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.