#like a gcse student could do it am I missing something ? I only did the first few questions tho so probably gets harder | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

preserving-ferretbrain · 5 years

Text

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Chapter 24 - Epilogue

by Dan H

Wednesday, 01 August 2007Dan concludes his review, having abandoned any semblance of impartiality, bless his bitter little heart.~

Previously: Harry does nothing of any interest for 23 chapters. We finally destroy one single solitary Horcrux.

Chapter Twenty Four: The Wandmaker

In which we learn a bunch of shit about wands that will be contradicted by the end of the book.

This chapter opens with a genuinely touching scene in which Harry buries Dobby by hand (as opposed to using magic). It's really sweet, although perhaps I would have found it more affecting if Dobby hadn't died out of sheer authorial malice.

So Harry dithers over whether to go for the Hallows or the Horcruxes, and thinks about all the shit that's happened and what it could all mean. He spends a really, really long time thinking about Dumbledore, and what his plans for the whole thing were.

So then Harry goes and talks to the Goblin they rescued from the Malfoys (did I mention the goblin? There was a goblin). The Goblin is all "you totally rock Harry Potter, because you sometimes treat other races with the barest minimum possible level of decency when you remember to." You see, it's because Harry understands love.

So Harry goes and talks to Ollivander about his broken wand. I mean seriously, it's not even worth doing jokes about, is it.

Having got his penis-metaphor out of the way, Harry then talks some more about Wand-Lore with Ollivander. Here we learn that it is the wand that chooses the wizard, not the other way around, and that if you take somebody's wand by force, that wand will work better for you than one you just picked up somewhere.

In particular, the discussion goes like this:

"I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force," said Harry. "Can I use it safely?" "I think so, subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master."

This all leads into a big discussion of the Elder Wand and how to take control of it you have to kill its previous owner or some such shit like that.

All of which turns out to be nonsense. In fact the rules for wand ownership seem to be roughly these:

Every wand has a True Owner.

When a wizard takes a wand from another wizard, he becomes the True Owner of every wand of which that wizard was previously True Owner.

"The Wand Chooses The Wizard" is crap, the thing about the Elder Wand changing hands through murder is crap. Like all the rest of the magic in Harry Potter, wands aren't mysterious or mystical, they follow simple rules which can be written down and followed very, very easily.

This will all become apparent later on, when it is revealed that Harry's act of yanking some wands out of Draco's hands made him the True And Destined Owner Of the Most Powerful And Destructive Wand In History.

Lame.

This chapter ends with another flash of Voldy-vision, as we see the Dark Lord claiming the Elder Wand from Dumbledore's tomb. But it's okay, because he's not the True Owner of it, because of rules one and two above.

Chapter Twenty Five: Shell Cottage

In which Harry spends so much time sitting on his arse doing nothing that it's not even funny.

This chapter is short, at a mere thirteen pages, but that is precisely thirteen pages longer than it needs to be.

Harry gets all weird about how Dumbledore is totally alive, and totally talking to him by weird magical means. It's like that Buffy episode where Giles thinks that a poltergeist is Jenny, but it isn't. Only with more sucking.

Bill and Fleur carry on being shit. Fleur carries on 'aving zee most stupeed accent ever written, and doing that really fucking annoying thing that French characters in books always do, where they put one French word into every sentence so that they wind up sounding like they're failing their GCSE oral.

During the big slew of inactivity, Lupin shows up to tell everybody that Tonks has had their baby. His opening line of dialogue is truly, truly, truly stupid:

"It is I, Remus John Lupin ... I am a werewolf married to Nymphadora Tokns, and you, the Secret Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come in case of emergency!"

Okay, I get that he's trying to convince them that he isn't a Death Eater using Polyjuice (it's nice that somebody in the Potterverse has worked out how trivial it is to use), but none of the information he gives is secret, except for the stuff about Bill being the Secret Keeper, and since the Fidelius charm already prevents people from getting into the cottage, it's a bit of a waste of breath.

Remus asks Harry to be godfather to his child, then leaves.

Harry decides to break into Gringotts with the help of a Goblin. He bargains the Sword of Gryffindor for this, because apparently it belongs to the Goblins anyway. In one of the few moments of (a) this book being remotely interesting and (b) my finding a piece of Fantasy Worldbuilding worth listening to, we learn that Goblins believe that anything they make remains the property of its original creator, and that if they make something for somebody else, that something should go back to the goblins once said somebody dies.

So they're off to Gringotts. Four hundred and fifteen pages in and we're onto Horcrux number two!

Chapter Twenty Six: Gringotts

In which they finally run out of fucking Polyjuice.

They Polyjuice Hermione into Bellatrix, give her Bella's original wand (which Ollivander conveniently identified for them), and head for Gringotts.

And they use the Invisibility Cloak, of course they use the invisibility cloak.

Anyway, Hermione has trouble working with Bellatrix's wand (because she "had not won its allegiance by taking it personally from Bellatrix" - although as we will learn by the end of the book, casting Expelliarmus on whoever did take it personally from Bellatrix, or on anybody who had ever cast Expelliarmus on Bellatrix at any point in the past, should also have worked). Blah blah some crap, blah blah diagon alley.

They head to Gringotts, where they are interrupted by another Death Eater, who asks Hermione-as-Bellatrix how she managed to get hold of a new wand, since the only Wandmaker in England is currently AWOL and hers was known to have been stolen by Harry Potter. Tragically, Hermione does not respond by saying "I don't know, the same place the new intake of Hogwarts students got theirs I suppose."

By the time they get to the main desk of Gringotts, the jig is totally up. All the crap with the Polyjuice and the Goblin and all the rest has been for nothing. From the security of his invisibility cloak, Harry uses the Imperius curse to get past the goblin on the desk. I'd like to think that this marked a genuine change in Harry's character, but it totally doesn't. He was in a difficult situation, he took the easy way out. I'd also point out that, compared to turning your target irreversibly into a drooling lunatic (like Hermione did to Xenophilius Lovegood) the Imperius Curse doesn't seem half bad. It gets your target to do what you want and go where you want, but so does a Confundus charm.

Just so we get the message that we're now in the company of dark, edgy Harry Potter, he uses the Imperius curse a couple more times, and each time it seems not so much like an unforgivable violation of somebody's free will, but a comparatively harmless way to get somebody to look the other way for five minutes. It's rather like the Jedi Mind Trick, in fact.

So they get deeper into Gringotts, and it's revealed that yet, they do have a couple of defences, in the shape of some water that washes away magical concealment (wouldn't it be better to have that before you get into the building - and shouldn't the Ministry invest in some of it as well?) and a blind dragon which is scared of loud noises.

Impregnable, huh?

So they head to the Lestrange vault, and realise that they find that every time they touch something, it multiplies itself and becomes burning hot. How the hell do the Lestranges expect to get anything out of there, I ask you? Or does it only work if you aren't the rightful owner of the vault? In that case, why not just rig the door to only open for the right person? They could use that "flesh memory" shit which snitches are apparently built with.

Seriously, though, this is what I hate (okay, one of the many things I hate) about Rowling's universe. It's all so arbitrary. Everything works according to these stupid rules which operate on the basis of pure plot-convenience. Like the poison in Book Six which "has to be drunk" in order to get at the Horcrux. All throughout this book, the "magic" is arranged so that the "only thing to do" is whatever the hell JK Rowling wants to have happen next. It's fucking lazy.

So they grab the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, but they lose the Sword of Gryffindor. Don't worry, though, they can still pull it out the Sorting Hat.

Actually, thinking about it, wouldn't that have been a better, faster way to get the Horcruxes together: just get a True Ravenclaw, a True Hufflepuff and a True Slytherin to yank the damned things out of the Sorting Hat. Except, of course, that wouldn't be the way it Had To Be Done.

Chapter Twenty Seven: The Final Hiding Place

It's Hogwarts.

Chapter Twenty Eight: The Missing Mirror

In which we get yet another dose of Dumbledore backplot.

So Harry is off to Hogwarts, because he saw in Voldemort's mind that the last Horcrux was there. He also saw that Voldemort had only just realised that his Horcruxes were in danger at all.

I mean, seriously, I get that he's arrogant, but you'd think that however overconfident you were, spending eleven years as less than a ghost would teach you some level of caution. I mean, I don't like leaving my keys where I can't see them, let alone fragments of my actual goddamned soul. But Voldemort, intent as he was on finding the Elder Wand, has just decided to take it on trust that his immortal soul is nice and safe and not hacked into bits with the Sword of Gryffindor.

Seriously, this guy totally deserves to get killed by his own rebounding curse.

Harry and co Apparate into Hogsmeade, where they immediately set off the alarm system and get set upon by death eaters, but the bartender at the inn takes the rap for them, and pulls them out of the shit.

I mean seriously, how many times can somebody get rescued from their own fuckups by smarter more capable people and still be considered a hero?

The bartender turns out to be none other than Aberforth Dumbledore. Woohoo, we're in for some more exciting Dumbledore backstory.

Aberforth tells us the exact same story we have heard six times already: Dumbledore hung out with Grindelwald for three months in the eighteen fifties, there was a fight and their sister got killed in the fallout. Aberforth thought it was Dumbledore's fault, Dumbledore thought it was Dumbledore's fault, Grindelwald ran off to be a Nazi somewhere.

Harry gets into Hogwarts through a secret passage which Neville created using the Room of Requirement. Because Neville rocks.

Chapter Twenty Nine: The Lost Diadem

In which Harry is systematically upstaged by every single character in the book.

Neville takes Harry into his secret military base in the Room of Requirement. Neville, incidentally, also has honest to god scars from standing up to the Death Eaters in charge of Hogwarts. Notice that's "standing up to" not "throwing a tantrum at" which was the best that our hero ever really managed.

Neville fucking rocks. No wonder Voldemort didn't mark Neville as an equal, he knew when he was outclassed.

It turns out that Dumbledore's Army, freed from having to put up with Harry's complete inability to get over himself for eight seconds, has gone on to actually be useful and effective. They offer to help Harry, and Harry has an attack of stupid.

"You don't understand." Harry seemed to have said that a lot in the last few hours. "We - we can't tell you. We've got to do it - alone." "Why?" asked Neville.

Harry Potter everybody: whiny shit with a messiah complex, completely incapable of independent thought. Eventually they do in fact manage to convince him that he's being totally totally stupid. But wouldn't it have been nice if he'd just not been stupid in the first place?

So the DA go off to fight Death Eaters while Harry looks for the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, which somebody else told him might be the best place to start. Seriously, Harry does nothing for himself in this book. Or in any of the previous books come to think of it. But it's okay because he's "brave".

Harry and Luna try to sneak into the Ravenclaw common room to catch a look at the statue of their founder. In a rare moment of actually being kinda cool, we find that the Ravenclaw common room is not protected by a password but by a riddle (more of a koan, really: the question asked of Harry and Luna is "what came first, the phoenix or the flame?"). Needless to say, Luna answers the riddle, not Harry.

Worst. Hero. Ever.

They get to the common room, and are immediately ambushed by an interchangeable Death Eater.

Chapter Thirty: The Sacking of Severus Snape

In which Snape appears for ten seconds and utterly steals the show.

Oh look, they've summoned Lord Voldemort again. Pity they couldn't summon somebody actually scary instead.

So the Dark Lord is on his way, and all the people that are actually cool rush to the defence of Hogwarts. Harry, on the other hand, runs around looking for somebody to tell him what to do next. He eventually decides to start taking orders from the ghosts.

Everybody mills around in the corridors, and all the parents seem to have shown up. Molly Weasley continues to be completely fucking shit, insisting that Ginny can't fight because she's only sixteen.

Everybody gets ready for battle.

Oh, and Snape leaves so that he can get killed.

Chapter Thirty One: The Battle of Hogwarts

In which a battle presents no impediment to the interminable exposition.

While the rest of the student body are actually getting stuff done, and preparing to lay down their lives in battle against the Dark Lord, Harry goes off looking for a plot dump.

He finds it in the shape of the Grey Lady, ghost of Ravenclaw tower, who reveals that she is actually Helena Ravenclaw, daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw. Wow. Words cannot explain how little I care about that. She also reveals that she stole her mother's diadem, and that she hid it in a tree in Albania (the very Albania where Voldemort once went! Amazing isn't it). Harry suddenly remembers that he saw a diadem in the Room of Lost Things in the previous book (funny how he can remember that, but not - say - things that happened two chapters ago). He goes to get it.

While Harry is doing this, Ron and Hermione dash of to have sex in the Chamber of Secrets, which Ron manages to open by imitating Harry's use of Parseltongue. That's right folks, the magical language Harry carries in his soul as a result of his connection with the Dark Lord can be picked up by any schlub who pays attention for five minutes.

Hermione destroys the cup offstage, so we miss the big plot point, and get the ghost story. Oh JK, you master storyteller you.

Then the Troika go to the Room of Requirement and start ransacking it for Horcruxes. It's a good thing Harry happened to see it in the previous book really, or they'd be totally fucked.

In the Room of Requirement they meet Draco, Crabbe and Goyle. Crabbe and Goyle have been presented previously as a bit thick, but basically just your average bully types. In this scene, though, they're positively retarded. In, like, an actual way, rather than the way in which the whole book is retarded.

"We was hiding in the corridor outside," grunted Goyle. "We can do Diss-lusion charms now! And then," his face split into a gormless grin, "you turned up right in front of us and said you was looking for a die-dum! What's a die-dum?"

I've typed a lot of quotes into this article (I intended to do one a chapter, but I couldn't quite bring myself to), and fuck me JKR uses a lot of exclamation marks. Also: for fuck's sake, if you can cast a Dissillusionment charm, you should damned well be able to say "Dissillusionment charm".

Anyway, it turns out that Draco, Crabbe and Goyle have shown up to kill Harry, or bring him to the Dark Lord or something. I would like to believe that Draco is only doing this because he fears for the safety of his family, but since every single Slytherin turned against Hogwarts in the crunch, I think he's probably just being Evil.

So Crabbe or possibly Goyle summons Fiendfire, which is wild and uncontrollable and, conveniently, one of the few things that can destroy a Horcrux. This kills Crabbe, and allows Harry do demonstrate his heroism by rescuing Draco.

They get outside to see the penultimate (they think) Horcrux bleeding itself to death, and meet up with Fred, Percy and some nameless others. Percy gets quite a nice moment of redemption, where he apologises for trying to have a career when he should have just settled into virtuous poverty like the rest of his family. Then Fred gets killed in a horrible explosion.

Poor Fred. Ah well, it's not like he and George had distinct personalities anyway.

Chapter Thirty Two: The Elder Wand

In which Snape gets it for spurious reasons.

This chapter begins with Harry being Really Really Upset that Fred is dead.

The world had ended, so why had the battle not ceased, the castle fallen silent in horror, and every combatant lain down their arms?

Oh just shut up! Just shut the fuck up JK Rowling. If you want us to mourn the death of a minor character, spend some fucking time developing them instead of telling us how we should all be really sad and shocked that they died.

So the battle rages on. Harry decides he's got to go find Voldemort, because he has to kill Nagini and end the plot once and for all. Also: he has to overhear Snape's final confrontation with Voldemort.

So Harry sneaks into the Shrieking Shack with his posse in tow, and we see Voldemort killing Snape in order to become True Master of the Elder Wand. Snape coughs his memories into a jar, and Voldemort calls an intermission in the battle, instead of just killing Harry where he stands.

I fucking hate this book.

Chapter Thirty Three: The Prince's Tale

In which all the fanfic turns out to have been right.

Snape was in love with Lily.

Harry is a Horcrux.

Dumbledore is an asshole.

Chapter Thirty Four: The Forest Again

In which the forest still fails to be remotely threatening.

This chapter makes me genuinely uncomfortable. Not in a "it's so dark and edgy and outside my comfort zone way". In a "I seriously am beginning to find JK Rowling morally despicable" kind of way.

Harry discovered, through Snape's memories, that he (Harry) is a Horcrux, and that the only way Voldemort can be defeated is if he (Voldemort) first kills Harry, thereby destroying the fragment of his (Voldemort's) soul which is inside him (Harry).

Harry, being the braindead personality-free fucktard he is, accepts this at face value, and marches off to die, pausing briefly to tell Neville to kill Nagini if he gets the chance. I'll say this for Harry, he knows how to leave things in the hands of better men.

He realises that "I open at the close" (the cryptic message inscribed on the snitch that Dumbledore gave him) means "I open when you're marching off to sacrifice yourself pointlessly". So the snitch opens, and he gets the (new, not-cursed) Resurrection Stone out of it. He puts on the ring and turns it, and all the dead people in the book (well, James, Lily, Lupin and Sirius at least) show up in spectral form to tell him how proud they are that he's off to commit suicide by means of Dark Wizard.

I mean, seriously, this is all kinds of fucked up.

Lily's smile was widest of all. She pushed her long hair back as she drew close to him, and her green eyes, so like his, searched his face hungrily as though she would never be able to look at him enough. "You've been so brave." He could not speak. His eyes feasted on her, and he thought that he would like to stand and look at her forever, and that would be enough. "You are nearly there," said James. "Very close. We are ... so proud of you." "Does it hurt?" The childish question had fallen from Harry's lips before he could stop it. "Dying? Not at all," said Sirius. "Quicker and easier than falling asleep."

I'm sorry, but that's just wrong on so many levels.

Now I admit, all through this book, I've been annoyed by the overprotective coddling of Molly Weasley, who won't let anybody under the age of thirty do anything that might be considered dangerous, but I'd even take that interfering old biddy over this creepy band of suicide groupies.

I mean seriously: the Potters both sacrificed their lives to save Harry, but now they're all in favour of him rushing headlong into his inevitable destruction? And what's with Sirius' "being dead is totally cool" speech? I mean seriously, this is exactly the kind of shit that Christian Fundamentalists have fits over, and with good reason.

Harry confronts Voldemort. Voldemort kills him.

I really, really wish this article could end here.

Chapter Thirty Five: King's Cross

In which JK Rowling, through Dumbledore, tells us how to feel about Harry.

I almost cannot bring myself to write about this chapter, in which Harry has a vision of Dumbledore in King's Cross station, and Dumbledore explains the plot to him again for old times' sake.

So it turns out that Harry isn't dead after all, because of the Very Special Bond between Harry and Voldemort, but Voldemort did ironically manage to destroy the fragment of his soul which was inside Harry all this time.

Wow. Convenient.

Then Dumbledore gives us a big speech about how fucking wonderful Harry is. You see Dumbledore sought the Deathly Hallows himself, but he sought them for bad reasons. Which in this case means "any reason at all." Harry, on the other hand, is Good and Pure, because he went through his entire life without having a fucking clue what he was doing. Because Harry was a passive little pussy who never did anything, never achieved anything, never had any ambition or even motivation.

"You are the true master of death, because the true master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying."

So Harry, by blindly and unquestioningly allowing Voldemort to kill him, has shown himself to be a better man than any other.

I'm sorry, but I find that genuinely offensive.

I'm going to go into more detail about this in my post-book wrap up, because I think it bears some close analysis, but for now I'll make a couple of simple points.

Every single man, woman, and child in Hogwarts is risking their life to defeat Voldemort. Every single one of them is confronting death (or, if you prefer, "Death") and every single one of them has accepted that there are far worse things than dying. But their sacrifice doesn't count, because they're actually fighting, which is to say, they are trying to survive. In the new morality Rowling wants us to accept, the only true way to show courage is to lie down and just accept death.

Furthermore, Harry's stoic acceptance of his mortality is grossly undermined by the fact that he actually doesn't die. His great sacrifice is actually just another instance of him doing nothing by himself, and relying on other people to make things turn out alright.

Consider: if Harry actually had died, his mastery of the Elder Wand would have died with him, and Voldemort would have been able to carry on slaughtering to his heart's content. He would have still had one Horcrux left, and Hogwarts would have been destroyed.

This is the emotional and moral crux of the book, and it sucks beyond the telling of it.

Chapter Thirty Six: The Flaw in the Plan

In which all that seemed wrong was now right and those who deserve to are certain to live a long and happy life, ever after.

Voldemort seems to have collapsed, as well you might after nuking your own soul. He sends Narcissa to check whether Harry is alive, but when she realises that he is, she asks him (in a whisper) whether Draco is still alive.

Seriously, I love the Malfoys. I mean compare Narcissa - whose first and only concern is for her child, so much so that she risks defying the Dark Lord who, let's face it, isn't exactly known for his forgiving nature, just to know if he's alive or dead - compare her with Lily Potter, who just moments ago was cheerfully watching her son go to his certain death.

So Voldemort carries Harry's "dead" body to the front lines and does his big "ha ha, I've won you bunch losers" speech.

Everybody acts really sad that Harry is dead. Then Neville rushes the Dark Lord. Because Neville fucking rocks.

The Dark Lord disarms him, binds him, and then puts the Sorting Hat on his head and sets it on fire. Dude, you know she's reaching when she kills the goddamned Sorting Hat.

Neville breaks free of Voldemort's curse (which I like to think is Neville being a badass, but it is later revealed to be the Power of Harry's Big Love Death Sacrifice), pulls the Sword of Gryffindor out of the sorting hat, and totally decapitates Nagini. Because he has had it with this motherfucking snake, oh yes.

So then the shit hits the fan, and Harry jumps under his invisibility cloak again. There's a bunch of really badly written action. Molly Weasley takes out Bellatrix Lestrange in what our esteemed editor would identify as the Battle Between The Virtuous Woman And the Sinful Woman. Harry finally reveals himself, and reveals too that he has learned from Dumbledore the capacity to make long stupid speeches.

I'm going to reproduce this in full, and I'll say beforehand that Voldemort is totally right about everything:

"I don't want anyone else to try to help," Harry said loudly, and in the total silence his voice carried like a trumpet call. "It's got to be like this. It's got to be me." Voldemort hissed. "Potter doesn't mean that," he said, his red eyes wide. "That isn't how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today Potter?" "Nobody," Harry said simply. "There are no more Horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good ..." "One of us?" jeered Voldemort, and his whole body was taut and his red eyes stared, a snake that was about to strike. "You think it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling the strings?" "Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me?" asked Harry. They were still moving sideways, both of them, in that perfect circle, maintaining the same distance from each other, and for Harry no face existed but Voldemort's. "Accident when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident that I didn't defend myself tonight, and still survived, and returned to fight again?"

Umm ... yes. Yes to every single one of them. At no point was it suggested that Lily Potter deliberately invoked ancient magic when she put herself in front of her son. Harry certainly didn't go to the graveyard by choice, and he had no idea that his wand would magically prevent Voldemort from hurting him. So yes, it was in fact all accidental. Harry Potter: the boy who was too dumb to die.

There's one more bit I want to draw attention to in this speech, because I find it so abominably offensive.

"I was ready to die to stop you hurting these people ... I've done what my mother did. They're protected from you. Haven't you noticed how none of the spells you put on them are binding?"

This comes back to my point from further up (and I'll come back to it again, because it genuinely sickens me). Why the fuck is Harry's sacrifice more significant than anybody else's? Why did Harry's "willingness to die" create a special magic forcefield around Hogwarts, but not the willingness to die of every single other person in the damned school?

Essentially, Harry is setting himself up here as a literal Christ figure. The perfect innocent, going meekly and willingly to his death in order to take the place of the whole world. The thing is, though, Jesus was supposed to actually be God. His sacrifice (according to Christian tradition) was greater than the sacrifices of normal men because he was not a normal man. He was God, suffering as a man for the sins of man. Harry Potter is just a miserable self-involved kid with a martyr complex.

Harry carries on talking for another three pages. Then Voldemort tries to curse him, but his curse rebounds because of that bullshit with the Elder Wand really belonging to Harry because he "conquered" Draco.

Of course with the Dark Lord fallen, his entire army disperses without a word.

They collect their dead, and we find that Mr and Mrs Remus Lupin are among the fallen. Harry is momentarily sad.

The final page of the book shows Harry with the Elder Wand, which is now most definitely His. In a scene which I think sums up the vacuous nature of the entire series, he uses the Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick, to magically repair his old wand.

Because lord knows, we wouldn't want the events of the last six hundred pages to have any consequences now, would we.

Epilogue: Nineteen Years Later

In which we learn that nothing that happened in the entire series meant shit.

Harry is married to Ginny. Ron is married to Hermione.

Back when I read The Order of the Phoenix, one of the few things I liked about it was the fact that Ginny seemed to have got over her crush on Harry. I thought that it was a refreshingly subtle, and subtly mature message to put into a children's book: sometimes you just get over people.

It saddens me greatly that JK Rowling, divorcee and single parent that she is, would feel the need to present such a naive view of romance. It seems like she spent so long talking about Death, she couldn't find anything to say about Life beyond "you grow up, get married, and have children."

Harry and Ginny's children are called James, Lily, and (as I am sure you already know) Albus Severus.

I think this, more than anything else, shows how deeply immature the series is. Harry goes through seven years of constant danger, he suffers torment, loss and even death. He touched the soul of the greatest Dark Wizard who ever lived, and practised the blackest of magic when he was forced to. But has he grown as a person? Has he changed? Not at all. His life still revolves around James and Lily, Dumbledore and Snape.

I also find it more than a bit offensive that Ginny (who we learn in

this interview

goes on to be an international sports superstar) doesn't seem to get any say in naming her own kids. I know it's an epilogue, I know it's sweet and everything, but her brother died at Hogwarts as well. The epilogue essentially says "And Harry Finally Got The Happy Family He'd Always Longed For". Never once does it consider the fact that after seven years he might want something else.

Coming Soon: My thoughts on the book as a whole, and the series in general.

Wardog at 15:46 on 2007-08-10I'm sorry I keep quoting David and Hannah at you but they're one of the few people to whose arguments I would naturally grant credence and they both very much enjoyed DH. David pointed out that there's something very different in fighting in a war in which there's a chance you might get killed and knowing walking to your death - thus Harry's sacrifice has more nobility and courage attached to it than you're giving him credit for. I guess it's the difference between rushing the Bastille and going to the guillotine..permalink - go to top

Dan H at 16:00 on 2007-08-10There is indeed a difference between fighting in a war in which there's a chance you might get killed and knowingly walking to your death. Knowingly walking to your death is easier. Harry doesn't really have a choice. He's "the chosen one". Colin Creevey, however, could have just walked away from Hogwarts and nobody would have thought the less of him for it. I'd also point out that Harry didn't sacrifice himself to *save* anybody. He sacrificed himself to *kill* somebody.permalink - go to topArthur B at 17:10 on 2007-08-10I have to say that I'm also deeply uncomfortable with any situation where deliberate suicide is actually a good idea. Walking bravely to the guillotine, I don't count as suicide, because you don't normally have much choice as to whether or not you get your head hacked off: the only choice is whether you cry and whine and piss your pants, or whether you walk with your head held high and, possibly, impress the crowd with your stoic acceptance of your fate. Walking to a duel which you are going to deliberately lose, because you think a loophole in the metaphysics in the universe will allow you to become Master of Death and give you the power to be the Messiah, isn't the act of a brave or noble individual. It's the act of a paranoid schizophrenic.permalink - go to topDan H at 17:15 on 2007-08-10He's not even doing it because he knows about the loophole, though. He's doing it for the same reason he does everything (see next article): Because He Thinks Dumbledore Wanted Him To.permalink - go to topArthur B at 17:31 on 2007-08-10So it is, in fact, literally true that if Dumbledore asked Harry to jump off a cliff, Harry would do it. (Which is kind of odd, in a series of books where mistrusting authority is supposedly a recurring theme.)permalink - go to topWardog at 21:51 on 2007-08-11I can't believe I'm trying to defend JK. I really have no investment in this, which is why I'm doing such an appalling job of it. But surely Harry has just as much right to walk way than Colin Creevy? He could go and live with Hermione's parents in Australia. I mean, through Snape's memories Harry sees what Dumbledore always intended for him (that he should nobly sacrifice his life) and *chooses* to do it anyway. An alternative reading might be that Harry realises that, rather than run around desperately trying to find alternative solutions to the Voldemort Problem, the adults around him have essentially groomed him into a passive matyr figure who will Do The Right Thing, even though it means his own death. And by the time he realises how thoroughly screwed he is, it's in the middle of the final battle and there's nothing much he can do short of pegging it. To *choose* what other people want you to do is still a choice, and after all that's happened to him, that Harry still has enough love in his heart to lay down his life is, y'know, pretty damn noble. For the record, I don't actually buy this. I don't actually buy that it's harder to walk knowingly into death than take a chance on it in a battle. Given a choice, I'd go for the battle and hope to find somewhere to hide.permalink - go to topWendy B at 23:29 on 2007-08-13Daniel --- I just wanted to say that you are not alone in your suffering. I've been working on a review of DH from my Livejournal site, but the 7th book seems to have killed my will to write. I am reading the book one more time to possibly find redeeming value, besides inducing millions of otherwise illiterate youngsters to get interested in reading. Beyond the insufferable plot details/holes you chronicle above, the series up through B6 appeared to be a gigantic and elegant mystery puzzle to be unveiled. And then on 7/21 we discover that it was an UNSOLVABLE mystery --- in B7 she introduced new characters and clunky plot devices. at the 11th hour (it burns! it burns!), to contort and bring the damn story to a close. All her prior book "clues" that fandom crawled over with a tweezer --- they weren't clever clues at all. Bah...but I loved this essay and laughed through the entire series. I might not write a thing but just refer folks here. Wendypermalink - go to topDan H at 15:13 on 2007-08-16the series up through B6 appeared to be a gigantic and elegant mystery puzzle to be unveiled. And then on 7/21 we discover that it was an UNSOLVABLE mystery I think that's part of why I found the last book so unsatisfying. While I wasn't ever massively into the "puzzle box" aspect of the books, I can understand other people being into it. But the last books lost sight of even that giving us, as you say, a bunch of new characters and clunky plot devices which came out of nowhere (or at the very least, out of previously untouched areas of her notes). If you do manage to get your review finished, I'll be very interested in seeing it. permalink - go to topWendy B at 16:18 on 2007-09-16Daniel...you might get some traffic to these articles as I posted the links within an essay I just posted to LiveJournal's hp_essays: http://community.livejournal.com/hp_essays/239017.html Wendy Bpermalink - go to topDan H at 12:24 on 2008-03-25On the Dumbledore side of things, I just don't understand how she can have a character that she spends half the book going off on a tangent about their unnecessary backstory (although it is a tangent away from that fucking tent so maybe I shouldn't complain) - the point of which is supposed to reveal that he turned away from power and ideas of sacrificing people for the 'greater good' - only to have him control and use every single character to the point where the entire book is just enacting his great Masterplan! Surely that contradicts a bit?!! JK is chronic for this: her Good characters behave exactly the same way as her Evil characters, except that everything that is a sign of an evil character's Evilness is a sign of a Good character's Goodness. Cases in point: Draco is evil because he "bullies" Harry. James is good because he "sticks up" for people against Snape (Harry similarly does a lot of "sticking up" for people that involves dogpiling defenseless Syltherins). Umbridge is a "racist" because she thinks Hagrid being a half-giant makes him a bad teacher. Harry, Ron and Hermione treat the full giants with patronizing contempt, and this is a sign that they're great humanitarians. Voldemort hates Muggles because he's evil. All the other Wizard treat Muggles like vermin but it's okay because they're endearingly careless about it. Then of course there's the fact that Harry's furious desire for vengeance is apparently a sign of his great capacity for "love". p.s ooh look, my first post. How exciting :) Welcome aboard.permalink - go to tophttps://me.yahoo.com/a/tjLTVHEducFb4rKDHU5DukBHtQcCbTVMEEq55v0CxV4-#5e156 at 20:29 on 2009-07-29Dan doesn't realise just how absolutely spot on he is. I remember the Magnet series in 1930 where the Remove overthrow a demonic temporary headmaster from Greyfriars. Did anyone else read the Magnet when it was still being published? DH should have followed the Hogwarts front with Neville and Luna leading the rebellion against the Carrows. Or better yet, Voldemort should have made himself headmaster and Neville should have barred him out, that would have made for an infinitely better story. Voldemort really was no more capable than the wicked headmasters who sometimes got foisted on Greyfriars were. But instead... JKR wrote so much about nothing happening that she seemed as nihilistic as Samuel Beckett.permalink - go to topGamer_2k4 at 21:20 on 2011-06-02I know I've been guilty of some serious comment thread necromancy as of late, but I've got a question. "I think so, subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master." Is this an inaccurate transcription, or does the book really have run-on sentences like that? I've seen a few other quotes from the book with similar use of commas, and it's almost painful to think that writing that bad can make it past an editor and into the final version of a book.permalink - go to topDan H at 21:36 on 2011-06-02I'm honestly not sure if I transcribed that right or not, although to be honest I'm not overly fussed by slightly long sentences and I think Orwell would have supported the choice of a comma over the semicolon (although I think the line would sound better split into two sentences: "I think so. Subtle laws govern...").permalink - go to tophttp://sunnyskywalker.livejournal.com/ at 02:52 on 2011-06-03I don't remember about that particular quote, but I do remember noticing several instances of comma splices while reading the book and wondering why the editor didn't, as Dan suggests, split the sentence in two or something, because there didn't seem to be any good reason to have them. (I accept that sometimes there is a good reason. JKR didn't have it.)permalink - go to tophttp://vonnemattheus.livejournal.com/ at 00:21 on 2012-05-04The Horcrux hunt should have been a dangerous and exciting adventure, instead of the Camping Trip from Hell plot you get in sitcoms like Bottom. It was like watching someone else play Zelda really, really badly. Also, I thought there was an expiry date on the Mother's Love charm that keeps Harry's arse above ground? The best part of the book is when Harry is at his parents grave were, for some reason, he starts thinking of them rotting underground. JK even uses the word "Mouldering".permalink - go to tophttp://fishinginthemud.livejournal.com/ at 03:01 on 2012-05-04Inspired by that scene, I buried my old HP books in the backyard after Deathly Hallows, but when I dug them up recently, they weren't nearly as decomposed as I had hoped. I don't think the maggots or the bacteria liked them very much either.permalink - go to topFurare at 13:28 on 2012-05-04Since this article was bumped onto the front page again, I noticed the comment about JKR's abuse of commas. I was reminded of reading the climax of Half Blood Prince; it's supposed to be really exciting and everything, and all I remember thinking is "Wow, are there four separate clauses separated by commas in that sentence?" I thought that several times. It's really quite shockingly badly-written in places.permalink - go to top

#Ferretbrain #Harry Potter #Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows #J.K. Rowling #Dan H

3 notes · View notes

rosinapowrie-blog · 6 years

Text

The Teacher Dichotomy: the problem with hero teachers.

“The only thing I know for sure is that I know nothing at all, for sure” – Socrates

Learning isn't just about passing exams. Since starting a career in teaching four years ago, I have struggled to remember this myself, let alone show pupils what they could be missing out on. In response, I set up a school society mimicking TEDx Talks, giving kids the chance to listen to in interesting lecture at lunchtime with no hidden agenda: simply to try to show them that academia goes beyond mark schemes and box ticks. This was my opening address entitled 'The Teacher Dichotomy: the problem with hero teachers.'

_______________________________________________________________________In my first fortnight of teaching at a prestigious new school, once we got over that slightly awkward unsure phase of ‘nu teacher who dis,’ a student asked me where I’d been to university and what I’d studied...

‘St Andrews, in Scotland... where Prince William went’ (I added after only a minuscule pause which I have become accustomed to when speaking of the tiny town on the East Fife coast). ‘I read English Literature, but did loads of modules in Philosophy, Classics, Art History... it was good.’ ‘Wow’ the student replied, ‘that’s like really good isn’t it? You must be... like... really clever..!’ And then the student said the 10 words that have shocked me the most in my haggering career as an educator... ‘So why did you end up as a teacher then?’ Now I am not so naive as to think that this is simply one view held by one teenager in that particular moment... What this delightful girl had uttered was probably the ultimate Freudian slip of today’s youth... you lot just don’t see the value in education for its own sake... you think that school is just something you have to get through, preferably do well at, then you can start living your best life. But this must be challenged: if we know and accept that gaining knowledge is a vital crevasse to conquer whilst mountaineering the Range of Success, why do we see it merely as a means to an end? Why can we not enjoy the ride, live in the moment, and value our opportunity to learn new stuff? Why is it that, still in 2018, when teaching is known to be one of the most draining and stringently trained professions, requiring the skill and discipline of an artist, athlete and jail warden simultaneously all before 9am 5 days a week, do our very target audience view our profession as a sort of embarrassing accident that losers happen to fall into? Perhaps you are already outraged by my cynicism. I am aware I am currently preaching to the converted - you guys have chosen to spend your lunch time in this room pursuing knowledge and discussion. But I vehemently believe that this modern apathy to education is due largely to the portrayal of teachers in the media and popular culture. I don’t solely mean the ludicrous click bait that floods your newsfeeds every day (I’m thinking headlines such as ‘boy of 1 wins Nobel peace prize for finding cure to cancer despite failing all GCSEs - who needs em anyway’ or even just the multitude of distracting cat videos you’d much rather be watching), I mean those subliminal messages in books, TV and film that have been drip fed to my generation and yours in our formative years. I’m talking about The Teacher Dichotomy: heroes vs villains. By this, I mean that teachers are firmly type cast into two roles: the sickening sycophant who inspires their flock with their unconventional quirks and flagrant disregard for any sort of teaching standard... that one who really gets down to da youf’s level. Or, worse, the maniacal villain who struts around with a cape and cane doling out detentions and appearing entirely inhumane. The inability to portray teachers as warm blooded mammals with the same instincts, desires and fears as the rest of the world has not only devalued the joy of education, it actually undermines the incredible passion and hard work that goes into just the average, unmemorable bog standard Mr or Mrs Bloggs’ daily job as a teacher. On demand, could anyone name an example of just a regular teacher that a) exists in a book/film etc and b) fulfils meaningful purpose in the plot purely in his or her role as educator and not for any other reason? Three examples analysed... Firstly, our heroes: I’ll start with that that ever hilarious, ever chaotic excuse for a school teacher portrayed by loveable comedian Jack Whitehall in popular BBC3 series ‘Bad Education.’ Alfie Wickers, the History NQT at Abbey Grove School, prefers to befriend students rather than enable them responsibly to achieve their potential. His typical pedagogy includes such escapades as practical re-enactments of battles, or ‘Class Wars’, where any Ofsted inspector would literally have a fit at the flagrant violation for safeguarding an 'ealf and safety. Yet Mr Wickers is respected by Form K – they even like him and learn from him – but do we see any assessment, formative or summative? Do we see him planning or marking? Do we see him tracking progress and planning interventions? While it may be a TV show, and art does not need to imitate life, the point is that Mr Wickers is seen as a fun, likeable teacher. If he did anything that he was actually supposed to, he would be seen as boring. And what sort of message is that sending a young audience – that the people who dedicate their lives to ensuring their progress in a conventional way are not heroes. Only those who offer them fun and entertainment, and no actual learning, are.

At the other end of the positive spectrum, there are those sorts of hero teachers who move students emotionally, yet still wouldn’t actually pass an observation. The epitome is John Keating – the maverick English master portrayed by Robin Williams in the classic ‘80s film, ‘Dead Poets Society.’ Keating encourages his vulnerable student, Anderson, to come out of his shell by joining the eponymous banned extracurricular club. Here, he forges friendships with unlikely characters and experiences true life and love by looking at poetry differently and forgetting the pressures and requirements of school. Professor Keating is eventually called out for his disregard for school standards and duly sacked, leaving the boys chanting a heart-wrenching chorus of Whitman’s ‘O Captain, my Captain’ whilst standing on desks. It’s the ultimate bildungsroman: the boys have come of age, and Keating helped them get there. Yet again, his inspiring nature is not at all borne of his skill in traditional education methods, but rather the fact that he ignores them completely. Yet another example of the hero teacher, shaming regular teachers into the background of mediocrity.

And now the other end of the spectrum – the villains. Who better to analyse than Rowling’s malevolent Professor Umbridge, who swans into Hogwarts in The Order of the Phoenix with the sole aim of making monumental, ‘Ministry approved’ changes to the school curriculum and generally shaking the status quo. Fans of the series, let’s forget the reasons behind our negative view of Umbridge’s changes for now (the government’s refusal to believe that Voldemort has returned, etc) and read this simply as a teacher trying to raise standards by reviewing current practice and attempting to embed systemic change. We see this when she addresses the school for the first time: ‘some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited." This sounds rather like a forward-thinking teacher, school leader or governor wanting to make improvements, yet she is completely slated and seen as evil. For example, what are her actual crimes: conducting lesson observations of fellow staff? Holding staff accountable for their performance and the progress of pupils, and removing them from post if they are not up to scratch? Ensuring that the curriculum is standardized? Essentially, all things that normal teachers do in normal schools to meet the teachers’ standards and provide robust education systems. However, she is utterly vilified for doing so: so much so that Rowling chooses to portray her as committing the ultimate teacher-sin – failing to safeguard students and actually physically assaulting them in her detentions. This is a choice the author has made: to show traditional schooling and education standards as petty compared to the great, heroic things that the rest of the Hogwarts teachers inspire the heard with. The irony is that Umbridge is certainly the only member of staff who would even pass a PGCE, let alone be promoted to senior leadership, in real life. Yet again, we see the dichotomy in action, reinforcing that subliminal message that traditional education is nasty, negative and pointless.

The glass ceiling must be broken and education needs to be esteemed once more. The conditioning we’ve been subjected to through popular culture has not helped, but now we have been enlightened to our ignorance. The great irony is that if we enjoy the ride, stop seeing education as a means to end, but rather an end in itself, then you will get further in life if you have become a fully rounded person with a broad cultural capital. Take umbrage with Umbridge: value your current opportunities and enjoy learning your subjects even if you never need to use that information again.

#teaching #englishteaching #cultural capital #tedxtalks #heroteachers #doloresumbridge #johnkeating #deadpoetssociety #bad education #socrates #knowledge #teachingandlearning #pedagogy #academia

3 notes · View notes

milesawaylove-blog1 · 6 years

Text

When those we love, have to go

Firstly, I just want to say this is a post I have been very nervous about. It’s been written for months but I've been very apprehensive to share it. It’s is very personal to me, but I also thought why would anyone want to bother reading it. But after much consideration I realised that this subject is one all too many of us are familiar with. Loss. Those who know me well know that I could talk for England, but I really struggle to be honest with myself about things I NEED to talk about. Hence why this piece became reality. And by sharing my own experience it may help someone else to feel less alone with the pain that so many of us share. Writing for me is therapy, it allows me to channel my thoughts positively- and lift weight from me mentally.

Like most little girls my Dad was my best friend. I always wanted to be around him. I was so fortunate to grow up with parents who I am wonderfully close to, and each relationship was so different and special in its own way. My Dad was my superhero. He made me feel safe and like we could do anything if we put our minds to it. Scary things were less scary when he was around. I was the more adventurous one out of my sister and I- so it was always me and Dad trying the new theme park rides, together. And we were the strongest team. We are so similar in many ways too, I definitely got my opinionated nature from him. He was never afraid to say what he thought- sometimes this was for good but it could also land him in hot water occasionally! But he also didn't care what other people thought- something I admired so much. He didn't care about making himself look silly, and always stood up for what was right, and for those who couldn't always do it for themselves.

I was only 12 years old when we received the news. Cancer. The word that every family dreads to hear. Before we knew Dad went for initial testing for the pains in his lower back that were stopping him from walking properly and I remember thinking how scared I was that it would be cancer. And when we found out I was so upset as I thought it was my fault for thinking it. As you can imagine, the next year was hell for my family. Endless chemo treatments, hospital visits, tears, cuddles and being the most scared I've ever been.

But my Dad was so strong. He took it all in his stride. He hardly ever complained and I only ever saw him cry once. Even though he was so ill, he always remained so positive and was always thinking of others, because thats just who he was. And he was incredible.

The 21st of January 2011 was the day my life changed forever. The day that all our lives changed. Suddenly he was gone. My happy, outrageous, fun, caring wonderful Daddy was gone. Half of me was gone and I was never getting him back. I couldn't believe it and I didn't want to believe it. I asked the nurse to double check, and bless her she did, probably to give me peace of mind. Everyone reacts differently to death, and I was numb- I didn’t cry. I couldn't. That has always played on my mind- how can something so devastating happen but your body doesn't flinch, no tears? No acceptance and shock, I guess that’s why. My last ever memory of my Dad, is when I gave him a final kiss goodbye. He didn't look like himself anymore and he was so cold. That is something that will stay with me forever.

The next few weeks, months and years were weird, we tried to go on with normal life but in reality we couldn't. Our foundation had been taken away. We crumbled, and it was going to take an incredibly long time for us to even think about beginning to rebuild.

My mum and sisters grieving process began straight away and I felt like mine never truly began. Seeing them both cry meant I couldn't cry. I had to be strong for them, just like Dad would have been. It definitely made me grow up so quickly. But this wasn't healthy for me, as I ended up bottling my feelings for months on end, that then resulted in colossal breakdowns that would last for hours on end, and when I was all tired from crying, it would begin again. The bottling. The un-acceptance. The feeling of it just not being real. I would definitely say for the first year I didn't even process it. We were so used to being without him when he was in hospital, there was always the childish hope that he would just come back or that it had all been a horrendous nightmare. But sadly, this nightmare was a reality. Every time I thought about it, I thought “why him, why did this happen to us?” I was really angry and constantly felt how unfair life is. I thought there are some people in the world that deserve this WAY more than him, he was a good person so couldn't it just have taken a bad person instead? Yes that’s bad, but it’s honest. I genuinely thought that most days. It was just horrible that one of the two people that brought me into this world, and who I loved the most was ripped away from me & I still feel like that now.

Today I am 21 years old. I have been without my Dad for 8 years. I lost him at such a young age, I feel as if I have been cheated of the life that I should have had with him. The last 2/3 years have been particularly hard for me. If I'm honest, probably the hardest yet. As an adult I have realised the consequences of living a life with one parent missing. And he has missed so much. My GCSE’s, my singing, my first ever show and all the ones to follow, getting into University, getting jobs. It truly breaks my heart that my Dad never got to meet Charlie. The person that loves his nutty little girl for everything that she is both good and bad, and has provided nothing but love and support over the last three and a half years. I always found it weird and creepy when people say you end up with people like your parents, (sociologist/media students you know what I mean lol) in some ways this could not be further than the truth but in others it is. I’ve been lucky enough to find someone as kind, funny and warm-hearted as my Dad. I just know if they had ever met my Dad would have given him hell for the first few weeks, but they would have got on so well- and I know this because my whole family agrees.

There will be so many more things that I wish he could be here for, and that I would give anything for his guidance on. He won’t see my graduate in a few months time, or get my first proper job and help me move to London. He’ll miss out on my wedding and my children will never know their Grandad- I know all of that is so far away but you just can't help but think about it. Even though he may not physically be here, I truly believe he has been watching over me and guiding me through the past 8 years- because as Winnie the Pooh says (one of my faves growing up) “If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart. I’ll stay there forever.”

People always say it gets better in time, but for me this is bullshit. The longer I go without him the harder it gets. Generally, I think I’ve done pretty bloody well. I know I should give myself credit but it is so hard to. I’ve been through a lot and I’m still going through it. It’s so much harder for me as my family are at different stages now but I still feel stuck, longing and not wanting to move on. I don’t think I ever want to move on completely, and thats okay. It still hurts and it hurts so bad. Those who are lucky enough to have not experienced anything like this don't always get it, and that can be frustrating, but I have to remember what ever I feel is normal and okay, and I should never feel bad about feeling upset wether it has been 8 years, 18 years or 80 years.

However, through all the hurt, and sadness, what I am left with is beautiful. Family, friends, and loved ones, but most importantly memories. The brilliant family holidays to Devon, Christmases, Birthdays, Weddings, game nights, golf lessons & nights in. I was lucky enough to spend 12 years with my Dad which is more than some. I will cherish those years, but my god I wish every day that they weren't cut short. I miss you constantly Papa Bear. I hope you are proud of me. I love you forever.

Your Emsie xxx

P.s- To those of you I cherish the most- both family and friends, you know who you are. Thank you for being there for me and keeping my head up when I feel down. Forever grateful for you all. BIG LOVE xxxx

2 notes · View notes

misscrawfords · 7 years

Note

11, 12, 16

Sorry for the delay in answering @cinquespotted and thank you for asking! :) Been a manic couple of days and I needed to think about non-fiction books about classics because that’s not so easy to answer when I haven’t been in academia in the subject for almost ten years. (Yikes…)

11. recommend a piece of non-fiction about the classical world

I was thinking about this on and off for a couple of days and then the answer hit me. Adam Nicholson’s The Mighty Dead. I’m not sure that “non-fiction” is quite the right way to describe this utterly brilliant book. It’s a lyrical, imaginative, semi-fictional investigation of Homer’s influence and power, as simultaneously oblique and direct, beautifully written and πολυτροπος as one of Homer’s heroes.

I also pulled out my undergraduate dissertation bibliography which was the last time I read classical scholarship seriously and I remember being blown away by some of the things on it. (Unlike many students, I absolutely adored writing my dissertation - I was very lucky.) Here are a few of the academic books I read which I recall enjoying even at the distance of 9 years:

- Chew, Kathryn. “The representation of violence in the Greek novels and martyr accounts”- Frye, Northrop. The Secular Scripture: A study of the structure of romance (not classical per se but brilliant and influential - I read more Frye for my masters and I’m a big, big fan)- Konstan, David. Sexual Symmetry- Loraux, Nicole. Tragic ways to kill a woman- MacAlister, Suzanne. Dreams and Suicides: The Greek novel from Antiquity to the Byzantine Empire

Yep, my dissertation was basically about sex and death. (What else is fiction about?) No, I didn’t do it on purpose…

12. who is your favourite poet? why?

(Oh how nice, this meme was created by someone writing British English. How delightfully unusual!)

Am I allowed to cheat and give two - one Greek and one Roman? Good! :P

On the Greek side, I have to go with Homer. I mean, I honestly feel he (he? As if we know!) might be my favourite author. Or at least sit up there alongside Austen. I guess at the moment I’m in more of a Homer mood than an Austen mood. Polite tea drinking and elegant sniping in a ball room really isn’t cutting it for me at the moment. (YES I KNOW THERE IS MORE TO AUSTEN THAN THAT. SHE’S MY FAVOURITE AUTHOR AND I’VE WRITTEN A DAMN MASTERS DISSERTATION ON HER. I’m just having a reaction against that kind of writing atm. I don’t know why. I don’t know what to do about it. I feel sad. But that’s another post.)

HOMER

I mean, where does one start? I’ve always loved The Odyssey from reading Book 6 for Greek GCSE and tittering over Odysseus covering his naked manhood with a fig leaf (lines inexplicably missed out from the Bristol Classical Press’ edition for fear of offending the sensibilities of school children, clearly not realising that by missing them out there is no indication that Odysseus isn’t stark naked in from of Nausicaa the entire scene lololololol). I did a final year paper involving reading the whole poem in Greek (spoiler: I failed, but I read about 2/3rds of it missing out the many books of recognition in Ithaca and it was a wonderful experience reading 100s of lines of Homer and getting a feel for the vocabulary and the rhythm of it all. I wish I had been a more dedicated student and had actually completed the whole thing.) It was my favourite paper. Professor Simon Goldhill (who looks and sounds like Zeus) opening the lecture series by booming, “The Odyssey is all about how to be a MAN”. ανδρα μοι εννεπε. First line of the poem. I get shivers thinking about it. Odysseus - his character. WHAT A GUY. (I don’t mean to say you have to like him or approve of him - that’s not what appreciating fiction is about, you clodpoles, but you have to admit he’s an amazing, amazing character and concept.) We actually had Professor Edith Hall come to my school today and she gave a talk on Odysseus as a hero and ngl I actually almost teared up at one moment. I just can’t believe such a great character exists and over 2000 years later, he still speaks to us and we can trace SO MUCH in Western culture back to these texts. Actually, while I was nursing a raging crush on Odysseus (I was 20 okay), it was Penelope who was the revelation to me in that paper. Did Penelope know her husband was back before the recognition scene? This had never occurred to me before and I was plunged into debates on the stability of the text and characterisation and feminism and narratology. I mean, it was just amazing! And whatever nitty gritty you might go into with it, I was just struck by this wonderful, admittedly overly romantic idea, that Penelope was absolutely Odysseus’ equal. That in this ancient epic, we had a woman who bested a man at his own game, that she was playing him - and he loved it. These two tricksters, separated for too long, finally getting their happy ending. And I know it’s not about that. But it also is. Emotionally, that’s what I got. And it made me so, so happy. Because, honestly, I don’t have a problem studying works written by, for and about men if they’re good, but there are SO FEW opportunities studying classics (at least traditionally; the approach is changing now which is great) to grapple with amazing female characters or figures - and here I had Homer’s hero and Homer’s heroine. I mean, there are many other things I love about the Odyssey but this is already long enough.

I always joked about the fact that I managed to get a classics degree from Cambridge without having ever studied the Iliad. (Ikr, it’s crazy!) And youthful, hubristic me was okay with that. I was an Odyssey girl through and through. I’d read the Iliad and it was all battles and death and the catalogue of ships. YOU FOOL. So the first time I really had to deal with the Iliad was when I found myself teaching it to A Level Classical Civilisation. And it was an absolute revelation. I’m teaching it for the third time at the moment and it’s not getting old. Every time I see something different, every time the students find something new, every time I cry quietly in class when we are reading. The places vary but the moments that are guaranteed to set me off are Achilles’ grief over Patroclus, him putting on his armour and his final unbending towards Priam. Why the armour? I’m not entirely sure. I think it’s something to do with this sense of inevitability of the approach of the end, of imminent climax (somehow more significant than the climax itself). It’s like how the lighting of the beacons in LotR is such a powerful scene. It’s not that the thing itself is particularly full of pathos but because of everything it signifies. I can’t altogether explain it but it always really affects me. When my uncle died the other year, I was reading the death of Patroclus with my class at that time and my mum came to visit. I didn’t know how to talk to her or talk about my uncle’s death and we had this absolutely awful walk around a country park in the rain (I am never going to be able to go back there for the memories it triggers) but somehow the only way I could articulate something of what I felt was by clinically and factually describing Achilles’ anguish and explaining to my mother how the ancient world mourned its dead and what Patroclus had meant to Achilles and what blinding grief and rage would drive him to do. And she gripped my hand and we both wept, silent tears, and we walked on in the rain talking about the Iliad. I’m actually crying again, writing this, right now. I am not sure there is ANYTHING in literature more powerful than Achilles’s rage and anguish.

If Odysseus is the hero of romance and comedy, a clever hero whose very wiliness makes my heart sing and my academic brain bounce up and down looking for mythic parallels, Achilles does something else altogether. I’ve been thinking about him a lot recently - partly because I’m teaching the poem and once again we’ve got to Book 16 and Achilles’ tragedy is becoming the focus of the remainder of the poem (if it wasn’t before) so it’s literally my job to think about his character - but also in the context of my recent obsession with SW, Reylo and Kylo Ren’s Episode 9 possibilities. I’m not trying to be trivial here but it saddens me SO MUCH that people have the nerve to police interest in that character, one of the most fascinating and complex to grace the screens of a fantasy blockbuster series in - well, honestly, I can’t think of another one. What a treat we have. Nobody has a problem loving Achilles’ character and weeping over him (and making soft pastel shipping graphics of him and Patroclus…) but he was objectively speaking an awful person in many ways. A violent, unpredictable, psychopathic overgrown adolescent who holds an awful grudge. But of course, that isn’t the full story and it’s not the purpose of this post to educate the internet on the nuances of Achilles’ character and his profound tragedy. I’ve got emotional enough, but honestly, we NEED Achilles. We need that larger-than-life expression of all our deepest fears and regrets and violence and destruction - and also wit, compassion, sense of justice and deep love and loyalty. I think someone once said that everyone should read the Iliad at least once in their life. Whether they did or not, it’s true: everyone should.

Okay, so I was also going to talk about how much I love Ovid too but that would be literally going from the sacred to the profane, the sublime to the ridiculous and I have spent way too long on this already. So, yeah, I really love Ovid as well.

16. Cicero - love him or loathe him?

I unironically love Cicero.

Okay, so I started along this journey from the worst of reasons. The first guy I ever liked in high school was obsessed with Cicero. At the time, I’d never read anything by him, so I decided to like him because liking the same things as your crush is an A+ way of getting him to notice you and like you back. (Spoiler: it failed.) Along the way, I got really inspired by Cicero’s wife Terentia. My first internet handles were Terentia. (I WONDER IF HE KNEW I HAD A CRUSH. lol he did. it was awful. I cringe.) Anyway, Terentia was fabulously wealthy and responsible for financing Cicero’s political career, married twice more after Cicero’s death, including to the historian Suetonius, and died aged 103. What a BAMF.

So first off, I love Cicero’s Latin. He’s my favourite Latin prose author to translate. Even if his speeches are sometimes on the dull side (we had De Imperio as an AS set text a couple of years ago and it was such a snooze-fest), the actual style of writing is so lucid and balanced and satisfying I can forgive him the content. I love all the rhetorical devices and how you can still see them at work in (good) political speeches today. I just get tremendous pleasure from translating him. It annoys me no end that the prose unseen author at A Level at the moment is Livy. I have no patience for Livy’s Latin; it doesn’t thrill me at all.

But I also kind of like Cicero the man. He lived at one of the most fascinating periods of history and although you can’t altogether trust his bias, he was a really important figure in that history and documented so much of it. I wish we had more sources to sit along side as I think he definitely puffs himself up, but nevertheless he’s invaluable. I even quite like his arrogance. He’s the ultimate self-made, intellectual man in Rome and I think he has reason to be proud of what he achieved. He must have been formidable to listen to.

Thank you for letting me ramble on about classics and literature like this. I miss writing on tumblr and not just reblogging pretty things.

Ask me about classics (or anything else obviously)

#classics #homer #the odyssey #the iliad #cicero

6 notes · View notes

mushstudies · 7 years

Text

A-Level Advice From A Newbie

So I’m (almost) done with my final AS exams, and having at last completed my first year of college, I feel like I’ve picked up on a lot. I know that there are a LOT of GCSE students on here - particularly in Years 10/11 - who are planning to start their AS Levels in September, so I thought I’d make a post of things I’ve learned (both through success and a lot of failure) that might be helpful!

1. MAKE SURE THAT YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SIGNING UP FOR

This definitely sounds pretty basic, but you would not believe the amount of people who either switch their subjects around or drop A Levels entirely within the first month or so. As much as the change is definitely okay and it’s great to switch to what works for you, if you make these changes after a week or two, you’re going to have a LOT of work to catch up on regardless of what course or subject you move to. In regards to A Levels as a whole, here are some aspects that could be helpful to consider based on how you work:

AS moves fast; content is covered extremely quickly and although you’ll be eased in gently, you’re expected to keep up.

There’s a lot of content. I struggled more revising three AS subjects than 11 GCSEs.

They’re very academic; although some subjects have coursework, a lot of this is written (essays, investigations, etc), and there’s a big reliance on exams.

It’s much stricter on homework. In my college, if we don’t keep up with work, there’s a pretty high chance we can be kicked off the course.

In terms of individual subjects, I feel like there’s a big misconception that all of your subjects should relate to one another, which isn’t true at all! If you have a specific career plan in mind, sometimes similar subjects can be helpful (for example I know people taking chemsitry/physics/biology or drama/media/film), but having a backup plan is always nice! A couple of things to consider with subject choice are:

How will you be assessed? This is a pretty important one; if you don’t like writing, but take three subjects which evaluate you on your essay writing ability, you’re going to struggle.

What’s the content of the course? You may think a subject sounds great, but not the actual curriculum and topics!

Do you like the teacher? This is an iffy one, but if you meet the teacher and absolutely 1000% can’t get along with them, it’s going to damage your motivation. Just make sure you can tolerate their class.

2. USE A L L OF YOUR INDEPENDENT STUDY TIME

I am telling you now that you will be told this by every single adult you meet in college. every. single. one. And you’ll probably argue that you don’t have enough work to fill all of the time, or that you’re too tired, or, you know, something that seems reasonable at the time but regrettable three months later.

At my college, we’re expected to put in five hours of study per subject per week, not including homework or in-class time. For most people, this’ll mean around 15 hours a week, which doesn’t seem much, but whEN YOU DON’T USE IT, IT IS SO MUCH TIME LOST. I don’t know anybody who puts in 15hrs/week, but now that it’s exam season we’re all regretting it real hard.

Get your homework done, and find a way to revise your work. Flashcards. Posters. Past papers. If you don’t have any new content to learn, put in the time every week to study the stuff you do have, and I promise you it will pay off.

3. BE NICE TO YOUR TEACHERS

Honestly this shouldn’t even have to be something that I have to remind people, but here we are.

In sixth form and particularly college, there’s much less of a power imbalance between students and teachers than there is in school; we’re on the same grounds, we’re both pretty independent, and we’re both there doing what we’re doing because we want to be. So have some respect.

A lot of the time at colleges, teachers have actually had experience in the field that they’re teaching and they’re so genuinely excited about the topics; one of the best things I’ve found at my college is how enthusiastic the teachers are, and how much interest they have in anything you have to say, especially if it’s relevant to the subject.

Also, when you show respect to teachers, they show respect to you. Many a time I’ve been given a short but extended deadline on a piece of work just because I’ve dropped a teacher an email or spoken to them before/after class, and in the words of one teacher, ‘the fact that you’re concerned enough to ask is enough proof that you’re putting effort in’.

But yeah. Talk to your teachers. Let them know if you’re missing a class. They’re human beings; don’t be a dick.

4. GO TO ALL VISITS / EVENTS / WORK EXPERIENCE

Not all places do a lot of these, but I know my college has done a few bits. What I mean by this is things such as higher education/career fairs, work exploration, and visits from people in specific careers. Even if you think that it isn’t relevant to you at all, you could learn or come across something that could be beneficial or helpful to your future, a qualification, or even just enjoy an hour or so.

I did an afternoon at the StonePillow Homeless Shelter in my town; I didn’t change my mind about my career, I didn’t gain any qualifications from it, but I definitely found it interesting and it certainly had an impact on my worldview.

On the same note, join a club. Not only is this something which can be later used on CVs and personal statements, but you can learn a lot of skills which can help you in your actual subjects.

5. REMEMBER THAT YOU ARE NOT SUPERIOR

Not exactly a tip, but something that I really think A Level students need to keep in mind.

There’s a big thing that I keep seeing of A Level students joking about being better than people doing other courses (BTEC, apprenticeships, vocational, etc), and it’s not true at all. Everybody is working equally hard to get the qualifications that THEY need to get to where THEY want to go.

If you’re thinking like this, just stop.

I really hope this was helpful to anybody considering A Levels - best of luck to anybody currently sitting exams!

#studyblr #studying #study tips #a level #gcse #a level studyblr #gcse studyblr #revision #a levels #study #studygram #studyspo #100 days of productivity #study motivation #filmblr #psychblr #stationery #study aesthetic

621 notes · View notes

hemmo-or-hemmings · 7 years

Text

The Step-Sister of Luke Hemmings Chapter 5 ~ Holiday

Hellllooooooo everybody reading this one, so yesterday was my true love’s birthday and I updated some new chapters which are all going to be posted and put into my masterlist. Now I really need some inspiration, so I was thinking if you could send me your favourite pictures of Luke I will add them to future posts and give you a shout out. That is all for now you beautiful people, hope you enjoy the next chapter!

Questions were running through my head that entire day. What did Luke actually say?

Why did Andrew seem so calm about it?

And did Luke blame actually blame things on me?

However there was one other thing that was on my mind. Am I really going to agree to go to Australia? Like do I really want to give up my whole holiday? Because I have friends and commitments. I have homework, a tonne of homework. What about the jet lag and time difference as well? How will I cope back at school after that flight? But my mum is happy, that is what matters. That is what I care about. And that is why I put her up for that daring website. That is why I urged her to do this. That is why we are going to go to Australia. So my mum can be happy. At least then I can meet Andrew's son Luke, find out if he really is the jerk he sounds like. I mean don't get me wrong, I completely understand how he is feeling because I felt the same at first, but our parents put us first all the time, so it's only fair to give something back.

I was so busy thinking about Australia and Luke that I completely missed the bell dismissing us all. Bekah, my best friend since nursery, pushed me off of my chair and tripped over in laughter.

"Fin I didn't know you liked school all of a sudden, are you sure you don't find Mr Thompson fit ahaha."I started glaring at her, cursing her in my head, and when she tried getting up off the floor after tripping, well I may have pushed her back down to play her at her own game.

"See ya later Bekah." I called as I carried on walking out the classroom. I turned on my phone as I was walking down the hallway and Beckett, one of the fittest guys at my high school, was stood at his locker, which coincidentally was right next to mine.

"Ah Fin, you texting your boyfriend?" Beckett teased, but winked to show he meant no harm. Me and Beck had also been friends as long as I can remember and he really did help when my dad passed. In the time that I had known him it was fair to say that I had a little crush on him... Okay maybe not little, but like medium... Well so not really medium but maybe just gigantic. But it wasn't my fault. He has blond hair. And blue eyes. And the cutest dimples ever.

"Hi Beck, did you lose your girlfriend in your ego?" At first I looked him dead in the eye, but then I think he took it way to seriously so I ended up giggling. I looked down at my phone and saw that it was fully alive. With a text. From Andrew. I sighed and put it into my coat pocket and started putting my books away.

"So not your boyfriend then?" Beck commented on my obvious change of mood.

"Nope, my mums boyfriend actually."

"Woah get you into the older men. I didn't see that one coming, get in there Fin." He practically yelled, my face went beetroot red when I noticed all the attention we were getting from the other students. I had even earned a glare or two. The thing is, a lot of girls know that me and Beckett are close friends and always have been. And a lot of girls were also jealous. I wasn't the only one with a crush on Beck, and quite honestly it didn't surprise me. But Beck is also nearly a year older, so when he made his comment about older men, well I basically face palmed on his behalf at how stupid that comment was.

Truth was though, I also didn't know how true that comment would be in the future. I mean don't get me wrong, there are a lot of older men who are very attractive. But I didn't think I would ever want to be with an older guy. Little did I know.

I tried playing off the embarrassment with rolling my eyes and he kinda understood how much of a douche he was being. "Hahaha, I'm joking, i'm joking. But seriously what does he want now?" Good question Beck, what did he want? To take me on holiday to Australia? Was that all? The more I started thinking about it the more I started to realise that this could make my mum want to move to Australia, and I wasn't ready for that. A holiday I could handle but maybe not a whole new life.

"Oh you know, the usual, just to pick me up. I don't get it though he has three kids of his own, surely when you go on holiday you don't just go to pick your girlfriends kid up, right?" I looked at Beck with confusion written on all over my face.

"Well you might not be into the older men, but the older men might be into you." He joked again, hitting me and winking at me whilst saying so.

"You are literally the lamest." I said with a sigh and shrugged the arm he had placed on my shoulder just a few seconds before and started making my way to the doors, ready to go home. Finally.

Walking out of the school I glanced around, looking for Andrew, but not seeing any sign of him. I sat on one of the walls belonging to the school. I looked across from where I was sat to my old Primary School, it hadn't changed much since I had left for High School, but then again it hadn't changed since my dad had died. The gates, a little more rusted than they once were, still had the bright red and yellow colours that the children once painted. The playground, much smaller than I remembered, still had the outline of hop-skip-jump, and the handles for the wall climb were still there. The massive oak tree still stood tall as well. That was where my dad used to drop me off and pick me up when he was at home. It was our meeting and leaving place. It was where we said 'goodbye' and 'hello'. It was my getaway, it was my favourite place and it was where me and my dad put the world away. I had been waiting for Andrew for about 10 minutes, so I read the text he sent again.

Andrew: Hi Finley, I will be picking you up again today so come out the front entrance.

Well maybe he was lost. He hadn't been here that long. But after about 20 minutes he finally turned up.

"Ah Fin, I'm so sorry I had an important phone call." He smiled sheepishly. Another phone call? Was that to Luke?

"Oh right, so like work stuff?" I wanted to know what I would be dealing with when, no, if we go to Australia and this was the most discreet way.

"Oh um no, no it's not, it was actually erm my son again." This time he looked stressed.

"Which one? you have three don't you?" Talk about getting personal, but then again calling me 'Fin' was quite personal.

"Yes, yeah I do, three boys. It was actually Luke. He is my youngest." He smiled at the thought of him, I could see the amount of love he had for his son.

"Oh right, so what did he want?" I'm not going to lie, I was actually interested in finding out what he wanted.

"Well we were talking about Australia, and if you and your mom were to stay with us for a holiday." He didn't sound so happy anymore.

"Oh okay, so what does he think? Does he mind if we come on holiday?" It was then that Andrew looked at me, very seriously, it was as if he was trying to figure out if I was being cheeky and hoping that Luke wouldn't want us to go. Which to be honest, I wouldn't mind.

"Finley, do you not want to come to Australia? I understand if you don't but it would be helpful to know." That time he just looked really concerned.

"Well I just wanted to know if Luke would mind, I have a thing about not going into peoples personal space, I think it is really rude and unnecessary." Nope he wasn't going to get me to say no like that.

"At first he really didn't like the idea, but he is stressed at the moment, he has just started his mock exams and he just wants to do well. That's all. He was just worried that if new people came into his dads home then everything will be turned upside down. But then I mentioned that you would be doing mocks in a few years, and you would more than likely understand the stress. He doesn't seem to mind as much now. So Fin, do you not want to come to Australia?" Well actually I had already done some mocks due to my school doing their GCSEs early, so yeah, I knew exactly how Luke felt. I started to feel bad, but still intrusion might not be the best idea at the moment if he was so stressed.

"Right now I would really like to go home." And that was the last thing either of us said before we got in the car and went home.

As soon as I was home I went straight into my room. I needed to think, to plan. Andrew made a very good point before about disruption before exams. Neither me or Luke needed that. But my mum did need this holiday. We had been on plenty of holidays since my dad passed, but never out of the UK. I only had one exam, and that was Finance. So it wouldn't be so bad to go on holiday for two weeks. I mean I needed a holiday as well. Plus I haven't had a tan in years. And I really wanted to meet Luke Hemmings.

It had been half an hour in my room alone, and yet I hadn't been disturbed yet. Maybe something was wrong? Maybe Andrew and my mum were talking about the conversation from before. I was starting to get anxious and I couldn't deal with it. I had made up my mind. If it made my mum happy. If I got a break. If I got to meet Luke. Then why not. We were going to Australia.

"Ma!" I screamed jumping down the stairs, making a racket.

"Finley what on earth are you shouting for?" Okay so I just annoyed the hell out of her but it was fine because she would end up happy anyway.

"Well actually I wanted to talk to you... and Andrew." She looked at me with her eyebrow raised. You know the face a mother makes as if to say 'Really now?' in much disbelief. Yeah, it was that face.

"Yeah, I do." I said bluntly as I sat down on the sofa. "Well you see, me and Andrew have been talking, and well he asked if I would want to go on holiday to Australia with you."

"Finley like i said you don't ha-"

"Anyway," I glared at Andrew for trying to interrupt my wonderful speech. "As I was saying, yes, I would love to go on a holiday. I think I deserve a holiday with all the work I have been doing." And then i turned to Andrew with my smug smile on my smug face. "So if everyone is okay with it, then lets go to Australia.”

And that is exactly what we would do.

Sorry It was a long ass Chapter, the next few are shorter I promise, but we are getting close now!

#luke hemmings #luke 5sos #the step sister of Luke Hemmings #calum hood #calum 5sos #ashton irwin #ashton 5sos #michael 5sos #michael clifford #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5 es oh es #smut

0 notes

nataliehemstockunit11 · 5 years

Text

UCAS Application

During this task we applied for UCAS and began to look at universities or colleges that we could apply for and hopefully go to once we have finished college to help us get further in life. For me personally I do not wish to go to university because I do not feel that it is right for me at this current moment in time. I may possibly consider the idea of university in a couple of year’s time in a different subject than photography but I still do not know on what I would like to do. Even though I do not wish to go to university now I still applied for UCAS just so I could have a see what I need to do just in case I change my mind in a couple of years time and this is what I did:

After registering my account I went straight to look at the universities/colleges that did subjects that I was interested in (which are photography, history, English; literature and language, psychology and sociology) as I thought that they might inspire me to go further in my search for an idea on what I would like to do when I leave college. I looked a few universities and they did have some of the courses that I was interested in; though others were did not have any course that I was looking for or only one or two missing as they did not do those courses that I have stated above. Here are the universities and the courses that I have looked at:

I scrolled through some more of the universities and colleges favouring the courses that I was interested in before deciding that I thought that I had enough for the time being and then went through and unlike any of the subjects that had what looked like terrible student satisfaction until I was happy with the amount that I had to read through to see if any of them seemed good enough. After, looking through the subject’s information I got rid of any subject that did not allow you in unless you did something in a relevant subject and I also got rid of all sociology and psychology because I couldn’t remember which one of the two I preferred, so I did not want to give myself the chance of me picking a subject that I did not like as much as the other.

Alongside that, I also got rid of all of the English options because after reading through a couple of university courses I decided that English was not for me because it wasn’t speaking out to me like some of the subjects that I read and liked. After, reading through all of the courses that I had selected I had managed to thin it down to select few that I really liked or I was still unsure on. These are the university courses that I have selected:

The subjects with the red hearts are the ones that I favour the most over the ones with just a white heart. Once, I had chance to look at everything I became uncertain on whether or not I did want to go to university as some of the courses that I read upon really persuaded me that I wanted to study that course at that university, whereas the other courses I looked at made me go back to where I was at the beginning of this process, which was not wanting to go. So, what I think I’ll have to do is to have a think on what I want to do in the future and go to the open days for the universities that I have left to see what my options are and to get the feel if university is for me or not.

When I had completed what universities I favoured the most I carried on with my UCAS application, which entailed me to fill in some information, such as my GCSE grades, where I am currently studying and what grades I have there, work experience and lots of other important stuff that universities may need to see if they want you to be in their universities. Overall, I found this experience quite boring because I still don’t really know what I want to do in the future. However, I did find some of this experience fun because it allowed me to read upon courses that I am quite interested in and that when I do decided on what I want to do in the future I know that I could go to university to help better my chances of getting a job in that subject.

0 notes

lordylearner-blog · 7 years

Photo

From Product to Process (13/12/2017)

During my training I have felt deeply what Schon (1983) refers to as ‘the theory practice divide; the gap between the reality of the classroom and the theory of the lecture theatre. Over the weeks we have looked at many theoretical models of different areas of practice; one that has really illuminated and lifted some of the mystique of the classroom for me has been curriculum theories. And as with most things in education, as I am beginning to discover, what initially appears obvious (everybody knows what the curriculum is, right?) is actually far more complex and nuanced. In relation to my practice, I was struck by the idea of the process and product models. The new insights these models offered, allowed me to identify classroom phenomenon I have previously only been able to observe. This state of methodological identification, a priori, has become a common feature of the teacher training experience (ps12).

The curriculum process model gained notoriety in the mid 70s. The book, An Introduction to Curriculum Research and Development, by Lawrence Stenhouse (1975), had already become a best seller and an Open University set book (Norris and Elliot, 2012) (ps8); Developed as a ‘reaction to the objectives model’ (Norris and Elliot, 2012), the dominant model at that point in time made famous by thinkers such as Bloom. In describing Bloom’s approach to learning theory Stenhouse (1971) writes that ‘educational objectives are statements of desired change in thoughts, actions or feelings of students that a particular course or educational programme should bring about...they are relatively specific statements of the characteristics the students should possess after completing the course or programme; in short, they are behavioural objectives’.

This model is the dominant one in western educational institutions to date. How does all this relate to my practice? In my classroom I have unwittingly pursued a process model. I have designed lessons with an emphasis on the experience rather than the outcome. I want my learners to leave as fuller individuals who think deeper than they did previously. My subject, Health and Social care, lends itself really well to this end. This also feeds into my teaching philosophy. Every week we cover contentious topics such as abuse, nature/nurture, social and medical models of health, equality and diversity. These subjects offer plenty of scope for progression through Bloom’s cognitive domain (ps9). There has been a huge emphasis on Bloom in my training. I recently had an observation with feedback to use more Bloom in my planning (ps10). With this in mind, I’m hyper sensitive to the taxonomy. It informs a lot of my planning and delivery (ps12). However, a secondary feature of this method is that learners (all of mine are in the 16-19 age bracket) who have spent their entire educational lives going through the product model, are incredibly difficult to budge.

Here’s a vignette from my own practice. A few weeks back on placement, I delivered a lesson on the importance of recognising and responding to causes for concern in health and social care. The group were given a case study that I had written based on my experiences in the sector (ps14). The case study came with some guided questions they were asked to consider while reading and then answer afterwards (ps11). The topic for the case study was one of many covered in the workbooks the learners have for the module. Each section has topics and questions to complete. When I informed the learners they would be looking at a case study the first thing I was asked is ‘will it tell us how to answer the questions in the workbook?’ I said ‘this case study will help you to understand the issues involved in recognising and responding to concerns. Which will in turn, help you to answer the questions’. The next question, ‘Miss, can we use the case study to answer the questions in the work book?’ I wasn’t sure? I confirmed with my mentor that this would be okay (ps6). But what became clear to me was my learners weren’t really interested in ‘understanding the issues’ as I’d put it. My class was a means to an end. They simply wanted to be given the information they needed to answer the questions, to complete the workbook, to pass the course. This focus on the end goal is the dominant model used in schools, further education and higher education institutions today. A recent study by the journal of educational psychology on Autonomy and task performance (ps8) showed that a focus on tests and grading actually lowered intrinsic motivation in students (Pulfrey et al 2013).

Instead of tests and grades, Butera (2013) recommends offering detailed feedback. In his research, The effects of grades on the preference Effect, Butera et al (2013) (ps8) for the Journal of Basic and applied social psychology; it states that detailed feedback would help ‘focus on assessment as a tool for education rather than for selection. In other words, children learn to further their knowledge rather than do well in tests’(BBC, 2017). These findings chime with the process model, where outcomes are no longer the defining features, but rather content and means develop as learners and teachers work together (Smith, 2000).

In our lecture we discussed how students could be gently moved from the product model, where they are passive recipients of information, to the process model, with the learners as active participants. I have noticed a shift when there’s a topic the learners are particularly fired up by. Something they get and they enjoy. But this shift is not a one way process. As was previously suggested, for many of my learners, my classroom may be the first time they’ve been invited to express an opinion of their own, or to actively participate in their own learning. The first time they’ve had any autonomy and agency. It can be daunting and unfamiliar territory. Most of my students bring with them a ‘history of educational failure’. (Keller, 2006) They are resitting GCSEs along side their subjects and have had negative experiences at school. My mentor commented that level 1 study is, in some respects, the hardest to teach as, like the gears of a car, you’re starting the students off..getting them moving (ps6). Motivated to learn. The level 1 course is pass or referral..there is no fail. This may all seem a bit snowflake. Some criticise the notion of students just being able to try again, try again until they succeed..like it somehow invalidates their work. However, Carol Dweck speaks of a school where students got ‘pass or not yet’ as their exam feedback. She said she felt this was ‘wonderful as it focused on the process’ (2014).

One could argue there is a similar focus with the pass or referral system. That allowing students to try again until they succeed allows them to learn from their mistakes; and to build on failure, rather than being defined by it (ps5).

0 notes

time-fury · 7 years

Text

Why I did Movember - My Shame

When someone says they have an interest in something, I firmly believe that means the subject has in some way affected that person. For example, if someone were so say they had an interest in feminist studies, the chances are that person has in someway been affected by the patriarchy we find ourselves living in. So when, at the start of this month, I said I would be growing facial hair to raise awareness of the failing mental health of young gay men, my motives were not entirely altruistic. Nor is it simply down to the fact that I am myself a young gay man. I feel the need to preface this with a disclaimer that this is entirely built around my own personal experience, and that nothing I describe here has been in any way verified by an actual medical professional. So if you read anything that causes offence, I did not intend it so. It’s essentially public knowledge now that gay people are actually pretty accepted, and on the whole we know this as well, but there is still a lot that we don’t speak about that, even in todays quite open society. So while yes, gay men have full and unlimited equal rights in law, that doesn’t necessarily make us equal citizens. I came to this realisation on my first walk for Movember. As I walked around the grounds of Llandaff Cathedral, I found myself thinking about my life growing up as a devout Catholic and gay boy/teenager. This was a rabbit hole of thought that led me to come to the conclusion that while gay men have full legal equality, gay boys (especially religious ones) are second-rate citizens. Gay men can get married, whereas gay boys are rarely taught beyond heterosexual nuptials. Gay men can go for regular HIV check-ups, whereas gay boys are barely educated on what HIV is. Gay men can fall in love, but gay boys are almost never taught about even the potential of not dating a woman. Sex is still for man and wife, with the sole purpose of procreation, and anything outside of this is fraught with risks. Gay sex automatically means a higher risk of contracting a deadly disease, and anyone who is gay is signing themselves up for a life apart from everyone around them. Things are getting better, but better doesn’t mean best. So long as this isn’t the best it can be, gay boys will suffer. While the current climate is not overtly homophobic, its institutions are dragging its heels and continuing to force a deeply rooted shame on gay boys that they may never get over. The isolation this system imposes is certainly something that has affected me deeply. As the month went on I looked back over the parts of my life that I can remember, and I found myself noticing just how much I have changed as a result of these factors. I’ll admit I was never the chattiest child, preferring the solitary company of a book or a CBBC drama to playing football with the boys. But I was (despite my eyesight issues) an excellent observer. I saw boys and girls giggling to the side of the playground, kissing each other on the cheek under the stairs in secret, or behind the wall of the older years playground. So, while not understanding what all the fuss was about, I played along. Whatever girl I was closest to was branded a “crush”, which I assumed it must be. This seems to be a common trend, gay boys pretending to like girls until they come out, freed from those lies, but it’s actually incredibly damaging. With myself, I found that I questioned every close relationship with a girl. I would interrogate myself about how I felt, why it wasn’t right, why I wasn’t right, and why I kept looking at that boy over there instead. Every platonic friendship becomes a quest to force a crush, and every crush becomes a quest to force platonic friendship. And if young people don’t allow themselves to feel what they want to feel, it’s going to be difficult, if not impossible, to shake that when they are fully-grown. Every time they fall in love it’s tainted by the deeply rooted shame surrounding their first love. If you want to look at why some gay men take such risks when having sex, that might be a good place to start looking. Another obvious place to look is in the education. While young gay boys are in the throes of puberty, juggling their schoolwork with their own sexual and emotional crisis, they have nowhere to turn for guidance. Now this is of course not the case in many schools these days, so this part is where my own personal experience takes over. It is difficult, sitting in a room of thirty people, being taught about sex, and feeling like the only one not learning anything. The boys are all sniggering about vaginas together, and the girls are grimacing at the idea of childbirth, and none of it really means anything to me. There was brief talk of condoms (Catholic school), and the pros and cons of safe sex. There was a talk on various STI’s and how they’re contracted (all with the Catholic “don’t do this” angle), and there was a lot on the process of pregnancy. The only thing I vividly remember was how my stomach turned when AIDS and HIV were mentioned, which of course meant the introduction of homosexuality to the module. It was blink and you miss it. Gay means AIDS, let’s move on. There was nothing on the mechanics of sex, and certainly no notion that whatever it was could occur in a loving relationship. So what’s a young gay boy to do? Of course, turn to the internet. An introduction to a topic defines someone’s interest. If you gave an infant a copy of Moby Dick, they’d never read again. If your first exposure to sex is two guys meeting in the woods to have casual, unprotected sex, I think you can see how that would define your approach to sex. It’s dirty, it’s sleazy, it’s dangerous, and you put your penis where?! If you want to know how bad sexual education is for young gay people, I’ll tell you this: I didn’t know what lube was or how to use it until the age of eighteen, I didn’t know how to put a condom on until the day before I had sex for the first time, and I didn’t realise there was a way of cleaning your systems out before sex until I was twenty. This lack of education could have led to some serious risks being taken without me even knowing they were risks. My lack of knowledge may come as a surprise to some who once upon a time saw me as an expert, which brings me onto the next topic of how mental health in young gay men is fucked. For most, our limited knowledge has come from the internet, be that porn or Youtubes countless coming out videos, we have no real concept of the LGBT community, and we have been harbouring secret loves since the dawn of our memories. But then the doors to that closet open, the confetti guns go off, you step out into the light, and things just become a different kind of shit. Now, you’re an expert. You’re in the limelight, the gay best friend, and in my case for a couple of years, the only gay in the school. This is immense pressure for a newly out boy, as this is something deeply personal we have decided to share with the world. While the relief is immense, it does take some time to get used to. We aren’t afforded that luxury however, or at least I wasn’t, as the lack of education became glaringly obvious. I wrote a line in a play recently that said, “I had always known I liked boys in the way that other boys liked girls. But being gay? That’s different.” Up until this point, being gay was a petty playground insult, but now it had a face. And as the only gay face in the school, I was the only one to turn to when people had questions. The only problem being I went to the same school as them, so I was as in the dark as a lot of the people asking me. Sometimes I think I came out too soon, but that’s bollocks. I just came out before I realised what it meant. It triggered another personality crisis, as I began to struggle with the idea of living under this label. Another battle to fight alone, as now everyone expected me to be an LGBT expert. Thankfully I was never seriously bullied, but you can report bullies, you can’t report institutionalised abandonment. Something else you can’t report is a broken heart. I won’t talk too much about the first time I fell in love as I imagine it’s a story heard a thousand times before. Ask any gay man and he’ll probably have a story about the straight boy in high school. My own version of this tale is relatively passive, through years of supressing my feelings, before accepting them for what they were, and then still having to repress them as he’s straight. Balance that with those who know telling me to hold out hope, it was an emotional rollercoaster of a few years. It climaxed with a story I am still unable to verify. After six years of evolving feelings, he found out, and apparently showed a side that put me off him forever, as he became enraged by the idea of a boy being in love with him. I will say that on the matter. I was in love. For years of my life I was in love, but the environment I was in forced me to repress those feelings, ones that have thus far not resurfaced. This pressure, along with the conventional pressures of GCSE’s, puberty, and with other events out of my control, I ended up in student support therapy sessions. These sessions were essentially the result of a perfect storm that also involved a heavy dose of toxic masculinity, a broader topic I won’t discuss here. I ended up stopping these sessions after roughly two-to-three months, as I felt they were actually adding to my worries, not eliminating them. By the time I turned eighteen, I feel I’d been officially fucked. I was going to university, a hub of gayness, exams, independence, and sexual liberation, and I was in no way prepared. My exposure to the gay world had been tainted by my education, both sexual and religious, by the continued camp and/or depressing representation in film and TV, online porn, and Grindr. I was caught between two worlds, the heterosexual world I’d climbed my way out of, and the LGBT community that felt too far the other way. I had no home in the Church, and having one foot in the closet at home meant I didn’t really feel comfortable there either. Being eighteen seems a long time ago now. But the effects of my childhood are still affecting me today. The repression of my first love has meant that I find myself incapable of exposing myself to that feeling again. The secrets I have kept throughout my life have left me untrustworthy of anyone, including myself, and has tainted my personality beyond belief. I have become bitter and sarcastic in a desperate attempt to hide my actual personality, something I got a glimpse of for the first time back in February to June of this year. My lack of emotional stability has left me looking for the next best thing on an app that I hate, but have become reliant on for human contact however brief. I find emotions themselves incredibly exhausting, and increasingly the notion of getting out of bed in the morning is becoming an arduous task. My passion for writing is waning, and my personality is increasingly impulsive and addictive. I’m not blaming being gay on these issues, but it has certainly been a contributing factor. I only faced up to my issues at the end of university, forced to admit it by my lecturers. I am ashamed. I love men, but I am ashamed to be gay. But I think more importantly, I am lost. I am still that eighteen year old with nowhere to call home, caught between the world he knew and the world he’s yet to explore. So why did I do Movember? Why do I think the mental health of gay boys is worth the walks? Why is it close to my heart? It’s, selfishly, because of me. And while this post is long and rushed, it’s barely scratched the surface of the issues facing young gay boys. It’s sex, it’s relationships, it’s self-worth, it’s friends and family, it’s education, it’s politics, and most importantly, it’s incredibly personal. So long as I have this beard, I will fight for those gay boys, but first I ‘ve got to fight for this one.

#Movember #Gay #education #LGBT #My movember #This piece is long and doesn't address the issues but I needed to put this out there #Gay men #Coming Out

0 notes

gingilocks101 · 7 years

Text

A Letter to my Father

Dear F,

You probably think this is about me wanting you to like J; it is not. Our argument at the barbecue was never about that. What it is about is you starting a fight trying to call him a prick for no reason and then thinking I’m overreacting or being unreasonable for asking you to not be a dick for no reason. You had spent the last week essentially bullying him like you do to the rest of us, complaining about him for the smallest things, acting like a degree means you can’t be absent minded or make human mistakes, and then trying to get S to take him home because you didn’t want him there anymore. Newflash, twat face: you fucking invited him! Suck it up!

I don’t give a fuck either way about whether or not you like my fiance because I don’t need your approval. You’ve never approved of anything unless it directly benefited you. What I care about is that you treat him like dirt for no reason. He’s never done anything but be polite to you, and you’re here acting like a prick and thinking you can. And I’m the immature one for not just accepting it? Fuck off, fuck off, fucking die. You are 55: I shouldn’t be told to just let you get away with being a grade A fuckwad because you can’t even be polite.

And you’re supported by other adults aged 50+, like Mum, Auntie A, Auntie S, Uncle P (who isn’t 50+ but is close enough) because apparently being a dick is “just how he is”. Your whole life you’ve been allowed to do what you want, and now you’re “upset” because I won’t talk to you anymore? I don’t need you and your emotional abuse, your misogyny, your bullshit life. You have been on this planet for 5 and a half decades, and everyone tells me that I need to be the mature one and just accept blame, apologise and grovel. Why? So you can just do this all again, over and over and over until you finally die? I refuse.

Besides all of which: your reasons for disliking J are bullshit! He “thinks of nobody else but himself,” says man who has two ponds that only he wants. They are two ditches in our garden into which you just throw money we don’t have; one of them in the ground with no fencing or anything to prevent falling into it. You have a six year old running around your garden, and it’s only last week that you actually did something because you were going to have drunk people in the garden at your party on Saturday. And even then, all you did was put solar lights around the edge; still no fence, nothing to actually stop an accident.

You tried to move the family to Crawley so you didn’t have to sit in traffic on the way home from work. That was your immediate response, before considering leaving ten minutes later to avoid it, before anything else. Did it matter that your youngest two were doing GCSEs and A Levels? Did it fuck. All that mattered was that you were stuck in traffic on the way home and you didn’t like it. You hadn’t even been in the new job that long; maybe two months? Traffic sucks, yeah, but two months is nothing. Mum hits traffic on the way to work every single day, and she’s been working there for about 16 years. And before that she worked in schools and colleges since leaving the factory, when she was probably also in traffic. It is life in our cities, towns and other urban areas. That is the modern age.

Which, I know, you hate. Hence why you tried to tried to make us all move to rural Cumbria so you could set up a fish farm. You expected Mum to quit her job and work in a cafe on a fish farm despite the fact that she hates cooking and baking in all forms; just because you don’t want to live in London anymore. You have no experience in fish farming, no experience in even running a business, and angling as a business is collapsing as younger people just aren’t interested. But you are Super F. This risky venture will obviously succeed, purely because you’re in charge. You know everything about everything, so you cannot fail. And all those who have been in the business 30 years who are closing down shops because they can’t carry on? Well, they don’t know what they’re talking about, do they? God, you sound like Nan, trying to tell me the doctors don’t know jackshit about antibiotics or the human body.

“He only thinks of himself,” said the man who turns the simple act of helping me to move in and out of university every September and June into the F. B. shitshow. A man whose daughter was returning to university, 200 miles from home, and you decided to move me in by driving me and dumping my stuff because you “didn’t want to sit in traffic” on the way home. You stood in my new kitchen with all those housemates I hadn’t yet met, and made my mother cry, because she didn’t believe you all summer.

Not that you give a fraction of a fuck about my degree beyond how expensive it is for you, how much it’s costing you. You routinely belittle my likes, interests and passions: you don’t bother attempting to connect with me unless it’s one of your own interests like old punk/rock music; newer music or songs you don’t like result in you bitching or moaning over it so I can’t hear it, or until I get fed up and change it or turn it off. The same happens with TV shows, and then you say “oh, I didn’t say you couldn’t watch it!” You are slowly reducing the things we can watch to fishing shows and Fake Britain: you dislike American comedies, you hate panel shows, none of us like soaps, you try to force D to stop watching kids’ TV (I remind you that he is six)...

When we went to visit universities you complained about the lecturer, and said that people with English Literature degrees “just think they’re better than everyone else because they’ve read lots of books”. All the lecturer had done was talk about the course he taught when I asked him for an overview. I will have a degree in English Literature by the end, and yeah, I will think I’m better than you. But not because I’ve read classics that you can’t stick, like Tess of the D’Urbevilles, or Wuthering Heights. I’m better than you because I’m genuinely likeable; I can be polite even if I dislike people (sorry L, I do try!); and I treat people fairly, as best that I can. The last time you cared about my university experience was the summer of 2012, when I was considering Oxbridge. And even that was to use me as a trophy daughter: you paraded me around your birthday party telling all your friends and brothers and sisters that I was thinking about Oxford, because it made you sound good. You couldn’t give less of a fuck about me, really.

You make me feel as though I can’t be freely religious at home: I ended up telling P and K and other people from uni that I feel unable to go to church when I’m at home. You mock me on Sunday mornings if I do go, asking if I’m “going to see [my] imaginary friend with low self esteem” or calling religion “mythology and fairy tales” and those who believe “idiots”. You do this to the point I feel uncomfortable to go anywhere on Sundays by myself, which is exactly your goal. You hate religion and the fact I have one with such vitriol that I cannot understand why you hate me calling you an atheist. Only atheists are that violent towards people with faith. On top of that, you constantly bring up how much you hated Seville Cathedral and how the Church is “a business”, or the “world’s greatest scam”. When I went with the school in 2012, Seville Cathedral was one of my favourite things. You ruined that. Mum promised we wouldn’t take you to the cathedral, but you insisted! And I’m convinced that was just to have the excuse to abuse me further. You make such a big deal out of religious events: you refused to take me and T to the church for little E’s christening, tried to make digs in my ear during D-G’s christening, and you refused to even go to D’s dedication. You sat in the pub and willingly missed your own grandson’s dedication, and then spent the after party loudly criticising S for having him dedicated, as it’s apparently “indoctrination”. Your violent campaign has served to make me only feel able to express or explore my faith in Chester; hence most of the important people are those that I met at church, or in chapel and chaplaincy: P, G, K, V, Fr. P & A...

And after all of that, you believe and desire me to be completely dependent on you. I have constant reminders about how you pay for everything and that it’s your house (despite Mum paying half but that doesn’t fit your narrative). My bedroom is “not your room; it’s the room in which you are permitted to sleep”; you’ve been saying this for years. And whilst yes, it is technically true, it also subtly chips away at my privacy. If it is your room really, it suggests I have no privacy and no right to my bedroom. It suggests everything is flimsy. You won't pay for me until I "love you again"? What is this bullshit? At the moment, J is providing his own food at our house because you complain if he eats. I’ll say again: you are denying a guest food, and yet I’m expected to be the grown up and apologise for asking you to be polite. Do you hear yourself when you speak? Or is your head too far stuck up your arse? Besides, you don’t really pay for me anyway! While you’re wasting money on fish, literally throwing all of the family money into a ditch, I’m expected to get a job alongside my studies. It doesn’t matter what I say about doing two degrees, about being a full time student, about how you’ll still demand me home in the holidays, or about how the stress will literally kill me. You won’t listen to any of it: it will always be because I’m “lazy and expensive”. And yet! And yet: despite refusing to support me when I have no money, you still desire me to support you in retirement. No?? You can’t refuse to support me and then demand I support you; it doesn’t work like that. It’s an investment, F. You put in what you want to receive; I am not obligated to support you in your old age if you will not support me now. It works two ways.

You accuse me of wasting money on my degree, and then spent £200 without asking on concert tickets when the family couldn’t afford it. Your current reasoning for why we’re in so much debt is not for anything logical like you wasting money on your ponds, but because I am eating. That’s right: your current excuse for why we have no money is because I eat too much. It makes no sense because, by your own admission, “it’s not like you eat much anyway”. So what the actual fuck? It makes no sense at all. You dislike that I asked J’s dad Te for help with Spain after you refused. You expected me to have it done in advance so you could throw me off a plane and leave again, like Chester. I can’t do that, so I went to someone who can help me in the way I need it, but you are bitter. I don’t have to jump your hoops and do everything your way. Like how you’re refusing to walk me down the aisle at my wedding, and keep saying that other people will also refuse if you tell them to, such as my cousin C. That’s just another transparent attempt to make me beg for your attention, to turn something into being about you. “Oh, why isn’t F walking her?!” Well, I refuse to let you make everything about yourself. That’s why I’m asking S. Suck on that.

There are more things I can scream about: this is 21 years of emotional abuse, 21 years of scars, 21 years of trying to get approval that will never come. I’m over it. I will never apologise, and quite frankly I’m beyond insulted that you haven’t even thought to do so.

I’ll see you in Hell, and I won’t stop to say hi.

Yours sincerely,

Hannah

#gingilocks101 #gingilocks writes letters #family stuff #abuse tw #religion and stuff

0 notes

postgradmelancholy-blog · 7 years

Text

22nd July, 2017.

It is 23:49 on 22nd July 2017, and nearly 13 days since I graduated from Royal Holloway University of London, with a degree in History and International Relations. Honestly, my time at university was not always enjoyable. In fact, when I think back, a lot of my three year experience is marred by indescribable homesickness and a desperate feeling that I had perhaps, made the entirely wrong decision. In amongst this, however, my three years were some of the happiest, most exciting, and rewarding years of my life so far.

For three years I longed to leave university, dreamed of the day I would finally be free of education, and resented the fact that I had come in the first place. At the end of each year, however, I would lament leaving, and think to myself, ‘next year will be different’. It rarely ever was. I was lonely, happy, depressed, excited, anxious, hopeful and admittedly more unwell than I let on, all in equal measures. But, when the 10th July 2017 came around, and I suddenly realised that this was it forever, a whole new wave of emotions hit me.

10th July, 2017 was Graduation Day. I can honestly say it was one of the best days of my life, and I would give anything to be able to do it all again. For one day I felt entirely special. It was my day to celebrate, not only the completion of my degree, but the fact that I had made it. I had made it through first year, when I made friends with the wrong people, and ended up spending a good three months entirely alone, and going home every weekend. I made it through second year, where I ended a toxic relationship, and started to discover myself again, whilst for the first time, actually enjoying uni. And, I made it through third year, which was the toughest, but most enjoyable of the three. I had made lifelong friends, and lived in a house where Nerf wars on the landing were a regular occurrence. I found people as weird as me, and I loved that (mostly). I went to a university of 9,000 students, in a small town in Surrey where everyone knew each other, and you would find almost everyone you knew in Tesco on a Wednesday buying supplies for a Wednesday night SU. But, this was it. The beginning of the rest of my life. For a moment I was elated, hopeful and excited. Then quite suddenly, upon returning home to Plymouth, I felt hopeless, desperately alone and terrified.

The 11th July 2017. I returned home knowing I needed a job, determined to get one, so that I could fund what I truly wanted to do in life; a passion, which for now shall remain nameless. However, it is now the 22nd July, and I am still without work. That is not for want of trying. Being reasonably well qualified, having worked part-time at university, and during summer holidays, and having achieved good GCSE’s, good A Levels and a good degree (a 2:1), I expected that finding something which would provide me with some money wouldn’t be too hard. It was. It is. I have applied for everything under the sun. Granted, Plymouth itself does not offer a lot, but I have applied for everything. Jobs that I should be getting, I have been turned down for. Jobs that I want, I don’t have the experience needed. I am 21, and have been in full time education (with the exception of a gap year) for 17 years, when am I supposed to have gained the relevant experience?! The feeling of demoralisation, hopelessness and not being good enough threatened to overwhelm me. It still overwhelms me. Not only that, but friends around me seem to be moving on. They live nearer to London, so are getting jobs. I recently watched one of my best friends get married. They have boyfriends who support them and are close to all their friends. I am a good 200 miles away from my closest friends. I can’t get work, and (pathetic though it sounds) I don’t have a boyfriend. I feel alone, and I cry all the time.

I write this, not for pity or sympathy, but to express how difficult post-grad life is. I could do a Masters, by a) I don’t want to, and b) THE MONEY! I need money to be able to pursue what I really want to do, but can’t get a job to pursue that, I can’t move away because I have no money, I can’t see friends because they’re so far away, and I have no money…the cycle goes on.

Post-graduate depression is a real thing, and I have come to understand that it is common, and not something of which I should be ashamed. Yet, as I write this (crying), I don’t feel like I am one of many. I feel alone. Isolated. Cut-off from the ‘real world’, and thoroughly unhappy. “You’ll find something”. “You’re young, there’s plenty of time”. But there isn’t. I am 22 in less than 2 weeks, and I feel time ticking past ever quicker.

I would, ideally like another year of uni. It was safe, and comfortable, and ultimately there were other people in charge. I am glad my course was only three years, and do not wish for another, but this period of hopelessness is terrifying. I have days where I am motivated and see myself living out the dream to which I so desperately cling, but these days are followed by weeks of crushing hopelessness and a reality that I might actually have to get a ‘proper career’, and live a ‘normal life’.

I could, I suppose, have entered a Grad Scheme, but this neither appealed to me, nor took my interest. Plus, they’re basically all in London, and would have had to find some way of supporting myself in a mightily expensive city. I don’t particularly want to do anything to do with my degree, but have worked out that if I don’t end up doing the thing I dream of doing, then I want to do something worthwhile. Though, this in itself, it not easy.

It is not necessarily the SU nights out and the cheap drinks that I miss, it is the sense of belonging, of having a purpose. Even on my darkest days at university, I knew where I was heading, and I felt as though I belonged. Now, I feel stateless, restless and lonely, more so than I ever did at uni.

#uni #graduation #graduate #rhul #21 #university

0 notes

littlemissshortypants-blog1 · 8 years

Text

#1 100 Random Facts About Me!

I've decided to set myself a blog challenge for March which entails publishing a post everyday! I've already failed with this as this post is a day late but it wasn't as easy as I thought! So here goes #1 100 Facts About Me! 1. I'm named after the song 'Kayleigh' (shocker right?) by Marillion but I actually don't really like that song. 2. I prefer my middle name (Rose) to my last name (Allan). 3. I've had several nicknames including Kayleigh Allan, Kayls, Kayleigh-Steve, Steve and Little Miss Shorty Pants. 4. If I was born just over a week later, I would have been in the year below. I'm only a baby. 5. I'm a bit like a penguin; clumsy but adorable ;) 6. I've only ever been on a plane once (which is going to change very soon!) 7. I'm spending my summer working at an American summer camp in North Carolina and also by going on a North American road trip with added time in Orlando and New York (have I mentioned that already?) 8. I don't drink alcohol. It's not really something which appeals to me. People always try and get me to drink and often tell me 'it's just like pop' to which I respond 'yes, so I can just drink pop'. Perhaps it's also to do with the fact I don't like the idea of not being in control, everyone complains afterwards and it's expensive! 9. I'm good at not giving in to peer pressure. 10. I believe that you can have a good time without drinking alcohol but most of the time people think I'm drunk anyway because I'm a crazy gal. 11. I've never had a proper boyfriend (yet). 12. I'm a little (a lot) obsessed with musicals. 13. Aaron Tveit is my number one celeb crush (and when we watched Assasins featuring him, my best friend and I held hands all the way through). 14. But Jeremy Jordan, Wesley Taylor, Gideon Glick, Ben Fankhauser, Ramin Karimloo and George Blagden (the list goes on) are up there too. 15. I once got dried paint stuck in my eye as a kid and had to go to hospital. I vividly remember there was also a kid there who had broccoli stuck up his nose. 16. It took me three whole appointments at the opticians until I was able to wear contact lenses. 17. I broke my leg when I was younger by falling off a scooter. 18. As a kid I used to be scared of Santa Claus. 19. I once got admitted to hospital because I refused to take this disgusting orange medicine (which I can remember the taste of now). 20. I was deputy head girl and a prefect at high school and helped the head girl run the student council. 21. I never took drama at gcse but the career I'm heading into is acting. 22. I spend the majority of my wages on show tickets. But it benefits the career I am going to go into so it's not a waste of my money as some people seem to think. 23. I've performed onstage with Alfie Boe at The Echo Arena. (After a theatre group I was involved in bombarded him with tweets on twitter). 24. I've lived in Liverpool for a year studying musical theatre on a Dance and Drama Award. 25. I left my 3 musical theatre course after a year so I'm currently on a gap year and I'm loving it. I've learnt so much about myself and other people and I've also met lots of new people. 26. I'm a chocoholic. 27. I also love peanut butter (and almond butter and pretty much any other nut butter). 28. I'm easily distracted by anything pink and sparkly. 29. I've been to Disneyland Paris twice. 30. I've been a part of an original musical written by one of my friends. 31. My favourite film is Back to The Future and I can recite lots of phrases from it. 32. I've never read or watched the whole Harry Potter series (but I am in the process of reading the books so don't shoot me!) 33. I love learning new things, having new experiences and exploring new places. 34. I'm very small. Like below average height. People think I'm still 15... 35. I have a pen pal from Germany who I've been writing to for over a year. 36. I am a really fussy eater. I used to never touch any food that was saucy, sloppy or slimy. I've gotten better but I still tend to ask for most of my meals plain. 37. I really like twitter. I think it's good form of social media to meet new people and find out news about the world. 38. I help run a twitter account for a musical theatre site named Act 1 Act 2. 39. I once volunteered at Leeds Festival; it was my first time camping and my tent leaked. 40. My favourite Ben and Jerry's flavour is Phish Food. 41. I am an only child. 42. I like vintage things and wish I had more vintage clothes so I could establish my own quirky style. 43. My favourite TV series (which I can think of right now) are Red Dwarf, Friends, It Could be Worse, Chewing Gum and Miranda. 44. I really want to get hidden rainbow roots in my hair. 45. I'm (supposedly) allergic to Rabbits, Cats and household dust? Cats do make me feel on edge though so maybe that's a good thing for me... 46. I often get asked if me and my best friend are twins/sisters because apparently we look alike (Our families have gotten us confused at times?!) 47. My guilty pleasure is secret eating. You can often find me sneaking in the kitchen to get snacks shhh. 48. I attract some really weird guys but never actually anyone I like. 49. I'm a Disney fan. My favourite princess is Rapunzel. 50. I enjoy travelling and my favourite way to travel is by train. I feel like a lot can be accomplished on a journey. 51. I took art at college and for one of my projects I made a corset, tutu and waistcoat based on Assassins the musical. 52. I can fold my tongue in half and keep it there without using my teeth to hold it there. 53. I hardly ever burp and when I do it shocks me because it's not something that usually occurs. 54. I can listen to a musical soundtrack on repeat. At the moment it's Dear Evan Hansen which I've just booked tickets to! #firstbroadwayshow 55. I would like to write a book/play one day. 56. I would also like to star in a one woman play and I admire the people I see perform in them (when they're good of course.) 57. I played a Geordie version of the Fairy Godmother from Cinderella in which I wore a Mad Hatter outfit and put pegs in my sparkly, coloured back combed hair... 58. I have been in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat as part of the children's choir several times and can recite every word (and pretty much action) of the show. On my last performance I swapped seats with a friend so that I could spend my last performance on the top step. 59. I once got asked if I was from Scotland? (By a Southerner) 60. I'm often told I speak posh or very northern. There's no in between. 61. I work in The Blackpool Tower Ballroom. 62. I worked at Strictly last year and Anton Du Beke blew me a kiss. 63. Toasted scones from work is my favourite smell. I think I have acquired an unhealthy obsession with them since working there tbh... 64. I could probably recall all the names of the dances done at the ballroom but not actually dance any. 65. I rode to prom in a camper van. 66. I got 100% on my first acting assignment during my first year of higher education. 67. I once did some method acting and went out dressed as a made up character with a crutch and speaking with a stutter...(I created the character from a random picture shown to me from the internet which happened to be a ridiculously obese woman). I also played Medviedenko from The Seagull which resulted in me borrowing my best friend's boyfriend's clothes and drawing a beard on my face. Additionally, I played Scullery from Road; a homeless alcoholic... 68. I don't swear unless I have to on stage. 69. I've climbed a waterfall with a fractured little finger. 70. I studied German at GCSE and I can only remember a few words/phrases (one being Guten Tag) 71. I've played Miss Dorothy in Thoroughly Modern Millie and July in Annie. 72. I love people watching. 73. I'm terrible at accents. 74. I like tall guys in suits and glasses. 75. It annoys me when people think 'writ' is a word. It's 'I have written' or 'I wrote'. 76. I tend to cry when I'm not expecting to but not when I do expect to. 77. I cried my eyes the whole way through the second act of Book of Mormon because I found it absolutely hilarious (so much so the actors were laughing at me because I was on the front row). 78. I remember once when I was a kid I swung on a curtain in someones house and got kicked out. 79. In primary school I remember having a water fight with my friend in the toilets and got told I wasn't allowed to partake in IT so has to read a book instead 80. I've climbed a volcano in, snorkelled in the sea and been in a submarine in Lanzarote. 81. It makes me angry when people leave the theatre during the bows, before the show has fully finished. I've only done it on one occasion and that was at the interval (because the show was absolutely unbearable and it meant I could get home before silly 'o clock in the morning) The show was supposed to present Shakespeare's character's death's humorously but I'm pretty sure I didn't laugh once and one section of the show even included watching a fake fly buzzing on a camera for a good 5 minutes. 82. It also annoyes me when people eat (loudly) during a performance. Have some respect for the actors. 83. I hate not having a plan (especially when I'm on a holiday to a new place). 84. I have a wide taste in music. My Spotify playlists range from musicals (of course) to pop punk to rock to pop to folk to jazz...it's safe to say I like a little bit of everything (apart from dubstep because that's just a no no). 85. I have high aspirations and I've very critical of myself. 86. I once went on a tinder date (don't think I'll be doing that again anytime soon). 87. I love milkshakes and hot chocolate. 88. The theatre cafe is my favourite cafe. 89. My favourite Starbucks syrup is gingerbread. 90. Sometimes bus drivers just charge me for a child on the bus without me asking. 91. I once played Oliver in a high school show and was faced with some onstage disasters...when being pushed into a wooden coffin, (a disaster in itself) my mic pack fell off and I picked up a tape measure instead. The big long napkin string thing I had to pickpocket out of Fagin's pocket had already fallen out so instead of picking it up I mimed stealing it and I also thought a 'nightcap' was a literal night cap, as apposed to a drink one drinks before bed. 92. I cried for a full hour when my high school music teacher told me he was leaving. 93. My uncle lives in Australia but I've never been there or seen him since I was a baby. 94. My favourite type of monkey is a squirrel monkey. 95. I'm really pale and barely tan. Once I got sun stroke at West End Live and threw up all the way home on the Coach for 6 hours...the sunburn was still visible 6 months after. 96. I tried peanut butter and jam together for the first time the other day and it was actually really nice. 97. I'm probably the most indecisive person you will ever meet. 98. I want to live in London one day (and potentially New York). 99. I ask for steak well done and my favourite type of steak is rump. 100. I don't drink coffee but you'll always find me in a coffee shop.

0 notes