The Man with the Red Hair

A small, lithe, rather feminine figure, dressed all in red. Bushy red hair that is tied back with a simple band; bangs frame a soft oval face, accentuated by large, beautiful, unique violet eyes. The beauty of these magnificent eyes is further enhanced by long, dark lashes. However, intriguing though his eyes and hair may be, his most distinguishing feature is the large cross-shaped scar on his left cheek: most likely an old sword wound.

Himura Kenshin is what he calls himself, this Rurouni, wandering through Japan in the eleventh year of the Meiji-- the only man who carries a sakabatou. Of what use is this sakabatou, you ask? Why, he uses it to protect those weaker than himself. He seems to be... Atoning for something. Seeking forgiveness. What for?

Hitokiri Battousai is his past self. Get it? The prodigious young warrior who started off as an assassin for the Ishin Shishi, the legend who slashed open the age of Meiji, thereby ending a very dark chapter in Japan's history... He just disappeared after that, didn't he?

Perhaps, to you, understanding his Psychology is difficult. He is, after all, a human who is desperately attempting to atone for all the irreplaceable lives he took, even if it was for the greater good. Why would such a legend throw everything away to function as a seemingly nondescript vagabond, wielding a reverse blade? Because he is.... Himura Kenshin.

Doesn't that scar send a chill down your spine? It's his only scar. Something lurks in his eyes as he absently raises a hand to touch that scar... Is it regret? Pain that can never be forgotten? Sorrow? Fear of the past? Is he re-living that terrible snowy night-- is he smelling blood and white plums again? Or is he thinking of that shadowy evening in Kyoto, when he acquired the first half of the scar? All of the above, I'm sure.

However painful his past might be, when HER loving, warm hands embrace him and make him feel he's safe, wanted, and loved, the demons of those times quiet down. He closes his eyes and sinks comfortably into her gentle yet strong caress, thanking his stars for her. She is the best thing that ever happened to him,  and he knows it. Unlike before, he can truly smile and laugh when she's with him, and only she can save his soul; bless her strong, dear, brave heart! She's the one who keeps him grounded and sane.

As I look at the happy little group standing outside Kamiya Dojo, I smile to myself and press my hand upon my heart. I want Kenshin to smile like that as long as he can.

Kenshin Kaoru Megumi Sanosuke Yahiko... I LOVE ALL OF YOU!!!! ♥ ♥


Ah... Dear reader. Adieu. Until next time, then!

In Honour of World Mental Health Day, 2019

(Yesterday was World Mental Health Day, and here is my new blog post in honour of it! I really hope it has an impact on society!)
Thanks to my sister, who is very woke and aware about everything, I found out that today, October 10th, is World Mental Health Day. There are a lot of people who aren't aware that such a day as this exists, and prior to this, I was one of them.It's a day for being vocal about mental health and breaking the social stigma associated with mental health; we're already in the twenty-first century, and yet there is very little awareness of mental health issues. Not to mention, in a country like India, words like "crazy", "insane" and "paagal" are thrown around too lightly, as if they don't mean anything. Like literally-- I don't get it! Why are people so insensitive about such important issues? And before you begin to think that I'm preaching, let me tell you that it's only recently that I began maturing and actually paying proper attention to people's mental health (again, I have my sister to thank for that). Wouldn't this world be a far more beautiful place if people were really considerate and kind to others without judging them? Compassion and empathy are "human" traits that have all but disappeared. Society looks down on and dismisses individuals who are suffering emotionally and psychologically.They're contemptuously told to "snap out of it" when they're bold enough to share their agony with their relatives, friends, or with the world. What's worse, they are often thrown into asylums to be locked up for all eternity. NO, fellas. If people could really just "snap out of it" or "be happy", why would they be unwell in the first place? We have to stop distancing ourselves from those who are suffering. You could very well have a relative (or someone very dear to you) who is in deep agony and in very poor mental health; that person might even have suicidal tendencies or could be a past-suicide-attempt survivor. You care about this person's condition, but don't know how to express yourself or talk about their suicidal tendencies, because you're afraid that talking about it will increase the risk of suicide. Well, I get it. I used to have the same fear. However, this is just a myth. Talking to them about it will not, in most cases at least, make them kill themselves at once. And as for the fear of not knowing what to say... Did you know that often, a simple but very sincere "I love you" can work wonders? Your relative/friend/whoever, who was probably feeling unloved and worthless, will know that you CARE. That you really want to keep them in comfort, that you do not want them to feel unloved and/or neglected. It's difficult for people to share their pain with others. It really is. And as most of the folks around them can't hear their silent cries for help, for love, for re-assurance, for comfort, they feel like they've got to *prove* how sick they are. "I didn't know she was depressed for six months. She seemed fine!" Sure she did. Because you couldn't recognise the signs. I'm not trying to be harsh here. All I'm saying is that we should all be able to recognise the signs of any mental health issue, in our loved ones or in ourselves. Yes, you could be suffering from something, but you may not be aware of it. Let's not wait any longer. Let's do what is necessary and help the world-- as well as ourselves. Keep this in mind-- if you're looking after who is very fragile emotionally, make sure to take care of your own mental health too. You can't look after them if you're not in good shape, right? They need you, but you need yourself, too. Do take care of yourself too.

Thank you so much for reading this! 💚💚💚 Let's all do our bit and spread awareness about mental health issues! 

Portrait of a Girl Reading

Sunlight filters through a small window in the far corner of the cheerless room. The walls are painted a fresh yellow in an effort to infuse some life into the tiny chamber; however, the attempt is poor, the chamber as lifeless as ever-- or so it would be, were it not for the single individual seated on the large chair that is placed right in the middle of the otherwise bare room. Her elbow, clothed in a ruffled yellow sleeve, gently rests on the arm of the chair, while long, slim fingers caress a small, red book. Tiny letters are scrawled lovingly across the leaves; the young lady is thoroughly occupied in this pleasant occupation, her regal head slightly inclined as her eyes peruse each word carefully. She is, indeed, quite a beauty. A swan-like neck; long brown hair that is becomingly tied up with lavender ribbons-- a hairstyle that indicates she is a woman, not a girl; not any more. She is fair, but not pale; her cheeks are a healthy red, almost the same colour as her lips. She reminds one of a rose-- is as she as sharp as those beautiful, thorned flowers? Intellectually, yes. Definitely. And if provoked, she has quite a temper.

"She has a man's mind." "Young girls should worry their pretty little heads about Romance, not Philosophy." "Your beauty will get you a husband, not your knowledge!" How tired, how sick she is of hearing these words over and over.

Her mind, which had begun to wander slightly as she fumed at Society, immediately returns to her present task. The expression in her eyes-- is it joy? Bright, unmitigated, unrestrained joy? Is it love? A deep and tender love, unperturbed, heavenly, divine? Is it the light of intellect and enlightenment-- the blessing of the Gray-eyed Goddess? She is one with her little book, almost attaining a state of divinity in the process.

That book-- what depths of wisdom does it contain? Is it Pilgrim's Progress? Is it Greek philosophy? Is it one of Euripides' tragedies? Is it Latin poetry, a sweet pledge of eternal love perhaps? Is it a social commentary on the position of women in society? Is it Milton's Paradise Lost? Or is she delving into the gritty and grotesque but entrancing world of the Brothers Grimm? Or-- Ah! Could it not be one of William Shakespeare's immortal plays? The Winter's Tale, perhaps?

She has not invited us into her world, and therefore one is forced to make these assumptions... She is quite the mysterious, serene, thought-provoking woman. Is that not so? She has not attempted to actively prevent anyone from interrupting her, but her aura speaks clearly. Extremely clearly. Let us quietly let the brocade curtains fall on this scene, as we withdraw and leave her to her pursuit of Knowledge.

A [Brief] Analysis of A Streetcar Named Desire

[WARNING: This contains MAJOR spoilers]

Hello, dear, faithful readers! I’m here with another analytical article—this time, I’m going to talk about A Streetcar Named Desire, one of Tennessee William’s most well-known and critically acclaimed plays. The play was opened on Broadway on December 3^rd, 1947. The protagonist is a fallen Southern belle [a typical character trope in several of Williams’ plays] called Blanche DuBois; she runs into a series of grave losses and leaves her aristocratic background in order to settle down with her sister and brother-in-law in a worn-down New Orleans flat. Blanche is undoubtedly Williams’ most graphic character, and while it’s difficult for the audience to sympathise with her, the end of the play left me with deep sadness—and anger. I hope you like my article!

First, I’ll just explain the significance of the title [as I’m sure you’re all wondering what “A Streetcar Named Desire” means]. The title is important as it indicates that Blanche’s life is driven by desire; her entire existence is centred around it. From the beginning of the play itself, she weaves lie upon flimsy lie, is terribly insecure about her appearance and age, has wild mood swings, and is obviously very emotionally fragile; she is not able to separate lies from her existence. The title refers to the vicious circle that is entwined throughout the play; Blanche finds herself caught up in it, unable to extricate herself, and the play does not end well for her.

Like The Glass Menagerie, this play deals with the fragility of human nature, as well as the thin, tacit line between fantasy and brutal realism. Blanche has become a compulsive liar in order to shield herself from what her life actually is; she is battered and bruised and struggles with herself all through the play. Beneath her flippant and flighty exterior is a frail, worn-down, frightened woman, unable to find a place in the world for herself anymore. She refuses to accept her harsh “fate”, and deals with it by creating a make-believe world and living in it as happily as possible—until it is completely shattered toward the end of the play. Stanley Kowalski, Blanche’s brother-in-law, is a brutal, crude, animalistic man who is firmly grounded in the physical [or “real” world]; he sees through Blanche’s lies immediately and does everything possible to expose her. The antagonistic relationship between Blanche and Stanley, which forms the major plot of the play, represents the battle between fabrications and reality. Meanwhile, Blanche’s sister, Stella, is unintentionally caught up in this struggle. [I used to like Stella. A lot, in fact]. As a woman from a wealthy background [both sisters are daughters of a plantation owner], Blanche obviously finds it difficult to digest Stanley’s irrationally violent behaviour, especially toward Stella; she even rants about him being ‘primitive’ and an ‘animal’. Saving Stella from a life with Stanley becomes Blanche’s main objective during her stay—however, as expected, she fails.

The setting of the play is extremely significant as well. The set of the play consists of the Kowalskis’ small, two-room apartment and the surrounding street. The apartment and the street are seen at the same time; this indicates that the apartment is not the refuge Blanche wants it to be- the house is constantly in the public eye. It is not impervious to reality. Besides, characters enter and leave the house with inner struggles of their own, leaving a bit of their “essence” behind. The gloomy and dark aspects of the set are further clarified when Blanche and Stanley’s power struggle comes to a head with the former being violently raped [something which is implied]. I did tell you that the play doesn’t end in any sort of sunshine or happiness for Blanche—but the play isn’t over yet.

As we have seen, reality emerges victorious and inflicts a crushing defeat on illusion… in real life, too, the struggle between the two is just as painful, sudden, and violent. The play is indeed an extremely accurate depiction of life. However, it has been suggested by critics [and I agree] that Williams suggests that living in an illusionary world has its own importance; after Blanche is assaulted, she temporarily retreats into herself, and succeeds in partially evading the reality she must now face. She has an extremely warped view of that which is physical, and having been through an extremely shocking and traumatic experience, she descends into insanity; she has a complete mental break-down. Stella has been told about Stanley’s assault, but cannot bring herself to believe her sister’s story; she states that she couldn’t go on living with Stanley if she believed Blanche’s story. She goes into hysterics when a doctor and a matron arrive to escort Blanche away. As expected, Blanche resists them at first and sinks to the floor in confusion, but stops struggling when the doctor helps her up and strives to comfort her. She tells him: “Whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” [Just… just how sad is that? My heart swelled with such sadness when I read that. I do not like Blanche, but she’s a tragic and wronged character. No doubt about that].

All right, let me give you some background information on Blanche, as it’s crucial to the play. As I mentioned earlier, she is extremely insecure about her looks and age, refusing to let anyone see her in the light. She is also afraid of death, and seems to delude herself into believing that by portraying herself as a sexual being, especially to men younger than herself, she can quell her fear and enter a world of bliss. Unsurprisingly, this tactic doesn’t work. In the course of the play, it is revealed that she was married when she was sixteen; her husband killed himself when she told him she was disgusted by his homosexuality. After this incident, it seems that Blanche views sex with morbid fascination—to her, it is the ultimate form of pleasure before death. She used to work as an English teacher at a high school in the town of Laurel before coming to New Orleans; though she tells Stella that she resigned on account of her “nerves”, she was, in fact, ostracised by the townspeople after it came to light that she was involved with an under-aged student and that she lived at The Flamingo, a hotel known for prostitution. She was trying to fill up her empty life with these actions; she is completely excluded by society, and even her sister finds it difficult to believe her.

While it hasn’t been stated what will happen to Blanche after she’s taken to the asylum, her fate is extremely—and very painfully—clear to the audience. She will be subjected to a lobotomy. Lobotomy is a horrific and inhuman procedure… Williams, whose sister Rose was subjected to a messy lobotomy in 1943 while under his mother’s care, was vehemently against lobotomies [and the procedure was banned by the erstwhile USSR in 1950].

Doesn’t this play leave you with lingering sadness? Doesn’t it make you think? Why must women always suffer?

If you haven’t read this play, I suggest you do so ASAP! I know it’s very depressing, but it’s very, very well-written.

Thank you! See you next time!

Why I Love The Glass Menagerie [and you should too]

[WARNING: this contains MAJOR spoilers]

Hello, my dear readers! I was seized by a sudden fit of creative ardour [if you’ll forgive the flowery language], so here I am! As you probably know already, The Glass Menagerie is one of my favourite plays, so I’m here to explain, once and for all, why I love it so much. For further reference, you can read the previous posts I’ve written, based on the characters of The Glass Menagerie. I hope you enjoy reading this article!

As I’ve stated earlier as well, The Glass Menagerie is a “memory play”, a play in which the lead character narrates the events of the play, relying wholly on their memories [or, as I like to put it, the character looks back at their past through an invisible screen]. The Glass Menagerie, which premiered in 1944, was the play that lead to Tennessee Williams’ rise to fame. It hasn’t been very long since I first read The Glass Menagerie—I read it in December 2018—and I instantly fell in love with it. I, as an ardent admirer of Williams’ work, can see why this play was his break-through—there’s something incredibly magnetic about the Glass Menagerie. Aptly named, the play is as fragile as glass itself, delicately, lovingly, carefully pieced together, while still containing traces of brutal realism, leading to the climax of the play. Characteristic of Williams’ plays, it contains characters who are unable to accept the harsh reality they have found themselves in; they cannot move on with their lives and have come to a standstill. You see the warning signs long before the climax hits the audience: the Wingfields’ little world shatters completely, just like Laura Wingfield’s precious, delicate little glass unicorn.

In his famous opening narration, Tom Wingfield declares that he is about to show the audience “truth in the pleasant guise of illusion”, indicating that his view-point cannot entirely be relied on [he is one of the most famous unreliable narrators of modern literature]. The Wingfields have their own little “retreats”, especially Laura, an extremely non-social and emotionally fragile girl who spends all her time polishing her quaint collection of glass animals and playing her absent father’s old gramophone records. Apart from this menagerie of glass animals, she is also associated with blue roses; she is a creature of rare, other-worldly beauty, just like those unique and eye-catching flowers. However, as seen in the play, her beauty, while uncommon, is not permanent; it is fleeting.

There is barely anything “real” in the Wingfields’ lives; the “gentleman caller”,  Jim O’ Connor, who only makes one [but very crucial] appearance in the play, is the only one who has realistic views of life. It’s his coming that tears the Wingfields apart; the signs were there since the beginning, as the little family was very dysfunctional [due to the mother’s over-ambitious hopes, the son’s surliness, and the daughter’s fragility], but the family openly falls apart at this juncture. The most common interpretation of the title is, of course, a reference to Laura’s glass animals, but the interpretation I most favour is: it’s obviously not just Laura who has a fragile world—it’s Tom and Amanda, too. Hence, the title refers to the three of them, it doesn’t just refer to the pretty little menagerie; these three are very flawed [and rather relatable] people—the people who inhabit Williams’ world. Tom is forced to work at a shoe warehouse to support his family, but he is extremely dissatisfied with his lot in life, and is an aspiring poet. To deal with his depression, he drinks heavily and goes to the movies every night [or so he says]. Eventually, he is fired for writing a poem on the lid of a shoebox, and leaves his mother and sister to fend for themselves [he loves them, but has cracked under all the pressure. I’m not exactly condoning his actions, but that’s just the thing—I have mixed feelings about Tom]. Amanda, a faded Southern belle and a doting mother, is trying her best to raise her children under harsh financial conditions; her husband deserted her sixteen years ago. [I’ll come to the social background of the play soon]. She loves her children deeply, and is more pragmatic than them, but she demands too much, and she’s delusional and extremely emotionally unstable.

She attempts to evade reality by slipping into her past as a much-desired beauty; as expected, the play ends sadly for both her and her daughter. It’s largely due to her incessant nagging that Tom eventually throws in the towel and leaves her and Laura to look after themselves. In fact, Amanda is a rather tragic figure—in spite of her many faults, one can’t help but sympathise with her, especially at this stage. She tries to be strong and cheerful for her children, but does she cry her heart out at night? I bet she does. She shouldn’t have rushed into such a bad marriage. Due to her mental state, she has often been compared to Blanche Dubois from “A Streetcar Named Desire”, another of Williams’ plays; however, it must be noted that while Blanche is actually psychotic, Amanda is merely in denial of her situation.

Now, let me elaborate on the social background—in his opening narration, Tom gives the audience an insight into the harsh social conditions of that time; he refers to the Spanish Civil War and the Great Depression [which began in 1929]. Just try to imagine it: the Great Depression, which came on the heels of the Wall Street Crash, was the world’s most severe economic crisis; the USA was very badly hit and suffered greatly as a result. Those of you who are aware of the complete extent to which the Great Depression damaged USA’s economy will need no further explanation; Amanda was trying to raise two grown children at a time when thousands of workers were laid off without any unemployment benefit; several families were struggling to make ends meet, the Wingfields being no exception.

The Glass Menagerie is perhaps Williams’ most autobiographical play, making it that much more impactful and graphic. Williams [whose real name was Thomas] closely based Tom on himself; Amanda is based on his mother. His mentally fragile older sister, Rose, is the inspiration for Laura; however, it has been suggested by some critics [and I must say I agree] that Laura also resembles Williams himself, representing his deeply introverted nature and obsession with just one aspect of life [glass animals for Laura and writing for Williams—though he frequently suffered from “writer’s block”].

These personal emotions make the play that much more special, and whenever I write about The Glass Menagerie, I feel like I’m at my creative peak. It’s a play only a few people these days would appreciate—honestly, had I been a little younger, it wouldn’t have been to my taste either. Williams was a genius, no doubt, but a saddened, bruised, scarred genius—and it shows in his writing. He had the saddest strains of music in his soul.  I’m a major fan of tragedies [which, I’m certain, says a lot about me], but I do enjoy happy stuff too, so while this little masterpiece is my favourite piece of modern literature, Williams isn’t my favourite playwright. Give me someone a little more diverse—like Shakespeare or Brian Friel.

This article has been written straight out of my heart, and it was a spur-of-the moment thing, so… I hope you liked it! I’ve done my best to keep it straightforward, and I hope I’ve done this beauty justice! Thank you for reading!

I’d just like to say:

This play’s imperfection is beautiful.

See ya!

My Most Beloved Fictional Characters [Part 2]

Announcement: 
This is my 52^nd blog post of the year! Woo-hoo!!
 I’m over the moon! Thank you so much for your support, 
and I promise to work even harder!

Hello, dear reader! As promised, I’m back with another post on fictional characters! Writing about them is my hobby, and if you let me ramble on and on, I might never stop… anyways, last week I wrote about characters from books and manga—this time, I shall write about William Shakespeare’s characters. This post is centred around Portia from “The Merchant of Venice” [she’s one of Shakespeare’s most iconic female characters, and has garnered much critical acclaim]; Viola from “Twelfth Night” [I love her. I really do. Twelfth Night is a pretty amazing play]; and Hamlet from “The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark” [I’ve always liked Shakespeare’s tragedies more than his comedies, and The Tragedy of Hamlet is one of my favourite tragedies. Of course, “to be, or not to be?” is an iconic line, but apart from that, the play shows us the emotional complexities of human nature very well]. I hope you enjoy reading this article!

Portia:

There’s a lot that can be said about Portia. As the female protagonist of The Merchant of Venice, she is introduced to the audience as the rich, sharp-witted, and extremely beautiful heiress of Belmont. She is depicted as having a very close relationship with her companion, Nerissa.  Her late father, wanting nothing less than the best for his wonderfully accomplished daughter, devised a lottery for her many suitors; this lottery gives them the chance to choose between three caskets [gold, silver, and lead]. Should they choose the correct casket, they shall win her hand in marriage. If they choose the incorrect the incorrect casket, they must depart immediately, never reveal to anyone which casket they chose, and never seek another woman’s hand in marriage [pretty harsh, huh?]. Since the beginning, there’s this “forbidden fruit” vibe to her. She rejects all her potential suitors, favouring a young and handsome [but rather prodigal] Venetian noble, soldier and scholar, Bassanio. She’s somewhat superstitious, referring to the Prince of Morocco as “The Devil” [not in his hearing, obviously]; I wasn’t pleased with her here—everyone has their faults, yes, but I’m not going to excuse this.

The theme of cross-dressing, which is often seen in Shakespeare’s plays, is a very prominent part of The Merchant of Venice [… for some reason, it’s always only the women who cross-dress though]. Well, Bassanio manages to choose the correct casket, thereby earning himself Portia’s hand; sadly, it’s not happily ever after for them. It is soon revealed that Bassanio’s bosom friend, Antonio, who’d taken a loan from of three thousand ducats from a cruel and vindictive money-lender called Shylock [in order to finance Bassanio’s travel expenses], is now in deep danger as he is unable to repay the money; according to the agreement between him and Shylock, the former will have to sacrifice a pound of flesh. This unpleasant news puts Portia’s sharp brain cells to work; unlike Bassanio, she does not panic. As soon as Bassanio leaves for Venice, she sends her servant to Padua, to seek the advice of her cousin Bellario, a well-renowned lawyer. Determined to wrest Antonio’s life from Shylock’s clutches, she disguises herself as a man and assumes the role of a lawyer’s apprentice [taking on the name of “Balthazar”], before travelling to Venice with Nerissa [who is disguised as a clerk]. She then proceeds to swiftly thwart Shylock’s evil intentions; in spite of her lack of formal legal training, she uses her wits and her eloquent language to turn the tables in her favour, making her famous “quality of mercy” speech and moving almost everyone present to tears [it has no effect on Shylock, but she finds another way to defeat him]. Using the tactics of a “Philadelphia lawyer”, she focuses on the minute details and loopholes, and eventually declares that while Shylock is entitled to his pound of flesh, he can only extract flesh, not blood. Should he spill a single drop of Antonio’s blood, all his property will be confiscated. Shylock is soundly defeated; Portia has single-handedly saved Antonio’s life!

This is why I’m so awed by her character. [Honestly, the men in this play seem so lame, especially when compared to her]; however, her character, critics argue, has also been used to highlight the fact that unjust arguments can be won through eloquence, loopholes, and technicalities, regardless of whether they’re morally correct or not. Food for thought, huh? What do you think?

Viola:

Oh dear, I could talk about Viola all day, every day! I admire her very much, and she is one of Shakespeare’s greatest creations [even if she does have to cross-dress to protect herself. Seriously, Shakespeare…]. I have a feeling that Shakespeare had a lot of fun while writing her dialogues; she displays great intelligence, wit, and wisdom [besides, she’s calm and level-headed. Wise beyond her years]. Viola is the protagonist of Twelfth Night, and her actions in the first scene set the play into motion; she is introduced to the audience as a young lady of Messaline. She has been shipwrecked on the coast of Illyria—her twin brother was on the same ship, but they have been separated, and she does not know whether he is alive or dead. The Sea Captain who rescued her informs her that the place is governed by the virtuous Duke Orsino, who is in love with the beautiful Countess Olivia; Viola decides to serve her, but upon learning that Olivia is a recluse, she dresses up as a lad named Cesario, determined to serve the Duke. She becomes his pageboy and closest advisor.

Twelfth Night has a very deep, meaningful message about the differences between love and infatuation; you’ll see why this is relevant shortly. As Viola [or perhaps I should call her Cesario for now] is quite silver-tongued, Orsino entrusts her to carry his dramatic messages of love to Olivia, who has steadfastly been rejecting him. “Cesario” performs her duty faithfully, passing messages back and forth between Olivia and Orsino, but this eventually puts her in a bit of a fix, as Olivia [like everyone else around her] has mistaken her for a boy, and has—supposedly—fallen in love with her [!!!]. Moreover, while duty forces her to utilise all her persuasive skills to plead Orsino’s case to Olivia, she has fallen in love with the Duke herself, finding him to be a quiet, responsible, intelligent, and rational man—except when it comes to his infatuation with Olivia. It isn’t love; it’s infatuation. And both Viola and Olivia know it. Olivia gives Viola a ring as a present; Viola is torn between amusement and despair, as she can’t even reveal her true identity to Olivia. She concludes that only time can clear up the muddle and the love triangle her disguise has created.

The plot only gets thicker when Sebastian, Viola’s twin brother, arrives in Illyria with a pirate named Antonio [her brother is alive! Yaaay!]. Absolute chaos ensues, with people mistaking Sebastian for Viola and vice versa; their resemblance to each other is made more prominent by Viola’s disguise. The confusion simply keeps building until Sebastian and Viola [“Cesario”] come face-to-face for the first time, recognising each other at once [obviously, haha]. It is revealed that Olivia—who mistook Sebastian for Cesario—has secretly married him; Sebastian was obviously oblivious to the “love triangle”, and agreed to marry her simply because she is beautiful and wealthy [would you look at that? He’s daft, isn’t he?]. Orsino [finally] realises that he was never truly in love with Olivia; furthermore, he realises that Viola’s love for him is tenacious, pure, and true. Agreeing to love Olivia as his sister, he decides to take Viola as his wife once she discards his disguise. She’s worth ten of Olivia, and he knows it. [Well, happy late realisation, Duke Orsino…].

It is noteworthy that, while Viola is the play’s protagonist, her real name is not spoken by any character [including herself] until the final scene of the play, when she reveals her true identity.

Isn’t her character rich and intriguing? My heart’s overflowing with love for her right now [but you probably know that already, haha]. I’d like to know what you think of her, too!

Hamlet:

Alright-y! Before I begin talking about Hamlet [who is perhaps the most depressed and unstable character ever], let me clarify that I do not like him as a person; as a character, he’s extremely interesting, and is definitely one of the most well-sketched and graphic characters in the history of literature, but as a person? Saying “he’s not a great person” is a massive understatement. He is depicted as someone who is always dithering; someone who does not know his own mind [the 1948 movie adaptation opens thus: “This is the tragedy of a man who could not make up his mind.” I agree whole-heartedly. The play opens with him being deeply depressed over his father’s sudden death, and his uncle Claudius’ ascension to the throne and unwise, hasty marriage to Hamlet’s mother, Queen Gertrude. One night, Hamlet’s father’s ghost appears to him, revealing that Claudius, due to avarice and a massive inferiority complex, killed him. He disappears after commanding Hamlet to avenge his death; this entire scene sets the tone for the rest of the play, as Hamlet contemplates the spirit’s words. Though he hates and despises his uncle, he is unable to bring himself to carry out the dreary revenge without any proof; he steadily begins descending into insanity. This leads to his soliloquy of “to be, or not to be”; he wonders about death and suicide, denouncing the pain and unfairness of life, but acknowledging that the alternative might be far worse. While his speech is gloomy and morbid, it is one of the most well-known speeches in literature [particularly due to its expressive language. I must say, it’s a very well-written piece of work, accurately showing Hamlet’s state of mind].

Eventually, Hamlet, determined to test whether his late father’s words regarding his uncle are true or not, puts on a play about the murder of a king in front of the royal court, and has his close companion Horatio gauge Claudius’ reaction. Claudius, feeling extremely guilty, quickly gets up and leaves half-way through the play, confirming Hamlet’s suspicions;  he follows his uncle into his chambers, but decides not to kill Claudius at that moment, as the latter has attempted to wash away his sin through confession [and Hamlet wants him to burn in purgatory].  Another attempt on Claudius’ life results in the accidental death of Polonius, a courtier [and the father of Hamlet’s love interest, Ophelia. Feminist critics have tried to reconstruct her character, as she is a very wronged character; no “voice” is given to her in the play, and she is only interpreted in relation to other characters, particularly Hamlet].

There has been much debate about the supernatural aspects of the play, and Hamlet’s views about them; in accordance with traditional religious beliefs, Hamlet meditates on the existence of purgatory, where King Hamlet claims he currently resides; it is said that the king suffers in purgatory [as he died without foreknowledge of his death]. As I stated before, Hamlet refuses to kill his uncle while the latter is confessing; he believes that killing him now would send him straight to heaven [gruesomely ironic, isn’t it? Claudius? Going to heaven?!]. These views are somewhat superstitious; indeed, the concept of purgatory was frowned upon by the Protestant Reformation and was purely a Catholic concept.  

Of course, Hamlet’s end is tragic; it’s Karma. It’s an endless cycle for him. It seems unjust that he should have to die after finally managing to avenge his father’s death [that’s right, Claudius receives his just deserts], but that’s just the way things are… this is why revenge is pointless, fruitless. Besides, there are so many other deaths as well… the one that struck me the hardest is the demise of poor, blameless Ophelia [it’s unclear whether she committed suicide or not—she was drowned, and that’s all we know]. As the play steadily draws to a dark conclusion, Hamlet is fatally stabbed by Ophelia’s brother, Laertes; he manages to retaliate and finishes Laertes off, before stabbing Claudius with Laertes’ poisoned sword. It’s a fitting end for that coward. Just before Hamlet dies, he hears his mother shrieking that she has been poisoned; she mistakenly drank a glass of poisoned wine which was meant for Hamlet. [What’s with this play and poison? Really though, poison is a motif throughout the play].

It was obvious since the beginning that Hamlet’s character arc would have such a terrible conclusion, but… he is one of my favourite characters, and I was filled with a surge of deep, deep bitterness after I’d finished the play. “The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark” gave me more “feels” than any play or book.

[And in case you feel that the play is inconclusive due to the protagonist’s death, it’s not. With his dying breath, Hamlet declares Fortinbras, Prince of Norway, who is currently on his way to Denmark, heir to the throne].

Once again… what are your views? I’d love to know your thoughts on Hamlet!!

See you next time!

My Most Beloved Fictional Characters [Part 1]

 Hello, dear readers! Today’s post, which is centred around the three fictional characters I love most, is dedicated to the authors who allowed me [and the rest of the world] to experience the marvellous creation and storyline of these wonderful fictional people through the genius of their writing. So today, I’ll talk about Himura Kenshin [does this name ring a bell? He’s the protagonist of Rurouni Kenshin by Nobuhiro Watsuki]; Sydney Carton [A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens]; and Marguerite Blakeney [The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emma Orczy].

Himura Kenshin

Ah, where shall I begin? Kenshin is definitely my ultimate favourite fictional character of all time, no matter how much I read or how many characters I love and respect. If you’ve read my previous posts on Rurouni Kenshin, you already know how much I respect him, and how close he is to my heart [and I simply love writing about him, because that’s when my creativity helps me analyse him thoroughly as both a person and a character. I’ve read a load of manga besides Rurouni Kenshin, but this is the one manga I keep coming back to]. Watsuki has evidently gone out of his way to come up with this masterpiece of a character; it’s been 25 years since Kenshin’s “birth”, and he’s still one of the most well-known and legendary manga and anime protagonists. Old, but gold.

Why do I call him a “masterpiece”? He’s an incredibly complex character, with several paradoxes—the personification of duality [and he’s also a Gemini. I love Geminis]; he can be a cute, soft, unassuming little man, and the next instant he’s a badass, narrow-eyed, fierce warrior. He has the most beautiful eyes I’ve seen—they’re violet, a very rare shade [and, frankly, only seen in anime]. They’re extremely expressive, and one can find out a lot about him just by reading them—he has the weathered look of someone who’s experienced the brutality of the world; having seen much, and lost much as well, his eyes always have a tinge of deep sadness. He was a loner in the beginning, never staying in one place too long for fear of attracting attention or growing too close to people; however, after a young lady called Kamiya Kaoru befriends him and allows him to stay at her swordsmanship school even after finding out about his past, he begins opening up to people to a great extent, and forms several lifelong bonds with them.

Perhaps the most striking thing about Kenshin is his ambiguity. When the story begins, all we know about him is that he was an infamous assassin known as Hitokiri Battousai; he was allied with the revolutionaries during the Bakumatsu, and “slashed open the age of Meiji”. Wishing to redeem himself after having killed so many, he took off after the Meiji Government was established, and became a vagabond, vowing never to kill again and protecting all those who need it. Of course, that’s rather idealistic—throughout the series, he is nearly forced to break this vow several times, as he faces opponents who are insanely strong. I relate to him a lot, because he is, for a long time, unable to let go of the ghosts of his past, just like me. I clung to the past as well. He even bears a physical mark of the past—a cross-shaped scar on his left cheek. When we do come to know his back story, it’s in the last story-arc, Jinchuu.

He’s proof of the fact that the world isn’t just black or white. In today’s world, we need more people like him—people who will fight for what they believe in and protect the weak from being picked off by the “strong”. He represents what’s just, right, and ethical, and how important it is to stand your ground and defend your beliefs, no matter what. That is why he’s the character I admire and look up to the most!

Sydney Carton

I am a huge fan of Dickens; his books are, most often, depressing and rather nihilistic, but A Tale of Two Cities is undoubtedly one of my favourite books. I am not lying when I say that I’ve rarely found a character that satisfied me to this extent… Carton is a self-effacing, self- destructive, highly intelligent and quick-witted barrister; he is known as “The Jackal” in legal circles, a fitting title. He’s full of talent, but is unambitious, and is simply watching his partner Stryver advance [Stryver isn’t particularly smart—he’s making use of Carton’s natural gifts to climb to the top]. Carton’s physical resemblance to Charles Evrèmondè [or Darnay] is one of the most crucial points of the book. Really, their resemblance is uncanny!

This lawyer chooses to let himself waste away by wallowing in drink and maudlin sentiments, yet I find him appealing—why? Carton is by far the most relatable character in A Tale of Two Cities. The book’s plot is one of the best I’ve ever read [being a History nerd], but I don’t particularly find the other characters very interesting—except, perhaps, Dr. Manette and Madame Defarge. Lucie Manette is an excellent person, but she is not that strong a character. Carton, on the other hand, is well-rounded and consistently improved upon; I perfectly understand how it feels when you have the wits and the drive to succeed, but can’t, because of whatever reason. There’s this bitter-sweet feeling whenever I think of Sydney—he didn’t really get his dues, according to me [Mr. Dickens will most probably disagree, though]. He couldn’t win Lucie’s love [ as she loves him platonically], but just the thought of her sweet, angelic, sincere face is enough to bring him off his self-harming tendencies, at least for a while. When he loves someone, he loves them with his whole heart and soul—passionately; deeply; unconditionally. He’s much sharper than Charles, who’s a bit… well… daft [though you can’t help liking him]. Life was very cruel to Sydney; on the surface, he seems to be the least successful of all the characters—since he was also guillotined by the blood-thirsty mob who mistook him for Charles [all of this was manipulated by him, of course. To protect the happiness of Lucie and her child, and to save the life of an innocent man, Sydney gave up his own life. See? He resembles Charles so closely that the crowd didn’t even realise it was an imposter].

He definitely doesn’t need my pity, as he died happy [truly happy for the first time in years], but I outright wept when I saw how selflessly he laid down his life. He really is a very well-constructed character, drawing the audience’s sympathy at several points in the story as well as making us gape in awe and then turn away with a handkerchief pressed to our eyes.

… He’s obviously not a good role model, and he has many, many faults; he’s a defeated, fatigued, cynical young man—I don’t agree with his way of life at all. Sydney is far from perfect, but it’s his imperfection that I actually like so much, and he is that one person who transcended the vibes of hate and violence prevalent in the French Revolution.

Marguerite Blakeney [née St. Just]

Aaaah, Marguerite! That crafty, beautiful, playful, childlike, strong-willed young lady -- the cleverest woman in all of Europe! She’s an incredibly well-constructed character, and I loved her since she was introduced, even if her faults [and she has several of them] were obvious since the beginning. She treated her husband, Sir Percy Blakeney [who is, incidentally, a fop and England’s richest—as well as biggest—fool], with great contempt. Besides, she is a little too aware of her charm, especially her physical beauty [she has red hair and candid blue eyes], and is rigidly haughty and proud. However, she is an extremely charismatic woman, and has a capacity for strong attachments; she doesn’t get her dues sometimes, and at such times she can come off as rather emotionally needy. She does not judge a person by their wealth or social standing, preferring to hold intellectual conversations with them instead; wealth and status may be hereditary, brains are not. As Marguerite is an intuitive woman, the readers see the events of The Scarlet Pimpernel through her eyes. To some readers, she is not a likeable character; she has a tendency to mess up—big-time. In the early days of the French Revolution, she sent a Marquis and his family to the guillotine without meaning or trying to; she was trying to protect her brother, Armand, from the Marquis, who’d had him beaten by ruffians for looking at his daughter. By the time she realised what she’d done, it was too late; her name and reputation were forever besmirched, and she was too proud to attempt to explain her actions, though she deeply regretted them. She even ends up endangering her husband’s life by revealing crucial information about the infamous Scarlet Pimpernel to a diabolical Republican, Chauvelin, who knew her during her ‘days of glory’. [That’s right, dear reader, Sir Percy is the eponymous Scarlet Pimpernel; the daring Englishman who snatches French aristocrats from the jaws of certain death—quite literally]. Even now, she’s trying to protect her brother, whose life is in Chauvelin’s bony, slimy hands. I’m not excusing her actions, of course, as she took hasty decisions due to her feelings of helplessness and anger, but… just put yourself in her shoes for a bit. She didn’t know that her husband was the Scarlet Pimpernel, and while she was reluctant to hand him over to the French authorities, she would choose to save her brother’s life. She knows how intelligent the Scarlet Pimpernel is; she trusted him to be able to defeat Chauvelin on his own.

There is a very brief, but rather touching, if not very realistic, reconciliation scene between her and Percy; he’d distanced himself from her after finding out about her role in the Marquis’ beheading. In a passionate, aggrieved outburst, she gives him a true account of what transpired at the time, and the misconception that she had the Marquis killed on purpose is cleared up, to a great extent. According to me, this also secures the audience’s sympathy toward her [let’s face it, the readers were pretty mad at her just before this scene]. Shortly after, she realises that Percy is the Scarlet Pimpernel, and is extremely horrified at the thought that she has sold him to the devil; no one really expected her to try to remedy the damage she’s caused, but she does, dear readers, she does. She definitely doesn’t lack for wits or courage, but she is rather impulsive in attempting to save her husband and brother from Chauvelin’s clutches; she doesn’t have a proper plan—she just trusts in her intuition [trusting one’s instincts is effective, but I do wish she’d thought a little more before trying to be a knight in shining armour]. Her love and bravery ensure her survival: determined to reach Percy before Chauvelin does [all members of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel are at Calais], she is resolute that she must either warn him of the imminent danger or share his fate. After overcoming a few—ahem— obstacles [a major under-statement], she manages to reach Percy and shriek out a warning to him; not that her warning achieves very much, because Percy already knows Chauvelin is on his way… but this does prove that Marguerite is willing to go to any extent to save those whom she loves, even if it means endangering herself [like I said, she’s not going about this very wisely…]. She eventually secures both her husband and her brother’s lives. Yaaay!

I think it’s wonderful that, in spite of her faults, a naïve, inexperienced socialite risked her life to protect those dear to her. I’d just like to say… hats off to Marguerite!

I need to write a lot more about those fictional characters dear to me… this thread will be continued, so please look forward to it! Thank you!

I hope you enjoyed reading this post!! See you next week!

Toodles!

Jane Eyre: The Book That Is Still Beloved By Everyone

[WARNING: this contains MAJOR  spoilers]

Jane Eyre, originally known as “Jane Eyre: An Autobiography”, is a novel by British author Charlotte Brontë, published on 16^th October 1847, under the pen name of “Currer Bell”. Jane Eyre is an intricately detailed, realistically presented account of women and their social position in 18th-19th century England; it follows the experiences of its titular heroine, Jane, and outlines her struggles as she becomes an adult and falls in love with Mr Rochester, the moody, quiet master of a manor named Thornfield Hall. Dear reader, Jane Eyre is one of my absolute favourite books; it’s considered a masterpiece by readers and critics alike! The book clearly criticises society’s treatment of women, and since the beginning, Jane is seen to be a strong-willed girl who constantly breaks stereotypes and establishes herself as her own person. A strongly evocative novel, Jane Eyre is way ahead of its time as it deals with feminism, class, sexuality and religion in a straight-forward way. Jane is definitely one of the most relatable protagonists in the history of English Literature; she has been called one of the most influential female characters of all time, and I feel it’s safe to say that she carries the book on her shoulders. As the narrative is in first person, it’s easy to connect with her and feel all the emotions she experiences throughout the book. Even in the beginning, her POV reveals her to be a thoughtful, observant child.

The novel’s setting is somewhere in the north of England, toward the end of the reign of George the Third [1760-1820]. The reader is introduced to Jane as an orphan living at Gateshead Hall—she is physically and emotionally abused by her maternal aunt, Mrs Reed, and her cousins; at one point, she defends herself against her fourteen-year-old cousin, John Reed, and is severely punished for the same—she is locked up in the “Red Room” in which her late uncle had died. Critics suggest that this little scene, while played out subtly, is significant as it lays the ground for the “ambiguous relationship between parents and children”, which is even detected in Jane’s later interactions with male figures. She is eventually sent to a charity school for girls, named “Lowood”; as is to be expected, Jane’s experiences at this place are not healthy at all; she is relieved to be away from the Reeds, certainly, but is maltreated at this school due to Mrs Reed’s untruthful descriptions of her [she has been called “a cheat” and “a liar” by her “aunt”]. However, she does bond with an older student named Helen Burns; the two girls bond over their shared love of books. Helen and Miss Temple, the gentle superintendent, become Jane’s guardians and care-takers, guiding her and keeping her spirits up in spite of the harsh treatment she has received from many others—especially the director of the institution, Mr Brocklehurst. I love Helen; however, there is an epidemic of typhus at the institution, and she is among the first to catch it. In a particularly touching scene, she dies peacefully in Jane’s arms. She was Jane’s first and dearest friend…

Don’t worry, conditions at the school improve dramatically after Brocklehurst’s mistreatment of the students is discovered—they’d been subjected to malnourishment, cold and rooms, and thin clothing; now, several sympathetic big-shots erect a new building and reign Brocklehurst in.

What does the name “Lowood” suggest to you, dear reader? That’s right, it emphasises the hurdles in Jane’s life at this point of time; she has been grievously wronged, don’t you think? The chapters dealing with her time at Lowood are, in my opinion, the most graphic and poignant.  She completes her education and stays on as a teacher at Lowood for two years, but soon leaves in pursuit of a new life. There is a certain amount of uncertainty in these chapters, as she is about to spread her wings and fly out into the wide world for the first time; she decides to advertise her services as a governess, and the advertisement is soon answered by one Alice Fairfax, a housekeeper at Thornfield Hall. [Patience. Mr. Rochester will enter soon]. Jane accepts this position and begins teaching Adéle Varens, a bright little French girl.

Jane eventually meets the master of the manor in a most unlikely manner: his horse slips on ice and unseats him; despite the man’s surliness, Jane helps him out of the goodness of her heart and gets him back on his horse. At that time, she is unaware of the fact that the grouchy man is Mr. Edward Rochester. I don’t really know what to make of Rochester as a character—I neither like nor dislike him; he is clearly quite sullen and, as is soon revealed, arrogant, as well as morally ambiguous. Adéle is the daughter of a late French dancer named Céline, who was Rochester’s mistress; she was unfaithful to him, however, and claimed that Adéle was his child, though he did not believe her [quite understandably, I might add]. Céline abandoned Adéle [what kind of irresponsible mother was she?], causing Rochester to step in and adopt her.

Though Jane does not like Rochester’s cold, arrogant, devil-may-care manner at first, she slowly warms up to him [Rochester is clearly intrigued by her and enjoys conversing with her]. He was created to serve as a love interest as well as a character foil [as a Literature student, the latter is of greater interest to me]; he represents Jane’s unbridled side, while her cool and composed cousin St. John [who appears later in the novel] represents her calm, rational side. Honestly, Rochester is pretty graphic as a character, and I see him as a “force of nature”, if you know what I mean.

Right, so…. Rather odd things begin happening at the house—a wild laugh is heard; Jane literally saves Rochester’s life by putting out a mysterious fire in his room; a guest named Mr. Mason is

attacked [bitten, in fact. Brrrrr!]. The romantic tension between Jane and Rochester is increased when he gently thanks her for rescuing him; she reciprocates his feelings to a degree, but then—oh dear. She notices that Rochester seems to favour a beautiful, talented, rich, snobbish and selfish young lady called Blanche Ingram; she does not even attempt to disguise her contempt of Jane, who is, to her narrow mind, simply a lowly governess, a woman who has to work for a living.

At that time, as all of you probably know already, class and social status were extremely important—they were the basis of the hierarchy. Women who worked for a living were looked down upon by several of the “high-class” families; it was thought that women who had a secure position in society had no need to fetch for themselves [which, unfortunately, was true for women in those times].

There’s an incident that left a deep imprint on me. Jane receives word that her cruel aunt has suffered a stroke and is dying; she travels to Gateshead and devotedly attends to her dying aunt’s needs for a month. Mrs Reed asks for her forgiveness, admitting that she wronged her, and produces a letter from Jane’s paternal uncle, Mr. John Eyre, in which he asks for Jane to be sent to him to be his heir. Mrs Reed confesses to Jane that she, out of her resentment toward Jane, lied to Mr. Eyre, telling him that the girl died of fever at Lowood. A short while later, Mrs Reed passes away, and Jane returns to Thornfield after the funeral. [I’d like your opinions on this. What emotions does this incident evoke in you? Bitterness at Mrs Reed’s extreme mistreatment of a blameless, penniless niece? Marvel at Jane’s forgiving nature? Or just inexplicable sadness?].

Back at Thornfield, Jane frets over Rochester’s impending marriage to Miss Ingram; though she is normally self-controlled and prudent, she is unable to restrain herself and ends up revealing her sincere feelings for him. Noting that she is in earnest, Rochester proposes marriage; Jane does not believe him at first, but finally accepts his proposal after realising that he means it. She writes to her Mr. Eyre to inform him of this happy news. Oh, joy!

Alas! Jane’s happiness does not last long. During their [extremely quiet] wedding ceremony, Mr. Mason and a lawyer burst in upon the scene and declare that the marriage is unlawful, because Rochester already has a wife—Bertha, Mr. Mason’s sister; Rochester was tricked into marrying her by father, as she was a rich heiress. Once they were united, however, he discovered that she was fast slipping into congenital madness. He eventually decided to lock her up and hired a seamstress named Grace Poole to look after her. When Grace gets drunk [which she frequently does], Bertha escapes and rampages around Thornfield. I assure you, that is not an exaggeration.

As it turns out, Mr. Eyre is a friend of Mr. Mason’s and was visited by him soon after Mr. Eyre received Jane’s tidings of her impending marriage. Well, of course, the wedding ceremony is broken off, and poor Jane is shattered; Rochester asks her to travel with him to the south of France where they can live peacefully even if they’re not legally married, but Jane, a devout Christian and a thoroughly ethical person, refuses to abandon her strong morals. In spite of her love for him, she leaves Thornfield in the dead of night. [I honestly felt so bad for Jane. She deserved all the happiness in the world—she has endured so much already].

Seeking other employment, Jane travels as far from Thornfield as she can, using the little money she has [very prudently] saved up. She accidentally leaves her belongings in the coach and is forced to sleep on the moor. She manages to make her way to the home of two young ladies called Diana and Mary Rivers, but collapses on the doorstep, half-dead from exhaustion. The girls’ brother, St. John, a missionary [I told you about him at the beginning of this post, remember?] rescues her; after her health improves, he finds her a teaching position at a nearby village school. She quickly befriends the sisters, but St. John remains cold and unyielding.

… There is a high possibility that Jane could’ve been happy here; she has barely any hurdles to face here, and is well-cared for [she’s also able to support herself financially. She is in a fairly good position and is employed. Self-sufficient as ever!]. However, the sisters leave to apply as governesses, and St. John, who has learnt of Jane’s true identity [he was unaware of the fact that she was an Eyre] informs her that Mr. Eyre has died and left her his entire fortune of 20,000 pounds [ that’s right! That’s a lot!]. When she presses him further, he reveals that Mr. Eyre is his and his sisters’ uncle as well, but he has not left them anything. Of course, Jane’s joy knows no bounds; she is truly happy for the first time in a while, and she insists on sharing her new-found inheritance with her cousins.

I’m sure you can see the clouds clearing. She is now in a much better position than she was before!

St. John has been observing her deeply, and has noticed how pious and religious she is; he believes she will be a suitable wife for a clergyman and, purely out of duty, asks her to go with to India. She is excited at the prospect of going to India, but suggests that they travel as siblings [they are cousins, after all]. She mystically hears Rochester’s voice calling her name. Fearing the worst, she immediately returns to Thornfield, finding only black ruins in place of the stately manor. She learns that Bertha Mason [arguably the novel’s most graphic character] set the place on fire, then threw herself off the roof. While attempting to rescue the other occupants, Rochester lost a hand and his eyesight; Jane has an emotional reunion with him, but he is afraid that she will be repulsed by his condition, weakened and dependent as he is. He inquires, “Am I hideous, Jane?” and she replies, “Very, sir; you always were, you know.” She assures him that she no qualms about spending the rest of her life with him; Rochester proposes again, and she accepts. They are married, and the author leads us to believe that in spite of their significant age gap and Rochester’s frail health, they are happy. Indeed, he even regains sufficient sight to see their new-born son!

I hope this post has managed to do Charlotte Brontë’s masterpiece justice. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—while no character is less than incredibly satisfying, Jane obviously stands out, bringing out the author’s creative genius and helping readers see the social disparities of those times through her eyes. The novel focuses as much on emotions [such as love] as it does on Jane’s personal growth—that’s why I love it! Jane is a highly relatable, unforgettable character. Jane Eyre is a book that will endure for centuries to come, beloved by readers of all ages.

That’s all for now! See you next time!

Thank you!

Reviewing “Akame ga KILL!”: An Emotional and Psychological Roller-Coaster Ride

“Akame ga KILL!” is a manga that began serialisation in March 2010, and ran till December 2016. I read it for the first time not too long ago—July 2018—and as someone who keeps coming back to it, I’m qualified enough to review it [I suppose. Dear reader, do bear with me]. It’s an extremely impactful manga [as is obvious from the title itself, and those who’ve read it will agree with me], so I absolutely must talk about it. I shall do my best to be fair and consistent throughout. This I solemnly swear.

In a nutshell, the manga is about a teenager named Tatsumi, who arrives at the doorstep of a vast city known simply as the “Capital”, intending to make a name for himself as an Imperial soldier and aid his poverty-stricken village. However, he quickly realises that the Capital is far from the dreamy, rose-tinted haven he figured it would be—while the countryside is dying, the Capital is blooming with decadence and is the centre of the rot seen throughout the nation. Furthermore, he encounters a group of [mostly] female assassins known as “Night Raid”; he is recruited by them after they witness him ruthlessly cutting down a girl, Aria, who tortured and killed his friends. … Sweet for him to be surrounded by beautiful and extremely powerful young ladies, right? [Just kidding, sorry].

“Akame ga KILL!” is about radical change. Night Raid is only one of several groups fighting to destroy the flawed hierarchy they live in— the Prime Minister, Honest, and his cohorts have made the nation a living hell, while the young and rather emotionally vulnerable Emperor is simply a puppet. [Talk about irony… seriously, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when I learnt that the Prime Minister was called Honest]. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Tatsumi finds himself swept up in this revolutionary wave. What makes this manga stand out? I’m going to be very honest here. Nothing makes it “stand out” as such—after all, this isn’t the only manga talking about dissent. It has been called “a dark social commentary”, which I agree with, and it’s a great read for anyone interested in the study of human nature, but the plot is laughably bad at times and quite cliché—like any girl who’s had a traumatic past turns into an assassin? How does that make sense? Let’s face it—every one of us has been through trauma at least once before, right?

One of my hobbies is reading about revolutions and the socio-economic conditions that prompted them, so “Akame ga KILL!” [mind if I call it AgK?] is something I used to be super enthusiastic about.

… It is promising, yes. But it fell short of my expectations.

It’s more of a character-based manga than a plot-based one, and I must say, the characters are excellent. Especially the Empire’s Strongest, General Esdeath, and the deuteragonist, Akame [she can be pretty cliché too, but her characterisation is good, and the creator, Takahiro, evidently put a lot of thought into it]. Yeah, the title is misleading; Akame isn’t the protagonist, Tatsumi is. It’s almost like a bildungsroman, the way it depicts Tatsumi’s immensely satisfying personal growth. Honest is so well-sketched that Takahiro has succeeded in making me [as well as every reader, I dare say] hate him deeply. Oh, and about Esdeath—I have a love-hate relationship with her [ah, the tragedies of a teenager’s life!]. She’s one of the most graphic female antagonists in the history of manga and anime. Special shout-out to one of Night Raid’s most crucial members: Lubbock, an unsung hero. They owe him more than they can ever repay; his character arc’s a real tear-jerker [but I won’t narrate it here. Go check it out yourself].

Esdeath’s personal six-member fighter unit, the Jaegers, are pretty much up-to-the-mark as characters, too: especially Wave [one of my favourites], who serves as a great foil to Tatsumi [he really was simply Tatsumi 2.0 in the beginning, but he greatly evolved as a character later. I’m so proud of his development]; Kurome, Akame’s creepy little sister [… I actually kinda relate to this girl]; and Run, an extremely promising young man who learnt a lesson the hard way—do not try to tear down a system from the inside, no matter how messed up it is. That’s a naïve way of thinking, and there was no way he would have succeeded, even with his guts and formidable intelligence. He’d have had a good chance of success had he joined the rebel army. The poor guy paid for his folly with his life.  I really appreciate Takahiro’s portrayal of strong-willed women—we’ve obviously got Esdeath, who’s a major thorn in the rebels’ side, but we’ve also got the extremely bad-ass girls of Night Raid—they don’t need a man to swoop in and save them! Indeed, they frequently outshine Tatsumi [and every other male character]. Female power!

My biggest issue with AgK? In spite of everything I just said about the characters, the manga only spans 78 chapters, and it’s difficult to establish a connection with the cast at times. How do you expect me to connect with a girl who literally dies in the ninth chapter? I mean, the clue is in the title itself, so I was prepared for extremely graphic deaths, but Takahiro makes it a point to kill off my favourites. I take it as a personal attack. [Perhaps it’s my fault for getting attached to them…? Maybe not. I’ll just blame it on Takahiro].

Conclusively, it’s a manga that actually explodes with potential, and is good for a quick read. The art scenes are extremely beautiful; especially the focus on people’s eyes—very expressive. If you’re looking for an extremely logical or sensible plot, I wouldn’t recommend reading it. If you cry easily and are scared of the dark [like I used to be], you probably shouldn’t read it. However, if you enjoy reading about assassins, or you’re studying History, Sociology, or Psychology [and just desperately need to kick back and read something that’s not too long], go ahead and read it! If you don’t really like it [or my review], take it with a pinch of salt. That’s my take on it.

Thank you! I hope you liked my review!

A Secret Study of Shishio Makoto

Hello everyone! I’m back! Today, I feel like doing a brief character analysis for Shishio Makoto, the main antagonist of Rurouni Kenshin’s “Kyoto” storyline [if you’d like some more information, I’ve written a post on Rurouni Kenshin, as well as a separate post on its legendary protagonist, Himura Kenshin. You can go check them out!]. Rurouni Kenshin spans 255 chapters and has two major antagonists; both of them are terrifying and impactful in their own ways, but I greatly prefer Shishio to Yukishiro Enishi, the second antagonist [you’ll find out why when you read the manga. Heh]. RuroKen is a really old [and iconic] manga, and Shishio rightly occupies the role of one of the most unforgettable villains in the history of manga and anime. He’s an utterly graphic character [still not as graphic as Enishi, but yeah. Good enough to send chills down every reader’s spine]. As we delve deeper into this topic, I’ll give you an insight into Shishio’s past [it’s not right to talk about him without bringing up his dreadful past]. Alright, let’s do this!

Dude has the most ironic name ever. His first name, Makoto, means “Truth” [my sister would probably say, “one could cut this irony with a sword!”]. Shishio is an excellent representation of the darkness of human nature. He lives in the Meiji Era, but it’s hardly necessary to say that he does not agree with the Meiji Government’s peaceful ideology at all; he has a very warped way of thinking, and firmly believes that “in this world, the flesh of the weak is food for the strong.” [… Well. It is true that only the strong survive under the most severe and dire conditions; however, there are people who may initially be weak, but circumstances mould and strengthen them. Also, there are people like Kenshin, always ready to extend a helping hand to those who need it. So, I don’t really agree with Shishio’s philosophy. To each his own, I guess]. What went wrong in his life? What turned him into a cynical megalomaniac? He was a young and power-hungry assassin for the Ishin Shishi during the Bakumatsu; when the higher-ups found that they couldn’t control him, they sought to cover up their huge mistake by trying to burn him alive [I know. It’s horrible]. Unfortunately for them, he didn’t die; now, ten years after that incident, he’s terribly disfigured and covered in burns, and is unable to regulate his body temperature by sweating. He’s crazy powerful, but his fighting capacity is fifteen minutes at a time; he runs high risks of spontaneously combusting if he fights for more than the stipulated time period [that’s exactly what happens to him. The maniac combusts while laughing and shrieking about how he hasn’t been defeated yet.  I suppose that’s what we’d call “having the last laugh”].

Throughout the Kyoto arc, he is seen as a symbol of Kenshin’s own bitter past, “a phantom of the Bakumatsu and the Meiji Government’s wrongdoings.” You know, dear reader, Shishio is actually a perfect foil to Kenshin. They’re similar in some ways [both are infamous assassins, both were allied with the Ishin Shishi, both are insanely talented prodigies, both are extremely charismatic, even manipulative]. However, Shishio’s ideology and homicidal tendencies are a far cry from Kenshin’s way of living. Their level of connection is intriguing as well as creepy—would you believe Kenshin was able to decode and intercept Shishio’s over-elaborate plan of taking Japan by storm and overthrowing the government? And Shishio actually expected him to be able to figure out all those tiny intricacies and faults! Like both of them have stated, they tend to know what the other is thinking, because they were both assassins.

Perhaps the most striking thing about Shishio is his utter lack of redeeming qualities. Yes, the government did horrible and inhumane things to him. I get it. But he brought it upon himself! He knows he did! There’s no need to sympathise with him—he doesn’t need or deserve it [still, I shudder whenever I think about those burns of his]. I want to say that I like the creation and development of his character very much, simply because—well—doesn’t he make a great villain?? He spices up the plot quite a bit! His conflict with Kenshin—the focal point of the Kyoto arc—is well-thought-out, even if it’s a bit rushed in a few parts [… yeah, Watsuki does that at times… RuroKen is still perfectly amazing though]. To Shishio, Kenshin is a puppet of the “irrational” and “weak” [lol “pacifist” and “weak” are two very different things, but he doesn’t seem to understand that, in spite of his great intelligence] Meiji Government; honestly, he’s the one who’s being irrational. Kenshin is not a puppet [but that’s just the way Shishio thinks].

I’m gonna talk about his death some more. I told you he combusted, right? His death was something I hadn’t really predicted. I knew all too well that the only way to stop him was his complete destruction, but I was also painfully aware of the fact that Kenshin wouldn’t break his no-killing vow… so, I have mixed feelings about that man’s death. The flames that should’ve killed him all those years ago consumed him at the end of the Kyoto storyline, and a lot of turbulent emotions were raging inside me while I was reading that chapter. I was kinda relieved, because he’d given the legendary Himura Battousai so much trouble [Kenshin was on the verge of death after he was done dealing with Shishio], but I was also a bit… disappointed? Indeed, Kyoto was one hell of an arc, and I guess I was a little sad when it ended [initially, though, I was hoping for it to end soon ‘cause it was terrifying, lol]. According to me, the biggest point of the last major battle was that there wasn’t a “victor”. There never is, in such situations. There are only survivors; in this case, Kenshin was the survivor.

I have always been struck by how good Shishio is with words. He doesn’t care about other people very much, but he has a vast train of followers, and most would willingly lay down their lives for him without a second thought. They’re all people who resent the Meiji Government for its hypocrisy and hidden darkness [a sociopathic seventeen-year-old boy, a beautiful and intelligent former geisha, a blind and highly skilled swordsman, an angsty fallen monk who believes in Shishio’s “radical” policies, an extremely unstable but highly capable strategist—these are the ones who struck me the most. There are more, of course].

… Whew. This is a “brief” analysis. I do hope you liked it!

See you next time! Toodles!

Thank you!

The Moonbeam of our Lives: Hope

Hello everyone! Today's post is going to be  a little different. I'd like to share one of my thoughts with you. At some point in our lives, I'm sure all of us feel like giving up and just coming to a halt, unwilling to move forward. Maybe things aren't going the way we want them to, and we're emotionally drained. I've felt that way loads of times (aah don't ask me to explain how irrationally I used to behave at such times); I can't do much to help you guys, but a thought came to me yesterday, and maybe-- just maybe-- I might be able to make you feel a little better. (Lol this explanation is too long).
"Hope is like a moonbeam: pure, silvery, bright, yet faint at times; still, at least you know that it's there, and that it won't disappear. It comforts and strengthens you, and manages to pull you out of your Slough of Despond. If you continue believing and hoping even when things are going horribly wrong, you will achieve whatever you're reaching for."
... This might sound a bit fanciful,  but it is true. It's based on personal experience. In a world of darkness, even a pale beam of light can work wonders. Every cloud has a silver lining!
(Next week,  I'll be back with a long post!). See you!
Thank you! I hope you like this post!
Toodles!

Great Expectations

[WARNING: This contains MAJOR spoilers]

Great Expectations is the thirteenth novel by Charles Dickens, published in 1861. It is also his penultimate completed novel. It’s an articulate but rather depressing coming-of-age [bildungsroman] novel, and depicts the growth and development of a young and [initially] rather naïve young orphan, Pip. It’s fully narrated in the first person, just like David Copperfield. Great Expectations is one of my favourite books; I’m not very fond of any of the characters, but it’s so well-written, and conveys Pip’s feelings so accurately, one can’t help but be caught up in Dickens’ storm of hopes and fears, friendship and betrayal, pain and rage, love and hate.  I was only thirteen the first time I read it, but I read it so thoroughly and thought about it for so long that I understood it well, even at that tender age when I knew nothing about the ways of the world.  I’ll do my best to do this book justice in this post, dear reader! Here goes!

The book is set in Kent and London in the mid-nineteenth century. On Christmas Eve, 1812, a quiet and thoughtful little orphan, Philip Pirrip [Pip], is accosted by an escaped convict in the village churchyard, while visiting the graves of his parents and siblings. Pip has been taken into custody by his violent older sister [she’s more than twenty years ahead of him] and her kind, gentle husband Joe Gargery, a blacksmith. The convict succeeds in scaring the child into stealing food and a file. The next morning, while everyone is asleep, Pip returns with the promised file, a pie, and some brandy. Pip’s theft is almost discovered at dinner that evening; however, soldiers arrive at the smithy and ask Joe to repair some shackles. Joe and Pip accompany the soldiers to the marshes, where Pip recognises the convict who threatened him last night; the wretched man is locked in a fight with another escaped criminal. The soldiers recapture the two men, and the first convict confesses to stealing food from the smithy, without dragging Pip into this mess [unexpected kindness!]. Though he is badly shaken by this incident [obviously], it soon becomes little more than a distant memory.

A year passes by uneventfully. Enter Miss Havisham [one of the darkest and most graphic characters in all of literature. I do not like her at all, but Dickens has done a particularly good job with this woman. She’s so extremely unlikeable, and rather mysterious in the beginning; I always saw analysing her as a challenge]. She is a wealthy spinster who still wears her old wedding dress and lives as a recluse in a dilapidated mansion called “Satis House”; she asks Mr. Pumblechook, an acquaintance of hers and a relative of the Gargerys, to find a boy to visit her and amuse her [I know. Whimsical much?]. Pip reluctantly visits Miss Havisham, and is deeply attracted to her adopted daughter, Estella, a devastatingly beautiful but cold and aloof young lady. She treats Pip with hostility because of his big, rough hands and patched boots. Miss Havisham encourages Estella’s unpleasant behaviour toward Pip, who visits Miss Havisham every Tuesday, until he is old enough to learn a trade. He dislikes and fears the eccentric Miss Havisham, but has learned to [somewhat] hide his revulsion. Soon, he is apprenticed to Joe and sets about learning the trade of the blacksmith. However, having met Estella, Pip yearns to rise above his station.

Joe’s surly and obnoxious assistant, Dolge Orlick, is envious of Pip and hates Mrs Joe. Orlick himself is a slow man, while Pip is bright and quick, and learns the trade relatively easily. When Pip and Joe are away from the house, Mrs Joe is violently attacked, and sustains severe injuries to her head. It is suspected that Orlick is behind the attack [yes, he is]. Mrs Joe loses the ability to speak; now that her tongue no longer runs wild, she becomes a surprisingly soft and humble person, and Pip and his childhood friend, an orphaned girl called Biddy, devote themselves to taking care of her. [Biddy is a wonderful person. She’s a much better person than Miss High-And-Mighty Estella, but Estella is far more interesting as a character].

Four years pass by in this fashion. Mr. Jaggers, a sharp, taciturn lawyer, informs Pip that he has been provided with money from an anonymous benefactor, so that he can “become a gentleman”. This gracious benefactor is assumed to be Miss Havisham. Pip, wishing to leave for London, decides to visit Miss Havisham one last time. At London, Pip takes up residence at Barnard’s Inn, and befriends Herbert Pocket, the jocular son of his tutor, Matthew Pocket, who is a cousin of Miss Havisham [and the only person, apart from Estella, whom the old lady remotely trusts]. Herbert and Pip have met once before—years before, when Herbert was rejected as a suitable companion for Estella. He knows a lot about Miss Havisham; he narrates to Pip the story of how Miss Havisham was cheated out of her inheritance and abandoned at the altar by her fiancé, turning her into a bitter, cruel woman who sees all men as her mortal enemies. [I was shocked by this story, and a fragment of pity for the broken-hearted Miss Havisham crept into my heart, but she doesn’t really deserve much sympathy. She even raised Estella to be a heartless monster. How can you prey on a young girl and control her life like that?]. Pip meets two other pupils—Bentley Drummle, a brutish rich brat, and a lad called Startop, who is agreeable.

Joe decides to visit Pip at Barnard’s Inn; Pip is ashamed of his brother-in-law’s coarse and uncultivated speech and manners. [That’s ungrateful of Pip. Joe raised him]. Through Joe, Pip learns that Estella will be at Satis House for a visit. When he returns to Satis House to meet Estella, he finds her favourably altered—she is less snobbish now, and much more mature. Pip finds himself unwilling to visit Joe, and returns to London, where he and Herbert exchange their romantic secrets: Pip is head-over-heels for Estella, while Herbert is engaged to a sweet, wise girl named Clara. Pip soon has occasion to meet Estella again—when she is sent to Richmond to be introduced into society.

Things don’t go very well for Pip from here—he doesn’t handle his money well and ends up running into debts, while Mrs Joe dies. He returns home for the funeral. When he comes of age at 21, his annual income is fixed at 500 pounds. Full of good intentions, he intends to help Herbert, who is in a tight spot himself, by anonymously securing him a position with the shipbroker, Clarriker’s. Pip encounters Estella again [they accidentally-on-purpose run into each other a lot, don’t they?] and takes her to Satis House, where she gets into an argument with Miss Havisham [Estella has been turned into such a cold, calculating girl that she can’t even love her benefactress and guardian. Love is a stranger to her. It’s Miss Havisham’s fault, of course, but Estella is still not someone who’s even remotely likeable—to me, at least]. In London, Pip notices Drummle’s attentions to Estella with growing alarm; when he tries to warn her of Drummle’s ruthless nature, she laughs at his fears and declares that she has no qualms about “entrapping” Drummle the way she has been taught.

Ah! Soon, dear reader, the mysterious benefactor’s identity will be revealed [it is not Miss Havisham]. A week after his twenty-third birthday, to his shock, Pip discovers that Abel Magwitch, the convict he encountered in the churchyard, is the one who has been helping him all this while. [Yes, let that sink in]. He was transported to New South Wales, and has gained enormous wealth after winning his freedom; however, he cannot return to England on pain of death. He is very grateful to the kind child who fed him on that forlorn day several years back, and has returned to England only for Pip. Pip is appalled, and stops taking money from him. Subsequently, he and Herbert devise a plan to help Magwitch escape from England. Sharing his history with Pip, Magwitch reveals that the criminal whom he fought in the churchyard that evening was none other than Compeyson, the fraudster who deserted Miss Havisham.

Pip returns to Satis House, hoping to catch a glimpse of Estella. He accuses Miss Havisham of misleading him about his benefactor. She admits to doing so. Pip declares his undying love for Estella, only to be coldly rejected; she tells him of her plans to marry that bestial Drummle. Devastated, Pip returns to London, where Jaggers’ clerk, Wemmick [with whom Pip has struck up a close friendship] warns him that Compeyson is seeking him, having found out about his connection to Magwitch and Miss Havisham. Pip and Herbert continue planning out Magwitch’s escape. A few days later, Pip is invited to Jaggers’ home for dinner; there, Wemmick reveals that Jaggers acquired his vicious-looking maidservant, Molly, several years ago, when he rescued her from the gallows [she was guilty of murder. Pip notices that she has several angry scars on the insides of her wrists]. He is both shaken and intrigued by this juicy piece of news. When he visits Miss Havisham again after a while, she tells him the story of how she adopted Estella. She is full of remorse [though the reason for her sudden change of heart is never revealed]. Prepare to be shocked—Estella is actually the child of Molly and Magwitch. As an infant, she was brought to Miss Havisham by Jaggers, and the spinster raised her to be an icy, gorgeous monster. [However, Miss Havisham herself knows nothing about Estella’s parentage; the above deduction is made by Pip, based off numerous facts he has gathered]. She asks Pip for his forgiveness, and informs him that Estella is now married.

She deeply regrets her manipulation of two promising youngsters. Though her sudden revelations shock and horrify Pip, he is not as bitter as I’d thought he’d be. Just as he is about to leave, Miss Havisham’s dress catches fire. Without hesitating, Pip saves her, sustaining injuries in the process. However, nothing can save Miss Havisham from her ultimate fate—death. She succumbs to her injuries soon. [I’d like your opinion here. How do you feel about her death?]. Pip confronts Jaggers with his deduction; Jaggers simply discourages Pip from investigating Estella’s parentage further. A few days before Magwitch’s great escape, Pip is suddenly attacked by Orlick [yes, the same guy who was thought to have assaulted Mrs Joe], who admits to having injured her. Just as he attempts to knock Pip down with a hammer, Herbert and Startop rush in and rescue Pip, restraining Orlick. The three of them then pick up Magwitch to row him to the steamboat for Hamburg, but alas! Their plans are foiled—they are intercepted by a police boat carrying Compeyson, who has offered to identify Magwitch. Magwitch and Compeyson get into a scuffle, and Compeyson is killed, while the grievously injured Magwitch is arrested.

Pip is painfully aware of the fact that Magwitch’s fortune will now go to the crown; however, Herbert, who is preparing to move to Cairo to manage Clarriker’s office there, offers Pip a position there. Pip regularly visits the hospitalised Magwitch as he awaits trial, and on Magwitch’s deathbed informs him that his daughter, Estella, is alive. After Herbert’s departure for Egypt, Pip falls seriously ill; he finds a devoted and tender nurse in Joe, the brother-in-law he used to be so ashamed of. Pip recovers steadily under Joe’s watchful care, and attempts to sincerely thank him, but the latter brushes it off. Realising that Biddy is worth ten of Estella, Pip proposes to her, only to discover that she has married Joe. [… Well, she wasn’t just going to sit around waiting for that prat named Pip forever, right? First come first served!]. Pip asks Joe to forgive him and, determined to make the most of his time by working hard, accepts Herbert’s warm-hearted offer and leaves for Cairo, where he lodges with Herbert and his wife Clara [that’s right, Herbert is married now]. The industrious and sharp-witted Pip quickly advances to the position of third-in-command; only then does Herbert learn that Pip paid for his position in the firm. His joy and gratitude know no bounds.

Pip works in Egypt for eleven years, after which he returns to England to visit Joe and Biddy [and their cute little son, Pip Jr.]. As you’ve probably noticed, Pip is irresistibly drawn to Satis House; the climax of the novel is no exception. When he visits the manor’s ruins, he encounters a much sadder and graver Estella—she has recently been widowed. Well, her married life was far from happy; Drummle proved to be abusive. She asks Pip to forgive her, assuring him that the rough-and-tumble of life has opened her eyes and heart. As Pip silently takes her hand and they leave the moonlit ruins, he declares that he sees “no shadow of another parting from her.” Two of the novel’s most well-drawn and poignantly depicted characters, brought together by a series of unfortunate events.

… I feel so accomplished after writing this! I do hope you enjoy reading this article, and I hope it strikes the chords of your heart!

See you next time!

Thank you!