. Thanks in part to the coronavirus, these have already fallen by nearly one-third compared with last year and as a result, it expects to add $22 billion more to its continuing operating losses by the end of 2021. Although the USPS continues to take in a profit notwithstanding its debt payments, a first-class stamp costs a mere 55 cents. It seems as if the USPS can but watch as its own casket is prepared to be gracelessly lowered into the ground.
Trump certainly appears eager to attend its wake in any case, having only amplified the chronic nature of their collapse. Calling the Post Office “a joke”, “horrible”, and “corrupt”, he has degraded the USPS at every possible chance. This undermines public confidence in the integrity of postal voting, already at a dangerously low level. He has threatened to veto a coronavirus relief package explicitly because it included emergency funding for the agency. Without the necessary funding, the USPS will be unable to cover their operating costs and expect to run out of money this fiscal year. He has appointed Louis DeJoy as Postmaster General, a major Republican donor with significant investments in USPS competitors, who has, in turn, implemented near-fatal cuts to the service, including banning overtime and removing collection boxes. The USPS itself has admitted that these restrictions have been the primary cause of a massive surge in delays and undelivered mail this year. He has promised to appeal to the Supreme Court if he believes the election results have been invalidated by postal voting. He has, essentially, embarked on a brutal and ruthless crusade against the organisation. At a time when the economy’s strength is being tested the most in living memory and essential services must be prioritised, the omission of arguably the most essential of services from Trump’s attention is glaring. If the death of the USPS had seemed certain but distant before, the sound of the hearse starting up is now almost unmistakable.
In any given presidential election, the USPS is essential: one in six Americans live in states with no online voter registration and roughly a quarter will send mail-in ballots. With the coronavirus making in-person voting considerably less attractive, that number could double in 2020. In the absence of a functional post office, this risks disenfranchisement on an unprecedented scale. The primaries earlier this year were a useful test run. They were also a mess. At least 65,000 ballots were rejected because they arrived too late to be counted. If Trump succeeds in killing off the USPS, or at least in significantly delaying its services, the presidential election can hardly be considered democratic.
We are not alone in recognising the acute political danger Trump’s actions pose. In the past month, two federal judges have issued historic and unprecedented decisions attempting to prevent, and undo, any harm already done to both the service and the election. DeJoy has been barred from making further alterations to USPS policies, must reverse all recent changes, and must immediately prioritise every postal ballot. The rulings reveal a common pattern of thinking: this attack on America’s postal service is an attack on democracy and must be stopped at all costs. While a step in the right direction, the USPS’ life remains threatened by Trump’s callous comments and refusal to provide essential funding. This is but a brief moment of relief, one final gasp for air, before the organisation’s floundering resumes.
Irrespective of November’s potential horror story, the USPS is a vital service provided to Americans and deserves to be saved. Nearly 250 years old, it has a rich and surprisingly interesting history. It is so dedicated to connecting the entire nation, delivering 48% of the world’s mail, that it even uses mules to reach those living at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The isolated, the elderly, the sick – all rely on the postal service to check up on them and keep them in contact with the rest of the world. The Post Office’s star quality derives not from any breath-taking ability to rake in profits, as Republican critics overly focused on profitability have imagined, but from its magical powers of uniting a nation otherwise so riddled with divisions. Sending not only letters and postcards from corner to corner of America, but ideas and ambitions, hopes and dreams, it is a rare example of an institution continuing to uphold what is good and right. No nation is too diverse, no house too remote, no ballot box too full – the postal service will deliver to anyone and everyone if it can just survive. The USPS must be saved. The presidential election must be conducted fairly and democratically. The two come hand in hand, and, as the funeral procession edges closer to the ballot box, I wonder if the American public will realise in time who is driving the hearse and how to vote them out.
History is often treated as a work of art, or artifice. Churchill boasted that “history will be kind to me for I intend to write it”, while Napoleon called history “a set of lies agreed upon”. Historians speak of weaving pieces of evidence together like threads of silk. And, I, a history student, can attest that coming up with an essay thesis at 3am requires a hefty dose of imagination.
The reigning queen of historical fiction, Hilary Mantel, discussed
the “cultural cringe” associated with the genre when she started out in the
1970s. It was seen as a fluffy genre, elevating sex and scandal above ‘historical
truth’. But as Mantel reminds us (alongside Napoleon and Churchill), records of
the past always represent a crafted narrative. The difference between history
and historical fiction is that readers of the latter are “actively requesting a
subjective interpretation”, compelling the writer to “recreate the texture of
lived experience”.
This week’s recommendations each represent a unique “texture
of lived experience” to perfection, proving that historical fiction is a genre
full of excitement and experimentation, and one that also demands to be taken seriously.
Entry-level: The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo – Taylor Jenkins Reid
Amelia, deputy editor
If historical fiction “isn’t your thing”, read this
book. It’s about as far from stuffy period romances or war novels that you
could possibly get, yet its filmic quality offers an enchanting look into 1950s
Hollywood, with all its glamour and grotesqueness.
Ageing film star, Evelyn Hugo, who has long been shrouded in mystery, decides to tell her life story through unknown journalist, Monique Grant. We follow Hugo, born Evelyn Herrera to Cuban immigrants, as she fights her way from poverty and obscurity into the limelight. Her methods are often ruthless, but her flaws make for compelling and unforgettable narration. Evelyn has to fight against the pressures and discrimination faced by women caught up in 1950s celebrity culture, as well as trauma experienced in her personal life.
The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo reads, in many ways, like a delicious gossip column, but it never strays into the superficial. Despite the historical setting, it is superbly modern. Queer representation is a central feature of this novel, and with two biracial female protagonists, it feels like a story that needs to be heard.
A taste of Dickens: Fingersmith – Sarah Waters
Cora, books editor
Fingersmith is a novel set in the Victorian era that is also reminiscent of a novel from the Victorian era. Hailed as a modern-day Dickens, Waters achieves that unique combination of page-turner and painstaking detail that is the hallmark of the greatest Dickensian works (don’t worry, though, the sentences are definitely shorter!).
The novel tells the story of orphaned Sue Trinder,
who has been primed for a life of crime in “a Fagin-like den of thieves”. Sue
is enlisted in a plot by the villainous ‘Gentleman’ to seduce a rich heiress,
robbing the girl of her fortune before chucking her into a ‘madhouse’. Commence
a thrilling crime story, equipped with stunning plot twists and a fraught love
story between two young women.
Waters is straightforward about the aspect of the Dickensian landscape she seeks to explore. This is a book about female sexuality, and the attempts of men to manipulate and abuse it – a book thatopens with a reference to Dickens’ Oliver Twist,but zeroes in on the murder of the sex worker, Nancy, rather than the story’s male protagonist. If you’re looking for a read with all the richness of Dickens, told through the lens of women’s struggles and desires, then Fingersmith is for you! And check out its (not safe for work) South Korean film adaptation, The Handmaiden, while you’re at it.
Booker Prize winner: The Narrow Road to the Deep North – Richard Flanagan
Eve, books editor
This novel portrays the barbarity of a Japanese prisoner of
war camp on the Burma railway. Military surgeon, Dorrigo Evans, the leader of a
starved and depleted group of Australian prisoners, contemplates his affair
with his uncle’s young wife as he struggles to ensure the survival of his men.
In an achievement befitting of Hemingway, Flanagan weaves together the complex, interconnected nature of love and war: both “annihilation, destroyer of worlds”. But the narrative is not confined to this devastating chapter of history. What Flanagan, himself the son of a prisoner of war, depicts so powerfully is the far-reaching impact of horror. Dorrigo, hailed as a war hero in the national imagination, cannot comprehend the world he occupies as he tries and fails to “rouse his spirit” in “consecutive and concurrent adulteries”. Japanese camp commander, Nakamura, cannot reconcile the kindness of his wife caring for him in his final days with the violence he has inflicted. The Narrow Road to the Deep North is a study of what it is to be human, both good and bad, and acts as a powerful tribute to the victims of the railway: “There is no book for their lost souls. Let them have this fragment.”
Recent history: Half of a Yellow Sun – Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Devanshika, deputy books editor
Set against the backdrop of the Biafran War in
Nigeria, Adichie’s novel avoids the most common trap of historical fiction – centring
on the wider issues of the historical period at the expense plot and character
development. Instead, she writes a story that is at once defined by and
distinct from its setting. Narrators shift continuously, beginning with a young
servant boy, Ugwu, and then cycling through intertwining stories of the
professor he works for, the professor’s mistress and her sister.
The simple yet evocative writing – including insertions of Igbo idioms and phrases – help to situate the reader in the book’s vivid cultural background. Praise for the novel often references its inclusion of characters and anecdotes from across very different spectrums, from the corridors of wealthy urban bureaucracy to bombed villages. Undercurrents like the gap between Western modernity and indigenous ties, family loyalty and national identity, are visible throughout, but never overshadow the social drama at the foreground. Essentially, come for the history, stay for the gripping character arcs.
YA favourite: The Gilded Wolves – Roshani Chokshi
Devanshika, deputy books editor
Historical fiction with a fantasy twist, the first
book in Chokshi’s latest trilogy also addresses the complex social issues of
its temporal setting whilst managing to deliver a compelling plot. The central
heist, set during the 1889 World Exhibition in Paris, is undertaken by a
diverse group of young Parisians – the protagonist is of mixed race, two main
characters are Indian and Filipino immigrants, another is on the autism
spectrum. This allows for a nuanced portrayal of the time that doesn’t gloss
over prevalent problems like racism, imperialism and sexism.
Colonialism is especially well-integrated into the
fantasy world’s magic system, which uses stolen magical artefacts to reflect
the European appropriation of objects, beliefs and practices from around the
world. Don’t worry that it’s too serious, though, because there’s no shortage
of high-adrenaline escapades, romantic subplots and surprise twists.
The book as a whole treads the line between a number of different literary genres, including fantasy, history and contemporary YA. This mix of elements means that the Gilded Wolves is enjoyable even for readers who may find historical fiction too confined to actual events and facts to be exciting. FYI: the sequel, Silvered Serpents, came out on September 22nd!
After
far too long at home for many of us, it’s almost the start of Michaelmas;
I don’t know about anyone else, but my productivity has drastically decreased in the months since being in Oxford.
When I do finally decide to get to work, however, I will have my trusty film soundtrack playlist to help spur on the motivation: just like in video games, film scores are designed to be in the background, yet they are far more exciting and emotional than whatever ‘Chill Piano’ playlist you might have been relying on up to now. They flow perfectly from piece to piece as you attempt your essay, problem sheet or whatever it is that you do in your degree. In fact, when your work changes, so can your soundtrack – if you’ve never written your conclusion while listening to Hans Zimmer’s ‘Time’, you’re missing out, I can promise you. I am not knowledgeable about music theory, but after watching far too many movies and listening to even more soundtracks, here are six film scores to help you get back to work:
Nicholas Britell– If Beale Street Could Talk (2018)
I’m starting on a high with this selection. This soundtrack
is one of my all-time favourites, perfectly blending jazz, melancholic romance,
and a monumental atmosphere to set you firmly in 1970s Harlem, New York. It’s a
great all-rounder, although its smooth violins keep the score at a slow,
relaxing pace, which makes it particularly perfect for night-time studying. ‘Eros’
and ‘Storge’ are my favourite tracks on the album, so watch out for those: they
merge dizzying romantic heights with a sense of painful realism yet to be
discovered.
Like what you heard? All of Britell’s soundtracks are worth a listen, though all different in their own right.
Hans Zimmer– Interstellar (2014)
Of course, Hans Zimmer had to feature somewhere on this list. Interstellar is an extremely strong score as a whole, with leitmotifs everywhere creating a harmonious and achingly special soundtrack. It definitely has a ‘space’ feeling to it, but not in an overly Star Trek-y way. Instead, it feels like it’s trying to communicate the wonders of the universe and describe the space between stars. It’s not surprising that it gives the impression of curiosity and discovery, but the track ‘Mountains’ demonstrates all the qualities of a truly dynamic and invigorating album. ‘Cornfield Chase’, ‘Mountains’ and twin tracks ‘Stay’ and ‘S.T.A.Y’ all possess that certain Zimmer magic that everyone should experience.
Like what you heard?First Man, scored by Justin Hurwitz, has a great soundtrack with similar
space flair and, of course, Zimmer’s own Inception builds on Interstellar’s
suspense and grandeur.
Thomas Adès– Colette (2018)
I was really taken by this soundtrack, even while watching the movie. It’s an easy listen, loosely underpinned by swooping romanticism – it’s full of upbeat tracks and the feelings of a classic period drama. However, there’s a richness and complexity to it: as the film’s focus transitions from romance to Colette’s path of self-discovery and fulfilment, so does the soundtrack’s. It never leaves behind the ‘classic period drama’ sound of soft pianos and violins, but this is not to its detriment, instead making for a flowing, harmonious album. This makes it work well as study music, particularly if you’re into those ‘Chill Classical’ Spotify playlists.
Like what you heard? Other period drama scores like Pride
and Prejudice by Dario Marianelli and Far From the Madding Crowd by
Craig Armstrong are great soundtracks with a similar vibe.
Yann Tiersen– Amélie (2001)
Much like the film itself, Amélie is a refreshing and fun listen. The album, driven by a blend of piano and accordion, has a positive sway to it and thoroughly commits itself to the quirky premise of the movie. Its upbeat nature makes it great to use as background music when researching; the diversity of the album will keep you interested, engaged and (most importantly) awake during your work. ‘I’ve Never Been There’, ‘Guilty’ and, of course, ‘Comptine d’un autre été, L’Après-Midi’ are some of my favourites throughout the soundtrack.
Liked what you heard?Midnight in Paris (2011)
and A Good Year (2006) feature lots of jazzy tunes if you need a French
fix and a bit of sunshine in your headphones.
Isobel Waller-Bridge – Emma (2020)
Okay, I love this movie, probably far too much. However, the
soundtrack is amazing as well. It blends traditional folk and operatic classical
to represent the dichotomy of Emma’s existence as an exceedingly wealthy
country bumpkin. Perhaps because Emma leans more towards the humour of Austen’s
work, it doesn’t quite fit the normal sound of period dramas, with more light-hearted staccato
used throughout the soundtrack. It’s a charming blend of styles and definitely
worth a listen.
Like what you heard?Little Women by Alexandre
Desplat is again charming but doesn’t quite fit the stereotypical period drama
sound.
Nicholas Britell – The King (2019)
I know I have already talked about Britell but The King needs a mention in its own right. If you need moodiness, atmosphere and drama to get through a piece of work, this is the soundtrack for you. To fit with the grittiness of the plot, the soundtrack is full of heroic tracks with minor keys, crying violins and looming horns. Its 43 minutes brim over with emotion and heartache, expertly handled to make a seriously impressive score.
Like what you heard?Wind River by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis and Jane Eyre by Dario Marianelli both have a sombre moodiness too, if you are so inclined to the dramatic.
Listen to selected songs from Nina’s chosen soundtracks below:
In 2020, the University of Oxford admitted a record-high number of state-educated students. Statistics were updated, articles were written about Oxford’s commitment to access, and things were finally looking up for those looking to break into an institution notorious for elitism. Two thirds of the University’s population are now state-educated – a win that feels a little hollow with the knowledge that a staggering 93% of the UK population went to state school. Decades of underrepresentation within tertiary education can be seen reflected in society today, as the state educated make up only 33% of judges, 49% of journalists, 39% of doctors and 8 out of 26 cabinet members in the UK*.
Education has long been hailed as ‘the great equaliser’. I believe this to be true in theory, which is why it’s imperfect application to reality is so frustrating. Never have the inequalities within education in the UK been felt quite so keenly as in the year 2020. In a remote Trinity term where students were forced to digitally stream lectures and communicate virtually with professors due to the COVID-19 pandemic, the disparities between each individual student’s learning conditions widened from a gap to a gulf. In a normal term, all students were receiving the same time and quality of teaching from the same professors; however, once they are removed from the university amenities that they were paying £9000 for, and made to learn from home, students can find themselves in vastly different studying environments. The lucky ones – who have fast internet speed, a quiet place to study, a big desk, a well-stocked home library, disposable income to buy the obscure reading list, university-educated parents and free time to study instead of work – will surely come out better than their peers.
A virtual Trinity accentuated the problems that many low-income students face every Oxford vacation. This isn’t the only educational inequality that’s been magnified this year; 2020 was also witness to the huge exam results fiasco. High school students were unable to take their exams, and instead given results allegedly based on the exam performance of their school in previous years. Already flawed to begin with, the system cracked entirely when straight-A students from the most deprived schools in the country received C grades and Fails, while private school students – miraculously – were relatively unaffected. After media backlash and protests, the problem was eventually rectified by giving students their predicted grades. Despite the grade changes, the ordeal highlighted the uncomfortable truth that all of us are far too aware of – if private schools didn’t give you an advantage, why would you pay for them?
This is why we need the 93% Club, a student-run society dedicated to improving the experience of state-educated students at university. The club was first set up in 2016 by state-schooled student Sophie Pender, who felt estranged from the ultra-privileged culture that she found herself surrounded by at Bristol University. Sophie’s story resonated with students across the country, and now, at time of writing, there are twenty 93% Clubs working in different universities across the UK.
As to the place of the 93% Club at Oxford, one only needs to look at the experience of applying to Oxbridge from a state school. Many schools like my own don’t offer the Oxbridge admissions tests. This meant that the hopeful applicants from our school (there were six of us that year – the biggest cohort they’d ever had) had to troop down to the local private school, to sit the test amongst the blazered shoulders of our private school peers, who had been doing practice tests with their teachers all week. The imposter syndrome has set in before you’ve even arrived. Once accepted into Oxford, the feeling intensifies as you prepare for your second Oxbridge entrance exam, this one posed by fellow students in Fresher’s week: “What school did you go to?” I remember feeling very surprised that Londoners would be intimately familiar with the inner-city state comprehensives of Glasgow, until I began to realise that they weren’t asking me where I was from and were instead assessing wealth, status and connections.
Now, most privately educated students at Oxford are lovely people who aren’t concerned with your background or education. But it’s hard not to develop a chip on your shoulder when you remember the embarrassment you felt when someone in a velvet suit, with a disgusted curl of their lip, tells you that you’re using the wrong cutlery at a formal dinner. Someone else at the table next to you is talking about caviar, to a jubilant chorus of ‘Rahhh!’. And you’re left sitting there thinking – how the fuck am I somewhere where everyone has an opinion on caviar?
There is a legitimate confidence that develops at private school that carries through to Oxford. Students who have come from elite private schools transition seamlessly into the high-falutin Oxford lifestyle, intimate with wining, dining, schmoozing, boozing, networking, white tie, black tie and ball gowns… Some of them will even go on to accept invites into secret private-school-only drinking societies, where they can socialise among an exclusive elite. Even the average private schooler from a more ordinary background tends to arrive at Oxford with a comfortable network of people that they know from school. The typical state schooler is not guaranteed this automatic network and is left to navigate the alien Oxford world on their own. This is what The 93% Club is for – we’re forming our own network so that we can decode the world around us together.
As well as social imposter syndrome, a state schooler is likely to face academic imposter syndrome whilst at Oxford. Many courses at Oxford, particularly the humanities, are still actively catered towards a student who has come through the private school system. For example, it is an institutional expectation for humanities students to arrive with some knowledge in Latin and French, and to have sound Biblical and classical literacy. State students who have come from schools that don’t have art libraries or specialist books or museums, or schools that simply didn’t offer Latin or Classics, cannot hope to pick up textual subtleties with ease in the way that tutors have become accustomed to expect. This is before we even get into the advantages that tiny class sizes, individualized learning approaches and specialist teachers can give you… our offer letters may look the same, but we have not arrived at Oxford on an equal playing field.
It’s not a coincidence that state school students always struggle in their first term compared to their private school peers. In my first hellish Michaelmas at Oxford, a peer who I did French with once asked me why it mattered that they went to private school. It mattered because they were taught French in a Francophone boarding school. It mattered because I was taught French by a weary Irishman, who as head of the languages department, was more often than not forced to run out of class to discipline kids trying to tip the vending machines over, or who were taking pingers in the school alleyways. He was a brilliant teacher who wanted us to do well – but the school was underfunded and understaffed, like so many other state schools up and down the country. Underfunding and understaffing issues at state schools can also mean that academic students who are guaranteed a solid pass in their exams are often overlooked by their school in order to prioritise struggling students. Although a good allocation of school resources, B-grade students are not pushed into getting A’s, students are not taught to expand beyond the set curriculum, and learning disabilities often go undiagnosed.
The 93% Club of course, in its essence, cannot fix a deeply segregated system of prejudice and bias, or decades of educational inequalities. But it can provide a space to reach out to other students who operate the same limbo as you. One foot in Oxford, one foot back home, not quite belonging in either. This is why this network is so important. COVID-19 permitting, maybe we’ll all go for drinks together soon to swap stories. Or maybe, we’ll do it state-school style, and drink some cans in the park.
In the academic year 2020-2021, as well as providing a network, The 93% Club Oxford will be providing soft-skill workshops, panel discussions and application workshops for state-educated students, to help them learn skills and make contacts that they may not have picked up at school.
