Stranger on Earth

The perception of literature is culture-specific. Depending on where you are in the world and which educational system you find yourself in, literature is served up in a certain way – sometimes a little unpalatably. One of the common misconceptions about literature is that it must have a “moral message” – an idea stemming from, and I am generalising, conservative, retrograde, over-religious cultures. The tendency to moralise literature may seem innocuous, but if you turn the matter over a few times in your head, you will see that the damage it does to an individual’s interpretive faculties is considerable. This is because when one is constantly told to search for moral messages in works of art, one ends up assuming that all art is moral, which, as most of us know, is a gross generalisation. The person told to do so constantly will go through life thinking every word, act, and decision comes with a clear moral code.  More often than not, the morals we are force-fed fail us i

As a rule, being accused of being pretentious is seen as an attack on one’s personality. Being high-minded is, according to society’s rules of common decency, an undesirable trait. Not so, say I. Pretentiousness, contrary to what others may tell you, is an excellent defence mechanism against the tedious, unimaginative, exceedingly mediocre world. In this era of political correctness and egalitarianism, one has to struggle harder to raise oneself above the grey masses. “Why struggle at all?” you ask. Nietzsche says: “You should build beyond yourself, but first you must be built yourself, square-built in body and soul. You should propagate yourself not only forward, but upward” (95). The poet-philosopher knows that every man has the tendency to slack and take up a comfortable position next to millions of others like him. He is inclined to mediocrity, false modesty, and mendacity. If he does not challenge himself (and others), he will sink into the marsh of insignificance. Prete

“I tried to make my character represent the only Christ that we deserve.” – Albert Camus speaking of Meursault in 1955 Albert Camus’ brand of existentialism, absurdism, and nihilism with regard to his 1942 “philosophical treatise” The Outsider is a thing of fascination and paradox. In this age of increasing intolerance and orthodoxy, the novel’s ground-breaking theme should once again be highlighted. Meursault’s antics throughout the novel are the stuff of literary legend: he displays no emotions at his mother’s funeral; he seems oddly unaffected by Marie’s love for him; he shows no concern for domestic violence and animal cruelty; he does not hesitate to kill a man when the need – whatever its cause is – arises. Meursault is the very personification of amorality. He rejects the rules and ethics of society and refuses to be enslaved by what Nietzsche calls “herd morality.” This naturally brings about grave consequences. In the society we inhabit, a man who does not con

I am 100% sure I am not the first in this overcrowded world to bemoan the rapid disappearance of respectable penmanship. What was once perceived as a sign of distinguished education and privileged upbringing is now a lost art form, replaced by the mechanical tick-ticking of the keyboard. Style has been sacrificed at the altar of speed and convenience. What we now have is a lost generation of youths incapable of controlling the biro – a device, surely, a lot less challenging than the Blackberry. You have indecipherable scrawls and reckless scribbles instead of graceful swirls and confident strokes. You have digitally conditioned minds struggling to establish an affinity with aesthetics but failing miserably. This is because we prize expediency and economy above all things. Time is $ - that old cliché – so why should anyone waste time putting a pen to paper when the ticking of keys is so much more instantly gratifying? This is where the digital age has failed us. It has made

Almost half a lifetime went by between the compositions of “When You Are Old” and “Politics,” and yet it is startlingly clear from the diction of both poems that their writer, whose focus might have shifted from the personal to the political, was as preoccupied with the subject of (lost) youth in his last days as when he was in his thirties.   When You Are Old (from The Rose , 1893) When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. In “When You Are Old,” the speaker is addressing a woman

Note: This is an entry I wrote as far back as 2010, as a response to the youthful naivete I was witnessing all around me regarding certain political issues. The entry appeared on my old blog, but is new to this one. My views on the subject have only altered very slightly since. Being a high-school teacher means that I get to hang around doe-eyed teenagers and observe their behaviour up close. Over the years I have seen all colours and shades, but the one thing that stands out for me is definitely the teenage brand of idealism. This particular brand is different from yours and mine; it is one that has an unstoppable energy and an inflammatory dose of self-conviction, chiefly derived from a one-dimensional, monochromatic outlook of the world. If this sounds patronising, it is because there is no other way to describe its crookedness. Most young people are in need of conviction, some form of belief, no matter how unreasonable, to lean on during a period in their lives when uncer