Students of A level English Literature always want to know how they can write an A level quality essay rather than the GCSE level they have been used to. Of course, there is no easy answer, but these points may help you work towards improving your essays.
Before you start:
Look at the question and consider what your genuine response is. Don’t just try and find parts of the text about the topic in question (yet); don’t assume what the teacher said about this in class is the answer to the question. Genuinely think about what you believe to be true in relation to this question.
Once you’ve decided what your response might be, think about how you might prove it. Which parts of the text support your idea? What might the author’s intention have been in writing about those things? What aspects of context might support your ideas?
Now you should have two or three points to make, with some quotations and contextual comments.
Now to get started:
Start your essay with a short introduction. This will be a summary of your response to the question, with enough detail to outline the specific aspects of your argument.
Signpost each point in your essay to orientate your reader to where they are in the essay. You can use terms like: firstly, however, therefore, secondly, finally, in contrast.
Make sure you introduce each point with your argument and then back that up with all your evidence (quotations and references to the text; analysis of language, structure and form; literary, political, social and historical context).
When analysing the language, structure and form, take ideas from different aspects of the text which back up your thoughts (rather than analysing just one quotation with one technique).
Don’t forget that structure means more than punctuation and sentence structures. Think about other aspects of the text such as chapters, perspectives, unreliable narrators, dramatic irony, and stage craft (if it’s a play).
Don’t forget that form is so important, whether it is a play, a poem or a novel. What does the form add to the meaning of the text?
When adding context, make sure it is relevant to your point. It is only there to prove your argument – for no other reason. You can mention contextual factors briefly or in more depth, but don’t write huge amounts of detail. It is there to support your argument. Nothing more.
Finish your essay with a conclusion. There should be no new information in your conclusion, simply a summary of what you have argued. It can be brief. Make sure it is what you wrote in your essay (not what you should have written) and that it directly answers and refers to the question.
Just one or two other points, just to make sure you do your best work.
Write clearly and concisely. Don’t be tempted to think that sophisticated writing means long and complex sentences.
Check your grammar, spelling and punctuation. You won’t come across as academic and sophisticated if your SPAG isn’t correct.
Finally: reread your essay.
Does it make sense? Does each point work with each of the other points? DON’T contradict yourself within your essay! You will lose a lot of valuable marks!
Do you agree with what you have written? (If you don’t, you won’t lose marks. But if you do, you are more likely to be able to write passionately and authentically, which will enable you to get into the higher bands.)
Remember, to make your essays A level rather than GCSE standard takes time and practice. Keep working on it! You will get there!
Writing A level essays can be challenging. Three of the things students often struggle with are sophisticated written expression, a clear line of argument and writing of the text as though it were constructed by the author (rather than a real world we could visit). These aspects of essay writing take time and care to improve, but here are some tips which might help.
Expression
It is very difficult to develop a sophisticated yet clear and concise writing style. To improve it is good to read academic and formal writing. You could also look at these specific areas:
Tone
Academic writing should be formal, impersonal, precise and concise.
Things to include might be:
Things to avoid might be:
Impersonal/passive voice: Research has shown… The exact nature of the link has not been determined…
Personal, informal writing: This is majorly difficult to decide because… We believe that vitamin A and cancer are linked but we haven’t worked out how yet.
Precise vocabulary: The writer’s use of synecdoche in describing the character’s hands…
Vague description: The writer uses one part of the person to talk about all of the person, especially when writing about their hands…
Concise phrasing: X is Y
Phrasing using redundant words: At the end of the day, X is Y. It was found that.. What I want to make clear is… It is not unlikely that… This shows that … etc
Note: the convention is to always refer to authors by their surname, not their first name. E.g. Williams links the idea of death with the idea of desire through… (rather than ‘Tennessee links the idea….’)
Clarity
When trying to write in a sophisticated way, it is tempting to use very long sentences. Avoid the temptation! It is much better to be clear than to try to seem clever.
Make sure you put your subclauses in the correct place in the sentence. Examples might be:
I have talked about stocking the Zoo with my colleagues instead of I have talked with my colleagues about stocking the Zoo.
Don’t use too many adjectives or epithet nouns. Examples might be:
Early childhood thought disorder misdiagnosis is a problem instead of Early misdiagnosis of childhood thought is a problem.
Tentative language
It’s good to be tentative about your ideas, rather than dogmatic. For example:
You might interpret this as…
It could be thought that…
Perhaps…
Definition not explanation
When using specific terminology, ideas or facts, it is good to define them to be clear how the reader should think of them, but do not explain them to the examiner as if they don’t know what it is.
For example:
Romanticism redefined concepts related to death, celebrating an intensely lived life and an early death rather than regarding it as a tragedy.
Instead of
The Romantics were people who lived in the 19th century who believed that death was good if it came after an intense life.
Practice
Take a piece of work you have written.
Look for:
generalisations,
speculations and assertions which are not linked to the question,
poor and unclear reasoning
Where you find these, try and make the phrase clearer, more precise and more focused on the question in hand.
Line of Argument
How do you develop a strong, clear line of argument?
Plan your answer in detail.
always have the question in mind when you are answering.
Frequently refer back to the question.
Keep asking yourself ‘So what?’ (i.e. what does this statement prove?)
Texts as Constructs
How do you develop your conception of the text as a construct by the author rather than a real world?
Think about more of the structural ideas or devices, rather than just characterisation.
Think about themes, that is, what the author is trying to get us to think about.
Discuss how the author tells us about the themes through the language and structure choices they make.
Focus on the context, because it draws you back to the author’s situation, inspiration and intent.
There are, of course, other aspects of essay writing which will prove challenging, but if you are aware of these pitfalls, it will help you immensely in raising the level of your work.
I can’t emphasise enough how important it is to make a good revision timetable. It is worth spending quite a bit of time on this, because it could mean the difference between being successful and not.
Find out how many subjects you have to study.
Work out how many slots you have available to study a week. (Factor in your commitments and be realistic!)
Find out how many weeks you have until your exams.
Assign a subject to a slot each week, or each fortnight, depending on how many subjects and slots you have.
You may want to bear in mind that you are weaker in some subjects than others, and therefore give yourself more slots in those, but try to be as equal as you can otherwise.
Next work out which topics within the subjects you need to revise. The truth is, you won’t have time for every single topic in every subject, so choose things that will definitely be on the exam, that you need most to work on, and that use skills and knowledge that are transferrable to other parts of the exam.
Assign a topic to each of the subjects for each of the weeks you have left before the exam.
Key things to remember are:
Don’t put more on your timetable than you are able or willing to do (you will just feel disheartened when you can’t keep up, which will affect your ability to keep motivated).
Always be willing to amend your timetable, depending on changes in your life, your study needs and how well or badly you are doing with each subject.
Put the timetable somewhere you will see it often. Refer to it frequently and use it a tool to organise yourself.
A typical timetable might look like this:
Week 1
After school 4pm
After tea 8pm
Monday
Maths – Probability
Tuesday
French – sports
Wednesday
English – Macbeth
Thursday
DT – practical
History – Tudors
Friday
Morning
Afternoon
Saturday
Physics – waves
Art – practical
Sunday
Week 2
After school 4pm
After tea 8pm
Monday
Chemistry – Atomic Structure and the periodic table
Tuesday
Wednesday
Biology – Cell biology
Thursday
Maths – Algebra
History – USA
Friday
Morning
Afternoon
Saturday
English – Language and structure question Paper 1
Art – practical
Sunday
Search online for lots of different examples of how to organise your timetable.
This is the third in a series of short pieces on How to Revise. Click here to see the first on Motivation and here to see the second on Finding a Time and Place. Watch this space for more!
Poems of the Decade – Edexcel A Level English Literature
Rereading this poem again for a new round of A level students, I found myself more profoundly affected by it than ever before. My experience of the road he travelled has added another layer to my understanding to the extent that some of the notes I’d made in the margin seem ridiculously ignorant or naïve. This is what poetry does. It resonates with you, shows you how others have responded to their lives and helps you cope with your own experience. And in the passing of the years, your own experience deepens and enrichens the poem, even changing its purpose and its impact.
‘I held her hand’ the poem begins. As adults we rarely hold our parents’ hands. This weekend, my son held my hand to keep me steady on the ice and snow on top of a Swiss mountain. I felt the full impact of that role reversal. I was the weak and vulnerable one, he the strong and dependable one. I remembered the times I had held his hand on the way to school, to cross the road, to guide and to comfort. The poignancy of the reversal strikes me as a mother, but also as a daughter. Now, I hold my mother’s hands, to comfort her, to guide her, to keep her steady, to stop her wandering off into danger or the unknown. Unlike the relationship with my son, who I hug at every opportunity, my mother and I hardly ever touched. This physical contact feels so strange, not only in the reversal of who is mothered, but also in the sense of touch in itself. There is something intimate and moving about holding hands – a platonic, innocent gesture.
In the poem, the mother’s hands were ‘always scarred from chopping, slicing, from the knives in wait in bowls of washing-up’. They represent the hard work she did out of love for her family. They also represent the ordinary life the poet eventually moved beyond. He notes the ‘cheap’ cuts of meat that she made into stews; he admits he’d ‘disdain’ the shows his mother and father would watch on TV. He thinks of the time before he ‘learned contempt’, though even this time is imperfect. The separation between them, so common in our culture where the children move into the middle class from their working class roots, is bridged again by the holding of hands.
The thing that truly separates the mother and son, however, is death. He feels guilt now thinking of ‘all the weeks I didn’t come’. He is here now, but she is gone forever. He holds the hand ‘whose fingers couldn’t clasp at mine any more/Or falteringly wave, or fumble at my sleeve’. The loss is now complete. Before, she would falter and fumble, showing her weakness and vulnerability, already a reversal of the mother-son bond. Now she can no longer respond in any way.
The part of the poem that struck me most forcibly today was the mention of his mother’s effects, the gold watch which, in death, she no longer wore:
And her watch? –
Classic ladies’ model, gold strap – it was gone,
And I’d never known her not have that on,
Not in all the years…
Instead the nurse brings him ‘the little bag of effects’ which presumably contains her watch. The rhetorical question, the dashes and the commas, all denoting uncertainty, shock and grief, show the depth of the reaction he has to this lack. Her watch is missing, but it is really a part of herself, her identity, the thing that makes her herself. I noticed this myself when my mother was in respite care recently. I had asked the carers to make sure my mother wore a necklace every day. They didn’t. It seems trivial, but my mother’s necklaces are part of her personality – bold, unusual, flamboyant, creative. She always wore one, every single day. She chose them carefully to go with her outfit. She loved receiving them as gifts for birthdays and Christmases. She barely seems dressed without one. And yet, in that unfamiliar place, with people who did not know her, she was stripped of herself. The paring down of herself came as a result of the dementia, not of the care home, but, in forgetting to dress her as she would have wished, she was naked and hollow in the disintegration of what make her who she was. In the end, the mother in the poem is stripped of her identity in death. Her effects are given to her son, as the effects of her death are his to carry. I can see the impact of this now, not a minor detail but the heart of the consequences of age and death.
This rawness of grief and loss, of guilt and separation, of imperfection, seems so real and powerful to me. More, now, than ever before. My mother is still here. I leave when I see she still needs me; I make difficult decisions and try to do my utmost, always feeling the gap between what I would have done and what I am capable of doing. I have not reached the end of the road that Jenkins writes of in ‘Effects’, but it looms ahead. That he has travelled the road before me, even in the unresolved pain and grief, makes me more able to face what I must face. Simply knowing that I am not alone, either in the experience or in my reactions to it – that is what literature is for. It helps us see we do not walk this earth alone: others have gone before us, lit the path and shown us the way. Even when the way seems impossible, there is comfort in knowing that the path is well-trodden. We are not alone.
Many students want to write a complicated plot, which they get excited about and find it hard to get finished in the time given in the exam. Unfortunately, as there really isn’t enough time to write a long and complicated story, what often happens is that the piece just becomes a series of events: ‘and then, and then, and then…’. That isn’t very interesting for the reader and won’t get you many marks in the exam.
Instead, practise description. It can be of a place, a person, a feeling or an object.
Describing a place
You can start your story by describing the place where it is set.
Sensory description: Think about your 5 senses. What can you see and hear? Be more sparing about taste, touch and smell – they can help but only if it seems relevant. For example, if you’re at a restaurant, smelling the food can be a good touch. Or if you’re somewhere hot, feeling the rays of the sun on your skin can be a nice idea. Imagine yourself there. It always helps if it is a real place that you have been to.
Literary Techniques: This is your opportunity to show off your ability to use literary techniques: a couple of metaphors, a simile, some alliteration, even some repetition or a list.
Tone or Mood: Think about your emotions, or the emotions of your character, as they stand or sit in that place. This emotion should run through all of your choices of words and literary techniques. If you are trying to create a feeling of tension and fear, you could use pathetic fallacy of fog or storm, you could use sibilance to create a sinister atmosphere. If you are trying to create a feeling of warmth and coziness, then you could use imagery (metaphors and similes etc) relating to fires, hearths, light, calm, peace. Your comparisons and your techniques should match the mood you’re trying to create.
Let’s look at an example from Susan Hill’s The Woman in Black.
Here and there were clumps of reeds, bleached bone-pale, and now and again the faintest of winds caused them to rattle dryly. The sun at our backs reflected in the water all around so that everything shone and glistened like the surface of a mirror, and the sky had taken on a faint pinkish tinge at the edges, and this in turn became reflected in the marsh and the water.
Here Hill has focused on what you can see and what you can hear. She has chosen words like ‘bone-pale’, ‘bleached’ and ‘rattle’ to give a deathly atmosphere to her description; she has also chosen words like ‘shone’ and ‘glistened’ to suggest beauty. The simile ‘like the surface of a mirror’ emphasises the calmness and the stillness of the place. You can see that each word is carefully chosen, in this case to show the beauty but also the danger in the place.
Now, you could try and describe a place using the same techniques.
Describing a Person
Your story will have characters. Describing them so that the reader has a strong sense of who they are can make your story more interesting to read.
There are many ways to reveal your character to the reader.
You can write a paragraph of description telling the reader directly what they look like and what they are like as a person. Nineteenth century novels tend to do this. Dickens often introduces his characters in this way.
You can show the reader what the character is like by what they do. If they are kind, show them helping someone. If they are mean with money, show them avoiding paying their share.
You can show the reader what the character is like by what they say. They can show how mild mannered or how passionate or how thoughtful they are in what they say and how they say it.
You can show the reader what the character is like through what other characters say about them.
Physical Characteristics
At least some description of the physical aspects of your character can help the reader create a mental image. Often focusing on one particular element (their large nose and thin face, or their bouncy curly hair) can give enough of an idea, and the reader can fill in the rest.
How they look can give the reader some idea about what they are like as a person as well. It’s good to be cautious about this, though. Not all fat people are jolly. Not all thin people are grumpy. And having eyes too close together may bear no relation to how trustworthy you are.
(Some authors don’t use any physical description. For example, Jane Austen hardly mentioned Mr Darcy’s physical appearance, which allows us all to create our perfect image in our heads!)
Personal Characteristics
You many want to introduce some basic ideas about what your character is like as a person. Here, simile or metaphor can help a lot. Think which animal your character could be said to be like, or which natural feature (river, sea, flowers, trees etc), then base your simile on that. As well as direct description and using dialogue and action, to show what the character is like, you can use the setting to hint about what kind of person they are. Your elderly gentleman character might live in an enormous, cold, dark, imposing house; or they might live in a cosy cottage by the sea. This may cause your readers to feel differently about them.
Let’s look at Dickens’ description of Scrooge to see how a master does it:
Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grind-stone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dogdays; and didn’t thaw it one degree at Christmas.
If you continue to read the rest of this passage, you will see that Dickens uses nearly every one of the techniques I have described, and quite a few others.
Why not have a go yourself and describe your character – how they look, how they behave and what they are like?
The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go.
Tennyson was writing of the discoveries of his era – how ancient the earth is, how it seems solid and permanent but has changed over millennia and will continue to change. To contemporary readers this may have felt like blasphemy. Now, however, it is a common place idea which might hardly seem relevant. We were not there as the continents shifted and we will not see the next seismic change. If the world is not objectively immutable, it may as well be, for we cannot detect its change in our brief lifespan. I begin to feel the falsity of that view. The hills don’t seem to me to be shadows or mist, but instead a living being that shifts and moves. The land under our feet is not constant. Not only does it move, to our shock, to our horror, to our detriment, but it also changes in response to us.
Looking at the church in Alnmouth, we were thinking how the stone does not look as old as that in some of the cottages in the village, and that the design of the church seems relatively modern. Researching it a little, we discovered that the church was indeed fairly modern (1876) and is the third of the churches in that village. The first, however, apparently on the site where St Cuthbert agreed to be bishop of Hexham in 684, was built in the 12th century. The storm of 1806 changed the course of the river Aln and cut off the building from the rest of the town. (The second was a granary used temporarily from 1859 until the new and current one was built). Not only was the church destroyed but, from that moment, Alnmouth ceased being an important port.
As we drove back down the coast from Alnmouth, I recalled my father saying that the river Coquet had also changed its course at Amble. Instead of coming out into the sea beside Warkworth, after a storm in 1764 the river cut through some sandbanks and came out at Amble instead, transforming this village into the port it is today. In my father’s time, the meander of the river where the water used to flow was called the ‘old waters’.
Warkworth Castle
These musings on the fickleness of the land and how we have responded to it, brought me to reflect on how we have changed the land to suit our own needs, especially here in the North East of England, where we have mined for coal, resculpting the very ground under our feet. Suddenly, the image of the earth as shifting and mutable no longer seems so remote, but instead is concrete, is tangible. No longer insentient clay, but part of us, living, breathing and long-suffering.
Northumberland – this is my land. I tried to run away, but once I was elsewhere I felt its pull and knew I would return. A homing pigeon, always destined to come back. At a university reunion recently, I was jokingly commenting that my husband has been trapped into a life in the North East of England. My friend replied that he would always have known that would be his future. She had known that about me, even then, as I thought I was trying to escape my past. Life is not certain, and no path taken is inevitable, but living elsewhere, I always felt myself to be a foreigner. Returning, it was as though I could breathe out, knowing I was grounded and rooted in my own land.
Recently, though, circumstances have pushed and pulled me until nothing seems solid. The past I saw as frozen, squirms and twists as I look at it. The pillars on which my life is built are crumbling. But yesterday, on a drive around Northumberland, I felt the land enclose me, like a blanket, like a mother caring for her beleaguered child. Those hills are curvaceous, like a sleeping woman. The sinuous winding of the narrow hedge-bound roads border patchwork fields of barley, wheat, rape and grasses, now ready to be harvested. Fields stood pale and still, bound by green trees and hedges.
I’ve always thought that England, unlike countries like Australia and the United States, has had time to get used to its inhabitants. Of course, there have been people living on all these lands for thousands of years, but modern towns in Australia or the United States look like they have been placed down on top of it. Here, I feel, the towns nestle in the country’s folds, kneading the land, reshaping it. This land bends and moulds itself to its inhabitants. We change it; it changes us.
Yesterday, as we drove through Northumberland, my father pointed out hills created by slag heaps, which now, gently undulating, seem as natural as any part of the landscape. Lanes, now shaded by trees, were once railway lines running from coal mines to the port of Amble. Long and straight in this curving unevenness, only this marked them out as created by man. The noise and soot are long gone. Not even the metal rails remain. But the land is scored with man’s straight lines, disguised now as rustic country paths.
As we drove through Radcliffe, my father said, as he always does, “When I was a lad, this was all houses!” in gentle, mocking reference to the changing of the world around us. Radcliffe was a village of pit rows where my Great Uncle Jack and his wife Nelly had a pub, The Radcliffe Arms. By the time I knew them they were living in sheltered housing in Amble, as was my grandma. The village disappeared entirely, the open cast mining ripping up all of these fields, roads and houses, remaking them. Now, where the village was, there are more quiet, still fields, teeming with animal life.
As a child, on the way to visit my grandparents in Warkworth, we would travel the tranquil roads through Acklington coming into Warkworth by Morwick Road, the street on which my mother was born. Sometimes it was a change from the usual coastal route through Amble, and then it was made necessary by the opencast which tore up the whole countryside and made the other route impassable. My brother and I would plead to go on ‘the bumpy road’ and would shout with glee when my dad drove quickly over each little hill and round each tight bend. Yesterday, my dad shouted ‘wheee!’ as I drove him round those tight bends and over those little hills, bringing us full circle.
I used to imagine that life was a path, curving and twisting off into the distance. Now I feel it is a circle, bringing us back to our beginnings. Or perhaps, we travel the same circular route, passing again and again the familiar landmarks, each time different, each time the same. Each time bringing ideas, experiences, knowledge to each turn, bringing, in each circuit, more and more of the world.
My land and I, we travel together. It changes me. And it is changed. It offers me a perspective on the past. A past that is painful and sweet – the innocence and every-day-ness of my past life without the consciousness maturity brings. The pain lies in the unreachable chasm between now and then, in the damage that past was inflicting, and in the loss of people and a way of life that seemed to me to be the whole world.
My roots spread across this region; they merge and twist, fray, decay, renew and grow. The people, linked together by blood, by history, thin out to single breakable threads. Only my parents, hanging onto this land as it spins into the future, link me to this past, at once more industrial and more rural. My children fly from here, less tethered than I ever was, all other family dwindled and diminished to memories and names written in copper plate on the back of faded black and white photographs. But the land remains. Each part of our shared history is scored and chiselled on each hill, each lane, each street.
The future fans out before me, paths still to be trod, connections still to be formed, friends to be made. Events not yet conceived, full of joy, full of sorrow, lie ahead on the bosom of this patient land. Moulded and damaged by us, to mould and damage us in our turn, we and the land are inextricably linked. I see our future as though it were bright sunlight on the dancing waves glimpsed from the seashore. It suggests comfort in the changing familiarity of my home. Thinking of this past, mine and that of the land, I look out from this shore and see hope, like an island floating between the sea and sky. My feet on your shore, Northumberland, I lift my eyes. I see that island, never reachable, always present, at the end of the land which enfolds me.
Thank you to Co-Curate, and to the following websites for their invaluable information and the use of their images. (Accessed July 2022)
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad and Journey to the River Sea by Eva Ibbotson
At first you might wonder what on earth these books could possibly have in common. Indeed, you might be thinking I’d taken leave of my senses for thinking of them in the same moment. The first is a classic, the first English novel of the 20th century, studied and commented on by academics and students alike. The second is a children’s book, published in 2002, famous in its own way, but otherwise little known outside its fervent admirers, the children’s book industry and librarians. However, due to my eclectic taste in books, I found myself reading one after the other last month. Despite their very obvious differences, there seemed to be some parallels which would be useful in understanding both. And some of the differences can be seen through the lens of the developments and changes that the hundred years between them has brought.
I studied Heart of Darkness at university and found it impenetrable, bleak and inexorable. It felt like a comment, not on a time and series of events, but on humankind itself. The inescapable phrase, ‘The horror, the horror’ rang through my mind and lodged itself there as the book’s message in miniature. The evil at the heart of man – like in William Golding’s Lord of the Flies – is etched on every page. Its claustrophobic, dense prose echoes the black heart of the forest, disorientating and fevered.
What I was not prepared for, this time when I read it, was the appalling racism at every turn. I believe Conrad was trying to subvert the accepted philosophy of his day, to expose the moral corruption at the centre of the glorious empire. It would definitely be a mistake to think that the narrator, Marlow, and Conrad are the same, have the same stance and the same outlook. I suspect that Conrad shared Marlow’s fascination with and horror over the disintegration of civilisation in the African jungle, his shrewd evaluation of the narrowness, superficiality, cruelty and moral turpitude of the Europeans there, and the fact that the evil at our heart is made universal, even encapsulating London, the then apex of the civilised world. I doubt (or at least wish to doubt) that he would be so calm and accepting of this as the natural state of things, or else why did he drag us, the reader, into that fevered nightmare? However, the dismissive infantilisation of the Africans, the total inability of any character but Kurtz, the corrupt centre of the book, to communicate with them, and the unacceptable language used to refer to them is hard now to read and is also difficult to separate from Conrad’s own ideology. How can I separate what is Conrad and what is Marlow in this book, except to say that the racism I speak of is the medium the book swims in, the air it breathes, while the comments on imperialism, humanity’s innate corruption and any reaction to it, seem instead to be the subject of the book rather than belonging to its very structure?
Perhaps not overly insightful comments, considering all that has been written on the subject, but that was my starting point. I then read Journey to the River Sea, set at the time (more or less) that Conrad wrote in and of, but written a century later. The difference in setting, from the African to the South American jungle is perhaps significant in that the Amazonian jungle is often now seen as the heart of healing, the place where modern medicines have come from, nature’s storehouse that we are now destroying. However, the distance from London, the cultural norm in these books, the attitude of some of the characters towards the peoples who live in the jungle, and the imperialist backdrop are close enough for us to glimpse parallels. Through the eyes of a child, Maia Fielding, we see the jungle and its people as miraculous, beautiful, dangerous but fascinating. The de-humanising attitude towards Africans of Conrad’s whole narrative is concentrated in the Carter family, a distillation of the colonial mind-set, and cruel and profligate to boot. Are we to believe that the African jungle doesn’t boast an equal amount of amazing, marvels of nature as the Amazonian jungle? No, it is only that Conrad is blind to them. Could it be that those Africans we see depicted in savagery and ignorance are just as loving, kind and human as the Brazilians in River Sea?
Conrad was of course using an allegory: the jungle and Africa as the darkness in all of our hearts. Ibbotson instead sees the jungle and Brazil as a symbol of freedom. Freedom from meaningless forms and etiquette, freedom from banality, freedom from misery and slavery. Such opposing views cannot help but strike the reader.
It appears to me that the journey we have all travelled from 1901 to 2002 (and now twenty years beyond) has been to turn the distant into beauty and freedom and to see in ourselves slavery and emptiness, rather than seeing the beauty, honour and righteousness in ourselves and the savagery in others. I suspect this is a journey British people have travelled as perpetrators of innumerable horrific crimes throughout the world, the ramifications of which cause pain, distress and death even now. I wonder whether newer empires, such as the USA, have yet come to this point in their journey? I feel they may still linger in the self-deceiving grandeur of the conqueror. As a country it is not until we are forced to look into the mirror and see our own corruption and disgrace that we can begin the journey away from self-deception.
So many people say to me that they would like to read more, but somehow they can never find the time, or the motivation. Even as an avid reader from a young age I can understand. Like any self-improving resolution, we wish it done rather than wish to be doing it! The key, therefore, is to try and make it enjoyable. If you persevere, it will definitely become a habit, and it will become enjoyable too.
Reading Material
Find something to read that you want to know about. There is no point in struggling through pages of description (unpunctuated even by dialogue) from classical 19th century writers, if within 5 minutes your concentration is gone and you’re just staring aimlessly at the page.
Instead start with magazine articles about something you’re interested in – it can be anything from crochet to cooking, from gardening to horse riding.
Find newspaper articles on subjects that matter to you – your child’s education, the war in Ukraine, the match between Arsenal and Spurs, or whatever it is that sparks your interest.
Read fiction in the genre that interests you. If you don’t know where to start, think about the films and TV programmes you like, then look for books which are similar. You can ask in a library if you are stuck for ideas, or just spend a bit of time online or in a charity shop or book shop and have a browse. Short stories are a good way in, if you find it hard to concentrate on a long story.
Audio books can be a good place to start. You can get them for free from the public library or pay for them on apps like Audible.
Don’t worry about what others might say or think. Some people can be ‘snobby’ about what they read. My advice is to just ignore everyone else and read what makes you happy.
Time – Making reading a habit
Choose a time in the day when you have 10 minutes or half an hour free and make it your reading slot. For example, after tea, on the bus or train on the way to work, as soon as you get in from work, in the morning before you get out of bed, in bed before you go to sleep. Many people try that last one and fall asleep before they read anything, so perhaps choose another time if possible.
At first it might seem strange and difficult to sit down and read quietly in the middle of a busy day, but after a few goes, it will become normal for you.
Place – Get comfortable
Find somewhere where you can feel comfortable – an armchair, the sofa or your bed perhaps.
Find somewhere you will be alone or at least not interrupted for a few minutes. I realise many people will find this very difficult, but matching the quiet place with a quiet time of day can be key here.
Make sure the lighting is right – enough light to read comfortably, but preferably not under a florescent bright light.
Essentially, though, choose what suits you best. I used to read while I made the dinner, standing in the kitchen stirring the pots with one hand and a book in the other!
Be kind to yourself
If reading is new to you or you have always found it tricky, don’t beat yourself up about finding it hard to concentrate. You will get better with practice, so it is worth persevering.
Don’t hesitate to stop reading a book or article that doesn’t interest you. Life is too short to waste on things you don’t like! There are thousands of other choices; one of them will definitely be to your taste.
If you miss a few ‘reading slots’, it doesn’t matter. Just pick it up when you can. It’s good to make a habit of reading, but it shouldn’t be a chore.
Talk about it
A great way to keep your interest going in what you’re reading is to talk about it with someone else. You could find a friend with a sympathetic ear who likes to hear about what you have been reading. You could recruit a few friends to read the same thing and chat about it and you can find reading groups at your local library.
Good luck with your reading. It is so wonderful to be able to walk through the door of someone else’s imagination into a new world. And the more you do it, the better you will get.
Last time we talked about how to motivate yourself. This time we will consider the importance of finding the right time and place to revise.
Finding a good place
However spontaneous you are, we are all creatures of habit. To work well, it is a good idea to find a place which, when you go there, suggests the idea of successfully, quietly studying.
The qualities of your ‘good place’
You should be away from distractions – find somewhere where you won’t be tempted to leave your studies and do something else. Some people like a busy place, like the kitchen table, where life can go on around them. Some people like a quiet place, like their room, where they can be alone. If you are very easily distractable, a good tip would be to use a place where you can’t easily do anything else but study, like a school or public library. Find out what suits you. What suits you is not what you find most pleasant – it is where you do most work!
You should be comfortable – A good chair, a desk with enough room to work, these things probably make it easier to study. But whatever you feel comfortable with will help you stay working for longer.
You should be consistent – It’s a good idea, if possible, to use the same place each time. It will create the link in your mind between the place and the activity, which will make it easier to get on with your work.
I appreciate that each of these things is dependant on the privilege of having a stable and appropriate environment and not everyone has access to that. If you are struggling to find a good place to study, a public library is a good option. If there isn’t one available near you, then your school should have facilities where it is possible to study. Ask someone (your teacher, your parents) if you can’t see an easy solution.
Finding a good time
Making study a habit is the key to being successful. So, studying at the same time in the day is a good idea if you can manage it. There should, if possible, be a trigger that reminds you it is time to study. For example, you could study straight away when you get home from school, or as soon as you have finished your evening meal, or when you have finished walking your dog.
Whatever you choose, bear these things in mind:
Be consistent – try not to make exceptions to your rule. The more you stick to your study time, the more you are likely to stick to it in the future.
Be realistic – there is no point in telling yourself you will study every evening when you get in from school if you are always exhausted and starving. You would be better to eat and rest, then study.
Be aware of your existing commitments – there is no point telling yourself you will study for two hours every night if you have badminton on a Monday, swimming on a Tuesday and always meet your friends for a coffee on a Thursday. Plan your study sessions around your commitments.
The key is to find a time and a place that suit you and stick with it.
This is the second in a series of short pieces on How to Revise. Click here to see the first and watch this space for more.
Like it or not, this is the moment when you must start your revision for your exams, if you haven’t started already. Spending time planning how, what and when to revise is not wasted time. It will save you time in the end.
Here are a few suggestions. Anything that works – use it! Anything that doesn’t – ditch it! Everyone is different. Different things work for different people.
Motivating yourself
Before you can even start, you need to believe that you need to. And you need to sustain that feeling throughout the next few months. This is much, much trickier than you might think.
What motivates you?
The thought that you will do well and be able to go on to the course, job or apprenticeship you want to do next year?
The fear that you won’t?
The desire to please your parents and teachers?
Some parents offer rewards of money or a new phone or some other material reward in order to spark some enthusiasm to work. This may work for some, but is the least effective of all the motivation techniques. However, all of these will help a little. Nevertheless, on a day to day basis it is easy to lose sight of the overall goal. What can you do to motivate yourself to work today?
Remind yourself of your overall goal.
Promise yourself a little reward for doing some work (watching a film, seeing a friend, eating some ice cream or whatever you like best).
Break your work down into smaller chunks with rests between them.
The best advice I can give, though, is to make working a habit, like cleaning your teeth or having a shower. It’s just something you do. Make a time to study, say 4pm after school for an hour, and once you have done it a few times, it will become normal.
This is the first in a series of short pieces about How to Revise. Watch this space for more!
Enjoy English 