Words and Strange Voices
Sunday, 9 June 2013
happily ever after part two
At church this morning I was thinking about books. (See my post Happily Ever Afters.) I was thinking about how popular literature is currently very fantasy based; how it is an escape from real life. The preach at church was about 'What happens when we die?' and Pete, who was speaking, focused on how any works you do now, as a work for the Lord, will not be in vain. He cited 1 Corinthians 15:58, which says, 'Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labour is not in vain.' The preach was very good and I took a lot away from it, but it made me think about the Bible. As a Christian, I believe that the Bible is the word of God; that it is His truth. Pete also talked about hope. Hope doesn't have the answers, nor is it a form of escapism. But God gives us hope in order that we might persist and persevere; that what we do now in His name and in hope, will not be in vain. I was also thinking about how, psychologically speaking, faith seems to fulfil the desires of the human mind, especially my desires. Many psychologists believe that God was created by man to fulfil these desires and that believing in Him is just a fantasy; an escape. But unlike the fantasy books I read to escape from real life, the Bible is true. It doesn't give us an escape from life; it helps us to deal with life, with God. It gives us hope. And teaches us to live life in such a way that, though it isn't perfect, we can be joyful in God. More people should turn to the Bible rather than fiction, because it is the truth and it maintains us and gives us hope. Perhaps if we turned to God more, we wouldn't be so desperate to escape our lives. The only thing the Bible really has in common with fantasy fiction is the 'happily ever after'.
This post is rather unfocused and probably doesn't make sense to anyone but me, so I apologise if you think it's a load of rubbish. But it made sense in my head. In the strange way that things in my head make sense...
This post is rather unfocused and probably doesn't make sense to anyone but me, so I apologise if you think it's a load of rubbish. But it made sense in my head. In the strange way that things in my head make sense...
happily ever afters
I was talking to a friend at church today about books. The conversation was linked to University (I'm going back to study English Literature and Creative Writing) and to a part time job I've applied for in a bookshop and to the novel that I am currently attempting to write. The novel I'm writing is fantasy, one of my favourite genres, and we were discussing the recent increase in interest in fantasy fiction thanks to such books as 'The Hunger Games' and the release of the new film of 'The Hobbit'.
I have always loved fantasy. Ever since a very young age I have read, to escape from the real world and from real life. And what better genre for escapism than fantasy? So far removed from reality that it's often set in different worlds. And I realised that, what if the reason for the recent upwards trend in fantasy fiction is a sign of more and more people wishing to escape real life and enter into other worlds? Reading is generally considered a distraction and a great form of escapism. And in the current social and economic climate, where more and more people are suffering and living in poverty, who wouldn't want to escape from those things? Ok, so those living in poverty are unlikely to be able to afford books, in fact, it is well known that those who come from poorer backgrounds are less likely to be able to even read; which in twenty-first century England is just appalling. But it makes sense. During the wars, popular literature was based around austerity and hopes for a great future, once we won the war. And in other times, the arts have reflected the times, literature often being referred to in terms of periods, such as 'the Romantic' period, or 'the Gothic' era. That's why, in the study of literature, context plays a massive part. Subjects such as history, philosophy and psychology all have their place in the study of literature because of the impact they have on writing.
Take Dickens for example. His novels are considered to be social commentaries; the themes within his writing including poverty, social stratification, politics, crime and post-industrial revolution working conditions. Without some knowledge of these things around the time Dickens was writing, literary scholars would be unaware of the historical significance of his works. Fantasy fiction may not appear to have the same significance in the sense that the themes teach us little or nothing about the world as it is today, but the very fact that it is a currently popular genre in literature does say something about how literature, and perhaps the arts in general, are seen in modern society. In the past, writing has served many different purposes; didactic/moral messages, propaganda, social commentary and even just pure pleasure. And each has had its place. In more ostentatious times, reading was considered an accomplishment and pleasure for those of a certain class and literature reflects that with a wealth of stories centering around the higher classes and idealistic notions of love and money.
Now, reading is still considered a leisure activity and in being thus, the themes seem to be more for pure enjoyment than anything else. But suppose that, aside from the pleasure aspect, fantasy fiction serves another purpose. Fantasy is fun and exciting and daring, and shows great imagination, and part of its charm is that it's not true. It is the purest fiction. But why is that so captivating to modern readers? Why are we so desperate to dive into stories of things that do not and cannot exist? Is it just that real life is too much for us to bear? That we want some kind of distraction, or better yet, an escape? I suggest that this is the case. People are so out of love with their own lives and with the real world, that they want to escape into other worlds, where amazing creatures and magic exist, and everything always works out for the best. I should know. I have always used reading as a form of escape, and what better escape than fantasy. There's just something so enchanting about the idea of '...and they all lived happily ever after.'
I have always loved fantasy. Ever since a very young age I have read, to escape from the real world and from real life. And what better genre for escapism than fantasy? So far removed from reality that it's often set in different worlds. And I realised that, what if the reason for the recent upwards trend in fantasy fiction is a sign of more and more people wishing to escape real life and enter into other worlds? Reading is generally considered a distraction and a great form of escapism. And in the current social and economic climate, where more and more people are suffering and living in poverty, who wouldn't want to escape from those things? Ok, so those living in poverty are unlikely to be able to afford books, in fact, it is well known that those who come from poorer backgrounds are less likely to be able to even read; which in twenty-first century England is just appalling. But it makes sense. During the wars, popular literature was based around austerity and hopes for a great future, once we won the war. And in other times, the arts have reflected the times, literature often being referred to in terms of periods, such as 'the Romantic' period, or 'the Gothic' era. That's why, in the study of literature, context plays a massive part. Subjects such as history, philosophy and psychology all have their place in the study of literature because of the impact they have on writing.
Take Dickens for example. His novels are considered to be social commentaries; the themes within his writing including poverty, social stratification, politics, crime and post-industrial revolution working conditions. Without some knowledge of these things around the time Dickens was writing, literary scholars would be unaware of the historical significance of his works. Fantasy fiction may not appear to have the same significance in the sense that the themes teach us little or nothing about the world as it is today, but the very fact that it is a currently popular genre in literature does say something about how literature, and perhaps the arts in general, are seen in modern society. In the past, writing has served many different purposes; didactic/moral messages, propaganda, social commentary and even just pure pleasure. And each has had its place. In more ostentatious times, reading was considered an accomplishment and pleasure for those of a certain class and literature reflects that with a wealth of stories centering around the higher classes and idealistic notions of love and money.
Now, reading is still considered a leisure activity and in being thus, the themes seem to be more for pure enjoyment than anything else. But suppose that, aside from the pleasure aspect, fantasy fiction serves another purpose. Fantasy is fun and exciting and daring, and shows great imagination, and part of its charm is that it's not true. It is the purest fiction. But why is that so captivating to modern readers? Why are we so desperate to dive into stories of things that do not and cannot exist? Is it just that real life is too much for us to bear? That we want some kind of distraction, or better yet, an escape? I suggest that this is the case. People are so out of love with their own lives and with the real world, that they want to escape into other worlds, where amazing creatures and magic exist, and everything always works out for the best. I should know. I have always used reading as a form of escape, and what better escape than fantasy. There's just something so enchanting about the idea of '...and they all lived happily ever after.'
Saturday, 15 December 2012
Character Study: Ash
The
wind whipped her hair, blood-red waves tumbling over and around her bare
shoulders, the ink-black tops of her angel wing tattoos visible above the back
of her vest top which was a deep forest green colour, bringing out the similar
forest green tone in the irises of her eyes. Her eyes weren’t always that exact
shade of green; they changed with her mood, or the light, or what she was
wearing. Sometimes they were every shade of green – emerald, grass, pine, moss,
olive – all at once. People assumed that her hair was dyed, because that exact
colour of red just couldn’t be natural; but her eyes always amazed people. Some
guessed that she had a range of different coloured contacts that she switched
between on a daily basis, but the truth of the matter was that both her hair
and eye colours were natural; she had never dyed her hair or worn contact
lenses even once in her entire life. Not that she could remember anyway; her
hair grew out of her head that fantastic crimson colour. With her strange hair
and eyes, and perfect, pale complexion, she was beautiful. She was tall and
athletic; even when she didn’t work hard at maintaining her figure she was
toned and lithe, like a dancer.
Her hair, she let
simply grow out in long, soft waves that cascaded down her back almost to her
waist. She wore little make up – just a small amount of eyeliner to define her
almond-shaped eyes – so the only real alterations she made to her appearance
were her tattoos and piercings. Aside from her angel wing tattoos she had five other
tattoos; five thick black bands, one around each wrist and ankle and one around
her neck. She couldn’t remember even getting them and had no idea what they
signified. Her foster parents told her that she had had them when she came to
them when she was just fifteen; they didn’t know what the bands meant either
and she had no recollection of anything before then, so she supposed she would
never know. She hated them though; she didn’t know why but she despised the
sight of them on her skin and often thought about getting them removed. Her
piercings, however, she could remember getting done and she loved them all. She
had several studs in each ear, a ring through her nose and a bar through her
tongue. People said that her piercings and tattoos made her look formidable,
but to anyone who knew her, they were just an extension of her; part of her
personality. She wasn’t Asha without them.
She had another mark on
her body, one which wasn’t man-made like her tattoos or piercings; a birthmark
in the shape of the letter ‘E’. It was elaborate, almost like a design or a
fancy type-face, and many thought it was just another tattoo, but according to
several dermatologists it was her natural skin pigmentation, meaning that it
was a birthmark. The birthmark was just another interesting and strange aspect
of her natural appearance, like her hair and her eyes. The birthmark was on her
chest, just above her left breast; over her heart. It was a dark bronze colour,
almost like that of a henna tattoo, and so it stood out against the near-white
of her skin. The extreme paleness of her skin created a stark contrast with her
deep, red hair but, no matter how long she spent out in the sun, she never got
any darker; nor did she burn, she just remained pale. The final permanent
aspect of her appearance was around her neck, just beneath the line of the
black band tattoo. There lay a thin chain that held a blue-tinted,
clouded-glass vial, with a silver cap, through which the chain was threaded.
The vial didn’t appear to contain anything, and she had never been able to open
it, but her foster parents said that it was only possession she had had when
she was given to them, and so she refused to remove this one solid link to her
forgotten past; though it appeared to have no purpose and she had no idea if it
was even significant.
She may not have been completely
happy with her appearance but everyone said that she was stunning, beautiful,
and she hated to complain, so she accepted the way she looked and even tried to
make the most of it, wearing colours that would emphasise the red of her hair
or highlight a specific tone of green in her eyes. Though she always seemed to
get a lot of attention from guys, she was never really that interested in them
in return. She never really thought about relationships; she was too busy
day-dreaming, thinking up stories. She had a wild, fantastical imagination and
was always creating new worlds inside her head, filled with all manner of weird
and wonderful beings. She had always loved to read and write and her mind
teemed with ideas for novels. Most of her friends thought she was wasted on a ‘boring’
English Literature degree and that she should just stick to writing books
herself, but she found reading gave her a kind of escape from the realms of her
own imagination, into those of another’s.
An angel and a devil danced the tango
An angel met a devil
and they danced together, a secret tango,
and they fell into each other's arms
and down until, limbs entwined, they lay
upon the ground
in a naked embrace.
An angel met a devil
and they fell, deep, into a forbidden love
and their blood
and their bodies
sang for each other's touch,
their kiss.
An angel met a devil
and brought death upon their world
and pain
and loss
and hope stood no chance
in that war-torn place.
An angel met a devil
and they were led out to their deaths...
and they danced together, a secret tango,
and they fell into each other's arms
and down until, limbs entwined, they lay
upon the ground
in a naked embrace.
An angel met a devil
and they fell, deep, into a forbidden love
and their blood
and their bodies
sang for each other's touch,
their kiss.
An angel met a devil
and brought death upon their world
and pain
and loss
and hope stood no chance
in that war-torn place.
An angel met a devil
and they were led out to their deaths...
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