To what extent do you agree with the view that, in Paradise Lost, Milton makes evil seem attractive?

Milton’s epic poem, Paradise Lost, depicts the story of Satan as he successfully causes the Fall of Man- one of many battles in his war against God. Despite the evil and sacrilegious nature of Satan’s transgressions against the Divine, Milton still gives this protagonist many attractive qualities. He is an impressive leader with a very imposing voice, and all of his actions are motivated by very human emotions, such as ambition and envy. However, it is important to remember that these actions are condemnable and utterly despicable. He deceives the other angels into following him to eternal damnation in Hell, incestuously rapes his daughter Sin and causes the Fall of Man out of bitterness for past failings. These are not attractive achievements, and makes the evil of his character much more repulsive.

Initially, it could be argued that Milton makes evil seem attractive by presenting the protagonist, Satan, as an admirable and impressive leader. He is portrayed as an excellent speaker who is able to use ‘bold words’ to spur the other angels into a rebellion against God. His motivating voice causes them to ‘rouse and bestir themselves’, and ‘up they sprung’ following the conclusion of one of Satan’s speeches. Milton describes him as an ‘orator renowned’, which connotes that he is an acclaimed speaker. Satan’s voice is so powerful that he is able to lead a third of heaven’s angels into rebellion against God. This pivotal point in the text parallels the overthrowing of the monarchy during the English Civil War, which Milton actively glorified in his political pamphlets, and may have wished to do the same in this poem. Thus, some may argue that Milton made the evil character of Satan attractive. Satan achieves ‘glory above his peers’, impressing many with his accomplishments as a leader. Shelley even argued that ‘nothing can exceed the energy and magnificence’ of this endearing leader. In fact, many of the romantic poets argued that Milton does make the evil character of Satan very attractive for the reader through his stirring rhetoric. However, his leadership over the other angels is sustained through deception, which makes it much less attractive than first appears. With the help of Beelzebub, who ‘pleaded his devilish counsel’ for him, Satan manipulates the other angels into following his plan to cause the fall of Adam and Eve. Milton later refers to Satan as the ‘artificer of fraud’, which suggests that he is much more deceptive and repulsive than he is an attractive leader. Ultimately, these lies get Satan and the other angels nowhere. At the end of the poem, they are all turned into serpents and eternally imprisoned in Hell. This is not the end result expected from an admirable leader; rather, the ending proves to be a just punishment of a deceptive failure. For many readers, this makes his evil much less attractive. It certainly does not impress.

Nevertheless, Satan’s evil may attract because his motivations are very human: he is more relatable to us than God. Milton follows traditional religious beliefs by presenting God as an ‘almighty’ being who is perfect in every way. He is an ‘omnipotent’ entity who uses his unimaginable powers only for good. Essentially, he is everything humanity aspires to be, but has failed to reach. In juxtaposition with God, Milton portrays Satan as possessing many more human characteristics. He experiences wrath: ‘the hell within him’ is always burning, and even feels envy for the ‘wonder’ of paradise that he is isolated from. Another human quality about him is his resilience. Despite failure in overthrowing God during the first war, Satan still continues to fight against the ‘Omnipotent decree… subdues us’. The evil of Satan’s character may make him a much more attractive character because the evil is motivated by human emotions. He makes the same mistakes, and feels the same as we do, which makes him more relatable and attractive for a reader. However, a much greater reading suggests that he is an utterly abhorrent and monstrous character who behaves inhumanly. Many of his actions are repulsive, such as the incestuous ‘rape’ of his own daughter Sin, which ‘pregnate thee’ to create Death. For many Christian readers, his ‘disobedience’ against God, and his desire to ‘transgress’, is the most despicable and sacrilegious of sins. Whilst he experiences many of the emotions we associate with humanity, it is clear that Milton juxtaposes these profoundly with disgusting acts of evil that are not attractive in the slightest.

Furthermore, Milton portrays this evil protagonist as so ambitious against the moral authority of God that we cannot become attracted to his character. He is portrayed as a character hunting for the ‘glory’ of omnipotent power. Described as an ‘undaunted Fiend’, Milton presents him as a character who strives for the throne of God unconditionally. In his quest to overpower God, he causes the damnation of his fellow angels and the ‘Fall of Man’. These are not very heroic or attractive feats. In fact, his actions cause pain and punishment for those around him, which does not make his evil behaviour admirable at all. His desire to recapture the ‘native seat’ is a monstrous obsession throughout the entire narrative of Paradise Lost, an obsession that does not appeal to the reader. After ‘venturing higher than my Lot’, the consequences of Satan’s actions are for the whole of Hell’s angels to be ‘transformed, alike, to serpents’, and for Adam and Eve to be excommunicated from paradise. How can we as a reader be attracted to these destructive and evil actions? In fact, Milton encourages us to praise the ‘goodness infinite’ of God’s mercy through the future visions shown to Adam in Book 12. This condemnation of Satan’s actions is emphasised to a much greater extent through the physical degradation of his character. In the opening, he was ‘Titanian’ and ‘monstrous in size’. As the poem progresses, and he strays further and further from the goodness of God, Satan deteriorates into a ‘prowling wolfe’, then finds himself ‘squat like a toad’, and finally degenerates into the ‘imp’ of the serpent. Despite Satan’s grand ambitions, which some readers may admire, Milton fails to create any attraction for his evil. As the character causes immense damnation for others, and steadily degrades into his bestial side, he falls further and further from grace. Thus, by the end of the poem, the evil of Satan is not very attractive for the reader.

Satan, perhaps the most evil character in Paradise Lost, does possess some attractive and impressive qualities. While being an imposing leader who is able to use his commanding voice to spark a rebellion in heaven, he is also an innately human character. He experiences the envy and drive to succeed that we do, which makes him very relatable to us. Therefore, some readers may find him attractive. However, to a much greater extent, it is clear that Milton makes evil much less attractive through Satan’s actions throughout the narrative. His incestuous relationship with Sin is repulsive and abhorrent, and so is the fact he caused the Fall of Man in the poem’s climax. Through Satan’s horrifying actions, Milton condemns evil by highlighting its most ugly aspects. He does not make evil seem attractive at all; it is often too repulsive to appeal to any reader.

What do you think of the view that the most meaningful relationships in Birdsong are those between men?

Stephen Wraysford, the protagonist of Birdsong, and his different relationships with women prove to be a plentiful source of meaning throughout the novel. When he begins his love affair with Isabelle, he frees her from the strict oppression imposed by marriage and society. He gives new significance to her life, as Jeanne does for him after the war effectively makes his life void of meaning. However, some may argue that the relationships between men are also significant. His relationship Jack gives them both something to live for as they face death in the tunnels, and his relationship with Levi could symbolise the end of the war itself. It appears that Birdsong’s most significant relationships are those between men because they develop the central theme of war in the novel.

It could be argued that the relationship between Isabelle and Stephen is just as meaningful as those between men in the novel. Before her love affair with Stephen begins, Faulks portrays Isabelle as imprisoned and oppressed by her marriage with Azaire. She is forced to behave in a “strong and formal” way in a house with “iron railings”, which connotes the image of bars on a prison window. The violence and passionless sex that Azaire forces Isabelle to endure incarcerate her in a life she does not want, a life “made intense by desperation” to escape. Her life is defined by “submissive indifference”, until she begins her love affair with Stephen. Before meeting him, Faulks refers to Isabelle as the “wife” of Azaire or “Madame Azaire”. After the love affair, new meaning is given to her life, and she is free to become “Isabelle” again. However, a much greater reading suggests that this relationship lacks meaning altogether. Faulk presents the passionate love affair between the two characters as sensual, and as only appealing to sexual impulses. It is described as a “simple frisson”, with no more meaning than that. It is founded by “charged senses” and impulse: they performed sexual acts “without thinking”, and merely to provide each other with “excitement”. The relationship between Stephen and Isabelle lacks any deeper meanings because it is all about appealing to the senses. Once the passion of the love affair dies (becoming an “icy stillness”) they have no reason to continue the relationship. Isabelle runs away without telling Stephen about their unborn child, connoting that their relationship lacks the meaning and depth needed to raise a child.

Nevertheless, Faulks presents the relationship between Stephen and Jeanne as just as meaningful as those between men. During the First World War, Stephen “lost…reality itself”. His life appears absent of meaning as he is left “drifting” from battle to battle. Even his humanity is missing as he experiences this “test on how far man can be degraded”. This presentation of the protagonist changes once he meets Jeanne. She acts as a “soft” support for the traumatised character, filling in the “void” created by the war. When Jeanne reveals her love for Stephen, and they start to raise Isabelle’s child as their own, a new meaningful life is created to follow the war- he becomes “much happier in his heart” as a result. Thus, it appears that the relationship between Jeanne and Stephen is one of meaning and significance. Without it, Stephen would be “empty” and have nothing. However, a much more meaningful relationship in the novel is the one between Jack and Stephen. They are trapped in the tunnels for many days, and Stephen develops a much more meaningful bond with Jack as they genuinely believe they are going to die together- “they were facing death”. The use of the pronoun “they” unites these two characters together, thus emphasising the strength of their relationship. Faulks presents these two characters as intimately connected through their understanding of the other’s horrifying experiences in the war. Both know what it is like to lose someone they love, and they are both searching for “whatever miracle” they can find as they try to survive in the tunnels. Their relationship is so meaningful because they share a fundamental intimacy of understanding. This is best exemplified when the two characters lose a sense of the outside world- “there was no time”. Both characters have lost the worldly concept of time; their relationship and understanding of each other is all they have. This is what makes the relationship between these two men more meaningful than the one he shares with his wife.

The most meaningful relationship in the novel is the one connecting Levi and Stephen. Structurally, Faulks oscillates the narrative point of view of the ending between Levi and Stephen as they tunnel towards each other. This constant switching of point of view appears to symbolise the gradual peace being brokered between Britain and Germany. They are both climbing through the metaphorical “darkness” of the war to find peace and each other. Together, these characters are presented as sorrowful and traumatised by the war they were forced to endure: “weeping at the bitter strangeness of their human lives”. Despite their different nationalities, Faulks highlights the enduring bond between these characters as they have both seen atrocities “that should never be spoken”. Their relationship appears to symbolise peace between two fighting countries as they escape the “inhumanity” of World War One and return to the world they once knew. Whilst some may argue that the shared burial of Jack and Joseph actually symbolises the healing of two countries, it is clear that the relationship between Levi and Stephen represents this newfound peace to a greater extent. This friendship between a British and a German character is most significant to the novel because it evokes hope after the horrors of war. Despite feeling immense “hate” for each other earlier, Faulks uses this relationship between men to show us that reconciliation and peace are possible.

Whilst it could be argued that the love affair between Stephen and Isabelle brings emancipation and meaning to the latter, it is clear that their love affair is one of sensuality and appealing to sexual impulse. Nothing more. This does not mean Stephen cannot have a meaningful relationship with women though. In fact, Jeanne’s love for Stephen brings a lot of purpose to his life as she fills the void left by the First World War. Nevertheless, the most significant relationships Stephen experiences are those with other men. Stephen’s relationship with Jack is all he has within the tunnels as they both believe they are on the verge of death. The relationship between Levi and Stephen, which closes the war sections of the novel, is most meaningful for symbolising the healing of wounds and the peace between two warring countries. Faulks appears to be suggesting that the relationships between men during wartime are more intimate and meaningful than any marriage or love affair can possibly be. The relationships between soldiers are so meaningful because they give each other reason to survive in near-death situations, while also giving hope to the reader that the two warring countries can finally find peace.

The World's End (2013) Review

After creating the exceptionally popular films Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, Pegg and Wright’s third film, The World’s End, is often overshadowed. Often, this film is considered unworthy of the critical acclaim bestowed upon its predecessors. Some consider the protagonist, Gary King (Pegg), to be utterly irritating, and also argue that the humour is too dependent on repetition to satisfy an audience. However, despite these minor complaints, this film proves to be a fascinating exploration of nostalgia caused by a disillusionment of the present through Gary’s character. Despite the repetition of some jokes, this superbly directed film does have hilarious moments that showcase the best of British comedy. For some, this is an underrated masterpiece that deserves all, if not more, of the praise that has been showered on its predecessors.

"Don't need it!" 

Initially, the presentation of Gary King could be considered irritating, overblown and too chaotic for an audience to engage in his character arc. He is portrayed with a juvenile wildness and hedonism as he seeks a “fucking mental!” night-out with his friends. He tells Andy (Frost) that they are “going back on a Friday” because the only thing he values is the indulgence of pleasure and fun. Through the use of Primal Scream’s Loaded, we as an audience get the full impression that this character only wants “to have a good time”. This emphasis on Gary’s disorderly nature is repeated throughout the film; thus, some may argue that this presentation is extremely exaggerated, making Gary’s character annoying and tiresome. However, on a much deeper reading, it is clear Gary proves to be an endearing character we can feel great sympathy for. Whilst he could be interpreted as a hedonistic character, his most defining characteristic is his longing for the past. In a similar manner to the eponymous protagonist of Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, Gary is a character utterly trapped and imprisoned in the glorious past, refusing to “join society”. His clothing, his tape recordings and his car all suggest that he is a man stuck in 1990. Even the movie soundtrack of 90s music emphasises this character’s overpowering nostalgia. Wright and Pegg create a lot of sympathy for Gary’s character when we realise his happy memories of the past are “all I’ve got!” He is portrayed as utterly disillusioned with the present day as he realises “life would never feel this good again”; the “promise” of his youth has disappointed him greatly. In a time when the protest vote has shaken British politics to its core, and when reality TV is so appealing to the masses, is Gary not a character we can all sympathise with? We all suffer disillusionment with this bleak period in time, thus making Gary such an endearing and relatable character.

"I'm free to do what I want any old time"

Nevertheless, some audiences may still label The World’s End a poor-quality film because of the humour, arguing that a few of the jokes fall flat. The recurring gag of having every member of the cast exclaim “what the fuck?” was not particularly funny when Oliver (Freeman) first said it. Despite the varying tones in which this phrase is uttered, it struggles to evoke laughter from the audience throughout the film. Furthermore, many elements of humour in this movie feel tired and cliche. Wright and Pegg repeat the ‘falling off the fence’ gag that they used in the other two movies, and it feels exhausted in this film. The cliched drinking jokes (such as “Dr Ink” and “we will in truth be blind- drunk!”) have been so overused in the past that they cease to be funny in the film. Thus, some may argue that The World’s End lacks the charming humour which made the first two films as popular as they are. However, the dynamic between Frost and Pegg proves to be a plentiful source of comedy; in fact, this is the most comic pair of characters the two actors have ever played. Much of the humour of the film lies in the presentation of Andy and Gary’s relationship as being akin to that of a parent and child. Andy consistently holds Gary to account for his actions as Andy tries to control his former friend. When running towards the eponymous ‘World’s End’ pub, Andy calls for Gary to “get back you stupid bastard!”, and is utterly disgusted to discover that Gary lied about his mother’s death: “your Mum just rang, and not from the afterlife: from fucking Bournemouth!” Gary, too, is perturbed by Andy’s maturity; he is shocked to see a “man of your legendary prowess drinking fucking rain” rather than the alcohol consumed in their youth. This dynamic of two friends almost living in two different time zones leads to some of the best comedy in both of their careers. As these two friends battle to change the other, we as an audience are treated to hilarious pieces of dialogue between the two.

"I fucking hate this town!"

The greatest aspect of this masterpiece is certainly Wright’s outstanding direction. His skills are subtle and masterful as he uses a multitude of different types of shot to create meaning, humour and tension. For example, he chooses to open the film with a montage of clips from the main character’s past, voiced over by the Gary King of the future. Whilst this montage is significant for foreshadowing the future events of the plot, creating interest for the audience over what is to come, it has a much greater significance in developing Gary’s character. By using clips of the younger version of Gary as the older version narrates immediately connotes that his character has not moved on from “the best night of my life”. Wright’s superb directorial command is also used to create tension as the action unfolds. Whether he is using an aerial shot to capture the stylised violence of the fight with the twins, or a sequence shot to emphasise the chaotic carnage of Andy’s fury in the bar brawl- “I fucking hate this town!”- Wright’s direction is always excellent. You will struggle to resist the appealing visuals and the directorial charm of what Wright has crafted for the screen. It certainly attractive to the eye. The choreography of the fight scenes is much tighter in this film than in any of his other works, and his skill is magnificently used to develop the character of his protagonist. The direction of the film is masterfully crafted, and really develops the entertaining cinematic experience.

Whilst some of the humour feels dry, cliched and repetitive, this film still proves to be utterly hilarious through the comic chemistry between Pegg and Frost in their performances. The comedy is utterly superb- Wright and Pegg are working at their best. Moreover, the writer-director pairing find much greater success in their carefully constructed characterisation of Gary King. Despite being portrayed as irritating and annoying in the opening scenes of the film, they add a great deal of depth to his character, thus making him a lot more relatable and endearing by the end of the film. However, the greatest achievement of The World’s End is certainly in its wonderful visual parade of different shots. It makes the stylised violence and carnage of the fight scenes visually glorious, and even subtly adds to the characterisation of the protagonist. This impressively directed film achieves a lot of humour and complex characterisation in its short running time. It is a worthy masterpiece of British cinema to follow up Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, as well as serving as the perfect conclusion to the self-titled Cornetto trilogy.

Amsterdam Review

There are some elements of McEwan’s Amsterdam which could be considered appealing and absorbing. Telling the story of Clive, Britain’s most successful modern composer, and Vernon, the editor of The Judge, as they each make a dangerously immoral decision that pushes their friendship to its breaking point, it is clear that characterisation is where this Booker Prize winning novel excels. The two protagonists are portrayed as heartless and indifferent, yet it could be argued that McEwan allows us to feel empathy for their motivations. Some may also find enjoyment from the novel’s ending because it satisfies a long running subplot in a clever manner. However, for most readers, these admirable aspects to Amsterdam are small glimmers of quality in what is otherwise a poorly structured novel with a ludicrous plot.

Some readers may argue that the ending of the novel is an entertaining conclusion with an unexpected and shocking plot twist. Earlier in the novel, Clive requests Vernon to “help me to die” if he were to suffer a terminal illness, thus averting the “helplessness” of Molly’s death. Vernon agrees on the condition that Clive does the same. This pact between them becomes subverted by McEwan in a cleverly ironic manner. By the end of the novel, each protagonist causes the death of the other as promised, except they are fuelled by a murderous desire for revenge, rather than a compassion to euthanise their ill friend. The deaths are a satisfyingly just way for these morally corrupt characters to die. After Clive defies his “moral duty” and allows an attempted rape to take place, and Vernon’s “spiteful” decision to publish pictures of the foreign secretary, Garmony, in drag, we as readers feel nothing but contempt and disgust for these characters. Thus, we as readers are pleased that both protagonists are punishments for their morally repulsive behaviour. However, to a much greater extent, the ending proves to be too contrived and ridiculous to satisfy any reader. The “fury that drove” Clive to murder is the fact Vernon distracted him from completing his symphony. Vernon’s motivations prove to be just as shallow: after being humiliated for sharing the photos of the foreign secretary, he is angry that Clive escapes retribution for his “outrageous” behaviour. It is impossible to sympathise with both protagonists because their motives are so laughably superficial. Many readers are not left shocked by this plot twist because the motives behind each murder are not relatable at all. Both protagonists are so frivolous in their drive to kill that the entire ending becomes absurd. McEwan thus sacrifices logic and the novel’s integrity for the sake of a plot twist.

Nevertheless, the characterisation of Vernon and Clive could be considered complex, making it interesting and enticing for the reader. Despite their morally abhorrent behaviour, it is clear these characters display very human characteristics following Molly’s death. They both appear greatly distressed to hear about “poor Molly!”. The language both characters use to describe her is always positive and elevated- “beautiful”, “gorgeous wit”, “a lovely girl”. This language of extolment and approval suggests they both thought very highly of her; they believe she is “worthy” of all the praise they bestow upon her. The fact both attend her funeral and dream of their “darling” before their death also evidences, to a greater extent, their passionate love for her. Thus, McEwan does add the very human emotion of love, and grief for a lost loved one, to these otherwise heartless characters. It adds an extra dimension and complexity to their presentation, making them more interesting for the reader. However, a much greater reading suggests that none of these characters are redeemable at all; there is nothing about these characters that we can approve of. Despite demonstrating their love for Molly, these utterly detestable characters are heartless and indifferent throughout the novel. After choosing “revenge” over friendship, it becomes clear for the reader that these characters are disloyal and untrustworthy as they distort their original pact to euthanise each other. Vernon is presented as even more treacherous when he “crapped on Molly’s grave” by using her photos of Garmony in his newspaper. McEwan does not emphasise their loving qualities enough throughout the novel to create substantial empathy for Vernon or Clive. When you consider the fact that all of the other characters are one dimensional plot devices with no depth, and that the principal characters are so loathsome, it becomes clear that this is a novel with no characters for the reader to root for. Without admirable characters, there is little reason for any reader to engage with this novel.

The most substantial flaw of this novel is its awful structuring, which isolates the reader from the plot profoundly. Dissimilarly to McEwan’s fantastic novels Enduring Love and Atonement, there is no dramatic event to grab hold of our attention at the opening. Rather than a balloon accident, we are first introduced to two dislikeable characters as they discuss how “terrible” their circumstances are. Furthermore, McEwan structures the rest of the narrative in a very jolted manner that lacks the rhythm and flow of his other works. McEwan chooses to follow Clive, for a few chapters, as he creates his “masterpiece”. Before we can truly connect with him and admire his ambitions, McEwan will swiftly change the focus of the narration so that we are following Vernon’s story instead. The structure of the novel thus becomes very erratic and uneven. Whilst it could be argued that this is a clever use of structuring, as it disconnects us from the two protagonists and prevents us feeling sympathy, this is not the case. It is a structuring technique that is so overused by McEwan that we are not just withdrawn from the characters; we are prevented from engaging with the entire plot itself. After finishing Amsterdam, many readers may be left questioning which is the most illogical: McEwan’s use of structuring in the novel, or Vernon’s ludicrous decision to withhold the compromising pictures of Garmony from publication.

There are many positive aspects to McEwan’s Booker Prize winning novel. The characterisation of both protagonists can often be complex and intricate, enticing the reader in. For some, the novel’s ending may satisfy, entertain and shock as it concludes a key subplot in an unpredictable way. However, these aspects are completely overshadowed by disastrous structuring, a ludicrous plot and a lack of pleasant characters we can engage with as the novel progresses. Compared to his other works, Amsterdam is an extremely flawed novel lacking in the quality that would justify a second read. If you have never read an Ian McEwan novel before, do not read this one first. It will give you little motivation to read his marvellous novels Atonement and Enduring Love. Do not let the fact this novel won the Booker Prize fool you. Amsterdam was awarded it undeservedly.

“In the novel as a whole, McEwan presents Joe Rose as a successful male figure.” How do you respond to this view?

Throughout McEwan’s 1997 novel Enduring Love, the protagonist, Joe Rose, is portrayed as a failed male figure who is completely unsuccessful in his endeavours. Rose consistently behaves in an irrational and ill-considered manner in response to Parry’s extreme harassment. He fails to sustain his healthy relationship with Clarissa, while also allowing Parry’s obsession to escalate out of control. However, McEwan also presents this male figure as successful and triumphant towards the end of the novel. He appears to have learnt from his irrational behaviour as he helps Jean Logan to find the truth about the scarf in her husband’s car, and eventually discovers how to demonstrate his love for Clarissa and save their relationship. Despite his many failings, it could be argued that Joe Rose is indeed portrayed as a successful male figure.

Initially, it appears that Joe Rose is a successful male figure who maintains control over Parry’s obsessive behaviour. Parry, in contrast, is portrayed as a vulnerable and “defenceless” young man who is reliant on the authority of his ‘lover’, Rose. He lacks control over his relationship with Rose, stating how he is “dependent on” him. This connotes how Rose has been able to sustain a level of dominance over Parry, and that he has successfully constrained the threat and damage of Parry’s harassment. Every time Rose ignores one of Parry’s letters or calls, Parry steadily realises that this “gives you a power over me”- effectively, this power subdues Parry. It could be argued that Rose’s authority over the obsessive Parry makes him successful at preventing Parry’s harassment from intensifying. However,to a much greater extent, McEwan presents this protagonist as a failure whose control over Parry dissipates. Structurally, Parry is initially kept outside of Rose’s home- the only way he can contact Rose is by phoning from outside. Paralleling the isolation of Frankenstein’s Creature feels when he is refused entry to the De Lacey household in Frankenstein, Parry is portrayed as an outsider who is “denied everything” by the man he loves. This alienated character considers himself to be “like a beggar” who is unworthy of entry into Rose’s home. This changes by the novel’s climax, as this “pathetic and harmless crank” breaks into their home and holds a knife to Clarissa’s neck. As the novel progresses, he becomes consumed by “hatred” and “resentment”, and Rose is left powerless as he fails to prevent this. Clarissa even says in her letter that “there might have been a less frightening outcome” if Rose behaved differently, which suggests that he is not successful at all. In fact, it is clear that Rose is portrayed as someone whose actions exacerbate the situation to dangerous levels. He appears to be a failed male figure who inadvertently kindles a violent passion in Parry, rather than preventing the escalation of his obsessive behaviour.

 
Furthermore, it could be argued that he is also a failure at protecting the interests of his relationship with Clarissa. Rose’s fear of Parry becomes so strong this the “intensity” of his behaviour “is inhibiting her”. He is portrayed as selfish when he fails to “look after” his partner and ignores her problems in favour of his own. When she challenges this selfishness, he insults and verbally abuses her to such an extent that she “was scared by your anger”. This cruel behaviour completely juxtaposes with the “loving” protagonist we are portrayed with at the beginning of the narrative. It could be argued that Rose is not successful at maintaining a strong relationship with his partner. Ironically, it appears that their love is not “enduring” as he fails to put “my [Clarissa’s] needs first”. However, a much greater reading suggests that he is successful because he remains loyal and loving towards to her, despite the collapse of their relationship. When Clarissa is held at knifepoint, and Rose hears her “frightened” voice, his immediate response is to return home and save her life. This is despite being told that their loving relationship is “over”, which suggests how his loyalty is utterly triumphant and enduring. This is evidenced to a much stronger extent in the first appendix, when it is revealed that he has reconciled with her and adopted a child. It is clear Rose is indeed loyal and victorious at protecting Clarissa’s needs. He successfully rebuilds their relationship, and even helps her “deep sadness” over infertility by adopting a child with her. Despite the problems with their relationship that his behaviour causes, the protagonist proves successful at remaining loyal and loving to his partner. Rose’s character puts her needs first when he saves her life and helps her adopt a child, and this ultimately proves to be his great success as a partner, rather than his failure.

Nevertheless, it could be argued that Joe Rose is presented as a male figure who is at his least successful in how he consistently makes ill-thought and misjudged decisions. In Clarissa’s letter at the end of the novel, Rose is presented as completely irrational and unreasonable: “agitated and obsessed”. He is described as being utterly “manic” in his response to Parry’s harassment, which connotes a wild madness and lunacy about his character. McEwan emphasises this unstable thinking about Rose’s character by having him constantly make questionable decisions, such as the fact he did not tell Clarissa about Parry’s first phone call for two days, as well as the fact he did not save any of the twenty plus calls on the answering machine. Many readers may struggle to follow the logic of these repeated mistakes, which thus emphasises his behaviour as illogical and irrational. Thus, some may argue that he is not a successful male figure because he is not a champion of logic or reason; rather, he makes many ill-considered mistakes that have disastrous consequences on the other characters in the novel. However, a much stronger interpretation suggests that he does eventually become a successful male figure because he uses his experiences to help Jean Logan making the same irrational mistakes. Before Rose’s intervention, Jean had developed a “powerful fantasy” that her husband committed adultery. The scarf in her husband’s car “pained” this bereaved character as she misreads it as a symbol of betrayal and disloyalty. After learning from his own “obsession” and misreading of the signs, Rose introduces Bonnie and James Reid to vindicate Jean’s husband. Structurally, McEwan uses the novel’s ending to redeem Joe Rose as a protagonist. He appears to have learned from his own “terrible betrayal” of logic and reason as he helps this bereaved character find the full truth about her husband’s death. Thus, McEwan closes the novel with a protagonist who is successful, as he learns from his own mistakes to help heal the pain of another character who lost her husband in the balloon accident.
 
It is clear that Rose is a protagonist with flaws, who fails in many of his endeavours. His own illogical and miscalculated decisions in response to Parry’s harassment leads to the collapse of his relationship and serves to exacerbate Parry’s fixation and delusions. However, to a greater extent, McEwan highlights the successes and victories of this male figure. He manages to save Clarissa, allows his relationship with her to endure and helps Jean Logan to process her husband’s death. Like all of us, Rose is portrayed as a character who is capable of successes and failings. By the end of the novel though, it is clear Joe Rose is a much more successful male figure who triumphs in many of his endeavours, rather than a failed one who completely collapses under his own mistakes.

A Not So Great Britain

A Not So Great Britain

It is ironic that we are called Great Britain. Nothing about the abhorrent society that we live in today is of an exceptional quality that we can be proud of. Unfortunately, extreme levels of nationalism, xenophobia and racism have become accepted. Britain’s democratic decision to leave the European Union appears to have become a justification for hatred towards different ethnicities. However, the British people are not entirely to blame. It is the Vote Leave politicians who pulled the first brick out of the wall of equality. Vote Leave campaigners have made it socially acceptable (for perhaps up to 52% of the electorate) to be intolerant towards those that are not British. Whether it is the European leaders in Brussels or the immigrants travelling here in search of a livelihood, leave campaigners have steadily demonised those that are different to ourselves. This is not “great”, and it is certainly nothing to be proud of.

In Britain’s shameful quest for sovereignty, we have sharply lost all our influence over what happens to the world and our country. One of the key arguments that lay at the heart of the Vote Leave campaign was the concept of control over our own legislation, and how we can “unshackle” ourselves from the rules and restrictions of the European Union. The officials in Brussels have been portrayed by Nigel Farage and Boris Johnson as dictators who have an oppressive grasp on our country. This appealed to voters profoundly. They questioned why we cannot have the freedom to create our own laws? Surely we should have the right to create our own legislation without the influence of an external governing body, they pondered. These are all perfectly valid points. Democracy is a valuable system we should never take for granted; in fact, it should be cherished. If 36.9% of the electorate desire for a Conservative government to create our laws, it is perfectly understandable that they would want to break away from the overpowering influence of Brussels.

However, as the seismic consequences of Brexit begin to tear the British economy apart, the evidence appears to suggest that we have become much less sovereign. Our credit rating has decreased, the pound has steeply fallen in value and we are steadily losing the power to prevent Scottish independence in the next decade. Leave voters believed they had chosen to “take back control”, to break the chains of the European officials, who were portrayed as tyrannical and undemocratic. For many xenophobes, the idea of “those European bureaucrats” having influence over our country’s politics appeared too much to endure. It must deeply hurt them to see that we have in fact lost control since we voted Brexit. Defined as the ability to govern ourselves, and to have authority over what happens within our country, it is clear there is nothing sovereign about this post-Brexit Britain. Our markets are suffering, and there is nothing we can do to prevent the tumultuous storm of a recession heading our way. The only choice our parliament can make entirely on their own is when to activate Article 50. Yet, even that decision can be overturned by the House of Lords, who are just as undemocratic and unelected as the European officials that have been demonised. Fortunately for the xenophobes in this country, the House of Lords is mostly comprised of white males, which must make it acceptable for them to have undemocratic control. Ultimately, when Article 50 is activated, we lose our influence in Europe and what happens to our own country forever. It will be they who decide what our future trade deals look like, not us. Thus, for many remain supporters, the country’s decision to leave the EU is embarrassing and appalling. In the quest for more control over our own country and break away from foreign influence, we have lost economic stability, our allies and the once strong union that defined our country. Without these, we are no longer “great”. We are just a little country who tried to augment our own power, but have lost it in the process.

Farage's poster has been highly criticised as racist and
morally disgusting 

Furthermore, many British voters opted for Brexit believing it would lead to greater controls over immigration. To be worried over immigration is a completely legitimate concern. Our public services are under strain. It is understandable why many would want to alleviate the pressure from a struggling NHS by having greater controls over immigration. However, it is repulsive how immigrants have been used as the scapegoats for all of our problems because it is easier than blaming ourselves. Whilst it is true that tighter controls on immigration would take away some of the strain on the over-worked NHS, and to perhaps take away the demand for new homes in this housebuilding crisis, to completely blame immigrants is untrue. It is our Conservative government who have made cuts to NHS funding, who have not created enough jobs or built enough homes to meet demand. Yet, we continually blame the many Europeans who come to live in the UK. Despite the fact they are 43% less likely to take out of the benefit system, instead providing vital skills that over twenty billion pounds to the economy, many British citizens have diabolized them. Many have made them the problem. Since the referendum result, reports of hate crime have risen by 57%. Europeans are being described as “vermin”, as people who the government should “send them home”. Immigrants, who have only come here to work and provide for their family, are being portrayed as a plague that has marred Britain. This portrayal is wrong and morally repugnant. How can we call ourselves “great” Britain when hate speech such as this is taking place? As Michael Keith argues, “the unspeakable became not only speakable, but commonplace”, and it is utterly repellent.  

The most extreme demonisation of Europeans is evident in the manner that the Vote Leave campaign used terrorists and criminals as a weapon of fear. On one of their leaflets, they played upon societal anxieties by highlighting how a country like Turkey, which is planning to join the European Union, is bordered with Syria and Iraq. This is an attempt to label foreign people as the other, as something different and threatening. Shockingly, this worked with a majority of the British electorate. The Vote Leave campaign’s ridiculous warnings that the entire Turkish population of 77 million, described as being full of “murderers, rapists and terrorists”, will move over here as soon as the country joins the EU. For the campaign to make this claim is absurd, for the British electorate to believe it is very worrying indeed. Believing the claim that all of the world’s criminals exist within Turkey and Syria only leads to latent prejudices and hatred rising to the surface. As discussed earlier, many British citizens have taken it upon themselves to tell foreign people to “go back to your own country”, or to “get out”, as the reports of racism have suggested. This hatred towards those who are not British can and will escalate from verbal taunts to violent acts if we do not stop demonising them now. It is almost as if the British electorate have forgotten that MP Jo Cox was brutally murdered by a British terrorist, or that murderers, rapists and thieves of white nationality do exist also. There is a horrifying ‘us and them’ attitude in this country; we have become divided as we choose to fear those of different nationalities, rather than work with them to create a progressive future. The chasm that splits our country is so profound that to call ourselves the United Kingdom sounds ironic and foolish.

The name of our country completely juxtaposes with the negative ideals that we are currently holding. We are a country who shuns the political influence of Brussel’s officials, yet would be the first to accept their help when the disastrous consequences of Brexit arrive. Our economy cannot survive without immigration, yet we continue to portray it as a plague that will eventually destroy us. And finally, we are a country that uses criminals from different countries as bogeymen to instil fear, whilst ignoring the atrocities that British people have committed themselves. This post-Brexit Britain is appalling and disgusting. Xenophobia has swiftly become commonplace in this depraved society that we now live in. It is ironic that national pride was used by the Vote Leave campaign to attract votes, because there is nothing about Little England that we can be proud of anymore.

Consider the significance of the role of the Old Man in The Pardoner's Tale

Although the character appears for only a few lines in Chaucer’s The Pardoner’s Tale, the Old Man is a character of great significance to the text. He appears to act as a foil to the other sinful characters in the poem, may symbolise the supernatural idea of death and is presented as an arcane figure that intrigues the reader. It is clear that many of these significant aspects to the Old Man’s role link with elements of the Gothic genre.

  Chaucer presents the Pardoner as an ambiguous, arcane and mysterious character in his poem. We as a reader never truly know anything about him because his name, as well as information with regards to where he has come from or where he is going, are not revealed to us. The most significant mystery about his character is his role in the reveller’s death later in the text. The Old Man sends them up the “croked weye” towards the money and where they ultimately die. Whilst the word “croked” could connote how their “abhominable” behaviour is corrupt and immoral, and that it can only lead to destruction, a much greater significance is its ambiguity. We do not know whether it is their “grisly” behaviour or the Old Man’s intervention that leads to their damnation and death at the end of the tale. There are hints that it could be the Old Man’s sinister plan when he ominously says “in age, if that ye so longe abide”. This appears to strengthen the argument further that the Old Man does intend to send them to their death. Despite this, we still do not truly know for certain. This uncertainty and obscurity about the Old Man’s character may have been used to create tension and unease. We often fear what we do not understand, so Chaucer may have wished to use this absence of information to evoke a thrilling sense of terror and uncertainty from the reader.

  A much greater significance of the Old Man is his role as the antithesis of the corrupt and sinful characters in the text. When we are first introduced to the Old Man, Chaucer presents him as humble, gentle and benign: he is described as “ful mekely” and wishes upon the revellers that “God yow see!” them through their day. This connotes his innate goodness; the Old Man appears to be a welcoming character who treats the revellers with kindness. Chaucer juxtaposes this with other immoral characters in the text, such as The Pardoner who narrates this tale. The Pardoner is the antithesis of the Old Man: he is a “ful vicious man” of “avarice” rather than selflessness. This use of the word “vicious” suggests corruption, wickedness and a decayed sense of morality- qualities the Old Man does not appear to possess. The Pardoner, in contrast, would easily let “children sterve for famine” or take from the “povereste page” to satiate his covetousness. Some would argue that Chaucer does this to highlight how monstrous The Pardoner truly is. The Old Man may act as a foil which highlights why the narrator, whose only intention is to “winne” money, is someone the reader should be utterly repulsed by. The poem appears to be didactic in its message as it presents us with a symbol of virtue, the Old Man, to juxtapose with and condemn the corrupt Pardoner. However, a much stronger reading suggests that Chaucer is not creating revulsion for the Pardoner; rather, he may be highlighting the irony and folly of his Christian role. In Medieval England, the Pardoner and all religious clergymen would have been expected to be a good-natured, holy and moral. Chaucer presents the reader with the complete opposite, subverting our expectations of a religious man. Through the Old Man’s virtues, Chaucer may be choosing to satirise the corruption of the Catholic Church. After all, it is almost comic how a ‘fictional character’ in the Pardoner’s moral tale is actually more virtuous than the preaching narrator himself.

  The greatest significance of the Old Man is his complex relationship with death. He is initially presented as a supernatural character who could be the personification of death itself. Chaucer has lexicalised the description of the Old Man- “forwrapped”; “bones” and “vanisshe”- so that it evokes a sense of decay and withering. The Old Man’s striking physical description is one that appears to symbolise erosion and decay; contextually, it may even represent the Black Death which had plagued Europe. It could be argued Chaucer wished to use him as symbolic of death itself. After all, the revellers do describe him as death’s “espye”. By doing this, Chaucer does appear to be suggesting that the Old Man has greater, otherworldly powers than we first imagined. When the three revellers die at the end, we as readers naturally remember the macabre Old Man who sent them up the “croked weye”. However, a much stronger interpretation does suggest that the Old Man is a character we sympathise with, rather than fear, because he has lost the ability to die. The character is presented as having been cheated of the one quality every human being shares- the ability to die. Instead, he is a “restless kaitif” who is often pleading for his death to come: “leet me in!” to my grave he begs; he is often despondent over the fact “none.. chaunge his youthe for myn age”. The sympathy lies in the fact he has lost something he clearly seeks, but cannot have (even if he travelled from here to India). Death is something everyone has, even the “abhominable” revellers are allowed the right to this very human experience. Yet, the Old Man does not, and this ultimately creates a lot of sympathy for this almost victimised character who is denied the experience he wants the most.

  Chaucer uses the minor character of the Old Man to create a lot of meaning. The ambiguity about him, his juxtapositioning with the Pardoner and his supernatural immortality all appear to have been used to evoke different emotions from the reader. Whilst these evoked emotions could be negative ones, such as fear and unease, it is clear the Old Man represents the virtues and goodness of humanity when juxtaposed with many of the other characters lack in this poem. Thus, a lot of sympathy is created because he is punished to the greatest extent through immortality, whereas morally corrupt characters such as The Pardoner and the revellers do not experience such comeuppance.