Lord Edgware Dies

[WARNING: This contains MAJOR spoilers]

Hello Friend, I’m back! This time, I’m going to write about Lord Edgware Dies, a work of detective fiction by the Queen of Crime, Dame Agatha Christie [it features everyone’s favourite detective, Hercule Poirot, his close friend Captain Arthur Hastings, and Chief Inspector Japp]. All of Christie’s books are refreshing and unusual, but Lord Edgware Dies struck me particularly hard because it meddles with the readers’ minds so much, leaving us quite unable to reach a decisive conclusion till Poirot solves the case for us—and it seems so simple when he lays out the facts and his [frighteningly accurate] deductions before us; one cannot help but marvel at the complexity of this particular case [I said it seems simple, I never said that it was a simple case]. Poirot’s “little grey cells” are furiously at work! An alternative title was “Thirteen at Dinner”, arising from a superstition that sitting down thirteen to dinner means bad luck to the person wo first leaves the table. [Creepily, a young actor named Donald Ross rises first, and is killed shortly after].  The book was published in 1933, and was well received at publication, with reviews calling it “ingenious”, “clever”, and “unusual”. Let’s dive right into it, shall we?

Poirot and Hastings attend a performance by genius impressionist Carlotta Adams [ who is based on the American dramatist Ruth Draper], where Poirot is approached by a famous American actress, Jane Wilkinson, also known as Lady Edgware. She requests his assistance in asking her tyrannical and queer husband, Lord Edgware, to divorce her [she has her eyes on a young man, the Duke of Merton, and wishes to be free so she can marry him]. She is shockingly self-centred and displays little regard for human life, stating that she’d like to “come around in a taxi and bump him [Edgware] off” [the nerve of her. Saying such things in front of a detective—and not just any detective!]; out of curiosity, Poirot accepts her request [he finds her to be strange, extremely shrewd and manipulative, and quite compelling]. However, when he meets with Lord Edgware, the latter coldly informs him that he has already agreed to a divorce and has sent a letter to his wife confirming this; Wilkinson insists that she never received it. The following morning, Inspector Japp informs Poirot and Hastings that Lord Edgware was  killed at his home in Regent Gates the previous evening—he was stabbed in the neck. The crime has been carried out with extreme methodical efficiency, and the perpetrator must needs be a very clear-headed, cool person.  Edgware’s butler and secretary, Miss Carrol, bear witness to the fact that Wilkinson visited him that night; however, unfortunately for them, she has an alibi—a morning newspaper reveals that she attended a dinner party that evening. Several people saw her, and they vouch for her. She is still the prime suspect, though, given the butler and secretary’s accounts, and her own boasting of what she’d do to Edgware [though he had several other enemies, including his own daughter, Geraldine, and his nephew, Ronald]. Poirot recalls that Miss Adams could impersonate Jane Wilkinson and becomes concerned for the former’s safety; his concerns are definitely not unfounded—she is found dead that same morning, from an overdose of Veronal [though her maid confirms that she was not an addict]. I wasn’t upset about Edgware’s death, but I liked Adams and wanted to see more of her. She didn’t deserve to die like this. [… Why am I digressing…?].

Poirot is somewhat puzzled by these two rapid deaths [they are obviously linked, but he needs answers]; he makes note of some things that are extremely significant: an angsty actor, Bryan Martin, who is also Jane’s former lover, declares her to be a completely amoral person who only cares about herself; Donald Ross, one of the thirteen guests at the party, witnessed her taking a phone call from someone that night; a pair of pince-nez and a gold case containing the drug are found in Adams’ possession, though the maid states that neither she nor her mistress wore glasses. Besides, another potential suspect crops up—Edgware’s nephew, Ronald Marsh, who had been disowned by his uncle three months earlier. The butler is also suspected of having killed his master, as he has disappeared along with a sum of francs in the nobleman’s possession [this butler has also previously been involved in a number of disreputable activities. However, as Poirot states, that doesn’t make him a murderer]. It is soon revealed that Adams sent a letter to her younger sister in America shortly before her death; Poirot believes this letter will put the missing pieces together. Accordingly, he makes a request for it. A copy is sent via telegram, from which it comes to light that Adams was offered ten thousand dollars to participate in a little hoax and impersonate someone; though the letter makes it seem as if the person was a man, Poirot notes some oddities and suspects Adams was hired to impersonate Wilkinson.

Japp believes that Marsh was the one who roped Adams into that hoax, and arrests him. Marsh vehemently denies killing Adams or his uncle, but admits that he and his cousin, Geraldine, went to Regent Gates that fateful night, where he spotted Martin leaving the house while Geraldine was returning with some pearls for him. Poirot is sure that Marsh is not guilty of murder; however, he is simply biding his time. Hastings attends a luncheon party along with Wilkinson and Ross, during which the guests discuss Paris of Troy; Wilkinson, believing the discussion to be about France’s capital, gaily exclaims, “Paris has no relevance anymore! London and New York are the rage these days.” Ross is quite puzzled by this, and confides to Hastings that he has some information on Wilkinson, but it may be insignificant [it’s not insignificant at all though]; he telephones Poirot, but is fatally stabbed before he can explain in detail. That’s the third death in a row. This even baffles the One and Only Poirot [only momentarily, of course]; he overhears a chance remark from a crowd leaving a theatre, which leads him to talk to Wilkinson’s maid Ellis, a small and precise woman with a tight, disapproving face. This “chance remark of a stranger” has garnered particular critical acclaim.

Poirot gathers the suspects together and reveals the killer in all three murders is Jane Wilkinson; she killed Lord Edgware because the Duke of Merton is a devout Roman Catholic and could not marry a divorced woman. She recruited Adams to impersonate her at the dinner party, while she killed her husband, then finished Adams off with a fatal dose of Veronal. The two women exchanged clothes before and after the party; while waiting for Adams to return from the party, Wilkinson noticed a letter among Adams’ belongings, and tore off a corner of a page, as the letter would have been evidence against her. As for Ross, he was killed because he realised that Wilkinson wasn’t there that night; she was so completely and utterly ignorant about Greek mythology, whereas Adams had been knowledgeable on the subject and had made quite a few intellectual remarks while impersonating her.

What led Poirot to this theory? Wilkinson lied about not receiving her husband’s letter. She was planning to kill Lord Edgware , and used Poirot to prove she had no motive for his murder; the telephone call to Adams was to confirm if their deception had yet to be exposed [she said, “Is this Lady Edgware?” and Adams answered, “Yes, this is,” at which point Wilkinson laughed and hung up]; the pince-nez indeed belonged to Adams [she used them to disguise herself when she and Wilkinson met in secret]; the gold case containing the incriminating Veronal was created a week prior to the murder, not nine months ago as its inscription implied; a corner of a page [as previously mentioned] was torn off by Wilkinson, changing the pronoun from “she” to “he”. The missing money was stolen by the butler, who closely resembles Martin. Well, of course, Wilkinson is arrested, and sentenced to be hanged; unsurprisingly, she displays no remorse for the three murders she has committed. She does, however, express surprise at Poirot’s intelligence and deductive skills: “I didn’t know you were so frightfully clever. You didn’t look clever.” [This is what she wrote to him from prison]. Furthermore, she writes that she wishes to have an audience for her hanging—an attention-seeking actress to the last, huh?

My sister once said, “Once someone takes a life, they can’t stop. To cover up the first crime, they commit another, then another… it’s a cycle.” Well, she’s completely right. That’s what happened in Jane Wilkinson’s case.

Isn’t this just a marvelous book?!

Thank you! I hope you liked my article!

On Fairies

Hello Friend, today I’m writing about my absolute, undisputed favourite mythical creatures, fairies. Fairies are the most well-known and well-researched mythical creatures, fascinating and intriguing children and adults alike [though some adults choose to conceal their fascination with fairies under a cloak of indifference]. Why did I choose this particular topic? I’ve always been fond of mythical characters, and fairies, due to the various ways in which they have been represented in art and literature, have a very special place in my heart. They’re my best imaginary friends; whenever I’m down in the dumps, I draw comfort and solace from their presence [I obviously can’t see them, but I like to believe that they’re always by my side]. Indeed, now that we’re partway through the twenty-first century, no-one seems to think about fairies much anymore; can you blame these lovely creatures for not revealing themselves? Just because we can’t see them doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Faith can work wonders, and I like to believe that there will come a time when fairies will see fit to reveal themselves and interact with humans again [though this is highly unlikely, considering the direction the world has taken. There’s so much rage and envy and jealousy, not to mention impurity. But I digress. [Oh, and I forgot to mention, my sister is the best real friend I have].

As I stated before, there’s no standard representation of fairies. Myths and legends associated with them have evolved over the centuries. Fairies are mainly “supernatural, preternatural, or mythological” beings or legendary creatures in European folklore [particularly Celtic, Slavic, German, English and French folklore]. Sometimes, they are depicted as sweet-tempered and lovable, forever willing to lend struggling humans a helping hand. They are often depicted as devastatingly beautiful, able to take on forms that bewitch humans. Besides, they’re not always tiny—yes, fairies are quite tiny, but they’ve been portrayed as human-sized as well. French painter Sophie Gengenbre Anderson [1823-1903] created an absolutely lovely version of fairies, titled “Take the Fair Face of Woman, and Gently Suspending, With Butterflies, Flowers, and Jewels Attending, Thus your Fairy is Made of Most Beautiful Things”; the fairy is human-sized.

   Dear friend, myths and legends about fairies do not have a single source. It’s largely a matter of belief—several stories originated from people of different religions, each with their own, often contrasting, interpretations of what a fairy is. For instance, Christian folklore classifies fairies as demoted angels or demons, pre-Christian beliefs state that they are minor deities; they are also seen as spirits of the dead, elemental forces, and a pre-historic version of humans.  The label of “fairy” varies as well—it is often used to describe tiny, powerful creatures with quick minds and a penchant for trickery, while at other times, it has been used as a broad definition for all kinds of magical creatures, such as leprechauns, goblins, gnomes, elves, merrow etc.

In Medieval literature, fairies were often portrayed as antagonistic and mischievous. A common motif in such myths is that fairies can be warded off using particular “charms”: crosses made of rowan, church bells, clothing worn inside-out, four-leaf clover, and food. Fairies are also said to haunt particular locations, and to lure travellers away from their chosen paths using will-o’-the-wisps.  Prior to the advent of  modern medicine, fairies were often blamed for illnesses [particularly tuberculosis and birth deformities]. Wow, because of our ignorance, we were blaming sickness on poor and innocent fairies… [well, they’re not that poor or innocent though, are they?].

Fairies were commonly featured in Renaissance Literature and Romantic Art and Poetry. One of the most prominent depiction of fairies is William Shakespeare’s critically acclaimed romantic comedy, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”; fairies are extremely significant to the plot, as the play deals with two inter-connected realms—our world and the realm of the fairies. A disturbance in nature caused by a massive dispute between the King of the fairies, Oberon, and his Queen, Titania, serves to create tension and disrupts the lives of the human characters as well. Maurice Hunt, Chair of the English Department at Baylor University, stated that the blurring of the identities of fantasy and reality makes possible “that pleasing, narcotic dreaminess associated with the fairies of the play.”

Have you heard of Morgan Le Fay? She is a prominent character in legends connected to King Arthur; she appears as a woman whose magic powers are derived from rigorous study. She isn’t the only one with supernatural powers, though—"Sir Gawaine and The Green Knight" is a late tale, but the Green Knight himself is a preternatural creature. And, of course, one can’t forget Merlin and the Lady of the Lake; 15^th century poet and monk John Lydgate stated that King Arthur was “crowned in the land of fairy” and guarded by four fairy queens, who took him in death and buried him under a “fairy mound”, where he lies to this day [legend has it he will rise when he is needed again].

There’s this really beautiful poem that I absolutely must write about—“La Belle Dame Sans Mercy” [The Beautiful Woman Without Mercy] by Romantic poet John Keats. This poem, which I consider the peak of the Romantic Movement, is a great example of Keats’ melancholic poetic style and preoccupation with love and death. The poem narrates the story of a knight who is condemned to an unpleasant fate after a fairy seduces him with her lovely eyes and beauteous voice. This fairy inspired later representations of mythical creatures, including the trope of fairies as femme fatales. The poem continues to be referenced in many works of literature, music, art, and film.  [John Keats is immortal…].

There’s a lot about fairies that still hasn’t been revealed—I don’t think we know everything there is to know about them yet; it would be arrogant to think that we have studied them minutely enough to know everything about them. Fairies, like humans, constantly re-invent themselves, and they can’t be read all that easily. They are still shrouded in mystery, in a way.

What are your opinions on fairies? Do let me know!

Thank you! See you next time!

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The Creation of the Triple Entente

Hello Friend, I’m back! Today, I’m going to write about the Triple Entente, one of two rival European camps at the beginning of the First World War. The events that led up to this major war are quite complicated [and it was the Sarajevo Crisis of 1914 that eventually caused the outbreak of war], but they’re all connected, and the existence of the Triple Alliance and Triple Entente was a cause for concern. Basically, this is a kind-of-sequel to the post I wrote about Bismarck’s alliances a few months ago; yes, he was responsible for the formation of the Triple Alliance [Germany, Italy, Austria-Hungary]. This post is gonna focus on what other countries did to safeguard against the threat posed by the Triple Alliance! [Though it was actually a defensive alliance…].

In 1890, the German Kaiser, Wilhelm the Second, dismissed Bismarck as Chancellor and advocated a much more aggressive foreign policy. He was boastful, impetuous, and paranoid; he seemed to see enemies in every country. Under his leadership, Germany actively began seeking over-seas possessions and developing the army and navy. These actions had the counter-productive effect of pushing Britain, France and Russia closer together.

The Franco-Russian Alliance [1894]

When Wilhelm the Second allowed the Reinsurance Treaty to lapse in 1890, Russia felt threatened. [Remember the Reinsurance Treaty of 1887? It was a defensive alliance between Germany and Russia]. Let me tell you that there were a lot of differences in the ideologies of France and Russia; France was a republic, whereas Russia was an absolute monarchy in which the tsar reigned supreme. However, these two completely different countries had been enjoying steadily improving relations. Russia was the largest country on the continent, but its military prowess left much to be desired; therefore, from 1888, France provided Russia with cheap loans to finance improvements in its military capabilities. Both countries were wary of the Triple Alliance, so they determined to befriend [well, it was largely an alliance of convenience though] each other. Like the Triple Alliance, the Franco-Russian Alliance was a defensive one. It was agreed that if either country was attacked, the other would come to its aid. Furthermore, the alliance would only remain in place as long as the Triple Alliance existed.

Tensions between Germany and England

Dear friend, in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, European affairs and power politics hardly affected England. The continent was largely peaceful, which had enabled England to expand its overseas possessions without serious challenge. After all, England was an island country protected by its undisputed naval supremacy; the country adopted a policy of “splendid isolation”, by which it stayed out of European skirmishes and back-biting and politics, and concentrated on its empire. However, England wasn’t going to enjoy this dreamy peace for much longer. Germany’s naval programme caused great consternation in England. As a latecomer to the Scramble for Africa, Germany had little overseas colonies of great value, and could afford to concentrate its naval forces in the North Sea; however, England’s navy was dispersed far and wide in order to protect its vast empire. In response to Germany’s naval development, England hit back with its own building programme [hell, the country even launched a super battleship, “Dreadnought”, in 1906]. Germany responded in kind, and a naval arms race developed that increased the simmering tension between the two powerful countries. [Really now, European nations and their politics are so tiresome…].

The Anglo-Japanese Alliance [1902]

England was desperate to end its period of isolation; as we have already seen, the country felt greatly threatened by German naval development, which led it to depart from its traditional isolationist policies and look toward forming protective alliances with other nations. The first example of this is the Anglo-Japanese Alliance of 1902, which offered some protection to English possessions in the Far East in the [at this point, unlikely] event of war. However, the Germans were largely unfazed by this alliance; what was disturbing to them was England’s increased attempts to co-operate with its traditional enemy, France. [That’s right—France! That is certainly surprising, isn’t it?].

The Entente Cordiale [1904]

Following diplomatic discussions between English and French officials in 1903, King Edward the Seventh’s successful visit to France in 1904 led to the Entente Cordiale; this was a series of agreements that would benefit both parties involved, and issues that had soured the relations between them were swiftly settled. For example, the Fashoda incident of 1890 was resolved; the French formally recognised English control of Egypt and Sudan; in exchange, England recognised French presence in Morocco.  The Entente Cordiale lulled France into a sense of temporary security against the threat posed by Germany and its Triple Alliance partners. For England, this alliance offered the much-desired end to European isolation.

The Anglo-Russian Entente [1907]

As I stated before, Russia was becoming increasingly fearful and wary of Germany’s intentions. The Triple Alliance was a massive threat to Russian security, as the Reinsurance Treaty was no longer valid; moreover, Russia, Italy and Austria-Hungary were traditional enemies. Unlike the other major European powers, Russia was economically under-developed, and its military weaknesses were clearly brought to light by its crushing defeat in the Russo-Japanese War [1904-05]. [I’ve written a post on the Russo-Japanese War as well]. England realised that Russia’s army was crippled by ineffective leadership and obsolete weaponry; Russia could obviously not pose a serious challenge to England’s expansionist ambitions. Germany was the bigger threat as of now. Therefore, in 1907, English and Russian officials negotiated the Anglo-Russian Entente.

The Triple Entente [1907]

Now, friend, the Anglo-Russian Entente effectively tied Britain, France and Russia together in a series of friendly alliances, with each country benefiting in some way [that’s the way Europe was back then, y’know? You couldn’t ally yourself with someone without thinking, “What’s in it for me?”. Can you blame them though?]. Anyway, these three countries agreed to support each other in the event of war. This became known as the Triple Entente. Yes—the First World War began in 1914, but by 1907, the whole of Europe was divided into two opposing camps—the Triple Alliance and the Triple Entente, each deeply suspicious of the other, in spite of the fact that both alliances were defensive in character. After all, each nation was simply trying to protect its own interests—and there’s nothing wrong with that. The treaties which were the basis for the formation of these camps were secretive, and this naturally gave rise to suspicions among the powers not involved in the negotiations.

I don’t know about you, but I tend to see pre-WW1 Europe as a massive chessboard, where these nations were players struggling to survive in a hostile environment [my obsession with chessboards seems to show up everywhere…].

What do you think of all these alliances?

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

Thank you!

What are Memory Plays?

Hello friend, this time I’m going to talk about a kind of genre rarely seen these days-- “memory plays”. That’s right, I didn’t know of them either; I only just found out last year. I’ve studied two memory plays, and I absolutely love them; I mean, I love them more than I love Shakespeare! The twentieth century produced some of the greatest and most thought-provoking dramas ever. So, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m writing about memory plays—it just popped into my head; it’s become such an obscure genre that I’d like to see if I can do it justice with this blog post. I hope you enjoy my blog post! [I’ll try to explain them as well as I can…].

A memory play is a play in which a lead character narrates the events of the play, as though looking at their past through a thin screen. The term was coined by famous American playwright Thomas Lanier “Tennessee” Williams—his most successful play, The Glass Menagerie, was described by him as a “memory play”. However, to cite The Glass Menagerie as the only memory play in existence is restricting oneself to a narrow definition of memory plays; Harold Pinter’s “Old Times” , “No Man’s Land” and “Betrayal” are memory plays as well. Brian Friel’s “Philadelphia, Here I Come!” and “Dancing at Lughnasa” are examples of this genre as well.

In The Glass Menagerie [I’ve written a blog post about this play, it’s probably my ultimate favourite], Williams describes the scene thus:

“The scene is memory and is therefore non-realistic.  Memory takes a lot of poetic license. It omits some details; others are exaggerated, according to the emotional value of the articles it touches, for memory is seated predominantly in the heart. The interior is therefore rather dim and poetic.”

And the narrator and protagonist, Tom Wingfield, opens the play in this manner:

“Yes, I have tricks in my pocket, I have things up my sleeve. But I am the opposite of a stage magician. He gives you illusion that has the appearance of truth. I give you truth in the pleasant disguise of illusion.” This is a clear narration that Tom is unreliable narrator, mainly due to the excessive emotional turmoil he experiences in the events that take place in the play. He further states: “This play is memory. Being a memory play, it is dimly lighted, it is sentimental, it is not realistic. In memory everything seems to happen to music. That explains the fiddle in the wings. I am the narrator of the play, and also a character in it. The other characters are my mother Amanda, my sister Laura and a gentleman caller who appears in the final scenes.”

The Glass Menagerie is Williams’ most autobiographical play; Williams closely resembles Tom, his mother resembles Amanda; his frail and mentally unstable sister Rose was the inspiration for Laura, though critics have suggested that Laura may incorporate elements of Williams himself, referencing his obsessive focus on one aspect of life [writing in Williams’ case and the “glass menagerie” in Laura’s]. Tom frequently breaks the fourth wall, directly addressing the audience at times; Amanda and Laura also revise their memories throughout. Memories are seen by Amanda as a means of escape from the unfavourable situation the Wingfields have found themselves in.

According to me—this isn’t an official interpretation—the characters weave in and out of the play, barely seeming human, though they are very human, of course—to me, the characters of the two memory plays I’ve studied seem like… mists. Yes, you read it right—since those characters are simply figments of the narrator’s memory [as far as we, the audience, are concerned]. For Tom, his memories form a tacit connection to the past, which he’s desperately trying to forget; I get that. I’ve tried to forget things, too. I find myself relating to all the characters in the Glass Menagerie, at different points of time.

“Modern” memory plays include most of Harold Pinter’s 1970s plays—including “Landscape” and “Silence”. Each of the characters have their own unique interpretations of events, and the audience really doesn’t whom to believe. “Dancing at Lughnasa” is a memory play, “focusing on the five unmarried Mundy sisters who struggle to maintain the family home… The memory controlling the play’s shape and substance belongs to Michael, the ‘love child’ of Chris, youngest of the sisters.”  “Philadelphia, Here I Come!” is one of the most frequently cited modern memory plays.

As I stated before, this genre has all but died; once I get the hang of memory plays, maybe I’ll write one myself, who knows? [I’m serious]. I know this post isn’t all that long, but a lot of information about memory plays doesn’t even exist anymore; how sad is that? I got all of this information from Wikipedia. Thank you so much, Wikipedia!!

I’m all fired up about reviving this genre now… heh!

That’s all for today. Thank you for reading!

I hope you like my article!

Mending Wall

Hello Friend, I’m back! Today, I’m going to write about Mending Wall, one of my favourite poems [it’s by Robert Frost. He’s hands down my favourite poet]. It’s written in a very simple, unobtrusive fashion, but it actually has some deep themes woven into it. It’s a great sketch of human relationships! It was published in 1914, and has become “one of the most anthologised and analysed poems in modern literature” [according to Wikipedia]. The poem, which is written in blank verse, narrates a story drawn from Rural England [that’s Frost’s charm. His poems reveal his deep and intellectual nature while using simple language and focussing on the lives of seemingly ordinary people]. Now, let’s dive into the poem, shall we?

Summary

The speaker immediately lets us know that “something there is that doesn’t love a wall”, indicating that there is something amiss in the country side; he and his neighbour meet every spring to walk the length of the stone wall that divides their properties, and fix places where the wall has crumbled. The speaker seems to see it as a sort of “game” [this is ironic, because the speaker initially stated that he doesn’t like the wall. A man full of contradictions?]. Shortly after, he begins questioning the need for walls; he grows apples and his neighbour grows pines. Besides, there aren’t any cows around. However, the neighbour responds with this old saying: “Good fences make good neighbours.” It is quite clear to the readers that he does not actually know what it means—he’s just using it because it was something his father used to say. The speaker asks him, “But why do they make good neighbours?” but there is no answer. Of course, the speaker, who is presented as an open-minded and curious person, remains unconvinced and presses the neighbour to widen his thought process and not blindly believe this reasoning. However, the neighbour turns a deaf ear to him. The speaker envisions his neighbour as a man from an out-dated era, a person with a narrow, rigid interpretation of things; however, the neighbour simply repeats, “Good fences make good neighbours”—almost as if he’s convincing himself.

Themes

As I stated before, Mending Wall is an intricate poem dealing with several themes. The main theme is that of human fellowship; this poem deals with the tensions and barriers, both physical and psychological, that exist between humans. The title is a metaphor for these barriers, and the poet is expressing his desire for humans to connect and break free of conventions that are no longer relevant in the Modern Age. Mending Wall explores the contradictions within each person, as “man breaks boundaries and makes boundaries.” Besides, mending the wall serves to separate as well as join the two neighbours, another contradiction. The poem also toys with theme of seasons as cycles of life [understandable as this poem is set in Rural England] and contrasts those cycles with physical as well as language parallelism.  Sadly, these barriers aren’t gonna break down any time soon. We’re already in 2019 and we’ll probably zoom through the year at breakneck speed, but there are so many psychological barriers between humans. And I’m not an exception—I used to be rather judgmental before; I’ve improved a bit now, I guess. I don’t think that old adage holds true in these times. We’ve got enough “fences” as it is.  Of course, barriers have their own importance—one can’t just trust people blindly, and there is something known as “personal space”—but if you don’t even connect with your own race… you get what I’m saying, right?

…This is a little different from other poems I’ve written about, isn’t it? It’s an amazing poem, though it can’t top Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. Seasons appear in his poems all the time, though—they just have to seep into his words. Frost had a pretty distinct poetic style, and analysing his poems is a lot of fun—it enhances my knowledge, too!

If you haven’t read this poem, please do so. It’s definitely worth your time and energy!

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

Thank you! I hope you liked my article!