Showing posts with label lewis carroll. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lewis carroll. Show all posts

Rudyard Kipling and the Norman ( Conquest)


Ariel: A Review of International English Literature, Vol.39, No. 3 (2008)

Introduction: In his introduction to A Choice of Kipling’s Verse, T. S. Eliot describes Rudyard Kipling’s positive attitude towards British imperialism:

He believed the British Empire to be a good thing [...] he wished to set before his readers an idea of what it should be [...] He believed that the British have a greater aptitude for ruling than other people, and that they include a greater number of kindly, incorruptible and un-self-seeking men capable of administration.

In his day, Kipling’s work won the Nobel Prize and earned him a place in Poet’s Corner in Westminster Abbey. Yet his support for imperialism makes him unpopular with readers today. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, for example, decries his regard for “the conquest of India [...] as a historically appropriate event”. Kipling, however, was neither blind nor insensitive to the horrors of the British presence in India. George Orwell, who calls him a “jingo-imperialist”, and describes his work as “morally insensitive and aesthetically disgusting,” nevertheless concedes “few people who have criticized England from the inside have said bitterer things about her than this gutter patriot”. For example, Kipling’s famous poem, “ The White Man’s Burden”, coins the phrase that to this day codifies a colonial mentality. At the same time, however, his famous lines, “the blame of those ye better,/ the hate of those ye guard”, can be taken as an implicit critique of colonialism, as the poem articulates a cankered, cranky perspective on the now-proverbial “silent, sullen” natives, “halfdevil and half-child.” Representing the view of someone who would consider insurgency a form of ingratitude, and revealing this view unvarnished, in the manner of Robert Browning, Kipling leaves the reader to draw his or her own conclusions.

Kipling’s treatment of the Norman Conquest, a subject to which he returns throughout his career, reveals the hidden depths of anxiety and irony in his attitude to empire. Th e Norman Conquest provided England with a model of cultural imperialism.
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The Last of the Hardy Players – Review


Novelist Thomas Hardy in 1914. Photograph: E.O. Hoppe/CORBIS

What a delight The Last of the Hardy Players (Radio 4) turned out to be. Julian Fellowes went to Dorchester to interview Norrie Woodhall, a sharp 104-year old who knew Thomas Hardy through his involvement with the local amateur-dramatics group.

Woodhall recalled rehearsals at Hardy's home, Max Gate, for a 1924 production of Tess. Hardy apologised that he hadn't written much for her to say. "Well," she said firmly, "he hadn't." She got the acting bug as she watched the players rehearse at the hotel her family ran: "I had a hole in one of the curtains, and I used to watch. I just longed to be in it myself." When the Players disbanded, she said: "Life was gone for me in Dorchester."

My favourite bit was when Woodhall remembered Florence Hardy, and didn't mince her words. "I took an instant dislike to her," she snapped. Florence had talked Woodhall's sister, Gertrude – an acclaimed actress – out of playing Tess in a London production. "[Florence] became insanely jealous," Woodhall explained. "And I do say insanely."

The programme also contained charming anecdotes about the challenges of performing Hardy's work on stage, then and now. We heard about a drunken sheep shearer who had to bring a flock on stage with him, and went rather off-script: "He kissed them and sang to them."
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