The Internet Phenomenon: how to survive through the internet? Is it a substitute for the traditional CD?

The music industry and the internet have always had a slightly awkward relationship, but, given their history, things are looking up and the expensive counselling sessions seem to be working.

And by counselling sessions, I mean some of the sums of money spent by music labels in adapting to the internet phenomenon. We only need to back track about five-or-so years when the term “downloading music from the internet” implied that you were sitting in your bedroom, shutters clandestinely lowered, illegally downloading your favourite tracks for zilch, while watching over your shoulders hoping that rogue police forces – under the command of Lars Ulrich – would not burst in through your upstairs window and take you away. Thanks to the internet, access to music had become quick, easy and, initially, free, consequently costing the music industry millions. Essentially, the internet and the music industry went together about as well as Tiger Woods and monogamy.

Well aware that the internet was here to stay, the music industry raised its fist and proclaimed “No more!”

But the question as to how the music industry has adapted to the internet is an interesting one, and where does this leave the traditional CD? Previously the concept was simple: music consumers would either go out to the shop and buy the CD, or they would simply break the law by sitting in front their computer, downloading pirate copies. A few clicks and hey, presto!; although not exactly ethical, the illegal method was certainly the simpler. Something needed to be done.

And something was. And by none other than the technology world’s own messiah, Steve Jobs. Opened in 2003, and 10 billion downloaded songs and an ever-increasing revenue later, the iTunes Store has revamped the way music is consumed: easy, accessible and, most importantly, legal. In fact, iTunes is now the US’s primary music retailer, clearly emphasising the sharp decline in CD sales, and their inevitable death.

A trend was developing here, a sort of online revolution. Music was all over the internet now – from streaming music videos off YouTube to disillusioned the 15-year-old self-professed musical pioneer checking the number of views on his MySpace. But what of the music industry and its assets? Of course, it made revenue off iTunes but, even today, many believe that, like a conservative backwater, it still relies on its traditional values and is afraid to step into the 21st century and embrace the web phenomenon.

Subscribers to this notion are the people behind Spotify, the leader of new innovative online music programmes – the conception of Swedish web entrepreneurs, Daniel Ek and Martin Lorentzon. In a nutshell, Spotify allows users to access a ridiculously large music catalogue for a subscription of £10 per month, or – wait for it – offers users a free access with the occasional pestering 30-second advert between every few songs. Now, streaming music is not only easier than downloading it, but free and legal, too. Unsurprisingly, the music industry is reacting like Popeye Doyle in the French Connection, trying to enforce strict restrictions as to what music should be made available in the catalogue. Writing in a blog post, Spotify’s global community manager, Andres Sehr, wrote “These revelations are a legacy from when most music was sold on tapes and CDs and they have continued over into streaming music,” adding “our hope is that one day restrictions like this will disappear for good”.

So, what’s the music industry’s answer? Although revenue is still coming in through legal downloads, the slump in CD sales has made the music industry revert to drastic measures in order to offer consumers something more than just the music. Perhaps the most drastic example coming from Lady GaGa – you know, the one who makes parents ask themselves whether, by today’s standards, a adaptation of Lady Chatterley’s Lover is airing on Cartoon Network at the moment – and her endorsers, Universal Music. She’s offering fans that purchase her “GaGa Super-Deluxe Fame Monster Bundle” a lock of her hair – or DNA for potential cloning if you’re into that kind of thing. I hope I’m not the only one who sees such policy failing.

But music buyers do deserve something more than just the music if the CD is going to surprise. Sure, there’s the fancy artwork, but at the moment, since CDs are in digital format, they’re no different to music downloaded from the net. You buy the CD, upload onto your computer, and then use it as a coaster. And here we have it, the reason behind the rapid slump on CD sales, which has seen superstores such as HMV have to re-think its marketing policy to focus principally on live music, while Zavvi was declared bankrupt and extinguished off the high street. All in all, somewhere there’s a tombstone that reads: “The Compact Disk – 1982-2010 – When 120mm in diameter was considered compact for storing digital data”.

Whatever vain hope the CD had in surviving was pretty much extinguished at the music business conference MIDEM in Cannes earlier this year, where the pioneer of the MP3, Norwegian developer Dagfinn Bach, unveiled the new MuiscDNA file type. The file type will not only include the song itself, but also lyrics, artwork, videos, blog posts and God knows what else, and would automatically be updated when users connect online. This new and innovative project has surely killed off the CD, unless it finds a way to expand its capacity by a good 30GB. However, it is not all bad; the good news is that MusicDNA may finally put a halt to illegal downloading as users are finally being offered something new and different between iTunes and peer-to-peer downloading – the real killer of the music industry. So, although music industry’s profits might be tipping with the decline of the CD, digital and online technology may, in the end, turn out by its saviour.

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Feature on the World Press Photo exhibition

A uniformed officer steps into an abandoned house with his pistol aimed high, expressing an air of caution, as if expecting to be caught in a shower of bullets. The house is dirty. It looks as if the last persons to inhabit it left long ago; chairs are broken and rubbish is scattered across the floor. We are all familiar with such an image; it resembles a typical war scenario and a soldier fighting an invisible enemy that hides in abandoned buildings. The victims of this shot are invisible, only they are not ones to fight back. In fact, the house once belonged to them but they were forced to leave. Not because their country became torn apart by war. This house isn’t in Afghanistan or Iraq, but in Cleveland, Ohio and the only crime committed by the victims was that they simply could not afford to pay the bills on their mortgage.

The photograph, taken by press journalist Anthony Suau, was singled out by a panel of 15; all photography experts from worldwide publications such as The New York Times and Stern, to press agencies such as Reuters and Associated Press; as the best photo of 2008. The organization behind the award is World Press Photo, which is once again sending their annual exhibition of the best photographs submitted on a worldwide tour, covering over 100 cities in 45 countries. And, like the beginning of every Christmas season, it has arrived in London’s Southbank centre.

There is, however, an air of irony surrounding this year’s exhibition, as 2009 has pretty much been a rotten year for photojournalism. Today, as newspapers and magazines continuously cluster around, trying to find where the next bit of profit may come from, sharp cut backs on the picture budgets have been happening all across the board. Living in a world where almost everyone is in possession of a camera phone has transformed any Average Joe into a potential photojournalist. And with grievous consequence: this year, two high-profile photo agencies, Gamma in France and Grazia Neri in Italy, declared bankruptcy, with the latter being forced to shut down. Of course, these are only two high-profile examples. The great hope maintained by smaller agencies seems all but set to be squashed under the giant profit-driven sledgehammer.

But surely the World Press Photo exhibition tells us that photojournalism isn’t on the brink of having the power switch on its life-support machine apathetically flicked. Surely Suau’s and the hundreds of other amazing shots tell us that there is still a demand for quality photojournalism, and we haven’t relegated the trait to using Photoshop to touch up photos taken on camera phone… right?

Right! Well, at least according to chairwoman to the panel and consulting photography editor MaryAnne Golon. Opposed to dying a lonely and forgettable death, photojournalism is “experiencing a period of extraordinary growth,” she said. “New imagery has never been so immediate, so vital, so readily available and omnipresent.”

So, what is it then that makes Suau’s picture stand out? Golon describes the winning photograph as a perfect example “of the complexity that a professional can infuse into a single image.” It presents a new kind of war, a war of economics. Taken in the early month of 2008, the photograph is remarkably prophetic, foreseeing the new era of financial terror and turmoil that has dominated news pages for the last year and half.

This is the beauty of profound press photography; often a single picture speaks far louder than an article can, especially when it concerns a distant country we know little of. Browsing the exhibition, it is the pictures taken in South American villas, the earthquake hit Chinese province of Sichuan, and Georgian wasteland that make eyes to widen and jaws to drop. It isn’t until you see a mother’s corpse lying in the middle of the road in El Salvador as a van full of staring children, her child’s classmates, drives by, that you can truly understand the horror of what is for the locals an almost everyday scene. Same, of course, can be said of the expressions of fear and anger captured on people’s faces during the Kenyan civil war; armed with nothing more than a weapon as primitive as bows and arrows and wooden planks.

The winners of the World Press Photo awards were handpicked out of almost 100,000 submitted entries from more than 5000 photographers: a new record set since the organization’s founding in 1955. “How can anyone believe that photojournalism is dying? The truth is that photojournalism is experiencing a period of extraordinary growth in new markets and cultures, and in new forms of media,” said Golon. How these new media, mobiles, for example, which we use to surf for news will change the outlook of photojournalism remains to be seen. Perhaps with most of the UK’s population already showing signs of dependency towards their smart phones, there may be a greater demand for quality press photos. So far, I have not seen use them for reading news in the same manner as on would a newspaper. Might pictures, therefore, become more important?

Maybe. What we do know is that press agencies will soon be grasping at techniques to incorporate these new forms of media, hoping to avoid the ill fate suffered by Gamma and Grazia Neri. The rotten year is behind us and, with medias ever expanding, hopefully someone has the goodwill to integrate photojournalism somewhere in there. This time next year, out of the thousands of photographers who submitted their entries, how many will remain employed? How many of them are already freelance photographers? However the climate looks in the near future – crisis or no crisis – World Press Photo will still continue to showcase the world through the eye of an artist and his lens. Right, and no camera phones.

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Comparative analysis of Sunday newspaper news coverage and a BBC Radio News programme

The edition of The World This Weekend broadcast on Sunday 2nd November only looks at one specific piece of national news, mentioning a few other stories from around the world. In fact, no more than four news stories were covered in this half-hour program – and approximately 25 of those minutes focused on the U.S. election.
The Independent on Sunday, printed the very same day, takes a closer look at the day’s relevant stories as well as the talking points over the last week, and covers a broad list of topics, both national and foreign. It also offers plenty of opinion (not only in the opinion section) on many of the world’s major news stories – and on the Brand/Ross scandal.

Similarities in the “Lead” Story

Each medium’s main headline outlines the U.S. election, but looking at it from different angles.  The World This Weekend goes with the possibility of Barack Obama’s five-point lead over John McCain narrowing and why this might happen. The Independent on Sunday goes with the headline: “Obama’s green jobs revolution”, emphasising the Democrats’ policy on renewable energy if Obama were to win the election. This is typical of The Independent, whose editors will often give front-page coverage to stories concerning the environment.

Both media go on to look at what factors may cost Obama the election and why he isn’t further ahead in the polls. Rupert Cornwell writing for The Independent believes that the reason isn’t Obama’s youth or race, nor is it McCain’s image as an American hero, commanding public respect. The one factor holding Obama back is “that even after 21 months of non-stop exposure, there is still little by which to judge”.

In The World This Weekend, presenter Shaun Levy interviews political analyst Fritz Wendel, who states that the deciding factors will be the independent votes, in particular those of independent women, and the fact that John McCain’s base support is now behind him. However, both Cornwell and Wendel agree that the idea of white voters saying they will vote for Obama but once in the privacy of the ballot box voting for McCain because of race – the so called ‘Bradley effect’ – has been over-hyped, and that America is “getting beyond racism – at least in this election.”

Differences in the “Lead” Story

This is where the parallels in coverage end. The related article in The Independent on Sunday is a large segment about the popularity of Barack Obama and his speech in front of 13,000 people on Halloween night. This fairly tedious article makes the reader realise that at this late stage in the election, everything there is to say about the candidates has already been said and repeated numerous times by every press source around the world.

The World This Weekend sees this very differently. In his many interviews with a range of people, Shaun Levy fails to extract any interesting or new information. Over the 25 minutes there are reports of the enormous queues outside the voting centres, the importance of winning Indiana for the Republicans and how one senator may have damaged those chances, and Obama’s vital role in society, especially in the eyes of African-Americans.

Handling of Foreign News

The other major news story across the two media is the crisis in the D.R. of Congo and diplomatic efforts by the EU. to begin peace talks. The Independent on Sunday and The World This Weekend offer an identical take on the crisis and on the deal to hold peace talks between Congolese president Joseph Kabila and Rwandan president Paul Kegame – who is said to be behind the leader of rebel group, Laurent Nkunda —responsible for the displacement of 220,000 thousand civilians to the capital of North Kivu, Goma.

Each medium puts a lot of emphasis on this story. The World This Weekend runs with the crisis – complete with correspondent reporting from Goma. However, it opens the story with the visit to Goma of the British Foreign Secretary, David Milliband, and his French counterpart Bernard Kouchner. One asks oneself if The World This Weekend would be running this story if there were no action from the EU countries in conjunction with the UN. Importance is placed on news that affects or relates to the readers or listeners – if Milliband hadn’t visited the crisis-stricken region, news on the genocides might well not have made the programme.

The Independent on Sunday takes a more in-depth view of the Congolese crisis in its ‘World News’ section. Reporter Steve Bloomfield first describes the terrible sense of fear Congo’s inhabitants have lived with for the past 15 years before attempting to explain the origin of the violence – an issue so complex it requires a number of reads to even begin to understand.

The other two news pieces on The World This Weekend are Prime Minister Brown’s visit to Qatar and the protests from republican splinter groups in Belfast during the homecoming parade for the Irish regiment returning from Afghanistan. Curiously, neither of these stories is featured in The Independent on Sunday.

Coverage of UK-Based News

The protest is the only piece of UK-based news on the radio programme. Open the Sunday newspaper and one realises how many national news stories The World This Weekend sacrificed for its 25-minute segment on the American people’s thoughts on the US election.
The most surprising piece of news missing is the predicament of the BBC – otherwise known as ‘Sachs-gate’ – which dominated this week’s front pages.

Overall Impression

Overall, The Independent on Sunday is much better at looking at the week’s developments. The printed press, in this case, is much more informative; covering a wide range of news stories, comment and opinion, and finding space for humourous slots. The radio broadcast is easy to criticise for its superficial insight on the news and overly long focus on the US. election. However, the U.S. election was, indeed, “The World This Weekend”.

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Farrigdon’s problems with drinking

We’ve seen it all before. One young lady exposing herself to the camera while her friend vomits in the middle of the road. Around the corner, a man collapses into his puddle of urine as his friends start “avin it off” with a squad of police officers. About a year ago, the news continuously force-fed us such pictures, telling us to at least act sober next time we’re out.

However, over the last year we have heard relatively little about the problems of binge drinking. Councillor for Clerkenwell George Allan nevertheless believes that it is still very much a problem.

In fact, he believes that the situation has become out of hand, particularly around his constituency in Islington. “I think the epicentre of [binge drinking] is in Cowcross Road and St. John’s Street,” said the Liberal Democrat Councillor who sees the situation as a conflict. “The south of the borough… is the most concentrated area of night life we have. There are also a number of very serious conflicts for the role of the area in terms of its residential rediscovery.” Essentially, it’s not necessarily the drinking itself that is the problem. It’s binge drinking in such close proximity to where people live that has caused an avalanche of complaints. Complaints which Allan is giving a voice.

So, why is so much of London’s binge drinking concentrated around this area of Islington? Fergus Gallagher, manager of The Castle pub, just next to Farringdon tube station, says that the principle reason is the area’s club scene. He also says that there is little the pubs can do about it: “We get drunk and rowdy people coming in all the time, trying to sneak in their cans before they head off to places like Fabric. By running a vigilant policy, we do what we can but club-life will always bring drunkenness with it.”

Three other pubs all told me the same thing; that they run a strict policy and would never serve anyone who has had one drink too many, etc etc. Besides, which pub around Farringdon has such low prices making binge drinking so seemingly affordable? When I asked this, all fingers pointed towards one place: Wetherspoons, on St. John’s street.

When I told Danielle, the women working behind the Wetherspoons counter who refused to give me her full name, that I was writing an article about drinking in Farringdon, the first thing she did to talk about their 99p pint. I thought I’d try again. After telling her what I was specifically enquiring about, Danielle stuttered: “We’re swarmed with students Friday and Saturday nights but we never have any problems with drunken behaviour.” As I left, I watched as drunk a middle aged belligerently tried, and failed, to seduce a young lady sitting by the door.

Because no pub will admit any responsibility to the area’s problem of binge drinking, many people believe that it’s Britain’s culture that is to blame. However, Cllr George Allan says that there is ample evidence that premises do serve people who are clearly drunk and that his initiative is a “battle against licensees as opposed to culture”.

Last November, in a meeting organized by the Islington council, George Allan read the ‘riot act’ to up to one hundred pub and club, ordering them to control their costumers. In the months since, however, Allan believes that not enough has been done. “Some of these licensees are under a lot of pressure from their brewers to push the beer out at the costumers,” he said.

It’s difficult hold the pubs and clubs to account since, after all, it is their business to sell alcohol. But with residents south of borough calling for a crackdown on rowdy drunks, some common ground must be found between them and the licenses.

On Thursday, Islington Council began considering making Clerkenwell a ‘controlled drinking zone’, meaning that the police would be able to confiscate alcohol and fine troublesome drinkers. Will this, however, change anything? Councillor has stated that it’s a conflict against the bar and pubs as opposed to the drunks, so adding police squads into the equation to patrol the drunks is surely not the answer. “The problem is never going to be solved jus by police resources,” said Allan. It seems there’s plenty of work left to be done.

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War Reporting for Cowards by Chris Ayres – A Review

War Reporting for Cowards is a memoir-based novel describing Chris Ayres’s sacrifice of glitz and glamour Hollywood journalism, instead becoming a war correspondent in Iraq . Ayres, a Woody Allen-like, self-loathing “war virgin”, agrees – against his better judgement – to accompany a sector of U.S. Marines in the opening days of America’s intervention against Saddam Hussein, fully equipped with canary yellow tent with a fluorescent red cross on the top for “camouflage.”

The book opens with Ayres having to dig a foxhole, the Iraqi desert concept of a toilet only with a good chance of landing on a landmine or scorpion nest, before the marines he is shadowing find themselves surrounded by enemy troops. The mood then quickly changes as Ayres takes us back to his early days as a journalist, studying the trait at City University and his first stint of work experience as a “ghost reporter in Rupert Murdoch’s machine”: The Times.

Four years later and Ayres is an established journalist working in the New York bureau of The Times. His quest to becoming an “accidental war correspondent” begins here as he first finds himself standing face to face with “biggest American news story since 7 December 1949”: the September 11th attacks. A month later Ayres has to report on the anthrax scare in the Rockefeller Centre, the building where his very office is situated. Believing that life will never turn back to normal as long as he lives in New York, Ayres decides to begin afresh in Los Angeles; fantasising about celebrity parties and “days lounging by the Beverly Hilton swimming pool”.

But as tensions between the U.S. and Iraq heat up, people stop reading celebrity columns and Times editor Martin Fletcher asks a half-asleep Ayres if he wants to “go to war.” Afraid that saying “no” will damage future career prospects, Ayres enthusiastically blurts out: “Yes! Love to!”

Only the final third of the novel properly focuses on Ayres’s experience in Kuwait and Iraq. Before joining the marine division, Ayres’s anxiousness stands out in the Kuwaiti training camp more than any part in the book making it the funniest chapter. But the tone changes drastically as he sets out into the desert and you begin to pity Ayres, waiting for him to burst into tears in front of a group of machine-gun-packing American soldiers.

War Reporting for Cowards, at many points, is a hilarious read and surely the foundation of an aspiring genre. Ayres keeps the reader pinned to the book by constantly throwing in humourous narratives along the already numerous ridiculous situations he finds himself in.

So why should you pick up War Reporting for Cowards? Firstly, it is a fascinating read, looking at how a man who sees war reporting as an “endless, heart-pounding sequence from Apocalypse Now – but with no ‘stop’ button to end the action” can end up landing in Iraq. And secondly, the novel offers a well-detailed and hilarious first hand insight into the two events that have shaped the times we live in today.

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Absurdities and the Mental Effects of the Cold War as depicted by Stanley Kubrick in Dr. Strangelove and Full Metal Jacket

The Cold War (1945-1989) was a war waged predominantly through fear and manipulation of the mind. Although no war was ever directly fought out between American and Soviet forces, numerous proxy wars took place as each superpower tried to defeat the other’s ideology and political system. Although the Cold War often heated up as well as cooled down, the world’s population had to live with the idea that both the Americans and the Russians had the power to destroy the entire planet.

Film director Stanley Kubrick understood this psychological distress masterfully. His film Dr Strangelove (or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb), released in 1963, only a month after the assassination of U.S. president J.F. Kennedy, is about what would happen if — through not fault of any of the superpowers’ administrations — the world found itself on the brink of a nuclear war. Dr. Strangelove shows the enormously negative effect of the Cold War on the mind, often taking it back to its most primitive and simple state. Although the crisis Kubrick narrates through Dr. Strangelove draws on the threat of nuclear war and extinction of the human race, he shows how man can be caught up in this resolve, be it through national pride or a primitive hunger for violence and destruction.

Kubrick’s other film concerning events of the Cold War, Full Metal Jacket, released in 1987, has established itself as one of the classic Vietnam films. A film divided into two halves, the first demonstrated the physical, yet more importantly the psychological challenges and distress U.S. Marine Corps boot camps cast upon the “killing machines” in the making, as well as the desperation for release and a way to escape it. The second half focuses on the military conflict in Vietnam from the perspective of Private Joker, a product of the marine boot camp, working as a journalist caught up in the violence of the Vietnam War.

The mental transitions shown in this film are as strikingly portrayed as in Dr. Strangelove. The G.Is’ conversion from what looks like almost childlike innocence to a marine claiming to bring peace to Vietnam yet possessing a hunger for violence is fascinating and brilliantly brought to the screen.

Let us now look at the events of each of the films in turn. First Doctor Strangelove (or how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb) whose alternative title neatly sums up what Kubrick is trying to suggest, and gives hint of the absurdity this essay is trying to evaluate.

The story of this black and sarcastic comedy opens inside a B-52 bomber, currently at a “failsafe” point, receiving orders to launch a nuclear attack on Russia. Brigadier Jack Ripper orders his series of B-52 bombers over the code encryption service, the CRT 114, to surpass their “failsafe” points –the areas where they wait to receive orders, and to enter Soviet airspace to bomb selected targets. Ripper tells his Group Captain, Lionel Mandrake (the first of Peter Sellers’s three roles), that the Soviets have already launched an attack on America, but when he hears only pop songs on the radio, Mandrake discovers that there’s a personal motive behind Ripper’s order. Ripper tells Mandrake that he believes the communists are planning a conspiracy to “sap and impurify our precious bodily fluids”, hence to contaminate the West’s water which will ultimately lead to impotence.

Ripper uses “Plan R”, an emergency plan authorising personnel other than the President to command a nuclear attack if, under certain circumstances, the President is unable to call out an attack himself.

In the “war room” Air Force General Buck Turgidson informs the U.S. President, Merkin Muffley (the second of Sellers’s roles) of the imminent nuclear air strike. The only possible way to recall the air strike is through a three-letter recall-code, which Ripper is evidently not going to divulge. The President thus sends U.S. army troops to Burpelson Airfields to arrest Brigadier Jack Ripper.

As Ripper has warned his men that the “communist enemy” might take disguise in U.S. army uniforms, the base’s security forces open fire on the U.S. army. Ripper’s men surrender, and after hopelessly attempting to fight off the troops with only one machine gun and Mandrake to hold the belt of bullets, Ripper realises that he will be arrested and interrogated for the recall code. He therefore shoots himself in his bathroom.

Colonel Guano shoots his way into Ripper’s office and arrests Mandrake, believing that he is the commander in charge of a mutineer group of “deviated perverts”. Mandrake believes that he has worked out the Ripper’s recall code: P.O.E, the initials of “Purity of Essence” and “Peace on Earth”. Now it is Mandrake’s duty to contact the President in time.

President Muffley allows the Soviet Ambassador to enter the war room and contacts the Soviet Premier Dmitri Kissoff, explaining the situation and giving details of how to shoot down the bombers. However, the Soviet ambassador De Sadeski tells of a Doomsday machine, a machine automatically triggered, impossible to deactivate and capable of extinguishing all human life. And it is here where Dr. Strangelove comes lurking out of his shadow. The manic wheelchair-bound scientist of German descent hails the characteristics of the Doomsday machine as “credible and convincing”. Dr. Strangelove (formally known as Merkwürdigeliebe) shows a vast understanding of the complex strategies adopted by the superpowers. He also seems to suffer from Alien Hand Syndrome (now also known as Dr. Strangelove Syndrome) and frequently, as though suffering from Tourette’s syndrome, performs half-executed Nazi salutes.

The recall code reaches the War Room and all B-52s not yet shot down abort Ripper’s Mission. However, Soviet Premier Kissoff informs President Muffley that one plane is continuing its flight under the Soviet radar field. This is the very same B-52 bomber with which the film opened. Due to a Soviet missile hitting but failing to down the bomber, the CRT-114, amongst other instruments, is damaged and fails to receive the recall code. Low on fuel, the pilot of the bomber, Major Kong, realises that this is going to become a Kamikaze mission.

As the plane is damaged, Major Kong himself climbs down to where the bomb is hanging and forces the bomb-bay doors to open whilst sitting on the bomb. Hollering down through the air, Major Kong, as if in a rodeo, rides the nuclear bomb into the Soviet research base, triggering the Doomsday device.

With the triggering of the Doomsday device, the Soviet Ambassador explains that within ten months all mankind will be wiped out. Dr Strangelove suggests that a group of people be chosen and relocated to underground mineshafts away from nuclear annihilation to repopulate America in a post-apocalyptic world. The film concludes with the doctor — now beyond any semblance of sanity slowly climbing out of his wheelchair and shouting “Mein Führer, I can walk!”

What is most frightening about this film is that many of the absurdities and the military strategies (except Plan R, are true, which is why Kubrick decided to transform it into a comedy. He believed that the only way to demonstrate the intensity and utter stupidity of the thermonuclear dilemma was through satire and outrageousness. Throughout the film, comical yet frighteningly plausible absurdities illustrate how the escalation of the Cold War could rob people of their capacity for rational thought.

The first such absurdity we come across is “Plan R”, described in the following dialogue.

General Buck Turgidson: “Plan R is an emergency war plan in which a lower echelon commander may order nuclear retaliation after a sneak attack if the normal chain of command is disrupted. (…) The idea was for plan R to be a sort of retaliatory safeguard.”

President Muffley: “A safeguard?”

General Buck Turgidson: “I admit the human element seems to have failed us here. But the idea was to discourage the Russkies from any hope that they could knock out Washington, and yourself, sir, as part of a general sneak attack, and escape retaliation because of lack of proper command and control.”

However, Plan R in fact does exactly what it is trying to avoid. Because Jack Ripper has placed himself above the order of the president to launch the nuclear attack, it raises the question of just who, if anyone, is in charge. Even on the Russian side there seems to utter chaos and turmoil. When speaking to the Russian premier Dmitri Kissof on the phone, President Muffley’s reactions clearly demonstrate that Kissoff is not only under the influence of his country’s favourite alcoholic drink, but also in mid sexual intercourse. Turgidson sees this as proof that Kissoff is nothing but “a desperate atheist commie”, but Soviet ambassador De Sadeski sees Kissoff’s actions otherwise: “Our premier is a man of the people, but he is also a man, if you understand what I mean”.

If on the brink of nuclear war, one would hope for a firm leader in command. However, in showing that this is not the case for either superpower, Kubrick mocks the underlying assumptions of the Cold War and demonstrates their ridiculousness. So who is in charge? Ripper’s view is evident, as he believes he should have every right to launch an attack. Contradicting what Clemenceau once stated about war, Ripper illustrates his belief that “today, war is too important to be left to the politicians. They have neither the time, the training, nor the inclination for strategic thought.”

In a crisis such as this one, if one really wants to dig a little deeper into the question of who is in fact in charge, Kubrick offers the following ironic hint in the scene where Mandrake is desperately scavenging for loose change and orders his escort Colonel Bat Guano to shoot the lock off the Coca-Cola machine. After arguing that the machine is private property, Guano gives in and shoots the lock, but not before warning Mandrake that if he doesn’t get the president on the phone, he’ll have to “answer to the Coca Cola Company”.

Plan R was part of America’s “Deterrence” policy, a real-life policy adopted under the Eisenhower administration. Dr. Strangelove defines deterrence as “the art of producing in the mind of the enemy… the fear to attack.” Many of the policies and events during the Cold War, e.g. the arms race and the Cuban missile crisis, were trying to induce that sense of fear into the enemy’s head. The other example of the deterrence policy in Dr. Strangelove is the Soviet Union’s Doomsday Machine. This machine fills the criteria for what a deterrence policy must essentially consist of: knowledge that any direct attack, be it conventional or nuclear, will guarantee the extinction of mankind.

The role of the Doomsday machine in Dr. Strangelove is vital. The fact that it is triggered automatically upon attack by a machine and is impossible to untrigger is supposed to be seen as the ultimate defence insurer. Dr Strangelove describes the irrevocability of the Doomsday machine as “essential”, as its aim is too induce fear to attack into the adversary’s emotional state. However, the fact that this machine rules out “human meddling” brings us back to the suggestion that there is a “devolution of authority” taking place, the sense of not knowing who exactly is calling the shots: an administration, a lower-ranking general or a machine? On top of this, the Russians hadn’t openly admitted to possessing such a machine, to which the cold voice of Dr. Strangelove once more comments that “the whole point of the doomsday machine is lost if you keep it a secret! Why didn’t you tell the world, eh?”

What Dr. Strangelove most clearly demonstrates is the slow effect that Ripper’s attack on Russia and the inevitable outbreak of nuclear war has on the mind. The three most vital and symbolic characters in this film are General Buck Turgidson, Major Kong and Dr. Strangelove himself since it is they who “learn to stop worrying and love the bomb”.

In Buck Turgidson one sees a man for whom the idea of nuclear war between the superpowers is gradually going to his head, step by step. Turgidson clearly tries to hide his enthusiasm by combining the rational with the irrational a method that doesn’t quite come off and adds to the humourous effect of the film. Turgidson tries to convince President Muffley that the idea of nuclear war isn’t so bad if America is the first to strike which would only lead to “modest and acceptable civilian casualties.” And Turgidson’s definition of acceptable? “No more than ten to twenty million killed, tops. Uh… depending on the breaks.”

Turgidson is the kind of person who allows himself to get carried away on the brink of nuclear destruction, although one could also argue that he is realistically preparing for war, given that an attack has already been ordered by Ripper. Turgidson’s suspicion of the Soviets, in particular the Soviet ambassador De Sadeski when he is allowed into the war room, is evident: “he’ll see everything, he’ll see the big board”. However, his suspicion proves justified as he catches the ambassador secretly trying to take photographs. His suspicion shows its colours numerous times again throughout the film, even at the end, when discussing the fate of those remaining once the war has broken out. Dr. Strangelove’s idea of confining the survivors in mineshafts proves popular, yet Turgidson asks the president to ensure that no “mineshaft gap” develops.

One scene in which Turgidson’s suspicion is particularly interesting is where he begins to “smell a big, fat, commie rat” as Muffley is speaking to Kissoff on the hotline about Kong’s bomber plane. Here, Turgidson attempts to shift his desire for a nuclear outbreak onto the Soviet president, suggesting that Kissoff could be lying and is “ just looking for an excuse to clobber us”.

Undoubtedly, Buck Turgidson’s best moment of the film is when Kong’s B-52 is flying below the radar space and is minutes away from its target. It’s here that Turgidson seems to realise what this nuclear dilemma between the superpowers has turned him into, as his former overwhelming enthusiasm turns into a blank stare of embarrassment and loss of words:

Turgidson: “Well Sir, if the pilot’s good, see I mean, if he’s really he’s really sharp, he can barrel that baby in so low. You ought to see. It’s a sight! A big plane, like a ’52 – its jet exhaust frying chickens in a barn yard!”

President Muffley: “Yeah, but has he got a chance?”

Turgidson: “Has he got chance? Hell, ye….” He holds his hand to his mouth.

Major Kong, acted by Slim Pickens, is a prime example of “how to stop worrying and learn to love the bomb”. However, his character is very different to Turgidson’s, in the sense that Kong’s “love” is interpreted through his actions and is therefore somewhat more subtle than Turgidson’s.

As Plan R is transmitted into his B-52 bomber at the beginning of the film, Kong describes it as one of the “stupidest” things he’s ever heard over the earphones. He demands a confirmation, his hesitation and worry clearly visible. As the confirmation arrives, bringing the crew to believe that Washington has already been bombed and the president killed, Kong takes off his helmet and places on his head his “king of the rodeo” cowboy hat. Pickens’s expression and actions speak the words that the film does without. The viewer knows here that nationalism in nuclear warfare has taken another victim, because for Major Kong there are no more morals, just “nuclear combat, toe to toe with the Russkies.”

The second example of the determination Kong and his fellow pilots possess is when a missile strikes the B-52 bomber. Kong desperately orders his crew to extinguish the fire and restore the instruments as he tries to steer. This can be seen as an absurdity, since the pilots know they are going to be part of the nuclear warfare they believe has already begun. Although no one mentions it, they know that certain death awaits them when nuclear war breaks out, yet their desperation to navigate the plane back towards its targets suggests the enormous willpower within these pilots to drop the bomb on Russia.

Major Kong’s most striking contribution to Dr Strangelove, however, is the memorable scene where the bomb is dropped. With the door for the bombs release jammed, Kong insists on going down to try and fix the situation himself. The image of Kong climbing onto the bomb is one of the films greatest. The “Hi there” and “Dear John” graffiti only take the viewers eyes off the other message printed on the bombs: “Nuclear warhead, handle with care.” However, “care” in this context is defined by the will and enthusiasm to drop the bomb. This subtle joke is Kubrick at his very best.

The bomb is dropped, with Major Kong still sitting on it. Like a cowboy in a rodeo, he hollers out cries of adventure before the bomb reaches its target, resulting in a nuclear breakout. Kong’s cries of joy whilst swinging his cowboy hat clearly demonstrate how he has allowed American nationalism to get the better of him and his moral values. It is hard to resist the idea that the bomb’s phallic shape symbolises just how “attached” Kong has grown to it.

The most important character in the film is of course Dr Strangelove, the third of Peter Sellers’s three roles. Like Kong and Turgidson, Dr Strangelove also seems to share this bizarre obsession with the bomb and the idea of nuclear war. However, Dr. Strangelove sees things from a more strategic and expert point of view, often trying to suppress his animal hunger for nuclear annihilation. When discussing the Doomsday machine, Dr Strangelove does so with what looks like a restrained grin on his face. His crazed appearance and expertise on nuclear strategies suggest he has always had a fondness for “the bomb”. The character of Dr. Strangelove is reputedly based on Wernher von Braun, a Nazi scientist during the war who was brought to America as part of Operation Paperclip, in which numerous former Nazi scientists were co-opted to the US for their expertise.

Although for a title character little is actually seen of him during the film, Dr. Strangelove’s eerie presence is always felt within the War Room. When the recall code is put in, much to the seeming relief of the government officials, the camera cuts away to the German doctor, in his wheel chair, hiding in the shadows and keeping away from the short festivities. Dr. Strangelove’s description of the Doomsday machine is possibly the most frightening scene in the film. The talk of the deterrence policy (“the art of producing in the mind of the enemy… the fear to attack”) along with his strong German accent serve to echo the Nazi era in Germany and the Second World War. These terrifying echoes are the results of obsessions that reveal themselves as the events of the film unfold. However, unlike Turgidson and Kong, Strangelove sees a German empire mobilising for war, a mania that Strangelove is digging up. This makes the mad doctor address President Muffley twice as “Mein Führer” and involuntarily lift his arm in the Nazi salute.

Dr. Strangelove’s idea of confining certain people whose survival would be “worthwhile” to a mineshaft also suggests a Nazi-like scheme. His plan to use a computer to determine who should be allowed to survive and who should be wiped out, depending on youth, strength, sexual fertility and intelligence, means that in 100 years time, when man can emerge from these mineshafts, there will be a form of Übermensch, again exemplifying Dr. Strangelove’s Nazi-esque schemes. However, Dr. Strangelove’s plan is agreed upon by everyone in the war room, suggesting that Nazi-like ideologies as well as other primitive hungers for destruction travel quickly when it comes to nuclear war.

Dr. Strangelove is a symbol for the terror a nuclear outbreak would have caused. Even the idea of a nuclear strike is enough to drive people like Kong and Turgidson into an insanity of nationalism and war-driven hunger. The viewer, for his part, never really believes that these urges could possibly turn into truth and regards them – like Dr. Strangelove – as crippled and confined to a wheelchair. Until the final scene of the film, that is, when Strangelove rises from his chair yelling “Mein Führer I can walk!”

Kubrick’s second film concerning the Cold War is Full Metal Jacket, released in 1987. Full Metal Jacket opens with the cadets getting their heads shaved on their first day in Marine Corps training Parris Island, “an eight week college, for the phoney-tough and the crazy-brave.” Their drill instructor, the terrifying yet hilarious Sergeant Hartman, indoctrinates the young men into a “brotherhood” of killers. As well as Hartman, the two other central characters in this first half of the film are the everyday teenager Private Joker (who narrates the film) and the dumb, overweight Private Pyle. Private Pyle is the failure of the group, unable to complete any of the obstacles and a victim to Sergeant Hartman’s vicious abuse. Private Joker is assigned to aid Pyle and get him through the boot camp and into Vietnam.

Pyle succeeds and is sworn in as a marine. However, during the marines’ final night on the island, Joker — who is on watch that night — discovers Pyle sitting in the toilet room armed with a machine gun. Pyle’s rage and insanity have got the better of him, and he describes himself as being in “a world of shit.” Pyle shoots Hartman, the man who had made his life such a living hell, before taking his own life.

The film then quickly switches to Vietnam, where Private Joker is stationed as a reporter for the army newspaper Stars and Stripes. Early on, we witness Joker’s first duty in combat as the North Vietnamese try to overrun the U.S. army base on the Tet Holiday. Private Joker is then ordered to travel up to Hue along with press photographer “Rafterman”. There the two of them make contact with the “Lusthog Squad”, where Joker meets up with his old friend from Marine Corps boot camp Private Cowboy as well as the intimidating presence of the machine gunman known as Animal Mother.

As the squad is called up for patrol off the Perfume River, they find themselves in a city of ruins, with a sniper shooting at them. With two men down, Animal Mother takes over the command and uses a smoke grenade to hide Lusthog Squad from the sniper’s viewpoint as they advance. Upon discovering the sniper, Private Joker’s gun blocks as he realises the sniper is a young Vietnamese girl. Rafterman arrives in time to shoot the girl and save Joker. With the girl gasping on the floor begging for death, Animal Mother permits a “mercy killing”, which must be carried out by Joker due to his deprival in combat. Joker effectively shoots her before we cut to the scene of the soldiers marching whilst singing the theme tune to the Mickey Mouse Club.

In Full Metal Jacket, Stanley Kubrick displays the mental torment the Vietnam War wreaked on the minds of those who lived through it at first hand. The source of this torment in the first half of the film is Sergeant Hartman and his indoctrination and brainwashing of the G.Is in the making. Hartman’s job is to turn these young men into vicious humans whose job it is to “kill, kill, kill.” His first practice in shaping the mind is when he forces Private Joker to show his “war face” and attempts to create an attachment between the soldiers and their rifles by ordering the soldiers to give them a girls name. The idea of transforming these men into killers is a vital one, since this is what finally drives Pyle to kill Hartman.

Hartman also makes the propaganda very obvious during the recruit training, for example by getting his marines to chant in cadence “Ho Chi Minh is a son of a bitch! Got the blueballs, crabs and the seven year itch.” Propaganda combined with brainwashing in its lowest yet most effective of forms.

There are two instances where Hartman instils the Christian belief system into his Marine Corps, perhaps the cheapest way of trying to distance his men from the communists. Sergeant Hartman and the privates sing Happy Birthday to Jesus on Christmas day, and when Private Joker informs Hartman that he does not believe in the Virgin Mary, Hartman hits him in the face shouting: “You communist heathen, sound off that you love the Virgin Mary or I’m gonna stomp your guts out.”

However, political propaganda is something that is easy to programme into the minds of young soldiers. The will to kill is what Hartman is primarily focusing on, and through his obstacles — forcing his men to sleep with their rifles, giving their rifles a girls name, practising vicious attacks on the soldiers — Hartman manages to achieve his aim, thereby displaying the malleability of the human mind.

Hartman particularly acts out these brutal attacks on Private Pyle, whose life is transformed into a living hell in the Marine Corps depot. Singled out by Hartman, Pyle is subjected to such humiliating actions as marching with his trousers down whilst sucking his thumb and being forced continuously to attempt (and fail) the obstacles in front of the other marines whilst being told that “Your ass looks like 150 pounds of chewed bubblegum.” However, when Hartman manages to get the rest of the Marine Corps to turn on Pyle, the rage and the insanity begin to build up. Upon discovering a jelly doughnut in Pyle’s footlocker, Hartman lets the marines know that “from now on, whenever Private Pyle fucks up, I will not punish him. I will punish all of you!”

The build-up of insanity shows itself properly for the first time when Pyle is shown talking to his rifle, which he calls Charlene. Joker tells Cowboy that he’s worried about Pyle, but his concerns are ignored and rubbished. The second hint at insanity is when Hartman glorifies the Marine Corps by exemplifying the actions of Charles Whitman and Lee Harvey Oswald as skills acquired in the Marines. When describing what “one motivated marine and his rifle can do”, the camera zooms into Pyle’s expression of absorption. He is clearly allowing himself to be brainwashed by Hartman, but is registering the information differently from the other marines.

When Joker discovers Pyle in the bathroom during the final night on Parris Island, Pyle displays the skills he has gained in the boot camp and his obsession with his rifle by shouting “this is my rifle, there are many like it but this one is mine”, words preached earlier in the film by Hartman. Pyle kills Hartman before putting a bullet through his own head. Hartman’s indoctrination has clearly backfired and been misinterpreted by Pyle, who has turned into a killer who loves his rifle but cannot come to terms with the “world of shit” he is entering.

Once the film switches to Vietnam, we see the effects of the war on the emotional state of Joker. These effects can be compared with the psychological distress suffered by Kurtz in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. On his helmet, Joker has “born to kill” scribbled, as well as a peace sign, symbolising that although he finds himself in war-torn country where man’s primal instinct is to survive and kill, there remains a sense of civilisation and morality within him, or as Joker describes it, the “duality of man, the Jungian thing”. When told that there two kinds of story which can be published in the army newspaper Stars and Stripes, “winning over hearts and minds” and “winning the war”, Joker makes sarcastic and witty remarks, clearly indicating his own stance on propaganda and lies.

When travelling up to Hue by chopper, Joker and Rafterman sit next to a G.I. firing at Vietnamese civilians. His motivation? “Anyone who runs is a V.C. (Vietcong), anyone who stands still is a well disciplined V.C.” Rafterman seems to be on the verge of throwing up when watching these actions. And when Joker asks the G.I. , whose name we never find out, how he can kill women and children, his response is one of the coldest moments in the film: “Easy. You just don’t lead ‘em so much.” This scene shows the first real signs of the abandonment of morality within Vietnam. This soldier, like Kurtz has crossed the invisible line where all sense of emotion and integrity ceases to exist.

Upon meeting with the Lusthog Squad, Joker again sees the emotional effects the war has induced upon the squad members, from their petty jokes about the dead North Vietamese soldiers to their behaviour towards the prostitute and their inhuman remarks when being interviewed by the American television team. Remarks such as “Does America belong in Vietnam, I don’t know. I belong in Vietnam” and “The gooks would rather be alive than free”, suggest the thirst for blood possessed by these soldiers, to whom the political notions of the war mean nothing. However Joker’s remark to the television team, “I wanted to meet interesting and sophisticated people of an ancient culture… and kill them”, suggests enormous sense of bitterness and sarcasm, almost a mockery of the other soldiers. The audience still believes that this is still the very same “wiseass” from the Marine Corps depot facility who has not let the events unfolding in front of his eyes affect his emotional state.

The final scene of Full Metal Jacket is the decisive one, where Joker’s mind will give in to the devastating circumstances surrounding him. A sniper hidden away in a city of ruins is shooting at the squad. With two men down, Animal Mother takes charge of the group and — under the cover of a smoke grenade — the group advances towards the building where they believe the sniper is taking cover. The group splits up and it is Joker who comes face to face with the sniper, who turns out to be a local teenage girl. Joker’s gun blocks and whilst trying to shield himself from the girl’s bullets behind a hall, Rafterman shoots the girl, thus saving Joker. The rest of the group crowds around the dying girl. Animal Mother suggests leaving her for “the gook-loving rats” but Joker refuses to allow her to rot there on the spot. The girl with wide-gazing eyes, quietly whispers the words “shoot me” to Joker. After a long hesitation with only the girl’s panting to be heard, Joker shoots her.

Joker’s decision to kill her in this scene shows how he has crossed the moral line into the jungle of mayhem and anarchy, like the rest of the G.I.s based in Vietnam. The humorous, apparently optimistic Joker is no more, as the unfolding events of the Cold War have transformed him into a man of a primitive state of mind, constantly prepared for violence and death. The squadron’s chanting of the Mickey Mouse Club theme at the very end of the film suggests that these men have reverted to childlike states of mind. But, Joker, although he comes to realise what has happened inside him, does not seemed phased by this idea, and openly speaks of how, like Pyle, he now finds himself in a “world of shit” only he is “alive and not afraid.”

With these two films – Dr Strangelove and Full Metal Jacket – Kubrick demonstrates masterfully just what sort of mentally distressing effects the Cold War played out. From the appetite for destruction possessed by highly ranked, yet vulnerable leaders of the superpowers to the young men sent around the world to fight in a war hardly worth fighting. The factors that provoke such a desire tend to be nationalism, peer pressure and an environment walled in by the uncertainty of war.

Dr. Strangelove and Full Metal Jacket vividly illustrate the gradual degeneration of the human sense of morality and emotion. Every main protagonist in these films has done what Kubrick’s subtitle to Dr. Strangelove dictates: “learn to stop worrying and love the bomb.” They have grown acquainted with the reality of war and death and have elevated them into their preferred ideology. Absurd as that may seem, absurdity is what these two films depict, from the U.S. army squads chanting Mickey Mouse songs to President Muffley’s famous line as Turgidson and the Soviet ambassador begin to scuffle: “Gentlemen please, you can’t fight in here. This is the War Room.”

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How far would you agree that King Lear is a bleak tragedy?

The sense of bleakness throughout King Lear is introduced from the very beginning. In the play’s second scene, the conversation between Gloucester and Edmund sets the theme: “These late eclipses in the sun and moon portend no good to us.” The bleakness is “released” with Lear’s decision to free himself from his responsibilities by dividing his kingdom between his daughters. Lear’s abdication contradicts the Elizabethan order of balance and upsets nature. Although the characters do not realise it at the time, this is the source of all bleakness and horror which will set of a chain of events that will continue throughout the play, and culminate in the final devastation, the idea of “naught”.

Betrayal has an impact throughout King Lear. From the betrayal of Lear by his two daughters Goneril and Regan to Edmund’s betrayal of his own father Gloucester and half-brother Edgar. Both examples are due to hunger for power and selfishness; there is no proper motivation except that “wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile.” Despite the traitors joining sides to rule Britain and defeat the French army, the betrayal intensifies, this time between Goneril and Regan whose shared fondness for Edmund and jealousy ultimately lead to the death of both of them. But we must never forget as the play unfolds that the entire sense of betrayal is set through Lear’s betrayal of Cordelia. Lear banishes Cordelia because, unlike her two sisters Goneril and Regan, she refuses to exaggerate her love towards her father. “Nothing will come of nothing”. Lear’s arrogance and egotism is a “tragic flaw” and gets the best of him and lashes out at Cordelia as he orders Regan to “infect her beauty!”

Lear’s decision to divide his kingdom comes to an Elizabethan audience as a shock since it was believed at that time that a king was placed on the throne by Gods divine will. The division of the kingdom is therefore seen as displeasing to the gods, who “kill us for their sport”. This causes the world to turn on its head, to become a world “where madmen lead the blind”. The storm in the middle of the play symbolizes the disturbance in nature.

Adding to the bleakness in King Lear, both literally and metaphorically is the theme of blindness. The plucking out of Gloucester’s eyes, ordered by his own “bastard son” Edmund, is one of the grimmest moments in the play but also one of the most eloquent. Gloucester, a man who “stumbled when he saw” is now able to see the light and the terrible errors he has made. He feels that he can no longer live with these mistakes on his conscience, nor that he can live in “the time’s plague, when madmen lead the blind” and wants to be lead to Dover where he can put an end to his life. Lear shares many parallels with Gloucester. He too was a man who was blind when he let go of his kingdom thinking that he could still keep his power and his royalty, but found himself exploited by his children. However, as Lear realises the mistakes he has made, due to his arrogance and lack of understanding, and as he sees the light, he is forced into insanity.

The darkness is intensified in King Lear by the madness which Lear endures caused by all his suffering after having been expelled from both his daughter’s households, without a kingdom and outside in the storm. As Goneril and Regan begin to plot against their father, the Fool continuously rebukes Lear for his idiotic intention of living at his daughter’s households with 100 of his drunken knights. The Fool lets Lear know that he is “an O without a figure”, and these remarks could be what eventually push over Lear over the edge into madness.

But Lear’s insanity, however bleak is extraordinary. As his “wits begin to turn” Lear, like Gloucester, realizes that his imprudence has inevitably led to his downfall. Edgar disguised as Mad Tom confronts Lear in Act 3 and it is in this scene that Lear asks himself “Is man no more than this?” Lear’s new view on humanity is a very bleak one yet a very philosophical, even political one. Lear realizes that his life as a king was based on excessive riches and royalties upon “this great stage of fools”. It is these luxuries which Lear wants to strip from himself of by tearing off his clothes in the middle of the storm. Lear now sees that life should be lived humbly and modestly, but instead is surrounded by hypocrisy and treachery. At the end of the play, as Lear is dying, Kent insists to Edgar that he is left to die and not allow “the rack of this tough world stretch him out longer”.

The bleakness of King Lear is also clearly emphasized through the language Shakespeare uses, especially in Act Five. Little by little, as the play progresses, the audience and the reader sense that the writing style changes, the sentences become shorter and more direct and the language simpler. At the beginning of King Lear the language is rich but as the play progresses, it begins to alter in terms of style. Despite still being full of imagery, the language becomes quite simple, very unlike what we are used to. It is as though Shakespeare is attempting to strip down the language away from its richness, exactly as he is doing to Lear. By the closing stages of King Lear the language so bleak it is almost as though there is nothing left to be said.

Shakespeare did clearly intend for King Lear to contain moments of praise and reunion in Act 5. However, even these moments still have a sense of bleakness surrounding them. The first reconciliation is that between Lear and his daughter Cordelia whilst they’re imprisoned awaiting execution. However, Lear clearly shows his preference in imprisonment, away from all the blackmail, treachery and hypocrisy in the world. This reunification of the father and the good daughter is quickly ended with the hanging of Cordelia and Lear bringing her body back onstage in a desperate attempt to revive her. Although hopeless, the sense of hope is clearly brought forward for the very first time in the play. The second example of reconciliation, although it is never seen on stage, is that of Edgar and his father Gloucester. Edgar recounts how he revealed his true identity to Gloucester, thereby showing his forgiveness towards his tortured, dying father for banishing him. But Shakespeare unleashes the dourness once more by having Gloucester upon discovering that his son has been by his side “twixt two extremes of passion and joy, Burst smilingly”. These senses of hope defying the bleakness in King Lear are dismissed before they are even able to really initiate. Shakespeare seems to toy with the audience’s emotions by disposing of the good and optimistic and quickly reintroducing the bleak and miserable.

King Lear is a play filled with misery and bleakness. We are often reminded of how dreadful things are. Edgar reminds us that “the worst is not so long as we can say ‘This is the worst.’” However, we should bearing mind that Lear and Gloucester do die happily, knowing that they have been forgiven for their betrayals of their children. We see that there is a confrontation between the bleakness and the sense of hope in King Lear. In my opinion the bleakness vastly overshadows the optimism, clearly exemplified in the plays closing scene where Edgar and Albany see all the suffering which has happened around them and although the torment is now over, there is no sense of hope or anticipation for the times ahead, there is “nothing”.

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Ian McEwan’s Early Short Stories

Ian McEwan arrived on the writer’s circuit in 1975 after having released his first set of short tories in a collection entitled First Love, Last Rites, which won him the Somerset Maugham Award. The following year, McEwan released his second bind of short stories, In Between the Sheets.

Predominantly, McEwan’s first work sees him stepping inside the minds of teenagers, bringing forth the idea of a time of life where everything begins to seem out of the ordinary, a time situated in between the two extremes of innocent childhood and the frightening prospect of adulthood. The main themes which McEwan explores are the characters’ perspectives on sex (generally heretical), violence and death. Two First Love, Last Rites’ stories, Solid Geometry and Cocker at the Theatre, are the only two stories where exclusively adult activity and point of view are explored. However, the themes continue to be strongly supported throughout the stories.

In Between the Sheets is McEwan’s next step forward. The themes of unorthodox sex and violence remain, but seen from the perspective of the adult generation. Significantly McEwan seems to want the reader to have as little sympathy for his characters as possible, and even hate them, a trait similar to that which Max Frisch imposes on his character Walter Faber, the lead in the 1952 book Homo Faber.

When analysed closely, McEwan’s clear rage at his characters in In Between the Sheets goes so far as to strike down on the human race as a whole.

First Love, Last Rites

McEwan’s intention to shock the reader gets itself right off the mark in Homemade, the opening tale in First Love, Last Rites, an unsettling tale of a 14 year old boy, who remains nameless, his friend Raymond and their goals to outdo each other in everything “adult” in a desperate attempt to break out of childhood and step into the adult world. The narrator attempts this by working in a bookshop and earning a higher salary than his father, while significantly early on he tells of how he borrows his father’s overcoat. However, once Raymond mentions a girl by the name of Lulu Smith, or “Zulu Lulu” as the boys joke between them, the idea of sex and sexual frustration begins to play games with the young narrator’s mind: “All the way home I thought about cunt”. In a shocking, disgusting ending, our storyteller loses his virginity after fornicating with his sister Connie during a game of “Mummies and Daddies”.

Our contempt for the character is what McEwan is clearly aiming to bring forward in this story; the first serious instance is when he mocks his father’s one shilling present, stating that “a good afternoon’s work in the bookshop earned more than they (father and uncle) scraped together in a week”. As in all the stories succeeding Homemade, the main character remains nameless à la Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club, suggesting that McEwan even wants to distance himself from his very own characters.

The idea of good and evil is illustrated throughout the story’s final stages during the narrator’s and Connie’s game of “Mummies and Daddies”. Despite being described as being said in a “sing-song voice”, the narrator’s “Connieee, where aaare you?” clearly suggests an aura of evil. The good obviously being Connie with her “sweet smiling” innocence. After “having made it into the adult world” and not even noticing his sister’s tears, the narrator tells how he’s quite pleased with himself for having beaten Raymond to the ultimate goal.

“I am twelve and lying near-naked on my belly out on the back lawn in the sun when for the first time I hear her laugh.” The opening line to the third story in the collection Last Day of Summer immediately introduces the two significant characters, our narrator, this time a twelve year old boy, and Jenny, the nanny acting as a type of mother figure after the death of the birth mother, who throughout the story is described as being overweight.

In a story containing little excitement, McEwan seems to focus mainly on the everyday conversations and situations of a group of siblings ranging across a wide variety of ages, the youngest being our narrator.

Last Day of Summer only really gets going in the final paragraph, a particularly long piece consisting of very short sentences, telling of a boat ride along a river with the young narrator, Alice his sister and Jenny, ending up with the boat sinking “because Jenny is big and my boat is small”, and Alice and Jenny drowning. Although the majority of stories are about childhood/adolescence, this is the only story written in the present tense and therefore actually from the perspective of a child. The reader’s distance towards the narrator is brought forward in the long, final paragraph. After realising that Alice and Jenny are nowhere to be seen and have presumably drowned, the narrator reacts in an unusual manner, stating that he feels “calm” and with “nothing in my mind, nothing at all” followed by visions of his mother before simply forgetting to shout for Alice and Jenny.

With this extraordinary reaction from the 12 year old narrator, McEwan opens up room for discussion on whether the narrator is indeed as cold and emotionless a figure as the other narrators in First Love, Last Rites, or whether his calmness and forgetfulness in a state of emergency is due to his childhood innocence and lack of experience.

Butterflies is perhaps the collection’s most powerful story. “I saw my first corpse on Thursday”: right from the first line McEwan emphasises what the story is going to be about. Butterflies tells of a man accused by local residents of murdering a young girl, her death having been written of in the newspaper. Although continuously pleading his innocence, the events remain unclear until the narrator takes us back in time to that Thursday.

We’re told of how a nine-year old girl named Jane begins to follow him around whilst on one of his walks. Realising he won’t be able to get rid of her, he leads her along a canal, through some woods to a tunnel, promising her that they are going somewhere where they will be able to observe butterflies and boats sailing along the canal. Jane, realising that “there aren’t any butterflies”, begins to cry. The narrator undoes his zip, and after numerous times of shouting “touch it” and shaking her, Jane briefly passes her fingers along his penis. “It was enough, though.” Jane then loses her footing in an attempt to run away, causing her to fall into unconsciousness. Steadily, so as not to wake her, the narrator lifts up the girl and eases her into the canal. The flashback concludes and we are brought back into real time, where the narrator makes his way to meet Jane’s parents.

As in Homemade, the contrast of childhood as opposed to the mentality of the adult world is again the principal theme. McEwan brings this forward by the idea of butterflies. The narrator tells Jane of images of butterflies flying around, despite that being unlikely next to a canal. The butterflies are symbolically what each of the character’s is trying to reach during the walk. For Jane, the butterflies represent a place where she can be carefree within her paradise without worrying about the dangerous circumstances of her road. It is her first taste of freedom, since she tells of how she is not allowed to walk along the canal by her parents. For the narrator, the butterflies also represent freedom, in the sexual sense. For him, the “hours walking alone and all the thoughts” sticking to his hands are his freedom, his butterflies.

“Silly girl, there are no butterflies”, comments the narrator just before placing the girl in the canal. Admitting that he lied to her, he also tells her of how there is no such thing as a childlike interpretation of a nirvana, showing the vast differences in child and adult mentalities and showing what can happen when the ignorance of the youth clashes with an older, despotic mind.

In contrast to what we have read so far, a story where the reader may feel some sympathy for the main character is Conversations with a Cupboard Man. This somewhat “humorous” story tells of a character describing his life to a cupboard man, presumably a type of imaginary friend, considering his desperate loneliness. Literally pampered by his widowed mother to the extent that at the age of 18 he is not yet able to speak properly, he sleeps in a cot and has a bib tied around his neck – all much to the satisfaction of his sadistic mother: “She loved it, the bitch”.

However, after meeting a man, his mother begins to become ashamed of her son and sends him to a foster home. After leaving the home at 21, the narrator, out on his own for the very first time, lives a life of “pretending to be an adult”. He tells the “cupboard man” of his near-death experience working in a kitchen followed by time spent in prison for shoplifting. After being released, he’s given a job in a factory and an attic to inhabit.

This short tale could be considered an exception, since despite the narrator explaining how he forced his boss from the kitchen, puss-face, into hospital for nine months, shoplifted and symbolically stole a blanket from a pram, the reader continuously feels a sense of sympathy and pity, recalling that the narrator cannot really be held responsible for these actions.

Conversations with a Cupboard Man concentrates on the difficulties of finding onesself isolated in a large town and the difficulties of becoming a man. However, due to his excessive pampering until the age of 18 and the fostering following his abandonment, the narrator finds himself in a situation where he knows he’ll never learn to become an adult and will always seek a type of refuge, be it in a cot or in a prison cell.

A particularly interesting aspect of this story is the role of Mr. Smith, the man caring for the narrator during his time in the foster home, who is described as special by the narrator. Despite teaching him how to read, the other activities consist of losing onesself in dance and learning how to sense and recreate something through painting. Initially seeming helpful, one could argue that “old Smith” seems to hinder his surely one-of-a-kind patient from becoming an adult, and therefore leaves him unprepared for the world awaiting him outside the home’s doors.

A second interesting aspect is the comparison between the prison and the outside world, especially the home and the narrator’s room in Muswell Hill. In prison, “a funny place”, the narrator lives a life without freedom or complications over food or rent, the type of life he lived before being forced out by his mother, a childhood.

After having served his time and been told that he cannot voluntarily remain in his cell, the narrator traps himself in a cupboard, recounting his envy for all babies in prams and asking himself why each living day must revolve around keeping alive. The role of the narrator’s cupboards is to lock him away from the outside world, identical to the role of his mother previously, a time which the narrator deeply misses: “I want to be one year old again.”

This story can be seen as both a tragic and yet also a comedic account. McEwan keeps the narrator’s tone monotone and patient as if these occurrences were everyday for him which, depending on the reader, either adds or abolishes the humourous factor. Personally, I see this story as more a comedic account, especially the narrator’s name for his boss in the kitchen: “Puss-Face”.

In Between the Sheets

McEwan’s second book, In Between the Sheets, carries on from his first, but moves the focus, in that the stories primarily focus around the warped minds of adults.

In Between the Sheets opens with the eye-catching story Pornography, a story putting the spotlight on a man named O’Byrne, a man infected with a sexually transmitted disease. The story tells of O’Byrne’s problems in trying to hold a relationship with two women, Lucy and Pauline, both of whom seem deeply fallen for O’Byrne, who is reluctant to return any such romantic feelings. O’Byrne’s role as a puppeteer goes all wrong after what appears to be a romantic evening with Lucy ends up with O’Byrne having his dirty little secret having been discovered and finding himself having to confront both his puppets simultaneously whilst being chained naked to Lucy’s bed. The short story ends with Lucy, who works as a nurse, getting prepared to carry out what is only described as a “sterilization procedure”.

Continuing on from First Love, Last Rites, McEwan’s intention is to expose his main character in a negative portrayal, and O’Byrne is a prime example of this. Throughout the tale, he brings forth a completely emotionless persona towards his brother Harold and his two love interests, with McEwan using words such as “dull” and “moody” to describe O’Byrne’s actions.

This opening story is clearly starting from where McEwan left off with First Love, Last Rights. The themes are very similar, as is the style of language used. However, if this story is indeed a taste of what to expect from In Between The Sheets, McEwan’s intention is to take it to the next step, moving on from teenagers and exploring the equally if not more warped adult mind.

Reflections of a Kept Ape is perhaps an exceptional story. Here McEwan sets out to depict a relationship based on bestiality between an ape and its mistress Sally Klee, a struggling author. Written from the point of view of the ape, the story focuses on the narrator’s love towards Sally Klee and his effort to receive love in return. The ape also fails to come to terms with the vast differences between himself and the object of his worship, symbolically as he scampers through Sally’s cosmetics and eyeing the “intriguing cap inside its plastic oyster, dusted and somehow disapproving of me”.

Sensing that the conclusion of their relationship is fast approaching, he reads through the pages on Sally Klee’s typewriter, discovering that her novel in progress centres on a woman who – due to miserable past experiences in relationships – asks herself “why men despise women?”Convinced that he is being used by Sally Klee, the ape attempts to walk out of his lover’s apartment and discover “a new life”. However, he fails to make it to the end of the hall before returning to the apartment, squating down behind Sally’s chair and realising how he can’t go anywhere.

Reflections of a Kept Ape sets a vastly different tone to McEwan’s other stories. Absolutely no dialogue is spoken in this story, making the reader uniquely subject to the thoughts of the narrating animal. However, the narrator does seem to be suffering because of Sally Klee (“Do I deserve to be ignored”), and from the fact that Sally Klee doesn’t even talk but only shouts “terrible sounds which cause the very air to bend and warp in strain” and this is where McEwan once again distances himself from his character. Because of the contrast between man and animal illuminated in this short story, one could argue that McEwan is attempting to distance himself not only from his character but from the human race as a whole.

Sally Klee’s profession as a writer is also significant. The idea of McEwan criticising and writing negatively of a fellow writer could be considered ironic. However, if Sally Klee does indeed in some sense symbolise McEwan himself and if McEwan is indeed intending the reader to recognise that he is writing about himself in that sense that he is stating that no one in this human race is perfect and that no one possesses that naïve, childhood innocence (referring to McEwan’s first book once more) as the ape does.

Dead as They Come is just about as bizarre and twisted a story “as they come”. Here, our new narrator, this time one of London’s richest men, “a man with three marriages etched across his eyes”, tells of how – upon walking past a department shop window – he finds himself falling madly in love with a mannequin.

Upon succeeding in “getting her”, he takes her home and talks of his new love as if she were indeed a real human being. Throughout the short story the narrator tells of loving emotions towards his Mannequin Helen, “I told her of the time I had first seen her, of how my love of her had grown”. Many months pass during which the narrator clearly experiences a presumably unfamiliar sense of happiness: “Helen and I lived in perfect harmony. I made money, I made love, I talked, Helen listened.”

“But I was a fool. Nothing lasts”: the narrator’s life with Helen begins to go wrong with the introduction of his chauffeur, “the perfect chauffeur”. Soon after having retrieved Helen from the shop, the narrator begins to suspect an affair between her and his presumably only other acquaintance.

After weeks of putting up with Helen failing to answer his calls or to confront him when weeping in the bathroom, the narrator confronts Helen with his begging and tears, but she refuses to acknowledge him and remains lying there in “pregnant silence”. The story ends with the narrator, an emotional wreck at this stage, acting out his two “savage and related desires, to rape and destroy her”.

If ever confronted with the challenge of showing McEwan’s best and signature piece of work, this would be it. In this fantastically McEwanesque story, the author writes of the narrator’s transition in moods, going from a “man in love with…. Simply a man in love”, to a “naked madman” destroying, kicking, trampling and urinating on anything he can get his hands on.

However, continuing the theme of creating a distance from the human race, this story’s character is a prime example. The man talking to the reader is a clearly a man who has suffered from human actions (similar to Sally Klee’s kept ape), primarily evident through his three divorces, to the extent that he has entirely distanced himself from fellow Homo sapiens and seeks his satisfaction through the form of plastic.

The possible degree of human cruelty is made clear, be it intentional or not, by the paranoia and mental distress suffered by one of London’s richest men, a man who superficially appears to have it all.

Conclusion

McEwan wants to alienate his readers, prevent them from identifying with either him or his characters. His narrators are often nameless for this reason and sometimes come across as players on a stage or even string puppets.

The world that Ian McEwan’s characters inhabit is a bleak one. As experienced by adolescents or adults, there appears to be no form of redemption or any happy endings. Nor does it look as though McEwan’s characters searchfor one or regret the absence of one: they simply are what they are.

Short stories have to grab their readers by the scruff of the neck and manage to hold them down for the space of a few pages. McEwan practises and masters this art in his early short stories predominantly relying on the shock factor and holds it through his talent as a story teller.

What makes McEwan’s characters tick, and what do we take away from these stories? Many of his characters, especially the younger ones, seem driven by a powerful combination of sex and self-discovery. We take away from the stories a horrified fascination and the wish to believe that we are not, after all, as trapped as McEwan’s characters so obviously are.

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Discuss the use of symbolism in The Great Gatsby

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel The Great Gatsby, first published 1926, is a book about the pursuit of the American Dream during the period of the United States prosperity. The Great Gatsby is renowned for the fantastic use of symbols appearing in the form of objects, characters and colours, representing abstract ideas or concepts and helping to develop the book’s major themes.

Because The Great Gatsby is so rich in symbols (no pun intended), Fitzgerald wants to bring across that it is not only the reader who is aware of the meaning of these symbols, but also the characters within the novel.

One of the main themes within The Great Gatsby is the idea of people putting on a mask and bringing forth a false identity. This concept dominantly implies to Gatsby himself and his lover Daisy, and is supported by a range of symbols.

Throughout the novel, Daisy, a woman with a “mouth full of money”, is described as wearing white clothes which “gleam like silver” similar to a wedding dress, which of course is a universal symbol for innocence. Daisy also plays along to this idea of herself in which acts like the naïve, all-American girl. This image of innocence is destroyed when Gatsby reveals to Nick that it was Daisy behind the wheel as Mrs. Wilson was run over.

Gatsby’s false identity is also often brought to the reader’s attention. For example, the dispute between Jordan Baker and Nick about whether Gatsby did indeed attend Oxford University. Symbolically, Fitzgerald presents this theme through Gatsby’s books in his library in chapter 3. In this sequence, a middle-aged man wearing “enormous owl-eyed spectacles” (perhaps a link to Dr Eckleburg, God) shows Nick that despite Gatsby’s books being real, they haven’t had their pages cut yet: “What thoroughness! What realism! Knew when to stop too – didn’t cut the pages. But what do you want? What do you expect?” This is important since symbolically it shows the reader that like the books, Gatsby is not what he appears to be, wearing a mask, hiding his career as a bootlegger and not being the innocent, great man his party guests make him to be.

However, as with Daisy, Gatsby’s cover is also blown, his mask removed, “his career as Trimalchio over” through the death of Mrs. Wilson and then of course eventually his own demise.

An important aspect within The Great Gatsby is the geography. Three kinds of America are described in the book: the business centre that is East Coast where the novel dominantly takes place, the Mid West, the heart of America from which all the novel’s main characters come, and the Valley of Ashes, which despite being situated on the East Coast, is a stretch of dead land between West Egg and New York City.

The East Coast represents the richness and excessiveness to which the American Dream is orientated, making it lose its true meaning, and slide into a world of corruption and lies, just like the dream Gatsby followed.

The Mid West portrays the idea of an honest America with an honest American dream. Nick, Gatsby and Tom Buchanan all derive from the Mid West, all pursuing the American Dream. However they all lose this idea of innocence as they arrive in the East and end up finding themselves as part of this corrupt lifestyle. Nick describes himself as being “one of the few honest people he has ever known”

The Valley of Ashes, first introduced in the second chapter of Fitzgerald’s novel, is a ”grey land” with “spasms of bleak dust” between West Egg and New York City, almost completely empty with the exception of Mr. Wilson’s petrol station and the “persistent stare” of the Dr. Eckleburg.

The Valley of Ashes shares many similarities with “The Wasteland”, the poem by T.S. Eliot. The images of “dead land”, “A little life with dried tubers” and “stony rubbish” all appear in Eliot’s masterpiece and mirror the Valley of Ashes.

This dead land symbolises the struggle of poorer America, a factor which is not just easy for the reader to forget, but was also ignored by the richer society of America in the 1920s when the Zeitgeist was all about the continuous pursuit of richness and excess. However, these two sides of American society confront each other symbolically. First when Wilson finds the dog-leash, “of leather and braided silver”, and secondly when Wilson finds himself within Gatsby’s manor before murdering him upon excessively expensive furniture and paintings, a world which he could never possibly dream of living in.

The contrast between rich and poor is brought right to the reader’s attention, forcing him to bring the vast differences in American life to mind, “Gatsby was overwhelmingly aware of the youth and mystery that wealth imprisons and preserves, of the freshness of many clothes, and of Daisy, gleaming like silver, safe and proud above the hot struggles of the poor”.

The colour green, the colour of the American dollar, comes up frequently in The Great Gatsby. Gatsby associates this colour with a goal worth pursuing, be it success in the form of the American Dream or the seduction of Daisy.

One instance where the importance of green is amplified is when Nick comments on how fresh-looking Gatsby keeps his lawn. Gatsby then offers to have someone come to Nick’s residence the following morning and do his own lawn. Another interesting point is that the leather seats in Gatsby’s car are also green. These two instances show how much value Gatsby places on the “green”, the pursuit of the American Dream.

The schedule which Mr. Gatz shows Nick in the ultimate chapter gives the reader even more insight into how much effort Gatsby put into achieving his dreame.

However, the most symbolic instance of the colour green first appears towards the conclusion of the opening chapter where, Nick sitting on his lawn sees the dark figure of Gatsby, standing by the waters edge, stretching out his arm towards a “single green light, minute and far away” across the water as if reaching to grab it. Significantly, later on, the reader discovers that the green light was coming from Daisy’s dock. This indicates that the pursuit of Daisy is, to Jay Gatsby, just like the pursuit of the American Dream, it is a goal he is trying to achieve.

On the penultimate page, Nick compares the look of the green light to what the first signs of American land must have looked like to the Dutch sailors upon discovering it, “a fresh, green breast of the new world”.

On the last page of the novel, Nick tells us that Gatsby, who “believed in the green light”, must have felt that he was so close to reaching it he could hardly fail to grasp it, ie Daisy. However, Nick also tells Gatsby that it is impossible to relive the past, which is where Jay Gatsby’s master plan all went wrong.

The most striking symbol in The Great Gatsby, especially as seen through the 1974 film starring Robert Redford and Mia Farrow, is the advertisement board of Dr. Eckleburg, his eyes gleaming through his spectacles, giving off a “persistent stare”, looking down at all that goes on beneath him, the rich American society chasing corrupt dreams and the poor, lower class, struggling to make ends meet. Although Fitzgerald lets the reader interpret what Dr. Eckelburg symbolises, in chapter 8, the chapter leading up to the death of Gatsby, Wilson is talking to Michaelis about how God cannot be fooled and how “God knows what you’ve been doing, everything you’ve been doing”, whilst staring into the eyes of the Doctor.

However, if Dr. Eckleburg does indeed represent God, then it is important to note that Michaelis tells Mr. Wilson that “it’s just an advertising board”. Here, Fitzgerald predicts (correctly) how America will lose its idea of hope and dreams and fall into an age where commercialism is worshiped.

We can see from the major symbols discussed above that not only do these symbols play a vital role in The Great Gatsby but they are also seen that way by the novel’s characters, particularly Gatsby himself.

The prime example is the green light by Daisy’s dock. This representation symbolises what Jay Gatsby has been pursuing throughout his life, the American Dream, as well as Daisy herself. With his hopes, Gatsby saw a life filtered through symbolism.

However, once Daisy kills Mrs. Wilson and Gatsby’s dream is shattered “like glass against Tom’s hard malice”, Nick tells the reader of how “Gatsby must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass”.

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Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad – How convincing is Kurtz as a literary creation?

Joseph Conrad’s character Colonel Kurtz is a human being with a high degree of diversity. He is a man of whom the reader can never be quite sure which side he is seeing. In the first chapter of Heart of Darkness Marlow overhears Kurtz being described as “an emissary of pity, science and progress”, and throughout the story Marlow tells of his anticipation of meeting Kurtz. However, upon arrival at the inner station, Kurtz’s new found home, Marlow discovers the evil that Kurtz possesses. Larger than life as he is, Kurtz is an incredible character and a very convincing literary creation.

Although the reader does not encounter Kurtz until the final chapter, his character is built up from the very beginning. Our first encounter with Kurtz’s “legend” is at the central station, where Marlow finds a painting of Kurtz’s “representing a woman, draped and blindfolded, carrying a lighted torch”. Upon asking the manager just exactly who Kurtz is, the manager describes him as “a prodigy”, a man of “higher intelligence, wide sympathies and a singleness of purpose”. Marlow also discovers that Kurtz was the primary ivory exporter from the inner station, the station that finds itself right in the centre of a seemingly never ending jungle, the heart of darkness.

The picture Marlow picks up immediately draws him into the mystery of Kurtz. Kurtz shows through this picture that he is fully aware of Europe’s imperial role “passing the torch” in Africa, which is more than what Marlow sees in the men he had previously talked to, “the papier-mâché Mephistopheles” ivory-worshipping men he has encountered at the station.

This image of Kurtz implanted in Marlow’s mind is striking; both for the reader and Marlow who admits that he would already lie for Kurtz, an act which – he admits – appalls him. Uniquely, from this opening chapter, the reader has learned a great deal about Kurtz without actually having met him. Conrad uses this method to build up the suspense and aura surrounding his character. Shakespeare used this method in the opening act of many of his plays, but never to the extent that Conrad has done it here.

In the second chapter of Heart of Darkness, Marlow’s admiration for Kurtz begins to slalom back and forth, just like the Congo River he is sailing on. He is told of how Kurtz was three hundred miles into sailing away from the inner station back into civilization before deciding to return back to the inner station. This is the first clear sign of Kurtz’s instability. He seems to have crossed that invisible line where he has broken away from civilization, to the extent that returning would be an impossibility.

Marlow’s and possibly the reader’s admiration for Kurtz seems to be at its peak just after the “shower of arrows” attack the steamer. The agent informs Marlow that Kurtz will have probably died by this time and Marlow immediately feels a strong sense of disappointment for “something he has been striving for without a substance”.

Just before arriving at the inner station, Marlow mentions a pamphlet he had previously read, written by Kurtz. Marlow describes the pamphlet as having been written with “burning noble words”, words which made him “tingle with enthusiasm”. However, it is the final footnote which turns the whole situation upside and with four words that “blaze at you, luminous and terrifying, like a flash of lightning in a serene sky”, Marlow’s account turns itself on it head: “Exterminate all the brutes”. With these words, Marlow has finally encountered the monster, the devil that the jungle has transformed Kurtz into. Many comparisons are made between Kurtz and the devil and whilst the book is still young Marlow even tells of how he feels as if he isn’t traveling to the centre of a continent but rather the centre of the Earth ie. Hell.

In the third chapter we finally see Kurtz in his wildest form with Marlow watching him from the boat “lost in astonishment”. The reader sees for the very first how Kurtz has been become part of the surroundings, he has, like Faustus, sold his soul, only the devil this time being the dark, surreal jungle. “I take it, no fool ever made a bargain for his soul with the devil: the fool is too much a fool, or the devil too much a devil.” Colonel Kurtz’s becoming one with the jungle has numerous symbols throughout the final chapter. Marlow describes Kurtz as looking like a “shadow” and a “phantom”. T.S. Eliot even writes about Kurtz’s characteristics in “The Hollow Men”: “Shape without form, shade without colour”.

Kurtz’s mistress is also a vital symbol for the wilderness Kurtz has surrendered to, “a wild apparition of a woman…. Savage, superb, wild-eyed and magnificent.” Only after we meet Kurtz’s intended towards the end pf the novel, can we see the vast comparisons between Kurtz’s two lovers. Particularly distinctive are the traces Marlow notices in the wet, dew grass prior to catching Kurtz: on all four fours, like a wild animal.

However, the jungle has worked on Kurtz to the extent that he is unable to return back to civilization, he’d cross that like of no return and once Marlow’s boat sets off with Kurtz on board there is clearly only one possible outcome: “Mr. Kurtz, he dead.”

“Whatever he was, he was not common”. A final assessment of Kurtz is difficult judge. Despite his appearance being so brief in the novel, the reader has in fact watched him transform from a well educated, artistic, “remarkable person”, a man who “who sends as much ivory as all the others put together”, into a man unable to return to civilization after having witnessed the jungle, which seems to have driven him into insanity.

However, to call him totally mad would be an unfair judgment. Through the words he speaks and the things Marlow has seen him write, Kurtz clearly sees the world through the eyes of philosopher and a poet, Kurtz is a man of supreme intellect. Kurtz is a creation of vast comparisons, a man who sold his soul to the jungle and transformed from a journalist in Brussels to a tribesmen in deepest, darkest Africa. These comparisons make Kurtz’s character very diverse and unclear. Many critics would argue that this detracts from Kurtz as a literary creation.

But these comparisons add to the diversity of the character, and Kurtz’s elusive persona is his prime characteristic right down to his final moments. All of Kurtz’s character is symbolized in his dying words “The horror, the horror”. Just like his character, Kurtz’s words are impossible to break down and give a direct meaning but remain an enigma. But by ending on such a mysterious note, Kurtz has ensured that his legacy will live on.

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