Literary magazine
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Issue Two A Tiffin English Department Publication
Tiffin Literary Magazine
The forms of things unknown...
Creative Writing
PAGES 4-12 Critical Analysis
PAGES 14-24
Coriolanus: Donmar Warehouse Review
PAGE 22
An Interview With Mr Skerten
PAGE 25
Essay Competition
PAGE 27
Comic
PAGE 28
...the poet’s pen Turns
A local habitation and a name...
Graphic work by Luke Taylor, Year 12
S hakespeare once said, ‘we know what we are, but know not what we may be.’ This is a truly inspiring quotation, suggesting that each of us is born with almost limitless potential. He also said, ‘If music be the food of love, play on.’ This is a terrible quotation as no one really understands it and it clearly indicates that Shakespeare was a mad drunk. As such, we at TLM have been inspired by the beliefs of a completely different author, Dr Seuss, who said, ‘I like nonsense; it wakes up the brain cells.’ The compilation of works you
are about to indulge in are best com- pared to intergalactic travel, in the sense that the effect this may have on you is completely unknown and
WEL
quite possibly dangerous. The contents of the magazine may make you laugh; they may make you cry; they may make you laugh so hard you cry, and cry so much you need to see a psychiatrist. Therefore, we are required to notify you that TLM accepts no responsibility for injuries sustained during the reading of this magazine. Please read on. Or don’t. We don’t care: there are no refunds…
-Your Editorial Team
Joel Hatton, Ollie Appleby (Editors) and Luke Taylor (Graphic Design)
TIFFIN LITERARY MAGAZINE ISSUE 2 SPRING 2016
2
CREATIVE
The Writers Project — Luke Taylor, p. 4
Cards at Midnight — Navonil Neogi, p. 6
Haiku Poetry — Mathew Quinn, p. 9
To Strive In Vain — Robert Bywater, p.10
OME
Untitled — Eli Hughes, p. 11
Snowflakes — Jude Popham, p. 12
Tiffin Scrabble Club— p. 13
CRITICAL
White Devil — Laurie Purnell-Prynn, p. 14
Close Analysis — Henry Worrall, p. 19
The Fellowship of the Ring — Emmanuel Dunstan, p. 20
Macbeth R eview — Kaif Pathan, p. 21
Coriolanus Review — Edwin Jarratt Barn- ham – p. 22 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time — Jack Yu, p. 23
Hamlet Review – p. 24
COMIC
The Fish King — Ollie Appleby, p. 28
3
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” ― Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
4
C reative writing club is a club run by the English A-level students for the lower school and it takes place every Wednesday during lunchtime. During the sessions we learn how to craft short stories, improve our technique and have fun while we are at it! In the first session, we learned about creating convincing characters, then how to make a world for these characters to live in and finally we planned a rough plot for tales. About twelve people con- sistently turn up for sessions gress. The main person running the show is Luke, a year 12 who has already written some short stories of his own and is writing alongside us in the sessions. Next session, we are finally getting on to writing the stories themselves and I wish the best of luck to those who joined us on this journey. and we always have a good time, and make good pro-
W hen the creative writing club was set up eight weeks ago, I had no idea that there would be such a breadth of talent at Tiffin. Working with the students of the lower school has been inspiring, utterly inspiring, and we have been able to aim for far greater narratives than I had previously imagined. Gone are the days of the cheesy cliché, the adverb, and unfinished ideas; they have remained undisturbed in dusty manuscripts stacked in the corner of rooms. The loyal attendees of the club have risen to the challenge at every turn on the rollercoaster of literary endeavour. With this enthusiasm, we have been able to work in a relaxed environment in which we can write with com- plete freedom. And on occasion, some have really tested the limits. One thing I could never have comprehended was the passion the students brought to their work, attending every week and producing fantastic and moving ideas that could form the novels of the future but are being brought into being today. And as I have passed over some ra- ther advanced writing concepts regarding plot structure, style, narratology, character creation, it has been fantastic to see these young students keeping up. All I can say is, keep writing and write with passion. I can- not wait to see the things we create. —Luke Taylor, Year 12, Founder
INSPIRING ASPIRING CREATIVE WRITERS
- A Writing Club Member
We are always looking for more members who are keen to write and get their stories told. Everyone has a story inside them; it’s just about finding a way to express it.
I hope you will be joining us next session.
Wednesday Lunchtimes
Room 55 Room 20 OR
5
SECTION 1
CREATIVE WRITING
6
T HE COLD HAD SET IN . J OHNNY SHIVERED , HUGGING on to his puffer jacket like a lifebuoy in the sea. Under normal circumstances, the image of him with that on in his living room would have been hilarious,
sheepishly.
Johnny noticed his legs,
clad in worn working jeans
a ghostly blue in colour
but the freezing temperature had dulled even that.
under the light, shaking
Martin sat opposite him, blowing furiously into grubby
( trembling? he thought).
builder’s hands, his hand of cards scattered on the worn
The light threw shadows
carpet floor. The stack at the centre of the table sat un-
across the room, too, so that
touched. Johnny looked at Steve; too cold to speak, he
the top half of Steve’s angular
simply nodded, and Johnny, with an effort, gathered
face was a grotesquely large
back the impromptu game of rummy for three.
silhouette on the opposite wall.
The antique clock, won by Johnny in a drunk round of
No, Johnny thought. There was
poker in what seemed like an age ago, limped to half-
something decidedly unsettling about
eleven. Martin and Steve took turns pouring the hot cof-
the atmosphere. There shouldn’t have
fee from a flask. There would be little left for him. Johnny
been — Steve and Martin were friends of
felt a momentary stab of anger, sending liquid warmth
his ( if not good friends , his mind reminded
through the icy caverns of his body, and then it was
him, but he forgot that for the moment) and this was his
gone.
own home ( and it wasn’t that, either , his ever-irksome
mind told him too). Yet he felt unease, tensing within him
Outside, it was still — completely, absolutely still. There
like a slow, stretched spring.
were no engines, with their oddly comforting noises in
the night. Nobody was outside; the scene was one of
Steve stood for a moment by the doorway, lacing up his
parked cars, internally shrivelling in the cold, and trees,
boots, rubbing his hands together, seeming to coil into
seeming to grow bare in front of Johnny’s eyes.
himself, desperate for some warmth. Then, with sudden
resolve, he uncrossed himself and went outside.
Steve managed to get the first words out.
He screamed.
“Well, damned if I’m gonna spend the whole bloody night
here.”
Johnny, in a stupor, noticed that Martin was the first to
react. Martin rose from the floor, forgetting the cold, and
The others realized that they hadn’t spoken in nearly a
ran over to Steve; then he, too, stood still. The expres-
minute due to the cold, and this sent round a somewhat
sion on Martin’s face, usually always the pragmatic, an-
forced wave of laughter. Johnny chuckled heartily; after
noyingly unimpressed one, ran Johnny’s blood cold. He
all, it got him a little warm, if nothing else.
was completely still. His face had frozen into a horribly
“It’s proper cold, isn’t it?” Steve said. “ Proper cold. I
inverted rictus grin, the sides of his mouth twitching.
coulda sworn it wasn’t this cold when we came in. Your
Then the spell broke, and Martin himself shouted, “For
heating’s done for, mate.”
God’s sake, get back in!”
He added the last statement almost as an afterthought,
7
barked out a short, perfunctory laugh, and then got up,
The living room door slammed shut, and there was the
“You,” Steve said, slowly, intoning each and every word,
sound of heavy breathing. All at once, the cold had dissi-
“there.”
pated, and there was warmth. Yet silence reigned still.
You saw what it was out there. You are not going out.
There was no sound from beyond the refuge of the wood-
They waited in silence for an age. Johnny didn’t notice
en door, from out in the corridor.
the cold anymore. He didn’t notice much of anything any-
Johnny looked at the others. They were staring, wide-
more. He only looked out of the window. The figure —
eyed, at him, almost like a pair of twins; Johnny sup-
the thing was still there. It stood still, almost like an exe-
pressed hysterical, dark laughter. Then slowly, feeling his
cutioner about to perform his deed. And as Johnny
way to the door like a recently blinded old man, he drew
looked closely, the fear having given way to a dull curiosi-
apart the curtains that covered a tinted glass window,
ty, he realized with a kind of wonder that it had no human
and looked.
face. This was something far more primal.
He was suddenly acutely aware of his heart beating, and
Immediately, several things happened at once.
acutely aware that it might stop at any moment.
There was a thudding, an almighty thudding, on the door.
There was a figure, standing in the darkness, in the corri-
Johnny found a scream escaping his lips, yet there was
dor of his own home. It was shrouded completely in
no sound. There was the tinkle of window glass shatter-
shadow, yet there was something terribly wrong, some-
ing, and Johnny felt the night wind almost buffet the side
thing unspeakably evil about it. In the reflections of the
of his face. In that instant, he was acutely, viscerally
glass, it was liquid, inky, but Johnny, the intuition coming
aware of his own mortality. And in the surreal state of that
to him like the first stab of winter cold, knew what it was,
moment, Johnny looked through the curtain again, and
and knew what it was there for.
even then felt the stab of dread as he beheld it. Then, as
he watched, it turned. Johnny saw it turn its face, or
It was waiting for them.
whatever it was, towards him. His heart stopped its
That — whatever it was, spirit, demon, apparition — was
cheerful beating, and slowed. Blood, warmth, rushed to
waiting for them, out there in the oceanic darkness of the
his forehead, and that spurred him into action just as he
corridor of his own house.
noticed that Martin had gone out of the door.
With an effort, he drew himself back from the glass. The
Steve was quick to act, and even as Johnny realized the
other two were crouched against the door, helpless. Mar-
acute selfishness of Steve’s action, he fully empathized
tin had begun to babble.
with it. The door was pulled firmly shut, and the two of
them sat down on the floor, with their backs to it, panting.
“That’s nothing. That — ha! That’s some damned guy. It’s
some damned guy who wants some bloody food — I
Another age passed.
don’t know — and broke into the house; what else, I
No-one spoke. Johnny rose once, almost infinitely slowly,
mean, who else could it be, alright? Look! What? We all
to peer through the curtains again, even though his heart
six-year-olds again, are we? Eh? This is rubbish. This is
was fervently begging him not to. Martin was nowhere to
absolute rubbish. Three grown men, afraid to bloody go
be seen. It, however, was still there. It was not merely
outside and…what?”
laughing now. It was positively shaking with laughter,
He trailed off, suddenly. Johnny dared to look again out-
chortling at their fear and their terror. Johnny felt sure
side. The trees rustled, and now there was noise. There
that it was looking at him. He wasn’t sure that he could
was a shuffling noise, like a gnarled branch being
bear the sight for much longer.
dragged through an autumn forest floor. The figure was
When he came back, Steve was gone.
still there. And now — and Johnny was sure of this, he
felt it — it was smiling. It was laughing, in its infernal
mirth.
8
He looked at the space where the man had been blankly
for a second — his subconscious mind registered some
level of surprise — and then he decided it was fine. Steve
could leave if he wanted to. That was just alright by him.
Love is Hate
That was no problem at all. He knew that something terri-
Wedding ring for sale,
ble had happened to Steve now; knew it, with the same
clean only of the inside.
certainty that he knew the sky outside was moonless and
Found in post mortem.
dark, and that there was no hope for him now, but he
chose to ignore it.
Desire
After all, he would have to look to himself.
A sweet way with words,
But that was fine. Johnny was not going mad. All was
an addiction to strangers.
well. He didn’t lack mettle. He would show everyone. He
Oh to be alone…
would wait the night out. What was it? Some figure, some
-Mathew Quinn, Year 12
nocturnal vision which was troubling him now. In the day-
light, all would be well again, and Martin and Steve would
be back, and the darkness which had smothered him
would go away.
He sat on the couch, and rocked himself back and forth.
He felt nothing anymore. All was numb. Slowly, he began
to smile, too. He muttered under his breath, muttered
words that had no meaning.
After an hour, he went to the curtains, and looked out
again.
The thing was right in front of him. It was pressed to the
glass, inches from Johnny’s own nose. Some part of his
mind told him that he should be screaming, but all that
came out was a cackle.
Then the door opened on him, and he was knocked to the
floor. Martin was back. Johnny saw Steve, and Johnny
saw Martin, and Johnny saw what was behind them,
Johnny saw it, and Johnny was stone-cold dead before
his head, staring with glazed eyes at something in front of
him, hit the floor...
-Navonil Neogi, Year 10
9
(This was written in response to a sample exam question on the new English GCSE course, namely a description of adverse weather and its effects. The relevance of this response to that question is left to the reader to determine.) T HE SKY WAS A VISAGE IN FLAWLESS WHITE. Not a single blemish tarnished its brilliantly colourless finish. It could almost have been called beautiful, under different circumstances. Yet such circumstances as to prevent manner as a grater treats a lemon rind. All his life had passed in self-righteous nicotine abstinence, yet now when he spoke he sounded like a twenty-a-day man; gravelly, hoarse. That said, tar-coated organs and a failing heart would have been preferable to staying an-
its appreciation were here, he reflected gloomily, and
other day in this London, this ghastly London, devoid of
the worst would just have to be made of them.
people, devoid of life, devoid of all joy that made exist-
ence even remotely bearable.
He stood upon what was left of Westminster Bridge, its
groaning supports actively protesting against the bitter
Standing amidst the flaking paint and the faint whiff of
cold, the icicles that clung like obstinate limpets to the
prolonged putrefaction, he looked out over the frozen
underside shuddering with every footstep, and sur-
expanse of the Thames, buried beneath ice deeper
veyed the becalmed ship that was London. Nothing
than a well, dull and grey like the mottled glass of a
stirred. Nothing moved. Though the distant, meagre
second-rate greenhouse. Thick white mist jostled for
sun glinted harshly off the snow that he waded through,
attention on the fringes of his vision, but he raised his
knee-deep, that was piled high over every car, every
eyes instead to the heavens, and uttered a contemptu-
doorway, there were no signs of life whatsoever. But
ous curse.
should he have cared to cast his gaze down a few feet,
It had been a Wednesday. That much he remembered
then the ugly marks of death were everywhere. Bodies
with more clarity than the rest. That particular Wednes-
lined the pavements; their final, choking breaths frozen
day had been unremarkable – nondescript, spectacu-
in their petrified mouths.
larly void of content. Still, in retrospect at least, content
Westminster’s parliamentary palace lay destroyed; split
wasn’t lacking nearly so much by the afternoon. Two
asunder like a desecrated temple, submerged beneath
o’clock had sounded, much like any other day, precise-
its own crumbling ruins. Its cast iron girders were
ly a quarter of an hour earlier than anyone would have
snapped and crippled; its tiled roofs slumped under the
liked, yet that day it was tolling for more than the end of
great mass of snow, endless, endless snow. The story
the lunch hour – it was a death knoll for mankind. The
was the same everywhere, so far as he could tell from
Coming had manifested itself as a cloud: blank, ex-
his circumspections; the great monuments and mono-
pressionless, with wispy tendrils of a tentacular nature.
liths felled with all the grace that a careless lumberjack
It had descended much like a biblical offering, lofty and
would bring to the task. The pillars upon which London
inexplicable; only this one didn’t bring peace and good-
society was founded could now be found in neat piles
will to all man; no one began loving their neighbours as
of rubble, from Battersea to the Docklands and beyond.
thyself; there were no burning bushes. All men per-
ished, yes; all neighbours succumbed as their fellows,
He sighed wistfully, before drawing in a deep, resigned
granted; but all that burned was the icy fire of retribu-
breath – oh! it was cold. Wincing with the sickly sensa-
tion in his heart.
tion of the thin, oxygen-less air rasping in his throat, he
10
-Robert Bywater, Year 10
thought of his lungs, roughly treated in much the same
Leaving the engine room as quickly possible, Corvax
tucked himself into a corner and examined the digital
map glaring in the corner of his helmet. Despite being
closer to safety than he thought he would be, there was
still lots of ground to cover, and judging by the sounds
of voices he guessed he would have to get past a lot of
S ILENCE . C RUSHING , OMNIPRESENT SILENCE BRO- ken only by the clang of tung steel greaves on the starship’s dark floor and the clink of loose bolts colliding on the walls. Corvax Calgar swung into
people. Caught up in his thinking, Corvax almost didn’t
notice the sounds of soldiers proceeding down the cor-
ridor, checking every room in turn. Realising he was
stuck, Corvax glanced around the room and caught
the next empty corridor, pulse rifle raised and ready to
sight of a loose roof panel that must be an entrance to
fire, but it was just as much a tomb as all the others
the air pipes. Grabbing hold of the open hole, he
encountered on his journey from his personal vessel;
heaved his way up just as the door collapsed and the
the ‘Void Falcon’. Having received word of this gamma
soldiers burst in. The armed man surveyed the room
level cruiser’s destruction before any of the other loot-
with his helmet torch before turning around and report-
ers on Dentaphon, Corvax knew that to arrive first was
ing the all clear. Grinning, Corvax started crawling
to gain privileged access to the rarest items. Despite
through the ventilation shaft. Now he just had to evade
the reassuring lack of habitation as of yet, he was still
over one hundred of the best trained police this galaxy
cautious. There was no sign of why the vessel had
has ever seen and escape back
to
Dentaphon:
scuppered or the crew; not even a corpse had filled the
nothing too difficult.
emptiness of this space-borne sepulchre.
-Eli Hughes, Year 9
Pushing on through the darkness, Corvax searched
each room of bunks until he stepped into the faint blue
glow of the plasma core and felt the familiar tinny smell
in his mouth from the ionized gases escaping their
safety cages. This plasma drive was definitely busted;
leaving Corvax thanking whoever had the foresight to
make his surveyor armour radioactively sealed. Striding
toward the control panel, he unclipped his multi-
headed omni-tool and snapped off the front panel
of the metal box. Corvax leant down to ex-
amine the insides and smiled like a child on
Christmas morning. An undamaged thermo-
baric regulator! These could sell for thou-
sands if you knew the right people, now he
just needed to get off this ship and make it to
the planet. Just then the silence was shat-
tered by the treading of armoured feet and
the barks of officers commanding their troops
landing on the ship. Corvax had no illusions about
what this meant: the whole ship was just a trap to
lure scavengers in so the Galactic Arbiters could
catch them like rats.
11
Snowflakes
Jude Popham 9AR 12
S crabble Club is a really good lunch- time club which my friends and I go to every week. It happens on a Thursday lunchtime in room 51. We have a great time there as it is always fun to have some competition between your friends. Scrabble Club is also a useful way to learn new words. Dr Diamond, the club's host, is very nice and is always happy to help the students out with new words and spellings. —Ajay Gill 9AR
Run by Dr. Diamond ALL WELCOME
Thursday Lunchtimes, 12:40
Room 51!
13
SECTION 2
CRITIC AL ANALYSIS
14
Verbal wit Women’s Strongest Weapon Is In light of this view discuss ways in which Webster portrays women’s use of language. By Laurie Purnell-Prynn, Year 13
T he figure of Vitto- ria Corombona, the central female character in The White Devil , serves as an ac-
therefore, does not prove to
understandable when the
be an effective weapon within
context is understood. By
the world of the play. Howev-
1612 the unpopular Scottish
er, it does enable her to win
King James I had been in
over the play’s audience. On
power for nine years and had
tive reminder throughout the
a metatheatrical level, para-
brought with him an oppres-
play of the difficulties facing
doxically, her ultimate failure
sive style of rule endorsed by
women in a patriarchal Jaco-
to affect her own destiny de-
the Stuart belief in the divine
bean society. Vittoria is born
spite her brilliant rhetoric
right of Kings, which, along
with beauty and intelligence,
serves as a very effective
with his court dominated by
and possesses attributes
weapon as it reveals the
obsequious favourites, was
such as charisma and rhetori-
plight women faced in miso-
likely the target of much
cal ability, which were tradi-
gynistic societies and the cor-
veiled political criticism in The
tionally associated with men;
ruptions inherent in the sys-
White Devil . His predecessor
she uses both her sexuality
tems of government within
was the much-admired Eliza-
and her wit as much as she
which she was trapped.
beth, who had guided Eng-
can for her own ends. And yet
land into a “Golden Age” with
To portray a woman as such
she is married off against her
the help of the help of a more
an impressive figure in the
will, condemned to a convent
meritocratic court consisting
courtroom seems surprisingly
of penitent whores and even-
of such men as Cecil and
progressive for a play written
tually killed. Her verbal wit,
in 1612, but becomes more
Walsingham. Therefore, set-
from their femininity and fo-
obean audience’s sympa-
ting the able and sharp-
cus instead on their capacity
thies to humiliate the pomp-
tongued Vittoria against the
to put on an impressive per-
ous lawyer by asking that
corrupt establishment in
formance in a style associat-
the trial be delivered in a
Rome may be a whimsical
ed with manly virtue. This
tongue that everyone can
nod back to better times un-
illustrates the limits of social-
understand. When asked if
der Elizabeth. It is important
ly gendered roles that were
she understands Latin, she
to note that Elizabeth was
constructed for men and
responds, “I do, sir, but
still very much a gendered
women of the patriarchal pe-
amongst this auditory which
figure, carrying such names
riod and how these bounda-
come to hear my case, the
as the “virgin queen,” but
ries had to be blurred if a
half or more may be ignorant
that her most
woman
in’t.” Vittoria is thus depicted
famous words
wished to act
as the defender of the com-
“….I have the heart and stom- ach of a king,” -Elizabeth I
involved her
decisively.
mon layman who will speak
rejecting her female attrib-
The example of Elizabeth’s
out against the tyranny of
utes in favour of those vir-
highly successful 45-year
the establishment, which
tues more closely associat-
reign, within living memory
has been assisted by the
ed with classical Kings and
for most of The White Devil ’s
obfuscation of legal jurisdic-
heroes, "I know I have the
original audience, and her
tion and religious authority
body but of a weak and fee-
own personal abilities as a
and is symbolically present-
ble woman; but I have the
monarch would have been
ed by the Catholic Church.
heart and stomach of a king,
important in getting the
She also humorously com-
and of a king of England
crowd behind this female
pares Latin to Welsh, de-
too". This is particularly in-
character who sets herself
mystifying its authority and
teresting with regards to Vit-
against a corrupt patriarchy
paralleling it with another
toria, as she does something
which was in turn legitimised
non-English language. Just
very similar during her battle
by religion. King James justi-
a few lines later she goes
of words with Monticelso,
fied his absolutist style rule
on clearly and hu-
“my modesty and woman-
through his faith in the divine
morously
to
hood I tender; but withal, so
right of kings. Vittoria manip-
identify herself
entangled is a curs’d accu-
ulates the crowd and her ac-
as the target,
sation that my defence, of
cusers effectively through
which would have
force, like Perseus, must
rhetorical skill to gain their
resonated with the
personate masculine virtue.”
support and the arraignment
audience
as
Both women, the real and
scene presents Vittoria’s
they knew that
the fictional, understand the
verbal wit in its full glory.
the blame for
need to draw attention away
Firstly, she plays on the Jac-
the murder of
16
Camillo actually lay with Bra-
epistrophe,
“what
are
ence more aware of the rot-
chiano and Flamineo, “I am
whores?” reinforces the gen-
ten political world that she
at the mark, sir, I’ll give aim
eral impression of violent mi-
lives in, which would have
to you, And tell you how
sogyny and sinister lechery
led to uncomfortable com-
near you shoot.” Introducing
conveyed by this speech.
parisons with the English
such military imagery also
The irony that a cardinal
court at the time. In a way
reminds the audience of
should be so well instructed
which would have delighted
the fact that this trial will be
of these practices is rein-
the mostly Protestant crowd,
decided by power not jus-
forced as Monticelso had
she offers insightful criti-
tice. Our understanding of
just charged Vittoria with
cisms of the power Monticel-
events is complicated by
“your trade instructs your
so wields in the courtroom,
knowledge that Vittoria is
language” and this would not
“my honourable lord it doth
playing the role of the inno-
have been lost on the audi-
not suit a reverend cardinal
cent to some degree when
ence. Monticelso loses
to play a lawyer thus,” draw-
considering the implications
much of his dignity here.
ing attention to both the ille-
of the dream she has re-
This is commented on by the
gitimacy of the trial and the
counted to Brachiano, but
English ambassador, an im-
dangerous conflation of
the audience’s sympathies
partial witness, who is clear-
church and state in Rome.
are firmly with her at this
ly meant to help direct the
Further drawing attention to
point and this filters how
sentiments the audience.
Monticelso’s power as a car-
they see the rest of the trial.
The effect is to create a di-
dinal, she comments “O poor
chotomy between the witty
Charity! Thou art seldom
Her next intelligent move is
figure of the Vittoria and the
found in scarlet,” this con-
to goad Monticelso into a
enraged
and
vindictive
trasts his political power with
highly
damaging
tirade
churchman, furthering the
what the church was origi-
about whores which seems
crowd’s support for her. By
nally intended to be: a hum-
to suggest an unhealthy
winning the support of the
ble and charitable religion.
fascination
and
crowd Vittoria’s wit becomes
Contextually, this might have
knowledge
of
effective in creating pathos
resonated with an audience
prostitution:
when she is eventually con-
as the Stuarts were great
“Shall I expound
demned, and support for her
believers in ecclesiasticism
whore to you?
plight as a woman as she is
while more radical forms of
Sure I shall:
manipulated by sinister mas-
Protestantism such as Puri-
I’ll
give
culine forces beyond her
tanism disliked this idea of
their per-
control. Vittoria’s words also
hierarchy within the church.
fect char-
have a deeper significance
acter.” The
in helping to make the audi-
17
Also, by emphasising the
Her sexuality gets her no-
scarlet robes of a cardinal,
where in the end but in this
Vittoria further inverts the
scene she dominates, win-
traditional view of the
ning the respect and support
churchman by portraying
of the play’s audience and
him as some devilish crea-
shining light on the true na-
ture, which seems to fit with
ture of Monticelso and his
CLOSE ANALYSIS
what we have seen of Monti-
court. The fact that she is
celso’s angry and grasping
unfairly silenced through her
nature during the trial. Final-
incarceration in house of
ly, Vittoria makes a mockery
convertites only reinforces
of an appallingly egoistic
the power of her words.
court thinly veiled behind a
veneer of civilised Christiani-
ty, “Let me appeal then from
this Christian court to the un-
civil Tartar.” The “uncivil tar-
tar” is likely the near contem-
porary Russian ruler Ivan
the Terrible, and Vittoria at-
tempts to show that for all
their talk of civilisation in
Rome, the way they behave
is no different from the court
of the most notoriously brut-
ish ruler in the known world.
Monticelso’s true role as a
spokesman of the corrupt
church shielding the corrupt
court through a guise of reli-
gious legitimacy is laid bare
by Vittoria’s wit, again re-
minding the audience of un-
comfortable truths closer to
home. It must be concluded
therefore that verbal wit is
Vittoria’s strongest weapon.
18
In-depth poetry analysis of Ted Hughes’ “The Jaguar” by Henry Worrall 7KEH.
19
THE FELLOWSHIP Of the RING
lacking height, he craves adventure and is
built for exploration. However, he was quite
mischievous when he was young: Frodo
says that he was caught “several times tres-
passing after mushrooms", referring to
when he used to steal mushrooms from a
farmer.
T HE FIRST PART OF THE L ORD OF THE R INGS
TRILOGY and sequel to The Hobbit, this
An interesting setting is the Old Forest, a
will capture any who lay eyes on it. From
shadowy, shifty place where the trees seem
the mystifying Gandalf to the fear-
like animals, or even people. It is said that
striking Black Riders, this precarious
"the branches swayed and groped without
journey across Middle-earth is scattered
any wind", which shows that they could
with unseen twists and turns. When Fro-
move and sets an eerie atmosphere, and
do Baggins – a young orphaned hobbit –
use an "unintelligible language", implying
is entrusted with a dark ring, he must
human qualities. Also, the phrase "an occa-
travel to the perilous Cracks of Doom
sional drip of moisture", suggests how thick
and destroy the final piece in the Dark
the canopy is, and in addition makes it
Lord’s domination.
seem as though the trees are blocking eve-
rything out and isolating whatever is be-
As mentioned, Frodo inherits a ring, not any
neath. It is a truly creepy place with a truly
ring, but the Ruling Ring of Power. It pos-
creepy description.
sesses great power, which seems good at
first but will lead to darkness. Therefore, he
This book is a must-read for fans of ad-
must rid of it in the only way possible - at
venture and absolutely compulsory for
the Cracks of Doom. This means leaving
those who have inevitably enjoyed The
the Shire, his peaceful, safe home, and risk-
Hobbit. However, due to the slightly diffi-
ing everything. Yet he is not alone. Against
cult language, it is more suitable for 11
his intentions, his friends insist on being
year olds or above. Overall, this is an ex-
with him every step of the way.
traordinary tale of adventure for slightly
older readers.
Our protagonist is the daring hobbit, Frodo
Baggins, the nephew to Bilbo Baggins from
The Hobbit. Though – like other hobbits –
-Emmanuel Dunstan, Year 7
20
REVIEWS
MACBETH The 2015 Screen Adaptation THE TRADGEDY OF
O RANGE CLOUDS , BLOOD AND FLAMES FILL THE
SHOTS . The furious
SCREEN
IN
THE
OPENING
sounds and bloody images of war propel the
film forwards. Justin Kurzel’s graphic portrayal of the 12 th c clash
between Scottish thanes is interspersed with ac-
tion in slow-motion, which suggests a sense of
the supernatural from the start. The initial force of
these opening scenes is immediately juxtaposed
with widescreen aerial shots of desolate land-
scapes and isolated castles that establish the
mood of the film. Shakespeare’s tragedy traces
the ambitious warrior-nobleman’s fall. Goaded on
to regicide by his ruthless wife, the usurper Mac-
beth is embroiled in a series of murders to secure
his rule. Michael Fassbender (Macbeth) and Mari-
on Cotillard (Lady Macbeth) exude ambition and
their monotone dialogue adds to the film’s bleak
outlook.
Familiar passages from the play are reconsid-
ered. Kurzel includes a scene at the beginning of
the film in which the Macbeths bury a young son.
This helps explain the absence of the child Lady
Macbeth makes mention of later in the play and
heightens Macbeth’s lack of a living heir. Lady
Macduff’s death, portrayed on-screen as a public
execution, also helps explain the growing pub-
lic fear of Macbeth’s tyranny.
These fascinating additions, the ambitious
cinematography
and
Cottillard
and
Fassbender’s powerful portrayals of the
Macbeths all contribute to the film’s
success.
-Kaif Pathan, Year 11
21
The Donmar Warehouse's production of Coriola- nus provided an opportunity to visualise the events of Shakespeare's play in a way that is diffi- cult to achieve when relying solely upon the text itself. Their interpretation offered new insights into the play's characters, the pathos-filled surrender of Coriolanus, performed by Tom Hiddleston, highlighted the com- plexity of Caius Martius' personality. In this scene the Donmar depicted the proud, reckless soldier casting away his sword in a final realisation of his situation, an editorial choice that conveys the many facets of Corio- lanus’ behaviour that might otherwise be lost. The performance was minimalist in its approach; there were no grand sets or costumes. Instead, the modern clothing, tempered by the occasional leather breast- plate, brought the political themes of the play into a contemporary setting. The graffiti, 'annus plebis’ that was background to the drama, invited the audience to consider the continuing relevance of the play's political discussion and on the consequences of Rome's 'year of the people'. The cast performed superbly. Mark Gatiss, as Menenius, successfully conveyed a jocular, yet politically acute character and Deborah Findley brought great strength and conviction to her perfor- mance of Volumnia, the strong-willed or, perhaps more accurately, aggressive mother of Coriolanus. Despite the abridged script which, unfortunately, ne- glected some areas of development within the play, Josie Rourke's choices as director complemented this reduced text well. In particular, the decision to have Joe Willis, Young Martius, perform around the edges of the stage illustrated the strong parallels, or rather inter- connection of the identities of Coriolanus and his son; a representation, perhaps, of Coriolanus' inability to mature into a practical politician, as the child’s pres- ence emphasises the childlike qualities of Coriolanus' character and lends a greater impact to Aufidius' final taunt of 'boy'. The workshop with the Donmar was a particularly valu- able opportunity to consider our interpretations and, after an introductory exercise which involved more than a tad of running about, the discussion was very fruitful. The workshop focused predominately on our interpre- tations of Coriolanus' character, including an exercise in which certain guinea pigs had to adopt poses indica- tive of our understanding of Coriolanus, resulting in an intriguing array of arrogant, proud statues. We also Coriolanus A Donmar Production
discussed particular sections of the play we found
interesting, as well as the production's use of space in performance and their own specific interpretations. The performance was well executed and successfully adapted. The on-screen production offered great sup- port and, along with the insights from the workshop discussion, gave us a firm basis for our reading and study of the play. I would argue, as a school trip, which required the punishing journey of 500 metres, it was very constructive and highly enjoyable.
- Edwin Jarratt Barnham, Year 12
False to my nature? Rather say I play The man I am.
Image courtesy of National Theatre Live, Usage under P-09 of the 1988 Copyright Designs and Patents Act 22
Curious The Incident of the DOG IN THE NIGHT-TIME
I think prime numbers are like life . They are very logical but you could never work out the rules , even if you spent all your time thinking about them...
Perfect for preteen mystery fans, this compelling
book will tug on your heartstrings, with every page
beckoning to be turned.
Mark Haddon’s honest portrayal of an innocent 15 year
old boy with Asperger’s is packed with a plethora of
gripping twists and turns. Although the dog murder
opens the book, the event soon takes a back seat as
Christopher uncovers a new and life changing truth.
Christopher John Francis Boone is the narrator and
detective in this spell-binding novel. Due to his condi-
tion, everything is expressed through an unusual narra-
torial voice: the chapters are numbered only with prime
numbers. As his mother is dead, he lives in Swindon
with his father. In his unique, upside down world, noth-
ing goes unnoticed yet very little is understood. The
inexplicable murder of a neighbour’s dog prompts
Christopher to search vigorously for the killer, but what
he discovers instead leads to an adventure which
brings everything he knows crashing down.
Outstandingly written, The Curious Incident pro-
vides a heart-warming insight into life through the
eyes of a boy with autism. The 2003 winner of the
Whitbread Book of the year is strongly recom-
mended for 11-14 year olds who desire a new and
intriguing take on mystery. With the use of neither
complex vocabulary, Mark Haddon has still
managed to create a sensationally engaging novel.
This coveted book has won the Guardian Chil-
dren’s Fiction Prize as well as the South Bank
Show Book Award, and will definitely win
your hearts.
-Jack Yu, Year 7
23
HAMLET Murder, madness and moral ambiguity; 10th Sep- tember 2015 had it all, as Year 11 students and their English teachers travelled up to the Barbican for the National Theatre’s production of Hamlet . (Thankfully no “truant dispositions” were in evidence). Cutting a more lithesome figure than Richard Burbage, for whom the role was reportedly written, the no less heavyweight Benedict Cumberbatch is the latest in a line of actors stretching back over 400 years to take on the part of the great Dane. As Shakespeare’s most performed play, Hamlet is often seen as the ultimate challenge for any actor and this, coupled with per- forming in front of an audience who included in their number 47 keen-brained Tiffinians, would have daunt- ed all but the hardiest of souls. The writer is glad to report that (pace T. S. Eliot) the play was an unmitigated success and students and teachers alike were left with the impression that they had been party to something special. One student, who wishes to remain anonymous, summed up the ex- perience adroitly when he remarked, “It comes alive when you see it performed and I appreciate the language much more now I’ve heard it like that.” In many ways the theatrical aspect of a GCSE set text can be lost when it becomes a means to an end of a ‘good grade’ in the exam. And whilst I would not decry such an end, it is a privilege to be able to go beyond the classroom both literally and figuratively when exploring a work of art. For this I thank the generosity of the ‘theatrical gods’ who secured 51 tickets at a performance which was sold out months in advance and the parents who shelled out for the tickets and who continue to sup- port us in our endeavours. Much more could be said but for now, “..the rest is silence.” T HE Y EAR 11 T RIP T O
“This above all: to thine own self be true, And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.”
24
An Interview With Mr Skerten
sunshine and then they’re dead very quick- ly. So they don’t have to deal with Her Maj- esty’s Revenue and Customs like I do and they don’t have to have an opinion on the EU. Skerten: It is true but there is something special about the spider mite. Who knows what it is thinking? There is no one policing its thinking and also when they get squashed by children’s thumbs they look like little dots of blood and that’s quite fun. I’d like to look like a little dot of blood one day, when I die. TLM: If you could go back in time and meet your younger self, what would you tell him? Skerten: I would go back in time to meet my younger self quite recently, because I’ve got nothing useful to say to my younger self from ten years ago: they have to learn that on their own. But I would quite like to help myself out about a week ago when I spilled some milk on the floor and some of it went under the oven which is quite a difficult place to reach so it was quite frustrating. So I would say, ‘Don’t leave the milk there, just put it over there instead, or leave it in the fridge’. TLM: Would you rather live forever, teaching at this school or die right now? Skerten: Oh, I would prefer to die right now because my current retirement age is 68 and if that happens… well it couldn’t hap- pen because I will make sure it doesn’t. I would rather be very impoverished and very poor, possibly very ill, than teach up to the age of 68. TLM: The same is true of many animals.
TLM: What is your favourite book?
Skerten: My favourite book is probably… hmmm that’s a difficult question. TLM: But a key question, after all a person’s favourite book reveals a lot about a person.
Skerten: Well it’s very difficult.
TLM: What if we said your favourite author instead? Is there an author whose work you are particularly keen on? Skerten: Probably Pam Ayres, and my fa- vourite book by Pam Ayres is actually the second edition of poetry she released, which is called Some More of Me Poetry . I think she first found fame on a TV show called Opportunity Knocks in the 1970s. TLM: Okay, now we are going to jump straight into a political question. What is your stance on leaving the EU? Skerten: I think it is a very robust stance, but I would probably adopt a stance once I have read up about it. So at the moment I would regard my level of knowledge as be- ing what’s best described as ignorant. I think the most reasonable thing here would be to adopt the opposite stance to whatever The Daily Mail proposes. TLM: I f you could be an animal, which would you be and why? Skerten: (laughs) I think I would like to be a spider mite. One of those red spider mites. Because they come out in the sunshine and just live on brick walls and get squashed.
TLM: That appeals to you?
Skerten: Yeah, they have a nice time in the
25
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