Perks of Being A Wallflower Review - Harpreet Scott

F. Scott Fitzgerald once referred to the beauty of literature as being that moment when ‘you discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.’ Charlie, the fifteen year old protagonist in Stephen Chbosky’s epistolary novel ‘The Perks of being a Wallflower’ seeks comfort in literature when he finds himself unable to relate or conform to the social cliques of his high school. With the encouragement from the extroverted characters of Patrick and Sam, Charlie makes the transition from shy introverted freshman to a person who is respected for embodying the quality that initially made him different; ‘He’s a wallflower. You see things. You keep quiet about them. And you understand.’                                                    

     The anonymity of the friend whom Charlie addresses his letters to and confides in is a deliberate device perhaps chosen by Chobsky as a way to connect the reader to Charlie. It seems fitting that Charlie can tell his story in his own words rather than in a third person narrative, as he is often consoled by the words used in his beloved novels and is even told by his teacher Bill that he ‘would make a great writer one day.’ Moreover, the absence of replies from the addressee makes the novel take on a confessional tone which corresponds with the twist which is later revealed.  The epistolary form enables the reader to understand a character that is having trouble understanding himself; ‘Just tell me how to be different in a way that makes sense.’                                                      

 Chobsky somewhat submits to the conventional situation: outcast is befriended by the cool kids and then becomes popular. Whilst the first part of that stereotype is true, Chobsky ensures that ‘Perks of a Wallflower’ is more than just that age old story. Instead of the protagonist changing into a confident, popular, universally loved character, Charlie maintains his awkwardness and naive honesty throughout, which makes the reader love him even more (in a protective grown up sibling kind of way) and makes his character all the more believable. To end with Charlie becoming the popular kid at school and submitting to the norm, would go against the very foundations of Charlie’s persona and would make him less relatable to the reader. Chobsky ensures that his characters do not undergo any radical changes to their persona’s and remain true to themselves, whilst making them experience the changes that only time and age bring. Patrick and Sam are two characters that stand on their own against Charlie and all three are drawn together through their self proclaimed oddities with Sam embracing Charlie with the line; ‘welcome to the island of misfit toys.’ Along with Charlie, Sam is the character who undergoes the obligatory change that comes with a coming of age story. As Charlie’s letters progress the same movement is seen in Sam’s character, transforming her from one who is seen to be idealised by all; to one who exposes her own vulnerability- a secret which binds her and Charlie closer together. Sam is more than just Charlie’s love interest, she is a character that voices the desires and insecurities felt by both genders; ‘If somebody likes me, I want them to like the real me, not what they think I am.’                                                                                

  Patrick is seen to be the foil of Charlie, yet both are united with the animosity they receive in regards to their extroverted and introverted personalities. Although Patrick embodies the role of comic relief in quite a ‘deep’ (down with the kids type language) story, seen when he receives his grade; ‘C minus, ladies and gentlemen! I am below average!’ he is also at the centre of another taboo subject- homosexuality. As a 21^st century reader, I am not shocked or unnerved by the topic of homosexuality. However, in the novel Patrick is faced with prejudice as a result of his sexuality, reflecting the attitude of society at the time in which the novel was set and written in.  The inclusion of Patricks character is to show that beneath the confidence people sometimes exude, vulnerability is universal. Moreover, everyone faces obstacles in their lives and it is the way in which we get through them which define us, after all ‘Not everyone has a sob story, Charlie, and even if they do, it’s no excuse.’

The novel centres on the idea of conflicts- both internal and external. Whilst Charlie questions his surroundings and his personal development or lack thereof, external conflicts are constantly present. The violence between Charlie’s sister and her boyfriend brings the two siblings together, a unity which is tested by the end of the novel. The fight between Patrick and the boys at school showcases Charlie’s loyalty and brings an end to the animosity between his new found friends. Violence is shown to be an extension of the internal conflicts felt by the characters and whilst Chobsky does not condone it he does make the reader understand why it is happening.                    Whilst some may say that ‘Perks of being a Wallflower’ is nothing more than an endless show of cheesy quotations, it is for this very fact that I and many others have fallen in love with the novel. The novel does not try and portray itself to be a form of literary greatness, the informal language and easy to read narrative differentiates it with some of the greater works in literature associated with that level of genius. No, the novel embodies the carpe di um mantra as ‘this moment will just be another story one day.’ ‘Just one moment when you know you’re not a sad story. You are alive’ is a line that resonates with me, as it brings the hope and the realisation that you are more than just your past. Chobsky’s novel is one which you will be quoting long after you have finished the final page which is further testament to Chobsky’s genius.                                                                                               

The novel covers a wide range of topics, such as introversion, violence, sexuality and drugs but the underlying theme is the one Charlie often reverts back to: life. Charlie goes from just surviving, remaining on the edge of society to actually living ‘Standing on the fringes of life offers a unique experience, but there's a time to see what it looks like from the dance floor.’ Chobsky succeeds in articulating the feelings that many people feel yet are unable to describe in a simplistic way; ‘So this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.’ ‘Perks of being a Wallflower’ is not directed towards one gender, yet I feel boys would probably steer clear of such a philosophical story which is an absolute shame as both sexes can learn something from the novel. The intended reader? One who is open minded and willing to not prejudge or categorise Charlie, before the end of the story.                                                       

 What makes this novel so great is the way in which it doesn’t pretend to be anything more than it is. It’s a story which can take place anywhere to anyone in the world. It’s a story centred on the phase of life every person goes through- adolescence. The inclusion of Charlie’s wayward family answers some questions to his ambiguous background yet Charlie is hesitant to place blame on those who deserve it. The dynamics between Charlie and his siblings is strained due to Charlie’s ‘odd’ behaviour; ‘you’re such a freak!’ but without this, the novel would lack the realism it needs to support a story such as this. Brad, Patrick’s secret boyfriend is a textbook example of a young boy struggling to accept his sexuality; a task which the modern day reader would be aware of. Just as Sam tells Charlie that ‘you can’t just sit there and put everyone’s lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can’t. You have to do things’, I implore you to go out there and read this novel. The novel wants the reader to ‘participate in life’ just as Bill told Charlie to do so and I implore you to do the same. If you want a novel that will change your outlook on life and make you emphasise with the strangers around you, then this novel is for you. The subject matter is not light as Chobsky renders a world full of ‘imperfections’- which is a perfect representation of teenage life and thus a brilliant read.  

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies: A Review.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains.”

So begins Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Seth Grahame-Smith’s adaptation of the well-loved Austen classic. In this version we join the Bennet sisters in plague-stricken Hertfordshire, where for the past five and fifty years an undead scourge has been on the rampage. When Elizabeth, the most deadly of the Bennet sisters, finds herself snubbed by the arrogant Mr Darcy at a local ball her first thought is to defend her honour by immediately beheading him. Through the violent bouts of swordplay and dialogue that follow, the young warriors are able to reconcile their differences and the social conventions of zombie ridden society to be united as husband and wife. 

 

As the title suggests this book is an extended version of the original Pride and Prejudice now containing additional scenes of zombie-fuelled carnage. It is a light-hearted comedy which manipulates the conventions of Austen’s novels to create a niche brand of humour. Grahame-Smith has added slight changes in dialogue, adapted the register and shifted the traditional roles of our favourite characters to produce a silly, but successful modernisation of a classic. The issues of this novel are created partly through the enormity of the task and through the inconsistencies that arise from combining such a modern concept with a well-loved piece of literature. 

 

The plot remains almost identical to the original text; boy meets girl, girl hates boy and through a series of externalised circumstances boy and girl are eventually united in matrimony, the Austen archetype for a happy ending. Unfortunately the zombies, who are incorporated into the title with equal weight as the pride and prejudice, have a very minimal effect on the narrative. The unmentionables tend to turn up and cause small amounts of trouble only to fade away into the background once more. Had this book been more ambitious and been brave enough to affect some serious change in the traditional plotting, it might have been more successful in incorporating comedic, undead violence and Georgian society. The inclusion of zombies does not do any great damage to the plausibility of the plot; modern audiences are altogether too familiar with the concept of zombies to find them challenging to accept, but it is a concept that seems to have been overworked in popular culture. The author has therefore been rather safe in choosing zombies as a sporadic comical addition and has been so cautious in their inclusion to render them completely external from the bulk of the narrative. One way in which they could have been included successfully might have involved stepping away from the shelter of an already popular story. If the action had been set sometime after the ending of Pride and Prejudice Grahame-Smith would have had the freedom to construct an original narrative supporting the inclusion of zombies and still base the comedy around familiar characters. As it stands the enjoyment of this book relies too much upon the existent plot to be appreciated for its own sake.

The premise of this book also creates issues in the pre-existing world it attempts to manipulate. Let us assume for a second that there is no significant, logical issue with the concept of a zombie apocalypse. Does it follow that a Georgian, patriarchal society would consent to the training of women in Chinese and Japanese martial arts? That dojos would become an integral part of every English stately home? That English gentlemen would have no issue fighting fist to fist with the fairer sex? Most probably not. 

 

Furthermore, the traditional characterisations struggle under these new expectations of violent behaviour. Lydia and Kitty, who are two of the silliest girls in the country, remain so despite the fact that they, along with their sisters have apparently spent three years in China training in the ‘deadly arts’. Strangely, three years of military discipline has done nothing to improve their characters or to restrain them from their famous, ridiculous antics. This is a great shame since Pride and Prejudice owes a great deal of its long success to the enduring charm and energy of its central characters and even to some of its more odious inventions. The great realism with which Austen crafted her characters is sadly trampled underfoot for the sake of zombies.

Nevertheless, there are a lot of positive things to be said for this book. The writing itself was extremely well done and applied with the right degree of caution. Grahame-Smith has managed to blend in the sections of his own making with the same tone, register and energy that singles out Austen’s style. Thankfully, the dialogue has been maintained and kept very close to the original exchanges, maintaining the intensity of Darcy and Elizabeth’s relationship as well as creating conflicts for comedic value. The contrast of the traditional and the modern, the elevated speech and the gruesome fight scenes create an opportunity for parodic observations and the interesting displacement of characters from their typical roles. Conflicts are also created along gender boundaries for the amusement of the reader. We see the female fighters having to balance the requirements of modesty and their desire to defeat the zombie scourge. After all, how does one decapitate a zombie without displaying one’s ankles? 

 

The success of these comedic elements depends upon the reader not taking them too seriously. Amusement lies in the contrast of the familiar characters and the inconsistency of the additional extras; zombie scenes are incorporated well but rendered ridiculous by the elevated style in which they are written. The comedy is absurd because it is meant to be so. Even the illustrations, which punctuate key scenes, are verging on the farcical - showing our favourite, polite characters locked in mortal combat with zombies or beating each other to a pulp.

It does appear as though great lengths have been taken to ensure that this is not just a butchering of a classical novel. Of course, a lot of the appeal lies in the original text but I would argue that the additional scenes are sculpted in a subtle and complimentary style. I can’t help but wish it had gone further and stepped away from the safety of the traditional plot and therefore avoided the issues of characterisation and plausibility. Despite these faults, this book is certainly worth a read, if only to relive the magic of Austen’s most enduring love story.

-Kate Haffenden

Owen Jones: The Woman in White Review

The Woman in White Review

The Woman in White is a work of crime-fiction written by Wilkie Collins in 1859 and is an early example of a ‘sensation’ novel. It is set almost entirely in Britain at a time loosely contemporaneous with the time of writing. The story revolves around Walter Hartright, a young watercolour drawer and tutor who through a combination of accident and love becomes embroiled in a far reaching criminal conspiracy, which, compelled by strong motives, he attempts to unveil.
                The form of the novel is perhaps its most interesting and most novel aspect. The narrative is related by several different narrators, some of whom are directly involved in the criminal activity themselves.  Walter is the primary narrator; his reason for writing the narrative is to provide comprehensive evidence for the central crime of the story and to attain this he requires the perspectives of other characters. This unique and experimental form is sometimes a double edged sword and can be considered the reason for both the novel’s greatest successes and most critical flaws. Importantly, it allows Collins to demonstrate considerable skill as a writer: he voices each character convincingly and distinctly, fluctuating between styles from the elevated and grandiloquent, to the humble and dialectal. This variety ensures that the novel is rarely monotonous owing especially to those characters, such as Frederick Fairlie, whose voices could never work in a larger narrative but which in shorter ones work fantastically well. Changes in perspective often come in tandem with changes of setting and leaps (both forward and backward) in time. The outcome is possibly Collins’ greatest accomplishment in the novel, which is to find a completely innovative way of presenting narrative: the reader doesn’t really experience the story linearly, but rather as a larger more amorphous collection of events, from which order is gradually formed. To excuse the cliché, it really does feel like assembling a jig-saw- an effect which in crime fiction can only be applauded.
                Typically, writing in the first person can present an opportunity for the author to engage more emotionally with their characters. Unfortunately, this is not so much a wasted opportunity for Collins as it is one he should never have attempted- and he certainly does attempt it. This is not to say that deeply emotional writing is in anyway not laudable, but rather that it is at odds with sensational writing. Sensational writing should produce a visceral reaction in the reader, and not one of moral uneasiness. In encouraging us to often think about the consequences of crime, specifically for the victims, Collin’s prevents us from possessing the neutrality required to revel in the glamour and solving of it. When emotion is included in sensation fiction it should only be to provide motive or to move forward the plot; most importantly it should be viewed from a distance. So instead of an emotional/moral story that shows us something about the world and the human condition, or a sensational story that intrigues and excites us, we have a discordant mix of the two, with both elements interfering with, and somewhat spoiling, one-another.
                With regard to characterisation, the novel mostly excels. Regrettably Walter is a fairly non-descript character and the object of his love, Laura Fairlie, is only more so. This is frustrating as they occupy such central roles and Walter indeed narrates probably over half of the novel. This isn’t fatal as what actually happens when he narrates is quite interesting and his narrative voice is at least functional if not inspired. Fortunately, these are isolated cases and characters such as Marian Halcombe and Count Fosco are far more prominently and effectively characterised. Marian is a triumph of internal characterisation whereas the count is a triumph of external characterisation. Marian is a sympathetic character- the reader is made familiar with her hopes, affections, opinions and fears; she is also unorthodox and because of this, fascinating; she overshadows Walter, who performs a similar role, and becomes a perfect window to view events and people through. The count, conversely, is the perfect object to through view that window; he is understood in purely superficial terms; his appearance, his mannerisms and his actions are described vividly, but we know very little about his innermost thoughts. Because of this there is always an aura of mystique surrounding the Count and he can become larger than life in a way which is thoroughly believable. He is at once charming and repulsive, friendly and terrifying. Collins only furthers this success when it becomes time for the Count’s own narrative; the Count protects his interiority with rhetoric and a self-awareness of his own legend; the only time he exposes himself is to show admiration for Marian- which acts as a sole and unnerving glimpse into a dark and incomprehensible self.
                Overall the novel is well written but sporadic. It is occasionally brilliant; its characterisation is often superb and its method of storytelling is well paced and original. But as the eponymous woman in white begins to be reduced to a mere footnote and so too does the more international side of Fosco’s story, Collins’ focus appears more and more misguided. It seems that even in a novel that contains so much welcome unfamiliarity as The Woman in White, familiarity can be all too relied upon.

One Day - David Nicholls

‘One Day’ by David Nicholls is a persuasive and endearing account of a close friendship. Emma and Dexter on paper are worlds apart but their everyday stories are what hooks the reader and makes it so relatable. The novel takes place on one single date – 15 July but spans a couple of decades. It has spread across not only the UK but has been translated into 31 languages making it the book that everyone is talking about and has now been made into a film.

It follows the lives of Emma and Dexter after they graduate when Dexter is propelled into the highlife after two ‘gap yah’s’ and Emma has a job in a ‘tex-mex’ restaurant in Kentish town longing after a career in publishing. They are set on just being friends but they both know they still have feelings for each other and it’s seemingly coincidences that stop anything from ever happening. As the book develops so do the characters and their lives, only not together. There is no doubt that this book will have you red eyed at the end but it will have you laughing out loud throughout the journey too.

The unusual structure is an extremely effective device in which Nicholls tells the lives of these two friends on their own, from different perspectives. It provides wonderful snapshots of their life and then just as you’re engaged in one small incident in Emma’s life the chapter ends and you are soon engrossed in another incident happening to Dexter; forgetting all about Emma. It is this device that keeps the reader turning pages at such a fast pace. That and the chatty narrative Nicholls has adopted making the reader feel like they’re your close friends and you knew them at University.

Many people would first assume that the book is for a female reader and it’s a typical ‘boy meets girl’ scenario but Nicholls has opened up this novel to both sexes. When he’s writing about Dexter the language and tone is different and the same goes for Emma so these shifts in narrative really keep the story balanced and fresh whilst you’re reading. The read is appealing for both men and women, mainly due to its humour, satire and what some might say is a mirror image of life today. Nicholls also has an eye for the small details that make a novel so believable, whether it’s the smells he conjures up in the Clapham bedsit or the stunning suburbia lifestyle, you can really picture it in your mind. His detail of life at twentysomething is what makes it so pitch perfect.  It covers topics appealing to both men and women and could be seen as a very vivid shot of people’s lives today which is why I think it has been such a hit.

So if you haven’t read it yet, I strongly recommend you do. It’s funny, moving and relevant and is sure to leave you (hopefully) with the urge to tell everyone to read it and join the phenomenon.

Angela Carter's 'The Magic Toyshop' - Claire Gogarty

Angela Carter’s fiction is often defined through her feminist re-writing of social conventions. Indeed, Carter described herself as being “all for putting new wine in old bottles, especially if the pressure of the new wine makes the bottles explode." She attempts to do this no more so than in her 1967 novel The Magic Toyshop, in which the 15-year-old protagonist Melanie is torn from her middle class world following the sudden death of her parents and flung within the bosom of an oppressive familial structure as her uncle terrorises his mute Irish wife and her brothers.

Despite its uninspiring title The Magic Toyshop is an incredibly well-written novel in which Carter’s precise and focused writing breathes life into the mundane. Like an artist, Carter is vividly able to paint a scene in which she questions almost every aspect of social convention. Gender, class, culture, patriarchy, the nature of sexual taboo – not much is left unscrutinised by Carter, so much so that the reader eventually feels as if Carter’s “putting old wine in new bottles” is intended to shock, rather a genuine attempt to question ingrained mindsets.  This idea isn’t helped by the fact that the characters only transcend social constraints when placed in an alien setting. The Irish family, who practise incest, gender equality and free love, are foreign, red-haired and dirty and are therefore entirely removed from respectable 1960s British society. Consequently, the reader ultimately feels that this social liberty is unattainable within respectable means.

Undeniably, every line is claustrophobically enveloped with symbolism and references to psycho-analytical theory which causes the slowing of the plot. Fortunately, this does not reduce the effectiveness of the novel as a whole due to its focus being not on the actual storyline, but on the message it attempts to portray. Nevertheless, Carter’s rigidly anti-Patriarchal mindset teeters from the sublime to the ridiculous at times, no more so than during the almost comical scene where Melanie, acting as the mythological Leda in one of her uncle’s puppet shows, hysterically overreacts to being raped by a wooden swan. As the novel’s genre is magic realism, the reader is supposed to feel at this point that the puppet actually transforms into the mighty Zeus. Yet Carter’s writing in this scene becomes as wooden at the puppet itself, leaving the reader biting their cheeks in amusement.

Nevertheless, it is incredibly hard to find fault with Carter’s style of writing as a whole. Her character descriptions truly hit the nail on the head, evoking vivid imagery without the use of clichés. Her greatest descriptions revolve around Finn, Melanie’s romantic interest and one of the more intriguing characters in the novel. His otherworldly air is summed up beautifully through Carter’s alignment of him with both folklore and mundane life:

‘Maybe his legs were hairy under the worn-out trousers, coarse-pelted goat legs and neat, cloven hooves. Only he was too dirty for a satyr, who would probably wash frequently in mountain streams.’

Despite Carter’s tiring and incessant attempts of pushing boundaries, The Magic Toyshop is both a charming and disturbing novel in which a young, spoilt, virginal girl is forced to accept the harsh realities of the real world and discover her role within it. For many, Melanie is the female Holden Caulfield, an accessible and likeable character who shares the universal woes of teenage girls. Whilst Carter’s new wine does not necessarily cause old bottles to explode, it is a task in itself to emotionally move on from the all-encompassing, soul-absorbing world she creates.

The Collector by John Fowles: Review - V.McCann

The novel focuses on two individuals, Frederick Clegg, a lonely, uneducated office clerk who collects butterflies, and a beautiful, upper class art student Miranda Grey, who Frederick very calmly abducts and locks in his cellar. 

The novel is written from two perspectives, first Frederick Clegg’s. The impression of Clegg is both fascinating and disturbing from the start. He’s a socially awkward man who has no concept or understanding of the social and moral rules of the world he lives in, and has little imagination or understanding of himself. He sees himself as a gentleman (despite being uneducated and from the working class) and old fashioned; he despises anything improper, or crude in other people. His version of events makes the whole situation seem very spontaneous and entirely unpremeditated, despite the obvious effort and planning: he buy’s a cottage and transforms the cellar into her prison. The attention to detail is superb and also unnerving, and Fowles must be commended for this. And what I found to be one of his most eerie qualities is his calmness, which could also be called his emotional retardation. It’s a long time into the book before he finally looses his temper with Miranda who attempts to escape multiple times, injuring him in the process, and is deliberately cruel to him. 

The second part is written from Miranda’s perspective through a journal she kept during her captivity, hidden under her mattress. Her fear and frustration as she tries to understand her captor and gain her freedom are all too palpable. And although she’s a rather snobbish, self-important girl, who seems all too pleased with herself and her ability, you feel for her. I found myself constantly hoping for her escape, and when I wasn’t reading the book it would play on my mind how she might escape, will she escape, what will happen if she doesn’t? You’d worry that the chilling, emotionally twisted narrative of Clegg's and the shrill, emotionally loaded narrative of Miranda’s would be in danger of becoming stiff and predictable, if Fowles didn't write that gorgeous prose that makes you want to drop to one knee half of the time. 

There have been many highly publicized cases of men holding women hostage in recent years, and this particular scenario has been covered in literature and film quite a bit. However, what distinguishes this particular novel from the rest is the fact that a great deal of attention is paid to the nuances of interpersonal reactions and the psychological states of mind of the two protagonists. Having gone so deeply into the thought processes we may find ourselves relating far more than we would like to too Clegg and his motives for kidnapping Miranda. Fowles also takes us deep into Miranda’s mind, and we see with mild horror that as time passes, she feels sympathy and a connection of some kind to Clegg: “And yes, he had more dignity than I did then and I felt small, mean. Always sneering at him, jabbing him, hating him and showing it. It was funny, we sat in silence facing each other and I had a feeling I’ve had once or twice before, of the most peculiar closeness to him” 

There are other ways in which Miranda and Clegg are linked. A lot of her entries focus on her relationship with a much older man, G.P. To begin with these anecdotes she writes seem really rather odd and you wonder why there’s so much emphasis on them, but it soon becomes clear that Clegg’s obsession with Miranda is mirrored through her obsession with G.P. and his “rules” to do with how one should live life and how one should be an artist. One point, which I hesitate to put forward as a negative, but would not say is wholly positive, is that to me the life and art philosophy that Miranda talks about seem really rather dated, very 60s (not that I claim to know a lot about the evolution of artistic perspective, but I would argue it's dated). I said it was not wholly negative because it does give a clearer picture of the culture of the 60s, and only serves to distance Miranda and Clegg further as he cannot perceive these intangible, creative, human ideas. 

The Collector is sometimes referred to as the first psychological thriller, which is debatable, but it turned out to be such a full blown, picture perfect example of a psychological thriller, that it's hard not to consider everything that came before like proto-thrillers. Fowles is inspired by Edgar Allan Poe and Joseph Conrad, but he doesn't just turn it up a notch; The Collector was something completely new for its time and it influenced a lot of literature of the late twentieth century. Fowles' novel is a satisfying blend of page-turning thriller and intelligent psychological study and although you may not ‘like’ either of the protagonists, I can guarantee you will never forget them. 


 Afternote: 

 The Collector is Fowles first novel, and I would recommend that anyone who reads this and enjoys it to also read his book ‘The Magus’. And I apologise for the chop-change style of my review! But there’s so much to say about this book and I only finished it yesterday, and I’d be lying if I didn’t think it was something that’s emotionally challenging and instigates quite a bit of self-reflecting… so it’s hard to divide the emotional response from the critical. I only hope I’ve done it enough justice! 

 Also, here are two articles I found very useful in terms of understanding exactly what Fowles was trying to achieve: 
- Nodelman, P. (1987). “John Fowles’ Variations in ‘The Collector’”. Contemporary Literature, 28(3), pp. 332-346, p. 339 
- Campbell, J. (1976), “An Interview with John Fowles”. Contemporary Literature, 17(4), pp. 455-469, p. 457

Kick-off

This is the course blog for the 2012 course EN2215 Creative Writing: Structure and Style. To this blog will be posted: (a) book reviews by all members of the course; and (b) any creative writing related material course members feel would be appropriate. That means you can post drafts of your own writing, story/character ideas, useful links and so on. Other course members (including the course director) are invited to comment on posts in the comments to each post.