List of novels to be read

Novels Dystopia G. Orwell, 1984 A. Huxley: Brave new world Bildungsroman vs freudian novel D. H. Lawrence, Sons and lovers Britain vs Colonies E.M. Foster, A passage to India War and peace E. Hemingway, A farewll to arms The roaring twenties F. S. Fitzgerald, The great Gatsby The 1929 economic crisis J.Steinbeck, Grapes of wrath Racial issues H. Lee, To kill a mocking bird

Poem of the week: England in 1819 This week, a furious sonnet from Shelley whose attack on the ruling classes retains its power two centuries on

A Madame Tussaud's waxwork head of King George III Old, mad, blind, despis'd, and dying ... That most courtly of forms, the sonnet, turns against the court, among other power structures, in this week's choice. Shelley's extraordinarily-shaped "England in 1819" is centaur-like, its majestic, nearly Petrarchan opening sestet fused with a heavier, rougher octet. The octet's rhymes partly interlock, but the Petrarchan scheme dissolves with the two sets of rhyming couplets – the centaur's hooves. You can almost hear the angry howl of an invisible people rising up against their useless royal family and treacherous government. Grammatically, it's all of a piece. The swelling roll-call of injustice consists of main clauses unresolved until the 13th line. It's almost a list-poem, a piling-on of sound-bites which, for a modern writer, might not demand the syntactic resolution Shelley eventually provides, and which therefore surprises us so effectively. In microcosm, the same process occurs in the build-up of splendidly simple and exact adjectives in line one. The hapless George III (who was to die the following year) stands before us with a Lear-like pathos. He is despised and mad and blind (uncomprehending): he is old and dying. Shelley enjoys paradox throughout this sonnet and here the tone is more horrified than hating. But there is no sympathy for the heir to the throne, the dissolute Prince Regent ("a corpulent Adonis of 50", as Shelley's friend, Leigh Hunt, rather mercifully described him). In the vividly alliterative line, "A people starv'd and stabb'd in the untill'd field", we seem to hear the swords cutting through skin and tendons as troops ride in to instigate the infamous Peterloo Massacre. The trope by which this army becomes a "two-edg'd sword" consisting of "liberticide and prey" is more obscure. Paradox is the clue: the killer of liberty and his prey, liberty itself, are both destroyed. "All they that take the sword shall perish with the sword"(Matthew, 52). Christ said it more concisely, but Shelley's oddly sorted nouns forge their own hobnailed eloquence. The princes are dregs, the royal line a muddy spring, the rulers, engorged leeches: these plain, ugly metaphors are as exact as they are obvious. But then comes further obscurity. In line 12, is the Senate (parliament) equated with "Time's worst statute unrepeal'd" or is the "worst statute" another addition to the list of evils? Some commentators say that Shelley means the 1801 Act of Union between England and Ireland. But the metaphor of parliament itself as a rotten law, convoluted though it is, remains intriguing, and the dash suggests this should be the primary reading. When the poem finally reaches its apogee, its main verb, what do we learn? A further metaphor is heaped on top of the rest like a truckload of earth – all the horrors are mere graves, redundant in the dreamed-of new dawn. The sonnet abruptly "turns" with the hastily-sketched millenarian image of Liberty triumphant. "England in 1819" is a young man's poem (as, of course, are all Shelley's poems, including the magnificent "Mask of Anarchy", written in the same year), and it has its awkward moments. But youth's idealism is also its virtue. There is no shallow self-display in Shelley's anger. Sincerity, that unfashionable emotion, gives the poem not only its splendid energy, but an authority beyond the writer's years. The sonnet is powered by the momentum established in the sestet, and somehow maintains the intensity of its indignation through the weaker octet – because the political emotion is genuine. How pertinent those lines about the rulers "who neither feel, nor see, nor know" are to England, 2009, with its bankers unqualified to bank and its cabinet ministers unqualified, it so often seems, to (ad)minister. Where are today's Shelleys? Why can't political poetry be as good as any other? Distrust anyone who says the postmodern muse should be above such things. England in 1819 An old, mad, blind, despis'd, and dying king, Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow Through public scorn – mud from a muddy spring, Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know, But leech-like to their fainting country cling, Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow, A people starv'd and stabb'd in the untill'd field, An army, which liberticide and prey Makes as a two-edg'd sword to all who wield, Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay, Religion Christless, Godless – a book seal'd, A Senate – Time's worst statute unrepeal'd, Are graves, from which a glorious Phantom may Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day.

The Romantic poets: Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley This week, the Guardian and the Observer are running a series of seven pamphlets on the Romantic poets. To coincide with it, I'm blogging daily on one of each day's selected works

Portrait of Percy Bysshe Shelley Passion for politics and Egyptology. Photograph: Hulton Archive/Getty Images The Shelleys' circle enjoyed setting each other themed writing contests: the most famous work to have emerged from such a pastime is Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. It's less well-known that Shelley's most famous short poem, Ozymandias, was the result of a competition between himself and his friend Horace Smith, a financier, verse-parodist and author of historical novels. Smith's rival sonnet is called, less memorably, In Egypt's Sandy Silence and disadvantages itself early on by the gauche reference to "a gigantic leg". Somehow, Shelley's "two vast and trunkless legs" are more impressive. But both poems, first Shelley's and then Smith's, were published by Leigh Hunt early in 1818 in consecutive issues of his monthly journal The Examiner. Shelley's interest in Egyptology was already established, as revealed by some of the imagery of an earlier poem, Alastor, but perhaps it had been rekindled in part by the news of the excavation of the colossal head of Rameses II. This head would later be shipped to the British Museum. Shelley could not have seen it at the time of writing, and he had never been to Egypt, but he would have certainly seen illustrations of ruined cities and statues. The various literary sources of the poem are fascinatingly explored in this essay which suggests that Volney's The Ruins of Empires (a French work appearing in English translation in 1792) was of major significance, and not only to Ozymandias. "The book was central to the evolution of Romanticism from a specifically English and insular aesthetic to a universal political and philosophical force," writes the anonymous author. As potently as the wilderness symbolised spiritual freedom for the Romantic writers, ancient ruins declared the triumph of time and nature over human tyranny. A competition, light-heartedly undertaken, may have been the sonnet's immediate occasion, but Shelley's passion for the politics of his theme is evident in the poem and integral to its solidity. Whether a writer is drawing on personal experience or literary research, imagination is crucial, and Shelley approaches the task with great imaginative flair. First, he sets a fictional scene, introducing a second character, a kind of Ancient Mariner, though one with the gift of brevity, to give his "personal account" of the ruined sculpture. Virtually all the sonnet is spoken by the traveller. His tale is strongly pictorial, and moves with the fluency and drive of recollection. Shelley's free, "romantic" way with the sonnet-form – the unusual pattern of the rhymes, and the presence of half-rhymes – is wholly appropriate. Another character in the poem is Ozymandias himself, his whole personality summed up in a few strokes. He seems to have had little facial resemblance to the benign, serenely smiling pharaoh familiar to visitors to the British Museum. Shelley has created a monster, it seems, out of his own revulsion from tyranny. The "wrinkled lip" is a particularly brilliant detail that suggests an age of sneering and sensuality in its possessor. There is a third character, of course: the sculptor who, it seems, has revealed his master's true nature, and, moreover, must be responsible for the telling second half of the inscription: "Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!" The full irony of this is brought home by the final image of the boundless sands, stretching as far as the eye can see. If there is little left of the sculptor's work, there is enough, so far, to bear witness to tyranny. Of the tyrant's works, nothing remains. Russian poets used to have a saying that the poet outlives the tsar. Here, the sculptor outlives the pharaoh, at least until nature reclaims the last vestiges of masonry, and these, too, are dissolved to sand. Ozymandias I met a traveller from an antique land Who said – 'Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half-sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive (stamped on these lifeless things) The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed: And on the pedestal these words appear: "My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!" Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.'

Percy Shelley's Ozymandias: Analysis and Themes

Bravo Porro! Nella sguaiata cacofonia che si è levata in questi giorni a proposito dell’aumento a 24 ore dell’orario di insegnamento frontale degli insegnanti – senza aumento di stipendio – proposto dal ministro Profumo nella legge di stabilità, finalmente si è levata una voce non confusa a spiegare come stanno veramente le cose: quella di Nicola Porro che, nel post del 23 o ttobre 2012 del suo blog sul Giornale, fa chiarezza definitiva sulla questione. Invito tutti a leggere l’articolo nella speranza che cessi quel tormentone di lamenti che ha inondato le bacheche di tutti i social network da quando la questione è diventata di dominio pubblico. In attesa che ciò succeda mi permetto qualche piccola chiosa a margine alle argomentazioni così sapientemente dosate da Porro al fine di aiutare i meno perspicaci a coglierne il senso. Tutti hanno dato di tasca propria per uscire dalla crisi. I Parlamentari si sono ridotti lo stipendio e quest’anno hanno anche rinunciato alla ferie pur di garantire la loro presenza in un momento difficile. Molte delle giunte regionali si sono addirittura dimesse pur di non gravare sui cittadini. I dirigenti delle grande imprese pubbliche non solo si sono ridotti lo stipendio ma hanno anche fatto a meno dei loro cospicui fringe benefit. Persino alcuni giocatori di importanti società di calcio hanno deciso di limitare i loro ingaggi milionari. Gli insegnanti erano ad oggi l’unica casta intoccata. Se non se ne fosse accorto il ministro Profumo l’avrebbero passata liscia, in barba ai più. Tra il milione di pre-pensionati ed esodati non c’è un insegnante neanche a pagarlo a peso d’oro. Figurarsi che qualche giorno addietro in un’aula in disuso di un liceo storico è stato trovato un arzillo professore ottuagenario che spiegava imperterrito la perifrastica passiva a ragni e scorpioni. Che motivo avrebbero i docenti di andarsene in pensione quando già lavorano per modo di dire? Meglio rimanere saldamente al proprio posto a sbafare a spese della comunità. Dati i lauti stipendi lo sbafo è garantito. La scuola, si sa, ha il turnover più elevato di tutte le filiere produttive. Basti pensare che l’età media degli insegnanti nostrani si aggira intorno ai 55 anni, tra le più basse non dico a livello europeo ma a livello mondiale. E’ questo ricambio dissennato “messo in atto dall’ultimo residuo di consociativismo politico che ha generato irresponsabilmente il nostro debito pubblico”. Fin qui Porro. Ora alcune implicazioni che Porro per savoir faire non esplicita. I ministri che l’hanno preceduto avevano per così dire preparato il terreno. Il ministro Profumo ha gettato le fondamenta. Chi verrà dopo di lui dovrà completare l’opera. Se l’orario del lavoratore medio è di 40 ore perché non dovrebbe esserlo quello dei docenti? Pensate che risparmio per la pubblica amministrazione. Ce ne sarebbe di che far azzerare lo spread. E questo non è che un passo. Quello successivo potrebbe davvero avere portata epocale. L’istruzione è un bene di lusso. Costa caro. Chi può la paghi, chi no si arrangi. Non si può avere tutto nella vita. Non si possono più dedicare all’istruzione risorse sudate forzatamente estratte dalle tasche dei cittadini. Smantelliamo il sistema e non se ne parli più. Cambiamo l’articolo 3 della nostra costituzione repubblicana e diciamo addio una volta per tutte al nostro sistema di pubblica istruzione. Ormai è più un ingombro che un beneficio. Chi avrà il coraggio di farlo avrà gli onori che spettano ai grandi.

The Victorians

A series of BBC documentaries about the Victorians The Victorians: Painting The Town (Ep.1 BBC) The Viçtοrians (2009) Ε02 Ηοme Sweet Ηοme The Victorians: Having It All (Ep.3 BBC) The Victorians: Dreams and Nightmares (Ep.4 BBC)

The Romantics

Three very good BBC documentaries about the English Romantics made by Petr Acroyd in 2005 around three Romantic ke words: Nature, libery, eternty. The Romantics - BBC documentary - Nature (2005) The Romantics - BBC documentary - Liberty (2005) The Romantics - BBC documentary - Eternity (2005)