Showing posts with label Sarah Hughes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sarah Hughes. Show all posts

Saturday, October 22, 2022

Bette Howland was a forgotten genius of US literature – but now her sharp, sardonic work has been rediscovered

 

Bette Howland

Bette Howland was a forgotten genius of US literature – but now her sharp, sardonic work has been rediscovered

Her bracingly modern books resonate as much today as they did when first written


Sarah Hughes
January 7, 2021

Bette Howland is not the sort of author who should fall from fashion. While her output is slim – W-3, a devastating memoir about her time in a psychiatric ward, two books of short stories and handful of essays – her rhythmic sentences and striving characters resonate as much today as they did when first written in the 1970s and early 80s.

Tuesday, December 31, 2019

Game of Thrones / How it dominated the decade / Then lost its way





Game of Thrones: how it dominated the decade – then lost its way

It was the fantasy juggernaut that everyone from Obama to Snoop Dogg loved. So why did it fall from grace so swiftly?

Sarah Hughes
Monday 30 December 2019

In the 2010s, there were TV shows and then there was Game of Thrones. HBO’s adaptation of George RR Martin’s epic fantasy series dominated the entire television landscape. Endlessly dissected online and beloved by everyone from former president Barack Obama to Snoop Dogg, it became the subject of countless fan videos and closed out the decade as the most popular show on earth, averaging more than 25 million viewers per episode (an official figure that didn’t even take into account the illegal downloads, which also saw it win the dubious accolade of the globe’s most pirated TV show).
It was also the last piece of true event television in an age where our viewing is increasingly splintered by the rise of streaming. While other shows exist to be binged in one greedy gulp, Game of Thrones had to be watched weekly – a fact that only boosted its appeal, making it the show on everyone’s lips every Monday.

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 For so long it was the only show on everyone’s lips ... Jaime and Cersei in Game of Thrones. Photograph: Helen Sloan/HBO

Most of all, though, it changed the way the world thought about fantasy on the small screen. Prior to Game of Thrones, accepted wisdom said it was impossible to turn fantasy into a TV hit. Post-Game of Thrones, TV executives seem unable to stop commissioning variations on the theme.
Westeros DNA can be spied in everything from straightforward historical epics such as The Last Kingdom to the weird, wild world of Sky Atlantic’s Britannia. Netflix’s The Witcher is the latest show to conform to the fantasy juggernaut’s template of gruesome violence and largely gratuitous nudity.

It wasn’t always this way. When Game of Thrones began in 2011, the focus was as much on the sharp one-liners and the cunning political machinations as it was on the big twists and even bigger spectacle. But as the show progressed – and crucially, as creators David Benioff and DB Weiss were forced away from Martin’s books due to lack of new material – the show became less character driven and ever more bombastic.
Never was this clearer and more devastating than in the season six finale, The Winds of Winter. At the time of airing, the episode – in which Cersei Lannister wiped out Baelor’s Sept and with it much of the cast – was hailed as a triumph, a sure sign that Benioff and Weiss had a thrilling endgame in mind. In reality, it was the moment that fatally weakened the foundations on which the series was built – and provided proof that, when in doubt, the writers would always blow things up first and ask questions later.

 Blow things up, ask questions later ... was The Winds of Winter the show’s death knell? Photograph: HBO

Having established Cersei as a master villain, Benioff and Weiss appeared to have no idea what to do with her, largely deserting the intrigue in King’s Landing to concentrate on the epic fights. That was understandable given the importance of a final showdown between the Night King’s undead army and the rest of humanity, but the gaping hole where politics used to be ensured that the last two seasons prized showy did-you-see-that? moments – the sudden death of Littlefinger, Daenerys’s fiery destruction of King’s Landing – over carefully nurtured plots and character development.
This obsession with style over substance also had a knock-on effect on the shows that came after. Many of those big-budget projects such as Troy, The Bastard Executioner and American Gods were flops, made in the most shallow image of Game of Thrones and ignoring the fact that what originally made the show a hit were its quieter moments.

Conversely, the series that have worked – Outlander, Penny Dreadful, the BBC’s recent adaptation of Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials – did so because, like Game of Thrones, they put the story they were telling above flashy special effects. Each also exuded the feeling that this was fantasy adapted by people who adored the source material, not just executives scrabbling around for a hit.
Not that the high-profile failures have stopped the commissions coming. Huge adaptations of Lord of the Rings, Robert Jordan’s classic fantasy The Wheel of Time and Patrick Rothfuss’s cult series The Kingkiller Chronicle are in the works.

Some may prove to be worth the wait, although it’s hard not to wonder if TV will already have moved on by the time they arrive because perhaps the most interesting thing about Game of Thrones is the way that – despite all its noise and thunder – it faded so swiftly from the collective memory, slipping down the best-of-the-decade lists and increasingly attacked for being not so much the story of Shakespearian grandeur it promised to be but instead, in Macbeth’s words, a tale “full of sound and fury signifying nothing”.
At its best, though, Game of Thrones was addictive and unmissable TV, filled with great lines and genuinely surprising and well-earned moments. But history can be cruel to shows once lauded as the best of their era.

 Its limitations were built in ... Game of Thrones. Photograph: HBO

It is also true that its limitations were built in. Race was badly handled from the beginning, with the Dothraki presented as violent savages and Daenerys’s storyline constantly flirting with white saviour tropes. It also consistently courted controversy over its handling of sex, from the decision to shoot Sansa’s brutal wedding to Ramsay entirely through Theon’s gaze to the mishandling of a scene between incestuous siblings Jaime and Cersei that turned it from reunion to rape.
Such issues – coupled with the sense that this was ultimately a show comprised more of bombast than brilliance – means that Game of Thrones’ greatest legacy may turn out not to be the myriad copycat shows it spawned but rather the silly sums of money the makers of those shows willingly spent. Game of Thrones is dead; long live Game of Thrones.

Tuesday, February 6, 2018

Why those subversive Brontë sisters still hypnotise us

Charlotte Brontë circa 1840


Why those subversive Brontë sisters still hypnotise us


The bicentenary of Charlotte’s birth next month has produced a slew of events that highlight the sisters’ appeal to all ages

Sarah Hughes
Sun 27 Mar 2016 00.05 GMT




Mia Wasikowska in the 2011 film version of Charlotte’s most famous book, Jane Eyre. Photograph: Laurie Sparham



T
hey are beloved by everyone from misunderstood teens and fools for love to the serious-minded middle-aged and those of a critical bent. Now the Brontë sisters are taking centre stage again as the bicentenary of Charlotte’s birth next month brings a host of events at their Yorkshire home and elsewhere.

At Haworth parsonage on the bleakly beautiful Yorkshire moors, where Charlotte and her sisters Emily and Anne lived and wrote and now home to the Brontë Parsonage Museum, the bicentenary will be marked by a full programme from the Brontë Society. Highlights include Charlotte Great and Small, an exhibition curated by the novelist Tracy Chevalier, which combines new art works with existing pieces, and the launch of Reader, I Married Him, a collection of short stories.

But it’s not just the Brontë Society that is succumbing to Brontëmania. The National Portrait Gallery has an exhibition, Celebrating Charlotte Brontë: 1816-1855, which will display personal items including previously unseen paintings, letters and journals from the parsonage museum alongside portraits from the gallery’s collection. BBC Radio 3 recently paid homage to Charlotte with the series I Am Yours Sincerely, in which a number of her letters were read, and Radio 4 has been dramatising Jane Eyre in 15-minute slots on Woman’s Hour this month.
On Saturday night, BBC2 screened Being the Brontës, in which presenter Martha Kearney, journalist Lucy Mangan and novelist Helen Oyeyemi debated their favourite sister and examined their continuing appeal. Claire Harman’s well-reviewed biography of Charlotte is published in paperback next month, while three new novels will also consider the Brontë legacy: Catherine Lowell’s much praised debut The Madwoman Upstairs, which centres on a young woman who is the Brontë family’s last living descendant; Sam Baker’s hugely anticipated thriller, The Woman Who Ran, a modern-day retelling of Anne Brontë’s The Tenant of Wildfell Hall; and Lyndsay Faye’s “satirical romance” Jane Steele, which riffs on Jane Eyre for its tale of a Victorian female serial killer. Later this year Sally Wainwright will follow her crime series Happy Valley with To Walk Invisible, a two-hour drama focusing on the Brontës’ lives between 1845 and 1848 “when they were all either drawn or forced back to the family home”.
So why exactly do the Brontë sisters, these rural curate’s daughters with only a handful of novels between them, continue to fascinate us? From the moment Jane Eyre was published in 1847 they have exerted an almost hypnotic pull: where other literary sensations flash bright, then fade to earth, the Brontës endure, their stories adapted again and again for both stage and screenJane Eyreand Wuthering Heights.

“I think a lot of it is that we’re fascinated by the idea that these three women living in a cold, cramped house in Yorkshire wrote these extraordinary novels about the most intense human experiences,” says author and playwright Samantha Ellis, whose book, Take Courage, about Anne Brontë, will be published early next year.
“There’s something very appealing about the idea that they pushed back against the limits of their world. There are lots of neater, better planned books, but the Brontë novels work because they’re open-ended. We don’t know what Anne, Emily and Charlotte really wanted us to think and that means we take away something new each time.”
Certainly it’s true that there’s something almost mythical about the Brontë creation story, the idea of these three isolated young women writing so desperately that the words were almost flung on to the page. Ted Hughes called them the “three weird sisters”, intentionally summoning Macbeth’s blasted heath to Haworth parsonage. To his wife Sylvia Plath, who paid homage in a poem named Wuthering Heights, they “wrote … in a house redolent with ghosts”. Daphne du Maurier was so obsessed that she paid homage twice – to Jane Eyre with the sharp-edged and haunting Rebecca and to Wuthering Heights with the wild menace of Jamaica Inn – and writers from Jean Rhys and Muriel Spark to Emma Tennant and Fay Weldon have reimagined their lives and work.

“I think their tragic real-life experiences [the deaths of their mother and older sisters and later of their brother Branwell] undoubtedly give added appeal to readers,” says Kearney. “It’s amazing to think that Jane Eyreand Wuthering Heights are still so popular. I think it’s the sheer power of the storytelling – who can forget the madwoman in the attic or Heathcliff?”
Lowell agrees. “One of the things I most love about the Brontës is that they give the lie to the notion that to be a great writer you have to have epic life experiences – that whole Ernest Hemingway, Jack London thing,” she says. “Emily never left her home, but she wrote Wuthering Heights. To be a great writer you just have to be a great observer. There’s also a real nugget of truth in all the books. Jane Eyre is a great lesson in authenticity and being true to yourself which still resonates in an era when women are still told so much how they should dress and act.”
Yet it is also true that the Brontë myth can confuse more than enlighten. Writing in the Guardian in 2011, Blake Morrison astutely noted that “the morbid caricature that developed in the wake of [Elizabeth] Gaskell’s biography – with Haworth depicted as a remote and sinister spot and the parsonage as a gloomy hideout for a trio of unworldly spinsters – is largely nonsense. The Brontë letters … are sharp and sometimes funny. Their novels … full of insights into the social conditions of the day.”

Indeed, the most striking thing about the Brontë novels is how subversive they are. On the surface these might seem like tales of love lost and won, of happy endings and reader, I married him, but they are also strange and spiky tales. “There’s a lot of wanting and yearning, not all of it romantic,” says Ellis. “These are difficult books to contain. They’re over-egged and weird and often troubling.” Thus Jane takes Rochester once he has been crippled and blinded, unable to exert his male power. Wuthering Heights is less the story of wild romantic love as much as a tale of abuse, madness and unfettered rage, and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is more concerned with the act that frees Helen, her slamming of the door against her drunken husband, than it is with her conventional end. “There’s a clear line from Rochester to Heathcliff to Arthur Huntingdon,” says Baker. “All three male leads are really abusive.”


Nor does the uncomfortable subject matter stop there. While Wuthering Heights stands apart simply by dint of its strangeness – like it or loathe it, there is nothing else quite like it in literature – Charlotte and Anne were tackling subjects that women did not normally write about: the need to find your own place in the world; the tribulations of having to do soul-sapping, back-breaking, mind-numbing work simply to survive; the problems of being trapped in an abusive marriage. “I think of the Brontës as outsider authors,” says Baker. “Charlotte and Anne in particular are really radical and because of that their stories transcend their time. The themes feel just as relevant today.”


Nor is it just women who respond to their work. “I know lots of men who love the Brontës,” says Ellis. “There’s a bit of myth that they’re writers for women, that it’s all about Heathcliff and Rochester, but more men read them than you’d think.”
Yet whoever is reading them, they’ll always have one sister they think of as “theirs”. “Definitely,” says Ellis. “You’re either Charlotte, Emily or Anne and you can tell a lot by which book someone claims as their own. I was doing a reading in London last year about Jane Eyre versus Wuthering Heights and a teenage girl came up to me afterwards and said to me, ‘I will never give up Cathy and Heathcliff, not now, not when I am 40.’ And that’s how it should be. Your passions are your own.”
The Madwoman Upstairs by Catherine Lowell is published by Quercus Press, £14.99; The Woman Who Ran, by Sam Baker, is published by Harper Press, £7.99; Being the Brontës is available on BBC iPlayer

WATCH OUT FOR …


■ Charlotte Great and Small – exhibition curated by novelist Tracy Chevalier exploring the contrast between the tiny things in life and Charlotte’s huge desires. Includes items that belonged to Charlotte and new works commissioned by Chevalier and made for the bicentenary. Runs at Brontë Parsonage Museum until next January.
■ The Brontë Festival of Women’s Writing (9-11 September) includes The Magic of the Miniature where Jessie Burton, Grace McCleen and Tracy Chevalier discuss the psychology of the miniature, featuring readings from Burton’s and McCleen’s work.
■ Grace McCleen is writer in residence at the Brontë Parsonage Museum during 2016. The work produced during this time will be shared in 2017.
■ Children’s author and former children’s laureate Jacqueline Wilson is an ambassador for Charlotte Brontë during the bicentenary year.
THE GUARDIAN