Tag: Literature

• A Second-Wave Feminist Take on Family Planning

  July 26, 2019 1:03 pm Comments Off on A Second-Wave Feminist Take on Family Planning

   
  CONTENT WARNINGS: Abortion, Sex, Transphobia, Cisnormative Language
  Feminist writer Germaine Greer published her second edition of Sex and Destiny in 1986. She says in the book that in the modern world (that is to say, the Westernised and global present) that we have lost touch with our senses of self. According to Greer, women who become pregnant and have children become isolated because society does not value children. Thus, a woman’s sexual identity has changed since the past when the whole community would help to raise children, and a woman’s ability to reproduce was valued.
  In this volume, Greer discusses gender roles in many different cultures around the world, but she focuses on Western culture. She mentions that in traditional European societies, a relationship would arise from a prolonged courtship that would have been sanctioned by the community to which they belonged. Men would feel that they had to control women’s reproduction due to their usage of the withdrawal method and abstinence. On the other hand, women would have a long period of time to familiarise themselves with their respective sexual partners. This way, the two people in the relationship would be able to start their own family with the support of the community around them and the resources to bring up their children.
  I think that in the modern context we can adapt this way of doing things. However, this should depend upon: how long it takes to decide whether or not two people are suitable for each other long term, both parties’ networks of friends to draw on as their ‘community’ and both parties’ practices of safe sexual health and family planning. After reading about this, I became convinced that this would be possible in today’s society if both parties in a relationship were part of a supportive community and were to take charge of their own reproduction.
  According to Greer, people in a relationship in which cisgender male-female intercourse is the main form of sexual activity are able to practice coitus interruptus (‘pulling out’). Because of this, they effectively have no need for chemical contraception or even condoms (or, as Greer cheekily calls it, ‘rubber hardware’). Coitus interruptus is a risky form of birth control which may result in unwanted pregnancies, and therefore, abortions. However, Greer also makes a point regarding this: An abortion could be chemically induced at extremely early stages of conception without any harm to a baby or foetus. Additionally, avoiding the pill would allow women to avoid the side effects that artificial hormones could have on their bodies. However, Greer argues that this is not possible unless the couple have a ‘tenderness’ for one another, ‘creativity’ and probably the sense of intimacy and oneness required to be aware of the moment when they have reached the climax. Nonetheless, she focuses heavily on traditional roles in cisgender, heterosexual relationships.
  Regardless of culture, ethnic background or definitions of relationships, the quality of the relationship is generally determined by the amount of energy that each party is willing to put in. People have different ways of showing care. They can show care through physical affection, acts of service, gift-giving, taking each other out for meals and so on. In pursuit of what she feels would be best for society in general, Greer seems to have glossed over what is important for people individually.
  Another point that Greer raises is that when people in contemporary Western countries form relationships, they can have the pressure of what their parents and grandparents have told them they should do. This may have been handed down from cultural traditions, which conflicts with the possibilities that modern technology has enabled. For instance, in some traditional cultures, such as the Italians of Tuscany, a lack of reproductive responsibility was frowned upon amongst men and not required of women. There was a certain kind of Italian man who felt that women’s usage of oral contraceptives could expose themselves to selfish men who would take advantage of them. Thus, they would figure out for themselves how to refrain from impregnating their female partners. However, as Greer argues, this kind of attitude was centred on ensuring that men felt they had complete control over their reproductive capacity, rather than fostering cooperation between the genders.
  I think that if we can understand this issue in terms of biology, in any relationship in which reproduction is an issue, then there is a constant state of change between those who do the fertilisation and who receives it. In humans, there is a stereotype in cisgender relationships that a man can plant the seed in a woman, and that women can get her eggs fertilised and have children. This stereotype is of course highly variable. However, the ability to do something does not mean that either of those things should be done without the complete and explicit consent of both parties.
  Greer’s take on the issue of family planning seems to be connected to her take on the adoption of the ‘nuclear family.’ She argues that we have sacrificed the sense of community that is conducive to raising well-rounded, social children and releasing the pressure, poverty and isolation that parents of these children suffer. She thinks that we should subscribe to the pre-Western traditional roles of the Tuscan, Kenyan or Indian villages, with their ‘wise women,’ ‘shamans’ and group birthing. Incidentally, the kind of community for which Greer advocates bears a striking resemblance to that shown in The Handmaid’s Tale. In this fictional world, the top priority is the health and wellbeing of pregnant mothers and young children. It is also assumed that it is (or should be) the destiny of women to be closely involved with the process of bringing children into the world.
  While it would be considered anti-feminist now, that outlook, if it is modified to suit the needs of people today, is not without its merits. People who have a wider ‘support network’ are undoubtedly better off in relationships. In our modern culture, instead of the traditional village, we have networks of friends and acquaintances from work, school or family. We may keep in touch with these networks in person, by text message or social media. Those who are better connected to their networks will have more opportunities to learn from the mistakes of others, as well as pass on what they have learned. In support networks such as these, it is possible to get any kind of personalised information about family planning you could ever want without fear or embarrassment, and in a familiar environment surrounded by close friends.
  While the ideas that Greer discusses are interesting, there are reasons why her way of looking at these topics could be considered outmoded by feminists today. She looks at these issues from a solely binary perspective, when in fact people’s identities around sexuality are more complex than this. Nonetheless, Sex and Destiny raises some salient issues for relationships, family planning and sex.

  Zena Mason

• What Lies Beyond the Iron Throne

  May 15, 2019 9:02 pm Comments Off on What Lies Beyond the Iron Throne

  “We have won the Great War; now we will win the last war,” – said by Daenerys Targaryen during the worst rated episode in the final season of ‘Game of Thrones’. Jamie Lannister has been reset to his factory setting as a ‘fuckboy’; Tyrion has never been more strategically useless since he became Hand of the Queen. As for Varys – he has stopped functioning as a Spy Master a long time ago; now he does nearly nothing but conspire against our Khaleesi. Nobody knows what happened in the producers’ minds. Maybe they simply gave up, putting a coffee cup in the show to mock us. People have started to question whether their favourite show will give them the truly epic battle and unpredictable finale that was promised.
  It’s 200 per cent reasonable to express our anger and concerns to HBO – yet I still have faith in the last two episodes, and especially in author George R.R. Martin who explained the ending of the book series to the series’ producers. I would never question his ability to articulate a finale we will never forget. After all, he is the almighty one true God of Death who can make both the Lord of Light and the Night King tremble. So, what might happen in the end? I think these three lines in the show are worth consideration:
  “I’m not going to stop the wheel. I’m going to break the wheel.”
  “Power is a curious thing […] power resides where men believe it resides. It’s a trick, a shadow on the wall.”
  “You say you can’t have children. But there are other ways of choosing a successor. The Night’s Watch has one method. The Ironborn […] have another”
  This first quote is said by Daenerys the Mhysa, to express her ambition on building a long-lasting dynasty in Westeros. The second is from Varys the Constructivist IR scholar, arguing that the nature of power is essentially a norm, an idea. Last but not the least, Tyrion discusses who could be the second in line to wear the crown.
  These quotes seem unrelated, but perhaps they directly foreshadow the fact that what lies beyond the ‘ugly old chair’ – the Iron Throne, a symbol of Monarchy – is a new, better political system, which might bring and end to the relentless ‘Game’ of Thrones for good. The ‘Throne’ has governed the world for a thousand years; it’s a game of aristocrats, a dying system which brings the public nothing but bloodshed and chaos. Such ‘chaos’ would eventually become a ‘ladder’ for people like Little Finger to take advantage of – but not people without a title or a castle to inherit. Most civilians in the show died for nothing, because they’re expendable. And it would be sad if such ‘wheel’ of ‘game’ continues to roll in the final episode. Varys has every right to pledge his allegiance to the “Good People of Westeros” – but his solution to switch to another candidate whenever needed is wrong. Tyrion is the only character to have truly foreseen the future by proposing a new mechanism to reduce current political carnage. Thus maybe none of the characters we have vouched for will sit on the Iron Throne. Or maybe something even better: there will no longer be a throne, only the relic of the Red Keep as a museum, to teach future generations a lesson – similar to the real-life ‘Forbidden City’ of Beijing. A more modernised democracy based on the voting system of Night’s Watch and the Ironborn may potentially be built in the end, to transfer the real power into voters rather than the ruler. Only in this way can we truly see the ‘terminal’ of the great power game and open a brand-new chapter of Republic.
  I mean it. If the Great War between life and death hasn’t already taught everyone the cost of the old Monarchy, why would we presume anyone can bring long-term peace and stability to us? Varys will die, Tyrion may die, Daenerys will never sit on the Throne as the prophecy implied in season two. Look beyond this show – think about what we have in the real world today: we have managed to (partially) shut the ‘power’ into a cage; made dominating politicians (like Kings and Queens) act as the servant and jester at times. But most importantly, we’ve made them disposable – because we as the voter are the guardians of power.
  Although many aspects of this world order are still far from ideal, we should appreciate the ‘Iron Price’ we have paid to enter this liberal era. Once upon a time, they wrote the Hammer of Witches and burned, skinned and drowned women alive. Later, they threw people into gas chambers and Unit 731 with racial pride. Then they assassinated writers, presidents, journalists, and labelled student upheaval as an ‘Anti-revolution Riot’. Our history isn’t less gruesome than the ‘Song of Ice and Fire’ written by Samwell Tarly. Whether in Westeros or on Earth, history progresses and evolves itself. And both histories shall sail towards a better tomorrow. The developing trend of human civilisation is that more and more ‘weak’ and ‘fringe’ minorities are gaining equal rights and individual freedom, desalting long-rooted discrimination, misunderstanding and invented superiority at the expense of their blood and tears. We will all continue to improve our existing era of history. This is my take-away from eight years watching GoT: I am ‘No one’ of house ‘Nothing’, and I bow to no one, I fight for all of us.
  Welcome to the ‘End of History in Westeros’. And welcome to 2019 AD.
  Haoyi is the PARSA Queer Officer of 2019.

  Haoyi Jason Zou

• After Auschwitz, There Can Be No Poetry: Guilt, Germany and Gunter Grass

  October 3, 2018 4:41 pm Comments Off on After Auschwitz, There Can Be No Poetry: Guilt, Germany and Gunter Grass

  After Auschwitz writes Adorno: “to write poetry would be barbaric”. For how can the language of burning books, extermination camps and final solutions be used to create beauty once more?
  German author Gunter Grass, awarded the 1990 Nobel Prize in Literature for his portrayal of the “forgotten face of history”, attempted to answer this question. In a 1979 speech he implored: “what shall we tell our children … what are we to say of the German guilt that has lived on from generation to generation?”
  This German guilt, according to Grass, was a necessity for a country that had allowed Hitler to rise to power through its own democratic institutions.  Whose ordinary men and women had supported his ideals. Indeed, in his 1963 novel Dog Years, he writes about magic spectacles that allowed German children to become privy to just what their parents had been up to in the years between 1939 and 1945.
  He stripped the mythology away from the Nazis, rendering them as someone’s father, neighbour, brother, son. Creating a working German identity was predictably difficult – when Hitler ordered the destruction of the Third Reich moments before his suicide, nihilism essentially triumphed. What Grass wanted was to drag the dark years out from under the rug and openly speak about them. To try to create a working German identity, post-Auschwitz.
  The atrocities committed during the Second World War in the name of the German people contaminated, according to Grass, the very German language itself.  The only way to cleanse this was to drag it through ‘literary’ muck. Grass’ 1959 The Tin Drum embodied this muck, as well as its author’s mission, to awaken the German conscience to the horrors in which ordinary people had partaken.
  The images that rest with the reader long after the final page has been turned are disturbing. An attempted sexual encounter between a dwarf and a nun, sex being allegorised through fizz powder, eels eating a horse’s head from the inside and a girl pissing in a pot of soup, all narrated by a precocious three-year-old dwarf born with the brain of an adult and the ability to shatter glass with his screams. The only appropriate response is violent recoil. And is there any response more apt?
  Yet, much as the novel was blasted as an “exercise in blasphemy and pornography”, it does attempt to move beyond such literal readings. Grass’ magical realist text cannot avoid its place in history. Indeed, when the Nazi atrocities became public, people had little choice but to admit ‘collective guilt’, and Grass mocks this very notion. He essentially sought, with The Tin Drum, Dog Years and Cat and Mouse which together make up the Danzig trilogy, to blast a hole into the collective amnesia of a German generation which wanted instead to focus on economic growth and progress.
  But what Grass seemed to fail to mention, whilst encouraging others’ responsibilities, was his own individual guilt. In 2006, almost 60 years after the fact, he admitted that he himself had been a voluntary member of the Waffen-SS. Before this, he had largely been assumed to be one of the generation too young to have been active in the war. And why had he joined?
  He cannot put his finger on a response to this question. In a piece for The New Yorker he cites his animosity towards his stuffy, cramped and Catholic home. In the end, however, he seems to lead inevitably to the conclusion that what drew him to enlist were dreams of glory.  The allure of black and white newsreels which advertised black and white truth to his seventeen-year-old self. Nobody ever lost wars in the news. Even up until the very end of the war, Grass has been quoted as saying he still believed they would win.
  Of course, his confession was immensely critiqued. Many called for his works to be –, if not banned – at least ignored. He was seen as a moral hypocrite who had encouraged others to examine their individual responsibility in the war effort, whilst ignoring his own. One notable hypocrisy was his denunciation of Raegan and Kohl’s 1985 visit to a cemetery where Waffen-SS members were buried, even though he himself had been a member of the SS.
  The man once described himself as “inexorably attuned to contradiction” and there is perhaps no better way to describe him than as inherently contradictory. Born 1929, Danzig, to a German father and a Kashubian mother, he came of age in a continent torn apart by hatred.  Danzig, now the Polish city of Gdansk, was the first territory to be captured by the Nazis.
  His political views are interesting, to say the least. Politically left-leaning, he denounced revolutions, whilst defending Castro’s Cuba, and encouraged a slow move towards progress. He called Catholic and Lutheran ideologies moral accomplices of Nazism. Intensely anti-nationalist, he argued against German unification on the grounds that people responsible for the Holocaust had forfeited the very right to self-determination.  That Germany was better weakened so that it did not attempt to become belligerent once more. He denounced repression in the Soviet-bloc and fundamentalist religious governments. Then simultaneously criticised Western capitalism and was especially angered by Germany arming Hussein. Furthermore, he got himself declared persona non-grata by Israel after publishing a poem in which he declared that Germany must not continue to aid arming the country.,
  Grass ends up tainted by the brush which tainted all of the twentieth century.  Depending on the way you look at it, this either make his works and words completely senseless and false, or, even more so the conscience of the nation and humanity itself. Or, does his denial of his own truth speak to a deeper level about the very ambiguity of truth and memory itself? He analogised memory to being like an onion. How many layers must we peel back before we arrive at any semblance of meaning?

  Lottie Twyford

• No Coward Soul Is Mine

  August 27, 2018 3:14 pm Comments Off on No Coward Soul Is Mine

  On the 200th anniversary of Emily Brontë’s birth, a man plays a violin in a field of lavender. The stalks are high enough to brush his severely trimmed beard, and he tilts the instrument upwards to evade the sky-seeking flowers. His face, low beetling brows and prolific sideburns, stares directly at its neck. The body is sycamore, from an age-old tree felled close to the Brontë Parsonage in Haworth. He thinks it might even have been there during her lifetime. In an artistic sense, he says, the wood he spent three months labouring over has now come back to the moors. While Steve Burnett has made violins for a number of historical figures, Brontë seems uniquely suited to this treatment. Burnett sees music as an extension of the literary world – and indeed, her literary world is almost all we know for sure of Emily Brontë. Independent and mysterious, our conception of her life has been shaped by the assertions and aspersions of biographers and laypeople alike and has given rise to a number of strongly-held beliefs which remain, despite little to no proof, foremost in many people’s minds. If one thing about Emily Brontë is certain, it is that she never had it easy.  Educated and impoverished, she was motherless and her parson father absent. Her dream, to start a school with her sister Charlotte, never eventuated. Brontë died of tuberculosis at 30, a year after her only book was published, on the same estate where she’d lived since the age of. As improbable as it seemed, that book would become one of the foremost in the English literary canon, and after Brönte’s death a million and one myths would spring up around her life. What better occasion than the 200th anniversary of her birth to re-examine them?   Brontë was a weird homebody and a loner A recent book by academic Claire O’Callaghan argues that while it is clear that Brontë was shy and reserved, this doesn’t make her weird. Charlotte claimed in her preface that Emily rarely spoke to people in her village. However there is evidence that Emily was in fact quite well-known, and records remain of many people visiting her house. While Emily was boarding at Roe Head, Charlotte says she “felt in her heart that [Emily would] die if she did not go home,” but later historians suggest this was hypochondria brought on by the deaths of two members of the family from tuberculosis. And while Charlotte described the position Emily took at Law Hill as “slavery” in letters home, it is clear that Emily had no great love of teaching and this is just as likely to have been the cause of her resignation. Reports from her teachers at Heger’s School remember her as a “darling child” who was both intelligent and loved, and only left upon the death of her aunt. So while Charlotte might have constructed Emily as a weird homebody, this seems to be a way to excuse the unorthodox nature of her writing rather than the truth. Her approach to writing was not intelligent or disciplined In Charlotte’s preface to Wuthering Heights, she portrays it as “wrought with a rude chisel” and suggests that Emily was unable to control her artistic gift. In her biographical notice – a prelude to Wuthering Heights written after Emily’s death –  she outright describes her sister as having “no worldly wisdom.” However these statements are widely seen as an attempt to protect Emily’s reputation, which was at risk due to her highly unconventional novel. Additionally, Charlotte regularly left Emily in charge of the whole family’s financial affairs, and her teachers remembered her as very learned, making it very unlikely that any of her sister’s statements were true. She willed her own death Charlotte’s biographical notice stated that her sister “did not linger” over her own death and grew mentally stronger even as her flesh perished. This hypothesis was supported by Charlotte’s declaration that the poem No Coward Soul Is Mine – a sort of elegy to one who may never be destroyed as they live on in God – was Emily’s last. However this poem was written much earlier on – before Emily wrote Wuthering Heights, in fact. Additionally, the tuberculosis which has been well-recorded to have claimed Brontë’s life had previously claimed those of several members of her family, and it was well-known that doctors were powerless to stop it. Perhaps Emily simply wished to live out her last few months in peace. She had a secret lover Several of Brontë’s biographers have been convinced that she couldn’t possibly have imagined Heathcliff and Catherine’s love story without having had one of her own. However, despite the sordid love stories of several of her siblings being immortalised in letters and lawsuits, none of Charlotte’s letters or the interviews conducted with Brontë’s acquaintances after her death have managed to turn up any evidence of a lover. The assumption that her poems show evidence of a lover are similarly flawed. Most of them have been well-established to relate to fictional characters, rather than Brontë herself. It has been noted that assuming Bronte couldn’t have written these stories without a lover is even somewhat belittling of her creative talent. Emily Brontë’s life is immortalised in artefacts: a violin, gloves, letters, and perhaps most importantly the book she is most known for. While it is irresistible to delve into the personal life of our most celebrated authors as well as the literary, it is more than valuable to critically consider the myths that spring up. And while Brontë may be long dead, her courageous soul lives on.

  Tabitha Malet

• The Aesthetic and the Political: Unearthing our Common Pulse

  July 12, 2018 5:03 pm Comments Off on The Aesthetic and the Political: Unearthing our Common Pulse

  Искусство. Letras. 艺术. L’art.アート. कला. Art.
  Although different signifiers, with a slightly different etymology, these words are irrevocably united by what they signify: a human creation fundamentally concerned with humanity, reality and the state of our world.
  This snapshot of languages displays the universality of art: the power it possesses to break down barriers that divide us by race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, religion and class. Art, be it in any form, possesses an emotional power that probes into the human condition and questions the status quo. By deconstructing social barriers, and presenting all humans as innately equal, such probing strips back our so-called “reasoning” that often leads us down the rabbit-hole of rationalising inequality and injustice. It then crosses into the political sphere, primarily by way of social commentary and discussions on internalised power structures.
  Art stems from the imagination and can therefore evoke empathy and force the audience to consider the lives of others. Indeed, Hannah Arendt recognises the power of the imagination in the political sphere, believing that it has the particular ability of distilling our idiosyncrasies and highlighting the common pulse that beats through all of us.
  By engaging us on an emotional and intellectual level, art has the potential to entice us and draw us into a deeper discussion of social inequality. For some people, it merely reinforces what is already known, reminding of the need for continual action for change. For others, it can induce exposure to new worlds, forcing a consideration of the situation of others and expediating the process of empathy that facilitates change.
  Studying Literature, I am continually reminded of the empowering intersection of the aesthetic and the political. Art is fundamentally concerned with aesthetic experimentation, which is a far greater task than just creating something aesthetically pleasing. The modernist movement, for example, sought to revive literature (particularly the poetic and novel form), to, as Era Pound famously declares, ‘make it new’. Virginia Woolf’s quintessentially modernist novel To the Lighthouse, for example, plays with free indirect discourse and ‘multipersonal representation of consciousness’, radically altering the novel structure. It also provides a social commentary that deftly deconstructs the gender expectations of the time, illustrating that even with a focus on reviving the beauty of art, political statements cannot be avoided.
  No artist and artwork exists in a vacuum, even if the artist wishes to create their artwork for purely aesthetic reasons. Further, what is characterised as beautiful is not only context-dependent, but is itself a political statement. This is especially clear in our present-day, image-saturated and beauty-obsessed society. Context, whether explicit or implicit, is innately encapsulated in the creation. Even the artist’s wish to defy a political interpretation of their work is, in itself, a political statement.
  Artworks immediately achieve what political groups and politicians labour to do: they speak to us first through our emotions, and then on an intellectual level. In so doing, art highlights the thread that weaves through all of us, the common pulse of our humanity. To steal Miranda’s words from The Tempest, artworks, particularly literature and film, can shine light on ‘How beauteous mankind is!’ and open our eyes to this ‘brave new world’.
  Of course, this is not to suggest that art doesn’t explore the darker side of humanity. Great artworks discuss the flaws of humanity, expose them and play with possible solutions. Art can act as a caution; a foreshadowing of the depravity that threatens humanity. Literature, and particularly speculative fiction and science fiction, is notable for this – Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, George Orwell’s 1984 and Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale are just a few famous examples. By extrapolating real events in a creative manner, we become mere puppets in the hands of these authors. A twist in our favourite character’s fate tugs our heart strings, and makes us realise that what is happening within this text is not abstract from our world. The Handmaid’s Tale, made more famous by the TV adaptation, does just this. Drawing upon the Puritan movement within the United States, the 1979 Iranian Revolution and Christianity as a whole, Atwood constructs a neatly crafted, albeit horrifying, situation. Although it initially appears so extreme that we place it in the abstract realm of fantasy, on further reading it becomes all too evident that such restrictions on women’s movement have happened in the past, and, more alarmingly, are continuing to happen today.
  Yet it is not just the ability to discuss current affairs that gives art its unique powers. It is the potential to create a controlled scenario in which a certain element of the human condition can be explored. For example, within The Handmaid’s Tale, humanity’s hubris and our desire to ensure the continuation of the human species is played with, ultimately resulting in an analysis of power dynamics that run along gender and class lines. Especially within literature, relatable human characters evoke empathy, taking us on a journey into the human condition. This emotional engagement further reinforces our common pulse and can act as a galvanising force to initiate change. Beyond this political power that art, sometimes unconsciously, wields, art is intrinsic to our nature. As Doris Lessing suggests ‘the storyteller is deep inside every one of us’, natured by our imaginations that ‘shape us, keep us, create us’. Given that art is inherently human, it is a powerful tool for bridging the gap between abstract political statements that allude to the need for change and actual change. By engaging us on an emotional level and forcing as to realise the thread that binds all of us, art has a galvanising power that can prompt social change.
  Art is the culmination of our attempts to speak of our times of trial; our attempts to connect with others in this world. I fundamentally believe that art, as the intersection of beauty and social commentary, has an immensely powerful role to play in deconstructing social divisions.

  Sarah Graham-Higgs

• Quidditch Crash Course

  April 2, 2018 5:53 pm Comments Off on Quidditch Crash Course

  Upon mentioning quidditch to the uninitiated, there are two questions that a player always receives. The first is, “wait, do you fly?”, and this is easily answered: “No. Sorry”. The second is, “so then – how does the Snitch work?” This, I will explain in due course, for there is much more about the game that must be explained first.
  Quidditch is a full-contact, mixed-gender sport. What does that really mean? It means that women, men, and everyone in between play on the field together. Gender inclusivity is literally written into the rulebook: no more than four players (on a team of seven) of the same gender may be on the field at once. These players may play one of three positions: Chaser/Keeper, Beater and Seeker.
  Chasers and Keepers have a very simple goal: put the quaffle (a volleyball) through the opposition’s hoops, and stop the other team from doing the same to them. The ‘quaffle game’ might be likened to basketball or rugby, and each goal is worth 10 points. There are three chasers and one keeper in a ‘quaffle team.’
  Beaters, unlike Fred and George, do not hold bats – instead, they hold bludgers (dodgeballs) that they can throw at any member of the opposition (just like dodgeball). Getting hit with a bludger is called getting ‘beat’ and knocks you out of play until you can run back, touch your defensive hoops and re-enter play.
  Seekers, again, play an entirely different game. The tiny, shiny, Golden Snitch from the books is represented in real life by an oz-tag style tag on the back of the shorts of a Snitch Runner who really, really doesn’t want you to pull it off them. The Seekers have the unenviable job of running to and fro across the pitch after the Snitch Runner, and once they catch up, they must then wrestle the Snitch Runner to pull off the tag, earn 30 points for their team, and end the game.
  And just in case that wasn’t enough confusion, quidditch also incorporates a handicap. In basketball, you must bounce the ball. In soccer, you can’t touch it with your hands. In quidditch, you must have a stick (PVC pipe or wooden dowel, not an actual broomstick) between your legs at all times. In addition to looking a wee bit silly, it throws in the twist of making the already complicated game now, essentially, one-handed.
  I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re now asking yourself why on earth anyone would play such a complicated, confusing game. However, the chaos of quidditch is in many ways its primary attraction – it’s simply FUN. In a game where you’re running around with a stick between your legs and balls are flying everywhere, it’s impossible to not smile. That being said, the sport isn’t rapidly growing by merit of its ridiculousness alone. Many female players leap at the opportunity to play quidditch simply because it’s mixed gender and full contact – in what other sport is a woman going to have the opportunity to square off with a male as an equal? While feminism continues to rise and women are gradually being offered more opportunities in the world, sports at large are lagging behind the trend, with segregation of both play and pay still prevalent. Quidditch provides an opportunity for people of all genders to come together and make a difference on the pitch. I really do mean it when I say that the largest, strongest man and the smallest, daintiest girl (or the other way around) may be equally as effective on pitch. Quidditch is a sport that, due to all its complexity and chaos, rewards a good thinker just as much as it rewards physical prowess.
  “So then, what about Harry Potter?” you say. Well, he’s not really in the picture anymore. Quidditch has rapidly matured away from the glorified roleplay it originated as in 2005. People who first hear about quidditch may mock its players as ‘a bunch of book nerds’ but will very quickly retract the statement after watching a match. However, the essence of the world and the sport that Rowling dreamed up still remains; for so many of our generation, the world of Harry Potter and quidditch represents a safe space where individuals and groups have the opportunity to prove themselves despite adversity. That has certainly been my personal experience as a quidditch player; while I discovered my own drive, fitness and enthusiasm for the game, and formed friendships and team bonds, the ANU Owls team has progressed up the ranks, rising to the top of the NSW state league.
  Not only is there league-level play; Quidditch Australia annually hosts a State Shield competition (akin to NRL’s State of Origin) where the best from each state face off to play the highest-level quidditch in Australia. Last year, seven members of the ANU team were involved in the NSW state representative team. And yes, there is even a World Cup for quidditch, just like in the books. It’s held biennially, and in 2016 James Mortensen, ANU’s coach, captained the Australian team to victory in Frankfurt, Germany. This year the World Cup is being held in Florence, Italy, and one of ANU’s long-time members, Danny Fox, is leading the team as assistant coach. While quidditch on a global scale is accessible for any player to pursue, the game still comfortably accommodates everybody: competitive or not, big or small, athletic or slow, thinkers and doers alike.

  Sophie Hyland-Fitch

• The History of Superman’s Red Undies

  March 21, 2018 2:55 pm Comments Off on The History of Superman’s Red Undies

  Since his debut in Action Comics #1 by Jerry Siegel and Joe Schuster in 1938, Superman has come to be known as the archetypal ‘ideal’ superhero. The first real superhero, his simple outfit of blue spandex, red cape and underwear reflected circus strongmen attire of the 1930s to convey an individual of incredible power. Following his success came the creation of the entire superhero genre in comic books, and the eventual formation of a merchandising juggernaut and the summer blockbusters we see in cinemas today.
  Superman has undergone a range of changes to his tradition, whether it be temporarily dating Wonder Woman or gaining weird electric superpowers. Nevertheless, his famous red Speedos remained largely unchanged for 70 years. That was until 2011, when DC Comics (yeah, it’s weird how they expand it into “Detective Comics Comics”) decided to reboot their shared superhero comic universe. Among other changes, they included a brasher interpretation of Superman who no longer wore his red underwear – a move that received mixed reception from fans.
  Maybe this change symbolises how Superman no longer reflects the ‘Golden Age’ America where he was created. As the US has slowly lost its place as the ‘world leader’ to China, and as it takes on a more ambiguous image through the war on terror, writers have struggled to ensure the Man of Steel remains relevant to their current readers. Removing the underpants was surely one way to make a character who can shoot laser beams from his eyes seem more realistic. This has formed the crux of Superman’s characterisation within the DC Extended Universe, where his status as an alien is explored in greater detail and his human aspects are downplayed. Unfortunately, this was criticized as being untrue to the superhero everyone grew up with.
  Although many other members of the DC Trinity debuted wearing underwear, their removal in the modern age worked to grow the essence of their character. Once Batman moved away from a campy style to instead reflect real-world grit, it became obvious that the inclusion of underwear would fail to strike terror in the hearts of Gotham’s devious criminals. Similarly, Wonder Woman’s change from bikini to Amazonian battle armour was a much-needed move to realistically show she comes from a culture of warriors.
  The character of Superman is a complex one. His best stories are often ones where his human characteristics shine rather than superpowers, such as when he convinces a suicidal teen not to jump off a roof in All-Star Superman. Yet, audiences buy action media expecting heroes to combat supervillains and save the day. It’s certainly difficult to satisfy two different types of audiences while making positive character development for this cultural icon.
  On April 18th, Superman’s comic Action Comics will become the first comic book in existence to reach its 1000th issue. As a result, Superman will once again be donning the red trunks he hasn’t worn for the last seven years (there’ll be an in-story reason for it). However, is this an appeal to nostalgia in the same way Trump has been peddling his ‘Make America Great Again’ campaign to Americans? Surely not, as Superman has always been a symbol for humans of the DC universe to strive towards. I’d argue the red underwear remains as important an element to Superman’s wardrobe just as his ‘S’ symbol does.
   

  Brandon Tan