What To Read If You’re A Narcissist*

(August Book of the Month!!)

Are you the type of person who also spends more time choosing an outfit for an event than preparing for the lecture you will give there? (An optimistic guess of the core readers, but I’ll run with it.)

Do you want to spend hours admiring your many talents by doing Are You Smarter Than Einstein quizzes and having wonderful daily rambles into the realms of self-reflection?

Do you feel constantly under-appreciated by all others in your family, even when you did all their laundry, walked the dog and made their Chilli Costume at 10 pm for World Taste Day as little Tommy only remembered at bedtime that it was the next morning? (Actually, that probably is a fair one.)

If so, then PSY-Q is for you! Oh, and you’re a narcissist.


Anyway, the book is littered with many curious, engaging and thought-provoking tests which ultimately tell you more about yourself. We all know that our IQ is highly superior (by default) to everyone else’s, but it’s always fun to do the personality tests, Rorschach tests and Raven test that Ben Ambridge includes in his hefty book amongst many others.

What do you see in these ink blots? Your answer may reveal more about you than you think…

But the quizzes, riddles and multiple choice questions are all part of a larger scheme to explain the psychology behind It All. By that, I mean the basic prinicples of all kinds of things, for example neurological and linguistic disorders, with everything tied together by the results of your test. Sounds neat? Well, it is.

One of the many fascinating things that Ambridge discusses is selective attention. Take the test below by watching the video- it’s awesome (and it’s very popular, so you may have already done it).

Ambridge walks us mere ordinary citizens through why selective attention occurs, and how it is useful when implemented in everyday life, (it allows us to have a conversation on a busy train, for example, as all the other voices can be blocked out instead of distracting us). But that’s not all. Ambridge also offers the reader a whistle-stop tour through first-year psychology, explaining not only everyday revelations but deeply personal ones too, such as with the sunk cost fallacy.

As the authour sagely mentions at the start of the book, everything links back to psychology, even money- no, especially money. It’s all good and well, being that told you’re a relatively open person with extroverted tendencies, because you  knew that already. But being dropped the bombshell that you’re actually culpable to mental financial tricks (like the sunk cost fallacy) is something else. Here is what it is, in a nutshell:


Or, as put eloquently, here:


All things considered, it’s most likely not what a great man once meant when, to delight of motivational posters stockers everywhere, he said:


But it stills applies. The point is that there are many pitfalls that we face in life which are clearly explained by a proper psychologist (none of that self-proclaimed Instagram riff-raff) across a broad spectrum of topics which may end up not only informing your future decisions, but helping you to guide them. To use the SCF example from earlier, like when you’ve spent £300 on a plane ticket you no longer want, instead of paying an extra £1000 and wasting 4 days of your holiday going to a place you don’t even like to make sure that the plane tickets are wasted, you may remember the sunk cost fallacy and take the £300 loss. Or not. It’s your cash.

Of course, the explanations, whilst thorough, are superficial because we of the public don’t have medical degrees, so it’s not likely to be useful to anyone with much grounding in psychology already. Laughably, by the end of the book Ambridge finishes with this optimistic note: I hope at least some of you are now inspired to go on to study psychology at university, or even go onto your postgrad. Wait. What? I’m sorry brother, but I’m not going to switch my university choice just from a few fancy tests of yours. Your book is interesting and all, granted, but you need to tone your expectation levels down or you will sorely disappointed!

Except, maybe after reading PSY-Q, YOU will be the one Ambridge is talking about who starts a new degree. Not convinced? Give the book a read and prove me wrong. Because that’s what narcissists like to do, after all.

*or just really interest in psychology.

Nestle in on Chesil Beach: a poetic review


Throughout history intertwines itself with the present

like ivy around the throat of Florence,

whilst fear spreads throughout her bones

at the threat of what is to come, looming

heavy like moons over the wedding.

Her breaths are short;


like the novel itself,

dialogue measured in grams and carefully

dosed, and so the pages are tightly packed, with McEwan

rationing each sentence and each image.

The honeymoon becomes more like cracks in the pavement,

the smiles edging into frowning crescents

as words cascade from manuals and memories

past Edward’s sombre face and into Florence’s gaping eyes.

At the denouement the audience is left on a cliff,

groping for a firm rock, but there are only pebbles

from Chesil Beach, and this is not quite enough


to explain what happened to Ponting

in all the years that past. So we let go

and fall into the mystery

with grace.

6 Parallels between Trump and the Theban Plays

1. How the Good of the State comes first, and morales second (if at all)

Creon throughout all three plays is clearly a villain, not in the least because he orders his own nephew’s body to fester outside the walls of his city after the battle. When Antigone is the eponymous hero, she is just a bit miffed by the outright disrespect displayed towards her brother Polynices, even if Creon (her uncle) says that it’s fine if dogs eat his flesh because he was betrayed Thebes by trying to overthrow the ruler at the time, Polynices’ brother Eteocles . It’s clear, therefore, that Creon believes that any morales or values must be placed second to that of the States’ needs. In this case the value that is being ‘demoted’ here is that of honouring the dead and in particular family, because Creon refuses to give Polynices any form of a burial, leaving him to rot outside the city’s walls. Instead, Creon decides it’s more important to use Polynices as an example of what happens to those who threaten the State and therefore to help keep order in Thebes.

As for Trump, well…

It’s clear that these…
child in cage
…speak for themselves 

2.Difficulties realising that the truth is not a social construct but an actual thing

In Oedipus the King, the celebrated couple that is Jocasta and Oedipus are discussing the events of Laius’ murder. Both decide to latch onto what the servant had said when they recounted the event, fixing on the fact that ‘strangers’ had carried out the murder when of course Oedipus alone had stabbed Laius. Neither are particularly keen to point out the large number of coincidences that would disprove the servant as a reliable source, like how Oedipus (as his name suggests) has damaged feet and yet just fails to draw a parallel when Jocasta mentions binding the ankles of her new-born, or how both have similar prophecies and yet they don’t see any significance in this shared coincidence. It seems like this pair has a bit of trouble with the truth. Do you know who else does?

trum b

Now, I could go on to list the many times that Trump has had some difficulties with the truth, (in fact the Post says that since he started his presidency he has this problem 4.9 times a day on average), but instead of going into the details myself, I’ll let the excellent Pulitzer Prize winning website POLITIFACT do it instead. Really, click on the link. Go on, check it out!

3. A tendency towards self-inflicted pain

Deaths happen. Lots of deaths. No, I’m not talking about the countless suspicious car accidents which take place in Russia everyday as more agents try to double cross and reveal evidence of collusion. No. I never said that. I am talking about the large number of suicides that occur during the span of the Three Theban Plays:

Oedipus firstly blinds himself in Oedipus the King and then leads himself to his own death at the end of Oedipus at Colonus. His two sons/ half brothers, Polynices and Eteocles, die by each-others’ swords (which can be judged as self-inflicted because Polynices knew from the prophecy that he would die without Oedipus’ support). Then there is Jocasta, Haemon and Eurydice who die in equally gory and interesting ways….

So there’s plenty of tragic deaths through suicide of one form or another. But the point that Sophocles is trying to make? That wrongdoing is a catalyst for a loss. Here, the wrongdoing as such is incest, which is linked to every sucide either directly or indirectly. Ergo, a crime or a sin will have negative consequences, and the more severe the crime, the greater the effect.

Now the Trump administration has seen quite a few people either resign or be, to put it bluntly, sacked so hard that they plummeted through the earth and appeared on the other side in Japan.

As of March 2018, over 22 people have either resigned or have been fired. This is much the same as ‘self-inflicted pain’ because, of course, to have a cohesive government the party needs to be unified. Any cracks weaken the party and thus the President. If the leader is losing respect of the people in his party to such the extent that they feel they have to leave, then clearly the President is not only doing something wrong, but is sending the message of a rift in the party to the public. At the rate Trump is going through these staff, it won’t be long before ‘factionalism’ as created by Lenin, will be introduced to ensure that someone turns up to wor on Monday morning.

A few of the most major leavers were:

Anthony Scaramucci with his 11 day career 
Sean Spicer who probably wasn’t laughing like this when he left the White House
Comey and the complex saga that followed him

4. Humanity’s potential for infinite stupidity

The vision of Oedipus violently blinding himself, with blood running down his face, is one of the most memorable from King Oedipus. But references to vision can be found more than just that once throughout these three plays. Lots of times these references are a metaphor for the truth and knowledge. Going back to the previous example, Oedipus blinds himself because he doesn’t want to see his daughters/ siblings. As if by not seeing the truth, it can be avoided and ignored. Ironically and in reverse, the prophet who features mainly in Antigone, Tiresias, is alsp blind, and yet he can predict the future accurately and thus does have great knowledge. So the message is that even those who are the most revered and are the most intelligent in society i.e Oedipus who solves the riddle, can be incredibly short-sighted (PUN INTENDED). Like when he accidentally  marries his mother. So Sophocles neatly and dramatically highlights how although humans have the potential for great intelligence, in reality they’re unreliable and vastly stupid.

Hm. You know, I don’t know if this does relate to Trump. I can’t think of him in any situation about where he seems even a tiny bit idiotic and resembled a well dressed orange with a penchance for public speaking.  Only joking. I wouldn’t say that about oranges. Even oranges know that ‘covfefe’ isn’t a real word and try to pull off the fact



5. Trouble when family and state collide

 The Theban Plays become very grave when discussing burials. Obviously the source of the conflict when Polynices’ corpse is denied a proper grave in Antigone whilst shockingly, Antigone is entombed in a cave whilst alive (and then kills herself, but that’s another motif for another paragraph). Even the way Oedipus choses to buried at Colonus is significant because it gives Athens the prophetic power to win any future battles.

Anyhow, during the denouement of Antigone, Creon realises that it’s his part of his duty to bury his nephew, traitor or not, and so burials come to represent the duties and trials that come with kinship, particularly when the duty to the state conflicts with the duty to one’s relatives.

For Donald Trump, there is on the other hand no conflict with duty to family and state. No, they are the same thing. Now, two words: Ivanka Trump. A Senior Advisor to the President.


Makes sense. She has modelled for Tommy Hilfiger and Versace, and was a reality TV personality and fashion designer. One cannot think of anyone in the entirity America who is more suited to advising the President on nuclear warheads and soybean tariffs. What Obama really needed, then, was Cindy Crawford by his side….

And another two words: Jared Kushner. He has to broker peace in the Middle East, act as the liason to Mexico, China and the Muslim community. Oh, and he also has to enjoy being Donald Trump’s son-in-law. But that’s just a coincidence. Isn’t it?

6. Assertion of control over others

Lastly is poor Antigone. Banished to a cave, buried alive. Oh the horror. No, seriously, that does actually sound quite horrific. On a metaphorical level this is crucial because it suggests that Creon disregards the Gods entirely; it was widely known to be a terrible sin to put living Antigone into a grave and keep dead Polynices above ground. In doing so, Creon is clearly trying to assert his control over the Gods, which always ends well, and disregard the sinful nature of this act.

As for assertion of control…. let me leave you with this one final thought:


Death in Venice, Deathly Menace

Looking morbid…

As Thomas Mann is a fellow German, I am glad that our nation -somewhat sidelined for engineering and precision- was represented in the literature-classics-to-be-read list. However having read Death in Venice, I now vote that it should be removed from said list, even if it means Germany is once again shunned.

Famously a short-story, I was expecting Death In Venice to be packed with electrifying plot twists and wildly unexpected turns. At 70 pages, there is plenty of room for a proper character arc and plot development, however it seems that Mann didn’t get the memo because he spent 47 pages just dwelling on the beauty and seeming greatness of Tadzio.

‘a page and a half of sublime prose based on Tadzio’s beauty—the purity, nobility, and quivering emotion tension of which would soon win the admiration of many’

Now I’m sure Aschenbach would have rejoiced at the modern era; Facebook and Instagram are the perfect tools for stalking certain individuals, and there would hardly be a millennial who would say that they weren’t guilty of this, but- an essay on Tadzio? The following of him around? The commitment to him even at the risk of death? It’s all very hyperbolic and excessive, which I understand is the point of Death In Venice so I cannot criticise that. What is problematic is the extent of time that Mann dedicates to the same scenes of wonder and adoration; of course content should reflect the feelings of the protagonist, but readers don’t need 70% of the book solely focusing on the description of a secondary character. It was unsurprising that Ascenbach would die in the end, as unfortunately Mann gave that away in the title, but I thought that the end still wouldn’t be so blindingly predictable? There are only so many ways that the protagonist could die, and dying cholera was the first and most probable on the list.


If only Mann were alive to read this. He would learn so much. You see there is utterly no point in reading if the plot resolution can be visualised preemptively, otherwise the thrill and engagement aspects are eliminated, which are what makes the process so enjoyable in the first place. And as a short story, Mann has a particular duty to finish surprisingly or with a twist, but the death was obvious (again, title), so there was nothing to make up for the long drawn out descriptions. It is even difficult to find a climax at any point. So superficially, the book’s awful. It just blabbers on.

me waiting for the part where it becomes interesting

So, what are the deeper meanings? Can they save Mann and catapult him back into literary greatness? Clearly pederasty is a major theme and is ultimately what shot the story to fame. It is rarely discussed in a literary form now and even less then, and so many people are be fascinated by this notion of infatuation, and exploring this within the context of a book is a rather comforting way to deal with the problem. Paedophilia often haunts newspapers but is rarely spoken about as a society unlike murder or theft due to embarrassment or awkwardness, and so it seems that ultimately in the novella form allows people to see it and truly stare it into eyes, and sit by themselves and decide what they think of it and why, as discussion of the topic is somewhat limited. Fundamentally Aschenbach is a paedophile and it’s written from his perspective, but interestingly Aschenbach justifies his lust by comparing himself to the ancient Greeks, saying he was acting the warriors did then. Nice try, but the Greeks also forced women to wear veils and stay indoors, and I don’t Aschenbach endorsing that part of society. One cannot pick and choose parts of culture to emulate, if one is going to hold up that entire culture to form the basis as justification for what is a modern day crime.

The one redeeming feature of Death in Venice could be the cholera. Cholera was the sriracha to the otherwise bland bowl of rice the plot was. Ironically, in the opening Aschenbach longs for far-off countries with unconventional scenes and happenings. Guess what, Aschenbach didn’t have to go to India to experience the fun, India (in the form of cholera) came to him. (If cholera could be called fun. Who knows? Aschenbach lived a very sheltered life, so perhaps anything goes for the thrill-factor.) Cholera could even represent the way his lust for Tadzio consumes him, and even kills him; his emotions cause him to stay in Venice even when he knows it’ll eventually lead to his physical decline, just as chlorea actually leads to his death. It’s a double-edged symbol and rather fun once thought about. But Mann, there needs to be more than one turn per 70 pages. Come on now.

The secondary characters are worth considering, and although there is analysis, it’s not particularly mind-blowing. The man at the graveyard, for instance, is masculine with his bulging Adam’s apple and also hideous because of his ‘permanent facial deformity’. So he’s everything which Tadzio isn’t. This doesn’t mean that the Graveyard Man is a precursor or foreshadows the relationship, but if we’re searching amongst scraps for something to say to help merit Mann, then maybe it reveals that Aschenbach who is describing him, is only focusing the features which revolts him the most ? He craves youthfulness and beauty, so the antithesis of these attributes shock him and captures his attention. This line of argument applies to the man on the boat with the make-up, feigning adolescence whilst the ugliness part can be applied to the minstrel. Curiously, towards the end of the story, Aschenbach metamorphisms into that which he hates, and becomes more leering and even has that session in the salon to make himself seem younger, and then doesn’t seem like an imposter himself. Interesting.

There is plenty of Freudian analysis of Aschenbach online and in books, which will be doubtless more absorbing that what I can say because I have no interest whatsoever in investing that sort of time into a story I find dull. But what is captivating is the notion that Aschenbach is a queer contemporary icon. Of course, throughout history literature has not been exactly kind to the LGBT community, so icons are taken as they come, but Aschenbach is a problematic choice. He may claim pederasty at the best of times but morally his actions are perverse and ought to be treated as such, not exalted because of his sexuality. And in some ways, it does seem like Aschenbach is not actually gay, but more is in love with the concept of divine beauty, in whatever form that may be. Tadzio just happened to be extremely beautiful, and so Aschenbach craved the look and the form of Tadzio more than his personality or character, just like a sculptor admires a figure for the shape and dimensions as opposed to any emotional attributes. In many ways Tadzio could easily have been female, without any qualms to the plot, and then the plot would be relatively unchanged, but leave the world with one less icon.


East of Eden – John Steinbeck

Owens River Valley
So take a left at the T junction, go straight past Eden and then take the third exit at the roundabout. Then you’re East of Eden.

Steinbeck said that ‘everything else I have written has been, in a sense, practice for this’ novel, and he was certainly correct in saying that East of Eden was the literary finale compared to all his previous works.

At a hefty 602 pages, it may seem daunting at first, but unlike many of other long novels (like Tess of the D’Urbervilles), the content deserves to sprawls across hundreds of pages. In fact, sprawl seems to the wrong word. Each word seems to be carefully chosen, like Steinbeck was a gardener picking only the best fruit that the English language could offer. It is remarkable to think how Steinbeck could even begin to plan a novel of this magnitude; in no places does it, like an under-baked pie, sag under the need to get to the next exciting event. All of the plot is gripping and thought-provoking, and the meanings span across so many levels. Although I may indeed regret saying this, (the old adage being careful what you wish for!), it seems that in spite of its length, this novel would be a joy to study as there is just so much to unpack.

The first thing to comment on is obviously the book’s namesake, East of Eden, referring to how the plot loosely links to the story of Adam and Eve and ultimately Cain and Abel. Adam is both Adam from the Book of Genesis and Abel; Charles is Cain. This makes sense because if Cyrus, their father, is God, then Cyrus’ rejection of Charles’ pocketknife and adoration of Abel’s stray puppy mirror wonderfully God’s praise for the lamb and hatred for the crops offered by Cain. Following this cruel dismissal from God, Cain famously kills Abel, and so Charles beats Adam almost to death, before running off to get a hatchet to finish Adam before he eventually escapes. Again Cain becomes marked by God to prevent others from killing him, and so Charles becomes scarred when working in his fields. Lastly Cain didn’t have any descendants whilst Adam did, which can be a direct parallel to the lives of Charles and Adam. The interesting thing about the way Steinbeck did this was that it was never glaring obvious that the two stories paralleled each other, nor was the next chapter ever predicatable, whilst still holding true to the Bible original.

Furthermore Adam and Cathy can be interpreted as Adam and Eve from the Bible. When considering the original sin, it can traced entirely back to Eve, as she was responsible for all the acts of wrongdoing in Eden due to the loss of the pair’s innocence. In this way, Cathy can be regarded as a solely evil character because of all the ‘monstrous’ manipulation, lying, cheating and murder she carried out in her lifetime. Scholars believe her to be a representation of a debased form of Eve, as she seduces men at every opportunity for her own means; for example, from framing her parents’ death without remorse, to using the whoremaster to engineer a better circumstance to herself, to her betrayal of Adam and ultimately her own kin. The list of the other devious happenings she organised goes on, but essentially it’s clear that Cathy is undeniably a gruesome and perhaps hyperbolic version of Eve in the context of the Book of Genesis.

The important thing to remember when reading East of Eden, too, is that it’s not necessarily meant to be realistic. The narrator even mentions that Cathy has a ‘deformity’ within her soul, meaning that she is crueler and harsher than an average person. Cathy is an exaggeration of humanity’s worst qualities and yet she is still somewhat plausible, in a twisted sort of way. It’s worth mentioning this just because many critics at the time of the novel’s publication argued that the characters were unruly and unimaginable, making this not such a fantastic read after all, but then again these same critics did believe a certain man to walk on water, and so these contradictions in what is plausible and what isn’t make their arguments rather hypocritical.

All in all, although I was initially quite unenthusiastic about taking the plunge into East of Eden, when I did I was amazed by the vivid characters and plot that lay before me. So come join me! The water’s lovely…

The God of Small Things – Arundhati Roy

A clear favourite amongst the Ayemenem locals

Roy’s breakthrough debut novel is more like poetry than literature; in the sense that most of it doesn’t make sense.

I have discovered from years of scouring award winning poems that a lot of their  imagery is not coherent in any way and yet somehow manages to capture the imagination of the judges. Roy’s novel should have won the attention of the public and the Man Booker committee, not because of imagery (of which there is a copious amount and so I dwell upon it), but in spite of it.

I can understand that the novel was singularly exceptional in the way that the caste system was handled, with the underlying political tension creating another area of conflict, as well as the looming fate of the infamous pickle factory, however I cannot understand the language used by Roy most of the time. As in: I cannot understand what she is trying to say. This is problematic, particularly because lots of phrases become epithets to characters or circumstances, so some level of coherency would be useful.

Here is a random example:

‘He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair

This sounds wonderful and indeed poetic, but it is rather nonsensical. So fear is the rose, right? So Rahel takes Velutha’s fear and makes it add to her beauty/ shows it off? Of course, as any self respecting literature scholar will know, you can always adjust the meaning of phrases, because no one has the ‘definitive’ meaning so if you shout loud enough then your opinion of a piece of imagery could be deemed somewhat plausible. So someone might say that Velutha makes himself vulnerable and turns his fears into a thing of beauty, because he is a powerful character who can create perfection from his own fallibility and in doing so Rahel respects his weaknesses and turns into something which complements her one of her own strengths, her beauty. You could say that. But we all know that that interpretation is rather whimsical and far-fetched, and yet many people would justify the relevance of this quote (and many others equally ridiculous) by saying that this was the true meaning.

Another example is:

blood spilt from the man’s head ‘like a secret’

Let’s break this down: a secret is a piece of information which must be concealed from individuals or groups for the threat of causing conflict. Blood cannot come from someone’s head like something which shouldn’t be discussed. The movement of blood isn’t like something that should be concealed, especially when one considers how much blood does actually appear from a head injury as this character as sustained, and how this actually is useful as it signals injury and therefore brings help. No one wants a severe injury to be hidden for fear of causing problems when they could be receiving medical tension and their life is at risk. Call me pedantic, but these examples (and I can list many more), prove that much of Arunhati’s imagery is at best parnassian and at worst unintelligible. I adore well-written books, just not when the language it pretentious and self-indulgent.

So why isn’t this terrible flaw pointed out more often?

Many people will go to the depths of the universe to defend Roy because they can relate to other parts of the plot and so want to defend the ENTIRE novel, instead of admitting there’s a few faults, to justify that they don’t like books with flaws. This aggravatingly works in their favour because literature is always ‘open to debate’, if you are willing to concede that ‘debate’ includes twisting things out of proportion and context to prove a point. In another instance people can simply skim past words and not step back and internalise them, and so although things may sound pleasant on the tip of their tongue, they may never truly think why Roy makes these bizarre comparisons. Worst of all, it may be because people honestly believe that they aren’t intelligent enough to understand the references, even when it’s a vague and poor reference that they’re dealing with, and so the problem is with the language and not their intellect.

The book does however has beautifully and vividly crafted characters, however it did take me almost the entirety of the plot to suddenly be able to differentiate them as they were introduced rather haphazardly all at once. It seems apparent that the plot in question only really starts to develop and come into its own in the latter stages of The God, mainly because the rest of the novel is so utterly character driven. This naturally places Roy’s piece in the ‘literature’ section of the Types Of Books scale, but it did seem a bit indulgent at times even for literature. For example, an author can go on and on with elaborately described scenes where characters are just brushing their teeth, but then it seems to be more for the author’s enjoyment then for the reader’s benefit, and as the book is being sold, it really ought to be more reader in mind than the writer.

Also, the incest part at the end? This was entirely unnecessary to the plot and quite abhorrent. Some argue that it’s to evoke a reaction that would be parallel to the Velutha/ Ammu relationship, so that Western reactions to the twins’ incest could be a template for Untouchable/ Touchable relationship, as there is no caste system as such in the West and so it may be hard to imagine what feelings would have been created by the news of the two together. But in all seriousness, the caste system is cruel and names people’s worth before they are even born, based on the social standing of their family, not on the individuals’ potential, and so people are born into a lottery of sorts. Incest, on the other hand, not only destroys the boundaries that one assumes exists between family members and siblings, where the love is meant to be platonic and caring at to the highest degree, but also violates the idea of preventing cross-breeding. There is a real reason to be concerned by this as opposed to the Untouchable/ Touchable relationship, and not just because of it is at odds with Western culture, but with all cultures and even morales.

So The God of Small Things was generally an adequate read; the flash backs and glimpses into the future also tended to add to some of the confusion, but once the plot is firmly sorted in one’s head I suppose reading the novel the next time will be a more enjoyable and clearer experience. If you can get past the opaque language, that is.

Tess of the D’Urbervilles

Some books are a joy; a mere afternoon of reading and in a flash the paperback has been read. This is not one of these novels. At 460 pages with miniscule font, I can hardly say that there was much ebullience ignited by this classic.

True: there were complex (and contemporarily speaking) risqué issues handled. It is unsurprising that in a harsh and patriarchal 19th Century society that Hardy’s piece caused quite a stir amongst those lucky enough to be able to read.

I did get a sense from the novel that it was far too long, simply because half the content was unuseful. Tess D’urberville is defintely a book that can be skimmed through, as the pace is slower than a hungover sloth, so if you’re reading and miss a line, any overlooked information will be repeated at least three times before it is somewhat relevant.

The climax of the novel is in the last twenty or so pages (Hardy, you kept me waiting a long time!) and even then it was so awkward that it can be hard to give it merit. It seems out of character for Tess to stab Alec, even if he did anger her greatly. Hardy always presented Tess as a maternal figure, caring not only for her siblings but for Sorrow too. She was mainly meek and obeyed orders, being careful to avoid (where controllable) shame upon her family.

For Tess to murder another man seems contradictory on two accounts: although this was an impulsive act, Tess is firstly rarely impulsive herself (she didn’t marry Angel straight away, and deliberated about telling him her secret, as well as hiding from Angel’s brothers instead of suddenly facing them), so the murder- as it wasn’t premeditated- is unusual. Then Tess must have known she’d be caught, meaning death and therefore one less source of income for her poverty stricken family. Seeing as Liza-Lu was held with the utmost respect by Tess, so much so that Tess suggested her marriage, it seems unlikely that Tess was seeking ‘revenge’ on her family by depriving them of her presence/income.

As for the effect on Angel; Tess knew that she was already outcast by Angel, but still hoped with relentless optimism for his forgiveness. Morales dictate that murder is a gruesome crime, so it is strange that Tess should murder Alec and still hope to be liked that Angel. How could she expect this death to be forgiven, particularly when after the stabbing she purposefully seeks out Angel to tell him. Of course, contemporarily the death of the father allowed the widow to move onto another man, although cold murder does seem to be drastic as it limits the longevity of her relationship with Angel, if it was going to happen at all. Didn’t it occur to Tess that he may be repulsed by her brutishness, even if it was to cut off this societal tie?

The language was more like a desert than flowery, although there were a few buds here and there to brighten up the barren language. There were some interesting motifs and symbols, too: the mention of birds frequently throughout the novel were a thought provoking motif of the freedom of characters. The strong theme of freedom and freewill tie strongly into birds; as the Mrs D’Urberville’s finches could fly around the room, they were free. But the mess they created had to be cleaned up by Tess, so the freedom of one creates hardship for the other. This of course is somewhat ironic as nothing but difficulty stems from Tess’ work there, particularly because Alec’s feeling of entitlement to Tess’ body and the consequences of these interactions ultimately leads to Tess suffering throughout the rest of her life.

Many would even say that the peasants that Tess encounters on a particular walk are a metaphor for herself, because although pheasants (and all birds) are synonymous with beauty, grace and freedom, these pheasants can never fly again due to violence, condemned to suffering for as long as their lives may last.

A rather more cheerful looking pheasant 

Thus Tess is sentenced to a life as an outcast after her encounter with Alec and then Sorrow, and her wings are clipped as she suffers everyday as she cannot truly be with Angel.

Another interesting motif to touch upon is that of the Bible and the story of Adam and Eve. Even though Adam and Eve are directly mentioned in some imagery by Hardy, the comparisons run much deeper than that. Tess is Eve whilst the serpent is Alec, because whilst he doesn’t necessarily tempt her, he takes her to the realms which society cannot forgive, just like God could not forgive Eve for taking the apple, even if the serpent led her there, like Alec led Tess to her downfall. The guilt imposed upon Tess after Alec’s seduction (which was under a tree like in the Book of Genesis) never leaves Tess throughout the novel (although maybe it does after his murder at the end…). Either way, this guilt can be drawn back to the original sin which all of the human race now have within them, and are what caused Adam and Eve to be exiled from Eden, just like how Tess and her family were exiled from their home.

Lastly is the symbol of Prince and inherent suffering. Prince is of course a name with a royal link, just like the D’Urberville name is, and yet Prince toils away his entire life with no pampering or luxury, just like Tess’ family continue to suffer even though they have royal heritage. The death of Prince is unusual, because of the piece of metal driven into him, which is reminiscent of a wound sustained by jousting, which is a sport that only the highest in society could partake in. As Prince dies because Tess fell asleep, dreaming about knights and royalty, it suggests that dreaming and hoping for a better life ultimately leads to loss and suffering. Prince was the ultimate resource for her family, and now gone, the Durbeyfields must live in deeper poverty once more thanks to Tess’ fantasising, even if it was subconsciously. This links into the overarching theme of inherent suffering. Tess didn’t intend for any relationship with Alec, and yet it was imposed upon her, whilst she never meant for Prince to die. Yet these events, entirely out of her control, govern her livelihood and happiness, and so Hardy emphasises that the state of our existence is completely at odds with the notion of self-determination.

Nike’s JUST DO IT campaign suggests that circumstances are entirely irrelevant to achieving any goals

This theme is the most engaging in a modern context, more so perhaps that the commentary of a patriarchal society or the mobility throughout social class, because luckily it seems that in the centuries since publication the ability to change social class is much easier, and only recently has an idea of the strength of the patriarchy and the need to deconstruct been discussed. But the concept of self-determination is often left astray, because of millennial parenting techniques and corporations. The idea that ‘because you want it, you can have it’ is incredibly damaging long term (watch Simon Sinek’s excellent talk on this here), whilst companies cash in on this idea. Think of Nike’s JUST DO IT and of all the millions of self-help books written that sell out even though they’re written by people with no education on the subject. This idea of meritocracy at all costs is dangerous, as proven by Hardy, and needs to be looked at through a larger lens more as we progress.